EDWIN BOOTH.
There are many persons who remember the elder Booth, the "Great Booth,"
as he was called, in his palmy days, when the bare announcement of his
name was sufficient to cram our old-fashioned theaters from pit to dome.
He was sublime in the stormy passions which he delineated, and never
failed to draw down from the gods of the gallery the uproarious yells
with which they testify their approval; even the more dignified
occupants of the boxes found themselves breaking into outbursts of
applause which they were powerless to restrain. He was a favorite with
all classes, and a deserved one, and the lovers of the drama looked
forward with genuine regret to the period when he should be no longer
with them. They felt that the glories of the stage would pass away with
him. It was in vain that they were told that he had sons destined to the
same profession. They shook their heads, and said it was impossible that
the mantle of the great tragedian should rest upon any of his sons, for
it was then, as now, a popular belief that great men never have great
children. How very much these good people were mistaken we will see in
the progress of this chapter.
One of these sons was destined in the course of time to eclipse the fame
won by his father, and to endear himself to the American people as a
more finished, if less stormy, actor. This was EDWIN BOOTH. He was born
on his father's farm near Baltimore, Maryland, In 1833, and after
receiving a good common-school education, began his training for the
stage. The elder Booth was quick to see that his boy had inherited his
genius, and he took great pains to develop the growing powers of the
lad, and to incline them toward those paths which his experience had
taught him were the surest roads to success. He took him with him on his
starring engagements, and kept him about him so constantly that the boy
may be said to have grown up on the stage from his infancy. He was
enthusiastically devoted to his father, and it was his delight to stand
at the wings and watch the great tragedian in his personations, and the
thunders of applause which proclaimed some fresh triumph were sweeter to
the boy, perhaps, than to the man.
In 1849, at the age of sixteen, he made his first appearance on the
stage as Tyrrell, in "Richard III.," and gave great satisfaction by his
rendition of the character. From this time he continued to appear at
various places with his father, and in 1851 won his first great success
in the city of New York. His father was playing an engagement at the
Chatham Theater at the time, and was announced for Richard III., which
was his masterpiece. When the hour for performance came, he was too ill
to appear. The manager was in despair, for the house was filled with a
large audience, who were impatient for the appearance of the humpbacked
king. In this emergency Edwin Booth offered to take his father's place,
and the manager, pleased with the novelty of the proposal, accepted it.
Young Booth was but eighteen years old, and had not even studied the
part, and it was a perilous thing to venture before an audience in a
role in which one of his name had won such great fame. But he was
confident of his own powers, and he had so often hung with delight upon
his father's rendition of the part, that he needed but a hasty reference
to the book to perfect him in the text. He won a decided triumph, and
the public promptly acknowledged that he gave promise of being an
unusually fine actor.
In 1852 Mr. Booth went to California, and engaged for the "utility
business." He spent two years in careful and patient study in the
humbler walks of his profession, learning its details, and doing much of
the drudgery essential to a thorough knowledge of his art. In 1854, he
went to Australia, and played a successful engagement there, stopping on
his way at several of the Pacific islands. On his return, he played an
engagement, with marked success, at the Sandwich Islands, and then went
back to California.
In 1857 he returned to New York, and, on the 4th of May, appeared at
Burton's Theater, in the character of Richard III. A writer who
witnessed his performance on that occasion thus speaks of him: "The
company was not strong in tragedy; the young actor came without
reputation; the season was late. But he conquered his place. His Richard
was intellectual, brilliant, rapid, handsome, picturesque, villainous.
But the villainy was servant to the ambition--not master of it, as a
coarse player makes it. The action was original; the dress was
perfect--the smirched gauntlets and flung-on mantle of the scheming,
busy duke, the splendid vestments of the anointed king, the glittering
armor of the monarch in the field. His clear beauty, his wonderful
voice--which he had not learned to use--his grace, his fine artistic
sense, made all triumphs seem possible to this young man. Evidently
there was great power in the new actor--power untrained, vigor ill
directed. But what was plainest to be seen, was the nervous, impulsive
temperament, which would leave him no rest save in achievement. He might
come back to us a robustious, periwig-pated fellow, the delight and
wonder of the galleries. He might come back the thorough artist, great
in repose as in action. But it was clear enough that what he was then in
Richard, in Richelieu, in Sir Edward Mortimer, he would never be again."
He followed this appearance by a general tour through the country, and
returned to New York in 1858, where he won fresh laurels. In 1860 he
reappeared at Burton's Theater, then called the Winter Garden, and added
Hamlet to his role. He had improved greatly during the time that had
elapsed since his last appearance at this theater, and had gained very
much in power and artistic finish. The most critical audiences in the
country received him with delight, crowded his houses, and hailed his
efforts with thunders of applause. This season silenced all the critics,
and placed him among the great actors of the American stage. He bore his
honors modestly, and though he was proud of the triumphs he had won,
they did not satisfy him. There were still greater successes to be
achieved before the highest honors of his profession could be his, and
it was upon these that his eye was fixed from the first. The applause
which greeted him in every city in which he appeared only served to
stimulate him to fresh exertions.
