CHAPTER XIV

"What hour is it?""Almost midnight, madam.""If thou canst wake by four o' the clock,I prithee call me."

"What hour is it?"

"Almost midnight, madam."

"If thou canst wake by four o' the clock,

I prithee call me."

The French censor had not hitherto seen the significance of these words. Ellen Terry's performance served to enlighten him. "She seemed to say," he records, "'Poor girl, it is not your fault if your mistress has sorrows which deprive her of sleep.Unhappy princesses are not the only people in the world. You need rest; get thee to bed, and if you oversleep yourself you are already forgiven.' All this," continues the writer, "is suggested by Ellen Terry's delivery of this simple speech."

In his interesting book on the English stage the same critic says: "Ellen Terry has not only been an incarnation, delicate, moving, impassioned, of Shakespeare's heroines, but has in her pure and sweet elocution set the poet's dream to music."

Ellen Terry has, indeed, always found favour, not only with French critics, but with her sisters and brothers of the Parisian stage.

Sarah Bernhardt has said of her: "She is perfectly delightful, and is one of my best friends. The greatest treat I can give myself, and a pleasure to which I can look forward for months, is to see her act. She is as near absolute perfection as any one can be. In her, English dramatic art has a splendid exponent."

Again she declared: "Ellen Terry and Henry Irving are perfect! I adore them!—particularly the former. What grace, what ease! It is not acting at all, but the real character before one's eyes. In comedy she is unequalled, at any rate in English-speaking countries, while Henry Irving, in certain emotional parts, it would be hard to surpass."

Coquelin aîné loves her acting—"Angélique, trèssympathétique, très tendre!" he once cried, after a glance at her through an opera-glass. "Mais c'est charmant! Elle a des vraies larmes dans ses yeux!"

By the way, theSaturday Reviewonce instituted an interesting comparison between Sarah Bernhardt and Ellen Terry. "The latter," the writer said, "is to the English stage what the other is to the French. The two actresses are superficially about as unlike as may be, and yet their method is radically the same; or, in other words, they are both true actresses. It must, of course, be admitted that Ellen Terry has not yet had such opportunities of displaying her powers as have fallen to the lot of Sarah Bernhardt; nor has she yet attained the perfection of art which Sarah Bernhardt can, when she chooses to take the trouble, display; but to her, as to Sarah Bernhardt, one may safely apply the much-misused term of genius. Like Sarah Bernhardt, Ellen Terry has the semblance of spontaneousness; and, like her, she is always identified with every thought and habit of every character that she represents. There is further likeness between the two, in that both are excellent both in tragedy and comedy. It is, however, as Ophelia that Ellen Terry has won for herself a place in the first rank of actresses."

It should be noted that this was written in 1879, long before Ellen Terry had made her subsequent triumphs in that long list of great characterschronicled in these pages. On April 10, 1897, Ellen Terry was called upon to pit herself against another famous French actress—Réjane. This was as Madame Sans-Gêne in Comyns Carr's excellent English adaptation of Victorien Sardou and Emile Moreau's play bearing that name. The ordeal was a trying one. It had been freely suggested and honestly thought that the broad comedy of the character would not be suitable to the methods of our sweet English actress. She soon put all doubts to rest, and, in spite of great difficulties, achieved a success that was in its way unique. Writing after the performance, William Archer, who always weighs his words and never unduly praises, said that Ellen Terry was "a born comedian, and throws herself with immense gusto into this sympathetic part."

Coquelin, who was present at the first performance, and who naturally might have been somewhat biassed in favour of his famous compatriot, was enthusiastic. Without for a moment undervaluing the splendid performance of Réjane, he declared that Ellen Terry had "won his heart." "She is full of gaiety," he said, "and enters fully into the spirit of therôle. Her exquisite freshness in the laundry scene, when she discomfits that shy conspirator, Fouché, by putting a hot hissing iron near his cheek, and her movements in the scene of the Emperor's study, twenty years later, when she astonishes thesame Fouché, who has become Duke of Otranto, by the brilliant schemes which she explains to him, and which he successfully adopts, stand unsurpassed. She is natural, bright, impulsive, and embodies the character from first to last. Sir Henry Irving's realisation of Napoleon is—even to a professional actor—an astonishing performance. His incarnation of the great Emperor is superb all through the two important final acts of the play."

