1882.
‘MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING’—AMERICAN VISIT ARRANGED.
In his speech at the close of the season, the manager announced the
new piece selected for the next season. With that judicious view to
contrast or relief which directed all his efforts, he had settled on a
true comedy—the effective ‘Much Ado About Nothing.’ To this piece many
had long since pointed as being exactly adapted to the special gifts
of the two performers. Here was the fourth Shakespearian play of an
Italian complexion and atmosphere, which entailed accordingly a fresh
exhibition of Italian streets, manners, and costumes. A happy impression
was produced by the very note of preparation, the air was filled with
the breath of the coming piece; all felt, in anticipation, the agreeable
humours and fancies of Benedick and his Beatrice. This feeling of comedy,
it may be said, is ever a delightful one; it spreads abroad a placid,
quiet enjoyment and good-humour with which nothing else can compare.
On Wednesday, October 11, 1882, the delightful piece was brought out.
From the excellent acting of the two principal performers, and the
beautiful “setting” of the whole, it was destined to become one of the
most popular and acceptable of the Lyceum _répertoire_. By a curious
delusion, owing no doubt to the recollection of the lavish splendours of
‘Romeo and Juliet,’ some critics pronounced that it had been brought out
with but a moderate display of scenic resources. The truth was that the
play had been “mounted” with as much state as it would properly bear.
Some scenes were equipped in an unusually lavish and superb style. The
general effect, however, was harmonious; indeed, the happy tact of the
manager was never displayed to such advantage as in seizing on what might
be termed the proper key of the piece. When we recall, with a pleasant
enjoyment, these various Lyceum spectacles, we find that there is no
confusion of one with the other, that each has a special, distinct note,
and thus is started a train of impressions, delightful for their variety,
which enrich the chambers of the memory.
There was one scene which, for its splendour and originality, was to
be talked of for many a day, viz., the beautiful interior of a church
at Messina—the “Church Scene,” as it was called. The art displayed
here, the combination of “built-up” scenery with “cloths,” the rich
harmonious tintings, the ecclesiastical details, the metal-work, altars,
etc., made an exquisite picture.[32] The well-known passage of the
interrupted bridal was “laid out” with extraordinary picturesqueness,
much emphasis being given to the religious rites. It was felt, however,
that the genuflections before the altar were introducing rather too
awful a suggestion, though the intention was, no doubt, reverent. It
must be admitted by all whose memories wander back to that performance,
that the vision of this “Church Scene” rises before them with an almost
pathetic significance, owing in some part to the touching, sympathetic
acting of Miss Millward. By this emphasizing of the state and publicity
of the scene, the crowds and rich dresses and ecclesiastical robes, the
“distressful” character of such a trial for a young bride was brought out
in a very striking way.
All eyes, as it may be conceived, were drawn to the figures of Benedick
and Beatrice, as portrayed by Irving and Ellen Terry. Their scenes were
followed with a delighted interest, and their gay encounters of wit and
flirtation gave unalloyed pleasure. Irving threw a Malvolian gravity over
the character, alternated by a certain jocoseness.
These two characters, Benedick and Beatrice, are so much the heritage of
all lovers of true comedy, that everyone seems to have fixed a standard
for himself, which he will critically apply to every representation. This
partiality does not make us particularly _exigeant_, but we have each
our own fancies. There is nothing more interesting, entertaining, or
fruitful in speculation than the discussion of how favourite characters
in comedy should be represented. It is as though they were figures in
real life. For myself, I confess I should have preferred that the actor
had taken the character into still higher realms of airy comedy, and
had less emphasized the somewhat farcical passages. Benedick was a man
of capacity, a soldier, a gentleman, and though he was likely to be so
imposed upon, he would not have given his friends the satisfaction of
seeing him in this dejected condition, almost inviting laughter and rude
“rallying.”[33]
During all this time, preparations for the great American visit were
being carefully matured. There is supposed to be a sort of hostility
between artistic gifts and business-like habits; but Irving has
always shown great capacity where organization and arrangement are in
question—he has the clearest vision, and the firmest, most decided
purpose. In this he has often suggested a surprising likeness to the
departed novelist Dickens, who was also remarkable for his business power
and decision of character, and whose motto it was to do every trifle in
the best way that it could be done. Anything worth doing at all, he would
say, was worth doing well.
