Ellen Terry and Her Sisters

by T. Edgar Pemberton

I cannot refrain from quoting this at length, because it supports my contention as to the privileges and appreciation of provincial audiences.

"In the meantime," my authority goes on to say, "one did not occupy much time in looking round. It was not a London première, and certainly I did not hope to see a single face I knew. Yet, what was this? I could not be mistaken. There at any rate were two faces which I could not fail to recognise. At least, if that winsome countenance were not that of Miss Marion Terry, and if that not less winsome countenance beyond were not that of Miss Florence Terry—twin roses on one stalk—then did mine eyes deceive me. For myself, I opine that I was not deceived, and that Miss Terry's first appearance as Beatrice was witnessed not only by the art-lovers of the wood and iron metropolis, but by two of her sisters, both in art and by blood.

"It was not long before the curtain rose, and disclosed to us the entrance of 'Leonato, Hero, Beatrice, and others.' The Beatrice was immediately singled out, and loud and long was the applause with which she was received—applause which she insisted, first, upon sharing with the Hero (not the heroine) of the evening (Miss Ruth Francis),[2] but which she was compelled afterwards to acknowledge for herself. The opening scene, as everybody knows, plunges us at once in medias res. Beatrice shows by her first utterance what way her thoughts are tending, and this strikes the key-note of the comedy. Her first expression is a gibe at Benedick, and when, shortly afterwards, the 'Signior Montano' himself appears upon the scene, the war of wits immediately begins. Let it be said in limine that Miss Terry at once asserted herself as the very Beatrice that Shakespeare drew. That she would do so as far as personal presence was concerned was to be expected. Never was any one so well fitted to represent the 'pleasant spirited' lady, whose charms of face and figure are as irresistible as her verbal daggers. Somehow or other Miss Terry always is a perfect vision of the picturesque. Others may surpass her in special and particular marks of beauty or of manner, but no lady on the modern stage is so much of a picture in herself, or falls so readily into the composition of the larger picture formed by the combinations of a drama.

"In this case Beatrice seemed to be bodily before us. Ere she had opened her mouth she had already begun to fill the imagination. We do not have many opportunities nowadays of seeing the heroine of 'Much Ado,' but here was the only Beatrice who had hitherto completely fulfilled the requirements of the part, so far as the outward and visible person is concerned. I cannot describe the vision. I admit my incompetency so to do without a blush. A pen is useless. It is the brush of a Millais that is wanted. The picture is in my mind, but not even a Ruskin could put it on paper. For, to the mere details of face and figure and attire, have to be added all the indescribable charm of facial expression and of bodily movement—of tone, of laugh, of gesture, and of bearing—which neither the penman nor the painter can successfully reproduce.

"For such a character as that of Beatrice Miss Terry is, in fact, by nature indicated. Characteristics, which elsewhere might be out of place, are here in keeping. Miss Terry is tall, and Beatrice should be tall; a little woman could hardly have said and done such things as she says and does. Miss Terry has high spirits, and so has Beatrice; they are of the essence of her character, and without them she cannot be reproduced. Miss Terry has charm of manner as well as incisiveness of speech, and so has Beatrice, with whom the 'poniards' of her tongue are half blunted by the fascination of her smile. You would think that her eyes pierced as keenly as her words, but it is not so; the words may wound, but the eyes mitigate or charm away pain. So with Miss Terry. Speeches which in any other mouth would grate upon us are in hers but so many incitements to admiration and regard.

"And if Miss Terry is thus personally fitted for the character, it need hardly be said that it is quite within the range of her artistic capability. Indeed, it is well within the range of many less admirable artists. It is a straightforward character. There is no mystery about it. Two different notions of Beatrice are, I should say, scarcely possible—her nature is so entirely on the surface. She tells us herself that she was 'born to speak all mirth and no matter.' 'She was born,' says Don Pedro, 'in a merry hour.' Benedick calls her 'My Lady Disdain' and 'Lady Tongue.' 'Shrewd of tongue,' according to her uncle, she also 'apprehends passing shrewdly.' In a word, she is clever, she is high-spirited, she is witty; but she is more. She can feel keen indignation, and for all her 'mocking at her suitors,' she can look tenderly upon one at least. For obviously she loves Benedick, more or less, from the beginning. Her first inquiry is for him, and she thinks him worthy of her most unsparing raillery. She sneers at him so pointedly that all the world marks the fact and smiles at it. Nothing seems more natural to the bystanders than that they should make a match.

