"This is the JewThat Shakespeare drew,"
"This is the JewThat Shakespeare drew,"
"This is the JewThat Shakespeare drew,"
"This is the Jew
That Shakespeare drew,"
is well known, and the nineteenth night of the run being his benefit, Bolingbroke sent him a purse containing twenty guineas, such a present being then considered a compliment.
On April 17, 1875, poor Charles Coghlan was anything but Charles the Great. Always careful inthe details of his make-up, he was a picturesque figure, but his expectant audience waited in vain for the effect that should have been made by the "pull" in the third act—for the fire that was never thrown out—and for the forcible impression of the trial scene. The "nobility and critics" were in front, but they could not compliment the new Shylock, and had sadly to admit that he was anything but the Jew that Shakespeare drew.
Charles Coghlan seemed for the moment to have forgotten that Shakespeare meant his matchless text to be illuminated by the actor. He ought to have borne in mind Mrs. Micawber's adage: "Things cannot turn up of themselves. We must in a measure assist them to turn up."
No doubt his grave and unaccountable mistake killed the production, and from it the Bancrofts must have suffered not only bitter disappointment, but heavy pecuniary loss. It is pleasant to remember how in their published records they very lightly touch upon the shortcomings of their stage comrade. But the Bancrofts were ever kindly and generous, and in every way merit the honours that have been conferred upon them. Were they not the pioneers of a new, tasteful, and pure departure in English dramatic art? Is it not to them that we owe the evergreen comedies of Robertson and the refined theatrical school that he founded?
It is wonderful that thus heavily handicapped with an insipid Shylock the Portia of the eveningmade a never-to-be-forgotten triumph. But triumph she did, and all along the line. It at once became apparent that we had amongst us an actress who could play the heroines of Shakespeare in a manner that would vie with her great predecessors in the parts, and that she would endow them with new graces and sweet fancies of her own. Such an actress was sorely needed, and we were grateful for her timely advent.
Well did Joseph Knight say of Ellen Terry and that famous night at the pleasant little theatre in Tottenham Street, "She had revealed the gifts which are the rarest on the English stage."
Continuing, he wrote: "More adequate expression has seldom been given to the light-heartedness of maidenhood, the perplexities and hesitations of love, and the inevitable content of gratified aspirations and ambitions. Not less successful were the scenes of badinage. Portia's address before the court was excellent, and the famous speech on mercy assumed new beauties from a correct and exquisite delivery. A very noteworthy point in the performance was the womanly interest in Shylock—the endeavour to win him, for his own sake, from the pursuit of his grim resolve. The delivery of the lines—
"'Shylock, there's thrice thy money offered thee,'
"'Shylock, there's thrice thy money offered thee,'
"'Shylock, there's thrice thy money offered thee,'
"'Shylock, there's thrice thy money offered thee,'
and
"'Have by some surgeon, Shylock, on your chargeTo stop his wounds, lest he do bleed to death,'
"'Have by some surgeon, Shylock, on your chargeTo stop his wounds, lest he do bleed to death,'
"'Have by some surgeon, Shylock, on your chargeTo stop his wounds, lest he do bleed to death,'
"'Have by some surgeon, Shylock, on your charge
To stop his wounds, lest he do bleed to death,'
were dictated by sublime compassion."
In accord with this was the opinion of Dutton Cook, who wrote:—
"With all the charms of aspect and graces of manner indispensable to the impersonation of the heiress of Belmont, Miss Terry is gifted with a voice of silvery and sympathetic tone, while her elocutionary method should be prized by her fellow actors. Portia has been presented now with tragedy queen airs, and now with vivacity of the soubrette sort—as when in Garrick's time Mrs. Clive played the part, and made a point of mimicking the more famous barristers of her time; indeed, a nice combination of stateliness, animation, sentiment, archness, poetry, tenderness, and humour is required of the actress entrusted with the character. Miss Terry's Portia leaves little to be desired; she is singularly skilled in the business of the scene, and assists the action of the drama by great care and inventiveness with regard to details. There is something of passion in the anxiety with which she watches Bassanio's choice of the leaden casket; while the confession of her love which follows upon that incident is delivered with a depth of feeling such as only a mistress of her art could accomplish."
And so it was with all the critics. Probably there never was an occasion on which they were so unanimous. In the presence of true genius we must all agree.
How difficult it is to define the word "genius."To my mind it has never been so well done as by George William Curtis, who said—
"The secret of the rose's sweetness, of the bird's ecstasy, of the sunset's glory, that is the secret of genius."
Certainly this seems to sum up the genius of Ellen Terry.
Since that night when she first played Portia, it has never lost its hold upon the public, or its influence upon our stage. With an equally magnetic Shylock the Bancrofts' brave venture with "The Merchant of Venice" would surely have run for many months, and in view of the deep impression she has made, it must have been a great disappointment to Ellen Terry that this was not to be. She did not know then that both in England and America her Portia would prove an ever-recurring joy. It was ordained that as Ophelia she should commence her long and brilliant series of Shakespearean impersonations with Henry Irving at the Lyceum, but it was as Portia at the Bancrofts' Prince of Wales' Theatre that she first won all our hearts, from the scholarly critic of our greatest poet, to those who only regard "The Merchant of Venice" as an interesting play that they pay their money to see. Portia will, I think, ever sparkle as the brightest gem in her well bejewelled crown.
Being human, Ellen Terry must have felt somewhat chagrined that the fiasco of Charles Coghlan's Shylock should, for a time, banish her Portia, and itis characteristic of her generous nature that a few months later she should be playing, for a single performance, Pauline Deschappelles to his Claude Melnotte at the Princess's Theatre. It was one of those ephemeral stage experiments that could lead to no immediate good. It involved much study, great anxiety, and hard work. Probably in undertaking the task Ellen Terry was actuated by the unselfish desire to help to reinstate her old comrade of the Bristol days in the public estimation. I know that in the long period of her unalterably established fame she has ever been the first to help a fellow actor fallen by the way. If this was her desire she succeeded beyond her expectations. As Claude Melnotte Coghlan did much to redeem his recent unfortunate venture, and as Pauline she evoked pæans of praise. Writing of this performance Joseph Knight said that its effect was to set the seal upon a growing reputation, and to make evident the fact that an actress of a high, if not the highest, order had arisen in our midst. He felt, as every one felt, that in Ellen Terry an artist had developed in whom there was that perception of analogies, that insight into mysteries, and that power of interpretation on which the world has bestowed the name of genius. "Circumstances," he truly remarked, "took Miss Terry from the stage at a time when men dimly perceived in her the promise which has since been realised. It is probable that some delay in thatmaturity of style indispensable to perfection in histrionic art has resulted from this break in her career. The interval can scarcely have been misspent, however, since Miss Terry reappeared on the stage with ripened powers and with improved methods."
