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 FROM THE 
 
 BENNO LOEWY LIBRARY 
 
 COLLECTED BY 
 
 BENNO LOEWY 
 
 1654-1919 
 BEQUEATHED TO CORNELL UNIVERSITY 
 
JUN- 61947 
 APR 7 19 
 
 ^^%^4^ 
 
 ■^- 
 
 Cornell University Library 
 PN 2287.F72H31 
 
 Edwin Forrest: 
 
 3 1924 027 264 245 .im,o,.i 
 
£dvin 
 
 ORRCSr- 
 
 e) 
 
Cornell University 
 Library 
 
 The original of tiiis 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/cu31924027264245 
 
NOTICE. 
 
 The subscribers to this work will please understand that the 
 200 copies of this book are printed from type, and the photo-gravure 
 plates destroyed, so that there is no possibility of duplicates. 
 
 GABRIEL HARRISON, 
 
 Subscribers' Price, $6.00. 44 COURT St., ROOM 69, 
 
 Brooklyn, N. Y. 
 
I'hoto by Brady^ 1858. i^ 
 
Edwin Forrest: 
 
 The actor 
 
 AND 
 
 The man. 
 critical and reminiscent. 
 
 ' The Blind might have seen him in his Voice, 
 And the Deaf have heard him in his Visage.' 
 
 BY GABRIEL HARRISON, 
 
 Author of " The Life and Writings of John Howard Payne ; " The 
 
 Drama of "The Scarlet Letter;'' The Tragedy of "Melanthia." 
 
 "The Progress of Music, Art and the Drama in Brooklyn,'' 
 
 and "The Authenticity of Shakespeare's Likeness," 
 
 Etc., Etc. 
 
 BROOKLYN, 
 N. V. 
 
 t:0.(vHIU.L 
 
^^„.^_^^., 
 
 K. s'^v^^ V 
 
 Press of 
 Brooklyn Eagle Book Printing Department. 
 
 ..M .-i 11 f! D 
 Y V I ;; <,! 'J u n/. n 
 
DEDICATED 
 
 TO 
 
 DANIEL DOUGHERTY, Esq., 
 
 (As One of Forrest's Executors,) 
 
 AND TO THE BOARD OF MANAGERS 
 
 OF 
 
 THE FORREST HOME. 
 
PRINTER'S GUARANTEE. 
 
 / Hereby Certify that the Brooklyn Eagle 
 Book Printing Department has printed only two 
 hundred copies of this work. 
 
 Robert F. Clark, 
 
 Superintendent. 
 No. of Copy. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 EDWIN FORREST, 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 As ViRGiNius, at the Park Theatre, New York, 9 
 
 As Metamora, at the Academy of Music, Brooklyn, 30 
 As Othello, compared with 
 
 James Quin, Spranger Barry and Edmund Kean, 49 
 
 As King Lear, compared with David Garrick, 99 
 
 As Damon, 130 
 
 As a Friend, at his house on Thanksgiving Day, 135 
 
 His Characteristics, - 135 
 
 His Elocution, 163 
 
 His Last Appearance As An Actor, 179 
 
 His Decease, 187 
 
 The Funeral, 191 
 
 Epilogue, 196 
 
 The Forrest Home, 197 
 
 The Will, 201 
 
 ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 Eleven in number, the Costumes the same as he wore in the 
 Characters represented. 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 Forrest at the age of fifty, frontispiece, 
 
 Forrest (Profile) from his favorite portrait, 6 
 
 Forrest as Virginius, 14 
 
 Forrest as Metamora^ 42 
 Spranger Barry, . 50 
 
 James Quin, 52 
 
 Edmund Kean as Othello^ 54 
 
 Forrest as Othello, 64 
 
 Forrest as King Lear, 114 
 
 Forrest as Damon, 130 
 
 Autographic Letter, 178 
 
EDWIN^FORREST, 
 
 From his favorite portrait, from a Daguerreotype, by Brady, 1852. 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 The writer of these sketches having seen Mr. 
 Forrest act on many occasions from the time he 
 was twenty-five years old to the last days of his 
 life, at the age of sixty-seven years, and having 
 very frequently seen him in all of his celebrated 
 characters, can speak of him as an artist from 
 ample knowledge and matured judgment and with 
 truthfulness. To this was added personal acquaint- 
 ance and friendship with Mr. Forrest during many 
 years. Doubtless friendship may sometimes lead a 
 man to speak too highly of his friend's abilities, 
 yet the critic who entertains as warm an admira- 
 tion for the art, if not even warmer than his 
 personal regard for the artist and the man, may 
 feel vigilant and overscrupulous, for fear of 
 being unconsciously swayed by partiality, and daz- 
 zled by the lustre that friendship lends to genius. 
 
 Other actors than Mr. Forrest are presented 
 and described expressly for the purpose of con- 
 trast, to estimate properly the several prominent 
 artists named. 
 
The essay on " The Four Othellos " was sug- 
 gested by a rare old pamphlet, published in the 
 days of Garrick, Quin and Barry, entitled "A 
 Treatise on the Passions, with a Critical Enquiry 
 into the Theatrical merits of Garrick, Quin and 
 Barry. The first considered in the part of King 
 Lear, and the two last opposed in Othello." 
 
 This gave the writer an opportunity to compare 
 Edwin Forrest in the characters of Othello and 
 Lear, with the above-named great English actors. 
 
 Edmund Kean is introduced as one of the 
 actors who, by his masterly rendering of Othello, 
 made the immortal group of four. 
 
 The illustrations of Forrest are from a set of 
 photographer's negatives, found in the Forrest 
 Home, never before published, and worked up with 
 appropriate backgrounds by the writer. The 
 likeness of Forrest and the costumes are carefully 
 preserved in every particular. 
 
 The portrait of Kean is from a choice picture 
 presented by Forrest to the author, and was said 
 by him to be the best likeness he ever saw of 
 Kean. 
 
 Those of Quin and Barry are from the best 
 authorities. 
 
FORREST AS VIRGINIUS. 
 
 The Drama in the days of my youth — The old Park 
 Theatre, New York ^ Its Audience — The Pit and 
 Boxes — Mrs. Duff and other Stars. 
 
 THERE are times, after a day's hard work, 
 when, as we throw ourselves in an armchair 
 for rest, a train of thoughts will come freighted with 
 graphic reminiscences of things that happened in the 
 early years of our life. They come upon us like a 
 soft zephyr, with a saddening sense of touch to the 
 mind that makes one feel for a moment as if tears 
 wanted to answer the salutation. It is as if our 
 youth, like a spirit, had come back to talk over the 
 things of the past. It is in the night time, when 
 the noises of the day are hushed, and all around 
 seems wrapped in the arms of sleep, that an inci- 
 dent of the past, or some clear dead friend, or a 
 lovely girl that we once adored, will stand so 
 boldly before us in form and color that they seem 
 palpable. Sometimes the gleam of firelight or of 
 the flickering lamp will seem to outline upon the 
 wall in flashings of lights and shadows the subjects 
 
lO 
 
 of our wakeful dreams. How strange a thing is 
 memory! Some things that occur are like preg- 
 nant seeds that plant themselves in the brain to 
 germinate into forms of incidents that once had 
 been, and, like a will o' the wisp, live for awhile 
 and grasp our attention. A few nights ago, tired 
 and thoughtful, I dropped myself into an old 
 family armchair that at one time belonged to my 
 grandmother, and was built in the days of the 
 Revolution. I say built, because it is so large 
 that it looks like an edifice, and invites many 
 tenants. It extends its great arms with a gener- 
 ous expression. Sometimes when I approach it 
 I think I see my old grandmother, ponderous in 
 form, lifting herself out of the chair to make 
 room for your humble servant. Now when seated 
 within its capacious breadth I lighted a cigar and 
 playfully threw out rings of smoke, and in the 
 ascending misty circles I saw pictures of things 
 that occurred in my life long ago. At last I was 
 landed in front of the old Park Theatre, New 
 York, about the year 1836. I was in the midst 
 of a great crowd of people who were struggling 
 and fighting to reach the pit door of this famous 
 temple of the dramatic muse — made famous because 
 the dramatic genius of England and America had 
 appeared therein — the Hallams, Hodgkinsons, 
 Wignall, Fennell, Cooper, George Frederick 
 Cook, the courtly Holman ; Conway, the father 
 of the Brooklyn manager ; Jefferson, the precious 
 
1 1 
 
 germ from which our great " Rip Van Winkle " 
 sprung; Hilson, Wilson, Barns, the Placides, 
 Edmund Kean, the marvel of the British stage ; 
 the elder Booth, father of our glorious Edwin ; 
 the elder Wallacks, father and uncle of Lester 
 Wallack ; Matthews, Tyler, Mrs. Melmouth, Mrs. 
 Henry, Mrs. Oldmixon, Mrs. Bartley, Mrs. Wheat- 
 ley, Mrs. Sharp, Miss Johnson, Clara Fisher, Ellen 
 Tree, and other lights of the stage^a peerless 
 galaxy of dramatic talent and genius. 
 
 In those early days I made one of the crowd, 
 and anxiously elbowed my way to the outside pit 
 door of the old Park Theatre. In a few min- 
 utes the door was opened, then, like a turbulent 
 rising and falling of waves, the mass of human 
 beings swayed to and fro, and the crowd broke 
 with a crash against the partition on the inside 
 of the entrance containing a little round hole 
 known as the ticket ofifice. Then came the scram- 
 ble. Coats were split up the back, hats were 
 crushed under feet, and the shouting of " Two," 
 " Three," " Five," " Six," as the person jammed 
 his fist through the hole to get his tickets. 
 Then the rush for the only pit entrance, braced 
 with iron bars, where the door-keeper took the 
 tickets. Many had used the precaution to purchase 
 their tickets in the morning at Windust's. The 
 Shakespeare, as it was called in those days, a 
 restaurant where actors and critics, writers of the 
 day, and the bloods of the town most did con- 
 gregate for delicious drinks and the repast that 
 
12 
 
 qualified the words of Shakespeare' that hung over 
 the door to the hotel : " Let us live that we may 
 live." The pit was for men only, the better class 
 of men, while the gallery took the roughs. In a 
 few moments more we had passed the ticket taker 
 and we were tumbled into a seat — a long wooden 
 bench with a strip of wood for a back, covered 
 by a coat of lead color paint. Others in rapid 
 succession scrambled into places, and so it con- 
 tinued for almost fifteen minutes, till the rush was 
 over. Then came a quiet, and many in the pit 
 would stand up and look at the ladies and gentle- 
 men entering the so-called boxes, which were nicely 
 covered benches that would hold about ten per- 
 sons. The larger number of the ladies and gen- 
 tlemen were in full dress, the ladies without hats, 
 so that all could see the play. Often among the 
 boxites we would see the best intellects of the 
 nation — sometimes a Webster or a Clay ; lawyers 
 — Ogden, Hoffman, Colden ; doctors — Francis, 
 Hosack, Nelson, Bayley, McDonald ; the poets of 
 the day — Irving, Hallock, Bryant, Willis, Morris, 
 Prosper M. Wetmore ; editors — M. M. Noah, 
 Webb, Locke, Burr, Clark ; artists — ^Trumbull, 
 Vanderlin, Dunlap, Morse, Inman, Smith, Ingham, 
 Cole, Durand ; the wealthy John Jacob Astor, 
 Duncan C. Pell, and others that counted their 
 hundreds of thousands. And so, while waiting for 
 the play to begin, we were amused until the 
 "First Music" was called. In those days two 
 pieces were performed by the orchestra before the 
 
curtain went up. From the moment I first took 
 my seat I could feel myself expand with great 
 expectation of what I was to see, and with the 
 peculiar atmosphere of the theatre, formed by the 
 combination arising from the escaped gas and the 
 painted scenery. Then my eyes were fed to a 
 perfect fullness when I read the text of the play 
 bill, which had the following heading, with the 
 star actor's name in immense letters : 
 
 Park Theatre. 
 The Great Tragedian, 
 
 EDWIN FORREST, 
 
 In the character of 
 Virginius ! 
 
 Then followed the cast of characters, filled by 
 the names of Barry, Clark, Richings, Wheat- 
 ley, Fisher, Povy, Mrs. Sharp and other favor- 
 ites who had risen to fame as stock actors of 
 the theatre. Then I could look around with 
 infinite satisfaction to see the theatre packed from 
 pit to gallery. All was expectancy, the overture 
 was finished and up went the curtain ; you could 
 have heard a pin drop amid that vast congrega- 
 tion of breathing humanity. The scene repre- 
 sented a street in Rome. Servius and Cneius 
 entered, but their words were little heeded, so 
 intense the desire to see and hear the great 
 actor. In a moment more Virginius stood before 
 3,000 gazers; there he stood like some grand ideal 
 
14 
 
 statue fresh from the chisel of a master artist, 
 while the thunder of applause greeted him again 
 and again, and died away only through the 
 inability of the audience to continue their mark 
 of admiration for the great actor of the Repub- 
 lic. All again was silent until the rich, round 
 tones of Virginius' voice captivated the ear with 
 the interrogation : 
 
 " Why did you make him Decemvir, 
 And first Decemvir too?" 
 
 The quick and earnest manner in which the 
 inquiry was made interested the hearers and drew 
 particular attention to the conversation between 
 Virofinius and Titus. The tone of voice and the 
 natural manner of utterance showed that a true 
 artist was before the house, and that they were 
 about to behold a dramatic picture emanating 
 from the spirit of genius. It was as when the 
 artist first takes hold of the drapery that covers 
 his picture, and, in the lifting, you catch the 
 first glimpse of harmonious coloring that at once 
 leads the mind to the conclusion that the work 
 is a great one, and as when, in the removing of 
 the whole drapery, you behold a work so finely 
 wrought that it is forever photographed in form 
 and color upon the mind, to be seen whenever 
 the desire dictates. Mr. Forrest approached the 
 performance of a character as a Guido would 
 the composition and the completion of a picture ; 
 
By Gabriel Harrison. 
 
 FORREST AS VIRGINIUS, 
 
 "Go on, you see 1 am calm " 
 
15 
 
 outline, breadth of light and shadow, tone of color, 
 handling, feeling — all were there carefully con- 
 sidered in order to make a work perfect in unity. 
 Nothing too expressed, but full of truth and 
 sensibility. In Forrest's picture of Virginius the 
 human heart had been fully consulted ; the 
 character as drawn by the author is shorn of 
 mental subtleties — a plain, honest soldier, and a 
 father full of domestic love, and with nothing 
 to treat of but simple facts that require no 
 scholarly research for interpretation. To display 
 this character Mr. Forrest possessed every quality, 
 intellectual and physical. He was the Roman 
 father without any of the strut and pompous 
 manner with which most actors invest the charac- 
 ter of Virginius. He was simple in his carriage, 
 plastic in his reading, and gave a perfectly natural 
 representation. All the developments of the 
 passions that belonged to the character were 
 given with so much fidelity to nature that it 
 lent a reality to all the surroundings of the 
 stage. It seems impossible to picture with the 
 pen how sweetly his elocutionary powers touched 
 his words when addressing his daughter Virginia; 
 it was as sweet and delicate as the song of the 
 bullfinch ; seeming to warble within its heart, 
 sending forth a tender, low, half smothered tone, 
 that moved across the portals of hearing with the 
 most pleasurable sensation. There was, too, a 
 quality of fondness in his manner toward his 
 
i6 
 
 daughter that portrayed not only the manly care 
 of the father, but an endeavor to fill by look and 
 voice the place of the dead mother. It was as 
 if a sunbeam had suddenly illumed his face when 
 Virginia first entered, and, placing herself upon 
 his knee, said : 
 
 "Well, father, what's your will?" And he 
 answered : 
 
 " I wished to see you 
 To ask you of your tasks — how they go on 
 And what your masters say of you ; what last 
 You did. I hope you never play the truant ? 
 I am sure you do not. Kiss me ! " 
 
 The parental manner when he gave her the kiss 
 and all that followed in the scene was indeed hold- 
 ing the mirror up to nature. It was astonishing 
 with what an acute observation Mr. Forrest grasped 
 all the finest shades of human expression. And 
 how perfectly he represented them in the por- 
 trayal of all his characters. This was the evidence 
 of a great and a perfect nature in himself. His 
 careful presentation of them gave the evidence of 
 his assiduousness and determination to be a great 
 artist. His work was full of detail, which alone 
 can make a great result. The suggestive school of 
 art expression was not of Forrest's belief. It is 
 nothing more than the dream of the real. There 
 is no realization in it. It is like the caee with- 
 out the bird. We know what the cage is meant 
 for, but the object, the important feature, is not 
 
17 
 
 there ; true life is absent. The new school of 
 acting introduced in "society plays" is suggestive 
 indeed of the dead body without the breath, the 
 eye without light, words spoken without the detail 
 of expression. The human body without gesture 
 proves a mind not fully at work over the human 
 organism. Gesture is the accompaniment that 
 helps to give full expression to words ; and the 
 bodies of such artists as Garrick, Kean, Siddons 
 and Forrest spoke words in every movement. 
 Genius is evidenced in details only, and correct 
 detail is perfection. Nothing could be more 
 beautifully tender and in accordance with the prin- 
 ciples of human nature than when he betrothed 
 his daughter to Icilius. It showed a great moral 
 nature overflowing with goodness and love for his 
 child, and every word, look, tone of voice and 
 motion in the following speech demonstrated the 
 perfect father : 
 
 " Didst thou but know, young man, 
 
 How fondly I have watched her since the day 
 
 Her mother died and left me to a charge 
 
 Of double duty bound — how she hath been 
 
 My pondered thought by day, my dream by night, 
 
 My prayer, my vow, my offering, my praise. 
 
 My sweet companion, pupil, tutor, child! 
 
 Thou wouldst not wonder that my drowning eye. 
 
 My choking utterance, upbraids my tongue, 
 
 That tell thee she is thine." 
 
 At the close of this little speech the house was 
 silent and seemed to feel that Virginias had really 
 
i8 
 
 given his child to her lover, never to claim her 
 fully as his own again. The contrast to this quiet 
 •and tender piece of acting stands out in massive 
 boldness to the scene in the third act, when Lucius 
 brings the tidings to Virginias that Claudius had 
 claimed his daughter Virginia as his slave. The 
 wonderment expressed in Mr. Forrest's face was 
 an expression never to be forgotten. He abso- 
 lutely changed color and for a moment stood 
 speechless. When he said 
 
 " Claimed her ! claimed her for his slave ! 
 On what pretence ? " 
 
 His next speech was so full of intensity that 
 the audience at once took a personal interest in 
 the situation. The twitching of his fingers, the 
 contraction of the muscles in his arms and legs 
 and his very toes that protruded through his san- 
 dals seemed grasping at the stage in his efforts to 
 keep calm, at the words, 
 
 "Go on, you see I am calm." 
 
 The next passage was like the heaving of the 
 mountain top before it bursts asunder and sends 
 forth its impetuous volcanic fury as when he 
 uttered, 
 
 "Did he not strike him dead?" 
 
 These words were spoken in a high keynote, 
 like the crackling of the lightning when it strikes 
 near, and then the sudden change of voice and 
 
19 
 
 relaxation of his whole frame was in fine contrast 
 when he abruptly spoke the words, 
 
 " True, true, I know it was in the presence of 
 The Decemvirs " — 
 His 
 
 "Thank Jupiter! I am still a father!" 
 
 had a quality of rapturous intensity that makes it 
 difificult to describe. The transition of expression 
 on his face from the word "Silence "to "Father" 
 was like when the pulse suddenly stops at the 
 moment of danger and as suddenly beats again. 
 Add to these wonderful effects the grandeur of his 
 figure and his voice so fine in all its notes, the 
 most critical mind concludes there is nothing finer 
 in dramatic expression to look for. In his pathetic 
 scenes he was resistlessly eloquent ; 'twas like the 
 sad sound of the waves breaking along the lonely 
 shore in the gloom of night and carrying away the 
 sands of the beach, and so his flood of sorrowful 
 voice carried the tears of his audience. 
 
 However well this great actor performed the 
 several scenes imperfectly sketched, yet the trial 
 scene before Claudius was the one great and per- 
 fect centre light in his picture of the Roman father, 
 and so emphasized that it gave value to all the 
 surrounding gradations. It was not a garish light. 
 It was not rendered or placed for dramatic effect. 
 It was not done for the purpose of trick to 
 tickle the fancy of the uneducated taste and 
 pander to the desire for pomp and fustian ; it 
 
20 
 
 Stood in perfect relations to truth, the truth of 
 human nature. His manner of acting lent a reality 
 to all the other characters upon the scene. None 
 that ever saw Forrest as Virginius could forget his 
 entrance before the tribune, bearing Virginia upon 
 his arm. His firm step showing the calm reso- 
 lution within his heart, his manner of holding her 
 close up to his side, one arm around her slender 
 waist and the other hand grasping her hand. It 
 was the thousand tendrils of parental love reach- 
 ing everywhere toward his child, like the ivy with 
 its myriad clingings to the object it would hold 
 on to. Who could forget the Roman dignity of 
 his figure ? Who could forget the silence that 
 pervaded the theatre, the motionless actors on 
 the stage waiting to be thrilled by his artistic 
 work ? The silence was profound ; it was like the 
 silence that pervades that sphere where noises cannot 
 exist. It was the ominous prelude to the action of 
 something great. Never did an audience before 
 wait so long and patiently for the actor to say his 
 words. When Virginius first addressed the tribune : 
 
 " Does no one speak ? I am defendant here, 
 Is silence my opponent ? Fit opponent 
 To plead a cause too foul for speech." 
 
 The clear, pure tones of his voice were like 
 vibrations struck from perfect chords by an 
 Orpheus and found an echo in the hearts of his 
 audience. Each now in turn anxiously listened for 
 the words of the shrinking and abashed Claudius. 
 
21 
 
 How intense and graphic was Mr. Forrest's by-play 
 when he finds that nothing but the death of his 
 daughter by his own hand could save her from 
 the pollution of the heartless Decemvir. For a 
 moment despair and perplexity were upon his face, 
 but when he discovered the knife upon the 
 butcher's stall, his facial expression, electrical as 
 the lightning that illumes the murky clouds, pic- 
 tured the outline of the true intensity of the fear- 
 ful storm. The poet cannot express with words 
 what the tragedian expressed in a single look — 
 the consolation in the thought of his child's death 
 rather than her dishonor by Claudius. The smile 
 that followed as he looked into Virginia's face was 
 full of pathos as he moved toward the butcher's stall 
 to reach the knife — his patting her on the shoulder 
 as he changed her position from his right to his 
 left arm that he might reach the knife, the taking 
 of the knife, the hiding of it under the folds, of 
 his toga, the fondness he expressed in his words, 
 " My dear daughter," and his quick and fervent 
 kisses upon her upturned lips striving to press 
 them into her very soul, the gush of tears that 
 wet his words — 
 
 " There is but one only way to save thine 
 honor — 'tis this," 
 
 and quick as the motion of the human arm could 
 do it the knife was pressed into her heart. The 
 storm had broken ; its lightning had wreathed its 
 
22 
 
 searing folds around the instrument of death. 
 The blood streamed from the fatal blade ; the 
 daughter's blood stained the father's hand. And 
 then the thunder tones of his mighty voice crashed 
 through the theatre in exclamations : 
 
 " Lo ! Appius ; with this innocent blood 
 I do devote thee to the infernal gods ! 
 Make way there [ * * * 
 If they dare this desperate weapon that is 
 Wet with my daughter's blood, let them ! 
 Thus ! thus it rushes amongst ihem ! away ! 
 Away there ! away ! " 
 
 The reckless manner in which he rushed through 
 the guards of lictors, the shrieks of Servia when 
 she saw Virginia fall to the stage, the groups of 
 friends that gathered around the prostrate virgin, 
 the bloody knife on high flashing from right to 
 left as Virginius cut his way through the ranks of 
 soldiers, formed a picture of dramatic terror that 
 thrilled the audience and excited them to wild 
 shouting and waving of handkerchiefs. Round 
 after round of applause followed the descent of 
 the curtain, and repeatedly was the actor forced 
 to acknowledge the overwhelming approbation of 
 the crowded house. The enthusiasm arose from 
 absolute great acting, unassisted by pomp of 
 scenery or glitter of costumes. For these things 
 Mr. Forrest cared comparatively nothing. His 
 power over his audience was the magic of genius 
 and the effect was lasting. No less perfect was 
 
his portrayal of the delirious scene in the fifth 
 act. His demented look, the calling of his "Vir- 
 ginia, Virginia." It was a call dictated by a 
 dethroned mind ; a sound that seemed to come 
 from a mysterious vault. There was a half wake- 
 fulness in it like the utterance of thoughts in 
 dreams. It had the touch of pity and was mani- 
 fold in its meaning. It was a reverting form of 
 sound that turned back to the place where it 
 came from, and fell dead where it was born. 
 Then came the awful picture as he kneeled 
 over the strangled body of Appius Claudius. 
 The sigh he gave that burst the spell that bound 
 him, as Icilius placed within his hands the urn 
 that contained the ashes of his daughter, the 
 folding of the sacred chalice to his heart, the 
 relaxation of his limbs and falling to the stage 
 exhausted. All were of one masterpiece. When 
 the curtain dropped on this performance the 
 whole audience stood up and clamorously called 
 for the artist. Women, noble and fearless women, 
 waved their handkerchiefs and split their gloves 
 in their plaudits ; they would not leave the house 
 until the exhausted actor stood before them, and 
 then cheer upon cheer shook the building. As 
 the playgoers left the theatre they carried with 
 them the image of the great picture which the 
 artist had presented to their eyes and ears and 
 hearts. They alluded to the several finer passages 
 of his rendering. They did not allude to a scenic 
 
24 
 
 artist, whose skill had been besought to lend to 
 the drawing properties of the play-bill. No cos- 
 tumer's name had been paraded with the extrava- 
 gant cost of dresses. No half column advertise- 
 ment had been resorted to. No vulgar pictures 
 of half naked men and women had been placed 
 in every window to insult decency. The actor's 
 great merits alone had packed the theatre with 
 an intelligent and select audience. His fame 
 rested on the fact of his genius, and he main- 
 tained his reputation as a great artist and an 
 honorable gentleman to the hour of his death. 
 
 I have seen in my time all the great star 
 actors and actresses of Europe and America, 
 including the celebrated Cooper, the elder Booth, 
 the elder Vandenhoff, the elder Wallacks, Charles 
 Kemble, Charles Kean, Hamblin, Joseph Jeffer- 
 son, Davenport, Edwin Booth, Charles Dillon, 
 McCullough, Barrett, Irving, Hackett, Mrs. Duff, 
 Matilda Heron, Fanny Kemble, Charlotte Cush- 
 man, Rachel, Ristori, Clara Morris and Mary 
 Anderson, but none of them in their best repre- 
 sentations equaled Forrest in elocution, grandeur, 
 electrical force and detail of finish. The one 
 that came the nearest to Forrest in all these requi- 
 sites of a great artist was Mrs. Duff. It is here 
 almost impossible to neglect this opportunity of 
 ailuding to this wonderful elocutionist and actress. 
 She flourished upon the American stage from 
 about 1825 to 1840, when, like some new star 
 
25 
 
 of great purity of light, she quietly came 
 among the dramatic luminaries, and as quietly 
 and mysteriously disappeared. It is to us the 
 most mysterious thing belonging to the history of 
 the stage that this lady's genius was not early 
 and fully recognized and ranked with the cele- 
 brated Sarah Siddons. It is, with me impossible 
 to conceive anything nearer to dramatic perfection 
 in voice, elocution, facial expression, gesture and 
 graceful movement than was possessed and 
 rendered by this accomplished and beautiful 
 woman. Her delineation of Mrs. Haller in the 
 play of the "Stranger" was as perfect as could 
 be wished for, her face delicate and refined in 
 all its outlines, her rather large gray eyes full of 
 soul and intelligence, her figure of medium height 
 with fine proportions, every personal trait excited 
 the most refined admiration, and lent a charm to 
 her, alike on and off the stage, that can only be 
 expressed by likening her to some sainted sister. 
 When quite a young man, as early as 1835, I 
 performed the character of the Golden Farmer to 
 her Elizabeth in the Franklin Theatre that stood 
 in Chatham Square, New York City. As an 
 amateur at the time, and having performed the 
 part of the Golden Farmer, I was called in to 
 assume the part for two nights on account of Mr. 
 William Sefton's sickness, the original of tbe 
 character. The privilege of having acted with 
 this lady, and seen her perform all her best 
 
26 
 
 characters, enables me to write and speak know- 
 ingly of her public and private merits. 
 
 To the character of Mrs. Haller she was singu- 
 larly adapted. Her slight figure and her naturally 
 sweet and sad face, together with her mellow 
 voice, seemed to be of the very nature of the 
 character she represented. Her colloquial portions 
 of the dialogue were simple. Her command over 
 the feelings of the audience was truly wonderful. 
 In the last scene of the play she wrought her 
 hearers to a pitch of excitement that commanded 
 tears for applause, and we never could envy the 
 feelings of any man who could sit unmoved while 
 her tender, passionate voice was thrilling and 
 awakening the soul to a perfect sympathy with 
 the sentiments expressed in the words. Never 
 before, and perhaps never again shall we hear a 
 stage shriek so appalling and piercing as when 
 suddenly turning she beheld her child that the 
 divorced husband had returned to her. Her sobs 
 and the kisses of joy were heart-rending. Her 
 Jane Shore was another performance she distin- 
 guished by many beauties of the highest drama- 
 tic order. Her piteous accents, her solemn and 
 effective delivery, her classic attitudes, made more 
 beautiful by their naturalness, in fact, her whole 
 delineation of this character is worthy of the 
 highest eulogy. One of her critics, when she per- 
 formed Jane Shore to Mr. Thomas S. Hamblin's 
 Hastings, in Tremont Theatre, Boston, said : " We 
 
27 
 
 confidently assert that every beautiful passage she 
 recited received additional poetic beauties as it 
 flowed from her lips. We quote some lines that 
 her look and actions have so impressed upon our 
 mind that we feel no fear that the fine picture 
 will ever fade from our memory : 
 
 " ' My form, alas ! has long forgot to please. 
 No roses bloom upon my faded cheek. 
 No laughing graces wanton in my eyes. 
 The scene of beauty and delight is changed, 
 And haggard grief, lean looking, sallow care 
 And pining discontent — a woful train — 
 Dwell on my brow.' " 
 
 " When informed by Gloster that Hastings still 
 stubbornly opposed the designs of those who 
 would usurp the rights of Edward's infant heirs 
 she exclaimed : 
 
 " ' Does he ? Does Hastings ? ' " 
 
 with a sudden lightening up of her depressed eyes 
 that was electrical, she fell upon her knees, and 
 exclaimed : 
 
 " ' Reward him for the noble deed, 
 Just heaven ! ' " 
 
 These words, were said with so much intensity of 
 supplication that it took from us our sense that it 
 was an illusion, and not reality we were gazing 
 on. 
 
28 
 
 I saw her perform the character of Belvidera in 
 Otway's tragedy of "Venice Preserved." The cele- 
 brated Cooper and Hamilton were the Jafifier and 
 Pierre of the occasion. It was a wonderful cast of 
 characters, and however well these two fine actors 
 performed their parts, Mrs. Duff outshone them 
 both. Her Belvidera was a performance of exqui- 
 site finish in all of the delineations of love, sorrow, 
 anguish and madness. The transformation of her 
 features from the gentleness of confiding love into 
 the firmness of fixed resolve, when she declared 
 that she would hasten to the Senate and reveal 
 her suspicions of treasonable designs against the 
 State, was as astonishing as it was sudden and 
 beautiful. Her strictly classical and intellectual 
 countenance was so flexible and obedient to her 
 will and appropriate to the meaning of what she 
 said that we felt that she must suffer while she was 
 acting. As I remember Mrs. Duff's voice, it had 
 no great power of physical force, not so much as 
 might be wished for in some dramatic situations, 
 but for mellowness, delicate sweetness, harmony 
 and management, it was everything that the most 
 refined and cultivated ear could desire. Her tonics 
 and accentuations lent a charm to her utterances 
 of the English language. This woman, as the edi- 
 tor of the Boston Dramatic Mirror truly said at 
 the time, has not been appreciated, and a stigma 
 rests upon the theatre-going public that she has 
 not been more highly valued ; that, while she put 
 
29 
 
 forth the best energies of her mind and soul for 
 pubhc amusement, yet she has created less sensa- 
 tion than those far inferior — or the tricks of a jug- 
 gler, who swallows a sword, or pulls yards of rib- 
 bon from his enormous mouth. Alas ! that I have 
 not the power of eloquence that would even to a 
 faint degree picture the vocal and facial expres- 
 sions of such perfect artists as Edwin Forrest 
 and Mrs. Duff. In knowing that they are of the 
 past, and can be seen and heard no more, it 
 suggested the words of Macduff : 
 
 " ' Let me seek out some desolate shade 
 And there 
 Weep my sad bosom empty ! ' " 
 
FORREST IN BROOKLYN. 
 
 Recollections of His Performance of Metamora in 
 THE Academy of Music — A Review of the Persona- 
 tion of the Indian Chief — The Struggle of 
 Dramatic Art for Admission to the Academy. 
 
