Of the regular scenes or structures put on the stage, it would be difficult to say too much. The grandly-built porch of the Church of St. Lorentz Platz at Nuremberg, and the buildings grouped round it, were extraordinary works of construction, the porch being “moulded” in all its details, and of the real or natural size. Another scene that lingers in the memory with a sort of twilight melancholy is the garden scene, which again illustrates the admirable instinct of the manager. Red-brick walls of calm, quiet tones, old trees, and, above all, the sombre towers of the city, were seen in the distance. The dresses of the characters were chosen to harmonize, and the deep sunset cast a melancholy glow or tinge over all. The most striking effects were contrived by changes of the lights and “mediums.”
The Brocken scene, for its vastness and ambitious attempt to suggest space and atmosphere, has never been surpassed. Most people were struck by the bewildering crowd of unearthly spirits, witches, and demons, etc.; but the real marvel was the simulation of the chill mountain atmosphere, the air of dizziness, of mists that hover over vast crevasses and depths, and make one shiver to look at. The designing, direction, and controlling of the elements in this wonderful scene seemed a bewildering and gigantic task.
The vision of Angels in the last act seemed a little conventional. There were many objections, too, taken mostly by Germans, to the treatment of the great story, such as the fixing of the scene at Nuremberg instead of at Leipsic, the placing the drinking bout in the open air, and at the tavern door, instead of in Auerbach’s cellar. These changes could not, of course, be justified, save on the ground of theatrical expediency.
For seven months, though ‘Faust’ continued to attract vast houses, it had really, as the manager said, “only started on its wild career.” On the occasion of Miss Terry’s benefit, he made an interesting, half-jocular speech announcing his plans.
The ninety-ninth night of ‘Faust’ was celebrated in a remarkable and somewhat appropriate fashion. The venerable Abbé Liszt was at this time in London, followed with an eager curiosity, affecting even the “cabbies” with interest, who were heard talking of the “Habby List.” No one who had seen him at this time will forget the striking personality of this interesting and brilliant man. He was induced to visit the theatre, and to witness the performance. After the first act, the orchestra broke into his own “Hungarian March,” and, being presently recognised by the audience, the great virtuoso received a perfect ovation. He followed the piece throughout with singular interest, and applauded with enthusiasm. After the play was over, he was welcomed at a supper in the old Beef-steak dining-room, where there were invited to meet him a few distinguished persons. His favourite dishes—“lentil pudding, lamb cutlets, mushrooms in batter”—were prepared for him by Gunter’s chef. He was delighted with this delicate hospitality. This is one of the many pleasant and dignified memories associated with the Lyceum.
It was when ‘Faust’ was being played that the catastrophe of the burning of the French Opéra Comique occurred. This excited general sympathy, and the kindly manager of the Lyceum promised that when the proper time came he would furnish assistance. In due course a performance of ‘Faust’ was announced for the benefit of the sufferers, and a crowded audience assembled. Everyone concerned—and they were to be counted by hundreds—gave their services gratis—the manager behaved in his own liberal style—and, as the result, a sum of £419 was despatched to Paris. This liberality was much appreciated by the French press. The Figaro devoted an article to a review of the various characters played by the English actor, and in flattering terms pointed out that, notwithstanding all his detractors, Mr. Henry Irving was “the most perfect gentleman.”
During the performance of ‘Faust,’ Miss Terry found the fatigue excessive, and, not being very strong at the time, had to resign her part. During these intervals, the character was supported by a clever young actress, bearing an historic name, Miss Winifred Emery, who brought much intelligence and refinement to her task. It was generally agreed that, considering her resources, she had supplied the place of the absent actress very well indeed. The feu sacré was, of course, not to be expected, and cannot be supplied to order.
This appreciation of our manager-actor by the French will naturally suggest the inquiry, What is his reputation generally in that eminently theatrical country, whence we draw our chief supply of dramas and dramatic ideas, and whose school of acting is perhaps the first in Europe? So frequent have been the visits of French companies to London, that nearly all the leading performers have had opportunities of seeing the English actor perform. Their ignorance of the language has, of course, stood in the way of a satisfactory judgment—they cannot follow the play as an average Englishman will follow a French piece; but all have been struck by his fine faculty of imparting colour and romance to a character, and have broken into raptures over the intelligence that directs the scene, and the lavish magnificence of the spectacle.
The memorable visit of the French Comedy to London in 1879, and the fine series of performances in which every player of note displayed his talent, curiously coincided with the new departure on the English stage. Few will forget the deep impressions left by that season or the opportunities afforded for a liberal education in dramatic taste. With the company came the fine fleur of French critics, Sarcey, Claretie (since become director of the company he had so often criticized), and others of less note. These judges were glad to seize an opportunity, which under other circumstances they would never have thought of seeking, of visiting the Lyceum and witnessing the performances of the most distinguished of English actors. I recall Sarcey at this time, a coarsely-built man, with not very refined features, lounging night after night into his stall, with an air of something like arrogance. He did not relish his enforced banishment from the Boulevards, and indemnified himself by making rather free criticisms on the French players. He was induced to go and see some of the English performances, but with an amusing hauteur pleaded his ignorance of the language as an excuse for not passing any serious judgment.
“Having weighed the matter well, I have determined to say very little regarding English actors. I have as yet seen but a few, and those only through the medium of a language imperfectly understood. I should be placing myself in a ridiculous position if I had the impertinence to touch upon matters which I am thus incompetent to deal with. I may remark, however, that Mr. Henry Irving appeared to me a remarkable actor, notwithstanding a wilful tendency to exaggeration. Possibly, in this latter respect, he followed rather the taste of his audience, whom his instinct judges, than his own deliberate choice.”