From "The Bells" to "King Arthur." A critical record of the first-night productions at the Lyceum theater from 1871-1895

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WALERY, PHOTOGRAPHER.

164-, REGENT STREET , LONDON.

From ''The "Bells'"

To ^^ f\i^g <J[rthur

??

A CRITICAL RECORD OF THE FIRST-NIGHT PRODUCTIONS AT THE
LYCEUM THEATRE FROM 187I TO 1895

BY

CLEMENT SCOTT

ILL VST RAT ED

London
JOHN MACQUEEN

HASTINGS HOUSE, NORFOLK STREET, STRAND, W.C.

1897

A II Risk is Reserved

Ll lA ^^

A PROLOGUE.

1 have been repeatedly asked to publish in a conve-
nient form some of the newspaper criticisms that I have
written on the " drama of the day " during the last five-
and-twenty years. I own that I was puzzled how to
set about it, for if I printed all I have written about the
London theatres for the last quarter of a century, the
volumes containing the material would fill a decent-sized
bookshelf. So it struck me that a good start might be
made by boldly taking our leading theatre— the Lyceum
— and reprinting the articles I have written in various
journals on the productions by Henry Ir\ing, from the
memorable, never-to-be-forgotten evening when he
startled all London with his Maihicis in " The Bells,"
down to his latest play, the " King Arthur '" of my friend
j\Ir. J. Comyns Carr.

Note carefully that the articles contained in this
volume are reprints and nothing more. I have made no
attempt to polish, perfect, or alter in any way opinions
rapidly made and as swiftly put into print. Most of
them have been dashed off at high speed and pressure
between the hours of midnight and half-past one the
next morning. Some of them have been written after a
night's restless and fitful sleep with that ever worrying

771527

vi PROLOGUE.

"first sentence" ringing in my ears. I do not profess
to call any of them criticisms. They are the best news-
paper reports that I could give in the time allotted to
me, and I think without egotism I may say thr.t the
earlier articles are the first specimens of a style of pic-
turesque reporting in connection with the drama encou-
raged by the Proprietors of the great and popular
newspaper, The Daily Telegraph, which I have still the
honour to serve, a style of comment which has since
found favour with almost every journal, not only in
London and the provinces, but over the wide world.

One brief word on this point. We newspaper critics
are repeatedly told that we ought to postpone our com-
ment until to-morrow, the next day, the day after that,
for a week, a fortnight, or any length of time. Believe
me, this will never be done, so long as newspapers con-
tinue to be conducted with spirit and enterprise. The
production of a new play in London has become a matter
of very important news in London, and no paper would
be worth its salt if it did not say something about it the
next morning. Some may call this item of news, criti-
cism, others may sneer at it as a report, but I am confi-
dent that the report of last night's play will be most
universally read which is the best written, and on the
whole most truthful and accurate. We are told that the
picturesque newspaper report is unfair to the drama and
injurious to the artist. My own experience would lead
me to state the exact converse. The drama in this
country has never flourished so greatly ; the actors and
actresses of our time have never been so widely recog-
nised or so well paid as they have been since my good,
faithful, and loyal friends on The Daily Telegraph
encouraged me to go on and prosper with the work I

PROLOGUE. vii

undertook to do. At any rate here is the record of some
of my work. Many may think it extremely trivial,
and not worth reprinting, but, at any rate, the words
recorded here may recall old memorable nights at the
play, and the casts of the various Lyceum productions
may prove interesting to the playgoer.

It is needless for me to state there are countless
Magazines, Reviews, and Gazettes, both monthly and
quarterly, in which the drama is fairly, soberly, analyti-
cally, and temperately discussed from time to time.
Twenty-five years ago few Magazines or Ouarterlys
dreamed of allowing a corner to the drama. To-day it
rears its head in every printed periodical. If we have
no Hazlitts, Charles Lambs, or Leigh Hunts on the
daily newspaper press, there are many doors open to
these sober and reflectful people elsewhere. But I can-
not for the life of me see why we should not all work
side by side. There are lovers of the drama in the early
morning train, tram, or omnibus, as well as in the cosy
club or library chair by the side of a comfortable fire.

In conclusion, I have only warmly and cordially to
thank my good friends of The Daily Telegraph, The
Observer, and The Illustrated London News for their kind
permission to reprint these articles " with all their
imperfections on their head," and also to offer the sin-
cerest of thanks to a dear companion by my side who
has aided me in preparing this book for publication.

CLEMENT SCOTT.

CONTENTS.

PAGE

THE BELLS - - - - 3

RAISING THE WIND - - - II

CHARLES I - - - - 15

EUGENE ARAM - - - - 25

RICHELIEU - - - -37

PHILIP - - - - 47

HAMLET - - - - - 59

MACBETH - - - - 71

OTHELLO - - - - - 83

QUEEN MARY - - - - QI

THE belle's STRATAGEM - - "99

RICHARD III - - - - 103

THE LYONS MAIL - - - " 1^3

LOUIS XI - - - - 121

VANDERDECKEN - . . - 133

THE LADY OF LYONS - - - I45

THE IRON CHEST . - . - I53

THE MERCHANT OF VENICE - - 1 63

lOLANTHE - - - - - 173

THE CORSICAN BROTHERS - - 177
THE CUP ----- 193

OTHELLO — IRVING AS lAGO - - 207

THE HUNCHBACK, SCENE FROM - - 213

X CONTENTS.

PAGE.

TWO ROSES - - - - 221

ROMEO AND JULIET - - - - 229

MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING - - 247

ROBERT MACAIRE - - - - 26 1

TWELFTH NIGHT - - - 267

OLIVIA . - . - - 277

FAUST ... - 285
WERNER ----- 299

THE DEAD HEART - - - 307

RAVENSWOOD - . . . ^ig

HENRY vm - . . . 33J

KING LEAR- . . - - ^45

BECKET ... - 255

A STORY OF WATERLOO - - - 363

KING ARTHUR - - - - 371

''The "Belhr

Adapted by Leopold Lewi?, from " The Polish Jew," by

M.M. Erckmann-Chatrian. First produced at the Lyceum Theatre,

November 25th, 1871.

Mathias Mr. Henry Irving

Walter -------- Mr. Frank Hall.

Hans - - - - Mr. F. W. Irish.

Christian Mr. H. Crellin.

Mesmerist - - Mr. A. Tapping.

Doctor Zimmer - - Mr. Dyas.

Notary -------- Mr. Collett,

Tony - - Mr. Fredericks.

Fritz -------- Mr. Fotheringham.

Judge of the Court ----- Mr. Gaston Murray.

Clerk of the Court Mr. Branscombe.

Catherine - - Miss G. Padncefort.

Annette ------ Miss Fanny Heywood.

Sozel -------- Miss Helen Mayne.

SYNOPSIS OF SCENERY.

Act I. The Burgomaster's Inn at Alsace.

Act 2. Best Room in the Burgomaster's House.

Act 3. Bedroom in the Burgomaster's House.

Vision, The Court.

Alsace, 1S33.

face 3]

"THE ROPE, THE ROPE ! WATER ! WATER !'

" The 'Bells."

We have so recently sketched the hterary and dra-
matic history of that extraordinary psychological study,
" Le Juif Polonais," by M.M. Erckmann-Chatrian, on
the occasion of the producion of Mr. Burnand's version,
called " Paul Zegers," at the Alfred Theatre, that it
only becomes necessary to note the different treatment
by Mr. Leopold Lewis, in his drama of " The Bells,"
which was received on its first production with the most
gratifying enthusiasm. We have before remarked upon
the fact that the weird story, though written in dramatic
form, was not originally intended for stage representation,
and have given our opinion that, without picturesque
scenery and detail, coupled with powerful acting, the study
is comparatively worthless for histrionic purposes. Mr.
Burnand departed widely from the authors' intention, and
by adding a prologue and toning down many of the ter-
rible details, gave us more of a stage play, and much less
of a psychological study. Mr. Leopold Lewis, on the
other hand, has more faithfully followed the lead of the
authors, has preserved the poetical pictures of Alsatian
life, and, with one conspicuous and most important ex-
ception, gives us the idea of M.M. Erckmann-Chatrian.
The exception in question must be recognised, because,
as it seems to us, Mr. Lewis has, for the sake of a beau-
tiful stage picture, sacrificed the most important dramatic
point in the tale. We take it the intention of the authors
was to represent the outward and inner life of a man
whose conscience is burdened with the hideous weight of
a murder committed fifteen years ago — of a crime, by
means of which he obtained capital, success, and the best
prizes the world can bestow. The fact of the murder
having been committed by Mathias, the respected burgo-

B 2

4 " THE bells:'

master, is only to be suggested to the audience by his
uneasiness and trouble when alone. In society he is to
be the most genial and charming of men; in private he
is to be torn with an agony of grief. The first act is
artistically contrived to show this double life.

The scene is Christmas Eve, an occasion consecrated
to domesticity. Though the snow is deep and blind-
ing without, the hearth of the burgomaster is bright,
and sorrow is unknown in the happy household. The
wife is anxiously awaiting her lord's return ; the
daughter, happy in the love of a young and honourable
man, has still a warm corner in her heart for the father
she idolises. In comes Mathias from the cold, apparently
the picture of health and happiness. He brings with him
kisses for his wife, and a bridal present for the pretty
daughter. He sits down to his supper as hungry as a
hunter, and the first glass is raised to his lips to toast
his family and his friends, when an accidental remark of
one of the guests recalls the murder of a Polish Jew,
who on this very night, at this very hour, started from
this very inn, fifteen years ago, and was never seen
again. The wine-cup is put down untasted, and for an
instant a cloud comes over the happy face of Mathias. It
is well to notice how the dramatic interest increases.
Suddenly a noise of bells is heard across the snow, a
sledge stops at the door, a man in Polish costume stands
on the threshold, asking a blessing on the assembled
family, and craving hospitality. Mathias, horrified at this
terrible coincidence — for, of course, it is nothing but a
coincidence ; it is not the murdered Jew, nor the mur-
dered Jew's brother, but merely a chance visit of another
wanderer, similarly apparelled, to the inn — falls down in
a fit, and the act concludes Avith the cry, " Le medecin !
courez chercher le medecin ! " Strange to say, this
double Jew has been objected to by those who most
admire and appreciate the story. "Who is he? and
what is he ? " they say, failing to see that he is merely
introduced in order to re-enact, by a strange fatality,
the same scene of fifteen years ago.

Be this as it may, Mr. Leopold Lewis has dismissed the
second Jew ; he has omitted the original termination of
the act ; he has given a wrench to the quietly revolving
wheels of the story, and he supplies, instead of the

''THE BELLS." .5

tragic incident, a picture of the actual murder supposed
to be seen by Mathias during his dehrium. The illusion
is admirably contrived, and most effective. It called
down shouts of applause from the audience ; but it
has just this ill effect, it tells the listeners unhesitatingly
that Mathias is a murderer, and this is scarcely what
M.M. Erckmann-Chatrian desired to do at this mo-
ment. It is only in this instance Mr. Lewis departs
from the French play in any important manner, though
we own we could have wished the concluding lines of the
original drama could have been preserved, which show
that, in spite of all, the Alsatian family are unshaken in
their confidence in the beloved burgomaster. The death
of Mathias is ascribed by the kindly old doctor to the
poor fellow's habit of drinking too much white wine.
His family believe him to be an honest, upright fellow
to the last.

We have before commented upon the extraordinary
difficulty attending the proper representation of the
character of Mathias, the murderer, particularly in the
overlong dream scene, in which the guilty man is brought
before his judges, and under mesmeric influences, re-
enacts the murder. It must be unanimously granted
that Mr. Henry Irving's performance is most striking,
and cannot fail to make an impression. There are pos-
sibly very few who were aware that this actor possessed
so much undeveloped power, and would be capable
in such a character, of succeeding so well. His notion
of the haunted man is conceived with great cleverness,
and though, here and there, there are apparent faults,
there are points of detail which are really admirable.
The study, to begin with, is one eminently picturesque.
Mr. Irving was never less mannered. The two most
striking points in the performance are the powerful
acting as the poor frenzied creature dozes off at the will
of the mesmeriser, and the almost hideously painful re-
presentation of death at the end of the play. The
gradual stupefaction, the fixed eye, the head bent
down on the chest, and the crouching humility before
a stronger will in the one scene ; and the very ugly
picture of a dead man's face, convulsed after a dream,
in which he thought he was hanged, are touches
of genuine art, which, while they terrify, cannot fail to

$ ''THE BELLS."

be admired. Almost as telling was the low, terrified
wail as the awful sentence is being pronounced, and
Mathias sinks kneeling to the floor of the court.
Vivid and picturesque as is Mr. Irving's art, he some-
how failed to convey the genial side of the character of
the man. The colouring in the first two acts was of too
sombre a tone, and the requisite contrast was, therefore,
not given. We believe that M. Talien made his best
point by deceiving the audience, and taking it off its
guard, by his extreme geniality. Mr. Irving's strength
also failed him more than once. The monologue in the
dream act is far too long, and Mr. Irving has not the
power to carry it through to the entire satisfaction of
those in front. The light and shade disappear when the
actor has overtaxed his strength. But, taking the bad with
the good, the performance is highly satisfactory, and by
it, Mr. Irving has unquestionably increased his reputa-
tion. In such a character as this, trick and artifice are
of no avail. It requires acting out, and cannot be
played with. We have no desire to recall our opinion
that such a part demands the genius of a Garrick or a
Robson ; but it is a subject for congratulation that Mr.
Irving is able by it to do himself and the Stage such
infinite credit. The other characters are comparatively
subordinate ; but cheerful assistance was given by Miss
Pauncefort as the wife ; by Mr. Herbert Crellin as the
lover, who both looked and acted well ; and by Miss
Fanny Heywood, who, at the end of the second act,
sang the touching " Air de Rauterbach" with delightful
expression.

Even in these days of scenic splendour and taste in
decoration, we seldom see a play so unexceptionally
mounted. The interior of the inn in the first act, with
its quaint furniture, its shelves of queer crockery, and
its thoroughness from end to end, is a picture well worth
study ; and most striking are the frescoes on the walls
of the court of justice, and the general arrangement of
this scene. The management has evidently spared no
trouble, and grudged no expense, to aid the tragedy and
preserve the idyllic character of the story. Messrs.
Hawes Craven and Cuthbert are the scenic artistes.
The chef d'orchestre of the Theatre Cluny, M. Pingla,
has been borrowed from Paris on purpose to conduct

''THE BELLS." 7

and give his assistance in the rehearsals ; and with
regard to this last subject, we may remark, and it
is a point worth noting, that the play was rehearsed to
perfection. There was not a hitch or a contretemps of
any kind, and it went as well on the first night as it
doubtless will when the representations are reckoned by
hundreds. Weird enough is the story to be sure, but
there is a strange fascination about horrible things, and
for many reasons, "The Bells" is a play, which those
interested in the drama as an art should not fail to see.
After every act, Mr. Henry Irving was called, and when
the usual compHment had been paid to all at the end of
the performance, another shout was raised, and Mr. Bate-
man led on Mr. Irving, shaking him by the hand and patt-
ing him on the back. Without a doubt, the audience
was much impressed by the new drama.

'"^ Raising the WindT

By James Kenny. First produced at the Lyceum Theatre,
March 30th, 1872.

Jeremy Diddler ----- Mr. Henry Irving.

Fainwood -------- Mr. Odell.

Plainway Mr. Gaston Murray.

Sam .----.. Mr. F. W. Irish.

Miss Durable ------- Mrs. F. B. Egan.

Peggy ------- Miss Lafontaine.

II

" Raising the Wind.''

It says not a little for the histrionic compass of an
actor when we find him playing, in the same evening,
two such opposite and important characters as Mathias
and Jeremy Diddler. From " The Bells " to "Raising
the Wind " is indeed a rush from grave to gay ; and Mr.
Henry Irving has, by the masterful way in which he
accomplishes the transition, still further established his
reputation for versatility as well as power. Last night
he acted the part of Jeremy Diddler for the first time
in London, and his rendering of the hero of Kenny's
capital farce was distinguished by many subtle touches
which make the true artist. It would have been more
than strange had not the impersonation reminded us of
the part Mr. Irving played for some time in Mr. Albery's
version of " Pickwick." The characters of Jingle and
Jeremy Diddler are themselves so similar, that it is no
wonder we find unmistakeable traces of the one in the
other. The incessant restlessness, the nervous, jerky
walk, the unblushing impudence, the "seedy" get-up,
the rollicking effrontery, are all common to the two parts
and it is difficult to see how Mr. Irving could efface,
more than he has done, the necessary resemblance.

Taking this for granted, no exception can be found to
the latest representative of Jeremy Diddler. From first
to last, Mr. Irving's performance is instinct with power.
His business, perfect to the minutest detail, must be
the result of much hard study, and he shows thorough
appreciation of the character. Many are the delicate
touches which tell even more than the broader strokes in

12 ''RAISING THE WIND."

the general effect. Whenever he is on the stage, Mr.
Irving fills it. If he is not speaking, he is not idle ; he
occupies his time with admirable detail ; the farce rattles
along as briskly and as gaily as though we had never
seen it before. This is partly due to the excellent way
in which Mr. Irving is supported, and to the finished
style — a characteristic of the Bateman regime — in which
the farce is put on the stage. . Mr. F. W. Irish, as Sam,
fairly took some of the honours awarded, and Mr. Odell
played Fainwood in a way that secured him a large
share of the laughter. Miss Annie Lafontaine was a
little too exuberant as Peggy, while Miss Laurelia Dur-
able was represented most unctuously and efficiently by
Mrs. F. B. Egan. It was really refreshing to see Kenny's
admirable old farce again. If we are to have farces, let
them be somewhat more after this pattern than they
have been of late years. A crowded house, which
cheered "The Bells " most enthusiastically, stayed almost
without exception to see " Raising the Wind," laughed
at and applauded it throughout its representation, and at
its close, summoned Mr. Irving before the curtain. " A
Pleasant Neighbour," with ^Ir. Irish as Christopher
Strap, concluded the programme.

" Charles the Firstr

By W. G. Wills. First produced at the Lyceum Theatre,
September 28th, 1872.

Charles I. -..-.- Mr. Henry Irving.

Oliver Cromwell ----- Mr. George Belmore.

Marquis of Huntley ------ Mr. Addison.

Lord Moray ------- Mr. E. F. Edgar.

Ireton - - Mr. R. Markby.

Pages ----- Misses E. Mayne and J. Henri.

Princess Elizabeth | ( Miss Harwood.

Prince James r Children of the King -I Miss Allcroft.

Prince Henry ) ( Miss Welch.

Lady Eleanor Davys - - . - - Miss G. Pauncefort.

Queen Henrietta Maria - - . - Miss Isabel Bateman

Cavaliers, Pages, Officers and Soldiers of Parliament, Attendants,

etc., etc., etc.

SYNOPSIS OF SCENERY.

Act, Gardens near Hampton Court.

Act. 2. King's Cabinet at Whitehall.

Act. 3. Scottish Camp at Newark.

Act. 4. Whitehall at Daybreak.

15

((

Qharles the First,

The task of approaching in anything hke a critical
spirit the important dramatic work of Mr. W. G. Wills,
called by him, " Charles the First," a new historical
play in four acts, is a peculiarly delicate one. We
are conscious that the majority of modern playgoers
would sooner be told in a rough-and-ready way whether
the play was good or bad, without beating about the bush,
than that the critic should attempt to point out how far
the play was a disappointment, and how far a success.
In asking whether " Charles the First " is good or bad,
we presume the public means, is it worth going to
see ? And this question can be instantly answered in the
affirmative. Written by an author of cultivated taste,
and keen, poetical feeling, who has, notably in his
"Medea," shown considerable knowledge of dramatic
effect, a play full of most graceful fancy, studded with rare
gems of poetry, mounted, and decorated, and dressed
with lavish liberality and magnificence, exhibiting the
best and most conscientious work of a valuable actor,
" Charles the First " must be pronounced at once, dis-
appointing and enjoyable.

Taken as a whole, it may not possibly please as a
play, for it does not contain the threads of interest
which a play requires, and, instead of happily com-
bining light and shade, the work is clouded over with a
gloom of profound melancholy. A mournful scene here
and there, a pathetic situation every now and then, are
essential in most works of the kind ; but laughter should
occasionally drive away the tears, and joy should be

i6 ''CHARLES THE FIRST:'

happily combined with sorrow. But it is not so here. We
are treated to a grim catalogue of the distresses of an
unhappy man, and the effect upon most audiences is
infinitely depressing. We may state at once that the
author disdains criticism on the score of historical accu-
racy. If dramatists and novelists held fast to the facts
of history — and who can be dogmatic on these points ?
— we should have no plays or novels worth looking at.
The hands of Shakespeare and Sir Walter Scott would
be alike fettered. In writing an historical work in con-
nection with the reign of a most interesting — or, as
others think, a most uninteresting — monarch, Mr. Wills
unfurls the Royal Standard, and declares himself
loyal, even to the very point of bigotry. We have
no objection in the least to the Stuart proclivities of
the author. His intention, evidently, is not to collect
the dramatic suggestions from an important reign, but
to declare for Charles Stuart a outrance. If he had
been less obstinately loyal, he would have been more
successful. Having to write a play on this reign, it
was essential to the dramatic success of the story that
Carolus Rex and Oliver Cromwell should fight it out on
equal ground. It should have been a dramatic war be-
tween these men. They should have been running
pretty parallel, from the first act to the last, or, as some-
one vigorously observed at the theatre on the first night,
Mr. Wills should have written-up Charles, and allowed
some one fixed with the spirit of Carlyle to take Crom-
well in hand.

Strange to say, the only time that Mr. Wills does
this very thing, the only occasion on which he brings the
men together, the only instance which can be quoted of
his seizing something dramatic in the lives of the two
heroes, his efforts are crowned with success. The second
act is the most telling position in the play, and here
Cromwell is alone prominent. Elsewhere he is a mere
cipher — a nonentity — a man not only uninteresting, but
repulsive. Let Mr. Wills be Royalist by all means
— it is the right line to take at the theatre — but the more
marked he had made the character of Cromwell, the
more interesting in proportion would the King have be-
come. As it is — apart from this second act, full of spirit
and dramatic vigour — the play suggests rather a series

''CHARLES THE FIRST:'' 17

of mournful pictures in the life of Charles the First than
an ingathering of the dramatic incidents of his life and
reign. These remarks are offered purely to illustrate the
melancholy caused by the play, and the depressing feel-
ings it suggests. Not to admire the rare beauty of the
text, not to praise the graceful and refined conception of
the leading characters, not to be thankful for the refined
tone and excellent literary quality of the work, would be
to treat churlishly the valuable work of an author who
is a bright and valuable addition to our insignificant
band of dramatists.

And this is how Mr. Wills dramatises the life of
Charles the First. In a lovely scene, an almost perfect
specimen of stage landscape, representing the gardens
near Hampton Court, on the banks of the Thames, a
lawn of flowers, with a background of green avenues
and transparent water, the domestic side of the King's
life is illustrated. He is a careless, happy father of a
family, dotingly fond of his wife, ridiculously indolent
regarding the aspect of the political horizon, only
happy so long as he can carry the little ones " pick-a-
back," recite to them the ballad of King Lear, throw
himself on his back on the lawn, dance his children on
his knee, and summon a gilded barge to take the happy
family for a sail on the silver Thames, a scenic illustra-
tion of Mr. Goodall's well-known picture. Now all this
is extremely pretty, but it is not dramatic. When the
audience has feasted on the delightful picture of j\Ir.
Hawes Craven, and applauded the disappearance of the
summer barge to a sigh of melancholy music, the feeling
supervenes that the story has not even commenced. The
play has not thought of beginning. Not a thread of interest
has been let fall. And, somehow, the want of dramatic
interest told visibly on the actors. An opening scene
between Miss Pauncefort, a superstitious, horoscope-
divining lady of the Court, and Mr, Addison, a bluff
and faithful old adherent of the King, was too long, and
weaned the audience. Even Mr, Irving was ill at ease,
and, often put out by the hesitation of one of the
actors, he was uncomfortable and even amateurish. The
picture, however, the dresses of all, and notably the
picturesque appearance of Mr. Irving, made up after
Vandyke's pictures, were pronounced perfect in their way,

c

i8 ''CHARLES THE FIRST r

Arri^'ing next at the Kin.t^'s Cabinet at Whitehall,
another quite admirable specimen of stage decoration,
which provoked enthusiastic applause, and was so
beautiful that it occasionally distracted the attention of
the audience from the play, the story gives more promise.
Queen Henrietta Maria — a most interesting and grace-
ful figure in every picture — has heard that the King is
to give audience at night to two strangers, and, fearing
foul play, she has summoned to her aid the loyal
gentlemen of the Temple and Lincoln's Inn, who are
posted by her orders in the corridors of the palace. By
a back staircase, at the appointed time, come Cromwell
and Ireton, and their interview with the King is the
best dramatic scene in the play. The bluffness of
Cromwell is met by the dignified bearing of his mon-
arch. His threats are treated with 'profound contempt,
and his suggested compromise of sacrificing his position
for the vacant Earldom of Essex — for which incident we
are told there is epistolary evidence in histor}^, is re-
warded with a withering and scornful rebuke. The
King tears up the papers and stamps them imder
foot. Cromwell and Ireton drew their swords in the
frenzy of their rage ; when at the appointed signal from
the Queen, the students from the Inns of Court rush in,
and with a mighty shout of " God save the King," the
curtain falls on a most stirring picture. A more rapid
introduction of these loyal students at the Queen's signal
would have improved the effect ; but both the act and
the acting it evoked were enthusiastically praised.

The Scottish camp at Lanark next introduces us to the
half-frenzied anxiety of the Queen for the safety of her
husband, who is fighting at the moment, and leads on to
a compact between Ireton and young Lord Moray, for the
delivery of the King to the Commons, which is carried
on in a mysterious vmdertone, and is little understood.
However, the King, hard pressed in the fight, rushes
upon the scene in his coat of mail, and passionately
entreats Moray for his promised aid from Scotland, to
turn the battle. Moray, with a hang-dog look, is silent.
The King, half-maddened with the scenes of slaughter
he has witnessed, and anxious to stop the carnage,
pleads piteously for the rescue. Still Moray is silent, and
the pitiable secret is disclosed by the appearance of

'' CHARLES THE FIRST." 19

Cromwell and his soldiers, who take the King prisoner,
and compel him to yield up his sword. But there is one
more thing to be done yet. It is the dignified denuncia-
tion of false friendship by the miserable King. Here
actor and author have worked together, and secured
the success of the most beautiful and pathetic scene in
the play. Calling to mind an old picture of Judas, and
illustrating it by the treachery of Moray, the King com-
pels the young Scotsman to cower before the majesty of
his presence and his words. The situation and expres-
sion of it are as noble as the almost parallel passage of
King Arthur and Queen Guinevere in Mr. Tennyson's
idyll. A heartrending situation has seldom been more
eloquently expressed. With a voice, "monotonous and
hollow as a ghost's," tearfully accentuated and exqui-
sitely pathetic, the King's words contain so much of
repressed love and terrible disappointment, that Moray
sinks, beaten and abashed, to his knees, while the cur-
tain falls slowly. Well might the audience shout for
Mr. Irving at this point, for this was the artist's
triumph. The situation and the acting in the second
act were naturally infectious, but here it was the success
of a most artistic appreciation and expression of a
thoroughly poetical idea. There is no more beautiful
passage than this in the whole play.

The last act takes us once more to Whitehall, at day-
break, on the morning of the King's execution, and is
almost wholly given up to profound and absorbing
melancholy. Cromwell, haunted by terrible dreams,
hesitates even now to carry out the fatal sentence, and
though still coarsely brutal and pitiless, ventures to
propose to Henrietta Maria the King's safety as the
price of his abdication, and the delivery of the Prince
of Wales into the hands of the Commons. The Queen,
tortured to madness, refuses the terms indignantly, and
there is nothing left but the last and awful farewell.
The brave King, tear-stained and haggard, enters for
the last ordeal, and prepares to part with friends, chil-
dren, and wife. The parting scene is carried out with
a minuteness of detail which is absolutely painful ; and
the audience, deeply conscious of the intense pathos of
the acting, leave the theatre, some in tears, and some
profoundly depressed.

20 ''CHARLES THE FIRST."

If the play is ever to have any hold upon the public it
will be mainly due to the most finished and excellent acting
of Mr. Henry Irving, whose reading of the King's cha-
racter is eloquent with poetry and expression. To say
that Mr. Irving has never done anything better is but
faint praise, and conveys to the reader but a trivial idea of
the treat that may be in store for him. Physically gifted
for such an attempt, it almost appears, as the character is
unfolded, that to play Charles was the realisation of the
actor's ambition. A careful avoidance of over-emphasis
is everywhere noticeable in such strong scenes as exist,
and the impersonation from first to last is stamped with
a dignity and refinement most welcome to behold. But to
the critic accustomed to watch carefully for nice points
of expression, and subtlety of thought, the acting of this
character is most noticeable on account of its being an
instance of careful and reflective study. An actor, if he
would truly act, should do far more than is set down for
him. He should express hidden thought, as well as say
given words. We are not saying that the conception of
the character is a right one or a wrong one. We have
nothing to do with the historical side of the question ;
but this we do say, that the dignified passion of the
second scene with Cromwell, the melancholy and incisive
pathos of the third with Moray, and the intricate elabor-
ation of manly sorrow in the fourth with his wife, renders
Mr. Irving's Charles a most interesting study, and
most welcome specimen of acting. And, besides acting,
Mr. Irving suggests a mind and a character which may
be false to history, but which are nevertheless very
interesting and beautiful.

It would be idle to deny that a stronger Henrietta
Maria might have made a vast difference to the ulti-
mate verdict of the play. Like Mr. Irving, Miss Isabel
Bateman has never done anything so well, and she
may be fairly congratulated on her graceful reading and
charming conception of the character. An actress of
les? intelligence and poetical appreciation might easily
have ruined the whole work, and it is fair to confess that
the farewell scene is an instance of careful work and
most elaborate study of business. There were strong
dramatic scenes set down for Queen Henrietta Maria
with which she could not grapple, but all in the house

''CHARLES THE FIRST." 21

were equally surprised at the promise of the actress, and
grateful for so pretty a specimen of intelligent and loyal
acting. It is an old-fashioned remark to say that an
actor "struggled hard with an ungrateful part." But it
is quite true in the case of Mr. George Belmore as
Oliver Cromwell. He did not look the character, and
though in the second act some thought he would have
distinguished himself, the part soon fell away again, and
Mr. Belmore appeared to give it up in despair. Mr.
Markby, who played Ireton, struggled a little too
hard to make a character part out of nothing— a too
common experiment at this moment. Mr. E. F. Edgar
assisted the situation at the close of the third act most
effectively ; but, unhappily, both Miss Pauncefort and
Mr. Addison, though doing their best, were voted a little
tiresome. We have hinted before, and we repeat again,
that it is scarcely possible a play could have been better
mounted or cared for by a manager than the play of
" Charles the First " by Mr. H. L. Bateman.

'' Eugene Jlramr

By W. G. Wills. First produced at the Lyceum Theatre,
April 19th, 1873.

Eugene Aram ------ Mr. Henry Irving.

Parson Meadows [ '^Knar^'eiw^ ] Mr. W. H. Stephens.
Richard Houseman ----- Mr. E. F. Edgar.

Jowell (a gardener) - . - . - Mr. F. W. Irish.

Joey (his son) ------ Mis-s Willa Brown.

Ruth Meadows ----- Miss Isabel Bateman.

SYNOPSIS OF SCENERY.

Act I. The Vicar's Garden.

Act 2. The Home Room of the Parsonage.

Act 3. The Churchyard, in the gray light of dawn.

25

" Eugene Ara?n,

We honestly own, and as candidly confess, we feel
to the full the responsibility of sitting down at a late
hour, with a mind naturally excited, after witnessing a
performance which we guarantee many hundreds who
are now fathers of families cannot trump in excellence —
though they summon up their recollection since child-
hood— to attempt the most difficult task of explaining the
play of " Eugene Aram," by Mr. Wills, and the acting of
Eugene Aram, by Mr. Henry Irving. We will dis-
card, if you please, all stereotyped phrases and formulas.
It is nothing to say " Eugene Aram " is a success.

This is a cold and cruel compliment to author and actor.
It is wearisome and common-place to start at once, and
talk of calls, and the delight of an audience, and showers
of bouquets and fixed attention, and the shouts for the
author, and the appearance of Mr. Bateman, the
manager, and the usual signs of a successful first night.
All these things have been done before. They may mean
very much, or they may mean nothing at all. What we
wish emphatically to point out, and at once, is this :
" Eugene Aram " is no ordinary play. The acting of Mr.
Irving is no ordinary acting. The verdict on this
exceptionally artistic night will not be pronounced by
those who consider the play very terrible, or by those
who nod and assent to Mr. Irving's acting, and still say
it is all very terrible, or by those who compliment Mr.
Wills, and thrust in an aside as " Ah ! yes, but it is all
very terrible." We believe fully and honestly the audi-
ence meant what it said last night. We believe all in
the theatre were struck, amazed, and delighted.

But if they did not mean this, and went home saying
exactly the contrary to what they expressed, " Eugene

26 '' EUGENE ARAM:-

Aram " as a play, and as an artistic study, will still be
judged and pronounced upon by the whole art-world of
London. Whether it is liked or disliked, it will attract
to the Lyceum all who have any sympathy with, or ap-
preciation for, art. Whether it is hated or praised, it will
do infinite good to the stage. Whether it is terrible or not,
it will declare emphatically we have an artist among us
who did last night a thing, whether it be pleasing or
displeasing, which is a distinct honour to the English
stage, and a crushing death blow to the assertion that
we have no actors amongst us, that acting is a lost art,
and that the stage is kept up only for the amusement of
the idle, the frivolous, the uneducated and the contemp-
tible. Let those who will have every play made good in
the end, and who would banish tragedy from the boards,
avoid the Lyceum and " Eugene Aram." Let those who
believe the theory of Mr. Boucicault, that an English
audience must have a goody-goody termination to their
amusement, steer clear of the new play. Let those
who will not treat the drama as an intellectual study,
and persist in viewing it as an after-dinner entertainment,
take their stalls for another house. Let those who, in
spite of contrary proof, bleat out the old platitudes
about the degradation of the drama, the absence of life,
heart, and soul in certain dramatic quarters, kindly stay
away, for they are only impeding the progress of an
onAvard, proud, and most praiseworthy movement.

But in all charity, let those who have some kindly feel-
ing towards English dramatic art, in spite of innumerable
difficulties, remain behind and see " Eugene Aram." Let
them linger awhile, and note carefully the performance
of INIr. Irving. It is not, perhaps, a play that will please
the multitude. It is no ad captandum succession of surprises,
situations, and trial scenes. Eugene Aram is not tried for
his life. We have no barristers and courts, and judges
and docks. We have no " forensic eloquence " with Mr.
So-and-so, in a wig and gown. We have no ghastly
gibbet with Eugene Aram hanging in chains on Knares-
borough Heath. There is little for the posters, but much,
very much, for the imagination. We have here photo-
graphed the mind of Eugene Aram, the mind of a man
who has murdered another fourteen years ago, the mind
of a wretch who has hoped to live down conscience, the

''EUGENE ARAM." 27

mind of a poor devil who is flung once more amongst roses
and love, and just as he is smelling the flower it falls to
pieces in his hand.

The play contains three scenes in the after-life of
an undetected murderer. In the first, haunted with
dismal recollection, he still clings to life and hope. In
the second, brought face to face with an accom-
plice, he still struggles to brave all with a desperate love
of life, and the as desperate exercise of an iron will. In
the last, cowed and stung with the sight of his victim's
skull, he confesses his crime to his destined bride, and
dies in her arms before justice seizes him for the scaffold.
This is briefly and incompletely the study of Mr. Wills,
perfected in so masterly a manner by Mr. Henry Irving.
Those who do not care to study it had better stay away.
It would be unjust to declare, because they do not like it,
the study is not worthy or the execution incomplete. We
suppose most of us are familiar with the story of Eugene
Aram, the murderer, stripped altogether of its romance.
Eugene Aram, in complicity with one Houseman, for the
sake of vulgar plunder, brained a rascal called Daniel
Clark, hid his body in a cave near Knaresborough, in
Yorkshire, and fourteen years afterwards, when acting as
an usher at a school in Lynn, Norfolk, was arrested for
the deed. Houseman, like a base knave, turned King's
evidence against his friend. Aram, after a masterly and
scholarly defence, attempted to show that Clark had been
intimate with his wife, but he was convicted, and, after
attempting suicide, was hanged. Mr. Wills, as would
naturally be supposed, omitted all the vulgar incidents,
and he tells in his poem the sad fate of Eugene Aram
somewhat in this manner.

We are in the Vicar's garden at Knaresborough, four-
teen years after the murder of Daniel Clark. It is almost
a forgotten thing. The Vicar arrived in Yorkshire after
it was committed. Old Jowell, the gardener, has some
indistinct recollection of it, but the whole place is surely
too exquisite to breathe of horrors. In the front is the
church, at the side the vicarage, with the old porch
smothered with jasmine, and redolent of roses. It is a
delicious scene, hedged about with flowers ; and one of
the most natural and poetical summer pictures the stage
has ever seen since Mr. Bateman took the Lyceum. A

28 ^'EUGENE ARAM."

mysterious stranger enters into this Eden, and on the eve
of the marriage of the Vicar'sdaughter with Eugene Aram,
the schoolmaster. He borrows a spade and pick-axe from
the old gardener, and hurries away — not before he has
been invited by the Vicar to rest a night at the happy
vicarage — to St. Robert's Cave, nominally on a geological
expedition. The interest of the story begins with the
entrance of Eugene Aram, a pale-faced, melancholy,
despondent man ; but let him pluck flowers for his to-
morrow's bride.

" The garden cowslip, filled brim-full with scent;

A little rosebud opening tender lips,

As if they'd burst into a song of perfume ;

But not so sweet as that old song of Ruth's —

A pansy ? Yes, a pansy,

Two purple hoods, which hide one Golden secret !

Wherever he walks, whenever he talks, when leaning
on sundial, or looking at the children playing on the
green, there is this same absorbed melancholy on his
face, not quite driven away even at the approach of his
beloved Ruth. In fact, she chides him for his melancholy,
promising, however, to love him to the full, even though he
had committed the atrocious deed ; and this loving trust
calls up a most tender speech from Eugene Aram : —

" Oh, love, say this for me. I did not come
To steal your heart, or link it to the lot
Of my most loveless life : it grew on me !
As soon would the grey bird, migrating south,
Resist the tropic burning that doth change
His moulted dullness into plumes of gold.
I have not courted it ; the comfort came.
And filled my spirit with unbidden smiles,
And round my life, before I knew it, Ruth
Stole the green shelter of your love for me."

These two lovers know nothing of the oncoming
storm, have heard nothing of the visit of Houseman.
They have nothing to do but comfort one another, and
gather flowers, when an evening anthem is heard in the
old village church, and, as Ruth is folded in her loved
Aram's arms, the curtain falls. This act is purely
idyUic and contemplative. It shows us Aram's present

face 29]

" 'tis false ! I WILL NOT STAND HERE AS A GUILTY MAN-
THE MURDERER OF DANIEL CLARK StUllds thcfC ! "

''EUGENE ARAM." 29

life, andallows us a glance at his past career. The story
has commenced well, is replete with charm, and, even
by the unenthusiastic, is pronounced pretty.

The second act is dramatic, for here Aram meets his
old accomplice. Houseman, who has come down to dig
in the cave, and therefrom to extract some treasure
which will frighten Aram into giving hush-money. All
is peace at first in the old vicarage. The Vicar and
Aram are playing at chess, and Ruth coquettishly offers
to read the testimonial given to the schoolmaster by the
villagers, when, at the mention of his past blameless
life, Aram hurries out of the room. He is just in time,
for, at that instant, enters Houseman, at the invitation
of the Vicar. At the name of Aram, he starts, declares
himself an old acquaintance, and foolishly attempts to
poison Ruth against her lover, by a hint at some former
mistress. The poor girl trembles at the blow, and the
clouds darken more and more. The meeting of Aram
and Houseman is, of course, the dramatic scene of the
play, and the audience is prepared for it when Aram,
closing the door behind his departing bride, says :

" Now nerve of iron and a brain of ice —
Or in the closing of the door,
I close the door of Heaven."

It is a splendid battle between these desperate men,
and the acting here is almost as good as any in the
play. Houseman is a bully, and destitute of sentiment.
Aram is in a white heat of passion. But Aram has his
way. His arguments to Houseman are unanswerable, his
threats are terrible. He is unabashed by the presence
of the Vicar, and threatens his antagonist with ven-
geance before the magistrate. But suddenly there is a
commotion without, and the whole situation changes.
The villagers have been tracking the brutal stranger,
and, digging in St. Robert's Cave, they have discovered
the skeleton of Daniel Clark. They have found the
knife of the murdered man, marked with his name. The
old gardener recognises in Houseman the companion of
Clark, but Houseman, in fiendish desperation, in the full
assembly, denounces Aram as the murderer :

" 'Tis false ! I will not stand here as a guilty man —
The murderer of Daniel Clark sta>ids there ! "

30 ''EUGENE ARAM."

From this instant, the whole tone of Aram's demeanour
changes, and from being a white-hot, passionate man, he
is a hang-dog, beaten, defeated fellow. This is a splen-
did change on the part of the actor, and, if we mistake
not, will be accepted as a triumph of Mr. Irving's
acting in this most difficult scene. It was so sudden and
complete, it electrified the audience, and the play was
deservedly stopped for the applause. Eugene Aram has
little more to say. He makes a wild appeal on behalf
of the very Houseman he has previously accused. He
accounts for the presence of the bones in an ingenious,
but improbable, manner. He refuses to accompany the
discovering party, and begs to be allowed to remain be-
hind awhile, and when behind, left alone with his con-
science, once more he gives himself up to a noble
soliloquy, with which Mr. Irving brings down the cur-
tain, after such acting, as surprised as much as it
delighted. It is a soliloquy of the craven man, looking
at his haggard face in the glass, and fearing to gaze
upon the bones of his victim. It made, deservedly — with
all its delicacy, its thought, its study of attitude, and
picture^a deep impression on the audience.

The third act will provoke much controversy. It is,
in reality, one tremendous soliloquy, and the excellence
of Mr. Irving's acting is at once pronounced with the
statement that it held the audience almost from the com-
mencement. Briefly, then, Eugene Aram hurries away
to the churchyard to hide himself from his neighbours, is
neglected by Houseman, who hurries off and escapes ; is
discovered by Ruth, half-dying, by a stone cross, tells this
true woman the frightful secret on his mind, and, having
confessed, dies in her arms, as the sun rises upon the
peaceful village.

But in no such hurried manner will the acting be dis-
missed when time allows us to return to so w^elcome a
subject. The play may be horrible, but such acting will
not be dismissed by future intelligent audiences, in spite of
the elaboration of the end of so terrible a life. That the
actor could get variety out of such an unrelieved scene is
marvellous. It is all on his shoulders, but again and again
the interest revives. The confession was listened to with
the deepest attention, and the oncoming death, now at
the tomb, now writing against the tree, and now prostrate

'^ EUGENE ARAM:' 31

upon the turf, brin^^s into play an amount of study which
is httle less than astonishing, and an amount of power
for which credit would have been given to Mr. Irving by
few who have seen his finest performances. We feel we
have but incompletely given an idea of the high thought
and judgement given in the play, or of the varied excel-
lence of Mr. Irving's acting.

With regard to Mr. Irving, such a performance will,
of course, form the subject of many a future essay,
analytical, detailed, critical, and, w^e trust, in some mea-
sure, worthy of so elaborate, sustained, and, in most
respects, masterly study. But there are many who will
not believe in any acting without some notion of the play
and its literature, so we must allow Mr. Wills in some
passages to speak for himself, prefacing the quotation
with the assurance that his poetical play has been con-
ceived in a most scholarly spirit, and elaborated with the
most loving hand. The play is honestly full of fancy,
delightful scenes and tender truths, at which we have not
hinted at present.

Ruth tells Aram of her fears concerning her old
rival :

" If I belie\'ed that in your heart there lurkod

Ambition, anger, maHce, envy, pride —

Yet poisonous weeds, in rank and tangled growth

Left room for one small violet — love for me ;

If I believed that crime may coil within

And even while you loved me you could kill me —

Still, as I shudder, I would cling to you,

Because I was a tenant of your heart ;

But — let there be no other woman there."

Aram discourses eloquently, it must be granted, on
" true love " :

" When in the crowded court the felon stands.
Quelled by the heartless gaze of myriad eyes,
As strikes at noon on the unsheltered head
The blazi-ng swelter of an Indian sun.
And in the friendly silence there goes up
That dread word giiilly. Then a cry is heard
Amid the throng — some woman he had known —
And as he turns, her arms outstretched to him
Above the sea of heads like sinking spars —
This is true love, that clingeth e'en to shame! "

32 '^ EUGENE ARAMr

Of course, we have not the space for the quotation of the
whole of Eugene Aram's poetical confession of his crime
to Ruth, of the love for the first woman who deceived
him, of her ruin by the man Clark, he murdered ; or for
all the complicated details for the murder scene ; but we
must find room for one extract, which most stirred the
house, and was made a fine point by Mr. Irving, who,
having imagined the murder, fell crouching before the
phantom :

" I left her — straight into my breast there passes

The soul of Cain — my will was not my own.

In one fell thought I reckon a black score

Against that man — all that I might have won

And all his villainy had robbed from me.

Methinks, as I went out from her, the flame —

The topaz crescent of the tiger's eye —

Blazed into mine, as with a patient stealth

He nears his prey before the thunderous bound,

No, I made sure — hate has so staunch a scent !

I neither slept, nor ate, nor sate me down

Till all was plain, and I was on his trail !

I tracked the robber down. It was a dawn

Like yonder morning, and the last night's rain

Lay in still pools. I saw my mirrored figure

Pass on along with me — another self that

Came as 'twere to witness my intent.

St. Robert's Cave — I tracked him to its mouth ;

I looked within and saw two men. Houseman

That man was one, the other

Clark — I saw his face half-turned, toiled.

Tremulous, pale in the orange light and damp with

Fear ! Oh ! there are moments when God holds the

Scales ; I faltered for a moment, the cold wind

Whispered me pity, and a bird that chirped

Touched a heart's nerve and softened me.

I had refrained, but that the wretch held up

A woman's ornament — her name upon it

And read it with a mock. I sprang within —

Confronted him, and shouted ' Coward ! Thief ! '

Close at my feet there lay a spade, this seized

I struck him down. I struck and struck again ;

I only saw beneath my furious blows some writhing vermin —

Not a human life. Great God !

I can hear his cry, and see

The wild quenched gaze he fixed on me."

The other characters — with the exception of Houseman,
played with excellent discretion and praiseworthy con-
trast by Mr. Edgar, and Ruth, prettily rendered by Miss

''EUGENE ARAM:' 33

Isabel Bateman — were of minor importance, though both
intelligently rendered. Mr. W. H. Stephens was the
genial old Vicar, and Mr. Irish the talkative gardener.
The scenery and decorations even surpassed the artistic
care of the Lyceum. No one will forget that summer
garden of roses ; the quaint old furnished interior or the
sombre church yard with its overhanging yew-trees, and
the distant view of Knaresborough expressed by a most
poetical artist. The scenery comes from Mr. Hawes
Craven and Mr. Cuthbert.

We have only in conclusion, the welcome task of
congratulating the coming season on a certain attraction.
In many quarters we anticipate there will be adverse
criticisms. It will be said the play is horrible beyond
endurance, and many will, unfortunately, miss the plea-
sure of Mr. Irving's acting, for fear of shuddering more
than ever over " The Bells, " or weeping more than ever
over " Charles I."' The three plays have literally nothing
in common. " Eugene Aram " is no paraphrase of " The
Bells," and no hint of Mathias is given in Mr. Irving's
performance. Mr. Wills has executed a difficult task in
our humble opinion remarkably well, and Mr. Irving's
successful career has never shown such a stride as this
in the right direction. The task of the play is her-
culean for any actor ; and once more Mr. Irving has
triumphed.

" T^chelieur

By Lord Lytton. First produced at the Lyceum Theatre,
September 27th, 1873.

Cardinal Richelieu Mr. Henry Irving.

Louis Xin. Mr. John Clayton.

Gaston (Duke of Orleans) - - - - Mr. Beaumont.

Baradas Mr. H. Forrester.

De Mauprat Mr. J. B. Howard.

De Beringhen Mr. F. Charles.

Joseph Mr. John Carter.

Huguet Mr. E. F. Edgar.

Fran9ois Mr. H. B. Conway.

De Clermont Mr. A. Tapping,

Captain of the Guard Mr. Harwood.

First Secretary Mr. W. L. Branscombe.

Second Secretary Mr. Henry.

Third Secretary Mr. Collett.

Marion de Lorme Miss Le Thiere.

Julie de Mortemar ... - Miss Isabel Bateman.

Courtiers, Officers, Pages, Guards, Conspirators, etc., etc., etc.

SYNOPSIS OF SCENERY.

Act I.

Scene 1. — Saloon in the House of Marion de Lorme, Scene 2. —

Richelieu's Cabinet in the Palais Cardinal.

Act 2.
Scene i. — Apartment in Mauprat's new House. Scene 2. — Riche-
lieu's Cabinet, as before.

Act 3.

Scene. — Richelieu's Castle at Ruelle. A Gothic Chamber.

Act 4.

Scene. — Gardens of the Louvre.

Act 5.
Scene.— King's Closet at the Louvre.

D — 2

37

" T^chelJeu.

" Let us agree to differ." This serious, earnest,
kindly compromise stands us in good stead occasionally.
On some points of dramatic art there is no argument what-
ever. Discussion is out of the question, comparing of
notes is utterly useless. Let us then out with it honestly,
and own that the long-expected, anxiously-awaited per-
formance of " Richelieu," at one of the best of all our
theatres was but very slightly to our liking. We are
not afraid of our opinion, for we shall state the why and
the wherefore; but it is truly an ungrateful task to speak
anything but praise of a theatre which is the very home
of art, or of an actor who is justly regarded as one of its
most brilliant ornaments. We own at once we are in a
serious minority. The old play went as it has probably
never gone before. The principal actor was cheered and
feted with such a triumph as has fallen to few actors in
our time. Hats and handkerchiefs were waved ; the
pit and gallery leaped upon the benches ; the house
shook and rang with the applause, but the excitement
was unwholesome, and the cheers were forced. It was
the wild delirium of a revival meeting, an excited,
earnest enthusiast having previously created slaves, bent
them all to his imperious will. The greater the shouting
on the stage, the more the cheering of the audience. It
was a triumph of din, an apotheosis of incoherence.

Seriously, we cannot fail to feel a little vexed when
all our dearest hopes and ambitions are thus cruelly
dashed to the ground. We talk of the old school,
the old stilted elocution, the old unpardonable man-
nerisms, the old drawls, and groans, and sighs, and
forced efforts to create effect, and, behold, we have a
famous old play, as it appears to us, with the sense more

38 '' RICHELIEU r

mangled, and the exaggeration more sublime. One can
well pardon the artists for "o'er doing termagant,"
since last evening the delicacy and grace of acting
were lost in a whirlwind of noise. Nice points and
rare graces of thought were absolutely smothered
and crushed out by this intemperate, leather-lunged
audience, and of interesting examples of refined and
thoughtful acting there were not a few. When the
Cardinal changed suddenly from a long monotony of
speech to a curt, natural, satirical aside ; when the great
Cardinal Richelieu lay back in his chair, apparently
dying, but watching, like an old fox, the action of the
irresolute King and the trembling secretaries, there was
scarcely a hand, and but the faintest appreciative
applause. When Julie pleaded for her lover's life with
sincere feeling and genuine effect, there was not one
spark of sympathy to be found. When the King by
signs and hesitation, and halts and breaks, and curt
rejoinders, showed the vacillation of his character, there
were few — how very few — to applaud the care and
thought of the actor.

The excitement and triumph of the evening were,
we regret to say, reserved for coarser effects. When
an actor tore passion to tatters ; when voice failed,
strength failed, intention was lost ; when speech, and
point, and poetry were lost in an almost unintelligible
delirium, then out came the handkerchiefs, the hats,
and the playbills. No doubt it is very difficult to reason
with so excited an audience ; but in their calmer
moments it must be considered whether striking attitudes
is the highest art, and if the exigencies of the drama
are best satisfied by giving way to impossible feats of
declamation.

Those who are well aware of the present generous ex-
citement in dramatic affairs, and of the healthy enthu-
siasm for the revival of the best dramatic art, can well
picture what an audience was gathered at the Lyceum
when we were preparing for the revival of Lord Lytton's
" Richelieu." Some there were who remembered the
creator of the character — Macready, who could recall
scene after scene, and sentence after sentence falling
from the lips of this dramatic giant. Such as these
remembered Elton as the King, and Warde as Baradas,

'' RICHELIEU r 39

and Anderson as De Mauprat, and Phelps as Joseph.
Another school was there who swore alone by the
disciple of Macready — Samuel Phelps — and who per-
sisted, like generous partisans, there was no Richelieu
like the Richelieu of Macready's old friend. And yet
another school — the latest and freshest of all the schools
— knowing not Macready, believing not in Phelps — a
schooi which had bound its faith to Henry Irving, who
was to them the very pattern and the very picture of an
actor. Who can wonder at the interest, who can be
surprised at the enthusiasm ? It was to be a night of
nights. The old traditions were to be overturned. The
great new actor was to come out in his true colours.
The play was to be cast, mounted, appointed, decorated
beyond all Lyceum precedent ; all in the house ware
in tune with the new school, the new hope, the new-
revival, when the curtain drew up on " Richelieu."

Let us briefly summarise the acts according to the
impression they seemed to make upon the audience. It
was all tame, lifeless, and unintelligible until the appear-
ance of Mr. Irving as Richelieu, and then the actor re-
ceived such a welcome and a shout as fall but seldom to
a monarch. The picturesque appearance of the man at
once impressed the whole house, the splendid presence,
the noble and most expressive face, the sunk eyes, ascetic
features and thoughtful brow, the long taper fingers,
and the refined dignity at once filled up the picture.
We forgot that awkward halting (not decrepid) walk.
We did not linger upon the occasional ungainly action.
The man, Richelieu, as he stood, impressed and con-
vinced the audience that a great performance was at
hand.

But why did it not come ? We had all read Riche-
lieu beforehand. We had all made ourselves master-s
of the nervous and vigorous language. We had all
made up our minds where points would be made, and
where some poetical fancy would carry the audience
away. But, strange to say, the delivery of the verse by
Mr. Irving was monotonous and stilted. He seemed to
say to the audience, " I am about to deliver some hun-
dreds of lines of blank verse, and you all know that a
tone and an air are assumed when legitimate blank
verse is delivered." But, svirely this was the old difficulty

40 '' RICHELIEU r

all over again. This is just what we have so often pro-
tested against. We had hoped that verse might be pro-
nounced without any air and special chant, and we who
love natural and not conventional acting, had regarded
Mr. Irving as the Horatius, boldly prepared to step forward
and defend the bridge of unconventionality. But it was
not to be. The attitudes were new, the business thought-
ful ; but poor Lord Lytton's verse was thrust into the old
mill, and it was being wound off for the edification of the
audience. It was not the kind of verse that deserved
such treatment, and those who had read over the play
beforehand, delighted in the thought how passage after
passage would come out clear and new at the beckoning
of Mr. Irving.

It was not to be. The effect was reserved to the
end, and the speech apostrophising France, " Oh, god-
like power ! woe, rapture, penury, wealth ! " went with
very excellent effect. So effective, indeed, was it, so
excellent, and so quiet, that it was like a red rag to
the audience, who were determined on this occasion
to have nothing but noise. The gods would have
nothing to do with Mr. Irving, who had acted well,
but insisted upon the appearance of Mr. J. B. Howard,
an actor, who had done little else but show how little he
appreciated the nicety of a young romantic character.
The audience raved, stamped, screamed, and cat-called
for Mr. Howard, and, injudiciously enough, Mr. Howard
did not appear.

In the second act, the monotony of Mr. Irving's
general delivery increased very much, and his best
(and admirable) business with the sword, his failing
strength, ending with a short, dry, hacking cough, was
naturally but very little appreciated by an audience who
believed in no acting that did not " fetch them." It
was, to tell the truth, a dull act. The third act was even
duller still, mainly owing to the darkness and the failure
of Mr. Irving to make any impression whatever in his
long soliloquy. The sudden end of the act with the
" Richelieu is dead," and the picture, created a reaction,
but the play was not at this point going well. No one
doubted that the performance of Mr. Irving was intelli-
gent and extremely picturesque. That came without
saying. But many in the audience expected a great

" RICHELIEU." 41

performance, and it did not appear as if the power was
forthcoming. As a picture, the Richeheu was every-
thing that could be desired, but the acting was only of
average merit. The excitement of the evening was re-
served for the end of the fourth act, when Richelieu
launches the curse of Rome on Baradas. We know the
lines :

" Ay, it is so ?
Then wakes the power which in the age of iron
Burst forth to curb the great and raise the low,
Mark where she stands ! Around her form I draw
The awful circle of our solemn church.
Set but a foot within that holy ground.
And on thy head — yea, though it wore crown —
I launch the curse of Rome."

Seldom has such excitement been seen at a theatre,
and seldom have we so entirely disagreed with the ver-
dict. We said at the outset, we agree to differ. At this
speech, and at the final words :

" Irreverent ribald !
If so, beware the falling ruins. Hark !
I tell thee, scorner of these whitening hairs,
When the snow melteth there shall come a flood.
Avaunt ! My name is Richelieu — I defy thee,
Walk blindfold on — behind thee stalks the headsman.
Ha ! Ha ; how pale he is ! Heaven save my country ! "

the pit rose, and literally yelled for Mr. Irving. But
what had been done ? Voice, strength, and energy over-
taxed ; a speech delivered so incoherently, that few could
follow one syllable ; one of those whirlwinds of noise
which creates applause, mainly owing to an irresistible,
but still itnhealthy, excitement. We doubt not, many
consider this very great acting. It looks so ; it sounds so.
In the last act, Mr. Irving once more commanded
our sympathies, and once more disappointed us. What
could be better than the action, the look, the attitude of
the old man " semi mort " ? How really very fine was
that scene when the secretaries told their story, and the
Cardinal half-buried and half-dying in the chair, watched
his irresolute master, and waited for the supreme moment
of reaction ! But what followed, unhappily, with the

42 ''RICHELIEU:'

reaction — the loss of voice, the absence of power, the
acting which looked wonderful, mainly from its extrava-
gance. We refuse to prophesy concerning future verdicts.
We merely declare that we disagree with that recorded
last night. A more picturesque, a possibly more intelli-
gent, Richelieu has seldom been seen. But Macready's
Richelieu must have been far more effective, and it is
quite certain, that the Richelieu of Mr. Phelps is a more
precious contribution to the Stage. Let us not hesitate
to be out spoken in this matter. What with gorgeous
decoration, marvellous costume, and noise, it is quite
possible the critical sense may be deadened. The cos-
tume and noise had it all their own way last night —
two disastrous enemies to a noble art. There were
two performances which struck us as singularly good,
strikingly artistic and careful — we mean the King of Mr.
Clayton, and the Marion de Lorme of Miss Le Thiere.
The noisy advocates will laugh us out of court, and say
they saw nothing there. But did they see Miss Le
Thiere watching between the pillars whilst the plot was
hatching in the first act ? Did they notice how pointed
and how intelligent was this lady in the few lines she had
to deliver, breaking with so much welcome upon much
tedious commonplace ? Again, did they see with what
care and with what effect the irresolution of Louis was
skilfuly and deftly painted by a thoughtful artist ? These
parts are very small, it is true, but what a difference they
make to a play when well acted !

Directly the contrast was created between Louis and
Richelieu, Mr. Irving acted at his best. His very best
scenes were with the King, and when the King, by de-
liberate contrast, brought out all his subtlety and most
elaborate finish. There was other acting in the cast on
which we prefer not to linger. The opinion of the
audience on this point was emphatic and terribly de-
cided. As to the dressing and decorations, for whose
accuracy and taste the management is mainly indebted
to Mr. Alfred Thompson, they appeared to be quite com-
plete, and even more elaborate than those to which we
have been accustomed at this theatre, where good taste
so emphatically prevails. The whole evening was a
picturesque success ; but hitherto we have found at the
Lyceum something more welcome than the scenery of

'' RICHELIEU r 43

Mr. Hawes Craven and Mr. Cuthbert ; something more
beautiful than the costumes of Mr. Alfred Thompson.
It was an experiment, this Richelieu, and a daring one.
The audience deliberately voted for the management.
With great regret, and for reasons into which it is im-
possible to enter now, we cannot endorse the popular
verdict.

" Thilipr

By Hamilton Aide. First produced at the Lyceum Theatre,
February 7th, 1874.

Count Philip de Miraflore - - - Mr. Henry Irving.

Count Juan de Miraflore - - - - Mr. John Clayton.
Count de Flamarens - - - - Mr. H. B. Conway.

Baron de Beauport . - . . - Mr. F. Charles.

Saint Aignan Mr. Brennend.

Monsieur de Brimont Mr. Beaumont.

Thibault Mr. John Carter.

Count Kitchakoff Mr. Harwood.

Count de Charente Mr. Branscombe.

Marquis de Lallemont Mr. Collett.

Monsieur Virey .Mr. Tapping.

Servant Mr. \. Lenepven.

Madame de Privoisin - - - - Miss Virginia Francis.
Countess de Miraflore . - - - Miss G. Paoncefort.

Louise Miss St. Ange.

Inez Miss J. Henri.

Marie Miss Isabel Bateman.

SYNOPSIS OF SCENERY.

Act I. Exterior of Ancient Moorish Castle in Andalusia. Parapet
overlooking the Guadalquiver.

(Interval of 8 years is supposed to elapse between Acts i and 2.)

Act 2. Salon of Madame Privoisin in Paris.

Act 3. Exterior of the Chateau de St. Leon in Brittany.

Act 4. The Boudoir and Oratory of Madame de St. Leon.

/ace 47] "OUT ON THIS mockery! there is a man concealed there, and that

MAN IS YOUR LOVER."

47

" Thiiip:

The enterprising management of Mr. H. L. Bateman,
and the fame of Mr. Henry Irving, have caused the "first
nights " at the Lyceum to rank high amidst theatrical
events. No wonder then, that last evening, when a new
and original drama, ambitious in design and purpose, by
an untried author, was to be produced, the house in
Welhngton Street was thronged by a fashionable and
critical audience. It had been given out that the play
of " Philip " was a dress piece, that the scenery would
be magnificent, and that the two leading parts had been
specially written for Mr. Irving and Mr. Clayton. The
scene w^as principally laid in Spain, and as a well known
and extremely dramatic episode in one of Balzac's novels
formed the leading subject of the piece, a highly romantic
drama was looked for, and the anticipations of the audience
were not disappointed.

In the old days, Spain was favourite ground for the
dramatist, affording as it did sunshine, romance, pictur-
esque dresses, an ample excuse for poetic conceits. Mr.
Hamilton Aide, however, confines himself to a brief
sojourn in Spain. The first act — which, in truth, is a pro-
logue to the play — is the only one which is supposed to
take place on Spanish ground, and Spain is only chosen
for the purpose to suit the scenic artist and the costumier.
There is no colour of Spanish surroundings in the
dialogue ; the story is not national in any sense ; it would
suit any country, fit any setting. Nor does the dialogue
rise to the romance of the story. Though this literary
shortcoming cannot be said to mar the truly dramatic
character of the play.

Mr. Aide falls as far short of the poetic grace and
fervour of Mr. Wills, as Mr. Wills is behind Mr. Aide in

48 " PHILIPr

dramatic construction, and — to coin a word — stage-craft.
" Philip " is not weakened by what has been well styled
unacted acts. The narrative progresses easily and
naturally to the close, the author, like all good novelists
and playwrights, having built up his drama on the ground-
work of his best and final incident. " Philip," if it had
not the elegance of action of " Charles I." and " Eugene
Aram," has the dramatic strength and completeness of
" The Bells," and, if we mistake not, will prove another
Lyceum success.

The first act opens on the Guadalquiver, in Andalusia,
and affords us a lovely exterior view of the residence of
the Miraflores, a poor but illustrious Spanish family.
Here we are introduced to the Countess Miraflore, the
mother of two sons, Philip and Juan. The family is so
much reduced in circumstances from the Countess's
late husband's extravagance, that the two sons find it
necessary to shoot and fish, in order to supply the table.
Philip is a brave, manly fellow, whose spirits shake at
his situation. He is a man of broad, liberal sentiments,
influenced by somewhat revolutionary opinions ; he in-
veighs against priests and the inquisition, and prefgf s the
independence of labour to the miserable pomp of penni-
less pride. " There is courage in supporting poverty with
dignity ; there is self-sacrifice in proud seclusion," so says
the Countess. " There may be for women," answers
Philip ; " I prefer those virtues in their active rather than
their passive state. Why should we live half-starved up
here in our pride when honest work is to be done ?
What are we better than the unlettered boors around us,
if we waste our years in this ignoble sloth ? Intellect is
power, and the man who best applies it — no matter
what his birth — is the true lord of creation." Juan
holds the contrary view, and is not anxious to change
his life of idle leisure, in spite of the drawbacks which
afflict Philip. The family includes a young French girl,
Marie, taken from a convent to be companion to the
Countess. Both the brothers love her — Philip with a
true and sincere passion, Juan in his own selfish way,
thinking only of the present. Philip conjures her to
confess if she loves Juan most, that he (Philip) may know
his fate. While he woos her, Juan and his comrades,
pushing off their boat from the shore, are heard singing

''PHILIPS 49

a boat song, which is singularly graceful, both in words
and music :

" Oh, sweet it is when all the world
Around is calmly sleeping,
To watch the light, that tells by night,
My love her vigils keeping.

Ho-ai ! ho-ai the boatman's cry,
She will never forget it, never !
When heard that strain will bring again
Old days on the Guadalquiver ! "

Marie's young fancy is taken by the music. Philip
thinks she loves Juan and determines to leave her at once.
Juan having discovered his brother's secret, tells the
Countess that Philip has proposed to marry Marie, the
Countess in a fit of passionate pride turns the girl out of
doors. Philip offers to accompany her. She rejects him,
saying, " It should never be said I entrapped into a mar-
riage the son of the woman who turned me out of doors."
They part. Juan enters and attempts to follow Marie.
Philip stops him, and taunts him with base designs upon
Marie, which Juan does not deny. A quarrel ensues. Juan
insists on following the girl. Philip snatches up his gun,
and Juan, drawing his knife, stabs Philip in the shoulder.
Maddened by rage and pain Philip shoots Juan, and the
curtain goes down on a most effective situation, heightened
by the refrain of the boat-song sung by Juan's companions
on the river

Between the first and second acts there is a lapse of
eight years. We are introduced to an elegant reception-
room at a fashionable house in Paris. A select evening
party is in progress at the residence of Madame de
Privoisin. The entertainment is given in honour of M.
de St. Leon, who has recently arrived in France from
America, and has purchased the Chateau and estate of
St. Leon, in Brittany, and is supposed to be a rich
traveller, who despises titles, and for whom the feminine
world of fashion is laying matrimonial traps. The stranger
is Philip, and is recognised by Marie, who, as companion
and friend, is living under the protection of Madame Piccors.
During the ball, they have both opportunities of telling
their respective stories, and Philip renews the offer of his

E

50 •' PHILIP."

hand. He is accepted, and presently informs Madame
de Privoisin that, under the shelter of her roof, he has
discovered his first and only love, his wife that is to be.
The lady calls her friends together to receive the news,
and, concealing her own vexation, presents Marie to them
as the future Madame St. Leon.

We find ourselves at home with a newly-married
couple, in the third act, at the Chateau of St. Leon, in
Brittany. The scene opens in the morning, when Louise
and Thibault, two servants, are preparing breakfast.
Louise is in the confidence of her mistress. Thibault is
trusted by his master. An old man appears at the gate
and is admitted. He gives the name of Maurice, and
while Louise takes in his card, Thibault, who has also
gone out at the time, overhears some muttering of the
old man, who, the moment he thinks he is alone, assumes
the gait and manner of youth. Maurice is, in short, no
other than Juan, who has tracked Philip and his wife, and
comes to them full of malicious ideas of revenge. Philip
and his wife enter from the door of the Chateau to take
breakfast in the garden, and M. Maurice informs Philip
that he waits upon him on behalf of the firm of Ardre
and Co., of Nantes, who once rendered Philip a service.
Juan's purpose is to get Philip out of the way, and he in-
duces him to at once pay a visit to the firm who solicit
his patronage and advice in connection with a great
commercial speculation. During the conversation, Juan
adroitly refers to the tragedy in Spain, where two brothers
loved the same girl, and one murdered the other. He
says he is reminded of the incident by M. St. Leon's
likeness to the murderer.

Philip is confused, and desires M. Maurice to walk
in the garden, Madame's nerves having been upset by
the sad story. Marie hears the terrible narrative for
the first time. She has known nothing of the quarrel,
or of the subsequent death of the Countess. To
add to her grief and perplexity, while her husband and
the stranger are away, Louise hands her an insulting
love letter from a Parisian Count, of whom her husband
is already somewhat jealous. She tears up the letter,
and sends a fitting answer by her servant. Thibault
finds a fragment of the letter, and he also overhears
his mistress instructing Louise to deliver a letter to M.

" PHILIP." 51

Maurice, " the person who breakfasted here. Give the
note into his own hands, he is at the ' Hotel du Com-
merce.' Remember, secrecy is most important." Marie
is determined to learn all from the stranger. She had
noticed that Philip made no effort to deny the crime, and
that his conduct was that of a guilty man ; and, further,
M. Maurice had stated that the Countess, at her death,
had charged him with a message to the girl Juan had
loved so dearly. She was resolved to know what the
message might be. Thibault tells his master what he has
discovered ; tells him of the discovery with great deference,
and with all respect to his lady ; but gives Philip the clue
of what appears to be a most compromising business. The
fragment of the letter Philip recognises as in the hand-
writing of the Count, of whom he is already jealous. M.
Maurice he imagines to be the Count in disguise, who
knows Philip's secret, and uses it in order to lower him
in the estimation of his wife.

Such is Philip's reading of the complication, and he
acts accordingly. He sends for his wife. She receives
him strangely, she shrinks from him, does not speak
with her accustomed amiability, as she is suffering
from the agony of having discovered Philip's terrible
secret. He knows she has discovered it, but he still
misinterprets her manner. He asks for her confi-
dence, he yearns for consolation, and with all the usual
injustice of men under similar circumstances, sets up his
own grievance above the just resentment of his wife.
He is jealous and tries to draw from her the confession of
her indiscretion. As she has nothing to confess, Philip
gets angry and upbraids her for being friendly with Count
de Flamerens, and does her further injustice by condem-
ning her as a coquette. " You fooled with Juan as you
did with me, till you brought us to that pass of madness
when neither was master of himself. He would have
killed me, but the knife slipped aside and I shot him !
To save you — to protect you from his cowardly pursuit.
Oh ! woman, woman, you are all alike ! You lure us to
our ruin, then kneel down, repeat your paternosters and
cry ' Heaven forgive us ! ' " After this outburst he re-
pents of his anger, and entreats her tenderly to confide
in him, to say if she has nothing to tell him, nothing for
which she wishes his forgiveness before he goes to Nantes.

E — 2

52 « PHILIPS

She does not speak. Her silence infuriates him. " So
be it then," he exclaims. " But have a care. I committed
a crime which cannot be justified, though it was for your
sake. There is this difference now — you are mine, you
are mine. And I will keep my own ! As to the man —
bear it well in mind — as to the man who tries to step in
here, I will break him as I break this knife." Philip
then snatches up a knife from the table, breaking it, and
tramples upon it with uncontrollable fury, the curtain
going down upon his jealous threats of vengeance.

It is the fourth act which gives evidence of the origin of
the piece. The scene is one of the most effective in-
teriors we have ever beheld, even at the Lyceum. It is
Marie's apartment. The time is evening. The last rays
of the setting sun come streaming through the window.
Marie apostrophises the sun. It will never rise for her
bright and clear as it had risen that morning ! She is
sorely perplexed about her husband. " His troubled
mind is now a prey to wild delusions, feeding on some
fantasy of jealousy. He holds to his plan of departure
for Nantes to-night, and there is that about it, I know not
what, which terrifies me with a presentiment of coming
evil." Meanwhile, Louise has delivered Marie's letter to
M. Maurice, whose reply is that he will not fail to wait
upon her. Philip takes his leave, still endeavouring to
make Marie confess that she has a knowledge of some
intrigue against his honour.

The sunset gradually changes to moonlight, and
Marie is startled by the old familiar boating song
beneath the window. As the music dies away, Juan
appears in his own proper person, dressed as in former
days. Marie cowers in alarm. It is the murdered
Juan. He approaches her, however, and, in her joy
at seeing him again, she submits to his embrace,
until he begins to make love to her, when she breaks
away from him, and threatens to alarm the house. At
this moment, footsteps are heard on the walk outside
and Marie at once suspects that it is her husband who
has returned. She hides Juan in the oratory only just
in time to answer the violent summons of her husband at
the door. He knows that there is a man in the room,
and searches it. As he is about to enter the oratory,
Marie flings herself before the door. " You cannot

'^ PHILIP:' 53

enter there ! " " Why not ? " demands Philip ; " what
secret does your oratory hide ? " " There is but one
spot sacred in this house," responds Marie, with
firmness. " You shall not profane it with your violence."
"Out on this mockery !" exclaims Philip; "there is a
man concealed there, and that man is your lover." Marie,
indignant at these accusations, walks slowly from the
oratory to a chair, and with courageous but calm self-
possession bids her husband to satisfy himself. " But
weigh well my words. Open that door, and should I
stand before your eyes clear as day, henceforth all is at an
end between us — we part for ever."

Then going to the bookcase he takes down a
volume, and approaching Marie, says, " Remember
this story of Balzac ! Where the wife swears that
no man is concealed in her closet, and the husband
has it walled up. I will show more trust in you.
Swear to me on this crucifix that no one is con-
cealed there, and I will believe you." She swears, but
with an evident reservation : "I swear that no lover of
mine is concealed there." Philip gazes at her for a
moment, then dashes the crucifix to the ground, and in
spite of her entreaties, rings for Thibault, and finding that
the masons have not left the house requests them to
bring stones and mortar. " Madame has felt a draught
from that door. Wall it up." Philip lights a cigarette,
and the masons go to work. At length Marie confesses
that there is a man in the oratory. Philip takes up a
pistol, throws down the stonework, opens the oratory
door, and recoils at the sight of Juan. A hasty explana-
tion follows. Juan, foiled and abashed, is allowed to
depart ; and the curtain falls upon the reconciliation of the
husband and wife. " The Heaven you pray to has indeed
been merciful. Do you forgive me ? " " My Philip ! " is
the response of the unselfish and devoted wife.

Mr. Henry Irving, as Count Philip de Miraflore, for a
moment excited our fears. He was nervous himself at first,
but he speedily recovered his composure, after the hearty
applause which accompanied his entrance. His imper-
sonation of Philip was artistic, sympathetic, and full of
that peculiar and subtle power which found full play in
" Eugene Aram." In the second act, Mr. Irving proved
that he can really make love ; the declaration of his

54 " PHILIP:'

passion to Marie in the salon of Madame de Privoisin
was made with true deHcacy, and was more consistent
with the circumstances under which it was uttered, than,
if it had been characterised by the warmth of passion,
which, to some extent, was exaggerated in the first act.
It was in an interview with the disguised Juan in the
third act that the subtlety of the facial power of Mr,
Irving's acting was most keenly felt. The close of the
third act in other hands might easily descend to burlesque;
but the earnestness and depth of passion of the agonised
Philip, together with the true womanly fervour of Miss
Isabel Bateman as Marie, Philip's wife, lifted the audience
to the tragic significance of the walling up of Juan in
the oratory and brought about a climax most success-
fully.

Great dramatic points are often originated accidentally.
Starting back at the appearance of Juan in the doorway
of the oratory, Mr. Irving fell backwards over the mason's
material. The action was so natural that the majority of
the audience accepted it as part of the business of the
situation, and the effect was so good that it may be well
to repeat it. Mr. Clayton, as Count Juan de Miraflore,
the step-brother of Philip, made up his part artistically,
and played it well. His share in the struggle that closed
the first act was natural and clever. Mr. H. B. Conway,
if he did not display all the finesse of a French Count,
played the part well from an English point of view.
Thibault, a confidential servant, was admirably rendered
by Mr. John Carter. Miss Isabel Bateman's treatment
of Marie was artistic in the highest degree. Criticism
has its uses. Many young artists are spoiled by praise.
Miss Isabel Bateman has had experience of the
bitters of criticism. She has certainly benefited
by the knowledge of her faults which has been im-
pressed upon her by her critics. Last night she never
lost her head for a moment: she was calm, graceful, dig-
nified. In repose, she displayed a special and peculiar
power of her own, a suggestiveness of manner, which
marks her as a true actress. We congratulate her on her
success of last night — a success which was unequivocal,
and complete. Miss Virginia Francis, as Madame de
Privoisin, and Miss G. Pauncefort, as the Countess de
Miraflore, were alike excellent ; and after the experience

" PHILIPS 55

of two or three more performances, the acting without
doubt will be still more effective.

The play was received with every possible mark of ap-
proval ; the performers were called and loudly applauded ;
the author bowed from a box, but the audience demanded
his appearance on the stage, and he was led before the
curtain by Mr. Irving, amidst hearty expressions of
approbation.

" Hamletr

By William Shakespeare. First produced at the Lyceum Theatre,
October 31st, 1874.

Hamlet Mr. Henry Irving.

King ------ Mr. Thomas Svvinbourne.

Polonius - Mr. Chippendale

Laertes -------- Mr. E. Leathes.

Horatio Mr. G. Neville.

Ghost ------- Mr. Thomas Mead.

Osric - Mr. H. B. Conway.

Rosencrantz Mr. Webber.

Guildenstern - - Mr. Beaumont.

Marcellus ------- Mr. F. Clements.

Bernardo -------- Mr. Tapping.

Francisco ------. Mr. Harwood.

1st Actor -------- Mr. Beveridge.

2nd Actor - - Mr. Norman.

Priest -------- Mr. Collett.

Messenger ------- Mr. Branscombe.

ist Gravedigger ------ Mr. Compton.

2nd Gravedigger ------- Mr. Chapman.

Gertrude ------- Miss G. Pauncefort.

Player Queen ------ Miss Hampden,

Ophelia ------- Miss Isabel Bateman.

SYNOPSIS OF SCENERY.

Act I .
Scene i. — Elsinors ; A platform before the Castle. Scene 2. — A
Room of State in the Castle. Scene 3.— A Room in Polonius's
House. Scene 4.— The platform. Scene 5.— A more remote part.

Act 2.

Scene i. — A Room in Polonius's House. Scene 2. — A Room of State

in the CastJe.

Act 3.
Scene i. — The same. Scene 2. — A Room in the Castle. Scene 3. —
Another Room in the same.

Act 4.
Scene i. — A Room in the Castle.

Act 5.

Scene i. — A Churchyard. Scene 2. — Outside the Castle. Scene 3. —

A Hall in the Castle.

i

59

" Hamlet^

" The History of Hamlet," says an eloquent critic
" is like that of Macbeth, a story of moral poisoning."
The subtle analysis of Goethe, the brilliant peroration of
M. Taine, the scholarly criticisms of William Hazlitt,
unanimously confirm this verdict. It is Goethe who
tells us of the brilliant youth, a lover of art, beloved by
his father, enamoured of the purest and most confiding
maiden, who has perceived — from the height of the
throne to which he was born — nothing but the beauty,
happiness, and grandeur, both of Nature and humanity.
It is Goethe who paints for us the fall of misfortune
upon this sensitive soul. M. Taine, with the passionate
style and antithesis of his nation, whirls us along through
all the stages of the moral disease, admitting the feigned
madness, but insisting upon the ethical disturbance of
Hamlet's mind, which, " as a door, whose hinges are
twisted, swings and bangs with every wind with a mad
haste and a discordant noise."

William Hazlitt is so in love with the beauty of
Shakespeare's picture, that he would not have the cha-
racter acted. He says there is no play that suffers so
much in being transferred to the Stage. He has seen
Mr. Kean and Mr. Kemble; but the English critic refuses
to be satisfied. He cannot discover his ideal Hamlet.
He wants someone to " think aloud." He insists that
there should be no "talking at" the hearers, but that
"there should be as much of the gentleman and
scholar infused into the part, and as little of the actov /"
Such criticisms as these are of the highest value as
guides to the consideration of the Hamlet of Henry
Irving, and to the previous history of the actor who
has determined to realise his highest intellectual effort
in the exhibition of moral poison.

6o ''HAMLET."

When we come to think of it, is it not true that the
study, the experiences and the peculiar influence of Mr.
Irving's art tend in the direction of such a Hamlet as was
pictured by Goethe, William Hazlitt, and M. Taine ? The
actor who harrowed our feelings with the agonies of the
conscience-stricken Mathias, conquering many prejudices
by the power of his intelligence and the minute detail of
his art ; the poet — for it was with the inspiration of a
poet that the sorrows of Charles I. were realised — who
expressed the exquisite influence of home life, the
crushed heart on the discovery of a false friend, the
distressing agony of an everlasting farewell ; the artistic
dreamer, who, with consummate daring, thought an
English audience could be appalled — and it nearly was
— by the mental terrors of Eugene Aram, the school-
master of Lynn — was not this the actor for an ideal
Hamlet, was not this the adequate and faithful repre-
sentative of the effects of moral poison ?

It was thus that Mr. Irving's admirers reasoned, when,
considering his antecedents, they instinctively felt that
his Hamlet would be the true one. They did not argue
and discuss as Germans do ; they did not gesticulate and
prate like Frenchmen ; but, like sturdy, honest Enghsh-
men, resolute in their convictions, they crowded to the
doors of the Lyceum Theatre at half-past three in the
afternoon, prepared to struggle for a performance which
could not close before midnight. Here were devotion,
impulse, interest. If the drama was to die, the public
resolved it should not perish without an heroic struggle
for the rescue. If an honest ambition was paramount,
it should not lack recognition. It was an audience
which will long be remembered. Far more important than
the interested occupiers of the stalls and boxes, was the
sight of the unreserved portions of the house — the pit and
gallery, containing as they did members of that class
which is the best friend of the drama. The audience
that assembled to welcome Mr. Irving was a great
protest against the threatened decline of the drama in a
country which is becoming more and more educated
every day. And so, with all on the tip-toe of excite-
ment, the curtain rose.

All present longed to see Hamlet. Bernardo and
Marcellus, the Ghost, the platform, the grim prelimi-

'^ HAMLET r 6i

naries, the prologue or introduction to the wonderful
story, were, as usual, tolerated — nothing more. Away go
the platform, the green lights, the softly-stepping spirit,
the musical-voiced Horatio. The scene changes to a
dazzling interior, broken in its artistic lines, and rich with
architectural beauty ; the harps sound, the procession is
commenced, the jewels, and crowns, and sceptres, dazzle,
and at end of the train comes Hamlet. Mark him well,
though from this instant the eyes will never be removed
from his absorbing figure. They may wander, but they
will soon return. The story may interest, the characters
may amuse, the incidents may vary, but from this
moment the presence of Hamlet will dwarf all else in the
tragedy. How is he dressed, and how does he look ?
No imitation of the portrait of Sir Thomas Lawrence, no
funereal velvet, no elaborate trappings, no Order of the
Danish Elephant, no flaxen wig after the model of
M. Fechter, no bugles, no stilted conventionahty. We
see before us a man and a prince, in thick robed silk and
a jacket, or paletot, edged with fur; a tall, imposing figure,
so well dressed that nothing distracts the eye from the
wonderful face ; a costume rich and simple, and relieved
alone by a heavy chain of gold ; but, above and beyond
all, a troubled, wearied face displaying the first effects
of moral poison.

