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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..dffe087 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #61470 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/61470) diff --git a/old/61470-0.txt b/old/61470-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 19ff759..0000000 --- a/old/61470-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,17984 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Life of Edwin Forrest, the American -Tragedian. Volume 2 (of 2), by William Rounseville Alger - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll -have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using -this ebook. - - - -Title: Life of Edwin Forrest, the American Tragedian. Volume 2 (of 2) - -Author: William Rounseville Alger - -Release Date: February 22, 2020 [EBook #61470] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK EDWIN FORREST *** - - - - -Produced by Richard Tonsing, David Edwards, and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This -book was produced from images made available by the -HathiTrust Digital Library.) - - - - - - -[Illustration: - - ÆT 65 -] - - - - - LIFE - OF - EDWIN FORREST, - THE AMERICAN TRAGEDIAN. - - - BY - - WILLIAM ROUNSEVILLE ALGER. - - - “All the world’s a stage, - And all the men and women merely players.” - - - VOLUME II. - - - PHILADELPHIA: - J. B. LIPPINCOTT & CO. - 1877. - - - - - Copyright, 1877, by J. B. LIPPINCOTT & CO. - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - CHAPTER XIV. -NEWSPAPER ESTIMATES.—ELEMENTS OF THE DRAMATIC ART, AND ITS TRUE STANDARD - OF CRITICISM. - - -The newspaper in some countries has been a crime and in others a luxury. -In all civilized countries it has now become a necessity. With us it is -a duty. It is often corrupted and degraded into a nuisance. It ought to -be cleansed and exalted into a pure benefaction, a circulating medium of -intelligence and good will alone. Certainly it is far from being that at -the present time. It is true that our newspapers are an invaluable and -indispensable protection against all other tyrannies and social abuses; -and their fierce vanity, self-interest, and hostile watchfulness of one -another keep their common arrogance and encroachments pretty well in -check. If they were of one mind and interest we should be helplessly in -their power. From the great evils which so seriously alloy the immense -benefits of the press, Forrest suffered much in the latter half of his -life. The abuse he met irritated his temper, and left a chronic -resentment in his mind. Two specimens of this abuse will show something -of the nettling wrongs he encountered. - -A Philadelphia newspaper stigmatized him in the most offensive terms as -a drunkard. Now it was a moral glory of Forrest that, despite the -temptations to which his professional career exposed him, he was never -intoxicated in his life. The newspaper in question, threatened with a -libel suit, withdrew its words with an abject apology,—a poor -satisfaction for the pain and injury it had inflicted. - -The other instance was on occasion of the driving of Macready from the -stage of the Astor Place Opera House. A New York newspaper, in language -of studied insolence, called Forrest the instigator and author of the -outrage. “Mr. Forrest succeeded last night in doing what even his bad -acting and unmanly conduct never did before: he inflicted a thorough and -lasting disgrace upon the American character.” “To revenge himself on -Mr. Macready he packed the house and paid rowdies for driving decent -people away.” “With his peculiar tastes he will probably enjoy the -infamy and deem it a triumph.” Forrest, instead of cowhiding the writer -of this atrocious slander,—as some men of his high-spirited nature would -have done,—sent a letter, through his legal friend Theodore Sedgwick, -demanding immediate retraction and apology. The editor assented to the -request, confessing that he had spoken with no knowledge of facts to -justify him! - -From the time of his first appearance on the stage, Forrest was a -careful reader of the criticisms on his performances. He generally read -them, too, with a just mind, discriminating the valuable from the -worthless, quick to adopt a useful hint, indignant or contemptuous -towards unfairness and imbecility. There were three classes of persons -whose comments on his performances gave him pleasure and instruction. He -paid earnest attention to their remarks, and was always generous in -expressing his sense of indebtedness to them. - -The first class consisted of those who had a personal friendship for -him, combined with a strong taste for the drama, and who studied and -criticised his efforts in a sympathetic spirit for the purpose of -encouraging him and aiding him to improve. Such men as Duane and -Chandler and Swift in Philadelphia, Dawson in Cincinnati, Holley at -Louisville, Canonge in New Orleans, Leggett and Lawson in New York, and -Oakes in Boston, gave him the full benefit of their varied knowledge of -human nature, literary art, and dramatic expression. Their censure was -unhesitating, their questionings frank, their praise unstinted. Among -these friendly critics the name of James Hunter, of Albany, one of the -editors of “The Daily Advertiser,” in the important period of young -Forrest’s engagement there, deserves to be remembered. He was one of the -best critics of that day. He used to sit close to the stage and watch -the actor with the keenest scrutiny, not allowing the smallest -particular to escape his notice. Then at the end of the play he would in -a private interview submit to his protégé the results of his -observation, carefully pointing out every fault and indicating the -remedy. He lived to see the favorite, who profited so well from his -instructions, reach the proudest pitch of success and fame. When Mr. -Hunter died, Forrest interrupted an engagement he was filling in a -distant city in order to attend the funeral, and followed the remains of -his old benefactor to the tomb as one of the chief mourners. - -The second class of commenters on the playing of Forrest from whose -judgments he received satisfaction and help was composed of that portion -of the writers of dramatic criticism for the press who were -comparatively competent to the task they undertook. They were men who -were neither his friends nor his foes, but impartial judges, who knew -what they were writing about and who recorded their honest thoughts in -an honorable spirit and a good style. Among the many thousands of -articles written on the acting of Forrest during the fifty years of his -career there are hundreds written in excellent style, revealing -competent knowledge, insight, and sympathy, and marked by an -unexceptionable moral tone. They suggest doubts, administer blame, and -express admiration, not from caprice or prejudice, but from principle, -and with lights and shades varying in accordance with the facts of the -case and the truth of the subject. These articles have an interest and a -value in the highest degree creditable to their authors, and they go far -to redeem the dramatic criticism of our national press from the severe -condemnation justly provoked by the greater portion of it. Did space -allow, it would be a pleasure to cite full specimens of this better -class of dramatic critiques from the collected portfolios left behind -him by the departed actor. Enough that he profoundly appreciated them, -and that in various directions they did good service in their day. - -The third class whose words concerning his performances Forrest gladly -heeded were men who simply gave truthful reports of the impressions made -on themselves, not professing to sit in judgment or to dogmatize, but -honestly declaring what they felt and what they thought. Free from -prejudices and perversities, fair average representatives of human -nature in its ordinary degrees of power and culture, their experiences -under his impersonations, ingenuously expressed, were always interesting -and instructive, throwing light on many secrets of cause and effect, on -many points of conventional falsity and of natural sincerity, in -histrionic portrayals. Often while the newspaper writer who pretends to -know the most about the dramatic art is so full of conceit and biases -that his verdict on any particular representation has neither weight nor -justice, the instincts of the bright-minded and warm-hearted boy or -girl, the native intelligence and sympathy of the unsophisticated man or -woman, whose soul is all open to the living truth of things, are almost -infallible. Nobody knew this better than our tragedian, or was readier -to act on it. - -The light and joy he drew from these three sets of critics found a heavy -counterpoise in the unjust estimates, perverse, exaggerated, malignant, -or absurd, of which he was constantly made the subject by five classes -of censors. The first were his personal enemies. Among the meaner fry of -men who came in contact with him, a multitude hated him from jealousy -and envy, from resentment of his independent and uncompromising ways, -his refusal to grant them his intimacy or to serve their purposes. They -sought to gratify their animosity by backbiting at his reputation, and -especially by trying to destroy his professional rank. Year after year -they made the columns of many a newspaper groan and reek under the load -of their abuse, ranging from envenomed invective to grotesque ridicule. -For example, a jocose foe said, in parody of the great Moslem -proclamation, “There is but one Bowery, and Hellitisplit is its profit.” -And a serious foe said, “Mr. Forrest is an injury to the stage. He is a -false leader, an oppression, a bad model, and a corrupter of the popular -taste.” A great part of the hostile criticism he suffered may be traced -to bitter personal enmity, which had but slight regard to truth or -fairness in its attacks on him, whether as man or as player. - -The next class of assailants of Forrest in his professional repute were -not his personal enemies, but were the tools of the various cliques, -cabals, or social castes who had an antipathy for him and for the party -to which he belonged. The English interest was especially active and -bitter against him after his quarrel with Macready. Some of these -writers were wilfully corrupt in their attitude and consciously false in -their written estimates. They expressed neither their own feelings nor -their own convictions, but merely the passion and policy of their -employers. For example, at the time of the death of the tragedian a -well-known editor confessed to a friend that some twenty years -previously, when he was a reporter, his employer sent him to the theatre -to see Forrest play, and with explicit directions to write the severest -condemnation he could of the actor. He went accordingly, and made notes -for a savage satirical article, although at the moment of his making -these notes the tears were streaming down his cheeks, so sincere and so -powerful was the representation which he was, against his conscience, -preparing to abuse. Much dishonorable work of this kind has been done, -and still is done, by men disgracefully connected with the press. - -Another set of critics who assailed the acting of Forrest were those -whose tastes were repelled by his realistic method and robust energy. He -was too vehemently genuine, his art not far enough removed from material -reality, to suit their fancy. They demanded a style more graceful, -delicate, and free. Under the impulse of their resentful prejudices they -overlooked his great merits, depreciated everything he did, angrily -denied him his just rank, magnified every fault beyond measure, and -maliciously caricatured him. A volume might be filled with articles -purely of this description, proceeding from writers whose want of native -manliness unfitted them for appreciating the magnificent manliness of -his impersonations, and whose offended fastidiousness expressed itself -in terms which were an offence to justice. - -The fourth class of abusers of Forrest were men who had an instinctive -repugnance for the imposing grandeur of the types of character he -represented, for the self-sufficing, autocratic power and stateliness of -his impersonations. Mean and envious spirits dislike to look up to those -higher and stronger than themselves. Those who either never had any -romance and reverence or have been disenchanted, feel an especial enmity -or incompetent contempt for every one whose character and bearing appeal -to those qualities. This disinclination to admire, this wish to look on -equals or inferiors alone, is the special vice of a democracy. -Demagogues, whether in politics or in letters, are men of torpid -imaginations and dry hearts,—slow to worship, quick to sneer. The style -of man enacted by Forrest, full of an imperial personality, overswaying -all who come near, massive in will, ponderous in movement, volcanic in -passion, majestic in poise, was hateful to the cynical critic the petty -proportions of whose soul were revealed and rebuked in its presence. He -seized the weapon of ridicule to revenge himself on the actor whose -grander portrayals angered him instead of aweing or shaming or -delighting him. There seems to be among us in America a growing dislike -for the contemplation on the stage of the grandest heroism and power, -and an increasing fondness for seeing specimens of commonplace or -inferiority promotive of amusement. Already in his life Forrest was a -sufferer by this degradation of popular taste, and were he now to appear -in our theatres he would feel it still more. - -The fifth and largest class of writers who assumed to criticise the -acting of Forrest was made up of persons professionally connected with -the press, whose blundering or extravagant estimates arose rather from -their ignorance and utter incompetency for the task they undertook than -from a spirit of antipathy or partisanship. The censures and laudations -in these notices were the cause of an immense amount of varied -mortification, amusement, vexation, and anger, as they came under his -eyes. No small portion of the criticisms in the American newspapers on -actors, singers, lecturers, and other public characters have been -written, and still continue to be written, by uneducated and -inexperienced young men scarcely out of their teens, serving an -apprenticeship in the art and trade of journalism. With low aims and -views, slight literary culture, superficial knowledge of life, a vile -contempt for sentiment, a cynical estimate of human nature, equally -ready to extol and to denounce for pay, these writers are the nuisance -and the scandal of their craft. Were their articles accompanied by their -names they would be destitute of weight or mischief; but, published with -apparent editorial sanction, they often assume a pernicious importance. - -The art of a people expresses the character and aspiration of a people -and reacts to develop them. To sit in judgment on it is a high and -sacred office, for which none but the most intelligent, refined, and -honorable are fit. The praise and blame given to artists play on the -living sensibilities of that most sensitive class whose careers are a -vital index of the moral state of the community. Yet this momentous -office is frequently entrusted to beardless youths, whose chief -experience is in dissipation, and who unblushingly sell their pens to -the highest bidder. A severe article exposing this abuse appeared in the -“Round Table” in 1864, written by the editor, and entitled “Dramatic -Critics in New York.” Forrest put it in one of his scrap-books with the -endorsement, “How true this is!” Mr. Sedley said, “What dramatic -criticism in New York has been the public well know. Its low, egotistic, -unfair, malicious character, its blind partialities and undying hates, -its brazen ignorance and insulting familiarity, have given it wide -notoriety and brought upon it equally wide contempt.” - -There is no art which more needs to be criticised than that of criticism -itself, because there is none which requires in its votary such varied -knowledge and cultivation, and such integrity of mind and purity of -motive; because, furthermore, no other art is exposed to such subtle -temptations of prejudice and vanity. The critic, in assuming to be a -judge, is no exception to other writers. Like them he reveals and -betrays himself in what he writes. In dissecting others he lays his own -soul bare. In consciously judging them he pronounces unconscious -judgment on himself,—in the tenderness or the insensibility, the -generosity and candor or the meanness and spite, the knowledge and -beauty or the ignorance and foulness, which he expresses. The pen of a -base, vindictive critic is a stiletto, a fang, or an anal gland. The pen -of a competent and genial critic is the wand of an intellectual Midas -turning everything it touches to gold. For such a critic has the true -standard of judgment in his knowledge, and, whatever the merit or -demerit of the work he estimates, as he points out its conformity with -that standard or its departure from it his lucid illustration is always -full of instruction and help. - -But the great majority of those journalists who presume to print their -estimates of histrionic performances are profoundly ignorant of the -elements of the dramatic art. Thus, having no knowledge of the real -standard of judgment by which all impersonations should be tested, they -cannot fairly criticise the artists who appear before them for a -verdict. Instead of criticising or even justly describing them they -victimize them. They use them as the stalking-horses of their own -presumption or caprice, prejudice or interest. Unable to write with -intelligent candor on the subject which they profess to treat, they -employ it only as a text whereon to append whatever they think they can -make effective in displaying their own abilities or amusing their -readers. The unfittedness of such critics for their task is sufficiently -proved by the chief attributes of their writing, namely, prejudice, -absurd extravagance, reckless caprice, ridiculous assumption of -superiority, violent efforts to lug in every irrelevant matter which -they can in any way associate with the topic to enhance the effect they -wish to produce regardless of justice or propriety. - -A few specimens of these various kinds of criticism will be found full -of curious interest and suggestiveness, while they will illustrate -something of what the proud and sensitive nature of Forrest had to -undergo at the hands of his admirers and his contemners. - -One enthusiastic worshipper, in the year 1826, overflowed in the -following style: “In the Iron Chest, on Thursday evening last, Mr. -Forrest established a name and a fame which, should he die to-morrow, -would give him a niche in the temple of renown to endure uncrumbled in -the decay of ages!” Another one wrote thus: “In his Richard, Macbeth, -Lear, and Othello, Mr. Forrest displays abilities and accomplishments -which, for power and finish, we do not believe have ever been at all -approached by any other actor that ever stepped upon the stage. The -range of his delicate and varied by-play and the terrific energy of his -explosions of naked passion leave the very greatest of his predecessors -far in the rear and deep in the shade!” Such slopping eulogy defeats its -own purpose. For want of discrimination its exaggerations are unmeaning -and powerless. To be thus bedaubed and plastered with praise mortifies -the actor, and injures him with the judicious, though springing from a -generous sensibility and most kindly meant. This style of praise, -however, is quite exceptional. The general run of critics have -altogether too much knowingness and vanity for it. Their cue is to -depreciate and detract, to satirize and belittle, so as either directly -or indirectly to imply the superiority of their own knowledge and taste. -Your ordinary critic is nothing if not superior to the artist he assumes -to estimate. The publicity and admiration enjoyed by the performer seem -to taunt the critic with his own obscurity and neglect, and he seeks an -ignoble gratification in denying the merit of what he really envies. -This base animus of the baser members of a properly high and useful -literary guild betrays itself in many ways. For example, one of this -sort, sneering at the idea of applauding the genius of an actor, -characterized dramatists as “the class of men who administer in the most -humiliating of all forms to the amusement of a large and mixed -assembly.” It needs no more than his own words to place Pecksniff before -us in full life. - -Through the whole dramatic life of Forrest one class of his assailants -were found accusing him of tameness and dulness, while another class -blamed him for extravagant energy and frenzied earnestness. Both classes -spoke from personal bias or capricious whim, instead of judging by a -fixed standard of truth and discerning where reserve and quietness were -appropriate and where explosive vehemence was natural. One critic, in -1831, says, “He wants passion and force. He has no sincerity of feeling, -no spontaneous and climacteric force. He often counterfeits well,—for -the stage,—but nature is not there.” At the same time the critic -attached to another journal wrote, “Mr. Forrest’s greatest fault is lack -of self-control and repose. His feelings are so intense and mighty that -they break through all bounds. With added years, no doubt, he will grow -more reserved and artistic.” Thirty years later the same blunt -contradiction, the same blind caprice or prejudice, are found in the two -extracts that follow: - -“For nearly three months the heavy tragedian has weighed like an incubus -on the public, which now, that the oppression of this theatrical -nightmare is removed, breathes freely. We part with Mr. Forrest without -regret; he has taken his leave, and, as that slight acquaintance of his, -William Shakspeare, remarks, he could ‘take nothing we would more -willingly part withal.’ Those only who, like ourselves, have constantly -attended his performances, have a true knowledge of their tedium and -dulness. The occasional visitor may bear with Mr. Forrest for a night or -two, but we are really nauseated. The stupid, solemn, melancholy -evenings we have passed in watching his stupid, solemn, and melancholy -personations will always be remembered with disgust. Nothing but a sense -of duty compelled us to submit to this ineffable bore.” - -“Mr. Forrest belongs to the robustious school of tragedy,—that class who -‘split the ears of the groundlings,’—and his eminent example has ruined -the American stage. He is a dramatic tornado, and plucks up the author’s -words by the roots and hurls them at the heads of the audience. He -mistakes rant for earnestness, frenzy for vigor. The modulations of his -voice are unnatural, and his pauses painful. A man in a furious passion -does not measure his words like a pedagogue declaiming before his -school, but speaks rapidly and fiercely, without taking time to hiss -like a locomotive blowing off steam. Mr. Forrest was not so in his -prime; and he has probably borrowed the habit from some antiquated actor -who has been afflicted with asthma.” - -There is no candid criticism in such effusions of obvious prepossession -and satire. They show no reference to a fixed standard, no sincere -devotion to the interests of truth and art; but a desire to awaken -laughter, a purpose to make the player appear ridiculous and the writer -appear witty. The same may be said of the following examples, wherein -amusing or malignant ridicule takes the place of fair and intelligent -judgment. Such writers care not what their victims suffer, or what -justice suffers, so long as they can succeed in gaining attention and -raising a laugh. They feel with the English critic who excoriated Payne -for his Macbeth, “No matter if the labor we delight in physics Payne, it -_pays_ us.” - -First. “Mr. Forrest’s personation of the Broker of Bogota is feeble and -uninteresting. Contrasted with his _Othello_, it has the advantage which -the Stupid has over the Outrageous. _Febro_ may be compared to one of -those intolerable bores who prose and prose, with sublime contempt of -all that is interesting, for hours. _Othello_ is like one of those -social torments who destroy your peace of mind with incessant and -furious attacks. The bore is the negative of Good; his opposite is the -affirmative of Evil.” - -Second. “We can account for the popularity which Forrest enjoys as the -greatest master of the Epigastric School of Acting on no other -hypothesis than that of the innate depravity of human taste. Like the -vicious propensity in mankind to chew tobacco and drink whisky, the -majority of men have a depraved appetite for this false and outrageous -caricature of human nature which Mr. Forrest calls acting. Our -strictures apply in a lesser degree to the stage delineations of all -tragedians. They are all false, and Forrest is only a little more so. -His particular excellence seems to lie in his extraordinary power of -pumping up rage from his epigastrium, and expectorating it upon his -audience, through the interstices of his set teeth. Other tragedians -equal him in their facial contortions, and in the power of converting -their chests into an immense bellows violently worked. His great rival, -McKean Buchanan, excels Mr. Forrest in this department of high art, but -fails in the epigastric power. Mr. Forrest may well claim to stand at -the head of the Epigastric School. He does not underestimate the value -of epilepsy in delineation, and ‘chaws,’ tears, rends, and foams at the -mouth quite as artistically as the best of his rivals; but he especially -cultivates his epigastrium. We do not want Mr. Forrest to die soon. But -when he _does_ pass away, we have a physiological and anatomical -curiosity which we would be pleased to have gratified at the expense of -a _post mortem_ on the great tragedian. We have a grave suspicion that, -deep down in his stomach, beneath the liver and other less important -viscera, he has concealed additional vocal apparatus, by means of which -he is enabled to produce those diabolical _tremolo_ sounds which have so -often thrilled and chilled his auditors. But in our opinion, with its -two great exponents, Edwin Forrest and McKean Buchanan, the Epigastric -and Epileptic School of Acting will pass away.” - -Third. “We thought to have dropped Mr. Edwin Forrest as a subject of -newspaper remark; but several of his friends, or persons who think -themselves such, are very anxious that we should do him justice, as an -actor, though that is just what they ought to fear for him. We will take -his performance as Richard. In this part, in the first place, his gait -is very bad, awkward, and ungraceful. Richard may, possibly, have halted -a little, but he did not roll like a sailor just ashore from a three -years’ cruise. A king does not walk so. Then, his features are totally -devoid of expression; he can contort, but he can throw neither meaning -nor feeling into them. When he attempts to look love, anger, hate, or -fear, he resembles one of the ghouls and afrites in Harper’s new -illustrated edition of the Arabian Nights. He wins Lady Anne with a -smile that would frighten a fiend, and that varies not a single line -from that with which he evinces his satisfaction at the prospect of -gaining the crown, and his contempt for the weakness of his enemies. A -more outrageous and hideous contortion still expresses his rage at -Buckingham’s importunity, and at the reproaches of his mother. When he -awakes in the tent-scene, he keeps his jaws at their utmost possible -distension for about two minutes, and presents no bad emblem of an -anaconda about to engorge a buffalo; one might fling in a pound of -butter without greasing a tooth. At the same time, his whole frame -writhes and shakes like a frog subjected to the action of a galvanic -battery. We have seen folks frightened and convulsed before now, but we -never saw one of them retain his senses in a convulsion. We like a deep, -manly, powerful voice; but we dislike to hear it strained to the screech -of a damned soul in hell-torment, like Mr. Forrest’s when he calls on -his drums to strike up and his men to charge. Often he displays his -tremendous physical energies where there is not the least occasion for -them, and as often does he repress them where they are needed. For -instance, Richard ought to work himself into a passion before he slays -King Henry. Mr. Forrest kills him as coolly and as quietly as a butcher -sticks a pig or knocks down a calf, and he repulses Buckingham with the -voice and action of a raving maniac. But Mr. Forrest is not to blame for -his face, which is as nature moulded it, neither because he has but -three notes to his voice, nor because the only inflections he is capable -of are their exaltation and depression. But he need not aggravate the -slight deformity of Richard more than Shakspeare did, who greatly -exaggerated it himself. Nor do we blame him for raving, ranting, -roaring, and bellowing to houses who never applaud him but when he -commits some gross outrage upon good taste and propriety. He adapts his -goods to his market, and he does wisely.” - -As a contrast and offset to the foregoing specimens of self-display -disguised as criticism of another, it is but fair to cite a few extracts -from different writers who had really something appropriate to say on -the subject they were treating, and who said it with exemplary -directness and impartiality: - -“As a reader Mr. Forrest has, in our opinion, few equals. Believing him -to be the most overrated actor on the stage, we are yet not blind to his -merit, but are glad to speak of the least of his excellences, and only -wish they were more numerous. Let us take his inherent faults for -granted, and consider his reading at the best. Does he fail in the first -essential,—intelligibility? On the contrary, he enunciates a thought -with such clearness that the meaning cannot be mistaken. Does he fail to -give the rhythm and the rhetoric of verse? On the contrary, verse in his -utterance retains its melody and music, and the high-sounding eloquence -of words its majesty. He subtly marks the changes of reflection, and -keeps the leading idea emphatic and distinct. There stands the _thought_ -at least, no matter if the _feeling_ is a thousand miles away. He has -carved the statue correctly, though he wants the power of the ancient -sculptor to give the cold marble life. This he cannot do by ‘emphasizing -every word,’ in the unnatural way of which our correspondent accuses -him. Analyze one of his well-read sentences, and mark how the strong -word and the strong sound fall together; then listen to most of the -actors that surround him, and notice with what amusing vehemence they -shout their ‘ands’ and ‘ifs’ and ‘buts.’ They begin every sentence with -a stentorian cry that dwindles into an exhausted whisper.” - -“As regards Forrest, we are often amused to hear people, who have vainly -refused for years to recognize his great histrionic abilities, wonder -how it is that he invariably attracts crowded houses whenever he -performs. We do not know any actor of his rank who has been so -scurrilously abused and to so little purpose. The most elaborate -pretences at criticism are always poured out on his devoted head, and if -the power of the press could have written a man down he surely would -have been long since; for he has few special champions among -acknowledged critics, a fact which shows how deep is the feeling against -him among particular classes. We must candidly confess to have never -been biased by profound admiration of Forrest’s acting, and yet we must -also admit that after having calmly, patiently, and attentively watched -some entire performances of his, we were convinced that he really -possessed far greater powers of mind than any of the critics ever had -given him credit for. His style is apt to be uneven, and men of his -mould of intellect cannot always enact the same parts with the same good -taste. But of his superb elocution,—of the noble idea of latent force -and suppressed passion which his whole manner embodies,—of the -perfection of manly dignity and physical development which have never -had a better representative on the stage than in his person,—of the -marvellous voice, so musical in its sound, and so happily adjusted in -its modulations to increase the expression of a sentence,—there ought, -in our judgment, to be no abatement of that admiration so long and so -justly accorded to him. If all the critics in the country were with one -voice to deny the existence of these things, their fiat would be -powerless against the evidence of men’s senses. We admit that he has no -subtlety of intellect, no finely-drawn perceptions of delicate shades of -human character. What he does is the result of the action of a very -strong mind, capable of being directed in a particular channel with -resistless energy; but this is the very class of minds out of which have -arisen some of the greatest men in the world’s annals. When Forrest -performs an engagement people go to see him who know all his defects, -but they go because it is the only acting of the highest class they have -the opportunity of seeing, and it is so far above the rivalry of such -actors as have been here during the last decade as to admit of no -comparison.” - -“It is said when Canova was finishing a choice marble that his friends -were very anxious to see the work on exhibition, but the great artist -restrained their impatience, and proposed to gratify their desire at the -end of a given term. At the expiration of the time, his friends -assembled eagerly, and, in tones of disappointment, exclaimed, ‘What -have you been doing? You have been idle; you have done nothing to your -piece.’ To which he replied, ‘On the contrary, my chisel has been -exceedingly busy; I have subdued this muscle, I have brought out this -feature, enlivened this expression, polished my marble.’ ‘Oh, but,’ said -they, ‘these are mere trifles!’ ‘They may be,’ he said, ‘but trifles -make up the sum of perfection.’ The Virginius of Mr. Forrest revived -this anecdote of Canova, as well as remembrances of his early -performances. The difference in the two cases, however, is that it is -not the artist now, but his friends that see the perfection. Virginius -has long been identified with Mr. Forrest’s fame; but, great as the -lustre may be which his surpassing self-possession, noble and balanced -bearing, rich, copious, and manly elocution, and deft, minute, and -relative action have heretofore thrown upon this character, it has now -been still more varied and beautified by the mellow tints that shadow -and relieve the local splendor of salient features. It is indeed a -masterpiece of acting and the ‘top of admiration.’ It is difficult to -perceive any point of improvement that could give it more truth, in its -lifelike resemblance, as a copy of fiction; and we are sure, after the -ribaldry which of late years has degraded the boards, that there is not -a single lover of the drama who saw this enactment who does not feel -grateful to Mr. Edwin Forrest for his manly reassertion of the dignity -of the stage.” - -“We are disposed to admit the greatest liberty possible to the -theatrical critic employed upon the daily press, but we cannot help -alluding to the disgracefully savage bitterness of the writer in one of -our weekly contemporaries as equally damaging to his employer’s -reputation and his own. Mr. Forrest has now passed that period of his -life in which he might have been injured by the malevolence of the -individual. In the mass, criticism bows before his assured superiority, -and it is simply a petty spite which dares persistently to deny his -claims to genius of the highest order. He is no longer a man respecting -whose position in the history of the American stage there can be any -dispute. He stands completely alone. We are induced this week to make -this remark from having freshly seen him in ‘_Othello_’ and ‘_Macbeth_.’ -Can any observer who remembers his interpretation of the first of these -characters, some twenty years since, or his rendering of the last one, -but four years ago, and is disposed to examine them fairly, with -reference to his present reading and acting of either part, deny this? -If he does so, we can but feel that he is alike ungifted with the talent -to recognize and the honesty to admit the wide difference which exists -between them. His ‘_Othello_’ is now a most coherent and perfect whole. -Where is the artist who can infuse a more perfect and thorough spirit of -love than he does in that scene where he meets _Desdemona_ again in -Cyprus, after having quitted her in Venice? Where is the one who grows -under the heat of _Iago’s_ viperous tongue into a more sublimely savage -delineation of jealousy than he does in the subsequent acts? Is not his - - ‘I love thee, Cassio, - But never more be officer of mine,’ - -one of the most perfect bits of natural feeling that has ever been -uttered upon the stage? Friendship, anger, pity, and justice are all -struggling within him, and shape the sorrow of the words that strip his -lieutenant of the office which he considers him no longer worthy to -retain. It may be observed that in alluding to these points we have not -marked any of those more obvious beauties which have for many years been -acknowledged in his representation of this character. These are settled -excellencies in the estimation of all who love the tragic stage. Certain -lines have been stereotyped to us by the genius of those who have -embodied this greatest of Shaksperian characters; but for those who will -reverently observe his impersonation, there are hitherto hidden points -developed by Forrest which justify us in laughing at those whose -resolute hatred of the artist blinds them to his excellence, and to the -wonderful finish in the histrionic portraits which he offers them. We -have good artists amongst us, but we certainly have none who can for a -moment be fairly compared with him; and therefore is it that we say the -man who constantly undervalues him simply marks himself as notoriously -incapable of balancing the critical scales.” - -The next extract is taken from a long article by the well-known scholar -and author, Dr. R. Shelton Mackenzie: - -“We once heard a great author say, ‘Scurrility is the shadow of Fame, -and as often precedes as follows it.’ That author was Bulwer, and his -remark has the weight of an aphorism. With respect to Mr. Edwin Forrest, -it is singular that he has been assailed in his native town by -scurrility at an advanced period of his brilliant career, and at a time -when his powers have ripened into something very close to perfection. - -“Unless the actuating principle of the writer be a merely malignant -dislike of the man, it seems almost impossible to us that any critic, -possessed of the ordinary intelligence current among the more -respectable members of the fraternity, can refuse or be so morally blind -as not to see the wide difference existing between the Forrest of the -present time and the Forrest who was admitted by the public to be the -greatest American actor some twenty years ago. At that time he was -wonderful,—wonderful by his intensity, his dashing power, his superb -manhood, his fine voice, and his noble presence. This made him a great -artist. He might have many faults, but these were obliterated from the -mind of the spectator by his many and dazzling merits, which were even -the more striking from the comparative blemishes with which they were -mingled. - -“The artistic career of Edwin Forrest has now, however, made a great -stride in advance. He has polished, refined, and completed his style. It -was said of Garrick, who was several years older than Forrest when he -retired from the stage, that in his latter seasons he acted better than -ever, and the fact that he never, even when a master in the art, ceased -to be a student, explained the cause. The same may be said, and even -with more truth, of Edwin Forrest. There is no living actor half so -studious as himself. His mind, always under thorough self-cultivation, -has matured in later years, and the effects are apparent. He is so near -perfection as an actor that it is impossible to be so attracted by his -excellencies now as we might have been when contrast made them more -palpable. - -“Fully to appreciate the various power of Mr. Forrest cannot be done by -examining him in any single character. We have therefore waited until -his engagement is nearly completed, and have carefully studied him in -eleven different characters,—_Richelieu_, _Damon_, _Richard III._, -_Hamlet_, _Othello_, _Virginius_, _Macbeth_, _Lucius Junius Brutus_, -_Febro_, _Jack Cade_, and _Lear_. Of these, perhaps, his _Lear_, his -_Othello_, his _Macbeth_, his _Richelieu_, and his _Damon_ are the -greatest; but there is comparatively so little difference in excellence -between his _Hamlet_ and his _Othello_, his _Virginius_ and his _Damon_, -that he might reasonably except to us for noting that difference, which, -after all, is in some measure the result of a purely physical variation -in the bodily means at his disposal for each special embodiment. - -“The almost even excellence, in so many of his great parts, to which -Edwin Forrest has attained, contains in itself a strong assertion of his -right not only to the first place in the histrionic annals of the last -few years, but registers a positive claim to the highest position, as an -artist, in all histrionic history to which the slightest degree of faith -can be attached. To be at the same time a great _Hamlet_ and a great -_Othello_, even granting a difference in the excellence of the two -parts, argues that the actor possesses to a larger extent than common -that intellectual adaptability without which it would be impossible for -him to represent two such widely different men. Slightly deranged, a -philosophic dreamer, without the capability of sustained action, -energetic only by immediate impulse, the Danish Prince differs widely -from the passionate, powerful, one-purposed, and sublimely simple nature -of the Moor. In grasping these two opposite characters as completely as -Edwin Forrest has done, he has displayed an intellectual strength of the -highest order, approaching very nearly to that subtlety of intelligence -which is but rarely coupled with genius, but which, when coupled with -it, makes it a genius of the highest order. - -“This subtlety of intelligence he develops in his wonderful rendering of -_Richard_, as widely opposed a character to both or either of the others -as could well be presented to us. For the physical nature of _Richard_ -he has preferred Horace Walpole’s ‘Historic Doubts’ to Shakspeare’s -delineation of the man, but in portraying him intellectually Edwin -Forrest has simply depended on himself. He paints _Richard_ with strong -and vigorous execution, as a crafty and cruel hypocrite, with a -positively unequalled subtlety of touch, rendering his hypocrisy frank -and pleasant to the outside observer and coloring it with a comedy of -which he offers no example in _Othello_ and but a vague suspicion in -_Hamlet_. His love-scene with _Lady Anne_ is a marvellous piece of -acting, which excerpts from the character as a worthy pendant to the mad -scene in _Lear_. It was probably much more easily, although more -recently, perfected by him than the latter, inasmuch as the last named -was the result of careful and minute study, while the former is simply -an effort of pure cultured genius which is as positively real as stage -simulation ever can be. But this difference in character of the three -extends even to those points in which _Richard_ touches upon the two -others. _Richard_ is a man of strong passion as well as _Othello_. He is -a philosopher as well as _Hamlet_. But passion is suppressed in -_Richard_ under the vest of his craft. It is addressed to other objects -than _Othello_ yearns for. It is bold and crafty. _Othello_ is brave and -honest. This is wonderfully discriminated by Mr. Forrest. The philosophy -of _Hamlet_ is reflective and uncertain, colored by study and lunacy. -That of _Richard_ is worldly and practical, subjected by him to his -immediate ambition. Here Mr. Forrest, as an artist, is truly admirable. -In _Hamlet_ his philosophy is impulsively given to the audience. In -_Richard_ it is reasoned out and calculated with. - -“Let us look at _Macbeth_, reaching, as _Richard_ does, at the Crown. -Most of our modern actors vary the two but little in their manner, -without following the line of difference made between them by the great -dramatist. This difference was in the intellectual strength of their -natures. _Richard_ is the tool of nobody. _Macbeth_ is but a plaster in -the fingers of his wife. How exquisitely does Mr. Forrest mark out the -two natures! You trace _Macbeth’s_ indecision of purpose in his very -manner. His entrance in the first scene is characterized by it. The -breaking off from his friends,—his return to himself when addressed by -them,—his interjectional reveries,—his uncertainty of action, are all as -they are given to us by Shakspeare, but scarcely such as we might have -expected a man of Mr. Forrest’s physical temperament to embody. In -_Richard_ the ambition is positive. He does not reason of the acts which -he commits. Hence here the artist’s actions are positive. When he -commits or orders one of these deeds which tend to secure his desires or -objects, it is done at once. The positive decision of the man is -translated by the actor, whether it be in the passionate command or the -sneering jest, by the calculated impulse of the man.” - -Here is a part of an elaborate attack written by a relentless enemy and -persecutor, quite remarkable for the untempered way in which it mixes -truth and misrepresentation, justice and wrong: - -“Mr. Forrest is now an actor who depends almost entirely on his voice as -a medium of expression. He throws all his force into his reading; -elocution is intended to compensate for everything,—for facial -expression, for suitable action, for muscular vigor, and often, indeed, -for true feeling and appreciation. By his impressive reading he -frequently gains applause when in reality he deserves condemnation. -There are whole scenes in his _Lear_ unredeemed by one spark of feeling, -the poverty of which he attempts to hide under a superficial gloss of -elocutionary charlatanism. His fine voice aids him in this attempt; for -that he has a noble voice, of great power,—whose tones are often -commanding, and sometimes would be tender if they were inspired by any -sincere feeling,—no one who has heard him can doubt. Take away this -voice and Mr. Forrest is a nonentity, for _he cannot act_, and his face -has no variety of expression. We know that, instead of using this fine -element of success well, he has abused it; for his mannerisms of tone -are perpetual, and disfigure every lengthy passage he reads. His voice -has too great a burden to bear. - -“This is one reason why he is so very monotonous. Another and a deeper -reason is that the man himself is nothing but a monotone. No man on the -stage has a more strongly marked individuality than Mr. Forrest; once -seen, he cannot be easily forgotten, nor can his performances ever be -confused in memory with those of others. Yet this individuality is a -prison-house to him; he cannot escape from it. He is forced, in spite of -himself, to play every character in exactly the same way. He develops -_Spartacus_ by the identical methods he employs in _Hamlet_; his _Lear_ -and his _Claude Melnotte_ are made impressive, not by different styles. -He has but one style. He is Edwin Forrest in everything; and, worse than -this, he seems to care nothing for the best character he plays in -comparison with his own success. Egotism is a marked peculiarity of his -acting; he seems to say to the audience, not, ‘How fine is this -character! how great was the author!’ but ever, ‘How finely _I_ play it! -am I not the greatest actor you ever saw?’ - -“Of course this strong personality is sometimes to Mr. Forrest an -advantage. There are _rôles_ which are adapted to his powers,—such as -_Virginius_, _Damon_, and _Spartacus_. These he plays well because they -do not require of him the transcendent power of genius,—the imagination -which enables a man to penetrate the motives of a being foreign to -himself, and to re-create in his own living nature the beauty and the -passion of a dream. These he plays well because he finds in them -something of himself. And even in Shaksperian characters, which are -alien to his nature, he occasionally meets a passage which he _can_ -feel, and which he therefore expresses; and these moments of -earnestness, occurring suddenly in the midst of long scenes of -artificiality and dulness, are like flashes of lightning in a black -midnight: while they last they are bright, but when they are gone they -make the darkness deeper.” - -The two brief notices that succeed appeared at the same time and in the -same city in two opposed newspapers. The contrast is amusing, and it is -easy to see how little impartial critical judgment went to the -composition of either of them, as well as how bewildering they must have -been to the reader who was seeking from the judgment of the press to -form a dispassionate opinion on the merits of the actor: - -“Having within the present year closely criticised Edwin Forrest’s -performances during a long engagement, we do not intend to bore our -readers with repetitions of what we have said. Mr. Forrest will go -through his programme like a machine, and like most machines it may be -discovered that his powers have suffered somewhat by wear and tear. He -has long since passed the point of improvement. Fully settled in his own -conceit that his personations are the most wonderful that the world ever -saw, his only care will be to heighten defects which he considers -beauties, and to dwell with increased tenderness upon each fault. There -are some mothers who give their hearts to their puny, deformed, and bad- -tempered children, to the neglect of others who are handsome, gentle, -and intelligent. Mr. Forrest is an admirer of this policy. He slights -his better qualities in acting, and dandles his absurdities with more -than just parental fondness. His faults are inveterate; his beauties -daily grow homely. It would be supererogation to expose at length those -vices and stage tricks which have already been freely cauterized.” - -“During the week Mr. Forrest has been performing the characters of -_Richelieu_, _Damon_, _Richard_, and _Hamlet_. At each representation -the invariable compliment of a crowded house has been paid him. With the -advance of every year this actor seems to grow greater. The -intellectuality of his acting becomes more and more apparent. The -experience of years is now devoted to his art; a lifetime is -concentrated upon the development of his transcendent genius. Mr. -Forrest has shaped the colossal block of crude genius into wonderful -statues of natural and lovely proportions. No intelligent praise can be -extravagant which extols the exceeding beauty of the conceptions of this -wonderful artist. We can scarcely think of Mr. Forrest’s fame as -otherwise than increasing. It throws around his name a luminous halo, -whose brightness and extent the progress of years will only intensify -and enlarge.” - -One more specimen will suffice. It is from the pen of an anonymous -English critic: - -“If Forrest is not in a paroxysm, he is a mere wicker idol; huge to the -eye, but _full of emptiness_,—a gigantic vacuum. His distortions of -character are monstrous; the athletic, muscular vigor of his Lear is a -positive libel upon consistency and truth. Spartacus was made for him, -and he for Spartacus; the athlete is everlastingly present in all his -personations. His ravings in Othello, in Macbeth, and in Richard the -Third are orgasms of vigorous commonplace. - -“When Mr. Forrest represents terror, his knees shake, his hands vibrate, -his chest heaves, his throat swells, and his muscles project as if he -were under the influence of a galvanic battery or his whole frame put in -motion by a machine. He always appears anxious to show the toughness of -his sinews, the cast-iron capabilities of his body, and the prodigious -muscularity of his legs, which really haunt the spectator’s eyes like -huge, grim-looking spectres, appearing too monstrous for realities, as -they certainly are for the dignified grace of tragedy. He delights to -represent physical agony with the most revolting exaggerations. When he -dies, he likes that the audience should hear the rattles in his throat, -and will, no doubt, some day have a bladder of pig’s blood concealed -under his doublet, that, when stabbed, the tragic crimson may stream -upon the stage, and thus give him the opportunity of representing death, -in the words of his admirers, _to the life_. - -“Perhaps no stronger test of Mr. Forrest’s want of intellectual power as -an actor can be given than his slow, drawling, whining mode of -delivering the speech to the senate, in the play of Othello. No -schoolboy could do it worse, and though in the more energetic scenes -there is a certain mechanical skill and seeming reality of passion, yet -the charm which this might be calculated to produce is lost by the -closeness of resemblance to a well-remembered original. It is almost -frightfully vigorous, and though there are some touches of true energy, -this is much too boisterous, coarse, and unrelieved by those delicate -inflections which so eloquently express true feeling to obtain for it -that meed of praise only due to the efforts of original genius. There is -much art and much skill in Mr. Forrest’s acting; but its grand defect is -the general absence of truth.” - -The medley of praise and abuse, the hodge-podge of incongruous opinions, -seen in the foregoing illustrations of newspaper criticism, arose far -less from any contradiction of excellences and faults in the acting of -Forrest than from the prejudices and ignorance of the writers. A large -proportion of those writers were obstinately prepossessed or corruptly -interested, and few of them had any distinct appreciation of the -constituent elements of the dramatic art. Destitute of the true standard -of criticism, the final canon of authority, their judgments were at the -mercy of impulse and chance influences. - -But Forrest was no solitary, though he was an extreme, sufferer in this -respect. The greatest of his predecessors, all the most gifted and -famous actors and actresses, have had to undergo the same pitiless -ordeal. Those concerning whose illustrious pre-eminence there can be no -question whatever have borne the same shower of detraction, insult, and -ridicule, the same pelting of cynical badinage. The restless vanity, -presumptuous conceit, and _blasé_ omniscience of the common order of -critics have spared none of the conspicuous dramatic artists. And if any -one infer from the abuse and depreciation rained on Forrest that he must -have been guilty of the worst faults, he may draw the like conclusion -from the like premises in relation to every celebrated name in the -history of the stage. - -The bigoted opposition and belittling estimates met by Talma in his bold -and resolute effort to displace the conventional inanity and stilted -bombast of the French stage with truth and nature are a matter of -notorious record. Some of his sapient critics thought they were -administering a caustic censure when they uttered the unwitting -compliment, extorted by their surprise at his severe costume and grand -attitudes, “Why, he looks exactly like a Roman statue just stepped out -of the antique.” The biographers of Garrick give abundant evidence of -the misrepresentation, ridicule, and manifold censure with which his -enemies and rivals and their venal tools pursued and vexed him. He even -stooped to buy them off, and sometimes counteracted their malice with -his own anonymous pen. Horace Walpole wrote, “I have seen the acting of -Garrick, and can say that I see nothing wonderful in it.” His small -stature, his starts and pauses, were, in especial, maliciously -animadverted on. Mossop was sneered at as “a distiller of syllables,” -Macklin for the prominent “lines, or rather cordage, of his face,” and -Quin for the “mechanic regularity and swollen pomp of his declamation.” -George Steevens wrote a bitter satire, utterly unjust and unprovoked, on -Mrs. Siddons. She and her brother, John Philip Kemble, were stigmatized -as icebergs and pompous pretenders, and were repeatedly hissed and -insulted on the stage. Before her marriage, while Siddons was playing at -the Haymarket, a critic, trying to put her down, wrote to Hayley, the -manager, “Miss Kemble, though patronized by a number of clamorous -friends, will prove only a piece of beautiful imbecility.” In 1807 a -leading London newspaper said of George Frederick Cooke, “His delivery -of Lear is just what it is in Richard: in its subdued passages, little -and mean; in its more prominent efforts, rugged, rumbling, and staccato, -resembling rather a watchman’s rattle than any other object in art or -nature.” - -William Robson, in his “Old Play-Goer,” says of Edmund Kean, “His person -and carriage are mean and contemptible, his judgment poor, his pathos -weak, his passion extravagant and unnatural;” and then sums up his -estimate of the immortal histrionist in these remarkable words: “He is -nothing but a little vixenish black girl in short petticoats!” On the -first appearance of Kean in Philadelphia some critics there, who were -great admirers of Cooke, called him “a quack, a mountebank, a vulgar -impostor.” William B. Wood said of Kean, when he had just finished a -rehearsal and gone out, “He is a mere mummer.” Joseph Jefferson, great- -grandfather of the Joseph Jefferson of Rip Van Winkle fame,—a beautiful -and noble old man, afterwards characterized by Forrest in loving memory -as “one of the purest men that ever lived, sad, sweet, lofty, -thoughtful, generous,”—overheard the remark, and replied, with a quiet -indignation in his tone, “Ah, Wood, you would give all the riches you -ever dreamed of amassing in this world to be another just such a -mummer.” The “London Spectator,” in 1836, said, “Bunn in his drowning -desperation catches at any straw. He has just put forward Booth, the -shadow and foil of Kean in bygone days. Booth’s Richard seems to have -been a wretched failure.” At the same time another English journal used -the following expressive language, in which the writer evidently does -justice to himself whatever he endeavors to do to the actors he names: -“Since the retirement of Young and the death of Kean, the very name of -tragedy has passed away from us. We have had to submit to the -presumptuous and uninspired feelings of Mr. Bell-wether Kemble, or to -the melodramatic jerks and pumpings of Mr. Macready.” - -An American critic wrote thus of the Nancy Sykes of Charlotte Cushman: -“Miss Cushman’s performance is of the Anatomical Museum style. Her -effects are thrilling and vulgar. Her poses are awkward, and her -pictures unfinished and coarse in outline. She has an unpleasantly pre- -raphaelite death scene, and is dragged off, stiff and stark, when all -the characters express their internal satisfaction at the circumstance -by smiling, shaking hands, and joining in a feeble chorus. The secret of -her attraction is vigor. The masses like vigor. If they can have a -little art with it, very well. But vigor they must have.” Of late it has -been the fashion to extol Miss Cushman as the queenly mistress of all -the dignities and refinements of the dramatic profession; but the -foregoing notice is exactly of a piece with the treatment visited upon -Forrest for many years by the vulgar coteries of criticism, whose aim -was not justice and usefulness but effect upon the prejudiced and the -careless. Even the quiet and gentlemanly Edwin Booth has been as -unsparingly assailed as he has been lavishly praised. An insidious -article on him, entitled “The Machine-Actor,” called him a “self-acting -dramatic machine warranted;” and while admitting, with great generosity, -that “he was not wholly destitute of dramatic ability,” attributed his -success and reputation chiefly to extraneous conditions, in especial the -shrewdness of “his managing agent, who judiciously prepared his houses -for him, and pecuniarily and personally appreciated the power of the -press and conciliated the critics.” The two following notices of Mr. -Booth’s Melnotte—the first obviously by a critic who had, the second by -one who had not, been “conciliated”—are quite as absurd in their -contradiction as those so often composed on Forrest: - -“On Monday evening last we enjoyed the first opportunity of seeing Mr. -Edwin Booth in the character of _Claude Melnotte_, in the ‘Lady of -Lyons.’ Our impressions of Mr. Booth in the part may be briefly summed -up in saying that he is one of the very best _Claudes_ we have ever -seen,—scholarly, sustained, and forcibly reticent at all points,—not so -youthful in his make-up as to suggest the enthusiastic boy of Bulwer’s -drama, but in all other regards the very ideal of the character. His -marvellously melodious voice sounds to peculiar advantage in the rich -prose-poetry of the more sentimental passages, and in the passages of -sterner interest the latent strength of the tragedian comes nobly into -play. Booth’s _Claude_ is an unqualified success, and its first -rendering was witnessed by an audience brilliant in number and -intelligence and markedly enthusiastic in their reception of the best -points.” - -“Mr. Booth’s _Claude Melnotte_ was a failure. It was neither serious nor -sentimental, comic nor tragic. The best that can be said of it is that -it came near being an effective burlesque. When he first came on to the -stage, I almost thought it was his intention to make it so. His carriage -and general make-up were those of one of Teniers’ Dutch boors, even to -the extent of yellow hair combed straight down the forehead and clipped -square across from temple to temple. His action consisted mainly in a -series of shrugs. I don’t remember a natural movement of body or -expression of countenance, from the beginning of the piece to the end; -nor a natural tone of voice.” - -Still later we have seen different representatives of the press, both in -America and in England, alternately describing the wonderful Othello of -Salvini as “the electrifying impersonation of a demi-god” and as “an -exhibition of disgusting brutality.” - -The class of examples of which these are a few specimens show how little -worthy the ordinary newspaper dramatic criticism is to be considered -authoritative. No branch of journalism, allowing for notable individual -exceptions, is more incompetent or more corrupt, because no other set of -writers have so difficult a task or are so beset by vicious influences. -Their vanity, prejudice, and interest worked upon, their sympathies -appealed to by the artist and his friends, their antipathies by his -rivals and foes, harassed and hurried with work, moved by promises of -money and patronage, no wonder they often turn from the exactions of -conscientious labor and study to something so much easier. The -unsophisticated portion of the public, who are too much influenced by -what they read in the papers, and who fancy that applause is a good -proof of merit and censure a sure evidence of fault, ought to know how -full of fraud and injustice the world of histrionic ambition and -criticism is, and to learn to give little weight to verdicts not -ascertained to come from competent and honest judges. The husband of -Madame Linguet, a favorite actress at the Italian Theatre in Paris, -hired a party to hiss every other actress, but to applaud her to the -echo. A ludicrous mistake let out the secret. Linguet told his men one -night to hiss the first actress who appeared and applaud the second. The -play was changed, and in the substituted piece Madame Linguet came -forward first, and was overpowered with hisses. Sir John Hill asked Peg -Woffington if she had seen in the paper his praise of her performance -the previous evening in the part of Calista. She thanked him for his -kindness, but added that the play was changed and she had acted the -character of Lady Townley. In a New York paper, in 1863, this notice -appeared: “Mr. Forrest repeated, by special request, his great character -of Spartacus last evening, before one of the most brilliant and -enthusiastic audiences of the season. His acting was grand throughout, -and at the end of the last act he received a perfect ovation from the -audience.” Appended to this, in his own handwriting, pasted in one of -his scrap-books, were found these words: “Mr. Forrest on the night above -referred to was in Philadelphia, and did not act at all, having been -called home by the death of his sister.” - -After going over the mass of ignorant, capricious, and contradictory -criticism bestowed on Forrest,—criticism destitute of fundamental -principles or ultimate insight,—the reader may well feel at a loss to -know how he is to regulate his judgment upon the subject and form a just -estimate of the actor and his performances. The critics, instead of -aiding, bewilder him, because themselves appear to be wildly adrift. To -work our way through the chaos it is necessary for us to understand -distinctly what the dramatic art is in its nature and object, and what -are the materials and methods with which it aims to accomplish its -purpose. The answers to these inquiries will clear away confusion, lay -bare the elements of the art, and put us in possession of those laws of -expression which constitute the only final standard for justly -criticising the efforts of the player. - -Considered in its full scope, the drama is _the practical science of -human nature exemplified in the revelation of its varieties of character -and conduct_. It aims to uncover and illustrate man in the secret -springs of his action and suffering and destiny, by representing the -whole range and diversity of his experience in living evolution. The -drama is the reflection of human life in the idealizing mirror of art. -In what does this reflection consist? In the correct exhibition of the -different modes of behavior that belong to the different types of -humanity in the various exigencies of their fortunes. The critic, -therefore, in order to be able to say whether histrionic performances -are true or false, consistent or inconsistent, noble or base, refined or -vulgar, artistically elaborated and complete or absurdly exaggerated and -defective, must understand the contents of human nature in all its -grades of development, and know how the representatives of those grades -naturally deport themselves under given conditions of inward -consciousness and of exterior situation. That is to say, a man to be -thoroughly equipped for the task of dramatic criticism must have -mastered these three provinces of knowledge; first, the characters of -men in their vast variety; second, the modes of manifestation whereby -those characters reveal their inward states through outward signs; -third, the manner in which those characters and those modes of -manifestation are affected by changes of consciousness or of situation, -how they are modified by the reflex play of their own experience. - -Every man has three types of character, in all of which he must be -studied before he can be adequately represented. First he has his -inherited constitutional or temperamental character, his fixed native -character, in which the collective experience and qualities of his -progenitors are consolidated, stamped, and transmitted. Next he has his -peculiar fugitive or passional character, which is the modification of -his stable average character under the influence of exciting impulses, -temporary exaltations of instinct or sentiment. And then he has his -acquired habitual character, gradually formed in him by the moulding -power of his occupation and associations, as expressed in the familiar -proverb, “Habit is a second nature.” The first type reveals his -ancestral or organic rank, what he is in the fatal line of his -parentage. The second shows his moral or personal rank, what he has -become through his own experience and discipline, self-indulgence and -self-denial. The third betrays his social rank, what he has been made by -his employment and caste. The original estimate or value assigned to the -man by nature is indicated in his constitutional form, the geometrical -proportions and dynamic furnishing of his organs, his physical and -mental make-up. The estimate he puts on himself, in himself and in his -relations with others, his egotistical value, is seen in the transitive -modifications of his form by movements made under the stimulus of -passions. The conventional estimate or social value awarded him is -suggested through the permanent modifications wrought in his organs and -bearing by his customary actions and relations with his fellows. Thus -the triple type of character possessed by every man is to be studied by -means of an analysis of the forms of his organs in repose and of his -movements in passion or habit. - -The classes of constitutional character are as numerous as the human -temperaments which mark the great vernacular distinctions of our nature -according to the preponderant development of some portion of the -organism. There is the osseous temperament, in which the bones and -ligaments are most developed; the lymphatic temperament, in which the -adipose and mucous membrane preponderate; the sanguine temperament, in -which the heart and arteries give the chief emphasis; the melancholic -temperament, in which the liver and the veins oversway; the executive -temperament, in which the capillaries and the nerves take the lead; the -mental temperament, in which the brain is enthroned; the visceral -temperament, in which the vital appetites reign; the spiritual -temperament, in which there is a fine harmony of the whole. The -enumeration might be greatly varied and extended, but this is enough for -our purpose. Each head of the classification denotes a distinct style of -character, distinguished by definite modes of manifesting itself, the -principal sign of every character, the key-note from which all its -expressions are modulated, being the quality and rate of movement or the -_nervous rhythm_ of the organism in which it is embodied. - -Besides the vernacular classes of character ranged under their leading -temperaments, there are almost innumerable dialect varieties arising -from these, as modified both by the steady influence of chronic -conditions of life, historic, national, local, or clique, and by fitful -and eccentric individual combinations of faculty and impulse. For -instance, how many types of barbarian character there are,—such as the -garrulous, laughing, sensual Negro, the taciturn, solemn, abstinent -Indian, the fat and frigid Esquimaux, the Hottentot, the Patagonian, the -New Zealander,—all differing widely in stature, feature, gesture, -disposition, costume, creed, speech, while agreeing in the fundamentals -of a common nature. Among civilized nations the diversity of characters -is still greater. It would require an almost endless recital of -particulars to describe the differences of the Chinaman, the Japanese, -the Egyptian, the Persian, the Arab, the Hindu, the Italian, the -Spaniard, the German, the Russian, the Frenchman, the Englishman, the -American. And then what a maze of attributes, each one at the same time -clear in its sharpness or its profundity, qualify and discriminate the -various orders, castes, and groups of society!