1893.
‘KING ARTHUR’—CORPORAL BREWSTER—HONOURS.
When the theatre opened for the season, ‘Faust’ was revived to fill
the time, and it drew excellent and satisfactory “houses” until the
new piece was got ready. This, it was said, was rehearsed on board the
steamer on the way home. Our actor had long before him the idea of
playing the “spotless King,” and had the late Laureate been alive he
might have been tempted to shape his great poem into a play. As it was,
the versatile Comyns Carr was intrusted with the task, and, somewhat
to the surprise of the public, he who had been art-critic, manager of
Grosvenor and New Galleries, dramatist and designer of dresses, etc., for
the Lyceum, now came forward as a poet; and a very respectable poet he
proved to be, with harmonious mellifluous lines, effective from a stage
point of view. It must be said, however, that the play is altogether a
literary one, and rather lacks dramatic movement. It is really a series
of dramatic recitations set off by beautiful shows, processions, and
scenic views. The situations, too, scarcely brought about or led up to,
are effective enough when we reach them. The piece was no doubt “written
in the theatre” under inspiration of the manager, and supplied exactly
what he wanted. The scenery was designed by Sir E. Burne Jones, who
supplied some exquisite combinations or arrangements of colour, which
were certainly new to stage-land. The music was Sir Arthur Sullivan’s,
and there was later to be the unusual and unprecedented incident of no
fewer than _three_ knights—a musician, a painter, and an actor—combining
their talents in a single play. Beautiful was the opening scene with
the blue waters and the swimming maidens imported from ‘Rheingold,’
with the finding of the “Excalibur” contrived most skilfully. There
were grand halls and castles, and woodland groves, all exhibiting much
originality of touch, that unvarying effective grace and tact which made
the most of the materials. The characters were rather faintly outlined.
King Arthur and his queen are comparatively colourless; so is Elaine.
Mr. Forbes Robertson, who played Lancelot with picturesque power, was
early withdrawn, being bound by some other engagement. His successor, a
pleasing light comedian, lacks the weight necessary for the character.
Miss Terry was, as usual, touching and pathetic. So refined, so perfect
was the general treatment, that it attracted and drew larger and yet
larger houses.
As the season went on, the manager, following his favourite policy,
prepared a series of revivals on a gigantic scale. These were virtually
convenient rehearsals for the coming American tour. But the constant
changes of scenes, dresses, etc., involve an enormous strain. The
round of pieces included, within the space of a few weeks, no fewer
than eleven plays: ‘Faust,’ ‘King Arthur,’ ‘Louis XI.,’ ‘Merchant of
Venice,’ ‘Becket,’ ‘Much Ado about Nothing,’ ‘The Lyons Mail,’ ‘Charles
I.,’ ‘Nance Oldfield,’ ‘Corsican Brothers,’ ‘Macbeth.’ A new short
piece, ‘Journeys End in Lovers Meeting,’ by George Moore and John Oliver
Hobbes, which was to introduce Miss Terry, was also announced. The burden
of “staging” all these great works, in a short time, must have been
enormous. But it was only in this fashion that the revivals could be done
justice to.
It is a wonderful proof of our actor’s ability that, after so many years
of experiment in characters of all kinds, he should in almost his latest
attempt have made one of his most signal successes. I doubt if anything
he has hitherto tried has more profoundly impressed his audience than the
little cabinet sketch of Corporal Brewster in Dr. Conan Doyle’s ‘Story
of Waterloo.’ This he had first presented to a provincial audience, some
eight months ago, at Bristol, with such extraordinary effect that the
general audience of the kingdom felt instinctively that a great triumph
had been achieved. Everyone at a distance at once knew and was interested
in the old corporal. A second trial was made in London, for a charity;
and at last, on May 4 of the present year, it was formally brought
forward in the regular programme. There was what is called “a triple
bill,” consisting of Mr. Pinero’s early drama, ‘Bygones,’ this ‘Story
of Waterloo,’ and some scenes from ‘Don Quixote,’ Wills’s posthumous
work.[60]
This sketch of the old soldier is a fine piece of acting, highly
finished, yet natural and unobtrusive, full of pathos and even tragedy.
The actor excelled himself in numerous forcible touches, now humorous,
now pathetic. He gave the effect of its being a large history in little;
we had the whole life of the character laid out before us. It was
original, too, and the oddities were all kept in with a fine reserve.
The figure will always be present to the memory, a satisfactory proof
of excellence. There was one mistake, however, in giving the female
character to Miss Hughes, a bright and lively _soubrette_, who could not,
therefore, supply the necessary sympathetic interest, though she did her
best. Taking it all in all, Corporal Brewster is, in its way, one of
the most masterly things the actor has done, and it can be praised—ay,
extolled—without the smallest reservation.