Coming from such a source this is indeed high praise, and really it seems needless to add to it. Happily Ellen Terry is still playing the part, and playing it to perfection. Truly has it been said that her laughter is as infectious as her sympathy. The ready tear which springs to the eye at the misfortunes of the Count de Neipperg is as spontaneous and as moving as the victorious smile with which she drives home her sallies against Caroline, Queen of Naples. If she misses some of that wily petulance which belongs to Parisian gaminerie, she more than makes amends by the downright straightforwardness, the rich flow of humour, and the disinterested kindness which enter so largely into the composition of Lefebvre's plebeian and lovable wife. Madame Sans-Gêne is undoubtedly one of Ellen Terry's happiest creations.

On the first of January 1898, Laurence Irving's ambitious, interesting, and in many respects powerfulplay, "Peter the Great," was produced at the Lyceum. It was essentially "a man's play," and as the Empress Catherine, Ellen Terry had few chances. Nevertheless she acted very finely, and the portrait worthily fills a place in her well-stocked gallery. She had already appeared with much success in America in a short piece by the same author, entitled "Godefroi and Yolande." This had a magnificent first-night reception, and she has told me how, when the curtain fell, Henry Irving stepped forward, and in a few graceful words thanked the applauding audience for the approval with which his son's work had been greeted.

"The Medicine Man," the joint work of H. D. Traill and Robert Hichens, which succeeded "Peter the Great," proved a great disappointment, and Ellen Terry's appearance as Sylvia Wynford need only be mentioned for purposes of record.

In the Lyceum revival of Coriolanus, 1901. Photograph by Window & GrovePhotograph by[Window & Grove.ELLEN TERRY AS "VOLUMNIA."In the Lyceum revival of "Coriolanus," 1901.[To face page 292.

Photograph by[Window & Grove.ELLEN TERRY AS "VOLUMNIA."In the Lyceum revival of "Coriolanus," 1901.[To face page 292.

Photograph by[Window & Grove.

ELLEN TERRY AS "VOLUMNIA."

In the Lyceum revival of "Coriolanus," 1901.

[To face page 292.

[See larger version]

In the April of 1899 Laurence Irving was again to the fore with his excellent English version of Victorien Sardou's striking play, "Robespierre." In the character of Clarice de Malucon, Ellen Terry had not one of her greatest opportunities, but she acted with her unvarying and invincible charm, and at once arrested and held the sympathy of her audiences. It was a sweet and womanly performance. Her one great scene came with Henry Irving, and superbly they both played it. It is,indeed, intensely dramatic. Robespierre discovers the terrible fact that Clarice's boy, Olivier, whom he has condemned to the guillotine, is his own son; and then his one frenzied idea is to save his life. But, Dictator though he is, he is surrounded by traitors and suspects; he already knows that his own life trembles in the balance; the task is a difficult one, and Olivier obstinately refuses to accept any favour at his hated hands. Then follows a scene in which the distracted father and mother (for after long years of separation and silence they are now together again) watch the ghastly tumbrils as they drag their victims to the guillotine, trembling lest in one of them they should see their doomed child. During these heartrending moments of suspense Ellen Terry was assuredly seen at her best. Henry Irving's triumph as Robespierre was emphatic.

On April 15, 1901, the long promised production of "Coriolanus" was staged at the Lyceum. As long ago as 1879 Henry Irving had announced his intention of appearing as the noble Roman in company with Ellen Terry as Volumnia.