In saying that her presentation of Pauline "comprised a series of pictures each more graceful than the preceding," he echoed the general opinion; but I do not think that the great mass of enthusiastic playgoers could be with him when he added that they were "all too good for the lackadaisical play in which she appeared."
Poor "Lady of Lyons"! There are still a little band of your faithful admirers who hate to hear you condemned as you are to-day, as tawdry, cheap, and artificial. They look back fondly on happy and soul-stirring hours spent with you in the past; they know that you can still hold intelligent, if somewhat sentimentally inclined, audiences spellbound; and they believe that if any later-day dramatist could write a play containing as good a character for a stage heroine, he would reap a fortune. But among the superfine, my sweet "Lady of Lyons," you are condemned as "old-fashioned," and your loyal followers, if they open their lips in your praise, must be content to share the same ridicule and fate. It is very terrible to be old-fashioned; but I, for one, shall be true to you as long as I live. In the course of his criticism the writer said, "It is too early yet to gaugefully the talent which has revealed itself. It seems probable that Miss Terry's powers will be restrained to depicting the grace, tenderness, and passion of love. In the short scene in the third act, in which Pauline chides her lover for treachery, the actress scarcely rose to the requisite indignation. Limiting, however, what is to be hoped for her within the bounds indicated, what chance is there not afforded? Juliet, in the stronger scenes, would be, we should fancy, outside the physical resources of the artist. Beatrice, Rosalind, Viola, Imogen, Miranda, and a score of other characters of the most delicate and fragrant beauty, are, however, all within what appears to be her range. In the present state of public feeling respecting the Shakespearean drama, it will be strange indeed if some manager does not take the opportunity of mounting some of those plays for which her talent is so eminently adapted. The period during which an actress can play such parts with effect is brief; and a portion of Miss Terry's career has already been lost so far as the stage is concerned. There will be regrettable waste if talent, so specially suited to the Shakespearean drama, is confined to Lord Lytton's facile sentiment and sparkling rhetoric."
Do not heed these final words, dear "Lady of Lyons." Believe me, there are still many hundreds of gardeners' sons, Princes of Coma, and Colonel Moiriers, ready to be your lovers, and worship at your feet.
Twenty-six fruitful years have elapsed since the foregoing criticism was written, and we can be wise after the event. Joseph Knight has proved himself to be a good prophet, but by the light of to-day we know that he might have added to his list of Shakespearean characters within Ellen Terry's range. To the regret of all, we have not yet seen her Rosalind and Miranda, but she has triumphed as Viola and Imogen, and (though she did not satisfy every one in the part) has proved that her physical and artistic resources were equal to the portrayal of the passion and sorrow of Juliet. She has shone as Beatrice, Cordelia, Desdemona, Lady Anne, and Ophelia; she has astonished us and excited our admiration as Queen Katherine and Lady Macbeth, and has even made a great personal success as the determined Volumnia. Add to these the Mamillius, Puck, Prince Arthur, Katherine, and other parts of earlier days, and we see what a Shakespearean record has been made.
During her engagement at the Prince of Wales' Theatre, she also appeared as Clara Douglas in Lord Lytton's comedy, "Money"; as Mabel Vane in Charles Reade's and Tom Taylor's "Masks and Faces"; and as Blanche Haye in one of the many revivals of T. W. Robertson's "Ours." In each of these characters her peculiar grace and distinction, coupled with tenderness, were apparent, but none of them offered her a chance worthy of her now fullyrecognised power. In H. J. Byron's comedy, "Wrinkles; or, A Tale of Time," she was doomed to disappointment. Byron, as a writer for the stage, was then in the zenith of his fame. Everywhere his comedies and burlesques were in demand, and it was only natural that he should receive a commission for a play from his old friends the Bancrofts. Writing for the best comedy company in London, and with Ellen Terry, the idol of the hour, designed for his heroine, he no doubt intended to produce his masterpiece; but, somehow, "Wrinkles" failed. Indeed, on the first night, failure was in the air. Not only did the piece prove unattractive in itself, but (a most unusual thing for any play directed by the Bancrofts) it seemed hardly ready for production. Hereby hangs a characteristic story of poor Byron. At the end of the third act ("Wrinkles" possessed four), though no open hostility had been displayed, his dramatic instinct told him that his work was doomed. Inwardly suffering the torments of the defeated playwright, but outwardly putting on a brave show ofnonchalance, he lounged about the front of the house. The long waits between the acts had already been a source of dissatisfaction, and now had come the weariest interval of all. Added to this, sounds were heard behind the act-drop as of a carpenter sawing wood, suggesting—ominously suggesting—that the scenery was defective. "What on earth are they doing, Byron?" asked a friend. The poor author wasgloomy and dejected, but, even at his own expense, he could never resist a joke. "I don't know," he said, "butI hope they're cutting out the last act!"
The last act was not cut out, but it did not save the already foundering play, and the part in which Ellen Terry had been intended to shine (she did not appear in it) flickered out.
But her engagement in Tottenham Street will ever be remembered by her first appearance as Portia, and to the Bancrofts we owe her introduction to one of her greatest parts.
"How I loved playing Portia," she has said. "I have tried five or six different ways of treating her. Unfortunately, the way I think thebestway does not find response with my audiences."
Be that as it may, she continues to play Portia in a way that her critics as well as friends deem the best, and assuredly it requires no alteration. May she thus go on playing it for many a year to come!
IN SLOANE SQUARE
At this time the Bancrofts' old and well loved comrade, John Hare, was acting and managing in friendly rivalry with them at the original Court Theatre in Sloane Square. In 1876, the Kendals, having concluded a most prosperous season with him, left to fulfil an engagement in Tottenham Street, and he secured the services of Ellen Terry, whose husband, Charles Kelly, was already serving under his banner.
Before he went to fulfil his first engagement in America, John Hare entrusted me with the task of writing his biography, and, apart from my own observations of them, I became very well acquainted with the history of the series of plays in which Ellen Terry appeared in the dainty Chelsea playhouse.
Her first venture in her new home was as Kate Hungerford, in an original comedy by Charles Coghlan, entitled "Brothers," of which great things were expected. The cast included John Hare, Charles Kelly, H. B. Conway (one of the handsomest young actors of his day), G. W. Anson (a born comedian), Miss Bessie Hollingshead (the pretty and gifted daughterof the valiant and erudite John Hollingshead), and the always delightful Mrs. Gaston Murray. It was a cleverly written play, and the acting had theensemblethat John Hare had striven so hard and so successfully to impart, but it did not "draw the town," and it was very speedily succeeded by a revival of Tom Taylor and A. W. Dubourg's charming comedy, "New Men and Old Acres," in which Ellen Terry played the part created by Mrs. Kendal on the original production of the piece at the Haymarket Theatre, and Hare followed Chippendale as Vavasour. By all concerned this was so beautifully performed, and by the indefatigable actor-manager so perfectly stage-managed, that solid and lasting success was assured. The good work that was being done was generously as well as generally recognised, and the criticalAthenæumspoke for the public when it said:—
"Without going to the best Parisian theatres, it is not easy to rival the performance now given, and there even the majority of the impersonations would call for notice. The result is highly gratifying to the public, unused to spectacles such as are now presented to it, and is most honourable to the management.... We may congratulate accordingly Mr. Hare and his company upon a performance that lifts off a portion of the reproach under which we have lain, and that is the more noteworthy inasmuch as of the dozen actors concerned in the performance, there is no one that does not deserve praise."