The black, disordered hair is carelessly tossed about
the forehead, but the fixed and rapt attention of the
whole house is directed to the eyes of Hamlet : the eyes
which denote the trouble — which tell of the distracted
mind. Here are "the windy suspiration of forced
breath," " the fruitful river in the eye," the "dejected
'haviour of the visage." So subtle is the actor's art, so
intense is his application, and so daring his disregard of
conventionality, that the first act ends with comparative
disappointment. Those who have seen other Hamlets
are aghast. Mr. Irving is missing his points, he is
neglecting his opportunities. Betterton's face turned as
white as his neck-cloth, when he saw the Ghost.
Garrick thrilled the house when he followed the spirit.
Some cannot hear Mr. Irving, others find him indistinct.
Many declare roundly he cannot read Shakespeare.
There are others who generously observe that Hamlets
are not judged by the first act ; but over all, disputants

62 '^ HAMLET r

or enthusiasts, has already been thrown an indescri-
bable spell. None can explain it ; but all are now spell-
bound. The Hamlet is " thinking aloud," as Hazlitt
wished. He is as much of the gentleman and scholar
as possible, and " as little of the actor."

We in the audience see the mind of Hamlet. We
care little what he does, how he walks, when he draws
his sword. We can almost realise the workings of his
brain. His soliloquies are not spoken down at the foot-
lights to the audience. Hamlet is looking into a glass,
into " his mind's eye, Horatio ! " His eyes are fixed
apparently on nothing, though ever eloquent. He
gazes on vacancy and communes with his conscience.
Those only who have closely watched Hamlet through
the first act could adequately express the impression
made. But it has affected the whole audience — the
Kemble lovers, the Kean admirers, and the Fechter
rhapsodists. They do not know how it is, but they are
spell bound with the incomparable expression of moral
poison.

The second act ends with nearly the same result.
There is not an actor living who on attempting Hamlet
has not made his points m the speech, " Oh ! what
a rogue and peasant slave am I ! " But Mr. Irving's
intention is not to make points, but to give a consis-
tent reading of a Hamlet who " thinks aloud."
For one instant he falls " a-cursing like a very
drab, a scullion;" but only to relapse into a deeper
despair, into more profound thought. He is not acting,
he is not splitting the ears of the groundlings ; he is an
artist concealing his art : he is talking to himself ; he is
thinking aloud, Hamlet is suffering from moral poison,
and the spell woven about the audience is more
mysterious and incomprehensible in the second act than
the first.

In the third act the artist triumphs. No more
doubt, no more hesitation, no more discussion. If
Hamlet is to be played like a scholar and a gentleman,
and not like an actor, this is the Hamlet. The scene
with Ophelia turns the scale, and the success is from
this instant complete. But we must insist that it was
not the triumph of an actor alone : it was the realisation of
all that the artist has been foreshadowing. Mr. Irving

''HAMLET:' 63

made no sudden and striking effect, as did Mr. Kean.
" Whatever nice faults might be found on this score,"
says Hazlitt, "they are amply redeemed by the manner
of his coming back after he has gone to the extremity of
the stage, from a pang of parting tenderness to press his
lips to Ophelia's hand. It had an electrical effect on the
house." Mr. Irving did not make his success by any
theatrical coup, but by the expression of the pent-up
agony of a harassed and disappointed man. According
to Mr. Irving, the very sight of Ophelia, is the keynote
of the outburst of his moral disturbance. He loves
this woman; "forty thousand brothers " could not ex-
press his overwhelming passion, and think what might
have happened if he had been allowed to love her, if
his ambition had been realised. The more he looks at
Ophelia, the more he curses the irony of fate. He is
surrounded, overwhelmed, and crushed by trouble,
annoyance, and spies.

They are watching him behind the arras. Ophelia is
set on to assist their plot. They are driving him mad,
though he is only feigning madness. What a position
for a harassed creature to endure ! They are all
against him. Hamlet alone in the world is born to " set
it right." He is in the height and delirium of moral
anguish. The distraction of the unhinged mind,
swinging and banging about like a door ; the infinite
love and tenderness of the man who longs to be soft and
gentle to the woman he adores : the horror and hatred
of being trapped, and watched, and spied upon, were all
expressed with consummate art. Every voice cheered,
and the points Mr. Irving had lost as an actor were
amply atoned for by his earnestness as an artist. Forti-
fied with this genuine and heart-stirring applause, he
rose to the occasion. He had been understood at last. To
have broken down here would have been disheartening ;
but he had triumphed.

The speech to the players was Mr. Irving's second
success. He did not sit down and lecture. There
was no affectation or princely priggishnes in the scene
at all. He did not give his ideas of art as a prince to
an actor, but as an artist to an artist. Mr. Irving,
to put it colloquially, buttonholed the First Player. He
spoke to him confidentially, as one man to another. He

64 "HAMLET."

stood up and took the actor into his confidence, with
a half deferential smile, as much as to say, " I do not
attempt to dictate to an artist, l)ut still these are my
views on art." But with all this there was a princely
air, a kindly courtesy, and an exquisite expression
of refinement which astonished the house as much
from its daring as its truth. Mr. Irving was gaining
ground with marvellous rapidity. His exquisite expres-
sion of friendship for Horatio was no less beautiful than
his stifled passion for Ophelia. For the one he was the
pure and constant friend, for the other the baffled lover.

Determined not to be conquered by his predecessors,
he made a signal success in the play scene. He acted
it with an impulsive energy beyond all praise. Point
after point was made in a whirlwind of excitement. He
lured, he tempted, he trapped the King, he drove out his
wicked uncle conscience-stricken and baffled, and with
an hysterical yell of triumph he sank down, "this ex-
pectancy and rose of the fair State," in the very throne
which ought to have been his, and which his rival
had just vacated. It is difficult to describe the excite-
ment occasioned by the acting in this scene. When the
King has been frighted, the stage was cleared in-
stantaneously. No one in the house knew how the people
got off". All eyes were fixed on Hamlet and the King ;
all were forgetting the real play and the mock play, fol-
lowing up every move of the antagonists, and from con-
stant watching they were almost as exhausted as Hamlet
was when he sank a conqueror into the neglected throne.

It was all over now. Hamlet had won. He would
take the ghost's word for a thousand pounds. The clouds
cleared from his brow. He was no longer in doubt or
despair. He was the victor after this mental struggle.
The effects of the moral poison had passed away, and he
attacked Rosencrantz and Guildenstern in the Recorder
scene with a sarcasm and a withering scorn which were
among the results of a reaction after pent-up agony.
But this tremendous act was even now not yet over.
There was the closet-scene still to come — a scene which
still further illustrates the daring defiance of theatrical
tradition exhibited by Mr. Irving. If the Hamlet was to
be a mental study it should be one to the last. The actor
who could conquer prejudices so far, was bound to con-

"HAMLETr 65

tinue, and when the audience looked at the arras for the
pictures, or round the necks of the actors and actresses
for the counterfeit presentment of two brothers, they
found nothing.

Mr. Irving intended to conjure up the features of the
dead King by a mental struggle, not by any practical or
painted assistance. Speaking of David Garrick, Mr.
Percy Fitzgerald says, " it was a pity he did not break
through the stale old tradition of Hamlet's pulling out
the two miniatures instead of the finer notion suggested
by Davies of having them on the tapestry — oy the better
idea still of seeing them with his mind's eye only."

It is this idea which Mr. Irving adopts, and with so
striking a success that the audience could scarcely
believe that they had for so many years been misled. It is
unquestionably the correct view to take, and it can be
done with the best possible effect. An act which was
such an intellectual strain as this for both actor and
audience could not fail to be felt. It was exhausting,
overpowering. The play ought to have ended here. It
was too much for one night.

The nervousness and paralysing excitement occasioned
by such an evening, made its mark on the actors. It
was too great an effort. The fear of being shut out from
a glass of beer before midnight frightened the audience,
and there were a few minutes of doubt and anxiety.
But art conquered, and the audience obeyed. Miss Isabel
Bateman came on to play the mad scene of Ophelia, at the
very moment when the house was longing for reaction,
and was hungry to be free. She conquered at the most
important instant of the evening, and she crushed down
cruel scoffs by her true artistic impulse. It was a great
sight to see the young lady — a true artist — sitting down,
playing with the flowers, and acting the most difficult
scene that was ever written, at a moment when it re-
quired the greatest discipline to keep peace. But Miss
Bateman conquered, with the rest of the artists, mainly
owing to the admirable taste and assistance of an
audience loyal to, and appreciative of, art. Not all the
heresies of Garrick, nor the sarcasms of Voltaire, would
permit Mr. Bateman to remove, either the King's praying
scene, or the churchyard ceremonies. Poor Mr. Swin-
bourne went through the first, to a chorus of hammering

F

66 ''HAMLET."

and shouting from behind ; and Mr. Compton, as the
First Gravedigger, had not time to remove his ten waist-
coats. Still the audience, true to its purpose, never
ventured to interfere. The strain upon the nervous
system of Mr. Irving upon so important an occasion,
the growing lateness of the hour, and the wealth of
beauty in the play, prevented the success which will yet
be obtained by Ophelia's mad scene, by Mr. Compton's
acting of the Clown, or Gravedigger, and by Hamlet's
churchyard passion. But let it not for a moment be
supposed that Hamlet ended in an anti-climax. A fen-
cing scene between Hamlet and Laertes, which would
have rejoiced the heart of M. Angelo, and which will,
owing to the practice and industry of both Mr. Irving
and Mr. Leathes, make us forget the tradition of Charles
Kean and Alfred Wigan in the " Corsican Brothers " ;
to say nothing of the murder of the King by Hamlet,
which, as regards impulse, determination, and effect, has
never been equalled, put the final touches to this over-
whelming work.

It may be, that the intellectual manager will yet have
to see how far " Haml®t " can be curtailed to suit this
luxurious and selfish age. There are not many audiences
which will relinquish their beer for the sake of art. This
was a very special occasion. But the supreme moment
for the audience had come when the curtain fell. If they
had sacrificed their refreshment, waiting there, as many
of them had done, since three o'clock in the afternoon,
they had done something for art. They had, at least,
deserved the pleasure of cheering the artist who had in-
spired them. It was no siicces d'estime. The actor of
the evening had, in the teeth of tradition, in the most
unselfish manner, and in the most highly artistic fashion
convinced his hearers. William Hazhtt, the critic, was
right. Here was the Hamlet who thinks aloud; here was
the scholar, and so little of the actor. So they threw
crowns, and wreaths, and bouquets, at the artist, and
the good people felt that this artistic assistance had come
at a turning point in the history of English dramatic art.
" A pensive air of sadness should sit reluctantly on his
brow, but no appearance of fixed and sullen gloom. He
is full of weakness and melancholy : but there is no harsh-
ness in his nature. He is the most amiable of misan-

''HAMLET:' 67

thropes." So wrote William Hazlitt of Hamlet. It
might have been written to-day of Henry Irving. " I
have acted Ophelia three times with my father, and each
time, in that beautiful scene where his madness and his
love gush forth together, like a torrent swollen with
storms, that bears a thousand blossoms on its troubled
waters, I have experienced such deep emotion, as hardly
to be able to speak. The letter and jewel cases I was
tendering him, were wet with tears." So wrote
Fanny Kemble of her father, Charles Kemble. The
words might have been spoken of Henry Irving, whose
scene with Ophelia will never be forgotten. This is
not a critical essay on the distinguished merit of a
most valuable performance, but a necessarily brief
comment on the impressions registered by a remark-
able evening at the play. Time will not allow one to
linger as one might on the distinguished and loyal
assistance of such artists and favourite actors as Mr.
Thomas Mead, Mr. Chippendale, Mr. Swinbourne, and
Miss Pauncefort. The effect of Mr. Mead's splendid
elocution, and of Miss Pauncefort's facial agony cannot
be overrated. It would be highly pleasant also to con-
gratulate such genuine young enthusiasts of another
and more modern school, as Mr. George Neville, Mr.
Leathes, Mr. Beveridge, and Miss Isabel Bateman.
But our efforts, without prejudice, have been devoted to
the actor who will be valued by his fellows, and to a
performance which will make its mark in the dramatic
history of our time. The position of Mr. Irving, occasion-
ally wavering and pleasantly hesitating in the balance,
has now been firmly established. The Hamlet of Henry
Irving is a noble contribution to dramatic art.

f— 2

44

JUacbeth,

??

By William Shakespeare. First produced at the Lyceum Theatre,
September i8th, 1875.

Duncan, King of Scotland . - - . Mr. Huntley.

Malcolm - Mr. Brooke.

Donalbain Miss Clair.

Macbeth") ^ 1 r ^u t'- > a < Mr. Henry Irving.

TT > Generals 01 the King s Army I .., t-

Banquo j ^ ^ I Mr. Forrester.

Macduff - - Mr. Swinbourne.

Lennox ) xt ui r o ^i j f Mr. Stuart.

T3 ■ Noblemen 01 Scotland - ,., ,- xt , . .

Ross J I Mr. G. Neville.

Menteith Mr. Mordaunt.

Caithness Mr. Seymour.

Fleance, son of Banquo ----- Miss W. Brown.

Siward, General of the English Forces - - Mr. Henry.

Young Siward, his son . - . - - Mr. Sargent.

Seyton, an officer attendant on Macbeth - - Mr. Norman.

Doctor --.-.-.- Mr. Beaumont.

Porter - Mr. Collett.

An attendant ------ Mr. Branscombe.

Murderers ----- Messrs. Butler & Tapping.

[ Miss Brown.

Apparitions - Mr. Harwood.

(Miss K. Brown.

Lady Macbeth - - - - Miss Bateman (Mrs. Crowe).

Gentlewoman attending on Lady Macbeth - Miss Marlborough.
Hecate ------- Miss Pauncefort.

Mr, Mead.

Witches \ Mr. Archer.

Mrs. Huntley.

Lords, Gentlemen, Officers, Soldiers, Messengers, etc., etc.

SYNOPSIS OF SCENERY

Act I.

Scene I. — A Desert Place. Scene 2.— A Heath. Scenes, — Palace

at Forres. Scene 4. — Macbeth's Castle. Scene 5. — Exterior of

Macbeth's Castle. Scene 6. — Macbeth's Castle.

Act 2.
Scene. — Court of Macbeth's Castle.

Act 3.

Scene i. — Palace at Forres. Scene 2. — Park near the Palace.
Scene 3. — Palace at Forres.

Act 4.

Scene i. — The Pit of Acheron. Scene 2. — England. A Lane.
Scene 3. — Dunsinane : Ante-room in the Castle.

Act 5.
Scene I. — Country near Dunsinane. Scene 2. — Dunsinane: Room
in the Castle. Scene 3. — Birnam Wood. Scene 4. — Dunsinane
Castle. Scene 5. — Dunsinane Hill Scene 6. — Outer Court of the

Castle.

4^

face 71 J

"HAD I THUEK EAKS I I) HKAK THEE.

71

" Macbeth:

" Well, and what of ' Macbeth ' ? " This is the ques-
tion which will travel about to-day with lightning speed,
finding its way into our houses, and stopping us at every
corner of the streets. The question is as inevitable as
its consequence. It will be followed by a pause, and
answered with a sigh. The art world, proud of the pos-
session of a new actor, and pleased with the recollec-
tions of what has been called a Shakespearean revival ; the
acting world, primed with the memory of the Kembles,
and Keans, and Macreadys of a past period ; the musical
world, smarting under the indignity of the banishment
of Locke, who, as it turns out, never wrote music for
" Macbeth " at all, but for Davenant's jumble of Shake-
speare and Middleton ; the decorative world, positive on
the question of kilts, eager on the subject of armour, and
fanciful on the matter of colour ; the students with the new
" variorum " edition at their fingers-ends, prepared to
write essays on the exact bearing of the " weird sisters "
on the story, and anxious to point out the precise moment
when the idea of Duncan's murder flashed across Mac-
beth's brain ; the controversialists — some ready to prove
that Macbeth was the most injured individual that ever
lived — and others prepared with an argument that he
was the blackest rascal that ever disgraced society,
this one putting the whole blame upon Lady Macbeth,
that one sheltering her with the husband's villainy, and
the third compromising the whole thing by saddling
the witches with a detestable crime ; society, eager
for a new topic of conversation ; cynics, ready for a
fresh complaint ; criticism waiting another victim — we
see them all elbowing and jostling one another as they
rush eagerly forward to put the question, " Well, and
what of ' Macbeth ' ? "

72 '' MACBETH r

To one and all the result is the same. First there
comes a pause, and then follows a sigh. It is natural
that it should be so. When we look round the stage
at the present day and remember the gHmmer of light
which is cheering and brightening dramatic art ; when
we feel that we have all been buoyed up with fancies for
the future, and toying with the pleasures of hope ; when
we know that the first worthy attempt to do honour to
Shakespeare has been crowned with signal success ;
when we are positive that we have amongst us a young
actor who is both student and artist, and is loyally de-
voted to his profession ; when we have positive proofs
that capitalists are not wanted to help us to bolder efforts
in the drama's cause, and that the public is prepared
to support what is earnestly undertaken and fairly ac-
complished— it is not so very unreasonable that, thinking
over this " Macbeth," we should pause.

When we remember the rapid manner in which opinion
changes, and the easy transition from hope to despair ;
when we see positively and clearly a mind not quite able
to communicate its rare and treasured gifts, and a frame
not physically capable of bearing the weights pressed
down upon it ; when we feel the fatal influence of a meri-
torious mistake upon the future of the poetical drama ;
when we dread the advance of a hectoring swagger-
ing crew, who " knew from the first it was all non-
sense," who taunt the enthusiastic with their shattered
prophecies, who " saw from the first how it would
end," who, of course, are wiser than ever after the
event ; when we are almost assured that sufficient
critical attention will not be paid to a study which,
however unsuccessful, it would be criminal to call care-
less— well, under these circumstances, a sigh is inevit-
able, as we calmly consider the second Shakespearean
revival at the Lyceum. " Well, and what of' Macbeth ' ? "
The question comes to us as it does to the rest, and we
must not shirk it. We might be as anxious to avoid it
as Macbeth is to free himself from destiny, but the silence
cannot be for long. There may be a pause, — there must
be an answer.

It would be possible, no doubt, to hide the responsi-
bility of an opinion on an ambitious performance under
a covering of elaborate disquisition. It would be far

''MACBETH:' 73

more pleasant at the present moment to contrast the
curious mistakes of Hazhtt and Lamb with the un-
answerable arguments of Fletcher to show precisely how
sound is the wisdom which banishes the music from
" Macbeth" and disperses Davenant's motley rabble ;
to point out how many lines which are supposed to be
Shakespeare's, have been discovered in IMiddleton's
" Witch " ; to give a catalogue of the scenes, which
are shown by the experts not to have been written by
Shakespeare at all ; to give our views on the third mur-
derer, who is declared by many commentators to be
Macbeth himself, and by Mr. Irving to be merely the
attendant ; to set forth at length the metaphysical bear-
ing of the " weird sisters " upon the tragedy as a whole ;
to argue out the vexed question of Banquo's ghost ; and
to show by copious extracts how thoroughly we agree
with Mr. Irving in his idea that the murder of Duncan
was not suggested by Lady Macbeth or prompted by
the weird sisters — those mischievous spirits of evil — but
had occupied the thoughts, suggested the " horrible
imaginings," and caused the " black and deep desires "
of Macbeth before he met the sisters, and before he com-
municated the interview to his wife.

But an opinion must not be lost in a disquisition,
and the question we are asked to answer is, " How
did Mr. Irving play Macbeth ? " That question will
best be answered by running through the scenes of
the tragedy, and attempting to show what impression
they made. We do not suppose that the oldest play-
goer in the house can remember the play of "Macbeth"
to have commenced more admirably. The weird
effects, almost too daring for representation, were
on this occasion crowned with signal success. The mar-
vellous mystery which has hitherto provoked laughter
here inspired awe. Shakespeare, genius and artist as
he was, desired that these terrible and fitful apparitions
should be the keynote of the great tragic harmony,
which was to follow. This was the prelude of the
terrible tale, not to suggest the crime, not to poison
hitherto a pure and unsullied disposition, not to come
suddenly upon a free and frank soldier, ignorant of evil,
but mischievously to work upon a disordered mind,
fiendishly to play with an irritable fancy, and fatally to

74 '' MACBETH r

give a definite object to a dreamy idea. For these
reasons, and these reasons alone, the weird sisters were
surely introduced. To think otherwise is to rob the
tragedy of its highest poetical significance, and to deny
Shakespeare his most subtle idea.

Marvellously well is this idea carried out at the
Lyceum, The sisters are in the air, revealed by an
occasional lightning flash, and heard above the rum-
blings of a storm. They are, indeed, black and
midnight hags, and lean and scraggy, as they patter
round the cauldron, dismally weaving their spells and
chanting their hideous monotone. The very gloom
which Shakespeare intended to overshadow his tragedy
and the very horror he wished to inspire, are felt
by the audience. Who could doubt now that the
music, beautiful as it may be, would be an artistic mis-
take. Nothing more appropriate could be conceived
than those hollow voices, and this spoken chant. But
Macbeth comes hurriedly upon the scene, and the house
breaks into applause. Standing in front of a wild pic-
ture, and in the lurid glare of a setting sun, the Scottish
General is wonderfully picturesque. So far, all is well,
and the house is full of hope. Scenes of rare beauty, a
stage filled with fine soldiers, drilled to perfection ; a
Macbeth who, in spite of unkind preliminary comments,
looks the part ; and the witch element, far better than
anyone could have expected — these are the ideas which
pass rapidly before the mind.

But, before the second scene is over, the audience can-
not quite grasp Mr. Irving's idea of Macbeth. Many of
them are confident he is correct in destroying the tradi-
tion of a tragic butcher, who wades through slaughter
to success. A moral coward, outwardly brave if you
like, but full of treachery and deceit, plotting against
those who have shown him most favour, and contriving
his crimes so as still to curry favour with the world —
such is Macbeth. The world thinks that Macbeth must
be a good fellow because he is a brave soldier ; but
Shakespeare — who mirrors the conscience of Macbeth
— tells us what a moral coward a brave soldier can be.
Having carefully studied the play, they are prepared,
perhaps, for abstraction and pre-occupation — for the
worry of a man's mind getting the better of the soldier's

'' MACBETH r 75

daring ; but the melancholy is given in too decided a
key, and surely it is not necessary to slur over the text
in order to express despondency. However, Mr. Irving
is terribly nervous, and his helmet shivers and rattles
as he walks.

He gains confidence in the scenes with Lady Mac-
beth. The reading of the letter by Miss Bateman
is striking, in its way, and attended with some success,
though the subsequent speech is taken distressingly
low. The vigorous termination of Lady Macbeth's
speech, " The raven himself is hoarse," however, brings
down applause. Macbeth's, " If we should fail," is
an inspired change upon the part of Mr. Irving;
and though Lady Macbeth's hissing description of
Duncan's murder is too long sustained, it is certainly
effective. But the act is over, and no one can hide
the feeling of disappointment.

In facial expression Mr. Irving is even better than
ever ; once more his face is an index to his mind ;
once more his attitudes are eloquent with expression
and meaning; he is a picture as he enters from the
tapestry, and he has grasped so far the true — as we
hold — meaning of Macbeth's character. He is full of
irritable fancy and morbid apprehensiveness. He has
broken the enterprise to his wife, and now that fate
and time have conspired to bring it about he beats
about the bush, and " will proceed no further in this
business." He is a pitiable object, for he is a moral
coward. Tortured by conscience, hungry with am-
bition, upset with the weird interview, and now roughly
handled by his wife, who despises his indecision, and
is quite as ambitious as he is, Macbeth is a sorry
sight, and though Mr. Irving may not have taken the
actor's view of Macbeth up to this point, he has cer-
tainly satisfied the students of Shakespeare.

Why, then, should there be any hesitation in accepting
Mr. Irving's Macbeth, and why does the feeling of disap-
pointment arise ? The fact is, we are conscious of
what the actor means, and are confident of the care
devoted to the study, but see, with alarm, he is unable
thoroughly to carry out his ideas. To make matters
worse, there are certain sad faults of intonation, and
curious views of elocution, which turn us away dis-

76 ''MACBETH.''

heartened from the actor's design. The manner is
occasionally so dreamy, and the voice so lowered, that
the text cannot be heard. He seems to be rehearsing
to himself, and forgetting the audience. Point after
point is lost, and idea after idea squandered by the
actor's extraordinary method of delivery. We do not
agree with those who are so eager to notice and con-
demn what they call " mannerisms," for all actors are,
more or less, mannered. There are very few, even of
our best artists, who do not possess some peculiarity
which is capable of being imitated. But when a manner-
ism, from being vmobjectionable, becomes a chronic dis-
figurement, it is time that every effort should be made to
remove it.

There was a time when Mr. Irving was looked upon
as the leading representative of a new and natural
school, and when his art was regarded as a welcome pro-
test against a class of tragedians, who could not speak a
line of Shakespeare without commencing a doleful chant.
His Hamlet was rightly regarded as such a protest, and
was heartily welcomed as such. But it would appear as
if the young actor had become a convert to an old faith,
and that he thinks, as some of his forefathers did before
him, that the dignity of Shakespeare cannot be supported
without the assumption of the actor's Gregorian. It is
curious that when Macbeth and Lady Macbeth are to-
gether they cannot speak with some amount of nature,
and it must be patent to all that delicate changes and
emphasis are lost when a trick of tone is assumed. The
second act is played in a magnificent scene representing
Macbeth's Castle, and painted by Mr. Hawes Craven.
Nothing is wanted to make the picture perfect but a
suppression of the lightning, which is sufficiently shown
at the upper window of the long stone gallery. Here is
spoken, of course, the celebrated soliloquy, " Is this a
dagger which I see before me," and it is spoiled unfor-
tunately by the old faults of elocution, and by such a
thorough absorption in the poet's idea that the actor fails
to bring it home to the senses of his audience.

Quickly we are hurried to the murder scene, robustly
and conventionally acted by Miss Bateman, who is cer-
tainly a strong contrast to her feeble and over lachrymose
husband. The act has a spirited and welcome finish,

''Macbeth:' ^7

which was accepted as a rehef after the sombre incidents
which have preceded it. The King is dead, Macduff
has entered, Lady INIacbeth has swooned ; and Macbeth,
with his soldiers shouting with wonderful vigour, retires
up the stage as Macduff, Malcolm, and Donalbain are
left talking as if to mark the suspicion which has already
set in. The third act, containing the banquet scene, will
probably be considered the least satisfactory portion of
the performance, inasmuch as the actor is physically
unable to carry out his excellent ideas. Banquo's ghost
is introduced in a novel and not very satisfactory manner ;
and we think, on the whole, that the new practical and
transparent ghost might be omitted with safety. But
this is a minor consideration when we are thinking how
admirably effective might have been Mr. Irving's idea of
covering up his face with his cloak as he falls shrieking
to the foot of the throne, had his strength been as
powerful as his welcome imagination. The whole scene
is well conceived, as, indeed, is the whole performance.
But still it is unimpressive.

The evening, as it turned out, was one of strange
surprises, and prophecies were ruthlessly falsified.
The weird element, which had been feared as ludic-
rous, turned out to be one of the principal features of
the revival. The scenery and costumes, which were
supposed to be subordinate, were found to be of the
greatest possible value. The sleep-walking scene of
Lady Macbeth did not secure the anticipated effect, and
instead of succeeding best in the conscience-haunted
soliloquies and mind-tortured passages of the play, Mr.
Irving gained his best victory in the last act of
" Macbeth." The various changes from the inside to the
outside of the castle, during the advance of Malcolm and
Macduff, are marked by a moving panorama, which like
the rest of the scenery, could scarcely be better, and it
was in this act, of all others, that Mr. Irving seemed to
break away from the measured tone he had adopted, and
to abandon himself to the passion of the scene. He
hurries from point to point with vigour and impetuosity,
and adequately expresses the wild despair of a super-
stitious, but withal, a brave, man. Amidst all the varied
pictures of this striking tragedy none will be better
remembered than that of Macbeth, hunted down at last,

78 " MACBETH:'

and hacking with desperate energy at the firm sword of
Macduff, with his suit of mail disordered, and his grizzled
hair streaming in the wind. "Well, they may say what
they like — it was a very good fight," was the remark when
the curtain fell, and unquestionably both Mr. Irving and
INIr, Swinbourne deserve great credit for the spirited
termination of the play.

Although we cannot consider that the strong efforts to
encourage natural acting in this country will derive much
assistance from " Macbeth," look at it from what point we
may, and though we cannot see that the style of elocu-
tion here introduced is in any instance superior to that
of the school whose doctrines we had hoped were no
longer obeyed, there were no signs on the first night
to show that the falling back into old ways was considered
distasteful. We frankly confess that we have little sym-
pathy with the theory that abnormal pauses and stilted
tones are necessary for the expression of poetry ; and
we have still less faith in the new doctrine which would
make us believe that it is a sign of genius to be unintelli-
gible. The love of Shakespeare and the poetic drama
will not be encouraged until his words, and his thoughts,
and his poetry, are brought home to the hearts and under-
standing of an audience.

A hundred instances might be shown of how sense
and poetical glamour are lost from the want of obser-
vance of natural delivery and the knowledge of the
effect of words upon men's minds. But we may
cite three which will illustrate our meaning. They
are, for example. Lady Macbeth's charge, " From this
time such I account thy love," so capable of intense
expression; Macbeth's, "Then fly, false Thanes, and
mingle with the English epicures," which seemed so
dragged out as to be unnatural ; and, lastly, and perhaps
the most striking instance of all elocutionary mistakes,
Macduff's most exquisite refusal of Malcolm's sympathy,
" He has no children ! " What a chance here for touch-
ing every heart ! but how can it possibly be done when
pronounced " he (pause), has (pause), no (pause) chil
(pause) dren (pause) ? " The whole meaning of the
sentiment is destroyed. However, our views are clearly
not those of the Lyceum audience, who cheered with as
much heartiness as on the first night of " Hamlet," and

'' MACBETH r 79

showed by their demonstrative demeanour that they en-
joyed the one play as much as the other.

Mr. Irving was called out in the old fashion, hats
and handkerchiefs were waved, and the play was an-
nounced for immediate repetition. That the greatest
possible pains and loving care have been bestowed on
the work by Miss Bateman, and all assisting her
no one would attempt to deny ; but beyond the in-
terest which must invariably follow from the announce-
ment of such artists as Mr. Irving and Miss Bateman
in characters new to them, and from the latest
theatrical edition of " !\Iacbeth," there are few remark-
able features in the revival. Amongst those features
are certainly the weird sisters, and the decorative as
well as the scenic work. Mr. Mead, Mr. Archer, and
Mrs. Huntley, Mr. Hawes Craven, and Mr. Cuthbert,
and the manufacturers of the armour deserve great
praise. Macduff, Malcolm, and the subordinate charac-
ters were played in a careful and conventional manner.
If the revival of " Macbeth " does not prove to be so
successful as that of "Hamlet" — and this could scarcely
have been expected — Mr. Irving maybe assured that
there are many less trying characters which demand
his trying attention. He once half promised Sir Giles
Overreach, and might well restore "Werner." The
thought and culture devoted to Macbeth by the young
student deserved, no doubt, a happier fate ; but no great
actor has ever succeeded equally well in all the Shakes-
pearean characters he has assumed. Many indeed, like
Mr. Irving, have not been gifted with the physical
strength or robust vigour necessary for the trying de-
mands of a tragedy like " Macbeth."

" Othelkr

By William Shakespeare. First produced at the Lyceum Theatre,
February 14th, 1876.

Othello - Mr. Henry Irving.

Duke Mr. Collett.

Brabantio Mr. Mead.

Roderigo Mr. Carton.

Gratiano Mr. Huntley.

Lodovico - - Mr. Archer.

Cassio . - - Mr. Brooke.

lago Mr. Forrester.

Montano - - - Mr. Beadmont.

Antonio Mr. Sargent.

Julio Mr. Tapping.

Marco - - Mr. Harwood.

Paulo - - - Mr. Bdtler.

Desdemona Miss Isabel Bateman.

Emilia - - - - - Miss Bateman (Mrs. Crowe).

Lords, Gentlemen, Officars, Soldiers, Messengers, etc.

SYNOPSIS OF SCENERY.

Act I.

Scene i. — A Street in Venice. Scene 2. — Another Street in Venice.
Scene 3. — A Council Chamber.

Act 2.

Scene i. — The Harbour at Cyprus. Scene 2. — A Street in Cyprus.
Scene 3. — The Court of Guard.

Act 3.
Scene. — Othello's House.

Act 4.

Scene i. — Othello's House. Scene 2. — A Street in Cyprus.
Scene 3.— Exterior of lago's House.

Act 5.
Scene. — A Bedchamber.

83

'' Othello:

There are three headings under which Mr. Henry
Irving's Othello might naturally be discussed ; first, in
relation to the physical capacity of the actor for so serious
an undertaking ; next, in a comparison between the new
Othello of to-day with those of yesterday ; and, lastly,
in the effect produced by the actor upon minds susceptible
of influence, and in the impressions which outlast the
excitement of the moment. We own to preferring the
ultimate course. To dwell upon what are called manner-
isms, is not only an ungrateful office, it is virtually to
condemn some of the greatest actors who have preceded
Mr. Irving. As every writer of influence has a marked
style, so has every actor of worth a decided mannerism.
To tone down one and the other, so as not to suggest a
suspicion of exaggeration, is the legitimate aim of the
artist. We do not pretend to deny that Mr. Irving's
mannerisms are marked, and we do not acknowledge
that they are invariably or constantly kept in submission ;
but this much may be claimed for him, that the deep
earnestness of the student continually outweighs any
deficiencies in style. With regard to the second head,
it must be confessed that, as a matter of taste, most
comparisons are to be deprecated ; but, for all that, they
are occasionally inevitable where celebrated actors are
concerned. Mr. Irving has, however, done so much
good work for the Stage, and is so earnest in his desire
for its elevation, that no one can be disposed to discour-
age, in the cheapest possible manner, the ambitious aims
of an English artist.

Let us, therefore, dismiss the two first points which
are capable of discussion, and come to the last. How
are we all impressed by Mr. Irving's Othello ? What

G — 2

84 ''OTHELLO."

kind of a man is he in appearance, in tempera-
ment, and in influence ? To his appearance very little
exception can be taken, and it can be commended as
well for its artistic accuracy as its daring unconven-
tionality. No turban, no white burnouse, no sooty face,
no " thick lips," and no curled hair ! It is an Othello
in scarlet, with just a suggestion of Mephistophelian
glow, and the bare hint of a Zamiel-like gloom. The
face is sHghtly tinged with walnut-brown — according to
the Edmund Kean precedent, so much applauded by
Coleridge — whilst the long black hair of the recent
Hamlet and Macbeth waves down the Moor's back, and
tumbles in masses over his temples. It is when we
come to the temperament and influence of the new
Othello that we feel disappointed. We had hoped to
find a genial soldier and a passionate lover persuading
us, against our own convictions, that Desdemona rightly
loved him. This is what Shakespeare must have meant
when he made his hero a Moor. He desired his nature
to be supreme over any physical disabilities. His object
was to paint a hero and to pit him against the Venetian
prejudice of spells and witchcraft. But in soldierly
bearing, this Othello is without dignity; in presence, he
is destitute of command ; and, in the expression of love,
singularly undemonstrative. We scarcely think of him
either as a soldier or a lover. He appears before us as
a man, frenzied with passion and almost paralysed with
disappointment. In the speech to the Senate, he has
fascinated few ; in his welcome to Desdemona after the
battle, he has impressed no one. When Cassio is dis-
missed from his commission, no pulse is stirred. Long
before lago has commenced to pour out his poison,
Othello appears in a dream, and to be cultivating a
strange and unaccountable melancholy. When he
clasps his wife to his arms, " If it were now to die
'twere now to be most happy," the touching sentiment
is not uttered with the rapturous sob of a lover, but
with a slow and deliberate mournfulness as if there were
a consciousness of coming misfortune. Already, when
life should be sunshine with Othello, he seems to be
touched with the finger of Fate, and to be feeding on de-
pression. He is so dreamy and abstracted that we
scarcely follow his thoughts, and cannot always under-

''OTHELLO:' 85

stand his words. With the temptation by lago the
change comes, but not gradually and by fine degrees.
The suggestion of Desdemona's infamy does not
slowly torture her husband, but instantly paralyses
him. He does not reject the idea, or brood over it, or
sweep it away from his mind merely to be revived again.
It transfixes him with horror. He gazes into vacancy,
open-mouthed, and in a daze. As we look at him we
are instantly reminded of the sarcasm of the French
critic, " Son premier mouvement fut de rester im-
mobile ! "

Once recovered from the stupor, Othello appears to
have no power over his utterance or his actions. He
tosses his head and sways himself about. His eyes roll
with the ferocity of an animal, and sometimes the very
pupils seem to disappear. Not only does his frenzy come
to fever pitch. It is ever boiling over. All dignity is
lost, and all command over himself at an end. He flings
himself out of the room as if he were mad, and although
the concentration of nervous energy when he half
throttles lago is marvellous, the language of the threat
is scarcely intelligible, and the exhibition of a man so
completely beyond control is painful in the extreme.
From this moment we feel that the physical exertion
as here expressed has been too much for any man, and
although the same kind of frenzy bubbles up again and
again, it is too surely felt that the last vestige of strength
is expended, and that Othello is played out.

The voice fails, and the limbs do not obey. For in-
stance, the fury of the murder is not forthcoming ; the
tenderness of the after-love is faint ; and the requisite
reaction for the last grand speech, with all its revival of
soldierly dignity is looked for in vain. It is an Othello we
pity, but one with whom we have scarcely sympathised.
If he could have impressed us more with his nobility and
his affection, we might have extended to him more sincere
appreciation. He has seldom fascinated and too often
frightened. It is, we fear, too late in the day to repeat
what has been often urged at different times, and in
varied language. There are characters in the Shakes-
pearean drama under whose sway the deepest intention is
wasted in the want of physical power. Brain, industry,
and nervous energy may do much, but voice, concentrated

86 '« OTHELLO:'

strength, and grace do much more for the highest forms
of tragedy. At certain important moments, Mr. Irving,
knowing well what he wishes to do, is still not master of
himself, and somehow, the fascination of such plays as
the " Bells " has made him over enamoured with his
own style. This style, or mannerism, is increased rather
than corrected, and we observe fresh instances of that
habit of so losing the character in the dream of an idea
that it becomes extremely difficult for the audience to
follow the actor. It ought not to be necessary to know
the text in order to keep up with the artist, but rather to
be so attracted by the interpretation as to hurry back
to the book. If Mr. Irving could always correctly ex-
press what he means, he would be one of the greatest of
English actors. These failings are only brought promi-
nently to notice w^hen such characters as the Moor of
Venice are attempted. The physical necessities required
for a Hamlet and an Othello are not to be compared.

Now, this very revival of " Othello," which, as a
whole, is extremely well acted, affords one conspicuous
instance of what may be called real or concentrated
power, as contrasted with the nervous excitability,
which is often mistaken for strength. We refer to the
Emilia of Mrs. Crowe, a performance which could
scarcely be excelled. For here we see the strong, pas-
sionate outburst of indignation, and all the time the
faculties completely under control. No excitement of the
moment destroys Emilia's clearness of utterance. It
adds fuel to her fire. When she hurls out her denun-
ciation she is as firm as a rock : she does not budge one
inch, and the true test of force is its quick, sharp effect
upon the sympathies of the audience. This welcome
strength and natural passion are not only noticeable in
the celebrated speech, " A halter pardon him and Hell
guard his bones ! "- — a speech that always tells, but
seldom strikes home with such marked effect. In the
last act, when Emilia has to express the opposing
feelings of indignation, horror, and almost hysterical
despair, Mrs. Crowe quite surpassed herself. Not a
trace of mannerism, or suggestion of trick, could be
found. The actress gave herself up to the passion of the
scene, and showed, unmistakably, what could be done
with Emilia. In these two scenes Mrs. Crowe ob-

" OTHELLO." 87

tamed the truest and most legitimate applause of the
evening.

The lago of Mr. Forrester will be highly praised by all
who recognised the determination of an actor to strike out
a new line for himself, and to study a character according
to his own conviction. Already recognised as a painstak-
ing and intelligent actor, Mr. Forrester now shows himself
an artist, particularly in the scenes where coolness, de-
cision, and diplomacy are substituted for the old tricks of
slouching villainy or carneying hypocrisy. The actor
might still be urged to study and perfect the soliloquies
on which the whole value of lago rests. They are
capable of the utmost variety of expression, as all
know who have seen Mr. Fechter play the part, and
they can be made picturesque as well as expressive. It
is not sufficient to speak the soliloquies : they should be
acted. But Mr. Forrester has yet time to work up that
side of his task, which, in all main essentials is ex-
tremely gratifying. In point of facial expression,
nothing was better seen in the whole tragedy than lago
in the last act, as he stands wounded and detected.
Over his features still plays a faint expression of scorn.
He is a villain, it is true, but his character is mar-
vellously interesting. The mask has fallen, and the
hypocrite is discovered. But he does not show a blush ;
he merely stifles the indignation of pain with the domi-
nant delight at the success of his plan. The face of Mr,
Forrester in the last act is a study. Desdemona, in the
hands of Miss Isabel Bateman, is, perhaps, over-
burdened with melancholy, and the lady may ■well be
recommended to omit the " Willow Song " ; but the
actress is interesting for all that, and, sometimes, prettily
pathetic. The emphatic declaration of her innocence,
when accused by Othello, was genuine and charming
enough. On the other hand, it would be difficult to find
a Cassio more manly and sympathetic than Mr. Brooke,
or a Brabantio more dignified and solid than Mr. Mead.
Mr. Carter as Roderigo promises well, but his pockets
should be sewn up : the young actor is too fond of getting
rid of his hands ; and it does not do for a Venetian
gentleman to so constantly remind us of the inelegance
of the Nineteenth Century. All who desire to see a
very satisfactory performance of one of the most cele-

88 " OTHELLO:'

brated tragedies of Shakespeare, looked at generally,
will thank Mrs. Bateman for the opportunity afforded
them, and they will further have cause to approve her
taste in respect to the beautiful Venetian pictures and
elaborate dresses with which the play is adorned. The
Grand Duke's Council Chamber, by Mr. Hawes Craven,
is a masterpiece of decorative art and mechanical
arrangement.

" %{een Mary."

By Alfred Tennyson. First produced at the Lyceum Theatre,
April i8th, 1876.

Philip of Spain Mr. Henry Irving.

Gardiner, (Lord Chancellor) - - - . Mr. Swinbourne.
Simon Renard, (Spanish Ambassador) - - - Mr. Brooke.
Le Sieur de Noailles, (French Ambassador) Mr. Walter Bentley.
Edward Courtenay, Earl of Devon - - - Mr. Carton.

Lord William Howard Mr. Mead.

Sir Thomas White, (Lord Mayor of London) - Mr. Huntley.
Count de Feria, attending on Philip - - - Mr. Beaumont.
Master of Woodstock ..... Mr. Collett.

Lord Petre Mr. Stuart.

Messenger Mr. Sargent.

Steward to Princess Elizabeth - - . - Mr. Norman.

Attendant ....... Mr. Branscombe.

Mary of England - - - Miss Bateman (Mrs. Crowe).

Princess Elizabeth .... Miss Virginia Francis.

Lady Clarence Miss Pauncefort.

Lady Magdalen Dacres Miss Claire.

Joan) „ , f Mrs. Huntley.

Tib ) Two Country Wenches -^ ^^_ Archer.

Maid of Honour to Princess Elizabeth - - - Miss Hall.
Alice, (one of the Queen's Women) - Miss Isabel Bateman.

Aldermen, Citizens, Soldiers, Secretaries, Pages, Ladies-in- Waiting,
Etc., Etc.

SYNOPSIS OF SCENERY.

Act I.
Scene. — An Apartment at Whitehall.

xVCT 2.
Scene i. — The Guildhall. Scene 2. — The Gatehouse at Westminster.

Act 3.
Scene i. — Apartment at Woodstock. Scene 2. — Whitehall.

Act 4.
Scene i. — Street in Smithfield. Scene 2. — Apartment at Whitehall.

Act 5.
Scene i. — Mansion near London. Scene 2. — The Queen's Oratory.

91

^^^lueen 3\dary,

The question whether Mr. Tennyson's " Queen Mary "
is, or is not dramatic, from the accepted hterary stand-
point, has been settled long ago by students. The time
has now come for considering its theatrical value. Some
of the noblest plays in our literature are useless for the
purposes of the stage, and the works of many a poet,
although moulded in dramatic form, would merely pro-
duce discontent if produced in a theatre. It must,
therefore, be a subject for considerable congratulation
that " Queen Mary " has been seen, and so far, has com-
manded respectful attention. Obvious changes were
demanded in the printed poem before it could risk the
ordeal of the footlights, and it has been hoped that the
experience of the dramatist might have been called in to
guide to success the imagination of the poet. But it
appears as if compression were considered to be of far
more importance than reconstruction. Having omitted
many characters and more scenes, having introduced two
speeches and altered the conclusion of the final act, it
was hoped that " Queen Mary " would be ready for the
stage ; but, theatrically considered, the drama is even
less dramatic on the stage, than it was found to be in
the book. The Laureate imposes two conditions on all
who see his play.

First, they must be acquainted with history ; and,
secondly, they must be familiar with his poem, other-
wise the story of " Queen Mary " will not be
presented in a very clear light. The merely episodical
allusion to the Wyatt rebellion, and the suppression
of it altogether, destroys one of the foundation stones
of the drama ; the absence of Cranmer and Pole
robs the play of much of its colour ; and no attempt

92 ''QUEEN MARYr

has been made to connect the sorrows of the Princess
Elizabeth with the troubles of the time, or the domestic
trials of the Queen. As we read the book, there is a
certain interest, however scattered ; we feel that the
antagonism of Protestants and Catholics is the main
cause of Mary's sorrows ; we are sensible of the glow
of the faggots at Oxford, and seem to hear the voice
of the preacher, and the low murmurings of the angry
crowd.

But in the play we perceive an absence of warmth,
and a studied suppression of colour. Instead of a suc-
cession of dramatic positions, we are treated to a
series of domestic pictures, in which Mary pleads for
aflfection, and Philip coldly disregards her prayers. It
is true that Queen Mary goes down to the Guildhall,
and receives the adherence of the Lord Mayor and
Aldermen ; it is equally true that certain murmurs
from a discontented crowd, and exciting messengers
rushing to the Queen, convey the impression that a
rebellion has taken place and been quelled ; but we
must know the book thoroughly well in order to com-
prehend the Guildhall visit, and the reason of the
Princess Elizabeth's imprisonment. No doubt, hun-
dreds of instances could be cited where dramatists
have acted in defiance of the dogma that, so far as
incidents and interest are concerned, a drama should
be self-sustaining. Shakespeare himself was frequently
no master of dramatic construction, as modern play-
goers understand that art. But then, on the other
hand, it must be owned that this very practice has
robbed the Stage of its richest histrionic treasures, and
has compelled us to own that many of the most glorious
plays of Shakespeare do not harmonise with the
exigencies of the modern Stage, and do not fulfill the
conditions which all audiences impose.

The story of Queen Mary's life is divided into five
periods. She is first represented as fondling the portrait
of Philip, and seeking for sympathy from the waiting-
maids who surround her, and the ambassadors who throng
her Court. The long conversations with De Noailles,
Gardiner, and Renard, are, no doubt, historically inter-
esting, and examples of spirited poetry, but they are
not apparently designed with any end tending to assist

''QUEEN MARY:' 93

the dramatic idea. They exhibit at some length the
fondness of the Queen for her future husband, but it is
not until Renard suddenly appears with the formal offer
of Philip's hand that the action of the play commences.
The Queen rushes out to the Council, and retvirns deadly
pale, swooning at the words, " My Philip is all mine."
So far, so good. The play appears to have commenced
exceedingly well ; so well, indeed, that some are inclined
to question the policy of such a strong and dramatic
conclusion. But, on the other hand, many who are
familiar with the Stage, do not find fault with this. In
the course of the act. Miss Bateman has twice com-
manded an outburst of enthusiasm from a full house.

Once, of course, in the line, " I am an English Queen
— not Roman Emperor," which directly touched the
susceptibilities of the audience, without the slightest
attempt on the part of the actress to make a point or
stir an argument ; and the second time, for a true and
impassioned delivery of the speech concerning the rela-
tive claims to the throne of Mary of Scotland and the
Princess Elizabeth. It is certain that if the other acts
can keep up to the standard of the first, the objections
to the undramatic character of the poem will have been
obviated. The second act is divided into two scenes —
the first containing a visit to Guildhall, and the loyal
adherence of the citizens to the Crown, the second oc-
cupied in the old Gate House at Westminster, with
the hurried explanation of Wyatt's defeat. On this
episode we have already ventured to remark. Both
scenes contain sufficient dramatic element if united to
any interest connected with Wyatt. But standing alone,
as they do, and not worked up by the dramatist, they
have a hurried and scrambling effect. But, this difficulty
notwithstanding, the act ends with some fire, as the ex-
cited Queen condemns Elizabeth and Courtenay to the
Tower. There are few opportunities here for acting, and
it can only be said that the Guildhall scene might have
been more dignified with a more capable representative
of the Lord Mayor, and that the reloellion would be im-
proved for stage purposes if the rabble did not express
its discontent in so emphatic and monotonous a manner.

The third act is also divided into two scenes : the first
at Woodstock, where the Princess Elizabeth is im-

94 ''QUEEN MARY:'

prisoned — a scene, no doubt, full of charming poetical
conceits and idyllic beauty, but unnecessary for stage
purposes, inasmuch as the Princess has the faintest pos-
sible connection with the story, and is not involved in
the main thread of the plot. The milkmaid's song, and
the long speech in which Elizabeth wishes she were a
milkmaid, so that she might escape the horrors and
dangers surrounding her, might advantageously be
omitted. In the second scene, however, in the Palace at
Whitehall, Philip of Spain appears for the first time, and
a favourable feeling is awakened by the Titian picture
presented by Mr. Henry Irving, and by his admirable
assumption of coldness in love and determination in
policy.

The dialogue with Renard, when Phihp stands play-
ing with his dagger, was no less excellent than his ex-
cellently " bored " expression during the conversation with
the Queen. The act ends quietly enough with Philip's
sarcasm about the supper, and his escorting of the Queen
to table. Experience warns us that the third act is a
critical point in a play, and this particular act is not help-
ing us on to the end. However, ^Ir. Irving's performance
is at once so finished and subtle, so thoroughly devoid of
mannerism and defect, that the absence of action is atoned
for, and that long scene of the Princess Elizabeth almost
forgotten. In the fourth act, matters do not improve,
and it would be difficult to account for the necessity of
Joan and Tib, and their account of Gardiner's death in
Oxfordshire dialect, seeing that the religious controversy
is so carefully eliminated from the story. The scene,
however, is well played by Mrs. Huntley and Mr.
Archer, and may be taken as a relief from the matrimonial
difiiculties of Mary and Philip, which, again, form the
ground work of the fourth act. Mary still pleads, and
Philip still sneers. Renard advises a little more courtesy,
and his master still grumbles at the English climate ; and
so the act ends on no shadow of a point, and without the
slightest attempt at marking the progress of the story.

The fifth act has arrived, and it is high time that any
dramatic power held in reserve should at once be
expended. The interest must be revived now or never,
and in spite of the awkward fact that Philip and Renard
— who had been made interesting by the careful acting

''QUEEN MARYr 95

of Mr. Brooke — have both fallen out of the story.
Philip is off to Spain, and will never return, and with
him has gone Renard, his confidential friend. So the
thread of the tale remains in the hands of Queen Mary,
whose forlorn sorrow constitutes the sole attraction of
the last act. Once more there has been an attempt to
create a fictitious sympathy with Elizabeth. Once
more it has failed. But still the readers of the poem
have hopes from the scene in which Mary cuts out the
face of her husband's portrait, and tramples it under
foot. It comes too late. The grief of the Queen has
been lengthened out too far ; the death has been too
indefinitely postponed. The interest, so long delayed,
has gone out of England with Philip, and a source of
relief is felt when the Princess Elizabeth hurries on the
scene, and is enabled to close the eyes of the dead Queen
Mary.

The historical play, written by the Laureate, has thus
been discussed as a contribution to Literature and as an
offering to the Stage. It only remams to say that it has
been presented with all the wealth of costume, the
beauty of decoration, and the conscientious care which
distinguish a management celebrated for its devotion to
the higher work of the Stage.

Dresses by Isai, of Milan ; scenery by Hawes Craven
and F. C. Ellerman ; and appropriate music, selected by
Mr. Robert Stoepel, sufficiently proclaim the desire of
Mrs. Bateman to present " Queen Mary" to the public
in a manner suitable to the claims of its distinguished
author. Everything has been done for this play, both by
management and artists, that the most sensitive author
could desire. It has been mounted magnificently, acted
with intelligence, and received with the good nature and
encouragement which spring naturally from a desire to
foster the impetus given to dramatic art by the produc-
tion of a play by Alfred Tennyson. " Queen Mary " has
been advantageously placed before the public, and its
fate rests upon the public's voice.

'' The belle's Stratagem,

??

By Mrs. Cowley. First produced at the Lyceum Theatre,
June i2th, 1876.

Doricourt - ^ . . . . . Mr. Henry Irving.
Mr. Hardy ---...- Mr. J. Archer.

Sir George Touchwood - . . . Mr. Beaumont.

Flutter ----... Mr. Brooke.

Saville Mr. Bentley.

Villers Mr. Carton.

Courtall - - Mr. Stuart.

Letitia Hardy - Miss Isabel Bateman.

Mrs. Racket - Miss Virginia Francis.

Lady Francis Touchwood . . - Miss Lucy Buckstone.

SYNOPSIS OF SCENERY.

Act I.

Scene i. — Lincoln's Inn. Scene 2. — An Apartment at Doricourt.
Scene 3 — A Room in Hardy's House.

Act 2.
Scene — Bal Iroom .

Act 3.

Scene i. — Hardy's House. Scene 2. — Doricourt's Bedchamber.
Scene 3. — Queen's Square. Scene 4. — A Room in Hardy's House.

99

((

The Belle s Stratagem,

The revival of Mrs. Cowley's old comedy of " The
Belle's Stratagem," for the benefit of Miss Isabel
Bateman, was the means of restoring to Mr, Henry
Irving the character which first placed this now popular
actor in a prominent position on the London Stage.
Like the traveller who, having obtained an eminence,
looks back with interest on the path by which he
ascended, Mr. Irving may possibly have regarded
the event of last evening as affording a pleasant oppor-
tunity for a similar retrospective survey. Nearly ten
years have elapsed since Miss Herbert, on re-opening
the St. James's Theatre, added "The Belle's Stratagem"
to those specimens of our elder dramatic literature,
previously reproduced to such advantage to her manage-
ment, and assigned to Mr. Irving, then chiefly known
as an actor of repute in the provinces, the character
of Doricourt. The value of the acquisition thus made
was at once acknowledged, but, notwithstanding his
scene of mock-madness in the comedy possessed some
unusual vividness of colouring, it would have been
a bold prophecy to then declare that the representative
of the fastidious gentleman, whose admiration had to be
secured by such whimsical devices, would, before very
long, become capable, as Hamlet, of attracting crowded
audiences at another theatre for two hundred successive
nights. x\part from the personal considerations which
last evening gave a special interest to the Lyceum per-
formance, the revived comedy afforded a numerous
assemblage the satisfaction of bestowing well -deserved
congratulations on Miss Isabel Bateman, whoacted Letitia
Hardy in a very graceful and sprightly fashion. The
simulation of hoydenish simplicity forming the stratagem,

H— 2

100 ''THE BELLE'S stratagem:'

by which the masquerading young lady wins the heart
of Doricourt, was especially successful, and when Mr.
Henry Irving, largely sharing in the honours of the
evening, led the beneficiaire forward to receive the con-
gratulations of the house, no doubt could be felt of the
genuine heartiness of their expression.

'' Richard the Third.

5?

By William Shakespeare. First produced at the Lyceum Theatre,
January 29th, 1877.

King Edward VI. Mr. Beaumont.

Edward, Prince of "Wales ) ^ ^ ^u i.-- f Miss Brown.

rj- u J r^ 1 r -tr 1 : Sons to the King ■ ,,• \j

Richard, Duke of York ) ^ ( Miss Harwood.

George, Duke of Clarence j Brothers | Mr. Walter Bentley.

Richard, Duke of Gloucester r to the \ ,«■ tt , t ^

I c^ 1 T-- T>- u 1 TTT \ T'- Mr. Henry Irving.

(afterwards King Richard III.) ) King \

Henry, Earl of Richmond I . . . . Mr. E. H. Brooke.
(afterwards Henry VII.) )

Cardinal Bourchier (Archbishop of Canterbury) Mr. Collett.

Duke of Buckingham - - . . Mr. T. Swinbourne.

Duke of Norfolk ...... Mr. Harwood.

Lord Rivers (Brother to King Edward's Queen) Mr. Carton.

Lord Hastings ...... Mr. R. C. Lyons.

Lord Stanley ...... Mr. A. W. Pinero.

Lord Lovel - Mr. Serjeant.

Marquis of Dorset ) o ^ ^i r-> f Mr. Seymour.

T 1 V- - Sons to the Oueen •m . t-a

Lord Grey ) I Mr. Arthur Dillon.

Sir Richard Ratcliff ..... Mr. Louther.

Sir William Catesby .... Mr. J. Archer.

Sir James Tyrrel Mr. A. Stuart.

Sir James Blunt ...... Mr. Branscombe.

Sir Robert Brackenbury Mr. H. Smyles.

Dr. Shaw Mr. Tapping.

Lord Mayor Mr. Allen.

First Murderer ....... Mr. T. Mead.

Second Murderer ...... Mr. Huntley.

Queen Margaret (widow of Henry VI.) - - Miss Bateman.

Queen Elizabeth Miss Pauncefort.

Duchess of York . - - . - Mrs. Huntley.

Lady Anne Miss Isabel Bateman.

Pages, Ladies, Nobles, Soldiers, Aldermen, Messengers, etc.

SYNOPSIS OF SCENERY.

Act I.
Scene i. — A Street.

Act 2.

Scene I. — King's Ante-Chamber. Scene 2. — Prison in the Tower
Scene 3. — Ante-Chamber.

Act 3.

Scene i.— Chamber in the Tower. Scene 2.— Hastings' house
Scene 3. — Council Chamber in Baynard's Castle.

Act 4.

Scene i. — The Presence Chamber. Scene 2.— Room in the Tower
Scene 3. — Tower Hill.

Act 5.
Scene I.— Richmond's Encampment. Scene 2. — The Royal Tent
Scene 3.— Richmond's Tent. Scene 4.— The Battle Field.

I03

" %lchard the Thirdr

A great success, associated with a gratifying surprise,
secured for the very numerous and highly appreciative
audience, gathered within the walls of the Lyceum, on
Monday night, a thorough intellectual treat, which it is
rarely the privilege of a management to afford. The
enjoyment derived from the performance was undoubtedly
heightened by the pleasureable astonishment with which
the playgoer made the unexpected discovery of a new
source of dramatic delight. It is not often that a
frequenter of theatres can recall in the course of a long
experience one particular night when the channels of
thought seemed to be flushed by a tide of new sensations.
Yet something of this kind must have been felt on
Monday evening by many an old playgoer among the
deeply attentive auditory watching the performance of
Shakespeare's tragedy of " King Richard III," really
acted, for the first time since the days of the great
dramatist, from the original text. It seems a strange
confirmation of the truth, paradoxically contained in the
familiar assertion, "that nothing is so new as that which
is old," to find a play presented at the Lyceum so late in
the present century which is not merely an absolute
novelty to the present generation, but one acted with
closer fidelity to the author's intention than has been
known since Richard Burbage embodied the hero at the
Globe and Blackfriars Theatres, with Shakespeare at
hand to offer valuable suggestions concerning stage
" business." Before Colley Cibber brought out his compil-
ation called " Richard III," at old Drury Lane, in 1700,
Shakespeare's tragedy had not been acted for more than
half-a-century, and only twice since has any attempt been
made to present it approximately in the original form.

I04 ''RICHARD THE THIRD r

What was called the restored play of "The Life and
Death of Richard III," was performed at Covent Garden,
on March 12, 1821, but it proved to be only another
" arrangement," inferior in dramatic effect to that made
by Gibber. In deference to what was supposed to be the
taste of the public at that time, Gibber's clap-trap " Off
with his head ! so much for Buckingham ! " and the
bombastic couplet, " Hence, babbling dreams ! you
threaten here in vain ; Gonscience, avaunt ! Richard's
himself again " were preserved, with many similar
passages. It is scarcely surprising that a performance
compounded in this fashion, failed to please either the
believers in Shakespeare or Gibber, and after one
repetition the experiment was declared hopelessly to be
a failure.

Had Mr. Macready, who became manager of Govent
Garden Theatre eighteen years later, retained his posi-
tion for another season, it was his intention to include
" Richard III " among those memorable revivals which
so incontestably proved the advantage of presenting the
text in its original purity. At Sadler's-Wells, during the
long and honourable lesseeship of Messrs. Phelps and
Greenwood, the nearest approach was made to the design
only partially carried out by Mr. Macready ; and when
"Richard III" was included, in March, 1845, among
the series of the Shakespearean plays brought out in such
steady succession, the ordinary acting edition was dis-
carded with characteristic contempt. The attempt to
return to the original text had, however, then to be made
with great caution, and, highly creditable as was the
effort, the result was not in any way so completely satis-
factory as the exceedingly effective, yet scrupulously
reverential, treatment the play has received from the
Lyceum management. By judicious compression and
occasional transpositions, perfectly permissible, and
bringing the fine old chronicle play into complete har-
mony with the modern stage, Shakespeare's own work
is presented in the most attractive form.

It would be, perhaps, ungracious to speak with
absolute scorn of Golley Gibber's concoction, which
has kept almost undisputed possession of the Stage
for more than 170 years, and which has been identified
with the successes of David Garrick, George Frederick

''RICHARD THE THIRD." 105

Cooke, Edmund Kean, and a long line of Richards
more or less historically illustrious. Nevertheless, the
objurgations of earnest admirers of Shakespeare and
stern sticklers for the superiority of the original text,
would now seem to be more than ever justified by the
triumphant issue of the daring, yet discreet, venture of
the Lyceum management. The rightful monarch of the
poetic drama has dethroned the usurping playwright.
The absurdities of the ordinary acting version of the
play have been repeatedly pointed out. We all know
that the murder of King Henry VI by Richard in the
Tower, transferred by Gibber from the last part of " King
Henry VI," was a violation of dramatic unities as well
as a confusion of chronology, for the crime was no longer
necessary to Richard when the action of the later tragedy
begins. We all feel that the lines borrowed from the
chorus in "Henry V," and other sources are inappro-
priately placed in the "acting version," and that through-
out his adaptations Gibber sacrificed all other qualities
for the sake of clap-traps and rapid actions.

In the original form of the work, as was forcibly
apparent to the audience, there is harmony of pur-
pose, intelligibility of motive, gradual development of
story, and completeness of character.

Through the whole of the five acts, the drama moves
along, majestically laden with a store of poetry and
passion, and the spectator feels that his attention is
demanded by the natural progress of the action, and
not distracted by watching for the mode in which
the prominent actor will deliver his favourite points.
The sense of absolute novelty attached to the Lyceum
representation is not alone advantageous to the audi-
ence. The performance excites curiosity without in-
viting comparison, and Mr. Henry Irving here stands
consequently upon safer ground than he has hitherto
occupied in his Shakespearean assumptious. No recollec-
tion of the superiority of some preceding tragedian in the
delivery of a familiar passage need here trouble either
actor or auditor. With the entire abandonment of all
the speeches for which audiences used to wait in an
attitude of applause, Mr. Irving has wisely cast aside all
traditional accompaniments of the character.

It is little to say that his impersonation is thoroughly

io6 ''RICHARD THE THIRD."

intelligent, and shows evidence of a deep, scholarlike
study of the part, for with the first attribute he has been
justly credited through the whole of his notable histrionic
career, and an actor who aims at a prominent position is
bound to bestow the unflagging attention of a student on
every line he speaks. But his Richard is not the truculent
tyrant, who has so long stamped about the stage in scarlet
doublet and flapping, russet boots, with black ringlet
wig and bushy eyebrows, supposed to symbolise in their
hue the darkness of his deeds of villainy. His deformity
is no more obtrusive than is needful to justify the
references of the text, and halting gait, appropriate to
the character, absorbs a certain mannerism of movement
which had occasionally an unpleasant effect in previous
impersonations. The dark colours in which Shakespeare
painted Richard, to brighten by contrast the figure of
Richmond, Queen Elizabeth's grandfather, are not
deepened by any lamp-black, borrowed from the foot-
lights.

Mr. Irving, above all things, makes it clear to his
audience that Richard is an absolute master of the arts
of dissimulation, and this view of the character he
supports with admirable consistency. He is never un-
duly boisterous in his rage, never prone to exaggeration
in his scoffs and sneers ; while, with all his craft of
conduct and subtlety of scheming, a certain degree of
kingly dignity is associated, preventing the wearer of the
robes of royalty from degenerating into the swaggering,
vulgar ruffian of a stage melodrama. Throughout the
play a perfect picture of the period has been evidently
sought after, and, it is eminently satisfactory to add, has
been most effectively secured. When the curtain rises
on that picturesque street of old London, through which
comes the sound of the merry peals from the churches,
proclaiming the joy of the citizens at the restoration of
peace, we are collectively taken back to the time of the
Plantagenets. A few soldiers pass, and at once the
Duke of Glo'ster enters, in strict accordance with the
poet's directions, speaking the memorable soliloquy,
" Now is the winter of our discontent," which gives the
keynote to the whole play. Clarence and Brakenbury
accompany the guards to the Tower, the interview with
Hastings takes place, and the first round of acclamations

"be not so hasty to confound my meaning."

[face io6

''RICHARD THE THIRD." 107

follows Richard's highly-significant delivery of the lines :

" And if I fail not in my deep intent,

Clarence hath not another day to live :

Which done, God take King Edward to his mercy.

And leave the world for me to bustle! "

Then comes the funeral of Henry VI, with the impres-
sive accompaniment of a chant of choristers, the first
triumph of the arch-hypocrite in his conquest of the
affections of Lady Anne, won, " in her heart's extremest
hate " and the act-drop falls on the crafty dissembler's
chuckling satisfaction at the smoothness of his tongue
being more than a compensation for the angularities of
his figure, and " shine out, fair sun till I have bought a
glass, that I may see my shadow as I pass," become the
cue for the audience bursting forth into rounds of con-
gratulatory plaudits, no less heartily conveyed than
honestly deserved. The second act includes the chamber
in the Tower, with Clarence's well-remembered recital of
the dream, the dialogue between the two murderers, the
warnings and malediction of Queen Margaret, and the
death of Edward IV, all unknown to the playgoers only
habituated to the acting version, while the encounter of
Richard with his mother, the Duchess of York, brings
the curtain down on an effective picture.

In the third act, though the scene in the council cham-
ber— here most substantially constructed with broad mas-
sive stairs and lofty gallery — appears much in the familiar
dramatic form, the well-known situation is strengthened
by the improvement made in the ordinary stage business,
and Richard's affection of meek humility in accepting
the proffered crown becomes much more impressively
rendered. The impeachment of Hastings, transferred by
Rowe to his tragedy of "Jane Shore," here restored to
its original position, sustains the interest of the play
at a very essential point ; and the scene with the
young Princes, the meeting on Tower- Hill and the stir
and bustle of the preparations for taking the field,
keep the attention well on the alert through the
fourth act.

In the fifth act, divided into five short scenes, the
judicious manner in which is contrived the effect
of the ghostly visitors to Richard in his tent, did

io8 ''RICHARD THE THHW."

not fail to be noticed, and the deep feeling of remorse
and despair conveyed by Mr. Irving, in the utter-
ance of " There is no creature loves me," sent an
absolute thrill through the hushed assemblage. The
excitement of the battle-field of Bosworth is well inain-
tained, without being unduly prolonged ; and when, after
a swift combat, Richard is slain and Richmond proclaims
his victory, the curtain quickly falls, and an audience,
who have not felt one moment of weariness through the
five acts, gratefully acknowledge their indebtedness to
Mr. Irving and his associates in art for an evening's en-
joyment of the highest intellectual kind. This remark-
able revival of a play, which comes upon the town like
a new revelation of Shakespeare's grandeur of concep-
tion and treatment, is destined to a long career, if the
measure of public patronage be proportionate to the
amount of care bestowed on the production.

That Richard is the most elaborately wrought-out cha-
racter in which Mr. Henry Irving has ever appeared,
many will contend with good show of argument, but no
one can doubt that it is his greatest triumph as an actor.
In none of his previous assumptions has he shown a firmer
grasp of purpose, and in none has he so thoroughly suc-
ceeded in concealing defects which have occasionally
marred his excellent intentions. As Richard, Mr.
Irving thoroughly identifies himself with the design of
the dramatist, showing his villainy in subordination to
his ambition, and masking both under an almost im-
penetrable veil woven out of the webs of deceit and
treachery. To such a performance the warmest praise
may be unhesitatingly accorded, not only on account of
its absolute freedom from all the tricks of stage artifice,
but for the minute touches — the by-play with the white
rose, for instance, in the scene of the council chamber,
— all of which helps so much to give just the finishing
touch to a highly-coloured artistic picture. Rarely, too,
has such efficient support been rendered a prominent
actor.

The extreme grace and delicacy displayed by Miss
Isabel Bateman, as Lady Anne, merit especially a
cordial recognition. A young actress, who can deliver
difficult speeches, with so much intelligence, correctness
of elocution, and expressiveness of gesture, ought to

'^ RICHARD THE THIRDr 109

be assured of a bright future in her theatrical career.
Her progress has always been watched with grow-
ing interest, and her latest achievement will go far
to strengthen the hopes of those who have sanguine ex-
pectations of the position on the Stage she may ulti-
mately attain. The well-known powers of Miss Bate-
man are well employed in giving the utmost force to the
Cassandra-like predictions of the grief-maddened Queen
Margaret, and her aspect was as wild and weird as the
words in which her warnings and maledictions are
framed. Miss Pauncefort and Mrs. Huntley, as Queen
Elizabeth and the Duchess of York, are most appro-
priately placed in the cast, and the young Princes find
suitable representatives in Miss Brown and Miss Har-
wood, whose natural intelligence has been skilfully
directed.

The grim humour of the First Murderer is so
adroitly conveyed by Mr. T. Mead, that an especial
compliment at the end of the act in which he appeared
was felt to be due to the actor, and his sterner associate
in crime had an adequate representative in Mr. Huntley.
Mr. Walter Bentley, by his admirable rendering of
Clarence's dream, secured also an immediate recognition
of his elocutionary powers, and won honours in a position
that a young actor might justly feel some professional
pride in obtaining at an early stage of his career. The
valuable aid of such an experienced tragedian as Mr.
T. Swanbourne gave to the Duke of Buckingham
marked prominence. Mr. E. H. Brooke, in a dazzling
suit of steel armour, looked a most chivalrous champion
as Richmond ; and the more subordinate parts were
very carefully and creditably filled by Messrs. Harwood,
Carton, R. C. Lyons, Pinero, A. Stuart, J. Archer, and
Louther. The musical introductions, which added greatly
to the effect of the representation, entitle the orchestral
director, Mr. Stcepel, to a full tribute of acknowledge-
ment; and the scenery of Mr. Hawes Craven ; and the
accuracy of the general accessories, claim the warmest
commendation for the completeness they give to one of
the most interesting revivals the stage has witnessed for
a considerable period.

''The Lyons Maiir

Adapted from " Le Courrier de Lyons," by Charles Reade. First
produced at the Lyceum Theatre, May 19th, 1877.

Joseph Lesurques Mr. Henry Irving.

Dubosc (Captain of a gang of Robbers, known as the

Five Hundred) - - - Mr. Henry Irving.
Jerome Lesurques ..... Mr. T. Mead.

Didier (betrothed to J uhe) .... Mr. E. H. Brooke.
JoHquet (servant at the Inn) - - - Miss Lydia Howard.
M. Dorval (a Magistrate) ... - Mr. F. Tvars.

Lambert I x? • ^ r t ' Mr. Louther.

Guerneau ) Friends of Lesurques -^ Mr. Glyndon.

Postmaster at Montgeron Mr. Collett.

Coco (a waiter) Mr. Branscombe.

Gar9on at Cafe , Mr. Tapping.

Guard | „ , at -i r- v, f Mr. Harwood.

■D^^.;ii; ,- To the Lyons Mail Coach - ^^ .

Fostilhon J ^ [ Mr. Allen.

Courriol Mr. R. C. Lyons.

Chappard ) Members nf the Gan^r ' ^r. Huntley.

Fouinard J Members ol the Gang -^ Mr. J. Archer.

Durochat (Disguised as a Traveller) - - - Mr. Helps.
Julie (Daughter of Lesurques) - Miss Virginia Francis.

Jeannette - ..... Miss Isabel Bateman.

Gendarmes, Citizens, etc.

SYNOPSIS OF SCENERY.

Act I.

Scene i. — Room in the Cafe, 17, Rue de Lac, Pans. Scene 2. —
Exterior of the Inn at Lieursaint, on the Lyons Road.

Act 2.
Scene. — Salon in the House of M. Lesurques.

Act 3.

Scene i. — Panelled Chamber overlooking the Garden in M.

Lesurques' House. Scene 2. — The Prison. Scene 3. — First Floor

of a Cabaret, overlooking the Place of Execution.

face 113]

DuboSC. — THIS CUKSKD WOMAN WILL MAR ALL !

113

'' The Lyons JVlailT

The " most lamentable of injudicious mistakes " in-
nocently committed at the close of the last century in
France, has been handed down to us as a solemn warn-
ing, by means of an excellent drama. Playgoers in
almost every continent of the world ought to know the
story of the " Courier of Lyons," and, having known it,
they will be familiar with the fate of poor Joseph Les-
urques. In the days of the Directory, the solemnity of
the laws of circumstantial evidence received a rude and
irreparable shock from the fact that an innocent man
suffered death for a crime of which he was entirely guilt-
less. A freak of nature in making two men so exactly
alike that they could not be recognised apart, ultimately
explained the execution of a guiltless man, warned
society of the fatal injury inflicted on a blameless family,
and gave the stage a legitimate mission.

Let us first run briefly over the circumstances, in fact,
which led to the drama. A ruffianly murderer, escaped
from the galleys, conceived the project of robbing the
Lyon's mail, which was known on a certain day to be
carrying a treasure in bank notes ; and, aware of his
likeness to a popular citizen, one Joseph Lesurques, he,
with devilish ingenuity, arranged his plans so as to
escape from justice by entrapping a being incapable
of committing a crime. He selected for his accom-
plices those with whom Lesurques was in daily com-
munication ; he arranged the scene of the murder at a
lonely inn, kept — as very few people knew — by the old
father of Lesurques ; he schemed that the deed should
occur contemporaneously with the precise instant when
the son had paid a clandestine visit to his father ; and
in every single point circumstances came with their
damning evidence against the blameless Lesurques. The

I

114 ''THE LYONS mail:'

father, who came up at the instant of the murder and
robbery, recognised his son. The boy at the inn swore
to him. His clandestine visit, designed with an honour-
able motive, was apparently incapable of explanation,
and Lesurques was guillotined as a malefactor. Such
dramatic incidents as these, so interesting to the spec-
tator, and so teeming with tragic despair, were not likely
to escape the attention of the dramatist. Fiction is
ennobled with truth as a foundation, and with Lacres-
soniere to create the double character of murderer and
victim, the Gaiete Theatre, in Paris, obtained a great
success in the year 1850. Mechanically intricate and
dramatically ingenious, the " Courier of Lyons " held
the town.

The inherent truth of the story told in its favour ; the
danger of the recurrence of such a disaster gave it im-
petus ; and the descendants and heirs of Lesurques
signed a round robin, authorising the use of the name of
their ancestor as a warning to posterity. Once pro-
duced in Paris, such a play was not likely to escape the
attention of London. There were several versions of it
— at the Standard, at the Victoria and the Adelphi —
where Leigh Murray was the hero. But the best English
version was that of Charles Reade, produced at the
Princess's Theatre, in 1854. Avith Charles Kean in the
double character, David Fisher as the fop, Addison as
the guilty horse-dealer, Charlotte Leclercq as the
daughter, and Kate Terry as the innocent, fresh and
child-like boy, Joliquet, whose evidence is of such vital
importance. Such a subject as this belonged to Charles
Reade, and he attacked it with all his sense of dramatic
propriety, and all his soul of righteous indgination.
He gave the play a far better ending than the French
authors ever conceived, and carefully arranged the
relative interests of the ruffian and his victim.

Wishing to revive the drama for Mr. Irving, Mrs.
Bateman naturally went again to Mr. Reade, and in his
latest re-arrangement he has once more improved the
best English version. By restoring the scene be-
tween the father and the son, the play obtains a serious
— if a terrible — moment and counteracts much inevitable
bustle ; and by lengthening out the farewell between
father and son, the dramatist judiciously uses those

''THE LYONS mail:' 115

powers of pathetic expression of which Mr. Irving is a
recognised master. Some may object to the position of a
father consulting with his son to commit suicide, sooner
than disgrace his family on a scaffold, and many \\\\\
recall the farewell of Charles I. in the last adieu to
his daughter. Bvit the rejection of the suicide counter-
acts the risk, and such a farewell as that of Charles I.
is beautiful even in replica. As this old drama has
evidently been revived for the sake of giving Mr. Irving
one more opportunity of exhibiting a mind-study, as
elaborate as it is absorbing, and of showing his power of
intricate reality, we may, perhaps, be excused for dwell-
ing longer on this double character of Lesurques and
Dubosc than on the play, which ought to be sufliciently
well known by this time. The task assigned to the actor
is one of great difficulty. It must be hampered with the
perplexities of stage arrangement, and he must clearly
express the varieties of disposition of two distinct men.
Description of this kind in a novel would be compara-
tively easy ; but think of the instant power requisite to
convey to an audience the lifetime of two distinct indi-
vidualities in a couple of hours. Here is Lesurques,
innocent man, the affectionate father of a loving house-
hold, an honest fellow, wdio does good by stealth, and
would blush to find it fame, modest in demeanour, and
nervous in susceptibility, suddenly confronted with an
alarming accusation. In such straits, good name and
affectionate friends stand over the accused, and shield
him from attack.

Not so with Lesurques. His father is the first to
suspect him, to accuse him, and to denounce him. The
waves of evidence gather over him until they almost
drown his courage. He is astonished, he is eloquent, and
he is paralysed. Everyone is against him, everyone in
the wide world. His family shudders — his friends are
cold. The " mens conscia recti " is a faint support ; but
still Lesurques meets his fate like a man, and like a
gentleman. Cast away the type of humanity, and behold
Dubosc, alike Lesurques in feature, but utterly distinct
from him in disposition — a brute, a drunkard, a relentless
demon, and a common murderer. He cares for nothing
in the world but his ugly self. He casts off the woman
who has befriended him ; he treats his companions in

ii6 ''THE LYONS MAILr

infamy like curs ; he gloats like a beast over the execu-
tion of an innocent man ; and he fights for dear life like
a tiger. These are surely tremendous difficulties with
which the actor has elected to grapple, and, though the
canvas on which they are stretched is the poor, well
abused melodrama, no less credit is due to Mr. Irving for
his subtlety of conception, and for his mastery of detail.

Of the two characters we own to preferring Lesurques
though we are aware of the difficulty in expressing the
companion picture. The scenes in which Lesurques is
engaged during the examination, and at the interview
with his father, are highly studied, and effective at every
turn. In the one we find the flurried terror of accusation,
and in the other the dignity of despair. For the sake of
the acting of Mr. Irving in this last scene we thank Mr.
Reade for restoring it. The relative positions of father and
son are marked with consummate taste. Mr. Irving is not
vehement under accusation ; he is dignified. His father
speaks, and he must bear the blow\ For an instant,
scourged to madness by the violence of his attack, he
is urged to put an end to his miserable existence ; but the
courage of his innocence sustains him, and he comes out
of the difficulty a hero. This scene, so complex and so
important, no doubt obtains its sustainmg strength from
the acting of Mr. Mead, and it will be well to congratu-
late at this point, this old actor on his spirited and
Lafont-like reading of the grey-haired father. True, at
times, the utterances may be a little staccato, occasioned
by long years in other scenes where emphasis is unduly
marked ; but there is a strength, a firmness and a grip
on such acting as this of incalculable value to the scene.
The power and intensity of the father brought out the
calmness and righteous indignation of the son. In fact,
the scene was admirably played and held the house.

When we return to the acting of Mr. Irving, as
Dubosc, the assassin, we are conscious of the extreme
difficulty of contrast, but cannot regard the study as so
complete as the other. The brutality and drunkenness
were elaborated to extreme finish, but there was some-
thing about the hoarse voice and swaggering demeanour
which suggested a too modern ruffian. We did not quite
want here the wife-killer of St. Giles's, or the murderer
of Nancy. The Dubosc was a brute of the police-courts,

" THE LYONS MAIL. 117

and the wonder stole upon the imagination how such a
poHshed gentleman — apart from the face — could have
been mistaken for such an obviously degraded wretch.
People are recognised by voice as well as by face, and
we cannot help thinking that a more polished ruffian —
externally — would have more completely perfected the
illusion. The excellence of the performance excites
minuteness of criticism, but comments, such as we have
ventured to offer, do not detract from the studious skill
and deliberate emphasis of Mr. Irving's acting.

It will be gathered, from the remarks already made,
that Mr. Mead made a strong mark by his performance
of the father Lesurques, and amongst the assistant
characters Miss Isabel Bateman should be congratulated
on the earnest manner in which she insisted that she
had studied and thrown all her heart into the character
of Jeanette, the injured wife. At the outset, it is true,
there was too deliberate an imitation of the manner of
Mrs. Crowe, without the compensating power ; but in the
scene where Jeanette accuses Dubosc, there was a deter-
mination, a meaning, and a dramatic verve quite at the
command of the young actress, and eminently effective. It
is something, at any rate, to hear a dramatic note firmly
struck, and Miss Isabel Bateman did this when, as the ill-
used, wounded, neglected wife and mother, she sacrificed
her love for the sake of humanity. Unfortunately, there
were some mistakes, which, perhaps, might have been
avoided by more careful selection of artists — such, for
instance, as the boy Joliquet and the fop Courriol. All
notion of youth, innocence, and frankness, and fear, dis-
appeared in the mincing mannerisms and conscious
assertiveness of Miss Lydia Howard, whose overtraining
conquered nature deplorably, and Mr. R. C. Lyons was
not less ill at ease as Courriol, a modern Osric, with the
most stagey veneer.

It is strange, that when so many actors could so
successfully perfect such small characters as these, a blot
should have been unnecessarily made on a play demand-
ing good acting all round. It will not do in these days to
neglect the care due to the smallest parts, and if it were
worth the while to do so, fault could be found with many
of the minor characters. The play ended at the extra-
ordinary early hour of ten o'clock, and, as there was

ii8 "7//£ LYONS MAIL:'

nothing to follow, an animated discussion took place
between Mr. Irving and his friends in the pit and gallery.
Calls were made for Mr. Reade, calls were made for Mr.
Irving, appeals were made for a speech, and, at one time,
there seemed a likelihood of a debate on the relative
value of farces persistently put up at the Lyceum. But
Mr. Irving, with commendable diplomacy elected to refer
the matter to the management. Mrs. Bateman will not
fail to see that the prices charged for admission demand
a longer entertainment.

''Louts xi:'

By Casimir Delavigne, adapted by Dion Boucicault.
at the Lyceum Theatre, March gth, i8'

Louis XL, (King of France)
Duke de Nemours . . . . .

The Dauphin (afterwards Charles L Age, i6)
Cardinal D'Alby - . . . .