 IN 1858, Brooklyn began to give strong evi- 
 dence of its rapid growth, and many of its 
 principal citizens began to see the necessity not 
 only of an increase of public buildings, for city and 
 business purposes, but for large and elegant places 
 of amusement for the accommodation of the citi- 
 zens who did not care to go to New York for 
 operatic and dramatic entertainment. In those 
 days the public had none of the facilities for rapid 
 transit it has at the present time. The slow plod- 
 ding stage, or the almost equallj' slow street-car 
 were the means of conveying the amusement 
 seekers to the theatres and opera houses three or 
 four miles uptown in New York. These facts 
 seen and felt, Judge Greenwood, Alden J. 
 Spooner, the writer, and several others called a 
 meeting at Music Hall, (Brooklyn Museum), to 
 
31 
 
 take into consideration the building of the Academy 
 of Music. The meeting proved so inceptive to the 
 result, that the public indorsed the idea with con- 
 siderable enthusiasm. Several other meetings fol- 
 lowed, and finally, on the evening of October 22, 
 1858, almost fifty enterprising citizens of Brooklyn 
 attended at a public meeting to consider the neces- 
 sity of erecting a first-class building for opera and 
 concert purposes. Edward Whitehouse was called 
 to the chair. A. A. Low and several other gen- 
 tlemen made strong speeches in favor of amuse- 
 ments in Brooklyn, and Judge Greenwood offered 
 the following resolution : 
 
 Resolved, That the time has come when the citi- 
 zens of this rapidly growing city should have a 
 building where they can obtain the benefits to be 
 derived from innocent and instructive amusements, 
 and, instead of being obliged, as they now are, to 
 go beyond the bounds of their own city for such 
 purposes, a building should be immediately erected 
 of sufficient capacity to accommodate the largest 
 audience which will likely be drawn together. 
 
 Other resolutions provided for a joint stock cor- 
 poration, with a capital of $200,000. Whereon 
 Mr. A. A. Low, Edward Whitehouse, Judge Green- 
 wood, A. M. White, H. E. Pierrepont, Luther B. 
 Wyman, S. B. Chittenden, E. D. Plympton and 
 others were appointed to form definite plans for 
 the object. Shares were held at $50 each, with 
 the inducement that each subscriber to the amount 
 
32 
 
 of ten shares should have free admission to each 
 performance, but not the right to reserved seats. 
 The stock was soon taken, and on May i8, 1859, 
 the following gentlemen were appointed as a com- 
 mittee on the building : A. A. Low, S. B. Chit- 
 tenden, S. F. Thomas, H. E. Pierrepont, L. B. 
 Wyman, A. W. Benson and E. T. Lowber. Mr. 
 Eidlitz was selected as the architect ; John French, 
 mason ; T. Reeves, carpenter ; and Henry Callio, 
 scenic artist. The building was completed at the 
 cost of $200,000, and opened free of debt — a 
 fact seldom occurring in the erection of an opera 
 house. 
 
 The Academy of Music was duly inaugurated 
 on Tuesday evening, January 15, 1861. S. B. 
 Chittenden, President of the Board of Directors, 
 delivered the opening address. The Committee 
 on Entertainments were L. B. Wyman, S. B. 
 Chittenden, Dr. A. C. Hull, Judge Greenwood, 
 W. M. Richards and J. W. Degrauw. The inau- 
 guration consisted of two performances. The 
 first took place on January 15, 1861, consisting 
 of a vocal and instrumental concert, under the 
 direction of Theodore Eisfeld ; Madame Colson, 
 soprano ; Signor Brignoli, tenor ; Signor Ferri, bari- 
 tone ; Signor Susiani, basso. The second enter- 
 tainment, Thursday evening, January 17, consisted 
 of a grand promenade and ball. At the close of 
 the first performance the drop curtain, represent- 
 ing the temple of Apollo, was slowly let down 
 
33 
 
 to the stage in front of the crimson curtain, when 
 of a sudden the full force of i,ooo jets of gas 
 was turned on, producing almost an electric effect, 
 illuminating, as it did, the fine effort of the artist, 
 and revealing more definitely the splendid propor- 
 tions of the house, together with the beauty and 
 the grace of the audience. 
 
 When the building was first opened it was 
 intended that the drama should not enter within 
 its "sacred walls," but that the opera, concerts, and 
 balls would fully occupy its stage and floor. This, 
 however, proved to be a mistake. Such entertain- 
 ments were not in sufficient demand to support 
 the building. Besides, a large and highly respect- 
 able proportion of the public desired and demanded 
 its performance at the Academy. Several of the 
 best managers of New York made application, but 
 were refused the building for theatrical purposes. 
 A committee from the Board of Directors was 
 appointed, consisting of Judge Greenwood, R. R. 
 Raymond and W. Lambert, to decide whether the 
 drama should be admitted to the Academy, and 
 to their honor and the enlightenment of the City 
 of Brooklyn, be it said, the committee reported 
 favorably. It was not long before the words of 
 the great dramatists resounded amid the pillars 
 and archways of the grand temple, and the genius 
 of Shakespeare (not Bacon) and Sheridan trans- 
 mitted their glorious thoughts to the portals of 
 human hearing. Hackett, Forrest, Booth, Davenport 
 
34 
 
 and Wallack at last had their say, and, by their 
 genius, left the moral impress of the drama on 
 the minds of thousands. 
 
 The first dramatic performance given in the 
 Academy of Music took place on Monday evening, 
 December 23, 1861. It was given under the 
 management of Henry C. Jarrett. " Hamlet " was 
 the play, with E. L. Davenport as Hamlet, and 
 beautifully he did his work. J. W. Wallack per- 
 formed the part of the Ghost ; Polonius was played 
 by Mark Smith ; Laertes, by J. H. Allen ; Horatio, 
 by H. Langdon ; First Grave-Digger, by Thomas 
 Placide ; the Queen, by Mrs. J. W. Wallack ; 
 Ophelia, by Mrs. I. B. Barrow. The rest of the 
 cast was proportionately good. Prices of admission 
 were $t.oo, 50 cents, and 25 cents. Four per- 
 formances were given, consisting of " Hamlet," 
 " School for Scandal," " Othello," and "Damon and 
 Pythias." The Academy was packed from parquette 
 to dome, and the drama became a success in 
 Brooklyn. The next essay at the drama in the 
 Academy of Music was by Edwin Forrest, under 
 the management of James N. Nixon, which took 
 place on February 10, 1862. Forrest had new 
 scenery and every detail prepared for " King 
 Lear," " Jack Cade," " Richelieu," " Damon and 
 Pythias," " Metamora," the "Gladiator," and "Ham- 
 let." The cast of characters was good, the princi- 
 pal support of the great tragedian being John 
 McCullough, and Madame Ponisi. On the opening 
 
35 
 
 nig-ht, Forrest performed King Lear ; McCullough, 
 Edgar ; Madame PonisI, Goneril ; Mrs. R. N. 
 Forrester, Regan. The seven performances given 
 by Mr. Forrest passed off with great success. 
 The house was crowded every night, which gave 
 another proof that the drama was a much needed 
 amusement in Brooklyn. 
 
 While I consider Mr. Forrest's Lear, Richelieu, 
 Othello and several other characters as far more 
 masterly than Metamora, yet I feel here, as I now 
 write, as if I would like to sit down and honestly 
 consider the great, dead king of the American stage 
 in his performance of Metamora. It cannot fail 
 to interest Forrest's old admirers, and those who 
 never saw the great actor will have the oppor- 
 tunity of looking at a pen-picture of a performance 
 that was novel and grand. Never shall I forget 
 the peculiar impression his acting made on me the 
 first time I saw him perform the character of 
 Metamora. For many years previous, I had seen 
 him as Damon, William Tell, Rolla, Brutus, Vir- 
 ginius, Othello and such other characters as were 
 enacted by the star actors in those good old days 
 of the legitimate drama. The peculiar impression 
 arose from the entire change I saw in the manner 
 of everything he did in the character he was 
 representing — his walk, the inward turn of his 
 feet, the carriage of his whole body, the gestures 
 of his arms, the new and strange inflections of 
 his voice, and even the manner his head posed 
 
36 
 
 upon his shoulders. In fact, it was a new human 
 nature ; a nature I had failed to discover the 
 slightest likeness to in any other character I had 
 seen him perform. But, however, new the effects 
 which he produced in the part of Metamora, they 
 nevertheless seemed in perfect unison with a 
 human nature that presented before me the form 
 of a new type of man, that had for the first time 
 been made the leading character, of a five act 
 tragedy, and represented by a man of genius who 
 did the work in accordance with all the marked 
 characteristics of the purely native Indian of 
 America. 
 
 My fancy had frequently been excited to red 
 heat, while reading Cooper's admirable Indian 
 novels, and thereby I was led to expect some- 
 thing remarkably picturesque in the new stage 
 creation of " Metamora." But in Forrest's repre- 
 sentation of the character, I was carried far beyond 
 Cooper's influence, for I seemed to stand amid 
 the wild lands with the vast free air around me, 
 and all the strange and beautiful inspiring songs 
 of nature uttering their melodious chorus into my 
 ears. The woods and the fields echoed the 
 Indians' martial clamors, and the wild groves and 
 the trackless forests presented themselves with 
 revivifying effect upon my mind. I felt myself 
 in contact with the red man of the new land, 
 and could more clearly understand the peculiar 
 grandeur of their wild nature. If there was any 
 
37 
 
 one character Mr. Forrest represented which should 
 stamp him as a man of genius, it was Metamora. 
 In its performance he had nothing to depend on 
 but himself. It was an ideal which he had wholly 
 created. No other actor or author had ever pre- 
 sented the Indian character in such completeness 
 for the stage before. By force of those circum- 
 stances, Mr. Forrest had to be entirely original in 
 all that he did in the part. The features of the 
 character, as he represented it, were not the mere 
 offspring of the imagination that presents what- 
 ever wild and romantic forms of thought the brain 
 may happen to conceive. Truthfulness to nature 
 controlled all his conclusions in the study of Meta- 
 mora. So deep and thorough was his study of 
 the Indian mind and heart that he could not fail 
 to present a perfect portraiture of the highest 
 type of the native Indians of the Western Con- 
 tinent. Mr. Forrest told the writer that, in order 
 that he might grasp more fully all the distinctive 
 characteristics of the Indians' nature, he went 
 among them and sojourned with them for several 
 weeks. He adopted their habits, shared their 
 food, slept in their huts, mingled with the chiefs 
 of their tribes, smoked the pipe of peace, and left 
 the prints of his own moccasins on the hunting- 
 ground in the gloom of the dense forests, and 
 the crack of his rifle echoed along the rocky sides 
 of the hills and lakes. When he returned to his 
 study at home, he was fully acquainted with the 
 
39 
 
 wind struck both bough and chief, and away he 
 went into the stream below. With his rifle slung 
 across his shoulder, he swam to the shore where 
 Forrest sat, and to Forrest's exclamation of- " What 
 in Heaven's name made you fall into the water ?" 
 the young chief shook the cold water from his 
 robes like a dog, and said : " Ugh ! too much 
 bush !" Ever after when Mr. Forrest was pes- 
 tered by that sort of people who talk too much, he 
 would give his Indian grunt and say with great 
 significance, "Too much bush!" 
 
 " One touch of nature makes the whole world 
 akin." Never was this truth more emphatically 
 demonstrated than in Mr. Forrest's performance of 
 Metamora. Many of the little speeches which the 
 great actor pronounced as from the lips of the 
 Indian king were so finely and truthfully Inflected 
 that they dwelt with much force and meaning in 
 the memory of the hearer and became at the time 
 constant quotations, and were as familiar upon the 
 public's tongue as the name of Washington. They 
 became household words, and boys ten years old 
 could be seen and heard almost anywhere taking 
 the position of Metamora similar to Forrest's and 
 exclaiming : " Metamora cannot lie ! " Older per- 
 sons would frequently quote : " The good man's 
 heart should be a stranger to fear and his tongue 
 ever ready to speak the words of truth." " You 
 have sent for me and I have come. If you have 
 nothing to say, I'll go back." The bold and 
 
40 
 
 fearless manner in which he (Mr. Forrest) uttered 
 these last words were never to be forgotten. There 
 was so much of the peculiar nature of the wild 
 man of the forest given in look and tone 
 that the minds of the audience were so deeply 
 impressed that their tongues were ever ready to 
 quote the pertinent words. 
 
 No stronger evidence could be given of the 
 actor's merit than the fact that the whole public 
 became, as in this case, respondent to the strokes 
 of his masterly touches by an effort at imitation. 
 A genius that absorbs vital traits and embodies 
 them so powerfully that all kinds of people see 
 and feel its truth, must be of the highest order. 
 Cooper, with all his fine description of the Indian 
 character, has not given a picture equal to that 
 which Forrest presented upon the stage as Meta- 
 mora. It would be impossible to excel the pic- 
 turesque and romantic grandeur that Mr. Forrest's 
 appearance presented, at his first entrance in this 
 character. The scene represented a glen with the 
 ledges of rocks rising to a considerable height 
 at the back of the stage, with trees, shrubs, 
 twisting vines and wild flowers hanging in 
 festoons, while, upon the highest parts of the 
 projecting rock, he stood in a position won- 
 derfully effective. He was leaning forward with 
 his bow drawn, with the arrow sprung to its 
 head, which in a moment swept from his hand. 
 Then with a wild interjection, "Ha!" he bounded 
 
41 
 
 to the rocks beneath, and so off the stage. In a 
 few seconds he entered with his left arm bleed- 
 ing, as if bitten in a tussle with a wild beast. 
 Oceana, a white maiden, entering at that moment, 
 and seeing the condition of the Chief, at once 
 stripped her scarf from her waist, and offered to 
 bind his wounds, which he, with a sort of heroic 
 hesitation, at first refused, but at length accepted. 
 Mr. Forrest's pantomime acting here, serving as a 
 prelude to his first speech, was full of strange 
 interest. For several moments he looked at 
 Oceana with a stern and contemptuous expres- 
 sion, as if thinking of the harsh treatment his 
 people were receiving from the white man, and 
 disregarding or despising the wounds upon his 
 arms. But the " Maiden of Eagle Plume," unhesi- 
 tatingly wrapping her scarf about the strange 
 chief's arm, he seemed to admire the act, and his 
 face that, a moment before, was like a gloomy 
 thunder-cloud, lightened up with a pleasant smile 
 as he gazed upon the girl with the assurance 
 that he was her friend. 
 
 His first scene with his wife, Nahmeokee, was 
 intensely novel, and seemingly so real that it 
 became almost an annoyance to know that it was 
 a mere representation. His dream was related to 
 Nahmeokee in a sub-sonorous voice, full of super- 
 stitious suggestion, and in a way that almost car- 
 ried conviction that what had appeared to him 
 in his sleep, would surely come to pass. After 
 
42 
 
 he had directed his wife to bring his child from 
 the couch of leaves and the robes it was resting 
 on, he placed them at his side, and formed a group 
 that was a fit study for pictorial illustration. For- 
 rest had frequently startled me by unexpected 
 tones and inflections of voice, but the utterance 
 of the following passage satisfied me that he was 
 capable of producing any sort of expression that 
 he might desire. The deep and tremulous quality 
 of his voice was like the subdued bass of the 
 great organ, the stage seemed to be a reverbera- 
 ting sounding-board, and lent an additional awe 
 to the words when he said : 
 
 " Nahmeokee, the power of dreams has been 
 on me, and the shadows of things that are to 
 be have passed before me. My heart is big with 
 great thought. When I sleep, I think the knife 
 is red in my hand, and the scalp of the white 
 man is streaming with his blood." 
 
 Here he raised his figure to an additional 
 height, lifted his right arm to the level of his 
 shoulder, grasping his long bow, he looked directly 
 into the eyes of Nahmeokee, and listened for her 
 answer which did not please him and slightly 
 ruffled his temper, and then with a clear, orotund 
 voice, which in the change and quality was so 
 unexpected that it resembled the sudden sweep 
 of the winds when it stirs the crisp leaves and 
 hums through the leafless branches of the forest, 
 he said : 
 
By Gabriel Harrison. 
 
 FORREST AS METAMORA, 
 
 " Nahmeokee, the power of dreams has been upon me, and 
 the shadows of things that are to be, have passed before me." 
 
43 
 
 " Yes, when our fires are no longer red in the 
 high places of our fathers, when the bones of 
 our kindred make fruitful the fields where the 
 stranger has planted his golden grain amid the 
 ashes of our wigwams, when we are hunted back 
 like the wounded elk far toward the going down 
 of the sun — our hatchets broken, our bows unstrung 
 and the war whoop hushed — then will the white 
 man spare us, for we shall be too few for their 
 eyes to see." 
 
 And so in many other passages of this novel 
 play did he captivate his hearers with his wonder- 
 ful eloquence, attitudes, gestures and voice. To 
 particularize all the passages of striking vigor 
 and beauty would need more space than a brief 
 sketch will afford. In the last act of the play, 
 when Metamora finds there is no rescue for his 
 tribe ; that the English surround him on every side, 
 and he fears that his wife, Nahmeokee, will fall into 
 the hands of the enemy, Forrest reached a level of 
 activity that seemed perfect in every consideration. 
 No theory of the passions can teach the actor to 
 express true pathos. It is the one particular quality 
 in our nature that has no counterfeit. The actor 
 must feel intensely, or he cannot express feeling 
 so as to excite the sympathy of his audience. It 
 is only a fine nature, full of sensibility, aided by 
 mastery of elocution, that can produce the genuine 
 tones and the broken utterances of sorrow. True, 
 we all have the pathetic chord within us to a 
 
44 
 
 lesser or a greater extent ; but it requires the 
 master artist to touch it skillfully, and to elicit 
 a hearty response from others. It is latent, as 
 the sweetest music lies in the strings of the harp, 
 waiting the touch of its master. And when it 
 speaks, it is felt by all. It is felt and expressed 
 by the wild Indian of the forest, as well as by 
 the more civilized white man. It may have some 
 difference in its manner of expression, but, never- 
 theless, it expresses itself, and here I allude to 
 the distinct and peculiar manner in which Mr. 
 Forrest expressed the pathos of Metamora. It 
 was not like the pathos of Damon, when he leaves 
 his wife and child to go and meet his death at 
 the block. It was not like the pathos of Brutus, 
 when he condemns his son, Titus, to death, nor 
 was it like that of Virginius, when, in his waking 
 from madness, he remembers his daughter, Vir- 
 ginia, as they place the urn within his hands, 
 containing her ashes. Forrest's pathos in Meta- 
 mora was a pathos that could belong to none 
 except the red man. It was not wet with tears. 
 It was the brave Indian's pathos, as distinct as 
 is the color of his complexion. 
 
 In the following passages of the play Metamora, 
 after telling Nahmeokee that he was " wear)' with 
 the toil of blood and battle," asked for his " little 
 one," that " he mioht take him to his burning- heart 
 to quench its fires, and quell its tumult." But 
 Metamora knew not that his child lay dead on the 
 
45 
 
 buffalo robe beneath the shadows of the tall oak, 
 near at hand. Nahmeokee spake not a word, but 
 trembling and in silence led him to the spot, she 
 removed a branch of wild flowers from the child's 
 face. Metamora started, looked at the child for 
 a moment, then dropped upon one knee, and in 
 rapid movement felt the child's head, arms, and 
 legs. Convinced that his child was dead, his head 
 fell low upon his bosom, and he heaved a sigh 
 that was heard in every part of the theatre. Then, 
 lifting the child with his strong arms, he stood 
 erect, looked into its face, and with murmuring 
 sounds as if talking to himself, he said, " Dead, 
 cold?" He then placed his child on the robe, 
 led Nahmeokee slowly toward the footlights, she 
 slightly sobbing the while, and, placing his hand 
 upon her shoulder, he said in a voice full of tears, 
 a voice deep with pathos : 
 
 "Well, is he not happy? Better that he should 
 die than live to be the white man's slave. - Do 
 not bow down thy head. Look up, and let me 
 kiss the hot drops that flow like rivulets over thy 
 face. Thou wilt see him again in the happy spirit- 
 land, and he will look smilingly on thee, as — as 
 — I do, Nahmeokee." 
 
 The expression of smiling was in his voice only, 
 while his face was .full of hopeless grief. His 
 manner and utterance indicated an intensity of feel- 
 ing that was overwhelming, and penetrated every 
 heart in the theatre. After striving with his 
 
46 
 
 emotion for a few moments, he turned suddenly to 
 his wife, and with a fearful meaning in his face 
 (not on the Delsarte principle of facial expression, 
 but on the soul's principle), he asked : 
 
 " Fear ye not the power of the white man ?. 
 In his cruelty he might bind these arms that 
 have so often embraced thy babe to its nourish- 
 ing fount ; yes, bear thee ofif to the far strange 
 land for the gaping wonder of strangers to taunt 
 at. No, Nahmeokee, we are now alone, defense- 
 less, and cannot fly, for the foe is all about us, 
 thick as the flies over the dying elk. We can- 
 not fight ; our tribe is scattered like the leaves 
 of the Autumn. This is the only weapon I have 
 saved unbroken (drawing his long knife). It is 
 stained with the white man's blood and has reached 
 the heart of the traitor. It is my only friend and 
 treasure.'' 
 
 Drawing Nahmeokee close to him with his left 
 arm, and clasping her firmly around the waist, he 
 extended his right hand with the knife pointing 
 heavenward, and with an alluring falsetto voice he 
 painted a picture that seemed to take form upon 
 the very atmosphere of the theatre. The eyes of 
 the audience followed in the direction of Nahmeo- 
 kee's that seemed to see the spirit of the child 
 floating in the " thin air," when with the following 
 words he finished the play : 
 
 " I look through the thin air and see our infant 
 borne onward to the land of the happy, where the 
 
47 
 
 fair hunting grounds know no storms, where the 
 flowers are ever in bloom, and where immortal 
 braves are ever present in the sight of the Giver 
 of all good ! Look, Nahmeokee — see — the spirit of 
 our murdered babe beckons to thee !" 
 
 Lowering his right arm, and grasping her still 
 closer, and while she seemed to see the image of 
 her child, he said : 
 
 " Hark ! Off in the distant woods I faintly hear 
 the tread of the white man. The crackling 
 branches betray his approach. They are upon our 
 trail ! Listen ! Your babe is calling. The home 
 of the happy is made ready for thee !" 
 
 With these words he pressed the knife into her 
 heart, while the emotions of hope and fear were 
 vivid upon her face. With a slight struggle and 
 a kind look up into his eyes, she gave a long, 
 deep sigh, and in an instant more she was dead 
 in his arms. He kissed her and placed her beside 
 her dead child. At this moment the white soldiers 
 stealthily had found their way to the top of the 
 rocks and stood pointing their muskets at him. 
 He turned and recklessly thundered his curses at 
 them. They fired, Metamora fell, and crawled in 
 the agony of death to where his wife and child 
 lay, and, in the effort to kiss them, he died. 
 
 The grand old and the modern poets have not 
 painted a picture for originality and heroism equal 
 to Forrest's death scene in " Metamora." 
 
 Forrest in the early part of his career as an 
 
48 
 
 actor belonged to the romantic school of acting, 
 sustained, however, with a naturalness and a refine- 
 ment that placed him among the classic artists of 
 the stage. His gifts were many. He knew how 
 to costume his grand figure to the greatest 
 advantage. He was graceful in movement. His 
 positions were always picturesque, and his voice 
 of such wonderful power and flexibility that he 
 constantly charmed the eye and ear. All these 
 gifts fitted him for the romantic character of 
 Metamora, and his performance of it came as near 
 to perfection as it seems possible to attain. 
 
THE FOUR OTHELLOS. 
 
 QuiN, Barry, Kean and Forrest. The "Elder' 
 Booth, etc. 
 
 WE are of the opinion that Shakespeare's 
 character of Othello gives the tragedian 
 a larger scope for the expression of his. dramatic 
 genius than any other creation of the great drama- 
 tist. We have come to this conclusion after a 
 careful study of the character, comprehending, as 
 it does, a larger number of human passions to be 
 expressed by the actor. 
 
 We feel a sense of surprise when we recognize 
 the fact that so many actors have made great 
 reputations by their performances of Richard III, 
 Hamlet, Lear, and Shylock, while few claim a like 
 degree of eminence for their representation of 
 Othello. Still the English stage has been graced 
 by three actors who were famous in the character 
 of the jealous Moor — Quin, Barry and Edmund 
 Kean, and one American, Edwin Forrest. 
 
 In analyzing the conception, and the manner in 
 which the three first-named gentlemen represented 
 
50 
 
 the character of Othello, we are inclined to give 
 Barry the recognition of being the best. He 
 seemed to see and feel more clearly the human 
 nature Shakespeare imparted to the character of 
 the Moor. Indeed, he seemed to possess to a 
 larger extent the requisites for the representation 
 of the character. 
 
 He was of a tall figure, well-proportioned, and 
 handsome without effeminacy. His voice was 
 sweet and flexible ; possessing all those tones 
 necessary to express the tender passions of grief, 
 love, and pity ; but lacking that power and force 
 to express the passion of rage which is often 
 required in such characters as Othello and Lear. 
 He won his audience in the representation of the 
 character of Othello, as Othello won Desdemona, by 
 the manner in which he told the story of his life : 
 
 " The battles, sieges, fortunes he had passed," 
 and for which she " gave him a world of sighs." 
 In no part of his performance of Othello did he 
 show any disposition that would stigmatize the 
 character of the Moor with the name of brute, 
 as have many of the actors who have attempted 
 to represent the character. Quin and Garrick were 
 both battling for the recognition of being the best 
 Othello ; when, of a sudden, young Barry, fresh 
 from Dublin, came before a London audience, and, 
 by his masterly performance of the Moor, wiped 
 the Moorish " black" from off their faces, and 
 stood first in this particular character. 
 
SPRANGER BARRY, 
 
 Born 1719. Died 1777. 
 
51 
 
 This new actor for some years remained the 
 most dreaded and most brilHant rival the Roscius 
 of England ever had. Garrick became third in 
 the part of Othello, and finally gave up the 
 character to Quin and Barry 
 
 John Barnard in his "Retrospections of the Stage," 
 says : " He saw Barry perform the part of Othello, 
 and thought it was a fine performance in spite of 
 all that Garrick's partisans said against it. They 
 sneered at him as the silver-toned lover, and yet 
 were sagacious enough to admit that his Othello 
 was good ; not considering that the character 
 of Othello, containing in itself all the highest 
 and most opposite elements of tragic character, 
 requires greater abilities to do it justice than 
 any or all of Shakespeare's other conceptions. 
 To say, therefore, that a man plays Othello well, 
 is to pronounce the highest eulogium. It is to 
 affirm that he achieves the loftiest flisfht of Shake- 
 speare's genius, and bodies forth the chief writer 
 of the British stage." 
 
 Leslie, in his life of Reynolds, remarks: "There 
 was In Barry's whole person such a noble air of 
 command, such elegance in his actions, such regu- 
 larity and expressiveness of features, and in his 
 voice such resources of melody and tenderness, that 
 the greatest parliamentary orators used to study 
 his acting, for the charm of his stately grace, and 
 the secret of its pathos." 
 
 Gibber preferred Barry's Othello to Betterton's, 
 
or Barton Booth's. Davies remembered seeing 
 Gibber in the box on the first night of Barry's 
 Othello loudly applauding him— a practice by no 
 means usual with that austere old critic. 
 
 Quin was a great actor in many parts, and 
 for awhile stood alone as the favorite of the 
 London audience till Garrick entered as Richard 
 III, and swept across the British stage like a 
 planet, leaving a gap between him and all other 
 actors that was not closed up until the grave was 
 closed upon him. Quin, like Barry, possessed a 
 fine personal appearance for the part of Othello. 
 His voice had greater depth of tone and greater 
 force for the expression of rage, but, by using too 
 much effort in the passionate scenes, his voice 
 would break, and would not last till the end of 
 the play, while Barry, superior to Quin in his 
 knowledge of elocution, would have his voice as 
 fresh, smooth and round at the end of his per- 
 formance as at the beginning. With these dis- 
 tinguishing features in these two actors and the 
 distinguishing features of Kean and Forrest, which 
 we shall illustrate further on in the part of the 
 Moor, we will endeavor to show which of the four 
 great actors was the best Othello. 
 
 Quin, in all of the scene before the Duke in 
 council, and especially in the speech : 
 
 " Her father loved me ; oft invited me," 
 was perfectly calm, and did not show the least 
 
JAMES QUIN. 
 
 Born 1693. Died 1766. 
 
53 
 
 emotion. Even when accused by Brabantio, that 
 his daughter, 
 
 " In spite of nature, 
 Of years, of country, credit, everything, — 
 To fall in love with what she feared to look on ! " 
 
 he was calm as a marble statue, while Barry showed 
 a restlessness to defend the honesty of his purpose 
 in wooing Desdemona, and in the same speech 
 gave emphasis to his " travel's history," of being 
 taken " by the insolent foe," and uttered the 
 words : 
 
 "She loved me for the dangers I had passed; 
 And I loved her that she did pity them." 
 
 with a fervency that proved the Moor's love 
 for Desdemona was from his heart, and not a 
 mere animal passion, or pretty words only to catch 
 the ear. So these two fine actors differed 
 throughout the play ; Quin finer than Barry in 
 the passionate scenes, while Barry would claim 
 the admiration of his audience by the exquisite 
 tenderness of love he expressed toward Desde- 
 mona, and caused them to agree with the senti- 
 ments of the Duke when he said : 
 
 " I think this tale would win my daughter, too. 
 If virtue no delighted beauty lack, 
 Your son-in-law is far more fair than black." 
 
 Quin, in many parts of the play, and especially 
 so in the fourth act, was rude and harsh towards 
 Desdemona. Barry, in the same passages, was 
 
54 
 
 emphatic, but still maintained the conduct of a 
 gentleman. The curtain fell on Quin's perform- 
 ance of Othello with the audience in full sym- 
 pathy with Desdemona ; it fell on Barry's per- 
 formance, with their sympathy for the Moor. 
 Not but that Desdemona had been wrongfully 
 treated, but that so noble and so fond a lover 
 as Othello should have been so willfully and so 
 successfully duped by such an infernal villain as 
 lago. If the text is closely studied and logically 
 expressed by the actor, we conclude that Barry 
 was nearer right than Quin in his conception and 
 acting of the character. Edmund Kean did some 
 parts of the Moor better than Quin or Barry. 
 
 Somehow we feel that Othello should be a grand 
 and graceful figure, and so far as these gifts are 
 concerned, Kean lacked them both. His figure 
 was short and square-cut about the shoulders. 
 He possessed a muscular formation about the chest 
 and arms. There was a knottiness of outline that 
 could hardly claim the admiration of such a 
 delicate creature as Desdemona. It seems per- 
 fectly natural that a refined and beautiful woman 
 would require something more than the heroic 
 man only. The quality of tenderness would 
 naturally be looked for. Kean's performance of 
 the Moor showed more of physical effort than 
 either of the two actors mentioned. His third act 
 was a succession of electric flashes, accompanied 
 with the reverberating thunders of his voice. 
 
Drawn and Engraved /row life by yno. Wm. Gear^ London. 
 
 EDMUMD KEAN AS OTHELLO. 
 
 Oth. — " My demerits may speak unbonneted, 
 
 To as proud a fortune as this I have reached." 
 
55 
 
 He amazed his hearers by its loudness and 
 his wonderful rapidity of enunciation of syllables 
 and words. In his rage of jealousy, fire streamed 
 from his eyes, and the emotions of his body were 
 so great that he shook the spangles from off his 
 silk tunic. His was the intellectual face — a face 
 expressing the deep-cut lines of thought ; lines 
 that had been helped to their peculiar formation, 
 perhaps more by the struggle, turmoil and worri- 
 ment of life than by any of the more soothing 
 and tender passions and sentiment which would 
 form the face of one whose life had been more 
 fortunate. His eyes were polished jets, large and 
 penetrating, and produced an instant effect. There 
 was no expression of love in them. Deceit, anger 
 and revenge was their field of power. Coleridge 
 said that " seeing Kean act was like reading 
 Shakespeare by lightning-flashes, so brilliant and 
 so startling were the sudden illuminations, and so 
 murky the dull intervals." His nose was long and 
 thin, and inclined to turn upward at the end, with 
 the nostrils large. His cheek-bones were rather 
 high ; his mouth well-formed with upper lip cut 
 sharp, and resting with great firmness upon the 
 lower lip, which was inclined to a fulness in the 
 centre ; his mouth was exquisitely modeled for 
 articulative purposes. His chin protruded, and 
 assisted in giving good form to his profile. His 
 neck was short and very muscular. His larynx 
 was large, showing wonderful voice-power. His 
 
56 
 
 was a highly interesting face, but with nothing in it 
 to fascinate the fair sex, while Quin and Barry, by 
 their many manly beauties, claimed female admira- 
 tion at once. 
 
 The above description of Kean's person is from 
 a picture presented to the writer by Edwin For- 
 rest, who said it was the only true likeness of 
 Kean he had ever seen. The picture represents 
 Kean as Othello, and was engraved on stone from 
 life by John William Gear, of London. 
 
 Forrest knew Kean personally, and performed 
 the part of I ago to his Othello at the old Albany 
 Theatre, New York. 
 
 We have remarked that the character that has 
 the greatest variety of human passions to express, 
 will afford the larger opportunity for the expres- 
 sion of the actor's genius. 
 
 It would be a long essay to show all the rea- 
 sons why Othello is more difficult to portray than 
 Hamlet, Lear, or Richard III. A mere epitome 
 on so grand a subject seems ridiculous, and yet a 
 few words of comparison may be acceptable. 
 
 However beautiful a type of man Hamlet is, 
 and however fine and scholarly the rhetoric, and 
 smoothly his words may flow, and however deeply 
 his philosophy may strike, and however much 
 others (and great minds, too), may and do admire 
 the character as the finest of Shakespeare's crea- 
 tions, still he seems more of an ideal creation than 
 a purely human type, a sort of mysterious being 
 
57 
 
 with too little of the several passions discoverable 
 in all humanity alike. 
 He remarks 
 
 " Blessed are those 
 Whose blood and judgment are so well co-mingled, 
 That they are not a pipe for fortune's finger 
 To sound what stop she please." 
 
 "Give me the man 
 That is not passion's slave, and I will wear him 
 In my heart's core, aye, in my heart of heart." 
 
