of the charges made against policemen during the last fortnight. Would
you like to come with me; you seem to be interested in the subject?”
I went with him to an immense hall where were gathered all the
complainants and all the police, with their respective witnesses.
Everything was done in perfect order. The Commissioner had the list of
cases before him, and when one was over, a lusty officer with a
stentorian voice called out the next. Those interested in each case had
been already grouped, so that when the case was announced the whole body
thus segregated moved up in front of the table. The method was simple.
The case was stated as briefly as possible—the Commissioner saw to that;
the witnesses for the prosecution gave their evidence and were now and
again asked a question from the Bench. Then the defendant had his say
and produced his witnesses, if any; again came an occasional searching
question from the Commissioner, who when he had satisfied himself as to
the justice of the case would smite the table with his hand and order on
the next case. While the little crowd was changing places he would write
a few words on the paper before him—judgment and perhaps sentence in
one. The Commissioner was incarnate justice, and his judgments were
given with a direct simplicity and brevity which were very remarkable.
Each one would take only a few minutes; sometimes as few as two or
three, never more than about twelve or fifteen. As there were very many
cases brevity was a necessity.
Now and then in a case very difficult of conclusion Mr. Roosevelt, when
he had written his decision, would turn to me and say:
“What do you think of that?” I would answer to the best of my own
opinion. Then he would turn up the paper, lying face down, and show me
what had been his own decision. As in every such case it was exactly
what I had said, I thought—naturally—that he was very just.
I came away from the Court with a very profound belief in Mr. Roosevelt.
I wrote afterwards in my diary:
“Must be President some day. A man you can’t cajole, can’t frighten,
can’t buy.”
On December 28, 1903, Irving commenced a week’s engagement at
Washington. On the morning of Friday, January 1, 1904, he received a
letter from the President saying that he was that day holding his New
Year’s Reception and that he would be very pleased if he would come. Sir
Henry would be expected to come by the private entrance with the
Ambassadors. It was such a letter as to make its recipient feel proud—so
courteous, so full of fine feeling and genuine hospitality—so
significant of his liking and respect.
We went in by the private entrance at the back, and were brought up at
once. At his Reception the President stood a little inside the doorway
on the right and shook hands with every one who came—no light task in
itself as there were on the queue for the reception a good many
thousands of persons, male and female. The long line four deep extended
far into the neighbouring streets, winding round the corners like a huge
black snake, and disappearing in the distance. The serpentine appearance
was increased by the slow movement as the crowd advanced inch by inch.
Beside the President stood Mrs. Roosevelt and beyond him all the
Ministers of his Cabinet with their wives in line—all the ladies were in
full dress. The room was in form of a segment of a circle and the crowd
passed between red cords stretched across the base of the arc, the
President’s party being behind either cord. The President gave Irving a
really cordial greeting and held him for a minute or two speaking—a long
time with such a crowd waiting. He did not know that I was with Irving,
but when he saw me he addressed me by name. He certainly has a royal
memory! He asked us to go behind the ropes and join his family and
friends. This we did. We remained there a full hour, and Irving was made
much of by all.
LXX
KNIGHTHOOD
I
Late in the afternoon of Friday, May 24, 1895, I got from Irving the
following telegram:
“Could you look in at quarter to six. Something important.”
When I saw him he showed me two letters which he had received. One was
from the Prime Minister, the Earl of Rosebery, telling him that the
Queen had conferred on him the honour of knighthood in personal
recognition and for his services to art.
The other was from the Prince of Wales congratulating him on the event.
The announcement had evidently given the Actor very much pleasure; even
when I saw him he was much moved.
The next day was the Queen’s Birthday on which the “Honour List” was
promulgated, and when it was known that Irving was so honoured the
telegrams, letters and cables began to pour in from all parts of the
world. For it was in its way a remarkable event. It was the first time
that in any country an actor had been, _quâ_ actor, honoured by the
State.
It really seemed as if the whole world rejoiced at the honour to Irving.
