Henry Irving Cordially Welcomed in the Lower Bay.
He Tells of His Hopes and Fears, and Expresses Delight
over Dreaded Newspaper Interviewers—
Miss Terry Joyful.
A leading Western journal pays a large salary to a clever member of its
staff, whose duty is confined to the work of giving to the varied news
of the day attractive titles. The New York press is less exuberant in
this direction than formerly.
The sketches of the arrival of the “Britannic’s” passengers are bright
and personal. They describe the appearance of Mr. Irving and Miss
Terry. The vivacity of Miss Terry charmed the reporters. The quiet
dignity of Irving surprised and impressed them. The “interviews”
generally referred to Mr. Irving’s trip across the Atlantic; his
programme for New York; his hopes of a successful tour; his ideas of
the differences between American and English theatres; what he thought
of Booth, and other points which I have myself set forth, perhaps
more in detail than was possible for the journals, and, what is more
important, from the platform of an interested English spectator.
The following conversation is, in the main, a revised edition of an
interview that appeared in the “Herald.”
“And now to speak to you of yourself as an actor, and also of your
theatre,—let me ask you, to what mainly do you attribute your success?”
“The success I have made, such as it is, has been made by acting—by
acting alone, whether good or bad.”[4]
“There is a notion in America, Mr. Irving, that your extraordinary
success is due to your _mise en scène_ and the research you have given
to the proper mounting of your pieces.”
“Indeed, is that so? And yet ‘The Cup’ and ‘Romeo and Juliet’ were
the only two pieces I have done in which the _mise en scène_ has been
really remarkable. During my early association with the Lyceum nothing
of that kind was attempted. For instance, the church-yard scene in
‘Hamlet’ was a scene painted for ‘Eugene Aram,’ as the then manager of
the Lyceum (my old friend, Mr. Bateman), did not believe in the success
of ‘Hamlet.’ The run of the play was two hundred nights. I have been
associated with the Lyceum since 1871, eleven years, and, until the
production of ‘The Corsican Brothers’ and ‘The Cup,’ in 1880-1881,
no play in which I acted had ever been elaborately mounted. Before
the time of these plays I had acted in ‘The Bells,’ ‘Charles I.,’
‘Eugene Aram,’ ‘Philip,’ ‘Richelieu,’ ‘Hamlet,’ ‘Macbeth,’ ‘Louis XI.,’
‘Othello,’ ‘Richard III.,’ ‘The Merchant of Venice,’ ‘The Iron Chest,’
and others; and this, I think, is sufficient answer to the statement
that my success has, in any way, depended upon the mounting of plays.
When I played ‘Hamlet,’ under my own management, which commenced in
December, 1878, I produced it with great care; and many things, in
the way of costume and decoration, which had been before neglected,
I endeavored to amend. But take, for instance, ‘The Merchant of
Venice,’—it was put upon the stage in twenty-three days.”
“It will be impossible for managers to go back to the bad system of
mounting formerly in vogue, will it not?”
“I think so. Indeed, it is impossible for the stage to go back to what
it was in any sense. Art must advance with the times, and with the
advance of other arts there must necessarily be an advance of art as
applied to the stage. In arranging the scenery for ‘Romeo and Juliet’
I had in view not only the producing of a beautiful picture, but the
illustration of the text. Every scene I have done adds to the poetry
of the play. It is not done for the sake of effect merely, but to add
to the glamor of the love story. That was my intention, and I think
that result was attained. I believe everything in a play that heightens
and assists the imagination, and in no way hampers or restrains it,
is good, and ought to be made use of. I think you should, in every
respect, give the best you can. For instance, Edwin Booth and I acted
together in ‘Othello.’ He alone would have drawn a great public; yet
I took as much pains with it as any play I ever put upon the stage. I
took comparatively as much pains with the ‘Two Roses’ and the ‘Captain
of the Watch’ as with ‘Romeo and Juliet.’ But there is no other play
in Shakespeare that seems to me to so much require a pictorial setting
as ‘Romeo and Juliet.’ You could not present plays nowadays as they
formerly did, any more than you could treat them generally as they were
treated.”
“How did you come to identify yourself so much with the revival of
Shakespearian acting?”
“I will try to tell you briefly what I have done since I have been
before the London public. Much against the wish of my friends I took
an engagement at the Lyceum, then under the management of Mr. Bateman.
I had successfully acted in many plays besides ‘Two Roses,’ which
ran three hundred nights. It was thought by everybody interested in
such matters that I ought to identify myself with what they called
‘character parts’; though what that phrase means, by the way, I never
could exactly understand, for I have a prejudice in the belief that
every part should be a character. I always wanted to play in the
higher drama. Even in my boyhood my desire had been in that direction.
When at the Vaudeville Theatre I recited the drama of ‘Eugene Aram,’
simply to get an idea as to whether I could impress an audience with
a tragic theme. I hoped I could, and at once made up my mind to
prepare myself to play characters of another type. When Mr. Bateman
engaged me he told me he would give me an opportunity, if he could,
to play various parts, as it was to his interest as much as to mine
to discover what he thought would be successful,—though, of course,
never dreaming of ‘Hamlet’ or ‘Richard III.’ Well, the Lyceum opened,
but did not succeed. Mr. Bateman had lost a lot of money, and he
intended giving it up. He proposed to me to go to America with him. By
my advice, and against his wish, ‘The Bells’ was rehearsed, but he did
not believe in it much. He thought there was a prejudice against the
management, and that there would probably be a prejudice against that
sort of romantic play. It produced a very poor house, although a most
enthusiastic one. From that time the theatre prospered. The next piece
was a great difficulty. It was thought that whatever part I played it
must be a villain, associated with crime in some way or other; because
I had been identified with such sort of characters it was thought my
_forte_ lay in that direction. I should tell you that I had associated
histrionically with all sorts of bad characters, house-breakers,
blacklegs, assassins. When ‘Charles I.’ was announced, it was said
that the bad side of the king’s character should be the one portrayed,
not the good, because it would be ridiculous to expect me to exhibit
any pathos, or to give the domestic and loving side of its character.