 These very remarks show more than a human 
 control over the laws of human nature. In fact, 
 throughout the play, while he sees what ought to 
 be done, he " nothing does " and complains : 
 
 "Is it not monstrous, that this player here 
 But in a fiction, in a dream of passions, 
 Could force his soul so to his own conceit 
 That from her working all his visage wann'd, 
 Tears in his eyes, distraction in 's aspect, 
 A broken voice, and his whole function suiting 
 With forms to his conceit .' And all for nothing ! " 
 
 And then he remarks again : 
 
 "What would he do. 
 Had he the motive and the cue for passion. 
 That I have? He would drown the stage with tears,. 
 And cleave the general ear with horrid speech ; 
 Make mad the guilty, and appall the free. 
 Confound the ignorant, and amaze, indeed, 
 The very faculties of eyes and ears." 
 
 If he had all these functions, he could not 
 have controlled them, so as not to act them 
 
58 
 
 and constantly prevaricate, pervert, and quibble 
 about his uncle's and his mother's guilt. But, 
 long before the end of the play, he would have 
 avenged his father's wrongs. Then again he 
 admits himself to be 
 
 " A dull and muddy-mettled rascal. 
 Like John a-dreams, unpregnant of my cause, 
 And can say nothing ; no, not for a king, 
 Upon whose property, and most dear life, 
 A damn'd defeat was made. Am I a coward ? 
 Who calls me villain ? breaks my pate across ? 
 Plucks off my beard, and blows it in my face ? 
 Tweaks me by the nose ? gives me the lie i' the throat, 
 As deep as to the lungs. Who does me this.' 
 Why I should take it : for it cannot be. 
 But I am pigeon-liver'd, and lack gall 
 To make oppression bitter." 
 
 With all these contradictions, whatever human 
 nature he may have, is kept pent up, and is 
 allowed to express only the one desire to 
 prove his uncle's guilt. We might call him 
 a purely contradictional character, as his one 
 prominent faculty, and, thereby, all his other 
 passions, were checked and made expressionless. 
 
 He is like a beautiful iceberg, incapable of 
 reactional effects. We can weep with Lear ; 
 we can sympathize with Othello ; we can hate 
 Richard ; but Hamlet does not excite his audience 
 to a single emotion or passion ; he drags you along 
 with him, and you do not know why, unless it is 
 by the charm of his words and of his scholarly 
 
59 
 
 manner. He is calm, over-rational, and inclined to 
 colloquy. Honor and self-respect are his guiding 
 motives. He has no love, and whatever love he 
 professed for Ophelia, was cold and void of 
 rapture ; it was without a soul, and seeming to 
 spring more from external causes than from his 
 heart. Although he exclaimed over Ophelia's 
 
 grave : 
 
 " I love Ophelia ; forty thousand brothers 
 Could not, with all their quantity of love, 
 Make up my sum." 
 
 Yet, by the deliberate harshness of his feigning 
 of madness before her, by his denying that he 
 ever loved her, or gave her aught as evidence of 
 his affection, and telling her to go to a nunnery, 
 together with causing the death of her father by 
 his own hand, all of which drove her to madness 
 and death, one is forced to conclude that his 
 exclamation over her grave was mere words, and 
 not an evidence of love. Hamlet is the best of 
 talkers, and the actor who performs the character 
 has a fine opportunity to express a scholarly quality 
 of elocution. He has no such electric forces to 
 inspire the actor's blood to action as exists in the 
 character of Othello, Lear, and Shylock. Hamlet 
 must see, and know, and prove more than neces- 
 sary before he acts. And it is not until a few 
 moments before his own death, that he believes 
 the King to be guilty of the murder of his father, 
 when Laertes exclaims, while dying : 
 
6o 
 
 " Hamlet, thou art slain. 
 The treacherous instrument is in thy hand. " 
 
 " Lo, here I lie, 
 Never to rise again ; Thy mbther 's poisoned ; — 
 I can no more ; the king, the king's to blame." 
 
 Then comes Hamlet's conclusion at last, when 
 he sees crime and death all around him, and shouts : 
 
 " The point 
 Envenom'd too ! — then, venom, to thy work ! '' 
 
 and stabs the King to death. Prevarication is 
 the plot of the play from beginning to end. We 
 have made these comments on the character of 
 Hamlet, simply to show that all his incentives 
 are doubts and not inspirations. This precludes 
 the possibility of great acting. Thomas Better- 
 ton and John Philip Kemble were considered fine 
 Hamlets, but neither of those gentlemen were 
 impassioned actors. They were slow and scholarly, 
 and had but gleams of the fiery impulses that 
 belong to a nature perfect in all the sensibilities. 
 Neither of them was a great Othello. 
 
 Edmund Kean was greater in Othello than in 
 Hamlet. He was also great in Shylock, Lear, and 
 Richard HI. Nor did the elder Booth work him- 
 self to such grand results in Hamlet, as he did 
 throughout in Richard HI, Lear, and Sir Giles 
 Overreach. While he performed the part of Othello 
 with force, yet, singular to say, he was much 
 finer as lago than as the Moor. 
 
6[ 
 
 In fact, we doubt if a finer I ago ever walked 
 the stage. We saw him perform the part of I ago, 
 many times, to excellent Othellos ; among them 
 Thomas S. Hamblin, and the famous Cooper ; but 
 Booth, as lago, became the attraction of the night. 
 We must not omit here to say that the elder 
 Booth was the best Hamlet we ever saw ; and 
 though, as a whole, it was not equal to his Sir 
 Giles Overreach, or his Richard III, yet he 
 enacted some scenes with wonderful effect, especi- 
 ally the closet-scene, with his Mother and the 
 Ghost. In this scene, where the Ghost appears, 
 he would absolutely change color and thrill his 
 audience. 
 
 The character of Richard III is based on the 
 one human incentive — ambition, with a hellish 
 nature to advance it ; nor is it even expected that 
 fine voice or noble looks should be required to 
 advance the captivating powers of the character ; 
 and yet Garrick, Cook, Kean, and the elder 
 Booth all made greater fame in Richard III, than 
 in the character of Othello, although the latter is 
 so replete with the higher qualities of human 
 nature. 
 
 King Lear, next to Othello, has grand oppor- 
 tunities for dramatic expressions — parental love, 
 old age, tenderness, rage, sanity and insanity, all 
 combined — giving a broad field of expression for 
 the mental, moral, and spiritual powers. Garrick 
 in his day stood alone in the part of Lear. 
 
62 
 
 Edmund Kean and the elder Booth, throughout 
 the play, were better in Lear than in Othello. 
 The character of Lear is worthy of the actor's 
 highest consideration in proportion as they 
 advance towards old age. Forrest has left a 
 splendid record as Lear. But, with all the good 
 points for fine acting, that abound in the char- 
 acters of Lear, Richard, and Hamlet, still Othello 
 affords finer opportunities for the display of 
 dramatic genius. Othello is complete in a fine 
 manhood. He has breadth of mind, grandeur of 
 ideas, a keen sense of honor, and a refined and 
 intense fervor of love, from which sprung his 
 violent passions — jealousy coupled with remorse. 
 His strong imagination leads him into error. But 
 we should not forget the nature of a Moor, and 
 the artful cunning used by I ago to awaken the 
 latent passion of jealousy in one of Othello's 
 nature. In no instance did this Venetian villain 
 put forth a proposition, or even a hint that 
 Desdemona was false, but he used some inci- 
 dent connected with Desdemona's conduct that 
 Othello had seen with his own eyes. The train 
 of thought once awakened in Othello of the pos- 
 sibility of Desdemona's perfidy, lago used every 
 opportunity, by further suggestions, so as to keep 
 Othello's conclusions increasing in the one direction. 
 The handkerchief spotted with strawberries, which 
 Othello gave to Desdemona as a dear memento, 
 found in the possession of Cassio, is perhaps the 
 
63 
 
 most masterly invention that has ever been con- 
 ceived by human genius. In fact, everything that 
 lago suggested to Othello's mind would naturally 
 lead even a much calmer nature to conclude the 
 same as Othello did. 
 
 We do not mean to say that an actor can only 
 play that character well which is nearest to his 
 own nature. If so, we might infer that the men 
 who could perform the part of lago with such 
 consummate skill as the elder Booth or Young 
 did, were natural villains, like lago. But we do 
 say that the genius of some actors is more attracted 
 towards a certain line of characters. We have 
 seen some young actors perform the characters of 
 old men with remarkable skill, and the best piece 
 of acting we have seen by Miss Mary Anderson 
 was her representation of Meg Merrilies, an old 
 hag of seventy years, when Miss Anderson was 
 only eighteen years old. 
 
 Forrest's nature leaned more towards such char- 
 acters as Othello, Damon, Virginius, Coriolanus, 
 The Gladiator, Metamora, William Tell, Rolla, 
 and Jack Cade. In all of these characters he was 
 more successful than in such parts as Hamlet, 
 Richard III, Shylock, Sir Edward Mortimer, and 
 Sir Giles Overreach. He was not great as Lear 
 till he approached old age, and felt himself assimi- 
 late with the character through change of natural 
 tendency. It was so with his Richelieu. These 
 two characters became the greatest achievements 
 
64 
 
 of his dramatic genius. Forrest always performed 
 those characters well which agreed with his own 
 emotions. Naturally, Forrest was like Othello — 
 large in integrity, sensitiveness, and love, grand 
 and broad, like the characters in which he was 
 most successful. Now, had the character of Othello 
 been especially written for Mr. Forrest, it could 
 not have fitted him better. His life, too, like 
 the Moor's, had been scorched in going through 
 the hell of deception in marriage, evidenced by 
 his own eyes, and not fancy, nor the mere illusion 
 of devilishness, as if from some hellish spirit. 
 His life had been blasted, and he had writhed 
 like the Moor. His nerves and fibres had been 
 stretched to their utmost tension of agony, and 
 all his finer sensibilities had been tortured and 
 awakened by an experience that enabled him to 
 express the character of Othello. He seemed to 
 feel that there was a galling relationship between 
 him and the Moor. His audience, acquainted 
 with all the facts of his marriage troubles, 
 sympathized with him and felt, too, this rela- 
 tionship vividly and fully embodied. 
 
 Forrest's first entrance, as the Moor, in his rich, 
 purple velvet robe, heavily bullioned with trimmings 
 and jeweled with emeralds, lent a fine contrast to 
 his copper-colored face. His costume, however, 
 was not Moorish or Venetian ; it assumed a more 
 fanciful character, wholly unlike the costume of 
 the period. We fail to agree with the manner 
 
By Gabriel HarTison, 1871. 
 
 Oth. — " Let him do his spite ; 
 My services which I have done the seigniory, 
 Shall out-tongue his complaints. " 
 
65 
 
 in which any of the actors have dressed the Moor. 
 Kean wore a white spangled tunic, brown leggings, 
 and a nondescript hat, which were as far from cor- 
 rect costume as Forrest's. Barry and Quin dressed 
 the Moor in the English court-suit of the period. 
 F. Reynolds tells us he saw Barry act the part of 
 Othello " in a full suit of a^old-laced scarlet velvet, 
 a small cocked hat, knee-breeches and silk stock- 
 ings." Costuming for the stage had not at that 
 time reached the perfection that soon followed 
 these celebrated actors, and is used at the present 
 time. But, in fact, even now, the part of Othello 
 is not properly costumed. Othello was in the 
 Venetian service as a General, and, as a matter of 
 course, would adopt the usual clothes of the citi- 
 zen, or the uniform and badges of his military 
 rank. And, therefore, his costume should be 
 strictly Venetian. 
 
 Forrest, from the moment he first entered as 
 Othello, was thoughtful, dignified and calm, and 
 gave the Moor a bearing that showed he was 
 fit to command others, and to guard his own 
 actions, both on the field and in the council chamber. 
 
 And when lago cautions Othello : 
 
 "That the niagnifico is much belov'd ; 
 And hath, in his effect, a voice potential 
 As double as the duke's ; " 
 
 and may divorce him, Forrest spoke the speech 
 beginning with the words : 
 
 " Let him do his spite : " 
 9 
 
66 
 
 in a reserved and respectful manner, showing his 
 modest confidence in himself, and that his past ser- 
 vices to the State might claim for him as much 
 sympathy from the Council as could Brabantio. 
 Ouin and Kean spoke the words with the em- 
 phasis of defiance ; Barry ran through with little 
 or no concern, as if expressing a feeling of vanity. 
 In the next action of the scene, where Bra- 
 bantio and Roderigo, with officers, enter to arrest 
 Othello, and lago with the rest, draw their swords 
 to fight, Forrest calmly said : 
 
 "Keep up your bright-swords, for the dew will rust them. 
 Good signior, you shall more command with years, 
 Than with your weapons." 
 
 His manner here showed his mental superiority 
 over all others present, and expressed just what 
 the author intended. Quin shouted : " Keep up 
 your bright-swords," and rushed in between them ; 
 Kean half drew his sword and took a threateninof 
 attitude, while Barry, with his sword drawn, struck 
 up their weapons, and exclaimed : " Keep up your 
 bright-swords ! " and then posed himself before he 
 finished the sentence. This sentence has always 
 been printed with a period, and not the note of 
 exclamation. 
 
 In answer to Brabantio's violent words, 
 
 "Lay hold upon him; if he do resist, 
 Subdue him at his peril." 
 
 When the combatants crossed swords in the centre 
 
67 
 
 of the stage, Forrest used a rapid and persuasive 
 utterance in speaking the words : 
 
 " Hold your hands, 
 Both you of my inclining, and the rest : 
 Were it my cue to fight, I should have known it 
 Without a prompter. — Where will you that I go, 
 To answer this your charge ? " 
 
 Quin, Barry and Kean expressed the words with 
 anger and exclamation. Tliis was wrong, as one 
 of Otliello's characteristics is forbearance. His 
 education as a soldier taught him this ; he had 
 been used to " feats of broil and battle," and was 
 not easily disturbed by small affairs ; besides, he 
 had already been cautioned by I ago that Brabantio 
 leaned " to bad intent," and was therefore 
 prepared to meet Brabantio with restraint and 
 reason. 
 
 In the Council scene before the Duke, Forrest's 
 style of speech was simple and colloquial ; there 
 was a quiet dignity in his manner, and it did not 
 become emphatic till he spoke the words : 
 
 "She swore, In faith, 'twas strange, 'twas passing strange; 
 'Twas pitiful, 'twas wond'rous pitiful : 
 She wish'd she had not heard it; yet she wish'd 
 That heaven had made her such a man : she thanked me ; 
 And bade me, if I had a friend that lov'd her, 
 I should but teach him how to tell my story, 
 And that would woo her. Upon this hint, I spake ; 
 She lov'd me for the dangers I had pass'd ; 
 And I lov'd her, that she did pity them ! 
 
68 
 
 He used a mellow and fervent quality of voice 
 that spoke the love he bore the gentle Desdemona, 
 and ending 'with the words " that she did pity 
 them " in a deep, sub-sonorous tone of voice that 
 stirred the blood of his hearers to sympathize with 
 the words he uttered. 
 
 Quin and Kean rendered the most of this 
 scene with a decided pompousness of style. Barry 
 was more like Forrest, humble but dignified, and 
 as if he felt himself in the presence of higher 
 authority than his own. At the entrance of 
 Othello in the second act after his return to 
 Cyprus, and after meeting Desdemona, Forrest's 
 fervency in expressing his love for Desdemona 
 was fully up to the keynote of the author's words. 
 The picture he formed when he embraced Desde- 
 mona was classically beautiful, standing, as he did, 
 perfectl}' erect, pressing her close against his 
 manly figure, and looking upon her face that 
 rested upon his bosom. All through the speech 
 his voice was of a rich, flute-like quality, and, 
 when he struck the words: "O my soul's joy!" it 
 was on a high note, and finished the sentence : 
 
 "And let the labouring bark climb hills of seas, 
 Olympus-high ; and duck again as low 
 As hell's from heaven!" 
 
 with a low note, picturing in his voice the ascent 
 and fall of the laboring bark, climbing the hills 
 of seas and falling to the depths below. When 
 he said : 
 
69 
 
 " If it were now to die, 
 'Twere now to be most liappy ; for, I fear, 
 My soul hath its content so absolute, 
 That not another comfort like to this 
 Succeeds in unknown fate." 
 
 There was a fervency of expression in look and 
 voice that pictured the Moor's love for Desdemona 
 as being truthful and undying. Neither Quin or 
 Kean had the love-notes in their voices to express 
 so fully the quality of feeling that seems called 
 for in the words. Barry had the voice, but we 
 doubt whether he expressed the passion of love 
 with the same amount of intensity. 
 
 The next scene that claims our attention, Scene 
 II, Act II, outside the castle gate, where lago 
 incites Cassio and Roderigo to combat, and 
 Othello enters from through the castle gates — 
 here Forrest came in haste with scimitar drawn, 
 head bare, and exclaiming, with fine effect, 
 
 "Hold, for your lives" 
 
 and, rushing in between the combatants, stopped 
 the fighting, and then, in rapid articulations, 
 spoke his words down to 
 
 " He dies upon his motion — '' 
 
 The rest of the speech was colloquially expressed. 
 The action of the scene, as it were, fell from the 
 condition of a raging storm to a perfect calm. 
 The effect was powerful upon the audience, and a 
 
70 
 
 death-like stillness pervaded the house when lago 
 began to speak, 
 
 " I do not know ; friends all but now, even now." 
 
 In this scene Quin was monotone, stiff and loud, 
 expressing words only. Barry's action in the 
 entrance was similar to Forrest's, but he had not 
 the power of voice to express the scene with 
 such powerful effect. 
 
 Ouin showed dignity without rage, while Barry 
 made an effort at rage without dignity. Forrest 
 expressed all, and produced command and obedi- 
 ence to his will. Kean was all fire, quick and 
 passionate, and, with his sword in his hand, dashed 
 in with a recklessness that was startling, knocked 
 up their weapons that was dangerous to the men 
 who held them, and, after the fighting was stopped, 
 continued angry, which took from the dignity of 
 the character. 
 
 When Othello discharges Cassio from his service, 
 Forrest acted with respect and regret ; Barry 
 behaved as if he was a gentleman stripping a 
 valet de chambre and not a General cashiering an 
 officer. Nor was he less mistaken in the style of 
 his address to Montano; his upbraidings were des- 
 titute of firmness ; Quin showed a spirit of anger, 
 like Kean, all through the scene. 
 
 In the speech, 
 
 "How comes it, Michael, you are thus forgot?" 
 
 Forrest looked at Cassio for a moment with won- 
 derment at his condition. 
 
71 
 
 When he addressed Montano, asking him : 
 
 "What's the matter, 
 That you unlace your reputation thus, 
 And spend your rich opinion, for the name 
 Of a night brawler? Give me answer to it." 
 
 he did not snap at him in the last sentence as 
 Quin, Barry, and Kean did, but spoke rather in 
 the sense of a request. 
 
 But, as a critic of the day says, who had seen 
 Garrick, Quin, and Barry perform the part of 
 Othello : " We must now prepare to give our 
 attention to how these three great actors per- 
 formed the great third act of the play. The 
 great fault I have to charge these actors with, is 
 their betraying a consciousness of what is to suc- 
 ceed, or, in other words, becoming jealous before 
 they have reason for it. lago in all his speeches, 
 that work up Othello to the condition of jealousy, 
 does not drop a single word that Desdemona was 
 disloyal ; but only gives his friend to understand 
 that he has a secret which he is unwilling to com- 
 municate, that concerns him. Othello may have 
 some doubts as to the integrity of Cassio, but 
 does not harbor a suspicion against his wife's 
 honor. The mistake commonly begins at " Ha !" 
 which Mr. Quin utters as a mark of reflection ; 
 Barry, of rage. To be the better able to determine 
 which of their judgments is best, take the whole 
 passage : 
 
72 
 
 " Othello— V\\ know thy thought. 
 lago—^ow cannot, if my heart were in your hand; 
 
 Nor shall not, while 'tis in my custody. 
 Othello -Yi.2.\ " 
 
 The increase of rage at the daring and obstinacy 
 of lago is natural enough. But why should the 
 jealousy begin here, more than at any other 
 foregoing passage of the play ? And, besides, the 
 artifice of lago is destroyed by this means, 
 who, seeing the reason of Othello dispossessed 
 by a torrent of contending passions, seizes on the 
 opportunity of pouring into his mind a suspicion, 
 which at another time would have been denied 
 admittance ; and so with no other preparation for 
 the rising storm, which he knew how to direct, 
 he comes plump at once with 
 
 " O, beware my lord, of jealousy." 
 
 This, I take it, is the most obvious explana- 
 tion of the passage, and therefore decree in favor 
 of Barry. Quin, in the words of Mr. Cibber : " is 
 more than excellent in his endeavors to conceal 
 from lago the grief and anguish that his doubts 
 of his wife gave him in the words : "Not a jot, 
 not a jot." But he is far short of his rival, 
 Barry, in the whole speech, 
 
 " This fellow's of exceeding honesty." 
 
 The character of this speech is a mixture of 
 deliberate reasoning and wild starts of rage. 
 Quin considered it in this light only. Barry gives 
 
n 
 
 it with fire to the one part and sedateness to the 
 other ; his fury begins at : 
 
 " If I do prove her haggard," 
 and subsides at 
 
 " Haply, for I am black : " 
 
 then a sudden reflection destroys his coohiess, and 
 the thoughts of her being gone, when his only 
 relief was to loathe her, turns him into a fresh tem- 
 pest of despair. Barry was fine in this scene. The 
 rage that ensues upon the sight of I ago, who was 
 the cause of Othello's afifliction, is not to be much 
 commended as executed by either Quin or Barry. 
 Barry's action and attitude with the staggering 
 backwards with lago convey a strong idea of wrest- 
 ling. Quin's method of collaring and quitting, and 
 then collaring again, does not correspond with my 
 conception of the whole speech, which has a con- 
 nection from beginning to end. But, to give the 
 mind an opportunity of cooling, by a walk across 
 the stage, is an error on the part of Mr. Quin. I 
 do not much admire the utterance of either Quin 
 or Barry in this place ; the growl of Quin is as 
 far from right as the vociferation of Barry. Quin 
 lacks fury ; Barry a forcible energy. 
 
 Barry's behavior towards Desdemona in the two 
 last acts, expressing tenderness, love, grief and 
 pity, is more in accordance with the author's 
 meaning, than the stern, brutal and unfeeling con- 
 duct of Quin. 
 
 " 10 
 
74 
 
 I cannot agree with Barry's too frequent intro- 
 duction of weeping, or shedding tears, in several 
 passages of the play, but he has the pleas of 
 youth and inexperience. I leave him to time for 
 correction, but if, through vanity, he continue the 
 fault, he must expect public admonition. With 
 one hint more, I shall leave him, and that is with 
 regard to his habit, when he expresses grief, of 
 throwing his body out of the line, his head pro- 
 jected and his body drawn tottering after. I have 
 seen an applauded player, puffed with the low 
 ambition of being the distinguished performer, 
 crack his lungs, split his own trembling pipe and 
 our ears, in order to catch an ignorant Bene from 
 the hard hands of the gallery. It is Macklin's 
 peculiar excellence not to attempt the obtaining 
 more consequence or a higher regard than the 
 author has thought fit to allow him. 
 
 Heaven protect me from those bellowing blus- 
 terers. Go, ye Herods, and learn that sentiments 
 and passions can have energy and force, without 
 noise and vociferation. Reform, ye Ranters ! or 
 by Thalia, Clio, and all the Nine, whose inspira- 
 tions you have villainously abused, I'll attack you 
 in the face of the audience ; and with the pipe 
 of Gracchus, force you to moderation ; ye Ter- 
 magants ! " 
 
 The critic of the above has drawn a just and 
 strong picture of the manner in which Quin and 
 Barry performed the character of Othello. While 
 
75 
 
 we have not fully quoted all he said on the sub- 
 ject, yet we have extracted enough to quite satisfy 
 us to an inference as to which of the two actors 
 named is entitled the recognition of having been 
 the best Othello, and here must decide in favor 
 of Barry. 
 
 We will now discuss how Edmund Kean inter- 
 preted and performed the last three acts of 
 Othello. 
 
 All the critics who saw Edmund Kean perform 
 the character of Othello, have left the record that 
 he was wonderful in some parts of the play. 
 True, there is much in the character that suited 
 the disposition and genius of this weird child of 
 nature, the wizard of the drama, one whose early 
 life partook of the characteristics of the sunburnt, 
 swarth children of the fields and forests, and 
 whose youth was made a wandering at the side 
 of his heartless mother ; acting the part of a sort 
 of pack horse, bearing her pomatums, perfumes, 
 and other commodities for sale. Hardships, cruel 
 treatment, and starvation in his babyhood and 
 childhood, had developed all his sensibilities, 
 taught his mind and heart spontaneity of action, 
 a nervous vitality that was like to sparkling 
 electricity, which would send his blood bounding 
 through his brain with the action and vividness 
 of lightning. In the utterance of passion, his brain 
 acted like magic upon his voice, which would pro- 
 duce startling eflfects. And, therefore, in all the 
 
76 
 
 passages in Othello that required strong action 
 he stood without a peer. 
 
 Doran, one of the finest historians of the stage, 
 says that Kean's Othello "was full of attractive- 
 ness, despite of some exaggerations of acting." 
 When told by I ago : 
 
 "Beware of jealousy," 
 
 commanded the admiration of his audience. 
 
 In the tender scenes he had as much power 
 over his " bad voice " — as his adversaries called it — 
 as John Philip Kemble had over his asthmatic 
 cough, and attuned it to the tenderness which he 
 had to express. 
 
 In the passionate scenes, Kean was unsur- 
 passable ; and in the third act, none who remem- 
 ber him will be prepared to allow he ever had, 
 or is ever likely to have, an equal." 
 
 John Philip Kemble said of Kean's Othello : 
 " If the justness of its conception had been but 
 equal to the brilliancy of execution, it would have 
 been perfect." 
 
 It is evident that Doran had not seen Kean 
 perform the part of Othello, and we hold that 
 an actor's criticism of a brother actor should 
 be accepted with careful consideration, or even 
 caution. Artists differ so much in their methods 
 and conceptions of characters, in accordance to 
 their own sensibilities, that contemporary actors 
 should seldom or never criticise each other. In 
 
11 
 
 our remarks on the four Othellos, we prefer to 
 take our standpoint by the side of the eye-wit- 
 ness, and, for that purpose, offer in substance the 
 criticism of the professional critic. The European 
 Magazine, one of the reUable journals of the days 
 of Edmund Kean, in speaking of his performance 
 of Othello, says : " Kean's friends tell us that his 
 Othello is, without any exception, the highest 
 effort of genius on the stage. This may be so, 
 but if it were so, we would have less fault 
 to find. This we will endeavor to show, by 
 a very simple analysis of the play. Desdemona, 
 young, beautiful, of high descent, gifted with 
 all her sex's softness, rejects the proffered 
 suits of contending nobles, and by an act of 
 filial disobedience, gives her affections to a 
 Blackamoor. Why ? Because her heart confesses 
 him to be in mind one of the most exalted 
 of the human race. Proud of this inestimable 
 treasure, the happy Othello's generous bosom 
 is consequently the seat of unbounded love. 
 This is the test we shall put to the acting 
 of Mr. Kean. Shakespeare, with that exquisite 
 skill by which he reduces apparent contrarieties 
 to the strict rule of nature, opens a glorious 
 field for his sooty hero to display the grandeur 
 of his character. We mean his summons before 
 the midnight Senate, immediately subsequent 
 to his clandestine marriage. Such is the moment 
 chosen by our immortal Bard to reconcile us 
 to the gentle Desdemona's choice. But how 
 
78 
 
 little does the un-turbaned Moor vantage by this 
 prolific incident ? Mr. Kean does not present him- 
 self with the nobility of an illustrious chieftain 
 proud of his own unsullied honor and his bril- 
 liant fame ; on the contrary, he bursts unceremo- 
 niously upon his " very noble and approved good 
 masters " — turns his back upon the august 
 assembly ; and, instead of displaying a dignified 
 conviction that the "round, unvarnished tale" of 
 a soldier, rude in speech, will assert its own con- 
 scious rectitude, he folds his person in mystery, 
 while his sullen brow turns with malignant passion. 
 What a prelude to his address ! Instead, again, of 
 a magnanimous being, on whom the poet has 
 lavished the utmost power of his art to show 
 how nearly weakness and sublimity may be asso- 
 ciated in the frail mechanism of mortality, we 
 find, as it were, a created subject for the subtle 
 lago to act his villainies upon. Instead of a pure, 
 unrufifled stream, almost imperfectly swollen into an 
 impetuous surge, terrifically majestic, Mr. Kean 
 represents a boisterous torrent relentless in antici- 
 pated destruction. He does not brood over the 
 conflicts of his soul with alternate pauses of ago- 
 nizing calmness, dignity and passion ; he does not 
 feel that his nature shrinks from the shadow of 
 suspicion ; he grasps at the reality ; he fondles it. 
 In his paroxysms with Desdemona, he never 
 betrays a sentiment of affection ; he spurns her 
 supplicating beauties with loathing ; he will not 
 permit us to lament a noble mind artfully wrought 
 
79 
 
 into the extravagance of madness ; his frailty is 
 characteristic with his action, which is uniformly 
 savage as his purposes are desperate. We sat 
 immediately behind the orchestra, and regret to say 
 that Mr. Kean's energies either do not accord with 
 nature, or accord only with its most unamiable 
 attributes. His mental sufferings are not visible in 
 the suffocation of his throat, or the inward agitation 
 of a lacerated bosom ; they are wholly confined to 
 the rolling of his imperative eyes, and the work- 
 ings of his unwearied jaws ; which latter have a 
 perpetual masticating motion — a sort of fee-fau- 
 fum about them, ready to prey upon a carcass, 
 or to satiate in human blood. In short, he sub- 
 stitutes fierceness for pathos, and is a barbarian 
 instead of a distracted lover. Is this new read- 
 ing? Besides, Louis the Voluptuary could not 
 feed on toujours perdrix ; and when variety can 
 be afforded to the public taste, legitimately, we 
 cannot unravel why characters should be injudi- 
 ciously and indiscriminately usurped. Again, Mr. 
 Kean does not always "catch the manners living 
 as they rise," even in the splendor of his own 
 element : for, if there be any moment throughout 
 the play at which that gentleman could hope for 
 unqualified success, it is that in which he ought to 
 dart upon lago, vociferating, " Villain, prove my 
 wife a whore," etc., because reason has entirely 
 forsaken its empire, and the rage of the deluded 
 Moor has attained a climax which would license 
 him to rush on his fiend-tormentor like one 
 
8o 
 
 resolved to ravage and devour. But Mr. Kean 
 chooses to aim at courting the graces at this most 
 inauspicious event. He, very poHtely, throws him- 
 self into an attitude of fancied elegance, mechani- 
 cally resting his hand upon lago's shoulder. 
 Now these observations, rough as they may 
 appear, must be salutary, we offer the touch-stone 
 to Mr. Kean's talents; not to divest him of genius, 
 for that would be impossible, but to elicit the 
 temperature of that genius. 
 
 Another critic of the day tells us that Kean's 
 person is very small, considerably under the middle 
 height ; that his voice was sonorous but harsh, and 
 not prepossessing. Yet with these disadvantages, 
 he gave a high interest to his performance of 
 Othello, and excited those emotions which we 
 ever- feel in the presence of genius, that is, the 
 union of good powers with fine sensibility. It was 
 this that gave fire to his eyes, energy to his tones, 
 and such a variety to all his gestures, that we 
 might almost say his body thought. We thought 
 his third act was particularly fine. The tone of 
 his voice and look of distress with which he 
 delivered : 
 
 " Oh, now forever 
 Farewell, the tranquil mind ! farewell, content ! 
 Farewell, the plumed troop, and the big wars 
 That make ambition virtue, Oh, farewell ! " 
 
 was admirable, as was, also, 
 
 " I found not Cassio's kisses on her lips.'"' 
 
Kean's figure is wanting in importance for a 
 commanding character like the Moor's, and in some 
 scenes we thought him tame and unimpressive." 
 We gather from all we have read of Mr. Kean's 
 performance of Othello, that it was a brilliant 
 and startling performance, abounding in electrical 
 flashes of passion, and voice-variations more mar- 
 velous as such, than true to nature, and to 
 the requisites of the character he represented. 
 Kemble's summing up, however, when he said of 
 Kean's Othello: "If the justness of its conception 
 had been but equal to the brilliancy of execution, 
 it would have been perfect," covers the ground 
 completely. We could add the opinions of other 
 critics, but the sum and substance of their remarks 
 are more of wild enthusiasm than sound judgment. 
 The father of the writer was personally well 
 acquainted with Edmund Kean,/ and often saw him 
 perform the character of Othello, and said that 
 Kean's third act of Othello was like a shower of 
 meteors, dazzling and bewildering in startling 
 effects. And then, in other parts of the play, dull 
 to disagreeableness. We have sufficiently reviewed 
 the manner in which Quin, Barry, and Kean per- 
 fo-rmed Othello to show their best points in their 
 characterization of the Moor. 
 
 Having already pictured Mr. Forrest in the first 
 
 and second acts, we will now endeavor to describe 
 
 how he performed the remaining three acts of the 
 
 play. Of course, we will show more detail in our 
 
 11 
 
82 
 
 remarks, for the reason that we saw him perform 
 the character a dozen or more times, and are 
 thereby better able to show a more highly finished 
 picture of his rendition of the Moor, than we 
 could of the actors we never saw. 
 
 Edwin Forrest formed, to a large extent, a 
 school of acting of. his own. It was a combina- 
 tion of the styles of John Philip Kemble and 
 Edmund Kean. He took from the Kemble 
 school the repose and grandeur of action, and 
 from Kean the fire and electrical touches that 
 made Kean so famous ; but his pathos and 
 tenderness and perfection of elocution were his 
 own. The three combined made a school of act- 
 ing so perfect in all its parts that perhaps it has 
 never been equaled before or since. In personal 
 appearance he was unlike either of the two actors 
 named. Kemble was tall and stately, and slow in 
 speech and movement of body. Kean was small 
 in body and quick of speech and movement. 
 Forrest was gladiatorial, grand in movement, and 
 with a voice of wonderful quality and so highly 
 cultured, that he could express any quality of 
 sound necessary to illustrate all the passions from 
 tenderness to rage, or fully to satisfy ever)- demand 
 that the traits of Othello might require. With 
 all these requisites, the character of Othello seems 
 almost to have been written with special regard 
 to him. The character amalgamated with his own 
 nature as readily as oil is seized by fire. 
 