—the Brahmin, the Sudra, -the king, the slave, the soldier, the doctor, the lawyer, the priest, -the teacher, the shop-keeper, the porter, the detective, the legislator, -the hangman, the scientist, and the philosopher. Every professional -pursuit, social position, mechanical employment, physical culture, -spiritual belief or aptitude, has its peculiar badge of dress, look, -posture, motion, in which it reveals its secrets; and the pettifogger or -the jurisconsult, the prophet or the necromancer, the Quaker and the -Shaker, the Calvinist and the Catholic, the tailor, the gymnast, the -gambler, the bully, the hero, the poet, and the saint, stand unveiled -before us. How the habitual life reveals itself in the bearing is -clearly seen in the sailor when he leaves his tossing ship for the solid -shore. His sensation of the strange firmness of the earth makes him -tread in a sort of heavy-light way,—half wagoner, half dancing-master. -There is always this appearance of lightness of foot and heavy upper -works in a sailor, his shoulders rolling, his feet touching and going. - -To know how consistently to construct an ideal character of any one of -these kinds, at any given height or depth in the historic gamut of -humanity, and to be able to embody and enact it with the harmonious -truth of nature, is the task of the consummate actor. And to be -qualified to catalogue all these attributes of human being and -manifestation with accuracy, recognizing every fitness, detecting every -incongruity, is the business of the dramatic critic. Who of our ordinary -newspaper writers is competent to the work? Yet the youngest and crudest -of them never hesitates to pronounce a snap judgment on the most -renowned tragedians as if his magisterial “we” were the very ipse dixit -of Pythagoras! - -Still further, the task of the actor and of the critic is made yet more -complicated and difficult by the varied modifications of all the classes -of character indicated above under the influence of specific passion. -The great dramatic passions, which may be subdivided into many more, are -love, hatred, joy, grief, jealousy, wonder, pity, scorn, anger, and -fear. To obtain a fine perception and a ready and exact command of the -relations of the apparatus of expression to all these passions in their -different degrees as manifesting different styles of character, to know -for each phase of excitement or depression the precise adjustment of the -limbs, chest, and head, of intense or slackened muscles, of compressed -or reposeful lips, of dilated or contracted nostrils, of pensive or -glaring or fiery or supplicating eyes, of deprecating or threatening -mien, of firm or vacillating posture, is an accomplishment as rare as it -is arduous. All this is capable of reduction by study and practice to an -exact science, and then of development into a perfect art. For every -passion has its natural law of expression, and all these laws are -related and consistent in an honest and earnest character, incoherent -only in a discordant or hypocritical character. There is an art to find -the mind’s construction in the face. The spirit shines and speaks in the -flesh. And a learned eye looks quite through the seemings of men to -their genuine being and states. This is indeed the very business of the -dramatic art,—to read the truths of human nature through all its -attempted disguises, and expose them for instruction. How minute the -detail, how keen the perception, how subtle and alert the power of -adaptation requisite for this, may be illustrated by a single example. -Suppose a criminal character is to be played. He may be of a timid, -suspicious, furtive type, or careless, jovial, and rollicking, or brazen -and defiant, or sullen and gloomy, yet be a criminal in all. He may be -portrayed in the stage of excitement under the interest of plot and -pursuit, or in success and triumph, or in defeat and wrath, or in the -shame and terror of detection, or in final remorse and despair. There is -scarcely any end to the possibilities of variety, yet verisimilitude -must be kept up and nature not violated. - -But we have as yet hardly hinted at the richness of the elements of the -dramatic art and the scope of the knowledge and skill necessary for -applying them. The aim of the dramatic art being the revelation of the -characters and experiences of men, the question arises, By what means is -this revelation effected? The inner states of man are revealed through -outer signs. Every distinct set of outer signs through which inner -states are made known constitutes a dramatic language. Now, there are no -less than nine of these sets of signs or dramatic languages of human -nature. - -The first language is forms. When we look on an eagle, a mouse, a horse, -a tiger, a worm, a turtle, an alligator, a rattlesnake, their very forms -reveal their natures and dispositions and habits. In their shapes and -proportions we read their history. So with man. His generic nature, his -specific inheritance, his individual peculiarities are signalized in his -form and physiognomy with an accuracy and particularity proportioned to -the interpreting power of the spectator. The truth is all there for the -competent gazer. The actor modifies his form and features by artifice -and will to correspond with what should be the form of the person whose -character he impersonates. And _costume_, with its varieties of outline -and color, constitutes a secondary province artificially added to the -natural language of form. - -The second language is attitudes. Attitudes are living modifications of -shape, or the fluencies of form. There are, for example, nine elementary -attitudes of the feet, of the hands, of the toes, of the head, which may -be combined in an exhaustless series. Every one of these attitudes has -its natural meaning and value. All emotions strong enough to pronounce -themselves find expression in appropriate attitudes or significant -changes of the form in itself and in its relations to others. He who has -the key for interpreting the reactions of human nature on the agencies -that affect it, easily reads in the outer signs of attitude the inner -states of defiance, doubt, exaltation, prostration, nonchalance, -respect, fear, misery, or supplication, and so on. - -The third language is automatic movements, which are unconscious escapes -of character, unpurposed motions through which the states of the mover -are betrayed, sometimes with surprising clearness and force. For -instance, how often impatience, vexation, or restrained anger, breaks -out in a nervous tapping of the foot or the finger! What can be more -legible than the fidgety manner of one in embarrassment? And the degree -and kind of the embarrassment, together with the personal grade and -social position and culture of the subject, will be revealed in the -peculiar nature of the fidgeting. There is a whole class of these -automatic movements, such as trembling, nodding, shaking the head, -biting the lips, lolling the tongue, the shiver of the flesh, the quiver -of the mouth or eyelids, the shudder of the bones, and they compose a -rich primordial language of revelation, perfectly intelligible and -common to universal humanity. - -The fourth language is gestures. This is the language so marvellously -flexible, copious, and powerful among many barbarous peoples. It was -carried to such a pitch of perfection by the mimes of ancient Rome, that -Roscius and Cicero had a contest to decide which could express a given -idea in the most clear and varied manner, the actor by gestures, or the -orator by words. Gestures are a purposed system of bodily motions, both -spontaneous and deliberate, intended as preparatory, auxiliary, or -substitutional for the expressions by speech. There is hardly any state -of consciousness which cannot be revealed more vividly by pantomime than -is possible in mere verbal terms. As fixed attitudes are inflected form, -and automatic movements inflected attitude, so pantomimic gestures are -systematically inflected motion. The wealth of meaning and power in -gesticulation depends on the richness, freedom, and harmony of the -character and organism. The beauty or deformity, nobleness or baseness, -of its pictures are determined by the zones of the body from which the -gestures start, the direction and elevation at which they terminate, -their rate of moving, and the nature and proportions of the figures, -segments of which their lines and curves describe. Music has no clearer -rhythm, melody, and harmony to the ear than inflected gesture has to the -eye. The first law of gesture is, that it follows the look or the eye, -and precedes the sound or the voice. The second law is, that its -velocity is precisely proportional to the mass moved. The third and -profoundest law, first formulated by Delsarte, is that efferent or -outward lines of movement reveal the sensitive life or vital nature of -the man; that afferent or inward lines reveal the percipient and -reflective life or mental nature; and that immanent or curved lines, -blended of the other two, reveal the affectional life or moral nature. - -The fifth language is what is called facial expression. It consists of -muscular contractions and relaxations, dilatations and diminutions, the -fixing or the flitting of nervous lights and shades over the organism. -Its changes are not motions of masses of the body, but visible -modifications of parts of its periphery, as in smiles, frowns, tears. -The girding up or letting down of the sinews, the tightening or -loosening or horripilating creep of the skin, changes of color, as in -paleness and blushing, and all the innumerable alterations of look and -meaning in the brows, the eyes, the nose, the mouth, the chin, come -under this head. The delicacy, power, and comprehensiveness of this -language are inexhaustible. So numerous and infinitely adjustable, for -instance, are the nerves of the mouth, that Swedenborg asserts that no -spoken language is necessary for the illuminated, every state of the -soul being instantly understood from the modulation of the lips alone. - -The sixth language is inarticulate noises, the first undigested -rudiments of the voice. All our organic and emotional states, when they -are keen enough to seek expression, and we are under no restraint, -distinguish and reveal themselves in crude noises, each one the -appropriate effect of a corresponding cause. We breathe aloud, whistle, -gasp, sigh, choke, whimper, sob, groan, grunt, sneeze, snore, snort, -sip, hiss, smack, sniff, gulp, gurgle, gag, wheeze, cough, hawk, spit, -hiccup, and give the death-rattle. These and kindred noises take us back -to the rawest elemental experiences, and express them to universal -apprehension in the most unmistakable manner. The states of the organism -in its various sensations, the forms its affected parts assume under -different stimuli, are as dies which strike the sounds then made into -audible coins or medals revelatory of their faces. This is the broadest -and vulgarest language of unrefined vernacular man. The lower the style -of acting the larger part this will play in it. From the representation -of high characters it is more and more strained out and sublimated away, -the other languages quite superseding it. - -The seventh language is inflected tones, vocalized and modulated breath. -The mere tones of the sounding apparatus of the voice, in the variety of -their quality, pitch, and cadence, reveal the emotional nature of man -through the whole range of his feelings, both in kind and degree. The -moan of pain, the howl of anguish, the yell of rage, the shriek of -despair, the wail of sorrow, the ringing laugh of joy, the ecstatic and -smothering murmur of love, the penetrative tremor of pathos, the solemn -monotone of sublimity, and the dissolving whisper of wonder and -adoration,—these are some of the great family of inflected sounds in -which the emotions of the human heart are reflected and echoed to the -recognition of the sympathetic auditor. - -The eighth language is articulated words, the final medium of the -intellect. Vocal sounds articulated in verbal forms are the pure vehicle -of the thoughts of the head, and the inflected tones with which they are -expressed convey the accompanying comments of the heart upon those -thoughts. What a man thinks goes out on his articulate words, but what -he feels is taught in the purity or harshness of the tones, the pitch, -rate, emphasis, direction and length of slide with which the words are -enunciated. The word reveals the intellectual state; the tone, the -sensitive state; the inflection, the moral state. The character of a man -is nowhere so concentratedly revealed as in his voice. In its clang- -tints all the colors and shades of his being are mingled and symbolized. -But it requires a commensurate wisdom, sensibility, trained skill and -impartiality to interpret what it implies. Yet one fact remains sure: -give a man a completely developed and freed voice, and there is nothing -in his experience which he cannot suggest by it. Nothing can be clearer -or more impressive than the revelation of characters by the voice: the -stutter and splutter of the frightened dolt, the mincing lisp of the -fop, the broad and hearty blast of the strong and good-natured boor, the -clarion note of the leader, the syrupy and sickening sweetness of the -goody, the nasal and mechanical whine of the pious hypocrite, the muddy -and raucous vocality of vice and disease, the crystal clarity and -precision of honest health and refinement. Cooke spoke with two voices, -one harsh and severe, one mild and caressing. His greatest effects were -produced by a rapid transition from one of these to the other. He used -the first to convince or to command, the second to soothe or to betray. - -Actions speak louder than words; and the ninth language is deeds, the -completest single expression of the whole man. The thoughts, affections, -designs, expose and execute themselves in rounded revelation and -fulfilment in a deed. When a hungry man sits down to a banquet and -satisfies his appetite, when one knocks down his angered opponent or -opens the window and calls a policeman, when one gives his friend the -title-deed of an estate, everything is clear, there is no need of -explanatory comment. The sowing of a seed, the building of a house, the -painting of a picture, the writing of a book or letter, any intentional -act, is in its substance and form the most solid manifestation of its -performer. In truth, the deeds of every man, in their material and moral -physiognomy, betray what he has been, demonstrate what he is, and -prophesy what he will become. They are a language in which his purposes -materialize themselves and set up mirrors of his history. Deeds are, -above all, the special dramatic language, because the dramatic art seeks -to unveil human nature by a representation of it not in description, but -in living action. - -These nine languages, or sets of outer signs for revealing inner states, -are all sustained and pervaded by a system of invisible motions or -molecular vibrations in the brain and the other nerve-centres. The -consensus of these hidden motions, in connection at the subjective pole -with the essence of our personality, at the objective pole with other -personalities and all the forces of the kosmos, presides over our bodily -and spiritual evolution; and all that outwardly appears of our character -and experience is but a partial manifestation of its working. From the -differing nature, extent, and combination of these occult vibrations in -the secret nerve-centres originate the characteristic peculiarities of -individuals. It may not be said that all the substances and forms of -life and consciousness _consist in_ modes of motion, but undoubtedly -every vital or conscious state of embodied man is _accompanied by_ -appropriate kinds and rates of organic undulations or pulses of force, -and is revealed through these if revealed at all. The forms and measures -of these molecular vibrations in the nerve-centres and fibres,—whether -they are rectilinear, spherical, circular, elliptical, or spiral,—the -width of their gamut, with the slowness and swiftness of the beats in -their extremes,—and the complexity and harmony of their co-operation,— -determine the quality and scale of the man. The signals of these -concealed things exhibited through the nine languages of his organism -mysteriously hint the kinds and degrees of his power, and announce the -scope and rank of his being. This is the real secret of what is vulgarly -called animal magnetism. One person communicates his vibrations to -another, either by direct contact, or through ideal signs intuitively -recognized and which discharge their contents in the apprehending soul, -just as a musical string takes up the vibrations of another one in tune -with it. He whose organism is richest in differentiated centres and most -perfect in their co-ordinated action, having the exactest equilibrium in -rest and the freest play in exercise, having the amplest supply of force -at command and the most consummate grace or economy in expending it, is -naturally the king of all other men. He is closest to nature and God, -fullest of a reconciled self-possession and surrender to the universal. -He is indeed a divine magnetic battery. The beauty and grandeur of his -bearing bewitch and dominate those who look on him, because suggestive -of the subtlety and power of the modes of motion vibrating within him. -The unlimited automatic intelligence associated with these interior -motions can impart its messages not only through the confessed languages -enumerated above, but also, as it seems, immediately, thus enveloping -our whole race with an unbroken mental atmosphere alive and electric -with intercommunication. - -The variety of human characters, in their secret selfhood and in their -social play,—the variety of languages through which they express -themselves and their states, all based on that infinitely fine system of -molecular motions in the nerve-centres where the individual and the -universal meet and blend and react in volitional or reflex -manifestation,—the variety of modes and degrees in which characters are -modified under the influence of passion within or society and custom -without,—the variety of changes in the adaptation of expression to -character, perpetually altering with the altering situations,—such are -the elements of the dramatic art. What cannot be said can be sung; what -cannot be sung can be looked; what cannot be looked can be gesticulated; -what cannot be gesticulated can be danced; what cannot be danced can be -sat or stood,—and be understood. The knowledge of these elements -properly formulated and systematized composes the true standard of -dramatic criticism. - -It is obvious enough how few of the actors and critics of the day -possess this knowledge. Without it the player has to depend on -intuition, inspiration, instinct, happy or unhappy luck, laborious -guess-work, and servile imitation. He has not the safe guidance of -fundamental principles. Without it the critic is at the mercy of every -bias and caprice. Now, one of the greatest causes of error and injustice -in acting and in the criticism of acting is the difficulty of -determining exactly how a given character in given circumstances will -deport and deliver himself. With what specific combinations of the nine -dramatic languages of human nature, in what relative prominence or -subtlety, used with what degrees of reserve or explosiveness, will he -reveal his inner states through outer signs? Here the differences and -the chances for truthful skill are innumerable; for every particular in -expression will be modified by every particular in the character of the -person represented. What is perfectly natural and within limits for one -would be false or extravagant for another. The taciturnity of an iron -pride, the demonstrativeness of a restless vanity, the abundance of -unpurposed movements and unvocalized sounds characteristic of -boorishness and vulgarity, the careful repression of automatic language -by the man of finished culture, are illustrations. - -And then the degree of harmony in the different modes of expression by -which a given person reveals himself is a point of profound delicacy for -actor and critic. In a type of ideal perfection every signal of thought -or feeling, of being or purpose, will denote precisely what it is -intended to denote and nothing else, and all the simultaneous signals -will agree with one another. But real characters, so far as they fall -short of perfection, are inconsistent in their expressions, continually -indefinite, superfluous or defective, often flatly contradictory. -Multitudes of characters are so undeveloped or so ill developed that -they fall into attitudes without fitness or direct significance, employ -gestures vaguely or unmeaningly, and are so insincere or little in -earnest that their postures, looks, motions, and voices carry opposite -meanings and thus belie one another. It requires no superficial art to -be able instantly to detect every incongruity of this sort, to assign it -to its just cause, and to decide whether the fault arises from conscious -falsity in the character or from some incompetency of the physical -organism to reflect the states of its spiritual occupant. For instance, -in sarcastic speech the meaning of the tone contradicts the meaning of -the words. The articulation is of the head, but the tone is of the -heart. So when the voice is ever so soft and wheedling, if the language -of the eyes and the fingers is ferocious, he is a fool who trusts the -voice. In like manner the revelations in form and attitude are deeper -and more massive than those of gesture. But in order that all the -expressions of the soul through the body should be marked by truth and -agreement, it is necessary that the soul should be completely sincere -and unembarrassed and that the body should be completely free and -flexible to reflect its passing states. No character furnishes these -conditions perfectly, and therefore every character will betray more or -less inconsistency in its manifestations. Still, every pronounced -character has a general unity of design and coloring in its type which -must be kept prevailingly in view. - -The one thing to be demanded of every actor is that he shall conceive -his part with distinctness and represent it coherently. No actor can be -considered meritorious who has not a full and vivid conception of his -rôle and does not present a consistent living picture of it. But, this -essential condition met, there may be much truth and great merit in many -different conceptions and renderings of the same rôle. Then the degree -of intellectuality, nobleness, beauty, and charm, or of raw passion and -material power, in any stated performance is a fair subject for critical -discussion, and will depend on the quality of the actor. But the critic -should be as large and generous as God and nature in his standard, and -not set up a factitious limit of puling feebleness and refuse to pardon -anything that goes beyond it. He must remember that a great deal ought -to be pardoned to honest and genuine genius when it electrifyingly -exhibits to the crowd of tame and commonplace natures a character whose -scale of power is incomparably grander than their own. It is ever one of -the most imposing and benign elements in the mission of the stage to -show to average men, through magnificent examples of depth of passion, -force of will, strength of muscle, compass of voice, and organic play of -revelation, how much wider than they had known is the gamut of humanity, -how much more intense and exquisite its love, how much more blasting its -wrath, more awful its sorrow, more hideous its crime and revenge, more -godlike its saintliness and heroism. - -It is not to be pretended that Forrest had ever made the systematic -analysis of the dramatic art sketched above. But when it was submitted -to him he instantly appreciated it with enthusiasm; for he was -experimentally familiar with all the rudiments of it. He was all his -life an earnest student of human nature, in literature, in social -intercourse, in his own consciousness, and in the critical practice of -his profession. In fixing his rank as an actor the only question is how -far he had the ability to represent in action what he unquestionably had -the ability to appreciate in conception. While some of his admirers have -eulogized him as the greatest tragedian that ever lived, some of his -detractors have denounced him as one of the worst. The truth, of course, -lies between these extremes. His excellences were of the most -distinguished kind, but the limitations of his excellence were obvious -to the judicious and sometimes repulsive to the fastidious. - -To be the complete and incomparable actor which the partisans of Forrest -claim him to have been requires some conditions plainly wanting in him. -The perfect player must have a detached, imaginative, mercurial, yet -impassioned mind, free from chronic biases and prejudices, lodged in a -rich, symmetrical body as full of elastic grace as of commanding power. -The spirit must be freely attuned to the whole range of humanity, and -the articulations and muscles of the frame so liberated and co-operative -as to furnish an instrument obviously responsive to all the play of -thought and emotion. Now, Forrest, after his early manhood, under the -rigorous athletic training he gave himself, was a ponderous Hercules, -magnificent indeed, but incapable of the more airy and delicate -qualities, the fascination of free grace and spontaneous variety. He -lacked the lightning-like suppleness of Garrick and of Kean. His rugged -and imposing physique, handsome and serviceable as it was, wanted the -varying flexibility of the diviner forms of beauty, and so put rigid -limitations on him. The same was true mentally; for while his intellect -was keen, clear, broad, and vigorous, and his heart warm and faithful, -and his passion deep and intense, yet his seated antipathies were as -strong as his artistic sympathies, and shut him up in scorn and -hostility from whole classes of character. Both physically and -spiritually he was moulded in the fixed ways of the general type of -characters which his own predominant qualities caused him to affect. -These were grand characters, glorious in attributes, sublime in -manifestation, but in spite of all his art many of their traits were in -common, and there was something of monotony in the histrionic cortége, -electrifying as their scale of heroism and strength