The character of Lilian Vavasour had been so inseparably associated with the name of Mrs. Kendal, who when she first appeared in it was still using her maiden name (well loved by the public) of Madge Robertson, that it must have been difficult for Ellen Terry to take it up, as it were, at second-hand. That she succeeded in it to admiration, and once more secured a long run for the pretty comedy, speaks volumes for her talent and personal charm. I suppose nowadays "New Men and Old Acres" would be called "old-fashioned." Many of us would like to see it again as played by those dozen actors who all "deserved praise."
Early in 1877 it was apparent that Henry Compton, the veteran Haymarket comedian, whose name will ever rank with the greatest of his art, would be unable to return to the active work of the stage. By his professional brothers and sisters he was both loved and respected, and they resolved to give evidence to their sympathy by organising a history-making benefit performance.
This was given at Drury Lane Theatre on March 1. The substantial item on the bill of fare was Lord Lytton's "Money," with a cast that included the well-known names of Henry Neville, John Hare, W. H. Kendal, Benjamin Webster (he emerged from his retirement to play his original character of Graves, and it was his last appearance on the stage), David James, and Squire Bancroft. Mrs. Bancroft playedLady Franklin; Mrs. Kendal, Clara Douglas; and Ellen Terry, Georgina Vesey.
All concerned in this undertaking were anxious to do honour to the name of Henry Compton, and the happy thought was conceived of inviting his son, Edward Compton, then a young fellow "serving his time" with the provincial stock companies, to play the central part of Alfred Evelyn. It was a nervous first appearance in London for so youthful and inexperienced an actor, but he performed his task bravely, and delighted his worthy father as well as his audience. He has often told me of the kindly encouragement he received from the great artists by whom he so unexpectedly found himself surrounded. Since then, as the founder and indefatigable manager of the Compton Comedy Company, he has helped many excellent actors and actresses to reach the coveted London boards.
As a motto to "Money," the following cynical lines are often used—
"It's a very good world that we live in,To lend, or to spend, or to give in,But to beg, or to borrow, or get what's your own,It's the very worst world that ever was known."
"It's a very good world that we live in,To lend, or to spend, or to give in,But to beg, or to borrow, or get what's your own,It's the very worst world that ever was known."
"It's a very good world that we live in,To lend, or to spend, or to give in,But to beg, or to borrow, or get what's your own,It's the very worst world that ever was known."
"It's a very good world that we live in,
To lend, or to spend, or to give in,
But to beg, or to borrow, or get what's your own,
It's the very worst world that ever was known."
In the little world of the theatre lending and giving ungrudgingly goes on; the worthy, unfortunate, and unasking beggar is (to put him in that light) charitably treated; and one will cheerily help another to obtain his own.
Until October 1877, "New Men and Old Acres" pursued its prosperous course, and by that time John Hare was ready with one of his most ambitious efforts.
This was the production of Lord Lytton's posthumous work, "The House of Darnley," and concerning it I cannot do better than quote Dutton Cook, when he said: "A critic wrote concisely of the late Lord Lytton's play of 'Not so Bad as we Seem' that it was 'not so good as we expected.' Perhaps a like judgment might fairly be passed upon the noble author's posthumous comedy, 'The House of Darnley.' It was inevitable, however, that Lord Lytton's fame should stimulate hope unduly. The author of 'The Lady of Lyons' and 'Money' may reasonably be reckoned the most successful dramatist" (let it be remembered that this was written in 1877) "of the nineteenth century. It may be said at once that with those established works the new comedy cannot afford comparison. But in estimating the worth of 'The House of Darnley' it is very necessary to bear in mind the peculiar conditions under which it is submitted to the public. The play was left in an unfinished state; the whole of the last act has been furnished by Mr. Coghlan, who was without other clue than his fancy could suggest as to the original design of the dramatist. More than any other literary work, a drama must benefit by revision and reconsideration on the part of the author; in suchwise weak points in construction may be strengthened, gaps in the story supplied, the dialogue braced, and the action quickened."
That in the face of all these very properly pointed out difficulties success should have been won, speaks volumes for the tact of the courageous manager, and the skill of his fellow-workers.
Let me again quote my authority:—
"With all its defects," he says, "'The House of Darnley' secures the attention and the respect of the audience, and succeeds in right of its own good qualities, and not merely because of the esteem in which the performances of its departed author are generally held. If the theme be weak, it is yet strongly handled, and demonstrates sufficiently the wit and the humour and the literary accomplishments of the late Lord Lytton. The comedy has been provided for with the good taste and liberality which have so laudably distinguished Mr. Hare's management."
Ellen Terry acted with great distinction as Lady Juliet, and excellent work was done by John Hare, Charles Kelly, Alfred Bishop, Amy Roselle, and others, but, interesting though it was, the play did not long hold the stage.
There was another performance in 1877 that must not be forgotten. This was on June 20th, at the Gaiety Theatre, for the benefit of Charles Lamb Kenney, who had through illness lasting over a considerabletime been unable to ply his facile pen. "The School for Scandal" was thepièce de résistance, and it was then that Ellen Terry appeared for the first time as Lady Teazle. Charles Kelly was the Sir Peter; Henry Neville, Charles Surface; and John Clayton, Joseph Surface. By those who remember the prodigiously long run of Sheridan's masterpiece at the Vaudeville Theatre, the last mentioned performances of the admirably contrasted brothers will ever be borne in appreciative memory. Mrs. Arthur Stirling was the Mrs. Candour; and Mrs. Alfred Mellon the Lady Sneerwell. As may be imagined Ellen Terry played Lady Teazle with winsome high spirits in the earlier acts, and plaintive remorse in the great screen scene.
