CORNELL UNIVERSITY LIBRARY THIS BOOK IS ONE OF A COLLECTION MADE BY BENNO LOEWY 1854-1919 AND BEQUEATHED TO CORNELL UNIYERSITY Date Due k^.^- ' i tdbuJtiJ- 1^---^ . — ' ^^^ i ^^:r AEa Sf'fifSci ''' .^i'''^ M V^ i4¥ 1 ^*WN •1? ^ ^ / If trOV ii ^19Bt^^^ sp— % r^- V" I m^tf'^f'^'- — **4 I lAt'k"- >• .•K"**"""^' ' ' l-\ ^^ ^^?r^ ', — PRINTED IN U. S. A, (Sy NO. iS23» Cornell University Library The original of tliis book is in tine Cornell University Library. There are no known copyright restrictions in the United States on the use of the text. http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924013166297 38u tljc same ^utljor. Shakespeare's Heroines on the Stage, Stories, Descriptions, and Criticisms of Famous Players of England and America, in Romeo and Juliet, Much Ado about Nothing, Winter's Tale, Twelfth Night, Cymbeline, As You Lil2 In Act I., Scene 2. Tommaso Salvini as Othello '• ' .")(i Edwin Booth as lago ' • 02 In Act II., Scene 3. Leak. David Garrick as King Lear . /(irlny iiage 74 In Act III., Scene 1. Edwin Forrest as King Lear ... ■ "0(3 In Act IV., Scene G. Shvlock (in early days). Charles Macklin as Shylock . . . fuclny pwjv 114 In Act IV., Scene 1. Shylouk (to the present day). Junius Brutus Booth . . farliKj paije 130 Henry Irving as Shylock ■ " 144 Lawrence Barrett .... .■ •■ J52 X LIST OF 1LLUSTKATJ.ONS. COKIOLANUS. Thomas AbUiorpe f 'ooper .... fdc'niii jnnj'' ^^^ John McCullough . . .... '■ ' itJ« James Quin as Coriolanus " " I'O In Act v., Scene 3. Macuetii (in early days). David Garrick as Macbeth J'ncinii jKujr lS(i In Act ]!., Scene 13. Cliarles Maclclin as Macbeth . . .. n iqq In Act II., Scene 3. ilAcisKTU (to the present day ). ^V. C. Macready . . ... fiu-inu pai/c -14 SauRiel Phelps as Jlacbeth . ... .. u .i-jH In Act II., Scene 1. Tounnaso .Salvini •• '' 1!44 JiAMi.KT (in early days). Thomas Betterton . . . fdcbuj puijc 254 John Philip Kemble as Hamlet '• " 260 In Act Y., Scene 1. Edmund Kean as Hamlet " " 2(3.S In Act I., Scene 4. Hamj.kt (to the present day). Henry Irving .... fuciiKj liiiije 284 Charles Fechter as Hamlet . " " 290 Edwin Booth as Hamlet " " 298 KiCHAJU) HI. Colley Cibber . fadnii iimje 306 Kichard Mansfield as King Kichard III. . ■' •■ :3:J4 OTHELLO AND lAGO. (In Early Days.) " Until four years ago," quotli Edmund Kean, as lie held high in air a glass of brandy and water, "I could play Othello with no need of this. Now I can't do without it." Too true it was of that magnificent but ill-taught genius. He uttered the words only a few months before his pathetic farewell to the stage, — a farewell that seemed almost a death-scene. On the 25th of March, 1833, for the first and only time in their lives, Edmund Kean and Charles Kean stood upon the London stage together. The father Avas clothed in the robes of Othello; the son was clad in wily lago's garb. Though but six-and-forty years of age, the once inspiring, vigorous hero of the great- est plays of Shakespeare was now so weakened by debauchery- as scarcely to be able to lift his arms through the sleeves of the Moor's robes. 2 Shakespeare's heroes. All knew beforehand tliat this dread scene must come. Even at earlier performances, when the peo- ple in front surmised little of the teriible struggle for strength within the slight body upon the stage, friends between the wings had noted the pathetic efforts of the actor. Ah, "that lielples.s, speechless, fainting mass," as Dr. Doran saw him wlien " Othello '" had been per- formed a short time before the farewell! Nothing but frequent doses of strong brandj- and water then kept alive the once noble iAIoor. " Ay, and still noble," declared Doran, aroused to enthusiasm at the recollection ; " for when his time came, lie looked about as from a dream, and sighed, and painfully got to his feet, swayed like a column in an earth- quake, and in not more time than is required for the telling of it, was before the audience, as strong and as intellectually beautiful as of old — but onlj' happjr in the applause ^Yhich gave him a little breathing-space, and saved him from falling dead iipon the stage." And yet how the audiences in that earlier season of 1827-1828 adored the player ! Tliat night when Dr. Doran was present, the lago was Young, tlie Desdemona was Miss Jarman, and the Cassio was Charles Kemble. So great was the crowd that weak OTHELLO AND I AGO. 3 t men fainted, and strong men saved themselves from suffocation only by climbing over the boxes into vacant places where they could breathe. In vain tlie stately Kemble argued with the crowd. They wanted nothing of the graceful player tlien ; they worshipped at the shrine of the great tragedian who.-ie presence could move them to tears or to silence as he willed. This admiration for Kean at one time alone had weakened. Then the little man drew himself within the dignity of liis own self-consciousness of genius, and bade the people deiiance. It Avas just after his liome liad been broken up by the scandal with a neighbor's wife, to the great sorrow of faitliful Mary Chambers Kean, the devoted lielpmate who gave to the erratic actor lier love and care in starv- ing misfortune as well as in luxurious jirosperity. The pittites thundered about him their disapproba- tion, voicing condemnation in liarshest terms. He met them with ferocious courage and lofty contempt. In their turn they tried one night an insult, by giv- ing all the applause to the I'antijiig lago, the minor actor, Cobham. Nettled though the famous Othello was, he broke no faith with the management, but played the character steadily through to the end. Then, however, when the audience howled for 4 SHAKESPEARE S HEROES. Kean to appear before the curtain, the swarthy player, stepping boldly to the front, demanded, " What do you waiit ? " "You! you!" they cried in one acclaim. "Very well!" he said; "let nie tell you that though I have played in every civilized country where English is the language of the people, I never acted to an audience of such unmitigated brutes as you are ! " and tlien he stalked slowly off. Again, in the very last year of his career, the tumult in tlie house disturbed him. "Go you, sir," he cried to the manager, "and bid those fellows be quiet within five minutes, or I'll quit the house." And, having heard his message repeated, he walked upon the stage, sat down before the footlights, and with watch in liand \\'aited for the noise to cease. Long before the five minutes had passed, the house was peaceful and repentant. Last scene of all ! The wretched, wasted body and the nerveless, weakened brain giving way when most men are in the fidness of their strength! On that fateful night in March, 1833. Edmund Kean, feeble and shaking, pouring down brandy after brandy to give fictitious courage and strength, whis- pered to his son that he must constantly keep at hand, for life seemed ebbing away. EDMUND KEAN. OTHELLO AND lAGO. 5 Yet safely the play went on until the third act was reached. " Farewell ! Othello's occupation's gone ! " the actor cried, with such pathetic emphasis that the house applauded to the very echo. Even as they cheered, the poor man's chin dropped upon his breast, the eyes grew dull, and for a moment it seemed as if slumber had suddenly come upon him. But more than sleep was at hand. Piti- fully reaching out his hands, as if to ward off the invisible calamity, he fell with a moan into the arms of his son. "I am dying, Charles," he stammered; "I am dying — speak to them — tell them I cannot go on." Down fell the curtain forever on Edmund Kean. For a while he lingered, nursed by that forgiving wife, who at his call of anguish had hastened home to his side; but on the subsequent 15th of May, with an old play tag upon his tongue, thfe actor's suffering ended. Still another tragedy in life was there during a performance of " Othello." On a night Avhen Thomas Sheridan was acting the Moor in Dublin, his lago was Layfield, a very clever and highly esteemed performer. They gave their respective parts in excellent style, meeting with frequent b SHAKESPEARE S HEROES. applause, until the crucial scene of the third act, when, to Sheridan's astonishment, lago entirel\ misquoted the lines, exclaiming : — "Oh, beware, my Lord, of jealousy! It Is the green-eyed Lobster" — The audience roared. They thought it was im- mensely funny. Poor Laj'field ! No one knew un- til later that that strange and ludicrous misquoting was the first indication of the approach of incu- rable madness. It was with him tlie beginning of the end. But to go back to the beginning of our Otliellos. It was the year 1602 that the tragedy was first represented upon the stage ; and the original inter- preter of Othello was Richard Burbage. Probably Joseph Taylor was the original lago. Of Bur- bage's j\Ioor we have a reference in his funeral eulogy, reading : — " But let me not forget one chief t'st part, AVIicrciu, beyond the rest, he moved the heart; The grieved Moor, made jealous by a slave. Who sent his wife to fill a. timeless grave, Tlien slew himself upon the bloody bed. All these .ind many more are with him dead." Othello, however, proved too strong a character to be buried iu the tomb. Soon after the theatres OTHELLO AND lAGO. 7 had reopened, when the clouds of the Revolution had cleared away, Burt, who then assumed tlie role, though an actor far beneath Burbage in rank, must have carried out tlie last scene witli realistic vigor, judging by the words of the gossiping diarist, ]\'Ir. Pepys. On the 11th of October, 1660, he wrote in his private book : — " Here in the Park, we met Mr. Salisbury, who took Mr. Creed and me to the Cockpit to see the jMoor of A'enice, which was very well done. Burt acted the Jloor. By the same token, a very pretty lady that sat by me called out to see Desdemona smothered.'' Again Pepys saw Burt in the character on the 6th of Februar}^ 1669, and in his brief record has room not only to criticise tlie acting, but to add two important facts : First, that he saw in an upper box Colonel Poynton and Doll Stacey, " who is very fine, and by her wedding-ring I suppose he hath married her at last ; " and second, that on his way home the bolt on the fore axle broke, and the horse dashed away, leaving our perplexed friend with his coachman staring down the highway in temporarv dismay. Had the accident been more serious, we never should have known at this day how badly played was " Othello " on that night, — Mohun, much to Pepys's surprise, '' not acting lago's part 8 SHAKESPEAIIE S IfEKOES. by much so well as Clun used to do; nor another Hart's -which was Cassio ; nor indeed Burt doing the iNIoor so well as I once thought he did." Clun's lago had, in fact, been the most famous in his rSpertoire ; but it had not long delighted Mr. Pepys, for, five years before this last record was made by the dramatist, the actor, while on his way home after a midnight carousal with friends, was at- tacked by robbers, wounded in the arm, and thrown into a ditch to bleed to death. Tliough our good friend Pe]>ys was occasionally interested in Shakespeare, yet lie frankly admits that on reading " Otliello '" he decided it to be "a mean thing." But then, the cause of this rare judgment lay in '-The .\dventure of Five Houres," wliicli remarkable work he found so vastly supe- rior to Shakespeare's tragedy as to lead him to rank "Othello" in the lower class. We must grieve that the open-eyed recorder did not see the performance of Dec. 8, 1660 ; for that was the night when for tlie first time any English woman (]\Irs. Hughes as Desdemona) appeared upon the stage, the female roles having jireviously been played b}' Ijuys. Wliat interesting comments Pepys might have made, had he been there and " i" the mood " ! OTHELLO AND lAGO. 9 One of the most famous boy actresses of the early days of the theatre, Hart, was the successor of Burt in the title role of the tragedy of jeal- ousy. As for Betterton, — the great Betterton, — who played Othello with success some seventeen years before the beginning of the eighteenth century, and who played the part with equal success seven years after the century had been ushered in — his was a splendid impersonation. It was several times well set off by the lago of Sandford, and by the lago of Verbruggen. Sandford, indeed, was such a con- summate actor of villains' 7-Sles that, though person- ally a most amiable man, he was so completely identified by the public with infamous parts, tliat they would not accept him in an honest character. On one occasion they actually damned the play as an imposition on tlieir patience when the author brought Sandford's role to an upright ending. The Tatler, just after Betterton's remains were interred in Westminster Abbey, in 1710, said, " I have hardly a notion that any performer of antiq- uity could surpass the action of Mr. Betterton in any of the occasions in which he has a])peared on our stage. The wonderful agony which he appeared in when he examined the circumstance of the 10 SHAKESPEAUe's HEllOES. baudkerchief in 'Othello,' the mixture of love that intruded upon his mind upon the innocent answers Desdemona makes, betrayed in his ges- ture such a variety and vicissitude of passions as would admonish a man to be afraid of his own heart, and perfectl}- convince him that it is to stab it to admit that worst of daggers, — jealousy. Whoever reads in his closet this admirable scene '\\-ill find that lie cannot, except he has as warm an imagination as Shakespeare himself, find any but dry, incoherent, and broken sentences ; but a reader that has seen Betterton act it observes there could not be a \\ord added; that longer speech liad been unnatural, nay, impossible, in Othello's circum- stances. The charming passage in the same tra- gedy where he tells the manner of winning the affections of liis mistress was urged with so mov- ing and gracefid an energy, tliat while I walked in the cloisters I thought of him with the same coiieern as if I waited for the remains of a person who had, in real life, done all that I had seen him reiDresent." So, in regard to Betterton's successor, the Tatler has an interesting word to say. It was in June, 1710, wlien Wilks first played the Moor at the benefit of C^oUey Gibber, and our friend had stolen OTHELLO AND lAGO. 11 in, incognito, to see the performance, tliat, out of curiosity, he might observe how Wilks and Gibber came out in the parts wliere Betterton and Sand- ford so highly excelled. Wilks, lilce tlie witty mimic Foote, — wlio, u.nder the misconception lliat he was a tragedian instead of a comedian, made his dibut as Othello, — was famous in the humorous roles, and, besides imitating Betterton in the great tragedj^, laid himself open to popular misunderstand- ing throughout. Thus the Tatler points out this fact : " There is a fault in the audience which inter- rupts their satisfaction very much; that is, the fig- uring to themselves the actor in some part wherein tliey particularly liked him, and not attending to the part lie is at that time performing. Thus, what- ever Wilks, Avho is the strictest follower of nature, is acting, the vulgar spectators tui'n their thoughts upon Sir Henry Wildair." In Gibber' Tago, if Tom Davies saw aright, Othello would have discerned the villain Avritten plainly on his brow. Gibber's style was so plainly hypocritical, and so affected in its drawling. Old GoUey himself declared Wilks's Othello a failure ; while to Barton Booth, of whom Wilks was extremely jealous, he gave warm praise. Yet not every spectator saw Booth at his best; for a 12 Shakespeare's heroes. bad supper ov a small liouse would make him too often indifferent of his reputation. Yet when he knew his auditors he was ready to act to the height of his power rather than drop in their favor. The story is told that one night, when there were few people in the theatre and Othello had simply been walking through his jjart, suddenl}^, to the as- tonishment of Ills fellow-actors, he roused every energy in his mind and bod\-, and gave a magnifi- cent interpretation of the final acts. '•AVliat does tliis mean. Booth?'' queried a friend in the green-room, as the great actor, flushed with his own triumphant exertion, entered after a glorious performance of his pai't in the great scene of the third act. " Wliy this sudden change?" "There's a man in the pit," Booth replied with enthusiasm, "an Oxford man, ii\hose judgment is \\'()rtli liaving. I saw him there, and for his criti- cism I have more regard than for that of all the rest of the audience." Tiie graceful air, the manly sweetness of counte- nance, the harmonious voice, the picturesque pos- turing, — these attributes of Bootli were strongly in contrast ^^•ith the appearance, utterance, and bearing of another Othello of those early rears of the eio-h- teenth century. Desdemona, tliey thought in those OTHELLO AND lAGO. 13 days, would hardly fall in love with James Quin, whose '• declamation was as heavy as his person, his tones monotonous, his passions bellowing, his empha- sis affected, and his understrokes growling." But yet Quin, strong, vigorous actor that he was, could hold his own against many a handsome player of his day — till Garrick came. In Othello, indeed, he could lead even his little rival ; for Davy, though contesting with the veteran when the latter was in liis last years of stage-life, yet could meet Avith not enough success to warrant attempting the 7-6le more than twice thereafter. However, in tlie general run of play-acting David Garrick was by far the leader, and his triumphs soon made old Quin disgruntled and ugly. Off the gray- haired actor hurried to Bath, there to sulk in his tent. This avocation, however, soon grew monot- onous, and the yearnings for the vanity-pleasing applause of the pittites at last broke down the ob- stinate resolution of the veteran. He determined to drop a hint of his relenting to Rich, the man- ager. Hence the following laconic, but suggestive, message was posted by stage to the metropolis : — Joiix Kicii, Lonildu. I am at Bath. Yours, James Quin. 14 shakespeark's heroes. Bluff :\Ianager Rich's reply was equally suggestive, and thoroughly unexpected : — James Quin, Bath. Stay there, and be d d. Yours, John Rich. But difficulties were patched up before long ; and Quin came back to play in " Othello " for a charity benefit, and, with generous disposition, to act with- out a penn)' of charge. Queerh' costumed were the Othellos of both of the leaders of the two opposing styles of acting, — the theatrical, grandiloquent school, and tlie easy, natural school. Quin, with a mammoth, heavily powdered wig crowning his black face, " made such a magpie appearance of his head as tended greatly ■ to laughter." For dress, this Othello appeared in the English soldier's uniform of the actor's own period. Garriuk put on flowing Eastern robes, and thus brought down upon his devoted head the com- parison witli tlie little turbaned colored boys ^^•ho, fashion then decreed, should bring in tea at private receptions. "Aha! " cried envious old Quin to Bishop Hoad- lejr's son, as the two sat in the pit on the night of the stage Whitefield's first appearance in the tragedy. OTHELLO AND lAGO. 15 "Here's Pompey, sure. "Where's the lamp and the teakettle ? " The apt but cruel allusion to Ho- garth's black boy set everybod}' around into a laugh. Sly Davy, however, in liis very size — or, rather, lack of size — Ijad one point of advantage, as he thought, over his stalwart rival. Into "Othello" he could introduce the scene of epilepsy with !'o fear of comparison Avith the corpulent Quin, to whom a fall would have been clumsy, if not inju- rious. Handsome Spranger Barry could look the char- acter, and could act it. Garriclc miglit contest his Romeo and his Lear, but he did not dare to oppose his Othello ; thougli, indeed, in 1749, the little man played lago to Spranger's Moor. The latter "hap- pily exhibited the hero, the lover, and the distracted husband," says the same playgoer who so roughly handled Quin; "he rose through all the passions to the utmost extent of critical imagination, yet still appeared to leave an unexhausted fund of expres- sion behind. His rage and tenderness were equally interesting. . . . His figure was a good apology for Desdemona's attachment . . . and tlie harmony of his voice to tell such a tale as he describes must have raised favorable prejudice in any one who had an ear or heart to feel." 16 Shakespeare's hekoes. Wliilc the gallant fellow couUl win the audience as well as the senate by his tender, insinuating plea, and could touch the hearts hy his pathetic utterance of "No, not much moved," lie could also give to the words, " I'll tear her all to pieces," such frightful fierceness as to cause ladies in tlie galleries to shriek with terror, and could so impress the experienced John Bernard as to drive sleep from that veteran's eyes for a wIkjIc night after witnessing " Othello." '• It was Avoiiderful," declared Bernard, describing the scene next day to his friends. "I sat there watcliing Jiim prepare for a volcanic burst witli the lines, ' I'll tear liur all to pieces.' His muscles began to stiffen, tlie veins extended, and the red blood actuall}- l)oiled through tlie dark skin, so earnest was his feeling, until at length liis passion bore down all barriers, swee[iing love, reason, and mercy before the thunder of liis rage." An odd costume Spranger Barry wore, — odd in the sense of to-day's correct dressing of the great plavs. Picture him, if you will, before the grave and reverend signiors, a gentleman in a scarlet suit, well covered with gold lace, and tapering off witli knee-breeches that could cover but not con- ceal, in later years, a pair of rather gouty legs, and see tlie same hero touching to the people of Cy- OTHELLO AND lAGO. 17 prus his little cocked hat, — and you have Barry's Othello. His wife, when she played Desdemona, was somewhat nearer to the ideal, since she wore a captivating Italian dress. Unlucky Avoman ! Her second husband was no such actor or gentleman as her first. Two years after Barry's death she married the rascally young Irish lawyer Crawford, and tried to educate him for the stage. He, in his contemptible way, not only spent her money, but on his part showed a most niggardly spirit. When he tried to manage a thea- tre he so disgusted play-goers and play-actors, that the former would not patronize him, and the latter Avere obliged to strike for their pay. To such an extreme was he driven one night, that he was com- pelled, dressed as he was for the role of Othello, to go down into the orchestra's seats, and play the violin alone for the overture, the entire band of musicians having suddenly deserted him. With Spranger Barry, Othello had been the first character to be played in London Avhen, coming over fi'om Ireland, he dared enter the tourney against the great Roscius of England. It was a venture- some act for the erstwhile silversmith, ]iow barely in his twenty-seventh year, and with his mere four and twenty months' experience on the stage ; but 18 shakesi'kake's hkkoes. with rough okl Alackliii to play the hypocrite so naturally that the spectators actually cursed him, and with Mrs. Rideout to act the suffering Desde- mona, Barry showed the London set, on that night of Oct. 4, 1746, what grandeur there was in the great traged}'. Garrick trembled on his throne. A shrewd fellow was Macklin, on as well as off the stage. You remember the trick that Macready and Phelps tried to play on Helen Faucit, holding themselves a little in the rear of her, so that they could face the spectators while she had to show her back to her friends before the footlights ? Alacklin and Sheridan -were both adepts at this trick ; and one night, when playing the leading parts in " Othello," they worked so hard to turn each other round, as to bring themselves, before they knew it, both plump up against the back scene. This backing scheme A\as a game that Edmund Kean also tried. Gallant Spranger Barry never would attempt it. Another laroduction in whicli Macklin was inter- ested would have delighted the heart of nobility- loving Pepys, had he lived to see it. That was the jjerformance of the 7tli of March, 1751, when the au- ditorium, even to the footmen's gallery, was filled OTHELLO AM) lAGO. 19 with dukes and princes, duchesses and princesses. On the stage, under Aladdin's direction, a com- pany of amateurs, all of noble birth, \\-as acting "Othello," Sir Francis Delavel playing the Moor; John (afterwards Lord) Delavel, lago; Captain Ste- phens, Roderigo ; ]Mrs. Stephens, Emilia ; and i\Irs. Qnon, a sister of Sir Francis, and afterwards Lady Alexborough, Desdeniona. Walpole best describes the furor this production aroused, — a furor never equalled before or since that day : " The rage was so great to see the performance," he says, " that the House of Commons literally adjourned at three o'clock on purpose. The footmen's gallery was strung with blue ribands. What a wise people ! What an august senate ! Yet my Lord Granville once told the prince, — I forget on occasion of what folly, — ' Sir, indeed j-our royal highness is in the wrong to act thus ; the English are a grave na- tion.' " Of the i)layers themselves Walpole says, " They really acted so well, that it is astonishing they should not have had sense enough not to act at all." Nine months after this amateur performance, on the 26th of December, 1751, there came the first production of " Othello " in America, Robert Upton, the traitorous advance agent of Hallam's Comi)any 20 shakespeakk's heroes. playing the Moor, his wife playing Desdemona, and Tremain, lago. Thus they forestalled the initial production by Hallam's actors when Malone acted Othello, and Rigby lago, to the Desdemona of Airs. Hallam, at the Williamsburg, Va., performance of Nov. 9, 17iV2. Hallam's successor as manager of the first organ- ized American company, David Douglass, essayed the Moor at Annapolis in April, 1760, Palmer sus- taining lago's cliaractei', and tlie Williamsburg Des- demona, now Mrs. Douglass, again impersonating the faithful wife. When New York first saw the tragedy, April 11, 1768, Douglass still held the title role; but young Hallam, the son of the oi'gan- izer of the company, had been promoted from Cassio to lago, and Miss Cheer had supplanted the now. elderly heroine of the earlier performances. The first Philadelphia production, Jan. 27, 1773, saw Hallam and Douglass reversing their New York roh'x, while still another Desdemona, Mrs. Henry, had come upon tlie stage. In the spring of 1769, at tlie Jolni Street Theatre in New York, appeared a Moor who later was to attain a wider fame in other lines ; this was Major Moncrief, the British officer. He was an amateur actor of ranch merit, and had consented OTHELLO AND I A GO. 21 to act one night in order to help tlie players out of the pecuniary embarrassments then troubling them. On the bills he was announced simply as " a gen- tleman," his identity being entirely concealed. In the days when Sir Henry Clinton's army locked itself \\p in New York City, after evacu- ating Philadelphia and retreating by night from Washington's army, the British soldiery found noth- ing to employ their minds except play-acting, gam- ing, and social entertainments. With enthusiasm the officers of the crown produced at the aban- doned theatres every play on Avhich they could lay their hands. In fact, their performances were so varied that before long they had exhausted their stock of dramatic literature, and were compelled to advertise in the papers for printed play-books. On the programs they said that the performances were for sweet charity's sake ; but each officer drew regularly a dollar for his night's performance, — and with necessaries as well as luxuries demand- ing high prices, probably found liis stipend veiy acceptable. These same programs, furthermore (in one season at least), solemnly announced : " No chil- dren in laps will be admitted."' Major Moncrief and Major Lowther Pennington, of the Guards, apparently monopolized the, char- 22 Shakespeare's heroes. acter of Othello, wl)ile Dr. Hammond Beaumont acted lago. Major Andr^ in those days (1778) was a gay young aide of Clinton, and undoubt- edly joined the actors at tlie i)layhouse ; for, as we know, in Philadelphia sliortly before this time he had become sufficiently interested in the sport to paint sets of scenery for the amateur stage. ]\Iessrs. Heard and Ryan as Othello and lago, and Mrs. Robinson as Desdemona (with Mr. Shake- speare as Cassio), were the names printed upon the bills of 1782 at the first Baltimore production of the tragedy ; while the first New York performance after the Revolution brouglit back i\Ir. Hallam to the cast, though now as lago to the Othello of the tall, handsome jNIr. Henr}' and the Desdemona of ]\Irs. Henry. This Othello, pronounced by Dunlap, the old historian, the best up to that time, crowned a jat black face with woolly hair, and wore a Brit- ish officer's uniform. Later, in Baltimore, Fennell. Green, and Mrs. Morris sustained the leading rdles. Dissipated, rattlebrained Fennell was al\va3's fond of his Othello; perhaps because it was the character in which he had made his d^but, in 1787, in Edin- burgh. He was not handsome in face ; but he was massive in form, his superb figure measuring full six feet. OTHEI.T-O AXn TAGO. 23 "Yes," cried Cooper one day, noticing his asso- ciate pacing up the street, " here comes two j^ards of a very proper man I " So, too, thouglit the Annap- olis planter when, admiring vastly the intelligence of Fenn ell's IMoor, he sent the manacfers an offer of five hundred dollars for the negro ! Naturally, Fennell's spendthrift ways at last re- sulted in poverty ; hut even though so reduced as to be imprisoned for debt, he did not lose his high spirits or sell himself as a negro. When, in his dis- tress, an old friend, ]\Ir. Leigli Waring, presented him witli a surtout, the classically educated gen- tleman in a spirit of fun dashed off the following expression of gratitude : — "Dear Sir, your surtout Is a present to suit, While fortune to me is so sparing. It's been worn, it is true, But your kindness makes new What can ne'er lose its value from Waring.'' As Robert Treat Paine, son of tlie signer of the Declaration of Independence, sat on the rough seats of the old Boston playhouse, and listened to Fen- nell's lago, and then, a few nights later, saw Cooper in the character, he declared with emphasis that the latter was the superior by reason of hir 24 Shakespeare's hkroes. bolder, stronger coloi-ing of tlie character. But all did not agree in this, for Fennell at that time was in full glory. Cooper had made his ilSlnit in New York on the 28th of February, 1798. At once the pnl)lic favored him, admiring his handsome face and noble person, mai'king his mingled dignity and grace of movement, and listening with pleasure to liis forcible yet melo- dious recitation of the text. At that time Fennell was playing C)thello as a tliorougli negro so far as color was concerned, — absolutely black. Cooper, essaj'ing to rival the favorite actor, made his jNIoor more nearly the color of a mulatto. Many a story is told of the inaccuracies of the new jilayer as regards the text f)f liis author. It is said, for instance, that in " Othello,"' instead of giving the words, '• Yet I'll not shed her blood nor scar that whiter skin of hers than snow and smooth as monumental alabaster." he exclaimed, "nor scar that beauteous form as white as snow and hard as monumental alabaster ! " And Rees declares it is a fact that the eccentric Higgins, a stock actor of that daj', when plaj'ing the Duke in " Othello," would not be outdone in originality by Cooper, and so substituted for the line, "Take up this mangled matter at the best," OTHELLO AND lAGO. 25 the absurd words, " Take up the Star Spangled Ban- ner, and carry it off to the West." At the time Cooper began starring, liis paj- was but a twelfth of Fennell's remuneration. In a few years he was getting far more money, so rapid was his rise. On the night of Dec. 19, 1825, when the English- horn 2)layer Avas acting in '• Othello " at tlie Boston Theatre, the announcement was made that Edmund Kean would I'eturn to tlie city to apologize for his former show of disrespect to the Boston audiences, and to appeal once 3iiore to their judgment and favor. There was applause and there were hisses over the announcement ; for Kean's impetuous anger was not entirely forgotten. As we shall see in the tale of Richard, more troubles were to follow this renewed engagement. Before j'eturning to Kean, let us glance at a few more of tlie stage heroes who connected the two centuries with' their impersonations. When Hodg- kinson, the comedian, acted the Moor in Pliiladel- phia duilng his first season here (1792-1793), he played so successfully as to be termed " The Amer- ican Kenible." '• His address to the senate," said the Federal Gazette, "was spoken with judgment; the whole of the acting where lago so carefully 26 shakespkaub's heroes. excites his jealousy was very natural ; tlie heaving of his breast, the expression of his countenance, and the ra^e which lao-o causes when he determines to kill Desdemona, was a masterly piece of acting." Haliam as lago " performed to admiration," while Miss Tuke as Desdemona "pleased the audience." The graceful young actress, we are told, possessed in this character "a natural diffidence truly engaging." John Brown Williamson, son of a London sad- dler, and a popular actor at the Haymarket in London, came to America in the latter part of the eighteenth century, a,nd on the 2.")th of January, 1796, made his Jehut at the oj)ening performance of the season at the Boston Theatre. The play was '•Othello." The dShutant acted tlie ]\Ioor ; lago fell to the lot of Mr. Harper, and Desdemona to Mrs. Snelling Powell. Later on, Williamson, as actor and manager, was to become a prominent fig- ure in ^Vmeiicau theatrical histor}". jNIore than a passing notice must be given the Lago of Georp-e Frederick Cooke. Conceited, irre- sponsible, liquor-loving Cooke could rival Jolin Kemble, — •• Hark ye. Black Jack," he had angrilj' cried to the elder actor, •' hang me, if I don't make you tremble in your 2)umps one day yet ! " — and could stand with Cooper ; but by himself he could GEORGE FREDERICK COOKE AS lAGO, OTHELLO AXD lAGO. 27 fall, disgraced and ruined, into a drunkard's grave ten yeai'S after he had started on what seemed to be a glorious career, and before "Black Jack," as he termed him, had begun his final perfoi-mances. Cooke plaj'ed the i\Ioor to great applause, with the viceregal court in Dublin as audience, and then, after the performance, drinking himself mto a beast, in a wild fit enlisted as a soldier. His friends paid for his discharge, and before long (1801) Cooke and Kemble were dangerous rivals in London town. But his "indispositions" continued, and deservedly- brought public disapprobation. When Cooke first played lago in London, he had only the recollection of Henderson to combat; for Kemble, up to that date (Nov. 28, 1800), liad not essayed the rdle of the Ancient. His triumph was pronounced. Some of the audience said that he be- trayed so much of the workings of deceit in Lxgo's mind, that it was strange Othello should be deceived by hini ; but all agreed that the impersonation was extremely interesting and strong. The jealousy scene must, indeed, have been thrilling. Grasping Kemble's left hand with his own, Cooke would rest his right hand like a claw upon the shoulder of the Moor, and, holding him rigid in that position, would draw himself, after the manner of a snake, close up 28 shakespeake's heiioes. to the swarthy face of his wickedly charmed victim, while he tlirust otat tlie poisoned words Avith fang- like rapidity. Writhing and twisting, Kemhle would strive to work himself away, pressing tightly, mean- while, with his freed hand Ins throbbing temples. '' It was a wonderful sight," said Washington Irving, after Avitnessing the great scene on the Co- vent Garden stage. And simple George III. main- tained that Gooke must Vie a very bad man at heart, otherwise he could not so Avell act out such fearful villany. But now the years pass by until, in 1785, the majestic, sujierlj Kenible assumes the role of the jealous soldier to the De^demona of his stately sister, Mrs. Siddons. It seems as hard to imagine the one making a success of the fiery, impetuous husband, as to conceive the other achieving fame as the sweet, gentle wife. However, it is j^i'obable that ]\Irs. Siddons o-ave to the crucial scenes more impassioned acting than did her brother, since, as she herself sa}"s iu speaking of their styles, " John, in his most impetuous bursts, is always careful to avoid any discomposure of his dress or depoi'tment ; but in the Avhirlwind of passion I lose all thought of such matters." Possibly Kemble's biographer, lioaden, correctly OTHELLO AND lAGO. 29 described, tlie player iu •• Othello '" as wrapping '■ that great and ardent being in a mantle of ni^'s- terious solemnity, awfully predictive of his fate ; " but it is more likel}' that IMacready better pictured his acting when he wrote : " TJie majestic figure of John Kemble, in Moorish costume, ^^'ith a slow and .stately step advanced from the side wing. A more august presence could scarcely be imagined. His darkened complexion detracted but little from the stern beauty of his commanding features, and the infolding drapery of his Moorish mantle hung grace- fully on his erect and Jioble form. Tlie silent pic- ture he presented compelled admiration. ... I must suppose he was out of Iiumor, for, to my ex- ceeduig regret, he literally walked through tlie play. My attention was riveted upon him through the night in hope of some start of energy, some burst of passion, lighting up the dreary dulness of liis cold recitation ; but all was one gloomj-, unbroken level — actually ]iot better than a school repetition. In the line, ' Xot a jot! not a j:)t!' there was a tearful tremor upon his voice that had pathos in it ; with that one exception not a single passage was uttered that excited the audience to sympatliy, or that crave evidence of artistic power. His voice was monotonously husky, and every word was enun- 30 Shakespeare's hekoes. ciaterl with labored distinctness. His readings were faultless ; but there was no spark of feeling that could enable us to get a glimpse of the ' constant, loving, noble nature' of Othello. . . . The play went through without one round of applause. . . . Tlie curtain fell in silence, and I left the theatre with tlie conviction that I had not yet seen Kemble." Tins was written of Kenible in 1816, when he was bidding farewell forever to Dublin, and was Avithin one year of his retirement from the stage. Kean had bounded forward into the ijublic favor, and at this time was so potent a factor as to con- tribute not a little, through the remembrance of his fiery acting, to the small houses attendant upon the older player. Othello ranked among the best of Edmund Kean"s impersonations. The very year Kemble 'was heavily plodding througli tlie lines in Dublin, Hazlitt was pronouncing the Othello of the wiry little dark- skinned w(jnder, " the hiofhest effort of s'enius on the stage.'' He may have looked too mucli the gypsy, and loo little the soldierly Moor ; he mav have lacked imagination, and may have carried his character too often and too long pitched "in the highest key of passion;" yet his overwhelmhig en- OTHEI.LO AND lAGO. 31 ergy and his burning vehemence gave extraordinary force to his scenes of jealousy. As for the latter part of the third act, that, said Hazlitt, was "■ a masterpiece of profound pathos and exquisite con- ception, and its effect on the house was electrical." Even John Kemble in honesty had to say of Kean's Othello, "If the justness of its conception had been but equal to the brilliancy of execution, it would have been perfect." But naturally the stately actor thought the young man's fiery bursts were erroneous. "The whole thing is a mistake,"' he declared, " the fact being that Othello was a slow man." OTHELLO AND lAGO. (To THE ruESENT BaV.) It seems strange that Keau's lago never equalled in favor his Othello ; for usually Keaii was unsur- passable in picturing concealed hypocrisy. More- over, his Ancient was original and unconventional, in that the customar}^ "villain" of the stage Avas thrown to one side, and lago was presented in an easy and natural vein. Byron admired Kean's lago. "Was not lago perfection?" the poet wrote to Mooi'e, "particu- larly the last look ? I was close to him iu tlie orchestra, and never saw an English countenance half so expressive." Hazlitt cried out in prais- ing words, " The accomplislied hypocrite was never perliaps so finely, so adroitly, jiortrayed, — a gay, light-hearted monster, a careless, cordial, comfort- able villain." Tliese men genuinely admired the actor's work. For the fawning, pretending admirers, the hot-tem- 33 34 shakespeark's heroes. pered sou of wandering IS'aiice Carey had liis own metliod of punishment. He illustrated it with Ray- mond, the stage-manager of Drury Lane, -who, at the rehearsals before Kean made his London dehut, had spoken discouraging and insulting words, but who after tlie player's success strove iu every way to thrust flattery upon him. " Come to my room," said the gypsy player, the night his Othello had been received with a thou- sand plaudits ; '■ I have a fine hot puncli for J'ou." He had it tliere, indeed, in a bowl of veay gen- erous size. With smiles and bows the manager began an- other series of fulsome compliments, ^^•hen Kean, fiercely interrupting him, exclaimed, "Look you, sir! now I'm drawing monej- to your treasury, you find out I'm a fine actor. You told me when I i-ehearsed Sliylock it would be a failure. Then I -^-sas a poor man, without a friend, and 3'ou did your best to kee[) me down. Now you smother me witli compliments. "T is riglit I should make some return. Sir, to the devil A\'itli j-our fine speeches! Take that" — and tlie angr}- play-actor literally gave the manager the punch, bowl and all, throwing it over his head and body. " Now, sir, you can have satisfaction if y(ui desire," cried OTHELLO AND lAGO. 35 the little man, as he promptly stripped off his coat and rolled up his sleeves. But the manager deemed discretion the hetter part of valor, and declined the combat. Few men could stand up before the wiry, undis- ciplined, impetuous actor, on or off the stage. All remembered the experience of Junius Brutus Booth when he came from Covent Garden to Drury Lane to test supremacy with the flashing actor whose look in tragedy, Southey declared, was like jNIichael Angelo's rebellious archangel, and whose matchless eyes could charm even while they excited. The future great leader of the American stage ^^as fairly driven from his engagement by his complete defeat. The trial play was " Othello," with Booth as lago, and Kean as the Moor. Ban-y Cornwall described the scene as it appeared to him : — " Booth at first appeared to shrink from the combat. He eventually, however, overcame his fear, and went through the part of lago manfully. But Kean ! — no sooner did the in- terest of the story begin, and the passion of the part justify his fervor, than he seemed to expand from the small, quick, resolute figure which had previously been moving about the stage, and to assume the vigor and dimensions of a giant. He glared down upon the now diminutive lago ; he seized and tossed him aside with frightful and irresistible vehe- mence. Till then we had