83 
 
 Besides, his domestic troubles had a tendency to 
 make him feel deeply those pangs that wrung 
 the heart, and destroyed the reason of the Moor. 
 We had seen him perform the character of 
 Othello several times, long before his domestic 
 troubles, and saw him enact the part a dozen 
 times or more after his divorce, when filling his 
 memorable engagement of sixty-four nights in the 
 character at the Broadway Theatre. His every 
 look, motion and every tone of his voice were 
 inspirations drawn from his own nature, and as 
 perfectly fitted to the words of the author as 
 atmosphere fits its space. This was so evident that 
 the whole audience immediately felt those parts of 
 the text that had even a remote allusion to the 
 circumstances of his own domestic troubles. He 
 seemed to feel that there were many features in 
 the character of Othello that alluded to the story 
 of his own life, and he wore this aspect through- 
 out the play, and his audience took up the points 
 and sympathetically applauded him. 
 
 Forrest's entrance in the third act, coming down 
 the stage — through the centre arch-way of the 
 scene, apparently reading a letter, and with I ago 
 at his left centre, who observes Desdemona and 
 Cassio at right hand first entrance, was impres- 
 sive, and showed excellent stage business for the 
 commencement of the third act. 
 
 At lago's words : 
 
 "Ha! I like not that." 
 
84 
 
 Forrest was still reading the letter, when he 
 
 said : 
 
 " What dost thou say ? " 
 
 And while he did not purposely see Desdemona, 
 Cassio and Emilia, still he seemed to know that 
 they were there, and to his remark : 
 
 " Was not that Cassio parted from ray wife ? " 
 
 lago strongly interrogated. 
 
 " Cassio, my lord ? No, sure, I cannot think it. 
 That he would steal away so guilty like, 
 Seeing your coming." 
 
 For an instant Forrest looked at lago as if much 
 impressed by his emphasis on the last part of the 
 sentence ; then Forrest's mind from this moment 
 was particularly drawn to all that lago said about 
 Cassio. lago's emphasis on the above speech was 
 the opening wedge that let into Othello's brain 
 the name and the person of Cassio in association 
 with his wife. 
 
 Immediately on this Desdemona's beseeching 
 Othello to reinstate Cassio, calls his attention 
 still more strongly to the words uttered by lago 
 with so much inference, and when Forrest, while 
 holding her hand, said : 
 
 " Went he not hence now ? "" 
 
 It was pointedly expressed as if searching for 
 something hidden, and she continued : 
 
 " That he hath left part of his grief with me ; 
 I suffer with him. Good love, call him back." 
 
85 
 
 Forrest acted as if he was somewhat displeased. 
 While this was no positive evidence that the Moor 
 was already jealous, still it showed that Othello's 
 mind was disturbed, and that further hints, light as 
 air, would fan the spark into flame. lago, an apt 
 student of human nature, saw this, and at once 
 began his hellish work of leading the Moor into 
 the wildest suppositions. Desdemona still importun- 
 ing Othello to give Cassio back his place, Forrest 
 grew restless, and in haste said, as if wishing to 
 get rid of the subject : 
 
 " Pr'ythee, no more ; let him come when he will ; 
 I will deny thee nothing." 
 
 All Other actors, the writer has seen perform the 
 part, spoke these lines in the tones of affection. 
 
 Desdemona's next speech shows that she was 
 not pleased or satisfied 'with Othello's answer, 
 whereupon Othello requests her to leave him that 
 he might get rid of her further importunity. Dur- 
 ing this scene between Desdemona and Othello, 
 lago stood watching them, and when Desdemona 
 leaves, he begins his work again, by a sort of 
 inferential interrogation, asking him : 
 
 " Did Michael Cassio, when you woo'd my lady. 
 Know of your love ? " 
 
 Forrest was very much impressed with these 
 questions, as if he thought them too familiar, and, 
 
86 
 
 with deep thoughtfulness and emphasis, inquired : 
 
 " Why dost thou ask ? " 
 
 lago: 
 
 " But for a satisfaction of my thought ; 
 No further harm." 
 
 This indifferent remark of lago still led 
 Othello to further inquire : 
 
 " Why of thy thought 2 " 
 
 Here Forrest, looking lago directly in the eyes, 
 and with intense inquiry, caused lago to say, as 
 if surprised : 
 
 " I did not think he had been acquainted with her.'' 
 
 Then Forrest's 
 
 " O, yes ; and went between us very oft." 
 
 was said with a careless, falling inflection, as 
 if about to drop the subject, but lago's quick 
 response with marked surprise and prolonged 
 sound on the word of 
 
 " Indeed ? "' 
 
 caused Forrest to suddenly turn and exclaim : 
 
 " Indeed ! ay, indeed : — Discern'st thou aught in that ? 
 Is he not honest ? " 
 lago—" Honest, my lord } " 
 Othello— " K^, honest?" 
 
 Forrest here made it evident that he associated 
 Cassio with his wife ; he thought perhaps of 
 
Cassio's person, his color, and his own swarth 
 color, as further on in the scene he alludes to 
 this fact in the following words : 
 
 " Haply, for I am black ; 
 And have not those soft parts of conversation 
 That chamberers have;" 
 
 From the words " Ay, honest," it is evident in 
 the text, Othello was aroused to jealousy, and so 
 Forrest conceived and acted to the end of the 
 play. 
 
 The next speech that follows shows the Moor's 
 intensity of suspicion. 
 
 "By heaven, he echoes me, 
 
 As if there were some monster in his thought 
 
 Too hideous to be shown. Thou dost mean something. 
 
 I heard thee say but now, — thou lik'dst not that, 
 
 When Cassio left my wife ; what didst not like ? 
 
 And when I told thee — he was of my counsel 
 
 In my whole course of wooing thou cry'dst, 
 
 " Indeed ? " 
 As if thou then hadst shut up in thy brain 
 Some horrible conceit: If thou dost love me, 
 Show me ihy thought." 
 
 lago still works upon him until Othello exclaims : 
 
 " By heaven, I'll know thy thought." 
 
 To which lago replies : 
 
 " You cannot, if my heart were in your hand ; 
 Nor shall not, whilst 'lis in my custody." 
 
 Then the exclamation of 
 "Ha!" 
 
88 
 
 as Forrest gave it, expressed vexation at lago 
 because he would not become explicit, and satisfy 
 his suspicions. Then lago adroitly turns the 
 exclamation of "Ha!" to still further account 
 by telling Othello : 
 
 "Beware of jealousy." 
 
 This proves that Othello gave sufficient evi- 
 dence in action that he was jealous, and that 
 it commenced at the word " Indeed," and that 
 Forrest's exclamation of " Ha ! " was correct, and 
 in accordance with the idea of the author. 
 
 Many of the long speeches in the third act 
 gave Forrest ample scope for exquisite elocution, 
 as well as the opportunity to employ his won- 
 clerful vigor of action. His pathos was soul- 
 rending ; it fell upon his hearers like the moans 
 of a distressed and lamenting spirit that had lost 
 all that the human heart and soul had held dear, 
 and was hopelessly ruined. 
 
 The speech : 
 
 " I had been happy, if the general camp, 
 Pioneers and all, had tasted her sweet body, 
 So I had nothing known." 
 
 was in every sense rendered in a style far superior 
 to that of Kean. Kean read it rather in the spirit 
 of vexation, while Forrest intoned it with a fine 
 quality of tearful voice, regret and sorrow. So 
 pronounced was this effect that you could almost 
 see the shattered ruins of his hopes, 
 
89 
 
 That speech, wonderful in human intensity and 
 rhetorical beauties containing the words : 
 
 " Oj now, forever, 
 Farewell the tranquil mind ! " 
 
 was uttered by Mr. Forrest with the expression of 
 a broken heart. His voice had a tremulous minor- 
 key of the flute, that tuned the hearts of his 
 hearers to a sad condition, as if his grief were 
 a part of their own. After this followed one of 
 those demonstrations of passion, for which Kean 
 and Forrest were both so justly celebrated, in 
 quality of voice and utterance of words. 
 
 The transition from Forrest's round, sweet, mel- 
 low notes of pathos to the crackling thunder-like 
 peal, when he seized lago by the throat, was 
 wonderful in the extreme in the following : 
 
 " If thou dost slander her, and torture me, 
 Never pray more." 
 
 and so on to the end of the speech. It amazed 
 his audience. It was at the end of this speech 
 that Kean rushed for the sofa that stood on the 
 stage at right hand second entrance, and thereon 
 threw himself to recover from his absolute 
 exhaustion before he could go on with his next 
 speech ; during which interval thunders of applause 
 and waving of hats and handkerchiefs would con- 
 tinue till the great little actor would begin his next 
 sentence. 
 
 13 
 
90 
 
 Forrest changed the action, and rushed for the 
 profiled column of the wing right second entrance, 
 and rested there while the audience gave him a 
 like ovation of applause. 
 
 Forrest was equal to Kean in all his passion- 
 ate scenes. When young he had caught the qual- 
 ity of Kean's fire and rapidity of speech, but 
 Forrest's pathos was more touching, and seemed to 
 come more from the actor's heart than any trick 
 in elocution ; it was real. 
 
 In the fifth act Kean did not subside in his pas- 
 sion of jealousy. He did not give the text with 
 that reasoning quality, a sort of half relenting on 
 the part of the Moor, as if looking for an excuse 
 to murder her whose love had grasped every 
 function of his body and reaching into his heart 
 and soul. Kean continued, in spite of the text, 
 to act like a prowling wolf, thirsting for blood 
 to assuage his grievances that were eating out 
 his vitals. 
 
 Forrest's tempest of passion had quieted down, 
 and he looked upon the ruins of all his life 
 hopes, as the mariner looks upon the stranded 
 wreck, hopeless, but still prepared to meet his 
 fate. Convinced of his wife's guilt, he deliber- 
 ately considered that the " be all and end all " 
 was to be expiated by her death. In the scene 
 where he demanded the handkerchief, he did not 
 rant as most all other actors do, but rather 
 demanded it as an explanation of her innocence 
 with Cassio. 
 
91 
 
 The agonizing speech that followed Desdemona's 
 exit in Scene II, Act IV, beginning with : 
 
 " Had it pleased heaven 
 
 To try me with affliction ; had he rain'd 
 
 All kinds of sores and shames on my bare head : 
 
 Steep'd me in poverty to the very lips ; " 
 
 was SO expressed as to elicit the pity of the whole 
 
 house. 
 
 " But, alas ! to make me 
 A fixed figure, for the time of scorn 
 To point his slow and unmoving finger at. — 
 O ! O ! " 
 
 Here the expression of disgust on Forrest's face 
 was powerfully depicted. 
 
 Forrest did not in any part of his conversa- 
 tion with Desdemona treat her as if he was an 
 Italian bandit, or a low butcher. He showed 
 the Moor in a refined light, as a man fit to be 
 respected by all with whom he came in contact, 
 and all the harsher speeches with her were tempered 
 with a subdued emphasis, as it should be in the 
 presence of a lady. We have had one actor in 
 this country that the press prated about being 
 a great Othello, and who had the audacity in the 
 presence of a refined audience to slap Desdemona 
 in the face with a letter he held in his hand — 
 take lago by the throat, throw him upon the 
 stage, and place his foot upon his 'neck. This 
 was an Italian conception of Othello. 
 
 Forrest opened the fifth act of Othello with a 
 
92 
 
 death-like solemnity. The chamber scene was simple 
 in character ; beneath an arch in the back centre 
 of the stage was the high-post bedstead, with pure 
 white curtains hanging close together, while 
 through a large window on the left of the stage, 
 the moonlight dropped its cold silver rays across 
 its folds. On the right second entrance was a 
 draped table, with a single candle burning. Othello 
 was discovered sitting at the table musing. The 
 deep, subdued tones of his voice were like the 
 muffled bass notes of a cathredral organ. His 
 position was meditative, looking up. There was 
 inspiration in the pose, and while it was grand, 
 it was simple. 
 
 The utterance of the words : 
 
 "It is the cause, it -is cause, my soul, — 
 
 Let me not name it to you, ye chaste stars ! — 
 It is the cause. — " 
 
 Here he rose from his chair, walked over to 
 
 the bed of Desdemona, and pulling aside the 
 
 one-half of the curtain, the moonlight fell upon 
 
 her sweet face, beautiful in slumber. He for 
 
 one moment looked at her, walked back to the 
 
 table, and after another pause he thoughtfully 
 
 said : 
 
 " Yet I will not shed her blood ; 
 
 Nor scar that whiter skin of hers than snow, 
 
 And smooth as monumental alabaster." 
 
 And then with a long deep sigh he uttered the 
 
 words : 
 
 "Yet she must die," 
 
93 
 
 Another pause, as if he felt a dread of the 
 murder on his own account, and then sought an 
 excuse in the thought : 
 
 — "else she'll betray more men." 
 
 At this point he dropped himself into the chair 
 and, in a condition of despair, as he raised his 
 head, his eyes happened to fall upon the flaming 
 candle, and, in a moment, he rose, took the candle 
 as if to puff it out, and do the murder by the 
 moonlight, and after the words : 
 
 "Put out the light, and then" — 
 
 came a metaphorical reasoning on 
 
 "Put out the light?" 
 
 with an interrogation and not an exclamation- 
 note as it is always printed, and then he continued 
 in a deep, sad voice : 
 
 "If I quench thee, thou flaming minister, 
 I can again thy former light restore, 
 Should I repent me :— but once put out thine, 
 Thou cunning'st pattern of excelling nature." 
 
 Looking at Desdemona, 
 
 " I know not where is that Promethean heat 
 That can thy light relume." 
 
 He then placed the candle upon the table, and 
 slowly walked to the bed, and with a sad voice 
 he uttered : 
 
 " When I have plucked the rose 
 I cannot give it vital growth again ; 
 It needs must wither : — I'll smell it on the bush." 
 
94 
 
 Kissing her, and in ecstasy he spoke the words : 
 
 " O, balmy breath, that dost almost persuade 
 Justice to break her sword ! " 
 
 The residue of the speech was uttered in the 
 intense quality of pathetic regret. If ever elocu- 
 tion reached perfection, it was in Forrest's utter- 
 ance of this speech. If a speech has ever been 
 duly considered, and artistically expressed in move- 
 ment, pauses, inflection, and stage business, all 
 these were accomplished by Forrest in this 
 instance. 
 
 In the colloquial questions that followed between 
 Desdemona and Othello, previous to his smother- 
 ing her, he showed no harshness, but acted more in 
 the spirit of pity, and seemed to feel that there 
 was no more alternative in her case than in that 
 of Brutus when he sentenced his own son Titus to 
 death. At the words spoken by Desdemona : 
 
 "Alas! he is betrayed, and I undone." 
 
 Forrest enclosed himself behind the curtains by 
 pulling them together, and the struggle between 
 him and Desdemona was not seen by the audience. 
 It was almost noiseless; you faintly heard the words 
 of Desdemona as if smothering beneath the pillow 
 when she said : 
 
 "But while I say one prayer." 
 
 and Othello's words : 
 
 "It is too late.-" 
 
95 
 
 had an awful significance. Then for a moment 
 or two there was a dead silence, until Emilia 
 knocked at the door twice, and when she called : 
 
 " My lord, my lord ! what ho ! ray lord ! my lord ! " 
 
 Forrest suddenly pulled the curtains apart, and 
 partly looked out toward the door where Emilia 
 was knocking, and with an expression of horror 
 and fear, said : 
 
 " What noise is this ? " 
 
 and looking at Desdemona once more, he drew 
 his dagger, closed the curtains, and finished the 
 murder, with the supposition that he stabbed her 
 to the heart, a slight groan from Desdemona giv- 
 ing the final token of her death. Forrest showed 
 CTreat wisdom in the management of this scene, 
 and while the audience felt the horror of the 
 situation, still there was a sense of refinement in 
 the act that accorded with the text and with the 
 nature of Othello. We have seen other actors 
 enact this scene and make it in every sense 
 revolting. 
 
 Kean and Barry acted this scene with less 
 propriety. They smothered her with the pillow 
 in sight of the audience, and finished her death 
 by slowly pressing the dagger into her heart. 
 Forrest, in all the passionate parts of Othello 
 " in the very torrent, tempest (as I may say) 
 whirlwind of his passion, had a temperance that 
 gave it a smoothness," and did not offend the 
 
96 
 
 soul " like some robustious, periwig-pated fellow 
 who tears a passion to tatters, to very rags, and 
 splits the ears." 
 
 When lago is brought in, Forrest did not look 
 like some maddened devil ready to rush at lago 
 and hew him in pieces, but stood amazed when 
 he said : 
 
 " Are there no stones in heaven, 
 But what serve for the thunder ?" 
 
 H is next speech : 
 
 " I look down towards his feet ; — but that's a fable; 
 If that thou be'st a devil, I cannot kill thee ! " 
 
 and then with one plunge of his sword, he wounds 
 lago. This action was clone more in the spirit 
 of reaction than in passion, and his last speech 
 
 of all: 
 
 "Soft you : a word or two, before you go." 
 
 expressed an exhausted condition, hopeless, and 
 heart-broken : 
 
 " And smote him — thus." 
 
 He stabbed himself with a Venetian dagger ; stag- 
 gered to the bed ; fell upon one knee, and kissed 
 Desdemona, as he said : 
 
 " I kissed thee ere I killed thee : — No way but this, 
 Killing myself to die upon a kiss.'' 
 
 and fell relaxed upon the stage. 
 
 I'^or close study, Forrest seemed to be more per- 
 fect in the fifth act than any other act in the 
 
97 
 
 play. All the emotions which he presented were 
 not of the traditional emotions of the actor ; they 
 were the emotions of the heart and soul, and 
 beautifully draped by the assistance of his art ; 
 they were beyond his control. The expressions 
 of his face, voice and gestures were all truths 
 that demonstrated that he had passed through the 
 furnace of domestic affliction, which had moulded 
 him to the very form and temper of the Moor. 
 
 As an honest critic who has seen all of the best 
 actors in the last fifty years, I do not hesitate to 
 say that, from all I have read and seen, so far, 
 Shakespeare's greatest Othello was embodied by 
 the genius of this American actor, and that 
 Forrest's performance of Othello was as distinctive 
 a work of his own art, as Betterton's Hamlet, 
 Barton Booth's Cato or Garrick's Richard III. 
 
 Mr. Forrest gave up playing the part of Othello 
 several years before his death. The fact of his 
 ill health, sciatica, which had troubled him for 
 many years, prevented him from exerting great 
 physical action, especially his walk in such char- 
 acters as Othello, Damon and Coriolanus. 
 
 In the last two or three years of his stage life 
 he principally performed Lear and Richelieu, and 
 these two characters, perhaps with Othello, became 
 his masterpieces. 
 
 There is no doubt that the great Edmund 
 Kean was Forrest's first inspiration to the charac- 
 ter of Othello. Forrest when quite a young man 
 
 13 
 
98 
 
 performed the part of lago to Kean's Othello at 
 Albany, New York. Forrest told the writer that 
 he never could forget with what fear and trembling 
 he attended his first rehearsal with Kean, and yet 
 how kindly he conducted him along in the busi- 
 ness of lago, young Forrest, in the third act, 
 becoming inspired by some of Kean's utterances, 
 discarded custom, and assuming a new position by 
 leaning upon Kean's shoulder and said : 
 
 " I speak not yet of proof. 
 Look to your wife ; observe her well with Cassio ; 
 Wear your eye — thus, not jealous, nor secure :" 
 
 This bit of business was so new to Kean and 
 the utterance of the words so peculiar in inflection 
 and emphasis, that the great Kean turned to the 
 young American actor, and said : " That is good ; 
 do so to-night ; you will make an actor." 
 
 Shortly after the time of this anecdote, Kean 
 left Albany, and was received in Philadelphia at a 
 grand dinner. On this occasion Kean was called 
 on for a speech, and there he introduced the name 
 of young Forrest with whom he had just acted in 
 Albany, and predicted that he was the coming 
 genius of the American stage. Kean's words were 
 prophetic. 
 
FORREST AND GARRICK. 
 
 Considered in the Character of King Lear, 
 
 SHAKESPEARE'S tragedy of King Lear is 
 such a dramatic creation that, after a studied 
 reading, the mind is apt to wonder at the genius 
 of the man that could comprehend, feel and 
 express human nature so fully and perfectly. We 
 not only allude to the chief character of Lear, 
 but to the whole group of characters that make 
 up the dramatic personae. Previous to Shakes- 
 peare's handling the subject of Lear, there 
 had been written several stories and poems con- 
 cerning the old King and his three daughters, 
 and one anonymous play, entitled " The True 
 Chronicle Hystorie of Lear, King of England, and 
 His Three Dauofhters." 
 
 It is said by Charles Knight — one of Shakes- 
 peare's best commentators — " that the diction and 
 the construction of this anonymous play was in 
 every respect worthless." Yet, from these frivo- 
 lous suggestions, Shakespeare has constructed a 
 five-act tragedy that has not been equaled by any 
 
lOO 
 
 work of the ancient or the modern poets. It 
 stands as distinctively alone as a human dramatic 
 creation, as do the pyramids of Egypt for mechan- 
 ical construction. The plot of the play has none 
 of those grand incentives that belong to the 
 heroic, like Brutus or Coriolanus. Lear is an old 
 king, past his four score years, full of all the com- 
 ponents that make a complete human nature, 
 with none of the passions left out, fond, choleric, 
 quick, passionate, yet just, and with an ardor of 
 parental love for his three daughters that seems 
 to transcend all other emotions. Of these three 
 daughters, he loves his youngest, Cordelia, the 
 best, yet, for the reason that she would not falla- 
 ciously express the extent of her love for her 
 father ; he deprives her of her rightful portion of 
 his royal estates. The two sisters, however, Gon- 
 eril and Regan, treat the old King unkindly. 
 They deprive him of his followers, cause him to 
 be houseless, to be exposed to the storm, and by 
 their ingratitude, drive him to a condition of 
 frenzy. Upon these facts, domestic and simple 
 in character, rests all that constitute the emotions, 
 and direct the acting in the character of Lear. 
 
 We know of no other play of Shakespeare's 
 that possesses less plot connected with the lead- 
 ing character, and no play wherein the author has 
 given a larger display of truly, natural character- 
 istics and natural diction. Lear has but one string 
 upon the harp of human passions put out of tone, 
 
lOI 
 
 and makes all the discord of his being, and that 
 is the treble note of parental affection ; upon 
 which the human heart expresses the most intense 
 passions — passions that can stretch the string to 
 snapping. This offered the bard the great oppor- 
 tunity of giving to the world a tragedy based 
 upon the highest moral character. 
 
 The contrast of the extreme old age in Lear 
 and the tender youthfulness of Cordelia, truthful 
 and gentle in every trait of womanhood, gave 
 breadth for light and shadow in the expressions 
 of the human sensibilities, not to be excelled by 
 the skill of dramatic construction. The ideas, 
 words and sentences that flow from the lips of 
 Lear, Cordelia and Kent are so natural, and 
 spring from such natural causes that to read 
 them only, personifies them in form, movement 
 and looks. In these three dramatic creations, the 
 bard drew comparatively nothing from the laws 
 of rhetoric to adorn the diction, but presented 
 nature simple and ungarnished. 
 
 Cordelia is the perfect embodiment of truthful- 
 ness. Her every principle of truth springs from an 
 inborn condition that she could not change, any 
 more than she could change the color of her eyes. 
 Her love for her father was of a saintly nature, 
 and is intensely expressed in the following words : 
 
 " Oh. Regan ! Goneril ! inhuman sisters ! 
 Had he not been your father, these white hairs 
 Had challenged sure, some pity. Was this a face 
 
I02 
 
 To be exposed against the warring winds ? 
 
 My enemy's dog, though he had bit me, should 
 
 Have stood that night against my fire." 
 
 Again : 
 
 "Oh, my dear father: Restoration, hang 
 Thy medicine on my h'ps ; and let this kiss 
 Repair those violent harms, that my two sisters 
 Have in thy rev'rence made. He wakes." 
 
 What sentiment was ever nobler and more 
 penitent than is uttered in the words of Lear 
 to Cordelia : 
 
 Cor. — "Oh, my dear, dear father!" (Kisses him.) 
 Lear — " Be your tears wet ? Yes, faith, pray do not weep." 
 " I know I have given thee cause, and am so 
 humbled 
 
 With crosses since, that I could ask 
 
 Forgiveness of thee, were it possible 
 
 That thou couldst grant it; 
 
 If thou hast poison for me, I will drink it, 
 
 Bless thee, and die." 
 Cor. — "Oh, pity, sir, this bleeding heart, and cease 
 
 This killing language." 
 
 This is the perfect ideal of human nature 
 expressed through language. 
 
 All the characters in this pla)' are wonderfully 
 expressed in this naturalness of language. The 
 words fall from tlieir lips as the dew falls from 
 the leaves. One would think that Shakespeare saw 
 
I03 
 
 through all the emotions of the human heart, and 
 all conceptions of the mind with as much cer- 
 tainty as the photographist sees the forms placed 
 in front of his lens. 
 
 We can understand how Shakespeare could com- 
 prehend and express all the conditions of human 
 nature, which he had met with every day during 
 his own time of life, but to express the conditions 
 of thought that belong to extreme old age, and 
 so exactly portray them is one of the rare marvels 
 of authorship. 
 
 One of the most wonderful traits of Shakes- 
 peare's genius, was his wonderful ability of taking 
 poorly-told fictions and creating from them the 
 most highly-wrought plays. Four of his finest pro- 
 ductions sprang from scanty outlines, viz. : Romeo 
 and Juliet, Hamlet, Othello, and King Lear. 
 
 His delicate susceptibility, like the spark that 
 expands the prairie fire, could boundlessly spread 
 and range to the boundaries of all human emo- 
 tions. Pope says, that " to form a judgment of 
 Shakespeare's works we are not to apply the rules 
 of Aristotle, which would be like trying a man 
 by the laws of one country who lived under those 
 of another. No, heaven-born genius acts from 
 something superior to rules, and antecedent to 
 rules, and has a right of appeal to nature herself." 
 Shakespeare has no compeer or parallel. His 
 larger and more penetrating intellectual eyes saw 
 far beyond what any of the ancients discerned in 
 
I04 
 
 the classics of dramatic construction. The drama- 
 tists of old talked to the gods ; Shakespeare, to 
 the human soul. He teaches us to aspire to our 
 best — the possible ; not to something we cannot 
 reach, in the impossible. 
 
 His lessons are to human flesh and blood, and 
 not to stone Jupiters and Hebes. The lesson 
 Shakespeare's King Lear teaches, is one that 
 reaches into every family that has a child. 
 
 Under the electric light of his own perfect 
 humanity he points out the deformities that some- 
 times exist in his fellow beings. He always takes 
 the extremes to illustrate the lessons he gives. 
 In the instance of Lear, he takes the gentler sex, 
 from whom we have the least right to expect 
 harshness to the parent, and makes them respon- 
 sible for driving the father to despair and un- 
 reason through their unfilial ingratitude. Ne.xt, to 
 make the lesson still more impressive, he places 
 the old King beneath the flashes of lightning, the 
 bursting of thunder-peals and the pelting rain. 
 To heighten the situation, excite our pity, and 
 make the lesson more imperishable, he associates 
 the old King with " Mad Tom " who, in his 
 squalid dress of rags and straw-waist-belt, lends 
 the stormy night a weird effect equal to the witch 
 scene in Macbeth. 
 
 Shakespeare's imagination seemed to have covered 
 every known human characteristic, and then wafted 
 away into a world of his own, from which he drew 
 
I05 
 
 forth and embodied in written thought, the beau- 
 tiful, the ugly and the classic in every conceptible 
 form. 
 
 The representation of Lear has been attempted 
 by a less number of actors than any of his other 
 leading characters. There can be named three 
 actors only, that made reputations by the part : 
 Garrick, Kean, and Forrest. Garrick was the first 
 great Lear. In his performance of the character, 
 he startled the English people, and attracted 
 audiences of the highest intellectuality. His 
 performance of the old King was a revelation. 
 No other actor, before his day, had started the 
 tears of sympathy and pity for the broken-hearted 
 old King. It is more than likely that it was 
 Garrick's greatest piece of acting. It is certain 
 that he was found less fault with in this character 
 by his captious critics. One of them, however, 
 with a larger insight into the character of Lear, 
 and with much more honesty of purpose than the 
 others, remarks : 
 
 "So far as Mr. Garrick's figure is concerned, I 
 fear that frail nature has been a little unkind, but, 
 as the advantage of a fine figure is merely an acci- 
 dent, the want of it should never draw an impu- 
 tation, so long as there is no offenses in the 
 proportions of the body, and, though his want 
 of stature may lessen the dignity of some charac- 
 ters, yet it is proper enough for others ; nay, this 
 
 defect adds to Mr. Garrick's merits, for by his 
 
 14 
 
io6 
 
 great acting he conquers a defect and a preju- 
 dice. The face is more essentially concerned in 
 acting than any other part of the body. It may 
 not be amiss to state how the features of our little 
 hero are formed. His lively and piercing eyes 
 are particularly happy in the expression of sudden 
 joy, or quick rage, but they do not express the 
 passions of love, grief, or horror, with sufficient 
 force. As the face is the index of the mind, the 
 voice is the interpreter, which with Mr. Garrick 
 is various, articulate and humorous, but not last- 
 ing, which, to the mortification of his hearers, it 
 generally (in the jockey's phrase), rides resting, and 
 stops before half the course is run." 
 
 " Let us now take a view of him in acting, and 
 see if he is artful in concealing his natural 
 blemishes, and for this purpose, we will consider 
 him in the character of Lear. We rather chose 
 this character, as it is considered his best, and 
 where he is most right, we have the fewer faults 
 to find. The portrait that Shakespeare has given 
 us of Lear is that of a good-hearted man, easily 
 provoked, impatient and hasty in resolution. The 
 poet himself, who seldom fails to direct the actor, 
 has thought an apology necessar)-, at the opening 
 of the play, for what might seem immoral in the 
 conduct of his hero by ascribing it to his nature, 
 " 'Tis said I am choleric ; " and then, as an evi- 
 dence of his innate goodness, at the end of the 
 play, causes him to say : 
 
I07 
 
 "Ungrateful as they were, 
 Though the wrongs they have heaped on me are num- 
 berless, 
 I feel a pang of nature for them yet." 
 
 This is a sketch of Lear's moral character, and 
 the point should not escape the notice of the actor. 
 But I am sorry to say that Mr. Garrick is neglect- 
 ful of these two attributes in Lear's nature. In 
 the curse, at the end of the first act, the passage 
 should be rendered with rage, quick and rapid as 
 a whirlwind — a perfect frenzy. There should be 
 no premeditation, no solemnity. Lear's character 
 conspires to render such behaviors absurd ; nor 
 can I pardon Mr. Garrick's shedding tears at the 
 end of the speech, while the whole passage is a 
 climax of rage — his strange mixture of anger and 
 unmanly sniveling of grief is unnatural, and lowers 
 the character of the King to the imitation of a 
 vexed girl. We would advise Mr. Garrick to get 
 his artist friend to draw the enraged monarch in 
 this passage, and see if he will make use of a 
 handkerchief in the King's hand. It is a trick 
 on the part of the actor, alike ill-judged as well 
 as the applause of his audience." 
 
 " The transition from one passion to another 
 by sudden contrast may please the groundlings, 
 but it must grieve the judicious. I have been the 
 longer on this particular point, for the reason 
 that Mr. Garrick traps the unwary by the same 
 bait in his " unreal mockery " in Macbeth, and two 
 
io8 
 
 memorable speeches in the first scene of Charmot. 
 I hope he will hereafter never let these faults rise 
 in judgment against him. We all now know how 
 the shilling came under the candlestick. The trick 
 is discovered. 
 
 The next scene in which I think that Mr. Garrick 
 is wrong, is in the second act, where the poor old 
 King is exposed to the fury of the storm ; and 
 that no circumstance of horror might be omitted, 
 the poet has surrounded him with darkness, and, 
 to increase our pity, Shakespeare has artfully con- 
 trived to heighten the situation by throwing T.ear 
 into madness. Let us look at Garrick's deport- 
 ment in this scene. As madness may be defined 
 as right reasoning on wrong principles, yet there 
 must always be a consistency in the words and 
 actions of a madman, we find that lunatics engage 
 their thoughts on the subject that first disturbed 
 their imaginations, and therefore why should Mr. 
 Garrick engage his mind by sitting on the stage 
 and picking and playing with straws. His 
 daughters' ingratitude was the cause of his 
 immediate distress, and, as his mind lingers over 
 his situation, the thought of his royalty conies to 
 him, and his mind becomes engaged with royal 
 prerogative. 
 
 — " I pardon that man's life. 
 You cannot kill me for coining. I am 
 The King himself ; 
 Ay, every inch a King!" 
 
ro9 
 
 and, therefore, grandeur of action should express 
 these words, and not the pulling of rags and 
 straws, and sitting down cheek-by-jowl with Edgar. 
 This might be a proper representation of a mad 
 tailor, but by no means can it relate to the idea 
 of King Lear. 
 
 Nor should he be less earnest in all his strata- 
 gems, the "shoeing of a troop of horses with 
 felt," should be delivered with rapture, as If he 
 had hit upon a masterly expedient, and not 
 expressed as if emanating from an idiot. 
 
