In moments of passionate emotion it is well that the actor or actress should discard a hat. Irving rarely wore one at all, invariably taking the first opportunity to remove his, bearing it with his special grace under his arm or in his hand, as opportunity permitted.
In the management of classic drapery considerable skill and much practice are demanded, and many an actor of contemporary methods finds himself lost and awkward without the consoling comfort of his trouser pocket for his restless fingers, or the convenient coat-tail to be jerked, in fits of irritation. Undoubtedly, it is wise for the player to accustom himself to unconventional clothes for some days before assuming them on the stage: it is only thus that he can hope to avoid self-consciousness and to escape inelegance of movement and gesture. Women, although more easily adapted to new clothes, and less embarrassed under their influence, because more accustomed to such privileges, yet suffer restraint in different attire, and would yet do well to consider the advisability of rehearsing in their frocks on more than one occasion before they permit these to accompany them in their histrionic duties.
The stage has oftentimes had the privilege of introducing new fashions, and the most apathetic patron of the playhouse may be lured to the auditorium by the report of something new in petticoats, an ideal coiffure, or the latest modish mandate obeyed to the letter in a belt. Miss Violet Vanbrugh may have the credit of bringing to notice the elegant charms of the corselet, and the trim fascinations of the stock collar, worn with the right sort of cravat. To Miss Mary Moore I attribute a revived popularity of the broad black Alsatian bow; she wore this in velvet in her clever impersonation in Mrs. Gorringe's Necklace, and all the world of women flocked to see and to copy; while her little short-waisted white muslin frock, with broad ribbons and puffed sleeves, in Rosemary made that heroine an inevitable figure at fancy-dress balls for months after the production of this dainty little play. Miss Letty Lind, Miss Kate Vaughan, and Miss Jessie Milward—I take my examples at random—may all be counted pioneers. To Kate Vaughan we owe the lace-frilled petticoat, beneath the influence of which she daintily danced her way into public favour. Miss Letty Lind first wore the accordion-pleated dancing skirt, and Miss Jessie Milward popularised the lawn-embroidered collars and cuffs. I forget which Adelphi melodrama she graced with these trifles, but I am safe in asserting that she was the heroine of the drama, and was made happy by wedding bells as the curtain fell.
JULIAN L'ESTRANGE AS HERMES.
It is easy for me to let my pictures in this chapter give me my cues for dilating on specially splendid productions which it has been my privilege to enjoy, for Mr. Anderson has been responsible for the majority of these, and his pencil has illuminated the various centuries with experience, infinite care, and a skill of which I have promised him faithfully not to speak.
An exception, however, was Coriolanus at the Lyceum, a play lending itself pre-eminently to dignified interpretation, and it is needless to say that Sir Henry Irving saw that it got this. Perhaps the great actor never looked more imposing than in the military robes of dull red and leopard skins, with a cuirass of richly-wrought gold, though, to be sure, he always wore his ecclesiastical garb with the grand air, and as Wolsey, Richelieu, and Becket he embodied the venerable magnificence of established holiness.
BEERBOHM TREE AS MALVOLIO.