seen Othello and lago as it were 36 Shakespeare's heroes. together : now the ^loor sppiued to occupy the stage alone. Up and down, to and fro, he went, facing about like the chased lion who has received his fatal hurt, but whose strength is still undiminished. The fury and whirlwind of the pas- sions seemed to have endowelay Hamlet, Richard, Sliylock, Vir- ginius, if you please; but by God, sii', I am Lear!'' And the critical world could re-echo the phrase. Forrest was, indeed, a Lear to be remembered. As the years passed by, his impersonation of the char- acter steadily increased in power, until at the end, when Lear formed his last ShakesiDcarian rdle, the player was regarded as unsurpassable. Sad was the final act. A new star, Edwin Booth, had arisen in the -theatrical sky, and the people's favorite of earlier years found himself gradually declining. Wlien he plaj-ed in New York for the last time, in February, 1871, there was something genuinely pathetic in liis choice of Lear. He never played the part better ; but with a poor company in support, with wretched scenery to surround his acting, and a thin house in an unpojjular theatre to greet him, each auditor could but think of liim as the actual King Lear of the American stage. " He gave to his children, the j^nblic, all he had," said one writer at the time, " and now the}^ have deserted him. Thej^ liave crowned a new king, be- EDWIN FORREST AS KING LEAR (In Act IV., Scene 6). LEAR. 97 fore whom they bow, and the 'old man eloquent' is cheered by few voices. He bowed his head slightly in response to the acclamation of those scantily filled seats. But throughout the play there was an added dignity of sorrow which showed that the neglect of the public had wounded him. He knew his fate." The poet Longfellow greatly admired Forrest's Lear, pronouncing it a noble performance. His portrayal of madness was true to nature, often pain- fully so, while his delivery of the great imprecation of the fii'st act ever drew thunders of applause. What though at times he would "roar and bellow," and tear " a passion to tatters, " his friends pointed out that he possessed the great power of making the spectator feel that the acting was real, not mimic life, and even caused shudders and tears by his performance. On the night of March 30, 1872, at the Globe Theatre in Boston, Forrest acted Lear for the last time. The next day, Sunday, he caught cold ; on Monday and Tuesday he labored through the part of Richelieu, and with pneumonia threatening him, yet bade the managers post the announcement for Virginius the following evening. Li vain the strug- gle. Disease held its arms around him, and though 98 shakespeark's heroes. he lived on until the 12th of the following Decem- ber, and even gathered strength enough for a few readings (the final one in Boston, Dec. 7, 1872) ; yet he never more was to' appear as the hero among the declaiming actors of the stage. When, on that fateful day in December, the ser- vant opened the door of the chamber, he saw his master, with folded arms, in the embrace of death. The very last summons had come painlessly and with little warning. " Mr. Forrest's countenance, as made up for Lear, is inflexible, stern, and forbidding," declared the comedian Hackett, tliirty j'ears ago, adding, " He has, too, a favorite grim scowl ; liis eyebrows are made so shaggy and willowy, they hide the eyes too much; and his beard, though long and pictu- resque, covers some useful and important muscles of the face, making it rigid, and incapable of de- picting effectively the alternate lights and shades of benevolence and irascibility as they fluctuate in Lear's agitated mind. Nor do I fancy Mr. For- rest's tread of the stage, with his toes inclined somewhat inward, like that of an Indian, for the reason that it renders Lear's i)ersonal carriage un- dignified." Others might differ from Hackett, but the sharp outline picture is worth repeating. LEAR. 99 Leigh Hunt regarded Forrest's Lear as the best he had ever seen. Dunlap maintained that For- rest's energy, pathos, and fidelity to the character, surpassed even the " wonderful efforts " of George Frederick Cooke — and l^e had seen both play the part. , As regards this point of fidelity to the char- acter, it may be remarked that Forrest united from first to last the physical infirmity of the old King with his nervous irritability. The study of insan- ity had been made by the actor a personal hobby, fed by visits to the insane asylums of Europe and America; and into his impersonation he brought many of the peculiarities which he had noted in real life. At the beginning of Lear's madness the twitching of the fingers, the pressing together of the hands, and the other little- signs that constant observers of Forrest noted as particularly his own, added to the utterance of the words in holding the audience ' spellbound in almost painful suspense. At New Orleans one night, just as Forrest had finished the fearful curse, a spectator was heard to groan aloud. Those around him turned quickly, only to see the man's face set as if in a rigid death- grip, the mouth open and the eyes fixed, while the hands were clinched tightly together. A neighbor seized the entranced stranger by the shoulder, and 100 Shakespeare's heroes. with a sudden sliake started the blood flowing again tlirougli his veins. Witli a gasp the man looked around, as if dazed, and then in a trembling voice whispered, "Is he gone?" They told him the scene was over. '• A moment more," he re- sponded, "and- I should have been a dead man. I know it. That terrible acting overcame me." That Forrest himself could continue liis acting without diminution of interest, whatever unexpected incident happened, or whatever wrought-up emotion overwhelmed him, was illustrated one night in the early fifties while he was playing at the Broadway Theatre in New York. Tlie last scene of the second act was on, when Forrest, lost in the frenzy of the 23art, tore from his liead tlie \\hite wig of Lear, and in maddened excitement hurled it across the stasre. Tliere he stood before the crowded house, a wrinkled old man with long lioary beard — and glossy black locks upon his head. Yet he neither hesitated in his acting nor weakened in his intensity. With harrowing sorrow he poured forth the a\'\ful denun- ciation of the king and father, while the specta- tors, so far from laughing, never even smiled, but remained closely rapt in the anguish of the scene. The real Shakespearian "Lear" had not come to the American stage until Macready, who had re- LEAR. 101 vived the original in London, brought it here. On the night of Sept.. 27, 1844, at the last appearance of the English actor on the Park Theatre stage, New York, the liitherto banished character of the Fool was restored (Mrs. J. B. Booth, Jr., nSe DeBar, acting the character), while Cordelia (Charlotte Cushman) no longer struggled with the abducting ruffians, or listened to the words of love from Edgar (Mr. Dyott). To Macready's Lear at the Astor Place Opera House, in the beginning of that stormy season (1848-1849) which culminated with the Forrest- Macready riot during a " Macbeth " performance, there appeared as the Fool the lady whose life con- tinues even to the present generation, Mrs. Clara Fisher-Maeder. The Cordelia was Miss G. Wemyss, while Goneril was now bestowed upon Mrs. George Jones, the actress who a few months before had been playing Cordelia to the elder Booth's Lear. The younger Booth (Edwin) first essayed the character in the fifties, when, as a youth of twenty odd summers, he was trying to fill his emptied purse by a benefit performance at San Francisco, prelimi- nary to a return to tlie East. There can, perhaps, be no more interesting description of his interpre- tation of the character than that written a quarter 102 Shakespeare's heroes. of a century later by Walter H. Pollock A\lien com- menting upon Booth's performance in London. "From first to last," he wrote, in the Saturday Review, "the character, with its senility, its slowly and surely increasing madness, its overwhelming bursts of passion, its moving tenderness and feeble- ness, and, underlying and seen through all these, that authority to which Kent makes marked refer- ence, -was seized and presented Avith extraordinar}' force. So complete are the interest and the illusion, that it is only when the play is over that the fine art which enters the storm of passion is apparent, and that such delicate inventive touches as the sugges- tion to Lear's wandering -wits of the troop of liorse shod witli felt are remembered. The character is, of course, the more difficult because it begins at such high j)ressure in the verj- first scene, that any com- ing tard}' off after that scene has been successfully played would be unhappily accented. Nothing could well be finer than j\Ir. Booth's rage and disap- pointment with Ciordelia and the half-insane curse which follows them; and throughout the scene his senile yet royal bearing, and that grace and happi- ness of gesture to wliich we have on other occasions referred, were marked." A Lear of different physical mould was John LEAR. 103 McCullougli. Like Forrest, he possessed a mag- nificent figure and a royal bearing, while, unlilce Forrest, he could " discriminate between the agony of a man wliile going mad, and the careless, volatile, fantastic condition — afflicting to witness, but no longer agonizing to the lunatic himself — of a man who has actually lapsed into madness." Both in the delicacy of forloi-n mournfulness, and in the torrent-like out-pouring of impetuous invective, Mc- Cullougli could satisfy the critical listener. It was said of him that gentleness never accomplished more than in this actor's pathetic utterance of " I gave you all," and " I'll go with you," while the subsequent rallying of the broken spirit and the terrific outburst, "I'll not weep," had an appalling effect. James R. Anderson, Lawrence Barrett, and a few other players have acted Lear; but we will pass them by to notice, in brief, the two Italian actors, Rossi and Salvini, whose interpretations of the mad monarch have won merited praises. Ernesto Rossi's magnificent Lear has been termed the best of his interpretations by reason of great subtlety in the contrasting of the old King's pecu- liarities, — his child-like credulity with his unrea- sonable obstinacy, his desire for affectionate regard 104 Shakespeare's heroes. with his terrible fierceness, and his forgiving na- ture with his revengefuhiess. His impersonation of Lear, says a foreign critic, is " the most powerful and pathetic interpretation of that onerous part which has yet been put forward by any tragedian — no matter of what nationality — since Macready's retirement from the stage." Tommaso Salvini is a pictorial interpreter of Shakespeare. Thus Othello easily proves his best Shakespearian part. Lear was artistically ineffec- tive. He could look the King, but yet he was not regal in his acting. His rich voice could nobly give the words, but the psychological charm of the interpretation was lacking. Of his theatrical mech- anism in the role, William Winter has given us this picture. Salvini, he says, "put the King behind a table in the first scene, — wliich had the effect of preparation for a lecture, — and it pleased him to S2:)eak the storm speech away back at tlie upper entrance, with his body almost concealed behind painted crags. Salvini was particularly out of the character in the curse scene, and in the frantic part- ing from the two daughters, because there the qual- ity of the man behind the action seemed especially common." SHYLOCK. ( In Eakly Days.) It is a gala night at Lincoln's Inn Fields, and every eye is intent upon the stage. The gay ladies in vizards have even turned their flirting glances for a time away from the young gallants in the neighboring seats, while the serious critics of Lon- don town are forgetful of the notable people around them in their contemplation of the scene in front. Most interesting of all is the adapter of the play, George Granville, the young man of four and thirty years, whose horoscope, as yet closed to his vision, will in less than a decade show him among the peers of tlie realm. As Lord Lansdowne, his title will associate hira with his grandfather's fa- mous exploits, since brave Sir Beville Granville fell iighting for the king at the battle of Lansdowne. But the prologue is on. Let us listen. Sliake- speare's Ghost is speaking, and thus addressing the 105 106 SHAKESPEAIiE'S HEROES. Ghost of Dryden (to whose son the profits of the play are generously given by Granville) : — " These scenes in their rough native dress were mine, But now improved vvitli nobler lustre shine; The first rude slcetches Shakespeare's pencil drew, But all tlie shining master strokes are new. Tliis play, ye critics, shall your fury stand, Adorned and rescued by a faultless liand." Mr. Granville may -well blush at these compli- mentary words ; but he need not hide his head from the audience, for the prologue is not his own,- — it is supplied by a fiiend, one Bevil Hig^gons. Fortu- nate it is, since the adapter of the play has enough to answer for in the roughlj"- transformed scenes. Gobbo, Lauiicelot, and Tubal are omitted from the cast, — and the loss of Tubal, as can easily be sur- mised, weakens greatly the picturing of Shylock's mingled grief and anger, — while Bassanio is given lines from brother characters, and is even made heroically to offer his whole body as sacrifice in place of Antonio's pound of flesh, and, that failing, to draw his sword for a battle then and there in his friend's defence. Thus Bassanio cries (in Granville's words) : — " Stand off ! I have a word in his behalf, Since even more than in his Avarice, SHYLOCK. 107 In Cruelty this Jew's insatiable ; Here stand I for my friend. Body for Body, To endure the Torture. But one pound of flesh Is due from him. Take every iJiece of mine, And tear it off with Pincers. Whatever way Invention may contrive to torture man, Practise on me ; let but my Friend go safe. Thy cruelty is limited on him ; Unbounded let it loose on me. Say, .lew, Here's Interest upon Interest in Flesh ; Will that content you?" Notice that tlie great Betterton is playing Bas- sanio; perhaps some of the alteration is due to the demands of this leading actor. It is a noble cast in support. There is Booth, splendid actor, as Gratiano ; Vei'bruggen as Antonio ; the coquettish Mrs. Bracegirdle, with dark-brown liair and spark- ling eyes, as Portia ; and Mrs. Porter as Jessica. But stay. Shyloek enters. Can we believe our eyes? Is this little, lively, red-wigged fellow to perform the part ? Why, this is Dogget ! Thomas Dogget, whose songs and dances, and whose dialect acting, have so often made audiences roar with laughter. Already the smile goes I'ound the play-house. Yes, and the actor assists the smiling. He glides peculiarly along; he casts odd glances hither and thither, rolling his eyes and twisting his mouth in a ludi- 108 SHAKESPEARTS'S HEROES. crous manner. He does not, to be sure, attempt burlesque or clieap guying ; but every movement, expression, and turn of the voice is calculated to provoke a laugh, and proves successful. Too true. Shylock is acted by the comedian of the troupe, and is acted strictly as a comic char- acter. The great play of Shakespeare, which had completel}' disappeared from the stage after its au- thor's death, had now for the first time returned, in 1701, and returned not only with its name changed to '-The Jew of Venice," with its lines altered to suit the ideas of improvement of George Granville, but even with Shylock entirely transformed. Tlie die Avas cast. For a generation this mangled version of a masterpiece held tlie stage. As for our first known Shylock, Thomas Dogget, he is to- day best marked in fame through the really gener- ous bequest in liis will. On tlie river Thames, he said, everj' year on the 1st of August there shall be held a race open to the watermen of London ; and to the winner shall be given "an orange-col- oi'ed livery -with a badge representing Liberty.'" The color of the liverv and the date Ccelebratino- the accession of George I. to the throne) indicate the strong political proclivities of the Whig actor. To this day his race is held. SHYLOCK. 109 When next Dogget acted Shylock, Booth had risen to the part of Bassanio. The successors of the famous little comedian himself were Benjamin Griffin and Tony Aston. The former was a min- ister's son, who had been designed for the trade of glazier, but wlio preferred to run away and become a wandering actor, and who ultimately won a good place as comedian in Drury Lane, as well as some note as a playwright. Aston was an odd fellow, who liked, above all else in the world, to stroll through country towns with his wife and son, giv- ing a medley of scenes, and who, from his early education as an attorney, could successfully defend himself against threatened punishment for appar- ently infringing on tlie laws by his performances. Away with the comedians, however; for at last the tragic Shylock is to return. The scene now is Drury Lane; the time Feb. 14, 1741 ; the actor Cliarles Macklin. Strange to say, this Macklin had himself won his greatest praise as a comedian; but now, in spite of protests from manager and brother actors, rough, coarse, indepen- dent Macklin is determined to act Shylock in a serious way, — and every one who knows his quar- relsome, self-reliant character understands that he will have his way or die. 110 Shakespeare's heroes. That the sturdy Irishman should aim to inter- pret his author correctly is not a matter of sur- prise, since we know how tenaciously lie clung to the rights of the play-maker. "What's tliat?" he cried in surly anger to Lee Lewes, when the latter attempted to insert a supposed witticism into the lines of his character in Macklin's "Love a la JNIode ; " "what's that you're sayiiig?" " Oh," replied Lewes, in his off-hand manner, "it's merely a little of m}- nonsense." " Humph ! " grunted the playwright, " I 'd have you undei'stand, Mr. Lewes, that I regard my non- sense as hetter than yours, so you will stick to that, if j'ou please, sir.'' Wlien tlie revived Shylock strode upon the stage, only a few months before David Garrick made his dShut, and by his magnificent acting inaugurated in England a new love for Shakespeare, Macklin was forty-one years of age, and yet had acted only minor parts in the jjlays of the master author. In " The Merchant of Venice" he saw his opportunitv, and shrewdly led on Manager Fleetwood to announce the production. For a time he kept liis own de- sign to himself, merely walking through the re- hearsals, and showing no sign of a desire to change the accepted Granvillian character. But in some SHYLOCK. Ill way his scheme leaked out, and the bumble-bees buzzed around him. His good friends earnestly besought him not to essay so hazardous an innovation ; his enemies chuckled at expected disaster, and hypocritically urged him on. Fleetwood all but withdrew his consent. Quin, cast for Antonio, swore that the new Sliylock would be hissed ; while the Portia and Nerissa of the cast, romping Kitty Glive and Mrs. Pritchard, agreed with the other actors that " the hot-headed, conceited Irishmani who has got some little reputation in a few parts, would bring him- self and the theatre into disgrace." But Macklin, stubborn fellow always, never wavered a hair. The night of the 14tli came. The house was filled with the best people of the town, while in the very front rows of tlie pit sat the sober-faced critics with pencils and wits sharpened for a lively tilt. It was a momentous occasion for the actor; but though his heart beat faster than usual (as he afterwards confessed), yet he kept a bold front out- side, and with an assumed confidence advanced to the stage. A long, loose black gown hung from his shoul- ders ; upon his face appeared a peaked beard ; while his head was surmounted by the red hat which the 112 shakbspeakb's heroes. actor, after patient research, had decided was al- ways worn by the Jews in Italy. During the first scenes Macltlin made little extra effort, knowing that they were not strong enough to carry him to victory, and if overacted might bring instantaneous defeat. His judgment was good. The critics saw that tlie keynote of the character was well taken, and with a wise nod to their neighbors were heard to whisper, "Very well; very well, indeed," "The man knows wliat he is about." jMiicklin caught the remarks, and gathered re- newed courage. At last came the great third act, for which he had reserved himself. Seriously, earnesth', pit- eously, tempestuously, he poured out tlie words of mingled grief at Jessica's flight, and joy over the losses of Antonio. Now his blood was on fire. Tliey should learn he was right. They should see he could act. Those jealous fellows at the wings should undei'stand the greatness of his skill, and the critical men and women in the audience should be thrilled by the very power of his emotion. And they were. Applause with hand and foot shook the candles almost from their sockets, and rattled the windows SHYLOCK. 113 in the old house ; in fact, Macklin was obliged several times to stop the torrent of his acting in order to give the auditors chance to vent their en- raptured feelings. Fleetwood, overjoyed at having such a tremen- dous attraction thus unexpectedly placed near his treasury, grasped the actor by the hand as he came from the stage, exclaiming, " Macklin, you were right! " After the trial scene, wherein a greater triumph was awarded Shylock, the green-room was suddenly crowded with critics and with noblemen rushing in to offer their honest compliments. " I confess it," declared Macklin in his later years, " that was one of the most flattering and intoxi- cating situations of my life. No money, no title, could purchase what I felt. And let no man tell me after this what fame will not inspire a man to do, and how far the attainment of it will not remunerate his greatest labors. By heaven, sir! though I was not worth fifty pounds in the world at that time, yet, let me tell you, I was Charles the Great for that night." " There was forcible and terrifying ferocity in his Shylock's malevolence," declared Francis Gentleman {The Dramatic Censor'). "He possessed by nature 114 Shakespeare's heroes. certain physical advantages which qualified him to embody Siiylock," said John Bernard in his "Re- trospections," " and which, combined with his pe- culiar genius, constituted a performance which was never imitated in his own day, and cannot be de- scribed in this." " If the Almighty writes a legible hand," swore Quin, after the play, "that man's Shy- lock must be a villain ; " while Pope's couplet will ever be repeated : — " This is the Jew That Shakespeare drew." But of all the descriptions of Macklin's acting, that by Lichtenberg is the best. Referring to a performance of Shylock when Macklin was well along in years, the German writer says, " Picture to yourself a somewhat portly man, w'ith a yellow- ish, coarse face, a nose by no means deficient in length, breadth, or thickness, and a mouth in the cut- ting of which nature's knife seems to have slipped as far as the ear, on one side at least, as it appeared to me. His dress is black and long ; his trousers likewise long and wide ; his three-cornered hat is red — I presume after the fashion of Italian Jews. " Tlie first words he speaks on coming on the stage are slow and full of import: 'Three thousand ducats." The two tJi's and the two s's, especially Mr _Ii ^ J J.1 obylj k ^ 0^'' CHARLES MACKLIN AS SHYLOCK 0" Act IV., Scene I). SHTLOCK. 115 the laSt after the t, Macldiu mouths with such unc- tion, that one would think he were at once testinar o the ducats and all that could be purchased with them. This at starting at once accredits him with the audience in a way which nothing afterwards can damage. Three such words, so spoken in that situation, mark the whole character. In the scene where for the first time he misses his daughter, he appears without his hat, with his hair standing on end, in some places at least a finger's length above the crown, as if the wind from the gallows had blown it up. Both hands are firmly clinched, and all his movements are abrupt and conclusive. To see such emotion in a grasping, fraudulent char- acter, generally cool and self-possessed, is fearful." On the 10th of January, 1788, when Macklin was eighty-nine, he appeared as Shylock, after an ab- sence of several years from the stage. With old- time spirit he went through the first act, but in the second began to stumble over the lines, and soon was entirely confused. Before a word could be said, however, by friend or enemy before or be- hind the footlights, the manly old actor advanced to the front, and in solemn and touching accents said, " Ladies and gentlemen, within these very few hours I have been seized with a terror of mind 116 Shakespeare's heroes. I never in my life felt before ; it has totally de- stroyed my corporeal as well as mental faculties. I must, therefore, request your patience this night, — a request which an old man may hope is not un- reasonable. Should it be granted, you may depend that this will be the last night, unless my health shall be entirely re-established, of my ever appear- ing before j-ou in so ridiculous a situation." The audience applauded encouragingly; and the veteran player, nerved b}^ this sudden expression of good will, again took up his text, and ^'^•ith the assistance of the prompter struggled through the play. jMacklin lived to be ninety-seven years of age. Eight years befoie his death he made his final ap- pearance upon the stage, playing, on the 7th of May, 1789, for his own benefit (and he needed money badly), the character of the Jew. The old man's mind had been failing for a year or more, so that the management provided an understudy in case Macklin broke down in liis part. This was wise. "When our Shylock had dressed himself for the stage, which he did with his usual accuracy," said William Cooke, his friend and biographer, " he went into the green-room, but with such a lack- RHYLOCK. 117 lustre looking eye as plainly indicated his inability to perform; and, coming up to the late Mrs. Pope, said, ' My dear, are you to play to-night ? ' — 'To be sure I am, sir! Why, don't you see I am dressed for Portia?' — 'Ah! very true ; I had forgot. But who is to play Shylock ? ' The imbecile tone of his voice, and the inanity of the look with whicli the last question was asked, caused a melancholy sensation in all who heard it. At last Mrs. Pope, rousing herself, said, 'Why, you to be sure; are you not dressed for the part ? ' He then seemed to recollect himself, and, putting his hand to his head, exclaimed, ' God help me ! my memory, I am afraid, has left me.' He, however, after this went on the stage, and delivered two or three speeches of Shylock in a manner that evidently proved he did not understand what he was repeating. After a while he I'ecovered himself a little, and seemed to make an effort to rouse himself, but in vain : nature could assist him no further ; and after pausing some time, as if considering what to do, he then came forward and informed the audience that he now found he was unable to proceed in the part, and hoped they would accept Mr. Ryder as his sub- stitute, who was already prepared to finish it. The audience accepted his apology with a mixed 118 Shakespeare's heroes. applause of indulgence and commiseration, and he retired from tlie stage forever." Thirteen years after Macklin first drew the proper Shj'lock, Sheridan essaj'ed the rdle with moderate success at Covent Garden. His associate was Peg Woffington, tlie best of Portias by reason of her elegance in deportment, her spirit and archness ; in ]\Iacklin"s second season of the Jew she had Ijlayed Nerissa to Kitty Olive's mimicking Portia. Next, several comedians undertook the rdle of Shy- lock; but none dared turn it back so far into humor as had the men of earlier days. Shuter, the Launce- lot Gobbo of the Slieridan performance ; King, the original Sir Peter Teazle (and the Shylock on Dec. 29, 1775, to tlie Portia of Mrs. Siddons when that accomplished lady made lier first appearance on the stage) ; and Yates, who, the Dramatic Censor wished, "might never mutilate a line of blank verse again," — were all Shy locks of a wrong hue. Henderson and Palmer were of different stamp. The former, making his London delut in Shylock in 1777, achieved marked success, though his cos- tuming was so shabby as to lead one man to sur- mise that it had been borrowed from a pawnbroker. " There 's good spirit in your performance," said old Macklin, a spectator at the production. SHYLOCK. 119 " Thank you," responded the " Batli Roscius." "But I 'm sorry to say I never had the advantage of seeing your Shylock." " Sir," responded the gruff veteran, bridling up, " you need not tell me that. I knew you had not ; for if you had, you vs^ould have played it differ- ently." And yet Henderson was a great actor, — great in Hamlet and great in Falstaff. It is said that he was the first to change the reading of the line, " Signor Antonio, many a time and oft on the Ri- alto," from a common proverbial expression to an implication that Antonio had baited him not only often, but even " on the Rialto," where merchants most do congregate. This he did by emphasizing the last two words of the line. That Henderson had good enjoyment in humor was apparent by the way he would, in public, mimic one of the theatrical managers who sought to teach him, the actor, how to interpret Shylock. " Yes," this know-it-all manager would say, witli the wis- dom of a Dogberry, " this Shylock, though he is ii Jew — he 's a Jew that walks the Rialto at Venice, and talks to the magnificos, and you must not by any means act such a Jew as if he was one of the Jews that sell old clothes and slippers and oranges 1:^0 shakbspeaee's heroes. and sealing-wax up and down Pall INIall." And Henderson would solemnly assure him he would not. Over Palmer's Shylock, Macklin Avas severe. " He played the character in one style," declared the old fellow. '• It was all same, same, same ; no va- riation. He did not hit the part nor the part hit him ! " Then there were Ryder and Plarley; but when even John Kemble, who first jilayed the part in 1784: to the Portia of his sister, ]\liss E. Kemble, could not win great fame in the role, what can we expect from tliese others? While Black Jack was acting the rule in England, the play-lovers aci-oss the Avater, in the United States of America, Avere recalling the few performances of " The jNIerchant of Venice" they had seen in the thirty odd years of their stage's existence. With our theatrical history the " JMerchant of Venice " has an interesting connection, from its being the first play produced by that band of ac- tors, Hallam's Company, Avhich Avas to inaugurate a regular stage in this community in place of the spasmodic performances previously given. Tlie picture is an odd one to eyes accustomed only to the glamour of the modern superbly equipped theatre. The scene is laid in the capital of Vir- SHYLOCK. 121 ginia; but the date is Sept. 6, 1752, and the Wil- liamsburg of that day is a far different place from what it was to become a century and four dec- ades later. A scattered village of perhaps some two hundred buildings, it has a thousand souls to make up the population ; but out of these num- bers scarcely a dozen mansion-houses are to be counted, and only a few hundred white people. On this brisk fall evening excitement has risen to fever-heat through the gossip that has spread far and near regarding the English play-actors just over on the Charming Sally ; and while the peo- ple slowly file out of the country store before the early hour of closing, — for the proprietor, book- keeper, clerk, and boy (all represented in one per- son), could not have been tempted, by any number of pennies, to keep open his establishment, and lose the pleasure of that night's theatrical performance, — old-fashioned family barouches, farm-carts, mule- wagons, and gigs, dash or rumble up the road from every outlying district, bringing gayly decorated women and store-clothed men, all whipping their nags to the theatre. A theatre only by courtesy. It stands on tlie outskirts of the town, so near tlie woods that the actors can amuse themselves by shooting pigeons 122 SHAKESPEARE'S HEROES. from the windows, and it consists merely of a rough warehouse, altered rudely to suit the needs of co- medians. But this night a jovial audience gathers in its pit, watches with amusement the antics of the negroes in the gallery, and gazes with something of awe at the country gentry in the stalls, who, following the custom of old England, dare venture upon the stage between the acts, and chatter with the ladies and gentlemen of the troupe. To be sure, it is a gala day for Williamsburg ! Nor are the actors less impressed with the occa- sion. True, they had liardly expected to come fi'om the busy streets of London, where the gay throngs of fashionable peojjle were even then wisely discussing tlie merits of David Garrick, and praising the vivacitv of Peg Woffington, into a wilderness, wliere the tlieatre is practically unknown ; but had supposed tliat a town wliich could boast a capital and a "palace" for the governor, would show some i-eflection of the cultivated city they had left be- hind. Yet, in spite of this disappointment, they recognize the fact that there are sturdy planters of intelligence before them, and an enthusiastic crowd of youths, who, with ej'es and ears wide open, will swallow the sights and sounds of tlie night as phenomena never to be forgotten. SHYLOCK. 123 So, after Mr. Pelham, the solitary musician of the theatre, has supplied the want of an orchestra by drumming out a classical overture u^ion his harpsichord, and Mr. Rigbj', later the Bassanio of the cast, has read the prologue, written especially for the occasion by jNIr. Singleton, the Gratiano of a half hour later, Mr. Clarkson, Mr. Wynell, and Mr. Herbert, clothed respectively in the characters of Antonio, Salarino, and Salanio, walk upon the stage, and the play begins. The company is small, aud there must be some doubling of parts. Hence, Mi-. Hallam himself plays both Launcelot and Tubal. His wife is Por- tia. His daughter is Jessica. Master Lewis Hal- lam, who later on is to becoine the leading actor of his time, but who was then, like his sister, making a first appearance on the stage, is cast for the ser- vant of Portia; and though lie has but one line to speak, he loses his tongue completely Avhen the time comes, stands shivering with stage-fright before the audience for a few moments, and then I'ushes in tears from the stage. Much better would he feel if he could see, as we see, that fourteen years after this inauspicious debut he would be acting with success the chief character, the Jew of Venice, at the first Philadelphia performance of the play. 124 shakkspeaee's heroes. :Mr. Malone, the first Shylock and Lear of the American stage, is transformed into Mr. Pugsby in Jolm Esten Cooke's " Virginia Comedians ; " but inasmuch as Mr. Cooke also transforms Mrs. Hallam into her own daughter, and makes numerous abso- lute errors in facts, it is safe to assume that the novelist is also unattached to truth when he allows the manager to say after the performance that "Shy- lock was too drunk " to play his part well. The Philadelphia playhouse, a few years after ILillam's Shylock, saw another Jew, whose record, though interesting, is not enviable. He was a clever performer, even if Hallam, his rival, ironi- cally classed him only as a " splendid amateur actor ; " and he could excel particularly in Irish characters. In fact. General Washington held John Henry as an admii'able impersonator, and delighted particularly in seeing him act Patrick in the "Poor Soldier." Wlien Henry first came over to this country from England, he did not hesitate to allow his name to be advertised, at his wife's benefit, as a performer of the Harlequin who would " i-un up a perpendicular scene twenty feet higli." How he did it is not recorded in contemporaneous journals. The tall, majestic, handsome actor was born in Dublin, and had made his dSbut at Drury Lane SHYLOCK. 125 in 1762. Five years later he was in America. His first wife, the eldest of a family of four girls, was lost at sea when the vessel on which she was voy- aging from Jamaica was burned. Then followed the peculiar and far from honorable circumstances which stained this player's life. Mrs. Henry left a sister Ann, who afterwards, as Mrs. John Hogg, became a great favorite with the old Park Theatre audi- ences in New York. With Ann as wife Henry lived for a time, but finally deserted her to marry the youngest sister of the family, pretty little Maria Stoi'er. She was a perfect fairy in person, accord- ing to the story of those who acted with her; but her character is not enhanced by this willingness to accept the man who, the widower of one of her sisters, could thus desert another sister, li you would see her pictui-e, read these words by the vet- eran player, William B. Wood, as given in his " Per- sonal Recollections of the Stage." " She usually came full dressed to the theatre in the old family coach; and the fashion of monstrous hoops worn at that day made it necessary for Mr. Henry to slide her out sideways, take her in his arms, and carry her like an infant to the stage entrance. The car- riage was a curious and rather crazy-looking affair; and lest the gout, which rendered it indispensable 126 shakespkaeb's heroes. to him, might not be generally known as an excuse for such a luxury, he decorated the panels with two crutches crossed — the motto, ' This, or These.' " Poets of the last centuiy wrote verses in Maria Storer's honor : — "Enchanting maid! Wliose easy nature every grace affords, And charms without the empty j.onip of words." Wood declares she was a " prodigious favorite." Dunla}) accounts her the best singer America had ever known before the final decade of the last cen- turj-. But the slight, blue-eyed Ai-iel (for that was her ideal part) could be irritable and tempestuous, could refuse to act if she did not like the char- acter allotted her, or had failed to win- all the ap- plause she thought she deserved, and, chief of all, could accept John Henrj'. Her retribution was suificient. A few months after Henrv died, his widow, poverty-stricken and demented, passed away in miserable death in a house back of tlie theatre where she had met with so many triumphs. Nor was Henry himself less capricious and quar- relsome. In fact, he was very often involved in personal encounters; and on one occasion, at least, the stalwart fellow received a severe and probably SHYLOCK. 127 well-merited drubbing from liis associate Hallam, an active fellow, though much smaller. Gradually Henry grew unpopular ; the chief rdles one by one slipped away from him, and tlie iiew.spapers even allowed him to be insulted iu their columns by let- ters railing at his incapacity. At last, worried on every side, he was driven to sell, for ten thousand dollars, his interest in the old American Company, and retired to die of quick consumption sliortly afterwards, at the age of fortj^-seven. Another Shylock of those early days, Mr. Chal- mers, though an actor of experience on the English stage, seems to have been a vain and selfisli man personally. The idolized Cooper, Mr. Fennell, Mr. Hipworth, and Giles Leonard Barrett, with one or tvvo minor players, kept Shylock on the stage until the days of Kean and Booth. With the last two a new era opens. SHYLOCK. (To THE Present Day.) Befoee the curtain rises on Edmund Kean and Junius Brutus Booth struggling for supremacy, there should be mention of the notable Shylock, who led one of the greatest casts the play ever saw, — I mean George Frederick Cooke. With the impressive Mrs. Siddons as Portia, her brothers, sturdy John Kemble as Antonio, and airy Chai'les Kemble as Bassanio, and those princes of comedy, Munden and Emery, as Launcelot and Old Gobbo, Cooke found a support that could put him to his mettle. That was in 1803, three years after his first appearance in the character in London. "I can conceive nothing so perfectly the Jew that Shakespeare drew as the voice, face, manner, and expression of Mr. Cooke," said the veteran Dun- lap. " Mr. Macklin may have been better ; but it is almost thirty years since I saw Mr. Macklin, and my memory is not of such tenacious stuff as 129 130 Shakespeare's heroes. to enable me to make a comparison between him and Mr. Cooke." With his long, hooked nose, his lofty forehead, and his dark, fiery eyes, the actor possessed a physiognomy that was strongly marked, even if not as elegant or classically striking as Kemble's. At tlie age of forty-four he first came to London, being engaged for a paltry six pounds a week at Covent Garden. His initial part was Richard III. ; his second, Shylock. In the first character his triumph was complete ; in the second, he won equal favor, particularly after his magnificent play- ing in the third act. Indeed, the savage exulta- tion of his laugli in that scene was said actually to be friglitfuUy impressive. Constantly he kept the " lodged hate " of the Israelite in view. When Portia asked that tlie bond might be toi'n, Shylock, in his reply, "When it is paid according to the tenor," showed not only a touch of fear lest she should tear it, but also a malignant delight in the realization of the penalty due. And the man who could act this close, mean, and revengeful character was in private life one of the most open and reckless handlers of money the world ever knew. The day a certain man refused to fight the actor because Cooke was rich, and would there- JUNIUS BRUTUS BOOTH. SHYLOCK. 131 fore hold the favor of friends in any contest, the careless player pulled from his pocket a big roll of bills, and thrust the entire amount into the fire, exclaiming, " Look ye, sir ! that was all I possessed in the world, three hundred and fifty pounds. Now I am a beggar, sir. Will you figlit me now ? " Proud he was, too, when in his drink. Charles Lamb tells the story of our Shylock's experience with the architect of a theatre. At a dinner given to Cooke and to Brandon, the theatre box-keeper, by the man of plans and specifications, the player, as usual, drank all the liquor in sight, until he was beastly drunk. Then, having been politely shown the door b}' his host, who had tired of the tipsy fellow's noisy eccentricities, Cooke suddenly turned, and, seizing his entertainer by both ears, exclaimed, " To think that I, George Frederick Cooke, have degraded myself by dining with bi'icklayers, to meet box-keepers ! " tripped him on his head, and left him sprawling on the floor. In equally energetic way did he attack with words a Liverpool audience which had dared to hiss him for being drunk on the stage. "What! " he cried savagely from behind the footlights, as he suddenlj- faced the condemning crowd, "do you hiss nie — me, George Frederick Cooke ! you contemp- 132 Shakespeare's heroes. tible money-getters ! You shall never again have tlie honor of hissing me ! Farewell ! / banish you. Why," — and here he drew himself up to his full height as he hurled his final taunt, — " there is not a brick in your dirty town but what is cemented by the blood of a negro ! " Another time, when playing Shy lock, Cooke was again hissed for the same reason ; he was too intox- icated to act. Two nights later, though advertised for Richard III., he failed to appear at all at the theatre. On the next night, when he did come on sober, the auditors marked his appearance with a storm of hissing. Instantly the fiery actor stopped his impersonation, and, turning to a brother player, exclaimed in anger, " On Monday I was drunk, but appeared, and they did n't like that ; on Wednes- day I was drunk, so I did n't appear, and they didn't like that. What the devil would they have ? " But let us pass now from Cooke to Kean, with one word to mention Charles Young's Shylock. Our most striking glimpse of Kean shows a fiery little man trudginsr through the snow on a blus- tei'ing January night in the year 1814. Over his shoulders hangs a big coachman's coat, — " the man with the cape," the taunting stage doorkeeper had SHYLOCK. 