The Sunny Side of the Street

by Marshall P. Wilder

The American people at large know Henry Irving as a great actor, scores of Americans and hundreds of Englishmen of his own and related professions know him as one of the most friendly and great-hearted men alive. Many volumes could be written about his thoughtful kindnesses, and at least one of them could be filled with mention of his goodness to me, for, in my many visits to England, he never failed to “look me up” and show me every kindness in his power—and his power is great. If I were to go into details regarding myself, I should offend him, for, like any other genuine man, he does not like his left hand know what his right hand does, but it shouldn’t hurt for me to tell some open secrets about his kindness to others.

Lionel Brough often talks of the time when he and Irving, both of them young men, were members of a company in Manchester. In those days Irving was a dreamer of dreams and had a fondness for being his own only company, so his associates made him the butt of many jokes that did not seem to disturb his self-absorption. He had no intimates in the company, although he was of lovable nature. Near the theatre was an upholstery shop, the owner of which became acquainted with Irving, understood him and loved him, as did the family; they called the young actor “Our Henry,” always had room and a hearty welcome for him, and in many ways served as balm to his sensitive nature.

When Irving went to London he did not forget his Manchester friends—not even after he became a successful and very busy manager. He sent them frequent evidences of his regard, though he had no time to make visits. On coming into possession of the Lyceum Theatre he determined to reupholster every part of it. A large London firm desired the contract and made estimates but Mr. Irving sent to Manchester for his old friend, and, as the Irving company was leaving England for a long American tour, gave the upholsterer carte blanche.

On Irving’s return from America be inspected his theatre, was delighted with the renovation, and asked the upholsterer for the bill. After looking it over he sent for the London firm that had offered plans and estimates, and asked them what they would have charged to do what had been done. They named a sum five times as large as the Manchester man had charged; Irving discovered later that his old friend had charged only for materials, the work being “thrown in” for old affection’s sake. But Irving disregarded the bill entirely and drew a check for twice the amount of the London firm’s estimate.

But it does not require memories of past kindnesses to open Mr. Irving’s purse, for he is almost as susceptible to the influence of old association. He has always maintained a far larger company than his productions demanded, and retained old members long after their services would have been dispensed with by a manager at all careful of his pennies. Many Americans have pleasant remembrances of old “Daddy” Howe, who died in Cincinnati some years ago while a member of the Irving company on tour. At a memorable dinner given Mr. Irving by his professional admirers in America, Mr. Howe arose and told of his offering to retire when the company was preparing to come to this country, and how his suggestion was received. Although he was eighty years old at the time, he had been a member of but three companies, one of which was Mr. Irving’s. He knew that the expenses of the American tour would be enormous, and that the small parts for which he was usually cast would be well played here for far less than his own salary, so his conscience compelled him to write Mr. Irving saying that he comprehended the situation and would either retire or accept less pay. As he received no reply, he repeated his suggestion in person to Mr. Irving.

“Dear me!—Ah! yes!—Well, I’ll let you know presently,” was the evasive answer from which Howe assumed that he would be retired, so it was with trembling hands that he opened a note from the manager the next day. He read:

“Of course I expect you to go to America, and I hope the increase of your salary will indicate my appreciation and good wishes.”

As Howe told this story his eyes filled and overflowed, but Irving, when all eyes were turned toward him, looked as if he did not see that there was anything in the incident to justify the old actor’s emotion or the applause of every one around the tables.

I am indebted to my friend, Mr. J. E. Dodson, who came over with Mrs. Kendall’s company, for these stories illustrating Mr. Irving’s manner on the stage in circumstances which would make almost any manager star drop into rage and profanity. Here is one of them: