“It is a magnificent theatre,” said Irving; “the auditorium superb, the stage fine; the pitch of the auditorium in harmony with the stage, by which I mean there is an artistic view of the stage from every seat; the gas managements are perfect, and the system of general ventilation unique; but the dressing-rooms are small and inconvenient. For anything like quiet acting, for work in which detail of facial expression, significant gesture, or delicate asides, are important, the theatre is too large.”
“Are you acquainted with the history of the stage in Boston?” I asked him, “or of this theatre in particular?”
“Only from what I have read or heard in a cursory way,” he said; “but one can readily understand that our Puritan ancestors would bring with them to these shores their hatred of plays and players. The actors persevered in their terrible occupation in New England, notwithstanding a local ordinance to prevent stage plays and other theatrical entertainments, passed in 1750. Otway’s ‘Orphan’ was, I am told, the first piece done in Boston. It was played at the British Coffee-house, ‘by a company of gentlemen,’ and this gave rise to the passing of the act in question. Some five or ten years later a number of Tories got up an association to promote acting and defy this statute. They revolted in favor of art; and in these days of political tolerance that is a good thing to remember. The members of this society were chiefly British officers, who, with their subalterns and private soldiers, formed the acting company. I believe one of them wrote the first piece they attempted to give in public. It was called ‘The Blockade of Boston’; but the entertainment was stopped by a ruse,—a sudden report that fighting had begun at Charlestown; a call to arms, in fact. For many years no more efforts were made to amuse or instruct the people with semi-theatrical entertainments or stage plays. The next attempt was a theatre, or, more properly speaking, a variety show, in disguise. The house was called ‘The New Exhibition Room,’ and the entertainment was announced as ‘a moral lecture.’ One Joseph Harper was the manager. The programme of the first night included tight-rope dancing, and various other athletic feats; ‘an introductory address’; singing, by a Mr. Woods; tumbling, by Mr. Placide; and, in the course of the evening, ‘will be delivered the Gallery of Portraits; or, the World as it Goes, by Mr. Harper. Later, ‘Venice Preserved’ was announced as a moral lecture, ‘in which the dreadful effects of conspiracy will be exemplified.’ Mr. Clapp’s book on Boston contains several curious instances of this kind. Shakespeare, it seems, filled the stage as ‘a moral lecturer’; and a familiar old English drama was played as ‘a moral lecture, in five parts, wherein the pernicious tendency of libertinism will be exemplified in the tragical history of George Barnwell; or, the London Merchant.’ Eventually, in the year 1793, I think, or thereabouts, Harper was arrested on the stage while playing Richard in one of Shakespeare’s moral illustrations of the bane of ambition and the triumph of virtue over vice. The audience protested, and destroyed a portrait of the governor of the city, which hung over the stage-box. They also tore down the State arms, and trampled upon them. At the hearing of the charge against Harper a technical flaw in the indictment procured his discharge. After this, however, the ‘Exhibition Room’ did not flourish; but a bold and earnest movement, a year or two later, resulted in the building of the Federal Street Theatre, sometimes also called the Boston, and sometimes Old Drury, after the London house. From this time the stage in Boston is a fact; and one feels at home in reading over the names of the actors who have been well known here,—Macready, Charles Kemble and Fanny Kemble, Charlotte Cushman, Ellen Tree, John Vandenhoff, Sheridan Knowles, John Gilbert, Fanny Ellsler, the Booths, our friend Warren, and others. The present theatre, the Boston,[26] in which we are acting, has been built about thirty years. The grand ball given to the Prince of Wales when he visited this country took place here, the auditorium being boarded for the occasion.”
III.
“The audience” on the first night of Irving’s appearance in Boston, said the “Post,” on the following morning, “was not made up of average theatre-goers; many regular ‘first-nighters’ were there, but a very large majority of those present were people of wealth, who go to the theatre comparatively little.”[27] The play was “Louis XI.” It excited expressions of admiration in the audience, and was as warmly praised in the press as at New York and Philadelphia. A fine theatre, the scenery appeared almost to greater advantage than in the Lyceum itself; and some of the readers of these pages will be surprised to learn that much of the original scenery was dispensed with. Portions of the sets, indeed, for all the pieces during the week, were painted on the spot by Mr. Hall (a clever young artist, who is devoted to the service of Mr. Irving), and Lyceum draperies, groupings, dresses, and stage manipulation, did the rest. The usual orchestra of the theatre was strengthened, as at New York and Philadelphia, and the conductor had the satisfaction of a call for the repetition of some of the entr’acte music.
Among the most remarkable tributes to Irving’s genius as an actor are the critical notices that appeared in the Boston newspapers the next day; and the people of Boston gave practical evidence of their satisfaction by attending the theatre in increasing numbers every night. The fortnight’s work included, besides the opening play, “The Merchant of Venice,” “The Lyons Mail,” “Charles I.,” “The Bells,” “The Belle’s Stratagem,” and “Hamlet.” The old controversies as to the characters of Hamlet and Shylock, and the interpretation of them, cropped up in the press, and, as before, were entirely absent from the audiences. They evidently had no doubts; they showed no desire to discount their pleasure; they found themselves wrapped up in the stage stories, rejoicing, sorrowing, weeping, laughing, with the varying moods of poet and actor. They did not stop to analyze the reasons for their motion; it was enough for them that they followed the fortunes of the hero and heroine with absorbing interest. They had no preconceived ideas to vindicate; they were happy in the enjoyment of the highest form of dramatic entertainment which even those critics, that are chary of their commendation of individual artists, say America has ever seen. Said “The Boston Herald,” in its notice of “Hamlet”:—
At the end of each act he received one or more calls before the curtain, and after the “play scene” the demonstrations were really enthusiastic; shouts of “Bravo!” mingling with the plaudits that summoned him to the foot-lights again and again. Miss Ellen Terry won all hearts by her exquisite embodiment of Ophelia. A better representative of this lovely character has not been, and is not likely to be, seen here by the present generation of play-goers. She received her full share of the honors of the evening, and her appearance before the curtain was often demanded, and hailed with delight, by the large audience present.
The “Advertiser,” “Traveller,” “Globe,” “Post,”—indeed all the Boston daily press,—were unanimous in recognizing the merits of Irving and his work. The “Transcript” was especially eulogistic in its treatment of Hamlet. As a rule the criticisms were written with excellent literary point. It will be interesting to give two brief examples of this; one from the “Traveller”:—
Of Mr. Irving’s performance of the part we can truthfully say that, while differing almost entirely from that of nearly every actor that we have seen in Hamlet, it abounded in beauties, in new conceptions of business, in new ideas of situation. It was scholarly and thoughtful, princely and dignified, tender yet passionate, revengeful yet human, filial yet manly. The Ophelia of Miss Ellen Terry was supremely delicious. In the early parts it was artless and girlish, yet womanly withal. It was sweet, tender, graceful, loving, and lovable. As a piece of acting, it was “stuff’d with all honorable virtues.” It was very powerful in the mad scene in the fourth act, and yet it was not more powerful than it was refined and intellectual; and while it may be looked upon in every respect as a perfect piece of dramatic art, it was yet faithful to life and true to the best instincts of womanly nature.
And another from the “Transcript”:—