Nothing was left undone to ensure success. Everything was “thought
out” beforehand with the greatest care and deliberation. The American
manager, Abbey, who had undertaken the direction of the venture, and had
a vast store of experience and skill at command, planned, of course,
the arrangements of the visit; but the purely theatrical details were
thrown upon the English actor, who had to equip completely some dozen
plays with scenery, dresses, and properties. A following of from seventy
to a hundred persons—including actors, actresses, secretaries, scenic
and music artists, dressers, supernumeraries—was to be taken out.[34]
Further, with a view to making the company thoroughly familiar with the
_répertoire_, for months beforehand a sort of continuous rehearsal went
on before the regular Lyceum audiences; that is, all the stock-pieces
were revived one after the other, and performed with much care.
The honours and flattering tributes that were now lavished on the
departing actor would have turned the head of one less sensible or
less unspoiled. The town seemed really to have “run horn-mad” after
him, and could talk of nothing but of him and his expedition. As was
to be expected, the compliment of a public dinner was the smallest of
these tributes. Presents and invitations were lavished upon him. In a
caricature he was shown as being profusely anointed, by critics and
others, from a tub filled with a composition labelled “butter.” In
another the Prince of Wales is obsequiously presenting an invitation,
which the actor excuses himself from accepting owing to “my many
engagements.” The most famous portrait-painter of the day begged
to be allowed to paint his picture, which he wished to offer as a
present to the Garrick Club.[35] Rumours were busily circulated—and
contradicted—that a knighthood had been offered and declined.
The public dinner at St. James’s Hall was fixed for July 4—a compliment
to the American people. The list of stewards was truly extraordinary,
comprising almost everyone of mark in the arts and the great professions.
The Chief Justice, Lord Coleridge, who was himself setting out for a tour
in the States, was to take the chair. Mr. Gladstone and some Cabinet
Ministers were on the committee. There were three thousand applicants for
the five hundred possible seats, all that Mr. Pinches, the secretary—a
relation of the actor’s old master—could contrive to supply. Two Bishops
excused their attendance in flattering terms; and Mr. Gladstone would
gladly have attended, but was compelled by his duties to be absent.[36]
At this banquet, besides the Chief Justice and the Lord Chancellor of
Ireland, there were five other judges present, together with all that was
distinguished in the professions and arts.
The Chairman, in a thoughtful and studied speech, delivered perhaps
one of the best _apologias_ for the actor that is ever likely to be
offered. The skill and moderation of the accomplished advocate was shown
to perfection: he did not adulate, but gave the actor a graduated and
judicious measure of praise for all he had done in the improvement in the
general tone, morals, and methods of the stage. Irving acknowledged these
compliments in grateful and heartfelt terms, addressed not so much to the
diners present as to the kingdom in general.
After these metropolitan honours, he passed to Edinburgh, Glasgow, and
Liverpool. At each city he was greeted with complimentary banquets.
At Edinburgh he opened a new theatre, named in compliment to his own,
the Lyceum. He was invited to Hawarden by Mr. Gladstone, and also to
Knowsley, on a visit to Lord Derby.
On October 10, 1883, the chief members of the company—over forty in
number—sailed for New York, under the conduct of Mr. Bram Stoker. Tons
of scenery, dresses, properties, etc., had been already shipped. The
following day Irving and Miss Terry embarked on board the White Star
liner, _The Britannic_. Up to the last moment telegrams and letters
containing good wishes literally by hundreds were being brought in. Even
while the vessel was detained at Queenstown, the Mayor and Corporation
of Cork seized the opportunity of saluting him with a parting address.
The incidents have been all described by my friend Mr. Joseph Hatton, who
attended the party as “historiographer”; and I may refer the reader to
his interesting volumes.
The visit was to prove one long triumph, and the six months’ progress
a strange, wonderful phantasmagoria of receptions, entertainments,
hospitalities of all kinds. Novel and original, too, were the humours and
fashions that greeted them everywhere, and the eyes of the two players
must have often turned back with pleasure to that odd pantomime.
