liiil '6dUumi /wlii/i BOUGHT WITH THE INCOME FROM THE SAGE ENDOWMENT FUND THE GIFT OF Benrg W. Sage 1S91 J777 _., Cornell University Library PN 2285.W78V2 Vagrant memories: 3 1924 027 264 120 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/cu31924027264120 VAGRANT MEMORIES RECENT WORKS OF WILLIAM WINTER Richly Illustrated Othbb Days, Being Chronicles and Memories of the Stage. Old Fbibmds, Being Literary Eecollectlons of Other Days. Life and Art of Eichard Manstibu). (Two Vol- umes.) PoKMs {DeflnitiTe Edition-1909). Shakespeare's Enoland. (Revised and Augmented— 1910.) Orat Days and Gold. (Revised and Augmented— 1911.) Over the Border. Sbaebspeare on the Stags. Firtt Seriei. Lives op the Platebs:— I. Tyrone Power. The Wallet of Time, Containing Personal, Biographi. cal, and Critical Reminiscence of the American Theatre. Shakespeare on the Stage. Second Series. Vagrant Memories, Being Father Recollections of Other Days. I I I VAGRANT MEMORIES BEING FURTHER RECOLLECTIONS OF OTHER DAYS BY WILLIAM WINTER "Thoughts and remembrance fitted ! " — Shakbbpkabb New York GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY 1915 COPTKIQHT, 1915, B« WILLIAM WINTBE All Bights Seserved Publiabed, October, 1915 To ADA REHAN With Profound Esteem And Constant Affection I Dedicate These Vagrant Memories To name her is enough — no need to praise — For in that name the living reason shines Why she mho won it in her golden days Still has my homage as the sun declines. CONTENTS I. WILLIAM WARREN, 1812-1888 His Stobied Dwellixq Place . BlOaHAPHICAI, Pabticulaes "An Old School Actor" . Ckaeacteeistio Humob and Wit Anecdote and Detail Influence of Bappy Actobs . IL SISTER STARS . I.— Lauba Keene, 1830-1873 . II.— Matilda Heeon, 1830-1877 17 22 26 28 81 36 41 46 46 59 III. LESTER WALLACE, 1820-1888 An Histrionic Line His "Extracted Memories" A Wonderful Cabeee Author as Well as Actoe "Rosedale" and Fitz-James O'Brien Spirit of His Art .... Wallack's Letters to Me Personality and Conversation My Tribute ..... Art in Acting Comedy . As I Remember .... IV. BOON COMPANIONS . I. — James W. Wallack, the Younger, 1818- 1873 . ... A Sebene Temperament Comrade and Friend 7 73 76, 79 81 86 88 93 98 101' 103 108 111 116 116 123 125 CONTENTS II.— Mark Smith, 1829-1884 . Personal Chabactehistics . Scope of His Art III.— EDWiif Adams, 1834-1^77 Biographical Facts . IV.— Henrt J. Montague, 1844-1878 A PRODtrCT op His Time . 126 129 1S2 137 139. 143 145 EDWIN BOOTH, 1833-1893 YouTHFiTL Ventures EaMLET and BlCBELIEU "Old Booth" . A Legacy of Woe California Days Susceptibility of Suffering John Wilkes Booth The "Failure" of Booth's A Significant Testimonial His Plays and Favorite Parts Comedy and Tbagedy Edwin's Acting Early Performances Great Moments, and Tradition Mirth and Merriment . Prudent Reticence — His Letters "Last Scene of All" 148 149 152 157 161 166 167 169 173 176 180 182 187 194 197 199 204 211 VI. AUGUSTIN DALY, 1838-1899 Manager, Author, Dramatist, and Critic The Theatrical Ivanboe A Roster of Genius Clara Morris and Her Magical Charm Charles Fechter and Daly Daly and Clara Morris . Ada Rehan's Advent Character 216 219 221 227 229 234 237 241 244 CONTENTS 9 PAGE "Grandma" Gilbert and "Jimmie" Lewis . 24,Q Nights in "The Woffinoton Room" . 354 The Comedian in Private Life . . 253 Lewis's Personal Traits . . . 2^1 Two Dedications ..... 266 Characteristic Letters .... 270 Temper and Peculiarities . . . 272 A Discomfited Mimic . . . .277 As A Dramatist .... 278 "Darkness and Night and the End of THE Plat" ..... 280 VIL HENRY IRVING, 1838-1905 Mrs. Penbertht, — "A Remarkable Woman' Best Loved Parts . "The Best Thing I Ever Did'' Our First Meeting H. L. Bateman The First Great Hit Pulpit Fulminahons The Primate's Mistake A Chapter of Accidents . American Festivals "Being Remembered" "Detraction Will Not Suffer It!" "God Bless America!" 282 284 287 291 293 297 302 309 312 317 321 324 327 335 VIII. JOHNSTON FORBES-ROBERTSON, 1853-19— .... The Friendchip op Samuel Phelps Labors antj Vicissitudes . With Mary Anderson . Management — or Monte Carlo? Plays Hamlet New Fortunes and New Plats Personality .... Personal Appearance 340 343 346 349 354 357 358 362 363 10 CONTENTS FlOOE Qualities of His Acting . "Hamlet" The "Madkess" of Hamlet Peculiar Featuhes . "Mice and Men" "The Light That Failed'' . Shaw's "C^sah and Cleopatra" "The Passing of the Third Back" "The Sacrament of Judas" Shtcock .... Othello .... A Tribute of Friendship IX. EDWARD H. SOTHERN, 1859-19— A Frightened Novice Alliance with Julia Maelotte Early Environment A Various Repertory Fohmatfte Periods .... A Significant Earlt Success . Hamlet to Dundbeamt ■ Cause and Nature of Success . X. JULIA MARLOWE, 1867-19— . The Accident of Fortune Real Professional Beginning . First Appearance in New York "Genius" .... A Various and Instructive Repertory Charm of Hee Acting . Versatility . . . . "A Born Actress" . Personal Characteristics Desire of Retirement XI. THE THEATRE AND MORALITY INDEX PAGE 365 368 373 378 381 384 390 395 400 404 410 421 423 426 427 430 432 435 437 442 447 449 452 454 455 457 460 463 465 468 471 475 501 ILLUSTRATIONS Augustin Daly Reading a Play to His Company Frontispiece TO FACE PAGE William Warren as Sir Peter Teazle, in "The School for Scandal" 30 William Warren 42 Laura Keene 68 } Matilda Heron Lester Wallack, About 1855 74 Lester Wallack, as Leon Delmar, in "The Veteran" 88 Lester Wallack as Eliot Grey, in "Rosedale" . 98 James W. Wallack, the Younger I- i 14.4 Mark Smith , . . . . Edwin Adams H. J. Montague Edwin Booth, About 1860-'64. 150 Junius Brutus Booth, the Bust by Thomas R. Gould 158 Junius Brutus Booth and His Son Edwin, 1850 166 Edwin Booth as Hamlet 188 JEdwin Booth as Bertuccio, in "The Fool's Revenge" 198 Edwin Booth, After the Portrait in Oil by John S. Sargent 214 H 12 ILLUSTRATIONS TO FACE PAGE Augustin Daly, About 1870 224 Fanny Davenport ) ^^^ Clara Morris j Ada Rehan and John Drew, in "The Railroad of Love" a^l Mrs. G. H. Gilbert 254 James Lewis as Gwtmion, in "The Squire" . . 262 Daly's Famous Office, in His Theatre in New York 270 Augustin Daly, About 1896 280 Henry Irving as Mephistopheles, in "Faust" . . 292 Henry Irving as Vanderdecken, in "The Flying Dutchman" 306 Henry Irving, About 1885 320 Henry Irving, in the Last Year of His Life . . 336 Johnston Forbes-Robertson 358 Johnston Forbes-Robertson ^s -| „, i , [- . . 368 Johnston Forbes-Robertson r Dick Heldar, in "The Light That Failed" ) as < The Passer-by, in "The Passing of the V SSi { Third Floor Back" j Johnston Forbes-Robertson f Julius Ccesar, in "Caesar and Cleopatra" ) . , ^ I Otheno ] ^0* E. H. Sothern, About 1880 . . ... 422 Julia Marlowe as Juliet 450 Julia Marlowe as Mary Tudor, in "When Knighthood Was in Flower" 462 PREFACE This hook, supplementary to the compendium of my recollections called "Other Days" (1908), is intended to depict and commemorate still another group of eminently notable persons, leading representatives of the Stage, past and present, with most of whom I have lived in friendship and all of whom I have carefully and sympathetically observed. My chief purpose in writing these chapters was to provide personal reminiscence, but, while making what I ven- ture to designate authentic vignettes of impor- tant and variously interesting actors, I have given essential details of biography and made critical estimate of achievement; and, therefore, I believe that this work will he found a use- ful contribution to the History of the Stage, and will help to deepen in the minds of my readers a conviction of the vital importance of a rightly conducted Theatre — by which I mean a Theatre that appeals to the highest intelli- gence and the finest feelings of the public. 13 14 PREFACE The greater part of this book is new, hut in pursuance of a purpose to assemble my writings in a uniform, definitive edition, I have herein included a few passages, revised and improved, from earlier publications of mine which have long been out of print. Parts of this mate- rial were originally contributed to "Collier s Weekly" and "The Century Magazine": one chapter of it appeared in "The Saturday Even- ing Post": that relative to Johnston Forbes- Robertson was written for "The Century," but, because of a change in the editorial policy of that magazine, it was not used as agreed and intended, and the present is its first publi- cation. All writing about the Stage may, to some readers, seem inopportune and frivolous, at a time when the world is convulsed by a terrific War, affecting every nation, — because waged to determine whether Civilization is to be strangled by arrogant and detestable Military Despotism, or the human race be permitted to advance in the pathway of Liberty ruled and protected by Justice and Law. Such PREFACE 15 writing does not seem so to me. Whether in storm or calm, self-possession is wisdom, and I abide by the counsel of Shakespeare's Imogen: "Stick to your journal course; the breach of custom is breach of all." The poet Whittier felicitously records that, on the famous Dark Bay of New England, May 19, 1780, when, because of "the horror of great darkness," the end of the world was believed to be imminent and in one senate chamber the affrighted legis- lators were tremulous with apprehension, a stalwart member, Abraham Davenport by name, calmly persisted in the performance of duty, saying: " Let God do his work, we will see to ours: Bring in the candles." The example is a good one, even for the memo- rialist of the Stage. Furthermore, writing in the twilight of fourscore years I have no time to lose and cannot suspend my industry to await the sure, however slow, defeat of a murderous megalomaniac and his deluded followers, and the consequent recurrence of peaceful days. 16 PREFACE In dismissing this hook to my readers I would thank Mr. Evert Jansen Wendell^ of New York, and Mr. Francis M. Stanwood, of Boston, for kind assistance in obtaining original photo- graphs for some of the Illustrations with which it is embellished; and specially I would thank my son, Mr. Jefferson Winter, for practical help and for invariable encouragement and cheer, — things inexpressibly precious to a worn and tired old writer, — "making the hard way sweet and delectable." .^^ „ W. W. Los Angeles, California, August W, 1915. "I count myself in nothing else so hap'py As in a soul remernVri/mg my good friends^ Shakespeare. I. WILLIAM WARREN. 1812—1888. At midnight, in October, 1882, a genial com- pany was assembled in the quaint parlor of an old mansion in Boston, to do honor to one of the greatest actors who have graced our Stage. Afternoon and evening performances had oc- curred, amid general acclamation, to celebrate the fiftieth anniversary of his first professional appearance, and the purpose of that midnight assemblage was to crown a brilliant occasion of public rejoicing with a private testimonial of affectionate friendship. The actor was William Warren. A committee, of which I was the leader, had been designated to present to him a Loving Cup, the gift of five eminent members of the dramatic profession, and it was my privilege to make the presentation speech. 17 18 VAGRANT MEMORIES The Cup, an exceptionally handsome vessel of its kind, bears this inscription: To tmiUiam Wiavvm On the Completion of His Fiftieth Tear Upon the Stage October 27, 1882 From Joseph Jefferson John McCullough Edwin Booth Larvrence Barrett Mary Anderson In closing my speech I read a poem which I had written, expressive not simply of my admi- ration for the actor and the man, but of the esteem and affection with which Warren was universally regarded. It truthfully describes him, and the presentment of it is appropriate here: Red globes of autumn strew the sod, The bannered woods wear crimson shields. The aster and the golden-rod Deck all the fields. AMARANTH 19 No clarion blast, at morning blown, Should greet the way-worn veteran here. Nor roll of drum nor trumpet-tone Assail his ear. No jewelled ensigns now should smite. With jarring flash, down emerald steeps, Where sweetly in the sunset light The valley sleeps. No bolder ray should bathe this bower Than when, above the glimmering stream. The crescent moon, in twilight's hour, First sheds her beam. No ruder note should break the thrall That love and peace and honor weave Than some lone wild-bird's gentle call. At summer eve. But here should float the voice of song, — Like evening winds in autumn leaves, Sweet with the balm they waft along From golden sheaves. 20 VAGRANT MEMORIES The sacred past should feel its spell, And here should murmur, soft and low, The voices that he loved so well, — Long, long ago. The vanished scenes should give to this The cherished forms of other days, And rosy lips that felt his kiss Breathe out his praise. The comrades of his young renown Should proudly throng around him now, When falls the spotless laurel crown Upon his brow. Not in their clamorous shouts who make The noonday pomp of glory's lord Does the true soul of manhood take Its high reward. But when from all the glimmering years Beneath the moonlight of the past The strong and tender spirit hears "Well done," at last; When love looks forth from heavenly eyes. And heavenly voices make acclaim. AMARANTH 21 And all his deeds of kindness rise To bless his name; When all that has been sweetly blends With all that is, and both revere The life so lovely in its ends, So pure, so dear; Then leaps, indeed, the golden flame Of blissful pride to rapture's brim, — The fire that sacramental fame Has lit for him! For him who, lord of joy and woe. Through half a century's snow-white years Has gently ruled, in humor's glow, The fount of tears. True, simple, earnest, patient, kind. Through griefs that many a weaker will Had stricken dead, his noble mind Was constant still. Sweet, tender, playful, thoughtful, droll. His gentle genius still has made Mirth's perfect sunshine in the soul, And pity's shade. 22 VAGRANT MEMORIES With amaranths of eternal spring Be all his life's calm evening drest, While summer winds around him sing The songs of rest! And thou, O Memory, strange and dread, That stand'st on heaven's ascending slope, Lay softly on his reverend head The wreath of hope! So softly, when the port he wins. To which life's happiest breezes blow, That where earth ends and heaven begins He shall not know. HIS STORIED DWELLING PLACE. The scene of the ceremonial of presentation was a house, since demolished, in Bulfinch Place, at that time a peaceful street, seemingly sequestered, although situated in almost the centre of the old Puritan city. It was No. 2, and was the residence of Miss Amelia Fisher, one of the most decorous and dignified of elderly maiden ladies. Lodging could be obtained there by actors, particularly those of domestic AN ACTORS' HAUNT 23 taste, — ^Miss Fisher being a member of the theat- rical family of that name, and once an actress, — and the place was a favorite abode of votaries of "the profession." Many eminent players, dead and gone now, have studied, feasted, and slept beneath Miss Fisher's roof. George Honey, the fine English comedian (the original performer of Eccles, in "Caste"), who once lodged there, told me that no one but Warren was permitted to have a latchkey, that every lodger was expected to be in before mid- night, and that the landlady would sit in the hall, to admit those who came home late. "When I could not get in till after twelve," he added, "I preferred, after once arriving late, to go to a hotel rather than meet her gaze." But it was a cosey, comfortable, charming retreat, and those survivors of old times who knew it well remember it with great pleasure. As I recall the incidents of the presentation I can almost see Warren as he then appeared, sitting at the table in Miss Fisher's parlor, — his earnest, whimsical face slightly twitching with emotion, — and slowly turning the silver 24 VAGRANT MEMORIES cup from side to side, while his friendly guests waited for his reply. I afterward read in a newspaper that the comedian was "much affected" by the tribute from leaders of the Stage and by my speech and poem, and that "he responded with emotion, in fitting terms." Affected he was, and very deeply, and his agitation manifested itself in the pallor of his countenance and the tremor of his voice. His response was characteristic and directly to the point. He looked at the company, and then, after a pause, he said to Miss Fisher: "You better fill this with champagne and pass it round"; and he said no more. Among his hearers that night were the bril- hant comedian James E. Murdoch, the great Young Mirabel of his day, and that other bril- liant comedian, then a youth, John B. Mason. That Bulfinch Place lodging house was inter- esting in itself as well as for its many theatri- cal associations. The Colonial style of finish, the low ceilings, the neat apartments, the per- fect cleanliness and order invested it with a peculiar character, quaint and attractive. I THE MIDNIGHT SUPPER 25 first went there in company with Adam Wal- lace Thaxter, a well-known and widely popular Bostonian of long ago, the dramatic critic of "The Saturday Evening Gazette," to pay my respects to Mrs. Farren, who was acting at the Museum in such plays as "Fazio" and "Lucrezia Borgia," and who (forgotten now) was for a time the queen of many hearts, — ^mine included. The supper at that house, after the play, was one of the charming features for its inhabitants, — ^with Warren, wearing a long, loose linen coat over his evening dress, at the head of the table, enlivening the feast with his kindly humor. The actor was in his element then, — the rare, delightful being who combines spon- taneous piquancy with intrinsic goodness, geniality with wit, perfect simplicity with supe- rior mental powers, and possesses that fine art of conversation which consists in making others talk well and, instinctively, knowing when to listen and when to speak. Jefferson, Wallack, Davenport, Adams, Couldock, Florence, Rowe, Clarke, Fechter, and many other lights of the Stage were often seated at that festal board. 26 VAGRANT MEMORIES and great was the mirth which prevailed there; but we have no "Noctes Ambrosianse," and it has all gone up the chimney. BIOGRAPHICAL PARTICULARS. Warren was born at No. 12 (now 712) Sansom Street, Philadelphia, on November 27, 1812. His parents destined him to mercantile occupation, but his father (the first William Warren, highly distinguished as an actor and long prominent as a manager) became unfort- unate and poor, and, dying, left his widow and children in poverty. Friends thereupon organized, for the benefit of Mrs. Warren, a theatrical performance, which occurred at the Arch Street Theatre, Philadelphia, on October 27, 1832, and on that occasion Wilham Warren, then in his twentieth year, made his first appear- ance on the stage, acting Young Norval, in the Rev. John Home's tragedy of "Douglas," — at that time an exceedingly popular play. His acting was esteemed remarkably good, and he was encouraged to discard the occupation of clerk and to adopt the profession of the Stage. EXPERIENCE 27 For several years thereafter he led the life of a roving actor, obtaining employment wherever he could find it, but ultimately he settled in Buifalo, where he became the favorite comedian of the day, at the Eagle Theatre, managed by John Rice, afterward Mayor of Chicago. There he remained till 1846, when he removed to Boston, appearing as Billy Lackaday, in "Sweethearts and Wives," October 5 that year, at the Howard Athenaeum, under the man- agement of James H. Hackett, — once widely celebrated for his splendid personation of Falstaff. At the Howard he acted for twenty weeks, but in August, 1847, he joined the stock company of the Boston Museum, and with that house he was associated, except for one season, until nearly the end of his life. He died, of disease of the brain, at his Bulfinch Place lodg- ing, — which had long been his home and very dear to him, — on September 21, 1888, and was buried at Mount Auburn. Among "actors of the old school," as they are called, — sometimes in that spirit of derisive contempt which springs from ignorance 28 VAGRANT MEMORIES and levity, — ^there was a sentiment of profound respect, not to say reverence, for the art of act- ing, such as is not prevalent among actors of the present day. It is known, for example, of the first Joseph Jefferson (1774-1832), renowned on the old Philadelphia Stage (he was the grandfather of the Joseph Jefferson — 1829- 1905 — eminent in our time), that, holding his profession in the highest esteem, he maintained, as to acting, such a dignified reserve that no conversation about theatrical matters was per- mitted in his family circle. He was a great actor, and he pursued his calling with a con- scientious zeal and a severity of decorum befitting the most serious duty and the most influential social station. Much the same aus- terity was characteristic of that fine comedian and noble gentleman John Gilbert, to whom acting was a learned profession and the Stage not less sacred than the Pulpit. "AN OLD SCHOOL ACTOR." William Warren also was an "actor of the old school," — a typical figure, representative POPULAK AND VERSATILE 29 of all that was most admirable in the Theatre of the Past and exemplary of all that is most essential in the Theatre of the Present. He was reticent, dignified, courteously formal in social intercourse, faithful to every duty, and scrupu- lously correct in the conduct of life, and there was in his acting a peculiar charm of person- ality, a union of intellect, temperament, char- acter, humor, taste, and seemingly spontaneous art, which made it exceedingly delightful. In my young days in Boston (and I believe the public attitude never changed toward him), everybody knew Warren as an actor, and every- body loved him. His professional career extended through a period of nearly fifty-one years, ending on May 12, 1883, when, at the Boston Museum, he made his last appearance, acting Eccles, in the fine comedy of "Caste." In the course of those years he acted all the current parts of importance in the lines of old men, low comedy, and eccentric comedy, and also many parts in farce. His repertory was rich in parts of the Shakespearean drama. He was the best Touchstone of his professional 30 VAGRANT MEMORIES period, — wise, quaint, and philosophical behind the smile and the jest; admirable as Polonius; incomparable as Dogberry; proficient in every respect as Launcelot Gohho, Sir Andrew Ague- cheek, and Autolycus. In the comedy of man- ners, signified by such parts as Sir Peter Teazle and Lord Oglehy, he was unrivalled, except by John Gilbert. His versatility was amazing; he was equally fine as Triplet, Michonnet, and Jesse Rural, on the one hand, and Dr. Pan- gloss, Eccles, and Batkins, on the other. He was in his seventy-sixth year when he died; he has been dead twenty-seven years; and it is not likely that many persons are extant who possess distinct recollection of what his acting was when he was in his prime. Many playgoers now liv- ing, however, have seen kindred art, and have not forgotten it, in the acting of the late Joseph Jefferson, — who was second cousin to him. Among the weU-known actors of the present period, moreover, there are two comedians, Nathaniel Carl Goodwin and John Belcher Mason, who, in their novitiate, acted in the same company with him and had experience of his From an old Photograph Author's Collection WILLIAM WAEEEN A8 Sir Peter Teazle, in "Thk School foe Scandal" A MODEST ACTOR 81 example, and in some respects they indicate his style — ^Mason, the best and foremost comedian of our Stage at this time (1915), approaching nearer to Warren, and being, indeed, at times startling in resemblance to him, not only in style but in voice and aspect. CHARACTERISTIC HUMOR AND WIT. Warren might easily have assumed the posi- tion of a star and made the customary annual round of the theatres of America. His reper- tory was extensive and various, comprising more than 600 parts. He could have selected about a dozen of them, and with a judiciously organized company could have prospered every- where. Once, in 1864, he left the Boston Museum and made a professional tour, but he did not like the travel and the unsettled way of life, and he gladly returned to his old quar- ters and his customary routine. A less ambi- tious actor, — considering his extraordinary abil- ity, — I have not known. His modesty and gentleness, furthermore, were unusual, and they made him one of the most charming of com- 32 VAGRANT MEMORIES panions. He never spoke ill of anybody. I remember that an actor from England, named Nelson, was introduced at the Museum, to play one of the parts in which Warren had pre- viously appeared and been cordially approved, and that Warren, who had been a spectator of the performance, was asked for his opin- ion of it; whereupon he smiled and jocosely said: "I don't think it was one of Nel- son's victories." It had, in fact, been a dire failure. Some persons, even though the fundamental basis of their minds is grave, possess the happy faculty of seeing human life at a comic angle and of expressing their impressions with instant fehcity in amusing phrases. When the learned Dr. Parr said to the learned Dr. Porson: "My opinion of you, sir, is very contemptible!" the learned Dr. Porson promptly replied: "Sir, I never knew an opinion of yours that was not!" Porson's rejoinder has the celerity of wit, but not its desirable urbanity. Warren's wit, instan- taneous and felicitous, was never caustic. He possessed in perfection the faculty of piquant FELICITY IN WIT 83 repartee; he was a capital story teller; he never uttered a witticism or told a story that was not exactly apposite to some immediate remark or occurrence; and, like Jefferson, he was com- ically apt in his droll comments on passing events. Once, in a town of the Far West, he chanced to be aroused by a disturbance in the night, caused by a sudden freshet. A torrent was pouring through the street, and Warren, as he stood, with other spectators at a hotel window, gazing on the pluvial tumult, heard a voice crying: "My mother! She's gone — she's gonel" "Well," he said, "she must have gone by water!" When JeflPerson first went to Bos- ton, acting Acres ^ in his freely adapted and condensed (and much improved) version of Sheridan's comedy, Warren attended the per- formance. "Did you see Jefferson in 'The Rivals'?" an acquaintance afterward asked him. "Yes," he said, "'The Rivals'— with Sheridan more than twenty miles away!" Many pious persons believe that the state- ment "God tempers the wind to the shorn lamb" occurs in the Bible, whereas, in fact, it 34 VAGRANT MEMORIES occurs in the writings of that amazingly clever literary artist, whimsical humorist, and perplex- ingly elusive character, Laurence Sterne. Miss Fisher was pious, and great was her consterna- tion when, on an exceedingly cold night, the comedian, returning from the Museum after a performance there, entered his lodging with the remark: "I wish they would put a shorn lamb at the corner of Tremont and Park streets." Warren's customary homeward walk from the Museum was uphill through Park Street and thence downward to Bulfinch Place; and per- sons acquainted with Boston are well aware of the icy blast which, in wintry weather, often sweeps over the Common and the region called the Back Bay. Warren's cheerful temper and his spontane- ous, habitual propensity to facetious play on words are, also, shown in all his letters, of which this is an indicative specimen. The poem to which it alludes is one called "The Voice of the Silence," which I delivered before The Society of the Army of the Potomac, — of which I am proud to be an honorary member, — at A FACETIOUS LETTER 35 the Academy of Music, Philadelphia, June 6, 1876. The article it mentions, called "Miss Dickinson on Thorns," is a critical one, writ- ten by me in "The New York Tribune," June 3, 1876, relative to the acting of Anna E. Dickinson (1842-19 — ), which elicited remarks from an actor in her company, named Cowper : "Boston, Mass. [No. 2, Bulfinch Place], "June 30, 1876. "My Dear Winter: — "Many thanks for your favor of the 28th inst. The poem for the 'Army of the Potomac' is very beautiful, quite worthy of the author, and the reading of it was a great treat to me, as I had never before seen a copy. 'Miss Dickinson on Thorns' I read, on the morning of its publication, at the breakfast table, at the Windsor; in his endeavor to refute it Cowper's Task was rather too much for him. "I was very sorry not to have seen you during my three days' stay in New York; but my trip was one at ten minutes' notice, on account of the illness of Miss Fisher's sister, and your address, like the Dutch- man's anchor, was at home. It has since been entered 36 VAGRANT MEMORIES in my pocket-book, so there's hope of better luck next time. "Next Wednesday sets me free for a vacation, and a trip to Geneva Lake, Wisconsin, where I have a lot of married nieces, whose husbands, my constructive nephews, are quite anxious to show me hospitalities. I shall take in the Centennial in my native city [Phila- delphia] on my return hither, and en route hope to catch you at home. Not a line from Joe [Jefferson] lately. Tom Inglis, who has just returned from Eng- land, told me that he was putting in three weeks at Manchester. "We 'gathered [George] Honey' at No. 2, this morning — have only had a glimpse of his blooming visage — he has been 'a bird in the passage' lately. Miss Fisher sends regards. "Believe me, "Vours truly, "W. Warben." ANECDOTE AND DETAIL. Warren was scrupulously correct in the prac- tice of his profession, but once in a while he could not resist the temptation to introduce a "gag." Thus, in the play of "The Drunkard," ANECDOTES 37 — a favorite in the old Museum days, — ^when he was on the scene with Middleton, and that reformed inebriate, mournfully moralizing, had exclaimed: "There is the old elm where I slipped and fell," Warren gravely remarked: "That must have been a slippery elm." He did not like the experience of growing old — and, indeed, with slight exception, age is querulous, selfish, and exacting. On hearing a certain wine extolled as excellent because very old, "I am glad," he said, "that age improves anything." Warren dreaded death and customarily avoided mention of it. He happened to be standing in front of King's Chapel, at the cor- ner of Tremont and Court streets, when the imposing funeral train of Senator Henry Wil- son was passing that point, and a lad, who knew him by sight, suddenly accosted him, saying: "It's great, ain't it? But, say, it ain't anything to what we'll do for you, Mr. Warren, when you die!" Warren told that incident to Jeffer- son, with lively disgust, and Jefferson, in whom the love of fun was irrepressible, told it to me, with lively delight. 38 VAGRANT MEMORIES In December, 1894, various articles of per- sonal property that had been owned by War- ren were sold at public auction in Boston, at which time his writing desk was "knocked down" for $4.65, his wardrobe for $2.12, his bedstead for $1.30, his clock for 70 cents, and his water pitcher for 15 cents. The silver Lov- ing Cup, of which I have recorded and described the presentation to Warren, escaped that igno- minious clearance, having been bequeathed by him to Jefferson. By that actor it was pre- sented to The Players, and it now reposes among their treasures, in the opulent clubhouse given to that organization by Edwin Booth. The first toast ever drunk under the roof, — "To The Players, perpetual prosperity," — ^was quaffed from that cup, and from the drinking flagon of the elder Booth, on the night of occu- pation, December 31, 1888. As a young man Warren was remarkably proficient in boxing, and his proficiency was backed by uncommon physical strength. His appearance, however, then and at all times, was that of a fastidious person of amiable and gentle THE ART MILITANT 39 disposition. He was of a little more than medium stature; his figure was thin; his eyes were blue and of a calm and sweet expression; his garments were always scrupulously neat and fine, and he seemed to be completely pacific. Such men, by their mere presence, sometimes incite the active hostiUty of natural plebeians. Once, while waiting in front of a railway sta- tion in a town in western New York, Warren thus became an object of animosity to a burly vulgarian who was swaggering on the platform, and who, after venting his spite in impudent remarks, which obtained no notice, roughly jostled the actor, thinking thereby to amuse cer- tain of the bystanders of his own kind. The effect of his insolence was not what he had expected, for Warren instantly struck him a blow which hurled him heels over head and knocked him senseless ; and this without the least apparent excitement or effort. In early life Warren was improvident, but a sensible friend of his, Henry Lee (died, 1898), persuaded him to invest a small sum of money, with a view to the future, and the investment 40 VAGRANT MEMORIES proving fortunate he was encouraged in the habit of thrift. When I was a lad I sometimes saw him going into or coming out of offices in State Street, which then was, and which con- tinues to be, the Wall Street of Boston. Little did I dream that the time would ever come when the admired actor would be a warm per- sonal friend of mine, and that I should ever participate in recording and celebrating his achievements and doing him public honor; for then I was only a vagrant boy, habitually roam- ing the waterside from South Boston Bridge to Constitution Wharf, and much more likely to run away to sea, like my progenitors, all of whom were sailors, than live to labor as an his- torian and a critic of the acted drama and as friend and adviser of many actors. My per- sonal acquaintance with Warren began as long ago as 1856, but my acquaintance with him as an actor began when, years before then, I saw him for the first time in the spectacle of "Alad- din, or the Wonderful Lamp," — and the delight with which I beheld that spectacle and the joy with which I looked on the player A PRUDENT BACHELOR 41 who supplied the mirth in it were such as I have seldom known since, and can never know again. Warren was a bachelor. He lived in com- fort. His salary as an actor was, for those days, a large one, and he saved a considerable part of what he earned. The actual value of the property that he owned has not been made known, but after his death it was stated that he left more than $100,000, — a large fortune, for the greater part the product of his indi- vidual labor. He was not penurious, but he was prudent, and in his prudence he was comically eccentric. A friend once asked him why he did not keep a carriage. "I do," he replied; "I take a drive almost every fine day, — on the front seat of one of the horse cars that go out to Roxbury. You've no idea how safe and com- fortable it is. The horses never run away, and I'm never in danger, and never frightened." INFLUENCE OF HAPPY ACTORS. There was a time, I believe, — or is it a dream? — when actors existed whose presence made an 42 VAGRANT MEMORIES audience sweetly and comfortably glad. I have read of the elder Jefferson that "when he acted, families all went together, old and young. Smiles were on every face; the town was happy." Burton caused that effect, — so humor- ous and touching as Cap'n Cuttle. Blake caused it,— so droll and winning as Jesse Rural. Charles Wheatleigh caused it, — so quaint, comic, and sympathetic as Triplet. I do not know of any actor who causes that eflFect on the audience now. There are actors who make laughter, but the heart is not in it. The method of their acting is often clever, but it is hard, brittle, metallic, sometimes even cynical, and the response of mirth is superficial. When War- ren's voice was heard, "speaking off," — as sometimes happened, before he made his first entrance, — a thrill of joy went through the house. Affection mingled with admiration for that comedian. His coming was that of a friend. He seemed to bring with him a sense of the reality of everything good and kind and to invest the theatre with the gentle atmosphere of home, and the spectator forgot [ n \ % ^ ^ g f HR^^^^^^Hk^^ ^^^^^^^Mk^ ■'•■■ n \ ■ From a Pholo ora.t}h bu i_ aronv jLuthor's CuUection WILLIAM WARREN THEN AND NOW 43 that there was any such thing as care in the world. It has heen customary, from time imme- morial, for rueful writers, when moralizing on the deplorable condition of the present, to eulo- gize a condition, declared to have been much better, in a distant past. In 1811 the poet Moore wrote that "an author who hopes for suc- cess on the stage must fall in with popular taste, which is now at the last gasp, and past all cure." In 1826 the English biographer and critic Boaden said: "We surely cannot hide from ourselves that the drama has declined to a state disgraceful to the high character of the country." In 1834 that experienced observer Thomas Raikes, a man who thoroughly knew society, mournfully recorded, in his enter- taining "Journal," that "the old school" had become "completely extinct." The fact is that, in the long backward of continuously advancing civilization, bright epochs have alternated with dark epochs, precisely as they are doing now and as, doubtless, they will continue to do. The "old school" is not extinct, of either gen- 44. VAGRANT MEMORIES tlemen or actors. In the immediate present, which is seething and turbulent, certain repre- hensible forces are in many places visible and in some places dominant; they are particularly so in the American Theatre; and actors worthy to be named with William Warren are not numerous. The right spirit, however, is not dead. Nobility of manhood, dignity of charac- ter, chivalrous feeling, and devotion to high ideals are still in the world. Wrong does not remain permanently in the saddle. Reaction is a law of Nature, and it is inevitable. The excesses from which our Stage is now suffering will wear themselves away. It may be long before such tragedians again appear as the elder Booth and the elder Wallack, or such comedians as Placide, Burton, Gilbert, Jeffer- son, and Warren; but that they will appear should not be doubted. Genius is a part of the immortal inspiring vitality which flows through all created things, and the human heart will always respond to it. Warren was a come- dian who could make you laugh and also could make you weep: he could bring the tear to the MINISTRY OF THE STAGE 45 eyes and the laugh to the lips at the same moment: and the actor who can do what War- ren did will never do it in vain. The wonderful discoveries of science within the last one hundred years have greatly promoted the material advancement of society, but the diffusion of con- tentment, the making of a prosperous, happy people, which should be the crowning result of civilization, is dependent not on material but on spiritual advancement, — the stimulation of noble purpose and generous feeling, the spread of refinement and grace of manners, — and for that result society must look to the ministry of the arts, and largely to the Stage, which has become a tremendous power. Such actors as Warren are in the highest degree public bene- factors, because they refine, cheer, and help, bringing happiness, and "Leaving on the mountain tops of Death A light that makes them lovely." II. SISTER STARS: LAURA KEENE AND MATILDA HERON. I.