At that time a writer said:—

"Some surprise may, perhaps, be felt at the circumstance that it is in contemplation to assign the character of Volumnia to Ellen Terry; but the part is by tradition, and by reason of its intrinsicimportance, the lawful inheritance of the leading tragic actress of the company. It was one of Mrs. Siddons' famous impersonations, though it was complained she had not the good sense to follow Mrs. Woffington's example as to her face, and consequently was on the stage as off, Kemble's sister, not his mother. No doubt a resolute conscientious employment of the arts which suggest the autumn of life will be needed to enable Ellen Terry to enact Henry Irving's mother, but the part is a very fine one, and there can be no question that in the hands of this actress the great scene of the fifth act, in which the Roman mother's eloquent and impassioned pleading finally moves the proud heart of her son, would, in her hands, produce a powerful impression."

Now time has dealt so tenderly with our charming actress that there was as much need of this suggested "making up" in 1901 as there had been in 1879; but she had the good sense not to overdo it. There was no more reason why the mother of Coriolanus should be a very old woman than there was for Mr. Vincent Crummles to convert himself into a decrepit octogenarian when he was called uponin loco parentisto bestow the fair hand of Miss Henrietta Petowker in marriage to Mr. Lillyvick. The consequence was that, acting the part with impressive composure, save where intensevigour was demanded, she made such a stately figure as the handsome Roman matron that she became a treat to the eye as well as to the ear.

For the rest she completely fulfilled the predictions of the writer of 1879, being admirable throughout, and especially so in that grand scene to which he alluded. She played in a more womanly and gentle vein than was the custom with her distinguished predecessors in the part, but the performance was none the less welcome or telling on that account.

What a wonderful list of impersonations—from the prattling Mamillius to the dignified Volumnia! Has any other actress achieved so much?

ENDINGS

I cannot conclude this volume before recording the personal impressions that Ellen Terry has made upon me. It will be feebly done, for what writer could pen a true word picture of such a beneficently radiant creature? I am, from my friendship with her, fully justified in saying (she would call this one of the fancies of my book, but I know that it is a fact!) that her chief delights in life are, in the first place, her power of making her friends and her associates happy; in the second place, her own joy in existence. When with her even the most depressed spirit is buoyed up. Her quick sympathy and ready interest in the concerns of all with whom she comes into contact brings sunshine into their lives. In common with us all she has had her troubles and anxieties, and upon her the effect has been to create a keen and ever active desire to alleviate the distresses and difficulties of others. Hand in hand with her go encouragement and consolation. A word of sympathy from her, coupled with a look from those earnest, eloquent eyes, is the best tonic in the world. And while shecan weep with those who weep, she can rejoice with those who rejoice—and she loves to rejoice. It may very safely be said that she never uttered an ill-natured word concerning a fellow-creature. "Why should I?" she says, when taxed with this somewhat unusual trait in her character. "All the world seems to say kind things about me. I am happy in knowing it, and thus I love the world and all who live upon it. Why shouldn't I?" There certainly is no reason for it, and she may be convinced that those who have seen her in the world love her.

Apart from this general, generous, and genial affection for humankind, her devotion is centred in her son and daughter. Very pretty it is to see her motherly pride in their successes, whether histrionic or artistic. Happily, her tender solicitude is well rewarded. Both Gordon and Ailsa Craig are making names for themselves, and doing work of which any parent might well be proud.

Very vividly she recalls her childish days, and, with a sympathetic friend, she is by no means averse to talking of them. It is as pleasant as it is touching to hear her conjure up memories of her own parents and to note the true respect, added to the heartfelt affection, with which she talks of them. I use the word "respect" advisedly, because, in these days (and more's the pity), filial "respect" seems to belong to the past. Possibly, it is asmuch the fault of parents as of children, but in any case it is a thing to be deplored.

Of course, Ellen Terry's first stage recollection is her appearance as the infant Mamillius, when she saw "the Queen Victoria, the Prince Consort, the Princess Royal, and the Prince of Wales" in the royal box, and was, as a matter of consequence, so awestruck that she could hardly articulate her words. She played this part for one hundred and two nights without a break—a marvellous record for so young a child. This long run of "The Winter's Tale" showed that even in the "fifties," when long runs were almost unknown, a Shakespearean play, faultlessly staged, and admirably acted, could attract a prolonged succession of audiences.

