At that moment statesmen were hopefully estimating the chances of a
peaceful adjustment and solution of the sectional controversy. With the
prophet instinct of the artist he knew better. Though at no time taking an
active interest in politics or giving expression to party bias of any kind,
his personal associations led him into a familiar knowledge of the trend of
political opinion and the portent of public affairs, and I can truly say
that during the fifty years that passed thereafter I never discussed any
topic of current interest or moment with him that he did not throw upon
it the side lights of a luminous understanding, and at the same time an
impartial and intelligent judgment.
His mind was both reflective and radiating. His humor though perennial was
subdued; his wit keen and spontaneous, never acrid or wounding. His speech
abounded with unconscious epigram. He had his beliefs and stood by them;
but he was never aggressive. Cleaner speech never fell from the lips of
man. I never heard him use a profanity. We once agreed between ourselves to
draw a line across the salacious stories so much in vogue during our day;
the wit must exceed the dirt; where the dirt exceeded the wit we would none
of it.
He was a singularly self-respecting man; genuinely a modest man. The
actor is supposed to be so familiar with the pubic as to be proof against
surprises. Before his audience he must be master of himself, holding the
situation and his art by the firmest grip. He must simulate, not experience
emotion, the effect referable to the seeming, never to the actuality
involving the realization.
Mr. Jefferson held to this doctrine and applied it rigorously. On a certain
occasion he was playing Caleb Plummer. In the scene between the old
toy-maker and his blind daughter, when the father discovers the dreadful
result of his dissimulation--an awkward hitch; and, the climax quite
thwarted, the curtain came down. I was standing at the wings.
"Did you see that?" he said as he brushed by me, going to his
dressing-room.
"No," said I, following him. "What was it?"
He turned, his eyes still wet and his voice choked. "I broke down," said
he; "completely broke down. I turned away from the audience to recover
myself. But I failed and had the curtain rung."
The scene had been spoiled because the actor had been overcome by a sudden
flood of real feeling, whereas he was to render by his art the feeling of
a fictitious character and so to communicate this to his audience. Caleb's
cue was tears, but not Jefferson's.
On another occasion I saw his self-possession tried in a different way. We
were dining with a gentleman who had overpartaken of his own hospitality.
Mr. Murat Halstead was of the company. There was also a German of
distinction, whose knowledge of English was limited. The Rip Van Winkle
craze was at its height. After sufficiently impressing the German with the
rare opportunity he was having in meeting a man so famous as Mr. Jefferson,
our host, encouraged by Mr. Halstead, and I am afraid not discouraged by
me, began to urge Mr. Jefferson to give us, as he said, "a touch of his
mettle," and failing to draw the great comedian out he undertook himself to
give a few descriptive passages from the drama which was carrying the
town by storm. Poor Jefferson! He sat like an awkward boy, helpless and
blushing, the German wholly unconscious of the fun or even comprehending
just what was happening--Halstead and I maliciously, mercilessly enjoying
it.