— LAURA KEENE, 1820—1873. There is a kind of woman who inspires at once sympathy and a cautious reserve. In appearance she is ahnost seraphic; in tempera- ment, severe. All that I saw and heard of Laura Keene, when she was managing her the- atre in New York, about fifty-five years ago, caused me to consider her a woman of that kind. By the members of her theatrical com- pany, over whom she ruled with imperious, sometimes even arrogant, authority, she was called "The Duchess." There is a way of government which maintains dominance and obtains implicit obedience without wounding the pride or hurting the feelings of anybody who may happen to be in a subservient posi- 46 A GOOD DEED 47 tion. That was not the way of Laura Keene, who looked like an angel, but was, in fact, a martinet. You could not help liking her, and at the same time you could not quite escape the intuition that she was a person of impetuous and fiery temper. But she was a remarkable figure on the Stage of her day, and although, in this book of reminiscence, I can only make a cameo of her, I am unwilling to leave her out. At a time when she was active in securing relief for that strange being Matilda Heron she was named as one of Matilda's "sister stars": though they were never closely associ- ated, their careers were substantially concur- rent; and her activity in that benevolent cause has linked the two women in my remembrance under that designation. Poor Matilda's need was distressful, and Laura Keene busied herself in organizing a movement for the benefit of that unfortunate actress, which was carried to a successful result largely because of her expe- ditious zeal. At that time, when I had gladly done what I could to assist the enterprise, I 48 VAGRANT MEMORIES received from her a letter which is interesting as characteristic of her promptitude of prac- tical action and also of her temperamental caus- ticity: "34, Bond Street, New York, "January 11, 1872. "My dear Mr. Winter : — "Your kind and very just notice received by the ladies of Miss Heron's Committee with gratitude. We were certain sickness prevented an earlier response. "Convey our thanks to your lady, our regrets at the cause of her absence on such an occasion. "You can, indeed, help us. May I suggest how? "Tell the Public Matilda is penniless — starving! Public will shrug its shoulders — very sorry! "Tell them it's going to be an ultra-fashionable Matinee: all the private boxes sold at $25 and $50 {true!): all the stalls going at high prices. Then the generous Public will want 'Standing Room Only,' immediately. In great haste. "Very truly, "Lauea Keene." No authentic, detailed account exists of the origin and early life of Laura Keene. All A BRIEF MEMOIR 49 accounts agree that she was born in London. One recorder gives the date of her birth as 1880 and says he has "heard" that her family name was Lee. Her principal biographer, John Creahan, who appears to have had ampler opportunity than he improved of ascertaining the facts of her history, states that her birth occurred in 1826; Ireland, always careful and almost invariably correct, places it in 1820. Creahan alleges that "while yet a girl she heard something of Rachel, then in the very zenith of her fame," and adds the statement that "Laura Keene often reverted to this with enthusiasm, as helping to determine a passion for dramatic pursuits." Rachel (1820-1858) acted in London in 1841 and again in 1842. Miss Keene, whether as a girl of fifteen or a woman of twenty-one, could have seen her, and Miss Keene's acting, in after years, afforded indication that she had done so, and at an age when it was possible for her to have profited by the spectacle. Creahan also alleges that "Miss Keene's first experience of stage hfe was with Mme. Vestris, then, or subsequently, Mrs. 50 VAGRANT MEMORIES Charles Mathews," — adding that "after a time Laura Keene appeared as Pauline, in 'The Lady of Lyons,' at the Olympic Theatre." Eliza Vestris controlled the London Olympic from January 3, 1831, to May 31, 1839, when she retired from it, to become manager of Covent Garden, an office which she held from Septem- ber 30, 1839, to April 30, 1842. The comedy of "The Lady of Lyons" was owned by Macready, and the first performance of it ever given occurred February 27, 1838, at Covent Garden, with Helena Faucit as Pauline and Macready as Claude Melnotte. There is no rec- ord showing that it was ever produced by Mme. Vestris, or that Miss Keene was associated with her, at either the Olympic or Covent Garden. Mme. Vestris, it may be well incidentally to note, having married Charles Mathews, July 18, 1838, came with him to New York, in that year, leaving the Olympic in charge of Planche : her stay in America was brief. As to the first appearance and as to the professional novitiate of Miss Keene no writer has furnished clear and exact information. She was not employed IN AMERICA 51 by Mme. Vestris till after that actress assumed management of the London Lyceum, October 18, 1847: she is mentioned as having acted one of the principal parts in "A Chain of Events," presented at that theatre in the Spring of 1852. It is inferrible that she had been for some time on the stage and was an experienced actress. She was then known, in private life, as Mrs. John Taylor, and was the mother of two daughters. The elder WaUack was instru- mental in bringing her to America. Laura Keene's first appearance on the Amer- ican Stage was made, September 20, 1852, at Wallack's Theatre (the Broadway and Broome Street house) , in "The Will," a comedy by the prolific dramatist Frederic Reynolds. That play was first produced April 19, 1797, at Drury Lane, London, and it long remained popular. Albina Mandeville was first acted by the fas- cinating Mrs. Jordan. In the chief situation Albina destroys an unjust Will, made in her own favor. Miss Keene was admirable in the part, and gained immediate popularity. She was subsequently seen in a variety of charac- 52 VAGRANT MEMORIES ters, among them being Beatrice and Rosalind. She did not, however, long remain under Wal- laek's management, but, suddenly determining to be a star and also to manage for herself, she abruptly retired from his theatre, left New York, repaired to Baltimore, opened a theatre there, — ^which did not prosper, — and then wan- dered into the West and visited California and Australia, not again appearing in the capital till December, 1855, when she opened, under the name of Laura Keene's Varieties, the house which had been known as the Metropolitan and which eventually became the Winter Garden. The once favorite play of "The Marble Heart" (or "Marble Hearts"), first presented in Amer- ica, at San Francisco, by Catherine Sinclair, — who had been Mrs. Edwin Forrest, — was there acted for the first time in New York, Laura Keene impersonating Marco, a part in which she greatly excelled, and in which she remained xmequalled. On November 18, 1856, she opened Laura Keene's Theatre, at No, 622 Broadway, which she conducted almost continuously, — making many notable presentations, — till the OLD OLYMPIC DAYS 58 summer of 1863, when it was leased by John Duff, named the Olympic, and committed to the management of Mrs. John Wood. Many players of rare ability and some of the first rank appeared at Laura Keene's Theatre, — among them being Joseph Jefferson, Dion Boucicault, Charles Walter Couldock, Edward A. Sothem, James H. Stoddart, Charles Wheatleigh, George Jordan, WiUiam Rufus Blake, Charles M. Walcot, William P. Davidge, A. H. Davenport, Mark Smith, Charles Fisher, James S. Browne, Edwin Varrey, Agnes Rob- ertson, Sara Stevens, Mary Wells, Ida Vernon, Charlotte Thompson, Mrs. W. H. Smith, and Mme. Ponisi. There "King Louis XL" was pre- sented, Couldock giving his fine performance of the sinister, fanatical monarch. There Jeffer- son began to rise into fame, as Asa Trenchardj there Sothern laid the foundation of his pro- digious popularity as Lord Dundreary; there Boucicault's "Heart of Midlothian" and "Col- leen Bawn," — ^both remarkably clever plays, — were first launched upon the tide of popularity; and there Miss Keene herself manifested excep- 54 VAGRANT MEMORIES tional versatility of talent and much enhanced her professional reputation. The spirit of this actress was always restless. Alert and enterprising, she seldom was judicious. Her defection from Wallack was a mistake, and so was her abandonment of her theatre. She had, however, grown weary of managerial labor, and for several years after leaving New York, in 1863, she wandered, as a star, from city to city. In the Spring of 1865 she chanced to be acting at Ford's Theatre, Washington, and on the night of the fatal April 14, when President Lincoln was assassinated in that house, she was on the stage, as Florence Trench- ard, in "Our American Cousin," — standing so close to the wing, on the prompt-side, that the assassin, as he rushed toward the stage-door, brushed against her in passing. From the effect of the shock that she received, on that terrible night, it was said by her relatives that she never entirely recovered. In 1868 she made a visit to her native land. In 1869 she was lessee and manager of the old Chestnut Street Theatre, Philadelphia, where she acted Marco, DEATH 65 Gilberte, in "Frou-Frou" ; Mary Leigh, in Bou- cicault's "Hunted Down," and other parts, and made a vigorous, creditable, but not remunera- tive, effort to maintain a stage devoted to "the legitimate drama." In 1870 she appeared at the Fourteenth Street Theatre, New York, in association with the eminent English actor William Creswick, in a play called "Nobody's Child," but her health had been much impaired, and it was then sadly manifest that her powers were failing. She continued on the stage, inter- mittently, till the Spring of 1873. Her last appearance in New York was made at Wood's Museum, the building which ultimately became Daly's Theatre. She died, of consumption, at Montclair, New Jersey, November 4, 1873, and was buried in Greenwood. Laura Keene was exceptionally handsome. Her person was tall, slender, and symmetrical. Her head was finely shaped; her face was slightly aquiline; her complexion was fair; her hair was of a dark chestnut color; her features were regular; her eyes were large, dark, brill- iant, and exceedingly expressive; she possessed 56 VAGRANT MEMORIES a clear, copious, musical voice, and she was graceful in her movements and lovely in statu- esque poses, — which she frequently assumed. She often wore white garments, which enhanced an attribute of spirituality in her appearance. One of her peculiarities, in acting, was a swift, gliding movement, which was remarkably effective: another was the singular expedient, by way of expressing emotion, of rapidly and continuously blinking her eyes. She could effectively exhibit the recklessness of headlong passion and the pathetic abandonment of despair. Her range was uncommonly wide. She was, for example, perfection as Marco, in "The Marble Heart," and also as Cicely Home- spun, in "The Heir-at-Law," — thus presenting a surprising contrast between proud, dazzling beauty and hard, insensate, icy, cruel selfishness, on the one hand, and simple, rustic prettiness and artless, confiding affection, on the other. Among her best personations, as I remember them, — besides Marco, — were Peg Wofflngton, in "Masks and Faces"; Ogarita, in "The Sea of Ice"; Miss Hardcastle„ in "She Stoops to Con- MANY PARTS 57 quer"; Effie Beans, in "The Heart of Mid- lothian" ; Becky Sharp, in "Vanity Fair" ; Flor- ence Trenchard, in "Our American Cousin"; Lady Alice Hawthorne, in "Old Heads and Young Hearts," and Ann Chute, in "The Col- leen Bawn." She acted more than 150 parts, of record, and in all of them she was expert. In the latter part of her career she inclined toward tiresome, ultra-emotional drama of the hydrostatic order, acting such parts as Camille, Lady Isabel, in "East Lynne"; Gilberte, in "Frou-Frou," and Lady Bedloch, in "Bleak House," and she played them all well and was admired in them; but, while her appeal to "tear- falling pity" was cogent, her highest manifes- tations of histrionic ability and art were made in glittering comedy parts, — Peg Woffington, Lady Teazle, Marco, Lady Gay Spanker, etc., — and in some scenes of sentimental drama. Her impersonation of Peg Woffington did not excel the earlier and remarkably affecting per- formance of that part given by Mrs. Farren, but it has not since been equalled. With the extraordinary talents that she possessed she was 58 VAGRANT MEMORIES fitted to have made a much more profoimd impression than she did make on the Stage and the Society of her period. She impressed me as self-willed, volatile, capricious, and impe- rious. Not impossibly the influence exerted upon her early in life by Mme. Vestris fostered in her a combative egotism and a cynical spirit. In her first marriage she was unfortunate and unhappy, and domestic unhappiness, naturally, embitters the mind and often hardens the heart. "She was charitable," so wrote Joseph Jeffer- son, who knew her well; "she had a good heart. I never heard her speak ill of anybody but her- self; and this she would sometimes do with a grim humor that was very entertaining." In her second marriage (she became, in 1860, the wife of John Lutz, who died in 1869) she found content. Lutz was not precisely a Gran- dison, but he was sensible and kind, and a shrewd business manager. One of her latest industries was the publication of a magazine, called "Fine Arts," to which, during the brief term of its existence, she was a continuous con- tributor. She also appeared as a lecturer. Her o H a ■< Q P AN ORIGINAL GENIUS 59 last days were sorrowful. I believe she must have reaUzed, — as many others in her pro- fession have done, — ^that she had wasted much talent and opportunity. With more stabihty of character and with inflexibility of high pur- pose she might have gained a permanent rather than an evanescent renown. While thinking of her with admiration, it is scarcely possible, even at this long distance from the time of her feverish exploits and her melancholy end, to think of her without a certain sense of regret- ful disappointment. II.— MATILDA HERON, 1830—1877. The last time I met Matilda Heron, — it was not very long before her death, — she clasped me in her arms, almost lifted me from the floor, kissed me on the forehead, and impetuously exclaimed: "Willy Winter, you put the first gray hair in my head that ever was there!" This fervid assurance was allusive to articles that I had written, in the newspaper press, con- demnatory of the pernicious influence of the play of "Camille," to the exposition of which 60 VAGRANT MEMORIES she had been devoted during the greater part of her career. 'No discussion of the subject ensued. Indeed, discussion of any subject with that wild, impulsive, eccentric being was at all times impossible. Her gray hairs, it is right to say, were not caused by any person's criti- cism. For many years she was a prosperous actress and an object of enthusiastic and often extravagant adulation. In her time of success she had everything her own way, and, more than probably, at all times she considered her- self to be in the right. When she stated her ovsTti case she spoke as she felt, and she was facile in the use of striking figures of speech. It is recorded that the last words she ever spoke were: "Tilly never did harm to any one — poor Tilly is so happy." A more original, lawless, interesting woman, among the Ivmii- naries of the Stage, I have not known, — or, unless it be Ellen Terry, one so elusive of complete comprehension and competent por- trayal. Heron is an old theatrical name. Mrs. Mary Heron acted at Drury Lane, London, in 1721, OBSCURE ORIGIN 61 and thereafter, and it is recorded that CoUey Gibber trained her to perform hady Betty Modish, in "The Careless Husband," and Lady Townly, in "The Provoked Husband." She died in 1736, I know not whether she was a far-away progenitor of Matilda Heron, but she may have been. Matilda was of Irish descent, born in Londonderry, December 1, 1830. The accounts which exist of her family antecedents and of her surroundings in early life are conflictive, scattering, and unsure. One record states that her parents were poor, were holders of a small farm in Ireland, emigrated to America when she was in her twelfth year (1842) and settled in Philadelphia, where she attended school and where her father died. Another record, made by the veteran actor, manager, and theatrical annalist Noah Miller Ludlow (1795-1886), states that "the Heron Family, consisting of Mrs. Heron and her daughters, Matilda, Fanny, and Agnes," appeared at his theatre, the St. Charles, New Orleans, in February, 1849, and that Matilda acted The Four Mowhrays, in the farce of "Old 62 VAGRANT MEMORIES and Young," and also Tom Tug, in the comic opera of "The Waterman." "The eldest of these sisters," says Ludlow, "was, in after life, one of the earliest performers of Camille, in a play translated by her from the French, which became popular from the skilful rendition by Miss Heron of the prin- cipal character." Ireland mentions Agnes and Fanny Heron, but not Matilda, as having appeared in New York at the old Park The- atre, late in 1847, and says they came "from the Dublin Stage." All three of those girls appear to have been measurably proficient in both acting and singing. Among the farces which they presented were "The Spoiled Child," "The Irish Tutor," "Born to Good Luck," and "Box and Cox." Ludlow specially praises Matilda for her performance of Margery, in "The Rough Diamond." She must have been more than commonly able and practised to have succeeded, as apparently she did, in personat- ing Tom Tug, a part which had taxed the talents of such an accomplished actor as John Hodgkinson (1793) and such reputedly fine PLAYS BIANCA 63 singers as Joseph Wood (1833) and John Wil- son (1838). It might, perhaps, reasonably be conjectured that Matilda, as well as her sisters (if such they were) Agnes and Fanny, received some train- ing on the stage in Ireland before she was brought to America. Henry Edwards, the comedian, however, wrote of her that in girl- hood, in Philadelphia, she saw performances at the Walnut Street Theatre, was thus allured to the Stage, placed herself under the tuition of Peter Richings, and made her first profes- sional appearance in 1851. Peter Richings (1796-1871), whom aged playgoers, possibly, still remember as the excellent representative of General Washington and as a good singer in light opera, certainly was an instructor in act- ing as well as a fine actor, and Matilda would have needed instruction before undertaking such a heavy and exacting part as Bianca, in the tragedy of "Fazio." She played it, February 17, 1851, at the Walnut Street Theatre, and she appears to have given an auspicious per- formance. Her career thenceforward was sepa- 64 VAGRANT MEMORIES rate and independent. As to the sisters, Agnes and Fanny Heron, Ireland ascertained that they, eventually, devoted themselves exclusively to music, received instruction from Signer Natale Perelli, and as Senorita Agnese Natali and Senorita Francesca Natali became favor- ites on the Lyric Stage, in Mexico and South America. On August 23, 1852, Matilda appeared at the Bowery Theatre, New York, under Hamblin's management, and in the course of her engagement there acted Lady Macbeth, Juliet, Mrs. Holler, Ophelia, Parthenia, and Pauline, — about as singular and contrasted a conglomerate of characters as one actress ever attempted in a single engagement. In 1853 she visited California, appearing, December 26, at the American Theatre, San Francisco, as Bianca, with John Lewis Baker as Fazio. Her success there was immediate, her popularity great. On June 10, 1854, in San Francisco, she was married to Henry Herbert Byrne, between whom and herself a permanent separa- tion ensued, three months later. "The cause of the separation," — so wrote Henry Edwards, THE FIRST CAMILLE 65 in 1887, — "is shrouded, even now, in the deep- est mystery; . . . but, whatever it might have been, the two lives affected by it felt its force, and carried it with them to their graves." Byrne died in 1872. In 1855 Matilda Heron was in Paris, where she saw the performance by Mme. Doche of Marguerite Gauthier^ in "La Dame aux Came- lias," and was deeply affected by it, — so deeply that she was moved to translate and adapt the play for her own immediate use in America. Her version of it, entitled "Camille," was pre- sented by her in October, 1855, and from that time onward, for many years, she made Camille the principal feature of her repertory. Her first representation of the part in New York occurred on January 22, 1857, at Wallack's Theatre; Edward A. Sothern played the lover, Armand Duval. She was not the original rep- resentative of Camille in America; the part had previously been acted here (1853) by Jean Davenport, — afterward Mrs. Lander; but Matilda made it her own, and she long remained preeminent in it, and eventually was the means 66 VAGRANT MEMORIES of raising a considerable crop of juvenile Camilles, who coughed and snivelled and expired, "to melt the waxen hearts of men," throughout all the theatres of America. On December 24, 1857, she was married to Robert Stoepel, — remembered as a fine musician, — with whom she seems to have lived unhappily, and from whom she separated in 1869. Soon after Longfellow's poem of "Hiawatha" was published (1855) Stoepel composed music illustratively expressive of its spirit, and Matilda gave pubHc readings of the poem with that accompaniment, beginning in Boston and continuing in other cities. That entertainment she gave in London, in 1860-'61, and also she acted there, as Florence Upperton, in one of her own plays (she was the author or adapter of several dramas) , called "New Year's Eve," — Plater presented by her, in New York, under the name of "The Belle of the Season." On leaving London, in 1861, she made a short tour in France and Germany, returning to America in 1862. She was in California in 1865, and was again the recipient of unstinted admira- A NOTABLE BENEFIT 67 tion and honor there. Then and thereafter Camille was her chief professional magnet. Her repertory was not very large. Among the parts that she acted, besides those already mentioned, are Julia, in "The Hunchback"; Juliana, in "The Honeymoon"; the Countess, in "Love"; Mariana, in "The Wife"; Leonore, in "The World's Own," a play written for her by Mrs. Julia Ward Howe ; Medea, Gamea, Leshia, Sy- bil, Mathilde, and Aurora Floyd. Toward the end of her life, under the accumulated burdens of misfortune and domestic trouble, she became wretchedly poor. A performance for her benefit occurred at Niblo's Garden, January 17, 1872, in which Edwin Booth, Mark Smith, Laura Keene, Fanny Janauschek, and others participated, and which yielded $4,390 for the beneficiary, A touching address was delivered by the actress, in which she said: "I am but a poor, humble woman, and it may be a consola- tion to you to know and feel, when you go home to-night, that you have raised a woman out of the depth of misery and despair; that you have provided sustenance for the moment and given 68 VAGRANT MEMORIES her hopes for the future. New life has come to me through your kindness, and far heyond all else I am thankful to you that your pres- ence here enables me to look with calmness on the bitter past." The relief proved only tem- porary. "The close of her life," said Edwards, "was of the saddest character. . . . Poor in the bitterest acceptation of the term, prema- turely old, and with the once sparkling intel- lect dimmed and gone astray, she presented a spectacle . . . that the coldest heart could but regard with pity." She died. May 7, 1877, and was buried in Greenwood. Matilda Heron, as an actress, was at her best in the part of Camille. Other parts she acted; that one she lived. When first I saw her, in that character, in Boston, in 1857, she could, and did, so deeply aifect the feelings and so entirely beguile the sympathies as to confuse, if not destroy, perception of the difference between right and wrong. That the courtesan and the virtuous woman are alike pure — that chastity is immaterial — ^is the chief meaning con- veyed by the sophistry of the play, in which PERSONAL FASCINATION 69 Matilda gave a performance of such tremendous vitality and overwhelming power. She was radiantly beautiful. Her person was superb. Her features were regular; her eyes were dark blue and of dazzhng brilliancy; her hair was dark and abundant, and her complexion fair. Her voice was singularly sympathetic and thrilling. She radiated a force of magnetic emotion which it was impossible to resist. In later times I became quite able to see and hear her without being in the least beguiled or bewil- dered; but it was not so at first. She never acted Camille better than she did in her earliest presentments of it. She had found a part which provided the agonized and agonizing situations essential for the liberation and complete dis- play and utterance of her tempestuous spirit. She loved the storm and revelled in the frenzy of a nature at war with itself. Once, speaking to a writer, about a play that she wished should be written for her, she wildly exclaimed, "Give me a lost woman!" I know not why a woman "lost" should be thought to be more dramatic than a woman "found," but that was the kind of 70 VAGRANT MEMORIES woman Matilda preferred to represent, and beyond question she made her intensely and movingly dramatic. When, as Camille, she rushed toward the footlights, sobbing out the words of mingled wonder and shame "Respect me — and in this house!" she fairly wrung the hearts of her auditors; and in the crucial scene, — theatrically one of supreme ingenuity, — in which Camille parts from the lover whom she must renounce and means never to see again, her agony was so great and, in effect, so poig- nantly actual that, almost invariably, her audi- ence became convulsed with grief. Matilda Heron knew what it is to love, and what it is to suffer through the truth and through the consequences of that tremendous passion, — sometimes so harrowing in its inten- sity, often so afflicting in its disastrous and destructive results — and that knowledge invested her acting with insuperable authority. Her power was not that of the imagination, which enables the actor to incarnate an ideal, to embody a poetic creation, such as Lady Mac- beth, but that of the woman's heart, which has THE WHIRLWIND 71 sounded every depth of passion and compre- hended all possible experience of woman, in that beautiful and terrible realm of love which is so essentially her own ; and while she was thus human in feeling she was strong, often weird, in her personality. All her ways were indi- vidual. The eye followed her with delight, at absolute newness and indubitable sincerity. She did not satisfy taste and judgment as to classic forms; her Medea was half a prowling maniac and half a slattern gypsy, the only merit of it consisting in occasional gleams of fateful fury, like intermittent flickering of fire from a slum- bering volcano; and for parts that require repose, dignity, symmetry, and grace her tem- pestuous style made her unsuitable. She was an exponent of the elemental passions, in their universal flow and ebb; she was the whirlwind, not the zephyr. That kind of nature, unless curbed by dominant intellect and regulated by strong moral sense, inevitably breaks all the bounds of reason, convention, and a serene life. Matilda Heron's career was gloriously bright for a while, and then dark with trouble 72 VAGRANT MEMORIES and sorrow. It is easy for the moralist to say that she brought her miseries upon herself; it is, — as in all such cases, — more true and wise to say that Fate, which is Character, made her what she was, and shaped and ruled the cur- rent of her destiny. In her ministration of the Stage she was actuated by a profound, passion- ate, virtuous sincerity. Despite the comparative ignominy of her principal dramatic theme and the palpable fallacy of her quite involuntary moral teaching, it is certain that her acting of Camille touched, in thousands of hearts, the spring of gentle charity, and that it dealt a blow which staggered alike the canting Phari- see and the canting sensualist, who talks virtue while living vice. She was a mag- nanimous, great-hearted, loving woman, and she was one of the most potent elemental forces in the histrionic vocation that have ever been exerted on the American Stage. III. LESTER WALLACK. 1820—1888. An old lady, long ago dead, speaking to me of the brilliant comedian Lester Wallack, with whom she was acquainted, made use of a novel designation: "He thinks," she said, "that he is the Devil on runners!" She had been impressed, I suppose, by his superlative self- confidence and authoritative manner, which she had mistaken for egregious vanity. It was characteristic of him to be not selfish, but self-centred; not to undervalue other per- sons, but not to concern himself particularly about them, and not readily to admire any- body. When he did admire, however, his feel- ing was ardent. The old Duke of Wellington was, to him, an object of reverence, almost of adoration. He fervently admired Macready; I remember he spoke to me, with passionate 73 74 VAGRANT MEMORIES enthusiasm, about that actor's great perform- ance of Virginius as something never equalled and transcendent of all praise. He cherished the memory and extolled the genius of the elder Tyrone Power, whom, in youth, he had often seen, and on whose acting he had modelled his style. He spoke with cordial esteem of the elder Farren, Helena Faucit, and the "glorious" Louisa Nisbett. He was, however, disinclined to hero-worship, and his manner was assertive rather than conciliatory. If the objects of his homage were few, they were those by whom homage was deserved. If he ever seemed haughty and distant, it was not because he was either cold or insensible, but because he was reticent and because he was concentrated on his own concerns. I knew Lester Wallack very well; saw him often on the stage; was often in his society, and had many opportunities of observing him in a friendly association extend- ing over a period of nearly thirty years. He held himself in high esteem, but he was neither egotistic nor conceited. There was good reason for his self-confidence, and it was becoming to From a Photograph by Brady Collection of Evert Jansen Wendell, Esq. LESTER WALLACK, ABOUT 1855 UNCOMMON ADVANTAGES 75 him. He possessed uncommon advantages. His person was manly, his face handsome, his voice clear, resonant, and pleasing, his demeanor dignified and graceful, his temperament genial, his mind well stored with knowledge, and his faculties were matured by experience. His talents, as an actor, a manager, and a drama- tist, were extraordinary, and his accomplish- ments were many and varied. In comedy, par- ticularly of the gossamer kind, — which is the most exacting," — ^he was superb, and in romantic drama he ranked with the best performers of the period in which'he lived. He was an expert stage-director and a felicitous public speaker. He conversed easily and agreeably and was a capital singer, and, accordingly, he was one of the most delightful of boon companions. By his few close friends, who knew the simplicity of his nature and the kindness of his heart, he was dearly loved. The admiration of the public con- tinually, — and naturally, — followed him; and as I look back to the period of his prime, about 1859 to 1877, and consider what he was and what he did, I cannot wonder that he, who had 76 VAGRANT MEMORIES become a favorite with everybody else, should have found favor with himself. AN HISTEIONIC LINE. Lester Wallack inherited a strong propensity to histrionic expression. His more immediate ancestors were members of the Stage. His paternal grandfather was William Wallack and his paternal grandmother was Eliza- beth Field (both, 1760-1850), Mrs. Granger, widow of a doctor when she married Wallack. She is mentioned as having been "at one time a leading member of Garrick's company" (Hut- ton), but as her birth date was 1760, and Garrick retired from the Stage in 1776, that would seem to be an error. Marshall states that Mary Johannot (daughter of Richard Johannot, an expert mimic and a clever per- former in farce) was the wife of Wallack, but that, also, appears to be an error. William Wallack was particularly distinguished for excellent impersonation of nautical characters, and also for pleasing vocalism; the favorite ballad, "Bound 'Prentice to a Waterman," was THE WALLACK FAMILY 77 written for his use, and his singing made it famous. All the children of William Wallack and his wife adopted the profession of the Stage, and each of them gained more or less theatrical repute. Those children were Henry John (1790-1870); James William (1795-1864); Mary,— familiarly called "Poll Wallack," and Elizabeth, Mrs. Pincott. The latter, more a singer than an actress (she was associated with the English Opera House, London), never came to America, but Henry, James, and Mary were promi- nent on the American Stage. Henry Wal- lack's spirited performance of Squire Broad- lands, in "The Country Squire," in the covirse of which he sang, with deep feeling, the song of "The Fine Old English Gentleman," I still sympathetically remember, though the actor has ,(1915) been dead forty-five years. Mary Wallack pleased the American Public, first under the name of Mrs. Stanley, later under that of Mrs. Hill: she died in 1834, at New Orleans. James William Wallack was the most charming pictorial actor of his time: sovereign 78 VAGRANT MEMORIES in romance; his impersonations of Benedick, Don Ccesar de Bazan, — of which part he was the English original, — and Massaroni, the Brig- and, have not, in our time, been equalled. He founded Wallack's Theatre, an institution which lasted sixty-three years, and he was Lester Wallack's father. On the maternal side Lester was descended from the genial, spark- ling, dashing Irish comedian John Johnstone (1759-1828), with whose daughter, Susan John- stone (died, 1851), his father made a runaway match (1817), so that in him histrionic instinct, aptitude, and faculty might well have been expected to flower, — as, in fact, they did. He was born in West Bleecker Street, New York, — as he once mentioned to me, — either just before midnight of December 31, 1819, or just after it, on January 1, 1820; he finally decided on the latter date as that of his birth, for the senti- mental reason that January 1 was the birthday of his wife, Emily Millais, sister of the artist John Millais. Wallack was married in 1848. His wife was born in 1825 and, surviving him, died in 1909. WALLACE'S WISH 79 HIS "EXTRACTED MEMORIES." No complete and adequate memoir of this extraordinary comedian has been written, and, much though I should like to do so, it is not possible for me to write such a memoir of him now. As long ago as 1875 I planned a Biog- raphy of the Wallack Family of Actors, and obtained Lester's authority for its execution, and also the promise of his cooperation in the work. At one