During their engagement with the Charles Keans, she tells me (by the way, she is never tired of singing the praises of Mrs. Kean), she and her sister Kate studied—ay, and carefully studied—all the feminine characters of each play they acted in. This fact she tries to impress on the countless young ladies who want to adopt acting as a profession, and who apply to her for advice. "What do you know?—what have you studied?" she asks them. "Could you, for example, undertake to play Hero to a Beatrice; Nerissa to a Portia; or Celia to a Rosalind?" Their almost invariable reply is that they have studied nothing—that they haveonly an ambition to "go on the stage." Then she will advise them to devote themselves to learning and understanding such parts in case an opportunity should come in their way.

Poor young ladies! I don't suppose they like such advice, for assuredly they all want to begin as Beatrice, Portia, or Rosalind. Neither, I am sure, are they aware that they lacerate the tender heart of the great actress because she feels she can do nothing for them.

No one knows better than Ellen Terry that life-long devotion to her art is the only way by which a true actress can reach the goal of her ambition, and there maintain her place. She maintains, moreover, that she should be taught to turn her hand to anything. "When I played Titania at Bath," she says with a laugh, "I made my own dress. It was long, and of transparent, clinging white, all 'crinkled' by washing and wringing."

She limns a pretty little sketch of herself as she set forth with her father to seek her engagement with Mademoiselle Albina di Rhona at the Royalty Theatre. "I borrowed Kate's new bonnet—pink silk, trimmed with black lace—and was engagedat once. I thought I looked nice in that bonnet, and father said pink was my colour."

Evidently she thought that her bonnet rather than herself had found favour with the manageress.

Speaking of her Haymarket engagement shedeclares that she had norealreason to dislike poor Sothern, and regrets that she ever publicly expressed a feeling with which we are all familiar, and which is best described in the words, "I do not like thee, Dr. Fell." She admits that at this time she was very good as poor, maliciously maligned Hero, but she qualifies this little bit of self-commendation by avowing that she played Lady Touchwood vilely.

Merrily she recalls her appearance as Britannia, making her entrance up a trap in a huge pearl which opened to allow her egress. On this occasion King Edward VII. and Queen Alexandra, then, of course, the Prince and Princess of Wales, came to the theatre for the first time since their marriage, and modestly sat in the shadow of a large stage-box. Louise Keeley (afterwards Mrs. Montague Williams) had to sing a song concerning the "Invisible Prince," and by deftly introducing a few improvised lines contrived to let the audience know the state of affairs. Accordingly the uproarious applause of a loyal house stopped the performance until the Royal bride and bridegroom emerged from their obscurity, came to the front of their box, and gracefully and gratefully bowed their thanks.

It was an exciting moment for Ellen Terry when, in 1878, Henry Irving asked her to accept an engagement at the Lyceum, to play Ophelia. So far, she had not seen his Hamlet, and to doso she travelled to Birmingham. His beautiful, thoughtful, and always human impersonation at once captivated her. "No other Hamlet," she enthusiastically exclaims, "have Iseen!—Not in the same hemisphere!And yet I have seen Charles Kean, Fechter, Salvini, and Rossi play the part."

Concerning her own successes she is very reticent, but I think I speak the truth when I say that she very properly plumes herself on her immediate triumph as Ophelia, and that she cherishes the lines of the writer who said:—

"Ophelia, then, is an image or personification of innocent, delicious, feminine youth and beauty, and she passes before us in the two phases of sanity and delirium. Ellen Terry presented her in this way. The embodiment is fully within her reach, and it is one of the few unmistakably perfect creations with which dramatic art has illumined literature and adorned the stage. Ellen Terry was born to play such a part, and she is perfect in it. There is no other word for such an achievement."