 As they are the principal faults In Mr. Garrick's 
 acting of the part of Lear, we will now point out 
 those beauties that serve to make him popular with 
 the public. His acting in the first act, with the 
 exception of the curse scene, is masterly. The 
 choleric man with Kent, and the discovery of his 
 daughters' ingratitude, and. Indeed, where quick 
 rage is expected, he does the poet great justice. 
 His manner, too, of expressing the feebleness and 
 age of the old King throughout the play is well 
 sustained, and, though in his mad scenes he is 
 faulty, yet in other parts of the play his judg- 
 ment and execution demand the highest applause. 
 There is a mixture of distraction with joy, that he 
 expresses as 
 
 " Was it not pleasant to see a thousand, 
 With red-hot spits come hissing in among them." 
 
 This I have never seen equaled, nor can he 
 be excelled where the tortures of Lear's mind 
 
no 
 
 and the fatigues of his body throw him into a 
 swoon ; Garrick's approach and execution of this 
 is inimitable ; such a death-like paleness, and 
 inactivity of his limbs can only be described by 
 Shakespeare's own words : 
 
 " He is, indeed, death's counterfeit." 
 
 Nor can we forget the manner he recovers 
 from his madness and recollects Cordelia ; the 
 passions of joy, tenderness and grief and shame 
 are blended together in such a masterly manner, 
 that the imitation of his facial expressions would 
 do honor to the pencils of a Rubens or an 
 Angelo." 
 
 "I could mention other beauties and other 
 faults but, I shall be silent, and for once pleased 
 with Tate's alterations of Shakespeare, because 
 it has prevented my commentary on Mr. Garrick's 
 manner of dying, about which I know I should 
 have some disputes, in making these remarks, I 
 shall esteem myself happy if my hints can im- 
 prove the general taste of the public, or convey 
 the least, instruction to a very great — I wish I 
 could add, a perfect actor." 
 
 This is an honest criticism of Garrick's Lear ; 
 no one can deny that his Lear was a great 
 performance with the exception that he too 
 frequently introduced the trick of crying which 
 took from the dignity of the character, and was 
 not in accordance with the sense of the author. 
 
I II 
 
 Barry, also, performed the part of Lear in oppo- 
 sition to Garrick, and Mr. Besenger, one of the 
 literary men of the day, wrote the following lines 
 on the comparative effect of the performance of 
 King Lear by Garrick and by Barry : 
 
 " The town has found out two different ways 
 To praise the different Lears ; 
 To Barry it gives loud huzzas, 
 To Garrick, only tears." 
 
 A similar contest was carried on between Gar- 
 rick and Barry in the character of Romeo, of 
 which, with all their respective excellence, the 
 town grew tired, and it occasioned the following 
 epigram, which appeared in one of the newspapers, 
 and was extensively copied : 
 
 " Well ! what to-night ? Says angry Ned, 
 As up from bed he rouses, 
 Romeo again!— and shakes his head, 
 Ah ! plague on both your houses ! " 
 
 Garrick himself became tired of the contest as 
 the audiences began to fall off, and wrote the two 
 following epigrams : 
 
 "So revers'd are the notions of Capulet.'s daughters. 
 One loves a whole length, and the other three-quarters." 
 
 " Fair Juliet, at one house, exclaims with a sigh. 
 No Romeo is clever that's not six foot high ; 
 Less ambitiously t'other does Romeo adore, 
 Though in size he scarce reaches to five feet and four." 
 
 The Juliets were, Mrs. Gibber to Garrick, and 
 Miss Nossiter to Barry. 
 
I 12 
 
 Mr. Hazlitt, in one of his outbursts of criticism 
 on Kean, published in the London Magazine, 
 said : " This excellent actor, who flung himself 
 completely into the character of Othello, fails to 
 grasp and comprehend the character of Lear. We 
 had thought that Mr. Kean would take possession 
 of this time-worn and venerable figure, that has 
 outlasted a thousand storms, and, like the gods 
 of old, when their oracles were about to speak, 
 shake it with inspiration — that he would set up a 
 living copy of it on the stage. But he failed, 
 either from insurmountable difficulties, or from his 
 own sense of the magnitude of the undertaking. 
 In his conception of the character, he was too 
 violent at first, and too tame afterward. He 
 sunk from unmixed rage to mere dotage. He 
 made the well-known curse a piece of downright 
 rant. He tore it to tatters, and made it from 
 beginning to end, an explosion of ungovernable 
 physical rage, without solemnity or elevation." 
 
 If Kean made it "an ungovernable rage," he 
 made it right ; it was the nature of Lear to do so, 
 and we are inclined to think that, if Kean did any 
 part of Lear in accordance with the spirit of the 
 author, it was those parts expressing rage. It was 
 this wonderful power that made him great in 
 Othello, and other characters, but Mr. Hazlitt 
 soon becomes lost in the mazes of his own criti- 
 cism, and says, " Kean was \er)' great in the 
 second act," where Lear seems absolutely stunned 
 
"3 
 
 by the ingratitude of his children, and cries out in 
 his bewildered manner : 
 
 " I will do such things — 
 What they are, I know not : — but they shall be 
 The terrors of the earth." 
 
 The critics then spoke in very high terms of 
 Kean's Lear, yet we are forced to conclude thus, 
 as he did not perform the part as frequently as 
 many of his other great characters ; he was, in 
 reality, not King Lear. 
 
FORREST AS LEAR. 
 
 Kent — " I grieve to see him 
 
 With such wild starts of passion hourly seiz'd 
 As render majesty beneath itself." 
 Gloster — " Alas ! 'tis the infirmity of his age, 
 
 Yet has his temper ever been unfix'd, 
 Choleric, and sudden." 
 
 Such is the character of Lear, as told in Shakes- 
 peare's own words, at the beginning of the play, 
 and in accordance with Shakespeare's directions, 
 F"orrest performed the character. 
 
 Forrest, in his first scene, as he was seated upon 
 the throne, was the picture of majesty, crowned 
 with years. His interview with his daughters was 
 stately, as became a king. He gave great import- 
 ance to the speech, beginning with : " Give me 
 the map," and became more impressive and 
 solemn, when he addressed his daughters : 
 
 "Which of you loves us most that we may place 
 Our largest bounty with the largest merit. 
 Goneril, our eldest born, speak first." 
 
 and after he had listened to Goneril and Reean, 
 he stepped quietly down from the throne, and. 
 
By Gabriel Harrison 
 
 FORREST AS KING LEAR, 
 
 "Ay, every inch a Kinj?!" 
 
115 
 
 standing in the centre of the stage, he looked 
 at Cordelia with intense inquiry, and seemed 
 delighted, as he said to her : 
 
 " Cordelia, speak : 
 What canst thou say to win a richer third, 
 Than what thy sisters gained ? " 
 
 and, when she replied : 
 
 " Nothing, my lord." 
 
 it appeared like a thunder clap to his senses ; 
 he turned upon her in overwhelming astonish- 
 ment, and interrogated : 
 
 " Nothing can come from nothing ; speak again." 
 
 From this moment Forrest's mind was awakened 
 to the wrathful condition of the King's temper, 
 and reached a wrathful climax at the words : 
 
 " Peace, Kent ! 
 " Come not between a dragon and his rage ! " 
 
 The touch of pathos which he put in the words : 
 
 " I loved her most, and in her tender trust 
 Designed to have bestow'd mine age at ease." 
 
 reached a fullness of parental love equal to his 
 harsher nature. The whole of this scene was 
 expressed with great anger, but with a dignity that 
 bespoke his royal birth. His scene with Oswald, 
 his contempt for the knave, and the expression of 
 amazement at Goneril's licentious insolence were 
 flashes of vivid acting, never to be forgotten. 
 
ii6 
 
 His delivery of the curse was perfect. He did 
 not extend it beyond the author's meaning. It 
 was free from all the rant with which actors 
 generally vulgarize it. At the beginning, when he 
 threw away his hat and staff, and fell upon his 
 knee§, there appeared to be some method about 
 his delivery, as if the brain was striving to invent 
 thoughts that could express his spleen, but, as he 
 went on, his thoughts flowed faster until his mind 
 became an uncontrollable temper of words that 
 thrilled and horrified his audience, and, at the 
 words : 
 
 " How sharper than a serpent's tooth it is 
 To have a thankless child ;" 
 
 the actor appeared absolutely exhausted, and was 
 kept from falling to the stage by the assistance of 
 Kent and the physician. 
 
 When we take the nature of the curse into con- 
 sideration, we are apt to wonder how a father 
 could launch such thoughts upon his child, no mat- 
 ter how bad she might have been, unless his whole 
 mind was so completely wrecked through his four 
 scores of years, that it tottered on the brink of 
 insanity. But Shakespeare's genius did not always 
 stop at realities ; it swept on into the boundless 
 ideal, and, through his inventive genius, he made 
 a universe of his own, over which he presides sole 
 monarch. 
 
 But, in the second act, Lear begins to be a 
 
117 
 
 severer trial for the performer, as the deep impres- 
 sion of Shakespeare's genius stamps itself upon 
 the mind and heart. What rank the actor should 
 hold who is able to play Lear well throughout, is 
 of no easy decision ; he must have many qualities 
 that seem contradictory ; at one time the haughty 
 and impatient King, the harsh and yet doting 
 father, the scornful, and humble exile, and the 
 frenzied ; a compound of them all ; full of high- 
 blooded pride, and fatherly sorroAV, and human 
 anguish, and regal resentment, and thus burdened 
 with the miseries of the insulted parent, and a 
 ruined man, he goes through the whole history 
 of a broken heart. He is stretched upon the 
 rack, till he has felt the pangs of its last fracture, 
 and then loses all feeling more. His passion has 
 nothing of solitary excitement or single suffering. 
 His daughters' ingratitude is deepened by his own 
 rash generosity, by his sense of shame, and by the 
 torturing privations of his nature ; and he is lashed 
 into frenzy at once by the united fury of the inter- 
 nal and the external storm. 
 
 What rank this play should take among the 
 tragedies of its great author, is still more difficult 
 of decision. The marvelous mind that summoned 
 this whole powerful array of visions, has clothed 
 them with a portion of his own splendor. They 
 all bear the lineaments of their superior origin. 
 They all speak with "most miraculous organ;'' 
 and we should conclude that Shakespeare's Lear 
 
ii8 
 
 is the most allied to humanity and the most touch- 
 ing of all his creations. Richard has a wild 
 clevotedness to evil, and a restless desire to con- 
 summate crime ; Macbeth struggled against the 
 temptations of beings that rule the elements, 
 and, when he at last stands on the edge of the 
 gulf, growing more magnificently portentous eve'n 
 from his thicker envelopment in "that dunnest 
 smoke of hell," is almost removed from the com- 
 mon sympathies of this world. Hamlet, a prevari- 
 cator Until he falls into the trap of death, with- 
 out a tear or a sigh for his loss ; while Lear is but 
 a man undone. His majesty gives him no eleva- 
 tion above the humbler feelings; his chief suffer- 
 ings are of the wounded heart, and the subversion 
 of his reason is the work of the same arrow that 
 might strike into a peasant's brain. But his roy- 
 alty is not useless in the great author's hands. It 
 throws an intenser light on his agonies, like the 
 flash in the midnight of the storm. The height 
 from which he falls, makes the concussion but the 
 more complete, and leaves his mind mutilated 
 beyond all chance of vigor to come. 
 
 Forrest's conception of this momentous character 
 was satisfactory in all of these respects. He did 
 not perform the part of Lear, although Lear was 
 four score and upwards, as a decrepit old man 
 with bended form and broken voice. He made 
 Lear's body harmonize with his mind, which in 
 thought and intellect was vigorous ; not one 
 feeble thought escapes Lear's lips. There is a 
 
119 
 
 force and power in his diction that demonstrates a 
 strong condition of the body. Nature is never out of 
 harmony with itself — weak body, weak voice and 
 weak expressions in thought, and, if Lear was 
 frenzied in his old age, it came from an over 
 vigorous brain that bounded the blood through 
 his heart and body as does the maddening of 
 intoxicating spirituous liquors. Garrick made Lear 
 feeble in bodily action, made him a sick man ; 
 abnormal in condition, speaking thoughts so strong 
 that they were a contradiction to his bodily weak- 
 ness ; and, by a whimpering manner and broken 
 tones of voice, he too often lessened the dignity 
 of the character and intention and powers of the 
 poet's thoughts. 
 
 Lear specially says : 
 
 " O let not woman's water drops 
 Stain my man's cheek i * * * 
 No, I'll not weep, 
 
 I have full cause of weeping, but this heart 
 Shall break into a hundred thousand flaws 
 Or ere I'll weep." 
 
 Forrest showed no physical failure until his 
 scene in the last act with Cordelia, when he 
 declared that the battery of life with its forces was 
 exhausted, and the elements no longer existed to 
 create reaction. It was a hopeless relaxation, as 
 when the snow is dissolved by the heat of the 
 sun, and melts away. This contrast to his vigor 
 in the earlier scenes, told that the storm of life 
 
I20 
 
 had crushed him, and that the worn fibres which held 
 the body to the soul would melt away without 
 a struggle ; and so he died. 
 
 Forrest's sentiment of perplexity in Scene IV, 
 Act II, on the discovery of Kent, placed in the 
 stocks, was admirably expressed, and when Goneril 
 and Regan refused the old King entertainment 
 for the night, and proposed to cut short the num- 
 ber of his followers, he appeared as if stunned, 
 as if some nerve-centre had been shifted from 
 its place, and he was endeavoring to realize the 
 situation. At this moment he stood at right centre 
 of the stage, looking heavenward, and said : 
 
 "Hold now, my temper, stand this bolt unmoved. 
 And I am thunder-proof." 
 
 So intensely was this uttered and with such a 
 peculiar quality of voice, that it sounded as if it 
 came from the brain, and not from the vocal 
 organs. Motionless he stood all through the 
 heartless words of Goneril when she uttered : 
 
 " Hear me, my lord. 
 What need you five and twenty, ten, or five. 
 To follow in a house, where twice so many 
 Have a command l' attend you ?" 
 
 " What need one ?" 
 
 And here the thunder was muttering — the dis- 
 tant portentous storm — that was soon to break in 
 full wrath on the head of the houseless old King. 
 Forrest still stood in an upright position, with 
 
121 
 
 uncovered head, and in a subdued, and beseeching 
 manner he uttered the words : 
 
 " Heavns, drop your patience down ! 
 You see me here, ye gods ! a poor old man. 
 As full of grief as age, wretched in both ! 
 If it be you that stir these daughters' hearts 
 Against their father, fool me not so much 
 To bear it so tamely ; touch me with noble anger ! 
 
 let not womens weapons, water drops 
 Stain my man's cheek i " * * * * 
 
 " No, I'll not weep, 
 
 1 have full cause of weeping, but this heart 
 Shall break into a hundred thousand flaws 
 Or ere I'll weep. 
 
 O gods, I shall go mad ! " 
 
 All this was so intensely done that the audience 
 felt a thrill of pity for Lear's situation, and 
 wondered how the human heart could reach the 
 hardened depravity of his two daughters 
 
 His opening scene in the third act amidst the 
 storm with his grand figure towering, and in a 
 rage of exclamations equal to the frenzy of the 
 night, was a dramatic picture that exalted the 
 admiration of his audience beyond description. 
 
 " And thou, all-shaking thunder, 
 Strike flat the thick rotundity o'the world." 
 
 was given with a height of voice and pose of body 
 that were the zenith of grandeur : 
 
 " Rumble thy fill ! fight whirlwind, rain and fire ! " 
 
 All these explosive expletives were rendered in the 
 
 expression of frightful anger. 
 
 16 
 
122 
 
 " Hide, hide, thou murd'rer, hide thy bloody hand ! 
 Thou perjur'd villain ! holy hypocrite ! 
 That drink'st the widows' tears," 
 
 revealed the bitterness that choked up his agonized 
 heart against the ingrate and unmerciful, and then 
 with a dizzy speed he whirled around on the stage, 
 and, pressing his hand to his brow, he said : 
 
 " My wits begin to turn," 
 
 and, in a broken and shivering voice, he continued 
 to Kent : 
 
 " Old as I am at heart, I've one place there 
 That's sorry yet for thee." 
 
 The scene that followed with " Mad Tom," as 
 Forrest performed the character, revealed a tired 
 physical condition, and a human heart crushed and 
 bleeding. Reason still held her throne, as, in 
 pathetic tones, he read the following speech : 
 
 " Thou think'st 'tis much that this contention's storm 
 Invades us to the skin ; so 'tis to thee ; 
 But where the greater malady is fixed, 
 The lesser is scarce felt. The tempest in my mind 
 Doth from my senses take all feeling else, 
 Save what beats there. — Filial ingratitude ! "" 
 
 To shut me out ! * * * 
 
 In such a night as this! O, Regan, Goneril ! 
 
 Your old kind father, whose frank heart gave all, — 
 
 O, that way madness lies ; let me shun that : 
 
 No more of that." 
 
123 
 
 Here the great actor made no attempt at sob- 
 bing tones to gain the tears of his audience. He 
 spoke the words in reasoning wonderment that 
 such things could be, and so pointedly were they 
 expressed that every heart felt their sting, and 
 pity let her tears flow. 
 
 When poor Tom rushes from his hovel, Lear 
 took almost a childish interest in his actions, and 
 pitifully asked him : 
 
 " Tell me, fellow, didst thou give all to thy daughters ? " 
 
 It was said as if he had forgotten his own misery 
 to sympathize with him. 
 
 The next point which Mr. Forrest made with 
 astounding effect upon his audience, was his reply 
 to Kent's remark : " He hath no daughters, sir." 
 
 " Death, traitor ! nothing could have subdued nature 
 To such a lowness, but his unkind daughters." 
 
 Not until Mr. Forrest reached the words : 
 
 "Off, off, ye vain disguises, empty landings, 
 
 I'll be my original self. Quick, quick ! uncase rae." 
 
 did he commence to show the unreason of 'Lear's 
 mind. Kent's words which follow immediately 
 after " Uncase me." " Defend his wits, good 
 heaven ! " confirm Forrest's judgment on this 
 point ; and again immediately after Lear asks 
 Edgar : " Tell me, is a madman a gentleman or 
 a yeoman ? " Kent remarks : " I fear'd 'twould 
 come to this; his wits are gone." All of Lear's 
 
124 
 
 words previous to this are logical in every 
 respect. Garrick and all other actors commenced 
 to act the sense of madness at the opening of 
 Scene I, Act III, at the words: " Blow, winds, and 
 crack your cheeks ! " while Forrest commenced 
 at Scene III, Act III, as quoted. And it was 
 here that Forrest's face changed to a condition 
 of vacancy, his eyes wandered, and with his hands 
 he would throw his long, white hair from off his 
 temples as if desiring coolness for his fevered 
 brow. And although he seated himself upon the 
 stage cheek-by-jowl beside Edgar, he did not play 
 with straws and pick at his dress as if an idiot, 
 as Garrick and most actors have. There was a 
 dignity in all of Forrest's actions that still arrayed 
 him " Every inch a king." After this all his busi- 
 ness with Edgar showed a mind distracted, but 
 with a sort of method in his madness, until at 
 last, exhausted by a fevered brain and bodily 
 exposure, and while walking and saying : 
 
 " Hist ! make no noise, make no noise ; draw 
 The curtain ; closer, closer ; so, so, so, — we'll go 
 To supper i' the morning ; so, so, so ! " 
 
 he swooned asleep, fell into the arms of Kent 
 and Gloster, and, gently snoring, was carried from 
 off the stage amid the dead silence of the audi- 
 ence. P'orrest was the only actor that ever intro- 
 duced the act of snoring in the scene. And 
 nothing but the most masterly acting could make 
 
125 
 
 the disagreeable sound adapted to the ears of a 
 refined audience, and especially so in the represen- 
 tation of tragedy. 
 
 In Act IV, Scene IV, Shakespeare causes Lear 
 to say some few things that indicate real mad- 
 ness, but the majority of his sayings reveal epi- 
 grammatically the profoundest truths and good 
 sense. After a careful study of Lear's mind, 
 through the words which the great dramatist 
 caused him to speak, we fail to see that Lear is 
 really mad. To be mad or insane, is to be with- 
 out clear reason. The words mad or insane can- 
 not be applied to temporary delirium, and there- 
 fore Lear is not mad, he is delirious only, and the 
 actor who represents Lear in the condition of mad- 
 ness, makes a mistake ; at least we think so. 
 Lear's entering upon the stage with a wreath of 
 flowers upon his head, and a bundle of straws in 
 his hand, is the work of a lunatic. 
 
 Such antics might emanate from the disturbed 
 mind of a low-bred person, but not from the mind 
 of one who had been possessed of fine intellect, 
 and the high position as a king, Lear's reply to 
 Gloster's words, 
 
 "That voice I well remember ; is't not the King?" 
 Leai — "Ay, every inch a king! When I do stare, 
 See how the subject quakes ? 
 I pardon that man's life." 
 
 This was one of Forrest's finest utterances in 
 the whole play. Forrest's acting in the rest of this 
 
126 
 
 scene was of a subdued nature, reason struggling to 
 express truths, which were received by his audience 
 as gems of philosophy gleaming through a fevered 
 brain. His last scene over his dead child, Cordelia, 
 in the expression of grief, is beyond description. 
 The painter's brushes and colors might have been 
 able to outline his position and the expression of 
 a broken-hearted face, but the pen cannot utter 
 his voice, nor express the thoughts in his eyes, 
 and the distortions of mouth and brow. His per- 
 formance of Lear was a master-piece, made so 
 by his constant study of the text, which had so 
 grafted the character into himself that it became 
 his second nature. 
 
 In making these comparisons between Forrest, 
 Garrick, Quin, Barry and Edmund Kean, we have 
 done so with all due respect to the genius of 
 the four English actors named. We have com- 
 pared Forrest in only two of his characters, Lear 
 and Othello. We have not introduced him in 
 Richard the HI against Garrick's Richard, for 
 the reason that we believe that Garrick was 
 superior in that character to any other actor that 
 ever performed the part, nor have we placed 
 him in opposition to Kean's Shylock, which will 
 perhaps never be equaled again, nor have we 
 placed Forrest in contrast with Kemble's, Kean's, 
 or the elcier Booth's Hamlets, for the simple 
 reason that all three of these actors were in 
 many respects better suited to that part than Mr. 
 Forrest. 
 
127 
 
 We might, with perfect safety, place Forrest as 
 Coriolanus, opposite to John Philip Kemble in 
 that part, and gain another Shakespearian char- 
 acter for the American actor. The reader will 
 readily understand that the criticisms and com- 
 parisons on these eminent actors spring from no 
 national feeling, but from the standpoint only 
 of inquiry, as to which of these great actors came 
 the nearest to a correct interpretation of the 
 incomparable author 
 
 Henry Chroley, critic of the " London Athenaeum," 
 at the time Forrest was performing his round of 
 characters in that city, said, " I shall never forget 
 to my dying day the wonderful manner Mr. 
 Forrest represented the character of King Lear. 
 There is a force without violence in his passionate 
 parts, which he owes to his physical conformation ; 
 but which he throws into the body of Lear that 
 makes him perfectly kingly. His curse-scene was 
 most awful and withering, especially that part 
 where he slides down upon his knees." 
 
 Professor Wilson, a gentleman of the highest 
 culture, standing at the head of one of the first 
 colleges in Scotland, and who had seen Edmund 
 Kean act many times, remarked in one of his 
 press-articles on the acting of Forrest, that " he 
 was the greatest actor he had seen since the days 
 of Kean," and that " Forrest's Othello and Lear 
 were fully equal to Kean's, and in some respects 
 even better." 
 
128 
 
 Mr. Forrest drew crowded houses while in Eng- 
 land, and was very much admired as an actor, and 
 yet was a victim of the contemptible jealousy of 
 Mr. Macready, who, fearing that Forrest would 
 absorb too much of the public's attention, did all 
 he could to depreciate the American actor, both 
 as an artist and a man. In this Mr. Macready suc- 
 ceeded, and Forrest, disgusted by Macready's con- 
 duct, left England and returned to his native 
 country, where he was received with enthusiasm 
 and open arms. It is a well-known fact, that on 
 one occasion, when Mr. Macready visited this coun- 
 try, Mr. Forrest had an engagement iti the same 
 week at the Bowery Theatre, when Mr. Macready 
 was to appear at the Park Theatre, and out of 
 delicacy and glorious manhood, he put off his 
 engagement at the Bowery Theatre^ that it might 
 not appear that he was rumiing in opposition to 
 the celebrated English tragedian. Further com- 
 ments are unnecessary. But the day of retribution 
 overtook Mr. Macready when he soon after visited 
 America. Mr. Forrest's friends and the public 
 vindicated his cause, and Macready suddenly 
 returned to England again. 
 
 If you desire to know of the envious and jealous 
 disposition of the famous English actor, Macready, 
 all you need do is to read his autobiography, 
 wherein he confesses that his envy and jealousy 
 of the slightest applause bestowed upon an actor 
 performing in the same play with him, had been 
 
129 
 
 a curse to his life. We can here tell an anecdote 
 to illustrate the fact of Macready's jealous disposi- 
 tion. I happened to be a member of the old Park 
 Theatre company in New York when Macready 
 was playing an engagement there. The play was 
 Macbeth, with Macready in the lead, and John 
 Dyott, a clever English actor, as Macduff. The 
 writer was with Macready in his dressing-room, 
 when the thunders of applause greeted Dyott's fine 
 acting in Act IV, Scene III, where he says: 
 
 " What, all my pretty chickens, and their dam. 
 At one fell swoop ? " 
 
 when, on hearing the applause, Macready exclaimed, 
 " Heavens, what's that ?" I answered, " Why, it's the 
 applause for Dyott's fine scene." " Great God, the 
 gallery must be very full" responded Macready ; 
 inferring that none but the lower class in the 
 gallery would applaud Dyott. However, both of 
 these two great men, Forrest and Macready, who 
 commanded so much public attention, are now at 
 rest, where neither jealousy nor the thunders of 
 applause can ever more disturb their peace. Amen. 
 
 17 
 
FORREST AS DAMON. 
 
 As a play " Damon and Pythias " is remarkable 
 for dramatic situations. Its arrangement of 
 incidents, and their progress from scene to scene, 
 and act to act, are in perfect harmony with all the 
 laws necessary for a well-formed classic tragedy. 
 Yet it is but a five-act play, that has really no 
 other merits than its well-jointed dramatic action. 
 The language is of ordinary dramatic character, 
 and its blank verse only occasionally elevates 
 beyond mediocrity. Still, a good actor can find 
 many opportunities in the play to attract the full 
 attention of his audience and gain much applause. 
 Two actors only, however, made reputation and 
 money by the performance of Damon. The first 
 was Thomas Cooper, the latter Edwin Forrest. 
 The writer had the good fortune of seeing both 
 of these gentlemen perform the character. We 
 saw Mr. Cooper in Damon, in his declining days, 
 when his physical fires could not flame to the 
 higher wrought dramatic situations in several parts 
 of the play. This gentleman was a very fine actor. 
 His figure was beautifully proportioned, and with 
 
By Gabritl Ha7-rison 
 
 FORREST AS DAMON. 
 
 Damon. — "I stand a Senator, within the Senate house.' 
 
131 
 
 a fine voice and good elocution, together with a 
 finished education, he was equal to the most classic 
 character in the English language. He invested 
 the character of Damon with a dignity and classic- 
 ness way beyond the diction of the author. When 
 young, he must have been remarkably fine in the 
 role ; and fully deserved the praise given him for 
 his masterly performance of the part. 
 
 We saw Forrest in the character of Damon 
 when in the very prime of his life — when every 
 condition of his wonderful physical being could 
 readily cope with all the situations in the play. 
 If the play had been purposely written for him, it 
 could not have more closely fitted his peculiar 
 requisites for the part. His grand and massy 
 figure (as our illustration in the book proves) was 
 more than equal to Damon's broad and generous 
 quality of democratic mind, and devoted friendship. 
 
 The picture represents him at the moment he 
 answers Dionysius, and says : 
 
 "I stand 
 A Senator in the Senate house ! " 
 
 The pose expresses a quality and repose seldom, 
 if ever equaled by any of the great artists of the 
 stage. 
 
 His speech before the Senate, beginning with 
 the words : 
 
 " Oh ! thanks for these few voices ! but alas ! 
 How lonely do they sound !" 
 
132 
 
 was given with a quality of intense pleading, that 
 would have penetrated any heart but that of the 
 obdurate tyrant, Dionysius. 
 
 His scene with his wife and child when he bids 
 them farewell, was full of pathos, and always drew 
 tears from his audience. 
 
 The startling scene with LucuUus, when he 
 tells Damon that he has killed his horse to pre- 
 vent his return to redeem his pledge with Pythias, 
 was never surpassed in physical acting. His climac- 
 teric picture in the fifth act was thrilling in the 
 extreme. His having fallen from his horse in his 
 effort to return in time to rescue his friend, his 
 dress bespattered with mud, his bruised head with 
 blood trickling down over his face, caused his 
 audience to shudder, and demonstrated that the 
 dramatic qualities of Mr. Forrest's mind were equal 
 to the strong situation the dramatist had so graph- 
 ically suggested. 
 
 While here alluding to Forrest's Damon, it is 
 our duty to speak of Madam Ponisi, who for many 
 years supported Mr. Forrest in all his great 
 characters whenever he performed in the city of 
 New York. Her performance of Hermion, the 
 wife of Damon, was a remarkable piece of acting. 
 The character amounts to one or two short scenes 
 only, but her fine womanly figure, her pleasing, 
 frank face and her perfect utterances of the 
 English language commanded the attention of her 
 audience and fitted her as the wife of Damon. 
 
133 
 
 Her Lady Macbeth, and Emelia, in Othello, were 
 dramatic pictures that rendered her famous with 
 her New York audiences. This charming lady was 
 born in Huddersfield, England. She first appeared 
 in London, December 26, 1848, at the Surrey 
 Theatre ; in America at the Walnut Street 
 Theatre, Philadelphia, October 7, 1850. For 
 many years she has been one of the leading 
 ladies at Wallack's New York Theatre. She was 
 divorced from Ponisi in 1858, and married Samuel 
 Wallis, a stage machinist of much merit. 
 
 Forrest during his theatrical career had two 
 distinct styles of acting,' — when young the romantic 
 school of acting commanded his attention, and in 
 such characters as Damon, William Tell, Bertram, 
 Rolla, Gladiator, Jack Cade, and Metamora, he 
 elorlfied himself. But in these characters he never 
 was melo-dramatic. He had no tricks, and what- 
 ever the characters, he always invested it with 
 the qualities of naturalness. In his older days 
 — say from the time he was fifty, to the close 
 of his life, he chose such characters as Othello, 
 Lear, Coriolanus and Richelieu. Here he was in 
 the deep ocean of dramatic literature, and delighted 
 in the deeper research that expounded the higher 
 conditions of writing ; and thereby became more 
 classic in this style of acting. It is a fact, that 
 the greater number of celebrated actors have at 
 the age of fifty relaxed in their study, and 
 flung themselves into the arms of pleasure and rest 
 
134 
 
 so naturally wished for after a toilsome student- 
 ship and labor for years. But it was not so 
 with Mr. Forrest. An opposite neighbor and friend 
 of his told the writer that whenever Mr. Forrest 
 was at home in his Broad street mansion, he 
 could very often see him, with his student lamp 
 at his side, as late as two o'clock in the morn- 
 ing, and when spoken to on the subject of over- 
 study his reply was, " He could not help it" 
 that " his mind seemed to be new opening to the 
 abounding beauties in Shakespeare and the better 
 class of dramatists." And it was from these 
 reasons that Forrest was a far greater actor at 
 sixty-five than at fifty, while other actors have 
 been greater at , fifty than at sixty-five. 
 
THANKSGIVING DAY WITH FORREST. 
 
 His Hospitality and Characteristics. 
 
 ON the 1 8th of November, 1872, the writer 
 received the following letter from Edwin 
 Forrest : 
 
 " Philadelphia, November 17th, 1872. 
 Gabriel Harrison, 
 
 Dear Sir : — It is my desire that you visit me on 
 Thanksgiving day, Thursda}', 25th, and take thanks 
 with me. There will be none other present. We 
 can enjoy my library, and have a feast of reason 
 conjoined with the feast of the repast. Come Early. 
 
 Yours, with high regard, 
 
 EDWIN FORREST." 
 
 Mr. Forrest always had respect for himself in 
 what even he did in friendship or business, and, 
 therefore, he expected and demanded respect from 
 others. If he made an appointment or a promise, 
 he never failed to keep it, unless circumstances 
 beyond his control prevented him. If he liked a 
 man, the more attention he expected from him, 
 to demonstrate that he was not mistaken in his 
 
136 
 
 estimation of him. He was zealous for his 
 friends, and would do anything in his power to 
 help them, and prove his appreciation of them. 
 
 The italicized "Come Early" in his note was 
 the key to a hearty welcome ; but what his 
 " Come Early " really meant was to be solved 
 by experience only. I rang the door-bell of his 
 mansion at 8 A. M. with .fear that I was intrud- 
 ing at too previous an hour, but when I asked 
 the attendant if Mr. Forrest was up, Forrest's 
 rich, round voice thundered down the stairs : 
 " Up ? up ? I have been waiting an hour for 
 you." This was an agreeable surprise, and made 
 the writer feel that he was indeed welcome. I 
 was conducted into the library, containing over 
 twenty thousand volumes. The size of this large 
 room was about 20x60 feet, with a height of 16 
 feet. The furniture was of black walnut. His 
 desk stood nearly in the middle of the room, 
 and near it was an Elizabethian table, which was 
 made in the days of Elizabeth, and was purchased 
 by him while in London. On it was a large glass 
 case, silver-mounted, and in it the first folio 
 edition of Shakespeare s ivorks, 1623. This, of all 
 his many treasures, was his greatest, and when he 
 alluded to it, his tone of voice changed, and his 
 very eyes expressed profound respect and admira- 
 tion for the dramatic genius contained in that 
 one volume, which has done more for the advance- 
 ment of the stage than all the other dramatists 
 of the world, ancient and modern. 
 
