Signed by Edwin Forrest and fifteen other actors and actresses.
The summer of 1831 Forrest spent with his friend Robert M. Bird, author of The Gladiator, in a long and delightful tour, visiting the Falls of Niagara, the Natural Bridge in Virginia, the Mammoth Cave of Kentucky, and passing through the Southern States by way of New Orleans to Vera Cruz and Mexico. Just before starting on this journey he had brought out one of his new plays in Philadelphia, referring to which the "Chronicle" said, "We hope that to-night Mr. Forrest will perceive in pit, box, and gallery substantial proof that his fellow-citizens appreciate his exertions in insuring the success of plays produced by his countrymen, and that they are anxious to treat him with a liberality like that which has always distinguished himself."
His parting performance was Lear. The house was thronged to its utmost capacity, and when the curtain fell there were unanimous and long-continued calls for him. He came forward and made the following speech:
"Ladies and Gentlemen,—Though exhausted by the exertions of the evening, I cannot resist the opportunity, thus kindly afforded, to return my unfeigned thanks, not only for the unceasing patronage and liberal applause which you have bestowed upon my humble efforts as a tragedian, but also for your unequivocal approbation of my labors in a cause, the accomplishment of which is the proudest wish of my heart; I mean the establishment of an American National Drama.
"My endeavors cannot but be crowned with success when thus ably seconded by the intelligence of a community whose kindness I most gratefully acknowledge, and whose good opinion it would be my boast to deserve.
"I am, for a while, about to forego the gratification of your smiles,—to exchange the populous city for the mountain-top, the broad lake, the flowering prairie, and the solitude of the pathless wood,—in the hope that, thus communing, my heart may be lifted up, and I may with more fidelity portray the lofty grandeur of the tragic muse from having gazed into the harmonious, unerring, and interminable volume of Nature.
"Trusting I shall have the honor of appearing before you again next season, I wish you the enjoyment of uninterrupted health and happiness, and bid you, regretfully, Adieu."
Dr. Bird was an excellent travelling companion, being a man of most genial quality, fine talents and scholarship, master of the Spanish language, and very familiar with South America in its history, geography, and scenery, and the characteristic traits of its people. The scenes of two of his dramas were laid here; and at Bogotá and in Peru they talked over the fates of Febro the Broker, and Oraloosa, the last of the Incas. The trip proved a charming and profitable one, and the friends came back to their tasks with increased zeal and vigor.
During the years now under review—from 1827 to 1834—the success and prosperity of Forrest were uninterrupted and unbounded. Not a single incident occurred seriously to mar his happiness. Professional and social honors flowed on him from all quarters. The obstacles put in his way became stepping-stones. He seemed to need only to wish a prize in order to receive it. Ensphered in the splendid and sounding reputation he had won, he passed in starring engagements from city to city through the land, everywhere welcomed with enthusiastic acclaim and the mark of incessant private attentions. To be a popular favorite in this country fifty years ago was a very different thing from what it is now. Then a famous man stood out conspicuously, and was heralded and followed and huzzaed and talked about in a degree scarcely credible to the present generation. Every day the individual seems to wither and dwindle more and more as society dilates and clamors and pushes its monopolizing claims. The conflict of interests, the noisy and hurrying battle of life, the distracting multiplicity of pursuits, duties, and amusements, leave us neither time nor faculty for leisurely contemplation or for disinterestedly admiring other people. We are absorbed in ourselves and the frittering hurly-burly about us. Fame is less sincere and valuable, less easily retained, than it used to be when public attention was not so preoccupied, so jaded and fickle. Those who are accustomed to the rapid succession of actors, singers, orators, coming each season, taking their fees, their bouquets, their applause, and utterly forgotten as soon as they have passed, cannot well realize the extent and steadfastness of the proud affection with which the American people regarded Forrest. Nothing like it seems possible now.
He keenly enjoyed this popularity. Open-hearted as he was, and democratic in temper, nothing else could have given him so much pleasure or have been so stimulating to his ambition as this idolatry from the masses. It was as a luxurious incense in his nostrils; and it made him comparatively insensible to those sneers and snarls, those malignant insinuations and mocking comments which no one running such a triumphant career could expect altogether to escape. His prosperity was so great, his progress so rapid and constant, his friends so numerous and warm, the common tone of the press so eulogistic, that it was easy for him to shed the assaults of his enemies unnoticed, and to meet the gibes of rancorous critics with equanimity. Firm in his health, proud in his strength, assured in his place, frank and trusting in his love, and satisfied with his work and its prizes, he could afford to smile at impotent attacks. He did so, and stood them for a long time undisturbed.