During the “run” of ‘Charles I.’ the successful dramatist was busy preparing a new poetical piece on the subject of Eugene Aram. It is not generally known that the author himself dramatized his story. This was produced on April 19, 1873, but the tone seemed to be too lugubrious, the actor passing from one mournful soliloquy to another. There was but little action. The ordinary versions are more effective. But the actor himself produced a deep, poetical impression.
The manager, now in the height of success, adopted a style of “bold advertisement,” that suggested Elliston’s amusing exaggerations.[11] The piece ran for over one hundred and fifty nights, to May 17, 1873, and during a portion of the time the versatile player would finish the night with ‘Jeremy Diddler.’
The new season of 1873 began on September 27, with Lord Lytton’s ‘Richelieu.’ It is a tribute to the prowess of that gifted man that his three pieces—the ever-fresh and fair ‘Lady of Lyons,’ ‘Money,’ and ‘Richelieu’—should be really the only genuine stock-pieces of the modern stage. They never seem out of fashion, and are always welcomed. It might be said, indeed, that there is hardly a night on which the ‘Lady of Lyons’ is not somewhere acted. In ‘Richelieu’ the actor presented a truly picturesque figure—he was aged, tottering, nervous, but rallying to full vigour when the occasion called. The well-known scene, where he invokes “the curse of Rome,” produced extraordinary enthusiasm, cheers, waving of handkerchiefs, and a general uproar from the pit. It was in this piece that those “mannerisms” which have been so often “girded at,” often with much pitilessness, began to attract attention. In this part, as in the first attempt in ‘Macbeth,’ there was noted a lack of restraint, something hysterical at times, when control seemed to be set aside. The truth is, most of his attempts at this period were naturally experiments, and very different from those deliberate, long-prepared, and well-matured representations he offered under the responsibility of serious management.
This piece was succeeded by an original play, ‘Philip,’ by an agreeable writer who had made a name as a novelist, Mr. Hamilton Aïdé—a dramatic story of the average pattern, and founded on jealousy. It was produced on February 7, and enjoyed a fair share of success.
CHAPTER V.
1874.
‘HAMLET’—‘OTHELLO’—‘MACBETH’—DEATH OF ‘THE COLONEL’—‘QUEEN MARY.’
But now was to be made a serious experiment, on which much was to depend. Hitherto Irving had not travelled out of the regions of conventional drama, or of what might be called romantic melodrama; but he was now to lay hands on the ark, and attempt the most difficult and arduous of Shakespearian characters, Hamlet. Every actor has a dream of performing the character, and fills up his disengaged moments with speculations as to the interpretation. The vitality of this wonderful play is such that it nearly always is a novelty for the audience, because the character is fitfully changeful, and offers innumerable modes of interpretation.
The momentous trial was made on October 31, 1874. It had long and studiously been prepared for: and the actor, in his solitary walks during the days of his provincial servitude, had worked out his formal conception of the character. There was much curiosity and expectation; and it was noted that so early as three o’clock in the afternoon a dense crowd had assembled in the long tunnel that leads from the Strand to the pit door. I was present in the audience, and can testify to the excitement. Nothing I have ever seen on the stage, except perhaps the burst that greeted Sarah Bernhardt’s speech in ‘Phèdre’ on the first night of the French Comedy in London, has approached the tumult of the moment when the actor, after the play scene, flung himself into the King’s chair.
Our actor judiciously took account of all criticisms, and with later performances subdued or toned down what was extravagant. The whole gained in thoughtfulness and in general meditative tone, and it is admitted that the meaning of the intricate soliloquies could not be more distinctly or more intelligibly conveyed to an audience. He played a good deal with his face, as it is called: with smilings of intelligence, as if interested or amused. But, as a whole, his conception of the character may be said to remain the same as it was on that night.
The play was mounted with the favourite economy of the manager, and contrasted with the unsparing lavishness of decoration which characterized its later revival. But the actors were good. The sound, “full-bodied” old Chippendale was Polonius; Swinburne, also of the old school, was the King; and the worthy Mead, long ago a star himself, and one of Mr. Phelps’ corps, “discharged” the Ghost with admirable impression and elocution.[12] He has now passed away, after long service, to “that bourne,” etc. Miss Bateman was interesting, and Mrs. Pauncefort, who was till lately at the Lyceum, was an excellent Queen. Actor and manager expected much success for ‘Hamlet,’ and counted on a run of eighty nights, but it was performed for two hundred! To the present hour it has always continued—though sparingly revived—the most interesting of the actor’s performances, looked for with an intellectual curiosity.
In March the hundredth night of ‘Hamlet’ was celebrated by a banquet, given in the saloon of the Lyceum Theatre, at which all the critics and literary persons connected with the stage were present. This method of festivity has since become familiar enough, owing to the never-flagging hospitality of the later manager of the Lyceum, and offers a striking contrast to the older days, when it was intimated that “chicken and champagne” was a ready method of propitiating the critics. Mr. Pigott, who had recently been appointed the Licenser of Plays, a man of many friends, from his amiability—now, alas! gone from us—proposed the health of the lessee, which was followed by the health of the actor and of the author of the establishment, the latter, as it was rather sarcastically said, “giving the hundred and odd literary men present the oft-repeated illustration of how far apart are authorship and oratory.” The good old Chippendale told how he had played Polonius to the Hamlet of Kemble, Kean, Young, and other famous tragedians; but protested that “the most natural and, to his mind, the most truthful representation he had seen was that of his friend here.” Something must be allowed for post-prandial exuberance, and no one could more shrewdly appreciate their value than the actor himself. We may be certain that in his “heart of heart” he did not agree that he had excelled Kemble, Kean, Young, and the others. It was interesting, however, to meet such histrionic links with the past, which are now broken. Mr. Howe is perhaps the only person now surviving who could supply reminiscences of the kind.