As the book was published by Messrs. Macmillan, it belongs to the public.
The production of King Arthur was one of the most beautiful of Henry Irving’s many Lyceum triumphs. Even in those far-removed days Sir Edward Burne Jones’ exquisite designs for the armour and dresses, as well as for the scenery, will be remembered by some, and I am proud to think that I was allowed the privilege of carrying out some of them in detail. It was a hard six months’ work but it was well rewarded and I think Joe had no happier hours than those he spent in the writing and in the producing of his two finest efforts—King Arthur and Tristram and Iseult.
I cannot leave this subject without mention of the tender and lovely impersonation of Guinevere by Ellen Terry, and the touching tribute to her which Joe himself gives in the following dedication, written on the fly-leaf of the copy he presented to her.
“To Guinevere herself from one who, after years of closest friendship, looks to her now as always, for the vindication of what is highest and gentlest in womanhood; and who would count this not too poor a gift for her to take, could he but hope that some part of the grace and charm of her spirit had found its way into the portrait of Arthur’s Queen.”
Following on this it would seem incongruous in connection with anyone else but Joe to quote a funny tale bearing on the above; but Joe loved the tale himself and often told it merrily and so will I.
On his being presented to a newly-arrived prominent American at a public dinner, this gentleman opened the conversation by saying that he had been privileged, on the voyage with Sir Henry Irving and Ellen Terry, to read King Arthur in the lady’s own copy containing the author’s charming dedication. A pause ensued, when Joe—thinking himself on solid ground—said: “Well, sir, I hope you liked the play?” What was his astonishment at the Yankee’s gentle reply! “Well, not very much!” said he, “You see I had Lord Tennyson in my mind.”
Silence ensued but I think Joe explained with urbanity that he had taken an entirely different view of the old legend, founded in a measure on Sir Thomas Malory’s version.
A propos of this old name, Joe has himself told of the arrival at the theatre of a batch of press cuttings addressed to that knight of the days of chivalry, the title tactfully supplemented by the affix of “Bart.”
Perhaps scarcely less funny and more unpardonable was the question of the Society lady who asked him, in the case of Tristram and Iseult, how he had obtained Mme. Wagner’s consent to tamper with her husband’s book.
A play—The Lonely Queen—on which he spent much care, still remains to be performed when a suitable actress shall present herself for the strong and sympathetic part of the girlish ruler over a wild land.