Ellen Terry has, indeed, always found favour, not only with French critics, but with her sisters and brothers of the Parisian stage.
Sarah Bernhardt has said of her: "She is perfectly delightful, and is one of my best friends. The greatest treat I can give myself, and a pleasure to which I can look forward for months, is to see her act. She is as near absolute perfection as any one can be. In her, English dramatic art has a splendid exponent."
Again she declared: "Ellen Terry and Henry Irving are perfect! I adore them!—particularly the former. What grace, what ease! It is not acting at all, but the real character before one's eyes. In comedy she is unequalled, at any rate in English-speaking countries, while Henry Irving, in certain emotional parts, it would be hard to surpass."
Coquelin aîné loves her acting—"Angélique, très sympathétique, très tendre!" he once cried, after a glance at her through an opera-glass. "Mais c'est charmant! Elle a des vraies larmes dans ses yeux!"
By the way, the Saturday Review once instituted an interesting comparison between Sarah Bernhardt and Ellen Terry. "The latter," the writer said, "is to the English stage what the other is to the French. The two actresses are superficially about as unlike as may be, and yet their method is radically the same; or, in other words, they are both true actresses. It must, of course, be admitted that Ellen Terry has not yet had such opportunities of displaying her powers as have fallen to the lot of Sarah Bernhardt; nor has she yet attained the perfection of art which Sarah Bernhardt can, when she chooses to take the trouble, display; but to her, as to Sarah Bernhardt, one may safely apply the much-misused term of genius. Like Sarah Bernhardt, Ellen Terry has the semblance of spontaneousness; and, like her, she is always identified with every thought and habit of every character that she represents. There is further likeness between the two, in that both are excellent both in tragedy and comedy. It is, however, as Ophelia that Ellen Terry has won for herself a place in the first rank of actresses."
It should be noted that this was written in 1879, long before Ellen Terry had made her subsequent triumphs in that long list of great characters chronicled in these pages. On April 10, 1897, Ellen Terry was called upon to pit herself against another famous French actress—Réjane. This was as Madame Sans-Gêne in Comyns Carr's excellent English adaptation of Victorien Sardou and Emile Moreau's play bearing that name. The ordeal was a trying one. It had been freely suggested and honestly thought that the broad comedy of the character would not be suitable to the methods of our sweet English actress. She soon put all doubts to rest, and, in spite of great difficulties, achieved a success that was in its way unique. Writing after the performance, William Archer, who always weighs his words and never unduly praises, said that Ellen Terry was "a born comedian, and throws herself with immense gusto into this sympathetic part."
Coquelin, who was present at the first performance, and who naturally might have been somewhat biassed in favour of his famous compatriot, was enthusiastic. Without for a moment undervaluing the splendid performance of Réjane, he declared that Ellen Terry had "won his heart." "She is full of gaiety," he said, "and enters fully into the spirit of the rôle. Her exquisite freshness in the laundry scene, when she discomfits that shy conspirator, Fouché, by putting a hot hissing iron near his cheek, and her movements in the scene of the Emperor's study, twenty years later, when she astonishes the same Fouché, who has become Duke of Otranto, by the brilliant schemes which she explains to him, and which he successfully adopts, stand unsurpassed. She is natural, bright, impulsive, and embodies the character from first to last. Sir Henry Irving's realisation of Napoleon is—even to a professional actor—an astonishing performance. His incarnation of the great Emperor is superb all through the two important final acts of the play."
Coming from such a source this is indeed high praise, and really it seems needless to add to it. Happily Ellen Terry is still playing the part, and playing it to perfection. Truly has it been said that her laughter is as infectious as her sympathy. The ready tear which springs to the eye at the misfortunes of the Count de Neipperg is as spontaneous and as moving as the victorious smile with which she drives home her sallies against Caroline, Queen of Naples. If she misses some of that wily petulance which belongs to Parisian gaminerie, she more than makes amends by the downright straightforwardness, the rich flow of humour, and the disinterested kindness which enter so largely into the composition of Lefebvre's plebeian and lovable wife. Madame Sans-Gêne is undoubtedly one of Ellen Terry's happiest creations.
On the first of January 1898, Laurence Irving's ambitious, interesting, and in many respects powerful play, "Peter the Great," was produced at the Lyceum. It was essentially "a man's play," and as the Empress Catherine, Ellen Terry had few chances. Nevertheless she acted very finely, and the portrait worthily fills a place in her well-stocked gallery. She had already appeared with much success in America in a short piece by the same author, entitled "Godefroi and Yolande." This had a magnificent first-night reception, and she has told me how, when the curtain fell, Henry Irving stepped forward, and in a few graceful words thanked the applauding audience for the approval with which his son's work had been greeted.
"The Medicine Man," the joint work of H. D. Traill and Robert Hichens, which succeeded "Peter the Great," proved a great disappointment, and Ellen Terry's appearance as Sylvia Wynford need only be mentioned for purposes of record.