THE END
BILLING AND SONS, PRINTERS, GUILDFORD.
FOOTNOTES
[1] Long after, in his prosperity, he recalled to American listeners an excellent piece of advice given him by this actress. He was speaking of the invaluable practice of revealing thoughts in the face before giving them utterance, where, he said, it “will be found that the most natural, the most seemingly accidental, effects are obtained when the working of the mind is seen before the tongue gives its words. This lesson was enjoined on me when I was a very young man by that remarkable actress, Charlotte Cushman. I remember that when she played Meg Merrilies I was cast for Henry Bertram, on the principle, seemingly, that an actor with no singing voice is admirably fitted for a singing part. It was my duty to give Meg Merrilies a piece of money, and I did it after the traditional fashion by handing her a large purse full of coin of the realm, in the shape of broken crockery, which was generally used in financial transactions on the stage, because when the virtuous maiden rejected with scorn the advances of the lordly libertine, and threw his pernicious bribe upon the ground, the clatter of the broken crockery suggested fabulous wealth. But after the play, Miss Cushman, in the course of some kindly advice, said to me, ‘Instead of giving me that purse, don’t you think it would have been much more natural if you had taken a number of coins from your pocket and given me the smallest? That is the way one gives alms to a beggar, and it would have added greatly to the realism of the scene.’ I have never forgotten that lesson.”
[2] It is not surprising that many more should have been found to claim the credit of “discovering” Henry Irving. Mr. W. Reeve writes: “A long talk again with Miss Herbert. As I have two theatres on my hands and a company, decided not to go. She seemed very disappointed; asked me what she should do. Thought of Henry Irving, who followed me in Manchester; advised her to write to Mr. Chambers; promised to do so as well, if engaged, for Mr. Knowles to release him. Wrote to Chambers about Irving.” All which, as I know from the best authority, is somewhat imaginative. The engagement was entirely owing to Boucicault.
[3] Related in one of his conversations with Mr. Joseph Hatton. I have heard Mr. Walter Lacy describe the modest, grateful fashion in which our actor received some hints given him at rehearsal by this old and experienced performer as to the playing of his part.
[4] I may be allowed to refer those who would learn the importance of this agent of “facial expression” to a little treatise of my own, The Art of Acting—lecture at the Royal Institution, where it is fully discussed.
[5] Of this night, my friend Mr. Arthur A’Beckett has recently recalled some memories: “All the dramatic critics were assembled. John Oxenford—kindest of men and ripest of scholars—for the Times, E. L. Blanchard for the Daily Telegraph, John Hollingshead (still amongst us), the predecessor of my good friend Moy Thomas of the Daily News, Leicester Buckingham for the Morning Star, Desmond Ryan (I think) for the Standard, Heraud for the Illustrated London News, Tomlins or Richard Lee for the Advertiser, and Joseph Knight (again one of our veterans) for the Sunday Times. There were others—Clement Scott, W. S. Gilbert, Andrew Halliday, Tom Robertson, Harry Leigh, Jeff Prowse, Tom Hood—all members of the Savage Club in the days before clay-pipes went out of fashion. We were assembled to see a new piece by Dion Boucicault, then one of the most prolific of dramatists. Well, we were waiting for the curtain to draw up on the first act of the new play. It was called ‘Hunted Down,’ and it was buzzed in the stalls that Dion had picked up a very clever young actor in the provinces, who, after a short career in town, had made his mark in Manchester. He was called Henry Irving. Then there was another comparatively new name on the bills—Ada Dyas. The piece had a strong plot, and was fairly successful; but, assisted by the title, I believe it was a fight against long odds. A repentant woman ‘with a past’ was hunted down. I fancy Miss Herbert (one of the most charming actresses that ever trod the boards) was the ‘woman with the past,’ and that it was she who was ‘hunted down.’ But, although my impressions of the play are vague and blurred, I can see Henry Irving as the most admirable villain—cool, calm, and implacable—and Ada Dyas as his suffering wife. They stand before me as I write, two distinct figures. Of the rest of the piece, I repeat, I remember next to nothing.”
[6] At this time I happened to be living in Dublin, and recall with pleasure the comedian’s striking face and figure, and the entertainment that he imparted. Once buying a newspaper in a shop that was close by the fine old Theatre Royal, since destroyed by fire, a “characteristical” pair entered, whom I recognised from having seen them on the stage. I was particularly struck with the pale, well-marked features, the black flowing hair, the dress of correct black, the whole very much suggesting Nicholas Nickleby, or some other of Dickens’ “walking gentlemen.” There was something strangely attractive about him, and a courteous, kindly tone to the owner of the shop as he made his purchase. When the pair had departed the lady’s tongue “grew wanton in his praise.” “Oh, but Mr. Irving,” she said enthusiastically, “he is the one; a perfect gentleman! Every morning he comes in to buy his newspaper, and he do speak so nicely. I do think he is a charming young man,” etc.
[7] The good-looking Montague, following the invariable development, seceded from the management and set up a theatre for himself. This not proving successful, he went to America, where he died early.