133 called Mm, — while in the pocket of that coat lie an old pair of silk stockings, a pair of shoes, and a collar, the scanty wardrobe the poor play-actor could bring to piece out the theatrical costume of the niglit. He was on the edge of glorious success or terri- ble failure. Which was it to be ? Brought up as a waif in hard adversity, know- ing with certainty neither father nor mother, tossed about the world as a little declaimer, a strolling actor, and possibly an acrobat, the poverty-stricken husband and father had struggled thi-ough a hard winter, — Heaven alone knows how, — until this opening chance at great Drury Lane was proffered him. The offer came simply because the managers had nothing else to try. In all their company they had no tragedian who could draw an audience ; Raymond, Henry Siddons, Rae, Pope, were fairly good actors, no more. For one hundred and thirty- nine nights the plays had been staged at an unin- terrupted loss ; bankruptcy was threatening. And this young man from the provinces would come for eight pounds a week. W]iy not try him? They offered Richard to the newcomer for his first night's role. Tliongli controversy miglit luin his every chance, tlie actor had the courage to say 134 shakespeaee's heroes. "No" to such a suggestion. For him to appear as the crook-backed monarch, bringing his small physique into contrast with the majestic Kemble, would mean an unfair competition at the verj^ be- gining of the tourney. " Shylock or nothing ! " he cried determinedly ; and no pressure could move him from that ground. Strange to say, the management yielded. " The Merchant of Venice " was announced for the 26th of January. They gave the dSbutant just one rehearsal for this momentous performance, and that on the morning preceding the evening of the Jjlay. Sneers and gibes met him on every side ; but he cared naught for the malignant-tongued professionals of the me- tropolis. His eyes were on the future. " If I succeed to-night," he cried to liis wife at home, after the rehearsal, " if I succeed, I shall go mad." For the first time in months he dined on meat, a luxury that he felt then to be a necessity, with the fearful strain of the coming night before him. The hours flew by. The theatre doors opened, and a small number of men and women straggled in. When the curtain rose the house was not half full. An old story for Drury Lane this had been ; but that night was to change all. SHYLOCK. 135 The utterance of the words, " Three thousaml ducats, well ! " gained an approving nod from a capable critic in the front row. The strength of the phrase, " I will be assured I may," drew a round of applause. Steadily through tlie scene the favor- able impression grew, until at the end of tlie first act even his supercilious associates who had gath- ered at the wings to scoff over his innovations (as Avitnessed by them earlier in rehearsal) admitted that the young man of seven and twenty had ob- tained a foothold. Thej' tried to congratulate him. The sensitive fellow shrank from the shallow praise, and lurked about the. shadow of the stage until the curtain again rang up. Once more he was on the scene. The applause grew stronger, the good impression deeper. People looked at one another with significant smiles and raising of eyebrows, while they settled down into unexpected preparation for an evening of real enter- tainment. Now Jessica's flight was divulged to the Jew — and the spectators no more even thought with pleasure on themselves and what they saw. They were lost to realization of their own existence. In the terrible whirlwind of passion upon the stage, the tempest of mingled anger and grief of Shylock, 136 Shakespeare's heroes. they forgot for the nonce that they were simply spectators, but lived with the bereaved father before them. Ah, what a triumph ! The house fairly quivered with excitement as the scene ended. A rain of applause stormed the falling curtain. But with the trial scene, full of novelties as well as power in acting, the plaj'er was carried to still greater heights ; and none was found, on or off the stage, to say that the success that night of Edmund Kean A\as not plienomenal. Stage-manager Raymond — he ■\\ho had sworn that the yonng player's innovations would never do — now came to flatter and to fawn, and later, as we saw in the story of Othello, received a taste of Kean's resentment for such sycopliancy. Oxberry declared that it was beyond his com- prehension how so small an audience could " kick up so big a row." But Kean waited for little of this. Half crazed with excitement and joy, lie rushed to his miserable home, lifted from tlie rickety bed his little boy, and, holding him in air, while he threw one arm around liis wife, cried in exultation, " Mary, you shall ride in your carriage yet! And Charles — Charles shall go to Eton ! " SHYLOCK. 137 What hope beamed in Mary Chambers Keaii's eyes ! In his poverty she had gladly married the struggling actor, and for six years had suffered every possible trouble and sorrow in his company. Never had a word of complaint passed her lips. Alas, the future ! Riches were to pour into the family coffers ; but with them came trouble of a different chai'acter, even to estrangement. And yet to tlie last she remained faithful and devoted to her rec- reant husband, and when life was ebbing away hastened to his side to comfort the pain of the last sad hours. But in this opening month of the year 1814 all is happiness. Richard follows Sliylock ; Hamlet and Otliello next. For seventy nights the plays go on, and the managers place their profits at twenty thou- sand pounds. After the third performance Kean's pay is raised to twenty pounds a week, and gifts of one hundred pounds and five hundred pounds are made. In vain some of the meanest actors con- tinue their sneers at the newcomer. "Humph! I allow he 's an excellent Harlequin," snarls one. " Yes," responds good-natured Jack Bannister, " that he is ; for he 's jumped over all our heads." But thirteen years later ! The scene is different. 138 Shakespeare's heuoes. In the interval Kean has visited America, has earned in all two hundred thousand pounds, has met with disgrace through his unfaithfulness to his wife, has been hissed in both continents for his ungentle- manly conduct, and now returns to Drury Lane, again on a January night, to play Shjdock. " 1 shall not soon forget the scene," said Dr. Doi-an, describing the night ; " a rush so fearful, an audience so packed, and a reconciliation so com- plete, acting so faultless, and a dramatic enjoyment so exquisite, I never experienced. Nothing was heeded — indeed, the scenes were passed over — until Shylock was to appear, and I have heard no such sliout since as that which greeted him. Fire, strength, beauty, ever^- quality of the actor, seemed to have acquired fresh life. It was all deceptive, however. The actor was all but extinguished after this convulsive, but seemingly natural, effect. He lay in bed at the Hummum's Hotel all day, amus- ing himself melancholily with his Indian gew-gaws, and trying to find a health}' tonic in cognac." The magnetism of his name lasted, liowever, a few years longer; then came that sad performance of "Othello" on the 25th of ]\Iarch, 1833, when the curtain dropped forever on the stage-career of Edmund Kean. SHYLOCK. 139 Two years before his retirement Talfourd saw his Shylock, and in one pithy sentence portrayed the impressiveness of the impersonation: "His look is that of a man who asserts his claim to suffer as one of a race of sufferers ; and when he turns his sorrowful face in silence to the frothy cox- comb who rails at him, we feel the immeasurable superiority of one who finds, in the very excess of his misery, his kindred with a tribe oppressed for ages, to the insect boaster of the day." The actors at old Drury had soon been won over to recognition of the genius among them ; that is to say, all but Comedian Dowton. They subscribed for a silver cup to present Kean. " No," declared the jealous player of humorous roles, when asked to contribute ; " you may ' cup ' ^Ir. Kean if you like, but you shall not bleed me." Curiously enough, this excellent Sir Anthony Absolute, Sir Peter Teazle, and Sir John Falstaff, also tried Shylock's rdle ; but the audience saw little except comedy in his impersonation, and even laughed heartily at the innovation, devised by Dowton, of Shylock dropping fainting into the arms of a party of Jews in court when he was bidden to become a Christian. There seemed, about this time, to be another 140 Shakespeare's heroes. craze among the comedians to capture the charac- ter. The ingenious and skilful actor of elderly gentlemen, William Farren, made several essays at the part; but that the audience never was held intensely enraptured is illustrated by one incident at Birmingham. Farren was at that time tall and lean ; and when, in the most serious tones of Shy- lock, he cried, — " The pound of flesti that I demand is mine: 'T is dearly bought, and I will have it," a gallery god shouted forth, " Let him have the pound of flesh; let old Skinny have it! He needs it bad enough ! " Tlie nt'xt day the town was covered with plac- ards (pasted broadcast through the humor of Bunn, the well-known manager). They read: — " A reward will be given for the apprehension of a tall, thin, lanky-looking man, who last night committed a most barbarous murder upon a rich old Jew of the name of Sliylock. The murderer is supposed to have escaped from Birmingliam in one of the early Liverpool coaches." Tlie tragedians returned Vs^ith Macready ; but yet, at the outset, that capable player was not satis- fied with his own impersonation. " It was an utter failure," he wrote in his diary on Sept. 30, 1839. SHYLOCK. 141 " I felt it, and suffered very much from it." Some four seasons later, however, he admitted that he performed the character "very fairly," and even enjoyed the intei-pretation so well that he could add, immediately on the next line in his diary, the invigorating record that at supper he " took a gin mint julep by way of experiment," and found it " the most deliciously cunning compound that ever I tasted. Nectar could not stand before it; Jupiter would have hobnobbed in it." Surely the "Merchant" that night must have gone off remarkably well to lead the usually self-lashing, unliappy diarist to wiite in so genial a vein. Witii Samuel Phelps, the Jew wai the first char- acter to be portra^'cd on the London stage. The young man came up from the provinces to startle Macready somewhat with fear of a rival, and ap- pearing on Aug. 28, 1837, at the Ha3fmarket Theatre, under Webster's management (to the Portia of Miss Huddart, afterwards Mrs. Warner), was pronounced by the Morning Chronicle of the next day, " Correct and judicious, but not remarkable or striking." The critics declared that he fell far short of Kean, particularly in comparison with the latter's power of throwing something of sublimity into Shylock's character. 142 SHAKESPEARE'S HBEOES. But Kean it was who, while acting Shy lock, had first noted and praised the ability of the young player. That was in 1831, in a small town in the north of England. " Who is that Tubal ? " queried the great actor, after his famous scene in the " Merchant of Venice." "It's Samuel Phelps, sir," was the reply of the stage-manager. " Send him to me." Tremblingly the actor obeyed, supposing he was to be taken to task for some bad error. " Phelps ! " exclaimed the famous Kean, clapping him on the shoulder the moment he entered the dressing-room, "you have played Tubal very, very well. Persevere, and you will make a name." Well did he remember the injunction ! His later fame as a Shakespearian reviver who dared to bring out all but six of the thirty-seven plays of the Bard is alone glory enough, aside from the reputation he won as a sterling actor. JNIeanwhile, the baby whom a half-crazed father's hands had lifted from the cradle, to predict a career at Eton as his future hope, had enjoyed that privilege, and had stood on the threshold of three professions, — the army by his own desire, the navy by the desire of his father, the church by SHYLOCK. 143 the desire of his mother. All these predilections, however, were thrown to the wind after the elder Kean's dissipations had squandered his fortune and estranged his family. In October, 1827, Charles appeared upon the stage. Acquiring later the control of the Princess's Theatre in London, the younger Kean there brought out with magnificent, and then entirely novel, splen- dor "The Merchant of Venice." The scenery gave accurate views of Venice ; the stage showed stately processions and busy throngs, a vivacious carnival and masquerade, besides gorgeous pictures of Bel- mont and the Hall of the Senators. But Kean himself as Shylock was pronounced only passable. " Too much youthful vivacity and grace of move- ment for an old money-lending Jew," was Herman Vezin's comment as he viewed his fellow-actor with a professional eye ; while Punch acknowledged the actor-manager's deep research into antiquarian lore by dryly remarking that Kean (who never could pronounce "m" otherwise than by the sound of " b ") liad evidently proved Shylock a vegetarian, since he read the lines thus : — " You take by house when you do take the prop That doth sustain by house, you take by life When you do take the beans whereby I live." 144 shakespeakb's heroes. A mispronunciatioa this, which reminds one of the slip of the tongue made by Charles Kemble in Shylock, when he tried to say, "Shall I lay perjury upon my soul ? "" and instead so tangled his tongue as to exclaim, "Shall I lay surgery upon my poll?" With Charles Kean as Shylock in the grand rep- resentation of 1858, appeared Mrs. Kean as Portia. The Launcelot Gobbo was Harley. On the night of August 20 this last-mentioned veteran come- dian, then sevent3^-two years of age, Jiad amused the audience by his customary buoyant acting, and with lively step rushed across the stage bridge to make his exit. Scarcely had he reached the wings, while the laughter of the audience still rang in his ears, when he fell to the floor, stricken with paraly- sis. Friends rushed to give assistance. The actor tried to speak, but could not utter words coherently. In a few hours he was past all consciousness, though still breathing. On the afternoon of August 22, suddenly waking fiom his lethargy, he murmured, in the words of Nick Bottom in the " Midsummer Night's Dream," " I have an exposition of sleep come over me," closed his eyes, and passed away. Come we now to the last of the great Enolish Shylocks, Henry Irving. His conscientious revival HENRY IRVING AS SHYLOCK. SHYLOCK. 145 of the comedy gave the entire play to the stage, rather than the customary version ending with the discomfiture of Shylock in the trial scene, and with the splendid stage dressing presented a feast for the eye. Mr. Irving's Shylock is a " gentlemanly Jew." On the night of his first appearance in the char- acter, at the London Lyceum, Nov. 1, 1879, the spectators looked with astonishment at the new portrayal before them. The commonplace Hebrew money-lender, dirty in costume and in appearance, had disappeared, giving way to a refined, well- dressed dealer in money. As the trial scene opened, there approached no crouching, bloodthirsty miser, scowling and greedy, but a distrustful, adroit, and dignified pleader; while ShyJock's baffled departure from the scene, with tottering movement and be- wildered look, combined with a single glance of scorn cast at the insulting Gratiano, made a strong contrast to the " old school " bombastic methods, and formed an artistic picture. Twice, at least, Irving on a Shylock night has had to meet a diplomatic emergency, and twice lias he met it well. The first time was in Edin- burgh, when the students of the University, in boyish fashion, made themselves obnoxious with 146 SHAKESPIiARK'S HEROES. talking and laughter, mixed with applause and cat-calls. They drowned the words of the actors. Suddenly the curtain fell in the midst of the scene. Every one was instantly on tip-toe of curiosity to see what would happen. Instead of an angry man- ager appearing on the scene, Mr. Irving, cool and smiling, came Lo the front, said he noticed that there seemed lo be some misunderstanding on the part of certain members of the audience, and that since the first scenes, as a result of the misunder- standing, had not been heard at all, he proposed beginning the play all over again. This unex- pected, good-natured dealing carried the hearts of the auditors, and the play, begun again, went on happily to the end. On the other occasion, when the hundredth per- formance of the " Merchant of Venice " at the Lj-- ceum was celebrated by a dinner on the stage, given after the performance liy J\Ir. Irving to his friends, Lord Houghton proposed the host's health in a speech that ^^■as cither very sarcastic or very ill- judged. Formerly, he said, Shylock had been per- formed as a ferocious monster, but under Irving's treatment he became "a gentleman of the Jewish persuasion, in voice very like a Rothschild, afflicted with a stupid servant and a wilful and pernicious RHYLOCK. 147 daughter, to be eventually foiled by a very charm- ing woman." Furthermore, the gentleman said he supposed if Mr. Irving undertook the character of lago, he would, on the same principles, make him a very honest man who was devoted to watching oyer Othello's wife. To reply courteously to such a speech must, indeed, have been a hard task to the actor; but he lost neither his temper nor liio wit, turning aside the awkward statement of Lord Houghton with courteous yet pertinent remarks. The actor who may well serve as the link con- necting the stage across the water with the stage of this land is Junius Brutus Booth. His early experiences were in competition with Kean in Lon- don ; his later life was as a leader, with few com- petitors, in America. As for his Shylock, in that he could take genuine interest ; for he was as well versed in the Koran as in the Bible, could sympa- thize with the Jews deeply, since he honestly re- garded them as an oppressed race, and could, by his knowledge of the tongue, even repeat the lines of the character, when he chose, in the Hebrew dialect. His Jew was gloomy but grand, the embodiment of merciless fate. Yet, says a critic of former days, speaking of the elder Booth's impersonation, " Shy- 148 Shakespeare's heroes. lock's more special personality, — if we may so ex- press it, — his hatred of Antonio, not simply ' for he is a Christian,' but because he has hindered him in his usurious practices, was not merged and lost in his representation of the character. Booth kept the two distinct, skilfullj' using the former in or- der to throw out in darker background the shad- owy presence of the hitter. Finally, in keeping with this rendering of the part is the exit of Shy- lock from tlie machinery of the piece on the termi- nation of the fourth act. The lighter and more graceful work of the play goes on ; but Shylock withdraws, and with him this grand, gloomy, cruel past which he represents, Avhile the light-hearted, forgiving, and forgiven children of the day bring all their wishes to happy consummation." Edwin Booth would tell the story of his father passing hour after hour in learned discussion in the vernacular with a scholarly Isi'aelite of Balti- more, contending on Hebrew history, and particu- larly maintaining that he himself was of Hebraic connection, since the Welsh, from whom he was descended, were of Jewish origin. Once the peculiar eccentricity of Junius Brutus Booth broke out during a production of "The Mer- chant." It was in Philadelphia in 1851. The actor SHYLOCK. 149 was seen about the green-room very early that even- ing, but when the curtain was to be rung up he was nowhere in sight. What should be done ? Had he run away, — after the manner of some of his odd doings, — or had he fallen through a trap? The question was hastily discussed ; and, as tlie audience was getting impatient, it was decided best to start the plaj^ and trust to finding Shylock before the time of his entrance. Meanwhile, the. theatre was searched, and messengers were hurried to the hotels and the neighboring bar-rooms. No Shylock to be found. The time had almost come for the Jew's appear- ance, and Mr. Frederick, the stage-manager, in de- spair made ready to go upon the stage and inform the audience of Mr. Booth's "unprincipled con- duct," when suddenly a door in a little dark scene- closet opened, and Booth, calm and stolid, quietly walked out, gently pushed aside the stage-manager, and, proceeding upon the scene, delivered his lines in magnificent manner. Whether, as his daughter always maintained, Booth had been nervous over his appearance that night, and had retired to this queer spot in order to be absolutely undisturbed, or whether it was the freak of a great mind to madness closely allied, no one can tell. 150 Shakespeare's heroes. It was about a year after this that an interesting production of the " Merchant of Venice " occurred in New York. Oji the 6th of September, 1852, at Castle Garden, a centennial performance was given " in commemoration of the introduction of the drama in America, at Williamsburg, Va., in 1752." Charles W. Couldock acted Sliylock : Mr. Burton, Launce- lot; and Mrs. Vickery, Portia. With the Shake- spearian comedy was given also the same Garrick farce, " Lethe," played by the Hallam ComjDany a hundrcil years before. James W. Wallack was a notable Shylock, and in that role had the distinction of acting at his own New York theatre thirty-three successive nights, be- ginning Dec. 9, 1868, thus assisting in the longest run up to that date ever enjoyed by a Shakespear- ian play. His Portia during the run was the tal- ented Mrs. Hoey : Bassanio was Lester Wallack. The close of the run, Jan. 9, 1859, marked the last performance of the Jew that Wallack ever gave, while it preceded by only four months his retire- ment from the stage. The latter event occurred on the 14th of ]\Iay, when the veteran actor played Benedick in '• IMuch Ado about Nothing." Edwin Forrest for a time acted Shylock, but soon dropped it from his repertoire. George Van- SHYLOCK. 151 denhoff, Gustavus V. Brooke, who, liks Kean, made the character an exalted avenjrer of his race ; E. L. Davenport, less impetuous tliaii Kean, but with impersonation more highly colored than Young ; Lawrence Barrett and Bogurail Dawison, have appeared with success as Shylock: but none of these equalled Edwin Booth in that character. It was as Sliylock that Mr. Booth made his first London appearance, in the autumn of 1861, at the Haymarket Theatre, and under very unfavorable circumstances. The celebrated Buckstone was the manager, and the preparation for that event re- flects but slight credit upon British kindness or courtesy in management or criticism. No pains seem to liave been taken to secure even a respec- table introduction of Mr. Booth to London audi- ences. The American himself, justly annoyed at his poor surroundings, acted with indifference, while the English supporting company, with some few exceptions, were supercilious and offensive to the visitor. In fact, Mr. Booth's sister asserted that on that fateful night every one on the stage, in tlie expectation of a storm of hisses for Shylock, was more nervous and frightened than the untried actor himself. His Shylock was coldly received. 152 SHAKESPEARE'S HEROES. His later success as Richelieu, during this same engagement, brought a tardy tribute from actors, press, and public. j\Ir. Booth made an elaborate American presen- tation of the " Merchant of Venice " at the Winter Garden Theatre, New York, on Jan. 28, 1867, and the play ran seven weeks. The Winter Garden was then under Mr. Booth's sole manacrement. In later years another notable revival of the play brought Lawrence Barrett as Bassanio, and Mr. Booth as the Jew, before the public as united stars. One interesting- if not remarkablj' pleasant ex- perience Mv. Barrett and Mr. Booth had with the "Merchant of Venice" at the very begin- ning of their combined career in the fall of 1887. Tliey had contracted to open with the tragedy a new opera-liouse at Kansas City, and therefore were promptly on hand on the desired night. But what a sight met their eyes ! The management, in spite of all efforts, had not been able to keep the contractors up to -the agreed time ; and as a result the theatre was entirely destitute of roof, and was rough and cluttered from top to bottom. But the tickets had been sold, the actors were there, and the managers desired the performance to go on. One scene had to answer for the entire LAWRENCE BARRETT. SHYLOCK. 153 play ; fortunately that scenery was boxed in, so that it partly protected them from the cold. The spectators wore their hats and coats, and the actors willingly sought refuge inside their ulsters when- ever they could escape from behind tlie footlights. One bit of realism was probably never before car- ried out in any modern theatre ; for the night scene the actual moon lighted up the stage. Mr. Booth's Shylock reached its height in the trial scene, in the contrast of the hard, rapacious Jew in his seeming triumph (illustrated by Mr. Booth through the glittering eye and crouching form that marked his advance with tlie knife upon An- tonio) with the opposite phase of portrayal, the broken, wrecked old man who staggers away from the room defeated on every point. But in the quieter parts of the play Mr. Booth was equally great, though less noted by the careless observer, and in instances such as tliat wlierein lie ponder- ingly intrusted the keys to Jessica, displayed full}'' the thoroughness and finish of his impi^rsonation. If ever there was a character that came luird to Booth it must liave been Shylock, judging by the actor's letters to Mr. Furness, when he was as- sistino- that eminent Shakespearian scliolar with practical suggestions. " Shylock haunts me like a 154 Shakespeare's heroes. nightmare," he wrote one day. "I can't mount the animal — for such I consider Shjdock to be. I made an effort to get at hiin through G. F. Cooke's notes on his own acting of the part, and was sur- IDrised to see how he was influenced by tradition. He acknowledwd havinsr followed INlacklin in much that he was praised for in this part." A few months later, in a humorous vein. Booth wrote to the same correspondent about the char- acter, which he had once called so " earthy " that he could feel no inspiration in the atmosphere of the play, '• Mj- dear Furness — Hold on ! The Jew came to me last evening just as I was leaving Pittsburg, and stayed with me all night on the sleeping-car, whence sleep was banished ; and I think I've got him- by the beard or nose, I know not wliicli, but I '11 liang on to him for a while, and see wliat he '11 do for me. I '11 have his pound of flesh if I can get it off his old bones." When Lawrence Barrett played Shylock he gave a justification — the Jew's own justification — of the brutality of the coveted penalty. He acted the part with dignity, while at the same time he filled it with intensity. As for his appearance in the rSle, no better portrait can be given than that of a playgoer of 1886, who pictured the imper- SHYLOCK. 155 senator as "tall, moving with slow strength across the boards in front of the scene that does duty for the Rialto, standing in a quietude almost statu- esque in its pose, robed in his black Jewish gaber- dine, bordered with red, and marked with a red cross on the elbow, a black and yellow cap on his gray, bent head, his richly jewelled hands betray- ing the nervous eagerness of his nature as they clutch and twine upon his long knotted staff, with a withdrawn look of his strong-featured face, and a reserved intelligence dwelling in his eyes." Richard Mansfield has essayed Shylock, as well as Richard III. ; but as yet the chief fame of this actor rests with his vivid character sketches in "The Parisian Romance" and "Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde." CORIOLANUS. One night Edwin Booth and his father were sitting before the bright open fire, enjoying the play of " Coriolanus." The elder Booth was read- ing the book ; the younger, then a mere lad, was listening with undisguised pleasure. On went the glorious recitation until the little clock on the mantel had struck the small hours of the morning. No sooner were the last Avords of the text reached, than Junius Brutus Booth launched forth into a noble tribute to the marvellous acting of his former rival, Edmund Kean, giving to his eager son, for the first and only time in his life, reminiscences of the struggling days in England. "Father," cried Edwin, as the elder player finallj^ ceased his grand description of the acting of Cor- iolanus, "why don't you take that character?" " I ? " replied the veteran. "Nonsense ! 'T would seem absurd for one of my inches to utter such boistfnl speeches. I cannot look Coriolanus." 157 158 shakbspeakb's heroes. This, then, was the reason the elder Booth, hero of so many of Shakespeare's plays, never attempted the role of the haughty Roman. And yet, as Edwin Booth has declared, his low statnre mili- tated not in Brutus, when from the very force of his curse of Tarquin, the patriot seemed to to^^er ten feet high, while liis pathos in the part moved even the stage supernumeraries, who played the mob, to genuine tears and sobs. In America, Booth would have found few com- parisons possible. In fact, up to the beginning of the present centuiy but two impersonators of Coriolanus are known to have appeared. The first was John P. Moreton, of the Philadelphia Company. Moreton's real name was Pollard ; but financial troubles in India, whei'e he appears to have indis- creetly loaned funds from the bank of Calcutta, in which he was employed, drove him back to Eng- land in disgrace, and presumably led him to can- cel his real name when the actor's profession was opened before his eyes. He was an American by birth, it is said, his father having served in the British army in the colonies. Moreton's progress was rapid here ; for quickly he rose even to . the character of Hamlet, and before many years could CORIOLANUS. 159 demand tliirty dollars a night for his special per- formances. In the cast of that Philadelphia production of " Coriolanus," on June 3, 1796, the Volumnia was the amiable Mrs. Whitlock, the youngest sister of the great Mrs. Siddons of the English stage. As the last year of the eighteenth century was turning its meridian, a second Caius Marcius strocl(; upon the mimic field of battle. This was Cooper, the wealthy but prodigal Thomas Abthorpe Cooper, who by his performance at the Park Theatre, on the 3d of June, 1799, may stand recorded in his- tory as the first Coriolanus of the New York stage. A young actor then, just passing his twenty-third summer, and with a stage experience of less than seven years. Cooper yet could show the strength that was in him in a far different manner from that fateful day in 1792, when, making his dShut in the character of Malcolm in " Macbeth," he broke down so completely that Stephen Kemble, the manager, bade him take his salary and leave the theatre. But the plucky youth would not leave the stage. In 1796 he came to America, and here became a leader, playing in triumph througli the chief cities, and earning a fortune of two hundred 160 Shakespeare's heroes. thousand dollars. His money, however, disappeared under his extravagant living and reckless improvi- dence. As illustrative of the latter characteristic a story- may be told. One day wliile talking witli a friend on Broad- wa}'. New York, the tragedian noticed a load of hay approacliing. "I will bet you the value of my benefit to-night," exclaimed Cooper, on the spur of the moment, " that I will pull the longest wisp of hay out of that load." " Done," cried his jovial friend. " I'll bet a like amount." They pulled, and Cooper lost. "Oh," he ex- claimed, in the most careless manner conceivable, " there's two hours of acting lost." But those two hours meant the receipt of twelve hundred dollars. That he must luu'e made a noble Coriolanus may be surmised when we read the poetic descrip- tion of his personality, as -written by Samuel Wood- worth : — "For -when in life's briglit noon tlie stage lie trod, In majesty and grace a demi-god, With form, and mien, and attitude, and air, Which modern kings might envy in despair ; ■When his stern bro-w and awe-inspiring eye Bore sign of an imperial majesty ; L THOMAS ABTHORPE COOPER, CORIOLAXUS. 161 Then — in the zenith of his glory — then He moved, a model for the first of men. The drama was his empire : and his throne Xo rival dared dispute — he reigned alone !" And 3'et this man of noble mien and majestic look could play odd tricks of ungentlemanly eccen- tricity. Joe Cowell, the comedian, was sitting on the sofa iji tlie green-room one night, waiting for the tragedy to end so that he might go on in the farce. The mirror being directly over Cowell, when Cooper came forward to adjust his toga, the brother player moved aside his head to give the great actor a chance to use the looking-glass, but did not move his person. Thereupon the dignified stage Roman, in the most undignified manner, put his own head a few inches in front of Cowell's face, and stared contemptuously at him. Cowell was more than his match. He returned the stare, and at the same time emphatically uttered the one contemptuous word, " Booh ! " There was a roar of laugliter in the green-room ; and Cooper, astonished at the temerity of the clown, left the place. A few days later, however, he prac- tically apologized to Cowell, and thereafter accepted him as an intimate associate. One of the strangest whims of this famous actor 162 Shakespeare's heeoes. was disclosed in later conYersation with his new- made friend. Cooper was boasting that his chil- dren never cried. Pie stopped that habit, he said, in the following unique way : " When ni}' children were young, and began to cry, I al«'ays dashed a glass of Avater in their faces, and that so aston- islied them that they wou.ld leave off ; and if tliey began again I'd dasli another, and keep on increas- ing the dose until tliej' were entirely cured." To one of those same children came the distinc- tion of being the daughter-in-law of a President. ]Miss Priscilla Cooper, born of the tragedian's sec- ond wife (the daughter of the famous wit. Major James Fairlee, and grand-daughter of Chief Justice Robert Yates), married Robert Tyler, a son of President Tyler, and for a time, while the Presi- dent was a widower, presided at the White House. It was through her influence, moreover, that her father in liis later j-ears, after his fortune had been dissipated, secured a government appointment at the Arsenal near Philadelphia, and later another appointment in the New York Custom House. A pretty story is told of their first appearance together ; for Miss Priscilla had taken to the stage in her girlhood, in order to assist her im- poverished father. It was in 1834, on the occa- COKIOLANUS. 163 sion of her first appearance, and of her father's benefit in New York. As Cooper, in the role of Virginius, bade them send to him his daughter Virginia, and the giil came tripping in, exclaim- ing, in the appropriate words of the text, "Well, fatlier, what's your will ? " the whole audience burst into a prolonged round of cheers and ap- plause, so cordial and so enthusiastic as to move both the father and daughter to tears. Fifteen years later Cooper died in the arms of Priscilla. Blessed with a splendid voice in tone and com- pass, with wonderfully expressive eyes and a fine figure, with the power to make "his form in anger that of a demon, his smile in affability that of an angel," Cooper yet lacked the judgment in under- standing and interpreting Shakespeare necessary to place him in the front rank of all the imperso- nators of the Bard's characters. With Cooper, in that first New York production of " Coriolanus," there appeared as Volumnia an actress of towering stature and tragic skill, Mrs. Giles Leonard Barrett. In England, as Mrs. Rivers, she had been a pupil of Macklin, and one of the scores of Portias to his famous Shylock. Two years before this " Coriolanus " performance, she had made her American debut, with her husband. 164 shakesi'eare's heroes. And now an actor of longer record on the Eng- lish stage tempts the favor of Americans. He is John Vandenhoff, the father of George Vandenlioff. His Coriolaniis, on the night of Sept. 11, 1837, at the National Theatre in New York, marking his dShut there, had as support j\lrs. Flynn in the role of Voluiiinia, and Henry Wallack in the part of Tiillns Aufidius. Westland Marston had seen the actor in Lon- don, and there declared that as Coriolanus he displayed great dignity, a powerful and melodious voice, and a finished and imjjressive skill in act- ing, due to careful ju'eparation. He Avas never great, however. Strange tcj say, tliis impersonator of the Roman hero was, in his own person, mor- tally afraid of a cat. Ho could not hear a feline near him. One day, in fact, at the house of a friend, when the innocent pet of the household chanced to enter the room with its customary f]-iendly "meow," the tragedian gave forth a shriek tliat startled not only his friends, hut drove the in- nocent kitten in a rush of terror out of the room. Vandenhoff had been originally intended for the priesthood. He visited America twice before his retirement in 1858. Three years later (October, 1861) he died, at the age of seventy-one, follow- CORIOLANUS. 165 ing, by one year, his daughter, the original Par- thenia in " lugomar." A contempoi'ary of Vandenhoff, James R. Ander- son, made liis first appearance as Coriolanus in America at the Park Theatre, New York, April 14, 1845, with Miss Clara Ellis as Volumnia. Ander- son was then twenty-six years of age, and in Mac- ready's company in England had the honor of being the Chevalier de Mauprat in the original produc- tion of Lord Lytton's " Richelieu." His several visits to America made his name well known here; but, like the elder Vandenhoff, he continued to the end an Englisli actor. The American players are now in the green-room. Let us marshal forth their Coriolanuses. First, there steps forward a muscular, heroically moulded figure, with strikingly robust face, a man who might have stood as a model for Hercules in form, and whose face could well depict the Roman. It is Edwin Forrest, the idol for many years of the theatre-going public. Recall the story told of him in former years, if you desire a good illustration of the physical characteristics of the man. He was jjlaying then a Roman general, and, according to the directions of the play-book, was to be attacked by six minions 166 Shakespeare's heroes. of the enemy. At rehearsal Mr. Forrest was dis- satisfied. The supernumeraries fought too tamely. They did not make the scene sufficiently realistic. With good round oaths he bade them fight, fight, fight ! and not dodge back and forward as if engaging in a child's game. The supers at first sulked over his hot words, and then they formed a plot among themselves. At the perform- ance that night it developed. They were going to make a genuinely hot fight, a rough and tumble that their traducer would remember. To his aston- ishment they leaped upon him in the fiercest man- ner, raining blow after blow against liis head. For just one instant Forrest fell back astounded. Then, as he realized the situation, his breast ex- panded in indignation, his brow grew dark in cloudy rage, and with a half-suppressed oath he leaped into the midst of the crowd, struck out with his powerful arm now to the right, now to the left, and in a trice had vanquished the enemy completely, leaving one super sticking fast in the bass-drum in the orchestra, whither he had been knocked Ijy a powerful blow, four of the rest dress- ing their wounds in the green-room, and the sixth, terrified out of his senses, rushing from the theatre, yelling '■ Fire " at the top of his voice. CORIOLANUS. 167 The audience applauded to the echo. They had never seen Forrest " act so splendidly," they de- clared one to the other. It must have been with somewhat of that same enthusiasm that the audience cheered tlie actor when he played Coriolanus at the notable en- gagement in the Broadway Theatre, New York, a number of years after his first appearance in the part. The interpretation was so admirable that the spectators lost sight of the actor, and saw only the heroic soldier. " Tlie crowning triumph," de- clared one of those present that night, " came in the closing scenes of the third act, when the ban- ishment of Coriolanus is announced by Brutus, amid the huzzas of the populace. The stage of the Broadway Theatre had even more than the usual gradual elevation as it receded from the foot- lights. In the position where Forrest stood he seemed to have acqnired additional height, as with flashing eyes and dilated form he rushed towards the ]-etreating rabble, and thundered out his concen- trated scorn in the exclamation, ' I banish you ! ' " When Forrest acted the title rSle of the tragedy at Niblo's Garden, in November, 1863, with Mme. Ponisi as Volumnia, the Cominius of the produc- tion was a young player destined some years later 168 Shakespeare's heroes. to assume in Ids turn the chief character, — John McCullough. The Irish-born lad, totally ignorant of art and literature, and with not even the ability to write, though he could read a little, had immi- grated to ^Vmerica at the age of fifteen. Working in a chairmaker's shop, he chanced to meet a "stage-struck" fellow-workman; and being thus led to an acquaintance with the theatre, eagerly and devotedly studied for the stage. In 1857 he made his Jehut, and for twenty-seven years continued an actor ; then his mind gave way, and he was retii'ed to an insane asylum until deatli speedily ended his misery. In 1861 Forrest had become interested in the youth, and before long liad made him the leading man in his company. Next came McCullough's starring tour, when Virgin ius, Brutus, and Spar- taeus, as well as Othello, Richard III., Lear, and Coriolanus, won him fame and wealth. Kind, gen- erous, and high-minded in his ambition, McCul- lough was regarded as a warm friend bj- hundreds, while thousands pitied the sad ending of what had seemed a rugged, sturdy life. The best words that can be said of his Corio- lanus are those of his warm friend and admirer, William Winter. Mr. Winter pronounced MeCul- JOHN McCULLOUGH. COEIOLANUS. 