"And so the judgment of Charles Dickens is established as surely as that of Macready. 'I really wish,' said Dickens in a letter to John Forster, 'I really wish you would go to see The Maid and the Magpie burlesque at the Strand Theatre. There is the strangest thing in it that I have ever seen on the stage. The boy Pippo, by Miss Marie Wilton, while it is astonishingly impudent—must be or it could not be done at all—is so stupendously like a boy and unlike a woman that it is perfectly free from offence. I have never seen such a curious thing; the manner, the appearance, the levity, impulse and spirits of it are so exactly like a boy that you cannot see anything like her sex in association with it. I call her the cleverest girl I have ever seen on the stage in my time, and the most original.' That is, of course, a tribute to her cleverness, which made her the best of burlesque actresses. If Macready's judgment refers to the seriousness of her ambition, Charles Dickens calls attention to her extraordinary versatility, her power of identifying herself with any part she assumed, and the rapidity with which she comprehended all that was implicit in it. Of the burlesques of those days Marie Wilton was the acknowledged queen, inspiring the whole of the silly or serious business with her inimitable gaiety and amazing ability.
"The more general the sympathy an actress possesses with human nature, the wider will be her interpretation of a part. We talk about building up a character. It is only saying in other words that the primary duty of the heroine in a play is to make us understand, not only what she is in the play, but what she might be under other conditions. The extraordinary thing about Marie Bancroft, when she left burlesque for modern comedy, is that from the first she interpreted the character she was representing in the largest, most sympathetic manner, as having an inner nature or temperament of much more subtle value than came out in the actual presentation. Superficially, the characters of Polly Eccles and Naomi Tighe—both great favourites with Marie Bancroft—can be easily described. They are bright, garrulous, happy creatures, full of fun, quick in tongue, responsive to humour, and always amusing to watch. But as we left the theatre, after seeing her act them, we were aware that they are something more. Behind the drolleries of Naomi Tighe beats an extremely warm heart, a genuine comradeship, and an especial love, of course, of her dear friend, Bella. But in Polly Eccles there was still more. I was always surprised to think that Marie Bancroft should have preferred the schoolgirl Naomi to the high-hearted, devoted friend who was Polly Eccles, in whom we have touches of a fuller personality than could be found either in Naomi or in Mary Netley of Ours.
The fulfilment
"These, however, were, after all, the earlier creations in comedy of an artist destined to do much finer work. Her full powers were proved later on, especially in Peg Woffington. The picture showed traces of the same handiwork; and indeed the audience would never have been satisfied if Marie Bancroft had not set her unmistakeable seal on this character as on others. There was something in the pathos of the main situation, however; something, too, in the exquisite sympathy between Peg and Triplet, which touched the very source of tears. What we saw here was the fulfilment of a promise discerned in her earlier creations, an admirable example of the many-sided presentment of a character, so that it becomes something of daily experience. The humorous eyes, the sensitive mouth, the face ever ready to suggest laughter and fun, the attractive little touches of temperament and feeling—those had come together to form a beautiful presentment of a gracious and affectionate being, who could help others in their distress, because she herself had come through deep waters.
"There is one point which it would be wrong to pass over without comment. There is sometimes talk of jealousy between artists. Of the spirit of emulation, the spirit of ambition, the desire to do the best possible under the given conditions—of these, which are part and parcel of a noble nature, Marie Bancroft had her full share. But it was always noticed that she had no touch of professional jealousy. She often sank her own importance as an actress, cheerfully taking a small part. Both she and you had made up your minds not to allow consideration of your own parts to bias your judgment in the refusal or acceptance of plays. You judged the plays on their merits—not on the ground that parts in them would or would not suit either of you. With the utmost readiness Marie Bancroft played second parts to Madame Modjeska, to Mrs. John Wood, to Mrs. Patrick Campbell, as well as to Mrs. Kendal and to Ellen Terry. Self-abnegation of this kind is sufficiently rare to be worthy of comment. Its value, is, of course, obvious. Without it some of your most successful productions would never have been given.
"Many critics, especially young ones, are inclined to decry the value of Robertson's plays; but the fact remains that, with those comedies as your material, Marie Bancroft and you initiated a revolution in English drama. In those plays she rejoiced in characters exactly suited to her genius, characters to which she could give all her laughter and sense of fun, in creating personalities which will always live in the memories of those who saw them. She not only acted; she possessed that constructive instinct which enabled her to pass judgment on and vastly to improve the comedies submitted to her. Of this, there is no better example than what happened with Charles Reade's play, Masks and Faces, when Reade, moved to tears by her performance of the ending which at one rehearsal she substituted for that which he had written, very wisely gave way to the superior imaginative perception of Marie Bancroft, the actress of Peg Woffington.
Personality
"In final retrospect, we come back to the 'curious eyes' and the laughter-provoking face which Macready discovered. In all arts we have to recognise the personal element, which makes the work of one man so different from that of another. We do not mistake the inimitable touch of a Millais or confuse it with that of a Sargent. We do not read a page of Henry James and imagine that it could have been written by George Meredith. In the same way an actor portraying a character puts into it so much of himself that we contrast his representation with that of another actor—quite as good, perhaps, but of a different quality. This element of personality is called 'style,' and it is by style that an artist lives and betrays his or her idiosyncrasy. And no one had a more appealing style than Marie Bancroft, who could do with our hearts what she pleased. The roguish eyes, the inimitable smile, the sense of humour, the joy of living—all those were hers; and it was by some wonderful combination of all dramatic gifts that she won her complete and perfect triumph. Those (alas! now how few) who in old days sat spellbound, as they saw her winning the palms of victory in many a famous play, will confess with unbounded gratitude how much of happy memory they owe to the grace, the skill, the charm, the sympathy of Marie Bancroft.
"Yours sincerely,
"W. L. COURTNEY."
The second tribute is from Arthur Pinero: