“Did you see that?” he said as he brushed by me, going to his dressing-room.
“No,” said I, following him. “What was it?”
He turned, his eyes still wet and his voice choked. “I broke down,” said he; “completely broke down. I turned away from the audience to recover myself. But I failed and had the curtain rung.”
The scene had been spoiled because the actor had been overcome by a sudden flood of real feeling, whereas he was to render by his art the feeling of a fictitious character and so to communicate this to his audience. Caleb’s cue was tears, but not Jefferson’s.
On another occasion I saw his self-possession tried in a different way. We were dining with a gentleman who had overpartaken of his own hospitality. Mr. Murat Halstead was of the company. There was also a German of distinction, whose knowledge of English was limited. The Rip Van Winkle craze was at its height. After sufficiently impressing the German with the rare opportunity he was having in meeting a man so famous as Mr. Jefferson, our host, encouraged by Mr. Halstead, and I am afraid not discouraged by me, began to urge Mr. Jefferson to give us, as he said, “a touch of his mettle,” and failing to draw the great comedian out he undertook himself to give a few descriptive passages from the drama which was carrying the town by storm. Poor Jefferson! He sat like an awkward boy, helpless and blushing, the German wholly unconscious of the fun or even comprehending just what was happening—Halstead and I maliciously, mercilessly enjoying it.
III
I never heard Mr. Jefferson make a recitation or, except in the singing of a song before his voice began to break, make himself a part of any private entertainment other than that of a spectator and guest.
He shrank from personal displays of every sort. Even in his younger days he rarely “gagged,” or interpolated, upon the stage. Yet he did not lack for a ready wit. One time during the final act of Rip Van Winkle, a young countryman in the gallery was so carried away that he quite lost his bearings and seemed to be about to climb over the outer railing. The audience, spellbound by the actor, nevertheless saw the rustic, and its attention was being divided between the two when Jefferson reached that point in the action of the piece where Rip is amazed by the docility of his wife under the ill usage of her second husband. He took in the situation at a glance.
Casting his eye directly upon the youth in the gallery, he uttered the lines as if addressing them directly to him, “Well, I would never have believed it if I had not seen it.”
The poor fellow, startled, drew back from his perilous position, and the audience broke into a storm of applause.