169 lough's impersonation equcal to that of Forrest in physical inajesty, while it was superior in intel- lectual haughtiness and in refinement. The actor's declamation was as fluent as his demeanor was massively graceful. He looked Coriolanus to the life. "The stormy utterance of revolted pride and furious disgust, in the denial of Volumnia's re- quest," said Winter, " the tempestuous outburst, ' I will not do it ! ' made as wild, fiery, and fine a movement in tragic acting as could be imagined; but the climax was reached in the pathetic cry, ' The gods look down, and this unnatural scene they laugh at.' " Meanwhile, England's great Coriolanus had long since passed awaj^. There had been but one actor on the British stage to identify himself with the rdle, and that was John Philip Kemble, the most stately, dignified player of the last century. To be sure, his Coriolanus was not sufficiently bar- baric to satisfy Leigh Hunt, since bj' the substi- tution of a polished patrician manner he failed to meet that critic's ideal of the rough soldier of primitive Rome; but yet its tremendous force and grandeur were irresistible. It was strange Kemble could not break away entirely from the ruthless adapters of Shakespeare, 170 Shakespeare's hbeoes. and present this tragedy from the original version ; but though he gave more of the master's lines than had his predecessor, Sheridan, yet still he could omit passages of such excellence as that be- ginning, " His nature is too noble for the world," and could adopt many phrases from Thomson. It was in 1749, fort}^ years before Kemble's Cor- iolanus, that Tliomson's version had been biought out at Covent Garden, with gay Peg Wof&ngton painting her pretty face into wrinkles, in order to portray faithfully the character of Volumnia. The poor poet had died suddenly, before this last work of his had ever been performed ; and so his friend, kind-liearted old Quin, the veteran actor, arranged to bring out the declamatory tragedy for the benefit of the author's destitute family, and, free of charge, to play the hero's role. Lord Lyt- telton, too, was interested in Thomson's family; and so, to help tlie production, wrote an epilogue for j\Irs. Woiifington, in her own person, to speak, its lines running in this vein : — " If an Old Mother had such pow'rful charms To stop a stubborn Roman's conq'ring arms ; If with my grave discourse and wrinkled face I thus could bring a hero to disgrace, How absolutely may I hope to reign Now I am turned to my own shape again." CORIOLANUS. 171 It may be unjust to have a bit of fun over generous Quin in Coriolanus ; but as the audi- ence laughed merrily one hundred and fifty years ago, we of to-day may be forgiven. Tire roar went up when Quin, who had acquired the affec- tation of pronouncing the "a" long in fasces, bade the soldiers lower their fasces, and they literally obeyed, until their faces even touched their bows. Quin's costume to-day would bring a smile. Topping his long flowing-haired wig was a cap with upright plumes at least two feet in height, while beneath his elaborately decorated tunic was a short, stiffened skirt, that stood out much the same as does a ballet-dancer's of to-day. Skin- tight breeches and buskins completed the attire. Two adaptations had preceded Thomson's : that wretched affair of 1682, by Nahum Tate, brought out under the title " Ingratitude of a Common- wealth ; or. The Fall of Caius Marcius Coriolanus ; " and the failure of 1719 by John Dennis, the good critic and the bad playwright, brought out under the title of "The Invader of his Country; or, The Fatal Resentment," and acted for three nights only, with Booth as Coriolanus, and Mrs. Porter as Vo- lumnia. But never did a combination equal that of John 172 Shakespeare's heroes. Kemble and his sister, Mrs. Siddons. The actress, indeed, won even higher praises than did the actor. Charles Young, the experienced Shakespearian in- terpreter, sat in the audience on the 7th of Feb- ruary, 1789, and actually wept when the Siddons wept, and smiled when she smiled. He told of the scene afterwards. " Ah," said he, " in that triumphal entry of her son Coriolanus, her dumb show drew plaudits that shook the building. She came along marching and beating time to the music, rolling (if that be not too strong a term to describe her motion) from side to side, swelling with the triumph of her son. Such was the intoxi- cation of joy which flashed from her eyes, and lit up her whole face, that the effect was irresistible. She seemed to me to reap all the glory of that procession to herself. I could not take my eyes from her. Coriolanus, banner, and pageant, — all went for nothing to me after she had walked to her place." As for the noble Coriolanus, eight and twenty years later he was playing the role \\'ith all the strength and glory of his early years, with no abatement of spirit and energy, as Hazlitt said, and none of grace and dignity. This was his fare- well of the stage. cor: TOLA NTTS. 173 It was a Monday night, the 23(1 of June, 1817, and the house was crowded. Applause showered upon him constantly. When, after the last act, he approached the footlights to make his foi'mal ad- dress, a shout, as from one mighty voice, filled the theatre, "No, — no farewell." But it had to be. Infirmities were pressing upon the actor, now in his sixtieth year; and, though he knew it not, he was then within a few years of his last scene upon earth. The actors crowded around him in the green- room after the curtain fell, saw Talma's wreath of laurel presented to the great English player, and then, in their turn, begged for memorials. He gave to each a trinket of some sort, — something that he had worn upon that very stage, and, finally, to Mathews presented his sandals. " Yes," cried the comedian, "I have John Kemble's sandals. I never could tread in his shoes, but in these, at least, I can step." It is said that even to the last the force of " Black Jack's " acting was such, that when Corio- lanus in haughty pride dashed against the mob, the crowd involuntarily fell back, without the aid of assumed acting, driven by the very impetuous- ness of his mighty power. 174 shakespbaeb's hbrobs. Even upon John Howard Payne, whose " Home, Sweet Home " was to make his name immortal, this allusion of reality was forced. Payne was in Lon- don in 1817, and, writing to a friend in America, thus described the Englishman in the tragedy : — " I can never forget Kerable's Coriolanus ; his entrie was the most brilliant I ever -witnessed. His person derived a majesty from a scarlet robe which he managed with inim- itable dignity. The Roman energy of his deportment, the seraphic grace of his gesture, and the movements of his perfect self-possession, displayed the great mind, daring to command, and disdaining to solicit admiration. His form derived an additional elevation of perhaps two inches from his sandals. In evi^-y part of the house the audience rose, waved their hats, and huzzaed ; and the cheering must have lasted more than five minutes." And yet this proud actor was not without his enjoyment of humor. During one of his favorite impersonations — it might possibly have been Cor- iolanus, for tliat was dear to him — a child in the audience began to crj^ and, uncontrolled by its mother, kejit up the bellowing for an annoying length of time. At last Kemble could stand it no longer. He came to the front, and with signifi- cant emphasis, but yet with a smile on his lips, said, " Ladies and gentlemen, unless the plaj^ is stopped the child cannot go on with comfort." CORIOLANUS. 175 The play was not stopped, — but the child went out. This humorous turn was akin to the Avitty manner in which the actor retorted to Shaw, the musical director who was attending to the rehearsal of " Cceur de Lion." " Mr. Kemble," cried the irri- tated leader, after the player with his bad singing voice had ineffectually attempted the song set down to his part, " you are murdering the time ! " "That may be," promptly replied the actor; "but it's better to murder time outright than to be for- ever beating it, as you are ! " Even better was the quotation at the toll-gate, when, returning with a friend from dinner, he tossed a coin to the old toll-keeper, and, waving away his proffer of the amount to be returned, cried out to his friend in exactly the tone, as well as the words, of Rolla, " We seek no change ; and least of all such change as he would bring us." And this was the sedate and precise chieftain of the solemn, declamatory school of the eighteenth century, "the noblest Roman of them all," as some one declared when praising his grand assumption of characters like Shakespeare's haughty Caius Marcius. Born forty years before the first Coriolanus ap- 176 Shakespeare's heroes. peared on the American stage, this English hero of the tragedy had passed through a hard novitiate before reaching tlie highest degree. The son of an itinerant player, he was destined by his father for the priesthood, and to that end was sent to a Roman Catholic seminary. There he displayed one admirable characteristic for theatrical work by committing to memory fifteen hundred lines of Homer, — learning this number in order to remove b}^ himself the entire task placed upon his class for a general indiscretion. This remarkable memory stood by him all through life ; in fact, one night he was willing to bet that after four days' study he could repeat every line in any newspaper, ad- vertisements and all, in regular order, and without missing or misplacing a single word. In 1776 he gained his desired foothold on the stage, and seven years later, at the age of twenty- six, made liis London dSbut, playing Hamlet. Al- though very ambitious and earnest, he yet pro- gressed more slowly than his sister, the great Mrs. Siddons, but finally won eminence both as actor and as manager. In the latter role he lost his theatre, Covent Gaixlen, by the fire of Sept. 20, 1808 ; but while all others—were dismayed and dis- heartened, he boldly looked forward to a phoenix- COEIOLANaS. 177 like rising. Through the generosity of the Duke of Northumberland it came ; that nobleman, unsolicited, giving ten thousand pounds toward the new house. The prices for playgoers were raised, on account of the expense ; and, as a result, came the famous O. P. (or Old Price) riot, that lasted for sixty- six nights, and nearly resulted in the mobbing of Kemble's family. As he now neared the end of his career, no actor could be found to challenge comparison, until, in 1814, Edmund Kean dashed upon the stage, and with his fiery enthusiasm overthrew all tlie idols of the stately Kemble school. But hot-blooded Kean, as Coiiolanus, could not present the requisite repose for the hero, and there- fore never equalled Kemble there. Moreover, he lacked the physical size and the bearing. Yet Doran said none but a great actor could have played the scene of the candidatesliip and that of the death as Kean did ; tliough in these very scenes it was admitted that he really deserted his own school, and followed the Kemble ideals. Macready was but twenty-seven years of age when he attempted the character of the Roman, and yet in the r6le was well received. Barry Cornwall paid him a poetic tribute that declared: — 178 Shakespeare's heroes. " And lie shall wear his victor's crown, and stand Distinct amidst the genius of the land." In later years, when Macready was his own man- ager, he gave to " Coriolanus " a magnificent re- vival. The senate scene saw nearly two hundred white-robed Roman fathers on the stage, with tlie Consul seated in state before the brazen wolf and its liuman sucklings, and behind, the sacred altar with its blazing fire. The "Siege of Rome" was pictured by a small army of finely equipped soldiers, with moving towers and battering-rams. But to an ill-judging friend of Macready, who attempted to prove the actor superior to Kemble, by arguing that it was a mistake to suppose Cor- iolanus "an abstraction of Roman-nosed grandeur," James Sniitli replied in an epigram that grew popu- lar in a day : — - " Wliat scenes of grandeur does this play disclose, AVliere all is Roman — save the Roman's nose!" Phelps was held to be "too impetuous and ex- citable for Coriolanus ; " and no one in England since liis day has achieved fame in the part. In fact, the Britisli stage, as well as the American, awaits a worthy successor to the giant Coriolanuses of old. MACBETH. (In Eauly Days.) The young Pepys had been to the phiy, and, of course, had to put down in writing in his private diary the sights he saw at the theatre. Listen, then, to his critique on " Macbeth," as given at the Duke's play-house in London on the 21st of December, 1668. "The King and Court there," — thus the prelude reads, with the personal line to follow, — "and we sat just under them and my Lady Castleniaine, and close to a woman that comes into the pit, a kind of loose gossip that pretends to be like her, and is so, something. And my wife, by my trotli, appeared as pretty as any of them." Pepys always had an eye for beauty, and, in his own frank way, wrote just what lie tliought. " The King and Duke of Yoi'k minded me," he continues, with a touch of his own simple vanity, "and smiled upon me, at the handsome woman near me. But it vexed 179 180 Shakespeare's heroes. me to see Moll Davis, in the box over the King's and my Lady Castlemaine, look down upon the King, and he up to her ; and so did mj' Lady Castlemaine once, to see who it was ; but when slie saw Moll Davis she looked like fire, which troubled me." No uncommon thing, this, for our good friend Pepj-s to be troubled over the actions of those about him : he kept his eyes open to find out all manner of disturbances. But what said he of the play, " Macbeth " ? Not a word. The jjeople in the pit and the boxes, particuhui)- the latter, were the things of interest to worthy Pepys, and presumabl}- also to liis wife. And this, Ave may take it, was the case with many other play-goers of that day. Thej' went to the play-Iiovise for fondness of the fashion more than for love of Shakespeai-e. To be sure, Pepys has very calmlj' told us, in writing of " ilacbeth " at a previous performance, that it was a "pretty good play," but his adjectives never ran any stronger. Wliat would the wide-eyed gossip have said could he have seen other more interesting sights in the auditorium when " Macbeth," in later years, lived and died behind tlie candles? One king, in 1G68, was enough to distract Pepys's mind from MACBETH. 181 the stage ; what would he have done with four kings to watch? They were American kings, ab- original chiefs, brought over to London, and enter- tained at tlie theatre by the actor Bowen, who shrewdly saw how great a caixl they would be, as spectators, on his benefit night of "Macbeth." In fact, they were so big a card that the gallery gods would not rest content at the noble red-men re- maining quietly in their box, but raised such an uproar that there was nearly a riot, until the In- dians were induced solemnly to march down and gravely seat themselves in four chairs on the stage, there to look upon the murder of Banquo, and the misery of Macbeth. More exciting was the act played by the audi- ence in the year 1721, when hot-tempered Quin and his associates were performing the play of ambition to the best of their ability. In those days it was easy for a play -goer to obtain admis- sion behind the scenes ; and, on the night in ques- tion, one drunken earl had the effrontery to stioll across the stage, from one wing to the other, while the players were carrying out their rdles. Natu- rally the manager. Rich, remonstrated. The reply was a stinging slap on the cheek. "What!" cried the insulted play-man, "must I 182 Shakespeare's heeoes. stand this ? " His action on tlie instant gave the answer, for the cheek of the noble earl burned with tlie sharpness of the returning blow. With the insult both drew their swords. A lialf- dozen gallants rushed to the side of the "gentle- niai),"" and, with weapons pointed at the daring Kieh, plunged forward to end his life. But Quin, Walker, Rj-an, and the other actors were there too. Tliey scented tlie coming battle, and, seizing weapons, bore down upon the array of nobles be- fore them. Helter-skelter the gilt-laeed, perfumed beaux fled out to the street, and then, after the eiiemj' liad retired, boldh' burst into the unprotected front of the house, and proceeded to cut and slasli the furni- ture and curtains of the auditorium. Undismayed, tlie actors too resumed the battle, until, with the aid of the city watch, thej^ captured the rioters, and forced them to trial. It was this scene that led to the placing of a guard of soldiers thereafter in the theatre, a custom which held in England until the early part of the present centurj*. But all this was j-ears after the first })roduction of the traged}-, when Richard Burbage, greatest actor I if his daj', created the title role. Of liis acting we may judge b}^ the elegy of 1618 : — MACBEl'H. 18S " Tyrant Macbeth, with unwashed, bloody hand, We vainly now may hope to understand." After this Macbeth of 1606, no others appear until Pepys's day. From the year 1672, for some threescore years and ten, we lose sight of the original Shakespearian version in the mangled adap- tation of Sir William Davenant. The first Mac- beth of the Davenant vei'sion was Betterton. At Dorset Garden Theatre, managed by the widow of Sir William, by Betterton and by Joseph Harris (the Macduff of the cast) the tragedy was brought out, with its blank vei'se turned, for the most part, into the cheap rhymes then so much in favor with the wits, and with a dance of furies and an ojier- atic accompaniment to give variety. The Lady Macbeth was grandly performed by Mrs. Better- ton, while, most curious of all, Banqno in life fell to the lot of handsome, well-formed Smith, with Banquo's Ghost acted by the homeliest man in the troupe, the deformed impersonator of villains, " round-shouldered, meagre-faced, spindle-shanked, splay-footed Sandford," as Anthony Aston pictured liim, "the best villain in the world." And here we may say that the two murderers met with the disapproval of England's king, who, being himself swarthy of complexion, took to heart 184 Shakespeare's heroes. the constant niaking-up of stage villains with dark countenances. " Forsooth ! " quoth His Majesty, " what is the meaning that we never see a rogue in a play, but, odsfish ! they always clap on him a black periwig, when it is well known that one of the greatest rogues in England always wears a fair one ? "" — a delicate allusion to the Earl of Shaftesbury. Of Betterton's Macbeth we know little, except that it was admirable. Of one of the perform- ances of the tragedy in his time we have an in- teresting anecdote, noting the origin of a slang phrase that lias lasted even to this da}-. In the pit that night sat John Dennis, the author of a tragedy to which, tliough Betterton had played the leading role, no praise could be awarded save for a piece of clap-trap, the invention of a new method of making stage thunder. In " Macbeth " Dennis heard his "thunder" repeated; and, rising in indignation, he cried out in a loud voice, " See how those rascals use me ; they won't let my play run, but thei/ steal m)/ thunder!" The fine-looking but mediocre-acting John Mills tried the leading rdle; and then there came to the front a long line of players, of whom a condensed criticism is best given in the somewhat harsh, but MACBETH. 185 yet aptly descriptive, verse of a satirist of their day, — an anti-Macklinite during the Macklin con- troversy, which we shall note later. Thus the lines run : — " Old Quin, ere fate suppressed his lab'ring breath, In studied accents grumbled out 'Macbeth.' Next G-arrick came, whose utterance truth impressed. While every look the tyrant's guilt confessed. Then the cold Sheridan half froze the part, Yet what he lost by nature saved by art. Tall Barry now advanced toward Birnam Wood, Nor ill performed the scenes — he understood. Grave Mossop next to Forres shaped his march, His words were minute guns, his actions starch. Rough Holland, too, — but pass his errors o'er. Nor blame the actor when the man's no more. Then heavy Ross essayed the tragic frown, But beef and pudding kept all meaning down. Next careless Smith tried on the murderer's mask, While o'er his tongue light tripped the hurried task. Hard Macklin late guilt's feelings strove to speak. While sweats infernal drenched his iron cheek. Like Fielding's kings, his fancied triumph's past, And all he boasts is that he fails the last." Cast a look now upon the first of these rhyme- imprisoned heroes, doughty old James Quin, who first played Macbeth in 1719, and kept the rdle in his rSpertoire for a generation. He is " cumber- some," the critics of his day say, as they watch Quin's Macbeth; his sole merit in tragedy consists 186 shakespeake"s heroes. ill his declamation and show of brutal pride. A sturdy-looking Macbeth he made, indeed, but a Macbeth destitute of animation or variety in utter- ance. Moreover, the expression of mental agitation, of the remorse, despaii', or frenzj- of the ambition- wrecked prince, was beyond his ability. Tlie actor himself knew so little of the real play, that he was astonished, in later years, to learn from Garrick tliat the lines he uttered were not from the original of Shakespeare, but the polluted verse of Davenant. And wliat say the critics of Garrick's Macbeth, as he dashes upon the scene . in the full court- dress of tlie time of George II., — scarlet coat, gold-laced waistcoat, powdei-ed wig, and all? They sav naught against the costume, for to them aff^ idea of apjjropriateness in dressing is as foreign as crinolines to an Eskimo. They say much in praise of the acting ; for earnest, natural Davy is a splendid impersonator of the haunted Thane. ^^'ith I\Irs. Pj'itchard for the lad\-, he so captivated Davies liy the acting of the murder scene, that tlie latter declared lie could not adequately de- scribe the imiDression the two made. " Garrick's distraction of mind and agonizing horror," he exclaimed, " were finely contrasted by DAVID GARRICK AS MACBETH (In Act II,, Scene S). MACBETH. 187 Pritchard's seeming apathy, tranquillity, and confi- dence. The beginning of the scene after the mur- der was conducted in terrifying whispers. Their looks and actions supplied the place of words. You heard of what they spoke, but you learned more from the agitation of mind displayed in their action and deportment. The poet here gives an outline of the consummate actor r 'I have done the deed ! ' ' Didst thou not hear a noise ? ' ' When ? ' ' Did you not speak ? ' The dark coloring given by the actor to these abrupt speeches makes the scene awful and tremendou.s to the auditors. The wonderful expression of heartfelt horror which Gar- rick felt when he showed his bloody hands, can only be conceived and described by those who saw him." The nio-ht Mi's. Pritchard took her farewell of the stage, April 24, 1768, after thirty-eight years of ser- vice, she played Lady Macbeth ; that evening again Garrick played Macbeth, and never after essayed the rdle. This was twenty-one years from the sea- son they had first played the characters together. A propos of his costume, they say that Garrick was terrified at the suggestion of a change to Hio-hland dress. " You forget," he said in a stage- whisper to the friend who mentioned the idea, 188 Shakespeare's heroes. " you forget that the Pretender was here only thirty years ago, and, egad ! I should be pelted off the stage with orange-peel." With tlie same timidity the actor refused to ven- ture " Macbeth " just as it was written bj^ Shake- speare ; but though he thrust aside completely the Daveuant version, yet he persisted in making altera- tions in the original text, to better, as he thought, the scenes. Thus Macbeth needs must have a long and harrowing dying speech, to give Daw a chance to exhibit his ability in delineating con- vu.lsive death-agonies. Conceive, however, the grand power of an actor who could hold a private gathering of talented men and women, of another nationality than his own, absolutely entranced with his acting. In Paris, where our IJoscius avus visiting temporarily, he astounded tlie critics. AVearing ordinary dress, in a parlor, he acted out the dagger scene of " Mac- betli,"' following with his eyes the course of the air-drawn dagger with such intensity of emotion as to cause the whole assembly to burst into a pro- longed cry of admiration at the end. This was wliat Grimm said. As for impulsive Clairon, tlie famous French ac- tress, so carried away was she by the little man's MACBETH. 189 impersonation in a pathetic recital accompanying his show of Macbetli, that she threw both arms around his neck, and imprinted two rapid kisses in succession on eitlier cheek. " Pardon," she said to Mrs. Garriok, " I really could not help it." Is it not strange, then, to know that a player who, with no appropriate costume at all, could wo wonderfully impersonate a character, could also at another time neglect his character so much as to omit^ his by -play in a minor scene, in order to button more neatly his Macbeth coat, — a bit of vanity that gave a secondary actor a splendid chance to shine, in contrast, by faithful attention to duty. Turn the lights now upon a Macbeth around whose first impersonations luing threats and riots, — rough, honest old Macklin. Old, indeed, since when he originally assumed the role of the ambi- tious Thane the actor had passed, by three years, the age-stone of threescore and ten. He had made a contract with Covent Garden Theatre, and, to the astonishment of the manager, insisted on show- ing, as a novelty, his Macbeth and Richard III., instead of presenting his familiar and accepted Shvlock. Smith was the recognized representative of the former roles at this time, and hence there 190 SHAKESPEARE S HEROES. came a conflict ; finally a compromise was effected by which they should alternate the parts. When old Macklin, however, advanced to the front dressed as Macbeth, there was hissing, an emphatic sign of that opposition which in the public print had alread}' shown its head. One would have thought, indeed, that the novel costuming introduced by Macklin might arouse a party-feeling ; for Garrick, with his court-dress and Ills officer's uniform, had established the "proper" garb of the Thane, ^^-]^ile Macklin deliberately appeared, instead, in a Highland kilt. "An old Scotcli jiilier stumping along at tlie head of his army," one man called him. Later on, as we see ill the antique print, he changed his costume. But this was not the point of antagonism. Ene- mies might swear that, while the old fellow acted well enough in the witch scene and the inter- view with Lady Macbeth, and carried out well tlie scene witli the murderers and the bits of passion- ate rage and of mental depression, yet in all else he failed, making a lamentable exhibition in the dagger scene and at the banquet. But it was chiefly on personal antagonism to the man that the anti-Macklinites built their opposition. On the first night, Oct. 23, 1773, they hissed the *^*^ ^ 'i ^r^Vv/'^i ■"^^*^^< CHARLES MACKLIN AS MACBETH (In Act II., Scene 3). MACBETH. 191 hero. On the fourth night, after growing signs of disapproval, they fairly drove him from the stage with their insults. How they did crowd the play- house on those tumultuous evenings, the IMaclclin friends and the Macklin enemies ! '• One hour I was squeezed to death at the door in Bow Street," wrote George Stevens to Garrick ; " another spent I in the pit, among half the blackguards about town; and for the space of three and a half more I was imprisoned to hear the lines of Shakespeare elaborately pumped up from the bottom of a well as deep as that in Dover Castle." Stevens's characterization of the acting was per- haps only less suggestive than that of Arthur Mur- phjr, who called Macklin's interpretation a " black- letter copy of Macbeth ; " while Cooke, the actor's biographer, admitted that it was a lecture rather than a theatrical representation. The critics were intensely sarcastic. One paper said that it under- stood Mr. Macklin was contemplating the roles of Ranger " when he has learned to dance," and then Master Stephen, Tony Lumpkin, the Schoolboy, "and to conclude his theatrical life with playing the Fool ; " while another affirmed, with detailed explanation, that Macklin had mistaken Shake-' speare's instructions, since as early as the first 192 Shakespeare's heroes. scene of the second act he murdered Macbeth instead of Duncan. It was a hot fight, and some thought jealous Garrick was behind it all. But Macklin accused only Reddish, the capable actor of villains, and Sparks, the son of an actor, both of whom, he said, hissed his performance on the first night, and so started the trouble. Hireling roughs were enlisted by the friends of the two men, were filled with drink at a neighboring town, and were further stirred to action by the promise that "after the work should be completed, and this old unknown villain of tlie name of Macklin should be driven to liell," they should be treated to a supper at Bedford Arms. Then they were led into the play- liouse. '"The Mereliant of Venice" had been sub- stituted for " Macbeth," to stop the clamor ; but Sliylock was a victim just as good for the rabble as the Thane. An apple struck him full in the face, and then the fight began. "At the command of the public Air. Macklin is disoliarged." So read the black letters on the big board the managei's lield uji before the crowd, — for the noise was too great to allow a word to be heard, — thus acknowledging defeat, after the battle had fiercely raged for some time. MACBETH. 193 The sturdy old player, however, had the happy faculty of never knowing when he was beaten. Though temporarily exiled from the theatre, he could seek the courts ; and there he secured the conviction of his enemies for conspiracy and riot. But just at this point the play-actor — perhaps from generosity, perhaps for effect — stepped to the front, and in a touching and impressive speech declared he would stay all proceedings provided the defend- ants paid the costs of the suit, and purchased one hundred pounds worth of tickets to the benefits of his daughter, his manager, and himself. They agreed. " Mr. Macklin," said the judge, Lord Mansfield, "you have met with great applause to-day. You never acted better." And yet some of the players only a short time before had complained that the aged Irishman was growing prolix and tedious. He had kept the re- hearsal dragging so long, with his instructions to the younger men, and with his own slow speech, that witty Ned Shuter, the eccentric but bright comedian of the day, had blurted out in a stage- aside to a friend, " The case is very hard ; for the time has been that when the brains were out the man would die, and there an end." 194 Shakespeare's heroes. Whereat quick-eared Macklin, old but yet nim- ble with the brain, responded, -with a sly hit at Shuter's proclivities, " Yes, Ned ; and the time was that when liquor was in, wit was out, but it is not so with thee." And good-natured Shuter honestly rejoined, " Now — now thou art a man again ! " Holland also, when he played ^lacbeth in York, during a summer season, had an experience with a sharp tongued subordinate. '•There's blood upon i\\y face," whispered the Thane to the foremost Murderer, in the banquet scene, and then nearl}' fell over backward as the underling shouted at the lop of his lungs, and in a most tragic style, " 'T is Banquo's, then ! " '• .My dear sii',"' said Holland sarcastically, the moment the scene was over, " there's no need of uttering that speech quite so loud ; it isn't sup- posed to be a war alarum, you know." At once the ^lurderer drew himself up to his full height, and in a most dignified, overwhehn- ing tone replied, " Hark ye. Master Holland, 1 have a benefit to take in this town as well as i/ou." What could Holland say to this? Pathetic was the association of Macbeth with the MACBETH. 195 tragedian Powell. Lying on liis deatli-bed, with no one near except Hannah ^lore, — for ]\Irs. Powell had just left the room, — his pale cheek was sud- denly observed to flusli witli flitting color; and then, with staring eyes, he thrust himself up in bed, threw out his hands, and cried with all the expression of his best days, " Is this a dagger which I see before me ? " The next instant he gasped. "O God!" he cried, and was dead. It was in the second act that Ireland said of Henderson, " I think the countenance of horror and remorse he assumed was equal to anything I have ever seen." When Thomas Sheridan played Macbeth, he wore, like Garrick, a scarlet and gold English uniform, varying it after the Thane became king by adding a Spanish hat, turned up in front, and bedecked with glittering diamonds and flowing plumes. John O'Keefe, who saw the father of Richard Brinsley Sheridan in this costume, also tells us concisely how oddly Digges ■ — West Digges — carried out the combat scene. First, he would invariably thrust liis hands into the bosom of his waistcoat, and throw it entirely open, " to show he was not papered a previous defence which was thought unfair and treacherous ; " then, tapping the side of his hat 19'"> Shakespeare's heroes. Avith his open right hand, he would draw nis sword, and fight to the deatli. Vain, arrogant and unlucky Harry Mossop had a trick also in his Macbeth, but one of more mechanical mould. He would arouse thunders of applause by the tremendous force he threw into the scene with the shrinking messenger when, rising to the height of unreasoning anger, he actually broke his heavy truncheon in two over the envoy's head — and then ^\■ould laugh in his sleeve at the game, after tlio curtain had fallen, as he calmly picked np tlie two parts of tlie trick-truncheon, and fitted them lightly together, just as they ori- ginally had been fitted. But JNIossop had consider- able power of expression ; and liad he been easier in bearing, and gifted with more variety of action, miglit have won more praise. He was a most rigid mail at leliear.sals, and because one unlucky wight, the Seyton of the cast, persisted in missing his cue, fined the fellow a crown for every slip. All these ^laubeths, however, were forgotten when the great Lady jMacbeth of the age, JMrs. Siddons, came upon tlie scene. Her story lias been tohl in " Sliakespeare's Heroines on the Stage." In this volume let her brother, John Kenible, advance to the front. Not at first was he able to do this ; MACBETH. 197 for by the traditional rights of those days the lead- ing rdle belonged to "Gentleman" Smith, the airy, genteel actor, the original Charles Surface, who even in his seventieth year could show a youth- ful alertness to put the real youngsters to shame, winning fionr the audience a hearty round of ap- plause, as with agile step and graceful bend he caught and raised the fallen fan of a Lady Teazle before the other gentlemen on the scene could reach her side. This was tlie light INlacbeth who lii'st accompanied in London the heavy Lady Mac- beth of Mrs. Siddons ; this was the actor to whom, after his secret marriage with the sister of Lord Sandwich, quick-witted Jack Bannister exclaimed, with punning wit and prophetic truth, " Well, I'm glad you've got a Sandwich from the family, but if ever you get a dinner from them, hang me ! " John Philip Kemble on liis benefit night had a single opportunity to play Macbeth, and later, as manager, could cast himself regularly for the role. Yet, on account of his weak voice, he never won a favor equal to Garrick in the part. "His Jlac- beth has been known to nod," said Charles Lamb, commenting on the liability of the actor's flagging occasionally in the intervals of tragic passion. But, for all that, ^\'ho of us would not have 198 Shakespeare's heuobs. liked to see the performance of April 21, 1794, when, at the opening of new Druiy Lane Theatre, John Kemble played. Macbeth, his sister acted Lady Macbetli, and the j'ounger brother, nineteen years of age, Charles Kemble, then, to be sure, ungrace- ful and awkward, but later to become the most graceful and refined of actors, made his London dShit as Malcolm? ]\Iore notable, because more exciting, was the night of Sept. 18, 1809, when a furious audience, angered at the increase of prices in Kemble's theatre, hissed, hooted, and stormed the players, while the latter tried to utter the lines of "Macbeth." The soldiers in the house, five hundi'ed in number, placed there in anticipation of trouble, had all they could do to quell the disturbance without blood- shed. This was the first of seventy nights of riots, wherein Kemble was called "fellow "and "vagrant" by the angry people, and wherein hireling pugilists were engaged to break the heads of the noisy ri- oters — • and, instead, found their own heads broken. That evening Allien majestic Kemble for the last time acted the Thane, one of his successors, Wil- liam ]\Iacready, then a young man, was present in the audience. It was the benefit night of Charles Kemble ; and the famous sister of the two actors. MACBETH. 199 ^Irs. Siddons, had been, induced to reappear, after lier formal retirement, for the performance. Talma, the great French player, was in the audience, while the number of people around him was so great as to force the orchestra out of the building, in order to secure extra room. But artistically the production was a disappointment. INIrs. Siddons was merely the shadow of the past. Kemble for four Ions: acts was correct, but tame. Then sud- denly he seemed to wake to energy. "The Queen, my lord, is dead!" said Seyton. Macbeth, to the spectators' eyes, seemed struck to the heart. Gradually collecting himself, he siffhed, " She should have died hereafter ; " and then, as with the inspiration of despair he hurried out, distinctly and pathetically, the lines begin- ning, — "To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow, Creeps in this petty pace from day to day," rising to a climax of desperation that brought en- thusiastic cheers from the house. It is thus Macready describes the sudden burst that seemed to show Kemble all at once carried away by the glorious strength of the scene. "At the tidings of 'the wood of Birnam moving,'" eon- 200 Shakespeare's heroes. tinues Macready, "he staggered as if the shock had struck the very seat of life, and in the be- wilderment of fear and rage, could just ejaculate the words, ' Liar and slave ! ' then lashing himself into a state of frantic rage, ended the scene in per- fect triumph. His shrinking from Macduff, when the charm on which his life hung was broken by tlie declaration that his antagonist was ' not of woman born,' was a masterly stroke of art ; his subsequent defiance was most heroic ; and at his death Cliarles Kemble received him in his arms, and laid him gently on the ground, his physical powers being unequal to further effort." Several alterations were made in the play by Kemble, notably the changing of " a bell rings " in the second act to " tlie striking of a clock twice," his reason lying in Lady Macbeth's ex- clamation in the sleep-walking scene, "One, two; A\hv, then, 't is time to do it." Realizing, also, his own deficiency in harmonious elocution, compared with Garrick, he reduced the invocation to the witches to two lines. As for the dagger scene, in tliat Boadeii thought Kemble too explosive and too much in action. The actor-manager tried to abolish the ghost of Banquo from the stage, and also the dance of the witches over their broom- MACBETH. 201 sticks (an innovation that had been introduced years before); but the public had grown accus- tomed to the earlier rendering, and demanded the restoi'ation of both features. One night there was a lively little episode noted by Kemble during the spectacular caldron scene, in which the " spirits " (otherwise boys) found themselves mischievously tripped up and pushed over by one of their number, a reckless little fire- brand. Kemble took the street imp in hand, scolded him vigorously for the confusion he. had wrought, and sent him off in disgrace. Years later this same boy was to drive tlie elder actor from his pedestal ; it was Edmund Kean. Yet, as Macbeth, Kean did not eclipse his pred- ecessor, perhaps in part because he carried that same mercurial disposition and nervous agility of his youth into the character. Particularly did he fall behind Kemble in lacking the thoughtful mel- ancholy which the elder player exhibited in read- ing the soliloquy, "My way of life." It is true, however, that in the scene after the murder he won from Hazlitt these glowing words : " As a lesson of common humanity it was heartrending. The hesitation, the bewildered look, the coming to himself when he sees his hands bloody ; the manner 202 Shakespeare's heroes. in which his voice clung to his throat and choked liis utterance ; his agony and tears ; the force of nature overcome by passion — beggared description." Mrs. Trench told her boys, after taking them to a performance of Kean in "Macbeth," that never liad she seen remorse so finelj' pictured as by the little actor in "that same scene following the ter- rible crime. Yet, on the whole, he failed to express the poetry of the character. The natural he could in- terpret ; the supernatural demands of the role were not witliin his grasp. Kean fouglit, it Avas said, more like a fencing- master of modern days than a mediaeval Scottish chieftain; while in dress he was '-too much docked and curtailed for the gravity of tlie character." That curtailed dress consisted of a tunic ending above tlie knees ; covering the bodj' was an armor- plated shirt with a scarf flung across the breast and hanging under the arm. Kemble used to crown his Thane's noble head with a bunch of plumes, that rose and fell in a sweeping mass at every nod of the chieftain, luitil Sir Walter Scott, with his own hands, took away those plumes, and in their place stuck a single eagle feather. MACBETH. 203 Charles Mayne Young's Macbeth was strangely attired in a green and gold velvet jacket. Most peculiar costuming of all was that some- times given the witches in those performances of old. The singing hags of Garrick's day, for ex- ample, wore red stomachers and ruffs, with laced aprons hanging below, while on their hands were thick mittens, and on their heads were plaited caps. One of their number, pretty Mrs. Crouch, rouged her face to a beautiful pink and white, powdered her hair, and covered her body with " point lace and fine liuen enough to enchant the spectator." In fact, up to the day of Kean the weird sisters, with their songs and dances and antic doings, had been really of the comic nature. " I '11 have none of this rubbish I " cried the fiery little actor ; and away it went forever. Meanwhile the American stage had been de- veloping. Far back, in 1759, on the twenty -sixth day of October, the newly erected theatre on " Society Hill," in the Quaker City, was filled with a fashion- able audience gathered to see Douglas's Ameri- can Company give the first performance in this country of the masterpiece. "Hamlet" had just received its initial performance at the same play- 204 SHAKESPEARE'S HEEOES. house ; and the original Dane, with the original Thane, was one and the same person, — Lewis Hallam, the destined leader of the American stage, but at that time a j'oung man acting with his mother, ]\Irs. Douglas (east as Lady Macbeth), with his stepfather, Mr. Douglas (cast as Mac- duff), and with others of the same family, Adam and Nancy Hallam (cast respectively as Donal- bain and Fleance). Mr. and Mrs. Harman played Duncan and Hecate, so that it was, indeed, a family party. The three M'itches in the production were im- personated by j\[essrs. All}'n, Harman, and Tom- linson, the latter two doubling their characters, as Tomlinson also played Seyton. At the Southwark Tlieatre, in the same cit}^ eight years later, all tlie three witches for the first time were given to women, — to Mrs. Harman, Miss Wainwright, and Mrs. Tomlinson. Probably the American stage failed to see all tlie weird sisters again performed by women until the time when Fanny Davenport brought out " Macbeth " (with herself as tlie Lady, and Tearle in the title rdle} at the Walnut Street Theatre, Philadelphia. That was in 1881. Tlie three witches then were played by Miss Minnie Monk, Miss Mary Shaw, and Miss May Daven- MACBETH. 