Philip de Commines (the Historian)
Count de Dreux . . . - .

Jacques Coitier (the King's Physician) -
Tristan I'Ermite (Grand Provost and Execu-
tioner; - - . . .
Oliver le Dain (the Barber Minister;
Francois de Paule (Founder of the Hermits

of St. Francis)
M on seigneur de Lude . . . .
The Count de Dunois . - . .

Marcel " " f )

Richard - - \ Peasants \ -

Didier - . ( J .

Officer of the Royal Guard
Montjoie (Herald of France) - . .

Toison d'Or (Flerald of Burgundy) -
King's Attendants - - Messrs

Marie (Daughter of Philip de Commines)
Jeanne (a Peasant) - - - -
Martha (Wife of Marcel)

Mr.

Mr.

Mr.

First produced

Henry Irving.
Mr. F. Tyars.
Mr. Andrews.

Mr. COLLETT.

F. Clements.

Mr. Parker.

J. Fernandez.

Mr. W. Bentley.
- Mr. J. Archer.

Mr. T, Mead.

Mr. Holland.

Mr. Laneton.

- Mr. E. Lyons.

- Mr. Smith.

Mr. Branscombe.

Mr. Harwood.

Mr. Cartvvright.

Mr. Tapping.

Edwardes and Simpson.

Miss Virginia Francis.

Mrs. St. John.

Mrs. Chippendale.

French and Burgundian Lords, Guards, Bishops, Priests, Peasants,
Pages, etc.

SYNOPSIS OF SCENERY.

Act I.
Exterior of the Castle, Plessis les Tours.

Act 2.
Throne Room in the Castle.

Act 3.
A Forest Glade.

Act 4.
The King's Bedchamber.

Act 5.
The Throne Room.

121

^' Louis XI r

Those who would stimulate the mind and sharpen the
dramatic appetite with the anxious, clear-cut, and, in
many respects, noble art-study that has happily result ed
in the Louis XI of Mr. Henry Irving, may be earnestly
recommended to judge the centre figure apart from its
surrounding framework. A sensitive and fastidious age
like ours, with its nervous horror of prolonged death-
scenes on the stage, its hatred of intense expression, its
shuddering opposition to that exquisitely fine realism at
which the artist's ambition strains, its hunger for variety,
and its distrust of concentration, in turning its back
upon the kind of play an actor must use in order to
exercise his highest gifts, virtually raises an opposition
to the spirit of tragedy. The noblest expression of an
actor's art can no more be confined in the limits of
comedy, drama, or melodrama, than can a thoroughbred
horse develop his powers in a courtyard or a paddock.

When an actor departs from the stereotyped lines of
dramatic effect, and grapples boldly with psychological
problems, he must remove his kid gloves, and put on
his armour. He must pour out the sorrows of his heart
as Lear, show the dauntless courage of Macbeth, ex-
press the absorbing passion of Othello, fight to the grim
death as Richard, and fall like Julius C^sar, if he would
concentrate the attention of his audience, not merely on
a passing scene, an ingenious situation, or a theatrical
surprise, but on the conflicting passions of a great char-
acter. It is deliberately unfair to the actor to charge his
account with the form of art in which psychological
studies must be expressed on the stage. When people
go to the play, and, after watching a masterly exposition

122 ''LOUIS xir

of the varied passions of one of the giants of the world's
history, dehcate in its subtlety, sensitive in its irony,
studied to the very finger nails ; when they see, in the
space of a couple of hours, the concentrated essence of
a tremendous life-time, and then complain that Louis
XI is a terribly long time dying, that the realism of
death-throes is very painful, " that they don't like to have
their feelings harrowed up," that they " don't go to the
play to be made miserable," and so on, they merely mean
that tragic expression has no interest for them, and they
imply that, if they had their way, the art of acting
should be deprived of its highest and most intense aim.
The study of a character such as Louis XI, is surely not
complete without elaborate detail, and the tragedian who
would embody such a character must be judged by the
quality of the task he undertakes.

No one pretends to put this play of " Louis XI " on a
very ambitious pedal of literary exercise. Mr. Boucicault,
understanding the temper of his audience, has carefully
relieved the classical severity of Casimir Delavigne's
work. He has turned its course occasionally towards the
lighter paths of the drama, has given it scientific oppor-
tunities and chances for theatrical effect ; and, though
the actors in it are little assisted by rhetorical flowers,
dignity of language, and nobility of poetical expression,
still, at any rate, there is a very fair and suitable frame-
work for a character that might have been selected for
treatment by Shakespeare or Racine. It is the character
of Louis XI with which we have simply to deal. The
immediate predecessor of Richard the Third in history
is as absorbing a stage study. The very same year
that the usurping King of England was murdering young
Edward V, and his brother, in the Tower, the medical
attendants of the dying King of France, and murderer
of Nemours, were pouring the warm blood of infants
into his exhausted veins. There were giants in those
fifteenth century days, albeit they were wicked giants;
and object to mere matters of detail as we will, no one
can follow the play of " Louis XI " without having the
attraction rivetted on the picturesque monster.

The actor triumphs when the force of his art oblite-
rates the surroundings of the scene. Mr. Boucicault has
done what he could to suit the French play to an

''LOUIS xir 123

English audience. Save for a feeble and pointless first
act, serving no purpose as a prologue or introduction,
the scenes as they stand give fair opportunity for show-
ing the cruelty in life and the agony in death of the
terrible King of France. We see him crafty in trick,
fawning in abasement, hypocritical in religion, and terri-
fied in his death agony. The author of the passing scenes
is assisted by decorative and scenic art. The richness of
costume, the care of archaeology, the beauty of scenery,
the sounds of soft music, the wail of the distant hymn,
the pomp of the religious ceremony — all serve their legiti-
mate purpose. But from the moment that the usher in
the doorway calls aloud " The King," scenery, crowds,
tapestry, armour, drawbridge, and portcullis, monkish
chant, and rustic dance all go to the background, and the
actor is the prominent figure. This is as it should be,
and it is in this fact that the latest triumph of Mr. Irving
as a student and an artist is contained. There may be
differences of opinion, and justly so, upon this or that
matter of detail. Comparisons will be made with that
lost and valued actor, who did so much for the English
stage, and first centred our absorbed interest in this
remarkable effort. There may be complaints of the
actor's manner in minor and insignificant matters ; but
such a study as this should be treated in a broad, manly,
and comprehensive spirit, and it is not too much to say —
and we say it without hesitation — that Charles Kean,
were he alive, would, with that liberal and art-loving
spirit that distinguished him, be the last man to grudge
Mr. Irving his legitimate success, or to refuse him the
genuine praise that must follow so comprehensive and
so powerful a performance.

Nay, we go further, and draw, from the genuine and
generous conduct of Mrs. Charles Kean in the matter of
this revival, the inevitable conclusion that our lost actor
would cordially have rejoiced to find that the traditions
and dignity of the stage were upheld in so true and so
laudable a spirit.

Let us return, then, to that moment when King Louis
XI comes upon the scene, for from that instant every
eye is firmly fixed upon the centre figure, and seldom
after that the attention wanders from Mr. Irving. Pages
of dialogue could not so well express the meaning of

124 ''LOUIS xir

the man as does the actor's appearance. His thin,
drawn, cruel face, his curious crafty eye, his uncertain
voice, broken, petulant, and shrill, his restless manner,
give the first idea of the character.

Mark, also, how a certain invincible determination
tries to conquer the palpable signs of age. This is not
mere trick of limping, it is the very feebleness of senility.
The thin shanks are old, the feet are old, the tread upon
the floor is age itself. Throughout this long scene, con-
taining the defiant threats of Charles the Bold, the actor's
manner, voice, bearing, and attitude, change a dozen times.
He never seems to be acting. The art is concealed.
Touches of irritable passion are succeeded by quick,
sharp strokes of irony, and comedy shows her face again
and again. Before the King has been seen for ten
minutes, all seem instinctively to understand his dispo-
sition. The cruelty is in his eye, the irresolution in his
manner. He will bully one minute, and cringe another.
He dares and threatens until grappled with, and then
whines for pardon. He cheats his conscience, and en-
deavours to hide his cowardice with subterfuge — his
tyranny with religion. He scratches nervously at his
lower jaw when craftily considering how far he can go,
and hypocritically pats the head of the Dauphin, of
whose youth and popularity he is profoundly jealous.
Amidst such remarkable detail, it is impossible to dwell
long on much of the light and shade that so well illus-
trate the character ; but we may point to the attitude
of the King when taking his throne and awaiting the
deputation as a remarkable illustration of Mr. Irving's
finished art.

Once more the idea of extreme age and feebleness is
expressed in the relief of sitting. The figure falls limp
into the throne. The jaw drops, a wearied expression
comes over the features, and, without a word uttered, there
is conveyed the depression attending formal ceremony.
This is but one instance of many showing the sharp in-
cision of the study, and it may be affirmed, without
hesitation, that the first act in which the King appears is
the most remarkable illustration Mr. Irving has given of
his command of detail and absolute identification with
the character assumed. Here, at any rate, old manner-
isms disappear ; not that any actor has ever lived without

''LOUIS XI r 125

mannerisms, but, down to this point, there is nothing to
identify the actor with his part. It may seem ungracious
to point out one instance of what looked hke mistaken
emphasis, or rather, over-accentuation, in such a remark-
able scene ; but the keen interest it created must plead
as an excuse.

The sudden breaking off from the suggestion of
Nemours to the attitude of prayer at the sound of the
" Angelus," was, perhaps, too marked an exhibition of
outward hypocrisy. At this point, the mere mechanical
movement of the lips, and assumed devotional spirit,
would be sufficient without emphasis. The hypocrisy
is conveyed in the attitude, and does not require ac-
centuation. Without wishing to indulge in any com-
parison, we may remark that it was here that Charles
Kean made his most marked effect. He did not
mutter the prayer, as much as to say to the audience,
" Don't you see I am praying ? — and how ridiculous is
prayer at this moment ? " — the sudden change of manner
conveyed all that was requisite. At this particular
moment, and again in the prayer to the Virgin at the
prie-dicn, there was just a suspicion of trying to do too
much — a slight mistake in art which was proved by the
laughter momentarily provoked — and there would be no
justification for lingering on these slight matters were not
the whole performance so instinct with truth and care.
If the attention were not so completely rivetted that it
followed every turn and twist of the actor's meaning,
there would be less excuse for suggesting an alteration as
simple as this. The second act of the play is one that
most vividly sets forth the King's character, and is as
such in many respects the most interesting ; but it should
not necessarily detract from the more powerful situation
gradually working up to the chmax of the King's death.

The third act contains the well-known pilgrimage of
the King to the Saint's shrine in the forest glade, and
here the audience enjoys a moment's interlude of
comedy relief. Excellently assisted by Mrs. Chippen-
dale, as the rustic Martha, who, with woman's tact,
sees through the grim superstition of the tottering
monarch, and promises him a hope of revived love and
a dream of life for a hundred years, and gaining the
support of Mr. Edmund Lyons, a quick judge of marked

125 ''LOUIS A7."

character, who plays the booby peasant doomed to say
the wrong thing at awkward moments, Mr. Irving
entered thoroughly and earnestly into the lighter scenes
of the play. Showering the gold upon the heads of the
rustic dancers, and sardonically grinning over a welcome
conquest and a visionary promise of long life, the old
King, still showing the possession of a tiger's power,
gradually approaches the realms of a deeper tragedy.
Comedy by quiet and modulated steps is left behind with
the scene where the monarch, with cat-like softness and
studied deception, extracts from Marie the secret of her
love for Nemours, and the fact of his presence in their
midst. From that second the passion of the situation
increases, and we gradually approach that moment when
the Duke de Nemours, hidden by his father's friend
behind the arras of the King's chamber, surprises his
grim old enemy at his orisons, threatens him in the
silence of the chamber, extracts from him a craven
humiliation, and gives him, as a supreme revenge, his
life.

In all this scene Mr. Irving had what is known as up-
hill work. Owing to a certain coarseness of treatment,
and a rough, ill-disciplined form of elocution on the part
of Mr. F. Tyars, who played Nemours, the scene certainly
lacked harmony, and wanted finish. In a dramatic sense it
is the finest moment of the play, but Mr. Irving struggled
with the greatest difficulty against unsympathetic aid,
and succeeded only by the most determined resolution.
Sympathetic treatment was here essential. The better
Nemours acted, the more terrible would have been the
abject terror of the King. But, as it was, the want of
appreciation shown by Mr. Tyars, his lack of heart, and
his failure in delicate treatment, told seriously against the
prostrate King, whose efforts had already been severely
taxed. Away from Nemours, the King had been acting
admirably. There was no want of unison in the scene
of the confession, for the Confessor, Frangois de Paule,
was played by Mr. T. Mead with rugged earnestness
and sound effect. There was no failure in colour when
relieved from the presence of Nemours. The half-
maddened King summoned his attendants, and in an
agony of fear, despatched his guard after the retreating
assassin. Far finer than the best scenes of his Richelieu,

''LOUIS xir 127

Mr, Irving here abandoned himself to the tempest of the
situation, and the curtain fell upon applause, spontaneous,
hearty, and well-deserved.

The death scene remained as the htting conclusion to
the history of this melancholy life, and whatever objections
may be taken to death realism in the abstract, the
passing hours of this bad great man, as illustrated on the
stage, are eloquent with truth and vividly impressive as
a clever study. The conscientious objections of such
people as protest against the dark shadows of the valley of
death being illustrated by art, deserve a certain respect ;
and if it be granted that tragedy, the tragedy of such a
life as that of Louis XI, is not to be robl:)ed of its
orthodox conclusion, then surely art more delicate has
seldom been bestowed upon a painful subject. The
death of Louis XI on the stage, is no more reprehensive
than the death of a hundred other heroes of tragedy ;
and those who, distrusting tragedy, take this as an
illustration, incur a grave responsibility. If the lives of
all stage heroes are to pass away without pain, then the
limits of art are circumscribed. Mr. Henry Irving had
no such scruples. He attacked his task boldly, and he
succeeded in being impressive without attempting to be
morbid. He had to illustrate a double death — ^a death
of weakness, and a death of reality. He had to describe
a death-like want of animation, an interval of sleep, and
the last grand struggle. Such a study cannot be too
elaborate for those who believe in the power of art. So
long as it was not shocking it w^as within the boimds of
art. A complete change had come over Louis XI when he
tottered into the throne room to die. They had clothed
him in his robes of regal office, gi\en him crown and
sceptre, and flattered his last moments with pomp and
insignia.

He was a splendid mockery in the hour of death, a
hideous example of the vanity of man's power. Clothe
him as they would in crown and velvet, the inevitable
must, in the end, prevail. These were the thoughts
suggested by the acting of Mr. Irving, He was a
melancholy wreck, a decorated effigy. There was some-
thing grand even in this dogged determination not to die ;
but, fight as he would. King or not, it was death that
gained the victory. The quick, horrible spasms, the pause

128 ''LOUIS XI r

of relief after them, the colourless eye, the twitching of the
lingers, the nervous plucking of the regal robe, all told of
the ghastly inevitable. A final spasm, and then came a
torpor. To all beholders, the King was dead. The
doctor felt his pulse and then his heart. The Dauphin,
in the silence of the death-chamber, took his father's
wasted hand. It fell inanimate. But then came the
last spasm, ihe spasm of returning life, and, as the
Dauphin placed upon his boyish brow, the crown he was
to wear, he felt upon his shoulders the clutch of the dead
King's fingers. He lived for that moment of reproach.
He lived to repent and forgive his enemies, and when,
with bated breath, the old formula was uttered, " Le
roi est mort, \'ive le roi," all was silence and all was
peace.

The stage management of the last scene was without
reproach. This is an art too little recognised. Good at
other points, the arrangement of the final passage was
distinguished for its dignity, its impressive character, and
its intense solemnity. The sitv;ation gathered strength
as it went on. The revival of the King, and his check
of the Dauphin's impetuosity, were excellent enough ;
but from the moment that Marie summoned the courtiers
to the fall of the curtain, there was not an instant where
levity was possible.

And this is the secret of earnest stage work. So im-
pressive, indeed, was the solemnity of the death-scene,
that for some time the audience, demonstrative to a
fault hitherto, refused to cheer, and it was only with this
effort of reaction that Mr. Irving was called again and
again before the curtain to thank those who so cordially
thanked him, and to say many grateful words concerning
the goodwill and encouragement of Mrs. Charles Kean.
In discussing a success of this kind, it is impossible to
dwell with proper force upon the minor assistance that
helped to swell the actor's triumph.

There were certain blots on the general performance,
no doubt, but such essential characters of the Dauphin
and Oliver were sustained with earnest intelligence by Mr.
Andrews and Mr. Archer. The female interest is weak
enough, and Miss Virginia Francis did as what she could
with Marie ; but the best of the unrecognised aids, apart
from the general tone of the stage arrangements, were

''LOUIS XL" 129

the distant musical strains, no doubt perfected by Mr.
Robert Stoepel. That far-off hymn to Heaven for the
King's hfe, as he sat warming himself by the massive grate,
is one of those suggestive and excellent effects which are
so thorough, that they are not readily forgotten. Such
touches as these give a gleam of poetry to scenes which
seem to pass away, but, in reality, linger affectionately
in the memory. They do so because they are true, and
because it is true that the Louis XI of Mr. Henry Irving
will be recognised as his most complete and scholarly
study.

'' Vanderdecken^

By Percy Fitzgerald and W. G. Wills. First produced at the
Lyceum Theatre, June 8th, 1S78.

Philip Vanderdecken Mr. Henry Irving.

Nils (an old Pilot, father of Thekla) - - Mr. Fernandez.

Olaf - Mr. Walter Bentley.

Pastor Anders Been Mr. Edmund Lyons.

Alderman Jorgen Mr. A. W. Pinero.

Jans Steffen - - Mr. R. Lyons.

Soreen Mr. Archer.

Sailors, etc.,

Nurse Birgit Miss Padncefort.

Christine Miss Jones.

Jetty Miss Harwood.

Old Nancy Miss St. John.

Thekla (the Pilot's daughter) - - - Miss Isabel Bateman.

SYNOPSIS OF SCENERY-

The scene of the play is in Norway, at the beginning of the
Eighteenth Century.

Act I. — Evening.

Scene. — Cottage of old Nils, the Pilot, near the entrance of the
Christiania Fjord.

Act 2. — Daybreak.

Scene I. — Quay of the Fishing Village. Scene 2. —Interior of the
Cottage.

Act 3.

Scene.— Path leading by the cliff to the cottage of Nils ; distant view
of the Skager Rack.

Act 4.

Scene i. — Interior of the Cottage. Scene 2.— Deck of the Phantom
Ship. — The Haven.

.-".Wm. "^

J ^- .v*^ ^

- ,-^

4^

/rtce 133]

'a dead man with the consciousness of death!"

133

" V under deckenT

The everlasting German legend of " The Flying
Dutchman " passed through three important stages in
this country before it found itself set round with certain
jewels of poetry, and honest gold of artistic expression
at the suggestion of Henry Irving, We have met it in
fiction, in old-established melodrama, and on the lyric
stage. It has now been revived by Mr. Percy Fitz-
gerald and Mr. W. G. Wills, in the " romantic poetic
drama," " Vanderdecken," and before we proceed to our
task — our most pleasant task — of complimenting the
authors on the daring of their fancy, and the artists on
the excellence of their performance, it may surely be in-
teresting to trace this curious legend from the pages of a
favourite magazine to its position as the first bold attempt
to scorn theatrical conventionality, and to encourage im-
agination in dramatic art. In the month of May, 1821,
appeared in the pages of " Blackwood's Magazine," a
striking story called " Vanderdecken's Message Home;
or, the Tenacity of Natural Affection." The last half of
the title best described the legend as it was then known.

Sailors tempest-tossed round the Cape of Good Hope
had fancied in their nervous superstition that they had
seen the blood-red sails of the Phantom Ship of Van-
derdecken, who was doomed for an impious expression
to beat about this stormy sea until the Day of Judgement.
Tormented by an everlasting regret, longing to get back
to Holland and meet the friends they could not believe
to be dead, it was the custom of Vanderdecken and his
crew to board distressed vessels in a storm, and leave
upon their decks letters for loved ones at home. Every

134 " VANDERDECKEN."

ship that carried such letters was doomed. This was
the story, in 1821, told by a superstitious Jack Tar.

It had no finahty and httle dramatic moment. Van-
derdecken was seen ; his phantom sailors, with tears in
their eyes, asked affectionately after friends who had been
dead a hundred years or more ; the messages were put on
board, and by a merciful lurch, they were consigned to
the bottom of the sea. But that was all ; there was no
mention of Vanderdecken's visit to the shore, and no
idea of any woman in the legend. It was a tale of the
" tenacity of natural affection," and no more. Be that
as it may, the story in "Blackwood's Magazine" sug-
gested an Adelphi melodrama to the industrious Edward
Fitzball. " The Flying Dutchman " appeared on
December 6th, 1826. T. P. Cooke played the panto-
mimic character of Vanderdecken, Avho came out of the
sea in blue flames, and waved a black flag decorated
with a skull and cross bones ; but he was soon so dis-
gusted with the part that he gave it up to Mr. O. Smith.
In those days people did not trouble themselves much
about ideality or imagination. The play happened to
contain some very good music, composed by Herbert
Rodwell ; John Reeve was said to be very amusing as
Peter von Blummell, a Dutchman ; and the vampire
business of Vanderdecken was highly to the taste of the
audience. We now arrive at the Renaissance period of
art, when Wagner took up " Der Fliegende Hollander,"
and saw in the legend a field for the seeds of his then
imperfectly developed theory.

Thanks to Heine, the one thing wanting was obtained.
The story was bare and cold without female influence
and interest, and so the poet conceived the beautiful idea
of a limit to the life-long torture of Vanderdecken, on
condition that he found on one of his visits to earth
every seven years, a woman who would sacrifice herself
for his sake, and win for him and her an eternal and
intensely sympathetic rest. We know how Wagner has
worked out the legend, impassioned as it has become, by
the feminine inspiration. We know how the poet-
musician has described it in melodious language, and
adapted it for the lyric stage. Mr. Carl Rosa gave us
the opera in English. It has been s.mg in Italian as
" L'Olandese Dannato."

" vanderdecken:' 135

We now arrive at its latest and, in many respects,
its most poetic form. Watching, as we do, the intense
earnestness of this new play, its defiant disregard for
conventionality, its steady, unflinching art-purpose, its
submissive devotion to the meaning of the legend, be it
good or bad, be it popular or not, its thorough determi-
nation to bring out of it all that is imaginative, and
to repress every vulgar accessory, we shall not be rash
if we conclude that Mr. Henry Irving has been im-
pressed— sensibly and earnestly impressed — with the
fact of the Wagnerian method in lyric art. " Vander-
decken," as written by Mr. Wills, and as conceived by
Mr. Irving, is not a play that will ever be received
without cavil or controversy. It will be detestable to
some ; it will fascinate others. By many it will be ridi-
culed as the concentrated essence of dullness ; to some,
by means of its colour, its hidden music, and its silent
suggestiveness, it will give satisfaction and delight.

On these abstract points of art the whole world can-
not possibly agree. A ghost story is accepted in certain
circles as a childish folly ; elsewhere society submits to
the fascination of the unknown, and silently turns down
the gas. The downright honest people, who declare that
Vanderdecken and his phantom ship are "all rubbish"
will go to the Lyceum and sit in open-mouthed astonish-
ment at Mr. Irving's method and intention : they will all
ridicule it and turn their backs upon it. But we may
take the liberty of observing, as now illustrated, it cannot
appeal, and probably was never intended to appeal, to
this order of mind. To many the new play may be dull,
tedious, bombastic, or ridiculous, but let us see before we
so hastily condemn what had to be done, and with what
success it had to be accomplished.

An old pilot. Nils, admirably played by Mr. Fernandez,
with quaint, quiet humour, and a keen appreciation of
illustrative character, is hospitably entertaining his
friends in his Norwegian cottage, near the entrance of
the Christiania Fjord. At once the mind of the spectator
is conveyed to the scene. The picturesque costumes, the
shape of the beer jugs and flagons, the rough, hardy tone
of the picture, do more than a dozen pages of conversa-
tion. It is a favoured occasion. The pastor comes in,
the Alderman follows at his heels ; the neighbours sur-

136 " VANDERDECKENr

round the board, for the discussion at this moment is the
imminent betrothal of Thekla, the old pilot's daughter,
to Olaf, the bravest young sailor on the coast. Thekla
is a strange girl — we are prepared for that. She is dreamy,
unsettled, imaginative. She has fallen in love with the
face of an old picture discovered in a ruin ; and though
she passively submits to the affection of Olaf, she is
distracted and absorbed. Her appearance on the scene
convinces us of the truth of the description. She looks
hunted, pale, and is in a dream. Her eye is restless, and
her mind absent. As the night is wild, the conversation
of the fishermen has turned upon the legend of " The
Flying Dutchman," and Thekla is asked by her father to
recite the ballad. She trembles, and obeys.

At once the secret of Thekla's disease is discovered —
she loves an imaginative hero, and his name is Vander-
decken. She sways and rocks to the pulse of the ballad
music. She is lost in the fancy of the story. The soul
in her eyes seems travelling to some immeasurable dis-
tance, and the climax of the legend is greeted Avith a
thunderclap. We must pause here to congratulate Miss
Isabel Bateman, on her recital of this fine poem by Mr.
Wills. It struck the first note of the prelude to romance.
So earnest, so absorbed, and so rapt was the actress that
she held the house. This was no mere recitation in the
accepted theatrical sense ; but the meaning of a
life illustrated in a ballad, and this was just what was
w^anted.

The ballad over, the party is broken up. A ship in
distress has been seen in the distance ; the services of
Nils, the pilot, are urgently required; amidst prayers and
blessings the men depart, and Thekla, left alone with her
nurse, sees out at sea the blood-red sails of Vander-
decken's phantom ship. All, so far, had been admirably
done. The action has been brisk and dramatic, the story
has been cleverly introduced, hidden music and distant
scenery are distinctly appropriate, and the prologue ends
with a buzz of anticipation. The sailors return from sea, and
discuss the mystery of the craft they have met. Suddenly,
strangely, and unexpectedly a sail on the quay is lifted
aside and Vanderdecken stands before the astonished men.
Calmly he answers their questions : courteously he ac-
cepts the invitation of old Nils, Left alone with Vander-

" vanderdecken: 137

decken we gather, in a beautifully written soliloquy, the
secret of this forlorn and most miserable creature. His
time has come for a visit to earth. Once more he must
seek for the woman who is to save him from an eternity
of waiting. " Where is this woman ordained for my re-
lease ? What mien, what nature, of what form is she ?
Who is she ? What is she ? Whence shall she come ?
Comes she to-night ? A hundred years' repentance for
one brief moment's sin ! How long ! Oh, God ! how
long ! "

This is Vanderdecken's solitary wail ; this is the soul
torment of the " ghost that haunts the sea," a terror to
himself. As Mr. Irving delivers this soliloquy, standing
absorbed in anguish, it is impossible not to admire the
picturesque appearance of the man, the grace of the out-
line, the careless art of the costume. At once he is a
picture within a picture. But in order to fully under-
stand what is to follow, and to meet the objections that
will be subsequently raised, let us pay particular attention
to the concluding lines of this melancholy rhapsody.
They form the melody of the whole play.

" I go to meet her as in a trance !
My senses are dulled with sorrow !
Sleeping without the rest, but with the dreams,
A dead man with the consciousness of death ! "

When complaints are made of Mr. Irving's method,
and of his slow, sad impressiveness, let us remember that
he is not real. He is a phantom speaking to a girl in a
trance ; and if the first love scene is thoroughly com-
prehended, it is difficult to believe that the mysticism
of the situation could be better conveyed. It is "a dead
man with the consciousness of death." Gradually, but
surely, the influence of Vanderdecken over Thekla is
declared. Thekla has lived upon dreams of this one face
in all the world ; Vanderdecken has lived in this self-same
love situation long ago. Both have loved, but both have
hungered for this moment. It is a dream revealed. What
wonder that the father, home, duties, responsibilities,
and the present dread of Olaf, fade before the girl's
delighted eyes ? With flashes of rare fancy, Mr. Wills
paints the wanderer, Vanderdecken, tempting his love to

138 " VANDERDECKENr

follow him with pictures of arctic and tropical scenery.
These passages so interested the audience that their
record here is justified :

" Dost thou see yonder, where I point my finger ? Nor'ward ?

There Hes a region untrod by foot of man,

And nigh the Pole, a mighty, vast and bright,

As Archangels on guard by Heaven's portals,

Float great icebergs radiant with rainbow glories.

Here and there above the sea, from point to point,

Shine emerald caverns and diamond lustres large as suns ;

At night all turns to opal, and the stars

In frosty splendour seem to crown the bergs,

Whilst the Aurora flits and dances up —

That silent ecstacy of Arctic nights.

That halo of the Pole !

Would'st thou go there with me ? Look south'rd !

There lie the tropics ;
The sea, a realm of heaving sapphire,
And the skies, a mimic Heaven.
Yonder are lands
Un tracked by man ;

But Nature's lavished hoard of all things beautiful
And reverend. The trees

Crypts of dim verdure of such shadowy growth.
That one alone could tent thy native village,
Bright birds bejewel them by day, beneath at night
The fireflys spin their webs in starry circles.
And for their flowers — the great magnolia opes
Its alabaster petals,

Shedding a lake of perfume for a league around.
And rivers silver-broad, inlaid with ivory lilies,
Glide silent 'neath the palms and tamarinds.
But poison is in its beauty, death in its loveliest guise."

But this love music cannot last long. It is too sweet
to live. The greedy, jealous Olaf appears upon the scene,
and the two men meet face to face in mortal combat.
They fight w-ith swords ; they fight with daggers, swear-
ing that the one who survives shall fling his dead
adversary into the sea. This is the picturesque moment
of the play. Mr. Hawes Craven has surpassed himself.
Tricks of light are introduced unknown hitherto to the
stage.

The moonlight glares upon the pale faces of the
desperate men, and when, after a terrible struggle up the
cliff, Vanderdecken is flung headlong from its height, the
conquering Olaf stands out in relief against a background

" vanderdecken:' 139

of grim darkness. True, all this is melodramatic effect.
Some say, with a cruel and thoughtless sneer, that "it is
only fit for the Surrey," meaning thereby, we presume,
that melodrama is forbidden on this side of the water.
The play, sombre as it is, required a melodramatic
moment, and it was obtained by means of intensity and
picturesque vigour.

But the moment had not arrived when Vanderdecken's
apparently lifeless corpse was hurled from the cliff, or
when the triumphant Olaf stretched his arms in relief
for this deliverance. It came when the sea gave up its
dead, and the immortal Vanderdecken was rolled by the
breaking waves unhurt upon the pebbled shore. Then
comes the last scene of all — strange, mysterious, and un-
conventional. Thekla, bound to Vanderdecken for ever,
is carried off to the phantom ship, and here awakened
from her trance, she hears her lover ask her if she fears,
or if she will sacrifice her love for his. The description
of the dread alternative to Vanderdecken is so beautiful
that once again the words must speak for themselves.

" What is my doom ?
Worse than in hell ! Eternal loneliness !
Eternal silence ! and, in that awful silence,
The worm of memory gnawing at my heart,
Anguish of thought within my brain ! sleepless ! intense.
Just hope enough to keep despair awake !
Around me forests of gigantic weeds
Waving and writhing.
As if the skeletons, which people them.
But lie dead still, did move them.
Vast ribs of ships, and ribs of monstrous fish
Which look like wrecks ! Tall peaks of coral
Rising like pale cathedrals richly carved.
But where no bell is heard
Or murmuring of prayer to comfort me !
Ships I have seen go down, their crews
Grasping the shrouds with bony hands,
Or, hanging o'er the bulwarks, nod at me.
In their dead eyes — silent upbraiding.
Strange things move by with noiseless crawl
And lift their goblin heads to look at me.
Around my phantom ship long shadows lie.
The sharks, ghouls of the sea.

Watch me with glassy, hungry eyes, knowing their caterer !
For when the hurricane is loosed above.
Crushing the sea to angry white, and sails
Fly from their bolts, and coward seamen quail,

140 " VANDERDECKEN."

Then do I rise upon my phantom deck,

Tranced at the helm, fatal decoy to wreck

And to disaster.

Before me seems to stretch a dreary headland ;

Beyond it a fixed dawn that never grows to day :

But 'neath the dappled cloud one spring of light

Shapes to thy angel face, like a sweet veiled Madonna.

A fluttering hand then seems to beckon me ;

I strive to round the point, but beat about

In vain ! In vain !

Then the old frenzy rises to my brain.

Wild curses to my lips, and in the thunder ,

Sounds that do curse again and shriek out —

' Sail on ! sail on ! until the Judgement Day,

Unless that woman come ! ' "

Thekla has no fear ; her answer shows complete faith in
her weird master ; the phantom crew disappear into the
world of shadows, and, as they gaze, in perfect faith
upon the distant constellation, "the wind a melody and
laden with the murmurs of God's city," kisses the up-
turned faces of the lovers as the curtain falls.

This strange story has been assisted by all the devices
and ingenuity of modern theatrical art, and encouraged
to success by disciplined rehearsals. The greatest
praise that can be given to Mr. Irving, is contained in
the fact that his presence and influence showed a
Vanderdecken clear and distinct to the audience, a
Vanderdecken of picturesque and romantic interest, a
Vanderdecken haunted by the despair of an eternity of
life, and comforted by the possession of an eternity
of love. It is something also to record that the poetry of
Mr. Wills once more received the fullest expression in
Mr. Irving's care. With the able assistance of Miss
Isabel Bateman, in all these risky scenes, and the con-
stant and consistent support of Mr. Fernandez, Miss
Pauncefort, and Mr. Walter Bentley, a most trust-
worthy lieutenant in so odd an enterprise, all that could
be done for a play of this pattern was most certainly
done. The art of scene-painting received its highest ex-
pression in the beautiful effects obtained by Mr, Hawes
Craven, and the \alue of convincing music was never
so much acknowledged as when a suggestion was subtly
conveyed by the soft accompaniments of Mr. Robert
Stoepel.

There will be many protests against this experiment,

« VANDERDECKENr 141

but we see in it the germs of a possibility towards the
development of a cultured form of imaginative art. We
do not stop ; we improve as we go on. Here, at any
rate, is a specimen of poetic melodrama. The fancy of
the poet, the intensity of the artist, the charm of scenery,
the aid of music, the richness of illusion, all combine in
a performance which, if it be not perfect, is, at any rate,
a decided protest against the conventionality of theatrical
effect and the vulgarity of old-fashioned melodrama. It
is possible that the subject is too sombre, and it is
certain that many of the speeches, beautiful as they may
be, are too long ; but dramatic laws are never outraged,
and though the method is unconventional, there is a full
appreciation of dramatic effect. The form of the enter-
tainment came with such surprise upon the audience,
that the curtain fell occasionally without the usual
applause. But we do not believe on that account that
the dramatic legend was the less impressive. We hear a
sonata, or a song, and the meaning of the music is not
instantly conveyed to any but a high-trained or imagina-
tive mind. Yet the impression lingers. Those who
ridicule legendary matter, and who cannot conceive such
a mind as that of Vanderdecken, will go on their way
despising ; but to others, possibly, when the curtain fell,
came satisfying thoughts of the absorbed devotion of
Thekla, and the relieved misery of the Phantom Hero,
of the beauty of poetry, and the inspiring influence of
art. If the play fails, the artists have done good work,
and they have been loyal to their trust. They took a
legend, and they appreciated it ; they received a poem,
and they respected it. The play, such as it is, may be
" before its time," but it is a time towards which Mr.
Henry Irving and many of his brother and sister artists
most honestly aspire.

" The Lady of Lyons.

))

By Lord Lytton. First produced at the Lyceum Theatre, April
17th, 1S79.

Claude Melnotte Mr. Irving.

Colonel Damas . . - - . Mr. Walter Lacy.

Beauseant Mr. Forrester.

Glavis Mr. Kyrle Bellew.

Monsieur Deschappelles . . . . Mr. C. Cooper.

Landlord .-.--.- Mr. S. Johnson.

Caspar Mr. Tyars.

Captain Gervais Mr. Elwood.

Captain Dupont Mr. Cartwright.

Major Desmoulins ----- Mr. Andrews.

Notary Mr. Tapping.

Servant Mr. Branscombe.

Servant Mr. Holland.

Madame Deschappelles Mrs. Chippendale.

Widow Melnotte Miss Pauncefort.

Janet Miss May Sedley.

Marian .-..-.. Miss Harwood.

Pauline - . - - - Miss Ellen Terry.

SYNOPSIS OF SCENERY.

Act I.

Scene i. — A room in the house of M. Deschappelles. Scene 2. — The

exterior of " The Golden Lion." Scene 3. — The interior of Mel-

notte's Cottage.

Act 2.
Scene. — The Gardens of M. Deschappelles.

Act 3.

Scene i. — The exterior of " The Golden Lion." Scene 2. — The
interior of Melnotte's Cottage.

Act 4.
Scene, — The cottage as before,

Act 5.

(Two-and-a-half years are supposed to have elapsed.)

Scene i.— A street in Lyons. Scene 2. — A room in the house of M .
Deschappelles.

H5

" 7^/ie Lady of LyonsJ^

Criticism is for the moment disarmed in the presence
of the scenes of excitement and congratulation that are
continuously enacted whenever Mr. Henry Irving appears
in a new character. When those who are so justly
demonstrative in their appreciation of the aims and
ambitions of an actor who is at once a student and a
manager, assembled in the firm conviction they will be
pleased, any attitude of hesitation or disposition to differ
with the majority is more than ever unenviable. Pleasant
associations of the past, and memories of evenings when
appla%se was as well deserved as it was spontaneously
given, press heavily at such moments upon the indulgence
of the audience, and it seems ungracious to omit any
detail of a well-worn and oft-repeated ceremonial.

To a stranger who first visited the Lyceum on the
occasion of the revival of Lord Lytton's " Lady of Lyons,"
it would seem as if Mr. Irving had never appeared
and succeeded as Hamlet, Louis XI, Mathias, and
Charles I, and that the able delineator of conscience-
stricken remorse and tragic despair had found in Claude
Melnotte, the romantic and impetuous gardener, at least
one character on which disputing authorities were bound
to agree ; no applause could have been more vigorous, and
no outward marks of appreciation more complimentary.
When it became known to those well-trained in the
observation of such matters, that the old play had won
a gorgeously decorated frame, but had not lost its spirit
and buoyancy, the cheers came down with re-doubled
vigour, the principal actors were called again and again,
twice or three times the curtain was drawn up at the
bidding of the public, and the evening was not allowed

I.

146 ''THE LADY OF LYONS."

to close without one of those speeches wrung from a
favourite actor, as an answer to so cordial an expression
of friendliness and kind feeling.

There was no need for Mr. Irving to apologise for any
shortcomings on the part of the management, or any-
feeble efforts or mistakes incidental to a first representa-
tion, for probably — nay, certainly — the playgoers of our
time have never seen the "Lady of Lyons" placed
before them with such scrupulous care and exactness in
the smallest detail. Even those, who are unaffectedly
weary of the old-fashioned sentiment of the play, and are
bold enough to have formed a very decided opinion on the
characteristic of Claude and the pride of Pauline, can
gaze contentedly at faultless pictures, at costume raised
to the dignity of an art, if occasionally astonishing in its
accuracy, and at innumerable graces of arrangement and
movement, which please the eye when the ear is out of
tune with the passion of the scene.

There may be two opinions concerning the value of
this old play, though its popularity has never been called
in question, and there may be several conflicting
theories as to the possibility of forcing it into the narrow
channels of modern aBsthetic taste ; but when Pauline
Deschappelles, in pale amber, moves gracefully about
her settees and spinettes, or lolls upon mossy banks in the
garden of an old chateau, or trembles with emotion in
white satin and primrose ribbons, it is quite certain that
the taste for decoration and the purely picturesque over-
rides the first necessities and requirements of dramatic
art. It must have surprised even the students of the
modern theatre when they found what the polish of
revivalism and the persistent study of decorative effect
could do for a drama that must be familiar to every
orthodox and amateur stage in the kingdom. Pauline no
longer muses over the generous donor of those " beauti-
ful flowers " at a muslin-hung dressing-table, borrowed
for the moment from the luckless Desdemona, but hangs
her mirror upon a flowered harpsichord, or coquettishly
attaches her hand-glass to the button of the coat of old
Damas. The family of the Deschappelles no longer
inhabit a house in Lyons furnished according to the taste
of the theatrical property-master, but are surrounded
by constant examples of flowered tapestry and the milk-

''THE LADY OF LYONS." 147

white furniture of France in the eighteenth century.
The Inn of the Golden Lion is no more a glaring daub
upon a well-used front scene, but the approach to
Melnotte's cottage is suggested by a leafy and flowered
lane, down which the repentant Claude leads home
his proud but trusting wife. With scrupulous accuracy,
the successful marksman bursts into his mother's cottage
with two rifles — his own weapon and the decorated prize
— one in his hand and the other slung across his shoulder ;
and through the open windows of this domestic retreat
comes in a suggestion of roses and clambering honey-
suckle. As to the chateau, in whose garden the false
Prince, with over-embroidered imagery, describes the
" palace lifting to eternal summer," and conquers a trust-
ing woman with a lying tongue, there is presented to the
eye a terraced garden, set out with avenues of distant
trees and flowering shrubs. Here, according to the new
tradition, the enamoured Pauline sits upon a well-trimmed
bank of grass, and dreams of home, whilst Claude, in a
solemn suit of tragic velvet and a Vanderdecken hat,
pours out the description of an ideal home in tones of
sorrowful depression, and with a face lined with the agony
of regret.

When Pauline is rescued from the sacrilegious hands
of Beauseant, her husband leaps through the open win-
dow ; and when Claude departs for the wars, a charming
effect is produced by a file of soldiers, who tramp along
a summer lane, their rifles adorned with spoils of flowers
and accompanied by all the children and sweethearts of
the village. No one can question the policy of this
systematic attention to detail, or can doubt that the alter-
ations are for the most part distinct improvements. At
any rate, they are in strict accordance with the accurate
taste of the times and the hunger for decorative realism.
There was a period when the actor or actress, by vigour
of expression, power of utterance, or grasp of character,
could so aid the imagination and the fancy of their
audience that such props as these were rarely wanted, or
were scarcely missed ; but they are of considerable
assistance, and are gratefully received when for intensity
and passion are substituted a faded pathos and a per-
sistent prettiness.

It will be a question for consideration, even by such

L — 2

148 " THE LADY OF LYONS."

as are crazed on the subject of the last century, and are
persuaded by the value of Miss Ellen Terry, as a
picturesque representative of the time of high waists and
sack dresses, of muslin caps and long mittens, whether
a point is not strained by boldly turning Pauline into a
French Olivia. To enable Miss Terry, graceful and
artistic as she is, to appear constantly on the stage as if
she were sitting for a picture for Mr. Marcus Stone, or
Mr. Orchardson, it is apparently necessary to alter the
character of a standard and classical work. For your
French Olivia cannot be strictly true to her costume if
she does not assume a lissome movement and a lacka-
daisical air. She must be ever in the minor key, and
studiously avoid scenes and excitement.

She is to harmonise with the flattened flowers on the
needlework that adorns the chairs of her boudoir. But,
with all due deference to the particular fancy of to-day,
this is not the Pauline of Bulwer Lytton's play. The
author did not hesitate to say precisely what he meant.
He called his work, " The Lady of Lyons ; or. Love and
Pride ; " and he gave us for a heroine, a proud, strong-
hearted woman. She is in her greatest scene the type
of indignation and wounded pride, and when she had
been tricked she pours out the vials of her wrath and
passionate despair upon the head of the man who has
injured her. This is how Helen Faucit played the part,
and this is how the author by his stage 'directions meant
it to be played. But the " wild laugh " of the injured
Pauline did not suit the studied decorum of the mob-cap
period. " Know her ? " says Glavis, " Who does not ?
As pretty as Venus, and as proud as Juno."

Where, then, was the pride of the new Pauline, where
were her indignation, her remorse, and her scorn ? They
were not there, and apparently they were not wanted.
Fascinated by the picturesque appearance of the actress,
and watching her power of assimilating herself to the
decoration of the scene, the audience was content to
accept for the proud Pauline, a tender, tearful, and sym-
pathetic lady, who has no heart to rail, and no strength to
curse. This, however, is an age of surprises, and there
were others beside the die-away heroine.

The tenderly fragile, the constantly fainting, and tear-
fully pathetic Pauline of Miss Ellen Terry will not sur-

''THE LADY OF LYONS." I49

prise more than the deeply tragic, absorbed, and highly
nervous Claude Melnotte of Mr. Henry Irving. He
brings to bear all the weight of his intelligence, his re-
flection, and the depth of his earnestness upon a character
that is directly antagonistic to the sombreness of his
manner and to the accepted peculiarities of his style. If
the Pauline of Miss Ellen Terry is overcharged with
fantastic sentiment, the Claude of Mr. Irving is over-
whelmed with an abiding sorrow. We read of the
buoyancy of Macready in this character, and his " re-
silient " qualities, and scarcely need to gather from the
text that, without a decided effusiveness and accentuated
enthusiasm in certain scenes, the first manner of Claude
Melnotte cannot be suggested. But long before the
proper time, the modern Claude is depressed with a sense
of his own unworthiness. His gaiety is fitful, forced, and
perpetually staccato. His excitement is the expression of
a strongly-marked nervous irritability, and clouding over
his career as the Prince of Como is seen most clearly
the threatened storm that is to crush his empty preten-
sions.

Every one who has recognised the power of comedy
possessed by Mr. Henry Irving must have been surprised
when, in the garden scene, there was so little attempt
made to suggest the contrast between the romantic
peasant and the pretended Prince. But all comedy was
lost in the despair of the on-coming sorrow. The picture
of the Italian palace was blurred with melancholy, and
the face of the impostor was the tell-tale of the worried
conscience. The best thing Mr. Henry Irving did was
the reading of Beauseant's letter — a great point with
Macready ; but on the whole, a vast expenditure of vital
lorce was exhausted on a character that requires a certain
buoyancy of style and rapture of manner to make it
effective. It is only in a roundabout way that the in-
tensity of love can be suggested by the agony of remorse,
and a Pauline is more likely to be attracted by a smooth
tongue and dreamy abandonment to passion than by
nervous sensitiveness and hollow-eyed despair. The
audience, however, evidently considered that Mr. Irving's
conception of Claude Melnotte was as admirable as was
Miss Ellen Terry's view of Pauline correct. No surprise
was felt when the cottage scene was deprived of the

150 "THE LADY OF LYONS:'

passion of the indignant woman, and there was not the
slightest hesitation in accepting for an excited and
impetuous lover a deeply earnest and alternately irritable
man, whose pictures of imaginary joys and fancy palaces
were clouded with the deep solemnity of an overwhelming
sorrow.

On one point, however, there was scarcely the shadow
of conflicting opinion, and that was on the return of Mr.
Walter Lacy to the stage in the character of Colonel
Damas. He played it in a style and with a distinction
free from all convention, and his soliloquy in the fifth
act, containing the cynical address to women as the prime
movers of all evil, startled even the enthusiasts for
modern acting into the belief that quiet and reflective
elocution is of more solid value and infinitely more
effective than it is sometimes believed to be.

The Beauseant of Mr. Forrester is one of those
astounding instances of round pegs in square holes that
never fail to puzzle. In manner and air it would be
difficult to find anything more unlike the character. For
the rest, only Miss Pauncefort as the Widow Melnotte
and Mr. Tyars, as Caspar did sufficient justice to the cast
or were in any way noticeable. The scenery, by Mr.
Hawes Craven and Mr. Cuthbert, was, as usual, of the
first class.

^'The Iron Chest,

??

By George Colman (the younger). First produced at the Lyceum
Theatre, September 27th, 1879.

Sir Edward Mortimer . . . . - Mr. Irving.

Captain Fitzharding ----- Mr. J. H. Barnes.

Wilford (Secretary to Sir Edward) - - Mr. Norman Forbes.
Adam Winterton (Steward to Sir Edward) - Mr. J. Carter.

Rawbold -------- Mr. Mead.

Samson Rawbold ------ Mr. S. Johnson

Peter ------- Mr. Branscombe.

Gregory ..----. Mr. Tapping.

Armstrong -....-- Mr. F. Tyars.

Orson -------- Mr. C, Cooper.

Robbers - - Messrs. Ferrand, Calvert, Harwood, etc.

Robbers' Boy ------- Miss Harwood.

Lady Helen - . - - . Miss Florence Terry.

Blanche ------- Miss Myra Holme.

Barbara .-----. Miss Alma Murray.

Judith ------- Miss Pauncefort.

Servants, Robbers, etc.

SYNOPSIS OF SCENERY.
The New Forest, on the Borders of Hampshire.

Act I.

Scene i. — Rawbold's Cottage. Scene 2. — Hall in Sir Edward

Mortimer's House. Scene 3.- Ante-room in Sir Edward Mortimer's

House. Scene 4 — Sir Edward's Library.

Act 2.
Scene i. — The Ante-room. Scene 2. — The Library.

Act 3.
Scene i. — Lady Helen's Cottage. Scene 2. — A Ruined Abbey.

Act 4.

Scene I. — The Library. Scene 2. — The Hall. Scene 3. — The
Library.

Period, 1794.

^53

^^The Iron Chest ^

Henry Irving, faithful to his promise, has appeared
in " The Iron Chest," a famous tragedy by the younger
Cohnan. The character of Sir Edward Mortimer has
more than a passing interest, seeing that it was ruined
by John Kemble, at Drury Lane, in 1796, pulled out of
the fire of failure by Elliston, at the Haymarket, in the
August of the same year, and, subsequently, became one
of Edmund Kean's most brilliant triumphs. Macready
thought nothing at all, either of "The Iron Chest," or
Sir Edward Mortimer, and there is no authentic record of
his having played the part at any time, in London or the
provinces; but Charles Kean played his father's favourite
part at the Princess's Theatre within the memory of
middle-aged playgoers, assisted in his effort by old Cath-
cart and Drinkwater Meadows. In a certain sense, this
play is a literary curiosity, owing to the intemperate and
bombastic preface and postscript appended by Colman to
the first printed edition. Never was actor so mercilessly
slaughtered by the author as John Kemble by George
Colman, the younger. It seems that Kemble was either
ill or indifferent, cross or careless, disgusted with his
task, or steeped in the fumes of opium, on the first night
of the production of the play, which was a miserable
failure in consequence — a circumstance that so irritated
the author, that he took aim at all his enemies in some
thirty pages of wild rhodomontade, comparing the
"soporific monotony" of the great John to " frogs in
a marsh, flies in a bottle, wind in a crevice, a preacher in
a field, and the drone of a bagpipe," and containing more
than the usual amount of abuse at the expense of those
"venal and venomous gentlemen," the critics, who were
called " Fools ! " and told to run home to their garrets.
Colman summed up his indebtedness to Mr. Kemble in
the following eccentric fashion :

154 ''THE IRON CHEST:'

For his illness - . . . Compassion.

For his conduct under it - - - Censure.

For refusing to make an apology - - A smile.

For his making an apology - - - A sneer.

For his mismanagement - - - A groan.

For his acting ------ A hiss.

As to the paragraphists and pamphleteers, their argu-
ments were answered in the following unpardonable
nonsense: — "Gentlemen! Pshaw! Pish! Pooh! Ha!
ha ! ha ! " Well might such intemperate frivolities be
withdrawn from circulation in subsequent editions of the
play. " I am indebted," says Colman, " for the ground-
work of this play to a novel entitled, ' Things as they
are, or The Adventures of Caleb Williams,' written by
William Godwin," and he thus defends its appropriation:
" I perused Mr. Godwin's book as a tale replete with in-
teresting incident, ingenious in its arrangement, masterly
in its delineation of character, and forcible in its language.
I considered it as right of common, and, by a title which
custom has given to dramatists, I enclosed it within my
theatrical paling. However I may have tilled the land,
I trust he discovers no intentional injury to him in my
proceeding." What would Mr. Wilkie Collins, Mr.
Charles Reade, and Miss Braddon say to this cool
acknowledgement of theft, which, strange to say, is still
permissible by law.

Brought face to face with the old-fashioned " Iron
Chest," Mr. Irving, no doubt, encountered considerable
difficulty. Here was a play, half opera and half tragedy,
studded with glees and madrigals by Storace, made
familiar by tradition, known to every musical society in
the kingdom, and constructed in direct opposition to
modern theories.

What, therefore, has been done to render it in harmony
with the spirit of the age, preserving, at the same time,
the weird air of poetical gloom, inseparable from such a
curious and fantastic composition ? To begin with, the
music has been reduced to a minimum. The famous
" Five Times by the Taper's Light," is given only in the
orchestra, w'here, in the course of the evening, the whole
musical score is heard. In fact, the only music sung on
the stage, is the glee, "Jolly Friars Tippled Here,"
which will be found in the third act, that is brought to a

''THE IRON CHEST." 155

conclusion with, " Huzza ! huzza ! we'll drink and we'll
sing." It is a three-act play in the original, and Mr.
Irving has entirely reconstructed it in four acts and ten
scenes. The hybrid, the semi-Elizabethan, semi-Carolian
costume has been discarded, and the period of Caleb
Williams, 1792, selected for the play, which is mounted,
moreover, with strict attention to the furniture and
architecture of the late eighteenth century, admirable
alike in detail and effect, and presenting to the audience
very noble and impressive stage pictures. Called three
distinct times before the curtain, when it had fallen on
this gloomy tragedy, and met, not, indeed, with the
courteous approbation of a contented crowd, but with
those big waves of applause that come thundering down
with unanimity and force, well might the successful
actor give expression to his actual feelings, and fore-
shadow the revival of a love for the poetical drama, in
that sense of joyous congratulation.

Unquestionably, this experiment of " The Iron
Chest," was attended with considerable difficulty, and
weighted with anxiety. Not one, but at least half-a-
dozen prejudices were raised against the ghost-like tale
of the man who has committed a murder, whose secret
has been discovered by his young secretary, and who, to
shield himself from the consequences of his crime, falsely
accuses his faithful servant of robbery in order to rid his
path of the hateful presence for ever. First of all, there
were the old stagers who had seen Edmund Kean in
this, his particular triumph, and remembered the dread
and awful solemnity of the tones in the parting injunc-
tion, " Wilford, remember ! " ; next there were the up-
holders of a persistent realism, who were impatient at
the plot, arguing that no sane man, in his hurry to pile
false evidence on his secretary, would be so mad and
foolish as to conceal in the young man's trunk the evi-
dence of his own guilt, but forgetting that without such
dramatic accidents, no play could be composed, and no
drama could live ; and, lastly, came the very natural objec-
tion to a story destitute alike of female interest and love.
How comes it, then, at this curious and particular time,
when tragedy is considered oppressive, and romance is
unfashionable, when audiences, trained to the study of
the ridiculous, are inclined to be irreverent, and the best

156 ''THE IRON chest:'

intentions can make but slight headway against frivolity,
that we find an audience hanging upon every word and
utterance, and impatient at the temporary opposition of
a troublesome cough ? It will be urged that every
triumph made by Mr. Irving is a succes d'estime, and no
more, and that his followers discard criticism in their
veneration for so earnest a student of his art.

But it was not so with " The Iron Chest " ; for gloomy
or not, old-fashioned or not, ill-constructed, or destitute
of love, the tragedy did take a deep hold of the
people, who were started with a fascination of interest
directly Sir Edward Mortimer, pale-faced and earnest,
eflective and picturesque, appeared on the scene, and
retained it until the repentant man, overwhelmed with
his crime, dies in the arms of his faithful Lady Helen.

For the success of " The Iron Chest " the direct
personal interest of Mr. Henry Irving is alone respon-
sible— and not an influence of tradition, be it remem-
bered, but a direct and immediate sympathy between
artist and audience. It is quite true that this favourite
actor has played in " The Bells," and " Eugene Aram,"
and who can say in how many more plays in which he
has represented the tortures of a distressed and disturbed
conscience ; he has struck the same chord with innumerable
variations on the same theme ; but we do not believe he
has ever been so calm, so poetical, so dignified, and so
unrestless, as in Sir Edward Mortimer. The pathetic
expression of the face, the strange power of the eye, the
extraordinary calm of the features, attracted the audience
in spite of themselves.

In all the soliloquies a pin might have been heard to
drop, for the artist held his audience easily in his
hand, and by some strange magnetic power, all who
listened discarded for the moment the mere passing
fascination of the story, and entered into the thoughts,
the mental agony, and the conscience throbs of this most
miserable man.

Here is Mr. Irving's strange and extraordinary power.
He has his faults — who has not ? One person may
object to elocution, another to movement, a third to
attitude ; but few, who have watched his career step by
step would fail to recognise here an abandonment of
those more obvious defects which, however striking,

''THE IRON CHEST." 157

have never interfered with his influence. The utterance
is less hurried, the style more ripe and formed, and the
gestures of the hands distinguished by considerable grace.
Always impressive, and consistently careful, completely
undisturbed by the comparative and accidental failure of
the scene where Wilford is discovered at the chest, which
went flatly, and failed in effect, and hampered continu-
ously by the feeble assistance of the amiable but
amateurish young secretary, it was reserved for Mr.
Irving to make his great effect in the final scene of the
play. Wilford is accused of robbery, and his trunk
having been searched, the evidence of his guilt is dis-
covered. He is sworn to secrecy concerning Sir Edward's
crime, and he dare not clear himself.

On the calm impassiveness and unruffled expression of
the guilty baronet, the situation depends. Nothing could
have been more admirable than Mr. Irving at this point
of vital interest, and few things more striking than the
picture of his face. Here all the drama was contained.
r,alm and serene as were the features, bloodless as was
the face, and immovable as was this statue-man, there
was still a lurking cruelty in the eye that seemed to
speak of a will that would crush everything, even this
poor unprotected and falsely-accused lad. There was
nothing to lead the audience to suppose that Sir Edward
was on the edge of a precipice, nothing to anticipate the
situation. The actor stands like carved marble, the
apparent personification of destiny of fate. Quick as a
lightning flash comes the change from the serene animal
at bay to the tiger fury when the blood-stained knife
drops from the accusing document, and the play ends
with a tempest of passion, changing into the serene calm
of a quiet and inoffensive death. The drama, by means
of earnestness and expression has been worked up to its
legitimate conclusion, and even those who can recall
Edmund Kean's tones in " Wilford, remember ! " and
have a distinct recollection how the great actor, profiting
by his experience as harlequin, made a wonderful back
fall at the end of this play that startled and astonished
the house, will be prepared to admit there is much, very
much, in the persuasion of the actor who, at this period
of the nineteenth century, can ensure legitimate interest
in such a tragedy. Like somany of Mr. Irving's haunted

158 «'7Jf£ IRON chest:'

and hunted characters, it is still unlike them, and we do
not believe that, under so many disadvantages of subject,
he has ever acted so well, so firmly, and so conscien-
tiously.

It is a mistake to suppose that Wilford is a character
of indifferent moment, and we venture to think it was
an error of judgement to prefer a youthful, timid, and
picturesque appearance to the experience and glow that
such a part requires. Mr. Norman Forbes, is ideally
correct, though artistically inefficient. He has a pretty
face, but no voice ; a pleasant appearance, but no style.
Here and there were many signs of promise, and every
evidence of care ; but in all Sir Edward Mortimer's scenes
he was leaning on a reed. The better Wilford is acted
the stronger is Sir Edward, particularly in the agonising
situation where the lad is accused of robbery. There
was no truth in the tones of the voice, no appearance
of real distress, and the crude formula of art was never
concealed. Wilford is not a distressed schoolboy, and
the tragedy suffers from the girlishness of this personation.
Luckily, however, this was the only blot upon a cast
singularly well-chosen and uniformly efficient.

We do not believe that Rawbold has e\'er been played
better, even by the original Marryman, than by Mr. Mead,
whose clear ringing enunciation, nervous style, and fine
bold voice warmed the whole house and charmed the
attentive ear. This actor was, indeed, trained in a very
good old school, and the young aspirant could do no
better than listen to the clear toned utterances and
complete thoroughness of this excellent actor. So vivid
and impressive was Mr. Mead's little scene that it was
disappointing to find that Rawbold so soon disappears.
Mr. J. H. Barnes made a distinct and pronounced success
in a new line of character as the hearty, outspoken
Fitzharding, which was not played in the stereotyped
and accepted style of this genial and robust old man, but
with a decided originality, and, in one scene, with a true
and unartificial pathos.

The value of any bit of true character is very great in
such a play, and accordingly, the Fitzharding of Mr.
Barnes, the Armstrong of Mr. Tyars, and the old Adam
W^interton of Mr. J. Carter, were of the greatest service
— the two latter very quiet, thoughtful, well-conceived,

''THE IRON chest:' 159

and artistic performances. The female characters are of
minor importance, and are but distantly connected with
the story, but simplicity and innocence are safe m the
careful hands of Miss Myra Holme and Miss Alma
Murray, and Miss Florence Terry as Lady Helen, clearly
showed that she has inherited much of the instinctive grace
and strange persuasive charm of her gifted and popular
family. It cannot be expected, nor, indeed, is it desirable,
that "The Iron Chest" should enjoy such a success as to
make it stand in the way of more important and promised
productions. Already " The Merchant of Venice " is in
active rehearsal, and some curiosity is aroused, concern-
ing Mr. Irving's Shylock ; but the good seed Mr. Irving
has sown on this Lyceum field is surely showing signs of
healthy bloom when a play can succeed irrespective of
solemnity and depression, when it contains at least one
specimen of persuasive art and renewed evidence of that
systematic care that varnishes up a not very striking or
valuable original.

The author of this play was pleased to state definitely
what he required from the actor who understood Sir
Edw^ard Mortimer. He demanded a man "of a tall
stature, and a sable hue," and a man of whom it might
be said " there's something in his soul, o'er W'hich his
melancholy sits and broods," and, in fine, a performer
who could enter into the spirit of a character proceeding
upon romantic and half-witted principles, abstracted in
his opinions, sophisticated in his reasonings, and who is
thrown into situations where his mind and conduct stand
tip-toe on the extremest verge of probability. Following
such directions, Mr. Irving ought to be an ideal Sir
Edward Mortimer, and that w^as clearly the opinion of
his audience.

" The JHerchant of Venice.

)?

By William Shakespeare. First produced at the Lyceum Theatre,
November ist, 1879.

Shylock - Mr. Irving.

Duke of Venice - - • -■ - - - Mr. Beaumont.

Prince of Morocco -.---. Mr. Tyars.

Antonio -------- Mr. Forrester.

Bassanio ------- Mr. Barnes.

Salanio -------- Mr. Elwood.

Salarino -------- Mr. Pinero.

Gratiano - - Mr. F. Cooper.

Lorenzo Mr. N. Forbes.

Tubal Mr. J.Carter.

Launcelot Gobbo Mr. S. Johnson.

Old Gobbo Mr. C. Cooper.

Gaoler Mr. Hudson.

Leonardo - Mr. Branscombe.

Balthazar Mr. Tapping.

Stephano Mr. Ganthony.

Clerk of the Court ------ Mr. Calvert.

Nerissa Miss Florence Terry.

Jessica - Miss Alma Murray.

Portia Miss Ellen Terry.

Magnificos, Officers of the Court, Gentlemen and Gentlewomen,
Pages, Citizens, Soldiers, Jews, Masquers, Musicians, Serenaders,
Gondoliers, Moors, Fruit Sellers, Water Carriers, Servants, etc.

SYNOPSISyOF SCENERY.

Act I.

Scene i. — Venice— A Public Place. Scene 2.7-Belmont — Portia's
House. Scene 3. — Venice — A Public Place.

Act 2.

Scene i. — A Street. Scene 2. — Another Street. Scene 3. — Shylock's
House by a Bridge.

Act 3.

Scene i. — Belmont — Room in Portia's House. Scene 2. — V-enice —
A Street. Scene 3. — Belmont — Room in Portia's House. Scene 4. —
—Venice — A Street. Scene 5 — Belmont — Room in Portia's House.

Act 4.
Scene. — Venice— A Court of Justice.

Act 5.

Scene. — Belmont — Portia's Garden, with Terrace.

m c^~.

face 163]

"why, look you, how you storm!

I would be tRIENUS WITH YOU, AND HAVE YOUR LOVE.'

163

^^The 3\4erchant of Venice^

The latest contribution to the art series of Shakes-
pearean revivals at the Lyceum, however much criticism
it may evoke, will, unquestionably, bind closer the sym-
pathies of the intelligent public with the name, the fame,
the energy, and the industry of Henry Irving. Once
more all who are interested in the higher aims and
aspirations of the drama have been summoned to see
something done for Shakespeare ; and once more strong-
hearted work is crowned with success. The " Merchant
of Venice," presented as a picture of rare splendour ;
the character of Shylock personated in a style that rivets
the attention, absorbs the interest, and draws out the
intellectual faculties of the audience ; a Portia who will
live beyond the present day as one of the most gracious
and charming of Shakespearean memories ; an atmos-
phere of general intelligence and wholesome co-operation ;
and a scene which fascinates the eye by its colour, its
harmony, and its tastes, are points not to be neglected in
these days of theatrical depression. On the contrary, they
are valuable gifts that cannot be too highly esteemed.

It is a common trick of theatrical controversy to ignore
the present and deplore the past, to ridicule the new
school and applaud the old, to draw hasty conclusions on
the decline of the Shakespearean drama, and to drag
down ambitious enterprise with the power of contemp-
tuous indifference ; but we have no hesitation in saying
that such as profess to want so much, and own to finding
so little, are, indeed, hard to please, if in the revived
" Merchant of Venice" they cannot gratify their intellec-
tual faculties, and enliven their higher tastes. For, let
it be remembered, that there is much more present in
this performance than the mere success of an individual

M — 2

i64 ''THE MERCHANT OF VENICE^

actor or actress, and far deeper significance than the
presence of a new Shylock or an ideal Portia. It is not
given to the whole world to think alike, and there may
be minds as unstirred by the pathetic dignity of Mr.
Irving's Shylock, as by the winsome vivacity of Miss
Ellen Terry's Portia. They may see, unmoved, the in-
tense comedy and facial force of the one, and pass over
the disciplined gaiety of the other ; they may sneer at
individual bits, and neglect the consideration of the
whole ; they may linger on defects, and fail to acknow-
ledge the true notes of human passion ; but they are
unjust in their strictures, and prejudiced in their opinions
if they cannot gather from such a performance as this
a renewed promise and a brighter hope. Every age can-
not bring forth a genius, but the young playgoers of to-
day may be proud of the opportunity that gives to their
dramatic education and their theatrical tastes the study
of such works as Mr. Irving puts before them. Let
criticism say what it will, this " Merchant of Venice,"
viewed in its completeness, is a credit to our time.

First, then, as to the Shylock of Mr. Irving. It is no
new theory that the old Jew commands the sympathies
of generous men, whatever Shakespeare may have in-
tended. Let us grant the fixity of his purpose, the im-
placability of his nature, the terribleness of his revenge,
and still the heart is stirred to see him the victim of a
legal quibble, the butt of an impudent courtier, and con-
demned to the most merciless fate by the very judges
who had preached to him about mercy. Shakespeare
might or might not have intended subtly to uphold the
grandeur of a down-trodden race, but certainly it has
hitherto been most difficult to harmonise the man
Shylock with the tricks of theatrical tradition. We all
know how Edmund Kean succeeded, by blending the
Jiuman Jew with the showy effects of his art, the night
when he turned his antagonists into worshippers, and
arriving at home, promised his wife a carriage, his boy a
career, and broke down with that passionate regret, " If
Howard had but lived to see it ! " But even Kean's greatest
admirer, praising as he did the majesty of the persona-
tion, complained that his natural gifts ill accorded with
the requirements of his character. "We question," wrote
Haziitt, " if he will not become a greater favourite in other

''THE MERCHANT OF VENICE." 165

parts. There was a lightness and vigour in his tread, a
buoyancy and elasticity of spirit, a fire and animation,
which would accord better with almost any other charac-
ter than the morose, sullen, inward, inveterate, inflexible
malignity of Shy lock."

Mr. Henry Irving has determined to gi\'e us a new
Shylock, and to discard theatrical tradition. If he
puzzles the student of the past, he will please the
surveyor of the text. If he chills the trial scene with
his studious neglect of time-honoured business, he
finishes off with admirable art the brief career of a
gloomy and disappointed life. What we lose in effect
we gain in persuasion ; for though the hungry rapacity
of Shylock is toned, the mind is enlivened with that ever
present picture of a proud, pale, and hopelessly crushed
man, who is speechless in the hands of fate, and dazed
as if in a dream when he bows at the decision that con-
fiscates his fortune and seeks to change his religion.
The unworthy vulgarity of a stage Shylock is never for an
instant suggested by Mr. Irving. He might make many
points by obeying tradition and discarding consistency ;
but he prefers to put before us a proud, resolute, and
religious man, sincere in his ancient faith, tender in his
recollections, as hard and inflexible as adamant when his
revenge becomes a madness, cold and impassive in the
demand for his rights, crushed with horror at the injus-
tice that is his doom. But let us take the new Shylock
briefly from the moment when he first comes upon the
scene in his sober, yet picturesque, garments. With clear-
cut features and grey, wolf-like, hungry face, twisting his
thin wisp of a beard as he leans over his stick and in-
wardly meditates on Bassanio's proposal for a loan. We
are reminded of a scene in the life of Edmund Kean, told
by Dr. Drury, the head master of Harrow. " Shylock
leant over his crutched stick with both hands and looking
askance at Bassanio said, ' Three thousand ducats ? '
paused, bethought himself and then added, ' Well ? '
' He is safe,' said Dr. Drury." And so was Mr. Henry
Irving when he looked across the footlights into distance
after the tumult of applause had subsided and gave as it
were the keynote to the character he had conceived.

For the purposes of criticism, ]\Ir. Irving's Shylock
.may be divided into three distinct chapters — first in the

i66 ''THE MERCHANT OF VENICE."

scene with Antonio and Bassanio we have the irony of
humour and the subtlety of sarcasm ; second, in the
Tubal scene the exhibition of frenzied passion ; and, lastly,
the majestic dignity of the trial. The first division of
the picture will, in point of variety, incisiveness and
subtlety of expression, rank higher than anything the
actor has yet attempted. We have to go to a certain
scene in " Louis XI " to find its parallel, but this is
more composed and less restless. For what do we see
both in soliloquy and dialogue ? Not only the religious
aspirations of the old Hebrew and the intense fervour
of his antipathies, as expressed in such words as, " He
hates our sacred nation," but an admirable humour
and cynicism in a retort like, " I will be assured I
may, and that I may be assured I will bethink
me ! " or as such a change as is contained in the sneer,
" O, Father Abram ! what these Christians are, whose
own hard dealings teach them to suspect the thoughts
of others ! " Nor is the scene unrelieved by sym-
pathetic touches of art of the finest kind. Dignified,
self-contained, cynical as Shylock is, there is just one
effusive moment when, the bargain all arranged, he says,
" This kind will I show. Go with me to the notary," and
touches the breast of Antonio. The shrinking horror of
contact reminds the Jew of his mistake, and he bows
with polished courtesy, tinged with the most subtle sar-
casm. The action conveys a world of thought. But
scarcely a moment of the dialogue was unrelieved by
some variety of intonation or facial expression — at one
moment the half-laughing sneer that a pound of man's
flesh was not so profitable as that of mutton, or of goats,
and at another the recital with the fervour of interest
of some old passage in the history of Jacob.

Thus early in the play the sympathies of the audience
were artfully enlisted, for the man whose good offices were
sought by the man who had insulted him. The scene
on the discovery of loss of daughter and ducats was not,
on the whole, so successful. True, the actor was
slightly put out by a blunder on the part of Tubal, but
the expression of incontinent rage and prostration of
nervous energy, Avas occasionally not in tune. The
great speech was started in too high a key, and, though
it won the finest burst of applause of the whole evening,

''THE MERCHANT OF VENICE:' 167

Mr. Irving was not at this moment seen at his best.
True, no doubt, it was to nature, this distraught, half-
maddened old man, rushing from one thing to another,
and worn out with the fatigue of his own frenzy ; but
the strain was very great and a little painful. Yet mark
what power and variety there must be in the actor, who,
a few seconds after this hysterical declamation, could
subside tranquilly into the calm and almost inspired de-
livery of the pathetic words: "No satisfaction, no
revenge ; nor no ill-luck stirring but what lights o' my
shoulders; no sighs, but o' my breathing; no tears, but
of my shedding! " This pathetic outburst restored the
lost balance of the composition, and, from that instant,
all went well again.

The fever was over, and the calm was regained,
with only one short interval of very bitter and em-
phatic scorn in the restored scene, where Antonio
prays for mercy at the Jew's hands, and is relegated in
disgust to the gaoler. This is a good introduction, for
it flavours the unrelenting inflexibility of the revenge,
and leads up well and efficiently to the isolated dignity
of the trial. A finer picture the Stage has seldom seen
than that painted Venetian hall, backed with spectators,
lined with mediaeval soldiery in their quaint costumes,
and coloured with faultless taste. All tradition is dis-
carded. Shylock is not accompanied to the judgement-
seat by a crowd of eager admirers, Tubal, and the rest,
who support one of their own people. No ; there he
stands, pale, alone, and defiant, the very picture of
calm and unruffled determination. He has appealed
unto Caesar, and unto Caesar has he gone, and there is
something splendid even in his vindictiveness. In the
presence of so majestic a figure, the jests of Gratiano
are ribald and offensive ; all eyes are turned upon the
relentless features of the cold-cut face. Never was facial
expression so successfully used in the exhibition ot
character, and even Portia seemed to shudder under the
icy gaze of this determined man. We read of Kean's
" steady joyousness," his " burst of exultation, when his
right is confessed," his " fiendish eagerness when
whetting the knife " ; but none of this was here. All was
calm and terrible, making the audience almost shudder
at the concentrated hate, that was so near a climax.

i68 ''THE MERCHANT OF VENICE:'

If Mr. Irving's Shylock was true at first, it
could be played in no other way now. It is a bold,
defiant protest against mere tradition, and those who
have followed it, must observe to the end. With the
turning of the tables comes a sudden collapse. The
knife and scales the Jew had brought out from the
concealment of his gaberdine, drop like lead from
his hands. Astonishment and horror sit upon Shylock's
countenance, and with a piteous and far-seeing gaze,
he accepts the inevitable. At this moment, the
gibes of Gratiano are painful to the interested and
pitying audience, and one feels inclined to resent
such determined cruelty, insult being added to injury.
That such a man, so firm in his faith, so determined in
his revenge, and so consistent in his characteristics,
should ever accept the religion of his enemies as part, is
a point that must be argued out with Shakespeare. Mr.
Irving gets out of the difficulty in the best possible
manner by the lost air of dreaminess that makes the lips
answer while the mind is astray. Shylock's occupation
is gone, the world and his oppressors have been too
strong for him, sufferance is the badge of all his tribe,
and, at least, he accepts his fate like an hero. " The
withering sneer hardly concealing the crushed heart,"
with which the insulted Jew receives the last impertinence
of Gratiano, provides Mr. Irving, as it did Kean, with a
magnificent exit, that crowned a very conspicuous and
undoubted triumph.

Ripened and matured by experience, finish, fancy, and
taste, the Portia of Miss Ellen Terry becomes the most
bewitching of Shakespearean creations. Good as it was
years ago at the Prince of Wales's Theatre, it is better
now. The love is more expressive and tender, the gaiety
more wilful and abandoned, the style more pronounced.
At anxious moments sudden fitful gusts of nervousness
seemed to distract and dismay the actress, but no
accidents of the kind took away from the unrivalled
merit and wayward charm of so pure a conception.
When Portia explains to Nerissa her plan and future
pranks, it is the very thistle-down of light and breezy
humour ; not for an instant is womanliness abandoned or
excess displayed; the little tricks of imitation and sug-
gestion, the sketches of the conceited and self-sufficient

'iTHE MERCHANT OF VENICE." 169

man so soon to be represented are in the finest spirit of
gaiety ; and in all Miss Terry enchanted her audience.
Those tender and trembling accents in her voice were of
the greatest value in the speech for mercy at the trial,
and those were ill-advised who left before the last act,
which contains some gems of Shakespearean poetry, and
a scene of comedy in which Portia literally surpassed
herself. These seem high compliments ; but even those
whose inclinations are wedded to old traditions and past
favourites, would* recognise here a singular adaptability,
a gracious ideality, and a Portia who seems to contain
the echo of Shakespeare's heroine. Whether she lounges
idly on the sofa as Nerissa describes her lovers, or
nervously trembles when the Prince of Morocco chooses
from the caskets, or with maidenly grace accepts the
wooing of Bassanio, or revels in the contemplation of
her frolic, or tremblingly adminsters justice, or hurries
homewards to enjoy the vexation of her lover in the
comedy of the ring, the Portia of this modern stage is a
true Shakespearean replica, sufficient in itself to compel
the attention of dramatic connoisseurs.

For the rest there is some careful and unambitious act-
ing, that for the most part may receive the negative com-
pliment of doing little harm when it failed in creating a
very strong impression. The Nerissa was, no doubt, an
unfortunate mistake in more ways than one, for she is
an individual character, and not a feeble echo of Portia.
There should be contrast, and not diminutive imitation.
Under any circumstances the employment of sisters
would be hazardous, but in this case a very distressing
attack of nervousness blunted the activity of Miss
Florence Terry, and jeopardised several important scenes.
Mr. Tyars and Mr. Beaumont, as the Prince and the
Duke, spoke their lines well, but perhaps the most
useful example of manly bearing and spirited elocution
wast he Bassanio of Mr. Barnes, who made his way
with the audience by good, sound, and honest work.
Launcelot Gobbo and old Gobbo are awkward
characters, but Mr. Johnson and Mr. C. Cooper got
out of the difficulty very well ; and in the part of
Jessica it was pleasant to hear the silvery voice and
intelligent utterance of Miss Alma Murray. In the
distant future, when a dramatic school exists, it will be

170 ''THE MERCHANT OF VENICE."

possible, perhaps, for the general elocution to be better
than it is at present. Shakespeare's verse cannot be
rattled off like modern comedy dialogue without destroy-
ing its beauty.

In architectural and romantic painting, Mr. Hawes
Craven, Mr. W. Telbin, Mr. W. Hann, and Mr. W.
Cuthbert have advanced even upon former Lyceum
glories, and as regards decoration and appropriate detail,
a play could not have been better mounted. So, when
at the close of the evening, Mr. Irving was enthusiasti-
cally called before the curtain, it was natural that he
should express intense pleasure at the demonstrative
expressions of approval. Another bold effort has been
rewarded with success, and, for once, an exception will
be found to the old theatrical rule that " The Merchant
of Venice " is an unremunerative play. Scholars,
students, and mere idle spectators have here before them,
the generous result of much anxious labour and devotion
to dramatic art.

^^ lolantheT

From Henrik Herz's " King Rene's Daughter," by W. G. Wills.
First produced at the Lyceum Theatre, May 20th, 1880.

Count Tristan ----... Mr. Irving.

King Rene -.-.-.. Mr. }. H. Barnes.

Sir Geoffrey -.--.-. Mr. F. Cooper.

Sir Almeric ------- Mr. N. Forbes.

Ebu Jahia ------- Mr. T. Mead.

Bertrand -------- Mr. J. Carter.

Martha ------- Miss Pauncefort.

lolanthe ------- Miss Ellen Terry.

Scene. — A Garden.

173

^^Iola7tther

The numerous and fashionable audience attending
this theatre, on the occasion of Miss Ellen Terry's
benefit, had not only the enjoyment of witnessing her
charming embodiment of Portia in " The Merchant
of Venice," on the verge of its two-hundredth representa-
tion, but the opportunity of seeing her in an entirely new
character, affording additional proofs of the impressive
powers of the accomplished actress. By omitting
the last act of the Shakespearean play, which now
concludes with the scene of the trial, room has been
found in the programme for the presentation of what is
called an Idyll in one act, adapted and re-written by Mr.
W. G. Wills, from the poem by Henrik Herz, already
familiarised to the Stage, under the title of " King Rene's
Daughter."

The earliest metropolitan version of the Danish
story was performed at the Strand Theatre in 1849,
when Mrs. Stirling represented the blind daughter
of the King. Previous to this, however, Mrs. Charles
Kean had introduced the piece to the Stage at Dublin,
subsequently attracting much admiration by her touching
rendering of the part at the Haymarket. A more elegant
translation of the original text was prepared by Mr.
Theodore Martin for Miss Helen Faucit, who, after
appearing in the drama on several occasions in the
provinces, repeated the performance in London for her
benefit at the Haymarket in July, 1855, with such
favourable results, that the character for some time
was assigned a prominent place in her repertory. Ad-
mirably suited to the capabilities of Miss Ellen Terry,
lolanthe, the poor blind maiden, so content under her
bereavement, and so overjoyed on her restoration to

174 ''lOLANTHEr

sight, becomes a poetical delineation, deeply arousing
the sympathies of the spectator, and to the elder play-
goer recalling many of the most effective points made
by her predecessors, notably the impulsive movements
of the eyelids when light is mentioned. Mr. Wills has
infused much poetical imagination into the dialogue. Mr.
Henry Irving adds the value of his name and artistic
attainments to the rendering of Count Tristan, first
played by Mr. Leigh Murray, and Mr. J. H. Barnes is
King Rene, represented in the days of a preceding
generation by the stately Mr. Diddear. Ebu Jahia has
now Mr. T. Mead to enunciate the sonorous sentences of
the Moorish physician, and Miss Pauncefort as Martha,
Mr. F. Cooper as Sir Geoffrey, and Mr. N. Forbes as Sir
Almeric, complete a satisfactory cast, while Mr. Halves
Craven supplies a picturesque garden as the scene of the
action. The complimentary tributes paid to Miss Ellen
Terry at the fall of the curtain were thoroughly merited,
and the intimation that the dramatic Idyll will form a
portion of the Lyceum programme during the remainder
of the season must afford general satisfaction.

'' The Cor sic an Brothers ''

Adapted by Dion Boucicault from A. Dumas' " Les Freres Corses."
First produced at the Lyceum Theatre, September i8th, 1880.

M. Fabien dei Franchi ) . ^^^.^ Brothers - Mr. Henry Irv.xg.
M. Louis del Franchi j

M. de Chateau Renaud ----- Mr. W. Terriss.
The Baron de Montgiron ----- Mr. Elwood.
M. Alfred Meynard .-.--. Mr. Pinero.

Colonna ) /,- • n * \ fMr. Johnson.

/-. I J - - (Corsican I'easants - -, ■.^■'^ tv^Tt-.t^

Orlando ) ^ ' [ Mr. Mead.

Antonio Sanola (Judge of the District) - - Mr. Tapping.

Giordano Martelli ------ Mr. Tyars.

Griffo -----... Mr. Archer.

Boissec (A Wood Cutter) . - . - - Mr. Carter.

M. Verner -..--.. Mr. Hudson.

Tomaso (A Guide) ------ - Mr. Harwood.

M. Beauchamp Mr. Ferrand.

A Surgeon -------- Mr. Louther.

Emihe de Lesparre ------ Miss Fowler.

Madame Saviha dei Franchi - - - - Miss Pauncefort.

Marie ..-..--- Miss Harwood.

CoraHe ------- Miss Alma Murray.

Celestine - Miss Barnett.

Estelle -------- Miss Houliston.

Rose . . _ Miss Coleridge.

Eugenie -------- Miss Moreley.

Corsicans, Servants, Masks, Dominos, etc.

SYNOPSIS OF SCENERY.

Act I.

Scene I. — Corsica. — Hall and Terrace of the Chateau of the Dei
Franchi at Cullacaro, The Apparition. The Vision.

Act 2.

Scene I. — Paris. — Bal de I'Opera. Scene 2. --Lobby of the Opera

House. Scene 3. — Salon in the House of Montgiron. Scene 4. —

The Forest of Fontainebleau. The Vision.

