[18] It was built in 1830, so it is now over sixty-five years of age. The lease, held from Lord Exeter, has not many years to run—some twenty or so, I believe.
[19] He was described by a friend as “always just arrived by the mail in time to see the fish removed, or as going off by the early coach after the last dance at four in the morning.” He wrote his own epitaph—
“Here lies Samuel Beazely,
Who lived hard and died easily.”
[20] The actress is of a genuinely theatrical family. Readers of Scott’s Life will recall the clever, industrious Terry, who was long connected with the Edinburgh stage, and had himself adapted so many of the Scott novels. Miss Terry’s father was also long connected with the Edinburgh stage; her three sisters, her brother, her two children, have all found their way to the “boards.” Even the precocious child performer, Minnie Terry, is different from other prodigy children, and imparts a distinction to what is usually a disagreeable sort of exhibition. I take from the pages of The Theatre the following minute account of Miss Terry’s career:—“Miss Ellen Terry was born at Coventry on February 27, 1848. Her first appearance on the stage was made at the Princess’s Theatre, under the management of Mr. Charles Kean, on April 28, 1856. On October 15 of the same year she appeared as Puck in the revival of ‘A Midsummer Night’s Dream.’ In Mr. Kean’s production of ‘King John,’ on October 18, 1858, she acted the part of Arthur. She next appeared at the Royalty and Haymarket Theatres, and at the latter house she played in ‘Much Ado About Nothing.’ In March, 1863, she acted Gertrude in ‘The Little Treasure,’ at the Haymarket. She then acted at the Queen’s Theatre in Long Acre, where, on October 24, 1867, she sustained the character of Rose de Beaurepaire in ‘The Double Marriage,’ also in ‘Still Waters Run Deep’; and, on December 26 of the same year she acted for the first time with Mr. Henry Irving, playing Katherine to his Petruchio in ‘The Taming of the Shrew.’ Miss Terry then retired from the stage for some years, reappearing on February 28, 1874, at the Queen’s Theatre, as Philippa Chester in ‘The Wandering Heir.’ On April 18 of the same year she acted Susan Merton in ‘It’s Never Too Late to Mend,’ at Astley’s Theatre, a performance which the Daily News thought worthy of ‘especial mention.’ Miss Terry’s first ‘hit,’ however, was made in April, 1875, when she acted Portia in ‘The Merchant of Venice,’ at the Prince of Wales’s Theatre. At the same theatre, in May following, she acted Clara Douglas in ‘Money’; and on August 7, 1875, she appeared at the Princess’s Theatre, for one night only, as Pauline in ‘The Lady of Lyons.’ In November following she acted Mabel Vane in ‘Masks and Faces’; and in May, 1876, she played Blanche Haye in ‘Ours,’ at the Prince of Wales’s Theatre. Going to the Court Theatre, in the autumn of the same year, she appeared in ‘The House of Darnley,’ and represented Lilian Vavaseur in ‘New Men and Old Acres.’”—Her first appearance was not in 1856, as so many have set down, but in 1854. This was in the part of one of the young princes “murdered in the Tower,” though it has been often stated that the part was the child one of Mamilius in ‘The Winter’s Tale.’ This was ascertained by my late friend Dutton Cook, one of the most painstaking and accurate of men.
Two rival houses in Coventry at this moment claim to be her birthplace. A greengrocer, at No. 5, Market Street, displays a plate or placard, announcing that she was born in his house: while a haberdasher, at No. 26, over the way, protests that “This house is the original birthplace of Miss Ellen Terry, and no other. Observe the name, Terry House.” Two other householders make the same claim. But an “old nurse” declares for No. 5.
[21] Time moves so quickly on that many will have forgotten that the popular writer Pinero, whose dramatic works are now in such demand, was at this time an obscure, painstaking actor, and one of the first to take service in Irving’s corps. By-and-by he brought the manager some slight pieces, such as ‘Daisy’s Escape,’ to serve as levers de rideau. These were neatly written and full of spirit. He thus practised his pen, and, as the stage was of large size, had to aim at broad, bold effects, a treatment which has been of material service in his more formal pieces. To his efforts as an actor we can scarcely extend the admiration we have for his writings; and his performance of Sir Peter Teazle at the Haymarket was a strange, wonderful thing.
[22] Amiable and forbearing as Irving has always shown himself to his subordinates, he can be resolute in seeing that what he wishes or wants is carried out. Schemes of scenery found available on trial have again and again been condemned because they failed to bring about the effect desired. This, however, is the secret of the unity and homogeneousness of his productions. It is admitted that even in the matter of the elaborate orchestral music, which we might fancy he would leave to the professors, he has much to say and alter. It may strike him as not being suited to the situation. Fresh experiments will have to be made, to be also set aside, to the despair of the composer. Then the difficile manager will be heard to attempt, vocally, some rude outline of what he desires, and this rude suggestion the ready musician will grasp and put into shape, and it will be agreed nem. con. that somehow this last attempt suits the situation exactly. This sense of perfect propriety in omnibus is a “note” of our manager’s character.
[23] Once, at Edinburgh, during a performance of ‘The Merchant of Venice,’ the students of the University had been very tumultuous, and scarcely a word was heard of the first scenes. Suddenly the drop-scene descended, and the actor appeared. There was silence when, with perfect good-humour and firmness, he said that, owing to some misunderstanding, the first portion of the piece had not been heard by the audience, and that he was now going to recommence the whole from the beginning. And so it was done.
[24] Arthur Matthison, a quaint, clever American, who had written some successful dramas, was chosen to play “the double” of the leading actor: that is, after passing behind the “practicable” tree, he was to emerge, taking care to keep his back to the audience. Unluckily for stage effect, no known art will help “to dodge Nature” in such points. She has no replicas in her store: makes everything distinct. And it is significant of the strong individuality which belongs to the whole body as well as to the face, that the eye will at once note the difference of expression in the outline of the figure, arms, etc. I believe no two people could be found so alike in their general appearance as to be indistinguishable—thus illustrating the late Mr. Carlyle’s quaint phrase when speaking of someone whose character he had interpreted unfavourably, “I knew it by the twist of the hip of him.”