205 port (Mrs. William Seymour), a sister of the star. Miss Davenport adopted a novel appearance for the witches, di-essing them in flowing gray " transpar- encies," made to give a cloudy effect, and having their faces pale, but yet displaying the natural loveliness of the young actresses, while their out- stretched arms, bare to the skin, were plump and neat. Hallam was never disturbed in the title rdle of " Macbeth " until after the Revolution. In 1783, at New York, the nervous but yet creditable trage- dian Mr. Heard carried the part to the Lady Macbeth of Mrs. Ryan. In the year 1794 Hodgkinson, then dominating the American Company, essa3'ed the chief 7~olt\ and won commendation. Soldierly must have been his appearance, with his broad shoulders and his six feet ten of height; but his round face, with its flat nose and unequal-sized eyes, could not have made an attractive appearance, while the slight inclination to bow-legged ungracefulness hampered him still more. The breeches and buckled shoes which he persisted in wearing off the stage did not set off to advantage his clumsy legs, nor did the i)Owdered curls on either side of the head, and the dangling cue behind, mark him for fash- 206 SHAKESPEARE'S HEEOES. ion's glass, when all the rest of the world around him were wearing short, cropped hair. His was the first Macbeth that Boston saw (Dec. 21, 1795). At that time Hodgkinson was only thirty years of age, but had won a splendid reputation. The son of an English tavern-keeper, Jolin Meadowcraft — for that was his real name — had started out to make his fortune with but a crown in his pocket and a fiddle under his arm. His musical abilities won him a place in the Bris- tol Theatre, and before long he was a real actor, and acquiring fame. In 1792, uiduced by Heniy, Hodgkinson, visited America, and here remained, as actor and manager, until his death, in 1805. Graceful and elegant James Fennell, who in his early stage days in England had on one occasion at least plaj^ed the Thane to the Lady Macbeth of ^Irs. Pope, was an American Macbeth in those days, just after the great war. Another imperson- ator of tlie character was the comedian Chalmers. But greater tlian these was the Macbeth of 1796, the capable tragedian Thomas Abthorpe Coopei', then, on tlie 9th of December, at Philadelphia, making his first appearance in America. Here he became domesticated ; and though at first, on ac- count of Fennell's popularity, success came slowly, MACBETH. 207 in fact, ill order to draw lui audience to his first benefit, he deemed it necessary to have an elephant as an additional card on the stage, he later rose to eminence, and gained a fortune, A\hich he rapidly threw away. His first attempt hi Eng- land had also been in " Macbeth,"' though in a secondary character; and there likewise he failed to receive especial favor. Indeed, Stephen Kemble, the great (physically great) Kemble, as manager, discharged Cooper after the performance, declaring that a man who could break down in the role of Malcolm had not the slightest requisite for an actor. But the determined j'outh persevered, and in America soon was esteemed as a star, with but one rival, Hodgkinson. With Cooke and Kean he could also tempt comparison in all but a few char- acters. Washington Irving, in 1815, declared that he never saw in England Cooper's equal as Macbeth ; yet the English people, twelve years later, received the tragedian so ungraciously in that character, that he would not venture a second appearance. Per- haps his talents had been dimmed then ; for a performance of 1803 had been commended by the London Mirror of that date as one meriting dis- tinguished notice. The dagger scene, said the 208 Shakespeare's heroes. critic, and the scene subsequent to the murder, were performed in most masterl}^ style, and proved the best achievement of the actor. But Irving went further. "I shall never forget Cooper's acting in ' Macbeth ' last spring," he wrote on the 28th of December, 1815, " when he was stimulated to exer- tion by the presence of a number of British offi- cers. I have seen nothing to equal it in England. Cooper requires excitement to arouse him from a monotonous, commonplace manner he is apt to fall into, in consequence of acting so often before in- different houses." In the year 1820 Joseph T. Buckingham, de- claring that Macbeth was Cooper's chef d'ceuvre, pronounced his dagger scene as one of the sub- limest efforts of liistrionic genius; and of the last part of the play, after Macbeth has " supped full witli horrors," exclaimed, " The moral leflections are given with such exquisite beauty and feeling, that we almost forget the crimes of the murderer, and i^ity the wretched victim writhing with the tortures of his own conscience ! " As a managei". Cooper's great stroke was indu- cing the erratic but talented George Frederick Cooke to visit this country. Here we saw the gifted, dissipated actor winning theatrical applause in Mac- MACBETH. 209 beth, and obtaining moral condemnation in his own person. His introduction to the weird tragedy was a curious one. At the age of sixteen the printer's apprentice — for such he was at the time — became head and front of an amateur companj' of boj's who gave performances in a deserted barn in the town of Berwick. At that juncture a real dramatic com- pany visited the place, and young Cooke deter- mined he must see the play. He had no money, but he had resources of another kind. Slipping through the stage-door before the keepers were posted, he made his way to a dark corner behind the scenes, and safely stowed his body within a large barrel. Inside he found also two twenty-four pound cannon-balls : but they did not disturb his peace of mind ; he used them to uphold his cramped knees. The orchestral music began ; and, before the lad knew what was happening, the property man threw a piece of carpet over the open head of the barrel, tied it with a stout rope, and then, just as the curtain rose, gave the barrel a lusty push, and rolled it backward and forward over the floor. Cooke was inside the " stage thunder." The cannon-balls were intended to make the noise of the storm that opened the play of " Macbeth." 210 Shakespeare's hekoes. With j'ells of fear and pain the boy kicked and pounded as the iron globes beat around him. By his exertions he unknowingly steered the barrel full upon the stage; and there, to the astonishment of the audience, George Frederick suddenly burst forth through the carpet head, and, with a howl and a roll, bumped into the three witches, scattering them over the stage. He had made his debut. Properly, George Frederick Cooke belongs to the British stage ; but inasmuch as he was the first noted English actor to cross the Atlantic, he may for this chapter have his place just following tlie mana- ger wlio brought him here. It is said that Cooper, after having his offer of twenty-five pounds a week declined by Cooke, contrived to get him drunk in a Liverpool den, and then smuggle him aboard a ship bound for the United States. This was in 1810, when his drunken freaks had culminated in the disfavor of his formerly applauding audiences. In America he remained until his death, in Sep- tember, 1812. When sober his success was enormous. But es- capade after escapade folloAved as soon as the first glow of earnest ambition had worn away. Odd, is it not, that this dissipated roue could know his Bible so well that, when asked at a private party MACBETH. 211 what was the most beautiful passage he had ever read (the questioner thinking at tlie time only of the drama), the quick reply came, " St. Paul's De- fence at the Tribunal of King Agrippa " ? And tlien Cooke, calling for a Bible, read tlie passage with most exquisite feeling and expression. He was neither tall nor graceful, strong nor symmetri- cal, and had but a weak voice ; yet he was a great actor. It must be admitted that Macbeth never counted among his best parts. Leigh Hunt said of it, that while the character ought, at least, to be a majestic villain, with Cooke Macbeth exhibited nothing but a desperate craftiness; and Dr. John W. Francis declared that he had "seen a better Macbeth," since "the transitions of Cooke were scarcely immediate enough for the timid, hesitating, wavering monarch." Undoubtedly Cooper was the better Macbeth to whom Dr. Francis referred. Probably John Taylor best described our plaj^er when he declared that his acting " was strong, but coarse. He had not the advantage of much edu- cation, but had a shrewd, penetrating mind, was well acquainted with human nature, and was power- ful in those characters for which his talents were adapted ; and they were chiefly of the villanous." 212 Shakespeare's heroes. But the witches chant to a Macbeth whose per- formances were noted in both England and America, — one who, unfortunately, in addition formed a link in a controversy and disaster of sad international concern. Macready's Macbeth, then, may open the second chapter on the play. MACBETH. (To THE Pkesent Day.) Macready merited the laughing ridicule of Prince Piickler-Muskau, the German traveller, when, after Lady Macbeth had bidden him put his nightgown on, he threw over his armor a gaudy flowered chintz dressing-gown of the fashion of the actor's own day ; but he deserved also the warm praise of the prince for his acting in the murder scene, the banquet scene, and the last act. Moreover, the French play-goers found the Eng- lishman's Macbeth full of fire and intelligence when, in this season of 1827-1828, he visited Paris with other sons of Britain, to give those perform- ances of Shakespeare that inspired Alexandre Du- mas and Hector Berlioz to their greatest efforts. " His play of expression," said the critic of the Journal des DSbats, speaking of Macready 's acting, " redeemed the irregularity of his features, while 213 214 Shakespeare's heroes. his voice, in its lower register, possessed tones which penetrated to the very soul." It was only a few weeks before this that Stephen Price, the grouty London manager with whom Macready had so many conflicts, made his curt answer to the actor. " The bill is very long to-night," said Macready to the chief of Drury Lane ; " why not cut out the music in ' Macbeth ' ? " "I can't do that — the public wouldn't like it," gruffly responded the manager ; " but I '11 cut out the imrt of Macbetli, if you like." As a fact, Alfred Bunn says that Macready proved so poor a drawing card in this engagement, that after twenty-four performances Price actually gave him his salary of twenty pounds a night for sixteen nights, and released him from further contract. But Bunn was not on the best terms with Macready. During a later season of the haughty plaj'er under the pugnacious manager at Drury Lane, though Macready was paid thirty jiounds a week, he yet found much to displease him ; and when, at last, he was cast in a three-act version of "Richard III.," forming part of a triple- play performance, there was mutiny. " Tetchy and unhappy," Macready says of him- WM. C. MACREADY. MACBETH. 215 self, he revenged this insult by entering the man- ager's private room, knocking him down, closing one eye completely, and spattering the angust body of Drury Lane's leader \\ith blood, lamp-oil, and ink. Bunn returned the blows, and there was danger of a more direful conflict had not friends in- terposed. "Great Fight. B nn and M 3-,"' said the newspapers the next day in big type. " It makes me sick to think of it," wrote tlie super-sensitive JMacready in his diar}-. But the public rather enjoj^ed the blow to Bunn, and made Macready its hero. When for the first time after the fight he appeared at Co vent Garden, playing Macbeth, the pit rose to the player, waved handkerchiefs and hats, and cheered most heartily. Bunn never challenged the gentleman whom he had politely called " a very magnificent three- tailed bashaw," though ever}' one thought he would; but instead he sued for assault. His oppo- nent allowed judgment to go by default, and the much-battered manager pocketed his one hundred and fifty pounds. It is doubtful if the actor paid this sum with much good grace ; for his I'eputa- tion, so far as money matters were concerned, was not characterized by brother actors as "generous." In fact, the bright old lady whose life has ex- 216 Shakespeare's heroes. tended into the present generation, IMrs. Keeley, curtly remarked on the daj', half a century and more ago, when Macready, absent from rehearsal, was said by the prompter to be suffering from heart disease, " What ? What's that you say ? Ma- cready suffering from heart disease ? Nonsense ! You might as well make me think AValter Lacy could suffer from brain-fever." But yet that heart must ha-^e beaten faster and more warmly on the night of June 14, 1848, when his ]\lacbeth planned and plotted for the crown of Scotland. It was liis last appearance as a manager; and, as he himself tells us in his diary, the whole house literally rose to him. •• When wearied with shouting, they changed the applause to a stamping of feet, Mhich sounded like thun- der ; it was grand and awful ! I never saw such a scene ! " Never did he play ]\lacbetli so well, and at the end he retired "witli the same mad acclaim." A little later came the American tour, with its resulting riot. It had been charged that Macready induced his friends to cry down Edwin Forrest when the American was acting in England ; and that Forrest had hissed the Englishman for his fantastic handkerchief-waving before the play scene MACBETH. 217 in " Hamlet." Thus hostilities were opened. On the 20th of November, 1848, at Philadelphia, Ma- cready attempted Macbeth, and, while acting the tragic role, was suddenly interrupted by a fly- ing egg and a copper cent hurled at his head. This peculiar contribution was exceeded in Cincin- nati, where half the carcass of a sheep was flung over the footlights to the feet of the player. Hot words followed i:i the newspapers, and feelings of resentment burned on both sides. The real tragedy came in New York in the spring of 1849. Forrest opened with Macbeth at the Broadway Theatre on Monday, the 7tli of May ; the same night Macready opened with the same character at the Astor Place Opera House. The onslaught on the Englishman began early in the evening. Words first flew against him : " Down with the English hog ! " " Three groans for the codfish aristocracy! " Then more substantial symbols of disapproval flew at his head, — more copper cents, "four or five eggs, a great many apples, nearly, if not quite, a peck of potatoes, pieces of wood, and a bottle of assafoetida," as Macready himself statistically enumerates in his diary. These little suggestive bits of feeling he passed by unnoticed; but Avhen a couple of chairs 218 shakespeaee's heroes. crashed down from the gallery to the stage, Mac- beth thought best to retire in good order, and let the curtain fall. Another performance was essayed on Thursday night. Unlucliy attempt! Disorder was feared, and the police were tlierefore stationed in the house. Oidy seven ladies were jiresent. The rowdies started tlieir cat-calling and liissing, but at the end of the first act M'ere summarily swept out of the liouse liy the blue-coated guardians. It seems, however, that the rioters outside w"ere more numerous and more noisy than those within, and before long they made themselves evident liy a storm of cobble-stones through the windows. But the play kept on. The chandelier was shat- tered, the waterpipes were bui'st. Still the play kept on. Even to the end the players acted, and then ]\Iacieady retired to the dressing-room to change his clothes. As he did so, the roar of musketiy resounded in the street, followed by the sharp commands of the officei's and tlie yells of tlie crowd. Tlie militia were on the scene. Un- able to cope with the crowd, the police had sum- moned the aid of the soldiery, and one hundred and seventy armed men stood facing a mob of ten or fifteen thovisand. MACBETH. 219 How the stones flew ! It was dark as Egypt, and the rioters were then in ugly spirit. Driven to the wall, and -with wounded men about him, General Hall could stand it no longer, but bade his soldiers fire. Three volleys and a charge cleared the street, yet not until the dead lay upon the pavements. As for JMacready, in disguise he escaped from the theatre, and in the early morning sped away to Boston. Ten days later he was on board the steamer bound for England. A round of farewell visits through Great Britain, and then in February, 1851, he retired. His farewell character, on the 26th of the sec- ond month, was Macbeth. Samuel Phelps closed his own theatre in order to act Macduff under liis old leader ; Mrs. Warner was the Lady Macbeth. " What a sight that was ! " cried George Henry Lewes. " How glorious, triumphant, affecting, to see every one starting up, waving hats and handl?:er- chiefs, stamping, shouting, yelling their friendship at the great actor who now made his appearance on that stage where he was never more to re- appear ! There was a crescendo of excitement, enough to have overpowered the nerves of the most self-possessed ; and when, after an energetic 220 Shakespeare's heroes. fight, — which showed that the actor's powers bore him gallantly up to the last, — he fell, pierced by Macduff's sword, this death, typical of the actor's death, this last look, this last act of the actor, struck every bosom with a sharp and sudden blow, loosening a tempest of tumultuous feeling, such as made applause an ovation. Some little time was suffered to elapse, wherein we recovered from the excitement, and were ready again to burst forth as j\Iacready the man, dressed in his plain black, came forward to bid ' Farewell, a long farewell, to all his gi'eatness.' As he stood there, calm but sad, waiting till the thunderous reverberations of applause should be hushed, there was one little thing which brought the tears into my eyes ; viz., the crape hat-band and black studs, that seemed to me more mournful and more touching than all this vast displa)- of sympathy." Macready's eld- est daughter, "Nina," had died Feb. 24, 1850, aged twenty. For two and twent)'^ years the actor survived this last appearance, passing away the 27th of April, 1873. To him Macbeth had always been the favorite character, and the public placed that rdle and Lear at the head of his list. Leigh Hunt complained of a lack of kingliness in the MACBETH. 221 murder scene ; Lewes .said, " He stole into the sleeping chamber of Duncan like a man going to purloin a purse, not like a Avarrior going to snatch a crown ; " Westland Marston spoke of the " crouching form and stealthy, felon-like step of the self-abased murderer," though he thought tliis change from the "erect, martial figure" of the first act made visible the moral of the play; but in all the other scenes IMacready won high com- mendation. After the murder, when Macbeth realizes his situation, the acting was grand. With face turned from his wife as she dragged him from the stage, and with arms outstretched as if to grasp the past that had gone from him, he presented a picture of fearful agony that stirred most deeply the emotion of the spectators. Again, there was a very effect- ive stage contrast in his majestic order to Seyton, " Give me mine armor," compared with his collo- quial query, "How does your patient, doctor?" while the physical energy and grandeur of his closing scenes made Marston cry, "He has turned upon Fate, and stands at bay ! " Lady Pollock was struck with "his singular power of looking at nothing," so that "when he spoke into the air we could almost see the hags pass away like a wreath 222 shakespeaek's heroes. of vapor. In the scene with Banquo's ghost he surpassed even his greatest predecessors, and there are no two opinions as to the magnificence of his playing in the last act." Sometimes tlie critics complained of Macready's " too fitful, hurried, and familiar " deliver}- of ^Alacbeth's lines ; but this, undoubtedlj"-, was due to his effort to make the blank verse sound natural and easj-. His prolongation of Avords was, I fear, sometimes ludicrous ; evidently it so struck one of our sharp Yankee actois. The American was severely criti- cised bj- ]\Iaeready for announcing the aiDproach of Birnam Wood in this wise, "Within these three miles you may see it a-coming." "Don't you-a know," cried the tragedian, "that coming begins with a c, not with a ? Speak it a-this way: ' Within these three-a miles you may -a see it a-a-a-coming.' '' " ]Mr. !Macready," cried the little actor, " for my part I don't see any difference between mj' way of giving it and yours, except that I put one a before 'coming,' and you put half a dozen." Edward Fitzgerald had a criticism of Macready's enunciation in one of his letters to Fanny Kerable. He had asked the descendant of the great Siddons MACBETH. 223 how she emphasized the line: '•After life's fitful fever he sleeps well ; " and she had replied that she laid the emphasis on lie. Fitzgerald then re- joined : " Yes ; so I thought . . . and yet I do not remember to have heard it so read. (I never heard you read the play.) I don't think Macready read it so. I liked his Macbeth, I must say ; only he would say, ' Amen st-u-u-u-ck in his throat,' which was not only a blunder, but a vulgar blunder, I think." Another thing which undoubtedly nettled our players when Macready criticised them was the haughty manner the English star assumed toward the under-actors. He tried the same manner with Joseph Jefferson, the brilliant grandfather of our own " Rip Van Winkle," at a rehearsal of " Mac- beth" in Philadelphia, during the season of 1826- 1827. The comedian, who was cast for First Witch, was lame with gout, and had therefore been accorded the privilege of carrying a cane on the stage. Maeready, without inquiring the reason, or with- out a word of explanation, exclaimed in an arrogant, supercilious voice, "Tell that person to put down his cane." Instantly Mr. Jefferson responded, "Tell Mr. Macready that I shall not act with him during this engagement," and immediately left the theatre. 224 Shakespeare's heroes. Still more embarrassing to the English actor was the naive method of remembrance shown by the First Murderer in a London performance. The minor actor, at rehearsal, persisted in marching to the centre of the stage, thereby putting the star out of the focus of the audience. Explanations and objurgations were useless ; his dull head would not hold the lesson ten minutes. " Biing me a hammer and a brass-headed nail I" finally shouted the tragedian, exasperated beyond endurance. " There now, " quoth he, when the imjilements were brought, "drive the nail there. And you, sirrah, see that your foot is on that brass head eveiy time before you attempt to speak." Again they started the rehearsal, and this time all things went well. But when the evening came, to the astonishment of jMacready, the First Murderer entered, and im- mediately, with dazed eye and head bowed low, began wandering up and down the stage. The audience laughed. Macready scowled. But still the man walked on. "In Heaven's name," growled the tragedian in a hoarse voice, as he stalked to the First JMurderer's side, " what are you doing ? " MACBETH. 225 "Sure," replied the innocent fellow, "ain't I looking for that blessed nail of yours ! " It is now time to glance at the performances of later days, — at the productions of Phelps, of Kean the younger, and of Irving. Not until the former began his reign at Sadler's Wells Theatre was there any attempt in " Macbeth " at accuracy of scenery and costume. In the 1844 production of the play the Thane appeared dressed like an Anglo-Saxon warrior of barbaric days, with conical helmet, tunic, crude ai'mor, and cross-garters. It was the opening per- formance at Sadler's Wells under the new regime (May 27). Mr. Phelps was beginning that splendid series of Shakespearian revivals by which he at- tracted the attention of all London, and made the little, dilapidated, almost unknown play-house the most fashionable and popular of the city. With earnest energy and straightforward effort Mr. Phelps interpreted the chief rdle, winning praise from the critics, and visibly affecting the audiences that at the beginning were composed of ^people little used to classic productions. The Athenteum thought that Phelps was better in the part than any other actor since Edmund Kean, declaring of his vigorous impersonation, "It is essentially distinct from, and 226 Shakespeare's heroes. stands in contrast with, Mr. Macready's, which, however fine and classical in conception, is but too obviously open to the Scotch sneer of presenting 'a very respectable gentleman in considerable dif- ficulties,' so studied is it in all its parts, and sub- dued into commonplace by too much artifice." But clearest of all is Professor Morley's description of Phelps's Macbeth : " A rude, impulsive soldier . . . turbulent of mind, restless, imaginative, quick of ambition, but with a religion strong in leaf, although fruitless and weak of root." Phelps was true to Shakespeare. Instead of dropping the curtain on the death of Macbeth, he made his exit "fighting," permitting the scene of the bringing in of the head, and Macduff's greeting of ^lalcolm as King, to close the play. In the first production by the Sadler's Wells man.- ager, ^Nlrs. Warner was the Lady Macbeth. Later on, \\lien Helen Faucit (now Lady Martin) played tlie heroine, she found occasion to pick a flaw in Phelps's manner as a gentleman and actor. At a performance given in honor of the Princess Royal's marriage the two were acting in "Macbeth;" and the lady, being then practically retired from the stage, felt uncertain whether her voice, from lack of practice, could fill the theatre. She therefore MACBETH. 227 suggested to Mr. Phelps, at rehearsal, that it would be necessary for her to keep as far front on the stage as possible, and he assented. But, on the night of the performance, at his very first entrance Alacbeth stationed himself far in the rear of his Lady, so that the poor woman not only had to re- treat behind the proscenium in order to picture the scene artistically, but also liad to keep her back turned towards the audience, and thus destroy much of the effect of her impersonation. It was a trick for which Lady Martin never forgave the " inadequate successor " of Macread}^, as she styled Phelps. And here it may be well to narrate an exciting experience Phelps and Macready once had in " Mac- beth." It was at the Covent Garden Theatre, when the future manager of Sadler's Wells was leading man under the elder actor. On this particular occa- sion he was playing Macduff ; and Macready, prob- ably afflicted with his chronic dyspepsia or his clu'onic jealousy, suddenly gi'ew angiy in the fight scene, and, as Phelps said, " let fly at me, nearly giving me a crack on the head as he growled, ' D n your eyes ! take that ! ' "For the moment I was flabbergasted," declared the younger man, telling the story afterwards; "but 228 shakespkare's heroes. when he returned to the charge, I gave him a dose of his own physic. He returned the compliment. Then he went for me, and I went for him ; and there we were growling at each other like a pair of wild beasts, until I finished him, amidst a furor of applause. " The audience were quite carried away by the cunning of the scene, shouting themselves hoarse ; roaring on the one side, ' Well done, Mac I ' on the other, ' Let him have it, Plielps ! ' When the cur- tain fell I gave him my liand to get up. He was puffing and blowing like a grampus. As soon as he could recover his wind he commenced: — " ' Er-er-er, Mr. Phelps, what did you mean b}'^ making use of such extraordinary language to me?' " ' What did you mean, Mr. Macreadj^, by making use of such extraordinarj- language to me ? ' "'I, Sir?' " ' Yes, j'ou, sir ! You d d m}' eyes ! ' " ' And you, sir, d d my limbs ! ' " ' I could do no less than follow so good an example.' " With this the absurdity of the thing struck us both, and we burst out laughing. Everybody said the combat was realistic, and I think it must have MACBETH. 229 been. I know I had the greatest difficulty in pre- venting liis slipping his sword into me ; for, to tell you the truth, we were neither of us very graceful swordsmen, but what we lacked in elegance M-e made up for in earnestness. One thing is quite certain — we never got up steam to such an extent again." Charles Kean, like Phelps, attempted to blend historical costuming with the drama, but, unlike the other actoi', dressed his hei'o in the style of Alexander the First, with a hauberk of iron rings sewn on leather, and a i-ed and blue tunic ; the supporting characters wore clothes of mingled jDur- ple, red, violet, and blue. The " gods " had a great deal of fun ovei- Kean's pedantry in filling his programs with long-spun descriptions of the his- torical dressing he gave "Macbeth;" and when oiie recalls that, on an amusement bill, were cited as authorities Diodorus, Siculus, Strabo, Plln^', Xiphi- lin, Snorre, Ducange, and the Eyrbiggia Saga, it is no wonder there were mental snickers. Kean's Thane was exciting for the gallery in the combat scene. The despondent way in which lie had retired to rest, or rather to unrest, brought praise from one little bit of pantomime, — his lean- ing against a pillar as he passed, as if utterly 280 Shakespeare's heroics. heartsick with despair, — while his exhibition of savage braverj^, in a swashing, hewing fight, won thundering applause. But the remainder of his impersonation was weak and monotonous. His con- ception of the character was that of a man who had lost all confidence in himself, and was sure of nothing. When Henrj^ Irving introduced his Macbetli to English audiences, he gave a novel interpretation. They condemned the conception ; but the actor never faltered in his consistency, and years later repeated the impersonation on the same lines. That first performance was in September, 1875, Avhen the student-actor was seven and tliirty years of age, and with a London experience of only nine years. Mrs. Bateman had taken the theatre formerl}- mana- ged by lier husband, and to the jjart of Lady jNLac- beth, ]\Iiss Kate Bateman (JNIrs. Crowe) was cast. Those who then saw tlie actor declared that in some scenes he was effective; his terror in describ- ing the voice that said, "Sleep no morel Macbeth dotli murder sleep ! " was called the incarnation of the despair of a mental and spiritual hell, the ex- pression of a hollow, ghastly, hope-bereft experi- ence of a blood-stained soul. But, on the other hand, his deliberate pronunciation and prolonging MACBETH. 231 of syllables brought actual laughter into some of the more serious scenes. On the 29th of December, 1888, Irving had the pleasure of repeating his impersonation in Lon- don, this time under his own management at the Lyceum Theatre, with Ellen Terry as Lady i\Iac- beth. The scenic effects were superb ; and in sev- eral scenes novelties were introduced, noticeably in the casting of the three weird sisters to women. Occasionally one of the witches had been an ac- tress, but not for a century and more had all three been given over to women. At Manchestei', Eng- land, in 1775, when Younger was Macbeth, and Mrs. Ward the Lady, tlie witches were three ac- tresses of the stock company, two of whom were Elizabeth Farren, afterwards Countess of Derby, and her pretty sister Kitty. Henry Irving cast the characters to jNIiss Marriott, Miss Desborough, and ^liss Julia Seaman — lai-ge, gaunt Avomen with deep, heavy voices. Tlie Lyceum manager conceives INLicbeth as a man who, while not absolutely seeking crime or wicked ways, is yet perfectly M-illing to meet them half-way, and to yield with facility. lAIaking this complete inability to resist inducements to crime a central and continuous feature of the character. 232 Shakespeare's heroes. Irving^ has opened the way for a criticism of mo- notony in the acting, as it destroys the chance for a mental conflict between the good and the bad in Macbeth's nature. When John Oxenford, the celebrated critic of former days on the Loiulon Times, saw Irving's first j\Iacbeth, lie described him as scared by the witches; scared by the project of murder; scared by the progress of its execution. "When thor- oughlj' convinced that resistance is useless," said Oxenfo}d, "lie can rush into the murder of Ban- quo ; but when the gliost appears he is scared as never man Avas scared before, and he wraps his cloak over his face that he may not behold the horrilile spectre. He is only brave when there is clearly notliing to be lost or won — namelj', in the final combat; that is to say, he can die game.'" This cowardice of Irving's jMacbeth is not, in Ills conception of the character, intended as a phys- ical, but as a moral, cowardice. In an address delivered in both England and America, he dis- tinctly stated that he did not want to be mis- taken in regard to INIacbeth's braverj' ; that there could be no doubt, either historicallj^ or in Shake- speare's play, of the chieftain's physical courage. It was solely in his moral qualities that he was MACBETH. 233 condemnable. jNIr. Irving has no sympathy with the commonly accepted idea that Alacbeth was led into wrong-doing by the influence of a wicked wife, but insists that from the beginning he was a most blood-thirsty villain. It is quite possible, he admits, that the ambitious Thane led his wife to believe that she was leading him, but that was only a part of his hypocritical nature. The pa- thetic picture of the murdered King and his at- tendants, smeared with blood, was all hypocris}^ says the English actor, enlarged upon because of the Thane's own imaginative, poetic nature. His beautiful similes and expressions of seeming ten- derness, such as are exhibited in his words about his guest, the King, who is "here in double trust," and whose " virtues will plead like angels, trum- pet tongued,'" are, in Irving's mind, so thoroughly ironic as to be almost grim humor. From first to last the actor's conception of the character has been consistently canied out; but he has not won over to his thinking many students of the drama. When Charles Dillon played the title rdle to Helen Faucit's Lady in 1858, he chose an oppo- site extreme of characterization ; making a brave Scotchman, who, driven by Fate, commits a crime 234 Shakespeare's heroes. against whicli his moral nature revolts, but which when once committed is followed by successive crimes of physical boldness. An anecdote of Dil- lon will illustrate the unconscious growth of stage business. One niglit when apostrophizing Ban- quo's ghost, he was so carried away by frenzied enthusiasm that as he cried, — no, fairly yelled, — " Hence, hence ! horrible shadow, unreal mockery, hence ! " he tore his collar into bits, covering the floor with its pieces. The audience went wild' over the realistic intensity; but Dillon, after the play, confessed to AVestland Marston that the whole business of tlie tearing of the collar had been done unconsciously in the excitement of the scene. '• However," said Dillon, " I '11 make it a part of my business after this." And he did. A determined schemer was the Macbeth of Barry Sullivan, not instigated to crime bj^ his wife, but simjily assisted by the Lady. With Sullivan's strong hero, the spectator was obliged to believe eitlier tliat Lady jMacbeth did not fully know his darker moods, when she considered him " too full o' the milk of liuman kindness," or else that his natui-e was completely changed after meeting the witches. James R. Anderson, Gustavus V. Brooke, and MACBETH. 235 the elder Vandenhoff (an elocutionary ^lacbeili) are also to be counted among the heroes of the play in the past. From the eaily Macbeths down to the last performers, there are a score whose names are worthy of record. Aside from rugged Forrest and vigorous Davenport, Edwin Booth and his associate Lawrence Barrett, and Rossi and Sal- vini, the visiting plaj'ers, there were AVyzeman Marshall and Joseph Proctor, veterans of another generation, who to-day Avalk the streets of Boston still hale and hearty, the elder J. W. Wallack and the younger J. W. Wallack, Edwin Adams, J. B. Booth, Ji'., and George Vandenhoff, the last of Charlotte Cushman's Macbeths. Edwin Forrest was the first American actor of greatness to appear upon the English stage. His earliest appearance in Britain was on Oct. 17, 1836. Then they praised his Macbeth. Macready welcomed liim, not then regarding him as a rival. But the English actor was ever jealous and sus- picious ; and when, seven years' later, he visited America for a second time, and found the people comparing him unfavorably with the robust For- rest, envy entered his heart. In 1845 it found its vent, or at least Forrest tliought it did, in in- fluencing England's writers against the American 236 Shakespeare's heroes. during the latter's second visit to the tight little isle. On the opening night Forrest was greeted with a hurricane of hisses, while the next day the former friendly papers attacked him so fiercely that he was obliged to cancel his engagement. No one persisted in unjust persecution of tlie visitor more relentlessly than Macready's particular friend, Forster, the critic of the liondon Examiner. He even went to such an extreme as to write these outrageous words : " Our old friend J\Ir. Forrest afforded great amusement to the public by his per- formance of Macbeth on Friday evening at the Princess's. Indeed, our best comic actors do not often excite so great a quantity of mirth. The change from an inaudible murmur to a thunder of sound was enormous; but the grand feature was the combat, in which he stood scraping his sword against that of Macduff. We were at a loss to know what this gesture meant, till an enlightened critic in the gallery shouted out, ' That's right ! sharpen it ! ' " No more would our sturdy American call upon iMacready ; and, unfortunately for both, during an Edinburgh performance of Hamlet by the English- man, Forrest in one of the boxes injudiciously hissed the handkerchief business in the play scene. MACBETH. 237 Then the storm burst. England and America tossed the question of courtesy and discourtesy back and forth and international feelings ran high. Tn the fall of 1848 Macready again came to America, and in the following May both actors were playing in New York City. The sad result was the Astor Place riot. How the American audiences felt is best illus- trated by the action of one during the engagement of Forrest just before the riot. As his Macbeth uttered the lines, " What rhubarb, senna, or what purgative drug, will scour these English hence?" the people in the house rose to their feet and cheered and cheered again. Probably the most interesting, certainly the most notable, appearance of Forrest in " Macbeth " was at the Broadway Theatre, New York, in February, 1853, when a magnificent revival of the tragedy was prepared, with Mme. Ponisi as Lady Macbeth, and with Duff, Conway, Davenport, Davidge, and Barry in the support. For twenty nights the play held the boards, thus achieving the longest ran up to that date of any Shakespearian play in this country. Yet Wemj-ss thought Forrest's Macbeth did not even deserve the name ; indeed, he declared that 238 shakespbaee's heroes. the herculean player was not above mediocrity in any Shakespearian character except Othello, though admirably great in the characters written for him and for his physical requirements. Charles T. Congdon, too, refused to praise the "gladiatorial exhibitions," as he called them, of Edwin Forrest ; and he particularly indorsed the laconic but not over-complimentarj' criticism which Fanny Kemble wrote in her diary after she saw the then young- tragedian at the Bowerj', " What a mountain of a man I " " He Mas born for single combat," says Congdon, and adds truthfully that the Macduff with whom he contended had a hard time of it. Some of the minor players, too, had a hard time at rehearsal with the quick-tempered actor. Tcey all feared him when in angrj' mood, for none knew to what extreme he \\ould go. In fact, one intimate friend of Forrest once told the writer that there were really two Forrests, according to moods, — Forrest the gentleman and Forrest the blackguard. One day in Washington, when " Macbeth " was under rehearsal, a certain performer who took the part of the Second Apparition became so frightened over the frowns of the star, that when he was called upon to utter " Macbeth ! Macbeth ! Macbeth ! " his trembling voice was almost inaudible. MACBETH. 239 With pointed sarcasm Forrest emphasized the tliird word in his responding phrase, making a new and personal reading, "Had I three ears I'd liear thee ! " More confused, the Apparition continued, "Be bloody bold, and resolute," laying the emphasis on the hloody, and letting it qualify hold. Immediately Forrest rushed upon the young man. "You're a butcher, sir!" he cried in tumultuous anger ; " a perfect butcher ! Shakespeare doesn't want me to be ' bloody bold ; ' he wants me to be ' bloody, bold, and resolute.' Go down, sir ; go down and do it again ! " In vain the scared fellow tried to catch the idea ; his wits were gone. Finally Forrest insisted upon the First Apparition "doubling" rdles and giving the lines of both. The same youth had also to act the Second Offi- cer in the fifth act, and announce the coming of Malcolm's army. On the night of the perform- ance, when Forrest rushed upon him, and, in the words of the text, cried, "The devil damn thee black, thou cream-faced loon ; where gottest thou that goose look?" the youth managed to stammer out, " There are t-t-ten thousand " — But as Forrest in his Macbeth rage grasped him 240 SHAKESPEARE'S HEROES. by the throat, crying, " Geese, villain," the half- choked little man, instead of replying as he should, "Soldiers, sir," weakly whispered in terror, '•Ye-e-e-s, Mr. Forrest." Away he flew over the stage. Tlie burly actor, now boiling with real anger, had fairly hurled him into the Avings. A little later Forrest saw the fellow behind the scenes. With forced calmness the tragedian, gaz- ing fixedlj' at the man, exclaimed, " Sir, you are a butcher by trade, are you not?" "T — I?" responded the Second Officer. "No, sir: I'm an actor." " An actor ! " returned Forrest with withering scorn. " You are not, sir. You are a butcher, sir. Go back to your calling ; kill sheep, kill oxen, kill asses, if you like, but never more kill Shake- speare ! " A few months later another stupid player, act- ing Seyton, instead of saying to Macbeth, " The Queen, ray Lord, is dead," confusedly announced, "The King, my Lord, is dead." Forrest could not resist the chance for joke. " Is he ? " he replied ; " then what am I doing here ? " And the audience, in the humor of the extempore scene, did not criticise, but laughed. MACBETH. 