Act 3.

Scene. — Fontainebleau. — Glade in

Vision.

the Forest. The Duel. The

177

"77z^ Corsican brothers.

It must not be supposed that because this play is
essentially designed for spectacular or scenic purpose,
that it must be instantly classified with the style of melo-
drama that is dear to i\ie pvofanmn vulgus. It is a showy
play, no doubt, full of gay scenes and beautiful land-
scapes, bright with colour and animated with pictures ; it
is certainly one of the finest examples of the upholsterer's
and scene-painter's art that the modern, or perhaps any
other, stage has ever seen ; it is reahstic to the point of
danger, but in the present instance I should certainly
advise people to go and judge for themselves, and not
trust too implicitly to those " pitch and toss " verdicts
that decide the fate of so many plays in these days
of excitement, hurry, and scramble. What do I mean
by a " pitch and toss " verdict ? Why this. In the
opinion of some people an emphatic verdict must be
given on the instant, bad or good, success or failure, and
the merit of a production is appraised by whether at the
first sight it seems likely to run for a couple of hundred
nights or not. Now to class " The Corsican Brothers,"
with all its taste and interest, its fine feeling and evidence
of culture, with the so-called " show pieces," that have
gradually turned melodrama into ridicule, and set up a
dramatic god for the worship of vulgar minds, is to do a
grave injustice to a very brilliant and wholesome enter-
tainment.

Such story as there is in this strange and fascinating
romance is exactly suited to the thoughtful and impres-
sive style of Mr. Irving. He has to represent at different
periods of the play two brothers, who are twins, alike in
nature, sympathy, and sentiment, and allied by a curious
and powerful magnetism. Their thoughts are the same,

N

178 ''THE CORSICAN BROTHERS:'

their aspirations are identical, and when separated they
share one another's joys and sorrows. Here, then, is a
fine field for such an actor as Mr. Irving. The melo-
drama may be one of stage mechanism, but it is also one
of study and thought. Mr. Irving enters as the brother
who lives in Corsica, the idol of the tenantry, the joy of
his mother, the man whose pleasant country life and
mountain experience are only dashed with anxiety for the
safety of his brother in Paris.

The entrance speaks volumes in favour of the actor,
who, magnificently attired in emerald-green velvet, looks
as if he stepped out of an old picture frame, and at once
rivets the direct attention of the whole house. This is
done by wonderful power of expression. Other actors
can wear handsome dresses, and look well, but few
there are whose features, radiating into happy smiles, or
suddenly clouded with a depressing gloom, could so ac-
curately portray a sunny nature worried with anxiety.
There is little to be done here but to tell two long stories,
so as to focus the attention of the audience upon the
mystery of the legend ; to sup with an apparently light
heart, whilst the mind is pre-occupied ; to arrange
a local Corsican dispute with iron determination, and,
withal, good nature. And then, in the silence of
the midnight hours, to relapse into the dread horror
of presentiment that is made into certainty by the
appearance of his dead brother's spirit. All this looks
easy enough, but see with what light and shade it is done !
What flashes of sadness and gaiety, what sly touches of
funny realism, as, for instance, when at supper, the young
man is baffled with the wing of a very tough fowl.
What signs of dignity, superiority, and the iron nerve,
subsequently to be developed, when the head of the dei
Franchi family drags together the representatives of the
Orsini and Colonni vendetta. But there is something
more to be said. I have heard Mr. Irving accused of
indistinctness in utterance, and there certainly was a
time when he was allowing a manner, fascinating to him,
to get the better of him. But true artists are always
thinking, studying, and improving. The indistinctness
has disappeared, the voice is as clear as a bell, and every
word of those two long speeches, syllable for syllable
could have been heard at the back of the farthest gallery.

''THE CORSICAN BROTHERS." 179

The Corsican brother has been shown as dashed with
anxiety ; the Parisian brother is pictured as anything but
mirthful, in a scene of extreme revelry and excitement.
It has been asked why the Parisian brother is so gloomy
and sad ? Well, for the life of me, I cannot see why he
should be hilarious. He is the direct and immediate
contrast to all the folly and frivolity around him ; it is
his face that is seen in the ball-room and supper-room,
sorrow-stricken at the worldliness and w^orthlessness
that surround him. Besides, what has happened ? He is
in love with a woman who can never be his wife ; he is
seeking her everywhere to save her from the schemes and
artful wiles of a professed villain ; he is bent upon putting
himself forward as her champion, and protecting her
honour in the society of scoundrels. Such a man, if not
precisely gloomy, would be most decidedly in earnest.
In what scene is he anything else but sad ? Hunting
for Emilie de Lesparre in the mazes of the masked ball,
waiting in agony amidst the gay and frivolous women to
see if the woman he loves is to be contaminated by their
presence, or at the dramatic moment of the challenge ?

To my mind, Mr. Irving's face was not gloomy, but bore
upon it the anxiety of a man in love, who is performing
a disagreeable duty. The reception of the challenge, the
rescue of the lady, who places herself under the protec-
tion of her old admirer, were in Mr. Irving's best and
most improved style. He has been accused of being
awkward by those who wish to degrade dramatic art
with the common-place realism of the modern draw-
ing-room ; but would it be possible to give a better
example of polished courtesy of manner and move-
ment ? The exit brought down applause from the
whole house.

The third act, or duel scene, showed Mr. Irving in
a better light still as a personator of calmness and ven-
geance. He is the embodiment of fate. He is the
destined instrument of revenge, by whose hand his
brother's murderer will fall, and all the dramatic glow of
the scene comes from the determination and splendid
calm of the actor. There is no restlessness here, no
fidgetiness ; the eye is not disturbed by movings to and
fro. The bloodthirsty Corsican is as firm as a rock, and
every pause in the duel heightens the interest. Had the

N — 2

i8o " THE CORSICAN BROTHERS."

performance of Chateau Renaud been stronger than it
was — a more distinct personation, a man of more power
and weight, not physically, but mentally — no doubt Mr,
Irving's acting would have been brought into greater relief.
The Parisian dei Franchi leans much upon Chateau
Renaud for support, but in this instance the dramatic
combat was one-sided and unequal. The better the
Othello with a strong lago, the better the Charles the
First with a powerful Cromwell, the better the Louis
dei Franchi with a brilliant and impressive Chateau
Renaud. Mr. William Terriss, who is one of the most
nervous, manly, and expressive of our young actors,
failed to appreciate the tone of Chateau Renaud. He
did many things well, notably the anticipation of a coming
evil before the duel, when the carriage broke down on
an accursed spot, but we want more character and
colour in Chateau Renaud ; he is a man, not a shadow ;
a power, not a subordinate. From first to last the duel
between these men should not be unequal, if anything,
Chateau Renaud should have the upper hand until the
arrows of fate are let loose. He should be a man to
thrill and inspire, a bad man, a bold man, but still a
power in his wicked and dissolute set, a man whose un-
scrupulous character should provoke a certain sort of
admiration for his avidacity ; but of all this we got but
little. Mr. Terriss does not cease to be the good actor
that he was before he played this part — it would be folly
to say so — but he never commanded the scene as Chateau
Renaud.

For the rest, the acting of Miss Emily Fowler was all
that was charming and refined, and both Mr. Pinero
as Meynard and Mr. Thomas Mead as Orlando came well
to the front.

With regard to the appointments and decorations,
everyone will be talking of them. The ball room is a
marvel of architecture, and could only be improved by a
French ballet-master, and re-arrangement of the whole
of the dances that at present are not judiciously chosen.
For the dance of Clowns there should be a ballet of
Pierrots and Pierrettes. As for Mr. Hawes Craven's
picture of the wintry wood, it is one of the finest things
ever seen on the stage.

If I were asked what improvements I shall suggest,

''THE CORSICAN BROTHERS." i8i

beyond giving a gay Parisian tone to the masked ball, in
design and colour, I should alter the costume from 1840,
and post-date it, abolish those hideous hats worn by
the Parisian gentlemen, which may be correct, but are
frightful, and defy conventionality by altering the ghost.
We have improved in stage ghosts since 1852, but there
is no reason why the Lyceum spectre should be that of
the Princess's : effective then, but dangerous now. And
why should a ghost come up facing the audience in this
stiff and stilted fashion ? Is there any reason why he
should not be a pathetic and pleading ghost, advancing
with out-stretched arms towards the brother, or intro-
duced coming gradually along from the back of that
enormous stage ? Lime-light, and magic-lanterns, and
Professors Maskelyne and Pepper can give us better
ghosts than these.

"A SECOND THOUGHT"

OF

"THE CORSICAN BROTHERS."

Eight-and-twenty years have passed over our heads,
the drama has been dying, dead, and revived again ;
apathy and distrust have been exchanged for interest and
hope ; great actors and authors have been shouldered out
of the crowd by fresh heroes and new favourites, since
Charles Kean, encouraging the taste for melodrama
between the intervals of tragedy, produced "TheCorsican
Brothers," and astonished the town. It was a bold move
but a successful one. The play Avas not original, but
none the less interesting on that account ; the legendary
matter of which " Les Freres Corses" consisted came to
the teeming brain of Alexandre Dumas, partly from
fiction and partly from fact ; the novel was showily
arranged for the Theatre Historique in Paris, and it fell
to the lot of Dion Boucicault to introduce the latest
Parisian fashion to the English stage.

1 82 ''THE COR SIC AN BROTHERS."

That Avas in 1852, and it may be interesting to jot
down a few memoranda that may serve as a guide and a
retrospect in contrasting the time of the orginal pro-
duction and the atmosphere of the revival. At just about
the time that "The Corsican Brothers" was produced in
London, when the trembhng ghost melody fell with
strange effect upon attentive ears, and the eager student
of the drama saw in his dreams the slow ascent of the
white-shirted ghost, daubed with gore, and the relentless
figure of Chateau Renaud, wiping his bloody sword in
the wintry forest of Fontainebleau, there were compara-
tively few entertainments in London, but of their kind
they were first-rate, Sims Reeves and Miss P. Horton
(Mrs. German Reed) were struggling to do what they
could for English Opera under the direction of Bunn and
Balfe ; Wright and Paul Bedford were making the town
scream with their Adelphi farces ; old Farren and his
son — Mr. William Farren, junr., as he was called — were
playing in comediettas at the Olympic ; Tom Taylor had
just written " Our Clerks " for Mr. and Mrs. Keeley,
who played in the farces and after-pieces at the Princess's;
Phelps was producing original poetical plays by an
English clergyman (Rev. James White) at Sadler's
Wells ; Palgrave Simpson was writing for Punch's
Playhouse in the Strand ; Dejazet and Frederic Lemaitre
were starring at the St. James's; Albert Smith was on
the eve of starting his entertainment of "Mont Blanc"
at the Egyptian Hall.

They were interesting theatrical days, no doubt, in
1852, when we look back at them, but such an audience
as that attracted by Mr. Henry Irving's revival in 1880,
admits of no comparison with the past. London was
supposed to be empty, the autunm season had scarcely
begun, the moors and the forests had not given back
their sportsmen, or returned their holiday makers, and
yet the atmosphere of the re-opened theatre was fresh
with all that is distinguished in the varied sections and
sub-sections of literature and art, music, painting, and
the drama. The faithful friends who had been true to
the Lyceum revivals, be they legitimate or melodramatic,
scenic or Shakespearean, political or weird, were in their
accustomed seats, secured only by hours of constant
waiting and indefatigable endurance ; and the overflow,

" THE CORSICAN BROTHERSr 183

not content to be driven from the doors, hung about the
WelHngton Street portico, formed themselves into an
avenue of curiosity, and took out their pleasure in envy-
ing the lucky possessors of booked seats.

Theatrical first-nights at leading houses have become
in effect a kind of art conversazione and meeting place of
many friends. Naturally there was much to talk about
and discuss, for clearly there were three distinct orders
of playgoers and critics represented in the various parts
of this brilliant and fashionable house. There Avere the
faithful memories of 1852, that recalled the first impres-
sion of " The Corsican Brothers," the acting of Charles
Kean and Alfred Wigan, their poHshed art and brilliant
swordsmanship, improved by constant practice in
Angelo's fencing school in St. James's Street, the sym-
pathetic grace of Miss Murray, and the contrasted
humour of Mr. Ryder and Mr. Drinkwater Meadows.

The ghost melody and the ghost, the snow-covered
woods, the gloomy pond, and the white-shirted duellists
could never be forgotten by those who turned back
the pages of their lives for eight-and-twenty years,
and pointed to the exact spot where the impression
remained true and m fair type. There have been other
revivals and reproductions of the same play. When
Fechter was played out at the Princess's, Charles Kean
came back to revive the melodrama in the Exhibition
year of 1862, and it was natural that in the varied audi-
ence there would be eloquent voices raised in favour of
certain points of Fechter's original personation, of the
Chateau Renaud of Walter Lacy, that ran Alfred Wigan
so very hard, and many thought surpassed it ; of the
same character acted by George Jordan : and of the
latest representative of the brothers, Mr. Hermann
Vezin.

Punctuality, order, and good taste are the watchwords
of Mr. Irving's management, and the days of discord
during the preliminary piece are at an end. Time was
when managers had too much to think about with their
novelty to attend to pretty plays for the opening of the
evening's entertainment, and were content that an
exciting melodrama should be preceded by a noisy
farce, indifferently acted.

Discipline can soon correct this error, and those who

i84 " THE CORSICAN BROTHERS:'

had taken the trouble to come early were rewarded with
a great treat in the shape of a charming one-act play, full
of gentle and refined feeling, tinged with an occasional
flavouring of genial humour, and acted extremely well.
Mr. A. W. Pinero, the author of " Bygones," who has
already in a modest manner put before us more than one
of these graceful dramatic exercises, would have been
pleased, could he have taken his attention from the
character he was acting so well to find that he had
touched the hearts of his audience by the simple pathos
of his homely story. It is a love episode, of course — one
in which the current interest does not run smoothly, for
an interesting girl finds herself abandoned by her lover
when a jealous servant betrays the secret of her humble
birth. Deserted, forlorn, and offered the protection and
the honest love of the simple old gentleman she can only
respect, Ruby is on the point of committing herself to
a serious sacrifice when the repentant lover returns to
take her to his heart again, and the old Italian gentleman
awakens from his love dream, and wanders away alone
with his broken-heart and sad memories.

Freshly written, neatly constructed, and with a decided
originality in the treatment of an old story, " Bygones,"
not only pleasantly opened the evening with a pretty
surprise, iDut the applause that greeted the young author
must have assured him that whenever he makes a bolder
bid for fame he will receive the sympathetic encourage-
ment of those who have watched his brief career with
interest, and who see far more than average merit in his
well-considered and conscientious work. The girlish and
enthusiastic nature of Ruby, her sunny smiles and bitter
tears, as depicted by Miss Alma Murray, honestly and
without a trace of affectation, contrasted well with the
pathetic simplicity and comic innocence of the old Italian,
played by the author, Mr. Pinero. When the curtain
fell, loud and genuine cheering came from all parts of the
house.

The evening had begun well, and everyone seemed in a
pleasant state of expectancy for the great event that was
to follow. Tumbling in and out of cupboards, smashing
plates, and rushing from one door to another, would not
have been such a good preparation for the melodramatic
interest of " The Corsican Brothers," as this simple love

" THE CORSICAN BROTHERS:' 185

story enacted outside the door of an English rectory.
But now the orchestra having given a dim, distant, and
dreamy idea of the melody that is so soon to become
famihar, the notes of preparation are sounded, and the
curtain rises on the hall and terrace of the Chateau of
the dei Franchi at Cullacaro, in Corsica.

A peasant maiden is spinning at her wheel in this
gorgeous room, which is, if anything, too pronounced in
its deep reds and browns, a trifle heavy in effect, but
still rich and extravagant in the extreme. In the distance
are the trees, the light and air of the beautiful island, and
here on the terrace can be detected the advancing gloom
of the evening shadows. That is just what is wanted.
The story is sad, weird, and mysterious. There is a cloud
hanging over the happiness of the dei Franchi family,
and certainly the attention is prepared by many of those
artificial details that modern scenic art has brought to
such a state of perfection. Everyone, as usual, is ex-
pectant for the entrance of Mr. Henry Irving, as Fabien
dei Franchi, the head of the Corsican house, the peace-
maker and arranger of island quarrels, the earnest,
handsome, and mysterious man, who feels in his own
person any injury offered to his Parisian brother, and is
nervously apprehensive of any danger that may happen
to him. Mr. Pinero, who comes upon the scene as
Alfred Meynard, is mistaken for the hero of the play;
young actors who follow in Mr. Irving's footsteps acquire
something of his manner, and imitate, unconsciously, the
master. But it was momentary; the costumes of modern
Paris in 1840 ought to have disarmed any such suspicion,
and there can be no mistaking the true entrance, as the
gorgeously attired Corsican strides the full length of this
enormous stage. It is a grand entrance, and a difficult
one, as the returned sportsman enters and approaches the
home where he is so loved, and Mr. Irving is at once, as
ever, the keynote of the composition — the front of the
picture. In his becoming costume of lustrous emerald-
green, giving out the shadows and softness of velvet; in
the coloured sash at his waist, and the air and manner
that well-arranged colours and materials never fail to
give; in the long hair just sprinkled with grey, the kindly
eyes and expressive features, we have just the Corsican
brother to contrast, with all his earnestness, tenderness,

i86 ''THE CORSICAN BROTHERS:''

and intense feeling, with the twin in Paris, anxious, love-
struck, and nervously susceptible. There must be a
contrast, of course, and an extremely delicate one ; in a
measure, it is the contrast of the comedian and tragedian,
of graceful ease and intense determination. But it ap-
peared to Mr. Irving that the characteristic of Fabien
dei Franchi was his earnestness, and this he conveyed
through the light heart and the generous nature.

When his face lighted up into smiles, or he addressed
his mother, it was easy to see what an influence such a
man would have — how he could settle disputes between
Orsini and Colonnas, and bend obstinate people to his
will. But over all this gay and lovable nature there
hung a cloud ; the man had seen visions, and had warn-
ings; he was not nervous, but apprehensive; and so the
play proceeds through the effective delivery of those two
long stories, the homely supper party, the comical settle-
ment of the vendetta by the delivery of the little white
hen, that is really a cock, and so to the midnight hour,
when Fabien, writing alone in the silence of a sleeping
house, feels the apparition touch him on the shoulder,
and sees the picture of the duel in the wood at Fontaine-
bleau, his brother bleeding on the ground, the antagonist
wiping the cruel sword.

The impressions in the first act are easily given. As
for acting there was but little to do — the success of the
play depend supon artifice rather than art ; but how few
actors there are who have the persuasive power of Mr.
Irving. It is said he interests because he is the fashion ;
but it is often strangely forgotten that he is the fashion
because he interests. For instance, in those long stories
told by Fabien dei Franchi to his brother's friend, let the
actor but once fail in persuasion and interest, and the
thread of the play, slight as it is, drops, and is lost. The
eyes of the audience never wandered from Mr. Irving
— he commanded their attention and rivetted it. As for
the rest, it seemed to those familiar with the play that
there was something wrong with the ghost, he was not
so weird or mysterious as he used to be ; had familiarity
bred contempt in the unhappy spirit, or what was it ?
With every desire to be engrossed and absorbed, the old
fascination somehow failed. W^e cannot account for it,
but so it was. Still, the intense silence of the whole

''THE CORSICAN BROTHERS:' 187

house argued that the feeling was not general, and that
another generation may yield to the spell of the strange
melody and feel the heart beat and the eyes held fast as
the black and white figure glides across the stage, arid
the wall opening displays a picture of striking dramatic
interest. It may be that the mechanical effect of 1852
is considered old fashioned in 1880, and certainly the
ghost effects of the modern " Hamlet" were more impres-
sive than the spectre in the revived "Corsican Brothers."
The second act opens with one of the most striking
scenes, architecturally contrived and brilliantly coloured,
that the Stage has ever seen. It represents the interior
of the Paris Opera, during a bal masque, and it is
realism out-realised. Real private boxes, real curtains,
hangings, and real people in the loges, real trees and
flowers, the floor of the mimic opera literally crammed
with dancers and dominos, merriment and masks,
pierrots and pierrettes, polichinelles, clowns and panta-
loons, shepherdesses and debardeurs, ballet girls, monks,
pilgrims, and comic dogs. Such a sound of revelry
goes up as the curtain rises, that dramatic action is made
an impossibility, conversation a farce. It is a realistic
picture of superlative merit, and so it must remain ; for
here, until the end of all time, the play proper must
pause for a moment. With difficulty Louis dei Franchi
is seen pursuing Emilie de Lesparre through all this
medley of music and hilarity, the voices of the charac-
ters are drowned in the babel of merrymaking.

When the eccentric dancers are distorting their faces
and waving the sleeves of their calico vestments ; when
comic poodles are playing leap-frog over the backs of the
guests, and the scene is swaying backwards and forwards
with animation and excitement, who can single out
Chateau Renaud, or attend to his conspiracy against a
woman's honour and fair fame ?

The scene as it stands is striking enough to draw all
London, or at any rate the part of it that takes its
pleasures through the eyes ; and those who persist that
" the play's the thing " must be content to w^ait vmtil
the dances are over, till the opera lights are out, till the
carnival has spluttered away like expiring oil, and the
splendid crimson plush tableaux curtains have fallen
upon the revelry and riot,

i88 " THE CORSICAN BROTHERS."

Then we manage to get on with the story, and see how
Louis dei Franchi rescues the woman he loves from the
toils of a villain, escorts her proudly from a libertine
supper party, is challenged to mortal combat, accepts,
and dies in the forest of Fontainebleau, just as we see it
all in the Corsican vision.

The second act won its success almost entirely from
its spectacular merit, and the beauty of the stage furni-
ture. Upholstery and scenic artists were in the ascendant
this time, and the actor's art had to make way for them.
When Mr. Irving revived the melodrama he did not
propose to alter its character. What it was it will con-
tinue to be — startling, but not satisfying. No play with
such a scanty female interest as this was ever accounted
a satisfying work, and possibly now that we are so ex-
tremely exacting, the fault was detected sooner in
1880 than in 1852. All that Mr. Irving could do for
the second act of "The Corsican Brothers" he did. No
manager has ever mounted the play nearly so well, and
whenever the actor got a chance he availed himself of
it. It may be urged that the scene at the clock has told
with better effect, but the rescue of Emilie de Lesparre
was accomplished with a courtliness, distinction, and
grace that aroused the enthusiasm of the audience. This
is the one dramatic moment in this long, weary, and
bustling act — -it is the sole instant when the story gets
the advantage over the scene, and relieves us from the
revels of carnival and the laughter of ladies of the half-
world, who have put aside their dominos for the full
enjoyment of truffles, mayonnaise, and champagne.

Of this the artist-actor instantly availed himself. But
unfortunately, there were two other difficulties to en-
counter. First, was a selection of costume for the male
characters at the ugliest period of male attire; second,
was a Chateau Renaud, who failed to divide the acting
honours with Louis dei Franchi. The scene, from first
to last, is so modern in idea, that the tight trousers, the
short waists, the stocks, and the huge opera hats ascribed
to 1840, have a jarring and deterrent effect.

The Chateau Renaud was a more important difficulty,
and contrary to all expectation, Mr. W. Terriss failed to
grasp the meaning of the character, or to give it that
decision and emphasis that are essential. True, Chateau

''THE CORSICAN BROTHERS." i8g

Renaud is a villain, but he is a villain of the first-class
— not a conventional Lad man, but a Napoleon of rascals;
a man who could sway and influence women, a man
with some magnetic power in him, a character who
ought to stand out as sharp and clear as Louis dei
Franchi in the second act, and inspire terror.

To fight such a man — bravado and braggart, man of
the world, unscrupulous adventurer and swordsman —
ought to be a great feather in the cap of Louis. The
audience should tremble for the safety of the sensitive,
impulsive lover in the hands of this cold-blooded
scoundrel. As it was, Mr. Irving towered above Mr.
Terriss, and the sympathies w^ent all the other way. No
one feared for the fate of Louis, but everyone seemed to
deprecate the rashness of Chateau Renaud. Unquestion-
ably the representative of Chateau Renaud ought to com-
mand the situation, and make a great impression both
in love scene and defiant threat. But, as ill-luck would
have it, Mr. Terriss was only a bad man; not a bad man
of consequence.

The last act is, in a dramatic sense, far the strongest,
and has been arranged from first to last by Mr. Irving
in a manner that calls for the warmest commendations.
The scene itself is of surpassing merit — the bare, leaf-
less trees of the silent forest, the frozen pond, the slowly
descending snow, the deep orange and red bars of the
setting winter sun — all prepare one for the epitome of
fate. For it is fate that is the ruling idea of this most
interesting act, gathering together the scattered thoughts
of the audience, and gaining back the attention of every-
one. Fate arrested the hurrying steps of the departing
Chateau Renaud ; fate broke the carriage down on the
tragic and well-remembered spot ; fate brought Fabien
dei Franchi here at the very hour his brother died, there
to find his brother's murderer. And Mr. Irving, as he
stands there, calm, determined, cool, is the sure embodi-
ment of fate.

He seldom has acted so well, with such an absence of
all restlessness, with such solidity and purpose. There
he stood defiant, with vengeance in his eyes and scorn in
his accent. Surely he knows that this man must die at
his hands, and so he does not shrink from his terrible
purpose. To make the scene completely effective, the

igo " THE CORSICAN BROTHERSr

Chateau Renaud should play the game as firmly from his
point of view as Fabien does. We should scarcely
sympathise with the practised duellist, who appears to us
absolutely powerless in the hands of the Corsican — •
powerless all through, at the first and at the last. How-
ever, the scene is effective, as it ever was — intense, weird,
and gloomy, and what is lost in the presence of Chateau
Renaud is gained in the poetic accessories of the scene
that closes the story with solemnity, but makes a marked
impression upon the beholders, who see the impotence
of cowardice and the power of fate. All is accomplished ;
the duel to the bitter end is over ; the brother's murder is
avenged; and before the sun has set, the departed spirit
has communed once more with the brother, inseparable
even in death.

An outburst of applause followed the descent of the
curtain, calls loud and long for Mr. Irving and Mr.
Terriss, and the congratulations would, no doubt, have
been extended to Miss Emily Fowler, who played Emilie
de Lesparre with such taste and refinement, had she
appeared in the last act. Mr. Irving was not allowed,
however, to disappear from the scene without making
one of his confidential short speeches, and soon it was
whispered about that " The Corsican Brothers " was
likely to fulfil every expectation and to justify the
enormous outlay that had been expended on its pro-
duction.

46

The C^P-

? ?

By Alfred Tennyson. First produced at the Lyceiitn Theatre,
January 3rd, 1881.

CxALATIANS.

Synorix (an ex-Tetrarch) ------ Mr. Irving.

Sinnatus (aTetrarch) ------ Mr. Terriss.

Attendant ------- Mr. Harwood.

Boy --------- Miss Brown.

Maid -------- Miss Harwood.

Phoebe -------- Miss Pauncefort.

„ ( Wife of Sinnatus and afterwards ) ... „ „

Camma x^ • . • iu t 1 c \ ^ ■ Miss Ellen Terry.
I Priestess in the Temple ot Artemis, j

Priestesses and Attendants in Temple : The Misses Moreley,
Thornton, Barnett, Lang, Houghton, Edwards, Buckingham,
Dolman, Hawkes, Coleridge, Waldon, Caddick, Taylor, Shavey,
Knight, Hood, Moore, Broughton, Harris, Barrow, Barr, Costa,
Barker, Blake, Hasting, Young, Gordon, Griffiths, Bainbridge,
Florence, Daubigny, Elise, Grainger, Wren, Clair, and Davis.

Attendants in Temple, Citizens, Huntsmen, etc., etc.

ROMANS.

Antonius (a Roman General) ----- Mr. Tvars.

Publius -------- Mr. Hudson.

Nobleman -------- Mr. Matthison.

Herald --------- Mr. Archer.

Soldiers, etc., etc.

SYNOPSIS OF SCENERY.

Act I.

Scene I. — Distant view of a City in Galatia. (Afternoon). Scene 2.

— A roomin theTetrarch'shouse. (Evening). Scenes. — Distant

view of a City of Galatia. (Dawn).

Half a year is supposed to elapse between the acts.

Act 2.
Scene. — Interior of the Temple of Artemis.

The scene is laid in Galatia, a Province of Asia Minor.

193

((

The Cup.

In order to be thoroughly sympathetic with the spirit
of Mr. Tennyson's new tragedy, "The Cup," which
last night was the occasion of so much interest and
enthusiasm at the Lyceum Theatre, it is necessary to
throw our minds back to the third century before Christ,
and to become familiar with that strange country, called
Galatia, in Asia Minor, originally peopled with the invad-
ing Gauls. This done, we may happily revive old recol-
lections of its people, half-Greeks, half-Gauls; of its
tetrarchies, its tributary King, gained as a reward for
conquest in the Mithridatic War, and especially its wor-
ship of that Asiatic divinity found estabhshed by the
Greeks in Ionia, and known as the " Ephesian Artemis."
Starting with this basis of information, we may be
enabled to contemplate, with something like familiarity,
the Poet Laureate's heroine, Camma, with her intoxicat-
ing mixture of love and vengeance ; the hero Synorix,
with his weird passion and resistless destiny ; the bold
Galatian, Sinnatus, hunter and husband ; the strange,
mysterious glamour that hangs over the worship of
Artemis ; and shall have our understandings tuned to
the study of the acting of Mr. Henry Irving and the
inimitable picturesqueness of Miss Ellen Terry.

Imagine, then, the city of Galatia, among the wooded
hills, and a scene set before the Temple of Artemis, with
its snow-bordered distance, its grape wreaths and myrtle
groves, its luxurious disorder, and matchless colour — a
very triumph of scene-painting — at a time when Camma
is enjoying the wedded love of Sinnatus, her hunter-
husband, and the handsome and licentious Synorix,
half-spy, half-lover, has come to woo the woman, on
whom his unholy gaze has fallen, and to present her

o

194 ''THE CUPr

with a priceless cup, saved from the burning wreck of
an Artemisian temple. All eyes are turned upon this
Synorix as the curtain has risen on the picture, and
he stalks up the flower-covered rocks, concealing be-
neath his vestment the fatal marriage cup. He bears
an evil character enough ; no woman is safe from his
allurements ; he is, according to his own description,
"a Greek, my lord; you know that we Galatians are
both Greek and Gaul " ; he has heard in Rome that
the tributary crown may fall to him, and to himself he
whispers that he " shall serve Galatia taking it, and
save her from herself, and be to Rome more grateful
than a Roman." But far before the love of tributary
crowns and tetrarchies, he places the lov'e of Camma,
the fair wife of Sinnatus, on whose matchless beauty he
muses before the Temple of Artemis :

" Vine, cypress, poplar, myrtle, bowering in
The city where she dwells. She passed me here
Three years ago, when I was flying from
My Tetrarchy to Rome. I almost touched her — ■
A maiden slowly moving on to music
Among her maidens to this temple — O gods !
She is my fate — else wherefore has my fate
Brought me again to her own city ? — Married
Since — married Sinnatus, the Tetrarch here —
But if he be conspirator, Rome will chain.
Or slay him. I may trust to gain her then
When I shall have my Tetrarchy restored."

The first step towards this winning is the presentation
of the marriage cup, sacred to Artemis, which is de-
spatched to Camma by a secret messenger before the
passionate Synorix introduces himself by a feigned name
to the happy household of the athletic hunter, Sinnatus.
There can be no question how Camma loves her hus-
band, for, taking up her lyre in the twilight hour, she
sings in one of the Laureate's matchless lyrics of her
hunger for his return from the chase.

" Moon on the field and the foam.

Moon on the waste and the wold.
Moon bring him home, bring him home

Safe from the dark and the cold.
Home, sweet moon, bring him home,

Home with the flock to the fold —
Safe from the wolf "

" THE CUPr 195

And so the love-song is interrupted by the rough but
honest husband with a warm embrace, arguing ill for the
success of Synorix. But the treacherous ex-tetrarch is
no chamber lover. He too can hunt, for he says, eyeing
all the while, with dark fierce glances, his unsuspicious
host :

. . . . " My good Lord Sinnatus

I once was at the hunting of a Hon.

Roused by the clamour of the chase he woke,

Came to the front of the wood — his monarch mane

Bristled about his quick ears — he stood there

Staring upon the hunter. A score of dogs

Gnawed at his ankles. At last he felt

The trouble of his feet, put forth one paw,

Slew four, and knew it not ; and so remained

Staring upon the hunter : and this Rome

Will crush you if you wrestle with her.

The Laureate, as he paints for us in bold and striking
colours the nature of this proud and imperious Camma,
whose love is to be sacrificed and fate sealed by the will
of Synorix, bassoon an opportunity for one of these patri-
otic outbursts which are foreshadowed in the opening
stanzas of" Maud." Into the mouth of Camma, mother,
and wife, he puts one of those stirring war cries, charged
with cynicism and contempt for those who would " put
down war," whether as a "cause or a consequence."
With the voice of inspiration, Camma speaks :

" Sir, I had once
A boy, who died a babe ; but were he living
And grown to man ; and Sinnatus willed it, I
Would set him in the front rank of the fight,
With scarce a pang. Sir, if a State submit
At once, she may be blotted out at once,
And swallowed in the conqueror's chronicle ;
Whereas, in wars of freedom and defence,
The glory and grief of battle won or lost
Solders a race together. Yea, tho' they fail.
The names of those who fought and fell are like
A banked-up fire, that flashes out again
From century to century, and at last
May lead them on to victory — I hope so —
Like phantoms of the gods."

It is alone by stratagem that Synorix can win " Camma
the stately! Camma the great-hearted!" She is a

o — 2

196 "THE CUPy

woman he could " live and die for," and yet he muses,
" What ! die for a woman ? What new faith is this ?
I am not sick, not mad, not old enough to dote on
her alone ! Yes ; mad for her ! So mad, I fear some
strange and evil chance is coming on me, for by the
gods I seem strange to myself!" So Synorix, with
crafty courtesy, preys upon the fears of Camma, warns
her of her husband's danger, tells her how her lord is
marked down as the instant prey of cruel Rome, and
urges the guiltless wife to meet him by the Temple of
Artemis, alone, there to encounter Antonius, Ambassa-
dor from Rome, in whose hands is her husband's fate.
She accepts the invitation, but she comes armed with
a dagger. It had been a sweet and pathetic parting
with the husband she was doomed to sever from for
ever. She, who had been described in this beautiful
simile :

" The lark first takes the sunHght in his wing ;
But you, twin-sister of the morning star.
Forlead the sun "

had some fears when, looking upon the fading land-
scape, rich with the glow of summer-time, she recalled
her early and unchanged love for Sinnatus.

" He is gone already ;
Oh, look ! — yon grove upon the mountain — white
In the sweet moon, as with a lovelier snow !
But what a blotch of blackness underneath !
Sinnatus, you remember — yea, you must —
That there three years ago, the vast vine-bowers
Ran to the summit of the trees, and dropt
Their streamers earthward, which a breeze of May
Took ever and anon, and opened out
The purple zone of hill and heaven ; there
You told your love ; and, like the swaying vines —
Yea, with our eyes, our hearts, our prophet hopes.
Let in the happy distance, and that all
But cloudless heaven which we have found together
In our three married years ! You kissed me there
For the first time. Sinnatus, kiss me now ! "

The dreaded meeting is a tragic one. Synorix, whose
passionate accents have unsheathed the dagger of Camma,
and whose love-burden has been overheard by Sinnatus,

''THE CUP." 197

the husband, is branded as a seducer, and taunted with
the opprobrious words, " aduUerous dog." The wily
Synorix forthwith, with one snatch, disarms the woman,
then suddenly slays her husband, who has pounced upon
him from behind. Camma flies for refuge to the Temple
of Artemis, and ere the doors have closed upon her, the
murderer, Synorix, soliloquises with cool and cruel em-
phasis over the dead body of his hated rival :

" ' Adulterous dog ! ' that red-faced rage at me ;
Then with one quick, short stab — eternal peace ;
So end all passions. Then what use in passions ?
To warm the cold bounds of our dying life
And, lest we freeze in mortal apathy,
Employ us, heat us, quicken us, help us, keep us
From seeing all too near that urn, those ashes
Which all must be. Well used, they serve us well.
I heard a saying in Egypt, that ambition
Is like the sea wave, which, the more you drink.
The more you thirst — yea — drink too much, as men
Have done on rafts of wreck, it drives you mad.
I will be no such wreck, am no snch gamester
As, having won the stake, would dare the chance
Of double, or losing all. The Roman Senate,
For I have always play'd into their hands.
Means me the crown. And Camma for my bride —
The people love her — if I win her love.
They, too, will cleave to me, as one with her.
There then I rest, Rome's tributary king.

She hath escaped me ;
He saved my life — it seemed so. Did he ? Dead
Why did I strike him ? Having proof enough
Against the man, I surely should have left
That stroke to Rome. I have played the sudden fool.
That, too, sets her against me, for the moment.
Camma ! Well, well, I never found the woman
I could not force or wheedle to my will.
She will be glad at last to wear my crown,
And I will make Galatia prosperous, too.
And we will chirp among our vines, and smile
At bygone things, till that eternal peace."

So ends the first act ; and the audience is astonished at
the magnificence of the production, and not quick enough
to master the beauty of the verse. Mind and eye have
been tussling for the mastery, and the eye has conquered
in the end. It has been a feast for one sense. Another
visit must proclaim the power of the Laureate.

When the second act opens in the interior of the Temple

igS "THE CUPr

of Artemis, half a year is supposed to have elapsed.
And what a temple it is, apparently a solid reproduction
of one of the accurate pictures of Alma Tadema. The
altar fire burns on a tripod on the centre stage, the
columns are of creamy marble, with figures in relief that
look like ivory, the sacred penetralia of Artemis are
hidden by a curtain, incense perfumes the air, and groups
of lovely women are ranged under the countless columns.
Beautiful as is this interior in the half-light, its glory has
yet to be fulfilled. Honours have been rained on the head
of Synorix, his ambition has been satisfied with the
tributary crown granted him by Rome, and now he wants
but one thing — the hand of Camma, high priestess of the
rights of Artemis. He would bid her "clasp the hand,
red with the sacred blood of Sinnatus," and he dispatches
messengers to the Temple where the vengeance-brooding
woman, exquisite in her grace and robed in drapery
seemingly spun from gossamer, waits the decree of fate.
This is her answer, as the shouts proclaim the advent of
her crowned lord and king :

" ' Synorix ! Synorix ! ' — so they cried Sinnatus

Not so long since — they sicken me.

Their shield-borne patriot of the morning star

Hang'd at midday, their traitor of the dawn,

The clamoured darling of the afternoon ;

And that same head they would have played at ball with,

And kicked it featureless — thev now would crown.

" Tell him there is one shadow among the shadows,

One ghost of all the ghosts — as yet so new,

So strange, among them — such an alien there.

So much of husband in it still, that if

The shout of Synorix and Camma sitting

Upon one throne should reach it, it would rise

He - he — with that red star between the ribs,

And my knife there, and blast the king and me

And all the crowd with horror. I dare not, sir.

Throne him — and then the marriage — ay, and tell him

That I accept the diadem of Galatia.

Yea, that you see me crown myself withal.

And wait him, his crowned Queen ! "

The end is approaching, with the libations poured in

" THE cupr 199

the honour of Artemis, and amidst music, and flowers,
and processions, faultless in colour and of classic pomp,
making the dull mind live in another age, we hear intoned
with strophe and antistrophe of chanting chorus, the
double appeal by Camma and Synorix, containing as it
does the most impassioned poetry of the play.

SVNORIX

Chorus

Camma

Chorus

" O Thou, that dost inspire the germ with hfe,
The child, a thread within the house of birth,
And give him Hmbs, then air, and send him forth
The glory of his father — thou whose breath
Is balmy wind to robe our hills with grass.
And kindle all our vales with myrtle blossom,
And roll the golden oceans of our grain,
And swav the long grape-bunches of our vines,
And fill all hearts with fatness and the lust
Of plenty — make me happy in my marriage !

Artemis, Artemis, hear him, Ionian Artemis !

" O Thou, that slayest the babe within the womb

Or in the being born, or after slayest him

As boy or man — great Goddess, whose storm-voice

Unsockets the strong oak, and rears his root

Beyond his head, and strews our fruits, and lays

Our golden grain, and runs to sea and makes it

Foam over all the fleeted wealth of kings.

And peoples, hear !

Who bringest plague and fever, whose quick flash,

Smites the memorial pillar to the dust,

Who causes the safe earth to shake and gape,

And gulf and flatten in her closing chasm

Doomed cities, hear !

Whose lava-torrents blast and blacken a province

To a cinder, hear !

Whose water-cataracts find a realm and leave it

A waste of rock and ruin, hear ! I call thee

To make my marriage prosper to my wish.

Artemis, Artemis, hear her, Ephesian Artemis !

But Camma has drugged the marriage cup with deadly
poison, and it is drained by both the bride and bridegroom,
when due libation has been made to the goddess, at whose

200 " THE CUP."

altar stand the priestess and the tributary King. The
conclusion of the play is singularly fine, magnificent from
a scenic point of view in every detail, acted from first to
last in the true spirit of the poem, and charged to the
brim with the almost extinguished fire of tragic poetry.

Camma ;

" Thou hast drunk enough to make me happy,
Dost thou feel the love I bear to thee
Glow through thy veins ?

Synorix :

" The love I bear to thee
Glows through my veins since first I looked on thee.
But wherefore slur the perfect ceremony ?
The Sovereign of Galatia weds his Queen.
Let all be done to the fullest, in the sight

Of all the Gods. (He staggers.) This pain, what is it ? — Again ?
I had a touch of this last year — in— Rome.
Yes, yes ; your arm. I reel beneath the weight of
Utter joy— this all too happy day —
Crown — Queen at once. A moment — it will pass.
O, all ye Gods 1 Jupiter ! Jupiter ! (Falls backwards.)

Camma :

" Dost thou cry out upon the Gods of Rome ?
Thou art Galatian born. Our Artemis
Has vanquished their Diana.

Synorix : (On the ground.)

" I am poisoned
Let her not fly.

Camma :

" Have I not drunk of the same cup with thee?

Synorix :

" Ay, by the gods! She too! she too!

Murderous mad-woman ! I pray you lift me.

And make me walk awhile, I have heard these poisons

May be walked down. (Antonius and Puhliiis raise him up.)

My feet are tons of lead.
They will break in the earth — I am sinking — Hold me !
Let me alone ! (They leave him ; he sinks do'um on the ground.)

Too late — thought myself wise —
A woman's dupe ! Antonius, tell the Senate
I have been most true to Rome — would have been truer
To her — if — if — Thou art coming my way, too —
Camma! Goodnight! (Dies.)

" THE CUPr 20I

Camma :

"Same way? Crawl, worm, down thine own dark hole

To the lowest Hell. My Lord Antonius,

I meant thee to have followed — better thus,

If we must go beneath the yoke of Rome.

Have I the Crown on ? I will go

To meet him, crowned victor of my will.

On my last voyage ; but the wind has failed ;

Growing dark, too, but light enough to row,

Row to the Blessed Isles ! the Blessed Isles !

There, league on league of ever-shining shores,

Beneath an ever-rising sun. I see him.

Why comes he not to meet me ? It is the crown offends him,

And my hands are too sleepy to lift it off.

Camma 1 Camma ! Sinnatus ! Sinnatus ! " (Dies.)

And so the curtain falls upon a double death, and a mag-
nificent picture.

It would require an extremely well-balanced nature
and a singularly unexcitable disposition, to parcel off
into three distinct divisions at one .sitting the literature,
the decoration, and the acting of this very remarkable
production. If ever there was a play that from its in-
trinsic merits demanded a second, if not a third, visit, it
is " The Cup." At present the landscape of Mr. W.
Telbin, and the decorative splendour of Mr. Hawes
Craven's Temple of Artemis absorb all attention. We
seem to see before us the concentrated essence of such
fascinating art as that of Sir Frederick Leighton, and
Mr. Alma Tadema, in a breathing and tangible form.
Not only do the grapes grow before us, and the myrtles
blossom, the snow mountains change from silver-white at
daytime to roseate hues at dawn ; not only are the Pagan
ceremonies acted before us with a reality and a fidelity
that almost baffle description, but in the midst of all this
scenic allurement glide the classical draperies of Miss
Ellen Terry, who is the exact representative of the period
she enacts, while following her we find the eager glances
of the fate-haunted Mr. Irving. The pictures that dwell
on the memory are countless, and not to be effaced in
spell or witchery by any of the most vaunted productions
of the stage, even in an era devoted to archaeology. We
see, as we travel back through this enchanting vista the
first meeting of Synorix and Camma — he with his long
red hair, and haunting eyes, his weird, pale face, and
swathes of leopard skins — she with her grace of move-

202 " THE CUPr

ment, unmatched in our time, clad in a drapery sea-
weed tinted, with complexion as clear as in one of
Sir Frederick Leighton's classical studies, and with
every pose studied, but still natural.

We remember Camma as she reclined on the low
couch with her harp, moaning about her husband's late-
coming, and can recall the hungry eyes of Synorix, as
he drank in the magic of her presence. All was good
here, the tenderness of the woman, the wicked eager-
ness of her lover, the quick, impulsive energy of the
husband. Difficult as it was to study anything of the
acting when so much had to be seen, still it was felt
that Mr. Irving, Mr. Terriss, and Miss Ellen Terry had
well opened the tragedy long before the first curtain
fell.

There were time and opportunity, at any rate, to
comprehend the subtlety of Mr. Irving's expression in
that long soliloquy,, how well it was broken up, and
how face accorded with action when Sinnatus lay dead,
and the frightened Camma had fled to the sanctuary
of the Temple. With the first act, but little fault
could be found. The fastidious amongst the audience,
who complained of dulness and want of action, possibly
forgot that whilst their eyes were feasting on the scenery,
their ears were closed to the poetry, and on another visit
will confess how much meaning and study were at the
first blush lost to them. With the aid of the text the
beauties hidden for the moment will re-appear.

As for the second act, with its groupings, its grace, its
centre figures and surroundings, its hymns to Artemis,
its chants and processions, we are inclined to doubt if the
Stage has ever given to educated tastes so rare a treat. In
the old days such pictures might have been caviare to the
general public, but the public at the Lyceum is one of
culture, and a very high order of intelligence. Such
poems are necessarily for the fastidious and the elegant in
mind and scholarship ; but granted the right of the Stage
to demand such poetic studies, it would be impossible for
modern scenic art to give them more splendour and com-
pleteness. Aesthetic tastes have had their necessary ridicule
and banter, for everything that is affected is hateful to
the ordinary English nature ; but here, in this Temple of
Artemis, when Miss Ellen Terry, veiled as the Galatian

"THE CUPr 203

priestess, stands by the incense-bearing tripod, and Mr.
Henry Irving, robed in the scarlet of Rome's tributary
king, comes to demand his anxiously-expected bride,
there is an aiming at the beautiful and thorough, most
creditable in itself and distinctly worthy of respect.

Everything tinselly and merely theatrical disappeared
from the stage before us ; it was strange, but still, it was
real : there was not one tawdry or incomplete moment in
the play, and scarcely a whisper could be heard as the
subtle poison, working through the veins of the crowned
Synorix, gave Mr. Irving an opportunity for a power-
fully studied death, or when the sight of the dead lover,
made, of Gamma's last well of hatred, a poem in action.

So strange and novel was the whole story, so different
from all the Stage has given, and all the traditions of the
theatre, so utterly unorthodox and unconventional, that
there may possibly go up a cry to Mr. Irving to curtail
the dramatic poem, to shorten and condense. It will be
said, that when Synorix is dead, the last cry of Gamma
is too long ; it will be urged that Miss Ellen Terry is
unlike Ristori, and does not approach the story from the
same standpoint. Of course she does not, her nature and
her art are entirely different, but still the general com-
plaint, if, indeed, there is any, will be for compression
and more action ; but action is impossible as the play
has been written, and compression would be fatal to the
many beauties of the tragedy, both in conception and
execution.

All difficulties will disappear when audiences are,
in a measure, familiar with the text, for it is as diffi-
cult to grasp such a subject and such treatment at a
glance as to stand before an Academy picture and
absorb it entirely and satisfactorily at one visit.
When the time comes for reviewing with calmness the
many excellent features to be found in the art of Mr.
Irving and Miss Terry, as applied to this difficult sub-
ject, there will be many a good word to be spoken of
Mr. W. Terriss, whose rough manner, bluff utterance,
but most distinct delivery, contrasted well with the
more abstract beauties of the surrounding acting.

For the present it will be enough to endorse the public
verdict on the skill of Mr. W. Telbin, Tvlr. Hawes
Graven, and Mr. W. Guthbert, and to congratulate Mr.

204 " THE CUP."

Irving both on his spirit in producing such a poem and
his courageous determination in decorating it with such
costHness and splendour. Good money is often enough
wasted on the stage, but here it is apphed to the work
of a man of genius, and will materially aid in leading
the public to admire what is true and beautiful.

To tell of the roses and flowers that fell at the feet
of Miss Terry, who made her appearance after a long
absence, would be as superfluous as to recount the calls
with which Mr. Irving was favoured, or the cheers
that awaited that successful manager and firm favourite.
All this followed as a matter of course, and equally as
a matter of necessity a speech was demanded, in which
Mr. Irving promised to telegraph to Mr. Tennyson,
congratulated himself on producing such a play under
his management, and strongly hinted that it would not
be the last if the public willed it so.

The play was produced to a most distinguished
audience — one of the richest in literature, art, science,
and politics that has ever been seen at the Lyceum ; and
in one of the stage boxes sat the Prime Minister, with
Mrs. Gladstone and other members of the family.

(4

Othellor

Irving as Iago.

Revived at the Lyceum Theatre, May 2nd, 1881.

Othello ------- Mr. Edwin Booth.

lacro -------- Mr. Henry Irving.

Cassio -------- Mr. W. Terriss.

Brabantio -------- Mr. Mead.

Roderigo --------- Mr. Pinero.

Duke - - - Mr. Beaumont.

Montane --------- Mr. Tyars.

Gratiano -------- Mr. Carter.

Ludovico -------- Mr. Hudson.

Messenger ------- Mr. Matthison.

Paulo --------- Mr, Ferrand.

Antonio -------- Mr. Clifford.

Julio --------- Mr. Louther.

Marco --------- Mr. Harwood

Emilia ------- Miss Paunsefort.

Desdemona ------ Miss Ellen Terry.

etc., etc., etc.

SYNOPSIS OF SCENERY.

Act I.

Scene i.— A Street in Venice. Scene 2.— Another Street in Venice.
Scene 3. — A Council Chamber.

Act 2.

Scene i. — The Harbour at Cyprus. Scene 2.— A Street in Cyprus.
Scene 3. — The Court of Guard.

Act 3.
Scene. — Othello's House.

Act 4.

Scene i.— Othello's House. Scene 2. — A Street in Cyprus.
Scene 3. — Exterior of lago's House.

Act 5.
Scene. — A Bedchamber.

207

'' Othellor

A performance at once so picturesque in every detail,
and so elevated ni tone as the " Othello " of last night,
is not to be lightly or carelessly dismissed. The work
has taken weary months of anxious study, and the ripe
fruit of so much experience, intelligence, and taste, may
be permitted the privilege of a slight respite before any
attempt is made to unfold the countless beauties of a
most memorable Shakespearean revival, Avorthy, surely,
of the enthusiasm that it evoked. When the hour of
midnight has struck, and the mind experiences the fatigue
resultmg from concentration of attention, and the reaction
after natural excitement, it may suffice to record briefly
the success of the experiment by which Mr. Henry
Irving has attached himself in intellectual fellowship with
Mr. Edwin Booth. That the public appreciated what
Mr. Irving had done, and endorsed what Mr. Booth had
desired, was shown in a very marked and demonstrative
manner. Never was cheering more spontaneous, or
public spirit more cordially displayed. Mr. Booth
can never have received a more affectionate greeting
from his own countrymen than when he stepped first
on the Lyceum board ; and America, with all her
open-handed generosity would have some difficulty in
surpassing the enthusiasm that broke out at Mr.
Irving's presence. Of the Othello of Mr. Edwin Booth
we have already spoken in the course of our series on
this popular actor, and we ha\e ventured to speak of it
with complete candour and sincerity. Of all characters
in Shakespeare it is the most difficult to realise, and
the most perplexing in which to convince. To say that
Mr. Booth does not ever convince would be as idle as to
insist that his method is faultless. But, happily, from

2o8 " OTHELLOr

last night's experience, it will be a pleasure to approach
the conception once more with many favourable ideas
strengthened and many prejudices wiped away.

Not so cold as his Hamlet, not so fantastic as his
Bertuccio, and not so intellectually satisfying as his
Lear, there is still a meaning and a feeling in Mr.
Booth's Othello that cannot be neglected when the
obvious faults are contrasted with them. Once the
nervousness of the trying ordeal has expended itself,
Mr. Booth played the part far better than at the Prin-
cess's, and he was particularly successful in scenes
restored now, and lost on the former occasion. The
novelty of the evening was, no doubt, the lago of Mr.
Irving, and we may say at once that the actor more
than fulfilled every expectation. We shall have to go
back to the most incisive comedy scenes at the opening
of "Richard III," to the best points of " Louis XI," and
to the most striking periods of Mr. Irving in " Vander-
decken," to find a parallel to this elaborate, well con-
sidered, and admirably conceived personation. Seldom
has a part, well knoAvn, teeming with points, hackneyed,
accepted and conventional, been so thoroughly acted
out. If any fault there is, it will be found in over
elaboration, in over sensitive care, in showing how
thoroughly the actor understands the variety, the
subtlety, and the cynicism of the poet. From Mr.
Irving a picturesque lago, an expressive lago, an uncon-
ventional lago, may well have been expected, but when,
suddenly, and without difficulty, the actor casts to the
wind the manner and the affectation of which too much
has been made, speaks so clearly that every syllable is
intelligible, and excites the understanding with endless
variety and a succession of expressive changes, then once
more it will be owned that there is something to be
studied from that which is emphatically a new lago.

Whether it is a true lago the future must determine,
and the balance of criticism must decide. It will be a
pleasure, however, to describe the effect of the soliloquies
and the strange power evolved from such passages as the
defence of Cassio after the brawl and the jealous storms
with Othello. Mr. Irving has seldom shown us anything
that is not decorated with thought. Here the decoration
is elaborate almost to a fault, and rich to repletion.

'' OTHELLO r 209

Mr. Irving has never done anything better, and the
audience followed with eagerness every line, gesture, and
expression. Among the other successful features of the
play, we may at once mention the pathetic Desdemona
of Miss Ellen Terry; the thoroughly excellent and much-
to-be-commended Cassio of Mr. Terriss, which made its
mark straight, swift, and suddenly, and the sonorous and
stately Brabantio of Mr. Mead. To count the calls on
such a memorable occasion would be superfluous. The
evening was one of special moment and interest ; but,
beyond the courtesy extended to a stranger, and the
enthusiasm inevitably evoked by a favourite, there was
the consciousness of artistic labour well expended, and a
fine play honestly enjoyed.

Scenes from '' The
Hunchback^^

Lyceum Theatre, July 23rd, 1881.

Modus ------- Mr. Henry Irving

Helen Miss Ellen Terry

P — 2

213

Scenes frojn *' The HunchhackJ'

Astonishment, not unmixed with admiration, must have
been noticed on the faces of those foreign artists who are
with us, and all who are strangers to our customs and
idiosyncracies, when Mr. Henry Irving called his friends
together at the close of a prosperous and popular
season.

The sympathetic feeling engendered between artist and
public is accustomed at odd times to overflow into en-
thusiasm ; but the scene, when it was announced that
the Lyceum doors would close for five months, and that
we must wait awhile for Shakespearean revivals and a
resumption of what may fairly be called sound dramatic
art-work, reminds one rather of the farewell of a
favourite than the parting of a friend. For what did it
matter how many times the terrified Mathias had been
seen conscience stricken by the jangling " Bells" ; what
pleasant recollections come back at the sight of kindly,
genial Mr. J. L. Toole, when he came on to the stage
as Tom Cranky, in Mr. Hollingshead's farce, " The
Birthplace of Podgers " ; or what precise criticism might
have to say regarding the Modus and Helen of Mr.
Henry Irving and Miss Ellen Terry ! The play is
usually the thing, but on this occasion it was the
speech that everyone anticipated in order that the
pleasures of the past night might be neatly sewn upon
the anticipation of the future. It is sometimes asserted
that Mr. Henry Irving is a very "fashionable actor,"
meaning thereby that his art is somewhat exclusive in
its tendencies ; but such an idea could not have existed
very long in the minds of those who took the trouble
to scan this vast, brilliant, and thoroughly representa-
tive gathering.

214 SCENES FROM ''THE HUNCHBACK."

Fashion, no doubt, was present at the Lyceum,
blended with refined intelhgence and cultured apprecia-
tion. The men and women, as well as the youths and
maidens, who believe that amusement can be combined
with reflection, did not neglect this opportunity of testify-
ing their appreciation of one who, for some time past
has been fighting a good fight ; but such as these did
not keep Mr. Irving all to themselves. They brought
for the popular manager, and equally popular actress,
such flowers as only an English summer can give.
Bouquets of roses and hothouse treasures, slips of flowers,
wreaths of bay and laurel, fastened with streamers of
ribbon were perpetually being flung from all sides of the
house, or handed up by an accommodating orchestra ;
but that was not all. The Americans who liked Mr.
Irving for his good feeling to Edwin Booth, and the
pretty things he said about their favourite actor, were
determined to be represented in the flower festival, and
the Germans, who have taken good care to see the English
Hamlet, Shylock, and Charles I, sent their friend a gor-
geous wreath on a white satin cushion. But most satis-
factory of all must have been the strong voices and warm
hands of the occupants of the old pit, who bid Mr. Irving
go on talking as long as he liked, and the roar of applause
from the gallery when the manager told him they had not
been forgotten when he acknowledged past favours. Had
there been a speech every time the actor was called, and
that was whenever the curtain fell, it would not have been
taken amiss, so anxious were those assembled to postpone
the inevitable parting word.

We have so recently commented on the new and im-
proved reading of " The Bells," that it is only necessary
to say here, that on Saturday it was taken even brisker
and quicker than before, and went better than ever ; and
quite a new complexion was put on the old scene from
Sheridan Knowles's " Hunchback," by a Helen who
wooed her student cousin with a charming grace and
coquetry, and a Modus, who, with infinite variety and
humour, realised that happy condition and conclusion,
when, with " a touch, a kiss, the charm was snapt ! "
Altogether, it was an evening of cordiality and congratu-
lation. No thorns were concealed beneath the roses, and,
as was natural, Miss Ellen Terry, Mr. J. L.Toole, and

SCENES FROM ''THE HUNCHBACKS 215

Mr. W. Terriss, shared liberally in the honours of the
evening. The Lyceum prospects may be summed up in
Mr. Irving's own words :

" Ladies and Gentlemen — It is always my fate to
appear before you as somebody else. You may see I have
doffed my wig in order to get as near my own personality
as possible, and prevent anybody from supposing that
there is to be a continuance before the curtain of the
pleasant little scene you have just witnessed. It is now
my task to take leave for a considerable time of my trusty
friends. It is not an easy or pleasant task, though I can-
not help thinking that, after having seen so much of me,
you will be a little refreshed by my absence. At any rate,
I venture to hope that I may carry with me an earnest
conviction of your undiminished regard (cheers). You
may expect me, in accordance with a custom which I may
call time-honoured, to say something about the season
just ended. Well, if it is a monotonous twice-told, thrice-
told story of success, that is not my fault (laughter) I am
not responsible (oh, oh, and laughter). You will persist
in compelling us to represent a piece so long, that in sheer
despair we are driven to try something else, which is im-
mediately marked out for the same melancholy fate, and
so you hunt us to the last night of the season, when it is
difficult to recollect whether we played a hundred, or a
thousand and one, nights in any particular production.
We presented to you, in the course of the season, ' The
Corsican Brothers,' ' The Cup,' ' The Belle's Stratagem,'
and ' Othello.' I need not say I do not give them in
order of merit, and though only one of these plays
was absolutely new, I believe the rest were produced
under conditions which gave them, at all events in
this theatre, a novel interest, which your kindness did
not allow to go unappreciated (cheers).

" The representation for nearly two hundred nights of
'The Corsican Brothers,' showed that the piece, which
was so great a favourite with Charles Kean, had lost
nothing of its fascination. It was withdrawn in the midst
of its career to make way for the Laureate's tragedy,
'The Cup,' the success of which, I am proud to say, was
equally gratifying to Mr. Tennyson and to the artists
who undertook the task of embodying his conceptions.
I believe that the High Priestess of Artemis will hold

2i6 SCENES FROM "THE HUNCHBACKS

a permanent place in your memories as one of the most
beautiful of the dramatic creations associated with the
name of Miss Ellen Terry. I need not tell you we
might have been playing ' The Cup,' and ' The Belle's
Stratagem ' at this moment, if the opportunity had
not presented itself of introducing on these boards my
friend and fellow-artist, Mr. Edwin Booth. Of Mr.
Booth's great quahties as an actor you have had no
scanty proof, for, after representing at the Princess's
Theatre, with signal ability, many of the leading
characters in the Shakespearean drama, Mr. Booth re-
ceived here a nightly demonstration of enthusiasm,
which more than confirmed the great impression he
had already made on the pubUc, and which was as
gratifying to myself as it must have been to himself
(cheers).

" I have now a painful announcement to make.
During our five months' absence, the theatre will
be closed. This, as you may imagine, will entail a
very heavy expense, I regret to say, and I am sure
I shall have your sincere sympathy in my affliction.
When I state that I am going to make that expense
heavier by improving the ventilation, increasing your
comfort in other ways, and by enlarging some parts
of the house, especially the pit— ('bravo' and cheers)
— I knew that statement would move you to tears
(laughter). No doubt you are aware that amongst
the playful little fables about myself, which some
worthy people with a good deal of spare time are con-
stantly circulating, was the story that I had lately
purchased the freehold, or leasehold, or goodness
knows what, of the Lyceum, for a hundred thousand
pounds— fifty thousand pounds— anything you please
(laughter).

"Some persons improved upon this, and said the
theatre had been presented to me. I have had no such
good or evil fortune (a laugh). I have not given a
hundred thousand pounds, because I don't possess it ; and
I have not paid fifty thousand pounds for a somewhat
similar reason. But what has happened is this. I
have obtained a lengthened lease of the Lyceum ; and
through the excellent and friendly feeling which exists
between the owner of this property, Mr. Arnold and

SCENES FROM " THE HUNCHBACKS 217

myself, I have the lease under most favourable con-
ditions, which will enable me in a very short time to make
some important changes. I shall shortly have the lease
of four houses adjoining this theatre, and the long
desired opportunity of greatly improving the entrance,
exit, and frontage of the house, not forgetting that
region which is my own immediate realm — namely,
behind the scenes. I cannot tell you how delighted I
am at this welcome prospect of increasing your com-
fort, and making the Lyceimi in every way worthy of
your patronage (cheers).

" I am sorry that the tether of my remarks has
proved so long ; but I will not trespass further on
your patience. During our tour through the prin-
cipal cities of the United Kingdom we shall per-
form the plays which have won so much favour
at your hands. On our return the next Shakespearean
play I intend to present is ' Romeo and Juliet.' After
' Romeo and Juliet,' ' Coriolanus ' will be our next
Shakespeare venture, but whether Mr. Marshall's play,
or Mr. Merivale's ' Bride of Lammermoor,' which he
has written for us, or Mr. Wills' ' Rienzi,' or ' Olivia/
which I now possess, will precede it, I must leave in
the womb of Time. I shall re-open with my friend
James Albery's comedy, ' The Two Roses,' and, if all
be well, on December 26th next, which I believe
is a Bank Holiday, for I have been looking in the
almanack (laughter). Mr. Digby Grant will be at
home with his little cheque, flattered and honoured
to receive any visits from enquiring friends. The
cast of ' The Two Roses ' will include Miss Ellen
Terry, Miss Louisa Payne, Mr. Howe, Mr. Terriss, Mr.
Johnson, and your humble servant. I shall hope for your
favourable verdict. It only remains now that I should
thank my colleagues for their most zealous co-operation.
To Miss Ellen Terry, to Mr. Howe — the evergreen Henry
Howe, who has lately joined us, and I trust will long
remain ; to Mr. Terriss, to the Lyceum company one and
all. I tender my most hearty acknowledgements ; to that
oldest and best of friends and most buoyant of humo-
rists, Mr. Toole, who is so much at home with all of us,
that all London — I might almost say all England — is
' The Birthplace of Podgers,' I can only say that I am

2i8 SCENES FROM ''THE HUNCHBACK:'

deeply sensible of the services he and his company have
rendered me to-night (cheers). But now, ladies and
gentlemen, I must say farewell. Like Sir Peter Teazle, I
leave my character behind, but without misgiving. In
all places and on all occasions I shall ever be sensible of
my lasting debt to my loyal and good friends whom I am
proud to think I have grappled to me with hoops of
steel."

'' Two looses.

??

By James Albery. Revived at the Lyceum Theatre, December
26th, 1881.

Mr. Digby Grant ----- Mr. Henrv Irving.

Mr. Furnival - Mr. H. Howe.

Jack Wyatt ------- Mr. W. Terriss.

Caleb Deecie (his first appearance in London) Mr. G. Alexander.
Footman ------- Mr. Harbdry.

Our Mr. Jenkins ----- Mr. David James.

Ida .-._-- Miss Helen Matthews.

Mrs. Cupps ------- Miss C. Ewell.

Our Mrs. fenkins Miss Padncefort.

Lottie --..--- Miss Winifred Emery.

SYNOPSIS OF SCENERY.

Act I
Scene i. — Mr. Digby Grant's Cottage.

Act 2.
Scene i. — Jack Wyatt's Lodgings.

Act 3.
Scene i.— Vassalwick Grange.

ORIGINAL CAST OF THE FIRST PRODUCTION AT THE
VAUDEVILLE THEATRE, JUNE 4TH, 1870.

Mr. Digby Gran* ----- Mr. Henry Irving.

Jack Wyatt . . - _ - Mr. H. J. IMontague.

Caleb Deecie - _ - - - Mr. Thomas Thorne.

Mr. Jenkins . - - - . Mr. George Honey.

Mr. Furnival ----- Mr. W. H. Stephens.

Lottie ------ Miss Amy Fawsitt.

Ida ------- Miss A. Newton.

Mrs. Cupps - Miss Phillips.

Mrs. Jenkins ------- Miss T. Lavis.

K..^_^^^'^

D

face 221]

" VOU ANNOY-ME VKRY MUCH'!"

221

" T'wo Roses"

Countless attractions elsewhere, the popularity of pan-
tomime, the brilliancy of burlesque, and the orthodox
amusements of the Christmas season had not the least
effect in lessening the usual excitement attendant on a
first night at the Lyceum, Old friends seemed in their
accustomed places, the pit was as loyal and faithful as
ever, and in all parts of the house there seemed an
eagerness and a pleasure in welcoming a favourite actor
in a popular play. Eleven years have elapsed since
Mr. Henry Irving created the part of Digby Grant in
Mr. James Albery's clever and happy comedy, " Two
Roses," and, with those eleven years, what changes have
come about ! It seems but yesterday that all artistic
London was talking of Mr. Albery's success, and the
charm that was associated with his work, the finish of
individual bits of art, and the fragrance of the whole.
A recollection such as this cannot fail to be somewhat
of a sad one, for that tyrant, Death, has played havoc
with the companions that did so much originally for the
English comedy. Far away, leagues from home, across
the Atlantic, and in a land of warm friends, sleep both
Henry J. Montague and Amy Fawsitt. We may be
pardoned if we associate them still with Jack Wyatt
and Lottie, for there has not been time yet for a dulled
and blurred impression. They were the very boy and
girl lovers that such a theme required — he so bright and
manly, and withal so tender, young, too, and handsome ;
she, with a full force of impetuosity and girlish enthusi-
asm that seemed natural at a time when effusiveness
was not so deprecated as now. We are reminded of the
alteration in the spirit of the times, when, in 1870, the
loves of Jack and Lottie were received as a natural ex-

222 ''TWO ROSES."

pression of feeling, and, in 1881, Jack cannot embrace
Lottie without a guffaw and an implied sense of ridicule.
George Honey, too, has fallen in the ranks, and the rest
of the regiment has been disbanded.

But Mr. Henry Irving remains, a far more finished
artist than in the old times, with style more matured
and intelligence ripened, with his heart more than
ever in his work, to play Digby Grant far better than
before, and to show what a fine force of comedy he
has at his command. Last night he seemed a very
giant of strength, and from no fault of his own ap-
peared to weaken the fabric of the play and crush
his companions. He was never out of the picture ;
the elaboration of detail was not once excessive or
superfluous ; he was never so little Henry Irving and
so much Digby Grant. We saw before us the fantastic,
shifty, proud and crafty man, as changeable as the
wind, but eaten up with an overweening selfishness.
Each shade in the man's character was carefully marked ;
the testiness, the snappish irritability, the countless
affectations, not a point was lost, even to the change
of vocal sound when the " pince-nez " slips down upon
the vain old gentleman's nose. The audience, un-
accustomed to the study of true and powerful comedy,
hung upon every utterance of the actor, and his very
strength occasionally killed the rest, as does a powerful
bit of colour by contrast. Mr. Irving's Digby Grant
was always an excellent performance, but never so
worthy of study and analysis as now, never so free
from the defects and temptations that arise out of
successful performances. For we all know so many of
the signs and idiosyncracies of Digby Grant, his allu-
sion to the " little cheque," his reiterated phrase, " You
annoy me very much," and so on ; yet Mr. Irving seemed
to deliver them last evening with new variety, not as
if they were catch-words at all, with nothing of the
stage in them, but the testy expressions of such a man
as this Digby Grant might have been. Mr. Henry
Irving, in voice and in manner, was Digby Grant. His
own individuality had disappeared.

There had been prepared for the audience an addi-
tional pleasure in the fact that Mr. David James, a
clever and admirable comedian, had joined the company,

" TWO ROSES." 223

to renew a former success as " Our Mr. Jenkins." and
the warmth of his reception showed how heartily his
assistance was appreciated. In fact, the cheering was so
cordial that at first it seemed to unnerve the actor, and it
was not until the last act that he " felt his legs," and
suited the pitch of his voice to a larger house than
that in which he has been accustomed to act. Attired
as the comical " shining light," and in his clerical
garb, Mr. David James soon discovered where the
laughter lay lurking, and, having touched the proper
spring, was honoured with a special summons, at the
end of the play. Against this welcome reinforcement
there was, however, a disappointment. Another very
favourite artist — Miss Fanny Josephs — was to have
appeared as Ida — the dark, or crimson rose — and to
have played for the first time in this theatre, but an
unwelcome little notice was found in the play-bill, to say
that she was too ill to perform. Much sympathy with
so popular and charming an actress will be felt when
it is known that great suffering alone prevented her
from fulfilling an engagement that had so much promise
in it ; for one thing, at any rate, in this play is essen-
tial, and that is, contrast of physique as well as
character. Was, then, this contrast forthcoming with
the men and girls in the love-scenes, and in the idyllic
portions of the play ? We fear that the answer must
be in the negative.

Jack Wyatt, the boyish lover, and Caleb Deecie, the
blind friend, are deliberate and intended dramatic con-
trasts. But last night both seemed to pitch their parts in
the same key. We do not doubt that Mr. G. Alexander,
who is altogether new to London, is an able young actor.
He has a good voice and nice appearance, but he did
not appear to get at the meaning of Caleb Deecie.
It will be urged that we have all seen Mr. Thomas
Thorne was clearly right in suggesting that gentle
submission under affliction, that subtle tenderness,
that resignation and unselfish demeanour, the generous
temperament and the quiet philosophy that contrasted so
well with the more impetuous, outspoken Jack Wyatt.
In Mr. Alexander's performance we saw none of this.
He was hasty and spasmodic in movement, too brusque
in manner and did not apparently feel the nature of the

224 " ^^^c» roses:'

man he was representing. All the poetic flavour of
Caleb Deecie was gone, but, after all, that was the great
fault of the general acting. For instance, Mr. Terriss is
always in earnest with his work ; there is spirit and force
in all that he undertakes, but, according to the reading
of the part, there did not appear to be much in Jack
Wyatt to induce him to make a very close study of the
character. Mr. Terriss had some good moments in his
second act ; but the sentiment, which is throughout of a
strongly marked and occasionally exaggerated kind, did
not appear to suit the actor's taste or style. We may be
pardoned here for observing that actors and actresses in
strong scenes of sentiment labour for the moment under
some disadvantage. Love scenes are, somehow or other,
considered ludicrous. A scene of passionate intensity
was laughed at when " Plot and Passion" was revived the
other evening, and the reason assigned was that the
dialogue was stilted and forced. But last night the
young lovers never once embraced without suggesting a
very marked sound of laughter.

These things certainly do unnerve artists, and we are
not at all sure that the pronounced enthusiasm of the
style of Mr. Montague and Miss Fawsitt would have
received such encouragement now as it did formerly.
Anyhow, the scene at the fountain, with the goldfish,
missed all its effects, and the love-making throughout
had no special fervour in it.

There are, or, at any rate, there are intended to be,
poetic moments in " Two Roses," and it was the flavour
of kindly sentiment that w^as so constantly missed. We
must not linger on the want of contrast between Lottie
and Ida, because, as has before been observed, Miss
Helen Matthews took the part of Miss Josephs at a short
notice. This young lady made, however, a distinctly
favourable impression. She has decided intelligence, a
happy, animated style, and a very sympathetic voice.
Many of her scenes were played with most natural
and womanly feeling, and those who saw her in comedy
and comedietta will argue well for her future career.
Miss Winifred Emery was a pretty and fragile Lottie,
but there was no very marked idea or style in the
personation. There was no harm in it, but not much
good ; it was inoffensive, but colourless. Nothing well

v_^«JW»^W^

' A LITTLE CHEQUE ! "

" TWO ROSES." 225

could be better than the Mr. Furnival of Mr. Howe,
who looked a picture as the white-haired and kindly-
solicitor. He got over the difficulty of " dear me,"
better than most representatives of this character. But
Miss Pauncefort was not at home as Our Mrs. Jenkins,
and made this amusing lady too sharp and angular,
too tart and acrid for the purposes of the play. In a
word, there was very much individual acting that was
good, but there were also spots on the sun. Great
pains have, of course, been taken with the mounting of
the play. The first act is really a charming scene, and
unusual prominence is given to the ceremony of the
presentation of plate in the last act. A local brass
band parades the stage, and the crowd is elaborated,
but we question if the incident in a dramatic sense is
worthy of so much importance.

The curtain never falls on a first night at the Lyceum
without a renewal of those friendly relations between
Mr. Henry Irving and his audience, that time and long
absence only tend to increase. Having been called and
presented with flowers, a speech was loudly demanded
and, as was natural, the recipient of so much honour,
was bound to reply. Mr. Irving, who looked in ex-
cellent health, after his hard work in the country,
naturally declared most emphatically that such a re-
newal of old ties did " annoy him very much," but
that after his wandering he was glad to be back in
the old home, and with his foot upon the famihar
boards. He paid very special and deserved compli-
ments to his old friends, Mr. James Albery and Mr.
David James, who had done so much for the play
just represented, and then went on to the immediate
future. " Romeo and Juliet " was declared to be
ready whenever it was required, and, with it was, of
course, promised Miss Ellen Terry, whose name pro-
voked the very heartiest applause, renewed again and
again. After alluding to the beautiful and exceedingly
comfortable house, which, in its new decoration dress,
was much admired last night, Mr. Irving wished all
present a happy New Year, and the curtain fell. Mr,
Albery's play was preceded by Mr. J. R. Planche's
once-favourite comedietta, " The Captain of the
Watch," in which both Miss Louisa Payne and Miss

Q

226 " TWO ROSESr

Helen Matthews played with the gayest spirit, and
Mr. Terriss added animation to the scene by his
capital performance of Viscount de Ligny, the hero of
a very strange and complicated romance.

'^ Romeo and Juliet^

By William Shakespeare. First produced at the Lyceum Theatre,
Wednesday, March 8th, 1S82.

Romeo -------- Mr. Henry Irving.

Mercutio ------- Mr. William Terriss.

Tybalt ------- Mr. Charles Glenny.

Paris ------ Mr. George Alexander.

Capulet -------- -Mr. Howe.

Montague -------- Mr. Harbury.

Friar Laurence ------- Mr. Fernandez.

Apothecary Mr. Mead.

Prince Escalus ------- - Mr. Tyars.

Benvolio - . . Mr. Child.

Gregory - Mr. Carter.

Sampson --------- Mr. Archer.

Abraham - - . Mr. Louther.

Balthasar .--..--- Mr. Hudson.

Peter - - - Mr. Andrews.

Friar John- Mr. Black.

Citizen Mr. Harwood.

Chorus Mr. Howard Russell.

Page - - Miss Kate Brown.

Nurse ...----- Mrs. Stirling.

Lady Montague Miss H. Matthews.

Lady Capulet - Miss L. Payne.

Juliet - Miss Ellen Terry.

Q -2

SYNOPSIS OF SCENERY.

Act I.

Scene i. — Verona : The Market Place. Scene 2. — Verona : Loggia

of Capulet's House. Scene 3. — Verona: Before Capulet's House.

Scene 4. — A Hall in Capulet's House.

Act 2.

Scene I. — Verona: Wall of Capulet's Garden. Scene 2. — Verona:
The Garden. Scene 3. — Verona : The Monastery. Scene 4. —
Verona : Outside the City. Scene 5. — Verona : Terrace of Capu-
let's Garden. Scene 6. — Verona: The Cloisters.

Act 3.

Scene i. — Verona: A Public Place. Scene 2. — Verona: The

Loggia. Scene 3. — Verona : A Secret Place in the Monastery.

Scene 4. — Verona ; Capulet's House. Scene 5. — Verona : Juliet's

Chamber.

Act 4.

Scene I. — Verona: The Friar's Cell. Scene 2. — Verona: Juliet's
Chamber (Night). Scene 3. — Verona: The Same (Morning).

Act 5.

Scene i. — Mantua: A Street. Scene 2. — ^Verona; The Friar's

Cell. Scene 3. — Verona : Churchyard with the Tomb of the

Capulets. Scene 4. — Verona: The Tomb.

22g

^^Romeo and yulietr

I. — The Restored Text.

Playgoers with retentive memories will be able no
longer to point to the Shakespearean revivals of Charles
Kean, at the Princess's Theatre, as priceless and unex-
ampled in picturesque design, and archaeological accuracy.
*' The Winter's Tale," and " Richard the Second,"
pale before the beauty of the new " Romeo and Juliet,"
which is probably the grandest production of a play by
Shakespeare that the stage has ever seen. Mr. Henry
Irving has taught his audience to expect something of a
higher and more abiding value, something more consoling
to the Shakespearean student than the mere playing of
this or that character, or the simple contrast between one
actor, or actress, and another. Mr. Irving's manage-
ment is a nobler aim, and the result will be more
enduring.

It would be idle to deny that all assembled on this
memorable occasion, from the most inveterate playgoer
in the stalls, to the youngest spectator in the gallery,
whether unfettered by prejudice, or bound by precon-
ceived judgement, really wanted to see and determine,
according to their lights, how Mr. Irving would play
Romeo, and what measure of success would fall to Miss
Ellen Terry as Juliet. Their popularity is no mushroom
growth, and they have deserved their reputation. But
apart altogether from the critical controversy, that is ine-
vitable whenever a Shakespearean character is attacked
by a distinguished performer, we have learned to look at
the Lyceum for a better unfolding of Shakespeare's
genius, a deeper insight into his meaning, a greater re-
spect for his conception, and a far purer and grander
poetic atmosphere than the stage of this country has ever
before presented.

230 " ROMEO AND JULIET r

It has been Mr. Irving's ambition to do something of
great moment in restoring the fabric destroyed by mutilated
versions and corrupted texts, as well as adorning the poet
as no manager has been able to do before this luxurious
age. The acting versions of Shakespeare's plays are the
monument of Mr. Irving's intention. He has striven,
not without success, and certainly without the undue
forcing of spectacular effect, to get, as it were, at the
soul of Shakespeare, and to blow to the winds that grace-
less and obstinate heresy that the poet of humanity is for
the student, and not for the stage.

Starting with " Hamlet," a great ideal tragedy, that
will never cease to occupy men's minds, the actor, rightly
or wrongly, removed many of the unsightly cobwebs,
that had clung to this master example of Shakespeare's
genius; he gave a new idea of "Macbeth;" he put
Colley Gibber's " Richard the Third," we trust for ever,
behind the fire ; and he gave our minds a start with his
Shylock, without m any case vulgarising the poet or
bowing the knee to triviality and commonplace, as so
many of his predecessors have done.

It was high time for " Romeo and Juliet " to be taken
in hand with the same Shakespearean insight and reve-
rential care, in order that the nineteenth century, in the
person of Mr. Irving, might undo the mischief of the
eighteenth century under the false guidance of David
Garrick. Owing to the waywardness of this great actor,
or to the bad taste of the age in which he lived, or to the
overweening vanity of " a star," there is probably no
play that on the stage has been so hopelessly misunder-
stood, or so wilfully perverted, as " Romeo and Juliet."
It was owing to David Garrick and Garrick's acting
version that those who do not read Shakespeare have got
such a false impression of the poet's idea, and probably
under this influence that such critics as Coleridge and
Mrs. Jameson are found misinterpreting the scheme so
plainly put forward in the prologue, and now restored to
its proper place.

When we hear the hero and heroine of this human
tragedy talked of as imprudent lovers, who contribute to
their own disaster, or merely as a pretty boy and girl,
gifted with Italian vehemence and Italian impetuosity,
the picturesque puppets of an interesting love story, how

<' ROMEO AND JULIET r 231

commonplace and \'ulgar does the Shakespearean scheme
appear ; the errors that have been promulgated during
the past few weeks, the absence of poetic thought and
appreciation in the minds of many modern critics, and
the almost ignorance of the meaning of the play are
absolutely astounding; but matters are made worse when
we find a literary man like Garrick not only suppressing
but supplying ; not only misunderstanding but re-model-
ling, cutting out Rosaline, the passionless beauty, who is
as necessary to the proper understanding of Romeo's
temperament, as was the Shepherdess Marcella of
Cervantes to the enamoured Chrysostom ; positively
writing in Juliet, instead of Rosaline, sending Romeo to
the bail in order to get a distaste for the heroine of this
love story, spoiling the idea of the inspiration of the first
meeting at Capulet's, polluting the very essence of the
romance, and adding a death scene that was directly con-
trary to the express injunctions of Shakespeare.

By discarding David Garrick's version of the play, by
restoring Rosaline in order to show the intensely sensitive
and imaginative character of Romeo, by letting the
audience hear Shakespeare's prologue, and Shakespeare's
own conclusion of the tragedy, Mr. Irving has satisfied
the student without in the least detracting from the value
of the acting tragedy. But the great gain is deeper than
that. Mr. Irving has not sacrificed one iota of local
colour. The play glows and burns with the picturesque-
ness and fantastic beavity of old Verona. The stage with
its crowds, its conflicts, its cabals, its maskers and mum-
mers, its balls and revelries, is as animated and sunny as
any artist would desire, and as instinct with life as any
picture that ever came from the Court of Meiningen.

