“THE audience” on the first night of Irving’s appearance in Boston,
said the “Post,” on the following morning, “was not made up of average
theatre-goers; many regular ‘first-nighters’ were there, but a very
large majority of those present were people of wealth, who go to
the theatre comparatively little.”[27] The play was “Louis XI.” It
excited expressions of admiration in the audience, and was as warmly
praised in the press as at New York and Philadelphia. A fine theatre,
the scenery appeared almost to greater advantage than in the Lyceum
itself; and some of the readers of these pages will be surprised to
learn that much of the original scenery was dispensed with. Portions
of the sets, indeed, for all the pieces during the week, were painted
on the spot by Mr. Hall (a clever young artist, who is devoted to the
service of Mr. Irving), and Lyceum draperies, groupings, dresses, and
stage manipulation, did the rest. The usual orchestra of the theatre
was strengthened, as at New York and Philadelphia, and the conductor
had the satisfaction of a call for the repetition of some of the
_entr’acte_ music.
Among the most remarkable tributes to Irving’s genius as an actor
are the critical notices that appeared in the Boston newspapers the
next day; and the people of Boston gave practical evidence of their
satisfaction by attending the theatre in increasing numbers every
night. The fortnight’s work included, besides the opening play, “The
Merchant of Venice,” “The Lyons Mail,” “Charles I.,” “The Bells,”
“The Belle’s Stratagem,” and “Hamlet.” The old controversies as to
the characters of Hamlet and Shylock, and the interpretation of them,
cropped up in the press, and, as before, were entirely absent from
the audiences. They evidently had no doubts; they showed no desire to
discount their pleasure; they found themselves wrapped up in the stage
stories, rejoicing, sorrowing, weeping, laughing, with the varying
moods of poet and actor. They did not stop to analyze the reasons for
their motion; it was enough for them that they followed the fortunes of
the hero and heroine with absorbing interest. They had no preconceived
ideas to vindicate; they were happy in the enjoyment of the highest
form of dramatic entertainment which even those critics, that are
chary of their commendation of individual artists, say America has ever
seen. Said “The Boston Herald,” in its notice of “Hamlet”:—
At the end of each act he received one or more calls before the
curtain, and after the “play scene” the demonstrations were really
enthusiastic; shouts of “Bravo!” mingling with the plaudits that
summoned him to the foot-lights again and again. Miss Ellen Terry
won all hearts by her exquisite embodiment of Ophelia. A better
representative of this lovely character has not been, and is not
likely to be, seen here by the present generation of play-goers.
She received her full share of the honors of the evening, and her
appearance before the curtain was often demanded, and hailed with
delight, by the large audience present.
The “Advertiser,” “Traveller,” “Globe,” “Post,”—indeed all the Boston
daily press,—were unanimous in recognizing the merits of Irving and
his work. The “Transcript” was especially eulogistic in its treatment
of Hamlet. As a rule the criticisms were written with excellent
literary point. It will be interesting to give two brief examples of
this; one from the “Traveller”:—
Of Mr. Irving’s performance of the part we can truthfully say that,
while differing almost entirely from that of nearly every actor that
we have seen in Hamlet, it abounded in beauties, in new conceptions of
business, in new ideas of situation. It was scholarly and thoughtful,
princely and dignified, tender yet passionate, revengeful yet human,
filial yet manly. The Ophelia of Miss Ellen Terry was supremely
delicious. In the early parts it was artless and girlish, yet womanly
withal. It was sweet, tender, graceful, loving, and lovable. As a
piece of acting, it was “stuff’d with all honorable virtues.” It was
very powerful in the mad scene in the fourth act, and yet it was not
more powerful than it was refined and intellectual; and while it may
be looked upon in every respect as a perfect piece of dramatic art,
it was yet faithful to life and true to the best instincts of womanly
nature.