‘The Bells’ was selected for the opening performance which was on October
29, 1883. Though his reception was overpowering and tumultuous, there was
some hesitation as to the success of the play itself, and the critics
seemed to be a little doubtful as to whether it fairly represented the
full measure of his gifts. ‘Charles I.’, however, followed, and the two
great artists made the profoundest impression. But when ‘Louis XI.’ and
‘Much Ado About Nothing’ were presented, all doubts vanished. Miss Terry
won all hearts; her sympathetic style and winsome ways made conquest of
every audience. Nothing struck the Americans with such astonishment as
the exquisite arrangement and “stage management” of the Shakespearian
comedy, the reserved yet effectively harmonious treatment of all the
details being a complete revelation. The actor’s consummate taste was
recognised; in fact, the result of the visit was a complete revolution
in all the American stage methods. The extraordinary record of lavish
hospitalities, tributes of all kinds, with the adventures, is set
forth fully in the story of the tour. But it is only by consulting the
American journals that we can gather a notion of the odd “humours,”
often grotesque, by which the American public displays its enthusiastic
approbation.[37] The “interviewers,” as may be imagined, were rampant,
and extracted from the genial and courteous actor opinions on everything
connected with his profession. One immortal criticism deserves to be
recorded here. “He has rung,” said a newspaper, “_the knell of gibbering_
GOSH!”[38]
The party remained in the country until the May of the year following.
The receipts exceeded every forecast, a quarter of a million dollars
having been taken in the first four weeks. But the expenses were
enormous. The substantial profit was found in Irving’s securing a new,
vast, and prominent audience in the West; in his winning the suffrages of
Americans abroad as well as of those at home, who became his most fervent
adherents.
The following is an amusing scene. Irving had been invited to the
Journalists’ Club, and after the close of the performance of ‘Louis
XI.,’ the actor had come round to the club, where he partook of a supper
tendered to him by a few members in a private room. He had been in the
building three-quarters of an hour before he made known his presence by
coming upstairs, escorted by several gentlemen. The guest of the evening
then held an informal reception.
“After he had said something pleasant to almost everyone, he volunteered
to do his share towards entertaining those present. It had been slightly
hinted to him that something of the kind was looked for, and he entered
into the spirit of the occasion. Then the great tragedian turned from
the serious to the comic. He recited, in a way that provoked roars of
laughter, the funny little poem, ‘Tommy’s First Love.’
“When this was over there was a unanimous shout, which lasted several
minutes. It was a loud cry for more. Mr. Irving expressed his willingness
to give another recitation, and called for a chair. After sitting down
he observed that, as all were standing, those in the rear could see but
indifferently. ‘Suppose we change the stage management,’ he suggested.
‘Can’t we all sit down?’ This was received with some merriment, as there
were few chairs in the room. Someone, however, saw Mr. Irving’s idea that
those in the front ranks should sit upon the floor, and in a moment the
four foremost lines were kneeling upon the carpet.
“Mr. Irving then recited ‘Eugene Aram’s Dream.’ The splendid elocutionary
talents of the actor kept the audience spellbound. Every emotion, every
pang of the schoolmaster was vividly depicted by the expressive face of
the tragedian. The scene was a remarkable one. Mr. Irving threw himself
so earnestly into the character that at one time _he tore the white
necktie from his throat_ without realizing what he was doing, and, as
his features were wrought up to show the usher’s agony, similar lines
seemed to show themselves by sympathy in the faces of those present. At
the close of the recitation the motionless figures, some standing, some
sitting with crossed legs upon the floor, became moving, enthusiastic
men. Those on their feet threw their arms into the air and cheered as
if for dear life, while those on the floor bounded up simultaneously
and expressed their enthusiasm. It was some time before the excitement
subsided.
“I recited that once to a friend of mine,” said Mr. Irving, after quiet
had been restored, “and what do you think he said? Why, he seriously
exclaimed: ‘There is one point in that story that I’d like to know
about. _What became of the boy?_’” This anecdote produced a chorus of
laughter. After shaking hands all round, Mr. Irving went downstairs and
out, accompanied by the club’s officers. Before he left the room, “Three
cheers for Mr. Irving” were called for and given by throats already
hoarse with applauding him.
A second American expedition followed in the September of the same year,
during which a visit was paid to Canada.