In speaking of her sister artistes she is always generous, and often enthusiastic. She holds that as a pathetic actress there is no one equal to Mrs. Kendal, and she declares that in purely poetic characters her sister Marion is not to be excelled.

Indeed, her sympathy with her fellow-workers is unbounded. In this connection a pretty little story has been told by the Baroness von Zedlitzconcerning a conversation she had with Ellen Terry with regard to Signora Duse. "Although," said the eager English actress of the great Italian actress, "we cannot talk fluently to each other, we became fast friends on the evening of our first meeting. I had seen her in the 'Dame aux Camélias,' and was so overpowered that I sobbed aloud. She heard that I was present, and asked me after the performance to come and see her on the stage. Our meeting was in accordance with our emotional temperaments. She rushed to me across the stage, and I fell weeping into her arms. The tears were a great relief. I could not have expressed my admiration better than by my tears. Later on we spent many a pleasant hour together, and I came to love her as a sister." But much as she loves her art, and her companions in art, I believe her chief delight exists in the quiet of the country. Every one must have a hobby, and her pleasant pastime is to possess picturesque rural homes that she can call her own. Thus she is the happy proprietress of Tower Cottage, Winchelsea; of Smallhythe Farm, Tenterden; and of Vine Cottage, Kingston Vale. To one or other of these sweet spots, surrounded by fragrant country gardens, she loves to hie herself as often as may be from her beautiful London home in more prosaic Barkston Gardens, and in all her houses her chief aim is to make her friends happy.

For what most people would call the luxuries of life she seems to care little, but with regard to its niceties she is pleasingly fastidious. Her furniture must be in the best of taste, her pictures must be truly good, and the books that she cherishes must not only be delicately bound, but "extra illustrated" by her own hand, and adorned with quaint book-plates, for which her clever son Gordon Craig is responsible. Indeed, and as might have been anticipated, refinement is the essence of her existence.

So far I have said little of Ellen Terry's successes in America, and, indeed, they have been a repetition of her triumphs in England, but, anxious to be certain of the impression she really created there, I asked my kind friend, William Winter, the distinguisheddoyenof American critics, to give me his frank opinion. He replies as follows:—

"My dear Mr. Pemberton,—Your story of Miss Ellen Terry's life, and your estimate of her acting, have not left anything for any one else to say, and yet your kind wish for a tribute from the present writer must not be denied. Observation on this subject has extended over a period of twenty-five years, and first impressions have only been deepened in the lapse of time. The actress is great, but the woman is greater than the actress, and in the final analysis of Miss Terry's acting, it will be found that herenchantment is that of a unique personality. Only to name the characters that she has made her own—the characters in which she is not only unrivalled but unapproachable—is to point directly to this conclusion. Those characters are Ophelia, Portia, Beatrice, Wills' Olivia, and Goethe's Margaret. She has played many other parts, and given great pleasure by the playing of them, and revealed rare qualities of nature and fine faculties of art: in each and every one of these, and in others of slighter fabric and narrower import, her acting has often afforded, if not invariably the ground for unqualified applause, at least the means of enjoyment and always the occasion of thoughtful study; but her revelation of personality, in a natural embodiment of ideal womanhood, has never been so ample as in those five characters just mentioned. She possesses a marvellously blithe spirit, and, in some of her moods, she revels in the exuberance of frivolous humour. With persons of extreme sensibility that trait—an almost hysterical propensity for mirth, as a relief to the strain of serious feeling—is not unusual; but ultimately, she is a woman of passionate heart, of profound tenderness, and of a most ardently poetic imagination. Nature has been more kind to her—more profuse in the liberality of good gifts—than to any other woman on the stage in our time; for it has endowed her with a commanding yet winsome figure; a stately head, mantled withgolden hair; a countenance of piquant charm and exquisite mobility; the grey eyes of genius, through which a brave, pure and noble soul looks frankly into the face of all the world; vocal organs of exceptional power; a voice of delicious cadences and melting sweetness; symmetry of person and natural grace of action; and, within the external equipment it has placed a woman's heart to feel; a woman's unerring intuition to perceive; the gipsy's freedom of spirit, that breaks away from all convention; and the poet's kinship with nature, in everything that is grand and beautiful. Her acting has revealed her as more a spirit than a mind; as one who reaches conclusions instantly, by divination and not by analysis; as a wonderful, complex creature of nerves and impulses; wayward in fancy, strange and erratic, yet lovely with simplicity; and always, at last—surviving every vicissitude—the authentic image of goodness and truth. Not improbably the actress believes that she has carefully and deftly reasoned her way to every effect of inspiration that she produced in the mad scene of Ophelia, in Margaret's ecstasy of love, and in Olivia's unspeakably pathetic surrender; but such effects as those are not planned, they happen; like some of Shakespeare's own happiest lines, they rise out of 'Thought's interior sphere' (as Emerson calls it), and they leap, full-statured, into an immortality of beauty. Her embodiments of Beatrice and Portia were more the creatures ofdesign, yet into them also the unpremeditated allurement of her enchanting womanhood found its way, and the wild heart of Beatrice evoked a tender sympathy, and the moral grandeur of Portia—warmed with human passion—entranced the feelings as much as it impressed the mind. Portia, on the stage, had always been didactic and oratorical until Miss Ellen Terry played the part, liberating all its piquant sweetness, alluring loveliness, and passionate ardour; since which time it has been acted as a lover, not as a preacher. More to her than to any one else the stage of to-day owes the benefits accruing from the growth of a natural style in acting—a style which yet does not sacrifice the ideal, nor degrade poetry to the level of prose. This style has been caught up and imitated in every direction—a thing, however intrinsically desirable, that never would have happened but for the magical achievement of her personality, affecting actors no less than auditors, and making her—to use a line from an old poet—'Mistress of Arts, and Hearts, and Everything.' This view might be enforced by particular examination of each of Miss Terry's representative embodiments, but that process—which would require a volume—is impracticable here. Her acting is, of course, irregular and uneven—the under-woods, full of bramble-roses, not the trim garden, with its rows of tulips and beds of moss, but it is all the more potent for that reason. Her first performancein America (October 30, 1883) was that of Queen Henrietta Maria, in Wills' beautiful play of 'Charles I.,' and the dominion that she then established over the public mind in this country has ever since remained unbroken. Her later visits to America were made in 1884, 1886—when she came as a traveller, not to act-1887, 1893, 1895, and 1899; and now, as these words are written—in fervent admiration of rare genius consistently and continually devoted to great subjects and the welfare of society as affected by the arts—she is once more speeding to these shores, where her presence will always be honoured and her memory always cherished.—Faithfully yours,"William Winter."New Brighton,Staten Island, New York,October 11, 1901."

"William Winter.

"New Brighton,Staten Island, New York,October 11, 1901."

To this it is my great privilege to add a letter from that charming lady who, coming to us from America, fascinated us all under her maiden name of Mary Anderson.

"The Court Farm,Broadway, Worcestershire,September 11, 1901."Dear Mr. Pemberton,—It is delightful to hear you are writing a life of Ellen Terry. I congratulate you upon having such a subject for your next book, and I congratulate her on having youto tell her story, so replete with success—more, with triumph."My first meeting with her was about eighteen years ago; I had come to England to act, and I was very young and retiring, and I felt strange and very home sick. I went to the Lyceum one night when Sir Henry Irving, then Mr. Irving, was acting in 'The Merchant of Venice.' I thought the Lyceum, like most of the London theatres, did not compare favourably with those of America, either in size, decoration, or comfort; but when the curtain arose on that performance, it was a revelation to me, not only in perfect acting, but in showing me how a play could be staged. I had seen photographs of Ellen Terry (none of which really do her justice), but when she came upon the stage—floating rather than walking—I was enslaved by her grace, her beauty, and her magnetic influence. She seemed to me like a radiant creature from some other sphere; but even she, like everything and everybody during those few weeks in England, seemed far away and very strange. There was a knock at the box door, and there stood the lovely lady herself, with her graceful white hands held out in cordial welcome. Many and dear were her phrases; and her good wishes for my success when I should take possession of the stage upon which she was then acting, rang true, and came from a really generous good will."In an instant I felt she had drawn aside that sad veil of strangeness. She was indeed the idealsisterartist. I mention this act of hers as it illustrates the kind of kind acts she is ever doing. Her heart is of gold. She has, on the stage as well as off, a fascination for men; but she has more—a power of enkindling real affection and enthusiasm in the hearts of women. No woman has perhaps more loyal and devoted women friends, and this, as far as character and disposition are concerned, is in my estimation the longest and finest feather in her beautifully plumed cap."Warm greetings to all your home circle from us both. Ever sincerely yours,"Mary Anderson de Navarro."