137 
 
 Forrest had social desires and instincts, but his 
 personal friends were few. This came, perhaps, 
 from his unavoidable doubts of sincerity of men 
 in general. He, himself, was profoundly sin- 
 cere, and, therefore, he despised a dissembler. By 
 this rather suspicious habit, it is probable that he 
 lost friendships that would have been a profit and 
 a pleasure to him. He -possessed a large sense of 
 humor, and could enjoy and tell an anecdote, or 
 a story with inimitable force. Never vulgar, others 
 never dared to be vulgar in his presence. There 
 was always a dignity about him that dignified 
 others, and yet, a manner withal, that inspired self- 
 confidence. 
 
 He was a good listener, and often asked others 
 to talk. Perhaps the most social friend he ever 
 had was James Oaks. He knew more of the 
 secret nature of Forrest than any other associate. 
 His most intimate literary and financial friend, 
 from whom he took his best advice concerning 
 his readings and the management of his estate, 
 was Mr. James Lawson, of Yonkers, New York. 
 This gentleman, to my personal knowledge, was a 
 scholar of high culture and refined taste, — a grad- 
 uate of Edinburgh College. Mr. Lawson was the 
 author of several plays in verse. One of them, a 
 tragedy in five acts, — " Giordano," — was performed 
 at the old Park Theatre, New York, in the early 
 part of his life. Two others — the " Maiden's Oath," 
 and " Liddesdale, or The Border Chief," — were 
 
 18 
 
138 
 
 written in the latter part of his life as a means of 
 industry and amusement. They were all elegantly 
 printed, and circulated among his best friends. 
 The writer is the fortunate possessor of a full set, 
 autographed by the author. If as dramatic com- 
 positions they lack somewhat in dramatic effects, 
 they nevertheless abound in scholarship, and show 
 a deep insight into the human heart. Appleton's 
 Cyclopaedia makes mention of Mr. Lawson. 
 
 Daniel Dougherty concludes the trio of Mr. 
 Forrest's executors and particular friends. As a 
 legal adviser to Mr. Forrest, he has been as 
 true as steel -and as stubborn as the trade- 
 winds ; and, as an enthusiastic admirer of Mr. 
 Forrest's style of acting and oratory, he has 
 absorbed enough to fully entitle him to recogni- 
 tion as " The Silver-tongued Orator " of the day. 
 
 The writer's Thanksgiving day in company with 
 the great American tragedian was made pleasur- 
 able in every respect. The old dramatists were 
 pulled down from their shelves. Anecdotes were 
 rehearsed of the old actors and managers. We 
 laughed together, and when we reached the sub- 
 ject of the old folio edition of Shakespeare, 1623, 
 it was done with a reverence that made it sacred 
 — only less so than the sacred tomb of the great 
 dramatist. He carefully unlocked the case that 
 contained the volume, and carefully placed it upon 
 his desk for examination. As I undertook to turn 
 over the leaves of the precious volume, he gently 
 
139 
 
 moved my hand away and performed the task 
 himself, fearing I might handle the treasure too 
 rudely. He exhibited other rare things of the stage 
 that had belonged to Garrick and to other celebrated 
 actors of the English stage. Then he conducted 
 me through his art gallery, that contained some 
 few pictures of value : — an original portrait of 
 Nell Gwynne, a portrait of Forrest by Gilbert 
 Stuart, a statue of himself in the character of 
 Coriolanus, by Ball, a fancy subject of a little 
 girl by Meyer, a group of three large-sized pic- 
 tures that expressed " the morning, the noon, and 
 the evening of life — childhood, marriage and death," 
 beautifully painted by Bellowes ; a portrait of 
 Napoleon the 1, and a few other works of art 
 that had considerable merit. But among all these 
 pictures, there was no picture of himself in 
 character, excepting a few photographs without 
 appropriate backgrounds, such as Metamora stand- 
 ing on an ingrain carpet. After all the paintings 
 and trophies had been commented on, he con- 
 ducted the writer to the basement of his house, 
 and exhibited a perfect little theatre, containing 
 scenery, footlights, and room enough to seat at 
 least two hundred people. " Here," he said, " 1 
 have had little children perform a whole play, 
 which I have rehearsed them in to my great 
 pleasure." 
 
 This remark was another proof of his tender 
 heart ; it showed that a half century of buffets 
 
140 
 
 with the hard world had not chilled the impulses of 
 youth ; the garden of boyhood was still green, and 
 had its blooming flowers to soothe the memory 
 of old age. 
 
 Then the summons to dinner was made, and we 
 were conducted to the dining-room. The table was 
 simply dressed, with everything on it that was 
 to be eaten and drank. He placed me directly 
 opposite to himself, and carved the turkey with 
 a skill that showed the dexterity of an epicure ; 
 he handed to me my plate of good things, and 
 then furnished his own plate, and, before he sat 
 down, he said : " God be praised." At first, the 
 conversation was slow, and, as if anxious to talk, 
 he said : " Tell me something." To which I 
 responded and said : " Yes, I was about to make 
 a speech." " A speech ! to whom ? and about 
 what ? " he inquired. " To you, and about you." 
 Then I arose and remarked : " Come, let us 
 imagine that this is the occasion of a dinner 
 given by America's greatest tragedian, Edwin 
 Forrest, and the orator of the occasion is your 
 humble servant. Thus I begin : 
 
 "Gentlemen: — The occasion is one that must 
 give us all alike a great pleasure. We are partak- 
 ing of the hospitalities of Edwin Forrest, America's 
 greatest representative of the drama, the fame of 
 whose genius as an actor has reached beyond the 
 confines of his own country, and, in the immortal 
 group of the greatest actors of the world, his 
 
141 
 
 place will be as high as the highest. Genius is 
 not the exclusive gift of the great Bestower 
 to any one particular nation or people, but 
 wherever it. may be found, it becomes the nation's 
 pride. Therefore, as Americans, we feel the same 
 right and pride to admire and laud our Forrest, 
 as England her Garrick or France her Talma. 
 Indeed, as Americans, it is our duty to foster 
 native genius or talent in whatever branch of 
 literature and art and mechanics, it may demon- 
 strate itself. It is a nation's duty to look after 
 the perpetuity of her children's fame, as it is the 
 mother's welcome duty to afford or direct the 
 sustenance of her own offspring. To carry out 
 this great principle, we find that all nations of 
 Europe have used the art-preservatives to illus- 
 trate and send down through the avenues of time 
 the features of those who, by their genius and 
 industry, have helped to make their nation illus- 
 trious. 
 
 " Garrick, Siddons and the Kembles had their 
 Reynolds and Leslie to make imperishable their 
 features, and to express their attitudes and passions 
 so wonderfully pictured by their artistic genius in 
 the portrayal of Shakespeare's marvelous creations. 
 It is more than likely that these actors themselves 
 gave the means and encouraged the artists in their 
 work. These actors of old looked after them- 
 selves, but our Forrest, either through too much 
 modesty, or lack of proper appreciation of 
 
142 
 
 art-preservatives of himself, is, to this late day of 
 his life, without a single illustration in any way 
 equal to his own merits as an artist. This is a 
 fact deeply regretted. Had there been a lack of 
 means to palliate this fault, we could feel it an 
 excuse ; but it is the contrary, for we know that 
 the great American actor is the richest actor the 
 world has ever admired. Now, as the matter 
 stands, we have the right to say, that Mr. Forrest 
 should feel it his bounden duty to look without 
 delay for his Leslie and Reynolds. Besides, there 
 are other things that Mr. Forrest can do which 
 will be of vast importance to his profession. In 
 the days of Shakespeare, there lived two actors, 
 John Heminge and Henry Condell, and, though 
 not very eminent in their profession, they were 
 devoted to it, and did a service to the drama and 
 the whole world, that should cause them to be 
 remembered by mankind and immortalized in 
 bronze and granite. 
 
 " Seven years or less, after all that was mortal 
 of the Bard of Avon had been consigned to the 
 chamber of the dead that lie under the pavement 
 of the Church of the Holy Trinity, at Stratford, 
 these two actors came together, and, perhaps over 
 a social goblet, they said ; ' Come, let us not 
 forget our old companion Shakespeare ; let us 
 gather from the book-keepers of the theatres the 
 manuscripts of all his plays, and give to the 
 world the first complete printed edilion of his 
 
143 
 
 works.' And they did it in the first foHo, 1623. 
 This was an act of such mighty importance to 
 Hterature and genius, that no. shaft can reach too 
 high, no eulogiiim over-praise, and no art-achieve- 
 ment be too grand to express the gratitude of 
 mankind to these two actors, who, by their fore- 
 thought, preserved, to all future time, the immortal 
 genius that will ever be an enlightenment to the 
 world. Therefore what a glorious opportunity is 
 open for some generous and appreciative spirit, to 
 place in some metropolitan park, a group statue 
 to these two worthy men." 
 
 At the conclusion of these remarks, Mr. Forrest 
 suddenly rose from the table with his face flushed 
 with color, and exclaimed, with much emphasis, 
 " It shall be done. I shall go to Boston next 
 week to give three readings ; and, immediately on 
 my return, I will call a meeting of my executors 
 here, have you meet them, and talk the matter 
 over." 
 
 We then returned to the library, and I further 
 suggested the foundation of a Dramatic College 
 for the proper education and instruction of those 
 who desire to become members of the profession. 
 The rest of the day was spent in discussing the 
 merits of the great actors that had adorned the 
 stage. He seemed to favor Edmund Kean as the 
 grandest ; and, as on a previous occasion, drew 
 from his portfolio the portrait of Kean that illus- 
 trates this volume, stating that it was the best 
 
144 
 
 likeness of the " great little man " he ever saw, 
 and gave the writer carte blanche to have it 
 painted by an artist of my own selection, for his 
 gallery of pictures ; but here came a pause that 
 verified the old adage : " Man proposes, but God 
 disposes." For, before the picture could be finished 
 Mr. Forrest was no more. Victor Nehlig was 
 the artist selected. Mr. Forrest's executors could 
 do nothing in the matter, as there was no writ- 
 ten statement, or, as they thought, to give them 
 authority to have the picture finished. However, 
 we here give a letter from Mr. Forrest on the 
 subject. 
 
 Metropolitan Hotel, 
 New York, February 23, 1871. 
 
 Gabriel Harrison, Esq., 
 
 My Dear Sir ■ — If Saturday next, the day after 
 to-morrow, should be fine weather, I should like to 
 visit with you the studio of the artist whom you 
 think qualified to paint the portrait of Edmund Kean. 
 
 Will you call on me, about half-past eleven on 
 that day, if you have nothing else to do, and oblige, 
 
 Yours sincerely, 
 
 EDWIN FORREST. 
 
 On the next day after Thanksgiving Mr. Forrest 
 left Philadelphia for Boston, to give there three 
 readings ; and there, on Saturday afternoon, Decem- 
 ber 7th, 1872, he read the entire play of Othello, 
 which was the last time he appeared before the 
 
145 
 
 public. In three days after this he was at his 
 home in Philadelphia ; and on Thursday, December 
 1 2th, 1872, he died from a stroke of apoplexy. 
 He expired at 9 o'clock, A. M. 
 
 Thus came death and prevented the realization 
 of all the many beautiful things he contemplated 
 and proposed to do, and at a time, too, when he 
 expected to take a long rest at home, withdrawn 
 from the labor of his profession, and first awaked 
 to a realization of his own importance as an artist 
 through an " intercession (as he said) of one who 
 had more highly appreciated his genius than he 
 himself." For no great man ever lived who took 
 less pains to nourish his fame than Edwin Forrest. 
 In this fact he stands alone. On many occasions, 
 through his modesty, he has even ignored the critic 
 and the artist who desired to illustrate him favor- 
 ably, and gained their ill-feelings in place of their 
 friendship and applause. 
 
 Could he have lived six months longer, all of 
 the beautiful inspirations that came to the writer 
 at the dinner-table would have been realized. 
 The portrait of Kean, the pictures of himself in 
 characters, the Dramatic College, and the Group- 
 Statue, had all by the hand of death been dis- 
 solved from a hopeful realization to a mere dream 
 of the past. 
 
 In contemplating the character of Edwin For- 
 rest, we cannot well understand how a man of 
 so much good sense in his art could be so obtuse 
 
 19 
 
146 
 
 in those things that were of vital importance to 
 his personal fame as a man and an artist, 
 especially as we knew Forrest was a man who 
 appreciated keenly the merits of others, and 
 enjoyed the fine arts. He knew their usefulness, 
 and would often express his admiration for art and 
 others to a degree of almost girlish sentimentality. 
 He looked upon his collection of engravings, repre- 
 senting all of the celebrated actors of Europe, as 
 among the most valuable and interesting of things 
 in his possession, and yet he had not a picture of 
 himself in character that was worthy of a place 
 in his portfolio. Was it modesty that caused this 
 neglect ? Yes, as the following anecdote illustrates. 
 In showing me slowly through his portfolio, he 
 quickly passed over a head of himself in mezzo- 
 tint by John Sartain. I requested to look at it, 
 and said it was pretty good. He took it from 
 my hand, and placed it upon the table. He put 
 the portfolio away, but, in a few minutes, he 
 returned for the picture, and was about placing it 
 in the collection, when I remarked I would like 
 to have it. He replied: "Yes, I was waiting for 
 you to ask for it, fearing that you did not think 
 enough of me to make it worth the asking for." 
 On another occasion, when in New York, he 
 asked me to take him to some of the studios of 
 my artist friends. The day was a beautiful one, 
 and as he stood looking out of the Metropolitan 
 Hotel window down on Broadway, he said : " How 
 
H7 
 
 I would like to walk the streets in this beauti- 
 ful sunshine, and look into the shop-windows as 
 other people do," and I answered, " Why not ? 
 we have only a few blocks to go." " Yes, but 
 then the people stare at me so that I become 
 confused." Both of these cases were evidence of 
 native modesty, which even the constant appear- 
 ing before thousands of auditors had not yet 
 modified to a condition of personal confidence. 
 
 A man can always feel better pleased with him- 
 self, when recognized by a truly great man, and it 
 was always so with the writer when in social inter- 
 course with Edwin Forrest, Edgar A. Poe, Fitz 
 Greene Halleck, and others, for the reason that 
 we felt there must be something of value in our- 
 selves to be so recognized. When with Forrest, 
 we could not help but feel his genius in a more 
 vivid sense. We not only felt him as a man but 
 as the actor, and could afterward see him in a 
 double sense, upon the stage, in some powerful 
 scene in Damon, Virginius, or Lear. I think that 
 almost any man will feel far more interested in 
 the presence of a great actor than in the presence 
 of a genius representing some other profession. 
 
 Forrest, with all his modesty, loved to be 
 thought well of, and could accept delicate praise 
 with evident pleasure. At one time I spoke to 
 him with much admiration of his performance of 
 Richelieu. He remarked : " I can do it better ; I 
 was not well last night." A few days after, he 
 
148 
 
 sent a note with a check for a private box, and 
 requested me to bring some friends to see him 
 act Richelieu. We selected Judge John Green- 
 wood and Alden J. Spooner, of Brooklyn, gentle- 
 men well versed in the drama, and excellent critics, 
 the latter for many years the editor of a famous 
 newspaper. We got to the theatre a few 
 minutes late, but he did not let the curtain rise 
 till we were seated in the box. This was a great 
 compliment to his guests, and showed a deter- 
 mination to do good work, and I feel perfectly 
 assured that, had we disappointed him by not 
 coming, he would have felt it so keenly that his 
 performance of Richelieu would have been a com- 
 parative failure. 
 
 His performance of Richelieu on this occasion 
 was marvelous and soul-stirring. He did every- 
 thing in the rendering of the character that fell 
 within the scope of his dramatic genius, and fre- 
 quently his acting was so impressive that his 
 audiences went beyond applause of the hands, and 
 lavished their praises and comments of the tongue. 
 It was on this occasion of his last engagement at 
 the Fourteenth Street Theatre, New York, 1871, 
 less than a year previous to his death. The fol- 
 lowing anecdote occurred, and demonstrated to 
 what a wonderful reality the actor can work him- 
 self. Between the fourth and fifth acts of the play, 
 Mr. Forrest sent word to my friends and myself 
 that he would like to have us ride home with 
 
149 
 
 him to the Metropolitan Hotel, and sup with him. 
 The invitation was gladly accepted, but, on the 
 way to the hotel, he gave evidence of a bad cold 
 by frequent coughing. At the supper table, 
 Judge Greenwood remarked to Mr. Forrest : " I 
 cannot understand how you can do such fine act- 
 ing with such a bad cold." Forrest, surprised, 
 answered : " I have no cold," and coughed again. 
 "There," said the Judge, "you coughed now." 
 " Oh, that's nothing ; that's my Richelieu cough. 
 It will be well in the morning." 
 
 Forrest had introduced this cough into the char- 
 acter of the old prelate who, it is said, in his old 
 days, was much troubled with a hacking cough. 
 And Forrest acted the part with so much inten- 
 sity that it took hours for the assimilation to pass 
 away. 
 
 During the same engagement of twenty nights, 
 he invited the same party of gentlemen to see 
 him perform the part of Lear. The note con- 
 tained the following words : " Come and see me 
 play Lear to-night ; I am quite free from pain, 
 and feel like acting." Forrest never grew tired 
 of his profession, and, when in good health, he 
 enjoyed his work with much pleasure, and, like 
 the true artist, he not only anticipated his task, 
 but, when done, he would contemplate the result 
 with gratification. Like the great painter, he saw 
 the touches, the color and the forms that gave 
 the breath of life to his composition. But with 
 
I50 
 
 the actor, is not the pleasure more intense than 
 with the painter? It must be. The actor has 
 every function of his being brought into action, 
 while doing his work. He feels himself decorated 
 for the occasion. He feels his nerves vibrate to 
 his whole sensibility. He hears the appropriate 
 tones of his voice, answering to the heart and 
 the soul of the character he is representing. The 
 very action of his muscles and the bounding of 
 his blood from heart to brain thrills with pleasure. 
 His fingers tingle, and he feels the pallor of his 
 face, and almost the chill of death in his dying 
 scene. All these sensations pass over him while 
 standing in the presence of a theatre full of peo- 
 ple, and he listens to the magic music of applause 
 that causes the indescribable satisfaction of soul 
 and mind by the endorsement of his fellow-beings 
 in his own presence. 
 
 The painter sits alone in his studio, and calmly 
 works out his results with no crowd about him 
 to shout into his ears their approbation. He may 
 hope for success, but it is still doubtful to him 
 whether his work will strike the pulses of the 
 people. What must have been Mr. Forrest's feel- 
 ings at the conclusion of his performance of Lear, 
 on the night in question, when the audience, men 
 and women, at the end of each act rose to their 
 feet and greeted him with the thunder-bursts of 
 approbation. Every fiber of his being must have 
 thrilled to the grand huzzas of his admirers. It 
 
151 
 
 is such occasions as these that make a man feel 
 that a great God has made him. Pale he stood 
 before his audience, with an expression upon his 
 face that told them his heart was flooded with 
 tears in gratitude for their appreciation. To him 
 this was the one moment that brought the reward 
 for his whole life-work— for he had breathed life 
 into the dead King, and made him a moving 
 being, speaking the inspirations of the soul and 
 genius of Shakespeare ; and by his own genius, 
 in spontaneity caused his audience to express their 
 admiration for the great dramatist. We had seen 
 Forrest act hundreds of times before, but on this 
 occasion he seemed to excel himself. At the con- 
 clusion of his performance, he sent word that he 
 was too much exhausted to see me in the green- 
 room, but to call on him to-morrow. I called ; 
 the door from the hallway that led into his parlor 
 was open, through which I could see him seated 
 in a contemplative position. I tapped on the side 
 of the doorway. The old hero looked up and saw 
 me. For a moment we looked at each other in 
 silence. I walked in, and as he arose to greet me, 
 I said to him while grasping his hand : " What, 
 in the name of God, were you trying to do last 
 night.?" "Act Lear," was his reply, and then with 
 a pathetic quality in his voice, he looked up and 
 asseverated: " And, so help me God, I will never 
 play Lear again !" I questioned why ; he answered: 
 " I fear I may blemish my art-work of last night." 
 And he never did play Lear again. 
 
152 
 
 How much self-knowledge and commentation 
 abounds in the words: "I fear I may blemish my 
 art-work of last night." How much reverence the 
 old master felt for his art, and the result his 
 years of study had brought to fruition. How 
 deeply he must have felt his work, and respected 
 it, to give up his life-picture of the old King, 
 fearing that another touch would mar its per- 
 fection. Forrest was a severe student of every 
 character he ever undertook to perform. Every 
 detail was looked into that could assist him to a 
 correct estimate of the character. In his study of 
 King Lear, he even went so far as to visit 
 lunatic asylums, that he might study the age 
 and facial expressions of the insane. This fact he 
 stated to the writer, as the following letter bears 
 evidence : 
 
 " Philadelphia, September 4th, 1871. 
 Gabriel Harrison, Esq., 
 
 Dear Sir : — The photograph of Lear I sent you is 
 rather a portrait of a general quiescent state of lunacy 
 and not of any paroxysm or specific revealment of 
 any point in the performance, and, so far, I think it is 
 worthy of much commendation. 
 
 But I desire to sit again, that I may strive to get 
 that vacant expression of the eyes that I have so fre- 
 quently seen expressed by those poor wretches whose 
 minds have been shattered by lunacy. This has been 
 one of my most difficult studies, and I have often felt 
 it so expressed when I have been performing Lear. 
 Next month, when I resume my professional life, I 
 
153 
 
 hope to be able to sit for another picture of King 
 Lear, which shall be more pronounced in this respect 
 than the one you have. If you could be here at the 
 time, you might greatly assist the pose, and judge of 
 the expression. 
 
 Truly and sincerely yours, 
 
 EDWIN FORREST." 
 
 There is another evidence in this letter that 
 redounds to the great credit of Mr. Forrest, and 
 that is, he never felt himself above criticism. In 
 fact, he would ask his friends, those whose opinions 
 and education he respected, what they thought of 
 his acting, and, when their suggestions were to the 
 purpose, he would willingly adopt them. He was 
 one of those actors who did not think because he 
 was a great public favorite, and had been lifted 
 far above thousands of his profession, that he was 
 perfect in everything that he said or did upon the 
 stage. He was humble, and was willing to listen 
 to the judgment of others. 
 
 Mr. James Lawson's estimate of Forrest as a 
 man and an artist is justly expressed in the 
 following letter, written shortly after Mr. Forrest's 
 death : 
 
 "YoNKERS, N. Y., February 12th, 1872. 
 Mv Dear Mr. Harrison : 
 
 I was at Mr. Forrest's funeral, but I hid myself away 
 from the crowd. I received a telegram, announcing 
 
 the death of Mr. Forrest, and I arrived in Philadelphia 
 
 20 
 
154 
 
 at 5 P. M., Saturday. Mr. McArdle met me at the 
 depot, and carried me in Forrest's carriage to 
 the house. My feelings were acute, and I observed 
 very little. I only remember seeing Oakes. I 
 covild not stay, so, after a sad look on the face of 
 the dead, I went back to the Continental Hotel. Sun- 
 day, I went back to the house, and consulted about 
 the funeral. Early on Monday morning — day of the 
 funeral — I took my last look of the dead, and kissed 
 the cold clay cheek. Oakes gave me a lock of 
 Forrest's hair. I was one of the pall-bearers, and 
 rode in the coach with Oakes, Forney and Dough- 
 erty. It was a dreadful day — rain and snow. You 
 may not remember, but on the way the sun shone 
 for a moment. I turned to Forney, and said : " Don't 
 forget : " 
 
 " Blessed is the corse the sun shines on." As you 
 know, we all went to the grave ; it was soon over, 
 and we left the great actor, alone to his fame and 
 eternal in his rest. 
 
 Yes, I can say everything that is noble about For- 
 rest as a man. He had no selfishness. He was 
 generous to a fault, and easily imposed upon. As a 
 companion, he was exceedingly interesting, and I 
 always felt it a gratification to be with him. He was 
 a sunshine and a consolation to every one with whom 
 he was intimate. I knew him well. x\t the time of 
 his divorce troubles, he resided with me for several 
 weeks, and it was then I learned to know his inner 
 self, and discovered a heart that was trul}' grand, 
 and a manhood way beyond the world's estimate of 
 him. 
 
 As an actor, he was the greatest I ever saw, and I 
 have seen the great Edmund Kean and Cooper, and, 
 
155 
 
 while they startled me with their dramatic genius, 
 yet Forrest was more satisfactory, and gave me less 
 to find fault with. His voice was the finest I ever 
 heard, and he spoke the English langviage perfectly. 
 These are simple facts, and I can say no less. But 
 why should you ask for my opinion of Forrest as an 
 actor, while no one that I know has a finer insight of 
 Forrest's acting than yourself. You appreciate him 
 fully, and with an artist's eye you have drawn him as 
 he is — the tragedian of the age — perhaps of all ages. 
 Your description of him as Virginius, Othello, Meta- 
 mora, and Lear are truthfully given in your letters to 
 me, and touch me to the heart. Where did you get the 
 quotations from Metamora ; had you the MSS? but I 
 recognized them all. The latter part of your letter is 
 truly pathetic ; it went to my very soul ; it is sweetly 
 poetic, that passage particularly : 
 
 " The sweetest music lies in the harp, awaiting the 
 touch of the master hand to express the melody." 
 
 The thought expresses Forrest's elocution so exactly 
 that I could hear his fine voice as I read the passage. 
 You should some day feel it a duty, as Forrest's friend, 
 to write a critical work on his genius, and, until you 
 do it, full justice will not be done him as an artist. 
 
 When the weather is more moderate, I hope to call 
 on you in Brooklyn, and offer my thanks for your let- 
 ter of sympathy. Come, see me ; my doors are ever 
 wide to you. 
 
 Ever truly, yours, 
 
 JAMES LAWSON." 
 
 William R. Alger, In his voluminous work on 
 the life of Forrest, has said many fine things 
 
T56 
 
 about the tragedian. We had the pleasure of 
 knowing Mr. Alger at the time he was writing 
 the life of Mr. Forrest, and we were in full sym- 
 pathy with his work ; and, at the request of Mr. 
 Alger and Mr. James Lawson, we did all in our 
 power in assisting him to a proper estimate of 
 Forrest's merits as an actor. Mr Alger, however, 
 became impressed with the idea that Mr. Forrest 
 was a melo-dramatic actor, against which we took 
 a decided stand to the contrary. This fact Mr. 
 Alger admits by inserting the following letter from 
 the writer in opposition to Mr, Alger's mistake — 
 Vol. II, page 543 : 
 
 " Harrison, writing to the biographer of his 
 friend, in protest against the epithet melo-dra- 
 matic, records his estimate thus : ' Are the won- 
 derful figures of Michael Angelo melo-dramatic, 
 because they are so strongly outlined ? Is Niagara 
 unnatural and full of trick because it is mighty 
 and thunders so in its fall ? When I looked at 
 it, its sublimity made me feel as if I was looking 
 God in the face ; and I have never thought that 
 God was melo-dramatic. I have seen Forrest act 
 more than four hundred times. I have sat at his 
 feet as a pupil-artist learning of a master-artist. 
 In all his chief roles I have studied him with the 
 most earnest carefulness, from his lo2it ensemble to 
 the minutest particulars of look, tone, and posture, 
 and motion. And I can say, that without doubt, 
 he was the most honest, natural, finished, and 
 
157 
 
 powerful actor that ever lived. Whenever I saw 
 him act, I used to feel with exultation how per- 
 fectly grand God had made him. How grand a 
 form ! how grand a mind ! how grand a heart ! 
 how grand a voice ! how grand a flood of passion, 
 sweeping all these to their mark in perfect unison ! 
 My memory of him is so worshipful and affec- 
 tionate, and so full of regret, that I can see him 
 no more, that my tears are blotting the leaf on 
 which I write.' " 
 
 We mention the fact of assisting Mr. Alger to 
 a proper estimate of Mr. Forrest's style of act- 
 ing, for the reason that he used much of the 
 writer's description of how Mr. Forrest performed 
 the parts of Virginius, Metamora, Othello, Brutus, 
 etc., in his own book, and as part of the same is 
 used in this work, we do not wish to be accused 
 of plagiarism. In several parts of his work, he 
 gracefully admits the fact of our assistance, and 
 we felt it an honor to be of service to Mr. Aleer. 
 He is a man of genius, as his work on the 
 " Genius of Solitude " shows. It is a work that 
 will ever remain a gem in English literature. 
 
 The following letter from Mr. Alger shows 
 how willingly he listened to the judgment of others 
 who knew more about Mr. Forrest's merits as 
 an actor than himself. His experience in matters 
 of the stage was not abounding, but, like a faith- 
 ful servant to his subject, he desired to do Mr. 
 Forrest full justice, and to a considerable extent 
 
158 
 
 he took heed of the opinions of those who all 
 their lives had been more or less associated with 
 the drama. 
 
 " New York, December 30th, 1874. 
 My Dear Mr. Harrison: 
 
 I have just received your very interesting and sug- 
 gestive letters. Mr. James Lawson has sent me your 
 notes on Mr. Forrest's acting in Virginius, and I have 
 read them with extreme pleasure. They will be of 
 great service and value to me. Any similar pictorial 
 reminiscences which you can give me of his other 
 roles, I shall be exceedingly grateful for. 
 
 I am now settled in the Fifth Avenue Hotel, Room 
 386, up next to the sky, where I want much to see 
 you and hear you talk about the great actor. 
 
 Your notes on Macbeth, Hamlet, and Coriolanus 
 have come safely to hand. Also your description of 
 Forrest's Othello. I shall avail myself of all you have 
 written freely. Please accept my thanks for your 
 great kindness. 
 
 Ever gratefully, yours, 
 
 WILLIAM R. ALGER." 
 
 This is a noble admission of facts, and is in 
 every way worthy of Mr. Alger. 
 
 It is a fact, as Alger says : " The knowledge 
 and culture of Forrest were in no sense limited to 
 the range of his profession. He was uncommonly 
 well educated, not only by a wide acquaintance 
 with books, but also by varied observation and 
 experience of the world. Another trait in Forrest, 
 
159 
 
 to which all his friends will testify, was his perfect 
 freedom in private life from all theatrical affec- 
 tations. His bearing was natural and honest. 
 With an actor so powerfully marked as he, this is 
 not common ; most great actors carry from their 
 professional into their daily life some fixed strut of 
 attitude or chronic stilt of elocution, or pompous 
 trick of quotation. It was not so with Forrest, 
 and his detachment from all such habits, and his 
 simplicity were an honor to him, and a charm to 
 those who could appreciate the suppression of the 
 shop in the manly assertion of dignity and recti- 
 tude. His speech attracted attention only from 
 its uncommon ease and finish, not from any inten- 
 tion. The actor, it has been justly said, is so far 
 contemptible who keeps his mock grandeur on 
 when his buskins are off. It is easier to be 
 natural than to act. But when all is said, the 
 greatest quality and charm of Forrest was his 
 softness arid truth of heart, the quickness, strength 
 and beauty of his affections, and the reverential 
 gratitude he had for all who had in any way 
 served him, by word or deed." 
 
 Mr. Alger is no less correct when he says : 
 " Forrest will live a great tradition in the 
 history of the stage. He will live as a learned 
 and versatile histrionist in the exact photographic 
 embodiment of his costumed and breathing char- 
 acters. He will live as a diffused presence in the 
 retreat he has founded for his less fortunate 
 
i6o 
 
 brethren. He will certainly live in the innumer- 
 able and untraceable but momentous influences of 
 his deeds, and effluence of his powerful personality 
 and exhibitions caught up by sensitive organisms 
 and transmitted in their posterity to the end of 
 our race." 
 
 Mr. Edwin Forrest as an actor was, perhaps, the 
 best-abused man the dramatic critics ever attacked. 
 This condition occurred more frequently after the 
 misunderstanding between him and Mr. Macready. 
 The national press at that time was crowded with 
 critics of English birth, and they, through their 
 sectional feeling, made the mistake of revenging 
 themselves on Mr. Eorrest as an artist and as a 
 man. Honest criticism on all matters of art is a 
 necessity, but, when perverted for libelous purposes, 
 in striving to destroy the merits of the artist, 
 it becomes an assault both contemptible and 
 cowardly. 
 
 Of all the newspapers of the country that did 
 the most in an effort to depreciate Mr. Forrest's 
 merits as a man of genius, the New York Tribune 
 took the lead. This is a singular fact, for the 
 reason that the Tribune was an American paper in 
 all other particulars. It admitted into its columns 
 a series of articles against the American actor, 
 written by an Englishman by the name of William 
 Stewart, who, at the time, was acting as the man- 
 ager of the New York Winter Garden Theatre, 
 and was striving to write up a new star by 
 
i6i 
 
 sacrificing Edwin Forrest. This vampire of a critic, 
 who never had any other than selfish motives in 
 his association with the drama, boasted and admit- 
 ted that when he attacked Mr. Forrest as an 
 artist, he had really never seen Mr. Forrest act. 
 That spleen and venom actuated this man is 
 proven in his admitting that he had never seen 
 the artist he audaciously attempted to criticise. 
 
 We are in favor of the proper freedom of the 
 press, and are in favor of honest criticism, but we 
 cannot tole,rate or uphold criticism that attempts 
 to strike at the art-genius of any man, under the 
 bias of national prejudice, or to satisfy the spleen 
 and jealousy of the low critics who have no other 
 than selfish motives to satisfy. 
 