In the summer of 1861, he visited England, and played an engagement at
the Haymarket Theater in London, where he was favorably received by the
British playgoers. At the close of this engagement, he spent a year on
the continent, in travel and in the study of his profession. He also
made careful studies of the scenes of the great historic dramas of the
English stage, both in England and on the continent, and of the dresses
and other appointments needed for them. By thoroughly familiarizing
himself with these details, he has been able to produce his plays with
entire fidelity to history.
Returning once more to New York, he appeared at the Winter Garden, in
the winter of 1863-64, in a series of Shakespearean revivals. He played
Hamlet for over one hundred nights, and followed it during that season
and the next with "Merchant of Venice" and "Othello" (in the latter
playing the parts of Othello and Iago on alternate nights). During the
same seasons he appeared also in "Richelieu," "Ruy Blas," "The Fool's
Revenge," and "Don Cæsar de Bazan." These performances were extended
into the season of 1866-67, when they were suddenly cut short by the
total destruction of the Winter Garden Theater by fire on the night of
the 23d of March, 1867. In this fire Mr. Booth lost his entire wardrobe,
including many relics of his father, Kemble, and Mrs. Siddons.
The destruction of a theater has seldom drawn forth a more universal
expression of regret than that which poured in upon Mr. Booth from all
parts of the country. It was feared that the loss of his valuable
wardrobe would be irremediable, as indeed it was in a certain sense. All
over the Union a general wish was expressed that the great actor should
have a new theater in some of our large cities, and one which should be
worthy of his genius. Mr. Booth had chosen the city of New York for his
permanent home, and after the destruction of the Winter Garden Theater
began to arrange his plans for the erection of a new building of his
own, which he was resolved should be the most magnificent and the best
appointed theater in the world. The site chosen was the south-eastern
corner of the Sixth Avenue and Twenty-third Street in New York, and in
the summer of 1867 the work of clearing away the old buildings and
digging the foundations of the new theater was begun. It was carried
forward steadily, and the building was completed and opened to the
public in January, 1869.
It is in the Rennaissance style of architecture, and stands seventy feet
high from the sidewalk to the main cornice, crowning which is a Mansard
roof of twenty-four feet. "The theater proper fronts one hundred and
forty-nine feet on Twenty-third Street, and is divided into three parts,
so combined as to form an almost perfect whole, with arched entrances at
either extremity on the side, for the admission of the public, and on
the other for another entrance, and the use of the actors and those
employed in the house. On either side of these main entrances are broad
and lofty windows; and above them, forming a part of the second story,
are niches for statues, surrounded by coupled columns resting on finely
sculptured pedestals. The central or main niche is flanked on either
side by quaintly contrived blank windows; and between the columns, at
the depth of the recesses, are simple pilasters sustaining the elliptic
arches, which serve to top and span the niches, the latter to be
occupied by statues of the great creators and interpreters of the drama
in every age and country. The finest Concord granite, from the best
quarries in New Hampshire, is the material used in the entire façade, as
well as in the Sixth Avenue side.... The glittering granite mass,
exquisitely poised, adorned with rich and appropriate carving, statuary,
columns, pilasters, and arches, and capped by the springing French roof,
fringed with its shapely balustrades, offers an imposing and majestic
aspect, and forms one of the architectural jewels of the city."
In its internal arrangements the theater is in keeping with its external
magnificence. Entering through a sumptuous vestibule, the visitor passes
into the magnificent auditorium, which is in itself a rare piece of
decorative art. The seats are admirably arranged, each one commanding a
view of the stage. The floor is richly carpeted, and the seats are
luxuriously upholstered. Three elegant light galleries rise above the
parquet. The walls and ceiling are exquisitely frescoed, and ornamented
with bas reliefs in plaster. The proscenium is beautifully frescoed and
carved, and is adorned with busts of the elder Booth and the proprietor
of the theater; and in the sides before the curtain are arranged six
sumptuous private boxes. The curtain is a beautiful landscape. The
decoration of the house is not done in the rough scenic style so common
in the most of the theaters of the country, but is the perfection of
frescoe painting, and is capable of bearing the closest examination. The
stage is very large, and slopes gradually from the rear to the
footlights. The orchestra pen is sunk below the level of the stage, so
that the heads of the musicians do not cut off the view of the audience.
