Following up his careful researches, Mr. Tawse ultimately came to the conclusion that on April 28, 1856, Ellen Terry appeared at the Princess's as Mamillius in "The Winter's Tale"; on October 15, 1856, as Puck in "A Midsummer Night's Dream"; on December 26, 1857, as the Fairy "Golden Star" in "The White Cat" pantomime; on April 5, 1858, as Karl in "Faust and Marguerite"; on October 18, as Prince Arthur in "King John"; on November 17, as Fleance in "Macbeth"; and on December 28, of the same busy year, as "The Genius of the Jewels," in the pantomime of "The King of the Castle."
As the lady has so strongly declared for Mamillius, and as Mr. Tawse thus champions her, I suppose the verdict must be accepted; and yet it seems very unlikely that such an accurate writer as Mr. Dutton Cook could have been mistaken concerning that impersonation of the little Duke of York. Can Ellen Terry have forgotten it? Knowing that she does not set sufficient value on her work, or the impression it makes on others, I think it very probable. Indeed, in all due deference to her and Mr. Tawse (for even play-bills will sometimes unwittingly lie), I like to give credit to Mr. Dutton Cook's miniature sister Hamlets in their bugled black velvet trunks, their silken hose, and ostrich feathers!
As poor little Mamillius, cursed with a jealous yet respected father, and wondering what the troubles could be that existed between him and his unhappy, deeply-wronged mother, she must have been very sweet, and one can fancy what Charles Kean felt when he cried to his "boy"—
"Come, Sir Page,
Look on me with your welkin eye."
We have only to realise that in using the word "welkin" Shakespeare meant "heavenly," to get the expression of the anxious but inspired little Terry girl.
And if this was indeed her first appearance, her dismissal by Leontes with the words, "Go play, Mamillius," was almost prophetic.
But if Mr. Dutton Cook chanced to err on the much discussed first appearance question, he was certainly correct in his critical estimate of the two remarkable child actresses.
"The public applauded these Terry sisters," he wrote, "not simply because of their cleverness and prettiness, their graces of aspect, the careful training they evidenced, and the pains they took to discharge the histrionic duties entrusted to them, but because of the leaven of genius discernible in all their performances—they were born actresses.