 Among my many reasons for estimating Mr. 
 Forrest so highly as an actor lies in the fact that 
 he did not establish his reputation on the per- 
 formance of one or two characters only, as has 
 been the case with most of the celebrated actors. 
 Garrick established himself more particularly on mas- 
 terly performances of Richard and Abel Drugger ; 
 John Philip Kemble on Hamlet and Coriolanus ; 
 Edmund Kean on Shylock and Lear ; George 
 Frederick Cook on Richard and Sir Archy 
 McSarcasm ; Macklin on Shylock ; Charles Young 
 on lago, and so with many other prominent 
 actors and actresses. But Forrest's reputation as 
 an actor rests on all the characters he performed. 
 If we closely analyze Mr. Forrest in the character 
 
 21 
 
l62 
 
 of Virginius, we wonder at its perfection. If we 
 review critically his Othello, we come to the same 
 conclusion. His Coriolanus stands before us in a 
 grandeur of dignity worthy of the great old 
 masters in art. While thus considering and com- 
 paring his Damon, William Tell, Macbeth, Rolla, 
 Richelieu, Spartacus and Metamora, we are unde- 
 cided to say which one of these representa- 
 tions was the most perfect ; then up comes 
 his Lear, the study and delight of his old 
 age, and perhaps here we will rest longer in 
 our admiration than on any other of his drama- 
 tic creations, and call it a dramatic climax — a 
 perfection in the noble art of acting. It was a 
 revelation of what genius can do by ceasing to 
 be one's self and assuming another spirit into the 
 same body. 
 
FORREST'S ELOCUTION. 
 
 The Power and the Charm of the Human Voice. 
 
 THERE was a handful of critics who strove to 
 depreciate Mr. Forrest as a ranter, but we 
 never heard such a remark come from the lips of 
 one who could define the word rant. Rant, accord- 
 ing to Webster, is: "Violent speaking, noisy and 
 boisterous sound of words, without proper articula- 
 tion." Nothing could be more foreign to Mr. For- 
 rest's style. Elocution has been a life-study with 
 the writer, and we do not hesitate to say that For- 
 rest was the finest elocutionist we ever heard. He 
 was a scholar in the matter of speech, and paid 
 careful attention to the proper tones and utterance 
 of words. He was never out of time, and always 
 gave the movement of words that the sense of the 
 author called for. Forrest was a wonderfully made 
 man ; indeed, he was a gladiator in physique, and 
 had a voice of power suitable to his physique. Its 
 flexibility and melody were equal to a church organ, 
 and could roll forth the deep tones of thunder, or 
 the tender notes of the flute. If the critics meant 
 that a powerful voice was rant, they misapplied 
 
164 
 
 the term. Forrest never undertook to suppress his 
 acting, or soften his voice to please those who were 
 shocked by the tones of a strong voice. He never 
 stopped to measure the size of the place he was 
 speaking in. He did not adapt the passion he was 
 rendering or the power of his voice to the shape 
 or size of the theatre. His sensibilities w^e so 
 finely strung that he could not otherwise than 
 make himself fully equal to the rhetoric of his 
 author. We can safely say that there was no part 
 of Mr. Forrest's study that commanded more of his 
 attention than elocution. Never did he utter a 
 word that was disagreeable to a properly attuned 
 ear, and in the very fire of passion his syllables, 
 accents, and words were finely enunciated. The 
 same fault was found with Kean by those critics 
 who either wanted to find fault in order to appear 
 wise, or whose hearing had been educated to whis- 
 pers only. 
 
 How many actors and clergymen we have heard, 
 who, although possessed of a naturally fine voice, 
 yet from the want of a knowledge of elocution, 
 allowed their voice to go to ruin, and missed the 
 exquisite effects that lie in a correct delivery of 
 the English language. We have always found 
 actors who did not understand elocution, striving 
 to talk too low down on the vocal chords, or on 
 a very high key instead of talking on the middle 
 notes, and up in the forepart of the mouth by 
 the use of the lips and tongue. This being the 
 
i65 
 
 case, they could not fail to injure the voice and 
 waste nervous vitality, because they were on a 
 constant strain. The higher tones will exhaust 
 quicker than the lower, for the reason that the 
 nerve-tension of the brain has to be greater to act 
 on the greater tension of all the vocal ligaments. 
 In striving to articulate with the vocal chords, we 
 attempt an impossibility, for the reason that the 
 vocal chords cannot touch each other. We sound 
 a vowel on the vocal chords, but must bring the 
 lips together or touch the tongue somewhere to 
 articulate a consonant. 
 
 Many actors are found pompously strutting the 
 stage, thinking erroneously that movement and 
 gesture are the finest work, without the knowledge 
 of elocution, which develops the music and elo- 
 quence of talent, nay, even of genius. What is 
 the mere movement of an army compared to the 
 sounds of the battle-field ? What the flight of a 
 
 * 
 
 swallow to the song of the nightingale ? 
 
 And yet these actors grandly bestriding the stage, 
 exposing their ignorance of their vernacular lan- 
 guage and incurring personal injury and disease, 
 insist that elocution is not a necessary study for 
 the actor. They make the poor excuse that it has 
 a tendency to make them stiff and formal in their 
 delivery. This is not so. It is the only way to 
 make them graceful. The true study of elocution 
 teaches how properly to apply and to use the 
 laws of nature so as to make them gracefully 
 
1 66 
 
 natural, both in speech and gesture. No man 
 can speak his words gracefully without begetting 
 graceful action of the body and movement of the 
 limbs. The first begets the latter. It is a law 
 in harmony with nature itself. Knowledge leads 
 to grace, for the reason that knowledge gives 
 confidence of being right in what we do. And 
 a man cannot be a fine actor without the knowl- 
 edge of elocution, any more than he can be a 
 fine musician without the knowledge of the science 
 of music. Elocution is to the actor what grammar 
 is to the writer. It forces him to be correct in 
 the expression of his meaning. Assuming that 
 Malibran or Patti had ignored the study of 
 solfeggios which instructed the vocal membranes, 
 mouth, tongue and lips how to do their work in 
 the most natural manner, could they ever have 
 become such wonderful singers and met with 
 their wonderful triumphs, which have astonished 
 the world and leave their names imperishable in 
 the history of music ? 
 
 Most of the celebrated actors were fine elocu- 
 tionists ; we can mention Barton Booth, Thomas 
 Betterton, Spranger Barry, Charles Young, John 
 Philip Kemble, Charles Kemble, Edmund Kean, 
 Charles Kean, James E. Murdock, Ann Oldfield, 
 Mrs. Pritchard, Sarah Siddons, Fanny Kemble, 
 Miss O'Neil, Mrs. Duff and many others, who, by 
 their perfect utterances of the English language 
 and their knowledge of phonolog)', charmed and 
 
167 
 
 captured their audiences, and made themselves 
 famous. 
 
 We thus dwell on the subject of elocution with 
 the hope that it will induce those who propose to 
 adopt the profession, to give the subject their full 
 attention, and by the study of elocution cause the 
 stage to have in the future a less number of 
 mouthers of the English language than it has at 
 the present time. 
 
 We frequently go to the theatre and hear words 
 mispronounced. This is done without the slightest 
 regard to the spelling of the word, accentuation 
 or the law of phonetics. They defy the laws of 
 punctuation, and make periods out of every stop, 
 with the exception of the period, where they are 
 sure to rise in inflections, and thereby destroy 
 the meaning of the author. Of course, these people 
 expose their ignorance by showing that they have 
 no education in the grammar of their own language, 
 and while they may look personally well upon 
 the stage, from their fine feathers they assume, 
 still the bird can't sing, and, in the speaking of 
 their own language, they are like unto the cawing 
 of a crow ; compared to the true elocutionist, 
 whose articulations are like to the warbling utter- 
 ances of the canary-bird, no matter how rapid 
 in action. Colley Cibber, who was an excellent 
 actor and author, saw Thomas Betterton act, and 
 in his autobiography speaks in the following terms 
 of Betterton's elocution : " Betterton was an actor, 
 
1 68 
 
 as Shakespeare was an author, — both without 
 competitors, — formed for the mutual assistance of 
 each other's genius ! How Shakespeare wrote, all 
 men who have a taste for nature may read and 
 know ; but with what higher rapture would he 
 still be read, could they conceive how Betterton 
 played him ! Then might they kno\y the one was 
 born alone to speak what the other knew to 
 write ! Pity it is that the momentary beauties 
 flowing from a harmonious elocution, cannot like 
 those of poetry be their own record ; that the 
 animated graces of the player can live no longer 
 than the instant and motion that presents them, 
 or can at best but faintly glimmer through the 
 memory an imperfect attestation of a few surviv- 
 ing spectators. Could how Betterton spake be as 
 easily known as what he spake, then you might 
 see the muse of Shakespeare in her triumph with 
 all her beauties in their best array rising into 
 real life and charming her beholders. But, alas ! 
 since all this is so far out of description, how 
 can I show you Betterton." 
 
 There cannot be a stronger proof of the power 
 of harmonious elocution than the raptures it has 
 lifted an audience into, even when listening to the 
 fustian of an author. There are some passages 
 in Lee's " Alexander the Great," that are almost 
 without sense, yet when spoken by Betterton 
 his audience were excited to thunders of applause. 
 Does this not prove that there is as much 
 
169 
 
 enchantment in the well modulated voice of the 
 actor, as in the words of the author or in the 
 sweet and well governed voice of the great singer ? 
 "If I tell you that there was no tragedy for many 
 years more admired than 'Alexander the Great;' 
 it was so more through Betterton's and Barton 
 Booth's refined and masterly elocution than any- 
 thing the author did for the verse of the tragedy. 
 Such being the case, where then must we look 
 for the success of the tragedy but in the grace 
 and harmony of the actor's utterance ? Thus we 
 may see what an irresistible power may arise 
 from a judicious elocution." In the just delivery 
 of poetical measure, — particularly where the senti- 
 ments are pathetic, —it is wonderful upon how 
 minute a sound depends the necessary effect for 
 the proper expression. 
 
 The voice of the singer is not more dependent 
 upon the time and the form of the melody through 
 the means of properly formed inflections, than the 
 sense and movement of verse is dependent upon 
 elocution. The touches of accentuations and empha- 
 sis arising from a fine elocution, are like the touch 
 of the violinist who is perfectly true to the laws of 
 harmony, which make the forms of melody that 
 aroused the mind and soul to a keen sense of 
 feeling. . 
 
 As we have sometimes great composers who 
 cannot sing, we likewise have great writers who 
 cannot read their own lines respectably well. Of 
 
 32 
 
this truth Dryden, one of the best English masters 
 of harmony in verse, is a strong instance. When 
 he undertook to read his play of Amphytron, 
 before the actors, at the theatre, it was so poorly 
 done that he destroyed many of the best points 
 in his own composition, and the play came very 
 nearly being refused for the stage. But on the 
 contrary with Mr. Lee, who was so fine an elocu- 
 tionist of his own lines, which were far inferior to 
 Dryden's, that on one occasion after he had read 
 his play at rehearsal, Mr. Mohun, a celebrated 
 actor, threw down the manuscript of his part and 
 said: "Unless I were able to play it as well as 
 you read it, it were to no purpose, should I under- 
 take it." Cibber further remarks in great admira- 
 tion of the fine elocution of a young actor by 
 the name of Mounfort, who, though not remark- 
 ably handsome, was so graceful and fine in his 
 elocution, that he at once became resistlessly charm- 
 ing. The very tone of his voice suited the 
 thoughts he uttered, and as Dryden says : 
 
 " Like flakes of feathered snow. 
 They melted as they fell." 
 
 Ann Oldfield, one of the most beautiful women 
 that ever walked the stage, was celebrated for 
 her elocution. Her voice was sweet, strpng, and 
 melodious, and all her utterances were distinct and 
 judicious, and although she was not really a great 
 actress, yet her elocution was so fine that she 
 
171 
 
 was always welcomed by her audiences either in 
 tragedy or comedy. 
 
 Davies, in his remarks on Mrs. Cibber, says, 
 that " perhaps her elocution was never surpassed. 
 Yet in her smooth voluble enunciation not a 
 syllable of articulation was lost to the ear — and 
 by this she was a perfect mistress of dramatic 
 eloquence." Mrs. Siddons up to her time surpassed 
 them all in variety of tones and application of 
 proper tones and forms of inflections to the sense 
 of her author. Her voice when she first began as 
 an actress was not strong ; in fact so weak that 
 she was always much concerned as to the size 
 of the theatre where she was next to play, but by 
 constant use of the vocal organs she made her 
 voice equal to the capacity of any theatre. 
 Thomas Campbell, who wrote her life, agrees with 
 Cibber as to the power that lie in elocution, — how 
 it puts poetry into action, when there is little 
 or none on the poet's pages. 
 
 Matilda Heron was one of the most original 
 actresses that has ever trod the English stage, — we 
 say original, for the reason that she was the first 
 and only actress that ever introduced the French 
 vernacular forms of inflections into the English 
 language. Indeed she was a French actress trans- 
 formed into an English woman with French 
 thoughts expressed with French qualities of voice, 
 inflections and pauses. She was a French Camille, 
 and so on 'in every character she ever represented. 
 
172 
 
 In fact had Miss Heron enacted the character of 
 Jane Shore she would have made her English 
 woman with French idioms and slurs of voice 
 peculiarly French. It is the peculiar delicacy, 
 detail, and refinement of the French qualities of 
 sound that give the French actors greater power 
 over their audiences, than the actor of any other 
 peoples, and especially so in tragedy. What 
 Matilda Heron did might be called the introduc- 
 tion of the French school of acting into the 
 English language. However, she is the only per- 
 son that ever did it, and, while there were many 
 who tried to imitate her, they all failed, for the 
 reason that she was inimitable. It was the same 
 case with Edwin Forrest, whose school of acting 
 was perfectly his own. Because Mr. Forrest was 
 a grand figure, and had a voice with the power 
 of thunder in it, many actors thought all they 
 had to acquire to be equal to the great trage- 
 dian was to accumulate fat, learn to bellow like 
 a bull, and thereby sweep the dramatic monarch 
 from his throne. 
 
 While we hold that Miss Heron was correct in 
 introducing the French idioms of sounds in Camille, 
 she was wrong in introducing them to the charac- 
 ter of Nancy Sykes. Nancy was English in every 
 characteristic, and her French inflections did not 
 agree with her English gestures. Besides, English 
 speak more discretes, while the French language 
 in speech has more of the concretes, that is, 
 
^72, 
 
 forms of sounds that slurs from the last sylla- 
 ble of a word into the first letter of the next 
 word following. The actor, to be correct, should 
 be an Englishman when he represents an Eng- 
 lishman ; Frenchman when he represents French- 
 men, and so on through every nationality, in inflec- 
 tions of voice and gesture. 
 
 We are here taking up a little more time on the 
 subject of elocution than, perhaps, the strict object 
 of this book should allow, but we shall be par- 
 doned for our anxiety on the subject, when we 
 tell the reader that the subject of elocution has 
 been so much neglected by the members of the 
 dramatic profession for some time past, that the 
 theatre is rather becoming a place where the 
 public can hear the English language more com- 
 pletely debauched than anywhere else — not as it 
 used to be when scholars went to the theatre, to 
 learn how to talk the English language with grace 
 and correctness. 
 
 However, we must not here stop our discourse 
 until we point out the wonderful power of the 
 voice in speech. We mean a good voice, with 
 the quality of melody in it, and used with a 
 knowledge of the proper tonics. The voice is the 
 only phase that has the power to express the 
 unmistakable condition and quality of the soul that 
 exists in acting. The power is more demonstrable 
 in tragedy than in comedy. Lady Teazle requires 
 it as a channel only to her playful utterances 
 
174 
 
 of words, but in such a character as Bianca in 
 Millman's tragedy of "Fazio," which comprehends 
 all the subtler conditions of the human heart and 
 soul, the voice must have a quality and culture 
 to express those intense passions of love, the 
 mother, the wife, and the perilous situations that 
 drive the mind to madness, or else the author 
 is not fully interpreted. The voice in speech has 
 more power to express the finer qualities of the 
 soul than either singing or instrumentation. The 
 latter stirs you to admiration only ; while the 
 former excites the listener to flowing tears, sobs 
 and even to convulsions. Such is the result 
 emanating only from a mastery of elocution, 
 which acts upon words, and so perfectly assimilates 
 the voice and its articulative touches, that the 
 speaker can cheat the soul out of its tears. 
 
 "A good voice," says Emerson, "has as great a 
 charm in speech as in song. The voice, like the 
 face, betrays the nature and disposition, and soon 
 indicates what is the range of the speaker's mind." 
 
 A recent writer on the charms of the voice 
 remarks: "It is noted how careful Plutarch was in 
 his enumeration of the ten Greek orators, to speak 
 of the excellence of their voices, and the pains they 
 bestowed in training their voices. Biographers of 
 the elder Pitt are as careful to tell us how happy 
 were the combinations in his voice of sweetness and 
 strength, it having all the silver clearness, which 
 delighted a later generation in Sir William 
 
175 
 
 Follett's, and even when it sank to a whisper, it 
 was distinctly heard." 
 
 Of one of Belzac's personages we read : " Sa 
 voix penetrante remuait les fibres les plus insen- 
 sibles du cceur." And that may remind us of 
 what Mrs. Opie told Haydon of Byron's voice : 
 "It was such a voice as the devil tempted Eve 
 with ; you feared its fascination the moment you 
 heard it." Messinger's virgin martyrs tell Angelo : 
 
 " That voice sends forth such music that I never 
 Was ravished with a more celestial sound." 
 
 Apostrophizing the wonders of the human voice, 
 Longfellow, in " Hyperion," " recognizes it as the 
 organ of the soul, which reveals itself only in 
 the voice. The soul of man is audible, not 
 visible." 
 
 When Cleopatra is impetuously asking th« 
 messenger as to the attractions of Octavia, her 
 rival with Antony, "Didst hear her speak? 
 Is she thrill-tongued or low voiced ? " " Madam, 
 I heard her speak, she is low voiced." " That's 
 not good," was Cleopatra's answer. " Frederick the 
 Great," Carlyle says, " had a fine toned voice that 
 was even musical in swearing." " Charles Fox'," 
 Mary Metford remarks, " had a voice that was 
 listened to with transport." To Eckermann, the 
 sound of Goethe's voice "was beyond compare. 
 It was alternately thunder with all the round 
 tones, and then the organ minor key." 
 
176 
 
 We could go on and quote from all the great 
 poets and writers of every civilized nation, lines 
 devoted to their admiration for the charms and 
 power that lie in the human voice. But we must 
 conclude by alluding to two actors of remarkable 
 talents, who, had they been possessed of a fine 
 quality of voice, would have had far greater power 
 over their audiences, and left their fame transcend- 
 ent to the one they have. We allude to William 
 Macready and Charles Kean. Both of these gentle- 
 men were most excellent actors, and had every 
 accomplishment for the stage, with the single excep- 
 tion of elocution. They both had the great fault 
 of uttering their words in the back part of the 
 mouth, in front of the palate, producing a rasp- 
 ing and thick quality of sound, and with it a hesi- 
 tation in speech, like a stammer. They were also 
 mechanical in their utterances, and while they 
 gave you the blank verse of their authors, yet it 
 was so stiffly measured that it became painful to 
 the ear. 
 
 Perhaps no better scholar ever walked the 
 stage than Charles Kean. He was an honored 
 graduate of Oxford. Macready, too, had high 
 claims to scholarship. It always seemed strange 
 to the writer, that these two gentlemen, who 
 were so observant of gesture and all the details 
 of the stage, should have so carefully neg- 
 lected the culture of the voice, and the great 
 charm that lies in the articulations of the flexible 
 
177 
 
 English language. Their manner of speaking 
 their words with hesitation, frequently interrupted 
 the sense of the authors, thusly, — "t-to-be — er-n-not 
 t-to be, That is — er-the question." This fault was 
 stronger in Macready than in Kean, and yet, with 
 this bad feature in their acting, they were two of 
 the finest actors that ever trod the English stage. 
 Kean's last act of Macbeth reached almost to 
 perfection, and Macready's " Werner," by Lord 
 Byron, was one of the most classic dramatic ren- 
 derings that ever graced the stage. We will now 
 conclude our remarks on elocution and the 
 charms of the human voice, by once more calling 
 attention to the wonderful voice-organ possessed 
 by Edwin Forrest. Nature had been most bounti- 
 ful to him in this respect, and he was, moreover, 
 blessed with the good sense to see and feel the 
 gift of this bounty, and added thereto the industry 
 to cultivate it to the highest condition in his 
 power. He could bend it and twist it into all 
 manner of forms of sounds with as much ease as 
 the skillful artificer can the most flexible piece of 
 wire, and, singular to say, that while Mr. Forrest 
 could not turn a simple tune, he had the ear to 
 discern to the utmost miimteness the musical prop- 
 erties in words — never missed the right key-note, 
 and constantly charmed you with his masterly 
 eloquence, and melody of speech. Now, it is a 
 singular fact that Forrest, with none of the 
 advantages of college education like Macready and' 
 
 23 
 
178 
 
 Charles Kean, should show far more scholarship 
 in reading of blank verse than either of the two 
 actors mentioned, not but that they made their 
 listeners understand their author, but did not give 
 or impress their audience with the beautiful and 
 natural finish which Forrest gave to the utter- 
 ances of either verse or prose, which he produced 
 through his masterly elocution. 
 
 Mr. Forrest was an excellent English scholar. 
 He was a good grammarian, logician, and rhetori- 
 cian, for without these studies how could the actor 
 appreciate the gifts of the deep thinker and 
 elegant writer? He had a sufficient knowledge of 
 the French and German languages to enjoy the 
 reading of the best authors. He wrote an excel- 
 lent hand, and always wrote to the purpose, and 
 with an eye to brevity. The following letter is 
 introduced to show his autography. 
 
■^f^<--?_ y^^^,..^:^ U-j^Cc-^ 
 
 //7^^ j^p^y^ Cec^-^^ /i^'^^^ lo yCii^—'^ a^.-^^^ 
 
 
 / ^ 
 
 
FORREST'S Last appearance 
 
 UPON THE STAGE. 
 
 FOR some -two or three years previous to his 
 death, Mr. Forrest had given strong evi- 
 dence that the whole of his once grand fabric 
 was falHng to pieces. Less than a year previous 
 to his disease it was thought, that he could not 
 recover from an attack of sickness when he was 
 performing the character of Richelieu in Boston, 
 an occasion which was his last appearance upon 
 any stage as an actor. 
 
 Shortly after Mr. Forrest's death, I wrote to 
 Mr. James Oakes, who attended Mr. Forrest at 
 the time of his sickness and last appearance, 
 and requested him to give me a true statement 
 of Mr. Forrest's condition on the night in ques- 
 tion. The following letters in reply from Mr. 
 James Oakes, written in his off-hand manner, are 
 highly interesting, and possess more value from 
 their simplicity of style than a statement adorned 
 with an effort at rhetoric : 
 
i8o 
 
 "49 Long Wharf, 
 Boston, May nth, 1873 
 
 \ 
 
 Gabriel Harrison, Esq., 
 
 380 Wyckoff Street, Brooklyn, N. Y. 
 
 Mj/ Dear Sir: — I beg to acknowledge receipt of 
 your letter of 8th, which came to hand only this 
 morning, it being post-marked loth inst ; and the con- 
 tents carefully noted. The last time Forrest acted 
 was Tuesday evening, April 3d, 1872, at the Globe 
 Theatre, this city ; the play was Richelieu, on which 
 night he was very ill, and I was with him behind the 
 scenes during the entire performance ; and I very 
 much feared he would not be able to get through the 
 play. I led him from his dressing room, with the 
 assistance of his dresser, to the wing, where I had a 
 chair placed for him to sit in, waiting for his cue, 
 during the three last acts, and he was so weak that 
 he was unable to raise himself from the chair, and he 
 would say to me : " Oakes, lift me up, and let me go 
 on !" 1 would put my arms ai'ound his bod}-, and 
 raise him to his feet, when he would in a quick and 
 nervous tone say: '"Steady me; steady me; get me 
 before the audience, my friend, and I will finish the 
 play, but it may be the last !" Alas ! it ivas the last 
 time he acted. From the theatre, after the play, I 
 accompanied him to his hotel, where a ph3sician had 
 been summoned, and remained with him day and 
 night without taking my clothes off, until the 24th of 
 April, 1872, twenty-one days and nights, as the physi- 
 cian said his life depended more upon nursing than 
 the skill of his physician, and advised that two trained 
 hospital nurses be procured to take charge of him. 
 
181 
 
 Forrest looked earnestly into the face of the physician 
 and said : " I want my friend Oakes to take care of 
 me. If careful nursing will save my life, he will save 
 it." For nearly the whole of this time his life 
 seemed to hang upon a thread. Virginius was adver- 
 tised for the night following Richelieu, Wednesday 
 April 4th, and it was with the greatest difficulty that 
 Forrest could be kept in bed when the hour arrived 
 at which he usually went to the theatre to dress ; his 
 disease was pneumonia, and after a few days typhoid 
 set in. After about twenty-one or twenty-two days 
 he began to improve, and about the last of April or 
 first of May, he started from Boston to go to Phila- 
 delphia, in charge of Mr. McArdle. Upon getting to 
 his home in Philadelphia, he continued to improve in 
 general health for two weeks, with the exception of a 
 slight attack of gout, for which he persisted in taking 
 a patent medicine, that came near killing him ; and 
 the last of May, I was sent for by Mr. McArdle to go 
 to Philadelphia, as he thought Forrest very danger- 
 ously sick. I went, and, with the exception of about 
 two weeks, remained until August, at which time his 
 health was so good that he decided to give readings 
 the following season, instead of acting. His first read- 
 ing was in October, in the Academy of Music, Phila- 
 delphia, then in New York, and Brooklyn,* and 
 
 *Mr. Forrest gave his first and only readings in the City of New Yorlt, November 
 19th and 22d, 1872, at Steinway Hall. The following ladies and gentlemen honored his 
 two readings in New York, by attending in a body, and each wearing =< white satin 
 badge with the following inscription in gold : 
 
 " In honor of the first public reading in the City of New Yorlc of Edwin Forrest, 
 November igth, Hamlet; November zad, Othello, 1872. Thomas H. Morrell, J. W. 
 Pointer, Jr., Thomas J. McKee, W. A. Fraser, T. W. Warren, W. F. Hyer, R. H. H. 
 Steel, H. H. Morrell, Mr; and Mrs. C. W. Frederickson, A, Toedteberg, Mi,ss Emma 
 Toedteberg, Gabriel Harrison." 
 
 We attended both of the readings in New York, but regret to say that they were 
 given to almost empty benches ; still, while the foices and delicate nerve touches of 
 the once masterly actor were abated, and not so sensitive to electric action , yet we 
 
l82 
 
 returned to Philadelphia. He then came to Boston, 
 and opened, I think, December 2d or 3d, 1872, read 
 " Hamlet " and " Othello." The last time was on Satur- 
 day afternoon, the yth of December, 1872, which was the 
 last time he ever appeared professionally, and this was in 
 the Tremont Temple, this city. I dined with him that 
 afternoon after the reading, and after dinner accom- 
 panied him to the railroad station in season for him 
 to take the 9 o'clock sleeping cars for New York ; he 
 was in fine spirits, and as well as I had seen him in 
 two years, apparently ; Mr. McArdle was with him. 
 Before parting, he arranged for me to go to Phila- 
 delphia, and pass the holidays with him. This was the 
 last time I ever saw him alive. He went from New 
 York to Philadelphia on Sunday evening, December 
 8th, 1872. He died Thursday, December 12th, 1872. The 
 last letter he ever wrote was addressed to me, dated 
 December nth, 1872, which was mailed for Boston, came 
 here, and remailed to me at Philadelphia, where I 
 finally received it as I stood beside the cold and 
 pulseless body of my friend whose hand penned the 
 letter but a few hours before. During his last engage- 
 ment in this city, at the Globe, he acted " Lear " and 
 " Richelieu." 
 
 I remain, very sincerely, 
 
 and cordially, yours, 
 
 JAMES OAKES." 
 
 could see and feel beneath the gliinmer of the dull light what had been; yet, for all 
 this, he rc:id llaintet and Othello enshrined in the garb of profound judgment, and 
 enlightened his listeners with the words of the great dramatist. What matters it, if 
 his audience was not large ? The man still was there, that had a thousand times thrilled 
 packed audiences that, by their verdict, had placed his high pedestal in the temple 
 where genius is ever revered. 
 
 The greatest of actors and actresses have failed to attract at last, neglected by the 
 public who should worship ihem for what they have been, and honor them none the 
 less for their age. 
 
i83 
 
 "49 Long Wharf, 
 Boston, May 12th, 1873. 
 
 My Dear Mr. Harrison : 
 
 In my hurried letter to you yesterday, when tell- 
 ing you of the last performance of Forrest as an actor, 
 in Richelieu, and how very weak he was, I neglected 
 to state that, while sitting at the wing, he was so dis- 
 tressed for breath you could hear him wheeze from 
 the front to the back of the stage, and yet, when I 
 lifted him from his chair to his feet, and steadied him to 
 make his entrance, it seemed to me that he must drop 
 upon the stage, but, instead of it, the instant he was 
 in sight of the audience, he appeared to be inspired 
 with superhuman strength ! It was the indomitable 
 will of the dear old fellow that carried him through 
 that night. His physician told me before we left the 
 hotel, that if I saw Forrest getting weaker, to give 
 him a spoonful or two of whiskey at times during the 
 performance. When I asked him to take it, he looked 
 earnestly into my face, and said : " No ! Oakes, if T die 
 on the stage to-night, they will find no rum in me ! I 
 will not touch it, ei'en to save my life, and will die with 
 harness on !" 
 
 After the performance, McArdle, his dresser, and 
 myself were' compelled to lift him into the carriage, 
 as he was too weak to walk alone ; as I told vou yes- 
 terday. I went with him to his hotel, and was with 
 him night and day for twenty-one days and nights. 
 During this time, his death had been announced twice, 
 I think, in this city. Besides the care of the dear old 
 fellow, I was receiving and answering telegrams from 
 all sections of our country, making inquiries of the 
 state of his health. After he had recovered, he said 
 
1 84 
 
 to me : " Oakes, you have saved my life this time, and 
 I hope that God, in His Great mercy and goodness, 
 may grant that you may be with me at my last hour, 
 and with your own friendly hands close my eyes ! " 
 But, alas! it was not so ordained. Dear, dear, old 
 friend, he died alone ! ! Rut, my dear Harrison, why, 
 what is death but life in other forms of being ? Life 
 without the coarser attributes of man, the dull and 
 momently decaying frame which holds the ethereal 
 spirit in, nay, binds it down to brotherhood with 
 brutes? There is no such thing as death. What's 
 called so is but the beginning of new existence, — a 
 fresh segment in the eternal round of change. Tt is 
 in God's Justice, that those who sincerely love each 
 other here shall meet in a brighter, happier sphere on 
 the " other side !" I wish the dead could come back 
 and talk with us. 
 
 But, alas ! they do not ! » 
 
 I remain, very sincerely, 
 
 and cordially, yours, 
 
 JAMES OAKES. 
 
 Gabrtel Harrison, Esq., 
 Brooklyn, N. Y." 
 
 In some respects, Forrest's last appearance 
 was like Thomas Betterton's, at least so far as 
 sickness and pain are concerned. Betterton was 
 announced to make his last appearance, and went 
 forth from his home writhino- in pain from the 
 gout; he is lifted from his coach, carried to his 
 dressing-room, dressed and made ready for the 
 part of Melantius. By loving attendants, he is 
 carried arain from his dressino-room to his stag-e 
 entrance, goes on, and struggles through his 
 
performance. Betterton's exit from the stage was 
 a made occasion; his pain was sustained and made 
 lighter by the fact that the occasion was the 
 most important one of his whole life ; all Lon- 
 don was there to cheer and make happy the 
 hour. The house was crowded with the choice 
 spirits of learning and beautiful women to give 
 the old warrior a brilliant farewell. 
 
 Forrest never in his life, at entrance, or exit 
 of his dramatic career, made a special occasion 
 for himself. His career as an actor was always 
 a success in the numbers of his audience ; and 
 the amount of money that rewarded his efforts, 
 came without any of those gushing appeals to 
 the public too often made use of, even by actors 
 of fame and wealth. Of all actors, he was the 
 most independent of public favors, and sought no 
 laudations of the press, but stood upon his merits 
 only. This peculiar condition did not come from 
 any vanity or moroseness of disposition on his 
 part. It resulted from the fact that there seemed 
 to be no necessity for it ; no, the last appear- 
 ance of the American tragedian was not antici- 
 pated by crowds of people who went to the 
 theatre to huzza him into retirement. Although 
 sick, he went forth from his home with nothing 
 to uplift him to his task but the ordinary routine 
 of business, duty, simple duty — not glory or 
 profit — urged him to his work, and, in the effort 
 to do his work, he nearly died. 
 
 His last season of 1871-72!, after he had been 
 
 24 
 
1 86 
 
 before the public for nearly fifty years, was one 
 that might make proud a much younger and 
 fresher actor. In this his last season, between 
 October ist and April 14th, he traveled over 
 seven thousand miles, acted in fifty two different 
 places one hundred and twenty-eight nights, and 
 received the profit of $39,675.47. This great 
 success was gained on the simple announcement 
 of his name ; without the assistance of extra 
 scenic effects, — pictures in windows and blazing 
 street-posters. His last appearance upon any stage 
 was a simple event, with a result as uncertain 
 as the shading of to-morrow's sky. Not for extra 
 gain did he go to the theatre that night, nor 
 for an ovation, that would read well upon the 
 pages of his life's history — he went there attended 
 by his friend only, who, with loving hands, helped 
 him to his feet, while faint and trembling with 
 weakness, and barely able to fulfill his engage- 
 ment with his audience. But the strong man- 
 hood within him almost challenored death rather 
 than forfeit his word with his audience, and while 
 he was enacting some impassioned scene, did not 
 some still-voice whisper in his ear, amid his agonies 
 of pain and the applause: "This is thy last time!" 
 True, that his death did not come to-morrow, 
 nor to-morrow, yet the morrow soon came, and 
 the writer too soon stood beside the dead body 
 of the greatest actor probably that the world has 
 ever known, and if not the world, yet undeniably 
 the greatest actor of the New World. 
 