time, 1885, having heard that a narrative of his life was to be written by another hand, he wrote to me, saying: "I wish you, and no one but you, to deal with the lives and doings of me and mine. No one so fit or able as my old friend and comrade, and no one so acceptable to yours always, Lester Wal- lack." But journalism, always onerous, to which I was then almost wholly enchained, impeded my labors in other fields, and my purpose of writing that Biography was not fulfilled. In 1889 appeared a volume entitled "Mem- ories of Fifty Years." It is a sort of Auto- 80 VAGRANT MEMORIES biography of Lester Wallaek, — if by that name it be correct to designate a desultory, discon- nected, rambling, fragmentary descant. The writing of autobiography is, generally, not to be commended. A certain strain of vanity mingles with almost every public form of artistic expression, but, in most cases, it is slight, harm- less, and endurable. In the case of the auto- biographer it usually is excessive, and the less his life contains that is worthy of record the more strenuously does he insist on recording it. The result is that libraries teem with frivolous chronicles of self-celebrated nobodies, Wal- laek was not a man of that class. He had lived a life entirely and uncommonly worthy of commemoration, but he never would have made even a slight essay toward a descrip- tion of it, except at the urgent request of friends. He valued thoughtful and com- petent appreciation, but he did not enter- tain an exalted opinion of the average popular intelligence, and, left to himself, he was about the last man in the world who would have thought of accosting that intelligence with a BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 81 narrative of his life and adventures. This compilation of "Memories," extracted from Lester by Laurence Hutton (1843-1904), an able, devoted, and laborious annalist of our Stage, who, with the aid of a stenographer, captured some of the comedian's talk, contains a few interesting facts and considerable anec- dote, but it affords nothing more than a fleeting glimpse of the actor. A WONDERFUL CAREER. In this chapter I must be content to rehearse the main facts of Wallack's career, and with them to commingle such recollections and impressions of him as a retentive memory can supply. He was christened John Johnstone, after his maternal grandfather: "Lester" was an assumed name. He was taken from New York to London in childhood, and was educated, in England, with a view to employment in the British Army, but in compliance with the earnest wishes of his mother he relinquished the military vocation, and thereafter soon became an actor. His first appearance on the stage, 82 VAGRANT MEMORIES aside from his juvenile efforts in private theatri- cals, was made when he was about 19, in an English provincial town, as an assistant to his father. The first part he played was Angela, in the blank verse drama of "Tortesa, the Usurer," by Nathaniel Parker Willis, — the once widely popular American poet, almost forgotten now. The stage name which he assumed at that time was "Allan Field," and he acted, in association with his father, in a tour of English provincial theatres, appearing not only as Angela but as Macduff and Richmond. Later he assumed the name of "Mr. John Lester" and, acting in such provincial but by no means uncultured towns as Rochester, Winchester, and Southampton, and in the cities of Liverpool, Manchester, Dublin, Edinburgh, and London, he gained valuable experience. At various times he was professionally associated with actors of signal abihty and merited renown, — among them Charles Kemble, Helena Faucit, Gustavus Vaughan Brooke, and Benjamin Webster. In Manchester he played Benedick, with Miss Faucit as Beatrice, and also he played AMERICAN DfiBUT 88 Mercutio, with Charlotte Cushman as Borneo and Susan Cushman as Juliet', he remembered that Charlotte Cushman said to him, "Young man, there is a great future before you": it could not have been behind. His first appear- ance in London was made on November 26, 1846, at the Haymarket, where he seems to have been sacrificed by Benjamin Webster, who brought him out in a poor part and finished by casting him for Dazzle, which had been played by Charles Mathews, and by forcing him into contrast with such accomplished actors and local favorites as William Farren and J. B. Buck- stone. At the Haymarket he was found by George H. Barrett, who engaged him for the Broadway Theatre, New York, and at that house (situated in Broadway, on the east side, near Worth Street, then called Anthony) he appeared, making his first professional venture in America, September 17, 1847, as Sir Charles Coldstream, in "Used Up." From that night onward he was identified with the American Stage. After leaving the Broadway he acted successively at the Bowery, Niblo's, Burton's 84 VAGRANT MEMORIES I (in 1850), and Brougham's Lyceum. Wal- lack's Theatre, which had been Brougham's, situated in Broadway, near Broome Street, was opened September 8, 1852, with Thomas Morton's comedy of "The Way to Get Mar- ried," in which Lester acted Tangent. On Sep- tember 25, 1861, it was instituted at the north- east corner of Broadway and Thirteenth Street, with Tom Taylor's comedy of "The New Presi- dent," in which he appeared as De La Rampe. On January 4, 1882, it was inaugurated at the northeast corner of Broadway and Thirtieth Street, with "The School for Scandal," in which he did not appear, — contenting himself with the delivery of a speech of welcome. His first appearance on that stage occurred January 3, 1883, when he revived T. W. Robertson's felici- tous comedy of "Ours" (originally produced, in America, by Wallack, December 19, 1866), and gave his zestful, piquant, finely finished performance of the half -cynical, blandly humor- ous, kindly, caustic Hugh Chalcote. Lester managed Wallack's Theatre, continu- ously, from the time of his father's death (which WALLACE'S THEATRE 85 occurred on Christmas, 1864, at his dwelling, No. 210 East Fourteenth Street) till 1887, when it passed into other hands and thereafter its history was much diversified. On October 8, 1888, it was opened, with a performance of "La Joie Fait Peur," by a French company, headed by Constant Coquelin and Jane Had- ing, as Palmer's Theatre, and it was known by that name until November 30, 1898. On December 8, that year, it was re-opened under its original name, — that great actor, Edward S. Willard, appearing as Bailey Prothero, in "The Rogue's Comedy," by Henry Arthur Jones. The last performance ever given in it occurred on Saturday night. May 1, 1915. Later it was demolished. Prior to 1861 Wallack used the stage name of "Mr. Lester," but when, in that year, the theatre was opened at Thirteenth Street, he acted as Lester Wallack, and ever after he was so designated in the play-bills. Wallack's last appearance on his own stage was made. May 1, 1886, as De Ligny, in "The Captain of the Watch." His last appearance as an actor was 86 VAGRANT MEMORIES made as Young Marlowe, in "She Stoops to Conquer," May 29, 1886, at the Grand Opera House. He was publicly seen for the last time on the occasion of a memorable Testimonial Performance, — of "Hamlet," — ^given in his honor and for his benefit by a splendid company of volunteer players, headed by Edwin Booth. In the course of that performance he said Fare- well : the last sentence that he ever uttered to an audience was: "With these few words I bid you a respectful good-night, and leave the stage to Hamlet — and to you." He died, September 6, 1888, at his home in Stamford, Conn., being in the sixty-ninth year of his age. His grave is in Woodlawn Cemetery. AUTHOR AS WELL AS ACTOR. Wallack wrote several plays, all of which were produced, — most of them with success. Those known to me are, "The Three Guards- men," Bowery Theatre, November 12, 1849; "The Four Musketeers," Bowery Theatre, December 24, 1849; "Fortune of War," Brougham's Lyceum, May 14, 1851; "Two to LESTER'S PLAYS 87 One, or the King's Visit," Wallack's Theatre, December 6, 1854; "First Impressions," Wal- lack's Theatre, September 17, 1856; "The Veteran, or France and Algeria," Wallack's Theatre, January 17, 1859; "Central Park," Wallack's Theatre, November 12, 1862; and "Rosedale," Wallack's Theatre, September 30, 1863. The first two are based on the fascinat- ing and long famous romances of Alexandre Dumas ; Lester acted D'Artagnan. In "Two to One" he acted De Rameau. . There are plays of earlier date than those of Wallack entitled "First Impressions" and "Fortune of War," the former presented at the old Park Theatre, September 23, 1815, the latter at the Anthony Street Theatre, November 18, 1820. I do not know that Lester was indebted to either of them. "Central Park" is, to some extent, a variant of Arthur Murphy's comedy of "All in the Wrong," — produced June 15, 1761, at Drury Lane Theatre, which had been hired for a summer season by Arthur Murphy and Samuel Foote, — and that play is a variant of Moliere's "Cocu Imaginaire." "The Veteran" 88 VAGRANT MEMORIES was based on a story called "Frank Hilton, or the Queen's Own," by James Grant. The elder Wallack acted in it, as Col. Delmar, the veteran, — the last part he ever studied, — and Lester acted Ijeon Delmar, the veteran's son: a fine and effective combination. John Brougham, in that play gave an exceedingly humorous per- formance, as Oflan Agan, an Irishman who has become a potent Mahometan official. "Rose- dale," in which Lester gained great popularity, as Eliot Grey, was founded on a novel called "Lady Lee's Widowhood," by Capt. Sir Edward Bruce Hamley (1824-1893), originally pubhshed in "Blackwood's Magazine." Captain Hamley served as an ofiicer in the British Army, during the Crimean War, and the novel is said to have been written in the trenches, before Sebastopol. "ROSEDALE" AND FITZ^AMES O'BRIEN. The actual authorship of "Rosedale" has been much, and unjustly, questioned. In that elabo' rate compilation of memoranda, by T. Alston Brown, contributive to a "History of the New Author's Collection LESTER WALLACE As Leon Delmar, in "The Vetekan" DETRACTION 89 York Stage" (1903), Volume II., page 252, the following statement appears : "The author of 'Rosedale' was not Lester Wallack, as the play-bills always said. At a dinner given in this city in 1890 it was stated by Charles Gayler that Fitz-James O'Brien (who was killed in the War of the Rebellion) was paid $100 by Lester Wallack to write it. For a quarter of a century Lester Wallack was credited with the authorship of that drama. As a matter of fact, neither of these gentlemen wrote it. It is a close dramatization of the novel 'Lady Lee's Widowhood,' which appeared in 'Blackwood's Maga- zine.' Even the names of the characters are retained." Brown's aspersion of Wallack, which is not warranted, has recently been circulated anew by the esteemed theatrical antiquarian John Bouve Clapp, of Boston, who, — in an article in "The Transcript" of that city, — ascribed the authorship of the novel on which it is founded to Miss Braddon (Mrs. John Max- well), and added the erroneous statement that O'Brien left "a volume or two of prose or verse." 90 VAGRANT MEMORIES I know nothing about any statement relative to "Rosedale," made by Charles Gayler, at a dinner in New York, in 1890, — two years after the death of Wallack. I knew not only Wal- lack but Gayler and O'Brien, however, inti- mately well. I know that Gayler, — ^an able and genial man, esteemed by many friends, of whom I was one, — was not entirely amicable in his feeling toward Lester Wallack. I was the literary executor of O'Brien, — succeeding Frank Wood and Thomas A. Davis, who had been named by him, — ^and the only collection of O'Brien's writings, whether prose or verse, is one made by me: it is a volume of 485 pages, containing prose and verse, a sketch of his life, and tributes from some of his friends : the prose part of it has since been published by itself. Among all O'Brien's papers that came into my possession, and in all the inquiries and searches made by me relative to his life and work (and they were diligent and thorough) , I never came upon an intimation, or saw or heard even a single word, in any way suggestive of O'Brien's authorship of "Rosedale," — although I ascer- O'BRIEN AND HIS PLAYS 91 tained his authorship of seven plays, namely, "A Gentleman from Ireland," "The Sisters," "My Christmas Dinner," "Duke Humphrey's Din- ner," "The Cup and the Lip," "The Two Ophelias," and "Blood Will Tell." Lester Wallack had a sincere and deep regard for Fitz-James O'Brien, and it was not in his nature to appropriate and publish as his own the work of his dead friend, — or of anybody else. It is possible, though not likely, that Wal- lack may have paid O'Brien for doing some slight hack work on an early draft of the play. O'Brien, like myself and others of our early "Bohemian" group of writers, was only too glad to get literary employment of any kind. O'Brien died on April 2, 1862: he was not, as stated by Brown, killed; his death was caused by lockjaw, resulting from a surgical operation, necessitated by a bullet wound in his left shoulder, inflicted February 26, — seven weeks before his death: and, I will add, there is good reason to believe that he would not have died then if the surgical operation had been per- formed properly in the first place: he died, as 92 VAGRANT MEMORIES General Lander and many hundred other wounded men did during the same campaign, from lack of proper treatment. At the time when O'Brien left New York for the front, March, 1861, with the Seventh Regiment, Wal- lack's Theatre was under the management not of Lester, but of his father, and it is practically certain that if the Wallacks had possessed the play of "Rosedale" early in 1861 they would not have waited till late in 1863 before produc- ing it. Even supposing that O'Brien had done some hack work on an early draft of "Rose- dale," that does not constitute authorship; if it did, I could rightly claim to be the author of numerous more or less successful plays which, — generally without receipt of any payment what- ever, — I read and more or less cut, altered, revised, and edited. The fact that "Rosedale" is based on "Lady Lee's Widowhood" was pointed out by me, in articles published in 1863 in Wilkes's "The Spirit of the Times" and in "The New York Albion," immediately after its first presentation. The fact that Wallack had no thought of concealing the source of his play LESTER'S ACTING 93 is shown by his retention in it of the names of the characters in the novel. SPIRIT OF HIS ART. The main purpose that Lester Wallack pur- sued, in his ministry of the art of acting, was the diffusion of innocent pleasure through man- ifestation of the brighter side of human nature, the nimble, elegant impersonation of mirthful characters, and the portrayal of gay aspects of social hfe and manners. His range, however, was not constricted. He acted 291 parts, of rec- ord, — and the record is incomplete, — and those parts are of many kinds: he was as proficient in Frankenstein, Monte Crista, Ulric, and Horace de Beauville, which are melodramatic, as he was in Courtall, Felix Fetherly, Young Wilding, and Rover, which are mercurial fabrics of light comedy: he even made a credit- able appearance in the fur-trimmed raiment and Hessian boots of the melancholy Stranger: but the parts he loved to play, and in which he was superb, were those of rnen who brighten life with their gayety and, — ^making no parade 94 VAGRANT MEMORIES of their virtue, — veil tender feeling and acute sensibility under courtliness of manners and exuberance of glee. Such men are not infre- quent in the better creations of Old Eng- lish Comedy, and, infused with a httle not impleasing cynicism, they often occur in English comedy of later and of contempo- rary date. Among the parts that Wallack prized, and in which he was particularly memorable, are Don Felix, in "The Wonder"; Sir Oswin Mortland, in "To Marry or Not to Marry" ; Harry Dorn- ton, in "The Road to Ruin"; Young Marlowe, in "She Stoops to Conquer" ; De Ligny, in "The Captain of the Watch"; Citizen Sangfroid, in "Delicate Ground"; Hugh Chalcote, in "Ours"; Colonel White, in "Home," and Prosper Coura- mant, in "A Scrap of Paper." The Shake- spearean parts to which he was best fitted were Benedick, Mercutio, Bassanio, and Gratiano. His Don Ccesar de Bazan was the best visible on our Stage during his period. The intrinsic gen- tleman shone through reckless demeanor, rail- lery, and tattered apparel. There was a touch FLEXIBILITY OF. ART 95 of pathos in the humorous adroitness with which he converted sentiment into jocularity and made sobriety ludicrous, while by the peculiar fehcity of his inflections he gave pointed comic eifect to every verbal quip. No actor known to me has surpassed him, — few have equalled him, — in the faculty, which is a rare one, of eliciting and conveying the humorous significance of a word, a broken sentence, or a mere exclamation. His animal spirits, also, in Don Ccesar, — and in many other characters, — ^were singularly infec- tious. His treatment of the somewhat inflexible part of Young Marlowe provided an instructive and deUghtful example of the animating quality of his humor and the dexterity of his impersonative art. The text of the dialogue in "She Stoops to Conquer" is often rigidly formal; the col- loquies in which Marlowe participates are ver- bally stiff. Wallack made the language dulcet, and he vitalized, with his convincing pretence of absolute sincerity, every situation in which that puzzled youth is placed. Affluent and sustained vitality of spirit is essential to make steadily 96 VAGRANT MEMORIES interesting a comedy in which the situations are mostly incredible and some of the inci- dents farcical. That vitality Wallack supplied. Bluff assurance, airy nonchalance, entirely per- suasive and exceedingly comic bashfulness, gal- lantry, and amiabihty were the constituents of the impersonation, and the fibre. of it was gen- tility. In character, manners, and costume the person presented as Marlowe was a typical young English squire, a knight's son, of Gold- smith's period. He had abundant reason to be proud of that achievement. Alfred Evelyn, in "Money," should also be named as another formally written part that he greatly enlivened in his presentment of it, not sacrificing its mordant quality, but suffusing it with latent feeling, and making it sympathetic and lovable. In reading the novels of Jane Austen I have made pleasing acquaintance with several pecul- iar men, — drawn with all the sagacity of observation and delicate skill of that wonder- fully fine literary artist, — which, had they been in dramatic form, Lester Wallack would have SIB OSWIN MORTLAND 97 made actual and absorbingly interesting. He would also have discriminated with precision between the two brothers named Moore who are so well contrasted in Charlotte Bronte's novel of "Shirley." His sense of character was particularly acute. There is a kind of man, indigenous to an old civilization, certainly anom- alous in a new one, in whom tender sentiment and the fire of youth are half -extinct, yet exist- ent, smouldering, beneath a half-melancholy, half -bitter aversion to the world. Such a man is portrayed by Mrs. Inchbald, in Sir Oswin Mortlandj and I remember Wallack's persona- tion of that part as perfect. The theme is the awakening and rejuvenation of a fastidious, almost ascetic recluse, under the influence of an innocent, ingenuous, lovely young woman. Description of the comedian's slow transition from petulant discontent and stern reserve to bewilderment, perplexity, and ultimate sweet surrender could not reproduce the charm of the acting or convey an adequate idea of its blended traits of humor, romance, pathos, and truth. To see and understand Lester Wallack as Sir 98 VAGRANT MEMORIES Oswin Mortland and as Don Felice was com- pletely to comprehend the art of acting comedy. WALLACK'S LETTERS TO ME. It was in 1880 that I collected and edited, with a memoir of the author, "The Poems and Stories of Fitz-James O'Brien" {dr. 1828- 1862), and the volume was puhlished, in Bos- ton, by James R. Osgood & Company, in 1881. O'Brien had been a great favorite with the elder and the yoimger Wallack, and I sent a copy of the book to Lester, which he acknowl- edged in the following letter. "13, West Thirtieth Street, "March 27, 1881. "Dear Willy:— "Knowing my great fondness for O'Brien, it was like your thoughtful kindness to send me the book. You have wrestled with a great difficulty with wonder- ful tact, and brought order out of 'a mixture of material' which a less delicate and experienced touch might have utterly failed to elicit. "I tried hard to find a cheery, plucky little note, in pencil, which he wrote to my father after he was From a Photograph by Sarony Collection of Kvert Jansen W enaell, JUsq. LESTER WALLACK As Eliot Grey, in "Rosedale" A STRAY RELIC 99 wounded, — ^but in vain, or I would have sent it to you. "Always truly yours, "Lester Wallack.' "P.S. The grammar of this note is questionable, but — ^never mind. I don't mean O'Brien's note, but The volume that I sent to Lester was inscribed, as a presentation copy, with our names and the date of the gift, — "March, 1881." Thirty years later, in December, 1911, that volume was found in an old-book shop, in East Fifty-ninth Street, New York, by my son, Jefferson, who bought it and gave it to me. Lester had caused it to be richly bound, but, unhappily, had not written in it. I ascertained that after Lester's death it had, with other property, found its way, as such relics often do, into the limbo of a second-hand-book stall. Wallack was not, I believe, prone to the writ- ing of letters. Acting and management pro- vided him with engrossing occupation. His let- ters to me, extending over a period of years. 100 VAGRANT MEMORIES were not frequent and usually they were brief, but through them all there is an invariable spirit of kindness, gentleness, and grace. Now, at nearly fourscore, with all the vanities of life behind me, I believe I shall not incur censure by publishing this letter, — a cheering remem- brancer that I possessed his esteem and affection, — written to me when I had been almost over- whelmed by sudden and dreadful domestic bereavement: "Elsmere, Stamford, Conn., "July 11, 1886. "Dear Willy:— "The despondent tone of your letter grieves me deeply. Do not, my dear old Friend, ignore the fact, amidst all your grief, there still remains the knowl- edge that you have it in your power to do much good. "It has been given to you to be, by far, the most able and accomplished supporter and encourager of honest endeavors in art, and this, I think, implies a certain duty, the performance of which, — as it will be of undoubted good to others, — should commend itself strongly to your kindly and honest heart, and prove a certain solace to you in your sad affliction. "ADMIRABLE CRICHTONS" 101 "With every affectionate wish for your better health and spirits, I am, "Always your Friend, "Lestee Wallace." PERSONALITY AND CONVERSATION. It was one of Lester's foibles, — ^not unnatural in a light comedian, a performer, to the last, of dashing yoimg men and "beaus," — ^that he wished to retain as long as possible the aspect of youth. When his hair began to turn gray he caused it to be dyed, as his romantic con- temporary and associate, William Wheatley, had done, and for a long time those representa- tive "admirable Crichtons" of the Stage retained their "raven locks." One morning, at a meeting of the Managers' Association, — a society formed (1868) for the purpose of opposing what man- agers of theatres deemed injustice in the policy of one of the leading New York daily news- papers, — ^Wheatley appeared with almost snow- white hair, and, this being noticed, he said, in his frank, genial way, "Yes, it's a great relief, — it's refreshing"; then, addressing Wallack, he 102 VAGRANT MEMORIES added, "John, you ought to try it." This "John" subsequently did, and his personal appearance, always fine, was made finer by the change from artificial black 4;o natural gray. I recall a delightful occasion when Lester Wallack was entertained, December 17, 1887, by the Lotos Club, at a dinner, in the clubhouse, then situated at the northeast corner of Fifth Avenue and Twenty-first Street. The com- pany was numerous, including many bright spirits since passed away. Whitelaw Reid, then President of the Club, occupied the Chair. On his right sat Lester Wallack, and my seat was next to his. There was, as customary, much speaking, after dinner. I made an address, — which was extemporaneous and is lost, — ^and delivered a poem that I had written in honor of the comedian, which was received with sym- pathetic acclamation; because, I suppose, har- monious with the cordial feeling of the com- pany. When I resumed my seat, and while the plaudits of my friendly auditors were ringing through the room, Lester seized my hand and asked me, — ^with manifestly deep feeling, — A FORGOTTEN PROMISE 103 "Why have you kept your best poem for me? I don't know what to say," he added: "I can never forget this hour." Then, after a momen- tary pause, he said: "There is a portrait of me as Don Felice. You shall have it. You are the one man in the world who ought to have it!" I need not say that this kind promise made me glad. I had seen the picture, in his home; I knew its excellence; and I had, and still have, a fondness for theatrical memorials. The speech-making went on. The feast ended. The gay revellers dispersed. The happy meeting soon became only a memory. Lester forgot his generous impulse. The portrait of him as Don Felice never came to me. It now hangs in the parlor of The Players, — to which Club, I believe, he bequeathed it, — ^and there, I hope, it will present, for many generations of actors and of the lovers of the Stage, the speaking image of the most brilliant American comedian of his day. MY TRIBUTE. It is not easy for any bard to determine which is his "best" poem. They are all the children 104 VAGRANT MEMORIES of his fancy, and, like a fond parent, he loves them all ahke — with, possibly, a slight excep- tion in favor of the one that has caused him the most of trouble. It happens that I celebrated in verse, while they were yet living, several com- rades of mine distinguished in the dramatic profession, — among them Brougham, Gilbert, Booth, Barrett, Warren, Irving, and Jefferson, — and I remember that each of them expressed to me a decided preference for the lyric personal to himself. Some readers of these pages may like to see the one that Wallack called "the best": SIR PERCIVAL. I. With a glimmer of plumes and a sparkle of lances, With blare of the trumpet and neigh of the steed, At morning they rode where the bright river glances And the sweet summer wind ripples over the mead. The green sod beneath them was ermined with daisies, Smiling up to green boughs tossing wild in their glee, While a thousand glad hearts sang their honors and praises. Where the knights of the mountain rode down to the sea. SIR PERCIVAL 105 n. One rode *neath the banner whose face was the fairest, Made royal with deeds that his manhood had done, And the halo of blessing fell richest and rarest On his armor that splintered the shafts of the sun. So moves o'er the waters the cygnet sedately; So waits the strong eagle to mount on the wing; Serene and puissant and simple and stately, So shines among princes the form of the king ! . . . in. With a gay bugle-note, when the daylight's last glimmer Smites, crimson and gold, on the snow of his crest. At evening he rides, through the shades growing dimmer. While the banners of sunset stream red in the west. His comrades of morning are scattered and parted — The clouds hanging low and the winds making moan, — But, smiling and dauntless and calm and true-hearted. All proudly he rides down the valley — alone. IV. Sweet gales of the woodland, embrace and caress him ! White wings of renown, be his comfort and light ! Pale dews of the star-beam, encompass and bless him With the peace and the balm and the glory of night ! 106 VAGRANT MEMORIES And, oh, while he wends to the verge of that ocean Where the years, like a garland, shall fall from his brow, May his glad heart exult in the tender devotion — The love that encircles and hallows him now! At that Lotos Club dinner, as often, on various other occasions, Lester incidentally said much to me about old times in the Theatre, and about his father and his early associates. He spoke particularly of Charles Melton Walcot, and highly praised that comedian's original view and ingenious and expert treatment of the part of Major Wellington de Boots, in "Everybody's Friend" ("The Widow Hunt"). John S. Clarke's performance of that part, he declared, was an imitation of Walcot's, — but this I believe to be an error, because I know that Clarke, in de Boots, avowedly and manifestly copied, fo a considerable extent, some peculiar- ities of an excellent friend of his and mine, who is still living. Lester told me that his father was best in Shylock, — making him a wronged, abused, suffering man, and thus deeply affecting RECOLLECTIONS 107 the sympathetic feelings of the audience,— a treatment of the character for which there is no warrant in Shakespeare. "My father," said Lester, "was the first actor who ever wore gray hair, as Shylock, and this he did at my earnest request." He spoke of having heard a conver- sation between his father and Charles Kemble, at the Garrick Club, London, in which they discussed many comedy characters which they both had played, and he said they agreed that the most exacting of them all to act effectively is Harry Dornton, in "The Road to Ruin." His own view of that part, I remember, was highly favorable; he specially dwelt on the variety of conditions in it. I had seen his per- formance of it many times, — at first with Blake, and later with Gilbert as Old Dornton, — and could understand his love for it. An equally natural, spirited, brilliant, and touching embodi- ment of ardent young manhood, inspired by filial affection, has not, in my time, been seen. If Lester Wallack had done nothing else, he would, in that, have proved himself a comedian of the highest order, and a great actor. 108 VAGRANT MEMORIES ART IN ACTING COMEDY. The acting of broad Farce and the acting of Tragedy appear to have been, at all times, more readily and intelligently appreciated by the general public than the acting of Comedy. The expedients of Farce are obvious. Trag- edy, appealing to serious sensibility, arouses excessive, sometimes passionate, sympathy, and when such sympathy is predominant intellectual perception is often blinded. The tremendous passion of Othello or of King Lear so enthralls the popular mind that the manner of its expres- sion (assuming that it be even approximately adequate) is not closely scrutinized, — generally is not considered at all. The Tragedy, there- fore, helps the Tragedian, even though he be not possessed of superlative power. The Come- dian has no such advantage. He is subjected to cool observation. He must illumine the Comedy. He must excite and charm the fancy, dazzle the mind, and satisfy the perception of character and the sense of humor. "Comedy," said Garrick, "is serious business." No actor A DELICATE CHARM 109 wins authentic renown in that branch of art, — as Wallack did, — without having richly deserved it. The quality that Lester infused into his acting of Comedy was that delicate, evanescent charm, not readily definable, which may be called romantic, which sometimes, — as in the fragrance of a flower, or the murmur of summer waves upon the beach, or the glint of autumn sunshine on the fading woods, — awakens tremulous sensi- bility, touches the heart, and, whether gladly or sadly, agitates the mind. His invariable grace, rippling humor, undertone of sentiment, preci- sion of artistic method, exquisite facility of felicitous inflection, intrinsic refinement, and clear, crisp, glittering style of action combined to cause an entirely satisfying effect of absolute completeness in every one of the important fabrics of histrionic art that he displayed. In the realm of light comedy, dealing with things fanciful, romantic, ephemeral, vivacious, half- tangible, and half -elusive, — things that might, perhaps, be symbolized by a butterfly's wing or the sweet odor of a spring breeze, — ^he was consummate and sovereign. Upon the value of 110 VAGRANT MEMORIES those things to the world, or upon the value of the art of the actor who deals with them, opinions will always widely differ, and judg- ment cautiously hesitates to obtrude a decision. The view of the mviltitude can be surmised: "Ephraim is wedded to his idols"; solemn per- sons, furthermore, who consider it essential that they should take always a profoundly serious view of human life, assuring themselves of their firm anchorage on "the Eternal Verities," and concentrating their attention on the Day of Judgment, cannot be expected to care whether Claude Melnotte or Don Ccesar, Alfred Evelyn or Robert Macaire, either are, or ever were, or ever will be, well acted; and often, when writ- ing about actors, I cannot help thinking how utterly insignificant they and all their doings are, and must be, inevitably, to thousands of the human race, — largely to the philosopher, cer- tainly to the sciolist. Nevertheless, musing on Lester WaUack and writing the names of the creatures of fiction whom he caused to live and who remain living in memory because he per- sonified them, — Charles Surface, Flutter, Mar- BEAUTIFUL PHANTOMS 111 plotj Young Wilding, Frederick Bramble, Bob Handy, Harry Jasper, Buy Gomez, Aranza, Captain Bland, Woodcock, Rover, Young Rapid, Wyndham Otis, Adonis Evergreen, and many more, — the ghosts of happy hours come thronging from the haunted tomb of the Past, and once more there is golden hght around me, and the air is redolent of blooming roses and filled with music and gentle laughter, and again, for one delicious moment, I see the faces and hear the voices of friends whom I knew and loved. AS I REMEMBER. Neither adversity of fortune nor encroaching age saddened Wallack's interesting personality or marred his fine manner. To the last of suf- fering and decline he retained the pictorial aspect, delicate distinction, courtly grace, whimsical humor, vivacity, and kindliness which were his intrinsic attributes. He was not a representative practical American of his day. Brilliant as an actor, judicious as a manager, and active and popular as a leader in New 112 VAGRANT MEMORIES York society, he nevertheless always seemed to be one of the gay, gallant Englishmen of the Regency, — ^in which period he was born and reared. His birth in America was adventitious, his parents, foreigners, being here as travellers. His childhood and youth were passed in Eng- land and in Ireland, and it was not till his twenty-eighth year that he settled in this country. To me he always seemed a cavalier of the Old World, a gentleman of the old school. There was much in his acting of certain Old Comedy characters, — such as Valentine^ in "Love for Love," and Doricourt, in "The Belle's Stratagem," — ^that deepened this impres- sion. As an actor he incarnated buoyancy and elegance, and was the complete exemplification of all that can be accomplished in histrionic art by sensibility and sprightliness of temperament and elasticity and dash of manner. With the vivacious spirit of such parts as I have men- tioned, with the diversified essence, also, of such parts as Mercutio, D'ArtagnaUj Sir Robert Bramble^ and Philip Morton^ — volatile, buoy- ant, expeditionary, passionate, romantic, touch- MIRTH AND PATHOS 118 ing, reckless, — the mind and feelings of Wal- lack were spontaneously sympathetic. Once possessed of them he became identified with them and could not help acting them thoroughly well; and the continuous custom of studying and impersonating types of levity, gallantry, valor, mirth, and sentiment deepened and inten- sified the innate romantic quality of his nature. Like his famous father, who had captivated an earlier generation with his portrayals of Rich- mondj Rolla, Reuben Glenroy, Macgregor, Dick Dashallj Massaroni, and Julian St. Pierre, he could illumine the scene with sumptuous pomp and glittering movement, and, although pathos was not his characteristic vein, I have known him, — as Manuel, as Claude Melnotte, as Hugh Trevor, and even as Alfred Evelyn (designated by Macready as "that damned walking-gentleman!"), — to touch the source of tears. Such an individuality, richly endowed by nature and largely favored by circumstance, could not, and did not, fail to crystallize around itself much interesting experience. If, before his vigor had slackened and his enthusiasm had 114 VAGRANT MEMORIES become somewhat cooled by perception that the new age was pushing him aside, Lester Wallack had thoughtfully written the story of his career, it would have been a vital and sparkling narra- . tive, because it would have described the prog- ress of the histrionic art and the development of the Theatre throughout half a century of interesting vicissitude, and it would have enshrined the living images of many beautiful and brilliant women and rare and fascinating men who were his contemporaries and friends. No pen can do for him now, — certainly mine cannot, — what once he, and only he, could have done for himself. But as now I think of him, in musing on departed, distant days of strength and hope and cheer, he comes vividly upon my remembrance, one of the most vital, lifelike, splendid figures of all the storied past that I have known; and I seem to see once more that brilliant, manly presence, — ^the erect, trim per- son; the graceful bearing; the elastic step; the symmetrical, compact head; the close-curling, gray hair; the heavy, almost "military," mous- tache; the clear-cut, aquiline, aristocratic feat- FROM MEMORY'S LAND 115 ures; the handsome, piercing, dark eyes; the heavy, arched eyebrows; the fine complexion, naturally pale but sometimes bronzed by wind and sun; the kindling smile; — and I hear the ringing laugh and the clear, silvery tones, and so I call back in fancy, from Memory's silent land, what, alas, can never be again, — "The touch of a vanished hand, And the sound of a voice that is still." IV. BOON COMPANIONS: JAMES W. WALLACE, THE YOUNGER; MARK SMITH; EDWIN ADAMS; H. J. MONTAGUE. I.