“Did your company play up to the standard of their work in the Lyceum?”
“Well, you have not seen them all; you have not seen Miss Terry or Mr. Howe.”
“But did those of the company who were in the cast to-night do as well as usual?”
“They were rather slower, but quite good. Of course every one was excited, more or less. There is only one strong part in the play, and that is mine. Mr. Terriss was excellent. Don’t you think he is a fine fellow?”
Suiting the action to the word, Irving unconsciously dropped into a military attitude, stretched his hand out and threw back his head,—a perfect fac-simile of Mr. Terriss’ impersonation of Christian.
“Is the scenery the same that was used in the Lyceum?”
“Exactly the same. You prompt me to mention a particular point, now. Did you notice how little the scenery had to do with the play? I have it so on purpose. Why, there is practically no scenery. I try to get as near truth as possible, as Caleb Plummer says. I have sometimes heard that I rely on scenery. So far I do: if it were the hovel of King Lear I would have a hovel, and if it were the palace of Cleopatra I would make it as gorgeous as the possibilities of art would allow.”
“Do you look upon your reception to-night as a success?”
“In every way. One of your greatest actors told me that American audiences are proverbially cold on first nights. He was trying to save me from a possible disappointment. In addition to this, ‘The Bells’ is not a play for applause, but for earnest, sympathetic silence. Need I say that the demonstrations, which burst forth on every occasion that good taste would allow, are the best evidences that to-night I have won an artistic triumph?”