_A Daily News Reporter climbs into the English Tragedian’s Special
Train, and Interviews him._
MISS ELLEN TERRY thinks her AMERICAN SISTERS “Very nice,” but she has
not yet seen DAISY MILLER.
Then he goes on to narrate his own adventures, and the results, and
without much exaggeration, almost as follows:—
“Mr. Henry Irving, the notable English actor, is in Chicago now, and
so is the ‘Daily News’ man, who accompanied him part of the way. The
manner in which these two—the great representative of the British
stage and its latest and finest fruition, and the modest representative
of the ‘Daily News’—met was quite peculiar; and it may be amusing to
a discerning public to, for once, learn that the interviewer’s path is
not always strewn with roses when he sets out upon his way past the
thorny hedges that beset his road. Who doesn’t pity him in his various
plights, and concede that naught but the reputation of Chicago for
having the pluckiest and most irrepressible reporters did not make
him wilt long before accomplishing his task, must bear a stone in his
bosom, instead of the usual muscular fibre called a human heart.
“It is well known to the newspaper fraternity that Mr. Irving holds
the interviewer in dread, and that nearly all the so-called interviews
with him published in the American papers have been spurious. Duly
appreciating this fact, the ‘Daily News’ man had not only been
munificently fitted out with the requisite lucre by the business
department, but had furthermore been furnished with a letter of
introduction,—one of the combination sort,—addressed to both Mr.
Copleston, Manager Abbey’s representative, and to Mr. Palser,[36]
couched in terms to make the flintiest heart melt. Thus attired,
then, the emissary boarded at Fort Wayne the train which had carried
safely thus far Cæsar and his luck from Jersey City. Entry to the
cars was effected with difficulty, the rules proscribing any but the
theatrical company for whom the train was chartered from riding in
it. Perseverance and gall in equal doses prevailed, however, as they
usually do, and the drowsy Senegambian, who was doing the Cerberus
act, at the entrance of the car, yielded to an amount of eloquence
perhaps never before brought to bear upon his pachydermatous anatomy.
As soon as the train had started, a still-hunt was begun for the two
prospective victims, Miss Terry and Mr. Irving. Alas! they had both
obeyed nature’s call, and were at that moment sweetly slumbering,
oblivious even of the Chicago interviewer. Everybody else was likewise
sleeping, even unto the dusky porters. Passing up and down the train
from end to end, nothing but the cheerful and melodious British snore
greeted the attentive ear. Here, to the right, it was the wheezing note
of a snore combined with a cold; there, it was the thundering roll of
a _snoro basso profundo;_ across the aisle the gentler breathing of
some youthful British blonde, struck the expectant senses, and again a
confused jumble of snores, of all sexes and ages, would fall ‘with a
dull thud’ upon the tympanum of the investigator. It forced itself upon
the latter’s conviction that it would be a difficult matter to attain
the object for which he had been deputed. It was then after three
o’clock. The train was due in Chicago at eight, and it looked very
unlikely that Mr. Irving would overcome his aversion to interviewing
and grant audience to a stranger at such a time. This was a hiatus
which had not been thought of, and the ‘Daily News’ man sat down in an
abandoned chair (on which were peacefully reclining some articles of
feminine attire), and reflected. Reflecting, he caught himself in a
nap, and woke out of it with a slight shudder. He gave himself a poke
in the rib and muttered, in grave-like accents: ‘_Nil desperandum_.’
“The next move in the direction of the desired interview was a vigorous
rap administered to the saddle-colored individual who in that car
discharged the duties of collecting ‘50 cents all ‘round.’ When the
kicked one had gathered up his portly limbs he was sent on a search
for Mr. Palser first, and, that proving unavailing, on a hunt for Mr.