The eye is ever exhilarated and delighted, but never at
the sacrifice of poetic beauty and ideal truth. Verona,
Giuletta, and Romeo, as they were borrowed from the
Italian, furnish the play with a " local habitation and a
name," which have been seized upon by the archaeologist,
the decorator, the costumier, and the designer ; but apart
from this the hero and heroine are human in the widest
sense, and they are the representatives of the passion of
love in its most exalted seat, not merely love, as a critic
has observed, "as existing in a peculiar race or climate,
but the sovereign passion of humanity at large, as exhibit-

232 ''ROMEO AND JULIET r

ing itself in the most exquisitely organised individuals."
Brilliantly successful as the result has been, we do not
claim for Mr. Irving an isolated veneration for Shakes-
peare's text or an unexampled novelty. Miss Helen
Faucit (Lady Martin) who played in days far less
sympathetic than our own, did her utmost to restore the
" Romeo and Juliet " of Shakespeare,

Mr. Walter Montgomery, to his credit, be it spoken,
did the same, but in these richer, more extravagant, and
luxurious days it is something to say that " Romeo and
Juliet," has been played on the stage as it never could
have been before without any sacrifice being made of the
poet's idea, and with an avoidance of all that has been
vulgar, tricky, and meretricious. At last, at any rate,
we see Romeo and JuHet as the pair of " star-crossed
lovers," the victims of an adverse destiny, the subjects of
our pity in the highest and the purest sense ; not a mere
love-sick Italian boy and girl of impetuous nature and
southern susceptibility, nat the lay figures of the simple
story written to tell us that children should not rush
into hasty marriages without their parents' consent, not
the namby-pamby lad, physically beautiful but mentally
incomplete, or the silly girl of fifteen of Coleridge, who
" swallows the draught in a fright," nor the "spoony
Romeo " or the "baggage Juliet," as modern heretics
have called them, but the youth matured and the matron
strengthened into action, the pivots of a tremendous
tragedy, the Romeo and Juliet of Shakespeare's pro-
logue—

"Whose misadventured piteous overthrows

Do with their death, bury their parents' strife" —

The fate-haunted examples of vengeance and vindictive-
n€ss, who live to suffer for the faults of others, and who
die, as Capulet says when he takes the hand of his heart-
broken foe, "poor sacrifices of our enmity," this is what
Mr. Irving attempted to do, and has succeeded in
doing.

He has given a show of unexampled magnificence to
the spectator, a theme of rare importance to the
student.

''ROMEO AND JULIETS 233

II. — The Scenery.

Having thus, by the way of prelude, given some faint
idea of the hterary design of the new dramatic version,
showing the great respect in which the poet has been
held, we may proceed next to suggest some of the in-
numerable beauties of a series of Shakespearean pictures,
which show the stage in a new light, and put poetry into
motion and action.

Mr. Irving told his audience that it had been a labour
of love to all concerned to build up and arrange these
lovely and elaborate tableaux, but a master-mind was
indeed required to suggest and organize what was so
splendidly carried out. That master-mind and guiding
spirit was Henry Irving. Chorus, dressed like the
poet Dante having, by Shakespeare's direction, told
us what misery was to befall the " pair of star-crossed
lovers," owing to their parents' strife, the fantasti-
cally-embroidered curtains parted, and discovered a
scene that reminded one of " Alasaniello," without the
music.

This was the market-place at Verona, busy with its
buying and selling. Donkeys, children, a picturesque
conduit on the centre stage, a sloping bridge in the back-
ground, life, animation, and colour, groupings all ad-
mirably arranged and studied, presented themselves to
the expectant gaze. Action was soon busily started
with the tussle between the rival factions of the Mon-
tagues and Capulets, an effort of stage management that,
by its variety, suddenness, and effect, shows that we are
as capable in such matters as the Meiningers, and not
nearly so mechanical. The sudden onrush of the crowd
in hand to hand encounter, the arrest of disorder, and the
subsidence of emotion seemed so to startle the audience,
as to make them, for the moment, the main incidents of
the story.

Romeo's entrance, however, brought with it a moment
of deep interest, and the actor-manager who had con-
ceived and executed this rich binding for the poet
Shakespeare, was welcomed with even more than the
usvial cordiality. He was attired unlike all other Romeos
that we had seen, but in a costume that was singularly
becoming, however strange. The prevailing tone to

234 ''ROMEO AND JULIET:'

doublet, hose, and cloak was reseda or mignonette green,
contrasted with a deep crimson cap.

Romeo having sighed for and dreamed of his cold and
passionless Rosaline, and Mr. Irving having by many a
subtle poetic touch and thoughtful attitude, well ex-
pressed the dejection of a man absorbed by a hopeless
love, having in fact, given the key-note of Romeo's
character, and the signal of his then temperament — he
went so far indeed as to kiss the letter, inviting his dark-
eyed mistress to Capulet's banquet — there came a pause
that was occupied in once more trying to re-admire the
scenery until, in the loggia of Capulet's house, Mrs.
Stirling was cordially welcomed as the Nurse, and
all were expectant for the entrance of Juliet. She came
at last, and once more the house rose at their favourite.
Attired in pale primrose satin, with light brown hair fall-
ing unfettered over one shoulder. Miss Ellen Terry was
surely a Juliet that enchanted every eye.

No need once more to describe the graciousness of her
presence or the litheness of her attitudes, the clinging
embraces she gave to the old Nurse, or all the playful
girlish ways of which Miss Ellen Terry is mistress. On
these it would be possible to linger, if there were not so
much more to describe. It was impossible to concentrate
the attention on the acting, when the background was so
beautiful and so constantly changing. The arrangement
of the scene leading to Capulet's house with its maskers
and torchbearers, its dark portal and distant mansion,
brilliant with light and suggestive of revelry, in the front
of which Mr. Terriss spoke the Queen Mab speech, was
another example of excellence in arrangement and effect.

The contrast in colour, between the gay Mercutio and
the sober Romeo was cleverly devised. The friends passed
through an avenue of torches into Capulet's house, when
suddenly the scene lifted and a vision of old Italian lux-
ury presented itself. This was the hall in Capulet's
house, and a glorious picture it was, well broken up,
and splendidly coloured. The gaudy peacocks just
removed from the banquet table, the minstrels' gallery
crowded with musicians, the sedilia of blue and silver, on
which sat the black-haired, pale-faced Rosaline, the trees
of azalea, the overhanging drapery of silver brocade, the
pages, and the dancers, so distracted the attention that

''ROMEO AND JULIETS 235

the play was for the moment lost. It seemed impossible
to get action with all this magnificence. The play was
forced to stop, whilst the eye travelled from one detail to
another. But, during the minuet, everyone must have
noticed the sudden recognition of Juliet by Romeo, the
expression of love at first sight, and the creation of the
real romance. These are the artistic touches that so de-
light the student at the Lyceum.

The minuet ended, more dancers advanced, in light blue
and white satin, in silver, and in gold, the music to all
having been specially composed by Sir Julius Benedict,
who may be complimented sincerely on the dance
melodies, and the frequent bits of pretty choral effect.

At last the act was over. Concerning the beauty, the
variety, and the taste of these pictures, there could be but
one opinion ; they were, if anything, too good, for they
occasionally dulled the action, and over-weighted the in-
cident. But the balcony scene, as we call it, had yet to
come, and on this rumour had promised a surprise. Juliet
stood on the marble terrace of an ancient palace, under-
neath the roof supported by solid pillars. Around this
cool and overhanging temple, as it seemed, grew the
richest foliage — real trees, most of them growing in a
deep umbrageous ravine, through which the moon shone
cold and clear ; and on a raised bed, underneath, edged
round with marble, grew tall white lily flowers. Here
Romeo stood; here Juliet whispered; twin figures in a
picture that will not easily be forgotten.

We are inclined to think that the best scene of all,
artistically considered, was outside the city walls of
Verona, where Mercutio is killed. The glaring white
heat of the city, the low avenue of cypress trees, the
scattered roofs of the buildings, and the admirable effects
of light, made this a picture in relief, that lingers plea-
santly on the memory. The first dress of Juliet had been
now abandoned for one equally becoming, of blue and
gold brocade. Whilst the old monks were singing their
office in the monastery, Romeo met Juliet in the old cloi-
sters, according to the arrangement of Friar Laurence
and as they knelt for a marriage blessing, the second act
ended with another pretty picture.

MeauAvhile, we have passed by the scene in which
Romeo bids farewell to his newly-made wife ; the same

236 ''ROMEO AND JULIET r

scene, by the way, being Juliet's chamber, where she con-
jures up the ghastly vision of the tomb. Here we have,
if anything, an excess of colour. The golden lattice, the
sumptuous surroundings, the fohage in the garden, the
sky showing the pinks and oranges and purples of a sun-
rise, and at last, the golden sun itself, all are beautiful
enough, but they are a trying background for the centre
figures. As Romeo stood with Juliet in the rich light of
the morning, a picture of rare beauty was instantly
suggested.

Here, too, a scene or so afterwards, Juliet was dis-
covered apparently dead, and the wedding carol that is
supposed to awake her is one of the prettiest musical effects
conceived by Sir Julius Benedict. The conclusion of the
act, with its procession of fair bridesmaids, fihng into the
presence of the corpse, was singularly effective and
poetical into the bargain. Note, for instance, the group-
ings here, and the contrasted attitudes of the girls in
white, who look like angels.

In the last act Mr. Irving was at his best as Romeo,
particularly in the scene with the Apothecary, which
occurs before one of the most impressive of all the innumer-
able Italian views, an old, neglected, tumble-down street
in Mantua. It might have been thought that scenic
illusion was now exhausted, but the most striking effect
of all was reserved for the last. This was the sepulchre
of the Capulets, where deep down in the subterranean
vault lay the white-robed Juliet. The entrance to this
ghastly tomb is supposed to be at the very top of the
stage, a steep staircase and a gallery lead to the burying
place, and down these steps and along this gallery,
Romeo, bent on suicide, drags the body of the murdered
Paris. The play ends as Shakespeare intended it
to end. There is no awakening of Juliet before Romeo
dies; but the luckless lover drains off the apothecary's
drug, and when Juliet has kissed her dead lord she
stabs herself. One short moment of interval, and then
in the centre of a splendid "set," a very masterpiece
of grouping, the Prince of Verona joins the hands of
Capulet and Montague and truly declares " for never
was a story of more woe, than this of Juliet and
Romeo."

This is the epilogue.

''ROMEO AND JULIETS 237

III. — The Acting,

Whether it was wise or not on the part of Mr.
Henry Irving to play the part of Romeo, will be
determined in good time, but few could have believed
that high intelligence and earnestness of endeavour
could smooth so stony a path. The mistaken idea
of a boyish and youthful Romeo may at once be dis-
missed. It is very pretty in theory, but almost impossible
in practice. Youth is inevitably inexperienced, and no
inexperienced actor can play Romeo. He may look it,
but cannot act it. A boy Romeo can no more appear
to advantage in the scene with the Friar than a girl Juliet
execute the potion scene. Both characters range from
the lightest and most buoyant of comedy to the deepest
notes of tragedy, and no youthfulness of appearance at
the outset will compensate for the inevitable weakness
that the conclusion must elicit.

No one had decided this point more conclusively than
Mr. G. A. Sala, in his admirable essay, and I perfectly
agree with him that I would far rather see an actor who
feels Romeo, than one who merely looks the part. Much,
and too much, has been said about Mr. Irving's man-
ner. In common with all other actors of distinction he
has a manner, and a very marked one, probably more
marked than the actor knows himself, or he would hold
it more in check where lightness and buoyancy are con-
cerned.

The actor must not, however, be denied the absolution
granted to musicians, and writers. Every prominent
artist, whether he composes opera, paints pictures, or
writes essays, has a manner apparent to even the super-
ficial observer, but he is none the less an artist on that
account. Any observant person can go round the
Academy and distinguish the pictures of each prominent
artist without a catalogue. Is this not manner ? It
will be seen from the experiences of his Romeo, that
the manner of Mr. Irving does not lend itself to the
expression of fervour, rapture or passionate inten-
sity. He is far more natural when regretting Rosa-
line, than when loving Juliet. He feels the glow of
the words he is speaking, but he never seems to be
at his ease in what are known as love scenes. We

238 ''ROMEO AND JULIET."

can only recall one love scene, that of Hamlet and
Ophelia, where he did not appear to be nervously con-
strained and ill at ease. Mr. Irving has, in fact, two
very marked manners, gloomy and comic, but naturally
neither of these adapts itself to the lighter and more
ecstatic side of Romeo's character.

On the other hand, they are of the highest value in
such character parts as Louis XI, Dubosc, Vander-
decken, Robert Macaire, and many others that could
be mentioned. In his intense desire to be fervent he
becomes spasmodic, and loses self-command. The char-
acter of Romeo, however, demands, as Mr. Irving has very
sufficiently shown, something of far deeper moment than
love duets and soft passages. Romeo has other things
to do besides making love. He was at his best when
the tragic notes were sounded, and constraint was cast
aside ; he rose to the occasion at the moment that Romeo's
life became fate-haunted and bordered with despair.

Directly Mercutio is slain Romeo becomes another
man and Mr. Irving another actor. "Away to Heaven
respective lenity, and fire-eyed fury be my conduct now."
This is the signal for the change. Before, there had been
much to admire and not a little to question, a constrained
manner, and an artificial restlessness, but the slaying of
Tybalt and its succeeding scenes go far to justify the
actor in his attempt to resist foregone conclusions, and to
play the part as it struck his fancy and imagination.

That excited passage following the death of Mercutio
was played wnth passionate and picturesque intensity.
And how artistic, it will be seen by all who notice the
shading of the eyes to ward off the rays of the blinding
sun at the beginning of the duel to the death. The scene
where the hidden Romeo received the news of his banish-
ment was played by Mr. Irving with an impetuosity and
a desperation that fairly astonished the audience. He
felt what he was saying. It was the delirium of despair,
and the actor never once shirked the responsibility of the
position. He had thought it out, and he played it well — if
anything, with an excess of desperation, peculiar to his
realistic style. As the play deepened into tragedy, Mr.
Irving became more and more at his ease.

The philosophic conversation with the Apothecary, the
murder of Paris, the gloomy descent into the tomb of the

''ROMEO AND JULIET:' 239

Capulets, dragging the murdered corpse behind the fate-
haunted man, all belong to the retiective side of Mr.
Irving's acting. He was excellent here; and though it
would be exaggeration to declare that the actor is shown
in the truest light or in his best manner as Romeo, still,
Romeo, like all other characters he has attempted, is
interesting to the Shakespearean student, and bears
evidence of thought and originality.

It will not be strange, however, if the very points
of Mr. Irving's Romeo that exhibit the highest intelli-
gence, are the most closely questioned ; for the tragic note
is distasteful to the modern ear. There are critics who
\vould like Romeo to be played by a combination of
tailor's dummy and dancing-master. They would sooner
have figure than brains.

In electing to play Juliet, Miss Ellen Terry undertook,
no doubt, a formidable task. All Juliets do the same.
We cannot forget what we have seen, or how our pulses
have been stirred; we cannot fail to remember how one
Juliet succeeded here and another failed there; we are
brought face to face with the ever-recurring difficulty that
in Juliet we require beauty, natural youth, combined
with rare artistic experience; that from the character come
the most enchanting comedy and the most passionate
tragedy ; that here the highest intellectual gifts of an act-
ress are put to the test — for Juliet is at one moment what
Tennyson has called one of his heroines with daring imag-
ery, " Queen Rose of the rose-bud garden of girls," at
another, a woman matured before her time, and armed by
love for a battle of desperate endeavour. How, then, did
Miss Terry foreshadow at the outset the primary con-
ditions of Juliet ? Up to a certain point she approached
her task under the most favourable conditions. She is the
high-priestess of the modern imaginative school; nature
has endowed her with a grace of movement that has its
irresistible fascination.

In Shakespearean comedy of the purest and most
exalted kind she has no equal, and all who had studied
her style beforehand knew how she would embody, en-
lighten, and present in action, the most exquisite touches
of Shakespeare's Juliet. Give reins to the imagination,
and it was possible to see this most satisfactory Ophelia,
this pity-stricken Desdemona, this perfect Hero, this

240 ''ROMEO AND JULIET:'

well-remembered Portia, and this ideal Rosalind, as a
Juliet of more than ordinary significance. Up to a cer-
tain point, how could she fail to please?

In the meeting at old Capulet's house, the dance, the
balcony reverie, the delicious coaxing of the Nurse, in all
the playfulness and enfantillage of Juliet's disposition,
this actress brought to bear upon the part a possibility,
and a popularity of the highest importance. But that is
not all. It will not do to play with Juliet; JuHet must be
played. If it were possible for Miss Ellen Terry to add
to her natural gifts of expression an emotional fervour,
and a passionate force she had not hitherto displayed,
then, indeed, she would be a Juliet of exceptional
value.

Such qualities, however, had never been in the scheme
of this lady's art — they were never distinguishing features
of her style. Whenever she had been called upon for an
effort, she had yielded to the dramatic shock as does
a meadow before the wind, and it was natural there
should be doubts concerning the possibility of a latent
and undiscovered power.

The play opened with just the kind of Juliet that had
been expected. She was the embodiment of natural grace,
and the very poetry of motion. Her gentle, deprecatory
gestures during the "garrulous garrulity" of the old
nurse ; her lithe movements as she clung round the neck of
the talkative dame; her commanding position in the ball-
room; the constant changes of attitude; her prominent
figure in the dance ; the searching and infinitely tender look
of recognition, were all exactly what she wanted. But
strange to say, variety was consistently shunned. Owing
perhaps to some prejudice against point-making, as it is
called, though it is a false prejudice, and simply an excuse
to conceal deficiency of stamina, the end of the first act
was allowed to come without its proper and legitimate
excitement. " What's he, that now is going out of the
door ? " All these questionings came without animation.
" Go, ask his name : if he be married, my grave is like
to be my wedding bed." There was no note of despair in
the reflection.

Again, in the balcony scene it would have been
difficult to find a fuller expression of natural grace, a more
comely figure, attitudes more picturesque, or manner

''ROMEO AND JULIETS 241

more tender. But seldom have Shakespeare's words
roused less attention. There was no variety. Each
speech was delivered in the same manner ; the mind did
not dictate the tongue's utterance, and the new Juliet,
save in one line, " Dost thou love me ? I know thou
wilt say — Ay," seldom gave her audience the impression
that her heart was in her work. Shakespeare has written
few scenes capable of such endless changes of expression ;
but, strange to say, this one suggested but one tone. It
had been studied, but it was deficient in the quality of
inspiration.

All changed, however, for the better in the scene with
the Nurse after her return from Romeo. This was through-
out rich and glowing with the enchantment of Miss
Ellen Terry's style. Here we had colour, variety, light
and shade, girlishness, coquetry, and charm. All the
business was natural, never affected. There was not a
trace of staginess or effort about it, and when in the full
exhilaration of her unrestrained impulse, Juliet seems to
flyaway to her happiness with " Hie to high fortune;
honest nurse, farewell," there could be but one opinion as
to the result. The scene could scarcely be better played.
The parting with Romeo again was instinct with charm,
and consistently natural. It was not acting at all, so true
was it to the nature of such a Juliet at that moment.

But long before that parting, Juliet had given the
strongest signs of her disinclination to rouse herself into
action or to dismiss once and for ever the light and
bantering tones of comedy. "Gallop apace, you fiery-
footed steeds," " Spread thy close curtain, love-
performing-night," "Give me my Romeo!" — surely there
is passion enough and glow of emotion to the full in this
lovely soliloquy. But Juliet was apparently unmoved by
it; the words were spoken as if in a dream, and arrested
but scant attention. The Nurse, when she came with her
terrible news of Romeo's banishment, quickened but little
the pulse of the three hours' wife. Shakespeare gives
opportunities enough for bringing out at this point the
passion of the despairing girl now almost strengthened
into womanhood. "What the devil art thou, that dost
torment me thus ?" " O God ! did Romeo's hand shed
Tybalt's blood ? " "O nature, what hadst thou to do in
hell, when thou didst bower the spirit of a fiend in mortal

R

242 " ROMEO AND JULIETS

paradise of such sweet flesh ? " " BUstered be thy tongue
for such a wish ! he was not born to shame."

How, it may be asked, is it possible to conceive these
passionate passages in an ahuost subdued and minor key !
It is a great acting scene, and it was meant for nothing
else. It cannot be read without animating the reader,
even in an easy-chair. It is the first wild note of the
tempest coming on. But the mere surface of nature was
never stirred ; and the tempest never came. The vital
moment where the Friar gives Juliet the poison was
robbed of its significance by the omission of the very
passages that express the fervour of Juliet's resolve.
"O ! bid me leap, sooner than marry Paris, from off the
battlements of yonder tower ! "

It is quite true that the potion scene is here anticipated,
and there seems to be a prelude to the horrors of the
charnel-house: "The dead men's rattling bones, the
reeking shanks, and the yellow chapless skulls ; " but for
all that it is a turning-point in the tragedy. Here the
girl Juliet wakes up and becomes a woman. The omitted
speech is a proper forewarning of the oncoming evil, a
necessary note in the harmony so skilfully devised, and
merely retaining the simple line, " Give me ! give me:
O tell me not of fear ! " is not enough to describe Juliet's
mental condition at this juncture. It is inconceivable
that any Juhet who had studied effect would tolerate the
omission of such passages, or w^ould allow such a line as
" Give me ! give me; O tell me not of fear ! " to be so
destitute of electricity.

The midnight hour in Juliet's chamber was at least
consistent with what had gone before in its want of
animation and inspiration. There have been Juliets —
and not accounted good ones either — who have here
thrilled their audience, who, by the mere force of art
have brought before the imagination of their listeners
the horrors of the charnel-house and tomb, who have
obliterated the silent sleeping-room, and have actually,
as it were, made their audience participate in Juliet's
vision. This drinking of the potion has been played in
various ways, but always attacked for good or ill. Miss
Ellen Terry's playing of the scene was consistently grace-
ful, but singularly incomplete.

The imaginatidn was not stirred. The " horrible con-

''ROMEO AND JULIETS 243

ceit of death and night" was never presented, and it was
surprising that words capable of so much in action should
suggest so little. We are told that it would be in the
nature of Juliet to do nothing here. But that is exactly
what we deny. It is in the nature of Juliet ""to conjure
up the visions that Shakespeare suggested.

The argument that Juliet would not make'a noise for
fear of disturbing the house, is too childish for discussion.
Natural acting is well enough, but it must not decline into
under-acting. Save in those tragic moments that are in-
separable from the poet's conception of Juliet — that belong
to the character, and cannot be undervalued — moments
that give the play its life and intensity, its effect and
meaning, the presence of Miss Ellen Terry was entirely
satisfying. Inspired acting makes " Romeo and Juliet "
an interesting play ; without it, the tragedy is threatened
with depression.

The vociferous applause awarded to Mr. Terriss for cer-
tain passages in the life of Mercutio, and in particular for
his delivery of the Queen Mab speech, was due no doubt to
thesenseof relief that energy gives after so much depressed
action and uneventful luxury. Mr. Terriss spoke out his
lines boldly, his enunciation was clear and distinct, his
voice filled the house, and he was bright and muscular.
But, in truth, the Mercutio was over-boisterous, and dis-
tinguished by restlessness, and an excess of action. There
are precedents, no doubt, for the over-elaboration of
Mercutio's dream, and for so very literally " suiting the
action to the word, the word to the action"; but the
practice is not to be commended, and it is a theatrical
trick after all, and seriously considered, the acting of
Mercutio requires far more than personal gaiety and a
cheerful presence.

The subtle humour, the pathetic irony, the genial re-
finement, and the sometime philosophy of Mercutio,
where were they ? We found them not in Mercutio's
life, and less still in his death, which is one of the finest
passages in the play, intellectually considered.

The presence of so admirable an actress as Mrs. Stirling
in the part of the Nurse was of the highest value, and
her acting was full of meaning and suggestion. A slow-
ness of delivery, and a tendency to drag several of the
scenes in which the Nurse is engaged, can alone be pointed

R — 2

244 ''ROMEO AND JULIETr

out for improvement. The elaboration of the scene is
so great, that the play requires all the humour and
point that can be given to it. For the rest, the acting
was creditable enough, and we may specially mention in
terms of praise and congratulation Mr. Fernandez as
the Friar, Mr. Howe as old Capulet, Mr. Glenny as
Tybalt, Mr. Alexander as Paris, and Mr. Mead as the
Apothecary, who spoke their lines admirably, and gave
the true ring and Shakespearean spirit to the text
allotted to them. The music of Sir Julius Benedict in-
creases in charm with familiarity. The Chorale that is
supposed to awaken Juliet on her bridal morning is a
number of special excellence and grace.

The superb character of the revival cannot be suffi-
ciently appreciated at a single inspection. The mind,
anxious to take in so much, inevitably passes over many
instances of colour and arrangement. Such scenes as
these — the outside of old Capulet's house lighted for the
ball, the sunny pictures of Verona in the summer, the
marriage chant to Juliet changed into a death dirge, the
old lonely street in Mantua, where the Apothecary
dwells, the wondrous solid tomb of the Capulets — are as
worthy of close and renewed study as are the pictures in
a gallery of paintings. The stage has never before been
so nobly set, nor has Shakespeare been clothed before in
such sumptuous garments.

"-"-Much Ado about Nothing!'''

By William Shakespeare. First produced at the Lyceum Theatre,
October nth, 18S2.

Benedick (A young Lord of Padua) - - Mr. Henry Irving.

(First Time.)
Don Pedro (Prince of Arragon) - - - Mr. W.Terriss.
Don John (His bastard Brother) - - - Mr, C. Glenny.

Claudio (A young Lord of Florence) - - Mr. Forbes-Robertson.
Leonato (Governor of Messina) - - - Mr. Fernandez.
Antonio (His Brother) ----- Mr. H. Howe.

Balthazar (Attendant on Don Pedro) - Mr. J. Robertson.

Borachio) /t- n rr-x T u \ - - (Mr. F. Tyars.

Conrade , (Followers of Don John) _ _ , Mr. Hudson.

Friar Francis ------- Mr. Mead.

Dogberry) /jwo Citv Officers^ " ' Mr. S. John.son.

Verges ) ^ ■' '' ( Mr. Stanislaus Calhaem.

Seacoal ) ,,,, ., v % - - f Mr. Archer.

r-v X 1 - (Watchmen) ,, -.^

Oatcake ) ^ ' - - ( Mr. Harbury.

A Sexton -------- Mr. Carter.

A Messenger ------- Mr. Haviland.

A Boy -------- Miss K. Brown.

Hero (Daughter to Leonato) - - - - Miss Millward.

Margaret I ,^ ,, ,, ,• -lt \ f Miss Harwood.

TT ", (Gentlewomen attending on Hero) - n^- t r,

Ursula ) ^ 'I Miss L. Payne.

Beatrice (Niece to Leonato) - - - -Miss Ellen Terry.

Ladies, Gentlemen, Maskers, Pages, Attendants, Musicians, Guards,
Watchmen, Soldiers, Servants, etc.

SYNOPSIS OF SCENERY.
Scene. — Leonato's House.

Act I.

Scene i. — Before Leonato's House. Scene 2. — Hall in Leonato's
House.

Act 2.

Scene i. — Before Leonato's House. Scene 2. — Leonato's Garden. —

Evening. Scene 3. — Leonato's Garden. — Morning. Scene 4. —

The Cedar Walk. Scene 5. — A Street.

Act 3.
Scene. — Inside a Church.

Act 4.

Scene I. — A Prison. Scene 2. — Leonato's Garden. Scene 3. — The
Monument of Leonato. Scene 4.— Hall in Leonato's House,

face 247J " I DO LO\-E NOTHING IN THE WORLD bO WELL AS YOU.

IS NOT THAT STRANGE ? "

247

^^3duch Ado about Nothing^

Benedick and Beatrice, the blessed (benedictus) and
the blesser — what shall be said at the outset of the hero
and heroine conceived by Shakespeare in the very zenith
of his dramatic and poetic powers? Are they, indeed,
the hero and heroine at all of that enchanting comedy,
"Much Ado About Nothing," and not mere subordinate
actors in a simple story that is spun from the sentimental
loves of Claudio and Hero ? Is it true that the spectator
is alone concerned with a vain, chattering "marriage-
hating Benedick," and the attention solely aroused by a
"furiously anti-nuptial Beatrice"? Had Shakespeare
no deeper design, no truer insight into human character,
than the stage figures as they are ordinarily presented to
us — the talkative misogynist and the terrible termagant
that have been tacitly accepted through want of thought
or the influence of an unyielding tradition? The greater
part of the first night's brilliant audience must have been
puzzled with some such reflections as these before they
took their seats to watch carefully and wait for the re-
sult of Mr. Henry Irving's last, and, in many respects,
most remarkable, Shakespearean revival.

There has been no manager in our time — and we say
it with all respect to the memories of Macready, Charles
Kean, and Samuel Phelps — who, having got the ear of
the pviblic, was so determined as has been Mr. Irving to
take Shakespeare as his text, in preference to tradition.
The Shakespeare of the stage is not the Shakespeare of
the poet. Thanks to Mr. Irving, in this period of
greater intellectual thought we have seen on the Lyceum
stage the explosion of many dramatic heresies. He has
cut himself adrift from the fantastic improvements of
David Garrick and saved us from the remorseless editings

248 ''MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHINGS

of Colley Gibber. The changes effected in the long list
of Lyceum acting editions have not been for the mere
love of change ; they have not been due to the vanity of
the actor, or the unwholesome pandering to theatrical
effect.

We may think what we like of the new Hamlet,
Richard, Macbeth, Shylock, Othello, lago, and Romeo ;
but at least this may be said, that one and all are more
intelligible beings in action and in impulse when read
by the light of Shakespeare then when distorted and
disfigured by the clumsiness of editors, and the cheap
fireworks of tradition. Mr. Irving has, at any rate
decided the question whether Shakespeare should be for
the study or the stage by bringing the student's Shake-
speare as near to the footlights as practical considerations
would allow. No enthusiast could do more, no ardent
lover of Shakespeare could desire less.

Who and what, then, are this Benedick and Beatrice,
as designed by Shakespeare, and evidenced by the text ?
Is the one a mere conceited, self-sufficient woman-hater,
and the other, as Campbell calls her, "an odious woman,"
a lady scold, a termagant, a Tartar, and a shrew ? Is it
not possible to find in the play, with all its enchanting
variety, incidents bringing out by distinct and natural
gradations a profound seriousness lying beneath all the
superficial levity seen at first in the hero and heroine ?
Is there not, in the development of the characters of
Beatrice and Benedick "a partial antipathy converted
into a perfect sympathy," a war between a man and
woman who "all but " liked one another at the ovitset,
and ended by marrying and li\'ing happily ever after-
wards ?

Did Shakespeare mean what he said when he described
his Beatrice as "a merry-hearted, pleasant-spirited lady,"
never " sad but when she sleeps, and not ever sad then ;
for I have heard my daughter say she hath often dreamed
of unhappiness, and waked herself with laughing ; " or
was she the " odious "and " insolent " woman that the stage
has decided her to be ? Is it to be held true that "there is
a kind of merry war betwixt Signer Benedick and her ;
they never meet but there is skirmish of wit between
them ; " or do the spectators merely behold a cat-and-
dog fight, ending in a union that will only result in a

''MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHINCr 249

" predestinate scratched face ? " Is the purpose of the
dramatist confined to illustrating a nagging brawl be-
tween two commonplace people, or to showing the
" whole ardour and ingenuity of a clever, bright-witted
woman, exerting themseh^es to humble and silence, if
possible, the satirical loquacity of a vivacious cavalier " ?

Pressing as these contradictory views must have been
to the anxious and interested spectator who came to
enjoy, and in enjoying to learn, the curtain had scarcely
risen before all doubts about the matter were immediately
solved. That Mr. Irving would invest Benedick with a
curious and fantastic humour, and that Miss Ellen
Terry would endow Beatrice with singular charm and
gaiety, were foregone conclusions. The comedy of the
one and the other must be familiar to most playgoers by
this time — a comedy as rich as it is refined. But few
except those who have waited, and waited in vain, for
Mr. Irving's Jacques and Miss Terry's Rosalind, could
have hoped for more intellectual enjoyment than is con-
tained in their Benedick and Beatrice.

The sumptuous revival by Mr. Henry Irving of this wise
and witty comedy has, at any rate, proved to the public
satisfaction that Shakespeare, if properly understood, is
an evergreen. The simile is surely not inapt or strained.
We shut up a green fir tree in a box-room, lumber-place,
or garret, the very tree round which the children had
danced at Christmas time, the bush just borrowed from
the young plantation, and what comes to it ? It browns,
it saddens, it withers, and it dies. But plant it out, give
it light and air, return it to its native soil, and it recovers
its freshness. It is tliis light and air that has been given
to " Much Ado Al)out Nothing," and persuaded us of its
everlasting vitality ; it is this harmonising of the play to
modern taste and sentiment that causes its wit and
wisdom to fall upon the ear as if it were written but yes-
terday for our enjoyment ; it is this careful study of the
highest principals of dramatic effect that sets idea into
action and invigorates the imagination. How often has
not Shakespeare suffered for sins both of omission and
commission on the part of his interpreters and exponents.

We throw aw^ay his beauties on ignorant and indifierent
performers; we mumble and de-poetise his text; we fail
to apply him to modern taste and circumstance; we

250 ''MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING:'

blindly follow traditions, often as senseless as they are
ugly ; we take him up with half-hearted energy, and
relinquish him with a sigh of relief, and then it is con-
sidered wonderful that Shakespeare spells ruin and bank-
ruptcy as well. What author, living or dead, would not
spell ruin under similar conditions ? Like other everlastings
and evergreens, Shakespeare wants light and air. Apply
them, and what follows ? The poet's vitality surprises
no one more than his most reverent worshippers. Take
this play of "Much Ado About Nothing," seen on our
stage many a time and often, acted for benefits, familiar
enough to leading actors and actresses, who have a theat-
rical and superficial admiration for Benedick and Beatrice ;
and when before, may we ask, have so many beauties and
ideas been unfolded from the text? Who could have im-
agined that so many deep and pressing thoughts of solemn
meaning could have come from the picture of the grand
old cathedral at Messina, charging the mind with love
and hate, and pity and despair, as we watch and
understand the crushed heart of the tender Hero, the
eloquent indignation of the misguided Claudio, the
pathetic devotion of the grand old father Leonato, the
comfort of trust in those last beautiful words of the
Friar, " have patience and endure," and, most important
of all, the presence of a great and common grief, that
turns the partial antipathy of Benedick and Beatrice into
a perfect sympathy ?

How is it, then, that this one scene of all, representing
the Sicilian cathedral, so deeply impresses the spectator,
and is suddenly found to be such a faithful aid to the
imagination ? Why do we discover new beauties in a
dramatic position familiar to every Shakespearean student?
Because for the first time, at any rate in our day, it has
been approached with sympathy, and guided by a
refined and artistic mind. One false step, one little error
of taste, one pardonable moment of zeal in excess would
have ruined the whole conception. It is the one solemn
and serious moment in the play, and the danger is to treat
it realistically and still with reverence. This cathedral
scene seems to an imaginative playgoer the very triumph
of artistic effect pushed to the nicest point of refinement
and good taste. The art here is to impress and not to
shock the spectator — to soothe the mind and not disturb

''MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING:' 251

it. It is needless to point out the dangers ready to the
hand of any one arranging such a scene for the stage. A
red lamp bvirning before the altar, a crucifix, the use
of vestments by the officiating friar, any of the deter-
mined signs of a nuptial mass, an excess of genuflexions,
would have shipwrecked the whole idea and seriously
endangered the beautiful in art.

But what do we get instead ? The symbols severed from
the soul ; the suggestion without the reality. There can
be no harm in the incense that fills the air as the bridal
processions file to the appointed spot ; in the plaintive
wail of the organ, with its soft and persuasive reed stop,
contrasted with the secular music attendant on the bride;
there can be no danger in the admirable and effective
contrast of the major and the minor keys throughout
this extraordinary scenic composition ; a contrast of
priests and courtiers, of ecclesiastical ritual and courtly
solemnity ; of organ and stringed band ; of religion and
the world. And the consequence is that there is left im-
pressed on the memory all that is beautiful and nothing
that is distasteful. That surely is the highest mission of
art.

We recall old Leonato, with a look of tender love upon
his face, guiding his daughter into the cathedral sanc-
tuary ; we see her crushed under the heel of a cruel sus-
picion, a "broken blossom, a ruined rhyme"; we hear
the passionate cry of Claudio, " O, Hero ! what a Hero
hadst thou been," and, old play as it is, know full well
how many Heros and Claudios are about us in the life
of to-day. We are conscious of the sudden change from
gay to grave, from lively to severe, as that one sudden,
impulsive, and womanlike command, " Kill Claudio !"
changes the purpose of the unreflective Benedick, and
causes him to sacrifice friendship on the altar of love.

It will be found that Mr. Irving has succeeded in per-
suading us of three cardinal truths in connection with
this most interesting play. First, that the complete un-
folding of the characters of Beatrice and her lover is the
mainstay of the whole plot ; secondly, that between
Beatrice and Benedick there is a close affinity, that each
is the other's counterpart, that they are echoes of one
another as much at the outset as when they are discovered
at the close writing verses to one another in secret, that

252 '^MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING:'

the antipathy which exists is partial, and is changed by
the humour of their friends to a sympathy that is real ;
and lastly, most important fact of all, that in this merry
and enchanting comedy, a " profound seriousness lies be-
neath all the superficial levity seen at first in the hero and
heroine," or, as a clever critic has put it, " the very pair
who have given the most decidedly comic character to the
outset of the play, are found on the point of giving it the
most tragic turn towards its close." It is impossible to
study Mr. Irving's acting as Benedick, or to sympathise
fully with his masterly direction of the scene without
being persuaded that he has grasped these three most
important truths.

Much has been said already of the admirable humour
of the new Benedick, of his inimitable delivery of Shake-
speare's witty phrases, bringing them home to the dullest
intelligence by the slyness of his artistic method ; of his
soliloquies, that seem to us masterpieces of comic ex-
pression, as full of thought, and intention, and earnest-
ness as the thinking aloud of Hamlet himself. But there
is much more than this in Mr. Irving's Benedick. There
is expression — and the kind of expression may be seen by
those who noticed that comical shrug of the shoulders
and air of martyred resignation uhen the tamed Beatrice
begins her old habit of chattering — but there is also
seriousness.

When the cathedral scene has filled the eyes of Beat-
rice with tears, and Benedick has been accepted as her
protector, the whole man changes. There is a moment
of revolt at the words, " Kill Claudio ! " He answers,
" Ha ! not for the wide world," and Benedick means it.
But he is over-persuaded, and love masters him. All
the gentleman and soldier comes out in the now accepted
lover. " Think you, in your soul, that Count Claudio
hath wronged Hero ?" asks this fine-spirited and noble-
hearted gentleman. " Yes ! as sure as I have a thought
or a soul." That assertion from his mistress is enough
for Benedick. "Enough; I am engaged. I will chal-
lenge him." And he never breaks his word ; he assumes
the quarrel in all honour and honesty. Mr. Irving's
Benedick is not a mere mountebank railer against
womankind, not a swaggering, self-sufficient egotist ; but
a soldier first, a lover next, and always a gentleman.

''MUCH ADO ABOUT nothing:' 253

This most comprehensive study will do far to remove
many of the prejudices that have sprung from the actor's
popularity, and in a measure explain that very popularity
itself. Mr. Irving has never played a part without im-
pressing the audience with his personal influence and his
nature, and here these qualities are seen at their very
best.

Merriment is the abiding quality of ]\Iiss Ellen Terry's
Beatrice. She is Shakespeare's " pleasant-spirited lady " ;
she was born in a "merry hour"; we know that a "star
danced, and under that was she born" ; she has a "merry
heart," and the actress leans charmingly on this view of
the character. All the people about the court love Beatrice,
as well they may. They know her antipathy to the rougher
sex is only skin deep, and they trick her into matrimony.
She is no virago or vixen, l^ut a smiling, chaffing, mad-
cap girl, whose laughter and high spirits are next door to
tears. How truetliis is of life! Laughter and tears are
only divided by the narrowest channel, and the art with
which Miss Ellen Terry expresses this in the scene after
the cruel condemnation of her cousin is quite admirable.
She wants to laugh with Benedick, but she must weep
for Hero.

Most daring and original of all is her reading of the
well-known outburst, "O! God, that I were a man! I
would eat his heart in the market-place." We hold it,
novel as it is, to be perfectly correct and natural in such
a woman. It is not the scornful rage of a vixen, or the
scream of a vulgar shrew, but a sudden, passionate sob
of suppressed emotion. "O! God, that 1 were a man! I
would — ," and then there is a long pause, as if the Avoman
were too passionately indignant to give her thoughts
utterance, but soon, with a wounded cry, and with rage
expressed in the scarcely suppressed tears, come the
words, " I would eat his heart in the market-place."
When we object to unconventional readings we must re-
member the kind of woman presented to us.

There are many Beatrices who could not speak those
lines in that particular w^ay. But such a Beatrice as
Miss Ellen Terry must have spoken them so. All who
understand and have studied the style of this gay and
sportive actress will guess how she could say such words
as, " No, my lord, unless I might have another for work-

254 ''MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHINGS

ing days : your grace is too costly to wear every day," or
her answer to the question if she were born in a merry
hour, " No, sure, my lord, my mother cried," Such sen-
tences as these are received with a veritable shout of
applause. But the audience was scarcely prepared for so
excellent a delivery of the rhymed and lyrical soliloquy,
" What fire is in mine ears ? Can this be true ? Stand
I condemned for pride and scorn so much"; and how true
is the well-known Shakespearean simile as applied to this
actress. " For look where Beatrice, like a lapwing, runs
close by the ground." This is exactly how Miss Ellen
Terry does run, on or off the stage.

At once both Mr. Irving and Miss Ellen Terry caught
the spirit of the play ; they filled it with gaiety and with
humour, and every line of the text fell upon eager and
appreciative ears. How often have we heard Shakes-
peare of late mouthed and mumbled over, distorted and
twisted out of all shape ! Here, then, was a sudden
revelation. It was the very light breath and fragrance
of true comedy. Beatrice was no shrew, but the most
light-hearted, pleasant-spirited lady in the world. Bene-
dick was no boor, but a refined, whimsical, humour-
loving gentleman, whose every utterance was taken up
with a hearty laugh even to the uttermost parts of the
distant gallery. Surely this is a subject for congratula-
tion, when, through the skill of the artists, the comedy
of Shakespeare can amuse — honestly amuse — and when
the bantering scenes between Benedick and Beatrice are
so gay and radiant that poor Dogberry and Verges,
when they appeared upon the scene, were literally snuffed
out. On ordmary occasions these comic characters
come as a relief ; this time they were felt to be a hin-
drance.

The point most admired — as a rule — apart from the
fantastic beauty of the scene, that put the whole attention
in a period and so continually delighted the eye, was the
thoroughly sound and excellent way that the comedy was
being spoken. To elegance and taste was added expres-
sion, and it was Benedick himself who set the good
example. So much has been said about Mr. Irving's
manner and artistic method that it is only right and just
to point to his Benedick as a model of good accent and
expressive delivery. This quality was even more strongly

''MUCH ADO ABOUT nothing:' 255

felt later on, particularly in the soliloquies, which will
be remembered as Mr. Irving's most successful efforts in
comedy.

The first scene of the second act introduced another
welcome surprise in the Don John of INIr. C. Glenny.
Now, Don John is not considered a very telHng or
welcome part, but instantly this young actor made his
mark, not by overdoing the villain, but by making him
a plausible and possible man. The speech, "I had
rather be a canker in a hedge," roused the attention of
the audience, because it was understood by the actor
and intelligently delivered; with the slightest effort
and in the smallest possible space Don John made his
mark.

As the play proceeded the Beatrice rose gradually with
the occasion. She had already shown she was Shake-
speare's Beatrice, or something very like it, and there
was no attempt to make acting points or to obtrude the
virago. " No, uncle, I'll none: Adam's sons are my
brethren, and truly I hold it a sin to match in my
kindred." To hear Miss Terry speak that one sentence
was enough to know that she understood the gay spirit
of Beatrice. And it was a struggle in more senses than
one for the mastery between the hero and heroine of
the play. Mr. Irving and Miss Terry appeared to be
vying with one another who should act the best ; and
though, in all probability, the prize will be awarded to
the former, there was not much to choose between them
until the test scene came after Hero's denunciation.

Such sentences as Benedick's " Why, that's spoken
like an honest drover : so they sell bullocks," made the
house laugh as uproariously as it is sometimes inclined to
do over far less pregnant and witty ma;tter ; and even
louder applause fell to Benedick's avowal, "I would not
marry her though she were endowed with all that Adam
had left him before he transgressed," charged with
infinite cynicism by Mr. Irving, as well as to Miss
Terry's arch answer to Don Pedro's bantering request.
" Will you have me, lady ? " " No, my lord, unless I
might have another for working-days." What wonder
then, that the second act went even better than the
first, and was rew^arded with another loud summons for
all the performers ?

256 ''MUCH ADO ABOUT nothing:'

In the third act, the scene in Leonato's garden was
lovely in itself, both in arrangement and in colour, with
its yellowing broAvn foliage, dim arcades of green, and
old marble moss-eaten seat ; but it was more remarkable
still for Mr. Irving's soliloquy, in which the hesitating
Benedick rails at love and lovers in general. The man-
ner in which the actor gave a world of expression to such
sentences as " But, till all graces be in one woman, one
woman shall not come in my grace," and "Of good dis-
course, an excellent musician, and her hair shall be of
what colour it please God," can only be understood by
those who see and appreciate l\Ir. Irving's rich flow of
sly humour. The audience had been presented with
comedy at last and sincerely appreciated it. The intro-
duction of Balthazar with his song, " Sigh no more,
ladies ; sigh no more," was extremely welcome, for it in-
troduced a young singer, Mr. J. Robertson, brother of
two charming sisters well-known in the musical world,
who has not only a sweet and expressive voice, but well
understood the grace and delicacy of this charming lyric.
He did not come down to the footlights and deliver his
song in a full-bodied way, as operatic tenors are wont to
do, but he acted Balthazar and belonged to the scene.
Of course the song was encored, for taste was in every
note and line of it.

There is one scene of comedy in this play as good,
surely, as can be desired. We alhide to the trick played
upon Benedick by Leonato, Don Pedro, and Claudio. It
is worthy the closest and most minute study, and is sus-
tained throughout in the gayest and most laughter loving
spirit. Would indeed that the correlative scene between
Beatrice and the girl could have been played so well.
The manly, hearty, outspoken style of Mr. W^ Terriss is
of the greatest value to the play, and gives to Don Pedro
an importance that cannot be overvalued. IMr. Terriss
is popular with a Lyceum audience, because they can
hear him, and they like his spirit. The play moves — any
play must move — when life and energy are given to it.
This is of more serious consequence with Don Pedro,
because he has to tell the story of the play. Once miss
that, and down goes the comedy several tones. If young
actors would only follow the advice of INIr. Terriss and
put their heart in their work, they would be more appre-

''MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING." 257

ciated. The radical fault of modern acting is dropping
the voice at the end of every sentence. The audience
cannot hear, and consequently they yawn.

To the Don Pedro of Mr. Terriss, Mr. Forbes
Robertson as Claudio makes an admirable contrast.
The young man is in love, but he is never affected, he
can be gay and bright in his comedy, and in pathos he
feels the scene and the position. In the cathedral scene
the passionate, nervous acting of the Claudio was just
the note that was wanted in this very beautiful harmony
of ideas. There is heart in Mr. Forbes Robertson's
acting. Mention has already been made of Mr. Glenny's
Don John, a nicely-conceived and artistic little bit, and
what better or more picturesque Antonio could be found
than Mr. H. Howe ?

But a second visit to the play — but, in my humble
opinion, it is not necessary — to confirm the good impres-
sions formed of the Leonato of Mr. Fernandez, as fine
and firm, as varied and picturesque a performance as any
Shakespearean enthusiast could desire. He is light and
full of humour in the comedy scenes, and when called
upon for pathos is as firm as a rock, giving eloquence to
the poetry and passion to the scene. The Leonato is
as impressive as any figure in the play, and as acted by
Mr. Fernandez, he is one of the strong pivots on which
the structure rests.

Dogberry and his companions fail to attract any in-
terest whatever, but it is not the fault of Shakespeare.
As usual, the public is inclined to visit the poet with the
sins of the performers. A Dogberry Avith more pro-
nounced humour ; a Hero who should add idealism to
her prettiness and more poetry to her promise ; and a
less modern Ursula in voice and style, would remove the
only blots on a performance of singular interest and
magnificent moment.

One more word about Dogberry. "I don't think very
much about Shakespeare's humour," is the contemptuous
opinion of the crowd when a Dogberry has no sententious-
ness, and laughs at his own jokes. And yet we have an
actor, w^ho, I suppose, would make the most ideal Dog-
berry the stage has ever seen. I allude to Mr. Harry
Paulton. He is, so far as his humour is concerned,
Dogberry himself. He has just the face, just the voice,

s

258 ''MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHINCr

just the manner for Dogberry. If Mr. Paulton played
the part, it is not Hkely that we should hear that Shake-
speare had no humour, or that his jokes were out of
colour.

''"'T^bert JUacaire.

??

First produced at the Lyceum Theatre (for the benefit of the Royal
College of Music) June 15th, 1883.

Robert Macaire ----- Mr. Henry Irving.

Jacques Strop Mr. J. L. Toole.

Dumont Mr. Fernandez.

Charles Mr. Terriss.

Germeuil Mr, H. Howe.

Sergeant Loupy Mr. Bancroft.

Pierre »-.._._ Mr. Thomas Thorne.

Louis - - Mr. Andrews.

Francois Mr. Archer.

Clementine - . . _ - Miss Ellen Terry.

Marie Miss Ada Cavendish.

SYNOPSIS OF SCENERY.

Act I.
Scene. — The Roadside Inn.

Act II.
Scene. — Interior of the Inn.

S — 2

26l

^^ Robert MacaireT

To earn one thousand pounds in aid of a sister art, as
expressed by the Royal College of Music, is a feat of
which the dramatic profession may well be proud. This
very graceful act was consummated yesterday afternoon,
when Mr. Henry Irving, Miss Ellen Terry, Miss Ada
Cavendish, Mr. J. L.Toole, Mr. and Mrs. Bancroft, and
their loyal companions joined forces and appeared in an
entertainment that is destined to be memorable. It was
known beforehand that their Royal Highnesses the
Prince and Princess of Wales, and other members of the
Royal Family had taken very special interest in a per-
formance which was to be one of the features of the
season, and to include most of the names held in the
highest esteem in the dramatic world, and it was not,
therefore, surprising to learn that those anxious to secure
seats in a five-shilling pit had presented themselves at
the doors as early as ten o'clock in the morning, and,
provided with camp-stools and refreshments, determined
to be in the front rank when the curtain drew up. For a
dozen years or more, Mr. Henry Irving and Mr. J. L.
Toole, always the leading spirits in everything that tends
to the welfare and good repute of their profession, had
not appeared in the same cast of a popular play. They
have acted at the same benefits times out of number, no
two men have done more, or worked harder; but we have
to go back to the days of the Queen's and the Gaiety, to
" Uncle Dick's Darling," and " Dearer than Life," to find
the time when these firm and unshaken friends have
acted side by side in the same play. Mainly to secure
this end, it was decided to perform the antiquated version
of "Robert Macaire," which has held the stage since it
was produced at Covent Garden Theatre on December
3rd, 1834. Mr. Irving has played Robert Macaire, and
Mr. Toole, Jacques Strop, in London, well within the

262 ** ROBERT MACAIRE:'

memory of not very aged playgoers, but there was, no
doubt, a certain curiosity to be present at a revival of
a drama that has existed for nearly fifty years on the
"gags" and interpolations of eccentric comedians. It is
too long a story to tell how a serious melodrama was
turned by tradition into a most unreasonable farce, where
the text is at the mercy of the popular actor of his time.
Tradition insists that the great Frederic Lemaitre,
finding that " L'Auberge des Adrets," a serious murder
piece and pronounced melodrama, was at the outset a
hideous failure, resolved to turn it into a success, and did
so with the aid of the comic actor of his day. He, at any
rate, was the foppish scoundrel, the tyrant over Jacques
Strop, the daring mixture of comedy and melodrama, who
saved the play from ignominy, and covered an earnest
scheme with preposterous ridicule. Mr. Charles Selby
must have seen Lemaitre, and brought over to England
most of his outrageous business before he arranged, in
1834, his two-act melodrama, in which Mr. H. Wallack
was Robert Macaire, and Mr. Vale, Jacques Strop, at
Covent Garden Theatre. The same version by Charles
Selby has held the stage ever since, contributed to by a
succession of popular actors. Serious interest in the
play has long ago been destroyed, and we are only
curious to see to what lengths Macaire and Jacques Strop
will go in order to raise a laugh at the expense of all
probability and common sense. It must be distinctly
remembered that Mr. Henry Irving and Mr. J. L. Toole
yesterday were conscientiously faithful to tradition. It
was probably not the Macaire that the one actor would
conceive, or the Jacques Strop that the other would
originate. One folly has led to another until there is no
extravagance that these ridiculous companions may not
be allowed to commit. Tradition has turned them
from rational beings into buffoons, and they loyally
respect the so-called humour of their ancestors. That
"Robert Macaire" might be made a far better play
than it stands now was sufficiently proved by Mr.
Fechter, who, with the clever aid of Mr. Palgrave
Simpson, produced at this very theatre a version
called, if we remember rightly, the " Roadside Inn,"
which preserved most of Lemaitre's tomfoolery with
a sufficiency of the gloomy interest that the subject

''ROBERT MACAIREr 263

demands. If the play means anything, it is a serious
piece with comic influence introduced, but comedians
with monstrous attire, patches on their trousers, and
unpardonable exaggeration have so burlesqued the sub-
ject that reason is aghast at it. How Mr. Irving could
play Macaire if left to himself and cut clear of tradition
was sufficiently proved yesterday when, by an artistic
touch at the close, he shook off the buffoon and became
the melodramatic actor. His reconciliation with the
son of the detected ruffian, his sudden change from the
farceur to the serious actor when Macaire is shot whilst
trying to escape and returns to die in his wife's arms,
revealed a surprising force, and changed the wildest ex-
travagance into a scene of picturesque and very powerful
acting. For the first time in the afternoon the audience
became reconciled to the play when Macaire died a
brave, if a bad, man. As for Mr. J. L. Toole, he literally
revels in all the license that is allowed to Jacques Strop,
and embellishes the part according to his very lively
and original fancy. The character is corrected up to
date, and is now so modern as to contain allusions to
the Metropolitan Board of Works. It is comic acting
of an old-fashioned type, and that is all that was in-
tended when this particular play was revived. Miss
Ellen Terry, with a winning graciousness, consented to
play a role of some half-dozen insignificant lines, and
received a round of applause, as when in the character of
Clementine, she descended at the inn door from a pretty
little donkey cart, chivalrously driven by the veteran
actor, Mr. Howe ; and the great dramatic success of the
afternoon was obtained by Miss Ada Cavendish as the
persecuted Marie, wife to Macaire, who played with fine
feeling and most commendable intensity. The part,
indeed, could not well have been acted better. The
strength of the cast may well be guessed when we add
that Mr. Thomas Thorne enacted Pierre, the comic inn
servant, that Mr. Fernandez was the heavy father, Mr.
Bancroft a gallant sergeant of gendarmes, and Mr.
Terriss the handsome lover of the graceful Clementine.
How all these favourites were received there is no need
to say ; such unselfishness in a good cause deserves, at
any rate, to be chronicled. The play of " Robert
Macaire" was followed by the scene between Mr. Graves

264 ''ROBERT MACAIRE:'

and Lady Franklin, from Bulwer Lytton's " Money,"
arranged for representation by Mrs, Bancroft, who, of
course, was Lady Franklin, having for her companion
Mr. Arthur Cecil. Both were in their best spirits, and
they continued the laughter started by Mr. Irving and
Mr. Toole, which did not cease until the curtain had
fallen on a selection from the popular " lolanthe," which
introduced Mr. George Grossmith, Mr. Charles Manners,
Mr. Rutland Barrington, Mr. Durward Lely, and Miss
Leonora Braham. Thanks to clever management, the
performance was over in good time, and it gave general
satisfaction to all who were lucky enough to be present.
The result was the very gratifying addition to the
funds of the college of ^i,ooo.

''Twelfth Night: or. What

Tou jvmr

By William Shakespeare. First produced at the Lyceum Theatre,
JulySth, 1884.

Malvolio (Steward to Olivia) - - - Mr. Henry Irving.

The Duke Orsino ------- Mr. Terriss.

Sir Toby Belch (Uncle to Olivia) - - Mr. David Fisher.

Sir Andrew Aguecheek - - - - Mr. Francis Wyatt.

Fabian) ,„ ^ , r^r ■ \ ^ Mr. Andrews.

Clown I (Servants to Olivia) - ^^ g Calhaem.

Sebastian (Brother to Viola) - - - - Mr. Fred. Terry.

Antonio (A Sea Captain, Friend to Sebastian) - Mr. H. Howe.

A Sea Captain (Friend to Viola) - - - - Mr. Tyars.

Valentine ) i k .. ^ . ^u -r^ ^ \ (Mr. Haviland.

Curio , 1 (Attendants on the Duke.) -^ ^^ Mellish.

A Friar --- - Mr. Harbury.

1st Officer --------- Mr. Archer

2nd Officer ..------ Mr. Harwood.

Olivia (A Countess) ----- Miss Rose Leclercq.

Maria (Olivia's Waiting Woman) - - - - Miss L. Payne.

Viola -------- Miss Ellen Terry.

Lords, Ladies, Pages, Officers, Musicians, Sailors, Soldiers,
and other Attendants.

SYNOPSIS OF SCENERY.
Scene. — A City in Illyria and the Sea Coast near it.

Act I.

Scene i. — The Sea Coast. Scene 2. — The Courtyard of Ohvia's
House. Scene 3. — Orsino's Palace.

Act 2.

Scene i. — Terrace of Olivia's House. Scene 2. — Road near the
same. Scene 3. — Olivia's House. The Hall.

Act 3.

Scene i. — Orsino"s Palace. Scene 2. — Another part of the Sea
Coast. Scene 3. — Olivia's Garden.

Act 4.

Scene i. — The Market Place. Scene 2. — Courtyard of Olivia's

House. Scene 3. — 01i\da's Garden. Scene 4. — The Orchard End.

Scene 5. ^Olivia's House — The Dark Room.

Act 5.

Scene i. — Olivia's House — The Cloisters. Scene 2. — Before Olivia's
House.

267

" Twelfth Night : or, What Tou
Wilir

The most curious scene that was enacted at the
Lyceum last night happened after the curtain fell on the
final act of " Twelfth Night," and to the merry music of
the Clown's song. Down to this point all had gone well.
There had been no dissentient voice, no sign of any ele-
ment of discord. Indeed, there could have been but one
opinion concerning the beautiful pictures that had been
presented to the audience in countless succession —
pictures that too soon disappeared from view, almost
before there was time to study them ; and not only pic-
tures on canvas, but pictures in action — gorgeous crowds,
minstrels, attendants, silks and stuffs, and groups such
as no one would have conceived could be introduced to
illustrate this simple history of complication.

Nor could there have been any reasonable argument
for opposition to so graceful, refined, and poetical a Viola
as that of Miss Ellen Terry, who won all hearts at the
outset, and never relaxed her hold upon them to the
finish ; to the grimly-humorous, quaint, and essentially-
artistic rendering of Malvolio by Mr. Henry Irving ; or
to the spirit with which the most difficult scenes in all
Shakespearan comedy were approached. There had
been no sign or semblance of a gathering storm. The
educated and intelligent amongst the audience took the
play for what it was worth. It is neither the most in-
teresting nor the most active of the comedies that
Shakespeare wrote. Often appealing to the fancy and
the imagination, sometimes too delicate in its wit for
modern taste, the play of " Twelfth Night " never holds
the spectator by what we nowadays call interest. But
everyone could have learned that from the text of Shakes-
peare before visiting the Lyceum.

268 '^ TWELFTH night:'

It is a play of ingenuity and surprise, like " The
Comedy of Errors," with the addition of two characters
that stand out from the rest, in Viola with her fancy, and
MalvoHo with his humour. " Twelfth Night " is seldom
presented, chiefly because, as a whole, it is "caviare to
the general"; it is rather for the book- worm than the
playgoer ; but, for all that, no theatrical memory can
quote anything like so efficient, beautiful, or admirable a
representation of this extremely difficult work as the pre-
sent revival. If it was to be made interesting, sufficing,
and attractive, Mr. Irving had done his loyal and con-
scientious utmost to secure that desirable end. People
who live in this luxurious age ought to be reasonable.
They have been petted and pampered until they are
getting spoiled. If it annoys them to linger over long
with Sir Toby Belch and Sir Andrew Aguecheek, if
they are puzzled with the old-fashioned humour of the
Shakespearean Clown, surely it may well be remem-
bered that they have on the other hand a Viola in Miss
Ellen Terry as good as, if not better, than any seen in
this generation, let it be Miss Ellen Tree, or Miss
Adelaide Neilson, and a Malvolio who would run many
of his vaunted predecessors extremely hard.

The performance ended without any special complaint.
If there was any blame attached to it, that blame be-
longed to the play, and decidedly not to its interpreters.
To hiss and flout at Mr. Irving and his companions for
not doing to " Twelfth Night " what Shakespeare did not
do for it, was more than unreasonable — it was childish and
silly. For it happened when the curtain had fallen, and
the actors had been called, that a spirit of discontent be-
came manifest. Mr. Irving, as usual, was asked for a
speech, but scarcely had he concluded his opening sen-
tences before he was continually interrupted by a very
determined minority. At once he seized the occasion,
and instantly changed the tenour of his remarks. Can-
didly owning that he had been away some time from
England, and was not quite accustomed to the altered
attitude of first-night audiences, he owned to feeling
the existence in the house of a " strange element,"
which he did not understand. He was perplexed and
puzzled at the possibility of any opposition in the face
of what had been done, and what had been seen.

" TWELFTH NIGHT." 269

Naturally, these home-thrusts secured a storm of
applause.

Sixteen elaborate scenes, many of great beauty, had
been presented in the course of the evening. There had
been no hitches or waits, and all was over considerably
before half-past eleven. Many of the artists selected
were, no doubt, not beyond criticism, but there was obvi-
ously nothing to hiss at. As the applause grew louder,
Mr. Irving warmed with his subject. He loyally de-
fended the company that supported him. He declared
that they one and all possessed the three cardinal vir-
tues which should be the mainspring of an actor's life.
He praised their devotion and fidelity. He pointed to
the fact that he had produced six plays by Shake-
speare, and hoped that the sixteenth would go, and be
acted nearly as well as this, and he concluded with a
few pregnant sentences from the text he had just de-
livered, sarcastically alluding to the way in which
merriment should be taken, on and off the stage.

The speech was apropos, and in excellent taste, and the
tact of it instantly silenced the discontented minority,
and will, no doubt, be the means of introducing a little
reasonableness into the often hurried condemnation of
first-night audiences. Liberty of speech, and liberty of
action should be denied to no audience by any actor or
manager living, but it does appear ungenerous, and un-
grateful, in the extreme, to reward so beautiful, so care-
ful, and so thoughtful a representation as this, with
discourteous remarks, and signs of obvious discontent.
The " ayes " certainly had it last night, and it would
have been a bad day for future revivals of Shakespeare
if they had not resolutely held their ground.

It is a more pleasant task to turn to the spirit of ex-
pectancy and anticipated delight at the commencement
of the evening, when the curtain drew up and discovered
Viola in her female apparel standing on a rock-bound
promontory in the light of the setting sun — a fine picture
indeed, which had many to match it presently. Lovely
and poetic as was the sea coast of Illyria, lonely and
grand, it was soon put into the shade by the sumptuous
interiors and exteriors about Orsino's palace, and Olivia's
house. The Duke reclining on a velvet couch, tied up
and tasselled with gold, whilst, in dim and mysterious

270 ''TWELFTH NIGHT r

alcoves, dark with painted glass, the minstrels played
their soft melodies to the love-sick man. Olivia and her
household seemed to bask all day on lovely terraces,
amongst clipped box trees and yew hedges, and in per-
petual sunshine. The kitchen fire at which Sir Toby and
his boon companions roared their catches, and drenched
themselves with liquor, was in itself a wonderful stage
set, cleverly arranged to introduce the white and ghost-
like figure of MalvoHo, descending in his dressing-gown
to secure peace and order, whilst perhaps the finest scene
of all, as regards colour, grouping, and arrangement, was
reserved for the very last, where, amidst soldiery and
courtiers innumerable, the mystery of Viola and Sebas-
tian is at length explained. If any fault could possibly
be found, it would be an excess of luxury. If anything,
the play was overloaded with colour and adornment.
The subject scarcely admits of such elaborate detail.
It dwarfs and cramps the dramatic scheme. The
spectator is induced to expect too much after all this
preparation.

Scenes are so often changed, the panorama moves so
quickly, that the mind becomes restless; but it is Mr.
Irving's theory that too much can never be done for
Shakespeare, and it is not at all likely that he will change
his mind at this date. However, it is at least a question
for consideration whether the more homely scenes of
Shakespearean comedy might not with advantage be
shorn of some of this extravagant adornment. Nothing
too elaborate can be done for the cathedral scene in " Much
Ado About Nothing," as Mr. Irving has proved ; but in
this particular play there were points where the scenery
retarded the action, and positively depressed the specta-
tor. There is another point also. " Twelfth Night " is
provided with some of the most beautiful songs that
Shakespeare ever wrote. If they had all been restored
and sung, it would have been decidedly advantageous.

There might have been more of Sir Arthur Sullivan,
who has so distinguished himself in these Shakespearean
songs, and less of the scene painter. The Clown's solo
at the conclusion came as a positive relief, although the
whole character of it was lost in the jovial melody taken
up by the chorus. If ever there was a pathetic epilogue
to a play, it is found in the Clown's song. It is not a

" TWELFTH night:' 271

carol, but is of the character of a lament. All through
the comedy the absence of musical effect was clearly
felt, and even yet we hope the Shakespearean songs of
" Twelfth Night" will be restored.

It would not be fair, at the late hour of writing, to
enter minutely into the detail of such performances as
those of Viola and Malvolio, so full of charm and interest.
Miss Ellen Terry's Viola is set in a most enchanting key,
]t is tender, human, graceful, consistently picturesque,
and with humour as light as feather down. It will be
reckoned amongst the very best performances of this
clever lady, and it grows upon the spectators as the
play proceeds. Few will forget the surprising effect
IMiss Terry made in such lines as that to Olivia when
she unveils :

" Excellently done, if God did it all."

It was the very conceit of graceful impudence. Or again
that to Olivia :

" I see you what you are, you are too proud.
But if you were tfie devil you are fair."

Or again to Malvolio:

" None of my lord's ring ! Why, he sent her none.
/ am the man.'''

Every one of these delicate touches of humour the
audience instantly appreciated, and rewarded with a
round of applause. The duel Avith Sir Andrew was also
admirably done, with its boyish petulance and obvious
terror at the sight of the sword blade. In the hands of
anyone but an artist how vulgar and commonplace such
a scene may be made ! Here Miss Ellen Terry delighted
everybody. It was an admirable blending of poetic fancy
and unforced humour. Of its grace and symmetry of
design we need say nothing. The practice introduced by
Miss Kate Terry, and followed by Miss Neilson, of
doubling the parts of Viola and Sebastian, was happily
not followed. An excellent Sebastian was found in Mr.
F. Terry, who bears a remarkable resemblance to his

272 " TWELFTH NIGHTS

sister, and who had caught her manner admirably as he
took the stage in his white AUoanian dress — a dress in
which the new Viola made a very charming picture.

The entrance of Mr. Irving as Malvolio was, as usual,
eagerly expected. As the self-conceited steward, with an
air of disgust and disdain for every one but himself, he
looked like some grey and crafty old fox, and was scarcely
recognised. Every word that fell from his lips was
attentively listened to, every gesture Avas faithfully
scanned. There were roars of laughter, of course, when
the old man disturbed the revellers in his dressing gown
and nightcap. The scene with the latter, if too deliberate
and a trifle too slow in utterance, was, of course, one of
the acting features of the play, and it was noticed that
Mr. Irving in the later scenes, after Malvolio's cruel
imprisonment as a madman, worked up his indignation
to almost tragic importance. The line, " I'll be revenged
on the whole pack of you ! " was spoken as an exit with
the concentrated hate and ungovernable vehemence of a
Shylock.

On another and more fitting occasion we may return
to the acting of the play as apart from the general des-
cription of an nnportant Shakespearean performance.
Briefly, then, it may be said that a thin and apparently
unmanageable voice spoiled the effect of Miss Rose
Leclercq's Olivia ; that Miss L. Payne played with re-
markable vivacity and spirit as Maria ; and that the three
inseparables — Sir Andrew Aguecheek, Sir Toby Belch,
and the Clown — were played Avith more or less success
by Mr. Wyatt, Mr. David Fisher, and Mr. Calhaem.
The day of Shakespearean clowns apparently ended with
Harley and Compton, but we must be grateful to Mr.
Calhaem for small mercies.

It might in these degenerate days have been so very
much worse, and we tremble to think what the modern
realistic actor w^ould have made of Sir Andrew and Sir
Toby. If they had possessed good voices for the songs
and catches there would not have been much to complain
of. The characters of the Duke and Antonio were safely
entrusted to Mr. Terriss and Mr. Howe, the former of
whom wore his splendid robes with becoming dignity.
Mr. Andrews was capital in the small part of Fabian.

In a word, then, this production of " Twelfth Night,"

''TWELFTH night:' 273

destined, no doubt, to become famous, will well bear a
second, and even third, inspection. At the first visit the
eye will be too busy with the scenery and costumes, and
too dazzled with the stage splendour, to pay the strict
attention to the acting which it deserves. But over and
above the sea-scapes of lUyria and its magnificent homes
will stand out, to the student of modern acting, the en-
chanting Viola of Miss Ellen Terry, and the quaint
Malvolio of Mr. Henry Irving.

'■'Olhia:'

By W. G. Wills. First produced at the Lyceum Theatre, May 28th,

1S85.

Dr. Primrose (Vicar of Wakefield) . - - - Mr. Irving.

Moses (His Son) Mr. Norman Forbes.

Squire Thornhill Mr. Terriss.

Mr. Burchell - - Mr. Wenman.

Leigh (A Vagabond) Mr. Tyaks.

Farmer Flamborough ---... Mr. H. Howe.
Polly Flamborough ------ Miss Coleridge.

Phoebe ---------- Miss Mills.

Gipsy Woman ------- Miss Barnett.

Mrs. Primrose ------- Miss L. Payne.

Dick and Bill (Her Children) - - Misses F. and M. Holland.
Sophia (Her Daughter) - - - - Miss Winifred Emery.

Olivia (Her Daughter) Miss Ellen Terry.

Villagers, Musicians, Parish Clerk, Schoolmaster, Boys, Girls, etc.,

etc.

ORIGINAL CAST OF THE FIRST PRODUCTION AT
THE COURT THEATRE, MARCH 30th, 1878.

Dr. Primrose .... - Mr. Hermann Vezin.

Moses - . - . - Mr. Norman Forbes.

Dick ...--- Miss L. Neville,

Bill Miss Kate Neville.

Mr. Burchell . . - - . Mr. Frank Archer.

Squire Thornhill - - . - - Mr. W. Terriss.

Leigh .....-- Mr. Denison.

Farmer Flamborough . - - . Mr. R. Cathcart.

Schoolmaster - - - - - - . Mr. Franks.

Mrs. Primrose ..... Mrs. Gaston Murray.

Olivia - Miss Ellen Terry.

Sophia -..--- Miss Kate Aubrey.

Polly Flamborough . . - . Miss M. Cathcart.

Phoebe ...... Miss K. Nicholls.

Sarah Miss Turtle.

Gipsy Woman ...... Miss Neville.

T — 2

SYNOPSIS OF SCENERY.

Act I.
Scene. — The Vicarage Garden (Autumn).

Act 2.

Scene. — The Vicarage Parlour.

Act 3.

Scene. — The Dragon Inn.

Act 4.

Scene i.— The Vicarage Garden (Winter). Scene 2. —The Vicarage
Parlour.

Period about 1750.

277

^^ Olivia''

For seven years the Olivia of Miss Ellen Terry has
been laid up in lavender, and the picture of a loving and
loveable woman, with all her waywardness, trust, dis-
appointment and anguish, is presented to us with an
added sweetness and a deepening colour. The artist
evidently has not put this admirable study of a true
woman wholly out of her mind. She has not played the
part for a long time on the stage, but she must often have
thought of it. New ideas, fresh suggestions, innumer-
able delicate touches, never lost on the observant spec-
tator, have been brought to bear on the new Olivia, who
stands out as one of the most striking personations— as
fine in perspective as in outline, as tender in thought as
it is true in sentiment — that the modern stage has seen.
In the first act of the play. Miss Ellen Terry has little
more to do than strike the key-note of the poem. She
has to show how Olivia is the fairest of the old Vicar's
flock, the loveliest and most winsome of his many
children, the loved companion of her brothers and sisters,
her father's idol.

Dr. Primrose has a generous and loving heart. He
mounts the youngsters on his knee or lifts them on his
shoulder to look across the lovely country towards
the lights of cruel London; for his good wife he has
a deep affection, consecrated by long years of trial ;
he is beloved by his neighbours, cheerful to all those
around him, but in Olivia, the favourite child, his
whole heart is centred. " She came between me
and my love for God, and I am punished for it at
last," says the Vicar in his supreme anguish at the
loss of her, so it became necessary to show at the outset
the truth and depth of the affection that is to be so

278 "OLIVIAr

cruelly shattered. Thus Olivia becomes the sunshine of
her father's house. When the villagers assemble to con-
gratulate him on his silver wedding and to sing a carol
under the Vicarage windows, when old Farmer Flam-
borough ventures to call and grumble at the fine airs of
the Vicar's lady, it is Olivia with her sunny face and
winning manner who seems to avert the storm arising on
the domestic horizon.

But for all that, simple parson's daughter as she is,
inexperienced in the world and its ways, she already
shows how strong and absolute is the affectionate nature
that is in her. She loves the young squire, not because
he has a fine coat and winning manners, not because he is
above her in social station, but because her nature leans
towards some one who appears stronger in character and
less dependent on love than herself. Squire Thornhill's
very indifference fascinates her.

Olivia pretends to pet and pout when her Edward
talks of the fine ladies in London, she makes believe that
she will dismiss her lord if he treats her so carelessly as
he sometimes does ; but we who watch know full well
that she would never let her lover stray far from her
side, and would beckon him back, did he retreat only so
far as the Vicarage hedge. It is this loving, this trusting
nature, the depth of this heart, the mine of this woman's
love as yet unexplored, that the old Vicar alone under-
stands so well. Olivia's mother is occasionally inclined
to resent her husband's determination to spoil the girl;
there is an occasional sneer upon her lips as the old
clergyman makes his Livy his comforter and his friend.

But so it is. When the clouds of trouble gather on
the old man's brow, when despair is settling down on the
house, it is to Olivia that her father looks for help — not
to his wife. In that still evening hour when the white-
haired man gathers his family around him in the dying
daylight, to learn what trouble has befallen him, it is
Olivia who is at his knees kissing his hands, and looking
up into his dear tear-stained eyes. We come to the
second scene. Love, ithe master, has worked havoc in
Olivia's heart. Gradually, but very delicately. Miss
Terry shows how her father is forgotten for the sake of
her lover. She hates Burchell because he dares to doubt
the man she loves. She defends her Thornhill with a

''OLIVIA." 279

woman's desperation and a woman's unreason. He may
have deceived other women, but he loves me ! That is
her argument, and it is urc^ed with brilHant petulance.

The second scene with Thornhill brings out some very
subtle suggestions. It is as excellently played by Mr.
Terriss as by Miss Terry. Both are goaded on by destiny.
For a moment she would hold back, and so would he.
She cannot forget her father, nor he his honour. The
man is not wholly reckless yet. There is a pause, but it
is momentary. Selfishness prevails; the strong man con-
quers, not the weak, but the loving woman ; and once she
has given her promise, we know that she will not turn
back. No father, no family, no religion, no remem-
brances can step between her and her determined
spirit.

Then comes that exquisite scene when, at the twilight
hour, Olivia distributes her little presents to the loved
ones before she steals away from home to join the lover
of her future life. The deep choking tones of Miss
Terry's voice, her fine power of absolutely identifying
herself with the situation, the real tears that course down
her cheeks, the struggle to repress as much as to express,
make this one of the most pathetic moments that modern
art has illuminated and intensified.

It is powerful, but not morbid ; it is terrible in its
despair, but so true, that the very grief it causes is satis-
fying and pleasant. Our deepest sympathies are aroused,
our better feelings are stimulated. And so, when the
vicar is dreaming over the fire, when the mother is at her
homely work, and the rest are singing at the old harpsi-
chord, Olivia steals from home, and her pale face is seen
at the lattice window, kissing her farewell to the home
she is to leave for ever.

It is, however, in the third act that Miss Terry's
acting has most visibly improved. She has here em-
phasised the contrast between the happy married woman
and the heart-broken, despairing dupe. The actress be-
gins the scene with an excess of gaiety. If Thornhill's
love had grown more cold, hers has gained in force and
impetuosity. Her object now is to retain her lover by
her side. Her short life with him has intensified her
affection. She coquettes with him, she hangs close to
his neck, she laughs, and is merry. At the thought

28o ''OLIVIAr

of home and Christmas-time she becomes a child again.
She kisses the leaves they have brought to her from the
hedge at home, and ties them round her neck as if
they were the most precious posy in the world. There
is nojoy like hers, no heart so light, no life so full of
promise.

Suddenly, and without warning, comes the storm which
is to wreck her life. Her lover tells her that he has de-
ceived her. She is not his wife. The announcement at
first stuns her. She cannot beheve or understand. She
beats her brains to get at the truth. The realisation
of her situation is awful. Father, mother, home, friends,
contempt, humiliation, crowd before her eyes like ghastly
spectres ; the love has suddenly changed to savage hate,
and as Thornhill advances to comfort her she strikes him
on the breast, and in that one word " Devil ! " is summed
up the unspeakable horror that afflicts her soul. But as
yet the act is not nearly over The most beautiful
passages of it have yet to come, when her father returns
to rescue the lamb that is on the road. Never before to
our recollection on the stage has woman's grief been
depicted with such infinite truth. Olivia has been
beaten and so sorely bruised ; but in her father's arms
she is safe.

The sobs that wring her heart are the true cure. In
her old father's presence she is a child again. No mother
in the world could give her greater comfort. She feels
she is forgiven and at rest. She has passed through the
purgatory trial and gained the paradise of love. Here,
as far as art is concerned, the study, complex and beautiful
as it is, must necessarily stop. For the purpose of the
play Thornhill must be forgiven, and presumably Olivia
must be reconciled to him, but we cannot bring our
minds to believe that the reconciliation would be so
sudden or the forgiveness so swift as this. We leave
Olivia confronted with her father, and that is enough.
The poem is complete at that point, and we want no
more.

We cannot doubt that this study from the life will
attract as much, if not more, attention than it did seven
years ago. Such acting as is contained in the Olivia of
Ellen Terry, as fine in conception as it is impressive in
effect, is seen very rarely on the stage of any country.

''OLIVIA." 281

Unquestionably also the play is made doubly interest-
ing by the reading of the Vicar given by Mr. Henry
Irving, a performance more carefully restrained and
modulated, a study more innocent of trick and less dis-
figured by characteristics of marked style and individu-
ality than anything he has attempted before. At the
outset, it was feared that he had too quickly been
fascinated by the sentiment of the story, that he drifted
into pathos too suddenly, that he started the tears too
soon, and did not call direct attention to the happy Vicar
as he lived amongst his family and friends before the
dark clouds settled on his household.

But this idea soon vanished, when it was seen how
the actor, by many a subtle and sugges ted idea, had
penetrated into the mind and nature of the venerable
clergyman. It was his love for Olivia marked with so
many happy touches, it was the desire to emphasise the
fact that his whole life was bound up in this child, that
gave so much interest to the first act, and lent such
special importance to the subsequent scenes of affection
which were devolved from it.

Mr. Irving's Vicar is a dignified, resigned, and most
pathetic figure, who lingers on the mind long after the
theatre is quitted. The scene of the announcement of
Olivia's departure was as finely acted as it was boldly
conceived. The grief that unnerves, distracts and un-
mans ; the sorrow that paralyses, were expressed with
absolute truth and surprising force, and quite as admirable
was the melting from almost ungovernable rage to the
comparative calm of resignation. " Did I curse him ? "
murmurs the old man, half dazed and in a dream, and so
in time his religion and his duty help the white-haired
minister to bear the blow. " She came between me and
my love for God ; I am punished for it at last." This is
the one strong point on which Mr. Irving evidently leans.
It is the resignation to the Divine will, shown all through,
that gives such beauty and interest to Mr. Irving's fine
study of paternal affection.

But, perhaps, the best idea that came into the actor's
mind, and in effect the finest moment of his acting
was in the scene where the Vicar comes to rescue his
daughter. For a moment, trouble and travel-stained as
he is, he breaks away from her, and remembers that he

282 ''OLIVIA."

has a duty to perform. He loves the child surpassingly
well, but he is her father, and she has erred. He has to
summon up all his courage for a homily on her lost
sense of duty. He nerves himself for what he conceives
to be necessary, and begins, with tears starting in his
eyes, to tell Olivia of her grievous fault. But the old
man breaks down over the eiTort of forced calm ; the
strain is too much for him ; all at once he melts, he casts
aside the manner of the priest, and calling Olivia to his
arms, becomes her loving father once more. The effect
of this was instantaneoiis. The house was astonished
and delighted. As regards acting, it was a moment of
true inspiration, a masterpiece of invention.

The Squire Thornhill of Mr. William Terriss, excel-
lent as it was seven years ago, has improved relatively
as much as the Olivia of Miss Ellen Terry. The care-
less love of this young coxscomb, his innate vanity, his
implied power over women, his charming and yet impu-
dent air, gave to the young rake the very colour that was
requisite. And we saw, notwithstanding all his villainy
that Thornhill had the making in him of a better man.
This was most cleverly shown in the sulky horror with
which Thornhill confesses his sin to Olivia, and the fierce
reaction of rage with which he turns upon Burchell.

''^ Faust,

5?

ByW. G. Wills. First produced at the Lyceum Theatre,
December igth, 1885.

MORTALS.

Faust - - - Mr. Conway.

VaJentine (Margaret's Brother) - - - - Mr. Alexander.

Frosch -------- Mr. Harbury.

Altmayer -------- Mr. Haviland.

Brander --------- Mr. F. Tyars.

Siebel ...----- Mr. Johnson.

Student -------- Mr. N. Forbes.

Burgomaster ------- Mr. H. Howe.

^•,. f Mr. Helmsley.

Citizens - - - - - - - - iv;i T

{ Mr. LOUTHER.

Soldier -------- Mr. M. Harvey.

Martha (Margaret's Neighbour) - . - - Mrs. Stirling.
Bessy --------- Miss L. Payne.

Ida -------- MIssBarnett.

Alice --------- Miss Coleridge.

Catherin --------- Miss Mills.

Margaret ------- Miss Ellen Terry.

SPIRITS.

Mephistopheles ----- Mr. Henry Irving.

Mr. Mead.
,,,. , I Mr. Carter.

Witches - . . . . . \ Mr. Archer.

Mr. Clifford.
Soldiers, Students, Citizens, Witches, etc.

SYNOPSIS OF SCENERY.

Act I.

Scene I. — Faust's Study. Scene 2. — The Witches' Kitchen.
Scene 3. — Nuremberg — St. Lorenz Platz.

Act 2.

Scene i. — Nuremberg — Margaret's Chamber. Scene 2. — Nurem-
berg— The City Wall. Scene 3. — Nuremberg — Martha's House.
Scene 4. — Nuremberg — Martha's Garden. Scene 5. — Trees and
Mountains. Scene 6. — Nuremberg — Margaret's Garden.

Act 3.
Scene. — Nuremberg — Street by Church.

Act 4.
Scene. — Summit of the Brocken.

Act 5.
Scene. — Nuremberg — Dungeon.