"And so, it seems to me, Miss Terry sees the character. In the very first scene she pursues Benedick with her flouts and quips, and evidently takes pleasure in the encounter. Though she hits so hard there is evidently an arrière pensée of respect for the gallant cavalier whose 'approved valour' cannot but impress her, whilst his 'quick wit' not unmingled with self-satisfaction spurs her on to action. One can see that when she scoffs at marriage it is with no more real sincerity than Benedick displays on the same subject. Her wit must have its way; conscious of possessing it, she is fain to exercise it. She revels in the contempt she pours upon the 'sons of Adam.' And so in the scene in which she taunts the masked Benedick to desperation. It is all done in pure diablerie. It is simple mischief, inspired by keen delight at finding her butt so agreeably vulnerable. That she is no mere shrill-tongued termagant is shown in the passage where she so gracefully turns off the Don's gallant offer of his heart and hand. And as for her deeper nature—the real Beatrice, hidden underneath the everyday veneer of wit and raillery—what could be more truly descriptive of it than the scene in which, led into the belief that Benedick is really fond of her, she says farewell to maiden pride and to contempt, and prepares to 'tame' her 'wild heart' to his 'loving hand'? The accusation brought against her cousin is not less effective in arousing the latent forces of her character; and the church scene, in its combination of passionate anger against Hero's slanderers, and charming half-confession of affection felt, is conclusive in its testimony to the open naturalness of the character which Miss Terry has so aptly and admirably conceived. As for the technique of the performance, it must be remembered that it was a first assumption. Miss Terry may have played the part somewhere before September 3rd, but the fact is not recorded, and there is no reason to believe that the announcement of 'first time' was anything but literally true. And that being the case, it would be unfair to expect the impersonation to be totus teres atque rotundus. Miss Terry has all the ultra-sensitiveness of the true artist, and it is not improper to suggest that, on the occasion in question, she was not entirely mistress of her powerful resources. The most experienced players are the most nervous on first nights. And assuredly there are points in which Miss Terry will improve upon her first assumption of this latest part of hers. Some artists grow into their rôles, and Miss Terry is one of them. Her Portia nowadays is very much superior to what it was when played originally at the Prince of Wales'. And no doubt Miss Terry, who has since played Beatrice at Manchester and elsewhere, during her provincial tour, has already added the touches necessary to make the representation as near perfection as art and aptitude can make it. No doubt every word, every phrase, every sentence now has its due weight and effect communicated to it; no doubt details of 'business' have been arranged until there is now no room for further elaboration; no doubt the character, thoroughly grasped in the study, has by this time been thoroughly grasped upon the stage. On the first night it was hardly possible not to notice the nervousness indicated in the opening scene, and throughout there were slight slips in the words, and occasional misplacements of due emphasis, together with a lack of perfect roundness in the general form of the assumption. The artist was obviously to a great extent feeling her way.

"And yet how enjoyable and admirable was the assumption! In spite of these minor blemishes of execution, it was yet Shakespeare's Beatrice, I repeat, who stood and moved and spoke before us. The impression made at the beginning was continued to the close, gathering in force and effectiveness as it went. The raillery against marriage, and the wit combats with Benedick, were carried off with exhilarating vivacity, so that applause and laughter followed inevitably upon both. The former was accompanied by a running fire of cachinnation from the delighted audience. The next point was made when Benedick was charmingly chaffed as the 'Prince's jester,' and the short but exquisite rencontre with Don Pedro was evidently very much relished. The first 'call' was made when Beatrice came to summon her knight to dinner. The curtain fell on this, and Miss Terry and Mr. Kelly had both to bow their acknowledgments. Then came the scene in which Beatrice listens in the arbour to the delusive tale of Ursula and Hero. The short speech which follows was very agreeably declaimed; and when, declaring her belief in Benedick's deserts, Beatrice sank upon the seat in one of those attitudes possible only to Miss Terry, the impression made was naturally very great indeed. The chief scene for Beatrice is, however, in the church after the bridal party has dispersed, all save herself and Benedick. Up to that point she has little to do but contribute her share of byplay to the situation (always appropriately done by Miss Terry), to comfort her cousin with all sorts of feminine attention, and incidentally to make that vehement declaration—

'Oh, on my soul, my cousin is belied!'

which gives the earliest indication of the characteristic outburst that is to follow. In that outburst itself, Miss Terry was hardly sufficiently varied in her representation of the feeling which is supposed to consume her. It was very impressive, especially in the sudden violence of her 'Kill Claudio!' but it wanted that absolute adaptability of means to end which has no doubt been communicated to it since. Best of all, perhaps, was the brief exchange of love vows with Benedick; a very brief but charming and beautifully-indicated episode in a scene which, as a whole, pleased the audience mightily, and secured for both the artists a persistent 'call.' After this, as we all know, Beatrice has but two short appearances on the stage, which serve chiefly to complete the picture, but, on this occasion, served further to consummate the triumph which, anything or everything notwithstanding, was unquestionably and deservedly accorded to Miss Terry. The curtain fell, in fact, upon an unmistakable popular success which it wanted only practice and experience to convert into a permanent artistic victory.