Copleston. The latter, after considerable energy had been expended by
the colored brother, awoke and gave vent to his indignation at having
been thus rudely snatched from Morpheus’s arms. He did so in rather
vigorous style and language, which, under the circumstances, was hardly
to be wondered at. He declined to come forth from under his blankets,
and not even the cutting repartee of the reporter could rouse him. He
said he had been but an hour and a half asleep, he and some friends in
another car having played poker till very late, and he, the speaker,
having lost quite heavily. He wouldn’t, couldn’t, shouldn’t get up and
wake Mr. Irving, and an interview, he concluded, on the train was an
impossibility.
“‘Here is a fix,’ was the mental commentary. Poking his hand in here
and there into berths, and being startled now by the apparition of a
female face, then by a powerful snort of defiance from some male actor,
the investigator finally groped his way back into the rear car, one of
the palace pattern, placed at Mr. Irving’s disposal by Mr. Blanchard
of the Erie road. And there he found, at last, Mr. Irving, who, being
duly apprised of the mission of his unwelcome visitor, and having a
bit of pasteboard with the latter’s address thrust into his unwilling
palm, murmured plaintively, but politely, that he would see him before
reaching Chicago. Later on, Mr. Abbey’s services were enlisted in
the same cause, and his promise to the same effect obtained. Wearily
the time dragged on, till but another twenty-five miles lay between
the train and its destination. Just at this opportune moment the
great actor’s friend, Mr. Joseph Hatton, stepped up and invited the
hungry, wild, and desperate minion of the press to partake of a cup
of coffee. Gladly this was accepted, and, being made aware of what
was wanted, he, with the sympathizing spirit of a brother journalist,
said he would try and have Mr. Irving appear. Mr. Hatton, by the way,
is the famous London correspondent of the ‘New York Times,’ and is
accompanying Mr. Irving for the purpose of gathering material for a
book, in which jointly the impressions of American travel of himself
and the eminent actor will be deposited. While he went off to wake Mr.
Irving, another trip was taken to Mr. Abbey’s room, in doing which,
both coming and returning, the reporter’s modesty underwent the severe
ordeal of passing in review a large array of British beauties, all in
different stages of evolution—as to dress—and all talking sauce in
choice Cockney English at him for his ‘shocking impropriety.’ When the
somewhat cowed Daily Newsian returned to his cup of coffee he found
not only Mr. Copleston, the surly bear of a few hours ago, transformed
into a most amiable gentleman, but also among the other gentlemen, Mr.
Irving himself.
“‘After the tedious business of introduction had been gone through
with all around; after it had been remarked that the trip had been a
trying one to them all, as not being used to these long journeys in
their tight little island, where a twelve hours’ ride was considered
the utmost,—after saying this, all felt broke up, and, expressing
anxiety as to the Siberian climate of Chicago, Mr. Irving took out his
cigar-case, invited his _vis-à-vis_ to light one of his choice weeds,
and then prepared himself for the torture to be inflicted.
“‘What is your opinion of dramatic art, especially when comparing the
English with the American, and both with the French tragedians?’ was
the first query.
“‘English dramatic art is improving, I think, and the prospects for it
are brightening,’ he said, slowly and reflectively. ‘I’ve seen fine
acting in some of your American theatres—very fine acting; very fine.’
“‘What do you think of the custom of mutilating and cutting up and
abbreviating the pieces of classical authors when presented on the
stage? In “The Merchant of Venice,” for instance, the last act is
omitted so as to give Shylock the exit. Do you approve of such methods,
Mr. Irving?’
“‘No, I do not; but the custom is such an old one it is very difficult
to alter it. The cause of it is, I suppose, that our forefathers didn’t
know so well, nor did they read Shakespeare much. It is but very
recently, for example, that “Romeo and Juliet,” “Richard III.,” and
“King Lear” have been spoken on the stage the way Shakespeare wrote
them. Of the last one Garrick’s version has been used for a century.
Yet I do not think it right. Shakespeare is difficult to improve upon.
Better let him alone.’
“‘How are you pleased with your reception in America?’