241 Now we come to a less tumultuous hero. Al- though not reckoned as a leading rdle in Edwin Booth's repertoire, in the sense that Hamlet and lago were considered, Macbeth yet offered oppor- tunities for that display of varying passion which the actor controlled to so large an extent. Bold- ness and fear were botli pictured in capable man- ner. In the scene with the witches, when first the revelation of future greatness is laid before Macbeth, the changing of face mirrored the deep thoughts of the mind ; and the eager query with which further knowledge of the unknown time to come was impetuously sought, gave with the word and look and action the key for interpreting the great ambition of the Thane of Glamis. The tragedian's acting there laid bare, like a flash, all the emotion which was to influence tlie aspiring soldier to deeds of crime and treachery. But chief in Booth's representation was his con- ception of the night scene, when Macbeth pauses before he commits his terrible crime. This was the most excellent point in his performance, even exceeding in its artistic finish the ghost scene at the banquet table. The inward workings of the conscience seemed to be laid open to the sight of all as the Scot gazed stealthily around the bord- 242 shakbspbaee's heroes. ering pillars, starting at eveiy sound, and even quivering violently at nothing when the nervous mind conjured up a thought that made it seem as though some one was beside him. These are the more notable scenes in an impersonation that can- not rank among Mr. Booth's best parts. Salvini used to say that Booth could not suc- ceed in Macbeth because he was so dissimilar from the character. jNIacbeth was ambitious ; Booth was not. Macbeth was barbarous and ferocious ; Booth was agreeable, urbane, and courteous. Therefore the nature of the courtly, generous Booth rebelled against the poitrayal of sucli a character. An in- teresting leasoning, surely, but hardlj' logical or true. For example, Booth by nature was not an lago ; yet by art he assuredly Avas. When Cliarlotte Cushman acted to the Thane of Edwin Booth in Philadelphia, in 1860, she ob- served, " that judging from Mr. Booth's rehearsal of Macbeth, he had a refined and very intellectual conception of the character ; she begged him to remember that Macbeth was the grandfather of all the Bowery villains." Bootli, however, would not accept her ideas on this point. Davenport was another of Cushman 's Macbeths. It was at the Howard, in Boston, on one occa- MACBETH. 243 sion, that the noted Bostonian, in support of Miss Cushraan, dressed his ambitious Thane in a tow- ering brass helmet, brown tunic, and tiglits, re- lieved by the great stand-by of all travelling New Englanders, a Highland shawl, and at the close of the performance came before the curtain to make a stirring war speech, urging enlistment, and a vigorous prosecution of the war. Mr. Daven- port's efforts before the curtain were character- istic. He was known on such occasions audibly to greet acquaintances in the boxes, tell amusing incidents of travel, award praise to rivals, laugh- ingly give such a conundrum as, " Why am I like a poor plaster? — Because I don't draw well," al- lude to some favorite of the company by his Chris- tian name, and send away his liearers en rapport with the man instead of the artist. As a star he was ever flitting, and his wander- ings would have astonished even some modern com- binations. The first of the month once found him playing a farewell in the Boston Theatre, as Bene- dick, to a crowded assembly of friends ; and the last of tlie same month saw him encountering, with brave courage, the mortification of a life at the Metropolitan in San Francisco, where the cur- tain rose upon "standing room only" to the first 244 SHAKESPEARE'S HEROES. act of his Hamlet, and fell upon the closet scene to empty benches. He once played Damon, in Missouri, in conjunction with a strawberry festival, and laughed heartily as he recalled the occasion ; often, as Lawrence Barrett remarked, he " wasted his fine talents in undignified versatility." As for Salvini, impressive in the banquet scene particularly, he naturally was forcible throughout the play. He made the ambitious man no tool to his Lady, but an equal associate in crime, selfish, Avithout conscience, and without remorse. With his massive form, surmounted by a strong, heavily bearded face, and with long tawny hair, matching the beard in color and length, the Italian showed a warrior who could well carry through any plan of mighty ambition. When he cried out, " To-mor- row, and to-morrow, and to-morrow," there was no melancholy in the tone, but simply the fretting worriment of overwhelming selfishness. As he ut- tered the lines in grief of his dead wife, " She should have died hereafter," he threw himself into a seat, and with his hands covered for the moment his face in sudden thoughtfulness ; but the subse- quent exclamation and expression were indicative of personal trouble rather than saddened affliction. When the foreign star first played the part in TOMMASO SALVINI. MACBETH. 245 Boston, he introduced new " business " that seemed absurd from the inartistic way it was carried out. In other words, he attempted literally to picture the stage direction of the sixth scene of the fifth act of the original play, "Enter, with drums and colors, Malcolm, Old Seward, Macduff, etc., and their army with boughs." Inasmuch as Malcolm's armj% in Salvini's production, consisted of only a dozen lank and slender-limbed soldiers, their ap- pearance Avith large green boughs in front of their faces was scarcely imposing. The effect was even more ludicrous when, at the words of the play, " Now near enough : your heavy screens throw down, and show like those you are," they deliber- ately dropped their verdant screens in a mathe- matically straight line in front of the footlights, and then marched away behind the wings. To allow the next scene to go on, stage-hands had to enter and carry off the fragments of trees. Not until Salvini was associated with Booth in the " Hamlet " and " Othello " performances did American play-goers see the tragedian surrounded by stage accessories that could assist, rather than hamper, the effect of his strong impersonations. HAMLET. In Eae!lv Days. The Ghost of Hamlet's father stood on the stage of the royal Blackfriars play-house in Lon- don town, while around him were grouped John Hemings and William Sly, Joseph Taylor and Henry Condell, and all the other play-actors of that day. "Speak the speech, I pray you," said the Ghost, " as I pronounced it to you, trippingly on the tongue ; but if you mouth it, as many of our players do, I had as lief the town-crier spoke my lines." These Avere surely the words of Hamlet. Why, then, was not Dick Burbage, the great Dick Bur- bage, "King Dick," as the actors called him, ut- tering the lines ? There he stood, the original Hamlet of the world, the greatest Hamlet the stage ever saw for years and years, — perhaps, for aught we know, the greatest Hamlet who ever 247 248 SHAKESPEARE'S HEROES. trod the boards, — and he was listening with rev- erent attention while the young man of eight and thirty, whose part was simply that of the Ghost, not only repeated the lines as an illustration for the chief actor, but also pointed their lesson with significant meaning to all the players. And well might Burbage listen carefully. Well might tliey all follow with closest attention tlie words of the speaker. For it :\as Shakespeare himself uttering the lines of which he was the author. Perhaps, — • who knows ? — the poet turned liis bright eyes sharply upon Will Kempe as he reached the words, " And let those tliat play your clowns speak no more than is set down for them ; for there be of them tliat will themselves laugh, to set on some (quantity of Ijarren spectators to laugh too ; thougli, in the meantime, some necessary ques- tion of the play be then to be considered: that 's villanous, and shows a most pitiful ambition in the fool that uses it." For comical Kemjje, the original First Gravedig- ger, witty and eccentric, was far too apt to " gag " a play, much to the annoyance of the author ; and Shakespeare had him in mind when he wrote those reproving lines. HAMLET. 249 So, too, the dramatist had well considered the natural characteristics of Burbage, when he revised his sketch of Hamlet; noting the leading player's short, stout form, he decided it was better to let Hamlet be " fat and scant of breath " to suit the actor. Strange, is it not, that no one knows, or can know, how Sliakespeare acted the Ghost, or how Burbage acted the Prince ! We simply know the tribute paid the latter after his death, when the poetic elegy said : — " He 's gone, and witli him what a, world are dead, Friends every one, and wliat a hlank instead; Take him for all in all, he was a man Not to be matched, and no age ever can. No more young Hamlet, though but scant of breath, Shall cry 'Eevenge' for his dear father's death. Oft have I seen him leap into the grave, Suiting the person which he seemed to have Of the mad lover with so true an eye That there I would have sworn he meant to die." At the time of that first performance of " Ham- let," in 1602, Burbage was thirty -six years of age. Thoroughly sincere in his work, he would never, after assuming a part, allow himself to leave that character till the final act, not even returning to himself in the retiring-room, but still keeping his mind and action with his role. Moreover, when on the stage, he never ceased from action, or 250 shakespbaee's heroes. rather expression, so that, even while others were speaking, it was a delight for the spectators to watch the looks and gesture of Burbage as he lis- tened or acted out an aside scene. Some older writers have claimed that Joseph Tajdor was the original Hamlet, but the claim is not by any means substantiated; let the glory of being tlie original lago to Burbage's Othello prove suii&cient for Tay- lor's fame. A younger Hamlet follows, a mere youth of twenty-six, but such a glorious Hamlet ! To be sure, lie wore the dress of a courtier of the day (and afterwards he added cocked hat and powdered wig), Imt yet his acting was faithful to tlie part, and magnificent in effect. If his scenes with Oplie- lia were the better, who can blame him ; for was not fair Mistress Saunderson his sweetheart, and were they not destined soon to be married? His low, gentle voice, his native dignity of bearing, his entrancing gracefulness of movement, all these were noted in every act. What care avc, — or what cared they, the audience at Lincoln's Inn Fields, on that December night in 1661, — if the impersona- tion was not entirely original, but was learned from Sir William Davenant's description of Taylor's act- ing as he had seen it ? HAMLET. 251 Pepys was there ; and Pepys, who, as a rule, saw little to please him in Shakespeare's works, was simply carried away by Betterton's acting, de- claring he " did the Prince's part beyond imagi- nation." And later on, after witnessing another performance, he affirmed enthusiastically, " I was mightily pleased with it, but above all Avith Better- ton, the best part, I believe, that ever man acted." Admiration without stint was poured b}^ CoUey Gibber upon the acting of the elder player. Sitting one night in the theatre, side by side with Addison, Colley had noted with regret the applause that showered down from an unthinking audience upon another Hamlet (Robert Wilks), who, on the first appearance of the Ghost, had literally thrown him- self into a tumult of noisy expression with voice and action, " tearing a passion to very rags." " I like it not," said the old fellow to the Tatler. "Nor do I," returned the scholar. "I am sur- prised to think any player should put Plamlet into violent passion with tlie Ghost; it seems to me the appearance should astonish, not provoke, the Prince." And then Gibber, finely expressing his criticism, responded, " Yes, Mr. Addison, in that beautiful speech the passion never rises beyond an almost breathless astonishment, or an impatience, limited 252 SHAKESPEARE'S HEROES. b}^ filial reverence, to inquire into tlie suspected wrongs that may have raised him from his peaceful tomb, and a desire to know Avhat a spirit, so seem- ingly distressed, might wish or enjoin a sorrowful son to execute toward his future quiet in the grave. This was the light into which Betterton threw this scene, Avliich he opened with a pause of mute amaze- ment; then, rising slowly to a solemn, trembling voice, he made the Ghost equallj' terrible to the spectator as to himself. In the descriptive part of the natural emotions which the ghastly vision gave, the boldness of his expostulation was still governed by decency, manlj-, but not braving, his voice never rising into that seeming outrage or wild defiance of what lie naturally revei'ed."' And A\hat think you this great actor, Betterton, received as salary ? During all his long career in London, the liighest pay ever awarded him was four pounds a week for liis own services, jalus one pound given as pension to his wife after her re- tirement. Yet wlien he died all England mourned ; and, indeed, if we are to believe tlie poet of the daj', the sorrow of liis death drowned llie signs of gilef for Queen Anne's demise. Only one man ever spoke ill of Betterton ; that was the cross-grained, cynical old Anthony Aston. HAMLET. 253 When the famous actor, nearing his threescore years and ten, was still playing in the tragedj^, Anthony thought lie ought to " have resigned the part of Hamlet to some young actor who might have personated, though not have acted, it better." And then follows the bill of particulars : " When he threw liiniself at Ophelia's feet, he appeared a little too grave for a young student lately come from the University of Wittenbei-g ; " "His rep- artees seemed rather apothegms from a sage phi- losopher than the sporting flashes of young Hamlet." - But Anthony went too far in his caricaturing; for he saw fit to paint the favorite of the town as ill-shaped, with large head, short, thick-set body, stooping shoulders, and long arms. There were pock-marks on his face, swore the ugly tempered critic, his body was too fat, his feet too large, and his voice was low and grumbling. And yet the fellow liad to admit that tlie same heavy voice could be so turned b}' Betterton as to enforce uni"- versal attention, even from the leering fops and flirting orange girls in the pit. Regarding Wilks, whom Gibber severely criti- cised. Barton Booth, a Ghost of those days so slow and solemn and noiseless as to inspire the audience 264 Shakespeare's heroes. with genuine awe and terror, spoke his mind very freely one dajr at rehearsal. "Bob," said he to Wilks, "I thought last night you wanted to play fisticuffs with me ; "you bul- lied that which you ought to have revered." And then lie paid a glowing tribute to the other player, b}' adding, " When I acted the Ghost with Better- ton, instead of my awing him, he terrified me." " Yes," responded lionest Wilks, with becoming modesty, " Mr. Betterton and you could always act as 3'ou pleased; I, for my part, can only do as well as I can." Indeed, on one occasion lietterton's Hamlet, with its intensity and horror, so overcame the experi- enced Bootli that the latter hesitated even to dis- concertment for a lime, and only by a strong effort of the will managed to maintain the action of the Ghost. It was declared by a writer in 1740 that Betterton himself, under the spell of his temporary living in the character, would actually turn pale at sight of his father's spirit, while his body would shake with genuine tremor. All this fervor could be retained even as the years advanced. On the 20th of September, 1709, at the age of seventy-four, he was playing the young Prince of THOMAS BETTERTON. HAMLET. 255 Denmark ; and, fortunately for us, Steele was pres- ent at the performance. In the Tatler he describes the acting : — " I was going on in reading my letter, when I was inter- rupted by Mr. Greeniiat, wlio lias been this evening at the play of ' Hamlet.' ' Mr. Bickerstaff,' said he, ' had you been to-night at the play-house, you had seen the force of action in perfection : your admired Mr. Betterton behaved himself so well, that, though now about seventy, he acted youth, and by the prevalent power of proper manner, gesture and voice, appeared through the whole drama a youth of great expecta- tion, vivacity, and enterprise. The soliloquy, where he began the celebrated sentence of " To be, or not to be ; " the ex- postulation, where he explains with his mother in her closet; the noble ardor after seeing his father's ghost; and his gener- ous distress for the death of Ophelia, are each of them cir- cumstances which dwell strongly upon the minds of the audience.' " Only a few more times were his impersonations to please the town. On the 28th of April, 1710, he died, suddenly overcome by the violent eigh- teenth century remedies taken for gout. His wife lost her reason over her husband's death, and two years later followed him to the grave. The February sun, four years after this sad event, saw an English soldier in the town of Licli- field rejoicing over the birth of a finely formed 256 Shakespeare's heroes. child. Father and mother planned then a great business career for their offspring; neither of them inherited iiistrionic connection or taste, and the future stage nobility of the boy could not have been foretold, even in their dreams. Davy, they called him, Davy Garrick. Soon the father died ; and the boy, witli his brother Peter, entered into the wine business. Tlien the mother passed awaj'; and the 3'oung man, twenty-two years of age, looked seriously towards the theatre. His wonderful debut at Goodman's Fields, in the character of Richard III., set the town agog. That was in 1741. The next summer he was in Dublin; aud there, to great applause, for the first time acted Hamlet, the gay Peg Woffing- ton appearing as his Ophelia. The die is east : the great leader of tlie stage of the eigliteenth century is at hand. Garriclc is a Shakespearian actor ; and yet how raslily does lie handle the play of the bard. As manager he can revise the text, and he does so with an eye chiefly to his own advantage. Laertes's character is changed; Oplielia's death is not made known to the audience ; the Queen is reported to have gone insane ; the King defends himself in a fight with the Prince, and then Laertes and Hamlet HAMLET. 257 die of their mutual wounds; wliile a dying speech, originally given to Laertes, is found to win him too much applause, and so is turned into the mouth of Hamlet. Moreover, Osric and the Grave- diggers are completel}- out of the play. The strength of the acting made England ac- cept this mutilation. In fact, some years later, when John Bannister, playing the Dane for his benefit, i-estored the oilginal version, an old actor whispered in tones of reverent horror, "Sir, if ever you should meet with j\lr. Garrick in tlie next world, jon will find tlrat he will Jiever for- give you for having restored the Gravediggers to 'Hamlet.' " The accomplished Thespian, too, would not scorn stage tomfoolery. In the closet scene, for example, he liad a trick chair Avith inbent, iiarrow, pointed legs, that, by its own . weight, would fall with a crash to the floor when Hamlet started up at the appearance of the Ghost. Old Dr. Johnson thouglit Davy rather exaggerated terror in this scene. "Do you think, sir, if you saw a ghost," quoth Boswell, "you would start as Garrick does in Hamlet?" "No, sir," promptly replied the lexicographer; "for, if I did, I should frighten the ghost." 258 SHAKESPEARE'S HEROES. But, for all this, when we see how the scene affected Mr. Liohtenberg, we can readily under- stand the popular favor of the impersonation. It was in 1775 that that gentleman pictured in graphic language the first scene witli the Ghost. Hamlet, Horatio, and Marcellus are awaiting the Spirit, Hamlet, witli folded arms and hat drawn over his eyes, shivering in the cold air. It is so quiet that one can hear a pin drop at the farthest end of the ]i)lay-house. Suddenly Horatio points out the Ghost. Swiftl}' turning, Garrick, with trembling knees, staggers buck a pace or two, his hat falling to the ground, and his arms involuntarily extending to their full length, with the hands at tlie height of liis liead. With legs stretclied far apart, and with mouth open, there he stands, as if electrified, while the expression of horror upon his face is so intense as to cause a repeated sliudder to pass over the spectator. There is almost appalling silence on tlie part of the audience. At last he sjjeaks in trembling voice, "Angels and ministers of grace defend us ; " words which, to use Mr. Lichtenberg's language (translated), " complete whatever may be wanting in this scene to make it one of tlie sublimest and most terrify- ing of which, perhaps, the stage is capable." HAMLET. 259 The mad scene comes on, and Hamlet, with fly- ing hail- and with a stocking hanging half-way down the leg, and a red gaiter slipping towards the ankle, slowly advances, as in deep thought, with one hand upholding the chin, while the other rests the elbow of the supporting arm. His eyes are downcast as he paces forward in dignified man- ner. Ilemoving his hand from his chin, but still letting the other hand support the elbow, he begins in a soft, yet clearly audible voice, " To be, or not to be." " I pity those who have not seen him," cries Hannali More, after one of those impressive scenes. " The more I see him, the more I wonder and admire." Have not you, a reader of Fielding, noted Par- tridge's criticism of Garrick in the play? "You may call me cowaid if you will, " he exclaims, " but if that little man there upon the stage is not frightened, I never saw a man frightened in my life. . . . Did you not yourself observe after- wards, when he found out it was his father's spirit, and how he was murdered in the garden, how his fear forsook him by degrees, and he was struck dumb Avith sorrow, as it were, just as I should have been had it been my own case? ... He the 260 shakespeaee's heroes. best player ! wlij^, I could act as well myself. I am sure, if I had seen a ghost, I should have looked in the same manner, and done just as he did." But the nervous, impetuous Hamlet passes away, and a slow, meditative Hamlet takes his place. It is John Philip Kemble, the founder of another school of acting, the ponderous, dignified school. The Garrick version is thrown to the winds, and the original Shakespearian tragedy returns. The costume this new Hamlet wears is a dark velvet coui't dress of the day ; with mourning sword swing- ing at the side, and a heavy robe hanging from the shoulders. A glittering star of a modern order rests upon the breast of the Prince, while the symbol of the Order of the Elephant is suspended from his neck. JNIrs. Siddons has already won fame in London towii, and has brought her elder brother to Drury Lane, there, on the 30th of September, 1783, to make his debut as tlie melancholy Dane. That niglit, with excessive modesty, the dibutant omitted the advice to the playeis, on the ground that he, a newcomer, ought not to utter such lessons to others. After he had become a recognized mem- ber of the profession in London, he quickly restored the lines. JOHN PHILIP KEMBLE AS HAMLET (In Act V,, Scene 1). HAMLET. 261 Graceful, — "too scrupulously graceful," says one critic, — deeply studied (and, in fact, it is said he wrote out his part forty times during his study of Hamlet in order to keep it familiar in his mind), with grand declamation in the soliloquies and sug- gestive by-play, but yet cold and unimpressive, — is the general verdict. In the fencing scene, for example, the critical little liked the over-abundant complaisance and solenmit}^ of bowing. And yet Matthew Arnold, in after years, when summing up certain actors, would saj', " All Ham- lets whom I have seen dissatisfy us in something. Macready wanted person ; Charles Kean, mind ; Fechter, Englisli ; Mr. Wilson Barrett wants elo- cution. . . . Perhaps John Kemble, in spite of his limitations, was the best Hamlet after all." Moreover, Tom Davies, writing in the olden day, could bestow this unstinted praise : " In the im- passioned scene between Hamlet and his mother, in the third act, Kemble's emphases and action, however different from those of all former Ham- lets we have seen, bore the genuine marks of solid judgment and exquisite taste. I never saw an audience more deeply affected, or more generously grateful to the actor who so highly raised their passions. Mr. Kemble is tall, and well made; his 262 Shakespeare's heroes. countenance expressive, liis voice strong and flex- ible, liis action and deportment animated and graceful." Indeed, we may well agree that Kemble's "sen- sible, lonely" Hamlet was a worthy addition to the stage. One day Dr. Johnson was called on to settle a point in Kemble's interpretation. The actor, with tender but pronounced emphasis on the second word in the query uttered to Horatio, " Did you not speak to it ? " used to imply that, most assur- edly, Hamlet's dear friend must have questioned the Ghost. "What say you, sir?" said Kemble to the author- itative scholar; " Steevens says I am wrong. Do 3-ou agree with me ? " To be sure I do," replied Johnson ; " in that plirase ' you ' should be strongly marked. I told Garrick so long ago, but Davy never could see it." Another point of difference between the two his- trions manifested itself in the same act, when Kemble, departing from all tradition, instead of pointing liis sword at the apparition, wliile follow- ing it, let the weapon drag behind him as he advanced. HAMLET. 263 "And for my soul, what CAN it do to that?'' exclaimed Kemble's Hamlet, as if rejoicing in the safety of his soul, as well as asserting its security; while Garrick merely brought out the latter point, by exclaiming, " And for my soul, what can it do to THAT ? " So in other ways the later actor diverted from the familiar readings of the day, and yet without radical innovations. Stephen Kemble, in his old-fashioned gentleman's dress, with breeches and buckled shoes, and long auburn wig, attempted Hamlet; while still another brother, Charles Kemble (who, like his daughter, Fanny Kemble, believed that Hamlet was really mad), played the rSle occasionally. The daughter has left us this interesting, although undoubtedly flattering, description of the impersonation : — " The great beauty of all my father's performances, but particularly of Hamlet, is a wonderful accuracy in the de- tail of the character which he represents — an accuracy which modulates the emphasis of every word, the nature of every gesture, the expression of every look, and which renders the whole a most laborious and minute study. My father pos- sesses certain physical defects, — a faintness of coloring in the face and eye, a weakness of voice, — and the corresponding intellectual deficiencies, a want of intensity, vigor, and con- centrating power. I have acted Ophelia three times with 264 Shakespeare's heroes. my father; and each time, in that beautiful scene where his madness and his love gush forth together like a torrent swollen with storms, which beai'S a thousand blossoms on its troubled waters, I have experienced such deep emotion as hardly to be able to speak. The exquisite tenderness of his voice ; the wild compassion and forlorn pity of his looks, bestowing that on others which, of all others, he most needed ; the melancholy restlessness, the bitter self -scorning — every shadow of expression and intonation was so full of the min- gled anguish that the human heart is capable of enduring, that my eyes scarce fixed on his ere they were filled with tears ; and, long before the scene was over, the letters and jewel-cases I ^Aas tendering to him were wet with them. The liardness of professed actors and actresses is something amazing. After this part, I could not but recall the various Ophelias I have seen, and commend them for the astonishing absence of everything like feeling which they exhibited. Oh, it made my heart sore to act it." Henderson, in his three-cornered cocked hat, pleased some and displeased others. Macklin, too, had his friends. George Frederick Cooke tried to capture the role from John Kemble, but the pub- lic cried down his unpolished, sarcastic madman. When Charles Mayne Young first essayed the role in London, he was so disconcerted by a hiss- ing from the auditorium that he could scarcely proceed ; that liissing, it was later found, came from his own father. Hamlet was the character in HAMLET. 265 whif ]) he made his metropolitan dShut. Twenty- five years later, on the 31st of May, 1832, at the age of fifty-five, Young saw liis name for the last time on a playbill, and then again it was opposite the character of Hamlet. Macready was the Ghost, Mathews was Polonius. This Hamlet was solemn, yet somewhat vehement with its great show of ar- dor and animation. Others, too, of the olden day played the rSle, but to name the long list would require an ency- clopsedic history. Tlie great impersonations alone need be noted here. There is Edmund Kean, on the 12th of March, 1814, appearing for the first time in London as Hamlet, after having made a remarkable success in other rdles during this first important metropolitan engagement. Tenderness to Ophelia, says Dr. Do- ran, affection for his mother, reverential awe of his father, and a fixed resolution to fulfil the mission confided to liim by that father, were the distinct " motives," so to speak, of his Hamlet. Edmund Kean did not use his sword to keep off the Ghost, for whom he felt deep love rather than dread, but instead introduced a novel bit of busi- ness by turning the point back against his friends to prevent their stopping him from following the 266 Shakespeare's heeoes. vision. So, too, he introduced another novelty for those times, — the return to Ophelia's side, after his harsli words to the fair young girl, his tender imprint of a kiss upon her hand, and then, after a sad, loving glance at her face, his rush from the scene. As for the mournfulness of his voice, it is said that in his boyhood his only friend. Miss Tids- well, would teach hira the proper expression to the phrase, " Alas, poor Yorick," by recalling a sad affliction tluit had happened to his uncle, Moses Kean, and then having him say first, " Alas, poor uncle!" Observant Hazlitt, while declaring that Kean's Hamlet too often showed a severity approaching to violence in the common observations and answers, yet commended the power and feeling of his ac- tion. The kissing of Ophelia's hand, this critic pronounced " the finest commentary that was ever made on Shakespeare. It explained the character at once (as he meant it) as one of disappointed hope, of bitter regret, of affection suspended, and not obliterated, by the distractions of the scene around him. The manner in which Mr. Kean acted in the scene of the play before the King and Queen was tlie most daring of any, and the force and an- HAMLET. 267 imation which he gave to it cannot be too highly applauded. Its extreme boldness bordered ' on the verge of all we hate,' and the effect it produced was a test of the extraordinary powers of this ex- traordinary actor." Of course admirers of Kemble's noble personal- ity thought that his diminutive successor was very insignificant in comparison ; at least, they thought so at first, if they were in the mood of Joe Cowell when he originally saw Kean. " Astonishing ! " exclaimed Cowell, as he leaned over to his neighbor Keeley in the pit, that night. "Do you see the little fellow? Why, I was pre- pared to see a small man ; but — compare him with the princely person of Kemble, and he 's a perfect pygmy-" Keeley, with his eyes on the stage, merely nodded in response ; but Cowell could not stop at this crit- icism. "This man's voice is objectionable," he con- tinued. " His manner is tedious. His gesture — Keeley, he 's a humbug, a veritable humbug." But the play went on. The Gliost came in. Cowell gradually grew more and more interested; and finally, when Hamlet cried, "I'll call thee Hamlet, . . . father," the sturdy admirer of Kemble was completely won over, so touchingly were the 2(18 shakespbare"s heroes. words uttered. Between his applauding and cheer- ing of the actor, Cowell managed to whisper to his friend, " I 'm converted. It is admirable." Even the widow of Mr. Garrick was so interested in the new Hamlet that she sent for him to call at her house, sat him down in her husband's chair, — which she declared should henceforth be kept solely for him, — and gave him points on the stage " business " of Davy. " You are too tame in the closet scene," she said ; " that is, you are tamer than was Mr. Garrick. Please to try it in more vehement a manner." jVnd the fiery little actor, though somewhat net- tled by the criticism, not only did as she bade liim, but thenceforth invariably acted the closet scene in Garrick's manner. The young player never liked these comparisons with the heroes of old. " They insist," he would say, " that to praise me must necessarily detract from the fame of John Ken>ble. It is not so. Let every tub, I say, stand on its own bottom. Now, Kemble, I admit, was a great actor, but he never could have done this" — and, with a rush over the stage, he leaped into the air and turned a com- plete somersault. The American stage had seen its first Hamlet EDMUND KEAN. EDMUND KEAN AS HAMLET (In Act I., Scene 4). HAMLET. 269 seventeen years after Garrick's original essay with the cliaracter in Dublin. On the 27th of July, 1759, in Philadelphia, Lewis Hallam the younger, advancing rapidly in the profession of his father, the founder of the American stage, was playing the title rdle in the great tragedy, while his mother of real life acted also the part in mimic life, portray- ing the Queen. Her second husband, Mr. Doug- lass, was the Ghost; and Mrs. Harman played Ophelia. Three years before the century closed, when the youth of 1759 was a man of nearly sixty, he was still acting the young Pjince. A most vei-satile player was Hallam, skilled in the gymnastic pranks of the harlequin of pan- tomime, admirable in comedy, and particularly en- tertaining in negro characters, and satisfactory in tragedy. He was a good dancer and a good fencer, besides possessing a mobile, attractive face, marred only by a slight cast in one eye, the result of an accident while learning to handle the foils. The night of ]\lay 11, 1773, Josiah Quincy, bsino- in New York, attended the theatre, and there saw tragedy and comedy both acted, liking not the former, but enjoying the latter. Yet in both he found Hallam well sustaining his rdles. That was the night Mr. Quincy confessed in his^Tary 270 Shakespeare's heroes. that while, " as a citizen and friend to the morals and happiness of society, I should strive hard against the admission, and much more the estab- lishment, of a play-house in any State of which I was a member," yet he was so gratified with the evening's experience that personally he believed " if I had staid in town a month I should go to the theatre every acting night." The theatre ^^■hich Mr. Quincy attended on that evening was long famous as the home of the noted early productions of the metropolis of this country. It was not the first play-house of the city, but it was the first to obtain permanency. Before 1766 no town in America had possessed any but tem- porary homes for the play-actors. That year saw erected in Philadelphia the Southwark Theatre, a rough, homely, bright red brick-and-wood affair, whose best seat (for view of the stage) was in the gallery. In December, 1767, there was opened the first permanent home of the drama in New York, the John Street Theatre, a red building standing some sixty feet back from the street, and reached by a covered walk of rough wood. The dressing- rooms were in an adjoining shed. When the house ■was filled, the management's gross receipts were eight hundred dollars. HAMLET. 271 In the first American play produced in New York (" The Contrast " by Judge Tyler of Vermont), the character of Jonathan described, in quaint but probably truthful language, the general impression made upon the spectator on first entering this play- house. "As I was looking here and there for it," quoth Jonathan, " I saw a great crowd of folks going into a long entry that had lanterns over the door, so I asked the man if that was the place they played hocus-pocus. He was a very civil kind of a man, though he did speak like the Hessians ; he lifted up his eyes, and said, ' They play hocus-pocus tricks enough there. Got knows, mine friend.' So I went right in, and they showed me away clean up to the garret, just like a meeting-house gallery. And so I saw a power of topping folks, all sitting around in little cabins just like father's corn-crib." Here it was that " Hamlet" was produced on the fourth day after the opening performance ; and here it was that Lewis Hallani acted the Dane until, in 1798, the building was turned into a carriage factory, and then, the same year, demolished. Up to the days of Kean, the stage of this coun- try saw (besides Hodgkinson and Moreton) Cooper and Fennell, both of whom were essentially actors 272 Shakespeare's hekoes. of fhe early part of this century, although the former played Hamlet, and the latter was acting in New York, in that very year, 1797, when the son of the founder of the first organized Ameri- can company was still playing Hamlet — so brief is the history of our stage. The first American- born Hamlet was John Howard Payne, who at the age of seventeen \vas acting the great role at the Park Theatre in New York. Payne saw Cooper playing the Dane in London in the year 1817, and, writing home, declared that in his opinion, while the American player (for such he had then become) was not as great an actor as Kemble, Cooke, or Kean, yet in natural grace he led them all; while he was unmistakably "the best Hamlet on the stage," being far less rude than Kean, if not so startling in the part, more natural than Kemble, if not so grand. " I shall never forget his finished style of bowing to the audience," said the author of " Home, Sweet Home," alluding to the dignity of Cooper's deportment ; " it acted like mysterious magic over all, and at once made the audience his personal friends." As has been said, however. Cooper lost caste with English play-goers after he had abandoned them for America; and their sentiments were prob- HAMLET. 273 ably accurately voiced by " Anthony Pasquin " (John Williams), when he wrote: — "Where, ivhere, is young Cooper, that Tyro so vain. Who Hamlet re-kills, who's so often been slain ? But my memory urges, he'll vex us no more. As he's sought with a troop the transatlantic shore, Since our mummers believe, like some wine, (what a notion!) They'll be more in request by their crossing the ocean." HAMLET. (To THE Pkksbnt Day.) The same year that Edmund Kean first played Hamlet in America (1820), Junius Brutus Booth also presented the character here. The acute, pro- found, spiritual melancholy of the elder Booth left an impression which time never effaced from the minds of those who saw him. What though some people scolded because his arms were awkwardly held close to the side, and maliciously asserted that his legs were bandy and his voice nasal ; they all had to admit the intellectual acting of the born player. His rendering of the soliloquies of the tragedy was especially fine, without a sign of straining for startling points, but with a sus- tained interest that made harmony throughout all the play. If ever a generous tribute was paid to an asso- ciate, it was in the year 1831, when Booth, then manager of a Baltimore company, gave to the vis- 275 276 shakespeake's heroes. iting Englishman, Charles Kean (his inferior as an actor), the role of Hamlet, and himself assumed the part of the Second Actor. The lines that fell to the splendid impersonator were few ; but he uttered them with such expression and with such superb elocution that the audience rose as if inspired by one thought, and cheered him to the echo. AVhen this eminent, but sometimes eccentric, actor was travelling through Kentuck}-, he took a freak one day to pass himself off as Fontaine, a notoiious horse-thief in those daj-s, when horse-thieving was a capital crime. A couple of rustics, to whom he imparted this mock information, immediately saw visions of great rewards, and proceeded to take him back to Louisville. In Iiis best-natured man- ner the pseudo Fontaine consented to accompany them. In the town, however, he was recognized by the sheriff, who asked what the trouble \'\as. Booth doubled the joke on the countrymen by declaring that one of them was Fontaine. But just before they were locked up, by a singular coincidence, the real Fontaine was brought in as a prisoner. Booth had a curiosity to visit the man in jail, and queerly enough a sentimental friendship sprang up between the two. One day Booth spoke of the HAMLET. 277 difficulty he experienced in always procuring a hu- man skull when he played in " Hamlet." Then and there Fontaine made his will, bequeathing his head, after he had been hanged, to Junius Brutus Booth. The elder Booth never obtained the memento, as he left Kentucky before Fontaine was executed ; but, when Edwin Booth was playing in Louisville, Dr. Morris presented him with the skull, and told him its story. The incident recalls the adventures of George Frederick Cooke's head. One day when "Hamlet" Avas staged at the Park, in New York, a theatre hand rushed to the office of Dr. John W. Francis, begging for the loan of a skull for the last act. " Alas, i^oor Yorick ! " The only skull the doctor possessed was that of his old friend Cooke; so once more the actor, without the soul, assisted in a the- atrical performance. In connection with this story I may add that never, so far as I am able to find out, did Cooke himself play Hamlet in America. But another tragedian is appearing on the stages of the two countries, William C. Macready. In America he drew more money with Hamlet, his own favorite role, than with any other part; yet his constant use of the handkerchief, with its ac- 278 SHAKESPEARE'S HEROES. companying weeping and fretful tones, his some- what fussy manner, and his lack of sympathy with the character, were marked for disapproval. Then, again, he had that wretched custom of pro- longing his words. " To-er be-er, or not-er to-er be-er " was almost as bad, in its effect, as Charles Kean's catarrhal soliloquy, " To be or dot to be, ch'dat is the queschdion." That Macready had a loving regard for the won- derful character is shown by a story related by Henry Irving. A friend of Sir Henry was with the older tragedian on the night he last played Hamlet ; and as the curtain fell, and the actor laid aside his velvet mantle, he was heard to mutter almost unconsciously in Horatio's words, " Good- night, sweet prince." Then, turning to Irving's friend, Macready continued, " It is only now that I am just beginning to realize the sweetness, the tenderness, the gentleness, of the character." When in America Macready had a peculiar taste of the independent spirit of the country. He had M'arned the King to die at the side of the stage, so as to leave the centre (the point of advantage for effect on the spectators) to Hamlet. But, in- stead. His Majesty deliberately dropped right in the place where Hamlet had planned himself to die. HAMLET. 