The dressing of the stage is novel. The side scenes or wings, instead of
being placed at right angles to the spectator as in most theaters, are
so arranged that the scene appears to extend to the right and left as
well as to the rear. In this way the spectator is saved the annoyance of
often looking through the wings, a defect which in most theaters
completely dispels the illusion of the play. The scenery here is not set
by hand, but is moved by machinery, and with such regularity and
precision that these changes have very much the effect of "dissolving
views." The scenes themselves are the works of highly educated artists,
and never degenerate into the rough daubs with which most playgoers are
familiar. The building is fire-proof, and is warmed and ventilated in a
peculiar manner. The great central chandelier and the lights around the
cornice of the auditorium are lighted by electricity.
The plays presented here are superbly put on the stage. The scenery is
strictly accurate when meant to represent some historic locality, and
is the finest to be found in America. Perhaps the grandest stage picture
ever given to an audience was the grave-yard scene in "Hamlet," which
"held the boards" for over one hundred nights last winter. The dresses,
equipments, and general "make up" of the actors are in keeping with the
scenery. Even the minutest detail is carefully attended to. Nothing is
so unimportant as to be overlooked in this establishment.
It is Mr. Booth's custom to open the season with engagements of other
distinguished actors, and to follow them himself about the beginning of
the winter, and to continue his performances until the approach of
spring, when he again gives way to others. When he is performing, it is
impossible to procure a seat after the rising of the curtain. Every
available place is filled, and thousands come from all parts of the
country to see him. Sometimes it is necessary to secure seats a week in
advance.
Mr. Booth is still a young man, being now thirty-seven years old. In
person he is over the medium height, and is well built. His hair is
black and is worn long, and his dark eyes are large and dreamy. His face
is that of a poet, strikingly handsome, with an expression of mingled
sweetness and sadness playing over it. He wears neither beard nor
moustache. He dresses simply and without ornament, and is grave and
retiring in his demeanor. He is exceedingly amiable in disposition, and
is the center of a large circle of devoted friends. He has been married
twice, and has one child, a daughter, by his first wife. He is a man of
irreproachable life, and in every thing a high-toned gentleman, and it
is the high character he bears not less than his genius that has enabled
him to do such honor to his profession. He is very wealthy, and is in a
fair way to become a millionaire.
As an actor Mr. Booth is without an equal. His impersonations are
marked by rare genius and by the most careful study. His Hamlet is
perhaps his most finished part, as his Richelieu is the most popular
with the masses. It has been said that his Hamlet is not Shakespeare's
Hamlet, and this may be true: but it is so exquisite, so perfect, that
whether it be the conception of Shakespeare or Edwin Booth, it is the
most powerful, the most life-like counterfeit of "the melancholy Dane"
ever seen on any stage, and leaves nothing to be desired. His
personation of the grim old cardinal, whose decrepit body is alone
sustained by his indomitable will, is masterly, and we see before us,
not Edwin Booth, the actor of to-day, but the crafty, unscrupulous,
witty, determined prime minister of France, who bends kings and princes
to his will. It is absolutely life-like, and to those who have seen the
portraits of the old cardinal in the museums of France, the accuracy
with which Booth has counterfeited the personal appearance of Richelieu
is positively startling. The plays are so superbly set upon the stage
that we lose sight of the little space they occupy, and seem to be
gazing upon a real world. His Richard has such a strong humanity in it,
that it more than half vindicates the humpbacked tyrant's memory, and
the death scene of this play, as given by Booth, is simply appalling.
It is in vain, however, that we select special characters or attempt
descriptions of them. No one can truly understand Edwin Booth's acting
without seeing it. He has studied his heroes so profoundly, analyzed
their characters so subtly, and entered so heartily into sympathy with
them, that he has, become able, by the aid of his wonderful genius, to
entirely discard his own personality, and assume theirs at will.
Mr. Booth has steadily risen in power and finish as an actor, for his
labors have been unceasing. Great as his triumphs have been, he does
not regard himself as freed from the necessity of study. His studies
have become more intelligent than in former years, but not the less
faithful. He has the true artist's aspiration after the rarest
perfection in his art, though to those of us without the charmed circle
it is difficult to see how he can excel his present excellence. Yet that
he does so we have undoubted proof, for we see him rising higher in the
admiration and esteem of the world every year, and each year we gather
fresh laurels to twine around his brows.
He has steadily educated his audiences, and has elevated the standard of
his art among his countrymen. He has shown them what fine acting really
is, and has taught them to enjoy it. He has kept them true to the
legitimate drama, and has done more than any other man to rescue the
American stage from the insignificance with which it was threatened. It
speaks volumes for him as an actor and a manager, that when New York
seemed wholly given up to ballet, burlesque, and opera bouffe, he was
able to make the almost forgotten masterpieces of Shakespeare the most
popular and most profitable dramatic ventures of the year.
[Illustration: JEFFERSON, AS RIP VAN WINKLE.]