“‘Beyond all expectation and desert. I have been treated with a
kindness, courteousness, and hospitality that have been really touching
to me. And this, you know, has been done despite the fact that my
trip to America had not been indorsed by all. While on my way across
the Atlantic, for instance, a London daily paper published a leading
article on me, suggesting to the Americans not to receive me cordially;
and, not satisfied with this, the article was cabled over before our
arrival. I thought this unfair and ungenerous. I like America, of
course, though like is hardly the proper term. I feel deeply grateful
to the American people for the very kind manner in which they have
treated me. But you must come to the theatre to-night. I am sorry that
Miss Terry will not play to-night.’
“‘I noticed in the papers that you have always expressed yourself in a
very chivalrous spirit when speaking of Miss Terry, sir.’
“‘That is because I have the highest respect for the lady, both for her
character and her talents.’
“‘Now, Mr. Irving, shirking your modesty for a moment, and assuming as
a settled fact that you are one of the most eminent actors living, what
made you such? What cause or causes do you attribute your good acting
to?’
“‘To acting.’
“‘What do you mean by that? This answer is not quite clear to me.’
“‘I merely want to say that by incessant acting, and love and study of
my art, I have attained whatever position I hold in my profession. This
is a leading cause, as it is, I believe, in every other art.’
“‘What made you choose “Louis XI.” in preference to “The Bells” as your
first piece here, Mr. Irving?’
“‘Because it takes the least amount of stage preparation, that’s
all. That reminds me to say that the reports you have heard about my
gorgeous scenery, etc., you will find, I think, exaggerated. Our stage
decorations are quite simple, and their beauty consists merely in their
nice adjustment, and the scrupulous calculation of the effect produced
by them on the audience.’
“Meanwhile Miss Terry’s maid had been very busy preparing tea and
buttered toast for her mistress, taking out dainty little things for
wear out of a big lockbasket. Being repeatedly asked if Miss Terry
could not be seen a moment, the train meanwhile arrived in Chicago,
and most of the other actors and actresses having got off, she made
evasive answers. Suddenly, however, the door opened, and a very
pretty lady looked briskly around. This, then, was Miss Ellen Terry!
A beautiful woman, indeed! Lustrous eyes of rare azure; a profuseness
of wavy blonde hair, long and of a luminous shade and silky texture;
the form lithe, yet full, every motion of a natural supple grace. She
was shaking hands with the ‘Daily News’ man, even while Mr. Copleston
introduced him, and then scurried back into the dark depths of her
room, where she continued wailing: ‘I’ve lost my luck! I’ve lost my
luck,—my beautiful horseshoe brooch, which I wouldn’t have missed for
the world!’ And maid and mistress went down on their knees, peering
into every nook and cranny. While still thus employed: ‘You see, Miss
Terry, the Chicago reporter is the first introduced to give you a
hearty greeting to this city, and to hope you’ll like your stay here as
well as I am sure Chicago will like to hold you within her walls.’
“‘Thanks! thanks!’ said Miss Terry, and then continued her search for
that obstreperous brooch.
“‘And what do you think of America?’
“Miss Terry held up a round, well-shaped arm appealingly, and merely
said. ‘No, no. You mustn’t try to interview me. I won’t stumble into
that pitfall.’
“‘How do you like the American women, then?’
“‘Very nice and pretty they are,—those I’ve seen, at least. I think we
must say, in this regard, what Lord Coleridge did: ‘They can’t be all
so nice and pretty; I suppose I’ve only seen the nicest ones.’ And one
thing I’ll tell you which I have not seen; I’ve never set eyes on any
Daisy Millers.’
“‘Of course not,’ rejoined the reporter. ‘Who ever heard of or saw a
Daisy Miller outside of a book? That’s a character you’ll only find in
James’s novel,—not in America, Miss Terry.’
“And thus, still hunting for that unfortunate brooch, which she
plaintively called her ‘lost luck,’ and so apparently a kind of voodoo
or talisman, the reporter left her, momentarily feeling a ray out of
the sun of her glorious eyes lighting up his departure. It was a little
after eight o’clock then, and, while she soon after went by carriage to
the Leland Hotel, Mr. Irving put up at the Grand Pacific, and was, two
hours later, busily arranging things at Haverly’s Theatre.”