That was an awful time, when the dread news came to us. We were in
Columbus, Ohio. We had been horrified by the great crime at
Washington. My room-mate and I had, from our small earnings, bought
some black cotton at a tripled price, as all the black material in the
city was not sufficient to meet the demand; and as we tacked it about
our one window, a man passing told us the assassin had been
discovered, and that he was the actor Booth. Hattie laughed, so she
nearly swallowed the tack that, girl-like, she held between her lips,
and I after a laugh, told him it was a poor subject for a jest, and we
went in. There was no store in Columbus then where play-books were
sold, and as Mr. Ellsler had a very large and complete stage library,
he frequently lent his books to us, and we would hurriedly copy out
our lines and return the book for his own use. On that occasion he
was going to study his part first and then leave the play with us as
he passed, going home. We heard his knock. I was busy pressing a bit
of stage finery. Hattie opened the door, and then I heard her
exclaiming: "Why--why--what!" I turned quickly. Mr. Ellsler was
coming slowly into the room. He is a very dark man, but be was
perfectly livid then--his lips even were blanched to the whiteness of
his cheeks. His eyes were dreadful, they were so glassy and seemed so
unseeing. He was devoted to his children, and all I could think of as
likely to bring such a look upon his face was disaster to one of them,
and I cried, as I drew a chair to him: "What is it? Oh, what has
happened to them?"
He sank down--he wiped his brow--he looked almost stupidly at me;
then, very faintly, he said: "You--haven't--heard--anything?"
Like a flash Hattie's eyes and mine met. We thought of the supposed
ill-timed jest of the stranger. My lips moved wordlessly. Hattie
stammered: "A man--he--lied though--said that Wilkes Booth--but he did
lie--didn't he?" and in the same faint voice Mr. Ellsler answered
slowly: "No--no! he did not lie--it's true!"
Down fell our heads, and the waves of shame and sorrow seemed fairly
to overwhelm us; and while our sobs filled the little room, Mr.
Ellsler rose and laid two playbooks on the table. Then, while
standing there, staring into space, I heard his far, faint voice
saying: "So great--so good a man destroyed, and by the hand of that
unhappy boy! my God! my God!" He wiped his brow again and slowly left
the house, apparently unconscious of our presence.
When we resumed our work--the theatre had closed because of the
national calamity--many a painted cheek showed runnels made by bitter
tears, and one old actress, with quivering lips, exclaimed: "One woe
doth tread upon another's heels, so fast they follow!" but with no
thought of quoting, and God knows, the words expressed the situation
perfectly.
Mrs. Ellsler, whom I never saw shed a tear for any sickness, sorrow,
or trouble of her own, shed tears for the mad boy, who had suddenly
become the assassin of God's anointed--the great, the blameless
Lincoln.
We crept about, quietly. Every one winced at the sound of the
overture. It was as if one dead lay within the walls--one who
belonged to us.
When the rumours about Booth being the murderer proved to be
authentic, the police feared a possible outbreak of mob feeling, and a
demonstration against the theatre building, or against the actors
individually; but we had been a decent, law-abiding, well-behaved
people--liked and respected--so we were not made to suffer for the
awful act of one of our number. Still, when the mass-meeting was held
in front of the Capitol, there was much anxiety on the subject, and
Mr. Ellsler urged all the company to keep away from it, lest their
presence might arouse some ill-feeling. The crowd was immense, the
sun had gloomed over, and the Capitol building, draped in black,
loomed up with stern severity and that massive dignity only attained
by heavily columned buildings. The people surged like waves about the
speaker's stand, and the policemen glanced anxiously toward the not
far away new theatre, and prayed that some bombastic, revengeful
ruffian might not crop up from this mixed crowd of excited humanity to
stir them to violence.
Three speakers, however, in their addresses had confined themselves to
eulogising the great dead. In life Mr. Lincoln had been abused by
many--in death he was worshipped by all; and these speakers found
their words of love and sorrow eagerly listened to, and made no harsh
allusions to the profession from which the assassin sprang. And then
an unknown man clambered up from the crowd to the portico platform and
began to speak, without asking any one's permission. He had a
far-reaching voice--he had fire and go.
"Here's the fellow to look out for!" said the policemen; and, sure
enough, suddenly the dread word "theatre" was tossed into the air, and
every one was still in a moment, waiting for--what? I don't know what
they hoped for--I do know what many feared; but this is what he said:
"Yes, look over at our theatre and think of the little body of men and
women there, who are to-day sore-hearted and cast down; who feel that
they are looked at askant, because one of their number has committed
that hideous crime! Think of what they have to bear of shame and
horror, and spare them, too, a little pity!"
He paused. It had been a bold thing to do--to appeal for
consideration for actors at such a time. The crowd swayed for a
moment to and fro, a curious growling came from it, and then all heads
turned toward the theatre. A faint cheer was given, and afterward
there was not the slightest allusion made to us--and verily we were
grateful.
That the homely, tender-hearted "Father Abraham"--rare combination of
courage, justice, and humanity--died at an actor's hand will be a
grief, a horror, and a shame to the profession forever; yet I cannot
believe that John Wilkes Booth was "the leader of a band of bloody
conspirators."