— JAMES W. WALLACK, THE YOUNGER, 1818—1873. MoEE than the period of one generation has passed since the death of "Jim" Wallack (so he was affectionately called), and I suppose that few persons are now living who intimately knew him in the days of his success and renown. Those who did know him remember him as an original and exceedingly interesting char- acter, and, in his profession, as essentially a poetic actor. Imagination was one of the strongest of his mental faculties, and often he seemed to be dwelling in a land of dreams. I have seen him walking in a crowded street, so preoccupied with his thoughts that, evidently, 116 LIKE AND UNLIKE 117 he was unconscious of the persons passing to and fro around him. In acting he was often splendidly energetic, as when he impersonated the impetuous King James, in "The King of the Commons," making actual a noble ideal of manhood and thrilling his audience with excite- ment, but in the social intercourse of private life the influence that he diffused was restful. There was no artifice in his mind and no affecta- tion in his manner. He was kind and patient, sometimes a little sad, always gentle ; and so he made life sweeter to those around him, miti- gating its labors and dignifying its objects. In racial characteristics he somewhat resembled his cousin Lester, yet in mentality, tempera- ment, and artistic style the two men were widely dissimilar. Lester was sanguine; James was sedate. Lester specially excelled in comedy; James, in tragedy and melodrama. Both were of fine presence, but James was the larger and, being somewhat slower in movement and slightly rugged, he was, personally, more impressive. His uncle (after whom he was named) often affectionately called him "my old 118 VAGRANT MEMORIES Newfoundland," The designation was apt and it is strongly suggestive now of What he was. He seemed the literal embodiment of benevo- lent strength, fidelity, and good nature. He had humor, but it was wistful and quaint, though when he wished to do so he could make it sardonic and grim, — but that was in acting. Himself one of the most amiable of men, he could, as an actor, express in perfection the dark passions of avarice, remorse, terror, and despair. The Stage has had few such actors as he was, fewer still of such men, to manifest its power and wear the laurels of its fair renown, James William Wallack was the only son of Henry John Wallack, was born in London, February 24, 1818, and was early brought to America. In 1822, at the old Chestnut Street Theatre, Philadelphia, he was carried on the stage, as Cora's Child, in the play of "Pizarro" (a classic medium for infantine first appear- ances), and his histrionic career can be said to have thus begun. His boyhood was passed in the atmosphere of the footlights, and his train- A FORTUNATE MARRIAGE 119 ing was exclusively and continuously theatrical. He appears to have been thoughtful and reserved in youth, somewhat slow to learn, patient, modest, and industrious. His first pro- fessional experience was obtained at the Bowery Theatre, which, in his time, was an institution of high rank. Later he joined the company at the National Theatre, managed (from Septem- ber 4, 1837, till September 23, 1839) by his uncle, the elder Wallack, — with whom his name- sake was always a favorite. At the National he began to attract special notice, but his rise to prominence was gradual and it was accom- plished by study and labor, not by sudden irradiance of genius. He made a fortunate marriage, 1841, wedding the widow of William Sefton (Ann Waring, daughter of the come- dian Leigh Waring and his wife, Caroline Pla- cide), and to that excellent woman and fine actress his happiness and much of his profes- sional success were due, — because she cheered and aided him in all his high ambitions and endeavors, and supplied the prudence which he lacked in the conduct of practical affairs. 120 VAGRANT MEMORIES Together they made tours of the country, act- ing in a varied repertory, which included "Mac- beth," "King Lear," "Hamlet," "King Richard III.," "The Merchant of Venice," "Werner," "The Honeymoon," "Love's Sacrifice," "The Hunchback," "Money," and "The King of the Commons," and they gained ample popularity. They also visited Australia. In 1851 they were in London, and Wallack appeared at the Hay- market Theatre, as Othello. About that time, for a little while, he managed the Marylebone Theatre, and he acted, with an English com- pany, in Paris. In 1855 Wallack had returned to America, and thereafter for twenty years he was con- spicuous among the most admirable actors on the American Stage. In 1861, as a member of "The Wallack-Davenport Combination," he gained great favor by his superb acting of Cas- sius, in "Julius Csesar"; Fagin, in "Oliver Twist," and Leon de Bourbon, in "The Man in the Iron Mask," — personations strikingly contrasted and variously exhibitive of truthful characterization, massive power, and overwhelm- FECHTER'S ENMITY 121 ing pathos. His intimate friend Edward L. Davenport divided honors with him in the rep- resentations in which they participated. Rose Eytinge, — talented, handsome, and of an exceedingly formidable character, — was the leading woman of the company. In 1865-'66 he acted in New York, at Wallack's Theatre, and made a signal impression as Henry Dun- bar, in the grim, gloomy, but effective, drama bearing that name, — based on the novel by Miss Braddon. In 1870 he was associated with the Globe Theatre, Boston, then under the capri- cious management of Charles Fechter, who behaved toward him in an arrogant and inso- lent manner, causing him to repudiate all asso- ciation with that fractious person. Wallack was a more intellectual, massive, powerful, better, and more important actor than Fechter and therefore obnoxious to him. On August 19, 1872, acting at Booth's Theatre, he played MathidS, in "The Bells," and impressively exhibited the afflicting struggle to control anguish and terror in a haunted mind. Later, at the same theatre, he acted Mercutio and also 122 VAGRANT MEMORIES Jaques, in association with Adelaide Neilson as Juliet and as Rosalind, and he presented Talbot, Earl of Shrewsbury, in John Brough- am's historical drama of "The Lily of France" — one of the many plays relative to Joan of Arc which have failed. His last appearance was made as Henry Dunbar, in Christmas week, 1872, when it became evident that his health was broken and his power failing. HHs few remaining days were passed in the mild climate of South Carolina. He seemed to improve while there, and he was encouraged to attempt the journey from Aiken to his home in Long Branch; but his strength failed and he died, suddenly, May 24, 1873, in a railway sleeping car, a short time before the train reached Rich- mond, Virginia. His funeral occurred on May 27, a day of uncommon beauty, at the Church of the Transfiguration, in New York, and it was attended by an unusual assemblage of worth, talent, and renown. His grave is in Greenwood. PLACIDE'S WRATH 123 A SERENE TEMPERAMENT. An amusing incident, illustrative of Wal- lack's good-nature and equanimity, occurred at Long Branch. Wallack was driving with "Tom" Placide, well known and much liked as an eccentric actor, and specially interesting to his friends by reason of the oddities of his char- acter, blunt candor, kind heart, explosive tem- per, and boisterous speech and manner. He was a Southerner, and passionately sympathetic with the people of the Southern States in the time of the Civil War. Wallack, on the con- trary, was, in his quiet way, stanch for the Union. In the course of the drive, on a lovely summer morning, their talk was of this subject, and WaUack mildly expressed his satisfaction at the triumph of the Union cause. Placide became enraged and vituperative. "James Wallack," he presently exclaimed, "stop this horse." Wallack immediately obeyed, and Pla- cide descended, in fierce excitement, and knelt upon the ground. Then, raising his arms as if to invoke the heavenly powers, he ejaculated 124 VAGRANT MEMORIES a prolix curse upon the Pilgrim Fathers, the signers of the death-warrant of King Charles the First (always pet objects of his detesta- tion), the whole Wallack Family, James Wal- lack in particular, and, all and singular, the oppressors of the human race. "Well, Uncle Tom," said Wallack, when he ceased, "have you finished?" "Yes, I have," answered Placide. "Then jump in," replied Wallack, "and we'll drive on." Thus perfect harmony was restored. I can, in fancy, see Wallack's smile, as he started the horse, after that comic ebullition of innocuous rage from a man who would scarcely have wished to harm a fly. I knew "Tom" Placide well; at one time I lodged in the same house with him; and occasionally we sat up together till nearly morning, in friendly con- versation. Among the decorations on the wall of his sitting-room there was a framed print of the death-warrant of King Charles, and well I remember how indignantly he would point at it, with the stem of his pipe, and how irascibly he would inveigh against the "infernal regi- cides." Poor old Tom! He was a good fellow. "UNCLE TOM" 125 if ever there was one. He could act low comedy parts very well. His eccentric ways were legion. He possessed, among other accomplish- ments, the unusual one of being able to shave his face without the use of a mirror. He would walk about the room, performing that opera- tion with surprising celerity, only pausing now and then to talk, and never inflicting on him- self even a scratch. It was an amusing spec- tacle. He married, late in life, and established his home at a place in New Jersey called Tom's River, where, after some time, finding himself afflicted with the incurable disease of cancer, he committed suicide, by shooting himself Avith a rifle. COMRADE AND FRIEND. In an old diary of mine I lately found this entry: "February 24, 1870. Drank with Jim WaUack, in honor of his birthday. He said he was fifty-two and that Lester was one year younger" [an error: Lester was almost two years younger]. We had chanced to meet, near Wallack's Theatre, and to meet "Jim" Wal- 126 VAGRANT MEMORIES lack was to be conscious of a convivial impulse. He was not a roisterer; he was one of the most tranquil of men; but he was essentially com- panionable, and whenever we met it was as com- rades. It is hard, even now, to believe that he is dead ; that I shall never see again the twinkle of quiet mirth in those kind eyes; that the strong hand will not ever give the grasp of friendship nor the breezy laugh ever gladden again. The last time I saw him he said Good-by to me, at the gate of his garden in Long Branch, and as I think of him now the ocean murmurs on the beach and a sweet sum- mer wind whispers in the branches of old trees, and once more I am aware of a gracious pres- ence that is full of kindness and peace. II.— MARK SMITH, 1829—1884. Mark Smith, a man of extraordinary talent, was for more than twenty years an intimate associate of mine, and as I think of him I recall many lovely traits of his character and many beauties of his acting. His life was not event- ful; in fact, was somewhat barren of incident. A JUDICIOUS CHOICE 127 He was one of the sons of that eccentric old actor and manager, Sol Smith (1801-1869), so prominent in the early days of the American Theatre in the West and South, and was born in New Orleans, January 27, 1829. In boy- hood he played juvenile parts at his father's theatre, but he did not formally adopt the Stage as a profession till he was twenty years old. In the meantime he had, for a while, been a sailor. His first regular and considerable appearance was made, November 11, 1849, at the St. Charles Theatre, New Orleans, as Dig- gory, in "Family Jars." The choice of that part was judicious. "Family Jars" is farcical, yet it is a little more than a farce. The plot is ingenious, the situations are comic, the parts are good, and, though the thing is a slender fabric of mirth, there is a touch of feeling in it, for which reason, perhaps, it long kept a place on the Stage. I remember little Lotta in it, at Wallack's Theatre, about forty-seven years ago. It was first produced, August 26, 1822, at the Haymarket Theatre, London, with Listen, Terry, and Oxberry in the cast, and 128 VAGRANT MEMORIES on October 14, 1824, it was presented at the old Park Theatre, New York, with a cast com- prising Barnes, Placide, Richings, and Mrs, Wheatley, — names of much significance to readers acquainted with our Stage History. Burton, Nickinson, and Warren have acted in it, Mark Smith, as Diggory, was successful, and thereafter he steadily pursued a prosperous professional course, soon making his way to the New York Stage, on which he first appeared in 1851, and on which he was a favorite to the end of his days. He did not, however, continu- ously act in the capital. More or less he was a rover, filling star engagements in the country. In the summer of 1863, in association with Daniel E. Setchell, Emily Thorne, and others, he appeared at the Winter Garden, New York, acting in burlesque, in which he was expert and exceedingly funny: one of his best burlesque parts was Brougham's Powhatan. He could sing, and his vocalism, whether serious or comic, was excellent. In 1866 he participated with John Lewis Baker, another old favorite (he died in 1873) , in the management of the little theatre SUDDEN SUMMONS 129 in Broadway then called the New York. In 1869 he joined the capital company with which Edwin Booth opened Booth's Theatre, and he participated, as Friar Lawrence, in "Romeo and Juliet," in the first performance given on Booth's magnificent stage. Later, in the season of 1869-'70, he acted in association with Mrs. John Wood, at the St, James's Theatre, Lon- don. He was taken ill while travelling and he fell, insensible, on the platform of the railway station, at Charing Cross, on arriving from Paris; when he recovered consciousness he said, in apparent wonderment and quite blithely, "Why, what's the matter? I am never sick." He was taken to a hospital, where he expired. His funeral occurred at "the Little Church Around the Corner," and he was buried, beside his father, in Bellefontaine Cemetery, St. Louis. PERSONAL CHARACTERISTICS. Mark Smith was a man of unique personal- ity, strongly individual character, and ample intellectual endowment and resource. He had developed slowly. He had continuously risen, 130 VAGRANT MEMORIES and was fitted and seemed destined still to rise in a sure, cumulative, artistic growth. He was a diligent student, largely of literature but more of human nature and passing events. He possessed by inheritance the instinct and faculty of the actor, and also he possessed in a con- siderable degree the faculty of the writer. An atmosphere of art surrounded him as naturally as foliage invests a tree. No person could be even casually in his society without perceiv- ing his love for art and letters, his quick and deep appreciation of the beauty and significance of artistic forms, his ample knowledge, his keen intuitions as to character, and his spontaneous, eager delight in aU things that enrich and dig- nify human hfe. In conduct, whether personal or professional, he evinced the prime virtue of integrity. He aimed high, and he was content with nothing less than superlative excellence. The influence that radiated from his character not only charmed but ennobled those by whom it was felt, because it exerted the magnetic, sympathetic force of a thoroughly honest nature, good, simple, tender, benevolent, and INTRINSIC GOODNESS 131 neither pragmatic nor austere. Smith was not that kind of worthy person who makes good- ness insipid. In him the everyday attributes of right speaking and right conduct became engag- ing, and his comrades and acquaintances not only rested on his probity but found continual pleasure and comfort in his companionship or his presence. Spectators of his acting were, in an equal degree, affected by this influence. The attribute of winning goodness that endeared him in private life was the attribute that shone through his acting and endeared him on the stage. He was the Cheeryble Brothers in one, and that one possessed of fine intellect and pol- ished taste as well as loving and profuse benig- nity. Whenever he was on the scene, whether as Squire Broadlands, or Mr. April, or Mr. Har- mony, or Col. Damas, or any other of the intrin- sically genial persons he portrayed, the observer of him felt that every trait of manliness, kindly mirth, gracious serenity, and human feeling that warmed and beautified the fictitious character had its native source in the heart of the man himself. That way the magnetism of his per- 132 VAGRANT MEMORIES sonality operated, and the affectionate interest which he thus captivated his signal impersona- tive talent never failed to reward, SCOPE OF HIS ART. The wide scope of his histrionic ability was apparent in the variety of the parts in which he was exceptionally competent. Tragedy he did not attempt. Among his Shakespearean char- acters were Polonius, Dogherry, Kent, Autoly- cus, Casca, Shallow, Adam, Bardolph, Braban- tio. Verges, King Duncan, Sir Toby Belch, Friar Lawrence, Dromio, the Duke of Venice, and Hecate. His miscellaneous repertory included, among many other parts, Sir Peter Teazle, Sir Oliver Surface, Sir Robert Bram- ble, Sir John Vesey, Old Rapid, Lord Duberley, Lord Plantagenet, Hardcastle, Bob Tyke, Iron- sides, Solomon, Haversac, and Mr. Stout. One of his most characteristic and delightful personations was that of Doctor Desmerets, in "The Romance of a Poor Young Man," and his humorous sapience was charmingly evinced when he acted De Blossiere, in the comedy of AS FONDLOVE 133 "Henriette," — better known of late years as "A Scrap of Paper." One of the most complete achievements in the art of acting that have adorned the Stage in our time was his per- formance of the vain, amorous, rickety, pol- ished old coxcomb, Sir William Fondlove, — in which part he made his first appearance at Wallack's Theatre, May 17, 1862, on a bright occasion when Lester Wallack revived "The Love Chase," himself conspicuously elevating the flimsy character of WildrakCj Mrs. Hoey brightly playing Constance^ and Marie Wilkins, one of the cleverest, most versatile, and most amusing "old women" ever seen on our Stage, making a memorable hit as the Widow Green. That single performance may be said to have fixed Smith's reputation. I seem to hear, even now, the overwhelming applause that attended and followed the scene of Sir William's court- ship of the Widow. Another perfect embodi- ment of his, a sketch but in its way a gem of art, was that of the elegant, superbly audacious swindler who opens the Third Act of Planche's "Knights of the Round Table," which I saw 134 VAGRANT MEMORIES at Wallack's Theatre, as long ago as June, 1863, and could never forget. The defects in Smith's acting resulted from his intense purpose and scrupulous care to be, first of all, correct. He was not pedantic, but he was formal, and sometimes he was so inflex- ible as to be hard and dry. This formalism he had, in great measure, overcome when, at the Union Square Theatre, he acted Jacques Fauvel, in a drama called "One Hundred Years Old," adapted by Hart Jackson from a French original. The impersonation was stately and venerable, but also it was gracious and tender, and those observers who saw it and had studied the actor clearly saw how considerably the hardness of his earlier style had been ame- liorated and how mature he had become in com- prehension and control of the elemental feelings of human nature and in the wisdom that is born of experience. The serious side of his mind was, perhaps, more conspicuously exhib- ited in that performance than it had been in any other. Whether grave or gay he was a vivid impersonator, and his fidelity to nature, SPONTANEOUS BENEVOLENCE 185 not photographic but artistic, was as absolute as intellectual purpose could make it. He was a rosy, jovial, yet always delicate, humorist. He was naturally dignified. He respected all that was good in old stage traditions and models, but he looked at things with his own eyes, he thought for himself, and he struck out a pathway of his own. His capability of sympathy was quick and it was comprehensive. He possessed keen, intuitive perception of the essence and the complexity of a character, and, as his performance of Squire Broadlands, alone, was sufiicient to prove, he also possessed the art to make them manifest and effective. That sim- ple, genial, stubborn, eccentric, bluff, peremp- tory, hospitable English gentleman has had no such representative since Smith died. His imagi- nation delighted in thoughts of good cheer, acts of kindness, and scenes of enjoyment. The prat- tle of happy children and the soft laughter of young lovers sounded in his mind and glad- dened it. He was at home on the green lawn of the ancient manor-house, under the immemorial elms, crowning the feast with welcome, amid the 136 VAGRANT MEMORIES blessings of music and sunshine and fragrant summer wind, with, over all, a tranquil air of restful antiquity and gentle romance. If any actor known to his generation could have put Sir Roger de Coverley on the stage, and made him as fine and lovable there as he is in the pages of Addison, Smith was the actor to have done it. Goldsmith's Dr. Primrose and the Vil- lage Preacher hved again in him, with other manners, indeed, and wearing other garb, but the same in soul. His quality as an actor can be inferred from those facts. He belonged to the school of actors that King and Farren, in England; Got, in France, and Placide, Blake, Gilbert, and Warren, in America, exemplified so well. He did not possess as juicy humor as Blake did, nor was he as droll, but in serious moments he equalled him, and in severely artis- tic form and finish he sometimes surpassed him. Blake was the better Jesse Rural and Gilbert was the better Mr. Dornton; but in many ways he rivalled them, and to do that was indeed to stand in the front rank. I suppose that his name is almost unknown to the present genera- A ROMANTIC PERSONALITY 137 tion, but in my memory it is written in letters of gold. III.— EDWIN ADAMS, 1834—1877. The acting of Edwin Adams was always interesting, often delightful, sometimes superb, but the few persons who now remember him probably think of the man more than they do of the actor. To know him was to love him. A man more brave, gentle, and tender, more joyous, more healthful in nature, more winning in the peculiarities of his personality, has not been known to me. In his appearance and demeanor there was a strong, calm, sweet man- liness, a careless, happy frankness, a natural kindness, which attracted every eye and capt- ured every heart. Adams looked like the hand- some, dashing sailor-lad of Romance, and per- fectly filled the ideal, at once poetic and popular, of the gay, audacious, always success- ful, hero of breezy adventure. No man makes a considerable impression on his contemporaries unless possessed of original- ity of mind and strength of character as well 138 VAGRANT MEMORIES as sweetness of temperament. Adams not only diffused a charm but exerted a force in the dramatic life of his period. He possessed cre- ative emotional power as an actor, and he used that power effectively in some of the tragedies of Shakespeare, in Old English Comedy, and in Romantic Drama. His repertory included Mercutio and lago. Rover and Romeo, Charles Surface and Sir Thomas Clifford, Edward Mid- dleton and the Stranger, and Robert Landry and Enoch Arden. He was not equally excellent in all lines, but in all he was efficient. Next to E. L. Davenport, he was the best Mer- cutio I have ever seen. He was not, intrin- sically, a tragedian: his natural field was that of the genial emotions. He was not an analyst of motives, not skilled in dissecting character, not a zealous student, not expert in the mosaic of detail. His method was careless, but spon- taneously he was dramatic, and if he did not often excite the intellect he always touched the heart. He was not a fastidious artist, but he went right because his dramatic instinct would not permit him to go wrong. His impersona- A SHORT LIFE 189 tions were supremely vitalized, so that they thrilled the feehngs and fired the imagination. His voice, rich, soulful, lovely, — ^before it became impaired by hard use and illness, — was one of the most melodious and sympathetic ever heard, and to hear it was, — certainly for the dis- criminative listener, — ^to feel the authentic charm of genius. BIOGRAPHICAL FACTS. Adams was born in Medford, Massachusetts, February 3, 1834, and was reared and educated under the strict New England influences then notably prevalent. The Theatre, in his youth- ful days, in that region, was not viewed with an entirely auspicious eye. He insisted, how- ever, on adopting the profession of the Stage, and on August 29, 1853, made his first appear- ance, at the old National Theatre, in Haymar- ket Square, Boston, playing the minor part of Stephen, in "The Hunchback." His early eflforts were creditable, but his advancement was slow. In the autumn of 1854 he appeared at the Chestnut Street Theatre, Philadelphia, as 140 VAGRANT MEMORIES Charles Woodley, in "The Soldier's Daughter," and in that city and later in Baltimore and other Southern capitals he met with marked favor. One of his early admirers was Henry E. Ahbey, in after years one of the most promi- nent of American speculative theatrical man- agers, and I believe it was under Abbey's agency that, about 1860, he played a highly successful engagement in Buffalo, presenting Hamlet and several other of the great standard parts. In 1863 he was leading man in H. L. Bateman's company, acting Rudolph, in "Leah the Forsaken," then presented for the first time in New York, — Kate Bateman playing Leah; J. W. Wallack was the apostate Jew, Nathan, and the talented and handsome Henrietta Chan- frau, then in her prime, was Madeline. Under Bateman's management he remained for a con- siderable time, but eventually he won his place among the stars, and that place he held almost continuously till the end of his career. In 1866, at the Broadway Theatre, New York (the house which had been Wallack's, in 1852), he was seen as Robert Landry, in "The Dead AS ENOCH ABDEN 141 Heart," a character of which he was the first, and best, representative on our Stage; Adrian de Teligny, in Robert T. Conrad's drama of "The Heretic"; Romeo, and Rover. On the opening night of Booth's Theatre (February 3, 1869), Edwin Booth playing Romeo, Adams personated Mercutio, and gave a sparkling and touching performance. Later he enacted Narcisse, lago, Raphael, and Claude Melnotte. At Booth's Theatre, on June 21, 1869, he appeared as Enoch Arden, in a drama based on Tennyson's poem, and with that part, in which his success was great, his name remained continuously identified. He acted it throughout the United States and (1876) in Australia. While in that country his health gave way and at one time his death was reported. He returned, however, to San Fran- cisco, and there, being completely broken down and impoverished, he made his last appearance on the stage, February 12, 1877, at the Cali- fornia Theatre, where a performance occurred, for his benefit, under the direction of his con- stant and beloved friend John McCuUough. 142 VAGRANT MEMORIES He did not act, because unable to do so, but only occupied, for a few moments, a chair on the stage, while his comrades, gathered around him, sang "Auld Lang Syne." On October 12, 1877, performances for his benefit were given in New York, at the Academy of Music, — ^the movement to that end having been effected largely by my labor, in association with Edward A. Sothern. In the meantime, lingering in great distress, he had made the journey to Phil- adelphia, where I saw him, on his death-bed, and we exchanged farewells. He died, October 28, 1877, in the forty-fourth year of his age, and was buried in the Laurel Hill Cemetery. Adams was a conspicuous example of genius that was not pretentious, amiability that was not insipid, virtue that was neither complacent nor dull. Nature, making him good and gentle, also invested him with alluring charm. Chil- dren sported, with love and pleasure, in his pres- ence. Heroic ideals were made actual by his art. He was one of those rare men who refresh mankind by spontaneous, shining exposition of the loveliness which is an inherent element of A HISTRIONIC TYPE 143 human nature. His death was the extinction of a light that cheered, a beauty that fascinated, a goodness that strengthened and encouraged all who came within the scope of his influence. As I think of him I remember the lovely words of the poet Milnes: "He made a heaven about him here, And took, how much! with him away!" IV.— HENRY J. MONTAGUE, 1844^1878. Among the younger comedians who flour- ished under Lester Wallack's management of Wallack's Theatre, about forty years ago, there was one who gained uncommon public favor and specially endeared himself to members of his profession. I knew him well, and I remem- ber him as an exceptionally representative his- trionic type, — the refined, polished gentleman of polite society. His stage name was Henry J. Montague. His family name was Mann. He was born and reared in London. He began industrial life as a clerk, but soon gravitated to the Stage. Dion Boucicault gave him a 144 VAGRANT MEMORIES professional opening, January 26, 1863, at the Westminster Theatre, London, as the Junior Counsel^ in the Trial Scene of "The Heart of Midlothian," and in the course of the next ten years he acted in several theatres and in many plays, and made his way to general public acceptance. At one time he was associated with David James and Thomas Thorne in the man- agement of the London Vaudeville Theatre. In 1874 he joined Wallack's company in New York, and there he soon gained a reputation for professional ability, as well as intrinsic worth, such as he had not acquired in England. He was an amiable, gracious, gentle person, genial in temperament, graceful in manners, considerate of others, and temperate and char- itable in speech. He endeared himself by what he was more than by what he did: and this, since character is more important than talent and living more important than acting, is a high kind of success. In what Montague did, how- ever, there was a peculiar and substantial merit. h a 5 p O ^ «r-*-' a a MID-VICTORIAN PERIOD 145 A PRODUCT OF HIS TIME. The condition of the Stage is sometimes a consequence of the actors who are upon it, but sometimes the actors who are upon it are a consequence of its condition, — remotely, of course, of the forces by which it is controlled. Montague was an actor of the latter class. He was not a leader: he could never have estab- lished a tradition: but he reflected perfectly a popular spirit of his day, — a spirit actively sympathetic with the lambent satire of T. W. Robertson, the piquant drollery of H. J. Byron, and the half-playful, half-bitter cynicism of W. S. Gilbert. Those were frequent character- istics of English plays about the mid- Victorian period, and in those plays Montague was well fitted. His manner was elegant. He possessed repose, sentiment, a kind of wistful aspect, sen- sibility, a certain sapient drollery, and a telling quality of demure banter. He lacked intensity. He would have been finical in such a part as Raphael, in "The Marble Heart," and paltry in such parts as are typified by Shakespeare's 146 VAGRANT MEMORIES Gratiano. His limitations were stringent, and they were obvious. He was restricted to the comedy of everyday life, in good society. His talents were not versatile, nor was his acting marked by any of those striking features which it is usual to designate as character. He used water colors, and his touch, — hght, easy, and delicate, — was always the same. In the latter part of his life he endured severe professional tests, side by side with the foremost and finest light comedian of his generation, Lester Wal- lack, and he acted thoroughly, — showing dig- nity, modesty, taste, and grace. If partial friendship over-estimated his talents or envy misrepresented the nature of his suc- cess, or detraction vilified his attitude toward his art, that was only "the rough brake that virtue must go through." He was exception- ally free from the vanity that characterizes most actors. He carried to the Stage the feelings and manners of a gentleman and he carried to society the poetry and romance of the Stage. He was earnest and frank, unostentatious, sometimes sweetly grave, sometimes quietly EARLY DEATH 147 gay, always companionable. His artistic labor, if his life had been prolonged, could not have failed to win for him a high rank as a romantic actor. He was steadily gaining in power. He died while yet his honors were unripe and the promise of his young manhood was unfilled. His death occurred, August 11, 1878, in San Francisco, where he had been acting in a com- pany on tour. His grave is in the Wallack plot, in Greenwood. It has been my fortune to know, in good-fellowship, many of the actors who have passed across the American Stage within the last sixty years, — many bright spirits who have gladdened life for a while and then vanished into the great darkness that awaits us all. With their gracious names I write the name of Harry Montague. In life he deserved affection, and his memory deserves honor. He was one of the gentlest beings I have known, and so, in the apt words of Sir Walter, "I bring my tribute to his grave: 'Tis little— but 'tis all I have." V. EDWIN BOOTH. 