John Hare's next venture at the Court Theatre was not successful. In spite of the care lavished upon its production, and of much clever acting on the part of the company, Tom Taylor's comedy "Victims," originally presented at the Haymarket in 1857, failed to attract audiences in 1878, and was speedily withdrawn. Withdrawn, it may be unhesitatingly said, in favour of his greatest managerial success—the stage version by W. G. Wills of Oliver Goldsmith's immortal story "The Vicar of Wakefield," entitled "Olivia." John Hare suggested the subject to Wills, and it was at once seized with the characteristic avidity of a prolific and graceful writer. No one who knew that unquestionable, but all too kindly anderratic, genius will be surprised to hear that the first draft of the play was for stage purposes impossible. It was made up of scenes of great beauty hopelessly choked with vast quantities of irrelevant matter. It was not consecutively written, but was jotted down at random in untidy copy-books, on the backs of used envelopes, chance scraps of paper, and even on the eager but unmethodical author's wristbands. At one time the task of bringing all this heterogeneous matter into workmanlike form seemed to be a hopeless one, but with full faith in his project and his author, John Hare was not to be baffled.
Night after night the two sat up together, and the play was re-constructed and re-written in accordance with the practical managerial views. When it was at last completed the dramatist prudently withdrew from the scene. W. G. Wills had no interest in or talent for stage management, and he wisely left the production in the experienced hands of John Hare, only attending the perfected rehearsal on the eve of the first performance.
John Hare can rarely be induced to talk about himself or his work, but in connection with this production he is inclined to be somewhat enthusiastic. "The beauty of the subject," he told me, "made the stage management of this play profoundly interesting to me, and stimulated my imagination and inventive powers to a greater height than I had ever reached. By working out the whole scheme of the play in myhome study I planned all the movements and minute stage directions, so that at the very first rehearsal it practically was the same as when it was presented to the public. The part of the Vicar I offered in the first instance to Alfred Wigan, making every effort to induce him to return to the stage in order that he might create this beautiful character. I could not induce him, however, to face the footlights again. So Hermann Vezin became the 'Court' Vicar, and how admirably he played the part we all know."
No one grudges Hermann Vezin his well-won success in the part, but some of us who ponder over things theatrical, sometimes wonder whether, if the Court Theatre had had another manager, and the services of John Hare had been available, he might not have been induced to impersonate Dr. Primrose.
The part of Olivia had of course been designed for Ellen Terry, and how much she was pleased with it is proved by the following little note impulsively dashed off to the author:—
"Court Theatre,Monday, March 5, 1878.
"Dear Mr. Wills,—I can't tell you howmuchI was delighted with the play, and with my part, but Iwasdelighted!"I only hope I shall be able to please you in my part of the work.—Believe me to be, very sincerely yours,Ellen Terry."
"Dear Mr. Wills,—I can't tell you howmuchI was delighted with the play, and with my part, but Iwasdelighted!
"I only hope I shall be able to please you in my part of the work.—Believe me to be, very sincerely yours,Ellen Terry."
Indeed, she always liked to study the words of this author. At the Lyceum, in addition to the repetition of Olivia, she played his Queen Henrietta Maria in the revivals of "Charles I."; his Ruth Meadows in "The Fate of Eugene Aram," and his Margaret in "Faust."
Concerning "Charles I.," she wrote to him (this letter was published by Mr. Freeman Wills in his highly interesting memoir of his brother):—
"I'm just returned from our last rehearsal of 'Charles I.,' and, coming home in my carriage, have been reading the last act, and I can't help writing to thank you and bless you for having written thosefive last pages. Never,neverhas anything more beautiful been written in English—I know no other language. They are perfection; and I—often as I've acted with Henry Irving in the play—amall meltedat reading it again. An immortality for you for this alone."
She greatly grieved over her well-loved author's death, and concerning it wrote to her friend, Alfred C. Calmour:—
"22 Barkston Gardens, Earl's Court, S.W.,December 15, 1891.
"Thank you for writing. Wretched news, is it not? A genius and a dear fellow. I know how much you will miss him, and I'm very sorry for you and for myself too."I hope he was conscious and had folk he cared for by him.—Yours ever,Ellen Terry."
"Thank you for writing. Wretched news, is it not? A genius and a dear fellow. I know how much you will miss him, and I'm very sorry for you and for myself too.
"I hope he was conscious and had folk he cared for by him.—Yours ever,Ellen Terry."
She is indeed the most charming of letter writers, and, if it were permissible, it would be pleasant to fill a chapter with her lively, as well as sympathetic, correspondence with the famous men and women of her day; but she very strongly, as well as very rightly, holds the opinion that to publish private letters intended for one person only is like asking an audience to put their ears to a keyhole and listen to a private conversation.
But to return to "Olivia." The beautiful play was produced at the Court Theatre on 30th March 1878, and at once won its well deserved victory. The first-night audience having watched the course of the story with that breathless silence which is the highest form of applause, having been over and over again moved to tears, became, at the fall of the curtain, a demonstrative one, and the unrestrained enthusiasm of the plaudits could be heard without Sloane Square. The critics were in their appreciation and praises as loud as the audience, and Ellen Terry's triumph was complete. She was the idolised heroine of a memorable evening.
"Mr. Wills," said Dutton Cook, "has been fortunate not merely in his performers, but also in his manager. Mr. Hare demonstrated anew that he has elevated theatrical decoration to the rank of a fine art; indeed, his painstaking and outlay in placing the play upon the stage justify suspicion that it was produced almost as much for its pictorial as for itsdramatic merits. In either case, advantage has been taken of the opportunity to present a special reflection of the artistic aspects of the last century with regard to furniture and costumes, china and glass, &c. A sort of devout care has been expended upon the veriest minutiæ of upholstery and ironmongery; a fond ingenuity is apparent in every direction of the scene; and the foibles and fancies of those who love, or imagine that they love, cuckoo clocks, brass fenders, carved oak, blue and white crockery, and such matters, have been very liberally considered and catered for. Prettier pictures have not, indeed, been seen upon the stage than are afforded by the Primrose family, their friends and neighbours, goods and chattels, and general surroundings in this play of 'Olivia.'
"But a higher claim to distinction arises from the method of its representation. In the hands of Miss Ellen Terry, Olivia becomes a character of rare dramatic value, more nearly allied, perhaps, to the Clarissa of Richardson than to the heroine of Goldsmith. The actress's singular command of pathetic expression obtains further manifestation. The scene of Olivia's farewell to her family, all unconscious of the impending blow her flight is to inflict upon them, is curiously affecting in its subtle and subdued tenderness; while her indignation and remorse upon discovering the perfidy of Thornhill are rendered with a vehemence of emotion and tragicpassion, such as the modern theatre has seldom exhibited.
"Only an artist of distinct genius could have ventured upon the impulsive abrupt movement by means of which she thrusts from her the villain who has betrayed her, and denotes the intensity of her scorn of him, the completeness of her change from loving to loathing.
"Miss Terry is not less successful in the quieter passages of the drama, while her graces of aspect and manner enable her to appear as Olivia even to the full satisfaction of those most prepossessed concerning the personal charms of that heroine—so beloved of painters and illustrators—to whom have been dedicated so many acres of canvas, so many square feet of boxwood."
