The most severe critic can never tell me more, or scold me more than I
scold myself. I have never left the stage satisfied with myself. And
I am convinced that every artist feels as I do about his work. It is
the undoubted duty of the critic to criticise, and that means to blame
as well as to praise; and it must be confessed that, taking all things
into consideration, the critics of this country are actuated by
honesty of purpose and kindliness of spirit, and very often their work
is, in addition, of marked literary value. Occasionally we will still
meet the man who is anxious to impress his fellow citizens with the
fact that he has been abroad, and tinctures all his views of plays and
actors with references to Herr Dinkelspiegel or Frau Mitterwoorzer; or
who, having spent a few hours in Paris, is forced to drag in by the
hair Monsieur Popin or Mademoiselle Fifine. But as a matter of fact,
is not the interpretation of tragedy and comedy by the American stage
superior to the German and French?--for the whole endeavour in this
country has been toward a closer adherence to nature. In France and
in Germany the ancient method of declamation still prevails, and the
great speeches of Goethe and Schiller and Racine and Corneille are to
all intents and purposes intoned. No doubt this sounds very fine in
German and French, but how would you like it now in English?
The old-time actor had peculiar and primitive views as to elocution
and its uses. I remember a certain old friend of mine, who, when he
recited the opening speech in "Richard III.," and arrived at the line
"In the deep bosom of the ocean buried," suggested the deep bosom of
the ocean by sending his voice down into his boots. Yet these were
fine actors, to whom certain young gentlemen, who never saw them,
constantly refer. The methods of the stage have completely changed,
and with them the tastes of the people. The probability is that some
of the old actors of only a few years ago would excite much merriment
in their delineation of tragedy. A very great tragedian of a past
generation was wont, in the tent scene in "Richard III.," to hold a
piece of soap in his mouth, so that, after the appearance of the
ghosts, the lather and froth might dribble down his chin! and he
employed, moreover, a trick sword, which rattled hideously; and, what
with his foam-flecked face, his rolling eyes, his inarticulate groans,
and his rattling blade, the small boy in the gallery was scared into a
frenzy of vociferous delight!
Yet, whilst we have discarded these somewhat crude methods, we have
perhaps allowed ourselves to wander too far in the other direction,
and the critics are quite justified in demanding in many cases greater
virility and force. The simulation of suppressed power is very useful
and very advisable, but when the fire-bell rings the horses have got
to come out, and rattle and race down the street, and rouse the town!