In glancing back over two crowded and busy seasons, one figure stands
out with clearness and beauty. In his case only (so far as my
personal knowledge goes), there was nothing derogatory to dignity or
to manhood in being called beautiful, for he was that bud of splendid
promise blasted to the core, before its full triumphant
blooming--known to the world as a madman and an assassin, but to the
profession as "that unhappy boy"--John Wilkes Booth.
He was so young, so bright, so gay--so kind. I could not have known
him well; of course, too--there are two or three different people in
every man's skin; yet when we remember that stars are not generally in
the habit of showing their brightest, their best side to the company
at rehearsal, we cannot help feeling both respect and liking for the
one who does.
There are not many men who can receive a gash over the eye in a scene
at night, without at least a momentary outburst of temper; but when
the combat between Richard and Richmond was being rehearsed, Mr. Booth
had again and again urged Mr. McCollom (that six-foot tall and
handsome leading-man, who entrusted me with the care of his watch
during such encounters) to come on hard! to come on hot! hot, old
fellow! harder-faster! He'd take the chance of a blow--if only they
could make a hot fight of it!
And Mr. McCollom, who was a cold man, at night became nervous in his
effort to act like a fiery one--he forgot he had struck the full
number of head blows, and when Booth was pantingly expecting a
thrust, McCollom, wielding his sword with both hands, brought it down
with awful force fair across Booth's forehead; a cry of horror rose,
for in one moment his face was masked in blood, one eyebrow was
cleanly cut through--there came simultaneously one deep groan from
Richard and the exclamation: "Oh, good God! good God!" from Richmond,
who stood shaking like a leaf and staring at his work. Then Booth,
flinging the blood from his eyes with his left hand, said as genially
as man could speak: " That's all right, old man! never mind me--only
come on hard, for God's sake, and save the fight!"
Which be resumed at once, and though he was perceptibly weakened, it
required the sharp order of Mr. Ellsler, to "ring the first curtain
bell," to force him to bring the fight to a close a single blow
shorter than usual. Then there was a running to and fro, with ice and
vinegar-paper and raw steak and raw oysters. When the doctor had
placed a few stitches where they were most required, he laughingly
declared there was provision enough in the room to start a restaurant.
Mr. McCollom came to try to apologise--to explain, but Booth would
have none of it; be held out his hand, crying: "Why, old fellow, you
look as if you had lost the blood. Don't worry--now if my eye had
gone, that would have been bad!" And so with light words he tried to
set the unfortunate man at ease, and though he must have suffered much
mortification as well as pain from the eye--that in spite of all
endeavours would blacken--he never made a sign.
He was, like his great elder brother, rather lacking in height, but
his head and throat, and the manner of their rising from his
shoulders, were truly beautiful, His colouring was unusual--the ivory
pallor of his skin, the inky blackness of his densely thick hair, the
heavy lids of his glowing eyes were all Oriental, and they gave a
touch of mystery to his face when it fell into gravity--but there was
generally a flash of white teeth behind his silky moustache, and a
laugh in his eyes.
I played the Player-Queen to my great joy, and in the "Marble Heart" I
was one of the group of three statues in the first act. We were
supposed to represent Lais, Aspasia, and Phryne, and when we read the
cast I glanced at the other girls (we were not strikingly handsome)
and remarked, gravely: "Well, it's a comfort to know that we look so
like the three beautiful Grecians."
A laugh at our backs brought us around suddenly to face Mr. Booth, who
said to me:
"You satirical little wretch, how do you come to know these Grecian
ladies? Perhaps you have the advantage of them in being all beautiful
within?"
"I wish it would strike outward then," I answered. "You know it's
always best to have things come to the surface!"
"I know some very precious things are hidden from common sight; and I
know, too, you caught my meaning in the first place. Good night!" and
he left us.
We had been told to descend to the stage at night with our white robes
hanging free and straight, that Mr. Booth himself might drape them as
we stood upon the pedestal. It really is a charming picture--that of
the statues in the first act. Against a backing of black velvet the
three white figures, carefully posed, strongly lighted, stand out so
marble-like that when they slowly turn their faces and point to their
chosen master, the effect is uncanny enough to chill the looker-on.