The letters and telegrams kept coming literally in hundreds during the
next two days, and cables constantly arrived from America, Australia,
Canada, India, and from nearly all the nations in Europe. They were
bewildering. Late in the afternoon of Saturday Irving sat at his desk in
the Lyceum before piles of them opened by one of the clerks. Presently
he turned to me with his hand to his head and said:
“I really can’t read any more of these at present. I must leave them to
you, old chap. They make my head swim.” Of course he did in time read
them all; and sent answers too. For three days several men were at work
copying out the answers as he sorted them out into heaps, each heap
having a similar wording. It was quite impossible to send a distinctly
different answer to each—and it was not necessary.
The actual knighting took place at Windsor Castle on July 18. The
account of it was told by Arthur Arnold, who was knighted in the same
batch, and who came very soon after Irving. He said that the Queen, who
usually did not make any remark to the recipient of the honour as she
laid the sword on his shoulder, said on this occasion:
“I am very, very pleased!”
II
The corollary of the honour came the next day when on the Lyceum stage a
presentation was made to Irving by his fellow players. This was unique
of its kind. It was an Address of Congratulation signed by every actor
in the kingdom. The Address was read by Sir (then Mr.) Squire Bancroft.
Irving was greatly touched by it; few things were so essentially dear to
him as the approval of his fellows. The unanimity was in itself a
wonder. The Address was in the shape of a volume and was contained in a
beautiful casket of gold and crystal designed by Johnston
Forbes-Robertson—a painter as well as a player.
III
The idea of knighthood for Irving was not new to that year, 1895. I
mention this now because after his death a statement was made that he
had by a lecture at the Royal Institution compelled the Government to
give him knighthood. The statement was, of course, more than ridiculous.
Here is what happened to my own knowledge:
In 1883, before Irving’s visit to America, I was consulted, I understood
on behalf of a very exalted person, by the late Sir James Mackenzie, as
to whether the conferring of knighthood would be pleasing to Mr. Irving.
It has never been usual to confer the honour on an unwilling recipient—
any more than it has been to allow any “forcing” to be effective. I
asked for a day to find out. Then I conveyed the result of my veiled
inquiry into the matter. At that time Irving thought it was better that
an actor, whilst actively pursuing his calling, should not be so singled
out from his fellows. On my showing, the matter was not proceeded with
at that time. From the very beginning of his management of the Lyceum he
had been scrupulously particular that all the names given on the cast of
the play should be printed in the same type. That rule was never
altered, even after his knighthood. But as he was no longer “Mr.” and
would not be called by his title he thenceforth appeared as “Henry
Irving.” Advertisement was, of course, different as to type, but he did
not use the title.
IV
But in the twelve years that had elapsed since 1883 many things had
changed. Other Arts had benefited by the large measures of official
recognition extended to them; and the very fact of the Art of Acting not
having any official recognition was being used as an argument that it
was not an art at all. Indeed his lecture at the Royal Institution,
whilst it was in no way intended to “force” recognition or had no power
of so doing, was taken as a manifest proof that the conferring of the
honour would be regarded in a favourable light. Thus it was that in 1895
no “judicious” opinion was asked; none was necessary. The Prime Minister
was assured that there could not be any _contretemps_, and even the
Prince of Wales felt secure in his most gracious letter of
congratulation.
I feel it too bad that one who in his days tried to live up to the ideal
of discretion, and has regarded reticence as a duty rather than a
motive, should have to speak openly, even after a lapse of years, on so
private a matter; and I can only trust that I may be forgiven should any
one with the power of forgiveness see the need of it. But such
statements as those to which I have alluded are calculated to destroy
all the claim of gracious courtesy—of the spontaneous kindness from
which high favour springs; and it is, I think, better that I should be
deemed to err than that such a misconception should be allowed to pass.
V
The King was always a most gracious and generous friend to Irving.
Throughout the whole management of the Lyceum and to the time of
Irving’s death, King Edward, both as Prince and King, extended to him
the largest measure of his approval. He gave him a position by his very
courtesy and by the hospitalities which he graciously gave and accepted.
When players dined with him the post of honour on his right hand was
always given to Irving. He showed his own immediate surroundings in
private as well as the world in public that he respected Irving as well
as liked and admired him. He showed that he considered the Player in his
own way to have brought some measure of honour to the great nation that
he rules and whose countless hearts he sways.