Who shall draw a line and say: here genius ends and madness begins?
There was that touch of--strangeness. In Edwin it was a profound
melancholy; in John it was an exaggeration of spirit--almost a
wildness. There was the natural vanity of the actor, too, who craves
a dramatic situation in real life. There was his passionate love and
sympathy for the South--why, he was "easier to be played on than a
pipe."
Undoubtedly he conspired to kidnap the President--that would appeal to
him; but after that I truly believe he was a tool--certainly he was no
leader. Those who led him knew his courage, his belief in Fate, his
loyalty to his friends; and, because they knew these things, he drew
the lot, as it was meant he should from the first. Then, half mad, he
accepted the part Fate cast him for--committed the monstrous crime,
and paid the awful price. And since
God moves in a mysterious way
His wonders to perform,
we venture to pray for His mercy upon the guilty soul who may have
repented and confessed his manifold sins and offences during those
awful hours of suffering before the end came.
And "God shutteth not up His mercies forever in displeasure!" We can
only shiver and turn our thoughts away from the bright light that went
out in such utter darkness. Poor, guilty, unhappy John Wilkes Booth!
WHEN IN MY HUNT FOR A LEADING MAN FOR MR. DALY I FIRST SAW COGHLAN AND
IRVING
[From "Life of a Star" copyright by the S. S. McClure Company, New
York, 1906.]
When the late Mr. Augustin Daly bestowed even a modicum of his
confidence, his friendship, upon man or woman, the person so honoured
found the circulation of his blood well maintained by the frequent and
generally unexpected demands for his presence, his unwavering
attention, and sympathetic comprehension. As with the royal
invitation that is a command, only death positive or threatening could
excuse non-attendance; and though his friendship was in truth a
liberal education, the position of even the humblest confidant was no
sinecure, for the plans he loved to describe and discuss were not
confined to that day and season, but were long, daring looks ahead;
great coups for the distant, unborn years.
The season had closed on Saturday. Monday I was to sail for England,
and early that morning the housemaid watched for the carriage. My
landlady was growing quivery about the chin, because I had to cross
alone to join Mr. and Mrs. James Lewis, who had gone ahead, My mother
was gay with a sort of crippled hilarity that deceived no one, as she
prepared to go with me to say good bye at the dock, while little Ned,
the son of the house, proudly gathered together rug, umbrella,
hand-bag, books, etc., ready to go down with us and escort my mother
back home--when a cab whirled to the door and stopped.
"Good heaven!" I cried, "what a blunder! I ordered a carriage; we
can't all crowd into that thing!"
Then a boy was before me, holding out one of those familiar summoning
half-sheets, with a line or two of the jetty-black, impishly-tiny,
Daly scrawls--and I read: "Must see you one minute at office. Cabby
will race you down. Have your carriage follow and pick you up here.
Don't fail! A. DALY."
Ah, well! A. Daly--he who must be obeyed--had me in good training. I
flung one hand to the mistress, the other to the maid in farewell,
pitched headlong into the cab, and went whirling down Sixth Avenue and
across to the theatre stage-door, then upstairs to the morsel of space
called by courtesy the private office.
Mr. Daly nonchalantly held out his band, looked me over, and said:
"That's a very pretty dress--becoming too--but is it not too easily
soiled? Salt water you know is--"
"Oh," I broke in, "it's for general street wear--my travelling will be
done in nightdress, I fancy."
"Ah, bad sailor, eh?" he asked, as I stood trembling with impatience.
"The worst! But you did not send for me to talk dress or about my
sailing qualities?"
"My dear," he said suavely, "your temper is positively rabid." Then
he glanced at the clock on his desk and his manner changed. He said
swiftly and curtly: "Miss Morris, I want you to go to every theatre in
London, and--"
"But I can't!" I interrupted, "I have not money enough for that and my
name is not known over there!"
He frowned and waved his hand impatiently. "Use my name, then, or ask
courtesy from E. A. Sothern. He crosses with you and you know him.
But mind, go to every reputable theatre, and," impressively, "report
to me at once if you see any leading man with exceptional ability of
any kind."
I gasped. It seemed to me I heard the leaden fall of my heart. "But
Mr. Daly, what a responsibility! How on earth could I judge an actor
for you?"
He held up an imperative band. "You think more after my own manner
than any other person I know of. You are sensitive, responsive, quick
to acknowledge another's ability, and so are fitted to study London's
leading men for me!"
I was aghast, frightened to the point of approaching tears! Suddenly
I bethought me.
"I'11 tell Mr. Lewis. He is there already you know, and let him judge
for you."
"Lewis? Good Lord! He has no independence! He'd see in an actor
just what he thought I wanted him to see! I tell you, I want you to
sort over London's leading men, and, if you see anything exceptional,
secure name and theatre and report to me. Heavens knows, two long
years have not only taught me that you have opinions, but the courage
of them!"
Racing steps came up the stairs, and little Ned's voice called: "Miss
Clara. Miss Clara, We are here!"