[34] An idea of what a “tremendous” business this was may be gathered from a single detail. A well-known experienced wigmaker from Covent Garden, with two assistants, was engaged to look after the coiffures of the company, and these “artists in hair” had under their charge a collection of wigs, entirely new, no fewer than eleven hundred in number. On a later visit there were fifteen hundred wigs!
[35] Where it now hangs over the chimneypiece in the Guests’ Room. It is not so successful as many others of Millais’ works; it is rather sketchily painted, and lacks force and expression. The late Mr. Long painted the actor as Hamlet and Richard III. These are not very striking performances, but they are refined and interesting portraits. Mr. Whistler produced an extraordinary one of him as Philip II., strangely “shadowy” but powerful, and of preternatural length. A number of artists of less pretension have also essayed to limn the actor; but all have failed to sketch the mobile, delicate expression of the lips. Boldly daring, I myself have fashioned a bust of him in terra-cotta.
[36] It is said that the origin of the acquaintance between Irving and this statesman was an accidental encounter in the street, when the latter, with a sympathetic impulsiveness, stopped Irving and introduced himself. He has since been an assiduous frequenter of the Lyceum, and in his eighty-third year was seen in the stalls or behind the scenes, following the course of ‘Henry VIII.’ with unabated interest.
[37] These newspapers were sent to me without interruption through the whole tour by Irving’s direction.
[38] A description of a “first-night” at the Clement Street Opera House is worth quoting here:
“Ladies took their place in line and waited for hours to get tickets for the opening performance. The face of the tall and genial Bram Stoker, Mr. Irving’s agent, wore a broad smile as, standing in the vestibule, he noticed the swelling crowd passing between the continually swinging doors. The array of regular first-nighters was up to the notch, and all the familiar faces, not only those most looked for with the lorgnettes, but those that vanish between the acts, were there. Tall Tom Donaldson, one of Blaine’s lieutenants, whose wife and daughter were in one of the boxes, was leaning against the wall talking to Judge William Haydon, formerly of Nevada, one of the oldest theatre-goers in the United States, who saw Edmund Kean play Hamlet, and thinks Irving the best actor he has seen since. Joseph F. Tobias, ruddy, genial, and Chesterfieldian as ever, was shaking hands at every turn, and L. Clark Davis, in immaculate evening dress and pearl studs, but with the inevitable Bohemian hat, was the centre of a chatty group. Charles E. Cramp and Horace Warding were talking to Dr. Thomas H. Andrews, who has the largest theatrical practice of any physician in Philadelphia, and has been called to attend half the stars who have appeared here in recent years. Almost every well-known first-nighter was on hand, and the invariable sentiment was that this was the big event of the present year. There were many well-known people who are not often seen at the theatre, notably Daniel M. Fox, Director of the Mint, who sat in the centre aisle, near the stage, with a party of friends, and appeared to enjoy the performance very much. Just back of him was a large party from Bethlehem, Pa. John R. Jones, the Bible publisher, had with him Miss Jones, in a stunning gray imported costume, one of the most artistic in the theatre. Robert W. Downing had quite a party. There were several large theatrical parties. The most noticeable was the one given by Miss K. N. Green, which included many attractive ladies. Ex-Attorney-General Brewster was the centre of quite a large party in the orchestra, including several ladies. A very beautiful bevy was the party given by Miss Hattie Fox, daughter of George S. Fox, which numbered thirty-five. They all had seats in the orchestra circle. Some of the most fashionable people had to be content with seats upstairs, and there was one party of young ladies in the family circle who were in full dress and went direct in carriages, at the close of the performance, to the dancing-class.”
[39] When the piece was first given at the Court Theatre, there was a bit of realism that was almost too conscientious. The little family music was accompanied on a genuine old harpsichord, which, it was gravely announced in the bill, was actually dated 1768, about the period of the novel, and was of course, “kindly lent” by the owner.
[40] It is but fair to add that Mr. Conway was suffering from the approach of a serious illness, which declared itself shortly after.
[41] I recall a Sunday morning during this visit, when a message arrived from the manager asking me to join a festive party to Dorking, to which he had invited some members of the French comedy. At the Garrick Club, the favourite coach, “Old Times,” was waiting, and presently it was “Buzz!—here come the players.” A delightful drive it was, and a truly enjoyable day. There was Mounet Sully, the fervent stage lover—then, it was whispered, the prey of a hopeless attachment to the gifted “Sarah”—the spirituel Delaunay, still a jeune premier in spite of his years; with two or three others of the corps. Of the party were also my friend Mr. Walter Pollock, with his genial, well-cultured father, the late Sir Frederick; Campbell Clarke, French correspondent to the Daily Telegraph, and some other littérateurs. There was the drive down to the inviting little town, with a lunch at the old inn, some wanderings about its leafy lanes, and a return in the evening to the club, where the host gave a banquet, at which speeches in French and English were delivered. The interesting strangers took away with them the lasting impression that he was “truly a sympathetic personage, with a great deal of French grace and bonhomie in his nature.”
[42] This also seemed rather unintelligible to the audience; but its secret was the secret of the creator or originator of the part. Such devices are really significant of something dramatic that has actually prompted them; they become an expression. The revived “business,” therefore, will not serve unless the original spirit attends it. This squeaking snuff-box was a note of diablerie, introduced with strange sudden spasms at unexpected moments, and corresponded to the twitches and spasms of Macaire’s mind. For the manager I collected much of old Lemaître’s business, with those curious chants with which the robber carried off his villainies. Jingle and Job Trotter were certainly modelled on Macaire and his man; for the piece was being played as Pickwick came out.