1833—1893. "He has shook hands with Time; his funeral urn Shall he my charge." There was a great shower of meteors on the night of November 13, 1883, and on that night, at Belair, near Baltimore, Maryland, was born the most famous tragic actor of America, Edwin Booth. No other American actor had a rise so rapid or a career so early and con- tinuously brilliant as that of Edwin Booth. His father, the renowned Junius Brutus Booth, had wreathed the family name with distinction and romantic interest. If ever there was a genius on the stage it was the elder Booth. His won- derful eyes, tremendous vitality, electrical action, power to thrill the feelings and easily and inevitably to awaken pity and terror, — all 148 THE ELDER BOOTH 149 these made him a unique being and obtained for him a reputation with old-time audiences dis- tinct from that of all other men. He was fol- lowed as a marvel, and for many years, among those who remembered him, mention of his name stirred an enthusiasm such as no other theatrical memory could awaken. His sudden death, alone, on board a Mississippi River steamboat, November 30, 1852, was pathetic, and the public thought concerning him thence- forward commingled tenderness with fervent admiration. When his son Edwin began to rise as an actor the people everywhere rejoiced and gave him an eager welcome. With such a pres- tige he had no difficulty in making himself heard, and when it was found that he possessed the same strange power with which his father had conquered and fascinated the dramatic world the popular exultation was unbounded. YOUTHFUL VENTURES. Edwin Booth was not, in the scholastic sense of the word, educated. He attended school for a short time in boyhood, and he received some 150 VAGRANT MEMORIES instruction from his father, whose scholarship was considerable. As a youth he participated in amateur theatrical performances, and while travelling with his father, as dresser and helper, he closely observed and involuntarily imbibed the professional methods of that histrionic prodigy, — ^methods, however, which at last were merged in a style of his own, which was unique. He made his first appearance on the stage, Sep- tember 10, 1849, at the Boston Museum, as Tressel, in Gibber's perversion of "King Rich- ard III.," his father acting King Richard. His first appearance on the New York Stage was made, September 27, 1850, at the National The- atre, Chatham Square, as Wilford, in Colman's tragedy of "The Iron Chest." In 1852 he went, with his father, to California, and there he remained till the autumn of 1856 (incident- ally, 1854, making a professional visit to Aus- tralia and the Samoan and Sandwich Islands), acting whenever and wherever he could, playing parts of all kinds, and, between 1852 and 1856, gaining his first brilliant success. The actor is born but the artist must be made. From a Pliotograph by Brady Author's Collection EDWIN BOOTH, ABOUT 1860-'64 VICISSITUDE 151 and the actor who is not an artist only half fulfils his powers. Edwin Booth had not heen . long upon the stage before he showed himself to be an actor. During his first season he played not only Wilford, in "The Iron Chest," but also Titus, in "The Fall of Tarquin," and Cassio, in "Othello," and he played those parts auspiciously well; but his father, not less wise than kind, knew that the youth must be left to himself, to acquire experience, if he was ever to become an artist, and so left him in Cali- fornia, "to rough it," and thus he had four years of the most severe training that hardship, discipline, labor, sorrow, and stern reality can furnish. When he came East again, in the autumn of 1856, he was no longer a novice but an educated, artistic tragedian, still crude in some things, though on the right road, and in the fresh, exultant vigor, if not yet the full maturity, of extraordinary powers. But, though the early part of his California life was marked by hardship and all of it by vicissitude, his authentic genius speedily flamed out, and long before he returned to the Atlantic seaboard the 152 VAGRANT MEMORIES news of his fine exploits had cleared the way for his conquest of all hearts. On reaching the East he appeared, at Baltimore, in the Fall of 1856, made a tour of a few cities, and April 20, 1857, gained a brilliant success, at the Boston Theatre, as Sir Giles Overreach, in Massinger's tragical drama of "A New Way to Pay Old Debts." That night I saw him for the first time and saw his audience thrilled by his mag- netic acting. From that hour his fame continu- ally increased, and his progress was swift to indisputable eminence. HAMLET AND RICHELIEU. Booth early identified himself with two of the most enthralling characters in the Drama, — the sublime and pathetic Hamlet and the majes- tic, romantic, picturesque, tender, and grimly humorous Richelieu. He first acted Hamlet in 1854; he adopted Richelieu in 1856; and such was his success with the latter character that for many years afterward he made it a rule (acting on the sagacious advice of the veteran New Orleans manager, James H. CaldweU) MAHRIAGE 153 always to introduce himself in that part before any new community. The popular sentiment toward him early took a romantic turn, and the growth of that sentiment was accelerated and strengthened by every important occur- rence of his private life. In July, 1860, he was married to a lovely and talented woman. Miss Mary Devlin, of Troy, and in February, 1863, she died. In 1867 he lost the Winter Garden Theatre, in New York, which was burnt down on the night of March 22, that year, after a per- formance of John Howard Payne's "Brutus." He had managed that house, almost continu- ously, from 1862 to 1867, and he had accom- plished sumptuous revivals of "Hamlet," "Othello," "The Merchant of Venice," and other plays there, and had obtained for it an honor- able eminence; but when he built and opened (February 3, 1869) Booth's Theatre, New York, he proceeded to eclipse all his previous efforts and triumphs. The productions of "Romeo and Juliet," "Othello," "Richelieu," "Hamlet," "The Winter's Tale" and "Julius Ca^sar" made at Booth's were marked by ample 154 VAGRANT MEMORIES scholarship and magnificence. He managed that theatre till 1873, and when it passed out of his hands the play-going public endured a calamity. But the collapse of the actor's noble endeavor to maintain a great theatre in the first city of America, like every other conspicuous event in his career, served but to deepen the public interest in his welfare. He more than retrieved the losses which duplicity and bad advice piled on him in that venture. He made many a triumphal march throughout the length and breadth of the Republic. In 1876 he made a tour of the South which, so great was the enthusiasm his presence aroused, was nothing less than a royal progress. In San Francisco, where he filled an engagement of eight weeks, the receipts exceeded $96,000, a result at that time unprecedented on the dramatic stage. He acted in London and other cities of Great Britain (he appeared in that country in 1861, 1880, 1881, and 1882), and he made a tour, of unprecedented success, through Germany, in 1883. He was twice married, his second wife being Mary Frances McVicker (real name Run- FORTUNE'S FAVORITE 155 nion), to whom he was wedded in 1869 and who died in 1881. He lived nearly sixty years, and during forty-two of those years he was on the stage. His last appearance occurred on the afternoon of April 4, 1891, at the old Brooklyn Academy of Music, as Hamlet. He died, June 7, 1893, at The Players, 16 Gramercy Park, New York (which Cluh he founded in 1888), and he was buried at Mount Auburn, near Boston. He earned and lost several fortunes, he left property valued at nearly $700,000, and, — which is of more impor- tance to the world, — ^he exerted a tremendous influence for good, and left an illustrious name and an inspiring example. To think of Edwin Booth is immediately to be reminded of those leading events in his career, while to review them, even in a cursory glance, is to perceive that, notwithstanding calamities, sorrows, and a bitter experience of personal bereavement and of the persecution of envy and malice, he was, in many ways, a favorite of fortune. Edwin Booth was closely associated with his father in many of his wanderings and strange 156 VAGRANT MEMORIES and often sad adventures; loved him in life and sacredly cherished his memory. There is no doubt that the many sorrowful experiences of his youth deepened the gloom of his inher- ited temperament, and it is not possible to write comprehensibly about the son without bestowing considerable attention upon the father, by whom he was so much influenced, both as man and actor. Those who knew Edwin well were aware that he had great ten- derness of heart and abundant playful humor; that his nature was one of extraordinary sen- sibility and that he sympathized keenly and cordially with the joys and sorrows of others; and yet that he seemed saturated with sadness, isolated from companionship, lonely and alone. It was this temperament, combined with a sombre and melancholy aspect of countenance, that helped to make him so admirable in the character of Hamlet. His father was the first to speak of his fitness for that part, when on a night in Sacramento they had dressed for Pierre and Jaffier, in "Venice Preserved." Edwin, as Jaffier, had put on a close-fitting robe of black "LIKE HAMLET" 157 velvet. "You look like Hamlet" the father said. The time was destined to come when Edwin Booth would be accepted all over America as the greatest Hamlet of the day. In the season of 1864-'65, at the Winter Gar- den Theatre, New York, he acted that part for 100 nights in succession, accomplishing a feat then unprecedented in theatrical annals. Later, Henry Irving, in London, acted Hamlet 200 consecutive times, — October 31, 1874, to June 29, 1875; but this latter achievement, in more auspicious circumstances, in the capital city of the world, was less difficult than Edwin Booth's exploit, performed in turbulent New York in the closing months of the terrible Civil War. "OLD BOOTH." Junius Booth was one of those erratic beings who perplex observation and sometimes almost persuade belief that genius is madness. Many anecdotes of his amazing behavior, inexplicable except on the ground of insanity, have been told to me, in time past, by intimate friends of his, such as James Oakes (whom old New 158 VAGRANT MEMORIES Yorkers and Bostonians have not forgotten), the comedian Frank S. Chanfrau, and various other players who acted with him. He was cursed with that propensity for intoxicating drink which is likely to beset public performers when fatigue, or dejection, or private grief makes them dubious of their power to "rise to the occasion"; but periodic inebriety did not fuUy explain the wild proceedings of Junius Booth, He was intellectual, spiritual, religious, accom- plished, sensitive in temperament and domestic in taste, yet his conduct, at times, was dehrious or outrageous, or both. The tragedian Forrest, who knew and liked him well, believed him to be mad. Late in the night of April 14, 1865, John McCuUough went to Forrest's bed- room, in the Metropolitan Hotel, New York, and roused that veteran, telling him news had come of the assassination of President Lin- coln, and that the miirderer was said to be John Wilkes Booth — with whom both were acquainted. "But I don't believe it," McCul- lough declared. "I dor said Forrest ; "it's true. All those Booths are crazy." JUNIUS BEUTUS BOOTH The Bdst by Thomas R. Gould FATHER AND SON 159 The elder Booth was a short, spare, muscular man, with a splendid chest, a symmetrical Greek head, a pale countenance, a voice of won- derful compass and thrilling tone, dark hair, and blue eyes. Edwin's resemblance to him was chiefly obvious in the shape of the head and face, the arch and curve of the heavy eyebrows, the radiant and constantly shifting light of expression that animated the countenance, and the celerity of movement. Edwin's eyes were dark brown, and seemed to turn black in moments of excitement, and to emit light, as if they were suns, and they were capable of con- veying, with electrical effect, the most diverse meanings, — the solemnity of lofty thought, the tenderness of affection, the piteousness of for- lorn sorrow, the awful sense of spiritual sur- roundings, the woeful weariness of despair, the mocking glee of wicked sarcasm, the vindictive menace of sinister purpose, and the lightning glare of baleful wrath. In range of facial expressiveness his countenance was fully equal to that of his father. The aspect and acting of the elder Booth, though I was only a youth 160 VAGRANT MEMORIES when I saw him, I can never forget. In the mahgnant part of Pescara, in Shiel's lurid tragedy of "The Apostate," he was a terrible presence. He seemed the incarnation of smooth, specious, hellish rapacity. His exultant malice seemed to buoy him above the ground. He floated rather than walked. His glance was deadly. His clear, high, cutting, measured tone was the exasperating note of hideous cruelty. He was acting a fiend then, and making the monster not only possible but actual. He gave a terrific expression of overwhelming power, but his face was not more brilliant than that of his renowned son; in fact, it was, if anything, somewhat less splendid in power of the eye : and he entirely lacked the grace for which Edwin was specially remarkable. Chanfrau, an actor of fine and varied ability and one whose faculty of imitation was extraor- dinary, often told me stories of "old Booth" and adroitly copied his voice and manner. Booth commonly lodged at the City Hotel, in New York, — long ago demolished, — and his cus- tomary arena when acting in the metropolis was INTERCEPTED DRAMS 161 the theatre in Chatham Square, of which Chan- frau once happened to be stage-manager. Booth had been engaged for a few nights and Chan- frau had exacted from him a solemn promise that he would abstain from drink as long as his en- gagement lasted. "One night he went to the stage door," said Chanfrau, "and spoke to an attendant of his, saying, 'My lad, go over to the Hotel and tell the clerk that ' Just then I opened the door, outside which I had been stand- ing, and stood before him, — whereupon he sud- denly switched the message, which would have asked for a bottle of brandy, and concluded, very earnestly, pretending not to notice me, 'tell him that I want to know if there are any letters for me!' My coming saved him, but he was disap- pointed and much displeased." A LEGACY OF WOE. There are many anecdotes illustrative of that gifted player's infirmity, some of them comic, some of them sad. He was a glorious actor but a deplorably unfortunate man, and it can- not be doubted that some of his descendants 162 VAGRANT MEMORIES inherited from him a legacy of woe. The appal- liiig deed committed by his son John Wilkes was possible only to a madman, and his grand- son, Junius, committed suicide, after killing his wife, — for no known reason but that he was despondent and miserable. In the "Life of Edmund Kean" it is recorded that his attached and faithful servant, Fletcher, who customarily attended that vagrant genius and tried to keep him from tipsy excess, always desisted, in despair, when his master began to talk Latin, exclaiming, "He's going to make a beast of himself now, and nothing can stop him!" Edwin told me that one sign of an approaching paroxysm of his father's deplorable appetite for liquor was his use of a peculiar gesture, sawing the air, with his right hand beside his head, and that when, as some- times happened, he would try to separate him from his boon companions, his father would use that ominous gesture, saying, "Go away, young man, go away! By God, sir, I'll put you a-board a man-o'-war, sir." "But," he added, "I could do more with him than any- GOULD, THE SCULPTOR 163 body else, at such times." That incident is suf- ficiently significant of the trying circumstances in which Edwin Booth's boyhood was passed. Edwin talked to me often and freely about his father, telling various anecdotes illustrative of his peculiarities and of the strangeness of his own experiences as the elder actor's companion and guardian. One of them I recall, relative to Junius and his apostle Thomas R. Gould, well known, in his day, in Boston, as a sculptor and also as a writer. Gould admired the elder Booth, almost to adoration. The most minute and instructive account that exists of Booth's acting was written by him, — a book called "The Tragedian," — and Gould's marble bust of Booth, a noble work of art (made before the comedian Flynn broke his nose with a pewter pot), is the best likeness of that great actor, and those who never saw him can obtain a good idea of what sort of actor he was by reading that book and contemplating that portraiture. They preserve the image of a more massive actor, but not a more brilliant one, than Edwin Booth. Only one man of my time equalled 164 VAGRANT MEMORIES Edwin Booth in his singular splendor of counte- nance, — the great New England orator, Rufus Choate. If Choate had been an actor, on the stage, as he was before a jury, with those terrible eyes of his and that passionate Arab face, he must have towered fully to the height of the tradition of George Frederick Cooke. Gould's assiduous attentions to the elder Booth became wearisome to that eccentric man, and vexed him. Peculiar discretion is sometimes requisite to those who would praise and please eminent persons. Booth, when acting in Bos- ton, customarily lodged at an old hotel called the Albion, situated in Tremont Street, at the northwest corner of Court Street. "One day," said Edwin, "my father dashed into the bed- room where I was sitting and, almost breath- less with haste, exclaimed, 'Gould! Com- ing up! Say I'm out,' and, literally, dme underneath the bed. I received Mr. Gould, who seemed surprised not to find my father (I think he had seen him rushing upstairs), and he talked with me for several minutes. Then A VARIED CAREER 165 there was a moment of silence, and my father, becoming impatient, thrust his head out from under the bed, inquiring as he did so, 'Is that danmed bore gone yet?' Imagine the effect 1" Poor Gould had incurred the penalty of too much zeal. He was a man of uncommon abil- ity in his profession, as many pieces of statuary, made by him, remain to testify. He was born in Boston, 1818, and he died in Florence, Italy, 1881. Mrs. Asia Booth Clarke, wife of the distin- guished and excellent comedian John Sleeper Clarke, wrote a life of her father, Junius Brutus Booth, in which she has recounted interesting passages in his career and chronicled significant and amusing anecdotes of his peculiarities. He was on the stage from 1813 to the time of his death, — 1852. In his youth he served for a while in the British navy, showed some talent for painting, learned the printer's trade, wrote a little, and dabbled in sculpture, — all before he turned actor. The powerful hostility of Edmund Kean and his adherents drove him from the London Stage, though not till after he had 166 VAGRANT MEMORIES gained honors there, and he came to America in 1821, and bought a farm at Belair, where he settled, and where his son Edwin (the sev- enth of ten children) was born. That farm remained in the family till 1880, when for the first time it changed hands. There is, or was, an old cherry-tree growing on it, — remarkable among cherry-trees for being large, tall, straight, clean, and handsome, — amid the boughs of which the youthful Edwin might often have been found, in his juvenile days. It is a coincidence that Edward L. Davenport and John McCuUough, also honored names in American Stage history, were born on the same day of the same month as Edwin Booth, though in different years. CALIFORNIA DAYS. Edwin's experience during the period of his early professional training in California was, truly, a "strange, eventful history." At one time, — as he told me, — he lived in a hut, in the environs of San Francisco, with "Dave" Anderson (remembered as a good actor of From a Daguerreotype Aiilhor's Voilectioii JUNIUS BRUTUS BOOTH AND HIS SON EDWIN, 1850 "My lather, in this picture" (so Edwin Booth told me), • one of my vests, and the book before him is a dictionary."— 'is wearing W. W. PRIMITIVE LIFE 167 eccentric parts and old men), sharing every- thing, including house-work. "We had a horse and wagon," Edwin said, "and we drove into town to get provisions. Kidneys were cheap and we bought them whenever we could. Oppo- site the butcher's shop 'Dave' would rein in and hold up his hand, shouting 'Kid?' and often the butcher would shake his head and reply, 'No kid!' and we would drive on, — with- out meat for dinner." But his California life, if rough and hard, was wild and free, and I doubt whether he was ever again as truly happy as he was then. I know that in the later days of his great renown he was often very wretched. SUSCEPTIBILITY OF SUFFERING. A man more susceptible of suffering I have not known. One day, at his summer residence in Newport, Booth told me that he thought he had been cruel and felt sorry for it. He was much dejected. On inquiry as to the cause of his disquietude I learned from him that flies had been exceedingly numerous and trouble- 168 VAGRANT MEMORIES some, and that he had made use of a liquid poison, recommended by an acquaintance, to destroy them. "I was much amused," he said, "in watching them, after they had tasted the stuff, because they would become as though drunk, and wabble about and topple over, in a most ludicrous manner. But suddenly I real- ized that as death was not instantaneous they must be suffering, and I have been grieved about it ever since." There was no affectation in this. His remorse was genuine and it was painful to see. The same extreme sensibility characterized his father. Edwin, speaking of him, told me, "He was the kindest-hearted man I ever knew. He would not allow any liv- ing thing on the farm [at Belair] to be killed. There was a huge, repulsive, villanous toad, whose favorite seat was on a projecting bit of stone in the side of a large well. I detested the thing, but my father would not allow it to be harmed or in any way disturbed or annoyed." A contemporary medical pundit has discovered and proclaimed that such feelings denote effeminate weakness; perhaps they do: THE FAVORITE CHILD 169 for me, they imply fine humanity in their pos- sessor, and I remember the moral injunction of Wordsworth's "Hart Leap Well,"— "Never to blend our pleasure or our pride With sorrow of the meanest thing that lives." JOHN WILKES BOOTH. John Wilkes was (so Edwin told me) his father's favorite child, but the father depended more on Edwin than on any other member of the family. As an actor John, — whose acting I saw and carefully observed, at Wood's Broad- way Theatre, — was raw and crude, and much given to boisterous declamation and violent demeanor, but he was talented, and if he had lived longer and carefully studied his art he might have attained to a high position. He was handsome and dashing, he gained some measure of public admiration, and with members of the dramatic profession he was a favorite. The late Mrs. G. H. Gilbert, who had acted with him, entertained a high opinion of him — a fact which speaks much for his good qualities. 170 VAGRANT MEMORIES McCuUough liked him. So did John S, Clarke. So did the late Edwin Varrey, a fine actor and one of the best of men. His brother Edwin loved him and pitied him, and to the last he kept a framed picture of him in his bedroom. Everybody was horrified by his terrible crime, — no person more horrified or afflicted than Edwin, who immediately withdrew from the stage, and would never have returned to it if he had not been compelled to do so by the heavy financial responsibilities resting on him at that time, as manager of theatres in Phila- delphia and New York. The stage associates of John Wilkes Booth at first utterly disbelieved and scoffed at the statement that he had shot the President, — declaring it incredible that such a man could do such a deed. But so it was, and the wretched fugitive outlaw was shot and his body brought to Washington and buried beneath the granite basement floor of the old Capitol Prison: some years afterward the remains were disinterred and given to Edwin, who conveyed them to Baltimore, for interment near the grave of the IDLE TALES 171 elder Booth, in Fairmount Cemetery. A ridicu- lous story went the rounds of the newspaper press, not many years ago, to the effect that John Wilkes Booth escaped and went into the Southwest and was there recognized by several persons who had known him in early life, one of them being the comedian Jefferson. Another idle tale that was circulated told of Edwin's malediction on the memory of his brother, — the fact being that he carefully avoided the subject, seldom mentioned John's name, was haunted and unspeakably distressed by remembrance of his monstrous deed and tragic fate, and deplored it, and mourned for the wretched doer of it, all the days of his life. One strange scene in that afflicting tragedy was the destruction of the stage-wardrobe of John Wilkes. This occurred at night, in the basement of Booth's Theatre, where, under Edwin's direction, only one other person being present, every garment that had been owned by his brother was cast into a blaz- ing furnace and totally consumed. When Edwin reappeared on the stage, about nine months after the murder of Lincoln, a 172 VAGRANT MEMORIES cruel attempt was made in the press of New York, — ^not in all the papers, but in one, par- ticularly, of great influence, — to incite hostility toward him, because of his brother's crime, but that malignancy, unjust and cruel, utterly failed. I rejoice to remember that, as a jour- nalist, speaking through several mediums, I used every means in my power to defend Booth and defeat that dastardly attack on him. His re- entrance was made, January 3, 1866, at the Winter Garden, as Hamlet, and the welcome extended to him surpassed in its enthusiasm any- thing of the kind that old playgoers had ever seen, and it left no shadow of doubt that the community had no intention of permitting an innocent man to be ruined for the offence of a crazy relative. The theatre was densely crowded, and as Booth came on the stage the audience rose and cheered him again and again, making every possible demonstration of sym- pathy and friendship. As I looked around on that tumultuous assemblage I saw not even one person who had remained seated. The excite- ment was prodigious, and Booth was so much BOOTH'S THEATRE 173 affected that he could hardly control himself sufficiently to begin his performance. He never acted better than he did on that memorable night. THE "FAILURE" OF BOOTH'S. Forty-six years have passed (1915) since Booth opened his magnificent theatre in New York, at the southeast corner of Twenty-third Street and Sixth Avenue, — a site then consid- ered far "up-town." In that house sumptuous presentments were made of "Hamlet," "King Richard III.," "Othello," "The Merchant of Venice," "Julius Caesar," etc., and the grandest production ever seen of Bulwer's noble play of "Richelieu" was accomplished. In his man- agement of that theatre Booth was all that is meant by the word gentleman. Dion Bouci- cault, cynic though he was, said, "I have been in every theatre, I think, in Christendom, and Booth's Theatre is the only theatre that I have seen properly managed." Once when a clergy- man wrote to Edwin asking to be admitted at a side door so that he might escape observa- 174 VAGRANT MEMORIES tion, Booth answered: "There is no door in my theatre through which God cannot see." It has long been customary to speak of Booth's Theatre as "a failure." It was not; it was a success. While in Booth's hands the theatre that bore his name was notably prosper- ous, and he would not have lost it but for injudicious direction of the financial affairs con- nected with the building of it, and bad advice accepted and acted on by Edwin, sequent to the great financial panic of 1873. "The net profits of the house, during its first year, were $102,000; during its second year, $85,000; dur- ing its third year, $70,000. A mortgage of $100,000 was lifted. The floating debt was reduced from $66,000 to $24,000. The decline in receipts, obviously, was due to a natural sub- sidence of public curiosity with reference to a new enterprise." (From my "Life and Art of Edwin Booth," 1893.) I believe any of the contemporary "Napoleons of the Theatre," who hold that "the dollar mark is the mark of suc- cess," and boast of "conducting the Theatre on COST OF BOOTH'S THEATRE 175 a business basis" would not be dissatisfied with a net profit, from a "commercially" conducted theatre, equal even to that obtained in the third year of Booth's management of his "splendid failure." It was the unreasonable and needless excess of cost in construction that overwhelmed Booth and led to his retirement from management. In a letter written to me in 1880 he said: "If the theatre had cost but a couple of hundred thousand instead of over a million^ it never would have changed hands nor have ruined its proprietor." It is worth remembering that "over a million" meant more in 1869 than it does to-day — as, also, did a yearly net profit of $70,000. It is stupidly unjust to allege that the public of New York failed to support a great artistic ideal. The public, of New York and of the whole country, was always sympathetic with Booth, and it sustained whatever he produced, and that is a significant and a creditable record, for both sides, since nothing was produced by him that was not good. He had a high sense of his intellectual obligation to his art and to society. 176 VAGRANT MEMORIES and he was public-spirited and unselfish in all his conduct. A SIGNIFICANT TESTIMONIAL. An interesting incident of Booth's profes- sional career was the occurrence of a festival in his honor, given by a numerous company of his old friends, on June 15, 1880, by way of Fare- well greeting to him, prior to his departure from America, to act in theatres of Europe. The invitation was signed by John R. Brady, Rev. H. W. Bellows, Algernon S. Sullivan, Charles Watrous, E. C. Stedman, Horace Por- ter, Lester WaUack, Joseph Jefferson, Law- rence Barrett, Jervis McEntee, S. R. Gifford, Whitelaw Reid, Rev. F. C. Ewer, Laurence Hutton, James R. Osgood, George W. Carle- ton, and myself. All those signatories, except General Porter and I have passed away, and of the goodly company that was assembled at that feast there are but few survivals. The invita- tion to Booth contained these words: "You will meet not only many comrades of your own profession but representatives of other voca- FRIENDLY VOICES 177 tions, all of whom are united in grateful admi- ration and profound and constant esteem not alone for your noble achievement as an actor, but for those virtues which have made your pub- lie career a model of integrity and your home life a blessing to all who have known you." In his reply Booth said: "As a mere empty compli- ment I might decline the honor; but as the expression of an affectionate good-wiU, such as no man has more cause than I have to cherish in his 'heart of heart,' and as a token of your genuine good wishes for my success in othfer lands, I heartily receive it." The festival began at noon and continued until night. Judge Brady presided. There was eloquent speaking, by Brady, Barrett, Ewer, Reid, Porter, and Sullivan. A part of my own contribution to the general tribute was the following poem, which, perhaps, may appropriately be included in this chapter of reminiscence: His barque will fade, in mist and night. Across the dim sea-line, And coldly on our aching sight The solemn stars will shine, — 178 VAGRANT MEMORIES All, all in mournful silence, save For ocean's distant roar, — Heard where the slow, regretful wave Sobs on the lonely shore. But, O, while, winged with love and prayer, Our thoughts pursue his track, What glorious sights the midnight air Will proudly waft us back! What golden words will flutter down From many a peak of fame! What glittering shapes of old renown That cluster round his name ! O'er storied Denmark's haunted ground Will darkly drift again, Dream-like and vague, without a sound, The spectre of the Dane; And breaking hearts will be the wreath For grief that knows no tear. When shine on Cornwall's storm-swept heath The blazing eyes of Lear. Slow, 'mid the portents of the storm And fate's avenging powers, Will moody Richard's haggard form Pace through the twilight hours ; MY TRIBUTE 179 And wildly hurtling o'er the sky The red star of Macbeth, — Torn from the central arch on high, — Go down in dusty death! But, — best of all! will softly rise His form of manly grace, — The noble brow, the honest eyes, The sweetly patient face, The loving heart, the stately mind That, conquering every ill. Through seas of trouble cast behind. Was grandly steadfast still! Though skies might gloom and tempest rave, Though friends and hopes might fall, His constant spirit, simply brave. Would meet and suiFer all; Would calmly smile at fortune's frown. Supreme o'er gain or loss ; And he the worthiest wears the crown That gently bore the cross ! Be blithe and bright, thou jocund day That golden England knows! Bloom sweetly round the wanderer's way. Thou royal English rose! 180 VAGRANT MEMORIES And English hearts (no need to tell How truth itself endures!) This soul of manhood treasure well, Our love commits to yours ! Farewell! nor mist, nor flying cloud, Nor night can ever dim The wreath of honors, pure and proud, Our hearts have twined for him ! But bells of memory still shall chime. And violets star the sod. Till our last broken wave of time Dies on the shores of God. HIS PLAYS AND FAVORITE PARTS. It is particularly worth while at this time, when dominant theatrical managers, closing their eyes to the obvious truth, still, parrot-like, declare that "Shakespeare SpeUs Ruin," to remember and emphasize the fact that Booth gained his eminence and made his fortune entirely with the Standard Drama. His reper- tory included eleven of Shakespeare's plays. He liked to act in comedy, as a relief to his feelings, and he often did so, but by nature he ART AND SELF-CONTROL 181 was a tragedian, and it was in tragedy that he excelled. Edmund Kean was supreme in pathos: the elder Booth in terror: Edwin Booth moved with equal facility in either realm, and in all the terrific or afflictive exacting passages of pure tragedy or the climactic passages of "Richelieu" his voice was magnificent, his action illuminative, his elocution faultless, his fiery energy that of the tempest. He was a wonder- ful actor, and especially he was wonderful in his faculty of artistic control: after he had curbed and subdued the exuberance of youth he never lost perfect command of himself. Once when he had just finished one of the most tre- mendous outbursts of passion in Othello, and aroused his audience to the highest pitch of excitement, he moved "up-stage" in, apparently, pitiable anguish, and said, in a low tone, to his nephew, Wilfred Clarke, standing in the wings : "Will, did you see that big rat run across the stage?" Edwin loved most to act Richelieu. He grew weary of acting Hamlet. His wife, Mary McVicker, told me it was her custom to lay 182 VAGRANT MEMORIES out, in the morning, the dress of the part that he was to act at night, and so to apprise him of the approaching professional duty, and that whenever he saw the dress of Hamlet he would become moody and fretful, but that when he saw the garments of Don Ccesar de Bazan or Petruchio he was pleased. He liked Shylock, for an actor's reason — that it is a splendidly effective part: his fine performance of it was exceedingly popular. He discarded Sir Edteiard Mortimer^ Sir Giles Overreach^ and Pescara, because he considered them too dark and repel- lent, and he told me that he was inclined to dis- card Bertuccio, for the same reason. First and last he acted at least two hundred parts, but his customary repertory included only sixteen. COMEDY AND TRAGEDY. The bust of Booth as Shakespeare's Brutus and that of John Gilbert as Sir Peter Teazle, standing side by side in The Players, stir many memories and prompt many reflections. Gilbert was twenty-three, and had been six years on the stage, before Edwin Booth was TRAGIC GENIUS 183 born; and when, at the age of sixteen, Booth made his first appearance Gilbert had become a famous actor. The younger man, however, speedUy rose to the high level of the best dra- matic ability as well as the best theatrical cult- ure of his time; and it is significant of the splendid triumph of tragic genius, and of the advantage it possesses over that of comedy in its immediate effect upon mankind, that when the fine and exceptional combination was made (May 21, 1888, at the Metropohtan Opera House, New York), for a performance of "Hamlet" for the benefit of Lester Wallack, Edwin Booth acted Hamlet, with John Gilbert for Polonius, and Joseph Jefferson for the First Grave-Digger. Booth had his artistic growth in a peculiar period in the history of dramatic art in America. Just before his time the tragic sceptre was in the hands of Edwin Forrest, who never succeeded in winning any ardent devotion from the intellectual part of the public, but was constantly compelled to domi- nate a multitude that never heard any sound short of thunder and never felt anything till 184 VAGRANT MEMORIES it was hit with a club. The bulk of Forrest's great fortune was gained by him with "Meta- mora," which is rant and fustian. He himself despised it and deeply despised and energeti- cally cursed the public that forced him to act in it. Forrest's best powers, indeed, were never really appreciated by the average mind of his fervent admirers. He lived in a rough period and he had to use a hard method to subdue and please it. Edwin Booth was fortunate in com- ing later, when the culture of the people had increased and when the sledge-hammer style was going out, so that he gained almost with- out an efPort the refined and fastidious classes. As long ago as 1857, with all his natural grace, refinement, romantic charm, and fine bearing, his impetuosity was such that even the dullest sensibilities were aroused and thrilled and astonished by him, — and so it happened that he also gained the multitude. The circumstances of the Theatre and of the lives of players have greatly changed since the generation went out to which such men as Junius Booth and Augustus A. Addams DISCARDED EVILS 185 belonged. No actor would now be so mad as to put himself in pawn for drink, as Cooke is said to have done, nor be found scraping the ham from the sandwiches provided for his luncheon, as Junius Booth was, before going on to play STiylock. Our Stage has no longer a Richardson to light up a pan of red fire, as that old showman once did, to signalize the fall of the screen in "The School for Scandal." The eccentrics and the taste for them have passed away. It seems really once to have been thought that the actor who did not often make a maniac of himself with drink could not be possessed of the divine fire. That demonstra- tion of genius is not expected now, nor does the present age customarily exact from its favorite players the performance of all sorts and varie- ties of parts. Forrest was the first of the prominent actors to break away from the old usage in this latter particular. During the most prosperous years of his life, from 1837 to 1850, he acted only about a dozen parts, and most of them were old. The only new parts that he studied were Claude Melnotte, Richelieu, 186 VAGRANT MEMORIES Jack Cade, and Mordaunt, the latter in the play of "The Patrician's Daughter," and he "recov- ered" Marc Antony, which he particularly liked. Edwin Booth, who had inherited from his father the insanity of intemperance, conquered it utterly, and nobly and grandly trod it beneath his feet; and as he matured in his career, through acting every kind of part, from a dandy negro up to Hamlet, he at last made choice of the characters that afforded scope for his pow- ers and his aspirations, and so settled upon a definite, restricted repertory. His characters were Hamlet, Macheth, King Lear, Othello, lago. King Richard the Second, King Richard the Third, Shylock, Cardinal Wolsey, Marcus Brutus, Benedick, Petruchio, Richelieu, Lucius Brutus, Bertucdo, Ruy Bias, and Don Ccesar de Bazan. These he acted in customary usage, and to these he occasionally added Antony, Cas- sius, Claude Melnotte, and the Stranger. The range thus indicated is extraordinary; but more extraordinary still was the evenness of the actor's average excellence throughout the breadth of that range. QUALITY OF HIS COMEDY 187 EDWIN'S ACTING. Booth's tragedy was better than his elegant comedy. There have been several other actors who equalled or surpassed him in Benedick or Don Ccesar. The comedy in which he excelled is that of silvery speciousness and bitter sar- casm, as in portions of lago and King Richard the Third and the simulated madness of Laicius Brutus, and the comedy of grim drollery, as in portions of Richelieu, — his expression of those veins being wonderfully perfect. But no other actor of his time, except Henry Irving, has equalled him in certain attributes of tragedy that are essentially poetic. He was not at his best, indeed, in all the tragic parts that he acted; and, like his father, he was an uneven actor in the parts to which he was best suited. No per- son can be said to have known Booth's acting who did not see him play the same part several times. His artistic treatment was generally found adequate, but his mood or spirit continu- ally varied. He could not at will command it, and when it was absent his performance 188 VAGRANT MEMORIES seemed cold. This characteristic is, perhaps, inseparable from the poetic temperament. Each ideal that he presented was poetic; and the suit- able and adequate presentation of it, therefore, needed poetic warmth and glamour. Booth never went behind his poet's text to find a prose image in the pages of historic fact. The spectator who took the trouble to look into his art found it, indeed, invariably accurate as to historic basis, and found that all essential points and questions of scholarship had been considered by the actor. But this was not the secret of its power upon the soul. That power resided in its charm, and that charm consisted of its poetry. Standing on the lonely ramparts of Elsinore, and with awe-stricken, preoccupied, involuntary glances questioning the star-lit midnight air, while he talked with his attendant friends, Edwin Booth's Hamlet was the simple, abso- lute realization of Shakespeare's haunted prince, and raised no question, and left no room for inquiry, whether the Danes in the Middle Ages wore velvet robes or had long flaxen hair. It was dark, mysterious, afflicted, melancholy, ■*f z^- ;-'-^'^ From a Photograph by Sarony Author^s Collection EDWIN BOOTH AS HAMLET POETRY OF TRAGEDY 189 sympathetic, beautiful, — a vision of dignity and of grace, made sublime by suffering, made weird and awful by "thoughts beyond the reaches of our souls." Sorrow never looked more wofuUy and ineffably lovely than his sor- row looked in the parting scene with Ophelia^ and frenzy never spoke with a wilder glee of horrid joy and fearful exultation than was heard in his tempestuous cry of delirium, "Nay, I know not; is it the king?" An actor who is fine only at points is not, of course, a perfect actor. The remark of Coleridge about the acting of Edmund Kean, that it was like "reading Shakespeare by flashes of lightning," has misled many persons as to Kean's art. Macready bears a similar testi- mony. But the weight of evidence will satisfy the reader that Kean was, in fact, a careful student and that he did not neglect any detail of his art. This was certainly true of Edwin Booth. In the level plains that lie between the mountain-peaks of expression he walked with as sure a footstep and as firm a tread as on the summit of the loftiest crag or the verge of the 190 VAGRANT MEMORIES steepest abyss. In 1877-'78, in association with me, he prepared for the press an edition of fif- teen of the plays in which he customarily acted. There is not a line in either of those plays that he had not studiously and thoroughly consid- ered; not a vexed point that he had not scanned; not a questionable reading that he had not, for his own purposes in acting, satisfactorily set- tled. His Shakespearean scholarship was extensive and sound, and it was no less minute than ample. His stage business had been arranged, as stage business ought to be, with scientific precision. If, as King Richard the Third, he was seen to be abstractedly toying with a ring upon one of his fingers, or unsheath- ing and sheathing his dagger, those apparently capricious actions would be found to be done because they were illustrative parts of that mon- arch's personality, warranted by the text and context. In early years, when acting Hamlet, an accidental impulse led him to hold out his sword, hilt foremost, toward the receding spectre, as a protective cross, — ^the symbol of that religion to which Hamlet so frequently CARE FOR DETAIL 191 recurs. The expedient was found to justify itself and he made it a custom. In the Grave- yard Scene of the tragedy he directed that one of the skuEs thrown up by the First Grave- Digger should have a tattered and mouldy fool's-cap adhering to it, so that it might attract attention, and be singled out from the others, as "Yorick's skull, the king's jester." These are little things; but it is of a thousand little things that a dramatic performance is composed, and without this care for detail, — which must be precise, logical, profound, vigilant, unerring, and at the same time always unobtrusive, sub- servient, and seemingly involuntary, — there can he neither cohesion, nor symmetry, nor an illusory image consistently maintained; and all great effects would become tricks of mechanism and detached exploits of theatrical force. The absence of this thoroughness in such act- ing as that of Edwin Booth would instantly be felt; its presence seldom is adequately appreci- ated. All felt the perfect charm of the illusion in the great Fourth Act of "Richelieu," — one of the most thrilling situations, as Booth filled it, 192 VAGRANT MEMORIES that ever was created upon the stage; but it would not have been felt had not the foreground of character, incident, and experience been prepared with consummate thoroughness. The character of Richelieu is one that the elder Booth could never act. He tried it once, upon urgent solicitation, but he had not proceeded far before he caught Joseph around the waist, and with that astonished friar in his arms pro- ceeded to dash into a waltz, over which the curtain was dropped. He had no sympathy with the moonlight mistiness and lace-like com- plexity of the ascetic, many-fibred nature of Richelieu. It lacked, for him, the reality of the imagination, the trumpet blare and tem- pest rush of active passion. But Edwin Booth, coming after Forrest, who was its original in America, made Richelieu so entirely his own that no actor could stand a comparison with him in the character. Macready was the first representative of the part, and his performance of it was deemed magnificent; but when Edwin Booth acted it in London, in 1880, old John Ryder, the friend and advocate of Macready, AS RICHELIEU 193 who had participated with him in all his plays, said to the American tragedian, with a broken voice and with tears, "You have thrown down my idol." Two at least of those great moments in acting that everybody who sees remembers were furnished by Booth in this character, — ^the defiance of the masked assailant, at Rueil, and the threat of excommunication delivered upon Barradas. No spectator possessed of imagina- tion and sensibility ever saw, without utter for- getfulness of the stage, the imperial entrance of that Richelieu into the gardens of the Louvre and into the sullen presence of hostile majesty. The same spell of genius was felt in kindred moments of his greater impersonations. His lago, standing in the dark street, with sword in hand, above the prostrate bodies of Cassio and Roderigo^ and as the sudden impulse to murder Cassio strikes his brain, breathing out in a blood- curdling whisper, "How silent is this town!" his Bertuccio, begging at the door of the ban- quet-hall, and breaking down in hysterics of affected glee and maddening agony; his Shy- lock's torrent of wrath; his Macbeth going to 194 VAGRANT MEMORIES the murder of King Duncan; his King Lear, at that supreme moment of intolerable torture when he parts from Goneril and Began, vidth his wild scream of revenges that shall be the terrors of the earth ; his King Richard the Third, with the gigantic effrontery of his "Call him again," and with his whole thrilhng and won- derful utterance of the awful remorse speech with which the king awakens from his last earthly sleep, — those, among many others, rank with the best dramatic images that ever were chronicled, and may well be cited to illustrate Booth's invincible and splendid adequacy at the great moments of his art. EARLY PERFORMANCES. In the earlier part of his career Edwin Booth was accustomed to act Sir Giles Overreach, Sir Edward Mortimer, Pescara, and a number of other parts of the terrific order, which after- ward he discarded. He was fine in every one of them. The first sound of his voice when, as Sir Edward Mortimer, he was heard speaking off the scene, was eloquent of deep suffering. TRAGIC POWER 195 concentrated will, and a strange, sombre, formi- dable character. The bland, exquisite, icy, infernal joy with which, as Pescara, he told his rival that there should be "music" was almost comical in its effect of terror: it drove the listener across the line of tragical tension and made him hysterical with the grimness of a deadly humor. His swift defiance to Lord Lovell, as Sir Giles, and indeed the whole mighty and terrible action, with which he car- ried that scene, — from "What, are you pale?" down to the grisly and horrid viper pretence and reptile spasm of death, — were simply tre- mendous. This was in the days when his act- ing yet retained the exuberance of a youthful spirit, before "the philosophic mind" had checked the headlong currents of the blood or curbed imagination in its lawless flight. And those parts not only admitted of bold color and extravagant action but demanded them. Even his Hamlet was touched with that elemental fire. Not alone in the great junctures of the tragedy, — the encounters with the Ghost, the parting with Ophelia, the climax of the Play- 196 VAGRANT MEMORIES Scene, the slaughter of poor old Polonius in delirious mistake for the King, and the avoueh- ment to Laertes in the graveyard, — was he brill- iant and impetuous; but in almost everything that quality of temperament showed itself, and here, of course, it was in excess. He ceased to hurl the pipe into the flies when saying "Though you may fret me, you can not play upon me"; but he used to do so then, and the rest of the performance was kindred with that part of it. He needed, in that period of his development, the more terrible passions to express. Pathos and spirituality and the mountain air of great thought were yet to be. His Hamlet was only dazzling, — the glorious possibility of what it became. But his Sir Giles was a consummate work of genius, — as good then as it ever after- ward became, and better than any other that has been seen since, not excepting that of E. L. Davenport, which was tremendously powerful. And in all kindred characters he showed him- self a man of genius. His success was great. The admiration that he inspired partook of zeal that amounted almost to craziness. When he REVELATIONS OF GENIUS 197 walked in the streets of Boston in 1857 his shining face, his compact figure, and his elastic step drew every eye, and people would pause and turn in groups to look at him. GREAT MOMENTS, AND TRADITION. The lurid flashes of passion and the vehement outbursts in the acting of Edwin Booth are no doubt the points that most persdns who saw him most clearly remember. Through these a spec- tator naturally discerns the essential nature of an actor. The image of George Frederick Cooke, pointing with his long, lean fore-finger and uttering Sir Giles's imprecation upon Mar- rallj never fades out of theatrical history. Gar- rick's awful frenzy in the storm scene of King Lear, Kean's colossal agony in the farewell speech of Othello, Macready's heartrending yell in Werner, Junius Booth's terrific utterance of King Richard's "What do they i' the north?" Forrest's hyena snarl when, as Jack Cade, he met Lord Say in the thicket, or his volumed cry of tempestuous fury when, as Lucius Brutus, he turned upon Tarquin under the black mid- 198 VAGRANT MEMORIES night sky, — those are things never to be for- gotten. Edwin Booth provided many such great moments in acting, and the traditions of the Stage will not let them die. To these no doubt we must look for illuminative manifesta- tions of hereditary genius. Garrick, Hender- son, Cooke, Edmund Kean, Junius Booth, and Edwin Booth are names that make a natural sequence in one intellectual family. Could they all have been seen together, they would, undoubt- edly, have been found, in many particulars, kindred. Henderson flourished in the school of nature that Macklin had revived and Gar- rick developed, — to the discomfiture of Quin and all the classics. Cooke had seen Hender- son act, and was thought to resemble him. Edmund Kean worshipped the memory of Cooke and repeated many of the elder trage- dian's ways. So far, indeed, did he carry his homage that when he was in New York, in 1824, he caused Cooke's remains to be taken from the vault beneath St. Paul's church and buried in the church-yard, where a monument, set up by Kean and restored by his son Charles, by Sothern, EDWIN BOOTH AS BEETVCCIO, IN From the Drawing by W, Author's voUection "THE FOOL'S REVENGE" J. Hennesst KINDRED SPIRITS 199 and by Edwin Booth, still marks their place of sepulture. That was the occasion when, as Dr. Francis records, in his book on "Old New York," Kean took the index finger of Cooke's right hand, and he, the doctor, took his skull, as relics. Kean's foundation on Cooke's style in acting was not the imitation of a copyist; it was the spontaneous devotion and direction of a kindred soul. The elder Booth saw Kean act, and although injured by a rivalry that Kean did not hesitate to make malicious admired him with honest fervor. "I will yield Othello to him," he said, "but neither Richard nor Sir Giles." Forrest thought Edmund Kean the greatest actor of the age, and copied him, especially in Othello. Edwin Booth derived directly from his father not only the instruction of example and precept but also an admiring yet critical impartment of the tradition of Edmund Kean. MIRTH AND MERRIMENT. In one of Edwin's notes to me (he frequently wrote, and I possess several hundred of his let- 200 VAGRANT MEMORIES ters, all in his peculiar, fine, sometimes almost indecipherable writing) there is an instructive reference to a view of his character prevalent when he was acting at the Winter Garden and had been bereaved by death of his first wife, Mary Devlin, — whom he idolized. "The labor I underwent at that time" (so he wrote), "with domestic affliction weighing heavily upon me, made me very unfit for social enjoyment of any kind, and I was forced to shut myself up a great deal. This, of course, made people think me haughty, self-conceited, and 'Hamlet-y' all the time; whereas I was very weary and unhappy." The misapprehension to which he thus alluded was once general, and more or less it followed him through life. He was, constitu- tionally, pensive and sad. He had inherited a moody temperament, his mind was prone to introspection, and he had been reared in close association with themes of tragedy. /No person who looks on mortal life with searching, com- prehensive gaze can wholly withstand the sad- dening influence of the pathetic spectacle which it presents, — notwithstanding aU its pageantry.j LATENT HUMOR 201 Booth, who saw widely and who deeply felt the significance of what he saw, certainly could not withstand it, and it was precisely because his nature was thus attuned to melancholy,' while his person was one of exquisite symmetry and his method of art, both elocutionary and his- trionic, one of surpassing clarity, power, and grace, that he became the best Hamlet that ever trod our Stage. But there was another aspect of Booth's com- plex personality, — an aspect not less delightful than surprising: he could be one of the merriest of companions. He never was, in even the least particular, "self-conceited," nor was he "Hamlet-y" in private life, at any time. I have known many players, but I have not known one who possessed a readier faculty and quicker perception of humor, or an ampler capability of its enjoyment, than were evinced by Edwin Booth. This side of the man, however, was revealed only to his intimate friends, — and those were few. In private talk with me his merri- ment was sometimes astonishing: at least, so it seems to me now, when I review the past and 202 VAGRANT MEMORIES remember how bitter were the afflictions which had befallen him, for he had been tried by some of the most terrible calamities that ever tested the fortitude of a human soul. He possessed abundance of anecdote, and when he told a comic story, as he often did, his melodious, finely modulated voice, his dark, brilhant eyes, his expressive countenance, and his naturally dra- matic manner gave to every word and point an illuminative meaning and a richly comic effect. The anecdotes, — of which there are many, — relative to that grim, arbitrary, splenetic trage- dian, Macready, seemed to afford him special enjoyment. One which he told in a particu- larly blithe spirit, animating it by involuntary action as he spoke, was related to him by Mrs. Charles Kean (Ellen Tree). That famous act- ress, when a girl, acted with Macready, and there was a moment in one of the performances when he placed his hand, by no means gently, on her juvenile head, rumpling her hair and causing her much annoyance. She complained of this, but her complaint was disregarded, and A POINTED REBUKE 203 the eminent actor continued to express the fervor of his emotion by pawing her head with much more than needful energy. "I was mis- chievous," she said, "and one night I had my hair done up with a number of small pins in it, points upward, and that time when he seized me by the hair he instantly let go, with a hor- rified gasp and a grunt of rage, and after that he was very careful when he touched my head." Booth's imitation of Macready's mingled solem- nity, consternation, and wrath was exceedingly ludicrous, acting that scene. At times his humor was satirical. When leaving a church, in Boston, after the funeral of the eminent essayist and critic Edwin Percy Whipple, — obsequies which he had attended in company with Lawrence Barrett and at that friend's suggestion, and during which he had been annoyed as well as amused by the convul- sive facial contortions of the officiating clergy- man, — ^he remarked to Barrett: "I knew Mr. Whipple, but I never expected I should be so sorry to attend his funeral." When a stage- struck lunatic named Mark Gray attempted to 204 VAGRANT MEMORIES murder him, in Chicago, during a performance of "King Richard II." (April 23, 1879, at McVicker's Theatre), firing at him twice, with a pistol, from a place in the second balcony, Booth calmly advanced to the front of the stage and, pointing at the madman, directed that he be seized, and then, after a brief absence from the scene, — to reassure his wife, — composedly finished his performance. Later he caused one of the bullets, — ^both of which had passed close by his head, — to be extracted from a piece of scenery where it had lodged, and had it mounted as a charm for his watch-chain, thus inscribed: "To Edwin Booth, from Mark Gray." That sinister relic he customarily wore. PRUDENT RETICENCE:— HIS LETTERS. Booth seldom spoke censure of anybody. His spirit was charitable and generous. He particularly deprecated the far too common and always wrong custom of indiscriminate speech in mixed company and about the absent, know- ing that groundless antipathy is a perilous WISE MONITION 205 motive of opinion and that loose speaking often makes endless misery. I have often heard Booth repeat, with emphatic approbation, a moral rhyme that he had somewhere read, which declares that, " If for a tranquil mind you seek These things observe with care: Of whom you speak, to whom you speak. And how, and when, and where." In Booth's letters to me, which are numerous, ranging over a long period and relative to many subjects, his mood is sometimes pensive, some- times gay, sometimes humorous, sometimes sati- rical, often as fluently pungent as those of Byron, of whose epistolary manner I have often been reminded when reading them. He prob- ably never saw Sterne's precept, "write natu- rally, and then you will write well," but he cer- tainly obeyed it. I might, at more leisure, cull out many specimens of his offhand style. This is one that shows him in a genial and charac- teristic light: 206 VAGRANT MEMORIES "Mount Vernon, New York, "February 2^, 1880. "Dear WiU:— " ' 'Tis long since we have known each other,' — so long, that, save for 'The Tribune,' I had lost all trace of you. I'm the culprit, however, for I remember your last to me received no answer. I sent you a Mount Vernon paper, t'other day: the account of the Magon- igle 'show,' up there, which it contained, I see you noticed. Last night he gave another, and I took my folks to witness the performance. Harry's girls (three of 'em) are really very clever, — ^the youngest particu- larly, — and Harry also did his little tragedy 'biz' remarkably well. I always wished him to try the stage. As a light comedian he would be better than many we have, while his serious ability, as shown last night, surprised me. The girls are really talented and very pretty. It's a pity they cannot all go into the busi- ness: 'twould pay *em better than the labor of teach- ing kindergarten and piano-playing, which the girls do, while Harry drudges at book-keeping in Stewart's shop. "We went last week to [Steele] Mackaye's theatre, — once to see the play, and again to inspect the build- ing. It is, certainly, by all odds, the perfection of a comedy theatre: beautiful to behold, in every detail. STEELE MACKAYE'S THEATRE 207 I hope, with all my heart, that Mackaye will be amply repaid for this great improvement in theatrical decora- tion and mechanism, — ^for that (as far as it will go) is a wonderful advance. I don't see why the same method should not be applied to other than the 'shift- less' scenes of comedies. By raising and lowering his stage a better effect in changing scenes would be given than that made in the old way. At Booth's the rising and sinking scenes had a good effect and were applauded, especially when the two movements occurred simultaneously, as they did in 'Hamlet,' several times. Whether it could be successfully done on a larger scale is the question: if so, then the old split-scene style should be abandoned, • in every case where depth can be obtained. "I want to do something for 'ould Ireland,' but have had so many calls of dollars on me that I felt unequal to much in the privy purse way, and therefore asked Abbey and Vincent to help me at the Academy, — as you may have seen, by a card I sent to 'The Herald.' After Abbey's matinee for the same cause proved a failure, he sent word that he wanted to talk with me, about dropping the idea. But I shall not, — carmot do it, decently, and have been in a fume since I sent the message, for I've been unable to find him, and the advertisement not appearing to-day, as I expected, 208 VAGRANT MEMORIES annoys me exceedingly. I shall decide to-morrow what is to be done, and let you know. My date in Brook- lyn is May 3, — one week. It has taken me over a month to reply to your inquiry on that head, so I guess it is accurate! "My wife has been gradually wasting away for sev- eral months, and is very feeble, from nervous prostra- tion. A severe cough, from last September, neglected, distresses her very much, and only since the last ten days has she had a doctor. I've been, at times, quite alarmed for her. Her will is something wonderful: she won't give up, but, though ill enough to be in bed, she insists on going out as often as possible. This has kept me on the visiting list pretty much a.]l the time; in the evenings, either at the theatres or at the houses of her acquaintances, — none of which is altogether agree- able to me ; but then, you know, I have a daughter, who must have society, &c. Thank God, my boy, that your daughters are boys, and can go out without an escort, and that your boys can look after 'Ma,' when the 'old man' wants to roost, as I do — often — when I'm forced to become a swallow-tail and flit 'hither an' yon,' among the butterflies, for wife and 'darter's' sakes ! "I hope to sail, by the Gallia, in June, but I go without an engagement, and may find all houses closed PROJECTS OF ACTING 209 to me. I care very little whether or not I act in Lon- don. Somehow, I fancy that, like me as much as the public might, the chance for any great success there is gone, — ^for the present, at all events. I have so little energy, less ambition, and still less enthusiasm on the E. Booth subject, that the bare idea of acting there is irksome. Perhaps, after a tour through Ireland and Scotland, I may feel more 'i' the vein' ; but I shall then arrive in London too late for the season, and in the midst of fogs and filth, which will depress us all so much that I'll lose heart again. I am going more as a tourist, and chiefly because I believe the change will benefit both wife and daughter — but, of course, I shall, like old Hackett, take my 'fat' along (you know, the old gentleman always carried his Falstaff belly with him, on all his hunting and fishing tours, — by mere chance, of course!). I may get an opportunity to act for some charity purpose, for some actor's benefit, — to 'play the people in' (or out), — but, unless I take a theatre, which I won't do, I doubt if there'll be an opening for 'a crushed tragedian' at any of the regular shops. Irving has, evidently, determined to keep on his beaten track, which is quite right, and other managers are 'skeery' of Shakespeare. We shall see, when I get on the field. "I wrote to [Tom] Taylor, and sent him a copy of 210 VAGRANT MEMORIES 'The Fool's Revenge,' apologizing for my change in his play, and offering to pay the damage if I act it in England. I've done more for the play than it ever did for me, however; but that's 'off': I'll make it right with him. "I believe Abbey has secured Mrs. Bowers and McCullom to 'support' me, but, as I have not seen him since the idea was first suggested, I am not sure. I hope so, at all events, I mean, as to Mrs. B. The gentleman I know nothing of, as an actor. "My wife reads the distressing accounts of Ireland's condition, and dreads more than ever the idea of going : the sickness in Ireland and the fogs of England keep her in a constant scare. "The mention of [Francis A.J Bangs, as one of Abbey's company for me, is incorrect, — I am happy to state. He's a good enough actor, in certain parts, but rather cranky to deal with, and, on the whole, is too 'great.' 'Great actors' are very queer cusses to handle; besides, there are so many of 'em! Nearly every company counts a dozen 'sich.' "Adieu! See me soon. "Ever yours, "Edwin." THE SUNSET OF LIFE 211 "LAST SCENE OP ALL" The last days of Edwin Booth afforded a signal illustration of Tennyson's expressive line, "The set gray life and apathetic end." His successful establishment of The Players, upon which his heart had long been fixed and by which, as he said to me, he confidently hoped to cause the actors to hold their profession in higher esteem, had fulfilled his final ambition, and, though for a while he remained on the stage, he neither attempted nor desired to accomplish anything more. His home was in the Club, where his rooms, reverently kept as they were when he left them forever, still remain unoccu- pied and unused, — an impressive and touching memorial. One evening, when I was sitting with him by his fireside, and he was smoking his pipe and ruminating, I commended to him the resources of travel, to break the monotony of custom. "But I have travelled so much," he said, "and wherever I go people want to enter- tain me, to make me 'a lion,' and I have no peace. Here is my bed, and here is the fire. 212 VAGRANT MEMORIES and here are the books, — and here you come to see me." Then puiSng at his pipe, he added, "I suppose I shall wear out here." So it was to be. Physical pain harassed him: bodily weak- ness had made him more and more languid: weariness of everything had settled on his mind. The noble patience and the gentleness of his spirit never waned, but his expectation was turned eagerly toward the end. Death, to him, was the crowning mercy and blessing of life, truly "a consummation devoutly to be wished." "I cannot grieve at death," he wrote to me, in a time when I was in deep afiiiction, "it seems, to me, the greatest boon the Almighty has granted us ... . Why do you not look at this miserable little life, with all its ups and downs, as I do? At the very worst, 'tis but a scratch, a temporary ill, to be soon cured by that dear old doctor, Death — ^who gives us a life more health- ful and enduring than all the physicians, tem- poral or spiritual, can give." His last two years were passed in desultory reading, mostly on religious subjects, and in musing over the past, and so he drifted away. A GREAT ACTOR 213 As an actor he was great indeed, — ^greater, as I have come to think, in pondering on the sub- ject, even than his wonderful father. But to him living was infinitely more important than acting. His mental attitude toward his acting was not unlike that of Sir Walter toward his writing,— tolerance of an incident to his Ufe, not conviction of its supreme importance as an object and an end. The essential elements of his nature were goodness, simplicity, and power. He honored his vocation and never by word or deed did he countenance misuse of it. But, though he exercised an almost unrivalled sway over both the affections and the emotions of his audience, it was comparatively seldom, even at the meridian of his acting, that his nature was stirred to its profoundest depths and his full powers, aroused and exerted. When that occurred his acting was subUme. He did not possess the organ voice or the huge physical frame of Forrest or Salvini, but, when fully excited and liberated, he possessed the faculty of pure tragic power and imparted an electrical force such as I have never known equalled. 214 VAGRANT MEMORIES Among all the players he, Jefferson, and Henry Irving were the nearest of my friends. Yet such was his pitiful suifering toward the last that when, — thousands of miles away, — I heard of his death I was glad. Booth might have continued to act, as Irving did, up to the end of his days; but while Irving's tremendous power of will made him glorious to the final moment, Booth's dejection of mind and infirmity of body would have caused him to present a spectacle of failing powers; and so when he asked my counsel as to leaving the stage I advised him to retire. As I recall those two actors, Booth and Irving, whom I knew so long and so well, it seems to me that, while in many ways widely dissimilar, they were closely kindred in genius, domestic experience, brilliant meridian achievement, and a bleak and melancholy loneliness at last. The history of the Stage, in England and America, during the last half of the nineteenth century, is intimately entwined with the characters and careers of those remarkable men. The English chieftain possessed far greater executive faculty EDWIN BOOTH After the Portrait ix Oil by John S. Sargent BOOTH AND IRVING 215 in the conduct of the practical business of life: the American, in some ways as much a leader, was more a dreamer. Around their names is a halo of romance that will never fade. Edwin's character and conduct of life are summarized in Hamlet's words to Horatio (which once he told me he hoped might be his epitaph), — "Thou hast been As one, in suffering all, that suffers nothing; A man that Fortune's buffets and rewards Has ta'en with equal thanks." VI. AUGUSTIN DALY. 1838—1899. INFORMED BV INSTINCT AND BY WORLDLY SENSE, HE MADE A WISE RESERVE HIS SURE DEFENCE; LOOKED WHERE THE RISING STAR OF PROMISE SHONE, PRESCRIBED HIS PATH, AND TROD THAT PATH ALONE; 'WALKED CALMLY ON THE WAY HE WISHED TO GO; SWERVED NOT TO PLEASE A FRIEND OR 'SCAPE A FOE; TO ART DEVOTED ALL THAT FORTUNE GAVE, AND FOR HIMSELF GAINED-HONOR, AND A GRAVE. In earlier publications of mine there is some commemoration of Augustin Daly, in part bio- graphical, in part auxiliary to a record and examination of his many fine theatrical produc- tions, and also there is a Monody on his death. I have long desired, however, to do more than this in honor of an extraordinary man ; to depict him, if possible, "in his habit as he lived"; to desig- nate his personal peculiarities; to specify salient traits of his character, to preserve informative 216 DRAMATIC INSTINCT 217 recollections of him as he was in private life, and to indicate his position in the brilliant galaxy of players, men and women, with whom he was closely associated, — many of whose careers he shaped and guided and led to a splendid fulfil- ment. The present book, which at first I had intended should relate exclusively to Players, affords me opportunity to realize that desire. Daly, though not a player, possessed the play- er's dramatic instinct in an unusual degree; his name and influence are inseparably linked with the story of the American Theatre, and it is appropriate that I should include in this series of vagrant memories a reminiscence of that remarkable man, — a lifelong friend of mine, a person of exceedingly complex nature, and, in point of reticence and tenacity of purpose, com- bined with a sensitive temperament and a dispo- sition originally of rare amiability, altogether exceptional. Men of high ideals are often disparaged as "impractical," — as "dreamers" or "visionaries." Daly, who certainly was a man of high ideals, recognizing every duty imposed by his pro- 218 VAGRANT MEMORIES fession, also knew every detail of business involved in the pursuit of it. No emergency could daunt him; no obstacle presented itself which he did not instantly meet and overcome. His courage was indomitable. He was continu- ously impelled by a lofty purpose, and in his complete control and intellectual use as well of the practical machinery of his vocation as of its literary and artistic implements he made many contemporary managers completely insig- nificant. Most of his survivors in the theatri- cal field continue in that state — ^the number of real theatrical managers in America to-day being small. A few years ago Daniel Frohman (who has since abandoned the field of drama to venture in that of the moving picture), talk- ing to me, in Los Angeles, where we chanced to meet, indicated in one expressive sentence the difference between Daly and most of his com- petitors. "Augustin Daly," he said, "managed a theatre: the rest of us are merely theatrical managers." FIFTY YEARS AGO 219 MANAGER, AUTHOR, DRAMATIST, AND CRITIC. Daly was not only a manager; he was an exceptionally able dramatist, a biographer, a writer of fiction, and a dramatic critic. When I first saw him he was a journahst, associated with a New York weekly paper, long ago extinct, called "The Sunday Courier," to which he contributed stories and for which he also wrote notices of the acted drama in New York. He was a rapid worker, deeply interested in the Theatre, eager, practical, and exceptionally industrious. The owner and editor of "The Courier" was Charles Frederick Briggs (a sprightly writer, who used the pen names of "Harry Franco" and "Ferdinand Mendoza Pinto," and who figures in Poe's caustic "Literati"), and by Briggs, with whom I was well acquainted, Daly and I were made known to each other more than fifty years ago. We had tastes and ambitions in com- mon; we were working in a kindred field; we soon became friendly, and, except for one short period of estrangement, we lived on 220 VAGRANT MEMORIES terms of cordial friendship to the day of his death. The criticisms of plays and actors, then and later, written by Daly were notable for direct, explicit, piquant statement of opinion, often condemnatory. At one time, and for several years prior to 1869, he simultaneously wrote theatrical articles not only for "The Courier," but for "The Sun," "The Evening Express," "The Daily Times," and "The Citizen." One prominent characteristic of his criticism was its spontaneous, unaffected, complete