This criticism well sums up the general opinion. Joseph Knight was equally full of praise, and said: "Miss Terry was altogether life-like as Olivia, and much of her business was extremely natural and touching. It was full of suggestion, and, in one point at least, when she repelled the further advances of the man who had wronged her, it touched absolute greatness."
Clement Scott pays his tribute as follows:—"'Olivia,' as I first saw it at the Court Theatre, is a memory that will never die while life lasts. It is one of the most precious souvenirs in my collection.... Words fail to convey an adequate impressionof the original Olivia—the spoiled child and darling of the English home as portrayed by Ellen Terry. I see the idol of her old father's heart. Vividly and clearly is presented to my memory the scene where Olivia, under the hypnotic influence of love, bids farewell to her loved ones, scattering around her little treasures, and that 'white face at the window,' when 'Livy' is on the high road to destruction. All that was pathetic enough; but the dramatic effect was bound to follow, and it came with vivid truth in the great scene between Ellen Terry and William Terriss. At that time, both actor and actress were perfect specimens of manly beauty and feminine grace. Terriss was just the dare-devil, defiant creature, handsome to a fault, that women like Olivia love. He looked superb in his fine clothes, and his very insolence was fascinating and attractive.
"When Olivia struck Squire Thornhill in her distraction and impotent rage, an audible shudder went through the audience. It was all so unexpected. But the truth of it was shown by the prolonged and audible 'Oh!' that accompanied it. When we talk of the Ellen Terry manner, and her indescribable charm, may I ask, were they ever better shown than in the scene where Olivia kisses the holly from the hedge at home, and then hangs it on a chair and dances round it with childish delight? And so it went on from perfection to perfection. For me there will only be one Olivia—Ellen Terry."
No wonder that this fascinating Olivia became the rage of the day. Her photographs went like wildfire; the milliners' windows were full of Olivia hats, caps, 'kerchiefs, and other items of feminine adornment; everywhere such dainty trifles were in evidence; and how many little "Olivias" were christened in 1878 it would be hard to say.
Among the pretty schoolgirls who figured in the play a young aspirant for dramatic honours made her first appearance on the stage. This was Kate Rorke. How highly Ellen Terry thought of her sister artist's talents will be seen in the course of these pages. She has ever been ready to recognise merit in her fellow-workers—ever willing to render them a helping hand.
Ellen Terry has modestly declared that it was because of her popularity as Olivia that Henry Irving invited her to be his helpmate in his great projects for his management of the Lyceum Theatre. It was not only this: many things pointed to the fact that she was destined to be the greatest Shakespearean actress of the latter years of the nineteenth century.
SOME SPLENDID STROLLING
In the early autumn of 1878, before entering upon her all-important Lyceum engagement, Ellen Terry, accompanied by her husband, appeared in some of our leading provincial cities. Everywhere they were most warmly welcomed, and the experiment proved so successful that, even after her Lyceum duties seemed sufficient to engross all her time and attention, it was, during a period extending over two years, repeated.
That was a splendid time for the so-called "country" playgoer. I well recall how within one week at the Theatre Royal, Birmingham (this was in 1879), I saw Ellen Terry in her matchless rendering of Portia in "The Merchant of Venice," as Ophelia in "Hamlet," as Lady Teazle in the "School for Scandal," and as Lilian in "New Men and Old Acres." I would gladly live that week over again. In Shakespearean characters Charles Kelly was not, I think, seen at his best, but in his comedy parts he was admirable, and there is always an interest in seeing husband and wife act together. Actors and actresses love playing to ardent and sympatheticprovincial audiences. Their absolutely unrestrained appreciation and applause delight them. The intent faces and eager ears, bent on losing neither a movement of the expression nor an inflection of the voice, act as a tonic to them; there is magnetism between the stage and the house, and under such conditions acting is sure to be at its best. There is nothingblaséabout the provincial playgoer. He pays for a play that he wants to see, and if he is pleased he expresses his gratitude in no uncertain terms. If he is disappointed he goes sadly and quietly away, but he is never rude to those who have done their best to entertain him. "Boos" and author-baiting are happily unknown in the provinces, and no doubt this is why actors of eminence are fond of exploiting new plays in the country before exposing them to the exasperating risks of a London first night. It seems astounding that people should exist who can wantonly deride the failure of anxious authors and actors, who, having honestly sought to conquer, are miserably conscious of their own defeat. No play can be depended upon until it has gone through the ordeal of a public performance. If the piece that has read well and rehearsed well fails to grip the public, the sensitive actors and author are the first to feel it, and surely in their keen disappointment they should be spared the humiliation of rowdyism.
Not long ago there was a discussion as to the "rights" of first-night audiences to "boo" a newplay and the performers in it. The views of leading actors and dramatists were sought, and Ellen Terry replied as follows:—
"I so entirely believe in the verdict of the great public that I long to have the first night of a new play over and done with, for it is, to my mind, the second night which tells me of the future good or bad fortune of the play and of our efforts. On the first night there are one's friends, so many so prejudiced; and one's enemies—not so many, but equally prejudiced, and so it seems to me that the first night scarcely counts. Then comes the second night, and all the nights. I can't tell how much it affects me—moves me—the enthusiasm, the attention, the encouragement. I just adore the public, and the public loves me back again. I know it, feel it, and am grateful for it. It refreshes my heart.""Ellen Terry."
"I so entirely believe in the verdict of the great public that I long to have the first night of a new play over and done with, for it is, to my mind, the second night which tells me of the future good or bad fortune of the play and of our efforts. On the first night there are one's friends, so many so prejudiced; and one's enemies—not so many, but equally prejudiced, and so it seems to me that the first night scarcely counts. Then comes the second night, and all the nights. I can't tell how much it affects me—moves me—the enthusiasm, the attention, the encouragement. I just adore the public, and the public loves me back again. I know it, feel it, and am grateful for it. It refreshes my heart."
"Ellen Terry."
This is very prettily put, and it is all very true, but such a universal favourite is hardly a judge with regard to the feelings of her less loved sisters who are subject to the baseness and vulgarity of a detestable faction of first-nighters.
I may be told that provincial audiences can be very noisy, and even unruly, and it must be admitted that the gallery "gods," when packed together like dried figs in a wooden drum, are apt to be unpleasantly emphatic concerning their discomfort; buttheir objections are raised against each other, and rarely refer to the stage. Moreover, when anything really good or impressive is offered to them they will at once forget their grievances and become as quiet as mice.
