Ellen Terry and Her Sisters

by T. Edgar Pemberton

Werner had been a favourite part with Macready, and I can never think of the piece without recalling an anecdote that was told me by another veteran actor of the old school—Henry Loraine. Loraine and a brother tragedian had had a difference of opinion concerning the "gouts" of blood mentioned in "Macbeth"—in the famous dagger soliloquy—

"I see thee still;

And on thy blade and dudgeon gouts of blood,

Which was not so before."

Was the correct pronunciation of "gout" as here used the same as the dread malady "gout" from which so many of us suffer? That was the dispute—concerning it a small wager was made—and it was determined that the great Macready should be the referee. In his declining days, and a ripe old age, Macready was then living in peaceful retirement at Cheltenham, and Loraine, who had been an old comrade of his, called upon him. He was admitted, but he found the once vigorous man sadly ill and weak. He was lying back in an arm-chair wistfully gazing at the virile portrait of himself as Werner that has been made familiar to the public by the print-sellers. On hearing this friend's name, the old actor endeavoured to rouse himself, and, being asked the momentous question as to the "gouts," said with animation: "Of course it is as I always pronounced it,'goots'—it rhymes with 'roots,'—it rhymes with 'roots.'" And then he seemed to forget his friend's presence, and, as it were, fading away, fell back in his chair, and, with a deep sigh, resumed his contemplation of the once active Werner.

In 1887 the opportunity for a new "creation" occurred, and it is interesting to see how Ellen Terry availed herself of it. To my friend Alfred C. Calmour I am indebted for the history of his graceful poetical play "The Amber Heart."

In common with all plays "The Amber Heart" had its vicissitudes. Indeed, it would be an interesting thing to write a history of successful plays, and the anxieties of their authors before they were safely landed for gratifying production. How many pieces have lain neglected for years until some chance coming in their way disclosed their merit!

But the troubles of "The Amber Heart" were neither many nor keen. Written in 1886, the piece was read first of all to Mary Anderson, who, then in the zenith of her invincible popularity, was playing at the Lyceum. It was at the suggestion of the ill-fated William Terriss that the author submitted it to this charming and accomplished lady. Having heard the play, she was most enthusiastic about it. "Lovely! lovely!" she repeated after the author had read it; "if it can only be produced I am sure we shall have a success." But that season's arrangements having already been fixed gave no chance for it. It was then suggested to Ellen Terry, for whom, indeed, it had originally been written, but who so far had been unable to consider it because of her existing engagements. However, in reply to the author's final question as to whether she could seriously entertain it, she telegraphed, "Yes, with pleasure, to-day at twelve." This was January 6, 1887. The author read the play to her, and she, too, was most enthusiastic. "I'll do it, I'll do it!" she exclaimed; "I've longed for such a part." The difficulty, of course, was how to get it done. Ellen Terry was then playing Margaret in "Faust," and rehearsing other plays besides, and, of course, she was pledged to the arrangements of Henry Irving. At length it was decided that it should be produced at the Haymarket Theatre on May 7th for a matinee. The theatre was arranged for, and the date advertised, when the already too busy actress found that she could not fulfil her promise until a month later. This, of course (and naturally to the intense disappointment of the author), unsettled everything. The following month the Haymarket passed into new managerial hands, and so the piece could not be done there. Then, following his invariable custom, Henry Irving generously stepped into the breach, and offered his friend, the dramatist, the free use of the Lyceum for the production. That difficulty was, at length, satisfactorily settled, but the casting of the piece was not easily effected. The casting of plays for tentative performances seldom is. Ultimately, and after an infinity of trouble, he had good cause to congratulate himself. Ellen Terry, E. S. Willard, and Beerbohm Tree! Never before, and never since, have this talented trio appeared together, and the minor parts were played by excellent actors and actresses. "If I were to write volumes," says my friend, "I could not say how hard Miss Terry worked to make the piece a success. Her whole soul was thrown into it." At the rehearsals her enthusiasm fired her companions. Everything was done most lovingly, and on the eventful afternoon, June 7, 1887, an audience assembled at the Lyceum which was almost as unique as the cast of the play. Mrs. Keeley represented the older generation of actresses, and Miss Mary Moore the younger, and many, like Ada Cavendish, David James, and William Terriss, who have since passed away, were present.

Before the curtain went up his heroine wrote to the dramatist:—

"You will have a great success, I hope and pray. I believe in this, and nobody will be so glad then as your sincere friend, Ellen Terry."