After the first night the audience thought differently. Following
‘Charles I.’ ‘Eugene Aram’ was, by Mr. Bateman’s desire, produced.
In this we have a character much like that of Mathias, but with a
pathetic side to it. Then Mr. Bateman wished me to play ‘Richelieu.’ I
had no desire to do that; but he continued to persuade, and to please
him I did it. It ran for a long time with great success. What I did
play, by my own desire, and against his belief in its success, was
‘Hamlet,’ for you must know that at that time there was a motto among
managers,—‘Shakespeare spells bankruptcy.’”
“What is your method in preparing to put a play on the stage,—say one
of Shakespeare’s; would you be guided by the tradition of Shakespearian
acting?”
“There is no tradition of Shakespearian acting; nor is there anything
written down as to the proper way of acting Shakespeare. We have the
memoirs and the biographies of great actors, and we know something of
their methods; but it does not amount to a tradition or to a school
of Shakespearian acting. For instance, what is known on the stage
of Shakespeare’s tradition of Richard? Nothing. The stage tradition
is Colley Cibber. ‘Off with his head,—so much for Buckingham!’ is,
perhaps, the most familiar line of his text. We have had some men who
have taken this or that great actor as their exemplar; they have copied
him as nearly as they could. Actors, to be true, should, I think, act
for themselves.”
“You would advise an actor, then, to go to the book and study the play
out for himself, and not take this or that character by rote?”
“Certainly; take the book, and work the play out to the best of your
intelligence. I believe my great safeguard has been that I have always
tried to work out a character myself. As a boy I never would see a play
until I had studied it first.”
“That would be an answer to the strictures which have been made on
you, that you have not kept to the old acting versions, but have made
versions for yourself?”
“True; and why should I not, if I keep, as I do, to Shakespeare? For
many actors Shakespeare was not good enough. A picture which hangs
in my rooms affords an instance in point. It represents Mr. Holman
and Miss Brunton in the characters of Romeo and Juliet, and gives a
quotation from the last scene of Act V. Juliet says, ‘You fright me.
Speak; oh, let me hear some voice beside my own in this drear vault of
death; or I shall faint. Support me.’ Romeo replies, ‘Oh! I cannot. I
have no strength, but want thy feeble aid. Cruel poison!’ Not one word
of which, as you know, is Shakespeare’s.”
“You referred just now to the necessity of an actor acting ‘from
himself;’—in other words, not sinking his own individuality in the
part he is trying to represent; would it not be an answer to those who
charge you with mannerisms on the stage? Is it not true, in short, that
the more strongly individual a man is the more pronounced his so-called
mannerisms will be?”
“Have we not all mannerisms? I never yet saw a human being worth
considering without them.”
“I believe you object to spectators being present at your rehearsals.
What are your reasons for that course?”
“There are several, each of which would be a valid objection.”
“For instance?”
“Well, first of all, it is not fair to author, manager, or actor, as
the impression given at an incomplete performance cannot be a correct
one.”
“But surely by a trained intellect due allowance can be made for
shortcomings?”
“For shortcomings, yes; but a trained intellect cannot see the full
value of an effort, perhaps jarred or spoiled through some mechanical
defect; or, if the trained intellect knows all about it, why needs it
to be present at all? Now, it seems to me that one must have a reason
for being present, either business or curiosity, and business cannot be
properly done, while curiosity can wait.”
“Another reason?”
“It is unjust to the artists. A play to be complete must, in all its
details, finally pass through one imagination. There must be some
one intellect to organize and control; and in order that this may be
effected it is necessary to experimentalize. Many a thing may be shown
at rehearsal which is omitted in representation. If this be seen, and
not explained, a false impression is created. A loyal company and staff
help much to realize in detail and effect the purpose of the manager;
but still, all are but individual men and women, and no one likes to be
corrected or advised before strangers.”
“As to the alleged dearth of good modern English plays, what do you
think is the cause of their non-production?”
“I deny the dearth, except so far as there is always a dearth of the
good things of the world. I hold that there are good English plays. I
could name you many.”
“What are your opinions of the stage as an educational medium? I ask
the question because there is a large class of people, both intelligent
and cultured, who still look upon the stage and stage-plays, even if
not downright immoral, as not conducive to any intellectual or moral
good.”
“My dear sir, I must refer you to history for an answer to that
problem. It cannot be solved on the narrow basis of one craft or
calling. Such ideas are due to ignorance. Why, in England, three
hundred years ago,—in Shakespeare’s time,—in the years when he,
more than any other human being in all that great age of venture and
development, of search and research, was doing much to make the era
famous, actors were but servants, and the stage was only tolerated by
court license. A century later, in London city, actors were pilloried
and the calling deemed vagrancy; while in France a Christian burial was
denied to Molière’s corpse. The study of social history and development
teaches a lesson in which you may read your answer. When bigotry and
superstition fade, and toleration triumphs, then the work of which the
stage is capable will be fairly judged, and there will be no bar to
encounter. The lesson of toleration is not for the player alone; the
preacher must learn it.”