As an instance of this, I recall an evening at the Prince of Wales' Theatre, Birmingham, when Henry Irving was announced to appear as Shylock. It had been raining hard all day, and the streets were filthy with hopeless slush. As the evening drew in the torrents descended pitilessly, but in spite of them great crowds of the faithful had assembled before the doors of the pit and gallery hours earlier than they would be opened to them. Long before curtain-rise the house was uncomfortably crowded. Outside it was wet and muggy. Inside it was oppressively close, and the hot atmosphere was redolent with the odour of saturated clothing and sodden shoe leather. Ill-temper was in the air, and at the commencement of the play the actors were greatly troubled by the noisy quarrels that arose among playgoers ill bestowed. Then Henry Irving made his striking entrance, and, instantaneously, all was silent. As if by magic, he, aided by Ellen Terry as Portia, held his audience as in a vice, and continued to do so until the end of the performance. The only sounds heard in the theatre were those of boisterous applause and ejaculations of half suppressed gratification and emotion. It was a great tribute to thepower exercised by the true acting of a masterpiece.
Played in the Provinces in 1879. In London the part was created by Kate TerryELLEN TERRY AS LORD TENNYSON'S "DORA."Played in the Provinces in 1879. In London the part was created by Kate Terry.[To face page 174.
ELLEN TERRY AS LORD TENNYSON'S "DORA."Played in the Provinces in 1879. In London the part was created by Kate Terry.[To face page 174.
ELLEN TERRY AS LORD TENNYSON'S "DORA."
Played in the Provinces in 1879. In London the part was created by Kate Terry.
[To face page 174.
[See larger version]
Ellen Terry must ever bear in fond memory those splendid strolling days when the hearts of her sturdy audiences went out to her, and she, bewitchingly, responded to them. On the 1878 tour she relied chiefly on her former success as Lilian in "New Men and Old Acres," and her appearance in her sister Kate's original character of Dora, in the Tennyson-Reade play of that name. This not only conjured up happy reminiscences, but was in itself a sweetly tender and sympathetic impersonation. Charles Kelly, too, was very well placed in Henry Neville's old part of Farmer Allan, and in his make-up looked a perfect picture.
I often maintain that, if they only knew it, provincial theatre lovers have certain advantages over Londoners. Here is a case in point. They saw Ellen Terry as Dora.
In 1878 they also had the opportunity of seeing her as Iris, in an adaptation by Alfred Thompson of "La Revanche d'Iris," called "All is Vanity." In it were the elements of popularity, but it was short-lived. She and her husband subsequently appeared in it at a benefit performance given at the Lyceum on behalf of that sound actor of the old school, Henry Marston, and then it was forgotten.
In 1879 the Terry-Kelly programme was augmented by the production of an ephemeral version byMrs. Comyns Carr of the everlasting "Frou Frou," entitled "Butterfly." Guided as it has been, and happily still is, by that great authority on dramatic art, Sir Edward Russell, theLiverpool Daily Posthas always been famous for its theatrical criticisms, and in dealing with these days it is interesting to cull the following lines from its columns:—
"We cannot find words to express the charm with which Miss Terry, than whom there is no more tender and graceful actress on the British stage, invests the character of Butterfly, but those who can appreciate versatility of acting should see her play the part, and then ask themselves the question—'Could any one do it better?' She was most ably supported by Mr. Charles Kelly and Miss Fanny Pitt, whose acting greatly contributed to the success of the piece."
Of "New Men and Old Acres" the same authority rightly said:—
"It is seldom that such a piece is rendered with such perfection as that which the leading members of the cast succeeded in achieving. There is only one word which can adequately describe Miss Terry's personation of Lilian Vavasour, and that word is perfection. Natural and graceful in expression, with an inexhaustible vivacity, she maintains an unbroken spell, which is only deepened by each fresh stroke of humour and girlish outburst of sentiment, accompanied by a bewitching artillery of attitude and expression. The acting of Mr. Charles Kelly asMr. Brown, the quiet, self-possessed man of business, was excellent in the extreme."
Of her reading of Lady Teazle in the screen scene of "The School for Scandal," it was recorded that her tenderly, tremulous, and broken accents touchingly conveyed the womanly contrition which so pathetically points the moral of a dramatic incident in which human infirmity, passion, perfidy, generosity of sentiment, and youthful gaiety and frivolity are so wonderfully and skilfully blended. And of her Dora, it was "something more than a mere stage-picture—a living, breathing reality, a perfect embodiment of Tennyson's conception."
In the September of 1880 a very interesting event took place, and as it foreshadowed one of my heroine's greatest subsequent triumphs I shall speak of it at length—or rather, I shall take the liberty of letting that eminent critic, Mr. Davenport Adams, speak for me.
"On Friday, September 3rd, Miss Ellen Terry will play Beatricefor the first time on any stageat the Grand Theatre, Leeds."
That was his text for an article from his pen that appeared in that unhappily defunct periodical,The Theatremagazine.
"I forget," he continues, "when and where I first cast eyes on this delectable announcement. It may have been here, it may have been there. I only know that when I saw it I came to an immediateand irrevocable resolution. Miss Terry as Beatrice! Why, it was one of the dreams of my existence! I say 'one of the dreams,' because I had hoped, and still hope, to see Miss Terry not only as Beatrice, but as Viola, and Imogen, and Rosalind, and perchance as Juliet, if the gods but prove propitious. But Miss Terry as Beatrice! To me it was an 'opening paradise.' My dreams were coming true. Here was the first instalment, and who should say when the remainder might not be realised? Assuredly there might be some who would resist such an attraction as the above; but I was not among them. Friday, September 3rd, saw me duly speeding northwards as fast as the Midland Railway Company could be induced to carry me. I had never been in Leeds before, and I do not hesitate to say that, save under similar provocation, I have no anxiety to go there again. Yet what cannot the imagination do for one? For me, on this occasion, Leeds was 'apparelled in celestial light.' Boar Lane and Briggate became for the nonce the primrose path which led me to the halcyon doors of the Grand Theatre. And fine doors they are! Everything is a little new, perhaps; there is nothing of the venerable temple of the drama about this brand-new building, with its imposing frontage and evident commodiousness. Clearly, you say to yourself, this is a specimen of recent handiwork, and requirestime in which to mellow; but once get through the delightfully cool passages, which lead from the vestibule to the stalls—once put your foot within the auditorium—and you are charmed with everything you see. It may be all very fresh, but it is all very magnificent and impressive.O si sic omnes!If every theatre roof were but so high—if every pit were but so spacious and well-lighted—if every circle, upper circle, and gallery were but so gracefully superimposed one above the other—and, especially, if everywhere there were such a rich profusion of decoration as one sees around one! Evidently there could be no more gorgeous frame for the picture which Miss Terry was about to paint for us.