279 " What-er do you mean-er by such conduct ? " cried the angry tragedian, as the curtain fell. "Well, Mr. Macreadj^" coolly replied the wearer of the purple, " we Western people don't know much about kings, except that they have a habit of doing as they like ; and I thought, as I was King, I had a right to die wherever I blamed please ! " Another story, which, however, may be taken with a grain of salt, was told by the actor Harley to his English friends. It was, in effect, that Macready, when remonstrating with his American Guildenstern for pressing too close to him on the stage, sarcas- tically remarked, " What, sir, you would not shake hands with Prince Hamlet, would you?" and was totally overwhelmed by the quick democratic reply, "I don't know; I do with the President." The pas de mouchoir in the play scene was what called from Forrest that fatal hiss of which men- tion has been made in the Macbeth chapter. In his diary the Englishman describes his experiences that night : — "Edinburgh, March 2 (1846). — Acted Hamlet with par- ticular care, energy, and discrimination. On reviewing the performance I can conscientiously pronounce it one of the very best I have ever given of Hamlet. At the waving of the handkerchief before the play, and 'I must be idle,' a 280 Shakespeare's heroes. man on the right side of the stage hissed I The audience took it up, and I waved the more, and bowed derisively and contemptuously to the individuaL The audience carried it, although he was very stanch to his purpose. It discomposed me, and, alas, might have ruined many; but I bore it down. I thought of speaking to the audience if called on, and spoke to Murray about it, but he very discreetly dissuaded me. '\\'as called for, and very warmly greeted. Kyder came and told me that the hisser was observed, and said to be a Mr. ^y who was in company with Mr. Forrest. " March 3. — Fifty-three years have I lived to-day. Both ^Fr. ^[urray and ^Ir. Ryder are possessed with the belief that I\[r. Forrest was the man who hissed last night. 1 begin to think he was the man." How odd tlie gaunt, awkward tragedian must have looked as Hamlet on this occasion is easily surmised when one 2)ictures his costume. The waist of the garment over the dirty looking satin shirt was nearly as liigh as his arms ; his hat liad a plume, as one man said, " big enougli to cover a hearse ; " his black silk gloves would have fitted a coal-heaver's hands; and his long, skinny neck extended in a most homely w^ay above his low collar. One day Macready, turning to his friend West- land Marston, exclaimed, " No man is able to play Hamlet completely until he has reached an age too old to look the character ! " This illustrates the thought the actor put into his interpretation. HAMLET. 281 Phelps, who never really looked like Hamlet, was very apt to quiz Polonius in a comic vein, and, indeed, to give the whole turn of the acting at times a droll rendering that would arouse laugh- ter. One night, however, at Sadler's Wells tlie humor came in spite of the actor. Under the theatre ran an old waterway; and on the evening in question the Ghost, a substitute actor, ignorant of the traps of the floor, went down the wrong hole. There was no "Swear" heard from below, as the text demands. In an anxious undertone Mr. Plielps leaned over and called, "Mr. Mellon, Mr. Mellon! why don't you 'swear'? " " How the divil can a mon swear when he's up to the neck of him in watther ? " came the unexpected, loud response from below, — ^and tlie audience roared. " Rest, rest, perturbed spirit," quoth Hamlet, in the words of the play, and not, we may be sure, without a twinkle in liis eye, — and tlie audience saw the point, and laughed all tlie harder. Charles Kean, " the son of his father," could not certainly be called an imitator of Edmund Kean in Hamlet, since he never saw the latter in the role. Perhaps, however, it would have been better if he had, since his own interpretation, seek- 282 Shakespeare's heroes. ing to catch the romantic flavor, missed it just so far as to become melodramatic. It was his first performance of note in London that won any de- gree of popular favor ; but though it had many beauties, yet, for all that, one can hardly class it as a permanently successful interpretation. An American actor has described it roughly as " a tis- sue of bustle, rant, and posturing." James E. Murdoch, whose stage career extended over many years, insisted that no actor ever abso- lutely lost himself in his part, and, as an illustra- tion, would narrate his experience as Horatio to Charles Kean's Hamlet. In the midst of an im- portant scene, when, to all outward appearances, the player was absorbed in his character, he sud- denly wliispered to his Horatio, " Good Heavens, what noise is that?" " It's only the ticking of the green-room clock," replied Murdoch, in a similar aside. " What a nuisance ! " responded Kean. A few minutes later, in an irritated undertone, he queried, " Can't they stop that confounded thing ? " And yet, all the time, he was expressing out- wardly the emotions of his stage charactea-, and never giving to the audience the slightest sign of annoyance or of interruption. HAMLET. 283 Henry Irving and Wilson Barrett, the latest of the English Hamlets, offered intei-pretations of rad- ically differing nature. The latter was essentially of the melodramatic order, dealing in sensational " new readings " and in constant nervous action ; in short, his was a Hamlet made over to suit his own stage characteristics. His Prince was a youth of twenty, a fiery, impetuous, determined hero, elo- quent and flashing enough, but without depth. Irving's troubled, pathetically bitter Hamlet, of sensitive disposition, was thoroughly a student and a gentleman. Nothing could be more strongly ex- pressed in his portrayal than his love for Ophelia, his warm-hearted friendship for Horatio, and his filial affection for his mothei-, — thus illustrating the tender side of the Prince's nature. " Very human," declared Lady Hardy, after see- ing the performance, " a genuine human being, with the. faults and the frailties that we all have. A courteous gentleman is this Hamlet ; he is neither wholly mad nor wholly sane, his mind is clouded and ill at ease." There was grace and there was charm, but, on the other hand, there was lack of passionate, tragic force. The first time Irving tried the role of mystery was in June, 1864, when he was in the stock com- 284 shakespkarb's heroes. pany at Manchester. Ten years later he gave the part in London, and won such attention as to carry the character for two hundred nights in succession. He had never seen Macready in the part; and, as Kean had retired from the London stage in 1859, Irving probably had never seen that player in tlie role. On the 30th of December, 1878, a day of triumijh was at liand for the actor; then for the first time he stood before the London public as manager of the Lyceum Theatre, as well as its chief performer, and then he again appeared as the melancholy Dane. With him, as Ophelia, was Ellen Terry ; while, it is interesting now to note, Mr. Pinero, the noted playwright of to-day, was also in the cast. " To produce the Hamlet of to-night," declared jMr. Irving, when called before the curtain, "I have worked all my life, and I rejoice to think that my work lias not been in vain." Picturesque, truly, is his hero, unlike in appear- ance any other Hamlet the stage has seen. His slight but yet nervously strong frame is surmounted by a long, deeply lined face, not Iiandsome, but yet, with its broad forehead set off by curling black hair, its large, half-melanchol}', half-fiery eyes, and its intellectual cast, a face not to be forgotten. He HENRY IRVING. HAMLET. 285 wears above his black silk tights a rich loose jacket trimmed with fur, and ornamented with a gold chain hanging from neck to waist. A strong face, say you, the face of a student. One night, while playing Hamlet, — Irving him- self told the story to a friend, — something was flung from the gallery to the feet of the actor. It was a small gold cross, having its sides engraved with the words, " Faith, Hope, and Charity," " I believe in the forgiveness of Jesus," " I scorn to fear a change." The actor picked up the emblem, and placed it in his jacket. Later he learned that it had been thrown to him by a poor woman who Avas carried away by his acting, and who wanted Mr. Irving always to wear this cross, an heirloom of her family. So it hung for years — perhaps Jiangs to-day — from his watch-chain. To the mind of Salvini the first part of Hamlet was sustained the best by the English leader. The Italian, when acting in London in 1875, was ad- vised to play the part. He went to the Lyceum to see Irving in the rdle; and as he noted at tlie outset the " sublime " efforts of the English actor, with his " mobile face mirroring his thoughts," and his perfect shading and incisiveness of the phrases, he declared to himself at the end of tlie second 286 Shakespeare's heroes. act, " I will not play Hamlet ! My manager can say what he likes, but I will not play it." As the play proceeded, however, he modified his opinion, finding that the English actor's mannerisms and lack of power prevented him from doing full jus- tice to the passion of the Dane when it had as- sumed a deep hue. Salvini then left his box, saying, " I can do Hamlet, and I will try it." But the public, as the Italian himself admitted, regarded his form as too colossal for tlie mystery- driven Prince ; and though Robert Browning could declare in his letter to Salvini, in 1875, that during the pla}' " the entire Ij-re of tragedy resounded magnificently," the other spectators, for the most part, frankly acknowledged it was not Shakespeare's Hamlet. Another hero of the play from abroad was Rossi, an excellent actor in many ways, but an interpi'eter of Hamlet who could apply realism so strongly to poetry as to make a vivid, spirited, hot-blooded Prince, sad, but yet intense and melodramatic, out of a mournful, dreamy, pathetically blighted per- sonality. On no night would he act the part ex- actly the same as he had on the previous night, — in fact, he intended to avoid so doing, as he did not believe in an actor having a set method or HAMLET. 287 arrangement of gestures and tones, — so that his Dane was always novel and unconventional. As for Hamlet's madness, one day, in conversa- tion in Boston, during his American tour of 1881, Rossi concisely expressed his views on that point in these words : " Hamlet's madness is feigned, but with this qualification, — he always has a penchant for acting the lunatic, for raving as the madman ; he always has a fondness for displaying his violent notions to the world ; and so, as insanity is a con- venient cloak for his plans, he falls all the more readily into it. His is the insanity of the man who reasons, the lunacy of raisonnement." Meanwhile the American stage had witnessed, be- sides several of the Hamlets already mentioned, the shrewd manager-actor William Pelby; light and airy James W. Wallack ; the tall, commanding W. A. Conway; experienced Thomas Hamblin; the dash- ing younger Wallacks, Henry and J. W. Jr. ; the popular Boston Hamlet, John R. Duff, whose wife was one of the best of Ophelias ; Edward Eddy ; George Vandenhoff, who made his first appearance in America in 1842 as Hamlet to the Ophelia of Sarah Hildreth, afterwards the wife of General Benjamin F. Butler ; James Stark ; Wyzeman Mar- shall ; McKean Buchanan ,; James E. Murdoch, who 288 SHAKESPEARE'S HEROES. first acted Hamlet in 1845; Edwin Adams, John McCullough, Bandmann, Bogumil Dawison, Bar- nay, and scores of others of lesser note. The world to-day is interested in only a few. Though neither Forrest nor Davenport made a success of the deep character, yet we must give a passing glimpse at their interpretations. Forrest was a philosophical Hercules, a robust, ponderous Hamlet. When he first played the part, at the age of twenty-one, he adopted the general idea of assumed madness; years later he made the Prince actually mad. Davenport's Hamlet was quiet and tender, but was never popular, and never regarded as among his best parts. * Let me here relate a storj' of Forrest's experi- ence with an incapable Horatio. In vain had the latter tried to satisfy the eloquent-voiced star in delivering the line, "I warrant it will," after Ham- let has said, " I will watch to-night, perchance 't will walk again." "No, no," roared the tragedian, as Phillips, the actor in question, delivered the words with the wrong emphasis, "Speak it this way, sir." And Forrest himself gave the line in his own resound- ing way. The subordinate tried. In vain. Once more HAMLET. 289 was the lesson repeated. Still Phillips failed to satisfy the leader. " Great Heavens ! " Forrest angrily cried, " can't you say it this way?" "No, sir, I cannot," coolly responded Mr. Phil- lips. "My salary is eight dollars a week." "We're not here to discuss salaries," cried the enraged Forrest. " Can you, or can you not, speak that line this way ; " and again he repeated it. "No, sir," calmly replied the other once more; "if I could deliver it that way, my salary Avould not be eight dollars a week, but five hundred dol- lars a night." Forrest saw the point. In spite of his anger he smiled, as he turned to the manager, and exclaimed, " Let Mr. Phillips's salary during this engagement be doubled at my expense ! " But, alas, that night, Phillips, excited over his raised pay, forgot himself, and snatched directly from Hamlet's mouth the second phrase, " Perchance 't will walk again," repeating it himself. In a rage Forrest rushed off the stage at the end of the scene, crying, " I'll give a hundred dollars per week for life to any man who will kill that Phillips ! " The experience Forrest had with Barry Sullivan was of a different nature, yet equally spirited. 290 shakespeabe's heroes. The Britain, a harsh, melodramatic Hamlet, was playing in Philadelphia, and Forrest, in the audi- ence, allowed to all around him how much he despised the innovations of the new actor (his alteration, for example, of the line " I know a hawk fi'om a hernshaw " to " I know a hawk from a heron — pshaw ! "). Sullivan might well resent the insult ; but he waited his time, and in the second act, as he took Guildenstern and Rosen- crantz aside, he pointed his finger straight at For- rest in the box, and, in the words of the text, exclaimed with emphasis, " Do you see that great baby yonder? He is not yet out of his swad- dling clouts." And tlie audience cheered and hissed, admired the quick wit, but resented the attack. Now Edwin Booth advanced to the front, and both Forrest and Davenport, as Hamlet, were thrown completely into the shadow by the thoughtful, mel- ancholy actor, to whom for years to come the char- acter was unconditionally awarded by all American players as essentially his property. It was for tliis latter reason that Charles Fech- ter's novel portrayal came under stronger discussion than even its own peculiarity would have aroused. Fecliter's pale, woe-begone Norseman, as Charles CHARLES FECHTER AS HAMLET. HAMLET. 291 Dickens called him, shook his head of long, flaxen, curly hair, thi-ew tender glances from his fine eyes, and with sympathetic voice expressed the tones of a romantic Prince. He would not mouth nor rant; but, as his acquaintance with the English language was acquired in his mature years, he was necessa- rily imperfect in his speech. Some praised this Hamlet, called him an artist ; others condemned and called him a mountebank ; both sides were forcible. To one, the quick, pas- sionate Hamlet, lacking completely in repose and dignity, was repulsive in conception; with the other, that very impetuousness thrilled to the tips of the fingers. He was brutal to the Queen, fero- cious with Polonius, and continually on a rush in every scene ; but yet his personal magnetism warmed the hearts of thousands of admiring spectators. The veteran actor, Dion Boucicault, once said, in con- versation, that a deaf man would have revelled in Fechter's Hamlet; meaning that his picturesque ap- pearance would win the eye, but his inadequate rendering of the text would offend the ear. It was early in the year 1870 that the French educated actor — for to France he owed only his youthful bringing up, being by birth a native of London and the son of a German father and an 202 shakespeake's heroes. English mother — made his American dihut at Niblo's Garden, New York, and on the 15th of February he first sliowed us his Hamlet. His initial stage experiences had been in Paris ; but on Oct. 27, 1860, he had appeared in London as a professional English actor, choosing for his dShut the same play in Avhich lie first gi-eeted Americans, Falconer's version of A^ictor Hugo's "Ruj- Bias." Long before Fechter was presenting his pathet- ically' pretty Handet, the magnificent Prince of Ed- win Booth had won the hearts of Americans. That allegiance never ceased; and even to-day, when the great actor has been in liis grave for several j'ears, only a few daring j'oung players venture to tempt comparison with tlie glorious recollections of a noble impersonation. .Vs far back as 1852 young Booth received his first suggestion of undertaking tlie part. It was on a sunnner's day in Sacramento, when Edwin, then less than t\\-enty years of age, appeared be- fore his father clad for his benefit in the black velvet garb of Jaffier in " A'enice Preserved." In liis customary moody, thoughtful way, Junius lirutus Booth gazed for a long moment at his son, and then suddenly exclaimed, "You look like Ham- let. Why don't you play it?" HAMLET. 298 " Perhaps T will, — if I ever have another bene- fit,' responded the younger man, thinking possibly, in the light of their present unsuccessful engage- ment, that such an opportunity was not very near at hand. But the chance did come shortly afterwards; and so well was this Hamlet received by the Cali- fornia audiences, that the actor no longer hesitated to adopt the part as a leader in his rejiertolre. In 1857 he first performed the character in New York on the stage of Burton's Theatre. At that time Booth's Hamlet had much more fire and enthusiasm than it presented in later years, when the intellectual had been made to predomi- nate over the physical ; it was brilliant, impetuous, and forceful. The very glitter of his acting won the favor of the spectators. When, for example, he threw the pipes far into the wings, as he cried, " Though you may fret me, you cannot play upon me," the house applauded liberally. But, as time went on, the studious actor saw that, if he aban- doned all such striking but artificial methods, and adopted the melancholy, philosophical style, he would approach nearer the ideal. I recall the note he wrote me regarding his fa- vorite scenes. " I have no preference for any one 294 SHAKESPEARE'S HEROES. character as a whole," he said, " but like best the quieter passages of 'Hamlet,' 'Lear,' and 'Mac- beth.' " Then he added that his favorite lines were : " If it be now, 't is not to come ; if it be not to come, it will be now ; if it be not now, yet it will come ; the readiness is all. Since no man has aught of what he leaves, what is 't to leave betimes ? " As Booth changed, the audiences changed with him, and still applauded freely. They could not fail to bo entranced with tlie graceful, diguihed, and natural interpretation. It was, indeed, sombre in tone, but yet so pleasing in its fj'eedom from all attempt at theatricalism, so interesting in its clear and incisive diction, and so fascinating in its weirdness and absorbing in its awe-inspiring mys- teriousness, that art seemed therein to have readied its closest touch with nature. Booth's Hamlet actually lived. With his death, for a time, Hamlet died. In that interesting, and at the same time touch- ing, brief memoir of tlie elder Booth which the son liimself penned, is an explanation given of the eccen- tricities of the father, an explanation that brings to the mental eye, in part, a view of Edwin Booth's own conception of the hero of the tragedy of thought. HAMLET. 295 " To comprehend the peculiar temperament with wliicli my father charmed, roused, and subdued the keenest and the coarsest intellects of his gener- ation," Avrote Booth, "one should be able to un- derstand tliat great enigma of the wisest, Hamlet. To my dull thinking, Hamlet t3rpifies uneven or unbalanced Genius. But who shall tell us what genius, of any sort whatever, means ? The posses- sor, or rather the possessed, of it is, as in Ham- let's case, more frequently its slave than its master; being irresistibly, and often unconsciously, swayed by its capriciousness. Great minds to madness closely are allied. Hamlet's mind, at the very edge of frenzy, seeks its relief in ribaldry. For a like reason would my father open, so to speak, the safety-valve of levity in some of his most impas- sioned moments. . . . My close acquaintance with so fantastic a temperament as was my father's so accustomed me to that in him which appeared strange to others, that much of Hamlet's mystery seems to me no more than idiosyncrasy." Not only was Edwin Booth's own acting pol- ished in its entirety, but it was finished in all its details. On one occasion, when following the Ghost, Booth by chance turned the hilt of his sword to- wards the retreating spirit figure; and then recog- 296 Shakespeare's heroes. nizing the symbolic force of such a presentation of the cross formed bj' the handle and the guard, adopted the action for all future performances. That the audience might note the significance of the skull of Yorick, "the fellow of infinite jest," Booth had a tattered fool's cap attached to one of the skulls tossed up from the grave, and that was the selected death's-head for the apostrophizing. Talking one day with Henry Tuckerman of New York, Booth received f]-om that gentleman the suggestion that he follow the example of the old actors, and stand while delivering the solilo- quies. At the very next performance Mr. Tucker- man observed the player seated, as before, when he began the lines, " To be or not to be." "Surely," said the observer, "he cannot now rise with propriety or grace." But just as Hamlet finished the Avords " to sleep, perchance to dream," the Dane seemed, in a moment of deep thought, to look far away into tliat mysterious abode of death, and then, Avith his face showing an awful realization of the future, rose as if driven by the horror of the mental vision while he cried, " Ay, there's the rub ! " "Yes," declared Mr. Tuckerman, "he has caught the inspiration in that reflective pause." HAJILET. 297 111 1860 Booth married Miss Devlin, and the next year visited Enghxnd, there to meet with the discouraging reception narrated in another chapter. In Enghmd his only child, Edwina, was born ; but shortly after this, when the family had returned to America, Mrs. Booth died. Now the actor, in association with J. S. Clarke and William Stuart, leased the Winter Gai'den Theatre, in New York, and in November, 1864, began a notable run of one hundred nights of " Hamlet," the longest run tliat that play, or any other Shakespearian drama, had ever enjoyed up to that date. It seems that, when the play was first staged for this run, the promoter of the engagement, William Stuart, was confident that it would go for six months ; but, as the rehearsals progressed, he changed his mind, and decided that two months was all it could hold out, and finally came to the conclusion that a four weeks' season would satisfy him. Booth himself was then entirely unused to such lengthy runs, and, as he himself said shortly afterward, was heartily sick and weary of the mo- notonous work. " Let us change the bill," he said to Stuart ; " this incessant repetition is affecting my act- )) mg. 298 SHAKESPEARE'S HEROES. But Stuart, happy over the money that was pour- ing mto the coffers, cried, " No, no, my boy ! Keep it up ! Keep it up ! Never mind if it goes on for a year ; keep it up ! " "And so," naively said Booth, when telling the story, " we kept it up." The citizens of New York planned to give the actor a commemorative " Hamlet " medal ; but cir- cumstances delayed the presentation of this testi- monial until the 22d of January, 1867. Going from New York to Boston, Mr. Booth was there playing, on the 14th of April, 1865, Sir Ed- ward Mortimer in " The Iron Chest." In F'ord's Tlieatre, Washington, on the same evening, tlie ter- rible tragedy that touched the wliole nation was acted. Immediately Booth cancelled his engage- ment, and, grief-stricken to the heart, retired, as he then tliought, forever from the stage. But friends induced the actor to return ; and on tlie 3d of January, 1866, he made his reappearance on the stage of the Winter Garden Theatre, play- ing Hamlet. There were angry citizens outside the play-house, liissing and hooting, and threatening to shoot; but inside there was a moi'e judicious and representative body, which encouragingly greeted the actor, on his entrance, with three times three EDWIN BOOTH AS HAMLET. HArilLET. 299 hearty cheers, and banished liis troubled spirits with applause and floral tributes. One evening, about a year later, Hamlet was obliged to act with his arm in a sling ; for on the night before, during the performance of the "Apostate," at Baltimore, Charles Vaudenhoff, act- ing Hemeya, overcome with the excitement of his part, neglected to notice that his dagger Avas not blunted, and furiously struck the Pescara of the evening again and again with the sharp blade. Fortunately, Booth had raised his hand to Iiis breast to ward tlie blows, and so he escaped with life. But the three thrusts through the hand caused him to faint from pain, and necessitated his aban- doning his engagement for a Avhile after that week. In " Hamlet," on the night after the encounter, he fenced not ungracefully Avitli his left hand. At this time Mary [M'Vicker Avas acting Avith Booth ; and on the 7th of June, tAvo years later, the two Arere married. In November, 1881, the lady died. Booth meanwhile passed througli tlie strain of the history of his own finely conceived, bat ill-fated, Booth's Theatre, in New York, and for a second time visited England. Of his subsequent "Hamlet" productions, none (barring the great Wallack benefit of May 21, 300 Shakespeare's heroes. 1888^) was more notable than those in which he united, in succession, with Salvini as the Gliost, with Modjeska as Ophelia, with Lawrence Barrett as Laertes. For the last time in liis life Booth trod the stage on the 4th of April, 1891 (at Brooklyn), and the play then was " Hamlet." The house was crowded to its utmost capacity', and Mr. Booth responded to the enthusiasm of his audience by jilayino- as if inspired. Yet he did not for a mo- ment speak, or seem to tliink, of the occasion as being his farewell to the stage. Miss Annie Proctor (Queen Gertrude), taking Hamlet . Eilwin Booth. Ghost .... . Lawrence Barrett. King Claudius . . Frank JIayo. Poloriius ... . . John Gilbert. Laertes . . Eben Plympton. Horatio . . John A. Lane. Rosencrantz Charles Hanford. Guihlenstern . . Lawrence Hanley. Osric . . Charles Koehler. :>[arcellus . ■ Edwin H. Vanderfelt. Bernardo . . . Herbert Kelcey. Francisco . Frank Mordaunt. Fir.st Actor Joseph AVheelock. Second Actor . Milnes Levick. First Gravedigger . . . Joseph Jefferson. Second Gravedigger . . . AV. J. Florence. Priest Harry Edwards. Ophelia .... Helena Modjeska. Queen Gertrude . ■ Gertrude Kellogg. The Player Queen Rose Coghlan. HAMLET. 301 the call with him after the closet scene, said, as tliey retired, behind the curtain, " Mr. Booth, I hope this is not the last time you will ever play." "Oh, no, I think not," he answered; "I shall take a good long rest, endeavor to regain my health, and then resume the old work." The scene of that same afternoon in Montague Place was wholly a surprise to Mr. Booth. He dressed quickly after the curtain fell ; in fact, was among the first of the company ready to leave the theatre. He passed directly to the stage-door, and tlie rest heard a tremendous cheering immediately following his stepping from the building. Every one hastened to the door, there to see Montague Place filled with a great throng which had gath- ered to have one last look at the idol of the stage. Hats and handkerchiefs were waved, men, women, and children cheered, and police assistance was necessary to make a passage for Mr. Booth from the theatre to the carriage. Booth himself seemed nearly overwhelmed by this unexpected farewell. He only lifted his hat, bowed with a smiling and appreciating modesty, and was soon borne away from his enthusiastic friends. Mr. Booth's associate, Lawrence Barrett, had died ; and it was for this reason the surviving 302 Shakespeare's heroes. actor cancelled his engagement. On the 7th of June, 1893, he himself passed to that undiscov- ered country from whose bourn no traveller re- turns. ]\Ir. Barrett had attempted the melancholy Dane, but not after becoming associated with Booth. " No one," said he, in those later years, to the writer, " will attempt Hamlet while Edwin Booth is alive ; the part is his, and his alone." Barrett's imper- sonation -was restless and rapid, and, though intel- lectual and vigorous, coidd not be accepted as an ideal. It is said that in his life he acted every male character in the tragedy excepting the First Gravedigger and Polonius. When first he assumed the title role, in 1855, the management tliought lic'st to temjit the country audiences by giving a more popular name to the play, and so billed it as " The Grave Burst ; or, The Ghost's Piteous Tale of Horror." Of the younger actors of to-day, the earnest, en- ergetic Joseph Haworth; the picturesque, passion- ate Alexander Salviiii, son of the elder actor of that name ; the well-ex^Jerienced Louis James ; the re- served Robert jNIantell ; the conscientious but metallic Beerbohm Tree ; Edward S. Willard and Creston Clarke, — have all essayed Hamlet. HAMLET. 303 It is believed that Mrs. Patience Blaxland Rig- nold (mother of George Rignold) was the first ac- tress to undertake the part of Hamlet, playing the character in Birmingham, England, at her own bene- fit, in the early part of this century. Among other women in the rdle have been Mrs. Bartley, Mrs. Barnes, Mrs. Battersby, Charlotte Cushman (who never played the part of Ophelia), Eliza Shaw, Fanny Wallaclc, Clara Fisher, Miss Marriott, Mrs. Emma Waller, Rachel Denvil, Susan Denin, Mrs. F. B. Conway, Julia Seaman, Adele Belgarde, Winnetta Montague, Anna Dickinson, and Mrs. Louise Pomeroy. RICHARD III Feav are the play-goers who have seen Shake- speare's " Richard III." on the stage. It has been C'olley Gibber's version that tlie masses have wit- nessed, almost without exception, since the year 1700, when the adaptation first caught the reflec- tion of the footlights. CoUey Gibber AAiis a character, indeed. Born in 1671, he acted with Betterton ten 3-ears before the seventeenth century ended, and lived to play with Garrick, and to continue an active figure up to the year 1757. His first night was not success- ful, but yet he unexpectedly gained money by it. " Who is that fellow ? " cried the great Betterton angrily, enraged at the blundering way in which the youth entered the scene, and disturbed the harmony of the whole play. " 'T is iMaster GoUey, sir," replied the prompter. " Fine him five shillings," bade tlie famous actor. " Why, sir, he has no salary," responded the man of the play-book. 305 306 Shakespeare's heroes. "No salary, eh? Then put him down for ten shillings a week, and fine him half of that at once. He shall pay a forfeit." And thus CoUey obtained his first money in liis chosen profession. He progressed slowly, for all the players and managers seemed to distrust his ability, until finally, writing a satiric play of his own, " Love's Last Sliift," with a special part in it for himself, that of a fop. Sir Novelty Fashion, he made a decided impression. More plays followed from his pen, — "She Wou'd and She Wou'd Not;" "The Careless Husband," with its famous coxcomb and libertine. Lord Foppington, for Gibber's own character — Lord Foppington being his old friend. Sir Novelty, ad- vanced in rank ; the " Nonjuror " adapted from Moli^re's " Tartuffe ; " and other plays that in their day were famous. A rake and a toady, a gambler and a tyrant, a gay old beau to his death, he yet rose to the top of his profession so far as popular success as a co- median was concerned, and became the Poet Laureate of England. Wlien Shakespeare's original " Ricliard IH." was produced, Burbage was the hero. After Gibber put forth his version, every player courted the con- COLLEY CIBBER, RICHARD III. 307 glomeratioii from his pen, rather than the text of the master. Certain it is that no other adaptation of any play of Shakespeare equalled in merit that of Colley's. Into the text comparatively few new lines were introduced, but those that were in- terpolated gained ever the applause of the gal- leries. " Off with his head — so much for Buckingham ! " " Richard's himself again ! " How men have cheered and Avomen applauded those lines for twice one hundred yeai'S ! What cared the pittites if a part of " Henry VI." and a bit of "Henry IV." and a slice of "Richard II." and some lines from " Henrj^ V." were shoved into this " Richard III." ? The dovetailing was very ingenious, and the play was made entertaining. As for the actor, he rejoiced at the multitude of " points " offered him, the numerous telling lines with which he could bring down the house, and the striking situations for the hero and his foes. It was hard work, a constant bustle and rush from first to last — but, ah, the applause ! Gibber himself was never esteemed remarkable in the rSle of the crook-back monarch ; in fact, the audience always laughed when he tragically called " a horse, a horse ; " but in his day he saw a great 308 Shakespeare's heroes. impersonator of the character fight on the bloody field of Bosworth. That was a memorable night, the 19th of October, 1741, when David Garrick, billed (not strictly Avith accuracy) as " a gentleman who never appeared on any stage," came forward in the histoi'ical play of the "Life and Death of King Richard III." at the little play-house in Goodman's Fields. The audience, grown accustomed to the monoto- nous sing-song declamations of the dra\\ling actors of that day, were astounded Avhen this little man presented a natural Richard, a live, human, genuine plotting duke and scheming monarch, full of dash and full of passion. RecoAering from their astonish- ment, they were delighted ; and before long Garrick had become the ciaze. The young actor faced with confidence the splendidlj' dressed gallants and ladies, who deserted now the fashionable theatres to see the little wonder at Goodman's Fields ; but he quaked somewhat when told that Pope, critical Pope, was there in a box one night watching his acting. "When I was told that Pope was in the house," said our Richard, " I instantly felt a palpitation at my heart, a tumultuous, not a disagreeable, emotion in my mind. I was then in the prime of youth, and in the zenith of my theatrical ambition. It ga\e me EICHAED III. 309 a particular pleasure that Richard was my character when Pope was to see and hear me. As I opened my part, I saw our little poetical hero dressed in black, seated in a side-box near the stage, and view- ing me with a serious and earnest attention. His look shot and thrilled like lightning tlu'ougli my frame, and I had some hesitation in proceeding from anxiety and from joy. As Richard gradually blazed forth, the house was in a roar of applause, and the conspiring hand of Pope shadowed me witli laurels." Pope's word, indeed, was very commendatoiy. " I fear the young man will be spoiled," he exclaimed, "for he has never had his equal as an actor, and will 2iever have a rival." Sarcastic old Gibber, made supremely jealous by Pope's praise of the new player, contemptuously remarked to his friends, " You really should see Master Garrick. He is the completest little doll of a figure, the prettiest little creature jou can imagine." But generous people agreed with Pitt, that " he was the only actor in England." For thirt3'-five years Garrick ruled the stage. Five nights befoie his last })erformance, his crook-back monarch made love to a handsome Lady Anne, then closing most disastrously her initial season on the London stage. This was Mrs. Siddons. The poor 310 shakespkaue's heroes. woman, destined to become the greatest actress of her day, niet with the disapproval of the critics in those early performances at Druiy Lane, and on this especial June night of 1776 was pronounced "lam- entable." Yet there was reason for her seemingly negligent acting, since, in her flurry over her selec- tion, above all the other ladies of the company, for the leading character, she utterly forgot Garrick's strict injunction that, whatever she did, she should alwaj-s stand so that lie, in addressing her, could face the audience, and in consequence was given such a glare of anger and disgust from the jealous actor, that she nearlv fainted on the stage. Alore- over, little David, spurred to his best, put such tremendous ferocity into his acting, that the young girl at times was actually friglitened. ]\Irs. Siddons's brotlier, John Kemble, could not make his Richard III. equal that of his rival, George Frederick ( 'ooku, but the latter himself, in his drink, often played queer games with the character. One night, for example, aftei' liis "indispositions" had become the talk of tlie town, and the play-goers were beginning to get tired of the announcements of Mr. Cooke's illness, the actor stumbled and hes- itated, mumbled and misread completely the very first soliloquy of Richard. The pittites would not RICHARD in. 311 stand that, so early in the play. They hissed and jeered and hooted. Maudlin Cooke, seeking again tlie familiar excuse, staggered to the front, laid his hand on his chest as if to indicate illness there, and blunderingly blurted out, " My old complaint, my old complaint." The audience aptly applied the words in a manner differing from his intention, and ^\'ith derision howled him down. With his prominent nose and chin, he looked something like Kemble when dressed for Richard. " Yes," said Charles Mathews, commenting on this fact, " he has, too, a very finely marked eye, and upon the whole, I think, a very fine face. His voice is extremely powerful, and he has one of the clearest rants I ever heard. The most striking fault in his figure is his arms, which are remarkably short and ill-proportioned to the rest of his body, and in his walk this gives him a very ungraceful ap- pearance." "He disturbs my acting," declared Kemble, in Dublin, jealous of the player during their first sea- son together; "I can't act Hamlet when the Ghost is so drunk that he forgets his lines, nor Richard when Henry is staggering over the stage." That Avas too much for the high-spirited George Frederick. " I'll show him that he can't play some 312 Shakespeare's heroes. of the greatest parts when I undertake them," he exclaimed ; and, true to his word, played Richard at Covent Garden, on the 31st of October, 1800, with such fire and energy that Kemble, in the au- dience, saw he had met a dangerous rival ; and soon afterwards, when the praises of the critics showered upon the Irish-bom player's head. Black Jack relinquished Gloucester completelj* to his now acknowledged rival. Dunlap voiced the popular idea when he said of Cooke, '' His sujaeriority over all others in the dis- simulation, the crafty hypocrisy, and the bitter sar- casm of the character, is acknowledged by every writer wlio lias criticised liis acting." This Richard jierformance, in the fall of 1800, was the beginning of Cooke's London engagements. His contract was for tliree years, at six pounds a week the first season, and an increase of one pound each subsequent season. Ever}' one anticipated a glorious opening of Cooke's second season in London, when Richard was again announced, and hours before the doors of the jilay-house opened a crowd had gathered to seek early admission. But the management had been hunting in vain for the reckless fellow, and now, perforce, was obliged to issue a notice that some RICHARD III. 313 accident must have happened to Mr. Cooke, and the bill therefore would be changed. It was ao-ain his " old complaint." Not until five weeks later did the man turn up. In America, Richard was Cooke's first character. Acted in New York, on the 21st of November, 1810, it brought him added reputation and added dollars. But before long the metropolis, disgusted at his habits and at his insolence, rejected him. How could they continue to admire a stranger, who, when informed that President Madison was coming from Washington especially to see the player in his most noted character, could insult their country by declaring, "If he comes, I'll be hanged if I play before him. What! I, George Frederick Cooke, who have played before the Majesty of Britain, play before your Yankee President? I'll not do so. It is degradation enough to play before rebels ; but I'll not go on for the amusement of a king of rebels, the contemptible king of Yankee-doodles." He found no displeasure, however, in drinking wine with his new acquaintances — when he did not prefer to appropriate all the liquor to himself. Dr. Francis visited him after one of his drinking- bouts, and found the talented player finishing up a thirty-hour spree at a table covered with decan- 314 SHAKESPEARE'S HEROES. ters, all empty except those that were utilized for candlesticks. It was early in the afternoon, but the candles were blazing in full strength. With much difficulty Cooke was persuaded to go to the theatre that night; and, though all were fearful he would be so exhausted from liis dissipation as to be unequal to playing Richard with any force, yet tiic verdict, after the curtain fell, unanimously pro- nounced the performance one of the best the actor Ijad ever given. Some twenty-four hours after this, Cooke threw four hundred dollars into the hands of poor beggars, and then — went to sleep. The actor's art was very cleverly shown in the impression Cooke made upon Dunlap, the manager and author, when first they met. Dunlap could not see the slightest marks of intemperance or the least signs of eccentricity in the neat, soberly dressed gentleman, A\-ith tlie powdered gray hair, who greeted him at the hotel. And when the curtain rose at the theatre, and the visiting player stepjjed to the frf)iit, his new acquaintance noted with admiration the picturesque and proudly noble bearing, the elevated head, the firm step, and the eye beaming fire. " Why," cried tlie experienced man of the play-house, " I saw no vestige of the venerable, gray-haired old gentleman I had been KIOHATJD in. 315 introduced to at the coffee-house ; and the utmost effort of my imagination could not liave reconciled the figure I n.o«' saw with that of imbecility and intemperance." At that time Cooke was fifty-four years of age, and was earning twenty-five pounds a week. Two years later his dissipation and his life were at an end. With Edmund Kean the scheming Duke had an equally interesting association. In his early days the audiences sometimes hissed the player in the character because, forsooth, in his natural style of acting, he disregarded the listeners, making them, as the critics of Guernsey sapiently said, of no more account than if they formed the fourth side of a room in which he moved ! But his violent temper gave them tit for tat, and temporarily silenced their sibilant condemnation by turning pointedly upon them the words of Richard, " Un- mannered dogs ! Stand ye, when I command ! " "Apology?" cried the fiery young fellow, when the pittites yelled for a show of humiliation after this emphatic rendering of the text, " take your apology from this renaark ; the only proof of intel- ligence you have yet given is the proper applica- tion of the words I have just uttered." 