In her own gossamer-like and gem-bespangled "Stray Memories," she has written: "Why is it, I wonder, that pain is so deeply felt at the time, and that its memory fades so quickly, while joy flits by almost unperceived, and yet leaves such deep traces behind? At least, this is my experience. It may not be so with most people. They may, perhaps, suffer deeply and remember lightly; enjoy strongly and forget quickly. If so, I pity them with all my heart. When I sit down to write it is not the sad recollections that come crowding before me; it is the bright joyous moments which shape themselves most distinctly in my mind. 'Oh, what a light, frivolous nature you must have, then!' I hear some grave and reverend signior remark, if any such person ever deigns to read this flimsy chatter. Well, I am ready to plead guilty to the charge. I was made like that, and so Nature is to blame, and not I."
Ours would be a gayer and happier world if Nature had cast more of us in the same mould.
Another Princess's experience was her appearance as a diminutive "Tiger" page-boy in a farce by Edmund Yates, entitled "If the Cap Fits," and she confesses to the infinite pride she took in her pair of miniature and rather tight-fitting top-boots. Here again, though in a different way to her Shakespearean representations, genuine success was secured. In his interesting volumes of "Reminiscences" Edmund Yates records the production, saying, that "'If the Cap Fits' was admirably acted by, amongst others, Mr. Frank Mathews, Mr. Walter Lacy, and Miss Ellen Terry ... who played a juvenile groom, a 'tiger,' with great spirit and vivacity." And, much later on, he says: "In the present days of genuine heroine-worship, with recollections full upon us of Beatrice, Viola, Olivia, and Camma, it seems odd to read, in connection with this slight comedietta, that Miss Ellen Terry is worthy of praise for the spirit and point with which she played the part of a youthful groom."
Evidently she believed in the same doctrine as, in his early days, Colley Cibber did. Weary of being told that the parts he wanted to attempt were "not in his way," he protested: "I think anything, naturally written, ought to be in everybody's way that pretends to be an actor."
Ellen Terry could not agree with those critics who declared that Charles Kean went too far in the mounting of his plays. The theatre-goers of those days had not been taught to expect beautiful and correct scenery, and exact accuracy in costume; and some of them actually resented it, leaning to the view held by Kean's contemporary and friend, Dr. Westland Marston, who considered that in some of the spectacular revivals at the Princess's, unnecessary pageantry was not only introduced but absolutely obtruded. For example, he said that in the beautiful production of Richard II. a display of too minute correctness in armorial bearings, weapons and household vessels made the stage an auxiliary to the museum, and forced it to combine lessons on archæology with the display of character and passion.
Such were the thanks that Charles Kean received for his indefatigable and scholarly research, and lavish expenditure! How he would have loved to hear his little Mamillius and winsome Puck declare in the days of her fame, and when hers had become a voice in the land greater than his own, that with rare perception he had opened his eyes to the absurd anachronisms in costume and accessories which prevailed at that period, and that he established a system which has been perfected by Sir Henry Irving and his contemporaries. To have been a pioneer in good work eventually means fame, but pioneers are apt to be distrusted by those who have not the courage to accompany them on their explorations.
She also draws an apt comparison between the remuneration and work of the actors of the Charles Kean days and now.
"Very young actors," she says (I again venture to quote from her "Stray Memories"), "sometimes complain of low salaries and long hours. I wish they could see Mr. Kean's salary-list—they would soon cease to grumble. Why, a young man to-day gets as much for carrying on a coal-box as an experienced actor then received for playing an important part. Then, how different the hours are! If a company now has to rehearse for four hours in the day it is thought a great hardship. But when I was a child rehearsals often used to last until four or five in the morning. What weary work it was to be sure! My poor little legs used to ache, and sometimes I could hardly keep my eyes open when I was on the stage. Often I used to creep into the green-room, which every one acquainted with the old Princess's will remember well; and there, curled up in the deep recess of the window, forget myself, my troubles, and my art—if you can talk of art in connection with a child of eight—in a delicious sleep."
It is a pathetic little portrait, but the hard work, the early training and the weary hours resulted in well won, nay almost unique success, and an artistic career that has rejoiced the hearts of her fellow creatures, and will for ever live in the history of the stage.
Charles Kean's memorable management of the Princess's Theatre came to an end in 1859, and with it terminated the engagement of the Terry family.