"It was Miss Terry's benefit night, and every stall was taken. This seemed to be the case, too, with the circle, and may have been so with other portions of the house. It seemed as if the pit were crammed, and in the stalls standing room was diligently sought for. It was obvious that Leeds playgoers had understood the nature of the treat that was before them. Whether it was that Miss Terry was personally the attraction of the evening, or whether Miss Terry as Beatrice had drawn the crowd, I cannot say. Suffice it that the crowd was, and that the crowd soon showed itself to be delighted."
I cannot refrain from quoting this at length,because it supports my contention as to the privileges and appreciation of provincial audiences.
"In the meantime," my authority goes on to say, "one did not occupy much time in looking round. It was not a Londonpremière, and certainly I did not hope to see a single face I knew. Yet, what was this? I could not be mistaken. There at any rate were two faces which I could not fail to recognise. At least, if that winsome countenance were not that of Miss Marion Terry, and if that not less winsome countenance beyond were not that of Miss Florence Terry—twin roses on one stalk—then did mine eyes deceive me. For myself, I opine that I was not deceived, and that Miss Terry's first appearance as Beatrice was witnessed not only by the art-lovers of the wood and iron metropolis, but by two of her sisters, both in art and by blood.
"It was not long before the curtain rose, and disclosed to us the entrance of 'Leonato, Hero, Beatrice, and others.' The Beatrice was immediately singled out, and loud and long was the applause with which she was received—applause which she insisted, first, upon sharing with the Hero (not the heroine) of the evening (Miss Ruth Francis),[2]but which she was compelled afterwards to acknowledge for herself. The opening scene, as everybody knows, plunges us at oncein medias res. Beatrice shows by her firstutterance what way her thoughts are tending, and this strikes the key-note of the comedy. Her first expression is a gibe at Benedick, and when, shortly afterwards, the 'Signior Montano' himself appears upon the scene, the war of wits immediately begins. Let it be saidin liminethat Miss Terry at once asserted herself as the very Beatrice that Shakespeare drew. That she would do so as far as personal presence was concerned was to be expected. Never was any one so well fitted to represent the 'pleasant spirited' lady, whose charms of face and figure are as irresistible as her verbal daggers. Somehow or other Miss Terry always is a perfect vision of the picturesque. Others may surpass her in special and particular marks of beauty or of manner, but no lady on the modern stage is so much of a picture in herself, or falls so readily into the composition of the larger picture formed by the combinations of a drama.
"In this case Beatrice seemed to be bodily before us. Ere she had opened her mouth she had already begun to fill the imagination. We do not have many opportunities nowadays of seeing the heroine of 'Much Ado,' but here was the only Beatrice who had hitherto completely fulfilled the requirements of the part, so far as the outward and visible person is concerned. I cannot describe the vision. I admit my incompetency so to do without a blush. A pen is useless. It is the brush of a Millais that is wanted.The picture is in my mind, but not even a Ruskin could put it on paper. For, to the mere details of face and figure and attire, have to be added all the indescribable charm of facial expression and of bodily movement—of tone, of laugh, of gesture, and of bearing—which neither the penman nor the painter can successfully reproduce.
"For such a character as that of Beatrice Miss Terry is, in fact, by nature indicated. Characteristics, which elsewhere might be out of place, are here in keeping. Miss Terry is tall, and Beatrice should be tall; a little woman could hardly have said and done such things as she says and does. Miss Terry has high spirits, and so has Beatrice; they are of the essence of her character, and without them she cannot be reproduced. Miss Terry has charm of manner as well as incisiveness of speech, and so has Beatrice, with whom the 'poniards' of her tongue are half blunted by the fascination of her smile. You would think that her eyes pierced as keenly as her words, but it is not so; the words may wound, but the eyes mitigate or charm away pain. So with Miss Terry. Speeches which in any other mouth would grate upon us are in hers but so many incitements to admiration and regard.
"And if Miss Terry is thus personally fitted for the character, it need hardly be said that it is quite within the range of her artistic capability. Indeed, it is well within the range of many less admirableartists. It is a straightforward character. There is no mystery about it. Two different notions of Beatrice are, I should say, scarcely possible—her nature is so entirely on the surface. She tells us herself that she was 'born to speak all mirth and no matter.' 'She was born,' says Don Pedro, 'in a merry hour.' Benedick calls her 'My Lady Disdain' and 'Lady Tongue.' 'Shrewd of tongue,' according to her uncle, she also 'apprehends passing shrewdly.' In a word, she is clever, she is high-spirited, she is witty; but she is more. She can feel keen indignation, and for all her 'mocking at her suitors,' she can look tenderly upon one at least. For obviously she loves Benedick, more or less, from the beginning. Her first inquiry is for him, and she thinks him worthy of her most unsparing raillery. She sneers at him so pointedly that all the world marks the fact and smiles at it. Nothing seems more natural to the bystanders than that they should make a match.
"And so, it seems to me, Miss Terry sees the character. In the very first scene she pursues Benedick with her flouts and quips, and evidently takes pleasure in the encounter. Though she hits so hard there is evidently anarrière penséeof respect for the gallant cavalier whose 'approved valour' cannot but impress her, whilst his 'quick wit' not unmingled with self-satisfaction spurs her on to action. One can see that when she scoffs at marriageit is with no more real sincerity than Benedick displays on the same subject. Her wit must have its way; conscious of possessing it, she is fain to exercise it. She revels in the contempt she pours upon the 'sons of Adam.' And so in the scene in which she taunts the masked Benedick to desperation. It is all done in purediablerie. It is simple mischief, inspired by keen delight at finding her butt so agreeably vulnerable. That she is no mere shrill-tongued termagant is shown in the passage where she so gracefully turns off the Don's gallant offer of his heart and hand. And as for her deeper nature—the real Beatrice, hidden underneath the everyday veneer of wit and raillery—what could be more truly descriptive of it than the scene in which, led into the belief that Benedick is really fond of her, she says farewell to maiden pride and to contempt, and prepares to 'tame' her 'wild heart' to his 'loving hand'? The accusation brought against her cousin is not less effective in arousing the latent forces of her character; and the church scene, in its combination of passionate anger against Hero's slanderers, and charming half-confession of affection felt, is conclusive in its testimony to the open naturalness of the character which Miss Terry has so aptly and admirably conceived. As for thetechniqueof the performance, it must be remembered that it was a first assumption. Miss Terrymayhave played the part somewhere before September 3rd, but the fact isnot recorded, and there is no reason to believe that the announcement of 'first time' was anything but literally true. And that being the case, it would be unfair to expect the impersonation to betotus teres atque rotundus. Miss Terry has all the ultra-sensitiveness of the true artist, and it is not improper to suggest that, on the occasion in question, she was not entirely mistress of her powerful resources. The most experienced players are the most nervous on first nights. And assuredly there are points in which Miss Terry will improve upon her first assumption of this latest part of hers. Some artists grow into theirrôles, and Miss Terry is one of them. Her Portia nowadays is very much superior to what it was when played originally at the Prince of Wales'. And no doubt Miss Terry, who has since played Beatrice at Manchester and elsewhere, during her provincial tour, has already added the touches necessary to make the representation as near perfection as art and aptitude can make it. No doubt every word, every phrase, every sentence now has its due weight and effect communicated to it; no doubt details of 'business' have been arranged until there is now no room for further elaboration; no doubt the character, thoroughly grasped in the study, has by this time been thoroughly grasped upon the stage. On the first night it was hardly possible not to notice the nervousness indicated in the opening scene, and throughout there were slight slips in the words, and occasional misplacementsof due emphasis, together with a lack of perfect roundness in the general form of the assumption. The artist was obviously to a great extent feeling her way.