FORREST'S DECEASE. 
 
 THE death of Mr. Forrest, although sudden, 
 was hardly unexpected. His sickness in 
 Boston, a few months before, was of a nature cal- 
 culated to shake his constitution severely ; further, 
 he had well-nigh lived out his allotted span of 
 three scores and ten. He was, however, quite 
 competent to attend to his usual avocations up to 
 the very morning of his death. On Wednesday 
 evening he appeared to be in his usual health, and 
 had a pleasant talk with Kate, his old and faith- 
 ful housekeeper, who had resided with him for 
 twenty-one years, about the dusting of the pic- 
 tures in his gallery. On this evening he did not 
 retire till eleven o'clock. His breakfast was ready 
 next morning (Thursday) at 8.30, and the bell was 
 rung ; there was no reply. His heavy tread 
 descending the broad stairs as usual, was unheard, 
 and the bell was rung the second time without 
 response. When the faithful Kate entered the 
 library, and proceeded towards Mr. Forrest's bed- 
 room, adjoining it, she heard a strong breathing, 
 and on entering found him stretched across the 
 
i88 
 
 bed, lying on his back with one arm hanging over 
 the side of the bedstead. She spoke to him ; he 
 could not answer. She then called in his friend, 
 a neighbor, Mr. James Rees (" Colley Cibber "), 
 who summoned a physician, Dr. Corbet, but the 
 great actor was dead before the doctor reached 
 his bedside. 
 
 Word was immediately sent to James Oakes, 
 of Boston ; to James Lawson, of Yonkers, New 
 York ; Gabriel Harrison, of Brooklyn ; Daniel 
 Dougherty, Colonel Forney and McMahon, of 
 Philadelphia. It is supposed that the attack of 
 apoplexy came on while he was using the dumb- 
 bells, which he was in the habit of using every 
 morning for a few moments, as he still clasped 
 one in his left hand that rested upon the bed. 
 There was but one picture upon the walls of this 
 room, a life-size portrait of his mother, which 
 hung over the head of his bed. 
 
 On the morning of his death, December 12th, 
 1872, Mr. Rees immediately telegraphed to me 
 that my friend Forrest was no more. I left for 
 Philadelphia, and was at the side of the dead 
 dramatic king by 2 P. M. of the same day. 
 That night, with Oakes, Dougherty and McArdle, 
 we sat up with the dead body still lying upon the 
 couch where the spark of life went out. The first 
 impression the writer felt as we removed the sheet 
 from his placid and manly face, was not the 
 emotion of tears, but : " Here lies King Lear 
 
i89 
 
 dead ; — not Forrest — but Lear." The impression 
 was painfully vivid, and I felt every scene as he 
 appeared and acted the part for the last time at 
 the Fourteenth Street Theatre, New York. I 
 could see, too, in the mists of my memory, his 
 Othello, Macbeth, Coriolanus, Damon, Virginius, 
 Metamora, William Tell, Gladiator, Jack Cade, 
 and Richelieu, standing before me, as if they were 
 mourners over the decease of their proudest repre- 
 sentative. I felt it an honor to stand in the 
 presence of the noble dead, — an honor to be one 
 of the small group of the living who had enjoyed 
 the privilege of being a dear friend, and a mourner 
 at the shrine of a deceased genius. I could not 
 help thinking, too, and, with contempt, of those 
 critics of the press who, through their gallishness, 
 jealousy, or ignorance, had so often abused the 
 high position of the critic by belying Mr. Forrest 
 as a man and an artist. Of course, other men of 
 genius have been derided and made sport of, but 
 the amount of bitter vituperation that was loaded 
 upon his head, made him an exception to the rule. 
 Yet why should we complain? His worthiness, in 
 every sense, braved the storm, and his fame alike 
 as a man and as an artist is imperishable. Acting 
 as one of the committee to receive guests to the 
 funeral from other cities, I was placed in a position 
 to judge how sincerely his death was regretted by 
 men of letters and genius. There was no para- 
 phernalia about his funeral ; it was a simple 
 
I go 
 
 preparation that would no more than befit the burial 
 of a private gentleman ; no efforts were made to 
 make the occasion attractive by inviting prominent 
 men to attend the funeral who had never been 
 in sympathy with him or his profession — no 
 displaying of the body in decorated church. 
 It was a simple funeral that harmonized with the 
 words of Antony : " I come to bury Csesar, not 
 to praise him," and yet the occasion was made 
 grand in the extreme, for it was the people's 
 funeral of a people's great actor. They gathered 
 in mass about his late residence, and almost broke 
 in the door, hours before the time of the funeral, 
 in their anxiety to look upon the face for the 
 last time that had so often subdued their hearts 
 and startled their nerves by the power of his 
 dramatic genius. For two hours and forty minutes 
 a constant stream of human beings marched by 
 his coffin, and, as they took their brief last look, 
 they brushed away the tears that obscured their 
 dimmed sight. The scene was one that subdued 
 the heart to profound respect for the dead. All 
 along the route, for over two miles, the sidewalks 
 were lined with people to see the simple exhibi- 
 tion of hearse and sixty carriages. No drums, no 
 flags, no plumed horses drew the masses to the 
 scene. It was the merits of the honorable citizen, 
 and the people's actor, that caused the crowds 
 to stand for hours beneath a gloomy sky, against 
 bleak winds, sleet and rain. The approach to the 
 
church-yard was choked for blocks by dense crowds. 
 The funeral procession had to pause until the 
 guardians of the peace made a narrow way to 
 the narrow house that was to contain all that 
 remained of the tragedian. Unlike Garrick's 
 funeral, there were no stage-tricks and vanities 
 used to make inharmonious the thud of the heavy 
 earth as it fell upon the coffin. No Lords and 
 Dukes, and state-coaches lent glitter to mar the 
 solemnity of the occasion. Everything was sympa- 
 thetic and truthful. 
 
 The following is a notice of the funeral, taken 
 from the Philadelphia Evening Bulletin, Monday, 
 December i6th, 1872 : 
 
 EDWIN FORREST. 
 
 The Last Sad Rites — Scenes at the House — Floral Offerings — 
 Notables Present — The Pall Bearers, Eic, Etc. 
 
 To-day the last rites were paid, and the remains of 
 Edwin Forrest placed 'neath the earth whence he sprung. 
 All day yesterday the home of the deceased tragedian, 
 situate at the southwest corner of Broad and Master streets, 
 was the object of many mournful pilgrims, who, whilst they 
 could not gain admittance to the premises, seemed to take 
 some little comfort in gazing at the building wherein the 
 greatest of American actors died. 
 
 Last evening the body of Mr. Forrest was carefully 
 dressed in a full suit of black, by his friends, Joseph 
 McArdle and James Oakes, Esq., of Boston, and placed in a 
 black, cloth-covered, silver-mounted casket, the same being 
 literally covered with floral offerings. 
 
192 
 
 Madame Ponisi sent a magnificent cross and wreath from 
 New York. Miss Jane Coombs ordered by telegraph a splen- 
 did floral crown. A beautiful wreath was also forwarded 
 from Boston by two young ladies. 
 
 During yesterday some fifty special invitations were sent 
 out, which were printed oh black-edged paper and enclosed 
 in mourning envelopes. The following is a copy of one of 
 the same : 
 
 " Dear Sir : 
 
 You are requested to attend the funeral of the late 
 Edwin Forrest, 
 which will take place on Monday next, December i6th, at i 
 o'clock P. M., from his late residence, No. 1346 North Broad 
 street. 
 
 December 13th, 1872." 
 
 This morning, at an early hour, the throng of visitors 
 commenced pouring in, and despite the inclement weather 
 the tide kept up until the funeral left the house. The body 
 was laid in state in the rear parlor, or gold room. At the 
 northern end stood a large French plate mirror, and at 
 the other a handsomely carved etagere. On the west side 
 stood a piano upon which rested the coffin lid and a hand- 
 some black walnut case, enclosed in which was a beautiful 
 representation in ivory of the Crucifixion of Christ. Upon the 
 piano rested a number of floral tributes, amongst them being 
 three crosses of immortelles, one being from Mrs. Jno. W. 
 Forney, another from Mrs. Geo. W. Fairman, and the third 
 from Madame Ponisi. There were also a box of flowers 
 and a handsome crown furnished by persons too modest to 
 affix their cards. 
 
 At the head and foot rested the laurel wreaths and japoni- 
 cas, kindly furnished by Mr. Thos. Mackenzie, florist. The 
 face of the dead looked almost life-like. As the visitors 
 filed in, between two rows of policemen, they marched along 
 
193 
 
 the north side of the hallway into the parlor, around the 
 coffin and out on the south side. There was no vulgar 
 crowding nor any undue manifestation of sorrow, although 
 all seemed deeply impressed with the scene. 
 
 THE ARRANGEMENTS FOR THE EUNERAL 
 
 were under the direct charge of James Oakes, Esq., Daniel 
 Dougherty, Esq., Jno. W. Forney, James Reese, J. McArdle, 
 and Gabriel Harrison, the latter from Brooklyn. Amongst 
 the floral tributes, a wreath presented by Miss Neilson, 
 the actress, a basket of flowers from T. H. Morrell, of 
 New York, and a crown of flowers from Jane Coombs. 
 
 The following named prominent parties had also been 
 specially invited : Jay Cooke, John T. S. Fernon, General 
 Cadwalader, Gabriel Harrison, of Brooklyn, Rev. E. W. 
 Hutter, J, B. McMinn, Dr. Wm. Elder, General Bingham, 
 Geo. Fairman, Chief Justice Thompson, Eli K. Price, Esq., 
 Wm. B. Mann, Esq., Judge Sharswood, Col. Page, Rev. A. 
 J. McConomy, Hon. T. A. Scott, Jno. Rice, Chas. J. Inger- 
 soll, Esq., and Wm. Wheatley. 
 
 There were also present : Thos. A. Hall, of the Walnut 
 Street Theatre ; T. J. Hemphill, late of the Walnut Street 
 Theatre ; Francis A. Duffee, Lewis Morrison, T. H. Morrell, 
 of New York ; W. H. Bailey, Lewis Baker, Barton Hill, 
 Charles Walcott, and other members of the profession. The 
 celebrated Count Johannes, of New York, was also noticeable. 
 
 Shortly before 2 o'clock 
 
 THE RELIGIOUS SERVICES 
 
 of the Episcopal Church were conducted by Rev. Mr. Newlin, 
 
 of the Church of the Incarnation, and Rev. Mr. Boyer, of 
 
 St. Paul's. At the end thereof the lid was placed upon the 
 
 coffin, and it was carried out and placed in the hearse, the 
 
 pall bearers being as follows : Colonel Jno. W. Forney, 
 
 James Oakes, Esq., James Lawson, Daniel Dougherty, Dr. 
 
 25 
 
194 
 
 Jesse R. Burden, Dr. Jacob Gross, George W. Childs, and 
 Colonel James Page. 
 
 Upon the lid of the coffin, upon a silver plate was to be 
 seen the inscription : " Edwin Forrest, born May 9th, 1806 — 
 died December 12th, 1872." 
 
 THE FUNERAL CORTEGE 
 
 moved off in the following order : 
 
 Hearse. 
 
 Pall Bearers. 
 
 Domestics lately employed by deceased. 
 
 Lotos Club of New York, headed by Mayor Hall of New York. 
 
 Members of the Dramatic Profession. 
 
 Citizens generally. 
 
 There were about sixty carriages in all, and the affair 
 was conducted in a very unostentatious manner. The funeral 
 procession moved direct to St. Paul's Church, on South Third 
 street, below Walnut street, where the remains were interred 
 without any especial religious ceremonies, other than a simple 
 prayer at the grave. 
 
 The most notable feature of the whole sad affair was 
 the scene at the coffin when the domestics of Mr. Forrest's 
 household assembled to take their farewell look at the dead. 
 Reverently they in turn stooped and kissed the cold, marble- 
 like lips, then stood gazing for a few minutes at the one 
 they had loved in life, and then, unable longer to control 
 themselves, hurried away to hide their tears. 
 
 "Ashes to ashes, and dust to dust," 
 
 were the few words said, as the body, amid the 
 dead silence of the multitude, was lowered into 
 the vault that contained the remains of the Forrest 
 family, as follows : 
 
195 
 
 ' 1763. ' 
 
 ' 1847, mother. 
 
 1 796, ' 
 
 ' in So. America. 
 
 1 800, ' 
 
 ' 1834- 
 
 ' '798. ' 
 
 ' 1863. 
 
 1802, ' 
 
 1869. 
 
 ' 1808, ' 
 
 1871. 
 
 William Forrest, born 1758, died 1819, father. 
 
 Rebecca Forrest, 
 
 Leaman Forrest, 
 
 William Forrest, 
 
 Henrietta Forrest, 
 
 Caroline Forrest, 
 
 Eleanor Forrest, 
 
 The above record is taken from the books of 
 St. Paul's Episcopal Church, standing on Third 
 street, Philadelphia. The vault which contains the 
 bodies is in front of the church, near the sidewalk. 
 
 The writer, who was deputed as a committee to 
 see the vault closed, — perhaps, for the last time, — 
 regretted that the tragedian's burial place was not 
 chosen in the grounds of the " Forrest Home," a 
 place in every way appropriate, and affording 
 opportunity for monumental expression. 
 
 In a city like Philadelphia, where all is progress, 
 and where, as it is in all rapidly growing cities, — 
 old land-marks and burial-places are swept away 
 to make room for improvements, the sacred 
 remains of the great actor should be removed at 
 the earliest possible period, while there still 
 remains the dust to mingle with the grounds of 
 the " Home," and make the place more endearing 
 and hallowed than it can be without them. 
 
196 
 
 EPILOGUE. 
 
 What other actor like Forrest, stood 
 
 Before great audiences in tragic mood, 
 
 Equal to him in grandeur, fire, repose, 
 
 Or rival in the magic of that voice which rose, 
 
 From softest tenderness to passion's fire, 
 
 Entrancing human souls like Orpheus' lyre ? 
 
 Who else so lived Lear's madness, love and fears, 
 
 And drew such torrents of applause and tears ? 
 
 His Moor, his Damon,^ and his Richelieu — 
 
 Dramatic pictures peerless stand in view, 
 
 Like Garrick's Richard, and like Macklin's Jew. 
 
 The brilliant orb, alas ! has taken its flight — 
 
 Leaving deep shadows, where it long shed light — 
 
 Yet fleeting shadows, as of vanquished night. 
 
APPENDIX. 
 
 THE FORREST HOME. 
 
 IN the United States, until the "Forrest Home" was 
 established, there has been no generous institution 
 that provided a refuge for those members of the 
 dramatic profession who suffered absolutely from 
 need. There was an Association in New York enti- 
 tled the "American Dramatic Fund," founded in 1848, 
 but its principles and means were not far-reaching 
 enough to be of any material help to the profession 
 at large. It had but few members, and to others out- 
 side of these the Association was of little or no use. 
 It had an existence of some forty years, and in 1888 
 concluded to close the concern and divide among the 
 remaining few members whatever amount of cash on 
 hand. 
 
 In Philadelphia and Boston there have been and are 
 similar associations, but none of them with breadth of 
 purpose, or a probability of continuance. 
 
 A more recent institution has been founded in New 
 York City known as "The Actors' Fund." The objects 
 of this organization come much nearer the necessities 
 of the dramatic profession. The " Actors' Fund " is 
 now doing good work, that cannot fail to be of salu- 
 tary effect. Its helping hand is extended to hundreds 
 
igS 
 
 of the sick, and the poor of the profession. They 
 have founded a beautiful cemetery for their dead, and 
 erected a monument thirty feet high, where all alike 
 may lie memorialized within its peaceful shadows. Of 
 all the members of the profession, none have done 
 more, or taken a greater interest in the establishment 
 of the " Actors' Fund " than Manager A. M. Palmer, 
 of New York. 
 
 " The Forrest Home " is of an entirely different char- 
 acter from " The Actors' Fund." It is a Home to all 
 intents and purposes, governed as it were ^by the 
 whole people, and so conditioned by the bequest, that 
 instead of time interfering with its continuance, it will 
 help it, for the reason that the estate is so situated, 
 that its value must increase and will therefore have 
 the means to sustain the institution in the future. 
 
 Besides, an institution founded upon the principles 
 of "The Forrest Home" cannot be looked upon 
 strictly in the light of a charity. It is no more a 
 charity than is a public school or a church. It is a 
 duty of man towards man, and is a Christian and a 
 natural human law to care for those that are unable 
 to care for themselves. Those who partake of the 
 hospitality of " The Forrest Home" are men and women 
 who are left almost alone in the world, and, by their 
 age and sickness, are left without the capacity to earn 
 that self-support which they would most gladly do, 
 were it in their power. None are admitted to the 
 " Home " other than those who have earned a good 
 name as members of the profession. 
 
 In conformity with the will, the " Home " was opened 
 for the reception of inmates on the 2d day of October, 
 1876. The present Board of Managers are Daniel 
 
199 
 
 Dougherty, E. M. Hopkins, Thomas Cochran, Joseph 
 Moore, Jr., Andreus Hartel, and J. Ferd. Zimmerman. 
 
 The first Superintendent of the " Home " was Joseph 
 McArdle. A. B. Rue next filled the position, but was 
 not restricted to the office. On May 28th, 1883, Mar- 
 don Wilson was appointed to the position. 
 
 In this "Home" all the inmates become, as it were, 
 members of one family. They can enjoy the sunshine 
 of its broad and cultivated grounds. The}' can nurse 
 the flowers, enjoy a gallery of fine arts to gladden the 
 eye, satisfy the mind with a large and ample library — 
 such as is required to complete and to enrich any 
 well furnished and intellectual home. 
 
 " The Forrest Home" is situated in the Twent3'-third 
 Ward of Philadelphia, fronting on the old Bristol 
 Turnpike, near Holmesburgh. It consists of a large 
 and well-built mansion, surrounded by twenty acres 
 of lawn, grove and garden. The farm attached to the 
 mansion contains ninety acres, with farm house, barns, 
 and all necessary outbuildings. 
 
 " The Home " has a burial lot in North Cedar Hill 
 Cemetery, near Frankford. 
 
 The Library contains 7,000 volumes, rich in drama- 
 tic works and the best literature. The library, par- 
 lors, dining-room, hallways, and bed-rooms, abound 
 with works of art of Mr. Forrest's own selection. 
 Ball's great statue in white marble, representing Mr. 
 Forrest in the character of Coriolanus, adorns the 
 main hall — the entrance to the mansion. The statues 
 of Tragedy and Comedy, that for so many jcars 
 graced the front of the old Chestnut Street Theatre 
 of Philadelphia — and are proud relics of the illustrious 
 past of the drama, stand on the lawn immediately in 
 
200 
 
 front of the mansion. The great old trees that fes- 
 toon their graceful foliage over the entrance to the 
 " Home," lend the place a majesty that exhilarates the 
 heart and fills the mind with reverence and respect 
 for the spot that has become the home of the actor. 
 
 Everything is kept in most excellent order, and 
 looks as if nothings else were required to make the 
 abode the charming place for peaceful retirement. 
 
 It is the first institution of the kind ever devoted 
 to the profession of the stage ; and Mr. Forrest, in 
 the provision for this " Home," placed the seal upon 
 the nobility of his own character, and his bright name 
 and lofty fame, that will last as long as philanthropy 
 has a place in the human heart, — as long as the theatre 
 shall remain the centre of human attractions, attended 
 by myriads of delighted spectators. 
 
THE WILL OF EDWIN FORREST. 
 
 I EDWIN FORREST, of the city of Philadelphia, 
 . State of Pennsylvania, do make and publish 
 this my last Will and Testament. 
 
 I give, bequeath and devise unto my friends, James 
 Oakes, Esquire, of Boston ; James Lawson, Esquire, 
 of New York ; and Daniel Dougherty, Esquire, of 
 Philadelphia, all ni}- property and estate, real and per- 
 sonal, of whatsoever description and wheresoever situ- 
 ated, upon the trusts and confidences hereinafter 
 expressed ; and I also appoint them my executors to 
 administer my personal estate and bring it into the 
 hands of said trustees ; that is to say, upon trust : 
 
 First — That the}'^ tlie said trustees, the survivors and 
 
 survivor of them, shall be authorized to sell all my 
 
 real estate, at public or private sale, at such times as 
 
 in their judgment shall appear to be for the best 
 
 advantage of my estate, excepting- from this power 
 
 my country place, in the Twent3-third Ward of the 
 
 city of Philadelphia, called " Springbrook," and to 
 
 convey to purchasers thereof a good title, in fee 
 
 simple, discharged of all trusts and obligations to see 
 
 to the application of the purchase moneys ; and such 
 
 purchase moneys, and the proceeds of all the personal 
 
 26 
 
202 
 
 estate, shall be invested in such securities and loans 
 as arc made lawful investments by the laws of Penn- 
 sylvania, and shall be in the joint names of the 
 trustees under my wil). The investments which I 
 shall have made my executors or trustees may retain 
 or change as they may think for the best advantage 
 of my estate. 
 
 Secondly — Upon trust, to pay to my two sisters, 
 Carolina and Eleanora, jointly, while both remain 
 single, and to the survivor of them until her mar- 
 riage or death, which shall first happen, an annuity 
 of six thousand dollars, in equal quarterly payments, 
 in advance, from the date of my decease ; and should 
 one marry, then to pay the said annuity of six thou- 
 sand dollars luito the other until marriage or death, 
 whichever event shall first happen ; said annuity, how- 
 ever, not to be a charge upon any real estate which 
 shall be sold, but only upon the proceeds, and upon 
 trust to permit my sisters, and the survivor of them, 
 to use and occupy my country place called " Spring- 
 brook," with the necessary furniture and utensils 
 and stock, until marriage or death as aforesaid, free 
 of all charge for rent, and to take the income and 
 profits thereof; and the said trustees shall pay the 
 taxes thereon, and keep the same in repair. 
 
 Thirdly — To take and hold all said property and 
 estate in trust for an institution which they will call 
 " The Edwin Forrest Home," to embrace the purposes 
 of which I hereinafter give the outlines ; wliich institu- 
 tion shall be established at my country place called 
 " Springbrook," certainly within twenty-one years after 
 the decease of the survivor of my said sisters, and 
 sooner if found judiciously practicable. 
 
203 
 
 The following is an outline of my plan for said 
 " Home," which may be filled out in more detail by 
 the Charter and By-Laws. 
 
 Article I. The said Institution shall be for the 
 support and maintenance of Actors and Actresses, 
 decayed by age, or disabled by infirmity, who if 
 natives of the United States shall have served at least 
 five years in the theatrical profession ; and if of foreign 
 birth shall have served in that profession at least ten 
 years, whereof three years, next previous to the appli- 
 cation, shall have been in the United States ; and who 
 shall in all things comply with the laws and regula- 
 tions of the " Home," otherwise be subject to be dis- 
 charged by the Managers, whose decision shall be 
 final. 
 
 Article II. The number of inmates in the "Home" 
 shall never exceed the annual net rent and revenue of 
 the Institution ; and after the number of inmates there- 
 in shall exceed twelve, others to be admitted shall be 
 such only as shall receive the approval of the majority 
 of the inmates as well as of the Managers. 
 
 Article III. The said corporation shall be man- 
 aged by a Board of Managers, seven in number, who 
 shall in the first instance be chosen by the said' trus- 
 tees, and shall include themselves so long as any of 
 them shall be living, and also the Mayor of the city 
 of Philadelphia for the time being ; and as vacancies 
 shall occur, the existing Managers shall, from time to 
 time, fill them, so that, if practicable, only one vacancy 
 shall ever exist at a time. 
 
 Article IV. The Managers shall elect one of their 
 number to be the President of the Institution ; appoint 
 
204 
 
 a Treasurer and Secretary, Steward, and Matron, and 
 if needed, a Clerk ; the said Treasurer, Secretary, 
 Steward, Matron and Clerk subject to be at any 
 time discharged by the Managers ; except the Treas- 
 urer, the said officers may be chosen from the inmates 
 of the " Home ; " and the Treasurer shall not be a 
 Manager, nor either of his sureties. The Managers 
 shall also appoint a Physician for the " Home." 
 
 Article V. Should there be any failure of the 
 Managers to fill any vacancy which may occur in 
 their Board for three months, or should they in any 
 respect fail to fulfill their trust according to the intent 
 of my Will and the Charter of the Institution, it is my 
 will that upon the petition of any two or more of 
 said Managers, or of the Mayor of the city, the 
 Orphans' Court of Philadelphia County shall make 
 such appointments to fill any vacancy or vacancies, 
 and all orders and decrees necessary to correct any 
 failure or breach of trust, which shall appear to said 
 Court to be required, as in case of any other testa- 
 mentary trust, so that the purposes of this charity 
 may never fail or be abused. 
 
 Article VI. The purposes of said " Edwin Forrest 
 Home" are intended to be partly educational and self- 
 sustaining, as well as eleemosynary, and never to 
 encourage idleness or thriftlessness in any who are 
 capable of any useful exertion. My library shall be 
 placed therein in precise manner as now it exists in 
 my house in Broad street, Philadelphia. There shall 
 be a neat and pleasant theatre for private exhibitions 
 and histrionic culture. There shall be a picture gal- 
 lery for the preservation and exhibition of my collec- 
 tion of engravings, pictures, statuary, and other works 
 
205 
 
 of art, to which additions may be made from time to 
 time, if the revenues of the Institution shall suffice. 
 These objects are not only intended to improve the 
 taste, but to promote the health and happiness of the 
 inmates, and such visitors as may be admitted. 
 
 Article VII. Also as a means of preserving health, 
 and consequently the happiness, of the inmates, as 
 well as to aid in sustaining the " Home," there shall 
 be lectures and readings therein, upon oratory and the 
 histrionic art, to which pupils shall be admitted upon 
 such terms and under such regulations as the Managers 
 may prescribe. The garden and grounds are to be 
 made productive of profit as well as of health and 
 pleasure, and, so far as capable, the inmates not other- 
 wise profitably occupied shall assist in farming, hor- 
 ticulture, and the cultivation of flowers in the garden 
 and conservatory. 
 
 Article VIII. " The Edwin Forrest Home " may 
 also, if the revenues shall suffice, embrace in its plan 
 lectures on science, literature and the arts ; but pre- 
 ferably oratory and the histrionic art, in manner to pre- 
 pare the American citizen for the more creditable and 
 effective discharge of his public duties, and to raise 
 the education and intellectual and moral tone and 
 character of actors, that thereby they may elevate the 
 drama, and cause it to subserve its true and great mis- 
 sion to mankind, as their profoundest teacher of virtue 
 and morality. 
 
 Article IX. "The Edwin Forrest Home" shall 
 also be made to promote the love of liberty, our 
 country, and her institutions, to hold in honor the 
 name of the great Dramatic Bard, as well as to culti- 
 vate a taste and afford opportunity for the enjoyment 
 
206 
 
 ot social rural pleasures. Therefore there shall be 
 read therein, to the inmates and public, by an inmate 
 or pupil thereof, the immortal Declaration of Indepen- 
 dence, as written by Thomas Jefferson, without expur- 
 gation, on every Fourth day of July, to be followed 
 by an oration under the folds of our National flag. 
 There shall be prepared and read therein before the 
 like assemblage, on the birthday of Shakespeare, the 
 twenty-third of April in every year, an eulogy upon 
 his character and writings, and one of his plays, or 
 scenes from his plays, shall, on that day, be repre- 
 sented in the theatre. And on the first Mondays of 
 every June and October the " Edwin Forrest Home " 
 and grounds shall be opened for the admission of 
 ladies and gentlemen of the theatrical profession, and 
 their friends, in the manner of social picnics, when all 
 shall provide their own entertainments. 
 
 The foregoing general outline of my plan of the 
 Institution I desire to establish, has been sketched dur- 
 ing my preparations for a long voyage by sea and 
 land, and, should God spare my life, it is my purpose 
 to be more full and definite ; but should I leave no 
 later Will or Codicil, my friends, who sympathize in 
 my purposes, will execute them in the best and fullest 
 manner possible, understanding that they have been 
 long meditated by me and are very dear to my heart. 
 
 They will also remember that my professional 
 brothers and sisters are often unfortunate, and that 
 little has been done for them either to elevate them 
 in their profession or to provide for their necessities 
 under sickness or other misfortunes. God has favored 
 my efforts and given me great success, and I would 
 make my fortune the means to elevate the education ot 
 
207 
 
 others, and promote their success and to alleviate their 
 sufferings, and smooth the pillows of the unfortunate 
 in sickness, or other disability, or the decay of declin- 
 ing years. 
 
 These are the grounds upon which I would appeal 
 to the Legislature of my native State, to the Chief 
 Magistrate of my native city, to the Courts and my 
 fellow-citizens to assist my purposes, which I believe 
 to be demanded by the just claims of humanity, and by 
 that civilization and refinement which spring from 
 intellectual and moral culture. 
 
 I, therefore, lay it as a duty on my trustees to 
 frame a bill which the Legislature may enact as and 
 for the charter of said Institution, which shall ratify 
 the Articles in said outline of plan, shall autliorize 
 the Mayor of the city to act as one of its Managers, 
 and the said Court to exercise the visitatorial juris- 
 diction invoked ; and prevent streets from being run 
 through so much of the " Springbrook " grounds as 
 shall include the buildings and sixty acres of ground. 
 Such a charter being obtained, the corporation shall 
 be authorized, at a future period, to sell the grounds 
 outside said space, the proceeds to be applied to 
 increase the endowment and usefulness of the "Home." 
 And so far I shall not have built to cai-ry out my 
 views, I authorize the said Managers, with consent of 
 my sisters, or survivor of them, having a right to 
 reside at "Springbrook," to proceed to erect and build 
 the buildings required by my outline of plan, and 
 towards their erection apply the income, accumulated 
 or current, of my estate. And should my sisters con- 
 sent, or the survivor of them consent, in case of readi- 
 ness to open the " Home," to remove therefrom, a 
 
208 
 
 comfortable house shall be procured for them else- 
 where, furnished, and rent and taxes paid, as required 
 in respect to " Springbrook," at the cost and charge 
 of my estate, or of the said corporation, if then in 
 possession thereof. Whensoever the requisite charter 
 shall be obtained, and the corporation be organized 
 and ready to proceed to carry out its design, then it 
 shall be the duty of said trustees to assign and con- 
 vey all my said property and estate unto the said 
 " Edwin Forrest Home," their successors and assigns 
 forever ; and for the latter to execute and deliver, 
 under the corporate seal, a full and absolute dis- 
 charge and acquittance forever, with or without audit- 
 ing of accounts by an auditor of the Court, as they 
 may think proper, unto the said executors and 
 trustees. 
 
 In Testimony Whereof, I have hereunto set my hand 
 and seal, this fifth clay of April, eighteen hundred and 
 sixty-six. 
 
 EDWIN FORREST, [seal.] 
 
 Signed, sealed, declared and published as and for 
 his last Will and Testament by Edwin Forrest, in our 
 presence, who at his request and in his presence, and 
 in presence of each other, have hereunto set our hands 
 as witnesses thereto. 
 
 ELI K. PRICE, 
 
 H. C. TOWNSEND, 
 
 J. SERGEANT PRICE. 
 
209 
 
 Whereas, I, Edwin Forrest, of the city of Philadel- 
 phia, State of Pennsylvania, having made and duly 
 executed my last Will and Testament in writing, bear- 
 ing date the fifth day of April, eighteen hundred and 
 sixty-six, now I do hereby declare this present writing 
 to be as a Codicil to my said Will, and direct the same 
 to be annexed thereto and taken as a part thereof. 
 
 And I do hereby give and bequeath unto my friend 
 James Lawson, Esq., of the city of New York, the 
 sum of five thousand dollars. 
 
 And, also, to my friend Daniel Dougherty, Esq., the 
 sum of five thousand dollars. 
 
 And, also, to my beloved friend Miss Elizabeth, 
 sometimes called Lillie Welsh, eldest daughter of 
 John R. Welsh, broker, of Philadelphia, the sum of 
 five thousand dollars. 
 
 And, also, to my friend S. S. Smith, Esq., of Cincin- 
 nati, Ohio, the sum of two thousand dollars. 
 
 And, also, to the benevolent society called the 
 Actors' Order of Friendship, "the first one of that 
 name established in Philadelphia," I will and bequeath 
 the like sum of two thousand dollars. 
 
 In Witness Whereof, I, the said Edwin Forrest, have 
 to this Codicil set my hand and seal, this fifth day of 
 April, eighteen hundred and sixty-six. 
 
 EDWIN FORREST. [seal.J 
 
 Published and declared as a Codicil to his Will, in 
 
 our presence, by E. Forrest, who in his presence and 
 
 at his request have signed as witnesses in presence 
 
 of each other. 
 
 ELI K. PRICE, 
 
 H. C. TOWNSEND, 
 
 J. SERGEANT PRICE. 
 
 27 
 
2IO 
 
 Whereas, I have this day, October i8th, 1871, 
 provided my friend James Oakes w^ith an annuity of 
 twenty-five hundred dollars during his life, I have 
 erased from this Codicil and do revoke the five thou- 
 sand dollars' legacy to him, and now do bequeath 
 the said sum of five thousand dollars intended for 
 James Oakes, to my beloved friend Miss Elizabeth, 
 sometimes called Lillie Welsh, eldest daughter of John 
 R. Welsh, broker, of Philadelphia. This five thou- 
 sand dollars is to be given in addition to the sum of 
 five thousand dollars already bequeathed to the said 
 Miss Welsh, making in all to her the gift of ten 
 thousand dollars ($10,000). 
 
 In Witness W/ureof, I set my hand and seal. 
 
 EDWIN FORREST, [seal.] 
 
 Witnesses present at signing : 
 
 GEO. C. THOMAS, 
 J. PAUL DIVER.