285

" Faust r

In the presence of their Royal Hij^^hnesses the Prince
of Wales, and the Princess Louise (Marchioness of
Lome), and with the full and earnest sympathy of an
audience unusually distinguished even for the Lyceum,
the curtain drew up on Saturday night on the latest
dramatic version of Goethe's tragedy of " Faust," by
Mr. W. G. Wills.

Faust is in his study, moody, despondent, and medita-
tive. Strange birds and beasts surround him. He is in
a hopeless state of despair. Religion, science, magic^
everything that can stimulate the brain of man — he has
tried them all. But the keen intellect is fatigued with
excess of study, and the fine nature is distorted with the
conviction that all human effort is futile. On the verge
of the grave the curse of hopelessness stares him in the
face. He knows he must die, but of what value has life
been to him ? Through the open windows are heard the
soft and consoling strains of the Easter hymn. Yes,
this is Eastertime ; memories of new resolves, of the hour
of confession, of the beauty of an old and neglected re-
ligion, arise before the sceptical doctor, and just as his
distracted mind is attuned to better things, just as he holds
a skull under one hand, and surveys a ghastly, grinning
skeleton on his study wall, a mist arises, and Mephisto
appears.

A wretched dog had followed the Doctor in one of his
lonely walks; he has given a refuge to the hunted animal,
but the hound turns to a sulphurous flame, and out of
the smoke comes the devil, attired in travelling habit.
Surely it is not Mephisto ; it is Dante without his wreath
of laurel. But what an interesting face, how clear cut,
how expressive ! How the eyes shine with intelligence,

286 " FA USTr

how the white teeth gleam ! It is a faoe human and yet
mysterious; always varied, but ever mischievous. The
compact with Faust is soon made. What the old Doctor
wants is happiness, the happiness he has dreamed of, but
never known. What easier than to shew him that which
he wants — visions of pleasure, visions of refined sensu-
ality, visions of love. An ideal life is to be made manifest
to him, an ideal woman. Faust is to enter into a new
existence, with the passion of a boy, and the understand-
ing of a man. What a prospect ! All this last should
have been seen on the stage. This keynote to the mys-
tery should have been given, but, alas! fate works against
the best stage management, and the visions were in-
visible.

It is necessary to point this out, and to point it out
strongly, for the absence of these mental pictures, the
loss of the prospective Margaret, gave the opening
scenes of the play a lassitude from which they re-
covered with extreme difficulty. What an audience has
never seen, it can seldom understand. The keynote to
the dramatic scheme was lost by an accident. Mephisto
is full of mischief. He must needs borrow the Doctor's
gown, and protend to lecture a young, trembling student
on logic, philosophy, and medicine.

The description of the doctor, who worms himself into
the confidence of weak women, was an admirable touch
on the part of Mr. Irving, a subtle and finished incident
of acting, and the audience watched every look and move-
ment of the fascinating demon. The bargain is soon signed,
and sealed with Faust's own life-blood, and away they go,
still through the flames and mist, on their fatal and un-
holy mission. Mr. Conway as Faust has been excellent
up to this point. He has spoken out his words clearly
and distinctly. He is not a weak, doddering old man,
but even in age is virile. Just where he was expected to
fail he has succeeded. The lines could not have been
better spoken. The sad part of the introductory prologue
has been the absence of the vision, but it could not be
helped.

We meet Faust and Mephisto again in front of a grand
old church porch at Nuremberg. The stage is full of
life and light and colour. We live in fancy in another
age. The dresses, the satins, the brocades, and stufifs

" FA UST." 287

are none too new. They look as if they had been worn.
Each figure is a picture, the beggars at the church porch,
the Franciscan friars travel-stained and muddy, the grand
dames with their trains upheld by pages, the soldiers,
and burgomasters, who might have stepped out of panes
of old German glass. It is a feast for the artistic eye.
In front of this church, at an inn hard by, an attempt is
made to suggest the revolting license of the Auerbach
cellar. We venture to think it is a mistake. Goethe
placed side by side, and in immediate contiguity, the
human licentiousness of the wine-cellar scene and the
supernatural horror of the Witches' Kitchen. He wanted
to disgust Faust with filthy depravity before he entered
upon the theme of love. But as we could not have the
kitchen, we might well have dispensed with the sub-
stitute for the cellar.

The actors did their best, but the scene fell flat.
Their merriment was forced, their jollity was unnatural.
The incidents of drawing the wine from the table, and
tricking the drunken boors were cleverly suggested, but
they were accepted coldly. Everyone waited anxiously
for the first appearance of Margaret. Her sweet face and
influence were anticipated as a relief to all this abstract
philosophy. We wanted to approach the humanity of
the play. Strange to say, Margaret's first appearance
was a distinct disappointment. It is a most difficult
position for any actress to suggest unaided by music.
Gounod's charming strain has spoiled for ever this
entrance in an unmusical play.

Margaret has only two lines to say : —

" Sir, I am not pretty, nor yet a lady,
I have no need of any escort home."

What is Margaret at this monient ? More in heaven
than on earth. She has just come from confession. She
is dead to all the world. Her eyes are on the ground,
and her thoughts on pure things, when she is accosted by
Faust. It wants a complete mastery of self to suggest
the beauty of this delicate position. Two things militated
against its success.

First, the natural and inevitable nervousness of the
actress ; second, the equally natural and inevitable

288 " FA UST:'

reception of Miss Ellen Terry. She looked better now
and to the end, than any Margaret who has ever appeared
on the English stage. vShe well and truly realised
Mephisto's subsequent description, "Ah, brighter gems
are yours — your air, your grace." But the actress
was unnerved — she was bound to be Miss Terry to
an enthusiastic house. She could not recover Margaret
in two short lines. All ideas of church, confession,
surprise, innocence, and simplicity vanished. It was
Ellen Terry received with enthusiasm, at the expense of
the play. The train, however, is laid ; the love drama
has begun. Faust pursues Margaret in a fever, and the
mocking Mephisto crams his lingers into his ears as the
curtain falls on the clash and booming of cathedral
bells.

The whole of the first act is familiar to those who
know the veriest outline of Goethe's play and have learned
it from the opera. The visit of Faust and Mephisto to
Margaret's bed-chamber, which provoked laughter from
the irreverent, because it was so absolutely simple and
correct, the depositing of the jewels ; the ballad of the King
of Thule, and the discovery by Margaret of her treasure ;
Mephisto's interview with Martha, and the well-known
garden scene, follow one another in the ordinary course.
Before the act had well-nigh started, it was discovered
that Margaret had all but conquered her nervousness.

Every moment she was on the stage she gained new
strength and interest. The scene in her bed-chamber
was delightfully natural, and faultlessly delicate ; her
visit to Martha was full of the candour of youth and the
modesty of maidenhood, and as someone has already ob-
served, her love-making should have illumined a stone.
Such a Margaret, gracious and pure, innocent and
natural, could not, however, break down the stolidity of
her Faust. Unless these scenes are played with fervour,
they go for nothing.

The passion of the music gives interest to the most
unimaginative Faust, but here we had the tenor of the
stage without his inspiring song. We believe Mr.
Conway to have been acting in fetters. So anxious was
he to obey instructions that he lost his own individuality.
From one circumstance or another, he weighed down the
scene just when it should have been lifted. What words

" FA USTr 289

they were that this Margaret, most gentle and most
sweet, poured in succession into his ear ?

" My heart is full ; tears come I know not why,
To-night is like the first day spent in Heaven,
I had no warning of this happiness ;
The blessed Virgin sent no dream to me.
And now I am so joyed."

Who could not love when such a Margaret made love
like that ! Who could not get free of modern tone and
style when she said :

" A moment wilt thou give to thought of me,
I shall have time enough to think of thee."

But so it was. The love- scenes went flat. They had
no fervour or sincerity. We lost the music, it is true, and
its enchanting melody was not even dimly suggested by
an orchestra, determined to be classical at all cost. And
why was this ? All we wanted was melody. The Easter
Hymn ; could it not have been some chant that came
home to the heart ; the King of Thule, the inimitable
spinning-wheel song, " My Peace has Fled " (" Meine
Ruh ist Hin "), could they not have been suggested even
dmily by a familiar melody ? Some of the music — in
particular, all the incidental numbers composed by Mr.
Hamilton Clarke especially for the Lyceum version of
Goethe's immortal work — was beautiful, but why was
Gounod, who has truly understood the passion of this
play, so obstinately ostracised ? To make up, however,
for all this failure in fancy and fervour, we had scenes
between Martha and Mephisto, inimitably played by
Mrs. Stirling and Mr. Irving. It was not the Martha of
our imagination, but what actress of our time could do
so much with so little ? Every line on each side was
a point, and the best point made by Charles Kean,

" Where will she go to by and by,
I wonder ? I Won't have her ! "

was doubly emphasized by Mr. Irving.

290 ''FAUST."

The whole house rose at it ; and, indeed, Mephisto
had not missed one chance throughout the evening, this
curious, mischievous, aggressive, and hmping fiend.
" And why did he hmp ? " asks the audience. "Why is
he a lame demon ? " All we know is that Goethe says he
was ; all we are confident of is that he is often played in
Germany with a club foot ; and, in the original, does not
Siebel say when he accosts Mephistopheles :

" The fellow limps a little on one foot ! "

Mr. Irving never forgets anything, though the line we
have quoted might just as well have been preserved in
th« text to prevent doubt.

By the time that we have got to the second act, the
acting is found to be improving at almost every point.
Miss Ellen Terry is becoming more and more the ideal
Margaret, and her scene with Mephisto is better played
than anything that has gone before. For the drama is
gaining in strength and interest — the gloom of the on-
coming tragedy is approaching. Mephisto has given to
the moody and meditative Faust the fatal sleeping
draught which is to create the first disaster. Margaret
is agitated between love and religion.

It is this last idea which will distinguish Miss Terry's
Margaret from any that have preceded her — the idea of
her absorbing religious faith. She has shewn it faintly
before at her night prayers in her modest room. She is
to shew it bitterly afterwards when on her knees in
agony before the Mater Dolorosa, or when tortured by
the avenging spirit in the church. Even now in her first
supreme outburst of affection she questions Faust about
his religious faith — not so critically as Goethe does, but
enough to justify Faust's after taunt to the mocking
spirit :

" Mocker ! thou could'st never understand
How this deep loving-one, full of her faith,
The only shining pledge she has of Heaven,
Is agonized to think that one she loves
Can never meet her there."

All this is cleverly and delicately led up to bythedrama-
tist and exquisitely illustrated by the actress. But, un-

"FAUSTr 291

fortunately, in carrying it out he goes too far, and, out of
some sort of deference to the prudery of the age, suddenly
■ — and as we hold wilfully — breaks straight away from
Goethe and misunderstands the poet he has hitherto
followed so faithfully. The Faust of Goethe never
wanted to marry Margaret and was never awed into the
crime of seduction by an angry and threatening Mephisto.

The change gives Mr, Irving the chance for a fine
speech, which is nobly delivered ; but Faust was no
terrified schoolboy frightened under the lash of Mephisto's
tongue, and Mephisto was no vulgar scold. The one was
an intellectual man, with the passions of a boy ; the
other was a cynical demon, who achieved his end by
sneers, not by personal invective. The ruin of Margaret,
according to Goethe, is the necessary outcome of the
compact written in blood. It is as much inevitable as
the murder of Margaret's mother, the assassination of
her brother, the destruction of her child.

Faust, who has been called by Mephisto a " most sen-
timental sensualist, philosopher, at once and beast,"
cheats himself with the idea that the devil does not know
that M^garet will fall. To Mephisto's words, " To-
night ? " He simply answers, " What's to-night to thee ?"
He has not been bullied by the fiend, and told "gobbets
of his mangled flesh " are to be "scattered to the dogs,"
but has himself called Mephisto, " Abortion ! spawn of
fire and dirt." "To-night," he says in his scorn, "what's
to-night to thee ? " Mephisto knowing all, can only grin.
"I've my amusements too; we'll see!" Faust has
ignored his fate ; why should Mephisto threaten Faust ?
At what period of their pilgrimage could Mephisto
threaten Faust ? He has no need to threaten, for he is
master. Faust is not terror-stricken with the prospect
of a doubtful eternity. He has signed his bond, and he
will have his pound of flesh. The conclusion of the
second act is theatrically effective, but artistically false.
It destroys th© idea of tempter and tempted. Luckily
no harm comes out of it, and the play goes on as Goethe
planned it.

The third act is unquestionably the best — best in
arrangement, best in colour, best in idea, best in execu-
tion. It contains as fine moments as have ever been
seen in the acting of Miss Ellen Terry ; and the arrange-

U — 2

292 "FAUSTr

ment of Valentine's death scene is a triumph of stage
management. The celebrated picture at the well, with
the girls' chatter over Barbara's fall, reveals the deplor-
able sorrow of Margaret, her agony of shame, the abiding
presence of despair. The absolute truth of Miss Terry's
acting as she places the flowers before the Virgin's
shrine, and kneels prostrate with contrition before the
Mater Dolorosa, brought tears into the eyes of the most
hardened in the audience. Her deep pleading voice —
that wonderful voice of hers — half-choked with sobs that
poured forth the pitiable lamentation — •

" Oh ! holy maiden ! thou who knowest sorrows —

Thou through whose anguished heart the sword hath pierced —

Incline thy gracious countenance to me,

My misery is past my tongue to tell."

Every word and every tone told upon the audience.
Not one suffrage in this litany of sorrow was lost.

" O, heal this bleeding heart! O rescue me

From death and shame ! Mother of many sorrows

Have pity ! O, have pity ! Turn to me."

Here was pathos drawn to its finest point. But the
tragedy is inexorable. The story has, indeed, its thought
too deep for tears. Valentine has to come home from
the wars, to find his loved sister dishonoured, and to fall
under the sword of her betrayer. This is one of the very
finest scenes ever designed or realised on the Lyceum
stage. The advance of the soldiers, the hurrying of the
crowd, the tramp of the men, are all quick and effective.
The duel itself is rapid and instantaneous, and Valentine,
in the dying daylight, falls by the well at which the women
have chattered over the ruin of a woman. Then comes,
as Margaret issues from the house, one of the truest and
soundest moments in the recorded art of Miss Ellen
Terry.

" My brother ! Ah ! God help me ! it cannot be ! (tdldly) —

Who?

Oh ! he will curse me ! "

We hold that those words, "Oh! he will curse me!"
are as finely spoken as can be ; it was the true ring of

" FA USTr 293

agony that one so seldom hears. And then the scene
was so wonderfully well plaj'^ed. A bad actor would
have spoiled it all ; but Mr. Alexander was found the
best of all modern Valentines, and there have been good
ones within our memory, Mr. Charles Santley included.
There was no suspicion of raving or of excess. The
voice struck with welcome contrast on much that had
hitherto been rough and discordant, the manner was ear-
nest, the bearing dignified. Mr. Alexander has consider-
ably advanced in the estimation of the public by this able,
thoughtful, and spirited performance. The play had its
very finest moment here, and should attract all London,
even for this one scene alone. But the inexorable dra-
matist speeds on. For Margaret, there is no cup of cold
water, there is no pity for her. Her old companions
jeer and flout at her, only one alone being found to kiss
her in her agony.

" Leave me ! " she cries. " Leave me to think and
pray ! " And so she totters from the speechless shrine to
the full church where the organ and choir peal forth that
awful hymn :

"DIES IRyE, DIES ILEA,
SOLVET S.ECLUM IN FAVILLA."

But, alas ! she cannot pray. Mephisto is ever by her
side, dinning into her ears the hideous consequences of
her crime, her mother's death, her brother's murder. She
would pray still, but her heart is crushed within her.
Despair has taken the place of prayer, and when the
" hell-fiend " has whispered his last devilish temptation
to further mortal sin :

" Hast thou not killed thy mother ? "
Scruple not to kill thy babe."

She falls fainting in the church, and the weird " Dies
Ir^ " drives Mephisto out of the church into the darkness
and shadows of the streets. The scene of wild devilry
on the Brocken Mountain must be witnessed ; it cannot
be described. We venture to think that nothing so
daring or effective has ever been seen on the stage before.
It comes so late that the audience is well-niq-h exhausted

294 '' FAUST y

but the whole thing is so striking that it is worth a
separate visit.

In the heart of this pandemonium, this shrieking,
gibbering crowd, amongst those witches and apes, in the
glow and glare of this " feu d'enfer," contrasted with
these shadowy greys and greens that suggest Gustave
Dore in every corner of the picture, stands the bright-red
figure of this incomparable Mephisto. And it is not
alone the figure that attracts; it is the face — that calm,
destructive, mischievous face ; it is not alone the terror
of the spirits that appals us — it is the kingly splendour
and familiarity with evil that crown the master of them.
Though the face is still calm and pale, the eyes glitter
brighter than ever, the teeth shine whiter, as Mephisto
pats the head of some nauseous ape, or consoles a gibber-
ing goblin. It is Mr. Irving who is the dominating
power of this extraordinary scene ; it is his cry of exul-
tation that leads them on to still more hideous excess.

The scene must have cost an infinity of labour ; but it
is full of fantasy, and that last effect of the bare and
outstretched arms around the scarlet King Fiend is an
inspired moment of modern spectacular art. There is
one more act, and we must get back to the play. We
must wrench our minds from this demoniac fury to the
cold terror of the prison cell, where Margaret, in chains,
half crazed and dying, is huddled on the straw waiting
her execution. We have not seen Faust or Mephisto
riding over the plain under the shadow of Margaret's
gibbet. We have been spared that, and is not that
enough ? Once more we can praise unreservedly the
acting of INIiss Ellen Terry. To the infinite tenderness
of her Ophelia she here adds a dramatic power and in-
tensity for which very few had given her credit. No one
who ever heard it will willingly forget the sweetness
she gave to the lines descriptive of her approaching
death :

" To-morrow I must di«,
And I must tell thee how to range the graves.
My mother the best place — next her my brother,
Me well apart, but, dearest, not too far.
And by my side my little one shall lie."

The expression put into the words, " But, dearest,

" OH, HEAL THIS BLEEDING HEART ! O RESCUE ME
FROM DEATH AND SHAME ! MOTHER OF MANY SORROWS
HAVE pity! O, HAVE PITY ! TURN TO ME."

"Faust:' 295

not too far," is beyond descri-ption. It went straight to
the heart. This scene, acted with such mingled purity,
pathos, and intensity, was the chmax ®f one of the
most beautiful and remarkable performances Miss Ellen
Terry has ever given to the stage. Margaret has been
played and sung scores of times, but never so well
understood or so beautifully expressed. A suggestion
of ideas of Margaret has often been given, but here we
seem to see and read the woman's very soul. In fact,
the thoughts suggested by it are too many and varied to be
contained in an article professing to deal with all the salient
points of this remarkable production. At the very end
we have one more fault to find with the adapter, who
may, however, be warmly congratulated on his honest
appreciation of Goethe's work, and on his beautiful
rendering of many immortal and almost untranslatable
passages. Why does he leave out the words that are
the delight of commentators ? " She's judged ! " says
Mephisto,m his triumph appealing to the God he has out-
raged. But the heavenly voice replies, " She's saved !"
Then says Mephisto to Faust, " Hither to me !" and so
Mr. Wills ends his play in despair. But Goethe was
more merciful ; he gave in addition the marvellous line :

" VOICE (from within) — Hsnry ! Henry ! "

And that voice meant that for Faust also there was an
ultimate salvation. He disappeared with Mephisto, it
is true, but his guardian angel still called upon him
with pity and mercy. He had to suffer the pams of
purgatory : but still even for him there was;j[hope !
Those two words ought to be restored to the text.

When all was over, Mr. Irving, in his short and con-
fidential speech, implied that the play, though presented
with all the difficulties attendant on such a production,
would still be under his watchful care for alteration,
addition, or improvement. We cannot doubt it. A man
who has done so much for a masterpiece will not in this
instance let well alone. He has proved that Goethe's
"Faust" can be put on the stage. To the ordinary
spectator he has given a feast of beauty ; to the man of
thought a theme of endless pleasure. He cannot fail to
do this at any rate, and who can overvalue it ; he will

296 ''FAUSTr

make most men who study this grand poem, even on the
stage, more merciful and gentle ; and to each woman's
nature, influenced by the scene, he will happily add more
tenderness and beauty.

" Werner,

??

By Lord Byron. yVrranged for the Stage in four Acts, by
Mr. F. Marshall, and produced June ist, 18S7.

Werner (Count Siegendorf) - - - Mr. Henry Irving.

Ulric (His Son) ----- Mr. George Alex.\nder.

Gabor (A Hungarian) ----- Mr. T. Wenmax.

Baron Stralenheim (usurping Werner's right) - Mr. C. Glenney.
Idenstein (Intendent) ------ Mr. Howe.

Rodolph (Friend of Ulric) ----- Mr. Haviland.

Fritz -------- Mr. J. Carter.

Henrick \ ' ' { ^''- Archer.

Eric \ in , ■ re- A (\ - Mr. Calvert.

Arnheim (^^^^'"^'■' °^ 2'^Sendorf) _ _ Mr. Clifford.

Ludwig ) - i Mr. Harvey.

Josephine (Wife of Werner) - - - Miss Ellen Terry.

(For this occasion only).
Ida Stralenheim (Daughter of Stralenheim) - Miss Emery.

SYNOPSIS OF SCENERY.

AeT I.
Scene. — Hall of Palace in Silesia.

Act 2.

Scene i.— Exterior of Palace. Scene 2.— Hall of the same.

Scene 3. — Secret Passage. Scene 4. — Garden.

Act 3.
Scene. — Hall in Castle Siegendorf, near Prague.

Act 4.
Scene. — The Seine.

Period 1648. — Close of the Thirty Years War.

299

" w.

erner.

Apart from the desire to gi^■e cordial and substan-
tial help to so old a stage friend as Dr. Westland
Marston, playgoers of all ages, those who have seen
Macready, and all who have heard of his Werner, made
a point of being present yesterday afternoon, when Mr.
Henry Irving played the character for the first time. To
do them justice, it was the old playgoers this time who
were a little nervous as to the result. Long before the
curtain rose, and whilst the theatre was wrapped in
gloom, and full of apprehension, even the devoted fol-
lowers of Macready candidly owned that " Werner "
was a very dull play.

No doubt the character admirably suited Macready's
manner ; in it he pulled out the stops of his organ ; he
literally revelled in the paternal anguish of the Count
Siegendorf. Those who have not seen Macready play
"Werner" are at any rate familiar with the pictures
of him sitting at the table in the' decayed Silesian
palace, and even they were not suggestive of much
liveliness or mirth. There was much to tell the young-
sters, however, of George Bennett's Gabor and Wallack's
Ulric ; but now that they had talked and preached
" Werner " for so many years, the members of the old
school warned the young playgoer that "Werner"
might, after all, in the ^present time, be considered a
trifle dull.

The followers of Samuel Phelps, and the devoted
band who got their theatrical education at Sadler's W^ells,
spoke in pretty much the same strain. Of course, they
protested that, let the Macreadyites say what they
would, there never could be another Werner like Phelps,

300 " WERNER:'

or a Gabor comparable to Henry Marston. But they,
too, admitted that not much of the sparkle of Lord
Byron's verse, and very little of his impulse or vivacity,
could be found in the heavy text of the play, founded
on one of Harriett Lee's "Canterbury Tales," called
" Kruitzner."

However, the house was full : the disputants agreed
to differ; the old were interested, even if the young
were anxious ; and the curtain rose and discovered Mr.
Henry Irving, with his sad face and " sable-silvered "
hair, sitting at the table in the familiar Macready atti-
tude ; the whole scene enveloped in gloom and sadness,
with Miss Ellen Terry in the dark background, and for
the first time in her life with pretty grey hair, as be-
fitted the wife of so sorrowful a man as Werner, and the
mother of so impulsive and handsome a lad as Ulric.
The picture presented was a striking one, and for
longer than the accustomed period this deeply inter-
ested and unusually intelligent audience expressed its
approbation in loud and demonstrative cheers.

There evidently must be some magic in Mr. Irving's
method of production. We have only to read the
accepted acting version to see that, unless well attended
to, such a text might prove unutterably tedious. To the
surprise of ever5d:)ody, however, the interest that was
started at the outset was sustained to the finish. The
scenes were dark, but the play was never dull; the
story was sad, but every actor in it was picturesque.
How, then, can we account for this remarkable trans-
formation, which fairly astonished the devoted admirers
of Macready and Phelps alike ? It could not have been
alone the beautiful dresses, designed by Mr. Seymour
Lucas, A. R. A., and worn with such distinction by
each individual character ; it could not have been due
only to the bright touch of Mr. Hawes Craven's magic
brush in his fanciful pictures of beautiful Bohemia.

It was not due to one cause only, but to a happy com-
bination of circumstances, which the thoughtless call
luck and the wise consider judgement. " Werner" was
produced with loving care, with lavish expense, and
with unerring judgement — a rare quality possessed by
one w^iom Dr. Westland Marston in his most graceful
speech declared to be " The greatest actor in his de-

" WERNER." 301

dining years." First of all, IMr. Frank Marshall's acting
version is infinitely preferable to any that the stage
has ever seen. Lord Byron knew very little of the
practical working of stage plays ; he was a poet in the
study, not a constructor on the boards, and even
Macready's skill and tact were not strong enough to
polish off the rough edges of" Werner." This Mr. Frank
Marshall has done with remarkable skill.

He has not only carefully pruned and edited the
text, cutting away superfluous scenes, incidents, speeches
and sentiments, but he has in addition made one bold
stroke that materially assists the fortunes of the play.
It has always been a mootpoint with playwrights
whether it is best to keep a secret from an audience
or to boldly tell it them at once. Should the mystery
of a drama be immediately acknowledged or indefinitely
postponed ? Experience teaches us that an audience
resents being kept in the dark. A novel reader likes to
be baffled in a search ; a playgoer loves to be assisted
in guessing a complication.

Now " Werner " as originally acted is built upon a
sustained surprise. No one knew who really murdered
Baron Stralenheim — whether it was Werner himself, or
Ulric, his son, or Gabor, the Hungarian soldier of for-
tune— until the curtain was about to fall, and the passion-
ate Ulric acknowledged the truth of Galior's accusation
before his horror-stricken father, Mr. Frank Marshall
has boldly taken the bull by the horns, and shows the
audience the actual murder of the Baron in bed by
Ulric, and the discovery of the assassin by Gabor, who
has found his way out by the secret passage. Not to
be too profane, the added scene is dimly suggestive of
our good old transpontine friend, " Jonathan Bradford ; "
but we must not forget that this same "Jonathan" is
the father of more than half the play-motives that have
been invented in the Victorian era.

If innocent men were never murdered on the stage
and the wrong men accused, we should have very few
dramas in our literature. Elsewhere Mr. Marshall has
done wonders with the accepted text. He has cut away a
whole act, worked up cleverly to four important climaxes,
and in the new scene between Werner and Ida, his
adopted child, has shown a very pretty gift of poetry.

302 " WERNER."

Lord Byron's text is not so brilliant as to be beyond the
aid of a careful and discriminating editor and anno-
tator.

The actor who plays Werner in a good cast in almost
every instance — has to hold his own under circumstances
of exceptional difficulty. By his side we have the showy,
interesting, and declamatory character of Ulric, to say
nothing of the bold, brusque Gabor, one of the finest, if
not the best, of the acting characters in the play. But
the grief of Werner is necessarily set in the same key.
There is not much change in the accent of his sorrow.
It is difficult to exaggerate the picturesqueness and uni-
form consistency of Mr. Irving's Werner. He always
dives deep into a character, and gets under it, as it were,
and in this example of what may be called the poetry of
paternity, he has given us few more beautiful or thought-
ful pictures.

From the first he is a curse-haunted man. The fang
of his father is branded on his brow, and has eaten
into his nature. He is foredoomed, and well he knows in
his heart of heart that there will be but one end to his
ill-fated family — ruin complete and absolute. The grief
of the new Werner was never maudlin ; his despair never
verged into irritability ; but there was a world of sorrow
in his expressive eyes, a stamp of destiny on his calm
white features. We here saw the affection of the father
that had penetrated into the sad man's very soul, and had
become part of his. Every gradation in this symphony
of sorrow was delicately touched. The pride at the
boy's physical beauty, the delight at welcoming him to
his side, the absolute sympathy with him before the
murder, the sudden SA\-ift antipathy after it, the on-
creeping terror of the truth, the shock, the surprise,
and then the only possible end of such a life — a broken
heart.

At the outset Mr. Irving was in magnificent voice,
and delivered some of the impassioned speeches as
well as he has ever declaimed on the stage. Towards
the conclusion of the play the actor tired a little, as well
he might, after rehearsing all day and playing such
characters as Louis XI at night. His finest scene was
in the well-known speech that ends in an abrupt change
— a device in which Mr. Irving is remarkably skilful.

" WERNER." 303

When he who lives but to tear from you name,
Lands, life itself, lies at jour mercy, with
Chance your conductor, midnight your mantle.
The bare knife in your hand, and Earth asleep
Even to your deadliest foe ; and he, as 'twere'
Inviting death by looking like it — he
Whose death alone can save you — than your fate.
If then, like me, content with petty plunder.
You turn aside. / did so."

This change was remarkably effective, as was also the
parallel one that concludes the first act, when, more
dramatically than in the Macready version, Werner re-
plies to Josephine's question, "What hast thou done? "

" One thing I've left undone :
Thank God for that ! "

Mr. George Alexander got his great chance in the
showy character of Ulric, and availed himself of it. He
has a good voice, enunciates admirably, and was in every
way suited to this hot-headed, impetuous youngster,
whom the act of murder changes from a frank and
affectionate youth to a morose young savage.

We doubt if that excellent and useful actor, Mr.
Wenman, has ever been seen to greater advantage
than as Gabor. His indignation of injured innocence
was as spirited as it was natural, and, from first to
last, everyone understood the nature of the man. A
third very capital performance came from Mr. Glenney
as Baron Stralenheim. He looked well in his beautiful
Hungarian dress, and his sarcastic stiUenness was excel-
lently assumed. These three performances did very much
towards enhancing the interest of the play, and they
elicited the approbation of those who well remember
the Wallacks and George Bennetts and Marstons of
other days.

Miss Ellen Terry, as the grey-haired wife of Werner, set
an excellent example to her fastidious sister actresses who
consider they are insulted when asked to play mothers
of grown-up sons, and only do so by appraising their
services at an extraordinary value. The part is nothing,
but, as Dr. Marston remarked, it was made valuable
by the assistance of such an actress. Mr. Howe as the

304 " WERNERr

intendent Idenstein, and ]\Iiss Winifred Emery as Ida,
completed a very admirable cast. The play in every
detail was as perfectly done as if it were destined for a
run, and this fact adds considerable value to the generous
gift from Mr. Irving to Dr. Westland Marston.

Not the least interesting feature of the afternoon was
the appearance on the stage of the veteran dramatist,
who touched on his private sorrows, and expressed his
heartfelt thanks in a speech distinguished for its
graceful good taste, so impressive, so gentle, and so
manly, that it deeply affected many present. After
paying a generous tribute to Mr. Irving's liberality, and
thanking everyone concerned for the gift that had been
presented to him, Dr. Marston remarked that nearly half
a century ago he had been connected with Macready —
the " greatest actor in the days of his youth " — and now
he was finishing his career with the help of the "greatest
actor of his declining years." It was a speech that came
from the heart of a true gentleman, and was from first to
last a model of tender feeling and good taste.

This over, the audience would not be contented without
a few words from Mr. Irving, who regretted that " Wer-
ner " could not be played again, and expressed his thanks
to one and all for their cordial co-operation and support.
Mr. Irving would, however, be well advised to produce
" Werner " in America during his forthcoming tour, for it
is an historical fact that one of Macready's greatest suc-
cesses in America was in this play, and the young
generation is as susceptible to the influence of good work
as the old.

" The T>ead Heartr

By Watts Phillips. First produced at the Lyceum Theatre,
September 28th, 1889.

Robert Landry . _ . . _ Mr. Henry Irving.

The Abbe Latour .---.. Mr. Bancroft.

The Count de St. Valery . - - . Mr. Haviland.

Arthur de St. Valery (His Son)- - - Mr. Gordon Craig.

(His first appearance on the Stage).
Legrand ------ Mr. Arthur Stirling.

Toupet ------- Mr. Edward Righton.

Rebout - - - Mr. F. Tyars.

Michel • - Mr. Clifford.

Jean - - - Mr. Harvey.

Pierre - - Mr. Taylor.

Jocrisse -------- Mr. Archer.

Guiscard Mr. Black.

A Smith -------- Mr. Raynor.

A Crier -------- Mr. Davis.

A Woman -.-.--. Mrs. Carter.

Cerisette ------ Miss Kate Phillips.

Rose - Miss Coleridge.

Catherine Duval - - - _ - Miss Ellen Terry.

Aristocrats, People, Soldiers, Gendarmes, Gaolers, etc.
Scene.— Paris.

SYNOPSIS OF SCENERY.

Prologue. — 1771.

Scene i. — The Garden of the Cafe de la Belle Jardiniere. Scene 2. —
A Street. Scene 3. — Bedchamber of Catherine Duval.

Act I. — 1789.

Scene i. — The Bastille. Tableaux Curtain. Scene 2. — Apartment

in the Hotel St. Valerie. Tableaux Curtain. Scene 3. — The Cafe

Jocrisse.

Act 2. — 1794.

Scene i. — Entrance to the Prison of the Conciergerie. Scene 2. —
Corridor in the Prison. Scene 3. — Room in the Prison.

Act 3.— 1794.
Scene i. — The Guillotine. Scene 2. — Room in the Prison.

307

" The "Dead Heart r

More than thirty active years are evidently required to
separate the earnest playgoers of the present from the
enthusiasts of the past. Round and about the dim cor-
ridors of the fashionable Lyceum, on Saturday night,
were scores of so-called veterans, with memories still
bright and green, and hair still unwhitened, who could
remember well the days of the old Adelphi in 1859, the
genial reign of Benjamin Webster; the first strong
original success of the popular dramatist, humourist, and
caricaturist. Watts Phillips ; the awkward clash between
the unburied play and the famous novel by Charles
Dickens dealing with the same revolutionary period; the
double excitement of " The Tale of Two Cities " and
" The Dead Heart."

How time flies, and what memories come back with
the revival ot a tragedy of our boyhood ! " Have thirty
years really passed and gone ? " said one Posthumus to
another. " Years glide away and are lost to me ! Eheu
fug aces mini " ; but how the old memories steal back
through the mist of the past ! How the gauzes rise, and
the limelight is turned on as one by one the ghosts of
the bygone time mingle with the figures of the present
on the accustomed scene ! First, the grave earnestness,
the settled melancholy, the vivid artistic skill of Ben-
jamin Webster as Robert Landry, the saddened man
with the "dead heart," whose love and life's ambition
were buried in the dungeons of the Bastille; next, the
dapper, debonnaire, aristocratic Abbe Latour of David
Fisher, with his soft, catlike purring manner, but under-
neath the velvet paw, claws that scratched and tore his
enemies ; then the boyish man and man-boy of John

X — 2

3o8 ''THE DEAD HEART."

Billington, who appeared as father and son, lover and rake,
in the same play ; the searching grief of Miss Woolgar,
as the saddened mother of the young Count St. Valery ;
and the gruff tones of old Tom Stuart, as the faithful
Legrand, contrasting with the cheery revolutionism of
Kate Kelly, as Cerisette, and the undisguised cockney
fun of young J. L. Toole, who had just succeeded
Wright, and was allowed by tradition to play a comic
part, independent of period, be it Court barber, or
Republican gaoler, in the good old Adelphi fashion.

Of this famous cast, only the faithful friends, Mr. J. L.
Toole and Mr. John Billington, remain to us on the stage;
but the recollections of the production of that far-back
time are still pleasant, even to the scenic excitement of
the " Taking of the Bastille," the devilish dance of the
" Carmagnole," and the wild singing of " Ca Ira," which
Robert Brough had just rendered with such uncommon
spirit in his "Songs of the Governing Classes," a " Song
for Ministers," that might well be on the lips of the en-
thusiastic Radical of to-day.

"All will go right, will go right, will go right ;
Papers may bully and meetings may rave.
Folks in the gutter may starve out of sight ;
Fevers may wither, and choleras blight ;
Warships may sink, magazines may ignite ;
Suicide bankrupts may razors make bright ;
Wine is abundant, and damask is white ;
Let us to supper, and see out the night ;
Put up the shutters to keep out the light ;
All will go right, will go right, will go right ;
All will succeed, though committees are strong."

But we have not to deal with 1859, but with 1889;
not with the old Adelphi, but with the re-opened Lyceum.
The old play is there, but in a new dress. Mr. Walter
H, Pollock has been called in to revise the text of
Watts Phillips, exposed to thirty years' torture of
burlesqued melodrama; M.Jacobi is asked to add new
spirit and life to the revolutionary music that must
wail with melancholy and shriek with the mad fury of
the Sans Culottes ; every authority on costume has to
be ransacked by Mr. Joseph Grego, Mr. W. H. Mar-
getson, and Mrs. Comyns Carr, in order that the
modern stage may give accurate pictures cf the chang-

''THE DEAD HEARTS 309

ing life between 1771 and 1794; the aesthetic and
romantic Miss Ellen Terry, accustomed to clinging
robes and suggested mediaevalism, must dance in the
flounced muslin and rose-covered short skirts of 1771,
and then like a faint replica of the white-haired, saddened
Marie Antoinette, weep for her idohzed son ; Mr. Henry
Irving must for the nonce assume the saffron suit of the
early Republican dandy, the becoming long surtout of
Danton and Robespierre, and know exactly at what
moment to put round his waist the tricolour sash ; the
question of beards and moustaches in the Republican army
has been decided to a hair, and all that need distress
the sceptics, is whether Robert Landry, in 1794, would
write a swift despatch to Robespierre with a Cumber-
land black lead pencil.

The gain to the playgoer is that over all these stir-
ring scenes of love, revenge, and hate, and terror — when
the careless tripping of students, artists, and grisettes
changes to the dance of death ; when the low murmur
of revolutionary songs swells into the shouting of the
assault on the grim Bastille ; and the story that starts
in a merry garden ends with the tree of liberty and
the blood-red guillotine — there stand the presiding genius
and the restless invention of Mr. Irving, who, whether
the play be too sad or too brief, too episodical or too con-
sistently in the minor key, too monotonous or too old-
fashioned, has unquestionably found in Robert Landry
a character after his own heart, and added one more
striking picture to the gallery of stage portraits, instinct
with life, brilliant in colour, and illumined by art, that
from time to time he has hung round the walls of the
Lyceum Theatre.

With Mr. Irving's creations most are sufficiently
familiar ; and for the rest it matters not whether
Macready has played this part, or Charles Kean that,
or Benjamin Webster the other, it is certain that Mr.
Irving has something new to say, and that he will say it
in his own thoughtful, artistic, and impressive manner.

But familiar faces have been recognised, old friends
made welcome to the play, and the new overture by M.
Jacobi, cordially appreciated, when the curtain draws up
on the prologue of the revived "Dead Heart." It is
the year 1 771, Revolution is whispered in bated breath.

310 "THE DEAD HEART."

Over the wine-cups in the gay garden of the Cafe dq
la Belle Jardiniere, the surly old Legrand growls in
an undertone the dangerous stanzas with the ominous
refrain :

" There's hope for me, there's hope for you,
There's hope for man and woman, too :
There's hope for France."

But away with melancholy, and the dull foreboding of
the oncoming storm. Robert Landry, the handsome
young propagandist of the new faith, is engaged to
pretty Catherine Duval. There must be drinking,
there must be music, there must be dancing on the
volcano under their feet. Landry is a sculptor whose
masterpiece of Justice looks suspiciously like Ven-
geance ! Catherine is a coquette, whose heart is as
light as a butterfly. Vive la Bagatelle I Robert will
wed Catherine some day, when the dance is over and the
song is sung. But who are these shadows falling on
the innocent scene ? The scented Abbe Latour, with
his snuff-box and his dainty air of Versailles, is telling
the weak, love-sick Count de St. Valery how he may
steal the pretty Catherine from her earnest lover. The
thing is so easily done, particularly when the sensual
Latour has a sneaking regard for Catherine himself. A
false charge of insult to one of the King's mistresses ;
an order of arrest ; and then off goes Landry to the
Bastille.

No sooner said than done. The reckless, aristocratic
Count, who honestly loves the girl, but is goaded on by
his unscrupulous adviser mounts to the bed-chamber of
Catherine, to compromise her honour ; the jealous Landry
finds his rival in the arms of his betrothed, and before the
Radical artist can chastise the aristocrat, on comes the
crafty Abbe, with the King's order, and condemning
Robert Landry to the Bastille. It is an effective, stagey
picture ; and so the curtain falls.

There have been innumerable welcomes, and all hearty ;
Miss Terry in her muslin flounces and furbelows, as the
frivolous Catherine ; Mr. Irving, who looks wonderfully
handsome in his yellow coat and dark, wavy hair, leading
the dance of the students in the Parisian pleasure-garden ;

''THE DEAD HEART:' 311

and Mr, Bancroft (to the Lyceum for the first time) as
the Abbe, received most cordial greeting ; but it is found
also that the Abbe wants character, subtlety, incisive-
ness. He has neither the affectation of the aristocrat, nor
the craft of the sensualist. Mr. Bancroft is either very
nervous, or he has not mastered the pitch of the house.
And should not the reviser have told us briefly that the
young Count de St. Valery is earnestly, not frivolously,
in love with the fair Catherine, and that Robert Landry's
devotion is not a pastime but a passion ? The prologue,
as it stands, requires those suggestive hints ; but it is
bright, pretty, novel, and picturesque, and it passes.

Eighteen years have passed away. We are at 1789,
and the maddened mob is storming the Bastille. Flags
wave, men cheer, women shriek, cannons are brought
up, and down come the ponderous gates with a crash.
In rush the men-maniacs and she-devils, and out come
the tortured, and long-forgotten prisoners all reported
dead. Last to be rescued is a doleful creature, with
matted hair, unkempt beard, and wandering eye, blink-
ing like an owl in the light, and beating his brain in
his frenzy to get back memory as the blacksmith files
away the murderous chains.

It is Robert Landry ! who through all these heart-
breaking years has lived on the thoughts of vengeance
that must befall the two men — the Abbe Latour and the
Count de St. Valery. How little does the poor wretch
know what has happened ! His enemy, the Count de
St. Valery, is dead, but he has married the fickle Catherine,
who lives only for her son, the boyish Arthur de Valery.

The wily Abbe is tutor to this callow youth, and is
making love to the handsome mother. It is high time
that the revengeful Landry returned from the prison
grave. He spares the Abbe Latour when he first
comes into his clutches, resolving to torture him still
more, as a cat does a mouse ; and when he meets his
faithless but repentant Catherine his face is marble, his
hand is cold, his heart is dead.

The first act is over and the play is waking into life.
Mr. Bancroft has recovered from the tremor that pos-
sessed him, and has played the scene with the Countess
in the manner of a soft and insinuating Tartuffe, with
great delicacy of perception, if with not much accent.

312 " THE DEAD HEART:'

The scene could bear still more colour, more force, more
grip, more intensity. Neither Mr. Bancroft nor Miss
Ellen Terry need be afraid to act it out, for finished
comedy cannot be thrust into the crevices of such a
drama. The acting should be crisp, incisive, and full of
character.

But Mr. Irving has already had two fine opportunities,
both greedily seized — the one when the distraught and
half-witted imbecile is rescued from prison, and breaks
through the mist of terror to the day-dawn of reason ;
the other when Landry, accosted by his idolised Cathe-
rine, stands motionless, statue-like, and nerveless in
her presence. No touch of hers can heighten his pulse ;
no prayer of hers can touch his heart ; no smile from that
once idolised face can bring one response into the sad-
dened and impassive countenance. The man is there ;
but his heart is dead. Mr. Irving with singular skill,
has touched the key-note of the story. He is interest-
ing, absorbing, as he ever is.

Action now, not reflection. It is the year 1794.
The mob is in power ; Robert Landry is one of the
leading spirits of the Convention ; the wretched Abbe
and the boy Arthur are condemned to death. Now
comes the turn for the implacable and revengeful
Robert. He has to strike at two of his enemies: the
serpent who condemned him to a loathsome imprison-
ment, the son of the man who became husband of his
betrothed. Landry is in power at the prison of the
Conciergeri-e. He summons the dissolute Abbe from
his cell ; he locks the door, and he offers him a chance
of life, of repentance, and of freedom, but on one con-
dition— there must be a duel to the death, alone ! un-
heard, undisturbed ! in that silent prison-house.

It is a splendid fight — craft and recklessness on the
one side, determination and vengeance on the other,
The pale calm face of Landry is opposed to the shifty,
treacherous countenance of the Abbe. They fight and
the Abbe falls. He dies with a secret on his lips,
grovelling at the feet of his relentless adversary. " That
man attempted my life, and I killed him. Remove the
body of the citizen Latour ! " So says the citizen
Landry to the attendant soldiers, and the curtain falls.

The situation is one of thrilline: excitement, and the

''THE DEAD HEART." 313

acting is admirable throughout. Mr. Bancroft is no
longer Tartuffe, but Triplet. He is a new man. He
jauntily carols in his prison Monarchical songs, and enters
Landry's presence with a pathetic air of defiance. The
duel has been well studied. Mr. Irving's pale, deter-
mined features were in superb contrast to the weak
" fribble," with his lank grey hair. So effective indeed
was the scene, that the curtain fell on genuine enthu-
siasm, and the brother actors were called three times.

Now comes the turn of Robert Landry's second victim.
Arthur, the son of his once beloved Catherine, is con-
demned to die, and the weary mother is waiting in
agony at the scaffold steps in the cold grey of the early
morning. Will the relentless man save her son or not ?
Can she waken into life a heart so dead ? Love can
do nothing now ; pleading awakens little pity. At last,
by a lightning flash, the grim purpose of the cold stern
man is changed. Catherine's husband has not, after
all, been so much to blame. He would have rescued
Robert from his prison, but the cruel Abbe held his
hand.

This was the secret on the dying Latour's lips ; this
is the miracle that changes the dead heart of Landry
into life, and love, and warmth again. " Give me back
my son!" pleads the widowed Catherine, at the feet of
her old lover. "If you have not forgotten all, if there
linger yet in this voice which first whispered in your
ear, ' I love you,' but one sweet echo of the past, let it
plead for mercy now ! I cannot live without my son —
kill him, and you kill me ! Ah, Robert ! by the memory
of our old love, I implore you, save my son ! " To
which impassioned appeal, spoken in exquisite accents
of true grief by Miss Ellen Terry, the sad-voiced Landry
replies, "A voice speaks to me from the grave! In the
heart that I thought dead the old love lives. Come,
Catherine! you shall see your son ! "

Then comes the sacrifice, the beautiful devotion of
Sydney Carton, the sublime self-sacrifice of Hugh Trevor
in "All for Her," the true and only ending to this tale of
woe. When the numbers are called, the faithful Robert
Landry, who has nothing left to live for, takes the young
boy's place, and sees mother and son united in a wild and
passionate embrace, and Robert Landry, mounted on the

314 "THE DEAD HEART."

scaffold and under the knife of the guillotine, smiles sadly
on the idol of his life as the curtain falls. There is but
iittle tender or womanly interest in this sad and impressive
story. Still it fell happily to Miss Ellen Terry to awaken
it in tearful accents and melting moments ere the curtain
fell. The scene at the base of the scaffold in the cold
morning light was beautifully played alike by Miss Terry
and moved the audience to genuine emotion. Of action
and excitement there had been plenty ; here was the
pathos, true, direct, and unaffected.

It would be ungenerous not to testify to the careful
aid given by others of the company. First and promi-
nently stands out Mr. Arthur Stirling, who, as the rugged,
tender-hearted soldier, Legrand, helped the drama at its
most awkward moments. With his fine, resonant voice
and impressive manner, always an important figure in
the scene, distinct and clear in outline, he should have
taught many a young actor present, that the old school
not only makes itself heard, but felt. Not one word
spoken by Mr. Arthur Stirling was wasted. The lines
given him to speak were spoken, not smothered ; things
he had to do were done, not shirked. Many a foolish
actor of to-day would think Legrand a bad part ; Mr.
Arthur Stirling made it a good one.

Mr. Edward Righton and Miss Kate Phillips may be
congratulated on their restraint and artistic sense of
propriety. It is not an old Adelphi drama, but a modern
Lyceum play, and the comedians in these days dare not
indulge in the frolics of their predecessors. They must
be seen, but not heard too much. Mr. Gordon Craig,
who made his first appearance as the boy, Arthur, is a
comely youth, the handsome son of a beautiful mother,
whom he much resembles. It is but a small character,
but the young actor made it stand out in intellect and
picturesqueness. Mr. Craig will be taught well, and he
has every advantage in his favour. Mr. Tyars and Mr.
Archer, as usual, did clever and useful work ; but it
might have been thought worth while to start the play
and its interest with a better specimen of the Count of
gay Versailles than Mr. Haviland. The very type of
character he was intended to suggest, he, with great
caution, successfully concealed. The prologue, which
requires force of character, broke down exactly where

*« THE DEAD HEARTS 315

it should have been strengthened. The other scenes do
not need so much bolstering up, though we still venture
to think that the singing of one or two revolutionary
songs would help the action, which, strange to say, at
the Lyceum, is often flat, hesitating, and depressed.

It only remained for Mr. Irving to make one of his
graceful first-night speeches, which was generously ap-
plauded, whereupon, the audience scattered in excellent
time to discuss the many merits, artistic, scenic, and
dramatic, of the famous old play, " The Dead Heart."

^^Ravenswoodr

By Herman Merivale. First produced at the Lyceum Theatre,
September 20th, 1890.

Edgar (The Master of Ravenswood) - Mr. Henry Irving.

Hayston of Bucklaw . - - - - Mr. Terriss.

Caleb Balderstone ----- Mr. Mackintosh.

Craigengelt ------- Mr. Wenman.

Sir William Ashton - . - - Mr. Alfred Bishop.

The Marquis of Athole ----- Mr. Macklin.

Bide-the-Bent ------ Mr. H. Howe.

Henry Ashton ----- Mr. Gordon Craig.

Moncrieff (An Officer) ------ Mr. Tyars.

Thornton - - Mr. Haviland.

A Priest -------- Mr. Lacy.

Lockhard - - Mr. Davies.

Lady Ashton ------ Miss Le Thiere.

Ailsie Gourlay Miss Marriott.

Annie Winnie Mrs. Pauncefort.

Lucy Ashton Miss Ellen Terry.

Friends, Soldiers, Retainers, etc.

SYNOPSIS OF SCENERY.

Act I.
Scene. — The Chapel Bounds.

Act 2.

Scene i.— Ravenswood— The Library. Scene 2. — Tod's Den.
Scene 3.— The Wolf's Crag.

Act 3.
Scene.— The Mermaid's Well.

(An interval of one year.)

Act 4.

Scene i. — Ravenswood — A Room. Scene 2.— The Sea Coast.
Scene 3. — The same. Scene 4. — The Kelpie's Flow.

face 319]

SWEETHEART, SO !
ONE GLIMPSE OF JOY IN AN HOUR OF THIS
MAY MAKE AMENDS FOR ALL."

319

^^^avenswood.

It is often used as a reproach to the present genera-
tion that it does not read Sir Walter Scott. Ruskin is
never tired, in his addresses to the boys and girls of
to-day, of contrasting the heroes and heroines of Scott
with the ideal men and fair women of Shakespeare. The
reproach can exist no longer. If we will not read the
grand old Sir Walter, we can see him now, and
know him, and understand him, not in a cheap and
gaudy fashion, not in a mere theatrical sense, leaving the
eye satisfied and the mind untouched, but thanks to Mr.
Henry Irving we have all of us an opportunity, if we will
only use it, of getting at the very heart and marrow, and
watching the relentless finger of fate in one of the most
fascinating romances of the mighty "Wizard of the
North."

Ruskin himself would be delighted with " Ravens-
wood." Author, actor, painter and musician have worked
together with one generous accord to treat the familiar
" Bride of Lammermoor," not as a mere melodrama, not
as the tawdry theatrical version of a novel, not as a mere
occasion for showy acting and beautiful scenery or
alluring music, but as a wild and weird romance which
has in it all the fierce elements of Greek tragedy.

A dozen times Sir W^alter's familiar story has been
utilised for the stage, as we have before pointed out. It
has been used for an opera for tuneful tenors and enchant-
ing prima donnas ; it has been turned to account for
East-end melodrama and West-end sensation plays ; it
has been seized upon as a subject for comic Scots actors,
who delighted in old Caleb Balderstone and cowardly
Craigengelt ; it has been an alluring subject for pictur-

320 "RAVENSWOOD."

esque actors like Frederic Lemaitreand Charles Fechter;
it has been talked about for its sensation scenes, its
Kelpie's Flow and sinking quicksands, triumphs, as
they were called, of modern scenic art. But it has been
reserved for Mr. Herman Merivale and Mr. Henry Irving
to give the old romance its highest dramatic significance
and its most beautiful and poetic illustration. Yesterday
it pleased the fancy, to-day it arrests the imagination.

The accusing finger of fate ! The awful foreboding of
destiny ! These are the keynotes of the present remark-
able composition ; these are the themes that have inspired
writer and artists alike. They have left nothing to chance,
they have had before them one dominant and central
object. Scott's story has been compared again and again
to well-known scenes and characters in Shakespeare.
We see here, dimly and fitfully, the love passages of
" Romeo and Juliet," the funeral episode in " Richard
HI," the burial scene in " Hamlet," with Ophelia on her
bier, and the Prince of Denmark waiting in shadow whilst
Laertes springs into the open grave ; the fateful scenes
of " Macbeth," with the midnight hags hovering about
the wild heath that encircles the Scottish castle,

Edgar of Ravenswood, Lucy Ashton, Hayston of
Bucklaw, the ominous Ailsie Gourlay, and the crooning
Annie Winnie all have their counterparts in the plays of
Shakespeare. But never before, perhaps, has the spec-
tator seen how the spirit of Greek tragedy pervades the
pages of Sir Walter's work. Fate — resistless, uncon-
querable, dominant fate — hangs like a dark cloud over
the spirit of the romance. The sibyl, Ailsie Gourlay, is
the attendant chorus that proclaims the inevitable. From
the moment the curtain rises with the awful Wolfs Crag,
perched on the beetling cliff in the distance, haunted and
cleud-wreathed, to the instant the curtain falls on that
lovely and poetic picture of the lonely Caleb, in the
full glow of the evening sun, bending down in reverence
over the eagle's plume of his lost and loved master, we
are in the presence of Fate. We see it in the face of
the gloomy Master of Ravenswood, who struggles again
and again against implacable destiny. No love, no reso-
lution, no wandering can break the spell that hangs
over his unhappy life.

Gradually, the light-hearted Lucy Ashton departs

''Ravenswood: 321

from sunshine into the shadow, from innocence to love,
from love to doubt, from doubt to disappointment,
despondency and death. When we do not hear Fate's
warnings in the rhyme and legends of the old, grey-
haired Scottish prophetess, moaning of destiny and the
inevitable, we hear it in the thundercrash that breaks
over the castle and rolls along the everlasting hills, as
Edgar, struggling to be free, clasps Lucy in his arms,
and the lips of the ill-starred lovers meet.

Surely some such thought as these must come to the
mind of the spectator as he watches the unfolding of this
remarkable romance, as the pictures of Scottish heath
and lonely castles, the flower-starred forests and Mer-
maiden's Well, pass before his eyes, and as his imagi-
nation is stimulated with the wailing chords and en-
chanting melodies of Dr. A. C. Mackenzie's beautiful
incidental music. We are taken to the Chapel Bounds,
in a picturesque landscape in the Lothians, when the
curtain rises. At the back is a mountainous coast, and
in the distance stands the ruined tower of Wolf's Crag,
the last possession of "dark Ravenswood." "So he is
gone, then, Adam Ravenswood ! " Yes, the last Earl,
persecuted by the Ashton feud, has gone to his rest,
and he is to be buried in the lonely chapel ground by the
remnant of his faithful retainers, with Edgar of Ravens-
wood at their head.

" Thou mystery of death, which every day
Since first the weary world came plodding forth
Upon its endless, aimless pilgrimage,
Strikes home and home to lives which feel it not,
Till face to face they grapple, and in vain.
Pushing with passionate hands the phantom back.
Show me thyself ! Make clear thy rede to me,
Who, from a dying mother's womb, half dead,
Crept all unwelcome to the cruel breast
Of this inhospitable step-dame, Earth,
Which nourished me on robbery and wrong.
Father ! my father done to such a death.
As ne'er before clipped crest of Ravenswood,
Outlawed from home in very sight of home
By low-born cunning, fat fed upon gold
Wrung from the honest — wrested from the poor,
Dealt from the damned coffers of the State !
O God ! Thou God !
If that Thou be a God compassionate,

322 ''RAVENSWOOD."

Sentient like us — like us of heart to feel
And bleed before a keen calamity,
Comfort my father, love him, cherish him,
For he hath won the right through suffering.
Take Thou his spirit to Thine arms, and say
That all the Ashton's pride of place and pelf
Shall reap the robber's harvest on the day
When Ashton's head shall be like Ravenswood's.
And as for me, that am the slave of Fate,
To do Fate's bidding, and my father's hest,
Answer for what Thou madest while I live.
And when I die, plead Thou Thyself my cause,
For what I may do is Thy work, not mine.
Father ! my Father ! and my only friend ! "

So sobs this sad Orestes of the Scottish hills, as he sinks
on his knees before his father's bier. By the light of
torches they have brought the sad burden up the moun-
tain path. Friends and retainers are here, and all is
prepared for the burial accordmg to the rites of the
religion that the old Earl loved. The priest is here with
bell, book, and candle ; Edgar is in his position as chief
mourner ; the old Latin hymn is dying away among the
hills, when an officer of the Scottish Guard breaks upon
the scene, armed with an official warrant.

" Set down your book. Sir Priest, and let the corse
Be given to our care, to be bestowed
Even as the holy presbytery bids
According to the law."

For a moment Edgar pauses, and so do his kinsmen
and retainers. But it is simply a ruse. The dark-browed
Ravenswood stamps his warrant under his foot, and defies
the law, and all the Ashton brood. Sir William Ashton
arrives on the scene, and with him his fair daughter Lucy.
The moment is vital. Ravenswood hungers for revenge,
and longs to crush or kill his father's enemy. The
momentary quarrel threatens to end in bloodshed. "Then
let my sword hilt mark you from to-day ! " shouts the im-
petuous Master of Ravenswood. But the maiden stays
his hand. " What are you, lady ? " he asks, awestruck as
he gazes into her gentle face. " I am his daughter, sir,
and I am by." Mechanically the sword falls from the
hand of Ravenswood, the light of anger dies out from his
eyes. Still dreaming, he looks at her, half angry, half

"RAVENSWOODr 323

unconvinced. " A daughter of that race ! I l)idc my
time ! "

And so the curtain falls on a very remarkable, strik-
ing and picturesque prologue. Fate has worked its
mysterious ways through the blue eyes of a gentle
girl.

In the old library of Ravenswood, now owned by the
Ashtons, Lucy pleads with her father the cause of the
lonely Edgar. Has he not suffered enough without being
placed under the ban of the Council for yesterday's
scene ? Scarcely has light-hearted Lucy rushed off with
her madcap to scamper in the park, ere Edgar Ravens-
wood is announced. Revengeful and gloomy as ever, he
would finish the Ashton quarrel straight off with the
enemy of his race. Sir William thinks this hurried
duel is assassination. "No, sir," says Edgar. "Justice !
Are you a coward, then ? " As they cross swords,
Edgar's look falls on a maiden's portrait. "Whose is that
picture ? That face shall arm me 'gainst your best
assault ! " " It is my daughter's ! " " Put that weapon
down. I will not fight with you ! " Fate has inter-
posed. The girl's voice rings in Edgar's ears ; her
sweet face haunts him.

Impetuous, changeable as ever, he will leave Scot-
land and go to exile in France. Scarcely are the
words uttered than a cry is heard. Lucy is in danger,
and is being pursued by a maddened bull. Ravens-
wood seizes a gun from the rack. "Is the gun charged ? "
"Yes, Yes!" Edgar aims, and fires from the window,
and adds, sententiously. "There is no cause to fear."
Lucy's life has been saved, and the man who has
saved her, according to her father, " in these halls,
has now a worthier title, Edgar Ravenswood." Pre-
sumably this mad bull scene was inevitable. Lucy's
life must be saved somehow by her lover. But what is
natural in the novel, with the aid of description,
becomes dangerous in the play. It is the only " risky "
moment in the drama, but the inevitable inclination to
an irreverent laugh was at once suppressed.

The drama immediately relapses into gloom again.
After the incident of the disarming of Bucklaw by
Ravenswood and the insults heaped upon the im-
petuous youth by his erst friend and companion — all of

Y — 2

324 "RAVENSWOODr

which takes place in a lonely Scottish tavern, and not on
the open moor — we arrive at Wolfs Crag, where, in the
interior of a ruinous tower, the fate-haunted Ravens-
wood apostrophises the sea:

" Roll on, roll on, thou everlasting sea,

Unstilled by ages and untouched of time,

On thine unmeaning Mission !

Art thou not weary, ocean, of thy doom

Of long imprisonment ? Irks it thee not

To beat thine heart out on the surly coasts

And twice a day th' eternal siege renew

Without an answer, or the voice of nature.

To read thee what thou art, and whence and why !

Ah ! yield me up your secret, sea and stars

And tell me what you are and what I am.

Are we one deathless substance born of God,

Or wandering vapours of the silken mist.

Self-formed, self-nourished, self-annihilate.

Out of these fancies that so crowd the brain,

Exhausting and not filling."

The moody philosopher is interrupted by the mysterious
arrival of Sir William Ashton and Lucy. They have
been caught in a storm, and demand the hospitality of
shelter. What wonder that love should spring from such
an interview ! Hate and revenge are to disappear, and
Lucy is the peacemaker. Ravenswood is to be taken in
her fair company to be an honoured guest at Ravens-
Avood. Alas ! how soon they have forgotten the fateful
ring of the old rhyme :

" When the last Ravenswood of Ravenswood shall ride

To woo a dead maiden to be his bride,

He shall stable his steed in the Kelpie's Flow

And his name shall be lost for evermore."

Fate for the moment is forgotten, but it asserts itself
in the thunder clap when the lips of man and maiden
meet. But away dull care and the forebodings of old
Caleb Balderstone.

" Heaven fairly prosper this so well begun.
To-morrow we set forth to Ravenswood."

To the rehef of everybody there is a break in the

"RAVENSWOODr 325

thundercloud. The sky is blue again, for love is lord of
all. Who should be sad in such an enchanting spot as
the forest glade by the Mermaiden's Well ? The under-
wood is carpeted with primroses and cowslips and blue
hyacinths that seem the heaven upbreaking through the
earth. We can almost catch the sweet odour of the
country in Mr. Hawes Craven's enchanting picture — his
very masterpiece. What a place for love and vows and
interchanging kisses ! Hither come Edgar and Lucy to
gaze into the deep pool, to clasp one another's hands, to
interchange love tokens, to divide the ring as a token of
everlasting fidelity.

Edgar

Locv :

Edgar •

" Look at this pool ! Out of its crystal depths
They say a doom is mirrored from my race.

" I only see mine own face mirrored there.

" Should that, then, be thy doom ?

They cannot, try as they will, get rid of the impending
destiny. How they, unknowing, babble on of love, like
careless children ! He kisses her.

" Sweetheart, so !
One glimpse of joy in an hour of this
May make amends for all.

Lucy:

Edgar

A life shall do it.

Lucy :

" May God send it so !

And whatsoever hap between us two,

Plight me your faith, as I will pledge you mine

In good Scottish manner. See this ring?

It was my mother's, love ! wear you this half.

As I will wear the other.

"At my heart.

326 ^'RAVENSWOOD."

Edgar:

" And so be all ill-omen exorcised.

Lucy ;

" Dream of dreams ! Be it my task to cure you ! "

But again sailing across the love sky comes the rain-
charged cloud. Ailsie Gourlay stands under the forest
trees, warning them like the chorus in a Greek tragedy.
Lady Ashton is on the road, and Lucy shudders. "You
do not know," she murmurs, drearily, " The dread which
did o'ercast your spirit, lies on mine." Love, that has
them in his net, cannot override Fate. And so the lovers
are parted by the Mermaiden's Well in the springtime
forest glades. What an embrace it is, so full of love, of
joy, of hope, of rapture! "Edgar!" she cries, burying
her face in his breast, and the two factions, Athole and
Douglas, take a different path through the sun-kissed
forest ways.

" Good-bye. this is but for the hour,

In one year's time I come to claim my bride.

Till then, my love, keep troth and wear my ring..'

We are hurried on to the inevitable conclusion. Fate,
a laggard before, is now endowed with winged feet. The
Douglas faction has been too strong for pale and
sorrow-stricken Lucy Ashton. More than a year has
passed. Her lover's letters have been denied her; her
own passionate entreaties to the absent Edgar have
been kept back ; her mind has been poisoned by her
relentless mother with lying tales of Edgar's perfidy.
The Bride of Lammermoor is to be contracted to the
fire-eating young Hayston of Bucklaw. Trembling,
agonised, entreating, she is compelled to sign her life
away, when, travel-stained, worn, and risen as from
the grave, arrives the wretched Edgar. It is too late.
Feebly, dazed, and in a dream, Lucy reproaches her
long lost lover :

" Is this all true ?
Lucy :

" I do not know ; I scarcely think it is

The foreign woman whom they have said you wooed.

"RAVENSWOOD." 327

Edgar

" What foreign woman ? Womanhood to mc is foyeign.
Save yourself ! What have you done? "

What need to ask ! There stands the accursed deed
before the dejected eyes of the dazed lover.

" Then so it ends! Here, Lucy, is the ring,

A very petty broken hoop of gold

In token that a bond more strong than that

Is snapped more easily. Return to me

The token of my foolish confidence,

The broken part is yours for evermore."

And so the end comes. Edgar rushes from the scene,
heaping insult upon insult on his assembled enemies,
and Lucy, left alone, heart-broken, abandoned, wails for
her lost ring in half-maddened agony.

" The ring ! where is the ring ? the ring he gave me,
Plighting me his, his for life, for death.
'Twas here a moment since, here on my heart !
Ah ! it is stolen. Back ! I know you not, Edgar \
My heart ; yes, God is merciful, Edgar.
My love ! I meet you ; yes, I come."

But there is no response. Edgar is gone, and Lucy
has swooned to death. Her madness is only hinted at ;
it does not actually exist. Not even for the sake of
such an actress, an actress who has played Ophelia and
Lady Macbeth, are we allowed a mad scene. She is not
permitted to slay Bucklaw in their marriage chamber, or
to exult over the ghastly murder. The actress could
have done it, done it nobly and well, with power and
without offence. But the tragedy is complete without it.
Edgar has gone, and Lucy is dead. Fate awaits outside
with the fulfilment of the prophecy. With a quick and
savage sword thrust the assertive Bucklaw is disposed of,
and tearing himself away from the faithful Caleb, poor
Edgar Ravenswood rushes to his doom. No one is left
on the stage but Fate, embodied in the old Scotch sibyl.
The last Ravenswood has ridden to Ravenswood.

" The dead bride is wooed,

The steed is stabled in the Kelpie's Flow,

And Ravenswood is lost for evermore."

328 "RAVENSWOOD:

No, there is one scene more, a lovely allegory, a fitting
picture to conclude the poetic romance. In the red glare
of the setting sun, over a waste of sand, nothing is seen
but the raven's plume of the dead Ravenswood. Over
this the lonely servitor bends lovingly. We seem to
hear the tears falling upon his cruel grave. He at least
has been faithful unto death.

In Edgar of Ravenswood, Mr. Irving has a character
after his own heart — romantic, picturesque, impressive,
and full of influence. His good work on this remark-
able drama does not end with the moulding of it, but in
the acting of the scenes that give it life, and meaning and
vigour. He is the dominant figure in every one of the
important scenes. We have need to do more than look
at him ; we are bound to be attracted by him. Always,
as is right, the figure on which the eye rests with most
satisfaction, from the first moment he struck the chord
of the drama that by his power was steadfastly main-
tained. But in one scene Mr. Irving rose to very special
excellence. We never remember in a play of this kind
to have seen him to such advantage as when the
exiled Ravenswood returns to face the faithless Bride of
Lammermoor.

How difficult it is to be original at such a situation —
one of the most theatrical and conventional on record.
Yet here Mr. Irving displayed his power of originality
and of thinking out an old scene in a new way. We saw
the man who had been ill, harassed, distracted and well-
nigh heart broken. He did not bound on to the scene
in the accepted manner. He tottered on — spent, haggard,
and forlorn. On his face were the lines of a year's
agony and anxiety. He did not storm or scold. He
looked dazed, as if he were recovering from a blow. He
was a man, a Ravenswood, not an actor. The fate that
had pursued him with such relentless vengeance was
combated with yet one struggle more. But it was the
struggle of a spent man. He had done his utmost, and
the end was at hand.

And what did Mr. Irving look like ? will be the inevit-
able question. Well, sometimes like his old picture in
" Vanderdecken " — one of the finest things he ever did.
Sometimes like Mr. Long's picture of him as Hamlet.
But he looked younger, by fifteen years, as Ravenswood.

''RAVENSWOODr 329

It was the author's fauU that Miss Ellen Terry had to
play a waiting game. For the first few scenes Lucy Ashton
was nothing. No actress in the world could make her
effective. What looked like insincerity on the part of the
actress was want of material. She could do nothing,
for she had nothing to do. But as the character came into
prominence, so did Miss Terry. When love came, then
came the artist. Weary of coyness, of maiden modesty,
of nothingness, the actress woke up with the part.
She could do nothing with the scene at Wolf's
Crag, because the dramatist left her in the lurch ; but
the scene at the Mermaiden's Well, the poetic episode, the
plighting of troth, and the romantic parting with her
lover, were all in her best manner. The death was sudden
and it gave little opportunity. It was worked up to with
exquisite detail, which the audience fully appreciated ;
and if we were not permitted to see Lucy's mad scene, we
saw her touching and poetic death.

From the point of view of art, one of the most remark-
able performances was the Ailsie Gourlay of Miss
Marriott. One false note here would have ruined the
whole composition. A bad and inexperienced actress
would not only have been a bore, but a bane. Experience
teaches, and never did Mr. Irving exercise greater judge-
ment than when he gave Ailsie Gourlay to this actress of
a sound and good old school. Her elocution was as ad-
mirable as her art was faultless. It might have been a
slight advantage to the play if Mr. Wenman as Craigen-
gelt, and Mr. Alfred Bishop as Sir William Ashton, had
changed places. The one wanted character, and the
other, impressive dignity.

A thoroughly admirable performance throughout was
the Bucklaw of Mr. William Terriss,who, like Mr. Irving,
put back the clock of life by fifteen or twenty years. He
played it exactly in the right spirit — assertive, but never
vulgar; domineering, but never loud; conceited, but
never foppish. The play wanted all the relief it could
get, and Mr, Terriss gave the welcome touch of change
from persistent gloom. If Mr. Mackintosh lacked
humour in the comic scenes as Caleb Balderstone, he
displayed unexpected power at a vital moment of the
play. It is not every actor who can hold an audience by
force of description just when the hero has gone, and the

330 ^'RAVENSWOOOr

tale is well nigh told. Mr. Mackintosh never had a
more difficult part to act. He succeeded when failure
would have been fatal.

Mr. Howe, Mr. Macklin, Mr. Tyars, and Miss Le
Thiere all gave useful help to a work which, in ensem-
ble and finish, has rarely been exceeded, even on the
Lyceum stage. And there is no need to say how Mr.
Irving, in his spirited and artistic enterprise, was materi-
ally assisted by such artists and art lovers as Dr. A. C.
Mackenzie, Mr. Seymour Lucas, A.R.A., Mr. Hawes
Craven, and Mrs. Comyns Carr.

Within a few days the recollection of every spectator
will be stimulated with this or that scene, or pose, or
grouping; but the colour — the wondrous harmony of
colour — can never be seen except on the Lyceum stage,
which, in this recent play, has appealed forcibly to the
imagination, and added glory to the poetic drama.

After such a success there could be only one scene
more. The whole house testified their approval in the
most unanimous fashion, and when Mr. Irving, Miss
Ellen Terry, and their companions, had been called again
and again, it only remained for the manager gracefully to
regret the absence of the author, Mr. Herman Merivale.
It is to be hoped that his success will help him to health
and life again.

'' Henry the Eighth^''

By William Shakespeare. First produced at the Lyceum Theatre,
January 5th, 1892.

King Henry VIII . - - - Mr. William Terriss.

Cardinal Wolsey Mr. Henry Irving.

Cardinal Campeius Mr. Beaumont.

Capucius (Ambassador from Charles V) - - Mr. Tabb.

Cranmer (Archbishop of Canterbury) - Mr. Arthur Stirling.
Duke of Norfolk ------ Mr. Newman.

Duke of Buckingham . - - - Mr. Forbes Robertson.

Duke of Suffolk Mr. Tyars.

Earl of Surrey Mr. Clarance Hague.

Lord Chamberlain Mr. Alfred Bishop.

Gardiner (Afterwards Bishop of Winchester) - Mr. Lacy.

Lord Sands - ... - Mr. Gilbert Farquhar.

Sir Henry Guildford Mr. Harvey.

Sir Thomas Lovell - Mr. Stewart.

Sir Anthony Denny Mr. Davis.

Sir Nicholas Vaux Mr. Seymour.

Cromwell (Servant to Wolsey) - - - Mr. Gordon Craig.

Griffith (Gentleman Usher to Queen Catherine) - - Mr. Howe

^ ,, f Mr. Johnson.

Gentlemen - - - - - - - a/ta

( Mr. Archer.

Garter King-at-Arms ----- Mr. Belmore.

Surveyor to Duke of Buckingham - - Mr. Acton Bond.

Brandon Mr. Seldon.

Sergeant-at-Arms Mr. Powell.

A Messenger Mr. Lorriss.

A Scribe -- Mr. Reynolds.

A Secretary ------- Mr. Gushing.

Queen Katherine Miss Ellen Terry.

Anne Bullen - - _ - Miss Violet Vanbrugh.

An Old Lady - . - - - Miss Le Thiere.

Patience - - - . - - Mrs. Pauncefort.

SYNOPSIS OF SCENERY.

Act I.

Scene i. — London — The Palace at Bridewell. Scene 2. —Outside the

Palace. Scene 3. — The Council Chamber in the Palace. Scene 4. —

A Courtyard. Scene 5. — A Hall in York Place.

Act 2.

Scene i. — The King's Stairs, Westminster. Scene 2. — An Ante-
chamber in the Palace. Scene 3. — A Garden in the Palace.
Scene 4. — A Hall in Blackfriars.

Act 3.

Scene i.— The Queen's Apartment. Scene 2. — The Palace at
Bridewell.

Act 4.
Scene i. — A Street in Westminster. Scene 2. — Kimberton.

Act 5.
Scene. — Greenwich — Church of the Grey Friars.

face 333J

I DAKE V
IT IS TO

" bl'hAk ON. Sir.
)l U WORST objections: II- 1 HUSH,
att A NOliLtMAN WANT MANNtUb."

333

" He7i?y the Eight /iT

Never before in our memory has the old Lyceum
contained such an exceptionally brilliant audience as
assembled last night to see the glories — histrionic, musi-
cal, decorative, and spectacular — of Mr. Henry Irving's
last and unexampled Shakespearean revival. And there
have been grand first nights before at the Lyceum in the
memory of many a devoted playgoer. Do you remember
the first night of Charles Fechter's management — the
Fechter who had turned the heads of all artistic London
with his Ruy Bias and Hamlet when engaged by the
elder Augustus Harris at the Princess's ? That was a
memorable first night.

Charles Dickens and his multitudinous admirers were
in the ascendant, and they one and all believed in
Fechter, and had come to see their favourite act in a
showy French melodrama, "The Duke's Motto," which
was just the kind of thing he could do to perfection.
The scene comes back as if it were yesterday. Kate
Terry, the eldest of the gifted sisters, was then in the
prime of her pure English beauty, and her persuasive-
ness, and the love scenes between Fechter and Kate
Terry were a revelation to the playgoers of those days.
And by their side were handsome George Jordan and
clever Sam Emery.

It was a splendid first night at the Lyceum. And
then, after an interval of nothingness, Fechter having
departed, and quarrelled with all his patrons and friends,
came the Bateman regime, and the sudden rise to fame of
Henry Irving. He had stirred all London to the core
with " The Bells," performed first to a half-empty house,

334 ''HENRY THE eighth:'

but he had triumphed, and now he was advanced by
" Colonel" Bateman to the position of Hamlet.

All the world wondered. But Fortune had turned her
wheel, and young Irving was the hero of the hour. That
was a memorable first night for all who pinned their faith
to Henry Irving. Then, when the Batemans yielded up
their throne to the accepted leader of the stage, came
triumph after triumph, success after success. It did not
matter what it was — Shakespeare, Sir Walter Scott,
Goethe, or Wills — the interest in Mr. Irving's produc-
tions seemed to increase season after season. But last
night crowned them all, and it is right that it should
be so.

The interest in the theatre, the dignity of dramatic
art, the superb glory of representation, have improved
marvellously since Henry Irving's accession to power,
and it is recognised loyally and with enthusiasm by the
professors of the sister arts. Once they turned their
backs on the poor drama ; now they rejoice with her and
love her when she has been rescued from the mud and
mire. Every art was represented. The painters came
in full accord with Mr. Irving's ambition. Had not Mr.
Seymour Lucas, A.R.A., marvellously rescued from the
dark journey, and happily present a most attentive lis-
tener in a stage-box, given his enthusiasm and knowledge
to the glory of Shakespeare on the English stage ? With
his aid we live once more in the days of bluff King Hal.

Music sent her offering in the person of brilliant
executants and composers, for never before have music
and the drama been so happily blended as in the
sumptuous Lyceum revivals. Sculpture, literature,
poetry, journalism, all went with one accord to the
Lyceum, and, needless to say, brother and sister artists
of Mr. Irving and Miss Ellen Terry, who were free to do
so, made a point of supporting the "chief" whom they
so loyally obey and unreservedly love.

But long before the curtain rises, and some time
before the overture begins, it is inevitable that the guests
should listen to a buzz of conversation, and to general
out-pouring of recollections. When had anyone seen
" Henry VIII " last ? When had anyone seen " Henry
VIII " before. It is a curious circumstance, and one
that will make many people stare, that Mr. Henry Irving

''HENRY THE EIGHTHS 335

himself has never in his hfe seen this Shakespearean
play on the stage. There can be no saying this time
that he copied this from Charles Kean, and imitated that
from Phelps. Whatever he did was his own.

His familiar friend, J. L. Toole, now happily recovering
from a grave illness, has played Lord Sands in a cele-
brated Edinburgh revival under the Wyndhams, but
Henry Irving, the producer, has never seen the play.
Let us begin with the young folks first. Some there
were last night who happened to be at the Aquarium
Theatre early in 1878, when the grand old actor, Samuel
Phelps, was within an ace of dying on the stage, in the
character of Cardinal Wolsey and during the recital of
the exquisite " farewell" speech. Utterly exhausted, he
had braced himself for a final effort, but he muddled the
text, struggled to the close, and fell exhausted in the
arms of Cromwell, his secretary, then represented by
young Norman Forbes Robertson, who led him off.
That was his last appearance. Samuel Phelps appeared
on the stage no more. But his Wolsey was a grand
performance ; and his picture in that character, painted
by his attached friend, Johnstone Forbes Robertson,
hangs to-day on the wall of the Garrick Club.

Another leap further takes us to the year 1855, when
Charles Kean revived "Henry VHI" at the Princess's,
and, by indomitable energy, made such a mark, and so
silenced his detractors that he was able to pursue his
path of well-doing in greater peace and with renewed
energy. Mrs. Charles Kean had been seriously ill, and
it was believed that she had retired from the Stage ; but
she came back as Queen Katherine, and made, perhaps,
the most brilliant success of her career. Until that
time the old playgoers only talked of Mrs. Siddons as
the Queen, and they recalled the story how the sister of
the Kembles had declared to Dr. Johnson that she liked
Queen Katherine best of all Shakespearean heroines,
" because it is the most natural and feminine," whereat
the old critic mumbled, "You are right, madam, and
when you appear it that part, old and infirm as I am, I
will endeavour to hobble out and see you."

Playgoers not much over middle age can recall the
Princess's revival distinctly. They can remember Charles
Kean as Wolsey, a fair performance, but not so striking

336 ''HENRY THE eighth:'

as his Louis XI. They can recall with admiration the
King of Walter Lacy, a splendid embodiment of dignity
and sensuality, of good breeding and amorousness; and
yet in their memories live the Buckingham of Ryder, the
Griffith of old Cooper, the sweet Anne Boleyn of Miss
Heath (afterwards Mrs. Wilson Barrett). Meanwhile,
the provincial playgoer has something to say of another
noteworthy revival — it was at Manchester when Mr.
Alfred Thompson was manager, and Charles Calvert
produced "Henry VHI " on a splendid scale, and Miss
Genevieve Ward made a superb Queen Katherine. And
now comes a pause.

Few in the house remember Macready's Wolsey. We
only hope that it was better than the picture of it in the
old prints, which is not encouraging. No doubt he
worked at it with his accustomed dogged industry, but
in effect it was completely eclipsed by his Cardinal
Richelieu. We must look from the audience to the
stage to discover one of the few veterans who can recall
the appearance of Edmund Kean as Wolsey.

Mr. Henry Howe, who played Griffith so excellently
last night, might have been present at old Drury on
May 2oth, 1822, when Kean played Wolsey for the first
time, with Cooper as Henry VIII, and Mrs. W. West
as Queen Katherine. But it was not a performance that
the Keanites rave about particularly, and, with these
memories exchanged over the stalls, the huge audience
settled down, stopped their reminiscences, and listened
attentively to the overture, composed by Mr. Edward
German and conducted by Mr. Meredith Ball.

Great was the wonder, naturally, to know what Mr.
Henry Irving could possibly do to make more dramatic
one of the most difficult of the historical plays of Shake-
speare. Every student is perfectly well aware that it is
a succession of pageants, a series of spectacular tableaux,
with a thin thread of story loosely connecting them. In
the midst of this blare of trumpets, these gorgeous
processions, these masses of dress and panoply, we do
occasionally obtain a vestige of dramatic moment. The
humiliation and departure to death of Buckingham ; the
appeal of Queen Katherine for mercy before the court of
Cardinals ; her second scene with the Cardinals, unac-
countably neglected by Mrs. Siddons, but restored with

" HENRY THE EIGHTH." 337

unanimous approval by Mrs. Charles Kean; the fall of
Wolsey, with the pathetic farewell ; and the dream of
the dying Queen Katherine, hav» always been held by
actors and actresses to compensate for the vivid current
of interest that all good plays should have.

This was the view of the Kembles ; this was the view
of the Keans, father and son ; this was the view of
William Charles Macready ; this has been the view of
all managers who have paid serious attention to all the
stage revivals of Shakespeare. Occasionally, as we all
know, certain scenes of the play have been used for
purely political purposes on occasions of State. If
Shakespeare himself was not responsible for the courtly
trick of pleasing Queen Elizabeth by a picture of her
christening in the Church of the Grey Friars at Green-
wich, with all its pomp and decorative splendour, surely
it was permissible in after times to use the processional
pageant in honour of Anne Boleyn as an exact reproduc-
tion of the coronation ceremonial of King George II.

What, then, would Mr. Henry Irving be able to do
which his predecessors failed to accomplish ? The cur-
tain had not been up five minutes before he showed
clearly enough in which direction his ambition led him.
He intended, with the aid of modern effects, by a lavish
expenditure of money, a careful study of every possible
archaeological authority, with Mr. Seymour Lucas,
A.R.A., at his right hand, to guarantee correctness of
every ruff, headdress, sword-belt, and shoe, to make this
the most perfect reproduction of Court life in the days of
Henry VIII, that this stage, or indeed the stage of any
country had ever seen.