disregard of established reputations. It showed itself to be the testimony of an observer who did not admire specific actors merely because it had been cus- tomary to admire them, but who simply described what he saw, and stated the impres- sions which the spectacle had produced. There was no deference to established convention. There was no waste of words. The mind of the writer was radical and straightforward. That characteristic of Daly's theatrical criticism afterward conspicuously appeared in Daly's theatrical management. The writing of criti^ A BOLD VENTURE 2^1 cism, however, became with him only incidental to the more serious vocation of writing plays and of establishing himself as a theatrical man- ager. Before 1869 several of his dramas, — notably "Under the Gaslight," "A Flash of Lightning," and "Leah the Forsaken," the lat- ter freely adapted from the German of Mosen- thal, — ^had been successfully produced, and in that year he severed his relations with the press and embarked in the business of management, which, except for one interval, he never relin- quished till his death, thirty years later. THE THEATRICAL IVANHOE. At the time when Daly took that bold step the leading theatre in New York was Wal- lack's. Booth's Theatre had been open only six months. There were only about twelve other considerable theatres in the city. The name of Wallack had been associated with the New York Stage for fifty-one years, — James W. Wallack, the Elder, having first appeared here in 1818, and having become manager of the National Theatre, corner of Leonard and 222 VAGRANT MEMORIES Church streets, in 1837, and of Wallack's The- atre, near the southwest corner of Broadway and Broome Street, in 1852, subsequently, 1861, moving uptown, to Thirteenth Street. That manager, a superb actor and long conspicuously a favorite in New York society, dying in 1864, was succeeded by his son, Lester Wallack, with whom no one successfully disputed preemi- nence in the managerial field till Daly opened the Fifth Avenue Theatre. The enterprise of Daly in attempting to rival Wallack affected many observers at first much as the audacity of the unknown Ivanhoe affected the populace when that knight rode into the lists of Ashby-de-la-Zouche and struck, in mortal defiance, the shield of the redoubtable Templar. It seemed to such observers abso- lutely incredible that any person should expect to compete with the splendid comedy company maintained by Wallack. Daly was esteemed a man of talent, but of his capability as a theatri- cal manager no evidence had been provided, and no person foresaw the brilliant achieve- ments by which his career was to be distin- MANAGERIAL PRINCIPLES 223 guished. He did not, however, leave the com- munity long in doubt of his ability to manage a theatre. In the first of his play-bills the young manager stated with singular felicity the purpose with which he was opening his theatre. "This theatre," he said, "is opened for the pro- duction of whatever is novel, original, enter- .taining, and unobjectionable, and the revival of whatever is rare and worthy in legitimate drama." A right plan of theatrical manage- ment could not have been better or more tersely designated. The theatre was in Twenty-fourth Street. The first performance, that of T. W. Robertson's "Play," was given on August 16, 1869. Twenty-five plays were performed in the course of the first season, three of them being Shakespeare's. The first Fifth Avenue, under Daly's man- agement, lasted until January 1, 1873, when it accidentally caught fire, after a performance of "False Shame," by Frank Marshall, had ended, and within a few hours it was consumed. Three weeks later, January 21, the second Fifth Ave- nue Theatre was opened by Daly, at No. 728 224 VAGRANT MEMORIES Broadway, in a stone building which had origi- nally been a church, and there he conducted his business till June 23, meanwhile leasing and rehabilitating the St. James, in Twenty-eighth Street, which, — as the third Fifth Avenue, — ^he opened on December 3, 1873, and managed till September 15, 1877. Coincident with that labor he directed the Grand Opera House for three seasons, 1872-'75. A few days after the opening of the second Fifth Avenue Theatre, Daly wrote to me the following letter, which, together with one written soon after the open- ing of the first house of that name, weU exhibits his attitude toward criticism and his work : "Grand Opera House, New York, "January 26, 1873. "My dear Mr. Winter: — "Every hour since Tuesday I have been busy putting the finishing touches on the theatre — and I have delayed till this, my only day of rest, to thank you from the bottom of my heart for your most generous lines about my opening. The entire press have been more than kind toward me : but your brilliant essay upon the work that culminated on the 21st of January is so earnest From a Photograph by Sarony AUGUSTIN DALY, ABOUT 1870 Author's Collection DALY'S LETTERS 225 and so sincere, — I will not add just, because you have always been so, even when you had most cause to be partial, that you will permit me to thank you, if only for the deep pleasure the entire article has given me. It encourages me to harder work — if that is possible — and I beg you will believe that now as ever there is no one's opinion I respect so deeply as yours. "Faithfully yours, "AuGUSTiN Dalt." "»x4 West Twenty-fifth Street, "[New York] June 22, 1869. "My dear Winter: — "I have to thank you very much for your kindness in forwarding my letter — ^so strangely misdirected to 'The Tribune' office. "I have to thank you, too, for some very kind and encouraging words in 'The Tribune' and in 'The Review,' as well as in your pleasant note — for me, and for my new venture. It is beyond all gainsay a dan- gerous voyage I am undertaking, — ^and only cautious piloting and kind breezes in the shape of gentle counsels from such friends and critics as you can prosper. "I expect and hope to be sharply criticised, — but criticism in that case I shall welcome, as the mariner 226 VAGRANT MEMORIES does the firm and steady breeze which sends him to his goal. " I should like above all things to have an hour's talk with you some day, about these and other matters : per- haps you can spare me a call some afternoon : I am home alwaj's between four and six o'clock. "Sincerely yours, "AuGUSTiN Daly." An interregnum of nearly two years began in 1877, during which at first he led his company on a tour, and later lived abroad as a looker-on in London and other European capitals. On September 17, 1879, he opened Daly's Theatre at Broadway and Thirtieth Street, and there he maintained his managerial leadership to the last. He made several professional visits to Europe, presenting his company in London and other British cities and in France and Ger- many. In 1891 he began the building of Daly's Theatre in Cranbourne Street, Leicester Square, London, and on June 27, 1893, he opened that house with a performance of "The Taming of the Shrew," Ada Rehan giving her brilliant impersonation of Katharine. He A SPLENDID COMPANY 227 died suddenly in Paris, France, June 7, 1899. His body was brought home and entombed in Calvary Cemetery, Long Island. A ROSTER OF GENIUS. At the beginning of his career as a theatrical manager Daly was financially backed by his father-in-law, John Duff, and also he was advised and assisted by an experienced and able actor, Daniel H. Harkins, who held the post of stage-manager. One of the expedients of enterprise to which he early resorted was the engagement of many notable or auspicious players, — many more, in fact, than he really needed or could use, — ^his purpose being to con- centrate and intensify public interest in his theatre. By this means he assembled a dra- matic company that was not only exceptionally numerous but of extraordinary variety and talent. Names that once were bright in local renown have grown dim in the deepened haze of many years, but to persons who are even superficially acquainted with the history of our Stage the facts will possess a certain signifi- 228 VAGRANT MEMORIES cance that at nearly one and the same time Daly's dramatic forces included Edward Loomis Davenport, John Brougham, John Gil- bert, Charles Fechter, John K. Mortimer, Charles Wheatleigh, William Pleater Davidge, Charles Fisher, James Lewis, W. J, Le Moyne, Stuart Robson, Charles F. Coghlan, George L. Fox, Daniel H. Harkins, Louis James, John Drew, George Clarke, Mrs. John Wood, Mrs. G. H. Gilbert, Fanny Morant, Henrietta Chan- frau, and Catherine Lewis; that Edwin Booth, Joseph Jefferson, Edward A. Sothern, Charles Mathews, Fanny Janauschek, and Adelaide Neilson acted under his management; and that among the players whose talents were developed and whose reputations were obtained under his tuition and guidance were Agnes Ethel, Fanny Davenport, Clara Morris, EUa Dietz, Linda Dietz, Sara Jewett, Emly Rigl, and, — ^most important of all, — ^Ada Rehan. That entertaining old recorder Thomas Davies, accrediting a figment of gossip he had heard, says that "the Stage never perhaps produced four such handsome women at once BEAUTIFUL WOMEN 229 as Mrs. Barry, Mrs. Bracegirdle, Mrs. Mount- fort, and Mrs. Bowman," and he mentions that "when they stood together in the last scene of 'The Old Bachelor' the audience was struck with so fine a group of beauty, and broke into loud applause." That sort of spectacle was often seen on Daly's stage. Agnes Ethel's loveliness was of a peculiarly sweet, insinuat- ing, enticing character. She actually was a woman of uncommonly strong will and great vital energy, but her apparent fragility was such that she seemed to be a sylph. Fanny Davenport was a voluptuous beauty, radiant with youth and health, taut and trim of figure, having regular features, a fair complexion, golden hair, sparkling hazel eyes, and a voice as naturally musical and cheery as the fresh, incessant rippling flow of a summer brook. CLARA MORRIS AND HER MAGICAL CHARM. Clara Morris possessed the magical charm of distinction, a fine person, an expressive face, a deeply sympathetic voice, and a pervasive strangeness of individuality which, while it made 230 VAGRANT MEMORIES her unique among her associate players, fasci- nated the attention of her auditors. With exceptional talent for the expression of pathos, that singular being was endowed with a keen sense and capability of humor. I have not met her equal among women, — excepting Mrs. John Wood, — ^in the felicitous telling of a comic story. As an actress she "would drown the stage with tears." Sara Jewett was like a rose in her luxuriant, youthful bloom and like a lily in her suggestiveness of innocence, purity, an ingenuous mind, and a kind heart. No such group of beauties as Daly assembled had before been seen on our Stage, nor has any such group been seen since. With almost every one of the players whose names I have mentioned it was my fortune to possess a personal acquaintance, in some cases intimate, and I am admonished of the flight of time when I reflect that most of them have passed away. Their merit in acting and their many brilliant achievements are as fresh in my memory as though they were things of yester- day, but the eyes are closed that once glowed "THE OLD FAMILIAR FACES" 231 with the fires of genius, and the voices that once made music are silent forever. Merry old George Holland, whose aboimding humor neither poverty, sickness, nor the infirmity of age could quench; formal, kindly, dignified, scholarlike John Gilbert, the noblest of noble "old men"; John Brougham, the gay, buoyant, sparkling Irish gentleman, from whose presence care fled dismayed, and who carried happiness with him wherever he went; Davenport, frank, simple, manly, the most versatile of American actors, the best Macbeth and the best Mercutio of his time; Charles Fisher, whose breadth of impersonative faculty was prodigious, and who is remembered as one of the most unselfish and impretentious of human beings, — ^they all are gone, — they, and many, many more, — ^into the world of shadows, into the Great Unknown. There are able, interesting, worthy actors on the stage to-day, but the present generation nowhere sees such an actor as John Gilbert in such characters as Sir Peter Teazle, Sir Anthony Absolute, Sir Robert Bramble, Lord Ogleby, Jesse Rural, Mr. Oakley, and Old 232 VAGRANT MEMORIES Dornton. It seems but a little while, yet it is more than thirty-six years, since, at a Lotos Club dinner to Gilbert, (November 30, 1878), after I had spoken in his honor and celebrated his career, he left his seat at the table, came down the long, brilliantly lighted room, and, grasping my hands, exclaimed in deep emotion: "I never had such a tribute; I never knew till now how important to others I might be!" He was indeed a great comedian; to him his art was a religion. I remember speaking with Davenport imme- diately after he had amazed and thrilled his audience by the wonderful performance that he gave, at the Fifth Avenue Theatre in 1870, of Sir Giles Overreach, — that terrific ideal of ruth- less, mahgnant selfishness and exultant evil. He spoke with enthusiasm about the impersona- tion of the part by the elder Booth, with whom in early life he had acted, as Wilford, and inti- mated that his Sir Giles had been based on that of the old tragedian. "I never played the part so well as to-night," he said, "and I shall never play it so well again"; and then he added: "I OLD ASSOCIATIONS 233 will star in it and make as great a popular suc- cess as Jefferson has made in Rip Van Winkle." He had not considered (as I ventured to warn him) that characters such as Sir Giles and Ijuke and ItLing Richard the Third and lago, how- ever much the performances of them may inspire intellectual admiration, never enlist the sym- pathy of the human heart. His real conquest, — and it was indeed real,^ — was gained with such parts as Damorij St. Marc, and Blach-Ey'd Susan's gallant sailor lover, William, in which he was perfection. With Brougham, whose professional triumphs I had so often seen and recorded, I parted when he was on his death-bed, and only a few hours before he died, and I shall never forget the last sad, abject, hopeless look with which he closed his eyes in mute farewell. Every name in the long chronicle has its special associations. Those Fifth Avenue The- atre days were singularly vital with enter- prise, with achievement, with enjoyment, with delightful friendships, with continual intellec- tual benefit, and, — steadily pervading my 234 VAGRANT MEMORIES remembrance of them, — I see the alert, resolute, expeditious, animating figure of Augustin Daly. Is it indeed true, as so often and vigorously alleged, that the present period of theatrical syndicates, frivolities, fads, and "isms" is a brighter and better period than the Stage has ever known? I wonder! "The quiet lake, the balmy air, The hill, the stream, the tower, the tree — Are they still such as once they were, Or is the dreary change in me ?" CHARLES FECHTER AND DALY. Daly's professional association with Charles Fechter did not last long, but while it lasted it was advantageous to both. Many years later, when it became known to me that the late Richard Mansfield was inclined to form an alli- ance with Daly for a production of "The Mer- chant of Venice," — Ada Rehan to be the Portia and Mansfield the Shylock, — I spoke with Daly on that subject, endeavoring, at Mansfield's request, to promote the plan, since it promised, if feasible, a good result; but I gravely doubted DALY AND MANSFIELD 235 whether those two men would agree, and, in con- ference with Daly, I did not conceal this doubt. "You are quite mistaken," he said; "I should get along with Mansfield exactly as I did with Fechter, — have one grand row at first and get it all over. The moment Fechter began to bully I turned on him and told him what I thought of him and of his acting and his conduct, and I made it perfectly clear that I intended to be, at all times and in all circumstances^ the man- ager and absolute master of my theatre. We never had any trouble after that." Such a course would not have succeeded in dealing with Richard Mansfield, although well adapted for controlling Fechter, who, like most men of an arrogant, domineering disposition, was a moral coward. Within his proper sphere, — ^that, namely, of romantic melodrama, typi- fied by "Monte Cristo," "The Corsican Broth- ers," "No Thoroughfare," and "Ruy Bias,"— Fechter was a capital actor. He required moments of convulsive passion for the full dis- play of his pecuUar powers. At such moments he became inspired by a kind of frenzy, — ^law- 236 VAGRANT MEMORIES less, yet not wholly ungoverned, — which some- times produced thrilling effects on sensibility and imagination, causing wild excitement and suggesting vivid images of human nature exalted into the avenging Fury or the dreadful, inevitable, invincible Fate. His performance of the dual parts in "The Corsican Brothers" was as nearly perfect in that way as anything that has been seen. His Ruy Bias, in the Third Act; his Claude Melnotte, in the Fourth Act; his Lagardere, and his Obenreizer (in the Alpine scenes) illustrated the special excellence of his acting. In Shakespeare he was not suc- cessful, one reason being that he carried into poetic tragedy a colloquial tone and a familiar manner, and thus, in striving to be "natural," became prosy and trivial. By Daly he was judiciously restricted to the things he could do best. Fechter could be companionable if flattered, but he was captious and unreasonable; he quar- relled with almost everybody, and he was ruined by colossal vanity and reckless self-indulgence. Even Charles Dickens, by whom he was extrava- AN AUSPICIOUS BEGINNING 237 gantly admired, was compelled to confess that he had "a perfect genius for quarrelling." The defect was deeper than that. It was a craze of vanity, and it ultimately made his career, which might have been one of continuous benefi- cence and unclouded renown, a miserable fail- ure. No actor was ever provided with better opportunities, and seldom has any actor made a worse use of them. DALY AND CLARA MORRIS. Daly's management of the Fifth Avenue Theatre was, in the second season, specially signalized by his employment and professional education of Clara Morris, a native of Toronto, Canada,' — ^her real name was Morrison, — ^who, before she came to New York, had gained experience in the West. Her first appearance at the Fifth Avenue Theatre was made on September 13, 1870, as Anne Silvester, in a play that Daly had adapted from the powerful and tragically effective novel of "Man and Wife," by the prince of story-tellers, Wilkie Collins. The part, — as Daly long afterward 238 VAGRANT MEMORIES told me, — ^had been allotted to Fanny Daven- port, and by her had been rehearsed; but Miss Davenport did not like it and wished to be relieved of it, and to take instead the part of Blanche Lundy. That arrangement ultimately was made, and Anne Silvester was given, not without hesitation, to Miss Morris. "I tele- graphed to her former manager, old John EUs- ler," said Daly to me, "asking him whether she could play it, and I received two words in answer: 'Try her.' " The trial was made, and the result was a remarkable success. Better act- ing than that of Miss Morris was seen on the night when "Man and Wife" had its first repre- sentation, for James Lewis appeared as Sir Pat- rich Lundi/j William Davidge as Bishopriggs, and Mrs. Gilbert as Hester Dethridge, but the strange, passionate personality of Clara Morris attracted all eyes, stirred the imagination, and deeply impressed the feelings. She was like no other, and upon the total achievement of her long subsequent career that would be a suffi- ciently comprehensive and illuminative com- ment. ERRATIC ACTING 239 It would not be accurate to designate Clara Morris as either a tragedian or a comedian. She was, intrinsically, an expositor of human nature in self -conflict, of the revolt of humanity against affliction and suflPering, of erring virtue tortured in the miserable bonds of fatal cir- cumstance. Representative performances of hers were Jezebel; Cora, in "Article 47" ; Made- leine Morel; Mercy Merrick, in "The New Magdalen"; Alixe; Esther, in "The New Leah," and Miss Multon, in the domestic drama so named, which had been derived from a French play based on Mrs. Henry Wood's once widely popular novel of "East Lynne." Her acting was pervaded by a bizarre quality and fraught with hysterical passion and intense tremulous nervous force, but it revealed neither definite intellectual method nor consistent artistic design. The structure of it was perplexed by aimless wanderings across the scene, motiveless posturing, facial contortions, wailing vocaliza- tion, extravagant gesture, and spasmodic con- duct, — ^as of a haphazard person taking the uncertain chance of somehow coming out right 240 VAGRANT MEMORIES at last. That sort of wild emotional deliver- ance is effective upon a nervous, excitable audi- tory, and Miss Morris was long a popular figure on our Stage. She remained with Daly till 1873, when she went to the Union Square, which, in the previous year, had been converted into a theatre of the first class by A. M. Palmer. Long afterward, speaking to me, Daly said: "Morris was one of the most interesting and talented women in my company, but she was very vain and her head was turned by her success. I soon found her resentful of instruc- tion, so I let her severely alone. She found that she could not get along without assistance, and one day at rehearsal she asked me why I didn't help her any more. I told her I didn't care to waste my time on performers who thought themselves perfect, and after that she took a different tone and begged me to direct her as before, which I did. She was a clever woman, but she never did anything more, after she left me, than she had done already on my stage." A GREAT ACTRESS 241 ADA REHAN'S ADVENT. Daly rendered many, various, and important services to the Theatre of his time, but his recognition and development of the genius of Ada Rehan were the most valuable of them all. A large volume would hardly contain the com- plete story of her career. In Ada Rehan the Stage was illumined and graced by an actress who not only preserved but bettered the brill- iant traditions of Peg Woffington and Dora Jordan. Her rich, healthful, refined beauty, her imposing stature, her Celtic sparkle of mis- chievous piquancy, her deep feeling, her round, full, clear, caressing voice, her supple freedom of movement, the expressive play of her feat- ures, and the delightful variety and vivacity of her action, — ^who that ever appreciated could ever forget them? She raised the character of Shakespeare's Shrew from the level of turbu- lent farce, and made it a credible, consistent, continuously interesting, and ultimately sympa- thetic image of human nature. She was the best Roscdind ever seen in our time, or, as far 242 VAGRANT MEMORIES as extensive reading on the subject enables me to judge, ever seen since "As You Like It" was written, and I confidently believe that, within her special field, — of archness, raillery, sentiment, coquetry, and noble, womanlike feel- ing, — she has seldom been equalled and never excelled. She triumphed not only by reason of what she did but by reason of what she was^ — a woman in whom great goodness of heart was reinforced by purity and strength of mind. Under any circumstances, thus inspired, she would have risen to eminence in the dramatic vocation, but she would not have gained so much success or gained it so soon if she had not attracted the attention of Augustin Daly, and if he had not devoted himself to her training and advancement. When, in reminiscent mood, I muse on the brilliant career of Ada Rehan, as known to me, the character of the woman seems even more interesting than the accomplishment of the actress. She was a creature of simplicity and truth, — intrinsically sincere, modest, and humble. Buoyant glee, a dominant attribute of A NOBLE WOMAN 243 her acting, was equally characteristic of her conduct in private life, and no stress of care and trouble, — from which she has not been exempt, — could dash her spirits or deaden her sensibil- ity. She was ever a passionate lover of the beautiful, alike in nature and art, and she could discern and cordially admire the beauty of other women, — a happiness not usual with her sex. She was intrinsically guileless and noble; gen- erous and grateful; never forgetting kindness, and never speaking ill of anybody. She is the last of the old order, of all my friends among the players, but when we meet, as sometimes we do, I find her still the same gentle, merry, hopeful, sympathetic creature whom first I knew as a young and ardent girl, with all her life before her. Ada Rehan was not associated with the Fifth Avenue Theatre. Her advent on Daly's stage did not occur untQ after he had ceased to man- age the Fifth Avenue and had returned from his temporary period of rest and observation in Europe. Miss Rehan (who had attracted his attention while playing Bianca, in Garrick's 244 VAGRANT MEMORIES version of "The Taming of the Shrew," in Albany) acted under his management in the spring of 1879, at the Grand Opera House, as Mary Standish, in his play of "Pique," and at the Olympic Theatre as Big Clemence, and also, later, as Virginie, in his version of fimile Zola's "L'Assommoir" ; but it was not till he opened Daly's Theatre, producing the comedy of "Love's Young Dream," in which she acted Nelly Beers, that she entered on the career which since has given such abounding evidence of dramatic genius and so much exalted and refined pleasure to the public, both European and American. That career has, in other works of mine, been described and commemo- rated. CHARACTER. In character Daly was self-centred. Toward the world his demeanor, ordinarily, was aus- tere. He believed in himself. He possessed extraordinary power of wiU and an amazing capability of endurance. Under all circum- stances he decided promptly and acted instantly. From a Photograph by Sarony ADA REHAN and JOHN DREW In "The Railkoad of Love" Author's Collection "A TOWER OF STRENGTH" 245 He was not afraid to take risks. He neither boasted in prosperity nor complained in adver- sity. He never broke faith with the public. He never asked indulgence and he never com- plained of the attitude of the public toward him or his ventures. He kept his troubles to himself. Even when heart-broken by the sud- den death of his two young sons, — who died (January 1, 1884) within a few hours of each other, — ^he, outwardly, maintained his iron com- posure, kept his theatre open, and attended to his business in it without deviation from custo- mary routine. He was appreciative of friend- ship and glad to possess it, but he did not seek it. He was not solicitous of propitiating any- body. He did not depend on other persons; he depended on himself. He was mindful of the past and willing to profit by its teaching, but he lived in the present and looked toward the future. He was a genial host, but I never knew him to be tranquil or to impart tranquillity. He stimulated action. His mind was continu- ously concentrated on the active business of life. He thought quickly, acted quickly, moved 246 VAGRANT MEMORIES quickly. I walked with him one day from end to end of the Canongate in Edinburgh, — a fa- vorite street with me, and one with which I had long before made myself familiar, — and, at his request, pointed out to him many of its notable features of antiquity and association. He saw each and every one, but he never hngered. The walk was ended in less than thirty minutes, I took similar walks with him in London, a city well known to him, but there also he moved in a flash of expedition. It was not that he lacked appreciation of what he saw; it was that his temperament was restless and his ambitious purposes and plans were never remote from attention. His quiet hours, I conjecture, were those which he devoted to religion. He was a member of the Roman Catholic Church and a strict observer of its ordinances. "GRANDMA" GILBERT AND "JIMMIE" LEWIS. "Their memory Shall as a pattern or a measure live." There was nothing current in theatrical life around him that Daly did not observe. Once PERCEPTION AND JUDGMENT 247 when I chanced to meet him, in Chicago, he said: "I hear of a new man who has a capital singing voice, at one of the theatres. Come along and let's hear him!" That vocalist was subsequently engaged for his theatre. He was continually alert to discover good actors, his desire being, at all times, to strengthen his company. No promising novice escaped his attention. His judgment about acting was exceptionally quick and correct. He frequently made discoveries. He early perceived, for example, the exceptional humor, fine talent, and large potentialities of success in Mrs. G. H. Gil- bert and James Lewis, and as soon as he could engage them he did so, and he speedily found the plays and characters in which it was inevi- table they would delight the public — as so often they did. There are in each of the vocations of art exceptional persons who diffuse happiness and win affection. Mrs. Gilbert was one of them. Wherever she became known she was not only admired but loved. Her acting dehghted everybody who saw it, — equally the many who 248 VAGRANT MEMORIES do not examine acting but merely perceive it, and the few who analyze it. Character, humor, piquancy of spirit, and flexibility and finish of execution were among the salient components of her art, but deeply interfused with all the attributes of that art there was a charm of per- sonality, keenly felt but not easy to define. She was strongly individual and delightfully genuine. Her auditors became her friends. Those persons to whom she was intimately known discerned the reason for this in her pleasing eccentricity, sturdy independence, inveterate resolution, and dauntless courage, combined with integrity, a sensitive, sympathetic temperament, a kind heart, and gentle, winning manners. She was not only one of the most accomplished of dramatic performers; she was one of the noblest and sweetest of women. Mrs. Gilbert's maiden name was Hartley. Her mother's maiden name was Colbourne. Her father, Samuel Hartley, was a printer. She was born in Rochdale, Lancashire, Eng- land, on October 21, 1822. In childhood she was taken by her parents to London, and there SEVENTY YEARS AN ACTRESS 249 she was trained as a dancer, in which capacity, when about twelve years old, she began her stage career at the King's Theatre, in the Hay- market, — the house which was renamed Her Majesty's in 1837 after Victoria became Queen. Seventy years on the stage! Many thousand theatregoers of the present treasure perform- ances of Mrs. Gilbert as things almost of yes- terday; few, I fancy, realize that she was danc- ing for a living before young Victoria ascended the throne of England. In 1847 she became the wife of George H. Gilbert, with whom, after two years of dancing in the Enghsh provincial theatres, she emigrated to America, landing in New York, October 21, 1849, and going at once into what was then the Far West, — the State of Wisconsin. Her early experience of the American Theatre was gained chiefly in Mil- waukee, Chicago, Cleveland, Cincinnati, and Louisville. In 1864 she came to New York; in 1869 she joined Daly's company, with which she remained associated till its disruption, on the death of that manager, in 1899, and the remainder of her professional career, ending 250 VAGRANT MEMORIES only with her life, was passed under the man- agement of the late Charles Frohman (1860- 1915) : she died, suddenly, in the old Sherman House, Chicago, on December 2, 1904. In the days when I began playgoing in New York, fifty-six years ago (continuing a custom begun when, in boyhood, I used to scare up a quarter, by any labor I could do, and repair to the gallery of the old Museum, in Boston) , the superlative "old woman" of the Stage was Mrs. George Vernon (Jane Marchant Fisher) ; and a charming lady she was, and a delightful actress. I had not seen any player who was her equal in such parts as Temperance, in "The Country Squire," and Mrs. Hard- castle, in "She Stoops to Conquer," and if any person then had told me that she would be sur- passed, or even equalled, in her line, I should have deemed the statement ridiculous. I lived to see her best performances excelled by those of Mrs. Gilbert, I saw Mrs. Gilbert for the first time on September 19, 1864, at the Olym- pic Theatre, New York, when, making her first appearance in the capital, she acted a minor RANGE OF PARTS 251 part, 'Baroness Freitenhosen, in a farcical com- edy by the Countess of Gifford (Mrs, Dufferin, the poet who wrote "I'm sittin' on the stile, Mary"), called "Finesse." The Olympic (the second theatre of that name in New York, the first having been Mitchell's Olympic) was then in the control of Mrs. John Wood, — that most joyous and dazzling of female comedians, that incarnation of frolic. Mrs. Gilbert's first appearance here did not attract special notice. Later I saw her as Mrs. Gamp, as Betsy Trot- wood, and as Mrs. Wilfer, — all characters from Dickens. In all of them she was true to the originals. As Betsy Trotwood she was perfec- tion. One of the most brilhant successes of her earlier professional life was gained by her per- fect impersonation of the aristocratic, formi- dable Marquise de St. Maur, given at George Wood's Broadway Theatre, August 5, 1867, when Robertson's comedy of "Caste" was first introduced to the American Stage, by the come- dian Florence. An extraordinary achievement of her later career was the wonderful impersona- 252 VAGRANT MEMORIES tion of Hester Dethridge, — in a play based on the great novel of "Man and Wife," by Wilkie Collins, — a furtive, stealthy, gliding type of secretive insanity, which she suffused with a fearfully sinister spirit, evincing rare power of imagination. Her range of parts was excep- tionally wide, for she acted with equal facility the Widow Warren, in "The Love Chase"; Mrs. Malaprop, in "The Rivals," and Miss Garth. The sagacious, peremptory, satirical matron, — a combination of domestic martinet and moral regulator, wide awake to the foibles of truant husbands and the pranks of mischie- vous young persons, — was consummately per- sonated by Mrs. Gilbert, who therein assumed a character absolutely antagonistic to her own. Mrs. Gilbert had known hardship and had not forgotten it. She was ever practically charitable. Her intelligence was alert, her per- ception keen, and she kept pace with every movement of thought and enterprise that was proceeding around her. She was not free from trouble, but she was reticent; she kept her sadness to herself and looked on the world with RAMBLES IN DUBLIN 253 a smile. Her gayety was spontaneous, and it was exhilarating. To be in company with her was always to be cheered. One of the merriest times that I recall was a week passed in the hos- pitable city of Dublin in 1888 when, every day, I had the pleasure of an excursion with Mrs- Gilbert and Ada Rehan to visit places of inter- est in the storied Irish capital. Together we saw the birthplace of the poet Moore ; the birth- place of Wellington; the time-worn pulpit in which Dean Swift preached, in St. Patrick's Cathedral {it had been laid on its side, as an old piece of lumber) ; the inscriptions marking the tombs of the gloomy Dean and his "Stella"; the antiquities of Trinity College; the scene, — Thomas Street, — of the betrayal and capture of that romantic patriot. Lord Edward Fitz- gerald; and many other notable scenes and relics. Great was Mrs. Gilbert's delight when, in Glasnevin, — whither we had gone to see the monuments commemorative of Curran, Grat- tan, and O'Connell, — I was blandly deceived by the genial Hibernian guide to whom I had given a liberal tip, unguardedly asking him to 254 VAGRANT MEMORIES direct us to the tomb of Sir Richard Steele. "Up that way," he said, pointing north, "and a grand one it is." I had forgotten that Glas- nevin is a modern necropolis, and that gay Sir Richard died in Wales and was entombed there, early in the eighteenth century. We explored Glasnevin in vain, in quest of that "grand" sepulchre of the merry, gentle humor- ist, and I can still hear Mrs, Gilbert's laughter when suddenly I remembered the fact of his burial elsewhere, and realized the guide's ready duplicity. NIGHTS IN "THE WOFPINGTON ROOM." It was one of Daly's customs to assemble friends around him, toward twelve o'clock on the last night of the year, at a supper in what he called "The WofRngton Room" in his thea- tre, and it was often my privilege to be one of his guests. Mrs. Gilbert was always one of the most distinguished of the company, impressing by the gentleness, grace, and native dignity of her demeanor, charming by her sweetness of feeling and her blithe conversation, and delight- From, a Photograph by Sarony Author's Collection MRS. G. H. GILBERT VETERANS AT PLAY 255 ing by her exquisite, old-fashioned, high-bred courtesy. Once Joseph Jefferson came, and Mrs. Gilbert was seated beside him at the table, — a combination and a contrast delightful to see. Both their faces were bright with keen intelli- gence and sweetly smiling humor, and