He often honoured the Player by being his guest in the theatre. At the
marriage of the present Prince of Wales he was given a place in St.
James’s Palace; at the Queen’s funeral he was bidden to a seat in St.
George’s Chapel at Windsor. At the King’s coronation he was amongst the
guests invited to Westminster Abbey.
And, whether as Prince or King, his Most Gracious Majesty Edward VII. R.
et I. had no more loyal, no more respectful, no more believing, no more
loving subject than Henry Irving.
LXXI
HENRY IRVING AND UNIVERSITIES
I
DUBLIN
The first University to recognise Irving’s great position was that of
Dublin. In 1876 it gave him an informal Address. In 1892 it conferred on
him the degree of Doctor of Literature—“Litt.D.” As this was the first
occasion on which a University degree was given _Honoris Causa_ to an
actor, _quâ_ actor, it may be allowable to say something of it.
It had for a long time been the intention of the Senate to confer on him
a suitable degree. The occasion came in the celebration of the
Tercentenary of the University, which was founded by Queen Elizabeth.
In order to be present Irving had to go out of the bill at the Lyceum,
where we were then playing _Henry VIII._ He and I travelled to Dublin by
the mail of Tuesday, 5th July. We had heard that the Dublin folk and the
Irish generally were very pleased that he was to receive the honour, but
the first evidence we saw of it was the attitude of the chief steward on
the mail boat. He could not make enough of Irving, and in his excitement
confused his honours and invented new ones. He was at a loss what to
call him. He tried “Docthor,” but it did not seem to satisfy him. Then
he tried “Sir Henry”—this was three years before he was knighted; but
this also seemed inadequate. Then he tried “Docthor Sir Henry”; this
seemed to meet his ideas and to it he stuck.
The function of the conferring of degrees was a most interesting one;
the mere pageant of it was fine. There were representatives of nearly
all the Universities of the world, each in its proper robes. As Irving
passed to his place in the Examination Hall he was loudly cheered. I
was, of course, not close to him; I sat with the Senate, of which I am a
member. He looked noble and distinguished, and the robes seemed to suit
him. His height and bearing and lean figure carried off the peculiarly
strong mass of colour. The robes of the Dublin Doctor of Literature are
scarlet robes with broad facing of deep blue, and scarlet hood with blue
lining. The cap is the usual Academic “mortar-board” with long tassel.
When Irving was present at the formal opening of the Royal College of
Music, where all who were entitled to do so wore Academic dress, his
robes stood out in startling prominence.
Of course, each recipient of a degree received an ovation, but there was
none so marked as that to Irving. He went up with the President of the
Royal Academy, Sir Frederic (afterwards Lord) Leighton and Mr. (now Sir)
Lawrence Alma-Tadema, R.A., these three being bracketed in the agenda of
the function. When the conferring of degrees was over and the assembly
in the Examination Hall poured out into the quadrangle, Irving was
seized by a great body of some hundreds of students and carried to the
steps of the dining-hall opposite, where he was compelled to make a
speech.
At the banquet that night there was something of a _faux pas_, which was
later much commented on. In the toast list was one: Science, Literature
and Art.
This was proposed by the Marquis of Dufferin and Ava, and was responded
to for Science by Lord Kelvin; for Literature by the Bishop of Derry;
and for Art by Sir Frederic Leighton. The latter was, of course, quite
correct, for the President of the Royal Academy is naturally the
official mouthpiece for the voice of Art in this country. The mistake
was that, in speaking for Art, Sir Frederic limited himself to Painting.
He spoke in reality for himself and Alma-Tadema, but ignored completely
the sister Art of Acting, the chief exponent of which was a fellow
recipient of the honour which he himself had received that day and who
was present as a guest at the banquet. The comments of the press on the
omission were marked, and the authorities of the University did not like
the mistake. Leighton evidently heard of some comment on it, for a few
days afterwards he wrote to Irving to explain that he did not think he
was intended to reply, except for his own Art.