It was followed by the scenes from ‘Don Quixote,’ and here, again, we
must admire that admirable power of conceiving a character in which
Irving excels, and in which all true actors should excel. It was admitted
that the piece was a “poorish” thing, but here was supplied the living
image of the hapless and ever interesting “Don,” who lived, moved, and
had his being before us, in the most perfect way. There was a general
dreaminess over him; his soul was so filled with high chivalrous visions
that he was indifferent to the coarsely prosaic incidents going on about
him. He filled the stage; the rest were mere puppets. The character, in
spite of the shortcomings of the piece, might be made one of his best.
“One of these days”—always an indefinite period—we may look to see him in
a vigorous, well-written drama on this subject.
And here it may be said that this long connection of Wills and his school
with the Lyceum has tended somewhat to the sacrifice of brisk dramatic
action, which is always enfeebled by an excess of poetical recitations.
There are still many fine subjects and fine dramas which would kindle all
the actor’s powers afresh and stir his audiences. What a fine piece, for
instance, could be made of Victor Hugo’s ‘Notre Dame’! We already see
our actor as the mysterious and romantic monk—one more addition to his
ecclesiastical gallery. What opportunities for scenery and music! One
of the most picturesque of stories is that of Theodore of Corsica, he
who dreamed of being a king and actually became one, and who died in the
King’s Bench Prison in the most piteous state of misery. We should like
to see him, too, as Rodin, in Sue’s ‘Wandering Jew,’ and, better still,
in ‘Venice Preserved,’ or in ‘Mlle. de Belleisle.’
After his twenty years’ fruitful work at the Lyceum—twenty years and
more of picturesque labour during which a new interest was created in
the stage—an official recognition was to be given of our actor’s high
position. The year 1895 will henceforth be notable as the year of the
first tardy honour ever bestowed on an English actor by the Crown. We
have had titled players in abundance on the stage, but they have not owed
their honours to the stage. It has been said that Sir Richard Steele and
Sir Augustus Harris are the only two titled managers. When, in May, the
usual list of what are called “birthday honours” came out, the public was
delighted to find their favourite included, in company with a poet, a
novelist, and a successful traveller. Few Government acts have given such
general satisfaction. There was a general chorus of appreciation. Already
a lecturer before the Universities and a doctor of letters, the leading
player of his time was now officially recognised.
To no class of the community was the honour more acceptable than to
his own profession. A meeting of actor-managers and others was held to
take some step “in recognition,” it was said, of the distinction. Mr.
Bancroft presided, and a provisional committee was formed, consisting of
Mr. Toole, Mr. Pinero, Mr. Beerbohm Tree, Sir A. Harris, Mr. Hare, Mr.
Wyndham, Mr. G. Alexander, Mr. Terry, Mr. Forbes Robertson, Mr. Terriss,
Mr. Howe, Mr. Brough, Mr. G. Conquest, and some others. Mr. Bashford
acted as secretary. Another meeting with the same end in view was called
of “proprietors, authors, managers.” All this was very gratifying. Not
less striking was the feeling with which the news was received abroad,
and his _confrères_ of the French comedy—the “House of Molière” as it
proudly and so justly boasts itself—lost not a moment in calling a
meeting and sending him a formal “act” of congratulation. This important
document ran:
“Paris, _May 28, 1895_.
“DEAR SIR HENRY IRVING,
“The committee of the Comédie Française and the _sociétaires_
of the House of Molière desire to send you their cordial
congratulations, and to signify the joy they feel at the high
distinction of which you have lately been made the recipient.
We are all delighted to see a great country pay homage to a
great artist, and we applaud with all our hearts the fitting
and signal recompense paid to an actor who has done such
powerful service and profound honour to our calling and our
art. Accept, then, dear Sir Henry Irving, the expression of the
deep sympathy as artists and the sincere devotion which we feel
towards you.—(Signed) Jules Claretie, administrator-general
and president of committee; Mounet Sully, G. Worms, Silvain,
Georges Baillet, Coquelin cadet, Proudhon, etc., of the
committee; S. Reichemberg, Bartet, B. Baretta Worms, Paul
Mounet, Mary Kalb, Blanche Pierson, A. Dudlay, etc.,
_sociétaires_.”
Looking back over this long period of nigh thirty years, we are
astonished to find this laborious and conscientious performer never
absent from his stage. Night after night, year after year, he is
still found at his post, defiant of fatigue or ill-health. Only on
one occasion, I think, owing to some affection of his throat, had a
substitute to take his place. The pressure and constant struggle of our
time, it may be, takes no account of weakness or failure; no one dares
relax, and as Mrs. Siddons declared the player’s nerves must be made of
cart-ropes, so must he have a constitution of iron or steel.
Notwithstanding this constant strain upon his time and labour, there
is no figure more conspicuous in the whole round of social duties and
entertainments. Wherever there is a gathering for the purpose of helping
his profession, he is to be found presiding or assisting. He takes his
share in the important movements of the day, and his utterances, always
judicious, useful, and valuable, are quoted abundantly.