was. Could he but -have mastered in tragedy the spirituelle and free as he did the sombre -and tenacious, he had been perfect. - -The same defect here admitted for his form and mind, it must be -confessed applied to his facial expression, gesture, and voice. As in -attitude he could express with immense energy everything slow and -tremendous in purpose or swift and resistless in execution, while the -more subtile and fleeting moods were baffled of a vent, so in look and -motion and tone he could give most vivid and sustained revelation to all -the great cardinal emotions of the human breast, the elemental -characteristics of our nature, but could not so well expose the more -elusive sentiments and delicate activities. As in his tone and limbs so -in his face and voice, the heavy style of gymnastic culture had fixed -itself in certain rigid moulds or lines, which could not break up in -endless forms accordant with endless moods, melting into one another, -all underlaid by that living unity which it is the end of a true -æsthetic gymnastic to produce. On occasion of his first professional -visit to London an English journal well said,— - -“Mr. Forrest is in person most remarkable for symmetrical but somewhat -Herculean proportions. He might take the Farnese club and stand a -perfect model to painter or sculptor. His neck is also as a pillar of -strength, and his head is finely set on. His features are marked, but by -no means of a classic caste, nor are they well suited for histrionic -effect. Abundantly indicative of energy, they have not breadth of -character, or beauty, or variety of expression. Under strong excitement -they cut or contrast into sharp angularities, which cannot harmonize -with the grand in passion.” - -Even the marvellous voice of Forrest—celebrated as it was for power, -tenderness, and manly sincerity—was prevailingly too dark or too -crashing. He articulated a certain range of thoughts and intoned a -certain range of feelings with superb correctness and force. Still, his -voice wanted a clarity and a bolted solidity corresponding with its -sombreness and its smashing violence. That is to say, while it -wonderfully expressed the ordinary contents of understanding and -passion, it relatively failed in delivering the contents of -intellectualized imagination and sentiment. His voice was astonishing in -volume of power, tearing fury of articulation, long-drawn cadences of -solemnity and affectional sweetness, but it was deficient in light -graceful play, brilliancy, concentrated and echoing sonority. For the -absolute perfection often claimed in its behalf its crashing gutturality -needed supplementing with that Italian quality of transparent, round, -elastic, ringing precision which delivers the words on the silent air -like crystal balls on black velvet. - -The everlasting refrain in the cry of the weak or snarling critics of -Forrest was that he overdid everything,—striding, screeching, howling, -tearing passions to tatters, disregarding the sacred bounds of -propriety. That there was an apparent modicum of justice in this charge -must be admitted. And yet when all the truth is seen the admission makes -but a very small abatement from his merit. There is a comparatively raw -elemental language of human nature, such as is seen in the sneer, the -growl, the hiss, the grinding of the teeth, muscular contortion, which -is progressively restrained, sifted out and left behind with the advance -of polished dignity and refinement. In his impersonations Forrest -unquestionably retained more of this than is tolerated by the standard -of courtly fashion. His democratic soul despised courtly fashion and -paid its homage only at the shrine of native universal manhood. But, on -the other hand, it is unquestionable that these vigorous expressions -were perfectly in accordance with truth and nature as represented in men -of such exceptional strength and intensity as he and the types of -character he best loved to portray. He gave extraordinarily vigorous -expression to an extraordinarily wide gamut of passion because he -sincerely felt it, and thus nature informed his art with it. He did not -in cold blood overstep truth for effect, but he earnestly set forth the -truth as he conceived and felt it. With the mould and furnishing given -by his physique and soul for the great rôles he essayed, efforts were -easy and moderate which pale and feeble spindlings might well find -extravagant or shocking. The fault clearly is more theirs than his. -Power, sincerity, earnestness, are always respectable except to the -envious. His total career is proof enough how profound and conscientious -and popularly effective his sincerity, earnestness, and power were. But -he must needs run the scathing gauntlet which all bold originality has -to run. It is the same in all the arts. Nine-tenths of the current -criticism is worthless and contemptible, because ignorant or corrupt. -Beethoven was ridiculed as a madman and a bungler, Rossini sneered at as -a shallow trickster, Bellini, Donizetti, and Verdi denounced as -impostors, and Wagner systematically scouted as an insufferable -charlatan. As Lewes says, “The effort to create a new form is -deprecated, and a patient hearing denied. Repeat the old forms, and the -critics denounce the want of originality. Present new forms, and the -critics, deprived of their standards, denounce the heresy. It remains -with the public to discover real genius in the artist, and it does so by -its genuine response to his work.” - -In reply to the accusation of overdoing a character by excessive force -of demonstration, Forrest might fairly have asked his critics, Overdone -for whom? For Boythorn or for Skimpole? For Coriolanus or for Launcelot -Gobbo? For Spartacus or for a dry-goods clerk? The precision with which -he conceived each of his leading characters, the patience with which he -elaborated all its elements into a consistent unity, the thoroughness -with which he assimilated it into his soul and identified himself with -it, and the unfaltering coherency and bold relief with which he enacted -it, carefully observing every condition of perspective and light and -shade and relative emphasis, placed his chief rôles among the most -complete specimens of the dramatic art in their way. And they forced -from his own generation the almost universal acknowledgment of his -solitary pre-eminence on the American stage. An anonymous writer justly -said of him in 1855, “An actor of the most positive qualities, decisive -in discrimination, pronounced in every attitude and phase, his -embodiments have sharp and stern definition. Therefore they challenge -with double force the most searching criticism, and invite while they -defy the sneers of less bold and more artificial schools. His -delineations are not mere cartoons, where the faults, like the virtues, -are elusive and shadowy. They are pictures finished with unmistakable -color, sharp expression of form, and a single, unerring meaning. Their -simplicity is such that if not grand they would be shallow commonplace: -just as it is but a step from Doric majesty to unrelieved and squat -ugliness. A modern school of actors is perplexing itself to get rid of -demonstration on the stage, to avoid scrupulously what is called ‘a -scene,’ to express passion by silent and gentlemanly bitterness, to -reduce all emotion to bloodless and suppressed propriety. Love is to be -made a morbid gnawing; anger clipped as close as hypocrisy; jealousy -corrode, but never bubble; joy be trim and well behaved; and madness -violent only at rare intervals. Not of such stuff as this are made the -Virginius, the Lear, the Metamora, and the Hamlet of Forrest. It is not -in his nature to polish passion until, like a sentence too much refined, -it loses all that is striking and natural. His anger is not conveyed off -like electricity by invisible agents. His moods are construed in his -audience by instinct, not by analysis. The moment he touches an -emotional key a major chord is struck that rings out clear and piercing -and brings back an echo equally distinct.” - -The “London Times” said of the Metamora of Forrest, “It is a most -accurate delineation of Indian character. There is the awkward bluntness -that even approaches the comic and raises a laugh when it defies; and -there is, rising from behind this, the awful sense of right that makes -the Indian respected as a wronged man. The dull deportment which -petrifies the figurative language that flows lazily from the lips, and -the hurricane of passion that rages beneath it, are the two elements of -the character, and the manner in which they are combined by Mr. Forrest -renders his Metamora a most remarkable performance.” In contrast with -the foregoing fairness of statement the following specimen of base and -insolent ridicule is a literary curiosity: - -“The _Metamora_ of Mr. Forrest is as much like a gorilla as an Indian, -and in fact more like a dignified monkey than a man. It has not the face -of a man, nor the voice nor the gait of a man. Du Chaillu’s description -of the gorilla would apply equally well to Forrest’s _Metamora_. We are -told by that celebrated traveller that upon the approach of an enemy -this ferocious baboon, standing upright on his hind legs, his eyes -dilated, his teeth gritting and grinding, gives vent to divers snorts -and grunts, and then, beating his breast fiercely with his hands till it -sounds like a muffled drum, utters a loud roar. What a singular -coincidence! The similarity need scarcely be pointed out. Substitute the -words ‘great tragedian’ for ‘ferocious baboon,’ omit the word ‘hind,’ -and you have as accurate a description of Mr. Forrest in _Metamora_ as -any reasonable man could wish. The snorting, gritting, and especially -the beating of the breast and roaring, are so familiar to us, that we -could almost imagine that the tragedian and the traveller have met.” - -One more example of the kind of “criticism” too common in the American -press will suffice: - -“Can any man or woman who has paid a dollar to see Mr. Forrest in any of -his great characters recall any evidence in real life to substantiate -his assertions that such bellowing is natural? Did anybody ever see -anybody that looked as Mr. Forrest looks when he pretends to be -representing the passions of rage, hate, remorse? If Mr. Forrest ‘holds -the mirror up to nature,’ he first carefully scrawls over the face -certain hideous etchings, with only a small portion of surface here and -there left open for reflection. His Othello is a creature to be kicked, -instead of feared or loved, if met with in actual life. Is it credible -that any one was ever actually moved or interested in witnessing one of -this actor’s tedious and absurd performances?” - -Ample reply to these brutal inquiries is afforded by the rapt silence, -the copious tears, and the all-shaking plaudits of the unprecedented -crowds, drawn for so long a series of years in every part of the country -by the magnetic impersonations which have secured him the first -illustrious place in the history of his country’s stage. But two or -three individual anecdotes possess interest enough to warrant their -preservation here. - -While he was enacting the part of Iago to the Othello of Edmund Kean in -Albany one night, a stalwart canal-boatman was seated in the pit, so -near the stage that he rested his elbow on it close to the footlights. -Iago, in the scene where he had wrought so fearfully on the jealousy of -the Moor, crossed the stage near the boatman, and, as he passed, the man -looked savagely at him and hissed through his teeth while grinding them -together, “You damned lying scoundrel, I would like to get hold of you -after this show is over and wring your infernal neck!” When they met in -the dressing-room, Kean generously said to Forrest, “Young man, if my -acting to-night had received as high a compliment as that brawny fellow -in the pit bestowed on yours I should feel very proud. You made the -mimic show real to him, and I will tell you your acting merited the -criticism.” - -Mr. Rees recalls among his interesting reminiscences an incident of -which he was a witness in New Orleans. Forrest was delivering the curse -in Lear with his wonted fierce and overwhelming vehemence. Mr. Rees -heard a strange sound proceeding from some one beside him, and, turning, -found, to his alarm, an elderly gentleman with his eyes fixed, his mouth -open, and a deathly paleness overspreading his face. Seizing him by the -shoulders and giving him a sudden jerk, he caused a reaction of the -blood. The gentleman gasped, heaved a deep sigh, and gazed around like -one awaking from a troubled sleep. The awful curse so awfully uttered, -which had taken away his breath, seemed still ringing in his ears. “One -moment more and I should have been a dead man,” he said. And, looking -towards the vacant stage, he asked, “Is that terrible old man gone?” - -Hazlitt tells the traditional story that once when Garrick was acting -Lear the crown of straw which he wore was discomposed or fell off, which -happening to any common actor would have caused a burst of laughter; but -with him not the slightest notice was taken of the accident, but the -attention of the audience remained riveted. The same thing actually -befell Forrest, and gave the most astonishing proof of his absorbed -earnestness and magnetizing power. It was in the old Broadway Theatre, -near Anthony Street. He was performing Lear, with Barry, Davidge, -Conway, Whiting, Madame Ponisi, Mrs. Abbott, and other favorites in the -cast. In the last scene of the second act, when depicting the frenzy of -the aged monarch, whose brain, maddened by injuries, was reeling on its -throne, in the excitement of the moment Forrest tore the wig of whitened -hair from his head and hurled it some twenty feet towards the -footlights. The wig thus removed, there was revealed to the audience a -head of glossy raven locks, forming a singular contrast to the hoary -beard still fastened by a white cord to the actor’s chin. Not the least -embarrassment resulted either to actor or to spectators. Amidst the vast -assembly not a titter was heard, scarce a smile discerned. Enchained, -entranced by the power of the player, two thousand breathless spectators -gazed with bedimmed eyes on the mimic scene. Nor made he any pause or -hesitation. Still did that superb voice, so rich and grand in melody and -compass, speak forth in anguish and wrath the indignant denunciation of -the outraged king and father, making every heart tremble with his tones. -One of the actors on the stage at the time, in describing the event more -than twenty years afterwards, said that as he recalled the effect -produced by Forrest in that scene on the house, and on the players about -him, it seemed something superhuman. - -In the tragedy of Cleopatra, by Marmontel, an asp had been made so -natural that it seemed alive. As it approached the queen its eyes -sparkled like fire, and it began to hiss. At the close of the scene one -asked a critic who sat by him how he liked the play. He replied, “I am -of the same opinion as the asp.” This is the case with the average sort -of critic, whose commonplace inferiority of soul seeks to revenge -itself, whose vanity or complacency seeks to exalt itself, by a -demeaning estimate of every artist of whom he writes. But, fortunately, -there are numerous instances of a nobler style, men equally just and -generous, who in all their judgments hold individual prejudices in -abeyance, and, actuated solely by public spirit and love of truth and of -art, follow the guidance not of whim or interest, but of general -principles, as exemplified in the great fixed types of character and -modified in their dialect variations. One writer of this kind has -admirably said,— - -“Every actor has some particular excellence, which stamps his style in -everything he does. This in Forrest is the ever visible manliness of -spirit, and love of equality and liberty, which place his Damon, -Spartacus, Brutus, and all characters of a like nature so far above the -reach of other actors. He is always the _true man_, casting defiance in -the face of tyranny; his hand always open to the grasp of a friend, -resolute, generous, and faithful. This spirit is something which every -true heart, be its owner rich or poor, learned or unlearned, will always -acknowledge and worship as the noblest attribute of man; and here is the -real secret of Forrest’s success. The unlettered cannot but admire him -for this feature, while to those who can appreciate artistic finish and -detail, his acting must be an inexhaustible source of pleasure. After he -has gone the stage will feel his worth. Who has not wept over the last -act of Brutus? Who has not felt his ‘seated heart knock at his ribs’ -while listening to the tragedian’s astonishing delivery in the third act -of Damon and Pythias? Who that has ever heard him exclaim in the last -act of the Gladiator, ‘There are no gods in heaven!’ can accuse him of -being coarse or vulgar? Indeed, it may be said of his acting in many -characters (as a Shaksperian commentator has said of Lear), ‘The genius -of antiquity bows before it, and moderns gaze upon it with awe.’” - -The strong proclivity of professional artists to jealousy is as -proverbial as the tendency of the critic to attack and belittle. Forrest -suffered much from both. His imperious independence, not less than his -great success, provoked it, and he was maligned, spattered, and -backbitten sufficiently from the stage as well as from the office. If in -this respect he was an exception, it was merely in degree. The mortified -and envious actors of Drury Lane discussing Kean in the greenroom, one -of them sneeringly remarked, “They say he is a good harlequin.” “Yes,” -retorted honest Jack Bannister, “an extraordinary one; for he has leaped -over all your heads.” But the other side of this view was also true, and -Forrest numbered his most enthusiastic admirers in the dramatic -profession itself in all its ranks. They paid him many tributes from -first to last, on which he justly set the highest value. For when the -player is intelligent and candid, his special experience makes him the -most competent critic of a player. The extent to which the peculiar -style of Forrest took effect in producing imitators, conscious and -unconscious,—who often, it is true, unhappily, copied his least -praiseworthy points,—was a vast and unquestionable testimonial to his -original power. And in here leaving the subject of criticism, it is -enough, passing over the recorded praises of his genius by many leading -American actors, to set down the deliberate estimate of James E. -Murdock, himself a player of uncommon merit, as well as a man of refined -scholarly culture. Some one had made a degrading allusion to Forrest, -when Murdock replied, “Never had I been able to find a fitting -illustration of the massive and powerful acting of Forrest until, on a -visit to Rome some years ago, I stood before the mighty works of Michael -Angelo,—his Last Judgment, his gigantic Moses. Call it exaggerated if -you will. But there it is, beautiful in symmetry, impressive in -proportions, sublime in majesty. Such was Edwin Forrest when -representing the chosen characters of Shakspeare.” The illustration was -as exact as the spirit that prompted it was generous. It indicates -precisely the central attribute of the subject. For the powerful and -reposeful port, the elemental poise and swing of the colossal figures of -Angelo, reveal just what the histrionic pose and bearing of Forrest -revealed, namely, the preponderance in him of the universal over the -individual, the working of the forces of nature rather than the -straining of his will. This is what makes a personality memorable, for -it is contagious on others, and so invisibly descends the ages. - - - - - CHAPTER XV. - PERSONAL AND DOMESTIC LIFE.—FONTHILL CASTLE.—JEALOUSY.—DIVORCE.— - LAWSUITS.—TRAGEDIES OF LOVE IN HUMAN LIFE AND IN THE DRAMATIC ART. - - -Forrest was now in his forty-fourth year, as magnificent a specimen of -manhood perhaps as there was on the continent. His strength, vitality, -fulness of functional power, and confronting fearlessness of soul before -the course of nature and the faces of men, were so complete as to give -him a chronic sense of complacency and luxury in the mere feeling of -existence endowed with so much ability to do whatever he wished to do. - -Despite a few annoying drawbacks his cup of outward prosperity too was -full. It is true his fancy had been somewhat disenchanted and his temper -embittered by experiences of meanness, ingratitude, and worthlessness, -the envy and rancor of rivals, the shallowness and malignity of the -multitude, and especially by a lasting soreness created in his heart -from his late English trip and its unhappy sequel. It is also true that -this evil influence had been negatively increased by the loss of the -wise and benign restraint and inspiration given him during their lives -by the devoted friendship of Leggett and the guardian love of his -mother. Still, he had an earnest, democratic sympathy with the masses of -men and a deep pride in their admiration. His popularity was unbounded. -His rank in his art was acknowledged on the part of his professional -brethren by his election as the first President of the Dramatic Fund -Association, a society to whose exchequer he contributed the proceeds of -an annual benefit for many years. He had fought his way with strenuous -vigor through many hardships of orphanage, poverty, defective education, -and a fearful furnace of temptations. And his reputation in every -respect was without stain or shadow. This was certified by all sorts of -public testimonials, the offers of political office and honor, the -studied eulogies of the most cultivated and eloquent civilians, the -smiling favors of the loveliest women in the land, the shouts of the -crowd, and the golden filling of his coffers. His large earnings were -invested with rare sagacity, his sound financial judgment and skill -always enabling him to reap a good harvest wherever he tilled his -fortune. He was at this time already worth two or three hundred thousand -dollars. And this, in an age of Mammon, is a pledge to society of high -deserts and a hostage for good behavior. - -But above all he was signally blessed in his married life, the point in -a character like his by far the most central and vital of all. The first -ten years of his state of wedlock had indeed been happy beyond the -ordinary portion of mortals. It was a well-mated match, he a noble -statue of strength, she a melting picture of beauty, mutually proud and -fond of each other, his native honesty and imperious will met by her -polished refinement and conciliatory sweetness. Beyond all doubt he -deeply and passionately loved her. And well he might, for his nature was -one greatly endowed in all points for impassioned love, and she was in -person, disposition, and accomplishments equally adapted to awaken it. -“She was perfection,” said one, in allusion to her bridal landing in -America; “the most beautiful vision I ever saw.” After the death of -Forrest she herself said, “The first ten years of our married life were -a season of contentment and happiness, scarcely ruffled by so much as a -summer flaw; then bickering began, followed by deeper misunderstanding, -and the fatal result drew on, which I have always deplored.” Yet even in -these halcyon years, too short and too few, there was one thing wanting -to finished household felicity. This one want was children, the eternal -charm of the passing ages of humanity. Of the four pathetic creatures -born to them, but one lived, and that only for a few months. Abandoning -the hope of heirs to his name and fortune, and foreseeing that his -estate was destined to be a large one, Forrest, with the long -anticipation characteristic of a reflective mind, bethought him what -disposal he had best make of his acquisitions when he should be forced -to relinquish them in death. He settled upon a purpose combining -elements of romance, beneficence, and imposing permanence, which showed -him possessed of qualities above the vulgar average of men. - -He bought an extensive tract of land on the banks of the Hudson, about -sixteen miles from New York, on a site commanding one of the most -enchanting prospects in the world. Here he proposed to erect a building -to be called Fonthill Castle, somewhat after the fashion of the old -ruined structures on the banks of the Rhine, whose beauty should gratify -his taste, whose conveniences should secure his household comfort, whose -historic