It was this circumstance that made up Irving’s mind to put forward on
some suitable occasion the claims of his own Art to a place in the
general category. The opportunity came a little more than two years
afterwards at the Royal Institution. On that occasion he selected for
his subject, “Acting: an Art”—the truth of which he proved logically and
conclusively. I mention the circumstance here as his silence has been
misconstrued.
II
CAMBRIDGE
The second University to honour the Player was Cambridge. The occasion
was this:
He was asked by the Vice-Chancellor, Mr. Hill, to give the “Rede”
Lecture for 1898. This request is, from the antiquity and record of the
function, in itself an honour.
The Rede Lecture was delivered at noon in the Senate House of the
University on Wednesday, 15th June, 1898, for the night of which day he
had closed the Lyceum. Irving had chosen as his subject, “The Theatre in
its relation to the State.” Throughout his life he always selected some
subject connected with his work. His art with him was the Alpha and
Omega of his endeavour. In this case he showed that, though some might
regard the theatre as a mere pleasure-house, it had in truth a much more
important use as a place of education.
“I claim for the theatre that it may be, and is, a potent means of
teaching great truths and furthering the spread or education of the
higher kind—the knowledge of the scope and working of human
character.”
The lecture was beautifully and earnestly delivered and was received
with very great enthusiasm. Very picturesque the lecturer looked in the
rostrum in his Dublin robes. These he exchanged later in the day, when
he received his Cambridge degree, D.Litt. This dress, all scarlet and
red with velvet hat, looked even more picturesque than that of Dublin
University.
That was an exhausting day. A journey from St. Pancras at 8.15 A.M. A
visit to the Vice-Chancellor at Downing Lodge, Cambridge. The Public
Lecture. Luncheon with the Vice-Chancellor in Downing Hall, with speech.
The Conferring of Degree. A Garden Party at King’s College. A Dinner
Party in Hall given by the Master and Fellows of Trinity College to the
Recipients of degrees. A Reception in the house of the Master of
Trinity. And finishing up with a quiet smoke among a few friends at the
rooms of Dr. Jackson.
The next morning there was a delightful breakfast in the house of
Frederick Myers—Mrs. Myers, formerly Miss Tennant, was an old friend of
Irving. Lord Dufferin was the youngest of the party, despite his
seventy-two years. I think the Marquis of Dufferin and Ava had the most
winning manner of any man I ever met. There was a natural sweetness of
the heart and an infinite humour from the head whose combination was
simply irresistible. His humour was of enormous and wide-embracing
range, and touched with illumination whatever subject he talked of. He
and Irving had much to say to each other. The rest who were present
wished to hear them both; and so there was silence when either spoke.
Irving seemed quite charmed with Lord Dufferin and gave way to him
altogether. The picture rises before me of the scene in the study of
Frederick Myers after breakfast, well shown by the wide window opening
out on the beautiful garden behind the house. Seated on the high fender
with padded top, with his back to the fireplace, sat Lord Dufferin, and
round him in a close circle—the young girls being the closest and
looking with admiring eyes—the whole of the rest of the party. His
clear, sweet, exquisitely modulated voice seemed to suit the sunshine
and the universal brightness of the place. Lord Dufferin’s voice seemed
to rise and fall, to quicken or come slowly by a sort of selective
instinct. It struck me as being naturally one of the most expressive
voices I had ever heard.
That night Irving played _The Medicine Man_ at the Lyceum, and I thought
I detected here and there a trace of the influence of Lord Dufferin in
the more winning passages of the play.
III
GLASGOW
Irving now held University degrees from Ireland and England. The
Scottish degree came in another year. For a long time Professor Herbert
Story, D.D., LL.D., the Professor of Ecclesiastical History at the
University of Glasgow, had a very high opinion of Henry Irving and of
the good work which he had done for education and humanity. I remember
well a talk which Dr. Story had with me in his study after I had lunched
with him on 26th June 1896. Incidentally he mentioned that he thought
his University should give Irving a degree. Two years after, 22nd
October 1898, he told me that it was in contemplation to carry this out
in the following year. In that year Professor Story was presented by the
Queen to the Principalship of the University on the resignation of Dr.
