CHAPTER XVI.

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 Forbes Robertson, who played Lancelot with picturesque power, was early withdrawn, being bound by some other engagement.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.