"And yet how enjoyable and admirable was the assumption! In spite of these minor blemishes of execution, it was yet Shakespeare's Beatrice, I repeat, who stood and moved and spoke before us. The impression made at the beginning was continued to the close, gathering in force and effectiveness as it went. The raillery against marriage, and the wit combats with Benedick, were carried off with exhilarating vivacity, so that applause and laughter followed inevitably upon both. The former was accompanied by a running fire of cachinnation from the delighted audience. The next point was made when Benedick was charmingly chaffed as the 'Prince's jester,' and the short but exquisiterencontrewith Don Pedro was evidently very much relished. The first 'call' was made when Beatrice came to summon her knight to dinner. The curtain fell on this, and Miss Terry and Mr. Kelly had both to bow their acknowledgments. Then came the scene in which Beatrice listens in the arbour to the delusive tale of Ursula and Hero. The short speech which follows was very agreeably declaimed; and when, declaring her belief in Benedick's deserts, Beatrice sank upon the seat in one of those attitudes possible only to Miss Terry, the impressionmade was naturally very great indeed. The chief scene for Beatrice is, however, in the church after the bridal party has dispersed, all save herself and Benedick. Up to that point she has little to do but contribute her share of byplay to the situation (always appropriately done by Miss Terry), to comfort her cousin with all sorts of feminine attention, and incidentally to make that vehement declaration—
'Oh, on my soul, my cousin is belied!'
which gives the earliest indication of the characteristic outburst that is to follow. In that outburst itself, Miss Terry was hardly sufficiently varied in her representation of the feeling which is supposed to consume her. It was very impressive, especially in the sudden violence of her 'Kill Claudio!' but it wanted that absolute adaptability of means to end which has no doubt been communicated to it since. Best of all, perhaps, was the brief exchange of love vows with Benedick; a very brief but charming and beautifully-indicated episode in a scene which, as a whole, pleased the audience mightily, and secured for both the artists a persistent 'call.' After this, as we all know, Beatrice has but two short appearances on the stage, which serve chiefly to complete the picture, but, on this occasion, served further to consummate the triumph which, anything or everything notwithstanding, was unquestionably and deservedly accorded to Miss Terry. The curtainfell, in fact, upon an unmistakable popular success which it wanted only practice and experience to convert into a permanent artistic victory.
"It should be recorded that Miss Terry was effectively seconded throughout by Mr. Kelly. That able and accomplished actor was the Benedick of the occasion, and a very acceptable performance did he give. I confess I was not altogether prepared for the excellence of the effect created by Mr. Kelly in thisrôle. His very make-up was a surprise. Could this gallant cavalier—bearded, whiskered, and moustached, with the bronze of battle on his cheeks, and just the faintestsoupçonof the dandy and the lady-killer in his manner—be the quiet, serious-minded Brown of 'New Men and Old Acres' in another guise? It was a revelation. And if the appearance of Mr. Kelly was a revelation, so, to some extent, was his enjoyable and largely satisfying rendering of therôleitself. Mr. Kelly's conception of Benedick is that of a man who has passed the first flush of youth, has seen many men and cities, has had his experience of 'the fair,' and is inclined to think somewhat lightly of them, save, indeed, of this 'Lady Disdain,' who so stabs him with her words. It is easy to see that he is not indifferent to her charms, else why is he so affected by her quips and cranks? else why is he so readily converted from his vaunted woman-hatred? It is easy, too, to see that this stalwart knight, of 'noble strain' and of 'quick wit,'is the very man on whom such a woman as Beatrice would naturally bestow her thoughts. He, too, has his deeper nature as well as she. And Mr. Kelly brought out the various differentia of the character very artistically. The woman-hatred was soon seen to be skin deep. The irritation at the 'chaff' of Beatrice was skilfully indicated without being over-done. The soliloquy in reference to his 'not impossible she' was spoken with excellent abandon, whilst the speech after his supposed discovery of Beatrice's love for him was admirable in its delineation of delighted surprise. Equally successful was Mr. Kelly in the scene where Benedick is badgered by Claudio and Don Pedro, and that other passage in which he conveys his challenge to the former. The unconscious comedy of the one was as well considered as the serious dignity of the other.... For the rest, I have but one regret in reference to this performance, and that is, that the exigencies of the play do not permit Beatrice to be upon the stage throughout the whole of the comedy. Dogberry and Verges are inimitable, and Benedick is everywhere acceptable; but still if Shakespeare had only given us a little more of this not least charming of his charming heroines! Could he have foreseen the Beatrice of Miss Ellen Terry, he would, perhaps, have done so. And yet, I do not know. Too much exhilaration is not good for us, and it is perhaps the truest mercy that Beatrice should not be forever scattering about her verbal diamonds, and that Miss Ellen Terry should not for ever make the stage brilliant and enchanting by her delightful presence."
The cast of this memorable Leeds production was in many ways an interesting one. Mr. Philip Beck was Don Pedro; Mr. C. Brookfield, Don John; Mr. Norman Forbes, Claudio; Mr. Arthur Mood, Dogberry; Mr. Lin Rayne, Verges; and Miss Elinor Aickin, Ursula.
How, in accordance with Davenport Adams' prediction, Ellen Terry's Beatrice developed into a "permanent artistic victory" we all know to-day. Undoubtedly, and as we shall presently see, it was one of the finest, and in some respects (for her comedy is so winsome) one of the most attractive of her long series of Shakespearean triumphs at the Lyceum.
What a series it has been! It is not surprising that she should say—"I seem to have made the acquaintance and toknowquite intimately some noble people—Hamlet and Ophelia, Portia, Benedick, and Beatrice, Romeo and Juliet, Viola, the Macbeths. All this makes me rejoice and wonder how it is that I'm not a superior person! I have dwelt with such very good company. It has been all sunshine, with a wee cloud here and there to give zest to life; and my lines have been laid in pleasant places. How terrible it must be to have to do the work one abhors!"
It is because she has done the work that she loves, and has made the sweet tenderness of her love for it so manifest, that she has continually stirred the imagination, and lastingly won the hearts of her audiences.