Caird from that high position. On the 20th July 1899, the honour was
actually completed when Irving was invested with his degree of LL.D.
That was, I think, the only honourable occasion of Irving’s life since
1878 at which I was not present. But it was quite impossible; I was then
in bed with a bad attack of pneumonia. I had been looking forward to the
occasion, for Principal Story and his wife and daughters were friends of
mine as well as of Irving. I read, however, of the heartiness of his
reception, both in the Bute Hall, where the degrees were conferred, and
by the great mass of students without.
IV
OXFORD
On Sunday, 7th March 1886, Irving and I went to Oxford to stay with W.
L. Courtney, then a Don of New College. For some years the two men had
been close friends and Courtney, whenever he was in London, would come
to supper in the Beefsteak Room. This Oxford visit was arranged for some
time, for Courtney was anxious to have Irving meet some of the Heads of
Colleges. The dinner was naturally a formal one, for in Oxford a very
strict order of precedence rules. The Vice-Chancellor of the University—
Dr. Jowett, Master of Balliol College—was there; also the Master of
University, the President of Magdalen, and the Warden of Merton, the
last three with their wives. Professor Max Müller was also a guest, his
wife and daughter completed the party of fourteen. Jowett was in great
form that evening. He was always a good and original talker, but he
seemed on that evening to be on his mettle. During dinner one of the
ladies sounded to Irving the praises of the Ober-Ammergau play, its fine
effects, its deep moral teaching, and so forth. Irving listened
attentively, and presently said quietly:
“If it is so good they ought to bring it to the Crystal Palace.” The
lady was quite shocked, and turning to the Vice-Chancellor said:
“Oh, Mr. Vice-Chancellor, do you hear what Mr. Irving says: ‘That the
Ober-Ammergau play should be brought to the Crystal Palace!’” The pause
round the table was marked. All wanted eagerly to hear what the
Vice-Chancellor, who in those days ruled Oxford, would say to such a
startling proposition. His answer startled them afresh when it came:
“Why not!”
The result of the _rapprochement_ which Courtney had so kindly effected
was that Irving was asked to give an Address at the University. He, of
course, assented to the honourable request, and the date was fixed for
Saturday, 26th June. The subject which he chose for the discourse was
“English Actors: their Characteristics and their Methods.”
On arriving at Oxford on the day he and I went at once with W. L.
Courtney, who had met us at the station, to the New Examination Hall,
where the Address was to be given. Irving always liked to see beforehand
the place in which he was to act or speak. From there we drove to
Balliol, where we were staying with the Master. At half-past nine
o’clock we went to the hall with him. The great hall was crowded to
suffocation with an immense audience, and the reception was warm in the
extreme. The discourse was received with rapt attention pointed with
applause; and the conclusion was followed by a salvo of cheers. Then
came the presentation of an Address, made by the Vice-Chancellor in a
delightful, carefully-worded speech. Amongst other things Dr. Jowett
said:
“I express ... our admiration of him for the great services which he
has rendered to the world and to society by improving and elevating
the stage....”
Then after explaining the views of Plato on whose work he was so supreme
an authority, regarding the rhapsodist, and of Socrates on the same
subject, and following up the views of the latter with regard to the
good company he kept, he went on:
“The drama is the only form of literature which is not dead, but
alive, and is always being brought to life again and again by the
genius of the actor.... The indirect influence of the theatre is very
great, and tends to permeate all classes of society, so that the
condition of the stage is not a bad index or test of a nation’s
character. And those who, regardless of their own pecuniary loss or
gain, have brought back Shakespeare to the English stage, who have
restored his plays to their original form, who have quickened in the
English people the love of his writings and the feelings of his
greatness may be truly considered national benefactors.”
Surely a noble tribute this from a man of such personal and official
distinction to the worth of the drama, the stage, and the great actor to
whom his praise was given.
Breakfast next morning was another pleasant function, at which all the
house-party were present. The “Master,” as Dr. Jowett was called, was in
great form. I remember his quoting a remark of Tennyson’s:
“I would rather get six months than put two S’S together in verse!”
V
VICTORIA UNIVERSITY OF MANCHESTER