There is a rush of critics, reporters, correspondents, “down-town” to chronicle the night’s success. One or two writers, whose eccentricities give a commercial value to their work, go away to maintain their lively reputations; but, on the whole, it is evident that everybody, press men and public, is greatly pleased. Many American journals in distant States were represented at the theatre by their own critics and by correspondents. Long telegraphic despatches were wired to the leading cities of the Union; the Associated Press sent out special messages; the London journals were in evidence, and a new Anglo-French paper in Paris had commissioned its New York correspondent to cable some thousand or more words of Irving’s opening night. Since the Forrest-Macready riot no theatrical event had created so general an interest as the first appearance of Irving in America.
IV.
Going behind the scenes, after the play, I found a representative of the “Herald” already ensconced in Mr. Irving’s dressing-room. He was pressing the actor for his views of the audience, and for some contrasts of his sensations under the influence of this audience and others before whom he had played in England. At first Irving seemed inclined to say no more than to express satisfaction at his success. But the “Herald” representative was a quiet, cultivated, and experienced journalist. Evidently a gentleman of education, a travelled man, and discreet, he led the actor into the conversational direction he desired him to go, and the result was a pleasant and instructive interview:—
“When I first stepped into view of the audience, and saw and heard the great reception it gave me, I was filled with emotion. I felt that it was a great epoch in my life. The moment I faced the people I felt that we were friends. I knew that they wished to like me, and would go away, if I disappointed them, saying, ‘Well, we wanted to like him; but we couldn’t.’ Who could stand before such an audience, on such an occasion, and not be deeply moved? All I can say is, that it was a glorious reception, and typical of your great people.”
“But as to the merits of the audience,—theatre-goers will judge your acting,—what is your opinion of them?”
“The audience was a fine one. Apart from the marks of intelligence, which could be read with the naked eye, it was a fine assembly. I never played before a more responsive or sympathetic audience. It did not miss a point. I could tell all through the play that every motion I made was being closely watched; that every look, gesture, and tone was carefully observed. It is stimulating to an actor to feel that he has won his audience.”
“You felt confident that you had made an impression upon the audience, and that there was no flattery in the applause?”
“After the first burst of welcome was over, yes. I had not been on the stage five minutes before I knew that I had control of my hearers, and that I could make every point in the play tell. Then the silence of the people—the greatest compliment that could be paid to one in such a play—was always succeeded by genuine applause at the end of the act!”
“Did you get such a reception when you appeared as Mathias first before a London audience?”
“Oh, no. Don’t you see, I was comparatively little known then.”