It would tax the imagination to believe what can be
done on the modern stage until this splendid revival has
been witnessed. There are fourteen complete scenes,
elaborately set, and they change almost without descent
of curtain as if by magic. The lights are turned down ;
there is a momentary darkness ; and a gorgeously
equipped scene, complete with furniture, is changed to
another equally rich, literally in the twinkling of an eye.
W^hat would our forefathers have thought of this ? What
would our ancestors not have given for these marvellous
mechanical appliances, which have not only done away
with the wretched stage flunkey, and the rows of chairs

338 "HENRY THE EIGHTH."

in front of the stage, but have enabled a capable manager
to add beauty to beauty, and to bring the theatre as near
to nature as it is conceivably possible to do ? Whatever
may be thought of the wisdom of reviving " Henry
VIII," at all, one thing is certain, that at no time in the
history of the stage has so superb a pageant been seen.

The first splendid effect is made with the entrance of
Cardinal Wolsey, then in the fulness of his power, his
wealth, and dignity. The silver trumpets sound, and
amidst monks, retainers, servitors, choristers, and retinue,
under a gorgeous baldaquin, the haughty Cardinal ap-
pears. Never before in our memory has Mr. Irving made
so wonderful a picture. He is swathed from head to foot in
what is miscalled the cardinal's scarlet. It is not scarlet
at all, but an indescribable geranium-pink, with a dash of
vermilion in it. The biretta on the head is of the same
blush-rose colour, and it hides every inch of hair, bring-
ing into relief the pale, refined, and highly intellectual
face.

We see at once, at the first glance, how Mr. Irving
intends to read Wolsey. He is to be far more like
Richelieu than the humble trader's son of Ipswich. This
is no man of ignoble birth who has risen by his brains to
power. He is not coarse in feature, he is not gross, there
is nothing of the vulgarian about him. There is majesty
in his lineaments, a little foxiness in the face, but the
power is that of the lynx, and not the British bull-dog.
For the purposes of playing, Wolsey can be read any-
how.

True, the historian, Griffith, tells us in the penultimate
act pretty well what manner of man Cardinal Wolsey
was ; still Henry Irving's Cardinal Wolsey is a cultured
and crafty ascetic, not a man of dogged determination
and of iron will. So fascinating, however, is this picture
at the entrance of the Cardinal that the audience, if con-
sulted, would have liked to stop it for a few moments.
It was like so many of its fellows, a " living picture "
that exactly fascinated the eye.

We pass on to the first entrance of Queen Katherine,
when summoned to the Council Chamber, in the Palace
of Bridewell. Miss Ellen Terry, who seemed to be
dreadfully nervous, looks every inch a queen— dignified,
sensitive, delicate, and *' like the lily that was once

''HENRY THE EIGHTHS 339

mistress of the field and flourished." But it is clear to
everyone that INIiss Ellen Terry does not intend to play
Queen Katherine like any single one of her recorded pre-
decessors. If Mrs. Siddons is supposed to have said
that the Queen is the most human and womanly of
women, Miss Terry does not intend to show the kind of
womanliness that Mrs. Siddons, or Mrs. West, or Mrs.
Warner, or Mrs. Charles Kean, or Miss Genevieve Ward
presented. She is to be no careworn matron, no good-
hearted, tender-souled creature put on one side because
she is not quite so pretty as she was, and cannot compare
with the virginal grace of long-necked Anne Boleyn.

Miss Ellen Terry plays Queen Katherine with such
infinite tenderness and pleading pathos that it is almost
inconceivable that such a King, as even bluff" King Hal,
should not be troubled with qualms of conscience and a
dream of divorcing so dainty a creature. The scene in
the Council Chamber, where the Queen is still by her
husband's side, and, perhaps, too precipitate in urging
her doubts of the loyalty of Wolsey, is followed by the
superb masquerade in a Hall at York Palace, where the
worldly and ambitious Cardinal sumptuously entertains
his guests, and the festivities are interrupted by the dis-
guised King and the maskers.

Half a dozen ballets in the ordinary and accepted
sense could not contain the gaiety and picturesque variety
of this scene. All is done by magic. In an instant the
tables are cleared away, and the stage, occupied a few
minutes ago by a Council of State, is now alive with
bacchanalian dancers. Here the King, made up to ad-
miration, and acted with wonderful verve, by Mr. Terriss,
first meets the fatal Anne Boleyn.

The departure of the attainted Duke of Buckingham
for death is the first important moment in the second act.
Again a change, again dazzling variety. Fortunately for
the interest of the play, the luckless Duke is represented
by Mr. Forbes Robertson, who speaks the beautiful lines
with rare emphasis, and gives to the scene that air of
tender and manly resignation which it requires. The
second scene of moment is the trial of Queen Katherine
before the two Cardinals and the King. It is a picture of
indescribable magnificence.

Raised aloft under a dais are the rose-robed Cardinals

z — 2

340 ''HENRY THE EIGHTH."

as judges. The King is under a separate canopy on the
left of the stage whilst Queen Katherine is on a low throne
in what we should call the well of the court. This was
Miss Ellen Terry's best scene. Here we had, in ad-
dition to the pathetic tenderness, a full measure of fire
and dignity. The woman fairly held her own before the
accusing man, and her scorn rang true. She was a little
less powerful in the succeeding lines with the Cardinals ;
here again was the subject for a beautiful picture — the
sad-faced Queen at her embroidery, and her singing
maids around her, who gave the delicious song, " Or-
pheus, with his Lute, made Trees," to the delight of
everybody.

At the close of the third act comes, as we all know,
the only scene that can make Cardinal Wolsey an
acceptable character for an actor of the first class.
Hitherto he has been mainly in the background, but
now Shakespeare makes him prominent, and gives to
him the celebrated farewell speeches, that are familiar to
every recitation class in the kingdom. Mr. Henry
Irving does not swerve from his original reading of
Wolsey. The Queen says of him, " He was a man of
unbounded stomach, ever ranking himself with princes."

In Mr. Henry Irving's Wolsey we see nothing of the
toady or parvenu. Apparently, he is the most refined
and delicate-minded man at Court. Consequently, and
true to this conception of the character, the farewell to
all his greatness is not so much the regret of a strong
and ambitious man baffled, but that of a keenly sensitive
man disappointed in his friend. The fallen idol is not
hewn out of stone or granite, but of dainty alabaster.
Picturesque ever, Mr. Irving makes Wolsey's farewell one
of tearful regret, and though taken at somewhat too slow
a pace last night, it pleased the audience so much that
Mr. Irving was called three or four times.

The play, such as it is, may now be said to be virtually
over. There never, at any time, was much dramatic
movement in it, but now it becomes once more purely
spectacular. From a histrionical point of view, the death
and visionary dream of Queen Katherine is as lovely and
imaginative as any one could desire. It is a treat to
hear Mr. Henry Howe declaim his linesexculpatory of the
defeated Wolsey, but Miss Ellen Terry can do little else

.1 ■! i,.iRi), Nn

1 AM A SIMPLE WwMW, Ml 111 I'Mi U 1
TO OPPOSE VOUR CUNNING."

''HENRY THE EIGHTH." 341

but look lovely in whitened hair, and die gracefully with
intermittent visions of the angelic hierarchy. Angels,
with lilies and rustling wings, float all about the room and
ceilmgs, and they become mundane angels, and present
the Queen with the chaplet of St. Catherine. The
music is soft and dreamy, the apotheosis, as it is called,
is scenically effective, and the lovely Queen makes her
swan-like end.

But we have not done yet with the pageants and the
processions. We are shown a street at Westminster,
when the long-necked Queen Anne Boleyn is going to her
coronation. It is a marvellous picture of old London.
Faces are seen at the casements and lattice windows.
Garlands of roses are twined from house to house.
Trumpets try to drown the orchestra, and the orchestra
endeavours to defy the brass. Soldiers in armour, priests
in cottas and copes, bishops, archbishops, and choristers,
the Lord Mayor of London, with his official mace and
robes of office, all pass before the cheering crowd, and
at last comes Anne Boleyn, under a pallium, mounted
shoulder high in the crowd. And even after that we are
not allowed to rest our exhausted eyes.

For the baby Princess Elizabeth has to be christened
at Greenwich ; the burly King has to look very important
at the font ; Archbishop Cranmer, in the person of Mr.
Arthur Stirling, has to pronounce a prophetic eulogium
on the future Queen Elizabeth ; and the interesting baby,
of whom no one had ever heard before, has to be passed
round to be kissed by a retinue of godmammas. By
this time the audience is pretty well tired of pictures
and pageantry, although they represent stage pictures
unparalleled in the history of the stage. There can be
no doubt that no play of Shakespeare has ever been
adorned with such lavish expenditure, with such mar-
vellous taste, and with such consistent accuracy.

Mr. Irving had so long died out of the play that he
was able to exchange his Cardinal's robe for the
manager's evening dress, and to thank the audience and
the company for the assistance and courtesy he had
received from them. There were shouts, and hearty
ones, for Miss Ellen Terry, who seemed sadly fatigued
all the evening, and special honours were awarded to
Mr. Forbes Robertson and Mr. William Terriss, who

342 ''HENRY THE EIGHTH:'

shared the minor honours between them. Mr. Edward
German's specially composed music — particularly his
processional marches — were very much admired, and it
is marvellous to relate that this extraordinary production
was concluded without a hitch or a wait before half-
past eleven. Such a spectacular play has never been
seen before, and it will be the distinct duty of everyone
to go to the Lyceum and feast on the decorative
splendour of the revived historical drama, with its in-
numerable costly pictures of life and costume in the
reign of Henry VIII.

'' King Lear'''

By William Shakespeare. First produced at the Lyceum Theatre,
November loth, 1S92.

Lear (King of Britain) Mr. Irving.

Edgar (Son to Gloster) . - - Mr. William Terriss.

Edmund (Bastard Son to Gloster) - - Mr. Frank Cooper.

Earl of Gloster Mr. Alfred Bishop

Earl of Kent Mr. W. J. Holloway.

Duke of Cornwall ...--. Mr. Hague.

Duke of Albany ------- Mr. Tyars.

King of France -..--- Mr. Percival.

Duke of Burgundy Mr. Bond.

Curan (A Courtier) ------ Mr. Harvey.

Old Man (Tenant to Gloster) Mr. Howe.

Fool - - - - Mr. Haviland.

Oswald (Steward to Goneril) - - Mr. Gordon Craig.

Physician - - Mr. Lacy.

A Knight ------- Mr. Tabb.

A Gentleman Mr Ian Robertson.

An Officer ------- Mr. Lorriss.

A Herald ------- Mr. Belmore.

A Messenger ------- Mr. Powell.

Goneril (Wife of Albany) ] Daughters I Miss Ada Dyas.

Regan (Wife of Cornwall) I to \ Miss Maud Milton.

Cordelia j Lear. ( Miss Ellen Terry.

Knights attending on Lear, Officers, Messengers, Soldiers, and
Attendants.

SYNOPSIS OF SCENERY.

Act I.

Scene I. — King Lear's Palace. Scene 2. — Earl of Gloster's Castle.
Scene 3. — Duke of Albany's Castle.

Act 2.

Scene I. — Court within Gloster Castle. Scene 2. — Open Country.
Scene 3. — Court within Castle.

Act 3.

Scene i. — A Heath. Scene 2. — Another part of the Heath.
Scene 3. — A Farm House.

Act 4.

Scene i. — Albany Castle. Scene 2. — Open Country. Scene 3. —

Country near Dover. Scene 4. — French Camp. — Scene 5. — Tent in

the French Camp.

Act 5.
Scene i. — British Camp near Dover. Scene 2. — The same.

Scene. — Britain.

/"Cf 345J

FRAV DO NOT MOCK ME; I AM A VERY FOOLISH, FOND OLD MAN.

345

" KJ,ng Lear.

When close upon midnight the distinguished audience,
released from its tension of spellbound excitement, gave
way to an uproarious burst of cheering, it demanded, as
usual, from Mr. Henry Irving, the customary speech.
With that ready tact and graceful courtesy, for which he
is distinguished, the great actor-manager explained, in
the briefest manner possible, the mission of King Lear
on the Lyceum stage. "If," said Mr. Irving, "our
humble efforts have been able to suggest to any one here
assembled one of the countless beauties of this Titanic
work, we have indeed been amply repaid." Here, in fact,
is the keynote of the situation. Here is the manager's
triumph in a nutshell. In the fifteenth season of the
management of the Lyceum, the daring manager elects
to play the most difficult work that Shakespeare ever
wrote, a work that might have been so easily ridiculed, a
theme that to the uninformed might have been so readily
misunderstood. Yet what was the result ? Not a
ripple of irreverent laughter was heard, not a suggestion
of indecorum was audible, and all the house, from stalls
to topmoot gallery, followed the fortunes of the infinitely
pathetic and storm-tossed Lear. It was that very pathos
which hall-marked the play with interest.

There have been wild Lears, Bedlamite Lears, Lears
frenzied from the outset ; here was a Lear who, from first
to last, emphasised the chord of human affection. His
brain only gave way when all the love he had to bestow
was turned to gall. The actor's task was one of heroic
magnitude, particularly when we consider Mr. Henry
Irving's temperament and method. He is not an actor
to do a thing by halves. He gets an idea into his head,

346 ''KING LEAR."

and steadily works it out to its legitimate conclusion.
Never was there an actor who played less to the gallery,
or was more indifferent to the applause of the moment.
Often, he seems to stultify himself, and raises doubt in
the minds of those who watch him. But he is working
for an end, and in the end he triumphs. Without such
an ideal Cordelia as was found last night in Miss Ellen
Terry, such a Lear might have been considered a rash
and hazardous experiment. But the artist knew where
he had posted his reserves.

He was perfectly well aware from whom would come
the relief, and it came certainly and surely when the
distraught King found his pathetic solace in the arms of
the daughter he had wounded and impetuously mis-
understood. The play woke up and gained new life
when CordeUa was discovered, and her great love
tempered the anguish of the uncrowned King. Seldom
has Miss Ellen Terry, in recent years, so risen to the
occasion. Cordelia is not, after all, a very telling
character; but the actress did wonders with it. She
illuminated the play. Whether arrayed in pale blue or
virgin white, she seemed to have cast away ten or fifteen
years of anxious and harassing life. She looked as
young as when she played Beatrice, and in every scene
and situation she seconded the desire of Henry Irving
to bring out the intensely affectionate nature of this
tremendous father.

It would be difficult — nay, rather it might be con-
sidered rash and presumptuous — to attempt to describe
in adequate language the barbaric splendour of the back-
ground against which stand this grand and patriarchal
Lear, this auburn-tressed, most feminine, and enchanting
Cordelia. The King, as we know, is a monarch created
by the brain of the greatest of imaginative poets, and
rightly does he dwell in a lovely land of imagination.
Where then is this kingdom of old Lear ? Who shall
say ? and who is there that rightly understands the fields
of poetry, would care to ask such an unnecessary ques-
tion ? It is a fanciful England, no doubt, but certain it
is that the Romans must have quitted the loveliest of
lands, and that the Britons who supplanted them were
mighty men and warriors of heroic stature. The eye is
enchanted with pictures of fascinating and harmonious

"WHAT SHALL CORDELIA DO? LOVE, AND BE SILENT."

[face 346

''KING leak:' 347

colour, and the mind is absorbed in countless scenes of
rare and imposing magnificence. The "dear white cliffs
of Dover," are, of course, contrasted with the everlasting
blue of the ocean that washes and engirdles our island
home.

Traces there are on many a hill and wind-swept down
of the lost age of stone and of Druidic worship. Temples
there are, rude but stately, chipped and battered and
moss-grown with time ; columns and porticoes that have
displaced the wattled huts and cliff caves of our more
savage ancestry ; but high, on many a hill in the Roman-
deserted Kent, we see miniature Stonehenges, barrows,
and Celtic relics of the days when the great cathedrals
of Druidism were at Avebury and Salisbury in the
adjacent Wiltshire. But the gifted artists, Mr. Harker
and Mr. Hawes Craven, who have carried out with such
skill and daring Henry Irving's magnificent idea, have
not been too precise and exacting. Imagination has
been their guiding principle. It is not unpleasant to
believe that our island was once inhabited by these
splendid men, who seemed like Vikings in the panoply
and war apparel ; or by women, noble and fair to look
upon, who might have attended a court of King Arthur,
as well as belonged to a retinue of King Lear. Nor can
it distress the most precise and pedantic critics to have
it suggested that in the oldest England there were vales
as fair as in ancient Thessaly, and coloured panoramas
as soft and beautiful as in sunny Italy. Differences
there may be as to the precise artistic value of this or
that conception of character. The Earl of Kent may be
lacking in imagination and tenderness ; the Edgar and
Edmund may appear to the student a trifle too modern
in tone ; the Dukes of England and of France may not
always come up to the high standard of the Shakespearean
scholar ; but, notwithstanding all that has been said and
written of the revivals of the past, we do not beheve
that the Enghsh stage has ever seen the play of " King
Lear " mounted and set in such a splendid frame or
coloured with such artistic taste.

To Edmund Kean may belong the credit of shaking
the stage free from the puerilities of Tate ; we may owe
it to Macready that the Fool was not banished from the
old King's side ; we may reverence the devotion to the

348 "KING LEAR:'

poet of a Samuel Phelps and a Charles Kean — the prince
of archaeologists — but, could they be with us once more
to "re-visit the glimpses of the moon," they would own
that Henry Irving has distanced them all, and put
modern science and stage appliances to a noble use. It
is not alone in the thunders, or the lightnings, or the
pitchy darkness flash-illuminated, or the blue and purple
shadows of the hills and vales, or the superb effects in
armour and costume that this last Irving revival distances
all rivals and impioves upon precedent and the past.
The matter for congratulation is, that the Shakespearean
masterpiece is guided, directed, and arranged for modern
audiences by a master hand.

Naturally, the question asked this morning by the
countless playgoers who were unable to be present
at the Lyceum last night, will be, " How did Henry
Irving look as Lear?" There he stands before the
mind's eye, and there he is indelibly stamped on the
memory. Of all Henry Irving's tragic personations,
this is at once by far the most picturesque and im-
posing.

A tall, gaunt, supple, and kingly figure, the thin and
attenuated body weighed down with a swathing load of
regal garments. A splendid head, indeed, with finely-
cut features ; the restless eyes ; the yellow parchment
skin, set in a frame of snowy-white hair and silvered,
straggling beard ; and, of course, those eloquent hands
which have been so often discussed, and so frequently
described. When the play is over, and the glamour of
the scene is faded away, the new Lear will come back
to the mind with vivid force. We see him at his en-
trance with the Court, tottering down a steep decline in
an ancestral castle, half-supported, and leaning on the
gold scabbard of the broadsword, which serves as a
staff; he comes before us, kneeling and prostrate, before
he delivers the mighty curse, "Hear, Nature, hear ! dear
goddess, hear ! " We recall him, magnificent in repose,
resting on the couch when " oppressed nature sleeps."
We leave him like some historic oak, shorn of its leaves
by wind and storm, but with limbs and trunk still un-
shaken, even by the " rack of this tough world,'' calm in
the majesty of death.

But the picture that will most delight is the Lear of

''KING LEARr 349

reconciliation, the " foolish, fond old man," with the be-
loved Cordelia ever now in his arms, the gold of her
sunny hair contrasted with the snow of his, father and
daughter sublimely united in an embrace of love. That
exit of Lear and Cordelia will linger long in the memory
of all who instantly appreciated it. But, as yet, the
question has not been answered. What kind of man,
known to the student, does this splendid personality re-
semble ? Someone will say Merlin. Yes, there is a
something of Tennyson's Merlin in this rugged, impetu-
ous, nervously sensitive old man, tall, erect, hoar-frosted,
with the hard and cruel winter of life.

Shut your ears to the text, and, in scene after scene,
it might be Merlin and Vivien, and not Lear and
Cordelia. But these impressions are fitful and momen-
tary. In its external aspect the comparison that at once
suggests itself to the mind is one from sacred, and not
profane, history. When the grand figure stands erect
against a dark background, illumined with flashes of
lightning, how is it that Biblical, and not Shakespearean,
lore is uppermost in the thoughts ? Henry Irving — not to
speak it profanely, but in all reverence — in his character
of Lear, might have stood for Moses on Mount Sinai,
or Noah at the hour of the flood. His appearance is
patriarchal, not theatrical. The stage vanishes, and we
seem to be in the presence of the sublimest instances of
hoary senility.

Many may think — and nervousness may possibly
account for it — that the actor started the impetuousness
of Lear at too high a pitch and too great a strain. He
seemed to have exhausted himself before the race was
run. But he " came again," when Cordelia was safe in
his arms. At that point all interest was revived. The
play was charged with electricity. A beautiful touch it
was when the doting father brushed away his daughter's
tears with his worn finger, and tasted the salt drops.
And surely never before has Henry Irving given us so
elaborate or so fancifully conceived a death scene. The
object of the dying King was to kiss and kiss again the
lips of his dead child.

For an instant, the power and vigour of youth up-
started in this octogenarian at the words, " I killed the
slave that was a-hanging thee." But it was momen-

350 ''KING LEAR."

tary and spasmodic. The flame burnt out, the fire was
extinguished, and all that Lear could do was to struggle
once more for the life of his child, and to toy with the
rope that had encircled her lily neck. The death scene
in " Louis XI " was fine enough, but the death scene in
"Lear" is infinitely finer, elaborated almost to a fault.
But not a detail was lost on the profoimdly interested
audience. Whatever may be the fate of the play, there
are scenes in it, inspired by Henry Irving and Ellen
Terry, that will count amongst their greatest achieve-
ments.

Lucky it was that so excellent and experienced an
actor as Mr. William Terriss was at hand for Edgar, one
of the most difficult characters in all Shakespearean
literature. It is not the actor's fault that the counter-
feit lunacy is not more strongly impressed on the
audience ; but when the " Poor Tom " and Bedlamite
business was over, and Mr. Terriss got a sword in his
hand, he rushed to the attack, and disposed of Edmund
in a very few seconds. Mr. W. J. Holloway clearly did
not understand the beauty of the nature of the Earl of
Kent — if he did, he failed to express it. A more prosy
rendering of Kent — a kind of middle-aged Horatio — has
seldom been seen. Miss Ada Dyas and Miss Maud
Milton were both effective as Goneril and Regan, and
Mr. Haviland must be congratulated on his very intelli-
gent and unobtrusive rendering of the Fool. Mr. Alfred
Bishop, Mr. Frank Cooper, and Mr. Tyars were all seen
to advantage, and Mr. Gordon Craig came very much to
the front by his vigorous performance of the detested
Oswald.

It would take the space of an essay to describe the
various subtle effects introduced at odd times by this
scholarly stage director. For instance, at the close of
the second act, Lear says :

"You think I'll weep ;
No, I'll not weep.

I have full cause of weeping ; but this heart
Shall break into a hundred thousand flaws,
Or ere I'll weep. O, fool ! I shall go mad."

But in the middle of this boast a thunderclap is heard.

"KING LEARr 351

Nature is greater than man. This is the beginning of the
end. From that moment the mind gives way.

The tragedy is illustrated by most effective music,
written by Mr. Hamilton Clarke and Mr. Meredith Ball,
and it is needless to say that all the five acts went off
without a hitch or interruption under the watchful eye
of Mr. H. J. Loveday.

In conclusion, we must plead guilty to an accidental
error in doubting recently whether Salvini ever played
King Lear in London, or, indeed, anywhere in Great
Britain. The great Italian tragedian gave a most remark-
able performance of Lear at Covent Garden Theatre in
March, 1884, based on a conception of the character
w^hich he had previously explained with some elabora-
tion in the pages of the Century Magazine. Salvini, at
the outset of the play, emphasised the hardy character of
the old King. He was a sportsman, a hunter, and a
rider, and in the first act there was no trace or sugges-
tion of madness. It may be added, also, that Edwin
Booth delighted the London public with his perform-
ance of Lear when acting at the Princess's Theatre, and
he should, of course, be numbered amongst the famous
Lears of theatrical history.

/«« 353]

THE PALL :
I GO TO MEET MY KING ! "

4(

"Becl^tr

By Alfred, Lord Tennyson, First produced at the Lyceum Theatre,
February 6th, 1893.

{Chancellor of England ]
(afterwards Archbishop - Mr. Henry Irving.
of Canterbury) )

Henry H (King of England) - - Mr. William Terriss.

King Louis of France ------ Mr. Bond.

Gilbert Foliot (Bishop of London) - - - Mr. Lacv.

Roger (Archbishop of York) - . - . Mr. Beaumont.

Bishop of Hereford - Mr. Cushing.

Hilary (Bishop of Chichester) - - - - Mr. Archer.

John of Salisbury ^ Friends of Becket f ^'■- ^^'shop.

Herbert of Bosham > friends ot l.ecket | Mr. Haviland.

John of Oxford (Called the Swearer) - Mr. Ian Robertson.

Edward Grim (A Monk of Cambridge) - Mr. W. J. Holloway.

Sir Reginald Fitzurse / The Four Knights ( Mr. Frank Cooper.
Sir Richard de Brito ] of the King's J Mr. Tyars.

Sir William de Tracy ; household, enemies 1 Mr. Hague.

Sir Hugh de Morville ( of Becket I Mr. Percival.

De Broc ..-.---- Mr. Tabb.

Richard de Hastings (Grand Prior of Templars) Mr. Seldon.

The Youngest Knight Templar - - - Mr. Gordon Craig.
Lord Leicester ...... Mr. Harvey.

Philip de Eleemosyna (The Pope's Almoner) - Mr. Howe.

Herald .----_-. Mr. L. Belmore.

Monk -.-..--- Mr. Powell.

Geoffrey (Son of Rosamund and Henry) Master Leo Byrne.

Retainers - ' Mr^ Yeldham.

( Mr. LoRRiss.

Countrymen .------' Mr^JoHNSON.

■^ ( Mr. Reynolds.

Servant - . . Mr. Davis.

(Queen of England)
Eleanor of Aquitaine \ (divorced from - Miss Genevieve Ward.

( Louis of France) )
Margery ------- Miss Kate Phillips.

Rosamund de Clifford ----- Miss Ellen Terry.

Knights, Monks, Heralds, Soldiers, Retainers, etc.

SYNOPSIS OF SCENERY.

Prologue.

Scene i.— A Castle in Normandy (W. Telbin). Scene 2.— The
same (W. Telbin).

Act I.

Scene i. — Becket's House in London (J. Harker). Scene 2. — Street

in Northampton leading to the Castle (Hawes Craven). Scene 3. —

The same (Hawes Craven). Scene 4. — The Hall in Northampton

Castle (Hawes Craven).

Act 2.
Scene. — Rosamund's Bower (Hawes Craven).

Act 3.

Scene i.— Montmirail— " The Meeting of the Kings " (Hawes
Craven). Scene 2. — Outside the Wood near Rosamund's Bower
(Hawes Craven). Scene 3.- Rosamund's Bower (Hawes Craven).

" At Merton the Archbishop assumed the ordinary habit of the black Canons
of the Augustinian Rule, which dress he wore to the end of his life."— Grim.

Act 4.

Scene i. — Castle in Normandy — King's Chamber (W. Telbin).
Scene 2. — A Room in Canterbury Monastery (W. Telbin).
Scene 3 —North Transept of Canterbury Cathedral (W. Telbin).

Period — TwelfthXentury.

'' "Becketr

The noble play by Alfred, Lord Tennyson, exercised
its old spell over an enthusiastic audience last evening.
We are inclined to think that "Becket" is the very
greatest of all Henry Irving's stupendous achievements
at the Lyceum, Splendid as have been his artistic gifts
to the stage, this is, in a measure, the greatest gift of all.
In the first place — a fact so little understood by the
public, and less than ever by the poet with a hunger for
the stage — Mr. Henry Irving has created a play out of
an undramatic poem. He has formed, fashioned, and
modelled a dramatic substance out of an undramatic
cloud.

Take Lord Tennyson's play, as written by the poet in
his study. For the stage — impossible. Look at it now,
as deftly handled by the craftsman, and behold a play
that will last as long as an actor is found who can live
in the part of the Chancellor Churchman as Henry
Irving does. The actor has done splendid things before
now, but we regard his Becket as the crowning point of
his artistic career. The more one sees the performance,
the more one is rivetted and fascinated by it. For in
Becket, thanks to the artist's delineation, we find, not
exactly two men, but the worldly man gradually en-
nobling himself, and aspiring to the religious life.

The Becket, Chancellor of England, as we see him
when the curtain rises on the scene, is not yet the same
Becket as the priest who dies a martyr to his religious
convictions. It is a triumph for an artist to be able in so
short a space of time to convey the illumination, as it
were, of a life vowed to duty and consecrated by faith.
The Becket who plays chess with the King, who wears

A A — 2

356 " BECKETT

his gorgeous lay robes, who shows his statecraft and
ambition, is not the same Becket who has become half
divine with the sense of his coming martyrdom.

Mr. Henry Irving has never done anything so subtle,
so delicate, or so artistically graduated, as this merging
of the statesman into a saint. The smile is ever there
— very sweet, very captivating, most indicative of char-
acter. The smile of the man that won the King's favour
is the smile of the martyr, ennobled by self-sacrifice and
a sense of approaching death.

And there is always power. Becket is no weak priest.
Look at his eye, and you will see his commanding force.
But the power and the sweetness ultimately combine in
all the last scenes of Becket's life, as depicted in the
beautiful play. We can recall no artistic passage in the
whole of Mr. Irving's stage career so exquisitely tender,
so absolutely truthful, and so full of beauty, as the one
scene where Becket seems to yield to fate, and arm him-
self, like a saint, for the inevitable martyrdom. If ever
an actor lived in a part, Mr. Henry Irving does in that
of Becket. He is never astray, never out of the picture.
We have often and often heard of Mr. Irving's faults —
of his variegated moods and accentuated manner ; but
when ever before, by the old school or the new school,
during the last thirty odd years, has poetry been more
faultlessly delivered by an actor ? Every line, every
sentence, every syllable, falls with rhythmical measure
on the delighted ear.

In his time, Henry Irving has had hard knocks, and
borne them bravely, but to hear him declaim or muse as
Becket is to hear the music of perfect elocution. The fact
of the matter is, he likes the part, and lives in it, and an
inspiration of this kind is never lost on an attentive and
appreciative audience. Miss Ellen Terry, as the fair
Rosamund, takes us back into the past, and lives again
in the dramatic days of " lolanthe, or King Rene's
Daughter," or the unequalled " Amber Heart." All the
poetry that the play requires is given it by Miss Ellen
Terry, who, to a serious and absorbing study, elsewhere
imparts grace and feminine charm. And it would be
difficult to find a better Henry, King of England, than
Mr. W^illiam Terriss, bold, defiant, irritable, impetuous,
good-hearted; or a statelier Queen Eleanor, more impos-

" BECKETT 357

ing, picturesque, and beautifu}, than Miss Genevieve
Ward, who suggests the "grand style," which, alas, the
modern stage has lost. We cannot have great plays
without style, and here is the gift of an artist who has
studied with the best, and profited by her instruction.

The modern stage and its professions are all very well,
but the absence of training is as patent to the spectator,
as is the absence of education when a smatterer chatters
nonsense. We end, as we began. " Becket " is the
great achievement of Mr. Irving's career, and the play
should be studied and registered as one of the most
perfect artistic productions of our time.

When I was sitting in my stall the other evening at
the Lyceum Theatre, watching with renewed interest the
superb performance of " Becket," I was attracted by a
familiar face. Where had I seen that face before ? It
was like a great actor I had seen, and yet unlike him.
Of course ! It was M. Coquelin, cadet, the younger
brother of the celebrated comedian, Coquelin, and an
honoured member of what was once the finest acting
society in the world, the Comedie Fran9aise. My thoughts
ran into various channels, and a train of reflection was
given me when I noticed how Mr. Bram Stoker, in the
name of Mr. Henry Irving, offered the hospitality of
the house to the brother of the great Coquelin. To this
home of art, any great artist was welcome.

As I sat watching M. Coquelin, cadet, in the Lyceum
stalls, I wondered if ever, on the stage of the Theatre
Fran9ais, with which he is so familiar, he had ever seen
anything finer than the production of " Becket." It
is the kind of play that Englishmen can show off with
considerable amount of pride to any French critic. To
begin with, it has literature. That is a point beyond
dispute. Impracticable as " Becket " might have been
before Mr. Henry Irving took it in hand, it now stands
out as a very fine and bold piece of workmanship, inter-
esting, dramatic, and, so far as the stage will allow,
historically accurate.

I have been looking over Southey's memoir of Arch-

358 '< BECKETT

bishop Becket in his " Book of the Church," and I
cannot see that history has been falsified by the Lyceum
production. The play starts well, centres well, and ends
well. There are no dull or unnecessary moments in it.
Then as regards dress, scenery, and archaeological detail,
it is very doubtful if it could be improved upon. Charles
Kean, with all his passion for archaeology and his student
researches, never did anything at the Princess's Theatre
better than " Becket." The scene that shows the revolt
of the nobles and barons is as magnificent as is the death
of Becket, both impressive and true.

When we come to the acting, there is still no fault to
find ; on the contrary, it can be pointed to as the very
best example of English acting that London can show
at the present day. For inspiration, Henry Irving's
Becket ; for grace and charm. Miss Ellen Terry's Fair
Rosamund ; for sterling and typical English qualities of
blustering good nature, the King Henry of Mr. William
Terriss ; and for distinction in style and art, the Queen
Eleanor of Miss Genevieve Ward, would take a good
deal of beating. If, over in France, M. Coquelin, cadet,
had chanced to hear of Henry Irving's peculiar affecta-
tions, of his deeply-rooted mannerisms, of his curious
angular ways, irregularities, and eccentricities, how sur-
prised he must have been when he made the acquaintance
of our leading actor as Becket ! As to manner and
affectation, they do not exist.

It would be difficult to find an elocutionist anywhere
who could do more justice to the verse of Alfred, Lord
Tennyson, than Henry Irving. If you want an example,
take note of the speeches spoken by Becket, those
tender, impressive, and prophetic speeches that are the
forerunners of the scene of martyrdom in Canterbury
Cathedral. For good balance, accent, music, and dis-
cretion in elocution, I have listened to nothing better for
many a long day. And then the smile ! We have heard
of an actress's laugh, or an actor's chuckle, or some other
memorial link that brings back the past to the present,
but it seems to me that in after years, if ever they
come, the sweet smile of Henry Irving as Becket will
" haunt me still." Resignation, determination, and the
proud spirit of a man chastened by religion were never
shown with greater effect. I once thought that Henry

" BECKETr 359

Irving could never beat his own record in " Louis XI,"
but he has done it in " Becket."

As I write, I can see his parting with Ophelia in
" Hamlet," his superb individuality in " Vanderdecken,"
his exit as Shylock, his resignation as Dr. Primrose,
Vicar of Wakefield, his picturesque devilry as lago, and
his combined comedy and tragedy as Louis ; but high
above them all stands that exquisite preparation for
martyrdom in " Becket." Nothing more beautiful, or
less stagey, or less conventional, has ever been seen, I
believe, on the stage of our time. No familiarity with
the great actors of the Comedie Fran9aise could have
interfered in the mind of Coquelin, cadet, with his esti-
mate of Henry Irving. He has never been seen to
greater advantage, nor has his artistic assistant, Miss
Ellen Terry, or the British bull-dog, WiUiam Terriss, or
Miss Genevieve Ward, reared in the best classical
schools of dramatic art. " Becket," in every respect, is
a play of which English art can be justly proud.

" Jt Story of Waterloo^

By A. Conan Doyle. First produced (on any stage) at the Prince's
Theatre, Bristol, September 21st, 1894.

Corporal Gregory Brewster (Aged 86) - Mr. Henry Irving.
Sergeant Archie McDonald, R. A. - - Mr. Fuller Mellish.
Colonel James Midwinter (Royal Scots Guards) - Mr. Haviland.
Norah Brewster (The Corporal's Grand-niece) Miss Annie Hughes.

First performed in London at a Matinee at the Garrick Theatre,
December 17th, 1894.

Corporal Gregory Brewster - - - Mr. Henry Irving.

Sergeant Archie McDonald, R.A. - - Mr. Fuller Mellish.
Colonel James Midwinter ----- Mr. Haviland.
Norah Brewster Miss Annie Hughes.

363

(C

^ Story of Waterloo.'

We must go back to the days of Lafont, incompa-
rable comedian, and Lesueur, a perfect representative of
old men, to find a parallel to the marvellous picture of
senility, pathetic, varied, and wholly true to nature, pre-
sented last night by Mr. Henry Irving at the Bristol
Theatre. We remember to have seen Lafont, the great
French actor, play a desperately old man in an admirable
drama called " Le Centenaire ; " but Henry Irving's per-
formance last night rivalled the greatest efforts of his
gifted predecessors. Dr. Conan Doyle desired to paint
in words and action what a Hubert Herkomer would
have depicted on canvas. Here was a portrait straight
out of Chelsea Hospital. Grey, bent, toothless, hungry
for his rations, like an old grizzled wolf, the actor im-
pressed the audience at his early entrance. He was
affectionate and yet testy ; alternately maundering and
manly.

The poor old man blubbered like a child over his
broken pipe, gobbled up the food that warmed his
withered old frame, and yet stood up alert as a dart,
saluting as if on parade, when he is surprised by the
Colonel, to whom he owes no allegiance save from
courtesy. The play, " A Story of Waterloo," written
by Dr. Conan Doyle, though earnest, apposite, and
always dramatic, does not claim to be strong drama ; but
it draws real tears, and was rewarded with profound
silence and abundant applause.

"Yes, I am a Guardsman, I am. Served in the 3rd Guards — the
same they now call the Scots Guards. Lordy ! Sergeant ! but they
have all marched away — from Colonel Byng right down to the
drummer-boys; and here am I — a straggler. That's what I call
myself — a straggler. But it ain't my fault neither, for I've never
had my call, and I can't leave my post without it."

364 "A STORY OF WATERLOOr

This is how Corporal Gregory Brewster, a Waterloo
veteran, eighty-six years of age, describes himself. He
is first discovered — a garrulous old gentleman — in a little
cottage at Woolwich, where he was lonely and badly
attended, until the home and the veteran were taken in
charge by pretty little Norah, the old soldier's grand-
niece. Naturally, old Gregory is a character in the
neighbourhood, for though his head is snow white, his
back bent, his knuckles gnarled with gout and rheu-
matism, and his " toobes " are out of order, still his
memory is all right. Gregory has been something of a
hero in the old days of 1815. He was in one of the
four companies of the Guards, under the command of
Colonels Maitland and Byng, that held the important
farmhouse of Hougoumont at the right of the British posi-
tion. At a critical period of the action, the troops found
themselves short of powder, and Corporal Brewster was
despatched to the rear to hasten up the reserve ammuni-
tion. The Corporal returned with two tumbrils of the
Nassau Division, but he found that in his absence the
howitzer fire of the French had ignited the hedge round
the farm, and that the passage of the carts filled with
powder had become almost an impossibility. The first
tumbril exploded, blowing the driver to pieces, and his
comrade, daunted by the sight, turned his horses ; but
Corporal Brewster, springing into his seat, hurled the
man down, and urging the cart through the flames
succeeded in rejoining his comrades.

The Duke of Wellington had repeatedly declared that,
if Hougoumont had fallen, he could not have held his
ground, and, without this timely supply of powder, a
disaster would certainly have taken place. In those
days there was no special Cross for Valour, but in the
pres,ence of the Prince Regent, at a parade of the 3rd
Regiment of the Guards, a special medal was presented
to Corporal Brewster. " The Regent, he was there,
and a fine body of a man, too," pipes old Gregory, as he
stuffs some tobacco into a new pipe just presented to
him by an admiring sergeant of Artillery. " The Regent
was there. He up to me, and he says, ' The ridgement
is proud of ye,' says he. ' And I'm proud of the ridge-
ment,' says I. 'And a damned good answer, too,' says
he to Lord Hill ; and they both bust out a-Iaughin'."

"A STORY OF WATERLOO." 365

As may be imagined, old Gregory lives wholly in the
past. He can't understand soldiers without stocks, or
newfangled rifles that are loaded without a ramrod, and
firmly believes that, " when there's work to be done, see
if they don't come back to Brown Bess ! " The old
man's perpetual comment on the new army regulations
is the stereotyped one, " By Jemini, it wouldn't ha'
done for the Dook ! The Dook would ha' had a word to
say ! " After fighting the Battle of Waterloo over again
in the presence of a modern Colonel of the Guards, with
the aid of a pipe, a pill-box, and a bottle of paregoric,
the old soldier is asked :

" What was it struck you the most, now, in connection
with the whole affair ? "

The veteran's answer is characteristic, and causes
roars of laughter :

" I lost three half-crowns over it. I did. I shouldn't wonder if I
were never to get the money now. I lent them to Jabez Smith, my
rear rank man, at Brussels. ' Greg ! ' says he, ' I'll pay you true,
only wait till pay day.' By Jimini, he was struck by a lancer at
Quarter Bras, and me without a line to prove the debt. Them half-
crowns is as good as lost to me."

That was the veteran's lasting impression of the battle
of Waterloo. But old debts are always running in old
Gregory's head. This is how he greets his little grand-
niece : " Then you'll be brother Jarge's gal, likely. Lor,
but little Jarge was a rare 'un. Eh ! by Jimini ! there
was no chousing Jarge ! He's got a bull pup o'mine
that I lent him when I took the shillin'. Likely it's
dead now. He didn't give it to ye to bring, may be ? "
Here is a characteristic and delightful scrap of conver-
sation between the old soldier and his pretty niece. The
girl is endeavouring to soothe the testy old man by
reading a chapter from the Bible in the absence of the
parson.

Nor AH. (opening the Bible.) What part would you like to hear ?

Corp. Oh ! them wars.

NoRAH. The wars ?

Corp. Aye ! keep to the wars. " Give me the Old Testament,
parson," said I. " There's more taste to it," says I. Parson he
wants to get off to something else, but its Joshua or nothing with
me. Them Israelites was good soldiers, good growed soldiers, all
of 'em.

366 "A STORY OF WATERLOO:'

NoRAH. But, Uncle, it's all peace in the next world.

Corp. No, it ain't, gal.

NoRAH. Oh, yes, Uncle, surely.

Corp. (irritably knocking his stick on the ground.) I tell ye it
ain't, gal. I asked parson.

NoRAH. Well, what did he say ?

Corp. He said there was to be a last final fight. Why, he even
gave a name, he did. The Battle of Arm — Arm

NoRAH. Armageddon.

Corp. Aye, that was the name. I specs the 3rd Guards will be
there. And the Dook — the Dook '11 have a word to say.

The end of the old corporal's story is so good and
dramatic that it may be quoted again in the author's own
words. The pretty grand-niece has discovered a soldier
lover, and the two are \Yatching with intense interest the
pale, worn face of the dying veteran. Suddenly the old
man wakes to action. The ruling passion is strong in
death, and this is what happens :

Corp. (in loud voice.) The Guards need powder !

Sergt. Eh ! What is the old gentlemen saying ?

Corp. (louder.) The Guards need powder ! (Struggles to
rise.)

NoRAH. Oh ! I am so frightened.

Corp. (staggering to his feet and suddenly flashing out into his
old soldierly figure.) The Guards need powder, and by God they
shall have it ! (Falls back into the chair. Norah and Sergeant rush
towards him.)

Norah. (sobbing.) Oh ! tell me, sir, tell me. What do you think
of him ?

Sergeant, (gravely.) I think the 3rd Guards have a full muster
now.

And so the curtain falls on a fine dramatic end to a
delightful little story.

The great merit of Mr. Irving's marvellous picture of
senility is its suggestion of second childhood. Well
may the bonny girl who waits on the old man think of
her young lover, stalwart and brave, and say to herself,
as Hamlet said to the skull, " To this complexion must
you come at last." This is evidently the artistic idea
of the actor. He wants to paint a strong, vigorous hero
— who in the old days would fell an ox — reduced to mere
impotence and babyhood. The fire is in his memory,
the life-blood is in his heart : but he has to be helped
from chair to chair, to be fed with a spoon ; and this

"A STORY OF WATERLOO" 367

grand hero of Waterloo, who saved a nation by his pkick,
whimpers over a broken pipe and chuckles at the memory
of days that are almost a forgotten dream.

The spectators were not prepared for such a superb
performance as this. The artist had surpassed himself.
When the first surprise had passed away — the surprise
of the shrunken, shrivelled old man, with the long, half-
paralysed arms and fingers, his sharp set face, like a grey
old wolf, his voice alternating between a deep bass and a
childish treble— the interest centred in the man himself.
Was ever second babyhood better expressed than the
whine and whimper over the broken pipe, a childish
burst of petulance assuaged by a new toy in the shape of
a newer and a better pipe ?

Were the devotion, the loyalty, and the discipline of
the old soldier ever better shown than when, at the
lilting tramp of the soldiers, old " Martin, the Man-at-
Arms," " shouldered his crutch and showed how fields
were won," or when, at the sound of the name of his
Colonel, the moribund man started to attention ? In
fact, there is no point or detail in this marvellous study
of senility that escapes critical attention. It is a little
masterpiece of art. We have no mere acting here, but
a photographic picture of mental and bodily decay. To
make up as an old man is a minor art. But to be old in
all his peevishness, all his querulousness, all his sense of
honour and duty, all his little acquired obstinacies and
dim recollections of the " Dook," who was his hero —
that is quite another matter. That is the Art that is
priceless.

The English stage has seen no finer example of Art —
nay, is it not genius ? — than this, since Robson played
Daddy Hardacre. Henry Irving has in this charming
play no dramatic opportunity such as Robson had either
in "The Porter's Knot," or "Daddy Hardacre"; but,
unquestionably, his picture of senility is painted with a
more delicate taste and finer touch, and this one thing is
most certain, that Henry Irving touched the heart-strings
of his audience as surely yesterday, as Robson ever did at
the Olympic — and with material only suggestively, and not
directly, dramatic. If Mr. Irving cared to, he could
draw all London with a triple bill composed of " A Story
of Waterloo," "The Amber Heart," for Miss Ellen

368 "^ STORY OF WATERLOO."

Terry, and say, " Jeremy Diddler " to wind up. It is
certain that all London will want to see him in this
exquisitely finished picture of age lapsed into childish-
ness.

The little play does not require much acting, save
from the principal, but to relieve it from monotony it
wants every scrap of variety it can get. Miss Annie
Hughes played the tender little waiting-maid with rustic
accent and proper expression ; and both Mr. Fuller
Mellish and Mr. Haviland did their loyal best for this
delightful drama in miniature. But the audience had
come out to see Mr. Henry Irving in a new character,
and watched every movement with intense interest,
noting both the humour and the pathos of this absolute
photograph of childhood in old age.

Needless to say, the theatre was crowded in every
part, and when the curtain fell, it was raised at least four
times in order to reward the actor for the extreme plea-
sure he had given to all whose hearts were responsive
to his touch. When the actor had received his due
praise, the turn came for the author, who has proved by
this little play that he has within him the true gifts of
the dramatist — tenderness, appreciation of character,
and subtle strength. Dr. Conan Doyle writes well, and,
as the profession would say, he acts well. This is no
mean gift, for very admirable writers prove but indifferent
dramatists. An author who can give us such a sketch
as this, pregnant with humour and human nature, ought
to give us in the future a drama of rich moment. Dr.
Conan Doyle has under his fingers the art of drama.
Unluckily, he was not among the audience last night,
but in response to the enthusiasm with which his name
was received, Mr. Irving promised to send him at once
the good news of the complete English victory at
Waterloo. One thing is quite certain, and that is, when
Henry Irving has done with the Waterloo story, the
amateurs will pounce upon it like hawks. They have
had no such prize since the Grandfather Whitehead
of the elder Farren. Dr. Conan Doyle has presented
the actual and the amateur stage with a precious gift.

^^ King Arthur.

>)

By J. Comyns Carr. First produced at the Lyceum Theatre,
January 12th, 18915.

King Arthur _-.--.-. Mr. Irving.
Sir Lancelot (By permission of Mr. Hare) Mr. Forbes Robertson.
Sir Mordred ------ Mr. Frank Cooper.

Sir Kay Mr. Tyars.

Sir Gawaine Mr. Clarence Hague.

Sir Bedevere ------ Mr. Fuller Mellish.

Sir Agravaine -------- Mr. Lacy.

Sir Percivale - Mr. Buckley.

Sir Lavaine ------ Mr. Julius Knight.

Sir Dagonet - Mr. Harvey.

Merlin .--..- Mr. Sydney Valentine.

Messenger - Mr. Belmore.

Gaoler -- Mr. Tabb.

Morgan Le Fay . . - - - Miss Genevieve Ward.

Elaine - - Miss Lena Ashwell.

Clarissant ------ Miss Annie Hughes.

Spirit of the Lake Miss Maud Milton.

Guinevere ------- Miss Ellen Terry.

Knights, Ladies of the Court, etc.

SYNOPSIS OF SCENERY

Prologue. — Excalibur.
Scene. — The Magic Mere (Hawes Craven).

Act I. — The Holy Grail.
Scene. — The Great Hall at Camelot (J. Harker).

Act 2. — The Queen's Maying.
Scene. — The Whitethorn Wood (Hawes Craven).

Act 3. — The Black Barge.
Scene. — The Tower above the River at Camelot (Hawes Craven)

Act 4. — The Passing of Arthur.

Scene i. — The Queen's Prison at Camelot (Hawes Craven).
Scene 2. — The Great Hall at Camelot (J. Harker).

B B

371

" Ki?ig Arthur r

THE ARGUMENT.

At the dawn of a day when Arthur was led by MerHn to the
Magic Mere he saw a great sword rising out of the water ; and
while he looked upon it there came voices from the Mere, saying
unto him that the name of that sword was Excalibur, which had been
forged beneath the waters of the sea ; and that it should be given to
*he son of Uther Pendragon, who in aftertime, should rule over a
kingdom that should rule the sea. And while Arthur wondered,
Merlin declared the truth unto him, that he was Pendragon's son.
albeit he knew it not ; and Merlin bade Arthur take the sword, tell-
ing him also that although the blade was of such temper that no
man could withstand its stroke, yet was the scabbard worthier than
the sword. And at the same time there appeared a vision of
Guinevere, and seeing her, Arthur desired her for his Queen. But
while he gazed upon her there came other voices which declared
unto him that, by reason of her beauty, great evil should fall upon
his kingdom ; yet Arthur heeded them not, and resolved to make her
his Queen.

And in the aftertime when they were wed, Arthur bethought him
of the words of Merlin, that the scabbard was worthier than the
sword ; for with the coming of Guinevere, peace fell upon the land
after a long season of havoc and war, and, therefore, Arthur likened
his Queen unto the scabbard of Excalibur But there dwelt at the
Court one Morgan Ee Fay, who loved not Arthur, for she desired
the kingdom for her son, whose name was Mordred. And this same
Morgan had learned from Merlin that he alone might stay Pen-
dragon's son, who was born with the May. And this thing she kept
in her heart, for Mordred had been born to her on May Day. Now
at this time a strange thing happened at the Court, for the cup of
the Holy Grail, which in long time past had been brought to this
Isle, and had since been snatched away no man knew whither,
appeared again to Arthur's knights in the Great Hall at Camelot ;
yet was the cup so veiled that no man might see it with his eyes.

Then a great company of Arthur's knights took upon themselves
avow to seek this Holy Grail through all the world till they might
openly behold the cup itself. And Sir Lancelot, who was the
bravest knight of all the Court, would have joined himself to this
Holy Quest ; and Queen Guinevere was willing he should go, for

B B — 2

372 "KING ARTHURS

she knew of his great love for her, and would not that they should
bring shame upon the King. But Arthur withstood them both, for he
loved Lancelot better than any other knight, and so it chanced that
Lancelot stayed. Whereat Morgan Le Fay was well content, for,
knowing of the loves of Lancelot and Guinevere, she hoped thereby
to bring ruin upon the King. And yet, mindful always of Merlin's
words, that the scabbard of Excalibur was mightier than the sword,
she bethought her of how the King had likened the scabbard unto
his Queen ! and so, one night while Arthur slept, she stole away
the scabbard of Excalibur, and left him only his naked sword.

Whereafter followed great evil to the kingdom, for at this hour
Caerleon was besieged, and Arthur, who had learned that his Queen
was false to him, cared no more for his scabbard that was gone, but
with his naked sword went forth to make war upon his enemies.
And when the King had departed, Mordred gave out that he had
been slain by Lancelot, and would have made Guinevere his wife ;
and when she spurned him he cast her into prison, and condemned
her to be burnt ; and, although Arthur came to fight in her cause,
he could not save her, for Excalibur availed not against the blade of
him who had been born on May Day. Yet Guinevere died not then,
for Lancelot saved her from the fire, and slew Mordred, who had
slain the King. And after he was dead, Arthur was borne by the
Three Queens of Night to that sweet isle of sleep, which is called
Avalon ; yet ere he went he commanded Bedevere to take Excalibur
and cast it into the water, so that when his day was ended England
should find her sword again in the sea. — (Extract from the Original
Play Bill of the first performance of " King Arthur.''' )

It was a splendid first night, and everyone was on the
tiptoe of excitement. Royalty was there, and eager eyes
looked towards the well-known box, with a ledge of
flowers and a brilliant mass of depending ribbons.
When, indeed, has Royal favour been refused to the
art that appeals from the palace to the cottage, or to
artists like Henry Irving, who is as welcome at the
Court as in the cabin ? His portrait in oils may be in
the aristocratic or club picture gallery ; it is certainly
pinned up — cut out of an illustrated weekly — in the
humblest workman's house. All forms and features of
art were there.

Painters assembled to congratulate Sir Edward Burne-
Jones on his welcome wandering from the studio to the
stage. Musicians came once more to cheer Sir Arthur
Sullivan, to whom dramatic art has so often been in-
debted. Doctors were present, the best friends, the
truest, kindest counsellors of the representatives of every
phase of art. Judges and lawyers came, whose timely
power of consultation has so often smoothed over diffi-

''KING ARTHURS 373

culties, and tempered the fury and the indignation that
are inseparable from a hfe of nervous excitement.
Literature in all its branches, journalism in all its
various states, sent the " fine flower " of its nobilty to
the well- organised court of art — the Lyceum Theatre.

As to old playgoers, steady, loyal, consistent old play-
goers, who shall count them? Some there were who
knew the Lyceum and its history long before Henry
Irving and Ellen Terry were names to venerate. One,
at least, had sat in this very theatre, which has remained
the same except in decoration and modern detail, during
every change of stress and circumstances, and on every
important first night, whether it was under Charles
Dillon, or Charles Fechter, or E. T. Smith, ever since
the year 1848, when Madame Vestris was playing in
Planche's extravaganzas, and Charles Mathews was act-
ing " Used Up." Prominent in the stalls was a retired
actress, who had been in this very theatre — Fechter's
incomparable heroine in " The Duke's Motto," and
" Bel Demonio," and Avho is to devote her daughter to
the stage next Thursday.

But enough of recollections started by that remarkable
Lyceum audience. They would fill a bulky volume
The curtain is about to rise on " King Arthur," a drama
by James Comyns Carr. At last " King Arthur " is to
be acted at the Lyceum ; at last Henry Irving is to be
the " half-divine " ruler and founder of the Table Round !
At last Ellen Terry is to be the Queen Guinevere we
have pictured in our imaginations these countless years.
Herman Merivale was to have done a version of the
Arthurian legend — Merivale, the poet-dramatist ; it was
to have been written also by W. G. Wills, the most
imaginative stage writer of our time. Everyone known
and unknown had a dreamy, undetermined view of how
" King Arthur" ought to be done. The poets, and the
sentimentalists, and the aesthetes, pestered poor Mr.
Irving with their ideas on " King Arthur."

One wanted this, and one wanted that ; some would
have been too mediasval, some too diffuse, some demanded
Vivien, others insisted on Elaine, all naturally clamoured
for poetical and pictorial effect. The disciples of Tenny-
son clung with desperation to the poem of Guinevere as
the one thing essential. They saw the religious beauty

374 "KING ARTHUR:'

and calm of that superb climax ; the retreat of the
Queen after confession and contrition into the holy-
house of Amesbury, the prattle of the novice, the
awakened woman with the sweet recollections of the
past; the mental panorama of a dear lost life; the sudden
arrival of the King with a compression of the finest
dramatic speech in all modern poetry ; the Queen's
humiliation, kissing the feet of her saviour husband, and
then the misty farewell, the departure into gloom, the
long eternal good-bye for ever and for ever.

But these things were not to be. Mr. Comyns Carr
cut the Gordian knot. He had not to vaporise or theo-
rise, or to take the pretty scrap here or there ; he had to
do solid work, he had to make a play. And he has made
a very effective and interesting drama, extremely well
written, delicately handled, and bearing the impress of
an artist, a scholar, and a man who understands the
stage. We must not cry our eyes out because here and
there modernity supplants mediae valism, and imagination
is sacrificed for theatrical effect. We come to the theatre
with our minds saturated with and steeped in the Tenny-
sonian version of the Arthurian legend. It cannot be
helped.

The world at large knows more of Tennyson than
the countless books of Malory, and the disappointment
that we do not get the King Arthur of Tennyson or the
Queen Guinevere of Tennyson, that we do not see the
pictures that have been presented to our minds for a life-
time, is inevitable. It cannot be helped. If we dramatise
Fielding or Richardson, Thackeray or Dickens, or
Charlotte Bronte, or Hardy, we experience exactly the
same sense of vexation. We have our ideas of Tom
Jones, Clarissa Harlowe, Becky Sharp, Agnes Rose
Dartle, Jane Eyre, and Tess, though a thousand dramatists
told us to the contrary. This is the penalty of drama-
tising classics. Sometimes, by rare accident, a dramatist
of genius can give us a Charles the First, a Sydney
Carton, an Olivia, and so on, exceeding our imaginative
expectation, but the occurrence is infrequent. Our mental
picture is not to be disturbed, except by a miracle.

However, Sir Arthur Sullivan's exquisite overture has
finished, and the curtain rises on the scene of the Magic
Mere. All is dreamy, fantastic, mysterious. The music,

''KING ARTHUR:' 375

always suggestive, never pronounced, helps the imagi-
nation. The idea is silence and isolation. It may be
some water cave in the heart of the cliff-line of old
England. But it is silent, and it is the unruffled sea.
Water nymphs and lake spirits, half hidden, play and
sing on the water's surface. This remote nook, hidden
from all the world, is the casket that holds Excalibur,
the enchanted sword. Sea sprites and fantastic crea-
tures have fashioned its scabbard and its blade, and fate
has willed that the owner of Excalibur shall be virtually
immortal save to one who was born in the month of May.
So Merlin pronounces, and Merlin is the chorus of fate.
Here to the silent Mere, in the glimmering dawn, come
Merlin and the King Arthur who is half Divine.

We wait for this coming with intense expectation.
We have heard about Merlin : and we know, or think
we know, King Arthur. Now, at this supreme moment,
it is absolutely requisite, so we hold, that the key-note
of the romance should be struck. The mind desires to
see a King Arthur to excel our most feverish imagina-
tion. He is a warrior, but still he is a demi-god. A
halo of light should be about his head. His face
should be one of transcendent majesty. Arthur should be
the sole ray of light in this mysterious, shadowy picture.
He has to be told by Merlin that he is Pendragon's son ;
he has to be warned of his ominous future ; he has
to receive Excalibur from the mystic lake; he has to see,
— as Faust saw, with Mephisto by his side — the vision of
the woman who is to wreck his life ; he has to be the
glow, and radiance, and type of beauty in this fascinating
and enchanting picture. At least, we are confident
that this is the dramatic idea. Start the play with
an absolutely ideal King Arthur, and the play leaps
into consequence from that instant. But this is a fact
that has not been mastered by Sir Edward Burne-Jones,
who views the matter from the standpoint of the studio,
and not the stage. He does not know — how should he ?
— the vital importance of the first appearance of King
Arthur as an impression, so he dresses King Arthur in a
tight-fitting suit of black armour, undraped in any Avay
— a man unromantic, unheroic, unideal ; and he places
by his side a Merliu swathed like one of the old watches
in " Macbeth."

37S ''KING ARTHUR:'

There is no question of historical accuracy here. No
one knows if King Arthur or his knights ever existed at
all ; and whether they wore armour must be decided by
the records of Phoenicia, or the Cornish tin mines of
ante-historic England. But this we do know, that it is
absolutely essential at the outstart of an imaginative
play not to suggest, when King Arthur first appears,
either Marcellus or Bernardo waiting for the ghost out-
side the turrets of Elsinore in " Hamlet," or Don
Quixote arming himself for a tilt at windmills. If Sir
Edward Burne-Jones has allow^ed himself the luxury of
imagination in the dresses of Queen Guinevere and her
Court — -and he has done so to perfection — if the women
in the play can be called in "white samite, mystic,
wonderful," if Miss Ellen Terry's dresses can be fairly
described as " dreams," why should it be necessary to
start our idea of King Arthur with Ivanhoe, or
Edward, the Black Prince ? The whole scene is
a mass of mysticism, but the one figure we want
to be ideal is planted into poetry, but out of another
period.

If it is possible to make a Lohengrin, or a Parsifal,
ideal to the eye and the imagination, why not King
Arthur ? Where is the fair hair, where the robes, where the
drapery, where the air of dignity and distinction, in this
tight-fitting black tin armour ? An actor of the highest
distinction has to work desperately hard to counteract the
impression for which he is not in the least responsible. It
was decided — we know not for what reason — that all the
principal actors in this play should wear their own hair,
Bond-street or Regent-street cut. Never was there a
play where assumed hair seemed to be more imperative.
If King Arthur, Lancelot, and Mordred really had their
heads dressed in this fashion of the Lyceum stage, then
the Knights of the Round Table differed little from the
nineteenth-century exquisite.

However, what with the mystery and the music, the
solemnity of the scene, the heroic determination of Mr,
Henry Irving to show that he really was King Arthur — -
and not one of Sir Walter Scott's knightly heroes or
Shakespeare's supernumeries — what with the sonorous
but occasionally monotonous declamation of Mr. Sydney
Valentine as Merlin, the curtain fell on an mteresting

"KING ARTHUR:' 377

prologue more theatrical than imaginative. The eye was
delighted ; the mind not quite satisfied.

The first act is by far the most interesting and im-
pressive. It is arranged with rare dramatic skill ; it is
varied, full of colour, and lively with incident. The act
might be called the temptation of Lancelot. He is a
deeply religious man, tormented with an unholy love.
Longing to go in quest of the Holy Grail, this saintly-
minded and stainless man is held back by the chains of
a lawless passion. He loves the Queen, the wife of his
friend and King. The entrance of Mr. Forbes Robertson
on the stage restores the lost balance of the play. At
this moment it is no more theatrical, but romantic. At
last the ideal that w^e have longed for comes to us with
refreshing force.

We have had recollections of Goethe and recollec-
tions of Shakespeare, but with Mr. Forbes Robertson
comes Alfred Tennyson. The change is short, but it
is very thorough. To look at the Lancelot, with his
resigned expression, his well-cut features, and his
unsensual face, he might be a Galahad, and the scene
in which the tempted Lancelot sees the vision of the
Holy Grail, and on his knees prays, hke a devout
saint to resist the temptation of this peerless woman
and superb Queen, is the most beautiful in the play.
The actor rises to the topmost height of imaginative
force. His diction and elocution are masterly, each
word and sentence clearly cut, and falling on the ear like
music ; whilst the voice has that throb of tenderness in
it which affects all who are under the spell of so genuine
an artist. The entrance of Miss Ellen Terry — glorious
in priceless costume — as the Queen Guinevere, intensifies
the attention. Now the romance is about to begin, and
the interest starts in real earnest.

Mr. Comyns Carr has designed the mental complica-
tion here with rare dramatic skill. Shall Lancelot go
or not in quest of the Holy Grail ? His conscience says
" Go ! " his inclination says " Stay ! " If he goes, he
will save his soul; if he stays, he will win the most beau-
tiful woman on earth. The Queen is undecided, for she
has a conscience, also ; but the arrival of sweet Elaine,
with her piteous, pleading love for Lancelot, sets the
elder woman's heart on fire. We can less understand the

378 ''KING ARTHUR."

attitude of the King, but, then, he is not the Arthur of
Tennyson.

The Tennysonian Arthur would not have kept back
one of his dearest knights from saving his soul at
the cost of personal friendship, or the more ignoble
reason of personal safety; and, strange to say, all through
this act we cannot detect a trace of the ideal Arthur.
The actor strains every nerve to make him interesting,
but the King Arthur of this ideal Court is not so very
much more impressive than the King in " Hamlet," a
play of which we are reminded again and again, with
dim visions of King, Queen, Ophelia, Hamlet, and
Laertes. But the beautiful love scene between Lancelot
and the Queen is worked up to with great delicacy and
tact, and is played with a grace and significance, rare
indeed on the stage, by Mr. Forbes Robertson.

The crash has come, and the Queen, with delicate
hesitation, has declared her guilty love, and we do not
remember a more beautiful love passage than that
between Mr. Forbes Robertson and Miss Ellen Terry,
when the dear waist had been clasped at last by the
eager, yet reluctant arms. In an instant the saint dis-
appears in the lover ; the obedient slave becomes the
all-conquering master. The floodgates of reticence and
reserve have been broken down, and out pours the full
torrent of pent-up devotion. But it is only momentary,
and, as is so true to nature, it is the woman now who
shrinks back. Lancelot loves her — that is enough !

Here is the supreme romance. It will be the posses-
sion that will be so terrible to the woman. No ! She
will not kill her lover's soul. He shall save it himself in
quest of the Holy Grail I They part in tears, but with
chastened hearts — a beautiful scene, exquisitely played.
Still the Queen temporises. She cheats her own con-
science. The King — the poor blind, trusting King — who
knows nothing, helps his wife to break her good resolu-
tion by almost commanding his faithful knight to remain.
So weakness triumphs, and strength is washed away, and
amidst a clash of armour, and a shout of soldiery, and a
chant of goodly knights, the faithful go forth on their
holy mission, and the faithless remain under the dark
shadow of their self-made misery.

The second act was an exquisite episode. Lovely as

''KING ARTHUR." 379

had been the picture in the prologue of Guinevree — we
had almost said Margaret — in the joyous springtime
"under the dreaming garden trees" of blossoming
spring, still more exquisite is Mr. Hawes Craven's
triumphant bit of nature as painted in an English
woodland glade. The winding forest ways, the peeps of
sky-line through the old trees, the masses of May and
hawthorn blossom, that seem to scent the very air, make
an enchanting picture. Of course, here the love-sick
Queen brings her white-robed attendants to sing and
talk of love. Where are we ? At Camelot, or in the
Forest of Arden ? What is it ? The play of " King
Arthur," or " As You Like It ? " Who are these ?
Guinevere, or Rosalind ; Clarissant, or Celia ? What
does it all mean ? Is not Dagonet Touchstone ? and do
we not here perceive a Touchstone in Dagonet ? and an
Orlando in Lancelot ?

Anyhow, it is all very fair, and very beautiful : a pas-
toral so enchanting, that once more one wishes that
Henry Irving had taken " As You Like It " in hand
years ago, as he intended to do. However, let that pass.
Lancelot and Guinevere have to hide like children in a
bower of May, and to be frightened by a passing
thunderstorm — so full of omen — and the Queen has to
shelter in her lover's arms, closer and closer still, and to
be kissed passionately on the lips again and again ; whilst
under the pure white May blossoms the traitor Mordred
and his witch-mother, Morgan Le Fay, wait and observe,
and threaten the vengeance that will crash down upon
the lovers like the next thunder-clap. May, in good
truth, is an ominous month in the saddened story. And
the vengeance is not long in coming. Guilty love has a
predestined doom.

First the crafty Mordred openly accuses Lancelot of
his disloyalty, then he pours poison into the ear of the
blameless King. We have left "Faust," and " Hamlet,"
and " As You Like It," and now we are plunged into the
fierce passions of " Othello." There they are all —
Othello, and lago, and Desdemona, and Emilia, and
Cassio, and the rest of them. The secret of the guilty
love is discovered by means of the dead Elaine. To the
exquisite wail of a minor dirge, the " Lily Maiden " is
brought up on a bier to the castle, and in her hand is a

38o "KING ARTHUR:'

sealed letter addressed to the Queen. " Elaine, the fair,
Elaine, the loveable " — whose honour, we regret to say,
is assailed by none other than the King, who is her
historic champion — has died for love of Lancelot. Why
King Arthur should doubt her purity we kmow not, but
here are his words in answer to the Queen's doubts about
her sin. Says the King :

" Ay, for it must be so.
Some sin there was though unrecorded here,
Some stain that smirched her seeming purity,
Which Lancelot, all too noble, could not urge,
Else were it not in nature to refuse
So sweet a gift."

However, the letter in Elaine's hand brings nearer
home the guilt of Guinevere and Lancelot. It is the
Queen who, to the surprise of Lancelot, makes open
confession of her guilt.

" What hast thou done ? " asks Lancelot, in an agony
of remorse ; to which the Queen replies, " All that was
left to do." For a moment the dazed King relents. He
is paralysed at the position. " Take back that word,
and none shall know 'twas said." But the guilty Queen
remains unmoved. The King is heartbroken.

" Is this so much to ask? Ay, all too much.
There is no might can give back to the spring
Its lowliest flower, dead under changing skies.
Then how should I, with winter at my heart,
Plead with the ruined summer for its rose ? "

The crash comes, and it is inevitable. Arthur rushes at
his guilty friend, but the great sword, Excalibur, drops
from his palsied hand. He cannot kill his more than
brother, deeply as he has wronged him.

So Lancelot, abashed, steals from the fateful scene
like some guilty thing, and, to the intense regret of the
audience, is seen on the stage no more. It is Othello
and Cassio over again. " Never more be officer of
mine!" But once the stage is cleared — and, be it re-
marked, it is not cleared nearly soon enough, for the
painful domestic scene is additionally harrowing from
being witnessed by Lancelot and the greedy Mordred —

"KING ARTHURS 381

we come to the only scene of the play that gets near the
Guinevere of Tennyson.

It is one of the best moments in the romance, and
certainly the finest chance that Mr. Irving obtains
throughout it. There may be a dramatic necessity, but
not a great one, for the scene of the attempted murder
of Lancelot by the King ; but as yet, as acted, it i s
ineffective, and is counterbalanced by the presence of
two onlooking men at the humiliation of a guilty wife.
It was not so in Tennyson. Think how dramatic is the
picture in the " Idylls of the King " :

" She sat
Stiff, stricken, listening ; but when armed feet
Thro' the long gallery from the outer doors
Rang coming, prone from off her seat she fell,
And grovelled with her face upon the floor.
There, with her milk-white arms and shadowy hair,
She made her face a darkness from the King,
And in the darkness heard his armed feet
Pause by her. Then came silence ; then a voice.
Monotonous and hollow like a ghost's.
Denouncing judgment, but, tho' changed, the King's."

Author and actor are at their very best in this scene.
Mr. Irving has hitherto had to play a waiting game. He
has been a silent spectator. No opportunity has been
given to him to show the calm and saintliness of King
Arthur's disposition. We do not see, even from the
Guinevere point of view, the " cold, high, self-contained,
and passionless " Arthur of the legend, nor the saintlike
husband held in venerated awe by his wife. King Arthur
is a kind of Roman warrior ; his wife an indifferent pas-
sionless helpmeet. But in this scene King Arthur is
imbued with life and feeling. His anguish over his pro-
strate wife is infinitely pathetic. We have a suggestion
here of the wail of Othello — " Othello's occupation gone."
It is the true cry of the heart, and never did Mr. Irving
move his audience more than in his delivery of by far the
most beautiful speech in the play, the gem of Mr. Comyns
Carr's most creditable and scholarly work.

" Ay ; would Death's marble finger had been laid
On those sweet lips when first they hallowed mine !
For, locked in Death's white arms Love lies secure.
In changeless sleep that knows no dream of change.

382 "KING Arthur:'

'Tis Life, not Death, that is Love's sepulchre ;

Where each day tells of passionate hearts grown strange,

And perjured vows chime with the answering bell

That tolls Love's funeral. If thou would'st boast

Of this new sway a woman's wile hath won

Go tell the world thy heart hath slain a heart

That once had been a King's! Yet that's not all.

Thou, too, hast been a Queen whose soul shone clear.

A star for all men's worship, and a lamp

Set high in Heaven, whereby all hearts

Should steer their course towards God ; then, 'tis not I

Whose life lies broken here, for at thy fall

A shattered kingdom bleeds."

The threatened siege of Caerleon, the onrush of the
soldiery, the departure of the King to battle, and the
charge to the guilty Mordred of the prostrate and peni-
tent Queen, brings down the curtain on one of the most
brilliant scenes of the play.

" Sound out for war ! Yet pray you use her well,
For there entombed lies one who was my Queen.
Gavvaine, I come! The King will lead thee forth !
My sword is drawn ! I want no scabbard now ! "

The last act suffered from the lateness of the hour,
though never for an instant was there a sign of impa-
tience— a wonderful circumstance on a Saturday night.
It deals with the usurpation of the kingdom by Mordred,
the charge of treason against the Queen, her public
condemnation, her deliverance by an unknown, vizored
knight and champion, who turns out to be King Arthur,
and the death of the King — as predicted by fate — at the
hands of Mordred, " born in May." Incidentally, we
hear of the slaughter of Mordred by Lancelot ; but that
scene is " played off," and the audience resented the loss
of such a delightful knight as Lancelot, who was, if
truth be told, the feature of the play. The apotheosis
of the dead King in the dusky barge, with the three
crowned Queens, fitly ends a beautiful drama.

The pictures of Mr. Henry Irving standing defiant
with the sword Excalibur, accepting his doom with
stubborn resignation, breaking his heart-strings at the
ruin of all his faith and trust, and dying almost in
loneliness at the command of inexorable fate, will be

''KING ARTHUR:' 383

treasured by all who admire his versatility and genius.
So, also, will be the gentle and graceful touches of
womanhood shown by Miss Ellen Terry, a picture in
many a lovely scene. If the note of passion was some-
times thin and faint ; if the fierce fire of love burned a
little low, still the accent of gentleness and tenderness
was as true as ever.

Strange to say, brilliant and varied as is the dramatic
theme, the hero and the heroine of the romance have the
most uphill work. Only artists of the first rank could
have mastered the difficulty. We have spoken before of
the Lancelot of Mr. Forbes Robertson. It is a perform-
ance that cannot be praised too highly, delighting every-
body, and the champions of every school. Charming,
in every sense of the word, sweet, girlish, unaffected, and
spoken to admiration, was the Elaine of Miss Lena
Ashwell. There was not much to do, but that little was
vastly important. The actress spoke from her heart,
and when she was not speaking she was showing the
workings of her soul ; an art that few young actresses
understand. Her face, during the discussion of the
departure of Lancelot, was a picture of conflicting
emotions. This was one of the successes of the evening.

The value of Miss Genevieve Ward as Morgan Le Fay
cannot be overrated. It was a most difficult character
admirably played. One trembles to think what would
have become of such a character in inartistic hands.
But Miss Ward was as firm as a rock, and was at her
very best in the last act, where her assistance was most
urgently required. Handsome always, dignified ever,
strong but never shrewish, alternately determined and
suave, this Morgan Le Fay was even better than Miss
Genevieve Ward's Queen Eleanor. The author owes
much to her invaluable assistance. Mr. Frank Cooper
was firm and commendably unstagey as Sir Mordred,
who, like all his brother Arthurian Knights of the Round
Table, wanted a wig very badly ; and excellent help was
given by Mr. Tyars, Mr. Fuller Mellish, Mr. Harvey,
Miss Annie Hughes, and Miss Maud Milton. Mr.
Valentine will be a most valuable member of the Lyceum
company, with his fine voice and his excellent elocu-
tionary style. He suffered, as did many more, from
extreme nervousness — a good fault in any earnest artist.

384 ''KING ARTHUR:'

Late as was the hour, everyone present determined to
see Mr. Irving, Miss Terry, Miss Ward, Mr. Forbes
Robertson, and, of course, Mr. Comyns Carr, who was
called again and again, and may be sincerely congratu-
lated on his mastery of a supremely difficult task. Few
living authors could follow Alfred Tennyson on a subject
identified with his genius, and succeed so well and with
so little ground of offence. We know where the poetry
is ; but the rhetoric is still very acceptable on a stage
that pines for literature. And then came one of Mr.
Henry Irving's brief, courteous, and delightful speeches,
which sent away the audience happy in the thought that
King Arthur is with us for many months to come.

<tAppendix.

c c

387

^Appe7id.

eiiaix.

A Siiunnary of the First Nights and Luportant
Revivals at the Lyceum Theatre^ from
iSy^ to iSg^.

PRODUCED.

Fanchette -

September nth,

1871.

Pickwick

October 23rd,

1871

='=The Bells -

November 25th,

1871

^Raising the Wind -

April ist,

1872

"^'Charles the First -

September 28th,

1872

■'■'Eugene Aram -

- April 19th,

1873

'■'Richelieu

September 27th,

1873

-Philip - - . .

February 7th,

1874

Charles the First -

- June ist,

1874

Eugene Aram and Raising

the Wind June 22nd,

1874

The Bells -

September 28th,

1874

* Hamlet - - - -

October 31st,

1874

Hamlet

February 15th,

1875

=^'-Macbeth - - - -

- September i8th,

1875

Hamlet

December 27th,

1875

-Othello - - - -

- February 14th,

1876

-Queen Mary

April 1 8th,

1876

-The Belle's Stratagem

- June 12th,

1876

c c — 2

388

APPENDIX.

Macbeth
■''Richard the Third -
*The Lyons Mail -

Hamlet . - - -

The Lyons Mail -
'■■Louis the Eleventh -
*Vanderdecken

Hamlet . - - -
='=The Lady of Lyons

The Bells
'■'The Iron Chest -

Hamlet . - - -
'■■'The Merchant of Venice

Two Roses, Matinee
'■'lolanthe . . . .
'■'The Corsican Brothers
'■■The Cup - . - .

The Corsican Brothers

The Belle's Stratagem

The Cup - - - -

'•'Othello — Irving as lago

Hamlet . - - -

The Bells . - - ■
'■'Scene from The Hunchback

T-wo Roses - - - ■
'■'Romeo and Juliet

Romeo and Juliet
'■'Much Ado about Nothing

The Bells - - - -

The Lyons Mail
'■'Robert INIacaire, Matinee

Charles the First

Hamlet . . - .

The Merchant of Venice -

December i6th

January 29th

May igth

- July 30th
December 26th

- March 9th

June 8th

December 20th

April 17th

September 20th

September 27th

October 15th

November ist

December loth

May 20th

September i8th

- January 3rd

|- April 1 6th

May 2nd

- June 18th

I July 23rd

December 26th

March nth

September 2nd

October nth

Tune 2nd

- I •'

June 14th

- June 30th
July nth

- July i6th

[876.
•877.
1877.
:877.

-877.
[878.
[878.
[878.
:879.

•879.
[879.

:879.

1879.
[879.
[880.
[880.

:88i.

[881.

;i.

[881.

[881.

;i.

[882.
[882.

>2.

[883.

^883.
[883.
[883.
1883.

APPENDIX.

38c

Eugene Aram

The Belle's Stratagem

" . " . ) July 19th,

1883

Louis the Eleventh

July 23rd,

1883

Much Ado about Nothing

- May 31st,

1884

-Twelfth Night

July 8th,

1884

Hamlet - - - -

May 2nd,

1885

Louis the Eleventh

May 9th,

1885

The Merchant of Venice -

- May nth,

1885

The Bells -

May 1 6th,

C885.

'■'Olivia . - - -

- May 27th,

1885

Louis the Eleventh

December 7th,

[S85.

""Faust . - - .

- September 19th,

1885.

The Bells and Raising the

Wind - July 24th,

[886.

Faust - - - -

- December i ith, ]

886.

Jingle and The Bells •

April 23rd,

[887.

The Merchant of Venice -

- May i6th,

[887.

Louis the Eleventh

May 28th,

[887.

•■'Werner - - - -

June ist.

[887.

The Amber Heart

June 7th,

[887.

Much Ado about Nothing

- June 13th,

887.

Olivia - - - -

June 29th, ]

887.

Faust - - . .

- April 14th, ]

888.

Robert Macaire & The Am

ber Heart May 23rd, ]

888.

Macbeth - - - -

- December 29th, j

888.

"The Dead Heart -

September 28th, ]

889.

Louis the Eleventh

- May 3rd, I

890.

The Bells

- May loth, i

890.

Olivia - - - -

- May 27th, 1

890.

■'Ravens wood

September 20th, i

890.

The Lyons Mail

February 7th, i

891.

Charles the First -

March 4th, i

891.

The Corsican Brothers

June 2nd, i

891.

■'Henry the Eighth

- January 5th, i

892.

go APPENDIX.

Richelieu

May 7th,

1892.

The Bells - - - -

September 24th,

1892.

Henry the Eighth -

October ist,

1892.

King Lear . - - .

November loth,

1892.

Becket

February 6th,

1893.

King Lear - - - -

February 13th,

1893.

Louis the Eleventh -

- April 8th,

1893.

The Lyons Mail -

April 22nd,

1893.

The Bells

- May 22nd,

1893.

The Merchant of Venice

June 3rd,

1893.

Olivia ... -

June 7th,

1893.

Charles the First, Matinee -

June 28th,

1893.

The Lyons Mail

- June 28th,

1893.

Much Ado about Nothing -

- J"iy 3rd,

1893.

Becket . . . .

- July 5th,

1893.

Henry the Eighth

July loth.

1893.

Olivia

- July 14th,

1893.

The Bells and Nance Oldfield

July 2oth,

1893.

Faust

- April 14th,

1894.

Becket ....

July 9th,

1894.

The Merchant of Venice -

July 2ist,

1894.

King Arthur

- January 12th,

1895.

All I he first-night productions are marked Zc'iih an asterisk {■

391

List of tJie parts played by Hen7y Irving at
the Lyceum Theatre.

Mathias, in " The Bells."
Jeremy Diddler, in " Raising the Wind."
Charles I, in " Charles I."
Eugene Aram, in " Eugene Aram."
Cardinal Richelieu, in " Richelieu."
Philip, in " Philip."
Hamlet, in " Plamlet."
Macbeth, in " Macbeth."
Othello, in " Othello."
Philip of Spain, in " Queen Mary."
Doricourt, in "The Belle's Stratagem."
Richard III, in " Richard III."
Dubosc and Lesurques, in "The Lyons Mail."
Louis XI, in " Louis XI."
Vanderdecken, in " Vanderdecken."
Claude Melnotte, in " The Lady of Lyons."
Sir Edward Mortimer, in " The Iron Chest."
Shylock, in " The Merchant of Venice."
Digby Grant, in " The Two Roses.
Tristan, in " lolanthe."

Louis and Fabien Dei Franchi, in " The
Corsican Brothers."

392 APPENDIX.

Synorix, ki " The Cup."

lago, in " Othello."

Modus, in a Scene from " The Hunchback."

Romeo, in " Romeo and Juliet."

Benedick, in " Much Ado about Nothing."

Robert Macaire, in " Robert Macaire."

Malvolio, in " Twelfth Night."

Dr. Primrose, in " Olivia."

Mephistopheles, in " Faust."

Alfred Jingle, in "Jingle."

Werner, Count Seigendorf, in " Werner."

Robert Landry, in " The Dead Heart."

Edgar, Masterof Ravenswood,in " Ravenswood"

Cardinal Wolsey, in " Henry VHI."

King Lear, in " King Lear."

Thomas Becket, in " Becket."

Corporal Gregory Brewster, in "A Story of

Waterloo."
King Arthur, in " King Arthur."

393

Casts of Important Revivals.

CHARLES THE FIRST.

Revived June ist, 1874.

Charles the First Mr. Henry Irving.

Oliver Cromwell ----- Mr. John Clayton.

Marquis of Huntley ------ Mr. J. Carter.

Lord Moray - - - - - - Mr. H. B. Conway.