Well, with white wigs, white tights, and white robes, and half
strangled with the powder we had inhaled in our efforts to make our
lips stay white, we cautiously descended the stairs we dared not
talk, we dared not blink our eyes, for fear of disturbing the coat of
powder-we were lifted to the pedestal and took our places as we
expected to stand. Then Mr. Booth came--such a picture in his Greek
garments as made even the men exclaim at him--and began to pose us.
It happened one of us had very good limbs, one medium good, and the
third had, apparently, walked on broom-sticks. When Mr. Booth
slightly raised the drapery of No. 3 his features gave a twist as
though he had suddenly tasted lemon-juice, but quick as a flash he
said:
"I believe I'11 advance you to the centre for the stately and wise
Aspasia"--the central figure wore her draperies hanging straight to
her feet, hence the "advance" and consequent concealment of the
unlovely limbs. It was quickly and kindly done, for the girl was not
only spared mortification, but in the word "advance" she saw a
compliment and was happy accordingly. Then my turn came. My arms
were placed about Aspasia, my head bent and turned and twisted--my
upon my breast so that the forefinger touched my chin--I felt I was a
personified simper; but I was silent and patient, until the
arrangement of my draperies began--then I squirmed anxiously.
"Take care--take care!" he cautioned. "You will sway the others if
you move!" But in spite of the risk of my marble makeup I faintly
groaned: "Oh dear! must it be like that?"
Regardless of the pins in the corner of his mouth he burst into
laughter, and, taking a photograph from the bosom of his Greek shirt,
he said: "I expected a protest from you, Miss, so I came
prepared--don't move your head, but just look at this."
He held the picture of a group of statuary up to me. "This is you on
the right. It's not so dreadful; now, is it?" And I cautiously
murmured: "That if I wasn't any worse than that I wouldn't mind."
And so we were all satisfied, and our statue scene was very
successful. Next morning I saw Mr. Booth come running out of the
theatre on his way to the telegraph office at the corner, and right in
the middle of the walk, staring about him, stood a child--a small
roamer of the stony streets, who had evidently got far enough beyond
his native ward to arouse misgivings as to his personal safety, and at
the very moment he stopped to consider matters Mr. Booth dashed out of
the stage-door and added to his bewilderment by capsizing him
completely.
"Oh, good lord! Baby, are you hurt?" exclaimed Mr. Booth, pausing
instantly to pick up the dirty, tousled small heap and stand it on its
bandy legs again.
"Don't cry, little chap!" And the aforesaid little chap not only
ceased to cry, but gave him a damp and grimy smile, at which the actor
bent towards him quickly, but paused, took out his handkerchief, and
first carefully wiping the dirty little nose and mouth, stooped and
kissed him heartily, put some change in each freckled paw, and
continued his run to the telegraph office.
He knew of no witness to the act. To kiss a pretty, clean child under
the approving eyes of mamma might mean nothing but politeness, but
surely it required the prompting of a warm and tender heart to make a
young and thoughtless man feel for and caress such a dirty, forlorn
bit of babyhood as that.
Of his work I suppose I was too young and too ignorant to judge
correctly, but I remember well hearing the older members of the
company express their opinions. Mr. Ellsler, who had been on terms of
friendship with the elder Booth, was delighted with the promise of his
work. He greatly admired Edwin's intellectual power, his artistic
care; but "John," he cried, "has more of the old man's power in one
performance than Edwin can show in a year. He has the fire, the dash,
the touch of strangeness. He often produces unstudied effects at
night. I question him: 'Did you rehearse that business to-day, John?'
He answers:
'No; I didn't rehearse it, it just came to me in the scene and I
couldn't help doing it, but it went all right didn't it?' Full of
impulse just now, like a colt, his heels are in the air nearly as
often as his head, but wait a year or two till he gets used to the
harness and quiets down a bit, and you will see as great an actor as
America can produce!"
One morning, going on the stage where a group were talking with John
Wilkes, I beard him say: "No; oh, no: There's but one Hamlet to my
mind--that's my brother Edwin. You see, between ourselves, he is
Hamlet--melancholy and all!"