316 Shakespeare's heroes. This, of course, was before he came to London and won that glorious triumph in the " Merchant of Venice." Shylock brought him recognition ; and Richard, following immediately afterwards, placed him in the front rank. " It was the most perfect performance of any that has been witnessed since the days of Garrick," cried one critic ; while anotlier placed its advance over Cooke's as "an immeasurable distance." Some wiseacres, like tlie men of Guernsey, found his action "too natural," — for it was a return to Gar- rick's school that Kean inaugurated, in contradis- tinction to the heav}' Kemble declamatory school, — but the most of the writers felt that with them now was a new genius, to \\hose ideas, however novel, respectful attention should be given. The actors suddenly grew civil. Scornful Rae, plaj'ing Riclimond, deigned to ask the little man, "Where shall I hit you, sir, to-night?" "Where 3'ou can, sir," was the curt and sig- nificant reply. And Rae's arm grew weary long before he su.cceeded in making the fatal blow against the fierce, wiry, energetic fighter. In that final scene it had been a trick of Young to hurl his sword at Richmond, as a last fruitless expression of rage from the dying monarch. Kean KICHAED III. 317 improved on that, by making weak though angry- passes with his unweaponed arm as he fell back to death. In the earlier scenes the biting sharpness of his sarcasm, and the audacity of his hypocrisy, were studies of life, and remarkably effective. The spectators admired the graceful and striking poses as he leaned against the pillar; they noted the high breeding he seemed to show, and the humor of pleasantry he expressed above the wickedness of the character ; and they wondered especially at his skill in turning swiftly from fierce, passionate utterances to familiar tones without making an rln- natural, ineffective transition. Lord Byron had been loth to accept the methods of the young player, but after Richard his admi- ration could not be left unexpressed. He hurried to the actor, as a mark of appreciation, an elegant sword and an embossed box of much value. " By Jove," Byron cried, " he is a soul. Life, nature, truth without exaggeration or diminution. Kemble's Hamlet is perfect ; but Hamlet is not nature. Richard is a man, and Kean is Richard." Mark the contrast of his last years, when Dr. Doran saw him as Richard at the Haymarket. " The siglit was pitiable. Genius was not trace- able in that bloated face ; intellect was all but 318 Shakespeare's heroes. quenched in those once matchless eyes ; and the power seemed gone, despite the will that would recall it." Occasionally he would burst out as grand as ever, but his action was continually hampered through the necessitj^ of using a stick for support, Avhile, last of all, when Cooper, as Richmond, dealt the final blow, he had to grasp King Richard's hand and gently lower him to the stage to pi'event a fall that would have been dan- gerous to Kean in his condition at that time. This was the end of that Richard ^^l^o, in former years, had fought "like one drunk with wounds," as Hazlitt said, presenting a picture of preternat- ural and terrific grandeur, while he stood, after his sword had gone, Avith hands outstretched as if, though deprived of weapons, he yet by the ex- ercise of his powerful will could fight the battle on to victory. In America Edmund Kean had seen fit to antag- onize cultivated audiences in a most unnecessary manner. In the early summer of 1821, when the season was dull, the Englishman, in spite of the protest of the local manager, opened a Boston en- gagement. For two nights he played to slim houses. On the third night " Richard III." was billed, but only a handful of people were in the RICHARD III. 319 auditorium when the time came for the curtain to rise. Arrogantly Kean declined to play ; and, though all present urged him to fulfil his obli- gations to the public, he refused, and left the theatre. Shortly after he had gone, more people came, until the house was comfortably filled with an audience that included many men of high stand- ing in the city. Word to this effect was sent to Kean's hotel, but still he obstinately refused to change his position. The next day he hurried from the city to await the coach from Boston in a neighboring town. The Bostonians arose in their indignation, and hotly condemned the visitor for his discourteous action and his unmanly retreat. The papers took it up, and one sheet even printed the following (the phrase "literary emporium of the New World" being the very words used by Kean during his previous engagement in Boston, when honor after honor; had been showered upon him): — ONE CENT REWARD. Run away from the " Literary Emporium of the New World," a stage-player calling himself Kean. He may be easily recognized by his misshapen trunk, his coxcomical, cockney manners, and his bladder actions. His face is as white as his own froth, and his eyes are as dark as indigo. 320 Shakespeare's heroes. All persons are cautioned against harboring the aforesaid vagrant, as tlie undersigned pays no more debts of his con- tracting, after this date. As he has violated his jjledged faith to me, I deem it my duty thus to put my neighbors on their guard against him. PETER PUBLIC. New York sided with Boston ; and Kean was obliged to write several letters to managers and to the newspapers, endeavoring to explain that he Ijad withheld his services simply because they were not appreciated. Even then the popular indignation would not be stemmed; and soon Kean found it best to abandon all thoughts of further engage- ments in America at that time, and to sail for home- In 182."), after his domestic disgrace in England, the actor again visited America, and here issued a most humble and piteous appeal for pardon. When he attempted to open his engagement in New Yoi'k, witli Kichard, there was manifest oppo- sition, though not sufiicient to stop the play. But in Boston his appearance brought disaster. The Bostonians within the tlieatre hissed and pelted liim with missiles until he left tlie stage, and theji they even refused to allow tlie mimic tragedy to proceed without him. The molj outside stormed tlje windows and doors, and made almost a genu- RICHARD III. 321 ine tragedy by attacking the audience, — apparently'' for no reason except to create a disaster, — djj-ving the occupants of the house out of tlie^ windows, and wrecking the chandeliers, «eats, and all else within reach. The riot act was read twice by a justice of the peace, but without avail. Early in the fight Kean escaped, and immediately left the city. Thomas Abthorpe Cooper once met a reception in England less disastrous than Kean's, but of the same emphatic nature. Though an Englishman by birth, he had identified himself with the American stage ; and when he attempted to play in his native land, during a return visit there, his Richard was given such a storm of hisses and groans that he was obliged to retreat. " Off with him ! " '• No Yan- kee actors here ! " cried the Manchester Britons, referring to his adoption by the country across the water. All these years since 1700, Colley Gibber's ver- sion of the tragedy had held the stage. But the conscientious, student-like Macready was now at hand ; and through his influence Shakespeare was restored in part in 1821, though only for two performances, as old CoUey's adaptation quickly returned, to remain the prompt book of the trage- 322 Shakespeare's heroes. ^'^ s (with the exception of Phelps) clown to the time ^^ Henry Irving and Edwin Booth. Even when Macic^., introduced the novelty of an ap- proach to Shakespefci.,'g g^n work, he was obliged to retain the Cibberian linti, that always brought down the house. " Off with his head ! so much for Buckingham I " •• Hence, babbling dreams : you threaten here in vain. " Conscience, avaunt I Richard's himself again." It was with the tragedy of the wily Plantage- net that Macready, two years before, had saved Covent Garden from failure, replenished its treas- ury so that the company could be paid, and for himself tui'ned tlie crucial point in a career tliat marked him famous. He shrank from the initial attempt, fearing that his figure was ill-adapted to essay a livalry with Kean, but the management persisted in announcing him. Wliat was the result? "The pit rose to a man, and continued waving hats and handkerchiefs in a 2)erfect tempest of applause for some minutes. The battle was won." So wrote Macready in his record-book. The performance was uneven, and in some scenes tame, but jet often was novel. There was apparent an assumed sincerity in tlie courtship EICHARD III. 323 scene with Lady Anne, instead of the sarcastic touches with which so many players sought and gained effect. While Kean's characterization was sortibre and reflective, Macready's was bold-faced and ardent. At the same time the latter player would occasionally turn Richard's lamentations into actual whining. Charles Kean gave an animated Richard that was, perhaps, less stagey than any of his other heroes. Its earnestness may be surmised from the incident that once occurred at Exeter, England. Travelling with the player Avas his favorite dog, a big Newfoundland named Lion. During the performances the animal was usually locked in the dressing-room ; but on this particular night he nosed the door open, and, hearing his master's voice in loud tones upon the stage, bounded be- tween the wings straight into the scene of Bos- worth Field. There were Richard and Richmond engaged in their deadly fight. Lion saw the situation at a glance. His master was under. With a growl he dashed upon the victorious Rich- mond, and without trouble drove that terrified gentleman-at-arms off the stage, flying in dismay from the big sharp teeth of Richard's defender. The king, left to himself, had to fall back and die 324 Shakespeare's heroes. without a scratch. Then Lion, returning before the curtain could fall, placed his paws gently on his master's prostrate form, and lovingly licked his face. The house roared. What Kean said is unknown ; but he ungraciously refused to let gallant Lion shai'e the call before the curtain, though the cries for "the dog" filled the theatre. It was as Richard III. that Kean introduced hiuT self to Americans, at the Park Tlieatre, New York, on the 1st of September, 1830. In the spring of 1845, Sanmel Plielps, at Sad- ler's Wells, presented " Richard III. " in its Shake- spearian form ; and in 1877 Henrj^ Irving repeated the experiment, for such it was. To the deformed monarch Irving gave a princely air, chivalrie grace, and a force of intellectuality that made the role an attractive study, even though it lost, in his in- terpretation, the needed strong relief for the tragic scene in the final act. In America, although the real interest in the theatre began with Hallam's company, yet there were irregular performances before the day of that organized troupe, and one of the earliest produc- tions known was that of "Richard III." Addi- son's " Cato," produced at Philadelphia in August, 1749, holds rank as the first play of which we have KICHARD III. 325 any record in this country, although there were performances — but of what drama we know not — as early as 1732. In the spring of 1750 the Philadelphia company came to New York; and there, in a room on Nassau street, on the 5th of March, brought out for the first time in America the " Historical Tragedy of King Richard III., Wrote originally by Shakespeare, and altered by CoUey Gibber, Esq." Furthermore, the advertisement an- nounced, "Tickets to be had of the Printer hereof. Pitt 5s., Gallery 3s. To begin precisely at Half an Hour after 6 o'clock, and no person to be admitted behind the scenes." The entire money capacity of the house in those days was |127. The interpreter of Richard Avas one of the man- agers of tire company, Thomas Kean, a writer by profession, but an actor by choice. Further than this brief record, nothing can be found of the origi- nal crook-back monarch. The second Richard was Robert Upton, of whom I have spoken in the Othello chapter. We will pass by Rigby and Hal- lam and the other early impersonators, to look at the more familiar men of the stage wlio gave espe- cial emphasis to the liero of the play. Several of these liave been noticed in the descriptions of the Englishmen who visited these shores. 326 shakespeake's heroes. The elder Bootli, whose name is so closely asso- ciated with the American stage, gave his most in- teresting performance of Richard in England. That was on Feb. 12, 1817. A year or two before this he had secured his first London engagement, but had then, ungraciously, been cast only in small parts, while his salary was but two pounds a week. In 1817, however, he was put forward at the same theatre, Covent Garden, in the leading rdle of Richard. Every one noticed at once the resemblance to Kean, both in appearance and in acting : and many pronounced the impersonation an imitation. " He has the ej'es, face, and walk of Kean, the same stamp of the foot, the same voice, except in its vehement tones," cried one attendant of those days, adding emphatically, " when we entei'ed the box at Covent Garden, and heard Mr. Booth in the scene with Lady Anne, Ave really were doubtful whether we had not mistaken the house, and wan- dered into Drury Lane." The public demanded repetitions of the play. But the manager tried, in a niggardly spirit, to keep the newcomer's salary down to five pounds a week ; and, as a result. Booth ordered his name from the bills. Then Kean, in a cairiage, hurried to RICHARD III. 327 Mr. Booth's lodgings, induced him to drive to the rival theatre, and there prevailed on him to sign an engagement. Of course a controversy arose. Meanwhile, at old Drury, Booth acted lago to Kean's Othello, but was refused the chief char- acters in other plays where Kean had made suc- cesses. So the younger player once more changed sides, and returning to Covent Garden, there ap- peared again as Richard. The complications thus caused led to a tumult of disapprobation that effectually prevented a word of the actor's being heard, and to tlie end the play went through in dumb show. More rioting followed on succeeding nights, and by many it was claimed that these occurrences led to Booth's abandonment of the London stage. However that may be, it is certain that in April, 1821, he came to America with his young wife, whom he had married three months before, and here, on the 6th of July, at Richmond, Va., opened his New World career as Richard III. This engagement at Richmond was broken for one night by a performance at Petersburg. Mr. Russell, of the Petersburg Theatre, had seen Booth in Richmond, and had returned home with an en- thusiastic verdict regarding the new actor. At that 328 SHAKESPEARE'S HEKOES. time a great many people thought that the an- nounced Booth must be an impostor, as they did not believe the English actor could have landed so quietly in the United States. N. M. Ludlow, who was well known as a man- ager in former years, was present at the rehearsal and performance in Petersburg. At that morning rehearsal he stood at the head of the stairs, in the rear of the stage, when up to him rushed a rather overgrown boy, of some sixteen years in age, with roundabout jacket covered with dust, and with a clieap straw hat thrust back from his per- spiring forehead. "Where is the stage-manager ? " queried the new- comer. "Over there," replied Ludlow, pointing to Rus- sell ; and then, to the former's astonishment, he saw I\[r. Russell turn, liurr)- forward, and, seizing the hand of the "boy," exclaim, "Ah, Mr. Booth, I am glad you have arrived. We were fearful something had happened to you." Ludlow could scarcely believe his eyes and ears. He thought the manager was playing a joke on the company; for surely this little fellow could not be the great Mr. Booth of wliom Russell had said, " He is undoubtedly the best actor living." KICHAKD III. 329 But, as the rehearsal went on, it was noticed that, although the stranger ran through his part very carelessly, he seemed to be perfectly familiar with all the business of the play. It may here be stated that the dust covering the actor's clothes was due to his having walked the entire distance from Richmond to Petersburg, twenty-five miles, when he found he had missed the stage-coach. There was a strange feeling behind the footlights that night as the first acts of " Richard III." pro- gressed ; for Booth not only neglected to recognize the applause of the audience when he entered, but also walked through the early scenes with the ut- most indifference, and without the slightest effect. Old Benton, who was playing King Henry, ex- claimed in astonishment to Ludlow, " What do you think of him, sir?" " Think," replied Ludlow, " just what I thought before ; he is an impostor." And everybody else agreed that, if he was not an impostor, certainly Mr. Booth's reputation had been misstated. The great scenes Avhich George Frederick Cooke had mstde prominent, such as the meeting with Lady Anne, were completely slighted. Every one felt disgusted. Then came the fourth act, the scene with Buck- 330 shakespeakb's heroes. ingham, where Richard hints at killing the princes. From that moment there was a complete change in the actor's interpretation. Fire, enthusiasm, en- ergy, and spirit gave magnificent strength to those final scenes ; and when at last the curtain fell, the actors exclaimed, one to another, that even their idol, Mr. Cooke, was completely eclipsed by the giand performance; while the auditors thundered their applause in a most significant manner. Booth's dying scene was said to he frightful, his eyes dilating and glaring in terrible manner, and the perspiration actually rolling down his fore- head from the earnestness and vigor of his per- formance. Often in "Richard III.," as in other plays, he introduced his eccentricities, and on one occasion carried his fight with Richmond to such an extreme tliat he drove the frightened asso- ciate player off the stage, out of the theatre, and down the street, pursuing him sword in hand all the way. Edwin Bootli, the son, had good cause to re- member his first experiences in " Richard III." They were crucial. On the night of Sept. 10, 1849, he appeared, clothed as Tressel, before his father, in the dressing-room of the Boston Mu- seum. It was to be his first appearance on the EICHARD III. 331 stage, and the dSbut had been planned without con- sultation with the elder Booth. With his feet perched on a table, the experi- enced tragedian sat, critically scanning the looks and dress of liis trembling son, then a handsome, romantic lad of only sixteen years. "Humph," he said, "you play Tressel. Now, sir, who was Tressel?" "A messenger from the field of Tewksbury," was the reply. "Very well. How did he make his journey?" " On liorseback, sir." " Where are your spurs, then ? " In dismay Edwin looked down at his boots to note that he had certainly forgotten this realistic accoutrement. "Here," said the father, "take mine." Not another word was uttered. Immediately after the short scene on the stage, Edwin hurried again to his father's room, and there saw him still nonchalantly smoking his cigar. " Give me vay spurs," was his only remark. Not a word of comment. And never, through his life, did the elder Booth tell his son how he had hastened to the wings, and there followed with great- est attention and with apparent satisfaction every 332 shakbspeaue's heroes. move of the debutant. Edwin learned it from others. In 1851, when in New York, Junius Brutus Booth was announced for "Richard III." at the National Theatre, but, in spite of all protests from his son, refused to go to the play-house. He gave no reason whatever, except the absurdly fictitious reason that he was ill. " What will they do ? " cried Edwin, in despair at this latest freak of liis eccentric father. " Who can take your place ? " " Act the part yourself," gruffly replied the se- nior ; and when the j'oung man reached the theatre with his apologies, he found the manager there ready to make the same suggestion. Unwillingly Edwin allowed himself to be over-persuaded, and went upon the scene. At the close the applause M'as so great that the youthful actor was obliged to come befoi'e the curtain. In after life Edwin asserted that he had reason to believe his father was in the audience that evening, but never a word did that father ut- ter, after the performance, to shoAV that he had seen it. The beginning thus made was auspicious, and yet Booth's first engagement after this was to play RICHARD ni. 333 for six dollars a week in any part that might be proffered him. A rough toiling tour through the West brought hard experience to the youth. Then, returning to the East, Booth, no longer the "younger," since the elder Booth had passed away, made his initial appearance in Baltimore as the humpbacked monarch, and a little later met the beautiful Alary Devlin, to whom he was after- ward married. His first New York appearance, also, was as Richard ; and on that occasion, May 4, 1857, Lawrence Barrett (as Tressel) first appeared on the same stage with tlie actor \vith whom his professional career was destined to be so inti- mately connected. Barrett has described the Booth of that day as a " sliglit, pale youth, with black flowing hair, soft brown eyes full of tenderness and gentle timidity, and a manner marked by shy- ness and quiet repose." " He took his place with no air of conquest or self-assertion," adds Mr. Barrett, "and gave liis directions with a grace and courtesy which have never left him." Of Booth's acting as Richard, it is sufficient to say here that it was not of the old school that took so literally the man's description of himself ; it was not a malformed, scowling murderer of 334 shakespeaeb's heroes. the deepest dye, but, instead, showed above the physical infirmities and mental perversions a sharp intellectuality that removed him from the melo- dramatic field. Other characters, however, were more to Booth's liking, and in his later years play- goers saw little of his Gloucester. The last of the Richards, Mr. Mansfield, came before the public in 1889. With elaborate care, the enterprising young actor made his first impor- tant step into Shakespeai'ian drama. Gifted with a thorough education and with refined tastes, Rich- ard Mansfield adds to these acquirements a versa- tility and a cleverness in impersonation that have enabled liim to play all manner of r6les, from the humorous burlesque Ko Ko in the '• Mikado," to the repulsive, realistic old roui in " A Parisian Romance." His "Richard III." discarded Gibber, for the most part. His Gloucester was shown at the outset as a cool, gay youth of nineteen, reck- less, brave, and ambitious, and later on as the haggard, shattered, conscience-stricken tyrant of tliirty-three, thus giving opportunity for marked contrast in appearance. At the same time Mans- field, like Booth, threw away the stilted, declama- tory methods so common to the early Richards, holding in mind Napoleon's words to Talma, '-The RICHARD MANSFIELD AS KING RICHARD III. KICHAKD III. 335 greatest kings do speak like ordinary mortals." The physical deformity of the king was merely suggested. A long list of other Richards could be men- tioned, from James Fennell to Joseph Haworth, and including Edwin Forrest, E. L. Davenport, G. V. Brooke, James Bennett, Barry Sullivan, J. W. Wallack, John Wilkes Booth, Lawrence Barrett, John McCuUough, Thomas Keene, Freder- ick Warde, and Louis James ; but in this chapter the chief aim has been to present interesting fea- tures connected with the heroes of the more no- table players. We will let this volume, also, simply record the fact that there have been female Rich- ards, including Mrs. Henry Lewis, Miss Marriott, and Charlotte Crampton, as well as the prodigy heroes of whom William Henry West Betty, Clara Fisher, Jean Margaret Davenport, and the Bateman sisters were leaders. INDEX Adams, Edwin, as Macbeth, 235; as Hamlet, 288. Aldridgb, Ika, as Othello, 64 ; as Shylock, 64. Allyn, Mk., as Witch in "Macbeth," 204. Andeuson, James R., as Lear, 103 ; as Coriolanus, 165 ; as Macbeth, 284. Aston, Anthony, as Shylock, 109 ; criticism of Betterton, 252. Bandmann, Daniel, as Ham- let, 288. Bannisteb, John, as Hamlet, 257. Baknay, Ludwig, as Hamlet, 288. Baknbs, Mrs. John, as Ham- let, 303. Barrett, Giles Leonard, as Shylock, 127. Barrett, Mrs. Giles Leon- ABD, as Volumnia, 163 ; as Portia to Macklin's Shylock, 163. Barrett, Lawrence, as Othello, 60 ; as lago, 61 ; as Lear, 108 ; as Shylock, 151, 154 ; as Bassanio, 152 ; as Macbeth, 235 ; as Laertes, 300 ; as the Ghost in "Ham- let," 300 ; as Hamlet, 302 ; as Tressel in "Richard III.," 333 ; as Richard HI., 335. Barrett, Wilson, as Othello, 64 ; as Hamlet, 283. Barry, Elizabeth, as Cor- delia, 77. Barry', Thomas, supports Forrest in "Macbeth," 237. Barky, Spkanger, as Othello, 15, 17 ; odd costume, 16 ; as Lear, 70, 71 ; rivalry with Garrick, 74, 80 ; experience with O'Keefe, 82. Barry, Mrs. Spbangbb, as Desrlemona, 17 ; her matri- monial infelicities, 17 ; as Cordelia, 81. Bartholomew, Mrs., as Cor- delia, 94. Bartley, Mrs. George, as Hamlet, 303. Batbman, Ellen, as Richard IIL, 385. 387 338 INDEX. Bateman, Kate (Mrs. Crowe), as Lady Macbeth, 230 ; as Kiclimond, Soy. Batteksby, Mrs. (Mrs. Stickney), as Haralet, 303. Beaujiost, Dk. Hammond, as lago, 22. Belgarde, Adele, as Ham- let, 303. Bennett, James, as Eichard III., 33.J. Bknton, Mi;., as King Henry in "Kicliard 111.," :i29. Bette1!ton, Thomas, as Othello, !i ; buried in West- minster Abbey, 9 ; as Lear, 71 i ; as Bassanio, 107 ; as Macbeth, 183, 184 ; as Ham- let, 2.j0 ; sketch, 2.j 1-2.54 ; plays Hamlet at the age of seventy-fom-, 2.J4 ; death, 255 ; as Richard III., 305. Bettekton, Mhs. Thomas, as Lady Macbetli, 183 ; as Ophelia, 2.50. Betty, Wii.h.vm Henry Wksi", as Richard III., 335. BoGiMiL-lJAWisoN, as Shy- lock, 151 ; as Hamlet, 288. BoiiEME, Antony, as Lear, 80. Booth, Barton, as Othello, 11 ; as Lear, 78 ; sketch, 79, 80 ; as Gratiano, 107 ; as Bassanio, 109 ; as Coriola- nus, 171. Booth, Mrs. Barton, as Cor- delia, 78, 80. Booth, Edwin, as Othello and lago, 56, 60, 61 ; plays Othello and lago in England, 62, 63 ; as Lear, 101 ; as Shy- lock, 151-153 ; cold reception by English audience, 151 ; as Macbeth, 235, 241 ; criticism of, by Salvini, 242 ; as Ham- let, 290 ; sketch, 292-301 ; as Tressel in "Richard III.," 3.30, 331 ; as Richard ILL, 332-334. Booth, Mrs. Edwin. See Mary M'Vicker. Booth, Junius Brutus, as lago to Kean's Othello, 35 ; in America, 46 ; anecdotes concerning, 46-48 ; as Lear, 8.5, 80, 95 ; kindness of heart, 87 ; as Edgar, 88 ; as Shylock, 147 ; as Hamlet, 275-277 ; as the Second Actor in " Ham- let," 276; as Richard III., 326 ; sketch, 327-332 ; as lago, 327. Booth, J. B., Jr., as Macbeth, 235. Booth, Mrs. J. B., Jr. (Miss DeBar), as the Fool in "Lear," 101. Booth, John Wilkes, as Richard III., 335. Booth, Sally, as Cordelia, 87. BowBN, Mr., as Macbeth, 181. Bracegibdle, Mrs., as Cor- delia, 78 ; as Portia, 107. INDEX. 339 BnooKE, GrsTAVus V., as Othello, 42 ; first appearance in America, 43 ; deatli by drowning, 43 ; sketch, 44 ; as Sliylock, 151 ; as Macbeth, 284 ; as Richard III., 3:3o. BucHAKAK, McKean, as Ham- let, 287. BuiiBAGE, EiCHAKD, Original interpreter of Othello, 6 ; as Lear, 75 ; as Macbetli, 182 ; the original Hamlet of the world, 247-250 ; as Otliello, 250 ; as Eichard III., 30G. BuHT, Mr., as Othello, 7. BuiiTON', William E., as Launcelot Gobbo, 150. BuTLEE, Mi!,s. Benjamin F. See Miss Sarah Hildreth. CuALMEEs, Mj:., as Sliylock, 127 ; as Macbeth, 206. Chambees, Me., as Lear, 94. Cheer, Miss Maegaeet, as Desdemona, 20 ; as Cordelia, 94. ClBBEB, COLLEY, as lago, 11 ; first night of, 305 ; sketch, 396 ; as Richard III. , 307. ClBBEE, Mi'.S. ThEOEIIILUS, as Cordelia, 73. Claeke, Ceestox, as Hamlet, 302. Claekson, Me., as Antonio, 123. Clive, Kitty, overwhelmed by Garrick's acting, 68 ; as Portia, 111, 118. Clux, Me., as lago, 8 ; at- tacked and killed by rob- bers, 8. CoGHLAN, Rose, as the Player Queen in " Hamlet," 300. CoNWAT, W. A., supports For- rest in " Macbeth," 2;J7 ; as Hamlet, 287. CoxwAY, Mes. F. B., as Ham- let, 303. Cooke, Geokgb Fredeeick, as lago, 20 ; as Othello, 27 as Lear, !Jo ; as Shylock, 129 as Richard HI., 130, 132 reckless handler of money, 130 ; eccentricities, 131 ; as Macbeth, 208, 211 ; his first appearance on the stage, 209 ; as Hamlet, 2(j4 ; as Richard III., 310 ; sketch, 311-315. CooPEE, Thomas Abtiioepb, as lago, 23 ; as Othello, 24 ; as Lear, 95 ; as Shylock, 127 ; as Coriolanus, 159 ; as Mal- colm in "Macbeth," 159, 207 ; his improvidence and recklessness, 160 ; eccentri- city, 161 ; his daughter pre- sides at the White House, 162 ; as Virginius, 163 ; sketch, 159-163 ; as Mac- beth, 206, 207, 208 ; as Ham- let, 271, 272 ; as Eichard III., 321. Coopbe, Miss Peiscilla, as Virginia, 103. 340 INDEX. GouLDOCK, CnAKLBS W., as Sliylock, 150. Crampton, Chaklotte, as lago, 65 ; as Kichard III., 335. CuAWFOED, Me., as Othello, 17. Crawford, Mrs. See Mrs. Spranger Barry. Crouch, Mrs., as Witch in "Macbeth," 203. Crowe, Mrs. See Miss Kate Bateman. CusuMAN, Charlotte, as Cor- delia, 101 ; as Lady Macbeth, 242 ; as Hamlet, 303. Davenport, E. L., as Othello, .'J2 ; sketch, 53 ; as Shylock, 151 ; as Macbeth, 235, 242 ; supports Forrest in "Mac- beth," 237 ; his wanderings as a star, 243 ; as Hamlet, 244, 288 ; as Richard III., 335. Davenport, Fanny, as Lady Macbeth, 204. Davenport, Jean Marga- ret, as Richard III., 335. Davenpojit, Miss May (Mrs. William Seymour), as Witch in "Macbeth," 204. Davidge, William, supports Forrest in " Macbeth," 237. Delavel, Sie Francis, as Othello, 19. Delavel, John, as lago, 19. Denin, Sus.vn, as Hamlet, 303. Denvil, Rachel, as Hamlet, 303. Derby, Countess of. See Elizabeth Farren. Desbobough, Miss, as Witch in " Macbeth," 231. Dickinson, Anna, as Hamlet, 303. DiGGES, West, as Macbeth, 195. Dillon, Charles, as Othello, 41 ; as Lear, 92 ; as Macbeth, 233. Doggett, Thomas, as Shy- lock, 107 ; generous bequest in his will, 108. Douglass, David, succeeds Hallam as manager of first American Company, 20 ; as Othello, 20 ; as Macduff, 204 ; as the Ghost in " Hamlet," 269. Douglass, Mrs. David (Mrs. Lewis Hallam), as Desde- mona, 20 ; as Cordelia, 94 ; as Portia, 123 ; as Lady Mac- beth, 204 ; as the Queen in "Hamlet," 269. DowTON, William, as Shy- lock, 139 ; as Sir John Fal- staff, 139. Duff, John R., as lago, 48 ; supports Forrest in " Jlac- beth," 237 ; as Hamlet, 287. Duff, Mrs. Maey Anne, as Cordelia, 95 ; as Ophelia, 287. Dyott, Jp -s Edgar, 101. INDEX. 341 Eddy, Edward, as Hamlet, 287. Edwauds, Harby, as Priest in "Hamlet," 300. Ellis, Miss Clara, as Vo- lumnia, 165. Emeby, John, as Old Gobbo, 129. Faeren, Miss Elizabeth (Countess of Derby), as Witch in "Macbeth," 231. Farren, Kitty, as Witch in "Macbeth," 231. Fareest, William, as Shy- lock, 140. Faucit, Helen (Lady Mar- tin), as Lady Macbeth, 226, 233. Fkchtee, Chaeles, as Othel- lo, 42 ; as Hamlet, 290- 292. Fennell, James, as Othello, 22 ; sketch, 22, 23 ; as lago, 23 ; as Shylock, 127 ; as Mac- beth, 206 ; as Hamlet, 271 ; as Richard III., 330. Fisher, Clara (Mrs. Maeder), as the Fool in " Lear," 101 ; as Hamlet, 303 ; as Richard III., 335. Florence, W. J., as Second Gravedigger in " Hamlet," 300. Flynn, Mrs. Thomas, as Vo- lumnia, 164. Forrest, Edwin, plays Othel- lo to Brooke'-— , 44 ; first appearance at the Bowery as Othello, 4S ; as lago to Ed- mund Kean's Othello, 49; his acting in Othello, .51 ; last appearance as a, reader, 52 ; as Lear, 96-100 ; last appear- ance on the stage, 97 ; death, 98 ; as Shylock, 150 ; as Co- riolanus, 165 ; fight with his supers, 106 ; triumph in the Broadway Theatre, 167 ; as Macbeth, 217, 235-237 ; feared at rehearsal, 238 ; rage at stupid actors, 239, 240 ; as Hamlet, 288, 289 ; as Rich- ard III., 335. Gareick, David, as Othello, 14 ; rivalry with Quin, 13 ; as lago, 15 ; as Lear, 08-75 ; strange costume, 69 ; odd trick of, 72 ; restores ori- ginal Shakespearian version of "Lear," 75 ; rivalry with Spranger Barry, 74, 80 ; as Macbeth, 186, 187 ; acts in a Parisian parlor, 188 ; makes his debut as Richard III., 256, 308 ; early life, 255 ; as Hamlet, 256-260 ; com- mended by Pope, 309. Gilbert, John, as Polonius, 300. Granville, George, adapter of Shylock, 105. Green, Mi:., as lago, 22. Griefin, Benjamin, as Shy- lock, 109. 342 INDEX. Hallam, Adam, as Donal- bain, 204. Hallam, Lewis, organizes Ai .1 Company, 19 ; as lagc, iJ2 ; as Launcelot and Tubal, 123 ; as Richard III., 325. Hallam, Mks. Lewis. See Mrs. Douglass. Hallam, Lewls, Jk., as lago, 20, 2(3 ; as Lear, 04 ; as Por- tia's servant, 123 ; the origi- nal Hamlet and Macbeth in America, 20:3, 204, 205, 200. Hallam, JIks. Lewis, Jk., as Cordelia, 04. Hallam, Miss, as Jessica, 123. Hallam, Nancy, as Fleance, 204. Hamblin, Thomas, as Ham- let, 2S7. Haxfdijd, Ciiaulks, as Eo- soncrantz, 300. Haxley, Lawi!excio, as Guil- denstern, 300. Haisley, J. P., as Shylock, 120 ; as Launcelot Gobbo, 144. Hai'.man, J[k., as Lear, 04 ; as Dunc/an, 204 ; as Witch in " Macbeth," 204. Harman, Mj;s., as Hecate, 204 ; as Witch in " Macbeth," 204 ; as Ophelia, 269. IlAr.PEK, Mi;., as lago, 26. Hakbis, Joseph, as Macduff, 183. Hart, Charles, 9. Hawoeth, Joseph, as Ham- let, 302 ; as Eichard HI., 335. Heard, Mr., as Othello, 22 ; as Lear, 94 ; as Macbeth, 205. Henderson, John, as Shy- lock, 118 ; as Macbeth, 195 , as Hamlet, 264. Henry-, John, as Othello, 22 ; as Shylock, 124 ; General Washington delighted at his performance, 124 ; sketch, 125 ; death, 127. He.nry, Mrs. John (the sec- ond) (Miss Ann Storer), as Desdemona, 20, 22. Henry-, Mrs. John (the third) (Miss Maria Storer), as Ari- el, 126. Herbert, Mk., as Salanio, 123. HiGGiNS, Mr., as the Duke in "Othello," 24. Hilubeth, Miss Sarah (Mrs. Benjamin F. Butler), as Ophelia, 287. HiPwoRTH, Mr., as Shylock, 127. HoDGKiNsoN, John, as Othel- lo, 25 ; as Macbeth, 205 ; sketch, 206 ; as Hamlet, 271. HoEY, Mrs. John, as Portia, 150. Holland, Charles, as Mac- beth, 194. HOETON, Miss (Mrs. Germon Eeed), as the Fool in " Lear," 90. INDEX. 343 HuDDAKT, Mary. See Jlrs. Warner. riuGiiKs, Mbs., as Desdemona, S, 43. Irving, Hexky, as lago, 62 ; as Othello, 02 ; as Lear, 0:3 ; as Shylock, 144 ; as Macbelh, 230-232 ; as Hamlet, 283- 285 ; as Kichard III., 324. Jambs, Louis, as Hamlet, 302 ; as Richard III., 335. Jakman, Miss, as Desdemo- na, 2. Jkffersox, Joseph, Sr., as First Witch in " Macbeth," 223. Jeffekson", JosEPri, as First Gravedigger in " Hamlet," .300. JosfES, Mrs. George, as Gon- eril, 101. Jones, Mrs. W. G., as Regan, 87. Ki5AN, CiiAHi.ES, as Tago, 1 ; as Othello, 40 ; as Lear, 1)2 ; as Shylock, 143 ; as Mac- beth, 229 ; as Hamlet, 270, 281, 282 ; as Richard III., 323, 324. Kean, Miss. Charles (Ellen Tree), as Portia, 144. Kean, Edmund, as Othello, 1, 30, 35, 49 ; insulted by the audience, 3 ; his retort, 4 ; last scene of all, 4, 5 ; apolo- gizes to a Boston audience, 25 ; as lago, 33 ; revenge on ii stage-manager, 34 ; jealous of Young, 37 ; as Lear, 88 ; criticisms by Hazlitt and Campbell, 88 ; sti with a heavy Cordelia, 89 , iS Shy- lock, 132 ; sketch, 132-1 ;VJ ; as Richard, Hamlet, an 1 Othello, 137 ; grand recciv tion in England after his re- turn from America, 138 ; last sad performance of Othello, 138 ; presented with silver cup, 1.39 ; as Coriolanus, 177 ; as one of the "spirits" in " Macbeth," 201 ; as Mac- beth, 201, 202 ; as Hamlet, 20."), 275 ; as Richard III., 315-318 ; antagonizes audi- ences in America, 318-321. Kean, Thomas, as Richard III., 325. Keexe, Thomas, as Richard III., 3.35. Keix'ey, Herbert, as Ber- nardo, 300. Kei.i.ogg, Gertrude, as Queen Gertrude, 300. Kembi.e, Chap.les, as Cassio, 2; as "Poor Tom," 85 ; as Bassanio, 129 ; as Malcolm, 198 ; as Hamlet, 203 ; de- scription by Fanny Kemble, 203. Kemble, Miss E., as Portia, 120. Kemble, Fannv, as Ophelia, 203, 204. 344 INDEX. Kemble, John Philip, as Othello, 28 ; description by Macready, 29 ; as Lear, 84 ; as Shylock, 120 ; as Antonio, 129 ; as Coriolanus, 169, 172 ; his farewell appearance, 173 ; description by John Howard Payne, 174 ; makes his debut as Hamlet, 17i;, 260 ; as Mac- beth, 197, 198, 199 ; as Rich- ard III., 310. Kemble, .Stephen, as Ham- let, 263. KE.MPE, TViLL, the original First Gravedigger in " Ham- let," 24S. KlN(i, Thomas, as Shylock, lis. KdKHLEi!, Ciiahi.es, as Osric, 300. Lane, Jnn.v A., as Horatio, 'MO. L.VYFIEI.D, Mi:., as lago, .">: ludicrous misquotation of his lines, 6. Levick, MiLXEs, as Second .Vctor in " Hamlet," 300, Lewis, JIi;s. Heni;y, as Rich- ard III,, 33.J, Macklix, Cn.\i!i.Es, as lago, IS ; trick on Spranger Barry, IS ; directs a company of am- ateurs of noble birth, 19 ; as Shylock, 109, 192 ; new in- terpretation of the character, 109 ; a momentous occasion for the actor. 111 ; great suc- cess, 112, 113; opinions of critics, 114, 115 ; plays Shy- lock when eighty-nine years old, 115 ; his last appearance on the stage, 116 ; as Mac- beth, 189 ; appears in a High- land kilt, 190 ; antagonism of the audience, 190-192 ; discharged by his manager, 192 ; appeals to the courts, and wins, 193 ; as Hamlet, 264. Mac'I!eady, W. C, as Othello, 39 ; as lago, 40 ; as Edmund, 85 ; restores the Fool in '■ Lear," 90 ; his conception of Lear, 91 ; criticism in Corn- hill ildi/iizine, 92 ; as Lear, 101 ; as Shylock, 140 ; as Co- riolanus, 177, 178 ; as Mac- beth, 213-216, 221-225 ; his connection with the Astor Place riots, 217-219 ; his fare- well appearance, 219 ; quarrel with Samuel Phelps, 227, 228 ; as Hamlet, 236, 277- 280 ; as the Ghost in " Ham- let," 265 ; as Richard III., 321-323. Maedeh, Mrs. See Clara Fisher. Malone, Mr., as Othello, 20; the first Shylock and Lear of the American stage, 94, 124. Mansfield, Richard, as Shy- lock, 155 ; as Richard III., 155, 334. INDEX. 345 Masttell, Eobekt, as Ham- let, 302. Marriott, Miss, as Witch in " Macbetli," 231 ; as Hamlet, 303 ; as Richard IH., 335. Marshall, Wyze.max, as Macbeth, 235 ; as Hamlet, 287. Marxist, Lady Theodore. See Helen Faucit. Mathews, Charles, as Polo- nius, 265. Mayo, Prank, as King Clau- dius, 300. McCuLLorGii, JoiiJv^, as Othello, 55 ; as Lear, 102, 103 ; as Cominius, 168 ; as Virginius, Brutus, Sparta- cus, Othello, Richard III., Lear, and Coriolanus, 168 ; sketch, 168 ; description by William Winter, 168, 169; as Hamlet, 288 ; as Richard III., .3.35. M'Vkkei!, Mary (Mrs. Ed- win Booth) acts with Booth, 299. Meadows, Mr., as the Fool in " Lear," 90. Mellon, Mr., as the Ghost in "Hamlet," 281. Mills, .John, as Macbeth, 184. MoD.iESKA, Madame, as Ophelia, 300. MoiruN, Mr., as lago, 7. MoNCRiEF, MAjoii, as Othello, 20. Monk, Miss Minnie, as Witch in "Macbeth," 204. Montague, Winnetta, as Hamlet, 303. Mordaunt, Frank, as Fran- cisco, 300. MoRETox, John P., the first Coriolanus in America, 158 ; sketch, 158 ; as Hamlet, 158, 271. Moinus, Mrs., as Desdemona, 22. Mossop, Henry, as Lear, 82 ; outwitted by wily actor, 82, 83 ; as Macbeth, 196. MuNDEN, Joseph, as Launce- lot, 129. Murdoch, James E., as Hora- tio, 282 ; as Hamlet, 287. Palmer, John, as lago, 20 ; as Shylock, 118 ; Macklin's criticism, 120. Payne, John Howard, as Hamlet, 272. Pblby, William, as Hamlet, 287. Pennington, Ma.jor Low- TiiER, as Othello, 21. Phelps, Samuel, as Othello and lago, 41 ; as Lear, 92 ; as Shylock, 141 ; as Tubal, 142 ; as Coriolanus, 178 ; as Macdufe, 210, 227 ; as Mac- beth, ?25 ; as Hamlet, 281 ; as Richard IJI., 324. Phillips, Mr., as Horatio, 288, 289. 346 INDEX. PiCCININI, SiGNOR, as lago, 58. PiNEKO, Arthtir W., in tlie cast of Hamlet, 284. PLYMPTOJf, Ebex, as Laertes, 300. POMEROY, JlRS. LomsE, as Hamlet, 30.3. PoNisi, Madame, as Voluin- nia, 167 ; as Laily Macbeth, 2:3t. PiiPE, Mrs. See Miss Toimge. Porter, Mrs., as Jessica, 107 ; as Volumnia, 171. PcnvKLL, Willi Ajr, as Lear, SO ; death association with Macbeth, 19.5. Powell, J[i:s. Sxelling, as Desdemona, 20 ; as Cordelia, 04. PuKscoTT, Marie, as lago, c..'). Pritciiard, Mrs., as Xerissa, 111 ; as Lady Macbeth, 180, 187. Proctor, Miss Anme, as Queen Gertrude, 300. Proctor, Joseph, as Mac- beth, 23.5. QuiN, James, as Othello, 13 ; spicy correspondence with his manager, 13, 14 ; his stage-dress, 14 ; as Lear, 80 ; as Antonio, 111 ; as C'oriola- nus, 171 ; as Macbeth, 181, 185. Qcox, Jilts., as Desdemona, 19. Kae, Mr., as Kichmond, 816. Eef.d, Mrs. Gebmon. See Miss Horton. Eideolt, Mrs., as Desdemona, 18. PiiGBY, Me., as lago, 20 ; as Piomeo, 94 ; as Bassanio, 123 ; as Richard III., 325. EiGNOLD, Mrs. Patience Blaxlani), as Hamlet, 303. EoBiNSON, Mrs., as Desde- mona, 22. Eossr, Ernesto, as Othello, 54, 55 ; as Lear, 103 ; as Macbeth, 235 ; as Hamlet, 286, 287. Evan, Mr., as lago, 22. liYAN, Mrs., as Lady Macbeth, 205. Eyder, Mr., as Shylock, 120. Salvini, Alexander, as Hamlet, 302. Salvini, Tommaso, as Othel- lo, 54, 57 ; experience with Piccinini, 58 ; as Lear, 104 ; as Macbeth, 2.35, 244 ; intro- duces new "business," 245 ; as Hamlet, 280 ; as the Ghost in "Hamlet," 300. Sandford, Mr., as lago, 9 ; as Banquo's Ghost, 183. Santlow, Miss. See Mrs. Barton Booth. Saunderson, Miss. See Mrs. Thomas Betterton. Seaman, Miss J clia, as Witch in " Macbeth," 231 ; as Ham- let, 303. INDEX. 347 Setmoue, Mbs. "William. See Miss May Davenport. SlIAKESPEABE, WiLLIAM, aS the Ghost in " Hamlet," 247- 240. .Shakbspeake, Mr., as Cassio, 22 ; as Edmund, 94. kSiiAAV, Mks. (Mrs. Thomas S. Hamblin), as Hamlet, 30.3. Shaw, Miss Maby, as Witch in "Macbeth," 204. Shebidan, Thomas, as Othel- lo, 5 ; as Shylock, 118 ; as Macbeth, 195. Shutek, Edward, as Shylock, 118. SiDDONS, Mbs., as Desdemo- na, 28 ; as Cordelia, 84 ; as Portia, 118, 129 ; as Volum- nia, 172 ; as Lady Macbeth, 196-199 ; as Lady Anne, 309. Singleton, Mb., as Gratiano, 123. Smith, " Gentleman," as Macbeth, 197. Smith, William, as Banqno, 183. Stabk, James, as Hamlet, 287. Stephens, Captain, as Rod- erigo, 19. Stephens, Mrs., as Emilia, 19. Stobek, Ann. See Mrs. John Henry (the second). Stoker, Maria. See Mrs. John Henry (the third). Sullivan, Barry, as Mac- beth, 234 ; as Hamlet, 289, 290 ; as Richard III, 335. Tate, Nahum, adapts " Lear " for stage, 75, 76, 77, 78. Taylor, Joseph, original lago, 6, 250 ; as Edgar, 75 ; as Hamlet, 250. Teable, Mb., as Macbeth, 204. Terry, Ellen, as Desdemo- na, 62 ; as Cordelia, 93 ; as Lady Macbeth, 231 ; as Ophe- lia, 284. Tomlinson, Mr., as Witch in " Macbeth," 204 ; as Seyton, 204. Tomlinson, Mrs., as Witch in " Macbeth," 204. Tree, Herbert Beebbohm, as Hamlet, 302. Tree, Ellen. See Mrs. Charles Kean. Tremain, Mb., as lago, 20. Tuke, Miss, as Desdemona, 26. Upton, Robert, the first Othello in America, 19 ; as Richard III., 325. Upton, Mr.s. Robert, the first Desdemona in Amer- ica, 20. Vandenhoff, George, as Shylock, 150 ; as Macbeth, 235 ; as Hamlet, 2S7. Vandbnhoff, John, as Cori- olanus, l