Ireton - Mr. Beveridge.

King's Page ------- Miss Hampden.

Princess Elizabeth Miss Willa Brown.

Prince Henry - Miss Kate Brown.

Lady Kleanor Davys - - - - Miss G. Pauncefort.

Queen Henrietta Maria - - - - Miss Isabel Bateman.

EUGENE ARAM and RAISING THE WIND.

Revived June 22nd, 1874.

EUGENE ARAM.

Eugene Aram Mr. Henry Irving.

Parson Meadows Mr. J. Carter.

Richard Houseman ----- Mr. E. F. Edgar.

Jowel Mr. Chapman.

Joey Miss Willa Brown.

Ruth Meadows . . - - Miss Isabel Bateman.

RAISING THE WIND.

Jeremy Diddler Mr. Henry Irving.

Fainwould Mr. John Clayton.

Plainway Mr. Gaston Murray.

Sam Mr. F. W. Irish.

Waiter Mr. Tapping.

John Mr. W. L. Branscombe.

Richard Mr. Collett.

Miss Durable -..-.- Miss Ewell.

Peggy Mise Isabel Bateman.

394

APPENDIX.

THE BELLS.

Revived September aSth, 1874.

Mathias Mr. Henry Irving.

Christian ...--- Mr. H. B. Conway.

Father Walter ------ Mr. Collett.

Hans - - Mr. Carter.

Dr. Zimmer Mr. Beaumont.

Notary - - - - - - - Mr. Brennard.

President of the Court - . . . Mr. Beveridge.

Clerk of the Court ----- Mr. Branscombe.

Mesmerist ------ Mr. A. Tapping.

Catherine ----- Miss G. Pauncefort.

Annette ------- Miss St. Ange.

Sozel ------- Miss Hampden.

HAMLET.

Revived Ju)y 30th, 1S77.

Hamlet ------ Mr. Henry Irving.

King Mr. F. Tyars.

Polonius - Mr. Archer.

Laertes . - - . . Mr. Walter Bentley.

Horatio ------- Mr. R. C. Lyons.

Ghost - - Mr. T. Mead.

Osric ------- Mr. R. Carton.

Rosencrantz ------ Mr. H. Holland.

Guildenstern - Mr. Beaumont.

Marcellus Mr. Butler.

Bernardo Mr. Mordaunt.

Francisco Mr. Harvvood.

1st Actor ------- Mr. Louther.

2nd Actor ------- Mr. Tapping.

Priest ------- Mr. Collett.

1st Gravedigger ------ Mr. Huntley.

2nd Gravedigger Mr. Branscombe.

Gertrude *- - - - ' - - Miss Pauncefort.

Player Queen -...--- Miss Claire.
Ophelia" - ^liss Isabel Bateman.

APPENDIX.

395

HAMLET.

Revived October 15th, 1S79.

Hamlet iMr. Hen-rv Irving.

Claudius ....--- Mr. Tyar.s.

Polonius ..---.- Mr. C. Cooper.

Laertes - - Mr. F. Cooper.

Horatio -..-..- Mr. Forre.ster.

Osric .---.--. Mr. J. H. Barnes.

Rosencrantz ------- ]\Ir. Elwood.

Guildenstern ------- Mr. Pinero.

Marcellus -------- Mr. Calvert.

Bernardo -------- Mr. Tapping.

Francisco ...--.-- Mr. Harwood.
1st Player ------- Mr. Beaumont.

2nd I'layer ------- Mr. James.

Priest ------- Air. J. Carter.

ist Gravedigger ------ Air. S. Johnson.

2nd Gravedigger ------ Mr. A. Andrews.

Ghost -------- Mr. Mead.

Gertrude ------ Miss Pauncefort.

Player Queen ------ Miss Harwood

Ophelia" ------ Miss Ellen Terry

TWO ROSES.

First produced at a Matinee, December loth, 1879.

Mr. Digby Grant Mr, Henry Irving.

Caleb Deecie . - - . - Mr. C. W. Garthorne.

Jack Wyatt ----- Mr. Charles Warner.

Mr. Furnival -----. Mr. E. Righton.

Our Mr. Jenkins Mr. J. W. Bradbury.

Policeman Mr. W. Elton.

Servant - - - Mr. R. Markby.

Lottie - - Miss Amy Roselle.

Ida - Miss Kate Bishop.

Mrs. Jenkins ------ Miss Sophie Larkin.

Mrs. Cupps Miss Cicely Richards.

396

APPENDIX.

THE BELLE'S STRATAGEM.

Revived April i6th, 1881.

Doricourt Mr. Irving.

Hardy ..------ Mr. Howe.

Flutter ------- Mr. W. Terris.s.

Saville -------- Mr. Pinero.

Villiers ------- Mr. Elwood.

Courtall -------- Mr. Tyar.s.

Sir George Touchwood ----- Mr. Beaumont.

Gibson -------- Mr. Clifford.

Pilgrim Mask Mr. Hudson.

Mountebank ------- Mr. Carter.

Servant Mr. Marion.

Mrs. Rackett Miss Sophie Young.

Lady Touchwood Miss Barnett.

Letitia Hardy Miss Ellen Terry.

Ladies, Gentlemen, Masquers, etc., etc.

HAMLET.

Revived June i8th, 1881.

Hamlet Mr. Henry Irving.

Polonius Mr. Howe.

Ghost Mr. Mead.

Laertes Mr. Terriss.

King Mr. Tyars.

Horatio Mr. Child.

Osric Mr. Andrews.

ist Gravedigger Mr. Johnson.

2nd Gravedigger Mr. Louther.

ist Player Mr. Beaumont.

2nd Player Mr. Simpson.

Marcellus Mr. Archer.

Bernardo Mr. Harwood.

Guildenstern Mr. Stuart.

Francisco ------- Mr. Clifford.

Priest - Mr. Carter.

Player Queen ------ Miss Pauncefort.

Ophelia Miss Ellen Terry.

APPENDIX.

397

THE BELLS.

Revived July 23rd, 1881.

Mathias ------- Mr. Henry Irving.

Walter - - - ■ ^'^^- Carter.

Hans --------- Mr. Johnson.

Christian -------- Mr. Terriss.

Dr. Zimmer ------- Mr. Hudson.

Notary --------- Mr. Louther.

President of the Court - Mr. Tyars.

Mesmerist -------- Mr. Archer.

Sozel - - - Miss Harwood.

Annette - Miss Winifred Emery.

Catherine - - Miss G. Pauncefort.

THE LYONS MAIL.

Revived June 2nd, 1883.

Joseph Lesurques I .... Mr. Henry Irving.
Dubosc J

Courrioll - - - Mr. Terriss.

Choppard ------- Mr. Fernandez.

Fouinard -------- Mr. Archer.

Durachat ------- Mr. Harbury.

Jerome Lesurques ------- Mr. Mead.

Dorval Mr. Tvark.

Didier - Mr. Norman Forbes.

Lamber - Mr. Lvndal.

Guerneau - - - Mr. Haviland.

Joliquet - Mr. Andrews.

Commissary of Police - Mr. Harwood.

Postmaster of Montgeron - Mr. Carter.

Coco - - - Mr. Louther.

Waiter ..------ Mr. Clifford.

Postillion --------- Mr. Allen.

Francois - - Mr. Godfrey.

Julie Lesurques - Miss Millward.

Niece to Postmaster ----- Miss Harwood.

Jeanette Miss Ellen Terky.

398 APPENDIX.

LOUIS XL

Revived July 23rd, 1883.

Louis XI - - Mr. Henry Irving.

The Dauphin ------- Mr. A. Andrews.

Duke de Nemours ------ Mr. Terriss.

PhiUp de Commines . . - . - Mr. T. Wenman.

Jacques Coitier - - - - - Mr. J. Fernandez.

Tristan I'Ermite - ------ Mr. Tyars.

OHver le Dain - - - . - . Mr. Archer.

Francois de Paule ..... Mr. T. Mead.

Cardinal DWlby - . . - - . Mr. Helmsley.

Count de Dreux ...... Mr. Louther.

]\Iontjoie - - .... - Mr. Lyndal.

Monseigneur de Lude - . - - . . Mr. Dwyer.

Count de Dunois ...... Mr. Marion.

Marcel ...... - - Mr. Johnson.

Richard .-...- ... Mr. Harvey.

Didier .._..... Mr. Epiteaux.

Officer of the Royal Guard .... Mr. Harwood.

Toison d'Or ....... Mr. Simpson.

King's Attendant - Mr. Clifford.

Marie - - Miss Millward.

Jeanne ..---... Miss Harwood.

Martha ......-- Miss Payne.

MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING.

Revived May 31st, 1884.

Benedick Mr. Henry Irving.

Don Pedro ..-.-- Mr. William Terriss.

Don John Mr. Haviland.

Claudio ...... Mr. Norman Forbes.

Leonato Mr. Wenman.

Antonio - Mr. Harbury.

Friar Francis Mr. Mead.

Balthazar Mr. J. Robertson.

Borachia Mr. F. Tyars.

Conrade - - - - - - - - Mr. Lyndal.

Dogberry ----.--- Mr. H. Howe.

Verges Mr. Stanislaus Calhae.m.

Seacoal Mr. Archer.

Oatcake - - - Mr. Clifford.

A Sexton Mr. Carter.

A Messenger - - Mr. Andrews.

Hero ..-..--. Miss Millward.

Margaret .....--- Miss Harwood.

Ursula - - Miss L. Payne.

Beatrice Miss Ellen Terry.

APPENDIX. 399

HAMLET.

Revived May 2nd, 1S85.

Hamlet Mr. Henry Irving.

Claudius Mr. Wenman.

Polonius Mr. H. Howe.

Laertes Mr. George Alexander.

Horatio Mr. Tyar-s.

Osric - - Mr. Harvey.

Rosencrantz - Mr. Norman Forbes.

Guildenstern --.--.. -Mr. Lynual.

Marcellus - Mr. C. Harbury.

Bernardo Mr. Benn.

Francisco -----.-. Mr. Clifford.

1st Player - - - - - - - Mr. Louther.

2nd Player -------- Mr. Archer.

Priest ..--.-..- Mr. Carter.
1st Gravedigger ------- Mr. S. Johnson.

2nd Gravedigger Mr. Guerney.

Ghost -------- Mr. T. Mead.

Gertrude Mrs. Pauncefort.

Player Queen Miss Foster.

Ophelia ------- Miss Ellen Terry.

LOUIS XL

Revived May gth, 1SS5.

Louis XI - Mr Henry Irving.

The Dauphin ■ Mr. Harvey.

Duke de Nemours .... Mr. George Alexander.

Philip de Commines Mr. Harbury.

Jacques Coitier .---.-. Mr. Wenman.
Tristan I'Ermite ....... Mr. Tyars.

Oliver le Dain --.-_.. Mr. Archer.

Fran9ois de Paule Mr. T. Mead.

Cardinal D'Alby -.-.... Mr. Helmsley.

Count de Dreux - Mr. Louther.

Montjoie -------- Mr. Baker.

Monseigneur de Lude ...... Mr. Davis.

Count de Dunois Mr. Marion.

Marcel --. Mr. S. Johnson.

Richard - - Mr. Hamilton.

Didier Mr. Lambourne.

Officer of the Royal Guard - - . - Mr. Graham.

Toison d'Or - - - - - - - Mr. Mellish.

King's Attendant --..--- Mr. Benn.

Jeanne Miss Barnett.

Marie Miss Winifred Emery.

Martha Miss Payne.

400

APPENDIX.

THE MERCHANT OF VENICE.

Revived May nth, 1885.

Shylock Mr. Henry Irving.

Duke of Venice - Mr. H. Howe.

Prince of Morocco Mr. Tyars.

Antonio .-.-..- Mr. Wenman.

Bassanio Mr. George Alexander.

Salanio ..-.--.. Mr. Melhsh.

Salarino -------- Mr. Harbury.

Gratiano Mr. Norman Forbes.

Lorenzo ------ Mr. Martin Harvey.

Tubal - - Mr. J. Carter.

Launcelot Gobbo ------ Mr. S. Johnson.

Old Gobbo -------- Mr. Archer.

Gaoler Mr. Helmsley.

Leonardo - Mr. Marion.

Balthazar Mr. Baker.

Stephano - - Mr. Benn.

Clerk of the Court Mr. Louther.

Nerissa - Miss L. Payne.

Jessica Miss Winifred Emery.

Portia Miss Ellen Terry.

THE BELLS.

Revived May i6th, 1S85

Mathias Mr. Henry Irving.

Walter - Mr. J. Carter.

Hans - - Mr. Johnson.

Christian -Mr. George Alexander.

Dr. Zimmer ------- Mr. Louther.

Notary ------- Mr. Harbury.

President of the Court ----- Mr. Tyars.

Clerk of the Court ----- Mr. Guerney.

Mesmerist - - Mr. Archer.

Catherine ------ Mrs. Pauncefort.

Sozel ------- Miss L. Payne.

Annette Miss Winifred Emery.

APPENDIX.

401

THE BELLS.

Revived July 24th, 1886.

Mathias -..--.- Mr. Henry Irving.
Christian . . . - . Mr. George Alexander.

Hans ....... Mr. Johnson.

Father Walter Mr. Carter.

Notary ........ Mr. Harbury.

Doctor Zimmer ...... Mr. Louther.

Mesmerist ....... Mr. Archer.

Clerk of the Court ..... Mr. Gibson.

President of the Court ..... Mr. Tyars.

Fritz ........ Mr. Clifford.

Madame Mathias ..... Mrs. Pauncefort.

Sozel ....--. Miss Payne.

Annette - Miss Winifred Emery.

RAISING THE WIND.

Revived July 24th, 1SS6.

Jeremy Diddler ..... Mr. Henry Irving.

Plainway - - Mr. Howe.

Fainwould ...... Mr. Norman Forbes.

Sam - - - - - ' - - Mr. Johnson.

Richard ....... Mr. Louther.

Waiter Mr. Archer.

John Mr. Harvey.

Miss Durable - - .... Mrs. Chippendale.
Peggy Miss Ellen Terry.

THE BELLS.

Revived April 23rd, 1S87.

Mathias .-...-. Mr. Henry Irving.
Walter ..•...-- Mr. J. Carter.

Hans ........ Mr. Johnson.

Christian - Mr. George Alexander.

Dr. Zimmer ....... Mr. Haviland.

Notary .... - - . Mr. Harbury.

President of Court Mr. Gurney.

Mesmerist - - - Mr. Archer.

Catherine Mrs. Pauncefort.

Sozel - Miss Helen Matthews.

Annette - Miss Winifred Emery.

D D

402

APPENDIX.

JINGLE.

Revived April 23rd, 1887.

Alfred Jingle Mr. Henry Irving.

Mr. Pickwick Mr. Howe.

Nathaniel Winkle Mr. Norman Forbes.

Augustus Snodgrass Mr. Haviland.

Mr. Wardle Mr. Johnson

Mr. Tupman ..-.-.. Mr. Marbury.

Mr. Nupkins Mr. Wenman.

Mr. Perker ....... Mr. Carter.

Sam Weller Mr. Stephen Caffrey.

Job Trotter ..-.-.. Mr. Archer.

Fat Boy ...-.-.. Mr. Harvey.

Waiter (" Angel " ) - Mr. Lawson.

First Waiter (" Golden Cross ") - - - Mr. Marion.

Second Waiter (" Golden Cross ") ... Mr. Taylor.

Cabman - - Mr. Clifford.

Bailiff . - - Mr. Calvert.

Miss Rachel .... - Mrs. Pauncefort.

Miss Emily . - - . . Miss Helen Matthews.

Miss Arabella Miss F. Harwood.

Chambermaid Miss Mills.

Mary Miss Desmond.

THE MERCHANT OF VENICE.

Revived May i6th, 1887.

Shylock - Mr. Henry Irving.

Duke of Venice ....--- Mr. H. Howe.
Prince of Morocco -.-... Mr. Tyars.

Antonio Mr. Wenman.

Bassanio ....-- Mr. G. Alexander.

Salanio Mr. Haviland.

Salarino Mr. Harbury.

Gratiano Mr. Glenney.

Lorenzo Mr. Martin Harvey.

Tubal Mr. Archer.

Launcelot Gobbo Mr. S. Johnson.

Old Gobbo Mr. Carter.

Gaoler Mr. Helmsley.

Leonardo Mr. Marion.

Balthazar Mr. Baker.

Stepliano Mr. Clifford.

Clerk of the Court Mr. Calvert.

Nerissa Miss Matthews.

Jessica Miss Winifred Emery.

Portia ^ T r T r r Miss Ellen Terry.

APPENDIX. 403

THE AMBER HEART.

First produced June 7th, 1887.

Silvio Mr. H. Beerbohm Tree.

Geoffry ---..-. Mr. Frank Tyars.

Ranulf - - Mr. Allen Beaumont.

Sir Simon Gamber ------ Mr. H. Kemble.

Coranto ------ Mr. E. S. Willard.

Mirabelle Miss Cissy Grahame.

Casta ------ Miss Ellen Forsyth.

Katrona Miss Giffard

Ellaline ------- Miss Ellen Terry.

MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING.

Revived June 13th, 1887.

Benedick Mr. Henry Irving.

Don Pedro - - . - . Mr. Charles Glennev.

Don John Mr. Haviland.

Claudio Mr. Alexander.

Leonato -..--.. Mr. Wenman.

Antonio Mr. H. Howe.

Balthazar - Mr. J. Robertson.

Borachio - Mr. Tyars.

Conrade - - Mr. Harbhry.

Friar Francis Mr. Mead.

Dogberry ------ Mr. S. Johnson.

Verges Mr. Clifford.

Seacoal - - . Mr. Archer.

Oatcake - Mr. Baker.

Sexton Mr. Carter.

Messenger Mr. Harvey.

Boy Miss K. Brown.

Hero Miss Winifred Emery.

Margaret Miss Mills.

Ursula Miss Matthews.

Beatrice Miss Ellen Terry.

D D-

404 APPENDIX.

OLIVIA.

Revived June 29th, 1S87.

Dr. Primrose - Mr. Henry Irving.

Moses Mr. Norman Forbes.

Squire Thornhill Mr. G. Alexander.

Mr. Burchell Mr. Wenman.

Leigh -------- Mr. Tyars.

Farmer Flamborough - - - - - Mr. H. Howe.

Polly Flamborough ----- Miss F. Harwood.

Phcebe - - ------ Miss Mills.

Gipsy Woman Miss Barnett.

Mrs. Primrose Mrs. Pauncefort.

Dick ------- Miss M. Holland.

Bill -------- Miss D. Harwood.

Sophia ------ Miss Winifred Emery.

Olivia Miss Ellen Terry.

FAUST

Revived April 14th, 1888.

MORTALS.

Faust Mr. George Alexander.

Valentine - Mr. C. Glenney.

Frosch - Mr. Harbury.

Altmayer Mr. Clifford.

Brander Mr. Harvey.

Siebel -------- Mr. Johnson.

Student ...--.. Mr. Haviland.

Martha ------- Mrs. Chippendale.

Bessy - - - Miss Matthews.

Ida --------- Miss Barrett.

Alice -------- Miss Coleridge.

Catherine Miss Mills.

Margaret ------ Miss Ellen Terry.

SPIRITS.

Mephistopheles ------ Mr. Henry Irving.

j Mr. Tyars.

Mr. Carter.

Witches - - - - - - - J Mr. Forrest.

( Mr. Morgan.

Witch of the Kitchen - Mr. Mead.

The He- Ape - Mr. Abraham.

The She-Ape Mr. Archer.

APPENDIX. 405

THE AMBER HEART.

Revived May 23rd, i888.

Silvio ----.. Mr. George Alexander.

Geoffry ----... Mr. Tyars.

Ranulf ----.... Mr. Wenman.

Sir Simon Gamber - . . . . Mr. Harbury.

Coranto --.-.. Mr. Hermann Vezin.

Mirabelle ---.... Mrs. Macklin.

Cesta -----... Miss Coleridge.

Katrona ----... Miss Matthews.

Ellaline --..... Miss Ellen Terry.

ROBERT MACAIRE.

Revived May 23rd, 1888.

Robert Macaire Mr. Henry Irving.

Jacques Strop - - - _ Mr. Weedon Grossmith.

Dumont ---.-.. Mr. H. Howe.

Germeuil -------- Mr. Harbury.

Charles -----... Mr. Haviland.

Sergeant Loupy - Mr. Tyars.

Pierre -----... Mr. Harvey.

Louis -.---.-. Mr. Marion.

Marie -------- Mrs. Macklin.

Clementina - Miss F. Harwood.

4o6

APPENDIX.

MACBETH.

Revived December 27th, 1888.

Macbeth - - Mr. Henry Irving.

Malcolm - Mr. Webster.

Donalbain Mr. Harvey.

Duncan ....... Mr. Haviland.

Banquo Mr. Wenman.

Macduff Mr. George Alexander.

Lennox - Mr. Outram.

Ross Mr. Tyars.

Monteith - Mr. Archer.

Angus - Mr. Lacy.

Caithness Mr. Leverton.

Fleance - - Master Harwood.

Siward Mr. Howe.

Seyton - Mr. Fenton.

Other Officers { Mr. Hen stock.

( Mr. Cass.

Doctor Mr. Stuart.

A Sergeant Mr. Raynor.

A Porter ...... Mr. Johnson.

Messenger - Mr. Coveney.

Attendant Mr. Roe.

,^ , f Mr. Black.

Murderers - -, at r- .,

{ Mr. Carter.

Gentlewoman ...... Miss Coleridge.

Servant -....-.- Miss Foster.

Lady Macbeth . . . . . Miss Ellen Terry.

Hecate - - Miss Ivor.

1st Witch - - Miss Marriott.

2nd Witch - Miss Desborough.

3rd Witch Miss Seaman.

( Mr. Baird.

Apparitions \ Miss Harwood.

I Miss Holland.

APPENDIX.

407

THE BELLS.

Revived June 22nd, 1889.

Mathias - - Mr. Henry Irving.

Christian Mr. George Alexander.

Hans Mr. Johnson.

Father Walter Mr. Carter.

Notary Mr. Coveney.

Dr. Zimmer ...... Mr. Haviland.

Mesmerist - Mr. Archer.

Clerk of the Court - Mr. Harvey.

President of the Court . . . . . Mr. Tyars.

Fritz .------- Mr. Clifford.

Madame Mathias . . . . . Mrs. Pauncefort.

Sozel - - Miss Marie Linden.

Annette Miss Coleridge.

LOUIS XI.

Revived May 3rd, 1890.

Louis XI .--.-.. Mr. Henrv Irving.

Dauphin - Mr. Harvey.

Duke de Nemours -...-. Mr. Terriss.

Philip de Commines ...... Mr. Howe.

Jacques Coitier - Mr. Macklin.

Tristan I'Ermite ...... Mr. Tyars.

Oliver le Dain .--.... Mr. Archer.

Francois de Paule . . . . . Mr. Haviland.

Cardinal D'Alby Mr. Lorris.

Count de Dreux - Mr. Black.

Montjoie . - - Mr. Lacy.

Monseigneur de Lude - - . . . Mr. Cushing.

Count de Dunois -..--.- Mr. Tabb.

Marcel ....... Mr. Johnson.

Richard - Mr. Reynolds.

Didier - - Mr. Marion.

Officer of the Royal Guard Mr. Graham.

Toison d'Or ....... Mr. Lindsay.

King's Attendant ...... Mr. Clifford.

Marie - Miss Coleridge.

Jeanne -----... Miss Foster.

Martha ---.--.. Miss Phillips.

4o8

APPENDIX.
OLIVIA.

Revived May 27th, 1890.

Dr. Primrose - . . . .. . Mr. Henry Irving.

Moses ..-..-- Mr. Gordon Craig.

Squire Thornhill . . - . - Mr. W. Terriss.

Mr. Burchell . . . . . -Mr. F. H. Macklin.

Farmer Flamborough . . . . Mr. H. Howe.

Leigh -------- Mr. F. Tyars.

Polly Flamborough ------ Miss de Silva,

Phcebe -------- Miss Foster.

Gipsy Woman ----- Miss Agnes Barnett.

Mrs. Primrose ------ Mrs. Pauncefort'

Dick ------- Miss Holland.

Bill ------- Miss Pearle.

Sophia - Miss Annie Irish.

Olivia --.--.. Miss Ellen Terry.

THE LYONS MAIL.

Revived February 7th, 1S91.

Joseph Lesurques ) . . . . ^r. Henry Irving.

Dubosc J

Courriol -------- Mr. Terriss.

Choppard ------- Mr. S. Johnson.

Fouinard -------- Mr. Archer.

Durochat -------- Mr. Terriss.

Jerome Lesurques ------ Mr. Wenman.

Dorval --------- Mr. Tyars.

Didier -------- Mr. Haviland.

Joliquet -._.---- Mr. Harvey.

Guerneau ----- . - Mr. Gordon Craig.

Lambert --------- Mr Lacy.

Postmaster -------- ]\ir. Davis.

Coco --------- Mr. Reynolds.

Commissary of Police Mr. Gushing.

Postillion -------- Mr. Allen.

Waiter --------- Air. Marion.

Julie Lesurqaes ------ Miss Coleridge.

Marie ---- Miss Foster.

Niece to Postmaster ------ Miss Brown.

Jeanette ------- Miss Francis Ivor.

APPENDIX.
CHARLES THE FIRST.

409

Revived March 4th, iSqi.

Charles I. - Mr. Henry Irving.

Marquis of Huntley Mr. H. Howe.

Lord Moray ------- Mr. Terkiss.

Oliver Cromwell ------- Mr. Wenman.

Ireton - Mr. Tyars.

ist Cavalier Mr. Lucv.

2nd Cavalier ------- Mr. Belfoki).

King's Page ------- Miss Holland.

Attendant ----- - - Mr. Tabb.

Queen's Page ------ Mr. Harvev.

Princess Elizabeth . - - . . Miss Minnie Terry.
Prince James ------ Miss Webb.

Lady Eleanor ------ Miss Annie Irish.

Queen Henrietta Maria - . . Miss Ellen Terry.

THE CORSICAN BROTHERS.

Revived June 2nd, i8gi.

Fabien Dei Franchi ] ... Mr. Henry Irving.

Louis Dei tranch'i )

Chateau Renaud - - . - Mr. William Terris.s.

Baron Montgiron - Mr. Macklin.

M. Alfred Meynard ----- Mr. Haviland.

Colonna -------- Mr. S. Johnson.

Orlando -------- Mr. Wenman.

Antonio Sanola ------ Mr. Martin Harvev.

Giordano Martelh ------- Mr. Tyars.

Griflb .,.--.-. Mr. Archer.

Boissec - - Mr. Reynolds.

M. Verner --------- Mr. Lacy.

M. Beauchamp ------ Mr. Gordon Craig.

Thomaso -------- Mr. Tabb.

Surgeon -------- Mr. Gurney.

Emilie de I'Esparre ------ Miss Annie Irish.

Mme. dei Franchi ----- Mrs. Pauncefort.

Coralie ------ Miss Kate Phillips.

Estelle ------- Miss Amy Coleridge.

Eugenie ------- Miss Oldcastle.

Celestine Miss Foster.

Rose - - - - - -- - - Miss Clive.

Marie Miss de Silva .

4IO

APPENDIX.

THE FORESTERS.

By Alfred, Lord Tennyson. Performed once only (in private) at the
Lyceum Theatre, March 17th, 1892.

Robin Hood ...... Mr. Acton Bond.

King Richard ..... Mr. Lionel Belmore.

Prince John ....... Mr. Powell.

Little John | | Mr. Lacy.

Will Scarlet I Followers of Robin Hood \ Mr. Campbell.
Friar Tuck ) ( Mr. Reynolds.

Much ..--.-. Mr. G. Taylor.

A Justiciary ....... Mr. Gushing.

Sheriff of Nottingham Mr. Seldon.

Abbot of St. Mary's ...... Mr. Tabb.

Sir Richard Lea - Mr. Yeldham.

Walter Lea (Son of Sir Richard Lea) - - - Miss Foster.
ist Retainer ....... Mr. Marion.

2nd Retainer ...... Mr. Innes.

3rd Retainer ....... Mr. Lilford.

4th Retainer Mr. Wilson.

A Forester Mr. Taylor.

1st Beggar ....... Mr. Jackson.

2nd Beggar Mr. Roberts.

3rd Beggar ....... Mr. Stewart.

1st Friar .---...- Mr. Sprang.

2nd Friar Mr. Shall.

3rd Friar Mr. Norman.

A Gitizen ....... Mr. Rivers.

A Sailor ........ Mr. Condorset.

Mercenary Mr. Rivington.

Pursuivant ....... Mr. Howard.

Old Woman ....... Mr. E. Archer.

Gitizen Woman Miss Huntley.

Titania Miss de Silva.

I St Fairy ........ Miss Mead.

2nd Fairy - Miss M. Holland.

3rd Fairy ....... Miss G. Webb.

4th Fairy ....... Miss L. Sargent.

5th Fairy ....... Miss F. Holland.

6th Fairy - - Miss D. Ball.

7th Fairy Miss V. Dickens.

8th Fairy Miss Gole.

9th Fairy ....... Miss Stanley.

loth Fairy ---..-. Miss Vincent.

Kate (Attendant on Marian) - - - Miss K. Harwood.

Maid Marian (Daughter of Sir R. Lea) Miss Violet Vanbrugh

APPENDIX. 411

SYNOPSIS OF SCENERY.

Act I.

Scene i. — A Garden before Sir Richard Lea's Castle. Scene 2. —

A Hall in the House of the Earl of Huntingdon. Scene 3.— A

Garden before Sir Richard Lea's Castle.

Act 2.
Scene. — Forest Glade and Woodman's Hut.

Act 3.
Scene. — Heart of the Forest.

Act 4.
Scene. — The Forest.

412 APPENDIX.

RICHELIEU.

Revived May 14th, 1892.

Cardinal Richelieu . . - - . Mr. Henry Irving.
Chevalier de Mauprat ----- Mr. W. Terriss.

Baradas ------- Mr. Frank Cooper.

Louis XIII ----- Mr. Haviland.

Gaston ------- Mr. Acton Bond.

Joseph ------- Mr. Arthur Stirling.

De Beringhen ----- Mr. Gilbert Farquhar.

Huguet --------- Mr. Tyars.

I St Secretary ------- Mr. Davis.

2nd Secretary ------- Mr. Archer.

3rd Secretary -._--- Mr. L. Belmore.

Clermont -------- Mr. Lacy.

Francois ------ Miss Bessie Hatton.

Marian de Lorme - - . - Miss Coleridge.

Julie de Mortemar ----- Miss Millward.

THE BELLS.

Revived September 24th, 1892.

Mathias ------- Mr Henry Irving.

Christian ------ J^lr. William Terriss.

Walter -------- Mr. H. Howe.

Hans -------- Mr. S. Johnson.

Dr. Zimmer ------- Mr. Harvey.

Notary --------- Mr. Gurney.

President of the Court ----- Mr. Tyars.

Clerk of the Court ------ Mr. Lacy.

Mesmerist ------- Mr. Archer.

Catherine ------ Mrs. Pauncefort.

Sozel .-.--. Miss Kate Phillips.

Annette ------- Miss Coleridge.

APPENDIX.

413

LOUIS XI.

Revived April Sth, 1893 (Matinee).

Louis XI - Mr. Henry Irving.

The Dauphin - Mr. Harvey.

Duke de Nemours Mr. W. Terriss.

PhiHp de Commines ..-..- Mr. Howe.

Jacques Coitier ..... Mr. Frank Cooper.

Tristan I'Ermite ....... Mr. Tyars.

Oliver le Dain Mr. Archer.

Francois de Paule ..... Mr. Haviland.

Cardinal d'Alby ...... Mr. Lorriss."

Count de Dreux ....... Mr. Bond.

Montjoie Mr. Lacy.

Monseigneur de Lude Mr. Cushing.

Count de Dunois ....... Mr. Tabb.

Marcel ........ Mr. Johnson.

Richard ....... Mr. Reynolds.

Didier ........ Mr. Marion.

Officer of the Royal Guard .... Mr. Powell.

Toison d'Or ...... Mr. Rivington.

King's Attendant ..... Mr. Belmore.

Marie ....... Miss Amy Coleridge.

Martha Miss Kate Phillips.

THE LYONS MAIL.

Revived April 22nd, 1893.

Lesurques .-..-- I Mr. Henry Irving.

Dubosc ....... j

Courriol ....... Mr. W. Terriss.

Choppard ........ Mr. S. Johnson.

Fouinard ....... Mr. Archer.

Durochat -.--...- Mr. Lorriss.

Jerome Lesurques .... Mr. Alfred Bishop.

Dorval Mr. Tyars.

Didier ....... Mr. Haviland.

Joliquet ....... Mr. Harvey.

Guerneau ...... Mr. Gordon Craig.

Lambert ........ Mr. Lacy.

Postmaster of Montgiron ..... Mr. Howe.

Coco Mr. Reynolds.

Postillion Mr. Allen.

Commissary of Police ..... Mr. Cushing.

Guard ......... Mr. Tabb.

Waiter Mr. Marion.

Julie Lesurques ...... Miss Coleridge.

Marie -- -. Miss Foster.

Niece to Postmaster .... Miss Kate Phillips.
Jeanette Miss Millward.

414 APPENDIX.

THE MERCHANT OF VENICE.

Revived June 3rd. 1893.

Shylock Mr. Henry Irving.

Bassanio . . . ^ . - . Mr. W. Terriss.

Duke of Venice Mr. Howe.

Antonio - - Mr. Haviland.

Prince of Morocco Mr. Tyars.

Salanio Mr. Lacy.

Salarino Mr. Harvey.

Gratiano Mr. Frank Cooper.

Lorenzo Mr. Gordon Craig.

Tubal ...----. Mr. Archer.

Launcelot Gobbo Mr. S. Johnson.

Old Gobbo Mr. Reynolds.

Gaoler - Mr. Graham.

Leonardo Mr. Marion.

Balthazar Mr. Lorriss.

Stephano - Mr. Belmore.

Clerk of the Court Mr. Ian Robertson.

Nerissa - Miss Kate Phillips.

Jessica ------- Miss Coleridge.

Portia ------- Miss Ellen Terry.

APPENDIX.

415

BECKET.

Revived June 19th, 1893.

Thomas Becket Mr. Henry Irving.

Henry H - Mr William Terriss.

King Louis of France Mr. Bond.

Gilbert Foliot Mr. Lacy.

Roger Mr. Beaumont.

Bishop of Hereford ----- Mr. Gushing.

Hilary - - - Mr. Archer.

John of Salisbury Mr. Bishop.

Herbert of Bosham Mr. Haviland.

John of Oxford ----- Mr. Ian Robertson.

Edward Grim . - - . Mr. J. W. Holloway.

Sir Reginald Fitzurse - - - - Mr. Frank Cooper.

Sir Richard de Brito Mr. Tyars.

Sir William de Tracy ----- Mr. Hague.

Sir Hugh de Morville Mr. Percival.

De Broc Mr. Tabb.

Richard de Hastings Mr. Seldon.

The Youngest Knight Templar - - Mr. Gordon Craig.

Lord Leicester ------- Mr. Harvey.

Philip de Eleemosyna ------ Mr. Howe.

Herald -------- Mr. L. Belmore.

Monk -------- Mr. Powell.

Geoffrey Master Leo Byrne.

. f Mr. Yeldham.

Retamers \ Mr. Lorriss.

„ ( Mr. Johnson.

Countrymen -^^^ Reynolds.

Servant Mr. Davis.

Eleanor of Aquitaine - - - - Miss Genevieve Ward.

Margery Miss Kate Phillips.

Rosamund de Clifford - - - - Miss Ellen Terry,

41 6 APPENDIX.

CHARLES THE FIRST.

Revived June 2Sth, 1893 (Matinee).

Charles the First ----- Mr. Henry Irving.

Marquis of Huntley ------ Mr. Bishop.

Lord Moray ------- Mr. F. Cooper.

Oliver Cromwell ----- Mr. William Terriss.

Ireton ..-.-.--. Mr. Tyars.

ist Cavalier - - Mr. Lacy.

2nd Cavalier ------- Mr. Belmore.

Attendant - - . Mr. Tabb.

Queen's Page - Mr. Harvey.

Princess Elizabeth -..-.. Miss Webb.

Prince James ------ Master Leo Byrne.

Lady Eleanor ----- Miss Maud Milton.

Queen Henrietta Maria - - . - Miss Ellen Terry.

OLIVIA.

Revived July 14th, 1893.

Dr. Primrose Mr. Henry Irving.

Squire Thornhill ----- Mr. William Terriss.

Mr. Burchell Mr. Frank Cooper.

Moses Mr. Gordon Craig.

Farmer Flamborough ---.-. Mr. Howe.

Leigh -- Mr. Tyars.

Dick -. Master Leo Byrne.

Bill --------- Miss Grace Webb.

Polly Flamborough ----- Miss Kate Phillips.

Phoebe - - - Miss Foster.

Gipsy Woman ------ Miss Ailsa Craig.

Mrs. Primrose - Miss Maud Milton.

Sophia Miss Amy Coleridge.

Olivia -------- Miss Ellen Terry.

APPENDIX.

417

FAUST.

Revived April 14th, 1S94.

Faust ------ :\ir. William Tekriss.

Valentine ------- Mr. Julius Knight.

Frosch -------- Mr. Harvey.

Altmayer ------- Mr. Reynolds.

Brander ------- Mr, Belmore.

Siebel Mr. S. Johnson.

Student - . - M,-. Haviland.

Citizens - - (Mr. Gushing.

( Mr. Seymour.

Soldier Mr. Tabb.

Bessy Miss Kate Phillips.

Ida - . - . Miss Foster.

Alice ...--.. Miss de Silva.

Catherine - - Mrs. Lacy.

Martha .-.---. Miss M. A. Victor.

Margaret ------ Miss Ellen Terry.

Mephistopheles --..-. Mr. Irving.

( Mr. Tvars.

Witches .---.--' Mr^SELDON.

I Mr. Buckley.

V Mr. Forrest.
The Witch of the Kitchen - - Mr. Clarence Hague.
The He-Ape - . . » . Mr. Espinosa, Jun.
The She-Ape Mr. Archer.

E E

4i8

APPENDIX.

BECKET.

Revived July 9th, 1894.

Thomas Becket Mr. Henry Irving.

Henry H Mr. William Terriss.

King Louis of France ----- Mr. Knight,

Gilbert Foliot - - Mr. Lacy.

Ro<^er Mr. Seldon.

Hilary Mr. Archer.

John of Salisbury Mr. Bishop.

Herbert of Bosham - - - - Mr. Havilanp.

John of Oxford ... - - Mr. Gushing.

Sir Reginald Fitzurse ----- Mr. Hagum.

Sir Richard de Brito ------ Mr. Tyars.

Sir William de Tracv Mr. Tabb.

Sir Hugh de Morville - - - - Mr. Belmore.

Richard de Hastings Mr. Innis.

The Youngest Knight Templar - - - Mr. Buckley.

Lord Leicester Mr. Harvey.

Philip de Eleemosyna ----- Mr. Howe.

]VIonk ^I^- Rivington.

Geoffrey Master Leo Byrne.

( Mr. Howard.
Retainers | Mr. Taylor.

( Mr. Johnson.
Countrymen j Mr. Reynolds.

Servant -------- ^^^- Marion.

Eleanor of Aquitaine - - - Miss Genevieve Ward.

Margery Mjss Kate Phillips.

Rosamund de Clifford - - - Miss Ellen Terry.

APPENDIX. 419

THE MERCHANT OF VENICE.

Revived July 21st, 1894.

Shylock - - Mr. Henry Irving.

Bassanio - Mr. William Terriss.

Duke of Venice ------- Mr. Howe.

Antonio ------- Mr. Haviland.

Prince of Morocco Mr. Tyars.

Salanio Mr. Lacy.

Salarino Mr. Harvey.

Gratiano Mr. F. Cooper.

Lorenzo Mr. Hague.

Tubal Mr. Archer.

Launcelot Gobbo - - - - - Mr. S. Johnson.

Old Gobbo - - - - - - Mr. Reynolds.

Gaoler - - - - - - Mr. Graham.

Leonardo - - - - ... Mr. Marion.

Balthazar -------- Mr. Rivington.

Stephano -------- Mr. Belmore.

Clerk of the Court Mr. Tabb.

Nerissa - - Miss Kate Phillips.

Jessica Miss Coleridge.

Portia - Miss Ellen Terry.

E E — 2

PRINTED BY REMINGTON & CO., LIMITED

15, KING STREET, COVENT GARDEN

LONDON, W.C

421

INDEX.

Abraham, Mr., 404

Addison, Mr., as " Huntley " (CJiarks I) 13, 17

114

Aide, Hamilton {Philip) 45, 47

" Air de Rauterbach " {Bells) 6

Albery, James {Pickwick) 11 [223

Alexander, George, as "Jack Wyatt "' {T'a'o Roses) 2ig,
,, ,, in Romeo and Juliet, 227, 244

„ „ in Faust, 283, 293

,, ,, as " Ulric " {Werner) 297, 303

„ „ 399, 400, 401, 402, 403, 404, 405,

406, 407

AUcroft, Miss, 13

Allen, Mr., iii, 397, 40S, 413

All for Her, 313

Amber Heart, I'lie (A. C. Calmour) 356

,, ,, (June 7th, 1887) Cast of, 403

,, ,, (May 23rd, 1888) Cast of, 405

Andrews, Mr., in Louis XI, iig, 128

,, _ ,, 143, 227, 259, 265, 395, 396, 397, 398

Ange, Miss St., 45, 394

Angelo, M., 66

'' Angelus," 125

A Pleasant Neighbour, 12

/[ram, Eugene (W. G. Wills) 23, 25

,, ,, (June 22nd, 1874) Cast of, 393

Archer, Frank, 275

Archer, Mr., 69, 79, 81, 89, 97, loi, 109, iii, 119, 175,
191, 227, 245, 265, 283, 297, 305, 314, 331, 353,
394' 396, 397, 398, 399, 400, 401, 402, 403, 404,
406, 407, 408, 409, 410, 412, 413, 414, 415, 416, 418

Argument to King Arthur, 371

Arthur, King (J. Comyns Carr) 369, 371

Ashwell, Lena, 369, 383

Aubrey, Kate, 275

422 INDEX.

B.

Baird, Mr., 406

Baker, Mr., 399, 400, 402, 403

Balfe, M., 182

Ball, Meredith, 336, 351

Ball, Miss, 410

Balzac, H. de, 47

Bancroft, S. B., 259

„ ,, in Dead Heart, 305, 311,313

Bancroft, Mrs., 264
Barnes, J. H., in Iron Chest, 151, 158

„ ,, in Merchant of Venice, 161, i6g

,, ,, in I ol ant he, iji, 174

395
Barnett, Miss, 175, 275, 283, 396, 399, 404, 408
Barrett, Miss, 404

Bateman, H. L., 7, 21, 25, 27, 47, 65, 334
Bateman, Isabel, in Charles I, 13, 20, 393

,', ,, in Eugene Aram, 23, 32, 393

„ „ in Richelieu, 35

» „ in Philip, 45, 54

„ „ in Hamlet, 57, 65

,, ,, in Macbeth, 69, 75

„ ,, as " Desdemona " (Othello) 8t, 87

„ ,, as " Queen Mary " (Queen Mary) 89, 93

,, ,, as " Letitia Hardy " (Belle's Stratagem)

97. 99
,, ,, as " Lady Anne"(i?2Juf;'r////) loi, lob

„ ,, as " Jeannette" (Lyons Mail) iii, 117

as ''Thekla.'' (Vanderdecken) 131,136

Bateman, Mrs., 88, 95, 114, 118

Beaumont, Allan, 35, 45, 57, 69, 81, 89, 97, loi, 205,

331. 353. 394> 395> 39^, 403' 4^5
,, ,, \n Merchant of Venice, 161, 169

Becket (Lord Tennyson) 353, 355
,, (June 19th, 1893) Cast of, 415
,, (July 9th, 1894) Cast of, 418
Bedford, Paul, 182
Bel Demon io, 373
Belford, Mr., 409

Belmore, Mr., 331, 343, 353, 369, 410, 412, 413, 414,
415, 4.16, 417, 418, 419

INDEX. 423

Belle s StmUigeiii (Mrs. Cowley) 97, 99

,, „ (April 1 6th, 1881) Cast of, 396

Bellew, Kyrle, 143
Bells, The (Leopold Lewis) i, 3

,, (July 23rd, 1 881) Cast of, 397

,, (May 1 6th, 1885) Cast of, 400

,, (July 24th, 1886) Cast of, 401

,, (April 23rd, 1887) Cast of, 401

,, (June 22nd, 1889) Cast of, 407

,, (September 24th, 1892) Cast of, 412

,, (September 28th, 1894) Cast of, 394 [21

Belmore, George, as " Oliver Cromwell " {Chayles I) 13,
Benedict, Sir Julius, 234, 244
Benn, Mr., 399, 400
Bennett, George, 299, 303
Bentley, Walter, 89, 97, 119, 394

,, ,, as " Duke of Clarence" {Richard III)

1 01, log

,, ,, in Vandcvdcchen, 131, 140

Beveridge, Mr., in Hamlet, 57, 67

,, 393» 394
Billington, John, 308
Bishop, Alfred, in Ravenstcood, 317, 329
,, in King Lear, ^],i
„ 343> 350, 353> 4i3> 4i3> 416, 418
Bishop, Kate, 395
Black, ]\Ir., 227, 305, 406, 407
Bond, Acton, 331, 343, 353, 410, 412, 413, 415
" Book of the Church," 358
Booth, Edwin, as " Gthello," 205, 207

.214,351
Boucicault, Dion, 122

,, ,, [Corsican Brothers), 175

Bradbury, Mr., 395
Braddon, Miss, 154
I:>raham, Miss Leonora, 264
Branscombe, Mr., t, 35, 45, 57, 69, 89, loi, iii, 119,

143, 151, 161, 393, 394
Brennard, Mr., 45, 394
Bride of Lammermoor, 319
Bronte, Charlotte, 374
Brooke, E. H., 69, iii

,, ,, as "Cassio" {Othello) Si, 87

4H INDEX.

Brooke, E. H., as " Renard " {Queen Mavy) 8g, 95

,, ,, in Belle's Stratagem, 97

,, ,, as "Richmond" {Richard III) loi, 109

Brothers, Corsican (Dion Boucicault) 175, 177

,, „ (June 2nd, 1891) Cast of, 409

Brough, Robert, 308
Brown, Kate, 227, 245, 393, 403
Brown, Miss, 23, 6g, 191, 393, 408

,, ,, in Richard III, loi, 109

Buckley, Mr., 369, 417, 418
Buckstone, Lucy, 97
Bunn, Mr., 182
Burne-Jones, Sir E., 372
Burnand, F. C. {Paul Zegers) 3
Butler, Mr., 69, 81, 394
Bygones (A. W. Pinero) 184
Byrne, blaster Leo, 353, 415, 416, 418
Byron-Marshall {Werner) 297

C.

Caffrey, Stephen, 402

" Ca Ira," 308

Caleh Williams (W. Godwin) 154

Calhaem, Mr., 245, 398

,, ,, in Tiijelfth Night, 265, 272

Calvert, Walter, 151, 161, 297, 336, 395, 402
Campbell, Mr., 410

Captain of the Watch (J. R. Planche) 225
" Carmagnole," 308
Carr, Mrs. Comyns, 308, 330
Carr, J. Comyns {King Arthur) 369

Carter, John, 35, 161, 171, 175, 205, 227, 245, 283, 297,
305^ 393> 394. 395> 396, 397. 398. 399,

400, 40 T, 402, 403, 404, 406, 407

,, ,, as " Thibault " {Philip) 45, 54

,, ,, as "Roderigo" (O^M/o) 81, 87

,, ,, as "AdamWinterton" (/w;iCAif5^) 151, 158

Carton, Mr., 81, 89, 97, loi, 109, 394

Cartwright, Charles, 119, 143

Cass, Mr,, 406

Cast of The Bells (Original) i
,, Raising the Wind, 9

INDEX. 423

Cast of Charles I, 1^

,, Eugene A vain, 23

,, Richelieu, 35

„ Philip, 45

„ Hamlet, 57

,, Macbeth, 6g
Othello, 81

„ Queen Mavy, 89

,, Belle s Stratagem, 97

,, Richard III, loi

,, Lyons Mail, 1 1 1

,, Louis XI, iig

,, Vanderdecken, 131

,, L(7(f)' 0/ Lyons, 143

,, /row Chest, 151

,, Merchant of Venice, 161

,, I ol ant he, 171

,, Corsican. Brothers, 175

,, TA^ C«j!', 191

„ Othello (May 2nd, 1881) 205

,, T/i5 Hunchback (July 23, 1881) 21 1

,, Tivo Roses, 2ig

,, Romeo and Juliet, 227

,, M/«c/i Ado about Nothing, 245

„ Robert Macaire, 259

,, Twelfth Night, 265

,, Olivia, 275

,, Faust, 283

,, Werner, 297

,, TAij Dfrtrf Heart, 305

,, Ravenswood, 317

„ //£»?7 F///, 331

„ ii:/»5- Lfrtr, 343

„ ^^rAY^ 353

,, A Story of Waterloo, 361

,, King Arthur, ;^6g
Casts of Principal Revivals, 393 to 419
Cathcart, Mr,, 153
Cathcart, Mr. R., 275
Cathcart, Miss M., 275

Cavendish, Ada, in Robert Macaire, 259, 261, 263
Cecil, Arthur, 264
Chapman, Mr., 57, 395

426 INDEX.

Chavlcs I (W. G. Wills) 13, 15

,, (June ist, 1874) Cast of, 393

,, (INIarch 4th, i8gi) Cast of, 409

,, (June 28th, 1893) Cast of, 416
" Charles 1," Irving as, 20
Charles, Mr., 35, 45
Chatrian-Erckmann [Lc Juif Polonats) 3
Chest, The Iron (George Colman) 151, 153
Child, Mr., 227, 396
Chippendale, W. H., in Hamlet, 57, 67

Chippendale, i\Irs., as "INIartha" {Louis XI) 119, 125

,, i43> 401
Cibber, CoUey, 104, 248
Claire, Miss, 59, 89, 394
Clarke, Hamilton, 289, 351
Clayton, John, as the " King" (Richelieu) 35, 42

,, ,, as " Juan de Miraflore" {Philip) 47,54

., 393

Clements, F., 57, 119

Clifford, Mr., 205, 283, 297, 305, 396, 397, 399, 401,
402, 404, 407

Clifford, Tvliss, 403

Clive, Miss, 409

Cluny Theatre, M. Pingla, of, (Bells) 6

Cole, Mr., 410

Coleridge, Miss, 175, 275, 283, 305, 404, 405, 406, 407,
408, 409, 412, 413, 414, 416, 419

Collett, Mr. i, 35, 43, 57, 81, 89, loi, iii, 119, 393, 394

Collins, W'ilkie, 154

Colman, G. (The Ivan Chest) 151, 153

Comedy of Ervovs, 268

Compton, Mr., as " First Gravedigger "' (Hamlet) ^y, 66

Condorset, Mr.. 410

Conway, H. B., 35, 57, 393, 394

,, ,, as " Flamarens " (Philip) 45, 54

,, ,, as " Faust," 283, 286, 288

Cooke, G. F., 104

Cooke, T. P., 134

Cooper, C, as " Gobbo " (Merchant of Venice) 143
,, 151, 161, 169, 171, 395

Cooper, F., ibi, 336, 343, :^^i, 369, 395, 412, 413, 414,
415, 416, 419

INDEX. 42 7

Cooper, F., as " Sir Geoffry " {lolanthe) lyi, 174

„ ,, in Lcay, 350

,, ,, m King Arthur, 2,8^
Coquelin, Cadet, 357
Corsican Brothers (Dion Boucicault) 175, 177

,, ,, (June 2nd, 1891) Cast of, 409

Courier of Lyons, 113, 114
Coveney, Mr., 406, 407
Craig, Ailsa, 416
Craig, Gordon, in Dead Heart, 305, 314

»» „ 317. 331. 343» 35°. 1>5?>^ 408, 409, 413,

414, 415, 416

Craven, Hawes, 6, 17, 33, 43, 88, 95, 109, 138, 140, 150,
170, 174, 180, 201, 203, 300, 325, 330, 347

Crellin, Herbert, as " Christian" {Bells) i, 6

Crowe, Mrs., 69, 8g, 117

,, ,, as " Emilia " (0^/zf//o) 81, 86 [109

,, ,, as " Queen Margaret" [Richard III) loi,

Cup, The (A. Tennyson) 191, 193 [41S

Cushing, Mr., 331, 353, 408, 409, 410, 413, 415, 417,

Cuthbert, Mr., 6, 2,3^ 43, 79, 150, 170, 203

D.

Daddy Ilardacre, ;^6'j

Daiiiiato, DOlandese, 134

Dates of Productions at the Lyceum, 3S7

Dates of Principal Revivals at the Lyceum, 387

Davis, Mr., 305, 317, 331, 353, 399, 408, 412, 415

Dead Heart, The (Watts Phillips) 305, 307

Dearer than Life, 261

Dejazet, Mme., 182

Delavigne, Casimir, 122

Denison, Mr., 275

Der Fliegende Hollander (Wagner) 134

Desborough, Miss, 406

Desmond, Mrs, 402

Dickens, Charles, 333, 374

Dickens, Miss, 410

Diddear, Mr., 174

" Diddler, Jeremy," Irving as (Raising the Wind) 11

Dillon, jVrthur, 101

Dillon, Charles, 373

428 INDEX.

Dore, Gustave, 294

" Doricourt," Irving as {Belle's Stratagem) 99

Doyle, A Conan (Story of Waterloo) 361

Drury, Mr., 165

" Duboscq," Irving as (Lyons Mail) 11 1

Duke's Motto, The, 333, 373

Dutchman, The Flying, 133

Dwyer, Mr,, 398

Dyas, Miss x\da, in King Lear, 343, 350

Dyas, Mr,, i

Edgar, E. F., as " Lord :\Ioray " (Charles I) 13, 21
j5 ,, as "Houseman" (Eugene Aram) 23, 32

35> 393
Edwards, Mr., 119

Egan, Mrs. F. B,, as " Laurelia Durable " (Raising the
Wind) 9, 12

Ellerman, F, C, 95

Elliston, Mr,, 153

Elton, Mr., 395

Elwood, Mr., 143, 161, 175, 395, 396

Emery, Sam, 333

Emery, Winifred, in Two Roses, 219, 224
,, ,, as " Ida" (Werner) 297, 304

„ ,, 275, 397, 399, 400, 401, 402, 403, 404

Epiteaux, ]\Ir., 398

Erckmann-Chatrian (Le Juif Polonais) 3

Espinosa, Jnr., Mr., 417

Eugene Aram (W. G. Wills) 23, 25

», ,, (June 22nd, 1874) Cast of, 393

" Eugene Aram," Irving as, 27

Ewell, Miss, 219, 393

Farquhar, Gilbert, 331, 412

Farren, W., 182

Faucit, Miss Helen, 173, 2^2

Faust (W. G. Wills) 283, 285

,, (April 14th, 1888) Cast of, 404
,, (April 14th, 1894) Cast of, 417

INDEX. 429

Fawsitt, Amy, 21Q, 221

Fechter, Charles, 61, 87, 183, 262, 320, 333, 373

Fenton, Mr., 406

Fernandez, James, iiQ, 397, 398

„ „ as "Nils" [Van.ierdechen) 131, 135

„ ,, as " Friar " {Romeo mid Jnlici) 227,

244

„ ,, 'mMitch Ado about Nothmg, 2J^s^'257

,, ,, in Rohert Macaiir, 259, 263

Ferrand, Mr., 151, 175, 205
Fielding;, Henry, 374
First Nifjhts, Summary of, 387
Fisher, David, 114, 265, 272, 307
Fitzball, Edward, 134
Fitzj^erald, Percy, 65
Fitzgerald- Wills {Vandcrdcchcn) 131, 133
" Five Times in the Taper's Light," 154
Fliegende Hollander, Dev (Wagner) 134
Flying Dutchman, The, 133

Forbes, Norman, as " Wilford " {Iron Chest) 151, 158
,, ,, as " Sir Almeric" {lolanthe) 171, 174

161, 275, 283, 397, 398, 399, 400, 401,
402, 404
Foresters, The (March 17th, 1892) Cast of, 410
Forrest, Mr., 404, 417
Forrester, Mr., 69, 161, 395

„ as " lago" (0///^'//o) 81, 87

,, ,, as "Beauseant" (L<7rt'j'fl/Ljw/s) 143, 150

Forsyth, Ellen, 403

Foster, Miss, 399, 406, 407, 408, 409, 410,413,416, 417
Fotheringham, Mr., i

Fowler, Emily, in Covsican Brothers, 175, 180, 190
Francis, Virginia, in Philip, 45, 54

,, ,, in Belle's Stratagem, 97

,, ,, in Louis XI, 119, 128

89, III
Franks, Mr., 275
Fredericks, Mr., i

G.

Ganthony, Mr., 161

Garrick, David, 6, 104, 230, 231, 247

Garthorne, C. W., 395

430 INDEX.

German, Edward, 336, 342

Gibson, Mr., 401

Glenney, Charles, in Romeo and Juliet, 227, 244

,, ,, in Much Ado about Nothmf^, 245, 257

,, ,, in Wernev, 297, 303

3S3, 402, 403, 404
Glyndon, ]\Ir., iii
Godfrey, Mr., 397
Godwin, W. (Caleb Williams) 154
Goethe, 334
Gounod, M., 289

Graham, Mr., 399, 403,407, 414, 419
Greenwood, Mr., 104
Grego, George, 308
Grossmith, George, 264
Grossmith, Weedon, 405
Gurney, Mr., 399, 400, 401, 409, 412

H.

Hague, Clarance, 331, 343, 353, 369, 415, 417, 418, 419
Hall, Frank, i
Hall, Miss, 89
Hamilton, Mr., 399
Hamlet (Shakespeare) 57, 59

,, (July 30th, 1877) Cast of, 394
,, (October 15th, 1879) Cast of, 395
,, (June i8th, 1881) Cast of, 396
,, (May 2nd, 1885) Cast of, 399
" Hamlet," Irving as, 57
,, Kean as, 59

,, Kemble as, 59

,, Fechter as, 61

,, Garrick as, 61

Hampden, Miss, 57, 393, 394
Hann, Walter, 170
Harbury, Mr., 219, 227, 245, 265, 283, 397, 398, 399,

400, 401, 402, 403, 404, 405
Hardy, Thomas, 374
Harker, Mr., 347
Harris, Augustus, 333

Harvey, Mr., 283, 297, 305, 331, 343, 353, 369, 383, 398,
399. 400. 401 > 402, 403, 404, 405, 406, 407, 408, 409,
412, 413, 414, 415, 416, 417, 418, 419

INDEX. 431

Harwood, Miss, 13, 6g, loi, 109, 131, 143, 151, 175, 191,
245> 395' 397> 398. 402, 404, 405, 406, 410

Harwood, Mr., 45, 59, 81, loi, 109, iii, 119, 151, 175,
191, 205, 227, 265, 394, 395, 396, 397, 398

Hatton, Bessie, 412

Haviland, Mr., 245, 265, 283, 297, 305, 314, 317, 343,
350. 353' 361, 368, 397, 398, 401, 402, 403, 404, 405,
406, 407, 408, 409, 412, 413, 414, 415, 417, 418, 419

Hazlitt, William, 59, 66, 164

Heart, The Amhey (June 7th, 1887) Cast of, 403
,, ,, (May 23rd, 1888) Cast of, 405

Heart, Dead (Watts Phillips) 305, 307

Heath, Miss, 336

Heine, M., 134

Helps, Mr., iii

Helmsley, 283, 398, 399, 400, 402

Henry, Mr., 35, 69

Henry, Miss, 13, 45

Henry F/// (Shakespeare) 331, 333

Henstock, Mr., 406

Herbert, Miss, 99

Hey wood, Fanny, as " Annette " [Tlie Bells) i, 6

Holland, Mr., 119, 143, 394

Holland, Miss, 275, 404, 406, 408, 409, 410

Hollingshead, John, 213

Holloway, W. J., 343, 350, 353, 415

Holme, Myra, in The Iron Chest, 151, 159

Honey, George, 219

Horton, Miss Priscilla, 182

Houliston, Miss, 175

Howard, J. B., in Richelieu, 35, 40

Howard, Mr., 410, 418

Howard, Miss, as " Joliquet " (Lyons Mail) iii, 117

Howe, Mr., 217, 219, 225, 227, 244, 245, 257, 259, 263,
265, 273, 275, 283, 297, 304, 317, 330, 331, 336, 340,
243> 253' 396, 398, 399' 400, 401, 402, 403, 404,405,
406, 407, 408, 409, 412, 413, 414, 415, 416, 418, 419

Hudson, Mr., 161, 175, 191, 205, 227, 396, 397

Hughes, Annie, in Waterloo, 361, 368

in King Arthur, 2,^2>
Hunchback, The (Sheridan Knowles) 211, 213
Huntley, Miss, 410
Huntley, Mr., 69, 81, 8g, loi, 109, iii, 394

432 INDEX.

Huntley, Mrs., in Macbeth, 69, 79

,, ,, mRichayd III, 101, 109

„ „ 89

" Huzza ! Huzza ! we'll Drink ! " 155

I.

Innes, Mr., 410, 418

Iolanthe{\N. G. Wills) 171, 173, 356

Irish, Annie, 408, 409

Irish, F. W., i, 12, 23, 33, 393

») ,, as " Sam " {Raising the Wind) 9, 12
Iron Chest, The (G. Colman) 151, 153
Irving, Henry, as " Mathias," i

J. ,, as " Diddler " {Raising the Wind) 9

5> ,, as " Charles I," 13

jj ,, as " Eugene Aram," 23

5) ,, as " Richelieu," 35

M ,, as " Philip," 45

„ ,, as " Hamlet," 57

„ ,, as " Macbeth," 6g

„ as " Othello," 81

„ „ as " Philip " {Queen Mary) 89

>> ,, as " Doricourt," 97

M ,, as " Richard HI," loi

>> ,, as " Dubosc " and " Lesurques," in

j> ,, as " Louis XI," iig

j> ,, as " Vanderdecken," 131

,, ,, as " Melnotte," 143 [151

j> ,, as " Sir Edward Mortimer" (/m? Chest)

n ,, as " Shylock," 161

j> 5, as " Count Tristan" {lolanthe) 171 [175

j> ,, as "Louis" and " Fabien dei Franchi,"

5> ,, as " Synorix " {The Cup) 191

» ,, as " lago," 205

)) ,, as " Modus," 211

J, ,, as " Digby Grant," 219

5> ,, as " Romeo," 227

j> ,, as " Benedick," 245

5> ,, as " Robert Macaire," 259

5j ,, as " Malvolio," 265

)» ,, as " Dr. Primrose," 275

j> ,, as " Mephistopheles," 283

INDEX. 433

Irving, Henry, as " Count Werner," 297

,, ,, as " Robert Landry," 305

J, ,, as " Ravenswood," 317

,, ,, as " Cardinal Wolsey," 331

„ ,, as " King Lear," 343

,, ,, as " Becket," 353

,, ,, as " Corporal Brewster ■' (Il'(f/f/'/w) 361

,, ,, as " King Arthur," 369

,, ,, Parts played by, 391

Isai, M., 95
Ivor, Francis, 406, 408

J.

Jackson, Mr., 410

Jacobi, M., 308

James, David, as " ?\Ir. Jenkins" (Ti^o Roses) 2ig, 222

James, Mr., 395

Jingle [Pickwick) 1 1

,, (April 23rd, 1887) Cast of, 402

John, Mrs. St., 119, 131

Johnson, Mr., 143, 151, 161, 169, 175, 217, 283, 331, 353,
395> 396, 397> 398, 399, 400, 401, 402, 403, 404, 406,
407, 408, 409, 412, 413, 414, 415, 417, 418, 419

"Jolly Friars Tippled Here," 154

Jonathan Bvadfovd, 301

Jones, Miss, 131

Jordan, George, 183, 333

Josephs, Fanny, 223

Jnif Polonais, L^, 3

Juliet, Romeo and (Shakespeare), 227, 229

K.

Kean, Charles, 59, 114, 123, 124, 181, 183, 215, 229,

247, 289, 309, 335
Kean, Edmund, 105, 153, 157, 164, 347
Kean, Mrs. Charles, 123, 128, 173, 2,2>5^ 337, 339
Keeley, Mr. and Mrs., 182
Kelly, Kate, 308
Kemble, as " Hamlet," 59
Kemble, Charles, 67
Kemble, Fanny, 67
Kemble, John, 153
Kemble, H., 403

F F

434

INDEX.

Kenny, James [Raising the Wind) g
King Avthuv (J. Comyns Carr) 369, 371
King Lear (Shakespeare) 343, 345
Knii,'ht, ]\Ir., 369, 417, 418
Ki'uitzncv, 300

L.

Lacy, Walter, as "Damas" [Lady of Lyons) 143, 150

183, 336
Lcicy, Mr., 317, 331, 343, 353, 369, 406, 407, 408, 409,

410,413,414,415, 416, 418, 419
Lacy, Mrs., 417
Lafont, M., 363

Lafontaine, Annie, in Raising The Wind, 9, 12
Lady of Lyons (Lord Lytton) 143, 145
Lambourne, Mr., 399
Laneton, Mr., 119
Larkin, Sophie, 395
L'Auherge dcs Ad vets, 262
La vis, Miss T., 219
Lawson, Mr., 402
Lear, King (Shakespeare) 343, 345
Leathes, Edmund, as " Laertes " (Hamlet) 57, 66
Leclercq, Carlotta, 114
Leclercq, Rose, in Tivelftli Night, 265, 272
Lee, Harriet, 300
Leighton, Sir Frederick, 201
Lely, Durward, 264
Lemaitre, Frederic, 182, 262, 320
Lenepven, A., 45
Lesueur, M., 363

" Lesurques" luid " Dubosc,"" Ir\ing as (Lyons ^hlil) iii
Leverton, Mr., 406
Lewis, Leopold (The Bells) 3
Lilford, Mr., 410
Linden, Marie, 407
Lindsay, Mr., 407
L'Olandese Dannato, 134

Lorris, Mr., 321, 343, 353, 407, 413, 414, 413
Lonis XI (Delavigne-Boucicault) 119, 121

5> (J^ily 23rd, 1883) Cast of, 398

,, (May 9th, 1885) Cast of, 399

,, (May 3rd, 1890) Cast of, 407

INDEX. 435

Louis XI (April 8th, 1893) Cast of, 413

" Louis XI," Irving as, 119, 359

Louther, Mr. loi, 109, iii, 175, 205, 227, 283, 394, 39^),

397. 398, 399, 40O' 401-
Loveday, H. J., 351
Lucas, Seymour, 300, 330, 334, 337
Lyndal, Mr., 397, 398, 399
Lyons, Edmund, 119, 125, 131
Lyons, Lady of {'Lytton) 143, 145
Lyons Mail (Charles Reade) iii, 113
,, ,, (June 2nd, 1883) Cast of, 397
,, ,, (February 7th, 1891) Cast of, 408
,, (April 22nd, 1893) Cast of, 413
Lyons, R. C, loi, 109, iii, 117, 131, 394
Lytton, Lord (Richelieu) 35, 37

„ (Lady of Lyons) 143, 145

M.

Macaive, Robert, 259, 261

„ (May 23rd, 1888) Cast of, 405
Macbeth (Shakespeare) 69, 71

,, (December 27th, 1888) Cast of, 4or)
" Macbeth," Irving as, 69.
Mackenzie, Dr. A. C, 321, 330
Mackintosh, Mr., 317, 329
Macklin, Mr., in Ravens7i>ood, 317, 330

„ 407, 408, 409
Macklin, Mrs., 405

Macready, W. C, 38, 104, 149, 153, 247, 300, 336, 337
Mail, Lyons (Charles Reade) iii, 113

„ (June 2nd, 1883) Cast of, 397
,, ,, (February 7th, 1891) Cast of, 408

,, ,, (April 22nd, 1893) Cast of, 413
Manners, Charles, 264
Margetson, \V. H., 308
Marion, Mr., 396, 398, 399, 400, 402, 405, 407, 408, 410,

413,414, 418,419
Markby, Mr., as " Ireton (Charles /; 13, 21

„ 395
Marlborough, Miss, 69
Marriott, Miss, 317, 329, 406
Marshall-Byron (Wei'nei'J 297

F F — 2

436 INDEX.

Marston, Henry, 300, 303

Marston, Dr. Westland, 299, 300, 304

Martin, Mr. Theodore, 173

Mathews, Charles, 373

Matthews, Helen, in Tivo Roses, 219, 224

.. _ ,, 226,227,401,402,403,404,405

Matthison, Mr., 191, 205
Mayne, Helen, i, 13
Mead, Thomas, in Hcviikf, 57, 67

,, ,, in Macbeth, 6g, 79

,, ,, in Othello, 81, 87, 205, 209

,, ,, in Queen Mary, 89

,, ,, in Richard III, loi, 109

„ ,, in Lyons Mail, iii, 116, 117

,, ,, in Louis XI, 119, 126

,, ,, in Iron Chest, 151, 158

,, ,, in lolanthe, i']i, 174

5, ,, in Corsican Brothers, 175, 180

,, „ in Romeo and Juliet, 227, 244

245, 283, 394, 395, 397, 398, 399, 403,
404, 410
Meadows, Drinkwater, 153, 183
Medea (W. G. Wills) 15
Mellish, Fuller, 265, 399, 400

,, ,, in A Story of Waterloo, 361, 368

,, ,, in Kinf: Arthur, 369, 383

" Melnotte, Claude," Irving as, 143
Merchant of Venice (Shakespeare) 161, 163

,, ,, (May nth, 1885) Cast of, 400

,, ,, (May i6th, 1887) Cast of, 402

,, ,, (June 3rd, 1893) Cast of, 414

,, ,, (July 24th, 1894) Cast of, 419

Merivale, Herman [Ravensxmod) 317
Mills, Miss, 275, 283, 402, 404
Millward, Miss, 245, 397, 398, 412, 413
Milton, Maud, in King Lear, 343, 350

,, ,, in King Arthur, 369, 383 ; 416
Money (Lord Lytton) 264
Montague, H. J., 219, 221
Mont Blanc (Albert Smith) 182
Montgomery, Walter, 232
Mordaunt, Mr., 69, 394
Moreley, Miss, 175

INDEX. 437

Morgan, Mr., 404

" Mortimer, Sir Edward," Irving as, 151

Much Ado About Nothing (Shakespeare) 245, 247
(May 31st, 1884)398
(June 13th, 1887)403

Murray, Alma, in Iron Chest, 151, 159

,, ,, in Merchant of Venice, 161, i6g
„ 175, 183, 184

Murray, Gaston, i, 9, 393

Murray, Gaston, Mrs., 275

Murray, Leigh, 114, 174

" My Peace has Fled," 289

N.

Neilson, Miss, in Twelfth Night, 271
Neville, George, in Hamlet, 57, 67

69
Neville, Miss, 275
Newman, Mr., 331
Newton, Miss A., 219
Nicholls, Miss K., 275
Night, Twelfth (Shakespeare) 265, 267
Norman, Mr., 57, 69, 89, 410

O.

Odell, Mr., as " Fainwould " {Raising the Wind) g, 12

Oldcastle, Miss, 409

Olivia (W. G. Wills) 275, 277

„ (June 29th, 1887) Cast of, 404

„ (May 27th, 1890) Cast of, 408

„ (July 14th, 1893) Cast of, 416
Orchardson, Mr., 148
Othello (Shakespeare) 81, 83, 205

,, Irving as " lago," 205, 207
" Othello," Irving as, 81
Ouv Clerks (T. Taylor) 182
Outram, Leonard, 406

P.

Parker, Mr., 119

Parts played by Irving, 391

438 INDEX.

Paulton, Harry, 257

Paul Zcgcvs (F. C. Burnand) 3

Pauncefort, Miss, i, 6, 13, 17, 45, 54, 57, 67, 6g, 89, loi,

109, 131, 140, 143, 150, 151, 171, 174, 175, 191,205,

219, 225, 317, 331, 393, 394, 39G, 397, 399, 400, 402,

402, 404, 407, 408, 409, 410
Payne, Louisa, 217, 225, 227, 245, 265, 272, 275, 283,

398> 399> 400, 401
Pearle, Miss, 408
Percival, Mr., 343, 353, 415
Phelps, Samuel, 39, 42, 104, 182, 247, 299, 300
Philip (Hamilton Aide) 45, 47
" Philip," Irving as, 45
" Philip of Spain," Irving as, 89
Phillips, Kate, in Dead Heart, 305, 314

353. 407. 41^' 409> 412, 413. 414. 415.
417, 418, 419
Phillips, Miss, 219

Phillips, Watts {flie Dead Ileavi) 305, 307
Pichvick (James Albery) 1 1
Pinero, A. W., loi, 109, 131, 161, 175, 180, 184, 185,

205, 395' 39^^
Pingla, M., 6
Planche, J. R., [Captain of the Watch) 225

" ". 3~3

Plot and Passion (T. Taylor) 224
Pollock, W. H., 30S
Polonais, L^- /?///" (Erckmann-Chatrian) 3
Porter's Knot, The, 367
Powell, Mr., 331, 343, 353, 410, 413, 415

Q.

Queen Mary (Tennyson) 89, 91

R.

Raising the Wind (James Kenny) 9, 11

,, ,, (June 22nd, 1874) Cast of, 393

,, ,, (July 24th, 1886) Cast of, 401

" Rauterbach, Air de "' (Bells) 6

Ravensu'ood (Herman ]\Ieri\ale) 317, 319

Raynor, Mr., 305, 406

Reade, Charles [Lyons Mail) iii ; 154

INDEX. 439

Reed, Mrs, German, 182

Reeve, John, 134

Reeves, Sims, 182

Revivals, Dates of, 387

Revivals, Casts of principal, 393 to 419

Reynolds, Mr., 331, 353, 407, 408, 409, 410, 413,414,

415,417, 418, 419
Richard 11, 229

Richard III {Sh3.ke?.pes.re) loi, 103
" Richard III," Irving as, loi
Richards, Cicely, 395
Richardson, Mr., 374
Richelieu (Lord Lytton) 35, 37

,, (May 14th, 1892) Cast of, 412
" Richelieu," Irving as, 35, 37
Righton, Edward, in Dead Heart, 305, 314 ; 395
Ristori, Madame, 203
Rivers, Mr., 410

Rivington, Mr., 410, 413, 418, 419
Robert Macaire, 259, 261

(May 23rd, 1888) Cast of, 405
Roberts, W., 410

Robertson, Forbes, in Much Ado About Nothii!,^, 245, 257
in Henry VIII, 339, 34^

„ ,, in Kiim Arthur, 3^9, 377

33i> 335
Robertson, Ian, 343, 353, 414, 4^5
Robertson, Norman Forbes, 335
Robertson, J., 245, 398, 403
Robson, 6

Rod well, Herbert, 134
Roe, Mr., 406

Romeo and Juliet (Shakespeare) 227, 229
Rosa, Carl, 134
Roselle, Amy, 395
Roses, Tivo (James Albery) 219, 221

,, (December loth, 1879) Cast of, 395

Ruskin, John, 319
Russell, Howard, 227
Ryder, John, 183, 336

440 INDEX.

S.

Sadler's Wells Theatre, 104

Sala, G. A., 237

Salvini, Signer, 251

Santley, Charles, 293

Sargent, Miss, 410

Sargent, Mr., 69, 81, 89, loi

Scott, Sir Walter, 276, 319, 334

Seaman, Miss, 406

Sedley, Miss, 143

Selby, Charles, 262

Seldon, Mr., 331, 353, 410, 415, 417, 418

Seymour, Mr., 69, loi, 331, 417

Shakespeare {Hamlet) 57

,, (Macbeth) 6g

„ (Othello) 81, 205

,, (Richavd III) loi

,, (Merchant of Venice) 161

,, (Romeo and Jnliet) 227

,, (Much A do A bout Nothing) 245

„ (Twelfth Night) 265

(Hewy VIII) 331
(King Lear) 343
Shall, Mr., 410
" Shylock," Irving as, i^-^
Siddons, Mrs., 339
Silva, Miss de, 408, 409, 410, 417
Simpson, Mr., 396, 398
Simpson, Palgrave, 182, 262
Smith, Albert, 182
Smith, E. T., 373
Smith, O., 134
Smith, Mr., 119
Smyles, Mr., loi, 119, 396
" Song for Ministers," 308
Sprang, Mr, 410
Stanley, Miss, 410
Stephens, W. H., as " The Vicar " (Eugene Aram) 23, 33

,, ,, in Tii'o Roses, 219

Stewart, Mr., 331,410
Stirling, Arthur, in Dead Heart, 305, 314
„ „ in Henry VIII, 331, 34 ^

INDEX. 441

Stirling, x\rthur, 412

Stirling, Mrs., 173, 227, 243, 283, 289

Stoepel, Robert, 95, 109, 129, 140

Stoker, Bram, 357

Stone, R.A., Marcus, 148

Story of Watevloo (Conan Doyle) 361, 363

Stvatagem, Belle s, 97, 99

,, ,, (April i6th, 1881) Cast of, 396

Stuart, A, 69, 97, loi, 109, 396, 406

Stuart, Tom, 308

Sullivan, Sir Arthur, 270, 372

Summary of First-nights, 387

Swinbourne, Thomas as " The King " [Hamlet) 57, 65
,, ,, as " Macduff" (Macbeth) 69, 78

,, ,, as " Gardiner " {Queen Mary) 89

,, ,, as "Buckingham" {Richard III)

I 01, 109

Tabb, Mr., 331, 343, 353, 369, 407, 409, 410, 413, 415,

416, 417, 418, 419
Tadema, Alma, 201
Taine, M., 59, 60
Taking the Bastille, 308
Tale of Two Cities, 307
Tale, Winter's (Shakespeare) 229
Talien, M., 6
Tapping, A., i, 35, 45,57,69,81, loi, iii, 119, 143, 151,

161, 175, 393, 394, 395
Taylor, Mr., 305, 402, 410, 418
Taylor, Tom, 182
Telbin, W., 170, 201, 203
Tennyson, Alfred {The Cup) 191, 193

{Bccket) 353, 355
Ternss, William, in Corsican Brothers, 175, 180, 188

,, in The Cup, 191, 203

,, in Othello, 205, 209.

,, in Much Ado About Nothing, 245, 256

,, in Robert Macaire, 259, 263

,, in Twelfth Night, 265, 272

,, in Olivia, 275, 279

,, in Ravens-wood, 317, 329

442 INDEX.

Terriss, William, in Henry VIII, 331, 339, 341
in King Lear, 343, 350
in Becket, 353, 356, 358
„ „ 215, 217, 219, 224, 226, 227, -234, 243,

396, 397> 398, 407' 4C>8> 409> 412,
413, 414, 415, 416, 417, 418' 419
Terry, Ellen, as " Pauline " {Laeiy of Lyons) 143, 148
,, ,, as "Portia" [Merchant of Venice) 161, 168

,, ,, as " lolanthe" (lolanthc) 171, 173

,, ,, as " Camma " (r//f Cnp) igi, 201

,, ,, as " Desdemona " (0///r//o) 205, 209

,, ,, as " Helen " (The Hunchback) 211, 217

as " Juliet " (Romeo and Juliet) 227, 234, 239
,, ,, as "Beatrice" {Much Ado About Nothing)

245, 249
„ ,, as " Clementine " (Robert Macatre) 259, 261

as " Viola " {Twelfth Night) 265, 267
,, ,, as " Olivia " {Olivia) 275, 277

,, ,, as " Mart^aret (Faust) 283, 287

,, ,, as " Josephine " flFfy/ifr J 297, 300

as " Catherine " (Dead Heart) 305, 313
,, ,, as " Lucy Ashton " (Ravensinood ) 317, 329

,, ,, as " Queen Katherine " (Henry VIII) 331,

338^
,, ,, as " Cordelia " (King Lear) 343, 350

,, as " Rosamund" (Becket) 353, 358

as " Guinevere" (King Arthur) 369, 373
,, ,, as " Ellaline " (Amber Heart) 405

Terry, Florence, in Iron Chest, 151, 159

,, ,, in Merchant of Venice, 161, 169

Terry, Fred, in Twelfth Night, 265, 271
Terry, Kate,_ii4, 271, 333
Terry, Minnie, 409
Thackeray, W. M., 374
Theatre Clvmy, 6
Thiere, Miss Le, in Richelieu, 35, 42

in Ravenswood, 317, 330 ; 331
Thompson, Alfred, 42, 43, 336
Thorne, Thomas, 219, 223, 259, 263
Toole, J. L., 213, 214, 259, 261, 308, 335
Tree, H. Beerbohm, 403
" Tristan," Irving as (lolautlie) 171
Turtle, Miss, 275

INDEX. 443

Tyars, Frank, in, 175, 191, 205, 227, 245, 265,275, 283,
394> 395. 396, 397. 398, 399, 400, 401,
402, 403, 404, 405, 406, 407, 408, 409,
412, 413, 414, 415, 416, 417, 418, 419
,, ,, m Louis XI, 119, 126

,, ,, in Lady of Lyons, 143, 150

,, ,, in Ivor. Chest, 151, 158

,, ,, m Merchant of Venice, 161, 169

,, ,, in Dead Heart, 305, 314

,, ,, in Ravens-wood, 317, 330

„ in Henry VHI, 331
in Lear, 343, 350
in T-ieckct, 353
in King Atthur, 369, 383
Tiuelfth Night (Shakespeare) 265, 267
Tii/o Roses (J. Albery) 219, 221

,, (December loth, 1879) Cast of, 395

Uncle Dick's Darling, 261
Used Up, 373

U.

V.

Vale, Mr., 262

Valentine, Sydney, in King Arthur, 369, 376

Vanbrugh, Violet, 331, 410

Vanderdcchen (W. G. Wills) 131, 133

" Vanderdecken," Irving as, 131

Venice, Merchant of (Shakespeare) 161, 163

,, ,, (May nth, 1885) Cast of, 400

,, ,, (May i6th, 1887) Cast of, 402

(June 3rd, 1893) Cast of, 414

Vestris, Madame, 373

Vezin, Herniann, 183, 275, 405

Vincent, Miss, 410

Victor, Miss M. A., 417

W.

Wallack, H., 262, 299, 303

Ward, Genevieve, 339, ^^^, 357, 358, 369, 383, 415, 418

444 INDEX.

Warner, Mrs., 339
Warner, Charles, 395
Watch, Captain of the (J. R. Planche) 225
Waterloo, A Story 0/ (Conan Doyle) 361, 363
Webb, Miss, 409, 410, 416
Webber, Mr., 57
Webster, Benjamin, 307, 309
Webster, Mr., 406
Welch, Miss, 13

Wenman, Mr., 275, 297, 317, 398, 399, 400, 402, 403,
404, 405, 406, 408, 409
,, ,, in Werner, 297, 303

5, ,, in Ravenswood, 317, 329

Werner (Byron-lNIarshall) 297, 299
West, Mrs. W., 336, 339
White, Rev. James, 182
Wi<?an, Alfred, 183
Willard, E. S., 403
" Willow Song," 87
Wills, W. G. (Medea) 13

,, ,, {Charles I) 13, 48

,, ,, {Eugene Aram) 23

,, ,, {lolanthe) 171

^_,, ,, {Olivia) 275

Wilson, Mr., 410
Wind, Raising the (J. Kenny) g, 11
j> 5, (June 22nd, 1894) Cast of, 393

,, „ (July 24th, 1886) Cast of, 401

Winter s Tale (Shakespeare) 229
Woolgar, Miss, 308
Wright, Mr., 182, 308
Wyatt, Mr., in Tivelfth Night, 265, 272

Y.

Yeldham, Mr., 353, 410, 415
Young, Miss, 396

Z.

Zcgcrs, Paul (F. C. Burnand) 3

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