"The Court Farm,Broadway, Worcestershire,September 11, 1901.

"Dear Mr. Pemberton,—It is delightful to hear you are writing a life of Ellen Terry. I congratulate you upon having such a subject for your next book, and I congratulate her on having youto tell her story, so replete with success—more, with triumph.

"My first meeting with her was about eighteen years ago; I had come to England to act, and I was very young and retiring, and I felt strange and very home sick. I went to the Lyceum one night when Sir Henry Irving, then Mr. Irving, was acting in 'The Merchant of Venice.' I thought the Lyceum, like most of the London theatres, did not compare favourably with those of America, either in size, decoration, or comfort; but when the curtain arose on that performance, it was a revelation to me, not only in perfect acting, but in showing me how a play could be staged. I had seen photographs of Ellen Terry (none of which really do her justice), but when she came upon the stage—floating rather than walking—I was enslaved by her grace, her beauty, and her magnetic influence. She seemed to me like a radiant creature from some other sphere; but even she, like everything and everybody during those few weeks in England, seemed far away and very strange. There was a knock at the box door, and there stood the lovely lady herself, with her graceful white hands held out in cordial welcome. Many and dear were her phrases; and her good wishes for my success when I should take possession of the stage upon which she was then acting, rang true, and came from a really generous good will.

"In an instant I felt she had drawn aside that sad veil of strangeness. She was indeed the idealsisterartist. I mention this act of hers as it illustrates the kind of kind acts she is ever doing. Her heart is of gold. She has, on the stage as well as off, a fascination for men; but she has more—a power of enkindling real affection and enthusiasm in the hearts of women. No woman has perhaps more loyal and devoted women friends, and this, as far as character and disposition are concerned, is in my estimation the longest and finest feather in her beautifully plumed cap.

"Warm greetings to all your home circle from us both. Ever sincerely yours,

"Mary Anderson de Navarro."

Can I add anything to this? I think not. I know that in dealing with books of this description conscientious censors sometimes say they are replete with eulogy, and offer little or no criticism. If I extol Ellen Terry I do so with a clear conscience and a full heart. I can never forget the happy hours and enlightenment she has given me, and I believe that all my fellow-playgoers will think that I have treated my subject from the right point of view. Why should not our great geniuses of art and literature know, whilst they are amongst us, that we appreciate their work, and love them for the sweet lessons that they teach us?

Shakespeare, who never went amiss, caused his Hermione to say—

"Our praises are our wages."

Happily Ellen Terry is still in the full ripeness of her great and constantly maturing gifts, and no thought of her retirement has yet troubled the lovers and students of the stage. If, in the course of years to come (and may they be far off), she deserts us for her dear country cottages, we might well, in grand chorus, repeat those lovely lines that occur in "Cymbeline"—and, in repeating them, recall the bitter and trembling anxieties that, in order to give us pleasure, she has undergone—

"Fear no more the heat o' the sun,Nor the furious winter's rages;Thou thy worldly task hast done,Home art gone and ta'en thy wages."

"Fear no more the heat o' the sun,

Nor the furious winter's rages;

Thou thy worldly task hast done,

Home art gone and ta'en thy wages."

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