Quite a round of applause greeted this plain story.
“Why, my dear sir,” exclaimed my original interlocutor, “I am right glad to hear the truth. Well, well, and that is Mr. Irving’s real home, is it? But I thought you said he lives in chambers.”
“One day he hopes to furnish and enjoy the simplicity and quiet of that cottage in a garden, four miles from his theatre; but he still lives, where he has lived for a dozen years or more, in very unpretentious rooms in the heart of London.”
And now, courteous reader, come straightway into this little company of the friendly and the curious, and I will show you where Henry Irving lived until he set sail for America, and you shall hear him talk about his art and his work; for my good friend, the editor of “Harper’s Magazine,” commissioned me to describe the famous English actor at home, and here is the result:—
IV.
At the corner of Grafton street, where the traffic of a famous West End artery ebbs and flows among picture exhibitions and jewelry stores, lives the most popular actor of his time. It is a mysterious-looking house. The basement is occupied by a trunk store. From the first floor to the top are Mr. Henry Irving’s chambers. They present from the outside a series of dingy, half-blind windows that suggest no prospect of warmth or cheer. “Fitting abode of the spirit of tragic gloom!” you might well exclaim, standing on the threshold. You shall enter with me, if you will, to correct your first impressions, and bear testimony to the fact that appearances are often deceptive.
This sombre door, the first on the left as we enter Grafton street from Bond street, leads to his chambers. Two flights of stairs (not bright, as a Paris staircase), not with the sunlight upon the carpet, as in New York, but darkened with the shadows of a London atmosphere,—and we enter his general room. With the hum of the West End buzzing at the windows, the colored glass of which shuts out what little sunlight falls there, the apartment is characteristic of a great artist and a great city. The mantel-piece recalls the ancient fashion of old English mansions. It is practically an oak cabinet, with a silver shield as the centre-piece. On the opposite side of the room is a well-stocked bookcase, surmounted by a raven that carries one’s thoughts to Poe and his sombre story. On tables here and there are materials for letter-writing, and evidence of much correspondence, though one of the actor’s social sins is said to be the tardiness with which he answers letters. The truth is, the many pressing claims on his time do not enable him to act always upon the late Duke of Wellington’s well-known principle of immediately replying to every letter that is addressed to him. A greater philosopher than His Grace said many letters answer themselves if you let them alone, and I should not wonder if Irving finds much truth in the axiom. Bric-à-brac, historic relics, theatrical properties, articles of virtu, lie about in admired disorder. Here is Edmund Kean’s sword, which was presented to Irving on the first night of his Richard III. by that excellent and much-respected artist Mr. Chippendale, who had acted with Edmund Kean, and was his perpersonal friend. In a glass case near this precious treasure is a ring that belonged to David Garrick. It is an exquisite setting of a miniature of Shakespeare. This was given to Irving by the Baroness Burdett-Coutts. In a cabinet near one of the windows, the order of the George, which Edmund Kean wore in “Richard III.,” and his prompt-book of “Othello.” Close by are three marble busts,—one of Young, with a faded wreath upon its brow; another of Mrs. Harriet Brown, “a most dear and valued friend” (to use his own words); and the third, of Ellen Terry, sculptured by Irving’s friend, Brodie,—a portrait of Rossi (presented by the actor) as Nero; a photograph of Charles Dickens (presented by Miss Mary Dickens),—the one by Gurney, of New York, which the great author himself thought an excellent portrait; medallions of Émile Devrient and John Herchell (the latter a gift from Herchell’s daughter); and a sketch of a favorite Scotch terrier (very well known to his friends as “Charlie”), which during the last year or two has become his most constant companion at home and at the theatre. The adjoining room continues the collection of the actor’s art treasures,—not the mere connoisseur’s museum of articles of virtu, but things which have a personal value and a special history associated with the art their owner loves.
It is a frank smile that greets us as the actor enters and extends his long, thin hand. I know no one whose hand is so suggestive of nervous energy and artistic capacity as Irving’s. It is in perfect harmony with the long, expressive face, the notably æsthetic figure!