when Jefferson playfully spoke of the pleasure it would be to act with her it was amusing to observe how instantaneously each of them assumed a different facial expression and a quaint, homely manner, — the brilliant comedian turning toward the brilliant actress and exclaim- ing in the comic voice of the half-frozen, self- important Grumio: "A fire, good Curtis, — prithee, cast on no water!" and the "old woman" promptly replying, in the brusque tones of Cttrii*: "There's fire ready! How near is our master?" Mrs. Gilbert was remarkable, even to the last day of her life, for mental vigor and a youth- ful, blithe spirit. As Dr. Holmes so happily wrote, "Time spares the pyramids and Deja- zet." She never grew old ; she would not sur- render to age. She was amusing and some- 256 VAGRANT MEMORIES times, unconsciously, a little pathetic in her politely blunt resentment of any intimation that perhaps she might require attention or assist- ance. I remember the look of surprise that she turned upon me when I offered to assist her to enter a New York street-car. She keenly appreciated every mark of respect and kindness, but she sturdily insisted on being as brisk as the youngest and able to care for herself on all occasions. The designation "Grandma" was first given to Mrs, Gilbert by Daly, who also sometimes called her "Nan." A play called "Granny" was written for her use, by the late Clyde Fitch. The plan that she should make a farewell starring tour, ia a play called "Grandma," was first suggested to her by my son, Mr. Jefferson Winter, more than two years earlier. The part that she acted in it, Mrs. Emerson, was the last in which she ever appeared. Her last performance of it was given December 1, 1904, at Powers's Theatre, Chicago. She died the next day. The professional career of Mrs. Gilbert is inseparably associated with that of James JAMES LEWIS 257 Lewis, and to think of the one is, inevitably, to think of the other, Lewis was a native of Troy, N. Y., — born about 1838: he was secre- tive about his age and would never tell me the date. "It was long after you were born," he said, but I believe 1838 was the year, — or close to it. He chose theatrical employment and went on the stage in boyhood, making his way as best he could, in theatres in the western part of the State of New York. I first saw him at the Olympic Theatre in 1865, when he made his first appearance in the metropolis, Septem- ber 18, acting in "Your Life's in Danger." At that time and later he was recognized as remark- ably clever in burlesque. From the Olympic he went to a theatre known, for a short time, as Lina Edwin's, in the building, in Broadway, which had been Dr. Samuel R. Osgood's church, and while acting there he particularly attracted the attention of Daly, and he was among the first of the actors engaged by Daly when begin- ning theatrical management, at the Fifth Ave- nue Theatre in Twenty-fourth Street, in 1869. After that, as long as Daly maintained a com- 258 VAGRANT MEMORIES pany (a period of thirty years, except for one brief interval) Lewis was a member of it, and he and Mrs. Gilbert gradually became associ- ated in contrasted characters of regular or eccentric comedy. They first acted together under Mrs. Wood's management at the Olym- pic in, — "by the near guess of my memory," — a fairy piece called "The Sleeping Beauty." THE COMEDIAN IN PRIVATE LIFE. The qualities in Lewis which impressed me most were simplicity, sincerity, quizzical dry humor, and kindness. Many actors are addle- headed by egotism and insufferable because of affectation. Lewis was delightfully genuine. He knew that he was a fine actor and he respected and esteemed his talents, but he was free from conceit. "All the world's a stage," no doubt, but the Stage is not all the world, and it would be a more agreeable world for persons who must know them and think about them if actors would recognize that truth and behold themselves in rational proportion with the rest of mankind. In social intercourse I found Lewis THE DARK SIDE 259 amiable, interesting, occasionally serious, but more often inclined to mirth. As a rule the comedian, in private life, is grave, pensive, even melancholy. John T. Raymond, exuberantly comic when acting, and seemingly cheerful in company with other persons, was gloomy when he thought himself unobserved. George Fox, the merriest and funniest of clowns, was sombre and silent when off the stage. It is an old story, but a true and good one, that when the sportive Grimaldi applied for medical advice to a physician who did not know him and who perceived him to be suffering from melancholia he was told to go to the theatre and "see Gri- maldi." It is not invariably so, and doubtless the reaction from strenuous simulation of mirth partially explains such instances of gravity or gloom. I believe, however, that Lewis was a graver man than his admirers in general sup- posed him to be. I remember an evening when he and I, among others, chanced to be guests of Daly at the manager's residence in New York, and hap- pened to be alone together in the library, and 260 VAGRANT MEMORIES when, after a few minutes' silence, Lewis looked at me very earnestly, extended his hand, and with much feeling said: "You and I, Willy, have been friends for many years, but I never yet told you how much I prize your friendship." There were tears in his eyes as he spoke. I have gradually learned, from the tone of numerous contemporary publications, especially about the Theatre (publications which, it would seem, are directed by persons firmly convinced that nothing of substantial importance was ever accomplished in the world anterior to the happy hour when they arrived to take charge of it), that swift condemnation awaits the impious wretch who utters anything but worship of the beatific Present Day. Nevertheless, being inured to con- demnation, I will venture to state that within about the last twenty years success on the American Stage has, more frequently than ever before, been obtained by means widely distinct from artistic achievement; by advertising expedients, such as are employed to promote the sale of chewing gum or pickles, rather than by intrinsic merit. No actor could be found NO SUCCESSOR TO LEWIS 261 to-day competent to fill the place of Lewis. Indeed, a more conscientious, thorough, scrupu- lously fastidious artist has not been known in our time. His death was precipitated by the feverish anxiety and incessant nervous strain which attended his preparation for the arduous part of Falstaf, in a revival of "Ejng Henry IV-" that Daly had arranged to effect at his theatre in the season of 1896-'97. As an example of artistic cooperation, — ^the ability and willingness to "play together" for the right effect of every scene, — I recall nothing finer, in more than sixty years of theatregoing, than Joseph Jefferson and W. J. Florence as Acres and ,Sir Lucius O'Trigger, in "The Rivals," and Mrs. Gilbert and James Lewis in the Daly comedies. LEWIS'S PERSONAL TRAITS. Lewis's personal peculiarities were many and marked. He was extremely neat and particu- lar in his habits in the theatre, and almost as regular in them as a cat. His preferred seat in Daly's Green Room, — a seat for which gener- 262 VAGRANT MEMORIES ally he would ask, if he happened to find it already occupied, — was just at the right of one of the large mirrors in that room, where he could not see his reflection in the glass, and frequently he would sit almost squatting, with his feet drawn up beside him on the narrow plush- covered bench. Indeed, that position he gener- ally occupied when weary. I have seen him so seated in a moving railway train (for it hap- pened to me to make several journeys in his company), — as a rule riding backward, — and I noticed that when the train passed a line of freight cars his lips would move very rapidly, as though he were gabbling to himself in a whisper. Once I inquired: "What is it you do, James, when we rush by other cars, — pray for a safe deliverance, or curse the noise?" "I add" he replied. "Add?" I asked; "add what?" "Why, the numbers on the freight cars," he answered; "19873 equals twenty-eight, but you've got to be quick to catch 'em all when you're moving and there is a long string. It's a great mental exercise." He cherished many of the super- stitions peculiar to actors. The utterance of a From a Photograph by Sarony Aiiih Scarlet Letter," "The (play on) : 353. "School" (comedy) : 346. School for Scandal," "The (comedy): 185; success of Daly's revival of, 267; 271. Seott-Siddons, Mrs. (Mary Frances Scott-Siddons [hus- band's name Canter, changed to Scott-Siddons]), Eng. act- ress (1844-1896) : 429. Scott, Sir Walter (1771-1832): 213; 332. Scrap of Paper," "A (play): 133. Sea of Ice," "The (play) : 56. Sefton, WilUam: 119. Setchell, Daniel E., Am. actor: 128. "7-20-8" (play) : 270. "Shades of Night" (play) : 356. Shanly, Charles Dawson, Am. poet and journalist: 300. Shaughraun," "The (play) : 428. Shaw, George Bernard, Irish- Eng. journalist, playwright, &c. (1856-19—): 360. Sheridan, Richard Brinsley, Irish-Eng. dramatist, theat- rical manager, orator, &c. (1751-1816) : 33. "She Stoops to Conquer" (com- edy) : 56; 86; 95; 250. "She Would and She Would Not" (comedy) : 270. Shiel, Richard Lalor, Irish dramatist, orator, &c. (1792- 1851): 160. Siddons, Mrs. (Sarah Kemble — Mrs. William Siddons), Eng. actress (1755-1831): 431, 473. Sinclair, Catherine Norton (Mrs. Edwin Forrest), Scotch - American actress (18 1891): original per- former of Marco, 52. Sisters," "The (play) : 91, INDEX 521 Skinner, Otis, Am. actor (1868- 19—): 270; 415. Sleeping Beauty," "The (spec- tacle) : 258. Smith, Marls, Sr., Am. actor (1829-1884): S3; 67; sketch of, 126-137; birth — first appearance of, 127; on N. Y. stage — and a manager, 128; at Booth's — sudden illness — death, 129; quality of as man and actor, 130, et seq.; ver- satility indicated, 132; as Sir William Pondlove, 133 ; rivalled Blake and Gilbert, 136. Smith, Mrs. W. H., actress (18 1861): S3. Smith, Sol, Am. actor and th. manager (1801-1869) : 127. Soldier's Daughter," - "The (play): 140. Song of the Sword," "The (play) : 425. Sothern, Edward Askew, Eng. actor (1826-1881): 53; 65; 198; 228; 421; expectation of, as to son, 422. Sothern, Edwabd Hugh, Am. actor (1859-19—): 317; 415; sketch of, 421-446; father's expectation as to — birth of, 422; first appearance of, 423; joins McCuUough — first star- ring tour — at the Lyceum, 424; marriage to V. Harned — stars — acts Hamlet, 425 ; combination of, with Julia Marlowe — their marriage, 426; repertory of, with Miss Marlowe, 427; condi- tions in Am. Theatre during his youth, 428, et seq.; his repertory, 431 ; periods of his career, 432; quality of his acting, 433-434; early success as Mr. Began, 435, et seq.; qualities of his acting— his most remarkable perform- ance, 438; representative per- formances of — and the same considered, 439, et seq.; rea- son for his success — and nature of it, 443; estimate of his powers and influence, 444, et seq.; 459; 461. Spirit of the Times," "The, Wilkes's (newspaper) : 92. Spoiled Child," "The (play): 62. Stage, the: customary contem- porary depreciation of, 43; a tremendous power, 45; Irv- ing's influence upon, 283; as a profession, considered, 485. Stanley, Mrs. (Mary Wallack) : 77. Star Theatre, N. Y.: 454. Stedman, Edmund Clarence, Am. poet and essayist (1833- 1908): 176. Steele, Sir Richard, Eng. dram- atist, &c. (1672-1,729): 254. Sterne, Rev. Laurence, author, &c. (1713-1768): 34; 205. Stevens, Sara, Eng. actress (1834-1904): 53. Stoddart, James Huddart, Eng.- Am. actor (1827-1907) : 53. Stoepel, Robert, musician (died, 1887) : marries Matilda Heron — music by, 66. Stoker, Bram, Irving's business manager, novelist, &c. (1848- 1912)1 325. Sudermann, Hermann, Ger- man dramatist (1857-19 — ) : 356. Sullivan, Algernon Sidney, Am. lawyer and orator: 176. Sunken Bell," "The (play): 425; 427; 458. "Sweethearts and Wives" (play): 37. 522 INDEX Swift, Jonathan, Dean of St. Patrick's, Dublin, satirist: 253. Taber, Robert, Am. actor (1865- 1904) : marriage of, 459. Taming of the Shrew," "The 236; Garrick's version of, 244 success of, at Daly's, 267 427. Taylor, "Tom," Eng. dramatist (1817-1880) : 209. Tennyson, Alfred, first Lord, the poet (1819-1892): 141; 211; Irving on his "Becket," 289. Terry, Daniel, Eng. actor (1789-1829) : 127. Tehkt, Ellen Alice (Mrs. George Frederick Watts — Mrs. Charles Kelly [Charles Wardell] — Mrs. James Ussel- mann [James Carew] ) : Eng. actress (1848-19—): difficulty of portraying, 60; her charac- terization of Irving, 329; unjustifiable censure of Irv- ing by, 328, et seq.; Irving on, 329; her book, 342; 430; 452; 458; 465. "Tezma" (play) : 358. Thackeray, William Makepeace, the novelist (1811-1863): 341. Thaxter, Adam Wallace, Am. journalist, dramatist, &c. (1832-1864): 25. Theatre, the American (see, also Actor and Stage) : forces now visible and dominant in, 44; attacks on, by clergy — and defended, by author • — and by H. Irving, 309, et seq.; contemporary condition of, 331; condition of, 472; irrational condemnation of, 483; influence of, 484. I Theatrical: indecencies sup- pressed, 479; manager, duty of, 476, et seq.; profession, legitimate objection to, 487. "Thermidor" (play): 353. Thomas, Augustus, eminent Am. dramatist (1859-19—): 499. Thompson, Charlotte (Mrs. Rogers), Am. actress (1843- 19—): 53. Thorne, Emily (Mrs. George Jordan — Mrs. John Chamber- lain (died, 1907): 128. Three Guardsmen," "The (play) : 86, 425. Thunderbolt," "The (play) : 499. Tiercelin, Louis, Fr. dramatist (1849-19—) : 385. Toole, John Lawrence, Eng. actor and th. manager (1836- 1906): 294; 295. Toole's Theatre, London: Daly's company at, 270. • Tosca," "La (play) : 353. Tragedian," "The (book, about the elder Booth) : 163. Transcript," "The Boston (newspaper): 89. Tribune," "The New York (newspaper) : 35. "Twelfth Night": 271; 427; 451. Two Roses," "The (play) : 297. "Two to One, or the King's Visit" (play) : 86. U "Under the Gaslight" (play): Boucicault restrained from stealing stage-eifect in, 280. Union Square Theatre, N. Y.: 134. Valentine, Sidney: 359. "Vanity Fair" (play) : 57. INDEX 523 Varrey, Edwin ( ),Am. actor (1827-1907): 53; 170. Vaudeville Theatre, London: 144. "Venice Preserved" (play) : 156. Vernon, Mrs. George (Jane Marchant Fisher), Am. act- ress: 250. Vernon, Ida, Am. actress: 53. Vestris, Mme. Armand (Lucy Eliza Bartolozzi — the first Mrs. Charles James Mathews, Jr.), Eng. actress (1797- 1856): 49; 50; 51; 58. Veteran," "The (play) : 87. Victoria, Queen of England: 249. Voice of the Silence," "The (author's poem) : delivered, 34. W Walcot, Charles Melton, Sr., Eng.-Am. actor (1816-1868): S3; 106. "Walda Lamar" (play) : 433. Waldorf Theatre, London: 426. Wallack, Henry John, Eng.- Am. actor (1792-1870): as Squire Broadlands, 77; 118. Wallack, James William, the Elder, Eng.-Am. actor and th. manager (1795-1864): 44; 51; 54; 77; his special per- formances — ^his elopement, 78 ; 87; 119; and Wallack's The- atre, 221; 415. Wallace, James Willlam, the Younger, Eng.-Am. actor and th. manager (1818-1873): 52; sketch of, 116-126; mentality of, 116; parentage and birth, 118; slow development of — marriage of, 119; repertory of, and wife — the combina- tion with Davenport, 120 Fechter quarrels with, 121 death.— and funeral of, 123 anecdote of, and T. Placide, 123; estimate of his charac- ter, 126; 140. Wallack, Lestee (John John- stone WaUack), Am. actor and th. manager (1820-1888) : 25; sketch of, 73-115; persons admired by, 73; versatile tal- ents of, 74; his ancestry, 76; date and place of birth — marriage of, 78; "Memories," 79; christened — educated for army — adopts the Stage, 82; pleases C. Cushman — her prophecy about — first appear- ance in London — comes to America — ^first appearance in New York — early American career, 83; becomes manager of Wallack's Theatre, 84; last appearance as an actor — Testimonial Benefit for — Farewell speech — death — burial, 86; his plays, 87, et seq.; his acting considered — special parts — repertory, 93, et seq.; of Sir Oswin Mort- land — of Don Felix, 97; his letters to author, 98, et seq.; foibles of, 101; honored, at Lotos Club, 102; his forgot- ten promise, 103; his memo- ries, 106; same, of his father, as Shy lock, 107; a comedian of the highest order and a great actor, 105-108; quality of his Comedy, 109; intrinsic attributes of. 111; his identi- fication with certain charac- ters, 113; recollected appear- ance of, 114; excellence of, 117; revives "The Love Chase," 133; brings out H. J. Montague, 143; 146; 176; 183; 222; 428; 431. Wallack, Mary ("Poll Wal- lack") , Eng. actress (died, 1834): 77. 524 INDEX Wallack, William, Eng. actor, founder of the Wallack Fam- ily (1760-1850) : 77. Wallack's Theatre, N. Y.: 51; "Camille" first presented at, 65; 78; last performance In, and its demolition, 85 ; 87 ; 88 ; 92; 121; 127; 133; 140; 143; 428. Wallis, Ellen: 353. Walnut Street Theatre, Phila.-. 631. Wandering Heir," "The (play) : 342. Ward, Genevieve (Mrs. Con- stantine de Guerbel — "Guera- bella"). Am. actress (1838- 19—): 346. Waring, Anne (Mrs. W. Sefton, Mrs. James William Wal- lack, the Younger), Am. act- ress: 119. Waring, Herbert, Eng. actor: 359. Waring, Leigh, Eng. actor: 119. Warren, William, Sr., Eng.- Am. actor and th. manager (1767-1832): 26. Warren, Mrs. William, Sr.: 26. Warhen, William, Jr., Am. actor (1812-1888); sketch of, 17-45; celebration of 50th anniversary of his first appearance, &c., 17; poem by author, in his honor, 18, et seq.; his home, 22; effect of gift to, 24; birth of— first appearance of, 26; settles in Buffalo — removes to Boston and first appearance there — at the Athenaeum — at the Museum — death of — quality, as an actor, 27; last appear- ance of — his repertory, 29; kindred art to his, 30; reper- tory of, 31 ; humor and wit, 32, et seq.; anecdote of, 33; letter from, 35; his dread of death — and anecdote of, 37; auction sale of his effects — proficient in boxing, 38; prac- tical self-defense, 39; author's early admiration of, and friendship with, 40, et seq.; a bachelor — fortune of — and characteristic anecdote of, 41 ; quality and influence of, &c., 42; 104; 128; 137; 415; 431. Waterman," "The (comic opera) : 62. Watrous, Charles: 176.' Way to Get Married," "The (play): 84. Webster, Benjamin, Eng. actor and th. manager (1798-1882) : 82 ■ 359. Wellington, Duke of: 73; 253. Wells, Mary, actress (1829- 18—): 53. "Werner" (play): 120. Wheatleigh, Charles, Am. actor (18 18 — ): quality of, and influence, 41; 53; 228. Wheatley, William, Am. actor and th. manager (1816-1876) : 101. Wheatley, Mrs., actress: 128. "When Knighthood was in Flower" (play): 427; 458. Whipple, Edwin Percy, Am. essayist and critic: 203. "Whose Are They?" (play): 424. Widow Hunt," "The (play): 106. Wilkins, Marie, Eng.-Am. act- ress: as Widow Oreen, 133. Willard, Edward Smith, Eng. actor and th. manager (1869- 19—): 85; 316. Willis, Nathaniel Parker, Am. poet: 82. Will," "The (play): 51. INDEX 525 Wills, William Gorman, Irish- Eng. poet, dramatist, and novelist (1830-1891) : 341, 499. Wilson, Hon. Henry, U. S. Sen- ator (1812-1875) : 37. Wilson, John, singer (1840- 1848): 63. Wilton, Marie Effie (Lady Ban- croft), En^ actress (1867- 19—) : 348. Winter Garden Theatre, N. Y.: 52; 301. Winter, (William) Jefferson, Am. actor, writer, &c. (1878- 19 — ) : suggests play to be called "Grandma," for Mrs. Gilbert, 256; finds relic, 99; 333. Winter's Tale," "The: 153. Witching Hour," "The (play): 499. Woffington, Margaret ("Peg"), Eng. actress (1718-1760) : 241. Wood, Frank, Am. journalist: 90. Wood, George, Am. th. man- ager: his Broadway Theatre, 261. Wood, Mrs. Henry, Eng. novel- ist: 239. Wood, Mrs. John (Matilda Charlotte Vining), Eng. act- ress (1833-19—): 53; 129; . 228; 230; 251; 258. Wood, Joseph, Eng. singer (1800-1890) : 63. Wood's Museum, N. Y.: 55. Wordsworth, William, the poet: 169. World's Own," "The (play): 67. Worthing, Frank (George Francis Pentland), Scotch- Am. actor (1866-1910) : 340. Yates, Edmund, Eng. journal- ist and dramatist (1832- 1894): 337. "Your Life's in Danger" (play) : 257. Zola, Emile, Fr. novelist, &c.i 244. A NOTABLE EVENT Unique and Beautiful Tribute to WILLIAM WINTER (Compiled and Reprinted From New York Newspapers.) One of the most notable tributes ever paid to a Man of Letters is that which has recently been tendered to "the honored veteran of our Literature," William Winter, by men and women whose names stand among those at the top in every field of Art and Commerce, Politics and Society, "the choice and master spirits of the age," lead by the President of the United States. Nothing could more impres- sively tell the story of this unique and most beautiful bestowal of honor than the following Memorial, which was sent to Mr. Winter on January 31, and his touching reply: Dear Mr. Winter: The signers of this letter (and many others, who await only a word to join them) are earnestly wishful to express, in some special and lasting manner, the great admiration, respect, and re- gard which they feel for you, — the honored veteran of our Lit- erature ; the Critic, Journalist, Scholar, and Poet, who has so long and so nobly labored for the dignity and purity of our Letters and our Drama, and for the good of the Theatre and the Public. There is no other way in which such a demonstration can be so weir made as by giving a special theatrical performance in your honor. This will enable not only your brothers and sisters in Art and your many personal friends but, also, your hosts of unknown readers and admirers to participate in a tribute of the sincerest esteem. Yonr career, Sir, has been unique. It is fitting that it should be crowned with a unique mark of approval, no less as an encour- agement to others than as a tribute to you. And no time, surely, could be more fitting than the opening of the new year (1916) in which you will celebrate the 80th anniversary of your birth, Such a Testimonial has, accordingly, been organized. Emi- nent men and women of Society and all the Learned Professions have expressed their sympathy and promised their support. Many of the most distinguished leaders of the Stage have already vol- unteered their services, and many others stand ready to do so. The following, whose names are all familiar to you and many of whom are numbered among your friends, offer this Testimonial. We are sure you cannot misunderstand or doubt the spirit in which we seek to confer on you this mark of appreciation, an appre- ciation which we feel to be as honorable to those who express it as it is to you who inspire it. We trust therefore to receive your early acceptance of the Testimonial that we now formally tender you, and we would ask that you address your reply to Mr. Au- gustus Thomas, at the Empire Theatre, New York, who will receive it in our behalf. With the repeated assurance of pro- found respect, we are all, dear Mr. Winter, Sincerely yours. Signers of the foregoing letter are : Hon. Woodrow Wilson, President of the United States. Hon. Theodore Roosevelt. Hon. William Howard Taft. Hon. Charles S. Whitman, Governor of the State of New York. Hon. John Purroy Mitchel, Mayor of the City of New York. Herbert Adams, Pres. N. S. S. Robert Aiken. James Lane Axlen. Viola Allen. WiNTHROP Ames. Mary Anderson, (de Navarro). George Arliss. Julia Arthur. Grosvenor Atterbury. Hon. Robert Bacon. George Grey Barnard. Ethel Barrymore. Blanche Bates. David Belasco. ?'leanor Robson Belmont. David Bispham. Edwin Rowland Blashfield, Pres. N. I. A. L. Jessie Bonstelle. William A. Brady. Anna Hempstead Branch. Edw. Livermore Burlingame John Burroughs. Nicholas Murray Butler. Hon. Joseph Choate. Charles Emerson Cooke. Emmett Corrtgan. Henrietta Crosman. William Courtleigh. Jane Cowl. Kenyon Cox, N. A. P. M. P. Agnes Huntington Cravath. Paul D. Cravath. (Mrs.) Elizabeth Custer. Hon. Chauncey M. Depew. Leo Ditrichstein. John Drew. Emma Dunn. Thomas A. Edzsom. John Elderkin. William Elliott. William T. Evans. Arthur Farwell. William Faveesham. Elsie Ferguson. Minnie Maddern Fiske. Harry Harkness Flagler, Dan'l. Chester French, N.A. Daniel Frohman. Sir J. Forbes-Robertson. Hamlin Garland. Grace George. Charles Dana Gibson. Cass Gilbert, N. A. R. I. B, A. Maude Wilder Goodwin, Edith Kingdon Gould. George J, Gould. James K. Hackett. Elizabeth Hammond. John Hays Hammond. Gladys Hanson. Alice Fischer Harcouht. Victor Herbert. Robert Hilliard. George V. Hobart. William Dean Howells. Rutger Jewett. Robert Underwood Johnson. Otto H. Kahn, George Frederick Kunz. Frank Lawrence, President the Lotos Club. Walter N. I^aweknce Hamilton W. Mabie. Percy Maceaye. Kathlene Macdonell. Logan G. McPherson. J. Hartley Manners. Beatrice Mansfield, Howard Mansfield. Robert B. Mantell, Mrs, Robert B. Mantell. Edwin Markham. T. COMMERFORD MarTIN. John Mason. F. Luis Mora. Florence Nash. Mary Nash, George H. Nicolai. Alfred Noyes. Henry Fairfield Osborn. Frederick E. Partington, John H. Patterson, George A. Plimpton, A. P. S. Tyrone PowSr. Henry W. Ranger, N. A. Florence Read. Gen. Charles F. Roe; U. S. A., Ret. CoRiNNE Roosevelt Robinson. Orlando Rouland. Maj, Louis L. Seaman. Henry B. Snell, Pres. N. Y. W. C. C. Mrs. Spraguf-Smith. John Philip Sousa. Mrs. Edward Sperhy. Francis Starr, Emily Stevens. Frederick A. Stokes. Ruth McEnery Stuart. Henry B. Suelle. Hon, Joseph W. Symonds. Booth Tarkington. Laurette Taylor. Lou Tellegen. Augustus Thomas. George C. Tyler. Brandon Tynan. C. Y. Turner. Oswald Garrison Villard. LuciLE Watson. J. Alden Weir, Pres. N. A. Evert Jansen Wendell, Horace White. Kate Douglas Wiggin, Arthur Williams. Fred'k Ballard Williams, N. A. P. S. C. Francis Wilson. Edwin Winter. (It is understood that many other men and women distinguished in the community have added their names to that imposing scroll since the early announcements were published.) MR. WINTER'S REPLY. To this Mr. Winter replied : 46 Third Avenue, New Brighton, Staten Island, N. Y. February i, 1916. Dear Mr. Thomas: The letter in which, in association with the President of the United States and many others eminent and honored in the com- munity, the men and women of the Theatre tender to me a testi- monial, expressive of "admiration, respect, and regard," inspired by the labor of my life, has reached me. I am requested to send my reply to you. I scarcely know what to say or how to say it. I have never received a letter which has so amazed and agitated me as that which I am now to answer. I have worked long and hard in the endeavor to add to the literature of our country something worthy of survival, and to be of some service to my time. I wish it were possible for me to feel that the little I may have accomplished is important and valuable enough to justify the far too exalted estimate that has been placed upon it, and so graciously expressed. Yet I must not even seem to question the judgment or to de- precate the generosity and the extraordinary kindness which have been manifested toward me and my work. In the words of sturdy old Dr. Johnson — on a somewhat similar occasion- — "When the King had said it, it was to be so!" I have several times been tendered "benefits" which ( for what seemed sufficient reasons) I have felt constrained to decline. But it would be churlish and wrong to repel the wholehearted expres- sion of esteem which has now been offered to me. I should in- deed be insensible if I did not recognize and deeply appreciate its motive, its sincerity, and its value. I can only accept the testi- monial, and I do accept it, in the spirit in which it is tendered, and with profound gratitude that it has been my fortune to inspire such a spirit and to receive such a tribute. Faithfully yours, William Winter. The executive management of this extraordinary testimonial has been intrusted to the following: COMMITTEE General Executive Manager, William A. Brady, Forty-eighth Street Theatre. General Secretary, Augustus Thomas, Empire Theatre, 40th Street. General Treasurer, Walter W. Price, iii Broadway. General Stage Director, David Belasco, Belasco Theatre, 44th Street. Assistant Stage Directors, Ira Hards, Stewart Walker. General Press Representative, Charles Emerson Cook, 33 West 42nd Street. Assistant Press Representatives, Miss Beulah Livingston, George Vaux Bacon. The Performance has been announced to occur at the Century Theatre, New York, on Tuesday afternoon, March 14. The details of the programme have not yet been published, but assurance has been made that the performance will be in every way worthy of the occasion and among the most memorable events of the American Stage. WINTER, WILLIAM. — Poet, author, dramatic critic, editor. Born, Gloucester, Mass., July IS, 1836. s. Captain Charles and Louisa (Wharf) W. ; educated Gloucester, Boston and Cambridge schools, Cambridge High School , graduate Dane Law School, Harvard B.LL., 1857. (Litt. Doc. Brown University, 1895.) Studied in law office of Lyman Mason, also Aurelius D. Parker; ad- mitted to Suffolk Bar 1857, but rejected first case and devoted himself to litera- ture. Began to write while a child. Regular contributor to newspaper and magazine press since 1852 ; wrote and published first dramatic criticism, 1854, and has been, continuously, to present time, a writer on theatrical subjects. First book published December, 1854. Has been contributor to many publications — including Gloucester (Mass.) "Telegraph," Cambridge (Mass.) "Chronicle," "The Olive Branch," "The Star Spangled Banner," "The Flag of Our Union," "The Saturday Evening Gazette," "The Evening Transcript," "The Traveler," "The Express," and "The Critic," all of Boston, Mass. ; "The Saturday Press'' (and assistant editor), "The Day Book," "Vanity Fair," "The Albion" (assistant editor and dramatic and literary reviewer, 1861-'67), "The Leader," "The Insurance Monitor" (was managing editor and staff), "The Petroleum Gazette," "The Evening Express," and "The Tribune" ("Daily-," "Sunday-," from first issue, "Tri-weekly-," and "The [Tribune] Farmer"), all of New York City. Was dramatic critic and editor "The New York Tribune," July 12, 1865, to August 14, 1909; latest writing for that journal published in issue of Sunday, August 15, 1909. Regltlak contributor to many papers and magazines, includ- ing "The London Era," "Frank Leslie's Weekly" (managing editor), "Harper's Weekly," "The Pacific Monthly," "The Philadelphia Saturday Evening Post." Occasional contributor to "The Atlantic Monthly," "The New York Dramatic Mirror," "Munsey's," "Century," "Harper's," "Leslie's (American) Monthly Magazine,'' "Scribner's," etc., etc., etc. In early life he wrote under pen-names of Mercutio and Mark Vale, as well as under his own name. Was well known as political speaker 1856-'60 : alone, and in association with Anson Burlingame, delivered campaign speeches advocating election of Fremont and Dayton. Or- ganized, 1869, Benefit for John Brougham; 1871 The George Holland Testi- monial Benefit, — the first great benefit performance of the kind ever given in America, in which participated most of the prominent actors of the time; 1877, in association with Edward A. Sothern, Benefit for Edwin Adams; and, 1878, second Benefit for John Brougham. At Philadelphia, Pa., on June 6, 1876, during the Centennial Celebration, delivered, before the Society of the Army of the Potomac, his Poem, "The Voice of the Silence" — declared by General Sher- man to be "the supreme expression of American patriotic feeling" — and, at Albany, on June 18, 1879, delivered before the same his Poem, "A Pledge to the Dead." At Washington, D. C, May 31, 1880, delivered his Poem, "Elegy at Arlington,'' as feature of commemorative exercises in Arlington Cemetery. 6 AUTHOR ?OEMs ("The Convent and Other Poems") ; Boston, 1854. The Queen's Domain ; Boston, 1856. The Witness; Boston, 1858. Thistledown; London, 1878. The Trip to England; New York, 1878. Edwin Booth in Twelve Dramatic Characters; New York, 1871. The Jeffersons; Boston, 1881. English Rambles; Boston, 1884. Henry Irving — Studies of His Act- ing; New York, 1885. The Stage Life of Mary Anderson ; New York, 1886. Shakespeare's England ; Edinburgh, 1888— New York, 1892. Gray Days and Gold ; Edinburgh, 1889— New York, 1892. Wanderers (Poems) ; Edinburgh, 1889— New York, 1892. Brief Chronicles; New York, 1889. John McCullough — A Memorial, New York, 1889. The Press and the Stage; New York, 1889. John Gilbert — A Monograph ; New York, 1890. The Actor, and Other Orations ; New York, 1891. Shadows of The Stage; First Series, New York, 1892. Old Shrines and Ivy; New York, 1892. Life and Art of Edwin Booth ; New York, 1893. George William Curtis — An Ora- tion ; New York, 1893 (Delivered Before the People of Staten Island, February 24, 1893; Before Brown University, April 17, 1895). Shadows of the Stage, Second Ser- ies ; New York, 1893. Life and Art of Joseph Jefferson ; New York, 1894. Shadows of the Stage^ Third Ser- ies; New York, 1894. Brown Heath and Blue Bells; New York, 1896. A Wreath of Laurel; New York, 1898. Ada Rehan— a Study; New York, 1898. Mary of Magdala — A Tragedy in Blank Verse, Based on a German Prose Play by Paul Heyse; New York, 1903. Life and Letters of William Law Symonds ; Portland, Maine, 1908. (The following are published by Moffat, Yard & Company, New York.) Other Days — Chronicles and Per- sonal Memories of the Stage; New York, 1908. Old Friends — Personal Literary ■ Recollections ; New York, 1909. Poems — Author's Edition (Defini- tive) ; New York, 1909. Life and Art of Richard Mans- field ; New York, 1910. Shakeapeare's England, Definitive Edition ; New York, 1910. Gray Days and Gold, Definitive Edition; New York, 1911. Over the Border; New York, 1911. Shakespeare on the Stage — First Series; New York, 1911. Lives of the Players — I. Tyrone Power ; New York, 1913. The Wallet of Time; New York, 1913. Shakespeare on the Stage — Second Series; New York, 1915. (The following is published by The George H. Doran Company, New York). Vagrant Memories ; New York, 1915. Following Page is Damaged Best Image Available ingfellow, a er Comedian dckshire Coij , tc, 1905; "T X of many T s— to "As "\ \ he School , ind of var jf onstant," ' "' eorge An i 1867; B> ,?/o d, with I in Broug' - ri 1 Introdu . », id New / s; "Hai .,7 :e," "0th £ .r "Much A HAN ShAK "Ruy Bla nbeline; w ute Notes re's Play, 1 Verse" ; al' ' "All's W mmell," pi late Willi; ', 1887-19( IT Memoi accident, its kind ipbells, fi England 'and. Hi mian CIi ; with G t withdri PRINCIPAL ADDRESSES, not included above, "'^"^f L^i Other American Poets"; "The Higher Life"; "Jefferson, and O*'"" '^"' Vq, "Stage Art"; "The Tainted Drama"; "Coleridge"; "The Warwickshire ^^^ try"; "The Theatre and the Public," Chicago, San Francisco, etc., 19«3' Artist," 1913; "The Bacon Humbug," 1916. ALSO AUTHOR of many^ troductions and Prefaces to Shakespearean and other Old Plays— to Like It," "Twelfth Night," "The Taming of the Shrew," "The Sdiool Scandal," "The Belle's Stratagem," "The Wonder," etc., etc, and of «r original Prologues, Interpolations, and Epilogues — for "The Inconstant, Good Matured Man," "Faust," etc. EDITOR, "The Poems of George An then first collected; 2 vols., with Introduction, Boston, 1866 and 18o/; B 1886; "The Works of Fitz-James O'Brien," then first collected, with duction and Life, Boston, 1881 ; "The Poems and Stories of John Broug' Boston, 1881 ; "Recollections of a Player," by J. H. Stoddart, with Introdu New York, 1902 ; "The Edwin Booth Prompt Books," Boston and New 1878; Philadelphia, 1899 and 1908; (Shakespearean Plays; "Hai "Macbeth," "King Lear," "Julius Caesar," "The Merchant of Venice," "Otbt "King Richard II.," "King Richard III.," "King Henry VIII.," "Much Ai About Nothing" ; Garrick's "Katherine and Petruchio." Other Than Seaks PEAREAN : "Richelieu," "The Fool's Revenge," Payne's "Brutus," "Ruy Blai and "Don Caesar de Bazan.") Also, "An Acting Edition of CymbeHne; wi Preface and Analysis of all the Characters, and Copious and Minute Notes i the Text" ; "Timon of Athens, — Being an Alteration of Shakespeare's Play, f the Modern Stage, With all the Pirose Passages Done into Blank Verse"; al Alterations of many other Old Plays, such as "Venice Preserved," "All's W' That Ends Well," etc. The idea, plan, and story of "Beau Brummell,'' pij duced, 1890, by Richard Mansfield and generally attributed to the late Willi^ Clyde Fitch, are his. Member of Board of Trustees of The Staten Island Academy, 188M9C President that Board, 1891-1907 ; founded there the Arthur Winter Memor Library, 1886 (in commemoration of his second son, killed, in accident, January, that year; now [1910] one of the finest collections of its kind existence). Married, Dec. 8, 1860, Elizabeth Campbell, of the Campbells, fc merly of Loch Awe, North Britain; living, 2 s., 1 d. First visited England 1877; subsequently made many journeys to Great Britain and Ireland, He Life Mem. (the only one) of the Lotos Club, New York; Bohemian Ch San Francisco ; Soc. the Army of the Potomac ; Actors' Fund Soc ; with Gi W. T. Sherman first charter member of The Players, New York, but withdre' Address: New Brighton, Staten Island, N. Y. ; business, care of MOFFAT, YARD AND COMPANY, Publishers 116-120 West Thirty-Second Street, Nbw York . i.i; : i ' I' " 1 1 : 1 :■/ '!^,'l;;:;ii|i!■ ' ' , i' !i ■!'■:•■! II j, ' .!, |l '."!( •I|l!l!llill !!■!!!:' jillil'jli