The sincerity of the period, he felt, lay in its elegance. A rough movement, a too undeliberate speech, and the absurdity of the thing might be given away. It was in fact given away by [Terriss] at Château-Renaud, who was not the smooth, graceful, courteous villain that [Alfred Wigan] had been and that Henry wanted. He told me that he paid Miss Fowler, an actress who in other respects was not very remarkable, an enormous salary because she could look the high-bred lady of elegant manners.
It was in "[The Corsican Brothers]" that tableau curtains were first used at the Lyceum. They were made of red plush, which suited the old decoration of the theater. Those who only saw the Lyceum after its renovation in 1881 do not realize perhaps that before that date it was decorated in dull gold and dark crimson, and had funny boxes with high fronts like old-fashioned church pews. One of these boxes was rented annually by the [Baroness Burdett-Coutts]. It was rather like the toy cardboard theater which children used to be able to buy for sixpence. The effect was somber, but I think I liked it better than the cold, light, shallow, bastard Pompeian decoration of later days.
In [Hallam Tennyson]'s life of his father, I find that I described "[The Cup]" as a "great little play." After thirty years (nearly) I stick to that. Its chief fault was that it was not long enough, for it involved a tremendous production, tremendous acting, had all the heroic size of tragedy, and yet was all over so quickly that we could play a long play like "The Corsican Brothers" with it in a single evening.
ELLEN TERRY AS CAMMA IN "THE CUP"
ELLEN TERRY AS IOLANTHE
[Tennyson] read the play to us at Eaton Place. There were present Henry Irving, Ellen Terry, [William Terriss], [Mr. Knowles], who had arranged the reading, my daughter [Edy], who was then about nine, Hallam Tennyson, and a dog—I think Charlie, for the days of Fussie were not yet.
Tennyson, like most poets, read in a monotone, rumbling on a low note in much the same way that Shelley is said to have screamed in a high one. For the women's parts he changed his voice suddenly, climbed up into a key which he could not sustain. In spite of this I was beginning to think how impressive it all was, when I looked up and saw Edy, who was sitting on Henry's knee, looking over his shoulder at young Hallam and laughing, and Henry, instead of reproaching her, on the broad grin. There was much discussion as to what the play should be called, and as to whether the names "Synorix" and "Sinnatus" would be confused.
"I don't think they will," I said, for I thought this was a very small matter for the poet to worry about.
"I do!" said Edy in a loud clear voice, "I haven't known one from the other all the time!"
"Edy, be good!" I whispered.