and poetic suggestiveness should please his countrymen passing -up and down the river, and whose final object should be an enduring -memorial of his love for his profession and of his compassion for its -less fortunate members. The building of a house is an epoch of great -interest in the lives of many men. This was especially so in the life of -Forrest. In a chiselled orifice of the corner-stone of Fonthill Castle -he placed specimens of the American coinage, a copy of Shakspeare, and -the following paper,—marred only by its betrayal of that prejudice -against foreigners which was so unworthy of his own nature and of his -nationality: - - “In building this house, I am impelled by no vain desire to occupy a - grand mansion for the gratification of self-love; but my object is - to build a desirable, spacious, and comfortable abode for myself and - my wife, to serve us during our natural lives, and at our death to - endow the building with a sufficient yearly income, so that a - certain number of decayed or superannuated actors and actresses of - American birth (_all foreigners to be strictly excluded_) may - inhabit the mansion and enjoy the grounds thereunto belonging, so - long as they live; and at the death of any one of the actors or - actresses inhabiting the premises, his or her place to be supplied - by another from the theatrical profession, who, from age or - infirmity, may be found unable to obtain a livelihood upon the - stage. The rules and regulations by which this institution is to be - governed will, at some future day, be framed by - - “EDWIN FORREST.” - -To this charity he meant to devote his whole property forever. As the -estate grew in value an American Dramatic School was to be added to it, -lectures delivered, practical training imparted, and native histrionic -authors encouraged. It was estimated that in fifty years the rich acres -surrounding the Castle would be a part of New York, and that the rise of -value would make the bequest at last one of the noblest known in any -age. - -Fonthill Castle was built of gray silicious granite of extraordinary -hardness and fine grain, hammer-dressed and pointed with gray cement. -The building consists of six octagon towers clumped together, the -battlements of some notched with embrasures, the others capped with -corniced coping. The highest tower rises about seventy feet from the -base, the centre tower, the main tower, the library tower, the drawing- -room tower, and the dining-room tower being of proportioned heights. The -basement contains the kitchen, cellar, and store-rooms. On the next -floor are the parlor, banquet-hall, study, boudoir, and library. The -centre tower comprises a hall or rotunda, and above this a picture- -gallery lighted from the dome. The upper rooms are divided into chambers -for guests and apartments for servants. The staircase tower has a spiral -staircase of granite inserted in a solid brick column, rising from the -basement to the top of the tower, with landings on each floor leading to -the chief apartments. The architectural design was understood to be -chiefly the work of Mrs. Forrest, with modifications by him. It combined -the Norman and Gothic styles, softened in detail so as to embrace some -of the luxuries of modern improvements. For instance, the drawing-room -and banqueting-room are lighted with deep, square, bay-windows, while -those of the upper chambers and of the boudoir are of the Gothic order. -In other portions of the edifice are to be seen the rounded windows of -the Norman period, with their solid stone mullions dividing the -compartments again into pointed Gothic. Loop-holes and buttresses give -the structure the military air of a fortified castle. There are two -entrances, one on the water side, one on the land side. From the summit -of the staircase tower one sees up the river as far as Sing Sing and -down to Staten Island. On the opposite shore frowns the wall of the -Palisades. On the north lie Yonkers, Hastings, Nyack, the lovely inlet -of Tappan Zee, and the cottages of Piermont, glistening like white -shells on the distant beach. - -During the progress of the building Forrest had improvised a rude -residence on the grounds, which he constantly visited, growing ever more -deeply attached to the place and to his enterprise. In this romantic -spot, one Fourth of July, he gathered his neighbors and friends, to the -number of some two or three hundreds, and held a celebration,—reading -the Declaration of Independence and delivering an oration, followed by -the distributing of refreshments under waving flags and amidst booming -guns. It was a brilliant and joyous affair,—a sort of initial, and, as -it proved, farewell, dedication of the scene with commingled friendly -and patriotic associations. For in its opening stages of suspicion and -distress the domestic tragedy had already begun which was destined to -make the enchantments of Fonthill so painful to him that he would -withdraw from it forever, sell it to a Catholic sisterhood for a -conventual school, and take up his final abode in the city of his birth. - -In the spring of 1848 Forrest was fulfilling a professional engagement -in Cincinnati, and his wife was with him. One day, on entering his room -at the hotel unexpectedly, he saw Mrs. Forrest standing between the -knees of George W. Jamieson, an actor of low moral character, whose -hands were upon her person. Jamieson at once left the room. Forrest was -greatly excited, but the protestations of his wife soothed his angry -suspicion, and he overlooked the affair as a mere matter of -indiscreetness of manners. Still, the incident was not wholly forgotten. -And some months later, after their return home, certain trifling -circumstances came under his observation which again made him feel -uneasy. On opening a drawer in which his wife kept her papers, he found, -addressed to her, the following letter, worn and rumpled, and in the -handwriting of this Jamieson: - -“And now, sweetest Consuelo, our brief dream is over; and such a dream! -Have we not known real bliss? Have we not realized what poets love to -set up as an ideal state, giving full license to their imagination, -scarcely believing in its reality? Have we not experienced the truth -that ecstasy is not a fiction? I have; and, as I will not permit myself -to doubt you, am certain you have. And oh! what an additional delight to -think,—no, to know, that I have made some hours happy to you! Yes, and -that remembrance of me may lighten the heavy time of many an hour to -come. Yes, our little dream of great account is over; reality stares us -in the face. Let us peruse its features. Look with me and read as I do, -and you will find our dream is ‘not all a dream.’ Can reality take from -us, when she separates and exiles us from each other,—can she divide our -souls, our spirits? Can slander’s tongue or rumor’s trumpet summon us to -a parley with ourselves, where, to doubt each other, we should hold a -council? _No! no!_ a doubt of thee can no more find harbor in my brain -than the opened rose shall cease to be the hum-bird’s harbor. And as my -heart and soul are in your possession, examine them, and you will find -no text from which to discourse a doubt of _me_. But you have told me -(and oh! what music did your words create upon my grateful ear) that you -would _not doubt me_. With these considerations, dearest, our -separation, though painful, will not be unendurable; and if a sombre -hour should intrude itself upon you, banish it by knowing there is one -who is whispering to himself, Consuelo. - -“There is another potent reason why you should be happy,—that is, having -been the means of another’s happiness; for I _am_ happy, and, with you -to remember and the blissful anticipation of seeing you again, shall -remain so. I wish I could tell you my happiness. I cannot. No words have -been yet invented that could convey an idea of the depth of that -passion, composed of pride, admiration, awe, gratitude, veneration, and -love, without being earthy, that I feel for you. - -“Be happy, dearest; write to me and tell me you are happy. Think of the -time when we shall meet again; believe that I shall do my utmost to be -worthy of your love; and now God bless you a thousand times, my own, my -heart’s altar. - -“I would say more, but must stow away my shreds and tinsel patches. Ugh! -how hideous they look after thinking of you! - - “Adieu! adieu! and when thou’rt gone, - My joy shall be made up alone - Of calling back, with fancy’s charm, - Those halcyon hours when in my arm - Clasped Consuelo. - - “Adieu! adieu! be thine each joy - That earth can yield without alloy, - Shall be the earnest constant prayer - Of him who in his heart shall wear - But Consuelo. - - “Adieu! adieu! when next we meet, - Will not all sadness then retreat, - And yield the conquered time to bliss, - And seal the triumph with a kiss? - Say, Consuelo.” - -On reading this missive, as might well be supposed, Forrest was struck -to the heart with surprise, grief, and rage. To one of his ample -experience of the world it seemed to leave no doubt of an utter lapse -from the marriage-vow on the part of its recipient. He was heard rapidly -pacing the floor of his library until long after midnight, when his wife -arrived from a party and a violent scene of accusation and denial -occurred. He wrote an oath, couched in the most stringent and solemn -terms, which she signed, swearing that she was innocent of any criminal -infringement of her marital obligations. He was quieted, but not -satisfied. On questioning the servants as to the scenes and course of -conduct in his house during his absences, and employing such other -methods of inquiry as did not involve publicity, he learned a variety of -facts which confirmed his fear and resulted in a fixed belief that his -wife had been unfaithful to him. Many a jealous husband has entertained -a similar belief on insufficient and on erroneous grounds. He, too, may -have done so. All that justice requires to be affirmed here is the -assertion that he was himself firmly convinced, whether on adequate or -inadequate evidence, that he had been grossly wronged, and he acted on -that conviction in good faith. The pretence that he had tired of his -marriage, longed to be free, and devised false charges in order to -compass his purpose, is a pure slander, without truth or reason. And as -to the theory of the distinguished counsel against him, namely, that he -found himself by the building of Fonthill Castle involved in a financial -ruin that would disgrace him and change its name to Forrest’s Folly, and -so, as the easiest way out, he deliberately “determined to have a -quarrel with his wife for some private cause not to be explained, and -then to assign the breaking up of his family as the reason for -relinquishing his rural residence,”—it is not only the flimsiest of -fancies, but a perfect absurdity in face of the facts, and an infamous -outrage on the helpless memory of the dead. Could a woman of the mind, -spirit, position, and with the friends of Mrs. Forrest be expected -meekly to submit to such a fiendish sacrifice? How does such a thought -seem in the light of the first letters of the parties in the -controversy? The supposition, too, is inconceivably contradictory to the -character of Forrest, who, however rough, violent, or furious he may -sometimes have been, was not a man of cruel injustice or selfish -malignity, was never a sneaking liar and hypocrite. Furthermore, no -financial difficulty existed; since the fortune of Forrest at that time -was about three hundred thousand dollars, and his direct earnings from -his professional labor some thirty thousand a year. Fonthiil cost him -all told less than a hundred thousand, and on separating from his wife, -in addition to carrying the load of Fonthiil for six years longer, the -residence which he purchased and occupied in Philadelphia was worth -nearly as much more, and, besides paying out over two hundred thousand -dollars in his divorce lawsuits, his wealth was steadily swelling all -the time. - -After the intense personal hostility and indomitable professional zeal -and persistency with which Charles O’Conor pushed the cause of his fair -client, in eight years securing five repetitions of judgment, heaping up -the expenses for the defendant, as he says, “with the peculiar effect of -compound interest,” he should not have penned so unfounded and terrible -an accusation. The man who could sacrifice the honor and happiness of -his wife with the motive and in the manner O’Conor attributes to Forrest -must be the most loathsome of scoundrels. But in the very paper in which -the great illustrious lawyer presents this theory he says, “Mr. Forrest -possessed great talents, and, unless his conduct in that controversy be -made a subject of censure, he has no blemish on his name.” The innocence -of Mrs. Forrest is publicly accredited, and is not here impugned. But -history abundantly shows that her husband’s affirmation of her guilt -does not prove him to have been a wilful monster. His suspicion was -naturally aroused, and, though it may have been mistaken, naturally -culminated, under the circumstances accompanying its course, in an -assured conviction of its justice. - -In his proud, sensitive, and tenacious mind, recoiling with all its -fibres from the fancied wrong and shame, the poison of the Consuelo -letter worked like a deadly drug, burning and mining all within. By day -or by night he could not forget it. The full experience of jealousy, as -so many poor wretches in every age have felt it, gnawed and tore him. He -who had so often enacted the passion now had to suffer it in its dire -reality. For more than a year he kept his dark secret in silence, not -saying a word even to his dearest friends, secluding himself much of the -time, brooding morbidly over his pent-up misery. Now he learned to probe -in their deepest significance the words of his great Master,— - - “But oh, what damned minutes tells he o’er - Who dotes yet doubts, suspects yet strongly loves!” - -The evidence of the love he had for his wife and of the agony his -jealousy caused him is abundant. His letters to her are tender and -effusive. Such extracts as these are a specimen of them: “I am quite -tired of this wandering, and every hour I wish myself again with you. -God bless you, my dearest Kate, and believe me wholly yours.” “This is a -warm, bright, beautiful day, and I am sitting at an open window in the -Eutaw House; and while I write there is above me a clear, blue, -cloudless sky,—just such a day as I yearn to have with you at Fonthill.” -“I saw Mr. Mackay to-day. He spoke of you in terms of unmitigated -praise, and said you were every way worthy of my most devoted affection. -Of course he made conquest of my whole heart. I do love to hear you -praised, and value it most highly when, as in the present instance, it -is the spontaneous offering of the candid and the good.” “Your two -letters have been received, and I thank you, my dearest Kate, for your -kind attentions in writing to me so often. Indeed, your messages are -always welcome.” “I seem quite lonely without you, and even in this -short absence have often wished you were here. But the three weeks -_will_ pass away, and then we shall see each other again.” Many -witnesses in the trial testified to the happy domestic life of the -couple, their devoted attentions and confiding tenderness up to the time -of their dissension. And that the change which then occurred was as -secretly painful as it was publicly marked is beyond doubt. He appeared -no longer on the stage, but shunned society, even shrank from his -friends, wore a gloomy and absorbed air, and brooded in solitude. The -following verses—as unjust as they are severe, for jealousy is always -more or less insane, a morbid fixture displacing the freedom of the -mind—reflecting his feelings were found after his death, in his -handwriting, copied into one of his scrap-books at the date of the -divorce trial: - - Away from my heart, for thy spirit is vain - As the meanest of insects that flutter in air; - I have broken the bonds of our union in twain, - For the spots of deceit and of falsehood are there. - - The woman who still in the day-dawn of youth - Can hold out her hand to the kisses of all, - Whose tongue is polluted by guile and untruth, - Doth justify man when he breaks from her thrall. - - But think not I hate thee; my heart is too high - To prey on the spoil of so abject a foe; - I deem thee unworthy a curse or a sigh, - For pity too base, and for vengeance too low. - - Then away, unregretted, unhonored thy name, - In my moments of scorn recollected alone,— - Soon others shall wake to behold thee the same - As I have beheld thee, and thou shalt be known. - -When at last he spoke reservedly on the subject to his confidential -friend, he said he had begun life a very poor boy, had struggled hard to -reach a pinnacle, and it now seemed severe to be struck down from all -his happiness by one individual, and that one the woman whom he had -loved the most of all on earth. And when the listener to whom he spoke -replied with praises of the physical and spiritual beauty of Mrs. -Forrest, he exclaimed, “She now looks ugly to me: her face is black and -hideous.” This friend, Lawson, wrote these words at the time: “I am -persuaded that both parties are still warmly attached to one another. -He, judging by his looks, has suffered deeply, and has grown ten years -older during the last few months. She is not less affected.” - -At length a natural but unfortunate incident carried their alienation to -the point of a violent and final rupture. In indignant reply to some -cutting remarks on her sister, Mrs. Forrest inconsiderately said to her -husband, “It is a lie!” If there was one point on which he had always -been proudly scrupulous, as every friend would testify, it was that of -being a man of the uttermost straightforward veracity, whatever might -betide. The words, “It is a lie!” fell into his irascible blood like -drops of molten iron. He restrained himself, and said, “If a man had -said that to me he should die. I cannot live with a woman who says it.” -From that moment separation was inevitable and irrevocable. - -A little later they agreed to part, mutually pledging themselves not to -allow the cause to be made known. Before leaving his house she asked him -to give her a copy of the works of Shakspeare as a memento of him. He -did so, writing in it, “Mrs. Edwin Forrest, from Edwin Forrest,” a sad -alteration from the inscription uniformly made in the books he had -before presented to her, “From her lover and husband, Edwin Forrest.” -Taking her in a carriage, with a large portrait of himself at the most -glorious height of his physical life, he accompanied her to the house of -her generous friends, Parke and Fanny Godwin, whose steadfast fidelity -had caused them to offer her an asylum in this trying hour. Parting from -each other silently at that hospitable door, the gulf of pain between -them was henceforth without a bridge. Slow months passed on, various -causes of irritation still at work, when the following letter, which -explains itself, was written: - - “I am compelled to address you, by reports and rumors that reach me - from every side, and which a due respect for my own character - compels me not to disregard. You cannot forget that before we parted - you obtained from me a solemn pledge that I would say nothing of the - guilty cause; the guilt alone on your part, not on mine, which led - to our separation; you cannot forget that, at the same time, you - also pledged yourself to a like silence, a silence that I supposed - you would be glad to have preserved; but I understand from various - sources, and in ways that cannot deceive me, that you have - repeatedly disregarded that promise, and are constantly assigning - false reasons for our separation, and making statements in regard to - it intended and calculated to exonerate yourself and to throw the - whole blame on me, and necessarily to alienate from me the respect - and attachment of the friends I have left to me. Is this a fitting - return for the kindness I have ever shown you? Is this your - gratitude to one who, though aware of your guilt and most deeply - wronged, has endeavored to shield you from the scorn and contempt of - the world? The evidence of your guilt, you know, is in my - possession; I took that evidence from among your papers, and I have - your own acknowledgment by whom it was written, and that the - infamous letter was addressed to you. You know, as well as I do, - that the cause of my leaving you was the conviction of your - infidelity. I have said enough to make the object of this letter - apparent; I am content that the past shall remain in silence, but I - do not intend, nor will I permit, that either you, or any one - connected with you, shall ascribe our separation to my misconduct. - - “I desire you, therefore, to let me know at once, whether you have - by your own assertions, or by sanctioning those of others, - endeavored to throw the blame of our miserable position on me. My - future conduct will depend on your reply. - - “Once yours, - “EDWIN FORREST.” - -To this the writer received immediate response: - - “I hasten to answer the letter Mr. Stevens has just left with me, - with the utmost alacrity, as it affords me, at least, the melancholy - satisfaction of correcting misstatements, and of assuring you that - the various rumors and reports which have reached you are false. - - “You say that you have been told that I am ‘constantly assigning - false reasons for our separation, and making statements in regard to - it intended and calculated to exonerate myself and throw the whole - blame on you;’ this I beg most distinctly to state is utterly - untrue. - - “I have, when asked the cause of our sad differences, invariably - replied that was a matter only known to ourselves, and which would - never be explained, and I neither acknowledge the right of the - world, nor our most intimate friends, to question our conduct in - this affair. - - “You say, ‘I desire you, therefore, to let me know at once, whether - you have by your own assertions, or by sanctioning those of others, - endeavored to throw the blame of our miserable position on me.’ I - most solemnly assert that I have never done so, directly or - indirectly, nor has any one connected with me ever made such - assertions with my knowledge, nor have I ever permitted any one to - speak of you in my presence with censure or disrespect. I am glad - you have enabled me to reply directly to yourself concerning this, - as it must be evident to you that we are both in a position to be - misrepresented to each other; but I cannot help adding that the tone - of your letter wounds me deeply: a few months ago you would not have - written thus. But in this neither do I blame you, but those who have - for their own motives poisoned your mind against me; this is surely - an unnecessary addition to my sufferings, but while I suffer I feel - the strong conviction that some day, perhaps one so distant that it - may no longer be possible for us to meet on this earth, your own - naturally noble and just mind will do me justice, and that you will - believe in the affection which, for twelve years, has never swerved - from you. I cannot, nor would I, subscribe myself other than, - - “Yours now and ever, - “CATHARINE N. FORREST.” - -The above letter was succeeded five days later by another: - - “In replying to the letter I received from you on Monday last, I - confined myself to an answer to the questions you therein ask me; - for inasmuch as you said you were content that the past should - remain in silence, and as I was myself unwilling to revive any - subject of dispute between us, I passed over the harsh and new - accusations contained in your letter; but on reading and weighing it - carefully, as I have done since, I fear that my silence would be - construed into an implied assent to those accusations. After your - repeated assurances to me prior to our separation, and to others - since then, of your conviction that there had been nothing criminal - on my part, I am pained that you should have been persuaded to use - such language to me. You know as well as I do that there has been - nothing in my conduct to justify those gross and unexpected charges, - and I cannot think why you should now seem to consider a foolish and - anonymous letter as an evidence of guilt, never before having - thought so, unless you have ulterior views, and seek to found some - grounds on this for divorce. If this be your object, it could be - more easily, not to say more generously, obtained. I repeatedly told - you that if a divorce would make you happy, I was willing to go out - of this State with you to obtain it, and that at any future time my - promise to this effect would hold good. You said such was not your - wish, and that we needed no court of law to decide our future - position for us. From the time you proposed our separation, I used - no remonstrance, save to implore you to weigh the matter seriously, - and be sure, before you decided, that such a step would make you - happy; you said it would, and to conduce as much as lay in my power - to that happiness, was my only aim and employment until the day you - took me from my home. Of my own desolate and prospectless future I - scarcely dared to think or speak to you, but once you said that if - any one dared to cast an imputation on me, not consistent with - honor, I should call on you to defend me. That you should, - therefore, now write and speak as you do, I can only impute to your - yielding to the suggestions of those who, under the garb of - friendship, are daring to interfere between us; but it is not in - their power to know whether your happiness will be insured by - endeavoring to work my utter ruin. I cannot believe it, and implore - you, Edwin, for God’s sake, to trust to your own better judgment; - and, as I am certain that your heart will tell you I could not seek - to injure you, so likewise I am sure your future will not be - brighter if you succeed in crushing me more completely, in casting - disgrace upon one who has known no higher pride than the right of - calling herself your wife. - - “CATHARINE N. FORREST.” - -To this Forrest replied thus: - - “I answer your letter dated the 29th and received by me on the 31st - ult., solely to prevent my silence being misunderstood. Mr. Godwin - has told me that the tardy reply to the most material part of mine - of the 24th was sent by his advice. I should indeed think from its - whole tone and character that it was written under instructions. I - do not desire to use harsh epithets or severe language to you; it - can do no good. But you compel me to say that all the important - parts of yours are utterly untrue. It is utterly untrue that the - accusations I now bring against you are ‘new.’ It is utterly untrue - that since the discovery of that infamous letter, which you - callously call ‘foolish,’ I have ever, in any way, expressed my - belief of your freedom from guilt. I could not have done so, and you - know that I have not done it. But I cannot carry on a correspondence - of this kind; I have no desire to injure or to crush you; the fatal - wrong has been done to me, and I only wish to put a final - termination to a state of things which has destroyed my peace of - mind, and which is wearing out my life. - - “EDWIN FORREST.” - -The next step in the tragedy was the filing of an application for -divorce by Forrest in Philadelphia, instantly counterchecked by a -similar application on the part of Mrs. Forrest in New York. He was led -to his suit because, in his own words, “unwilling to submit to calumnies -industriously circulated by my enemies that I had unmanfully wronged an -innocent woman, the only choice open to me was either to assert my -rectitude before the tribunals of my country or endure throughout life a -weight of reproach which I trust my entire life proves undeserved.” Her -obvious motive in the counter-suit was the instinctive impulse and the -deliberate determination to protect herself from remediless disgrace and -utter social ostracism. No woman with her spirit, and with the host of -friends which she had in the most honored walk of the community, could -willingly accept the fearful penalty of letting such a case go by -default, whether she were innocent or guilty. To those who held her -innocent, as the best people did, her attitude appealed to every -chivalrous sentiment of admiration and sympathy; but to him who believed -her guilty, as her husband did, it presented every motive to aggravate -anger and resentment. The inevitable consequences resulted, and a -prolonged struggle ensued, which was a desperate fight for moral -existence. The miserable details need not be specified. As the combat -thickened, the deeper grew the passions on each side, and the more -damaging the charges and alleged disclosures. The hostile championship -likewise became intenser and wider. The trial, with the incrimination of -adultery and the recrimination of the same offence, began in December, -1851, and reached through six weeks. No trial of the kind in this -country had ever awakened so eager and extended an interest. The -evidence and arguments were minutely reproduced in the press, sold by -wholesale in every corner of the land, and devoured by unnumbered -thousands with every sort of scandalous gossip and comment. The -completed report of the trial fills two enormous volumes of more than -twelve hundred pages each. The lady gained much for her cause by her -strict propriety of language, her elegant deportment, the unequalled -ability and passionate zeal of her counsel, and the exalted character of -her large circle of influential and unfaltering friends. The man lost as -much for his cause by the partisan prejudices against him, by the -imprudences of his more reckless friends, and especially by the -repelling violence and coarseness of expression and demeanor to which in -his exasperated state he was too often tempted. Abundant examples have -already been furnished in these pages of his scholarly taste, -intellectual dignity, moral refinement and strength. Justice to the -truth requires the frank admission that there was also in him a rude and -harsh element, a streak of uncivilized bluntness or barbaric honesty of -impulse, shocking to people of conventional politeness. These people did -him injustice by chiefly seeing this cruder feature in his character, -for it was quite a subordinate part of his genuine nature. But it is -only fair to give specimens of the level to which it not unfrequently -sank him in social appearance. In his eyes observance of external -seemings was nothing in comparison with sincerity to internal realities. -After his separation, but before his divorce, meeting his wife in the -street, she said he kept her there walking up and down for over two -hours in a pouring rain, hearing and replying to him, neither of them -having an umbrella. At this same period watching one night to see who -entered or left his house, in which his wife was still residing, though -alone, a man named Raymond came out. The following intelligible dialogue -immediately took place, as sworn to in court by Raymond himself. “Why -are you sneaking away like a guilty man?” “Edwin Forrest, you have -waylaid me by night with a bludgeon. You want a pretence for attacking -me, and I shall not give it you.” “Bludgeon! I don’t want a bludgeon to -kill you. Damn you, I can choke you to death with my hands. But you are -not the man I am after now. If I catch that damned villain I’ll rip his -liver out. I’ll cut his damned throat at the door. You may go this time, -damn you. But I have marked you, all of you, and I’ll have vengeance.” -This style of speech, as laughable as it is repulsive, and which really -marked not at all the extent but merely the limitation of his culture, -greatly injured him, alloying alike his worth, his peace, and his -success. In one instance alone, however, did his violence of temper -carry him beyond discourteous and furious speech to illegal action. -Meeting in Central Park Mr. N. P. Willis, whom he regarded as one of the -chief fomenters of his domestic trouble, he inflicted severe personal -chastisement on him. The sufferer prosecuted his assailant, and secured -a verdict with damages of one dollar. Forrest brought a suit against -Willis for libel, and gained a verdict with five hundred dollars -damages. - -In the divorce case a somewhat unexpected judgment was decreed against -Forrest, acquitting his wife and condemning him to pay costs and three -thousand dollars a year for alimony. He appealed, and was defeated, with -an added thousand dollars a year alimony. Five times he appealed, -carrying his case from court to court, and every time was baffled and -thrown. And it actually was not until 1868, after eighteen years of -unrelenting litigation,—years filled with irritation, acrimony, and -every species of annoyance, settling in many instances into a lodged -hatred,—that he finally abandoned further resistance and paid over the -full award. Sixty-four thousand dollars came to Mrs. Forrest, of which -sum the various expenses swallowed fifty-nine thousand, leaving the -pittance of five thousand,—an edifying example of the beauty of legal -controversies. - -The writer is unwilling in any way to enter between the now long and -forever separated disputants or to go behind the rendering of the court. -The defendant is dead, and only requires for justice’s sake the -assertion that he believed himself to have been wronged, and that he -acted on that belief with the unforgivingness belonging to him. The -plaintiff has suffered fearfully enough for any imprudence or error, was -believed by her intimate and most honored friends to be innocent, was -vindicated by a jury after a most searching trial, and is now living in -modest and blameless retirement. She has a right to the benefit of her -acquittal, and shall be left unassailed to that unseen Tribunal which -alone is as just and merciful as it is infallible. - -The verdict of the jury was hailed with acclamations by one party, with -amazement and derision by the other. Rumors and charges of perjury, -fraud, and corruption were rife, and many a character suffered badly, -while the end left the contestants pretty much where the beginning found -them, with the exception of the bad passion, costs, and anguish that lay -between. They had been hoisted into a public pillory in the face of the -whole country, subjected to all kinds of odious remarks, the very -sanctities of their being defiled and profaned by the miscellaneous -gawking and commenting of the prurient crowd. Besides all this long -strain on his feelings and huge drain on his purse, Forrest had the -angry grief of seeing large numbers of his most cherished friends fall -away from him to the side of his antagonist, never to be spoken to -again. And then he had the mortification of defeat amidst the cheers and -jeers of his foes, who combined to honor the victorious lawyer to whom -at every step he owed his repulses with a brilliant banquet and a -service of plate, including a massive silver pitcher bearing the -inscription, “From God the conquering champion cometh!” He was just the -kind of man to feel these things most keenly. No wonder the unsuccessful -warfare and its shameful close stung his pride, envenomed his -resentment, darkened his life, and left on him rather a permanent wound -than a scar. But, sure of the rightfulness of his cause, his self- -respect and his faith in ultimate justice for the iniquity he felt had -been done him enabled him to bear up with defiant fortitude. And he was -far from being unsustained without, numerous as were the familiar -associates who deserted him. Whenever he appeared in public the same -enthusiastic multitudes as of old greeted him with an even wilder -admiration. Many a voice and pen were lifted to defend and applaud him, -while many attacked him. The tributes in the newspapers more than -equalled the denunciations. Two examples in verse will show the estimate -of him and his cause formed by close acquaintances: - - - TO EDWIN FORREST. - - Thou noble and unflinching one, - Who stoodst the test so firm and true; - Doubt not, though clouds may hide the sun, - The eye of truth shall pierce them through. - - Heed not the sneer and heartless mirth - Of those whose black hearts cannot know - The sterling honesty and worth - Of him at whom they aim the blow. - - Thy peace is wrecked—thy heart is riven— - By her so late thy joy and pride, - And thou a homeless wanderer driven - Upon the world’s tumultuous tide. - - Yet doubt not, for amid the throng - There’s many a heart beats warm and high - For him who cannot brook a wrong, - Whose noble soul disdains a lie. - - Then hail, Columbia’s gifted son, - Pride of our glorious Drama, hail! - Thou deeply wronged and injured one, - Let not thy hope or courage fail. - - Though perjury seek thy name to blight, - And venomed tongues with envy rail, - The truth, in all its lustre bright, - ’Gainst heartless fops shall yet prevail. - - M. C. - - TO EDWIN FORREST. - - May I, in this gay masquerade of thought, - When crowds will seek thee, - With gay devices curiously wrought, - And love-words greet thee, - Bestow the offering of an earnest soul, - Though it be vain - As to Niagara’s eternal roll - The drops of summer rain! - - A thought of thee dwells ever in my heart - And haunts my brain, - And tears unbidden to mine eyelids start - Whene’er I hear thy name. - Yet ’tis no love-thought,—no impassioned dream - Of wild unrest - Quickening my pulses when with earnest beam - Thine eyes upon me rest. - - But something deeper, holier far than this,— - A mournful thought - Of all the sorrow and the loneliness - With which thy life is fraught,— - Of thy great, noble heart, so rudely torn - From the deep trust of years,— - Of the proud laurels which thy brow has worn, - Dim with the rust of tears; - - Of wrongs and treachery in the princely home - Thy genius earned; - Thy hearth made desolate, thy pathway lone, - Thy heart’s deep worship spurned; - Thy manly prayer for justice coldly met - With mocking jeers, - The seal of exile on thy forehead set - For all thy coming years. - - Most deeply injured! yet unshaken still - Amid the storm, - Thy soul leans calmly on its own high will - And waits the coming morn. - And all pure hearts are with thee, and beat high - To know at last - The world will scan thee with unbiassed eye, - Revoking all the past. - - CELIA. - -A fortnight after the close of the trial, Forrest began a new engagement -at the Broadway Theatre. - -One of the leading journals of the day said, “The return of Mr. Forrest -to the stage, from which he has been so long self-exiled, will form the -most interesting feature in the dramatic season. There have been many, -though we have not been of the number, who have thought he would never -reappear on the boards after the unwarrantable treatment he received at -the hands of the maliciously and ignorantly prejudiced. Mr. Forrest, -however, has justly relied upon the spirit of fair play which -characterizes the American people. Let all men be fairly judged before -they are condemned, and especially those who, like him, have long and -manfully withstood such a ‘downright violence and storm of fortune’ as -would have overwhelmed most men, and whose careers have added to the -lustre of their country’s history. We believe that he will never have -cause to say, like Wolsey,— - - ‘I shall fall - Like a bright exhalation in the evening, - And no man see me more!’ - -but that he who has so long - - ‘Trod the ways of glory, - And sounded all the depths and shoals of honor, - Will find a way, out of his wreck, to rise in.’ - -“All men have their faults, and envy makes those of the great as -prominent as possible. - - ‘Men’s evil manners live in brass; their virtues - We write in water.’ - -“Much to their ignominy, the assailants of Forrest have never given him -credit for those high-minded and disinterested acts of generosity which -those who know him best can never recall without admiration, and which, -when his history is written, will leave little comfort to his maligners, -professional or otherwise. We wish for him a delighted welcome back to -the stage, and a complete deliverance from the toils in which his -enemies have sought to destroy him.” - -The house was packed to its extremest capacity, and hundreds clamored in -the streets. An inscription was hung across the parquet, “This is the -people’s verdict!” As he entered on his ever favorite roll of Damon, the -audience rose en masse, and greeted him with waving hats, handkerchiefs, -and scarfs, and long, deafening plaudits, which shook the building from -dome to foundation. In matchless solidity of port he stood before the -frenzied tempest of humanity, and bowed his acknowledgments slowly, as -when Zeus nods and all Olympus shakes. A shower of bouquets entwined -with small American flags fell at his feet. He addressed the assembly -thus, constantly interrupted with cheers: - -“LADIES AND GENTLEMEN,—After the unparalleled verdict which you have -rendered me here to-night, you will not doubt that I consider this the -proudest moment of my life. And yet it is a moment not unmingled with -sadness. Instinctively I ask myself the question, Why is this vast -assemblage here to-night, composed as it is of the intelligent, the -high-minded, the right-minded, and last, though not least, the beautiful -of the Empire City? Is it because a favorite actor appears in a favorite -character? No, the actor and the performances are as familiar to you as -household words. Why, then, this unusual ferment? It is because you have -come to express your irrepressible sympathy for one whom you know to be -a deeply-injured man. Nay, more, you are here with a higher and a holier -purpose,—to vindicate the principle of even-handed justice. I do not -propose to examine the proceedings of the late unhappy trial; those -proceedings are now before you, and before the world, and you can judge -as rightly of them as I can. I have no desire to instruct you in the -verdict you shall render. The issue of that trial will yet be before the -court, and I shall patiently await the judgment of that court, be it -what it may. In the mean while I submit my cause to you; my cause, did I -say?—no, not ‘my’ cause alone, but yours, the cause of every man in this -community, the cause of every human being, the cause of every honest -wife, the cause of every virtuous woman, the cause of every one who -cherishes a home and the pure spirit which should abide there. Ladies -and gentlemen, I submit my cause to a tribunal uncorrupt and -incorruptible; I submit it to the sober second-thought of the people. A -little while since, and I thought my pathway of life was filled with -thorns; you have this night strewed it with roses (looking at the -bouquets at his feet). Their perfume is gratifying to the senses, and I -am grateful for your beautiful and fragrant offering.” - -The success of the entire engagement was unprecedentedly brilliant. -Called before the curtain at the close of the final performance, he -said,— - -“LADIES AND GENTLEMEN,—This is the sixty-ninth night of an engagement -which, take it all in all, has, I believe, no parallel in the history of -the stage. It is without parallel in its duration, it is without -parallel in the amount of its labors, and it is without parallel in its -success. For sixty-nine almost successive nights, in despite of a season -more inclement than any I ever remember, the tide of popular favor has -flowed, like the Pontic Sea, without feeling a retiring ebb. For sixty- -nine nights I have been called, by your acclamations, to the spot where -I now stand to receive the generous plaudits of your hands, and I may -say hands with hearts in them. No popular assembly, in my opinion, -utters the public voice with more freedom and with more truth than the -assembly usually convened within the walls of a theatre. If this be so, -I have reason to be greatly proud of the demonstration which for twelve -successive weeks has greeted me here. Such a demonstration any man ought -to be proud of. Such a demonstration eloquently vindicates the thought -of the great poet: - - ‘Sweet are the uses of adversity, - Which, like the toad, though ugly and venomous, - Wears yet a precious jewel in his head.’ - -Such a demonstration speaks more eloquently to the heart than any words. -Such a demonstration contains in it an unmistakable moral. Such a -demonstration vindicates me more than a thousand verdicts, for it -springs from those who make and unmake judges.” - -But despite the flattering applause of the multitude, added to the -support of his own conscience, and notwithstanding his abounding health -and strength and enhancing riches, from the date of his separation and -desire for divorce the dominant tone of the life of Forrest was changed. -His demeanor had a more forbidding aspect, his disposition a sterner -tinge, his faith in human nature less genial expansion, his joy in -existence less spontaneous exuberance. The circle of his friends was -greatly contracted, a certain irritable soreness was fixed in his -sensibility, he shrank more strongly than ever from miscellaneous -society, and seemed to be more asserting or protecting himself cloaked -in an appearance of reserve and gloom. In fact, the excitement and -suffering he had gone through in connection with his domestic -unhappiness gave his whole nature a fearful wrench, and deposited some -permanent settlings of acridity and suspicion. The world of human life -never again wore to him the smiling aspect it had so often worn before. -His sense of justice had been wounded, his heart cut, his confidence -thrown back, and his rebelling will was constrained to resist and to -defy. - -And why all this strife and pain? Why all this bitter unyielding -opposition and writhing agony under what was and is and will be? -Wherefore not quietly accept the inevitable with magnanimous gentleness -and wisdom, and, without anger or fuss or regret, conform his conduct to -the best conditions for serenity of soul and wholesomeness of heart, in -contentment with self and charity for all? Why not rather have -suppressed wrath, avoided dispute, foregone retaliation, parted in peace -if part they must, and, each uncomplained of and uninterfered with by -the other, passed freely on in the strangely-checkered pathways of the -world, to test the good of life and the mystery of death and the -everlasting divineness of Providence? How much more auspicious such a -course would have been than to be so convulsed with tormenting passions -and strike to and fro in furious contention! Yes, why did they not -either forgive and forget and renew their loving covenant, or else -silently divide in kindness and liberty without one hostile deed or -thought? Thus they would have consulted their truest dignity and -interest. But, alas! in these infinitely delicate, inflammable, and -explosive affairs of sentiment, dignity and interest are usually -trampled contemptuously under foot by passion. - -Every one acts and reacts in accordance with his style and grade of -character, his degrees of loyalty or enslavement to the different -standards of action prevailing around him. A man held fast in a certain -low or mediocre stage of spiritual evolution will naturally conduct -himself in any trying emergency in a very different manner from one who -has reached a transcendent height of emancipation, spontaneity, and -nobleness. And there were two clear reasons why Forrest, in this most -critical passage of his life, did not behave purely in the best and -grandest way, but with a mixture of the vulgar method and the better -one. First, he had not attained that degree of self-detachment which -would make it possible for him to act under exciting circumstances -calmly in the light of universal principles. He could not disentangle -the prejudiced fibres of his consciousness from the personality long and -closely associated with his own so as to treat her with impartiality and -wisdom, regarding her as an independent personality rather than as a -merged part of his own. He must still continue related to her by -personal passion of some kind, when one passion died an opposite one -springing up in its place. And, secondly, he could not in this matter -free himself, although in many other matters he did remarkably free -himself, from the tyranny of what is called public opinion. He had in -this instance an extreme sensitiveness as to what would be thought of -him and said of him in case his conduct openly deviated much from the -average social usage. Thus his personal passions, mixed up in his -imagination with every reference to the woman he had adored but now -abominated, incapacitated him from acting consistently throughout with -disinterested delicacy and forbearance, though these qualities were not -wanting in the earlier stages of the difficulty before he had become so -far inflamed and committed. - -Speculation is often easy and practice hard. One may lightly hold as a -theory that which when brought home in private experience gives a -terrible shock and is repelled with horror and loathing. Both Forrest -and his wife had reflected much on what is now attracting so much -attention under the title of the Social question. They both entertained -bold, enlightened views on the subject, as clearly appears from a -remarkable letter written from Chicago, in 1848, by Mrs. Forrest in -reply to one from James Lawson. A comprehensive extract, followed by a -few suggestions on the general lessons of the subject, particularly as -connected with the dramatic art, shall close this unwelcome yet -indispensable chapter of the biography. - -“It is impossible, my dear friend, that the wonderful change which has -taken place in men’s minds within the last ten years can have escaped -the notice of so acute an observer as you are; and if you have read the -works which the great men of Europe have given us within that time, you -have found they all tend to illustrate the great principle of progress, -and to show at the same time that for man to attain the high position -for which he is by nature fitted, woman must keep pace with him. Man -cannot be free if woman be a slave. You say, ‘The rights of woman, -whether as maid or wife, and all those notions, I utterly abhor.’ I do -not quite understand what you here mean by the rights of woman. You -cannot mean that she has none. The poorest and most abject thing of -earth has some rights. But if you mean the right to outrage the laws of -nature, by running out of her own sphere and seeking to place herself in -a position for which she is unfitted, then I perfectly agree with you. -At the same time, woman has as high a mission to perform in this world -as man has; and he never can hold his place in the ranks of progression -and improvement who seeks to degrade woman to a mere domestic animal. -Nature intended her for his companion, and him for hers; and without the -respect which places her socially and intellectually on the same -platform, his love for her personally is an insult. - -“Again, you say, ‘A man loves her as much for her very dependence on him -as for her beauty or loveliness.’ (Intellect snugly put out of the -question.) This remark from you astonished me so much that I submitted -the question at once to Forrest, who instantly agreed with me that for -once our good friend was decidedly wrong. (Pardon the heresy, I only say -for once.) What! do you value the love of a woman who only clings to you -because she cannot do without your support? Why, this is what in nursery -days we used to call ‘cupboard love,’ and value accordingly. Depend upon -it, as a general rule, there would be fewer family jars if each were -pecuniarily independent of the other. With regard to mutual confidence, -I perfectly agree with you that it should exist; but for this there must -be mutual sympathy; the relative position of man and wife must be that -of companions,—not mastery on one side and dependence on the other. -Again, you say, ‘A wife, if she blame her husband for seeking after new -fancies, should examine her own heart, and see if she find not in some -measure justification for him.’ Truly, my dear friend, I think so too -(when we do agree, our unanimity is wonderful); and if after that self- -examination she finds the fault is hers, she should amend it; but if she -finds on reflection that her whole course has been one of devotion and -affection for him, she must even let matters take their course, and rest -assured, if he be a man of appreciative mind, his affection for her will -return. This is rather a degrading position; but a true woman has pride -in self-sacrifice. In any case, I do not think a woman should blame a -man for indulging in fancies. I think we discussed this once before, and -that I then said, as I do now, that he is to blame when these fancies -are degrading, or for an unworthy object; the last words I mean not to -apply morally, but intellectually. A sensible woman, who loves her -husband in the true spirit of love, without selfishness, desires to see -him happy, and rejoices in his elevation. She would grieve that he -should give the world cause to talk, or in any way risk the loss of that -respect due to both himself and her; but she would infinitely rather -that he should indulge ‘new fancies’ (I quote you) than lead an unhappy -life of self-denial and unrest, feeling each day the weight of his -chains become more irksome, making him in fact a living lie. This is -what society demands of us. In our present state we cannot openly brave -its laws; but it is a despotism which cannot exist forever; and in the -mean time those whose minds soar above common prejudice can, if such be -united, do much to make their present state endurable. It is a fearful -thing to think of the numbers who, after a brief acquaintance, during -which they can form no estimate of each other’s characters, swear -solemnly to love each other while they ‘on this earth do dwell.’ Men and -women boldly make this vow, as though they could by the magic of these -few words enchain forever every feeling and passion of their nature. It -is absurd. No man can do so; and society, as though it had made a -compact with the devil to make man commit more sins than his nature -would otherwise prompt, says, ‘Now you are fairly in the trap, seek to -get out, and we cast you off forever,—you and your helpless children.’ -Man never was made to endure even such a yoke as unwise governments have -sought to lay on him; how much more galling, then, must be that which -seeks to bind the noblest feelings and affections of his nature, and -makes him— - - ‘So, with one chained friend, perhaps a jealous foe, - The dreariest and the longest journey go.’ - -“That there is any necessity to insure, by any means, a woman’s -happiness, is a proposition you do not seem to have entertained while -writing your letter of May 24th; but perhaps we are supposed to be happy -under all circumstances.” - -There is for man and woman on this earth one supreme happiness, one -contenting fulfilment of destiny, whether there are more or not. It is a -pure, calm, holy, and impassioned love, joining them in one life, -filling both soul and body with a peaceful and rapturous harmony, -glorifying the scenery of nature by its reflection, making the current -of daily experience a stream of prophetic bliss, revealing to them -authentic glimpses of God in each other, and opening eternity to their -faith with mystic suggestions of worlds bygone and worlds to come, lives -already led and forgotten and lives yet to be welcomed. This is the one -absolute blessing, without whose appeasing and sufficing seal the human -creature pines for he knows not what, and dies unsatisfied, no matter -how much else is granted him. Any one to whom this divine fortune falls, -and whose conscience, instead of wearing it proudly as a crown of glory -in the sight of God, shrinks with it guiltily before the sight of men, -is a contemptible coward, unworthy of the boon, and sure to forfeit it. -As the most original thinker, the boldest diver into the mysteries of -our nature, America has produced, expresses it,— - - “The sense of the world is short, - Long and various the report, - To love and be beloved. - Men and gods have not outlearned it, - And how oft soe’er they’ve turned it, - ’Tis not to be improved.” - -Thousands, enslaved by the conventional, distracted by the external, -absorbed in the trivial, may be ignorant of the incomparable importance -of the truth here expressed, care nothing about it, and give themselves -up to selfish ambitions and contemptible materialities. This must be so, -since the blind cannot see; and even the seeing eye sees in an object -only what it brings the means of seeing; and the marvellous heights and -depths of experience are fatally locked from the inexperienced. -Nevertheless, the truth above affirmed survives its overlooking by the -unworthy, and every man and woman gifted with profound insight and -sensibility knows it and feels it beyond everything else. The great -multitudes of society also have at least dim glimpses of it, strange -presentiments of it, blind intuitions awakening a strong and incessant -curiosity in that direction. This is the secret cause of the universal -interest felt in the subject of love and in every instance of its -transcendent experience or exemplification. One of the most central -functions of art—whether written romance, painting, sculpture, music, or -the drama—is directly or indirectly to celebrate this truth by giving it -concentrated and relieved expression, and thus inciting the -contemplators to aspire after their own highest bliss. To those whose -emotions are rich and quick enough to interpret them, what are the -finest songs of the composers but sighings for the fulfilment of -affection, or raptures in its fruition, or wailings over its loss? With -what unrivalled power Rubens, in his fearful pictures of love and war, -has uncovered to the competent spectator the horrible tragedy all -through history of the intimate association of lust and murder, -libidinous passion and death! And pre-eminently the stage, in all its -forms,—tragic, comic, and operatic,—has ever found, and always will -find, its most fascinating employment and crowning mission in the open -display—published to those who have the keys to read it, veiled from all -who have not—of the varied bewitchments, evasions, agonies, and -ecstasies of the passion of love between the sexes. That is the most -effective actor or actress whose gamut of emotional being and -experience, real and ideal, is greatest, and whose training gives -completest command of the apparatus of expression, making the organism a -living series of revelations, setting before the audience in visible -play, in the most precise and intense manner, the working of love, in -all its kinds and degrees, through the language of its occult signals. -The competent actor shows to the competent gazer the exact rank and -quality of the love actuating him by the adjustment of his behavior to -it,—every look and tone, every changing rate and quality in the rhythm -of his motions, every part of his body which leads or dominates in his -bearing, whether head, shoulder, chest, elbow, hand, abdomen, hip, knee, -or foot, having its determinate significance. Thus people are taught to -discern grades of character through styles of manners, inspired to -admire the noble and loathe the base at the same time that they are -deepened in their own desires for the divine prizes of beauty and joy. - -The most wholesome and triumphant art of the stage has always taught in -its personifying revelation that the highest blessedness of human life -is the perfect attunement of the natures of man and woman in a perfect -love around which nature thrills and over which God smiles. No diviner -lesson ever has been or ever will be taught on this earth. All other -fruitions here are but preliminaries to this, all sacrifices penances -for its failure, all diseases and crimes the fruit of its violation. - -In contrast with this glorious proper fulfilment of affection, wherever -we look on the history of our race we find six great chronic tragedies -which dramatic art has portrayed perhaps even more fully than it has the -positive triumph itself. - -First, is the tragedy of the indifferent heart which neither receives -nor gives nor possesses love. Thin and sour natures, frivolous, dry, -cynical, or hard and arrogant,—the enchanted charms and mysteries of -nature and humanity have no existence for them. They sit aloof and -sneer, or plot and struggle and get money and win office, or eat and -drink and joke and sleep and perish,—the amazing horrors and the -entrancing delights of experience equally sealed books to them. They may -attain incidental trifles, but, with their poor, shrivelled, loveless -hearts, not attaining that for which man most was made, to the sorrowing -gaze of nobler natures their earthly lot is a tragedy. - -Secondly, is the pathetic tragedy of being loved without the power to -return it. Coquetry, which has strewn its way everywhere with ravaged -and trampled prizes, reverses this, and without sympathy or principle -seeks to elicit and attract affection merely to pamper vanity and -gratify an obscene love of power; and this too is a tragedy, but one of -a fiendish import. The other is a sad and painful experience, yet with -something of an angelic touch in it. It seems to hint at a great -dislocation somewhere in the past of our race, causing this plaintive -discord of conjoined but jarring souls, whose incongruous rhythms can -never blend though in juxtaposition, like an ill-matched span whose -paces will not coincide but still hobble and interfere. To be the -recipient of a great absorbing love which one is absolutely unable to -reciprocate is to any one of generous sympathies a keen sorrow. -Sometimes too it is a sharp and wearing annoyance. And yet it is not -infrequent, both out of wedlock and in it. There are limits alike of -adaptation and of misadaptation to awaken love; and we can never have -any more love than we awaken or give any more than is awakened in us. -There are fatalities in these relations wholly beyond the reach of the -will. When two persons are married whose characters, culture, and -fitnesses place them on such different levels that they can meet only by -a laborious ascent on one side or a distasteful descent on the other, -where the ideal life of one is constantly hurt and baffled and flung in -on itself from every attempt at genial fellowship, any high degree of -love is hopeless. The conjunction is a yoke, not a partnership. Respect, -gratitude, pity, service, almost every quality except love, may be -earned. But love comes, if it come at all, spontaneously, in answer to -the native signals which evoke it. In vain do we strive to love one not -suited to us nor fitted for us; and a sensitive spirit forced to receive -the affectionate manifestations of such a one is often sorely tried when -seemingly bound to appear blessed. - -The same considerations apply with double weight and poignancy to the -third and larger class of tragedies of affection, namely, those who love -where they are not acceptable and cannot win a return. Piteous indeed is -the lot, touching the sight, of one humbly offering his worship, -patiently continuing every tender care and service at a shrine which, -despite every effort to change or disguise its insuperable repugnance, -must still feel repugnant. And then, furthermore, there is the anguish -of the homage welcomed at first and toyed with, but soon betrayed and -cast away. The pangs of jilted love are proverbial, and the experience -is one of the commonest as it is one of the cruellest in the world. -Broken hearts, blasted lives, early deaths, terrible struggles of -injured pride and sacred sentiment to conceal themselves and hold -bravely up, caused by failures to secure the hand of the one devotedly -beloved but idly entreated, are much more numerous than is imagined by -the superficial humdrum world. They are in reality so numerous that if -they were all known everybody not familiar with the poetic side and -shyer recesses of human nature would be astonished. This forms a heavy -item in the big statistics of human woe. - -The examples contained under the head of the fourth tragedy are the -experiences of those who are full of rich affections but find no -congenial person on whom to bestow them or from whom to obtain a return. -Accordingly, their real passions find only ideal vents in fervent -longings and dreams, in music, prayer, and faith, or embodiment in -industry and beneficence. Their unfulfilled affection thus either -fortifies their being with the culture and good works it prompts, or -opens an imaginative world into which they exhale away in romantic -desires. A noble woman whose rare wealth and effusiveness of soul had -not been happily bestowed, once said, with a sigh, to Thackeray, when -they had been conversing of the extremes in the character of the great -Swift, “I would gladly have suffered his brutality to have had his -tenderness.” The remark pierces us with a keen and wide pain expanding -to brood in pity over the vast tragedy of humanity pining unsatisfied in -every age. Yes, exhalations of sinless and ardent desire, yearnings of -beautiful and baffled passion, are wasted in the air, sufficient, if -they were legitimately appropriated, to make the whole world a heaven. -Ah, let us trust that they are not wasted after all, but that they enter -into the air to make it warmer and sweeter for the breathing of the -happier generations to come, when the earth shall be purely peopled with -children begotten by pairs all whose rhythms correspond, and who love -the individuality of self in one another not less because they love the -universality of God in one another more. - -The fifth tragedy in the history of human affection consists of the -instances of those who have been blessed with an adequate love rounded -and fulfilled on both sides, but who have ceased to possess it longer, -except in its results. They have in some cases outgrown and wearied of -their objects, in others been outgrown and wearied of, in others still -been parted by death. These examples likewise are tragic each in its -way, but less melancholy on the whole than the others. These have had -fruition, have, once at least, lived. The memory is divine. If they are -worthy, it enriches and sanctifies their characters, and, in its -treasures of influence, remains to be transferred from its exclusive -concentration on one and freely poured forth on humanity, nature, and -God. It then prepares its possessor for that immortal future of which it -is itself an upholding prophecy. And so every deep and tender nature -must feel with the poet that it is better to have loved and lost than -never to have loved at all. - -But the sixth tragedy of love is the most lacerating and merciless of -the whole, and that is the tragedy of jealousy. This dire passion played -the most ravaging part in the domestic life of Forrest, and his -enactment of it in the rôle of Othello held the highest rank in his -professional career. It has also exercised a most extensive and awful -sway in the entire history of the human race up to this moment. The -relative place and function of the dramatic and lyric stage cannot be -appreciated without a full appreciation of this hydra passion, the -green-eyed monster that makes the meat it feeds on. - -Even of its victims few clearly understand the ingredients and essence -of jealousy. In the catalogue of the passions it is the impurest, the -insanest, and the most murderous. Every composition whose elements blend -in harmony is pure. Earth is pure and honey is pure, but a mixture of -earth and honey is impure. So in moral subjects. Loyalty is pure, being -consonantly composed of reverence and obedience; conscious disloyalty is -impure, being inconsonantly composed of a perception of rightful -authority and rebellious resistance to it. Now, no other passion is -composed of such an intense and incongruous combination of intense -opposites as jealousy. In it love and hate, esteem and scorn, trust and -suspicion, hope and fear, joy and pain, swiftly alternate or -discordantly mix and conflict. It is these meeting shocks of -contradictory polarities repulsing or penetrating one another in the -soul, rending and exploding in every direction in the consciousness of -its victim, that make jealousy the maddest and most slaughterous because -it is the most violently impure passion known to man. In every one of -its forms, when strong enough, it is a begetter of murders, has been -ever since the devil first peered on Adam and Eve embracing in Paradise, -and will be until it is abolished by slowly-advancing disinterestedness. -It is an appalling fact that the murders of wives by jealous husbands -are tenfold greater in number than any other single class of murders. -When we add to these the husbands murdered by their wives, and the -despatched paramours on both sides, the wild and deadly raging of -jealousy may be recognized in something of its frightful fury. - -The cause of the greater prevalence of murder between the married is not -far to seek. It is the weariness of an over-close and continual -intimacy, with the wearing and goading irritations it engenders. It is -the tyrannical assertion of the possession of one by the other as -something owned and to be governed. This provokes the rebellious and -revengeful instincts of a personality aching to be free; and the -aggravated and ruminating desire is finally so nourished and stung as to -burst into frenzied performance. And those ill-starred couples one of -whose members violently destroys the life of the other are insignificant -in number when compared with those who are slowly and stealthily -murdered without the explicit consciousness of either party, by the -gnawing shock and fret of discordant nerves, the steady grinding out of -the very springs and sockets of the faculties by repressive contempt and -hate and fear. A proud, sensitive woman may go into the presence of her -husband an angel, and leave it a fiend, her _amour-propre_ having been -wounded in its sacredest part and filled with irrepressible resentment. -Persons of genius, of absorbing devotion to an aim, are either more -unhappy in wedlock or else more exquisitely blessed and blessing than -others. They live largely in an ideal realm, on a ticklish level of -self-respect, a height of consciousness vital to them. Socrates, Cicero, -Dante, Milton, Chateaubriand, Byron, Bulwer, Kean, Talma, Thackeray, -Dickens, are examples. A collision jars the statue off its pedestal. A -tone of contempt or a look of indifference cuts like a dagger, tears the -spiritual tissues of selfhood,—and the invisible blood of the soul -follows, draining faith, love, life itself, away. The one vast secret of -pleasing and living happily with high sensitive natures is sympathetic -and deferential attention. Where this is not given, and there is sorrow -and chafing, an intercourse which is ever a slow moral murder, and often -inflamed into a swift physical murder, that liberty of divorce should be -granted for which the chaste and noble Milton so long ago made his plea. -Society should cease to say, Whom man has joined together let not God -put asunder! - -Having seen what the constituent elements of jealousy are, it now -remains to probe its essence. What is jealousy in its substance and -action? It is the appropriation of one person by another as a piece of -property, and a spontaneous resentment and resistance to any assertion -of its personality on its own part. The jealous man virtually says, “She -belongs to me and not to herself. If she dares to alienate herself from -me or give anything to anybody besides me, I will kill her.” The jealous -woman says, “He is mine, and if he leaves me or smiles on another I will -stab him and poison her.” This is the fell passion in its fiercest -extreme of selfishness. - -Viewed in another light it is less dreadful, though just as narrow and -selfish. The lover has assimilated the beloved as a portion of his own -being. His life seems bound up in her and dependent on her. Her -withdrawal is a loss so impoverishing to his imagination that it -threatens death. He feels that the dissolution of their unity will tear -him asunder. Then jealousy is his instinct of self-preservation, rising -in grief, pain and anger to repel or revenge an attack on the dearest -part of his life. Still, in this form as in the previous it implies the -subdual and suppression of one personality by another, and is the sure -signal of a crude character and an imperfect development. The rich, -generous nature, detached from himself, full of free affection, living -directly on objects according to their worth, ready to react on every -action according to its intrinsic claim, is not jealous. Liberty and -magnanimity at home and abroad are the marks of the fully-ripened man. -He knows his own personal sovereignty and abundant resources as a child -of God and an heir of the universe, and frankly allows the equal -personal sovereignty of each of his fellow-creatures. He claims and -grants no imposition of will or slavish subserviency, but seeks only -spontaneous companionship in affection. Mechanical conformity and -hypocrisy can be compelled. Love, veiled in its divinity, comes and goes -as it lists, and is everywhere the most authentic envoy of the Creator. -Jealousy is mental slavery, spiritual poverty, the ravenous cry of -affectional starvation, the blind, fallacious, desperate, murderous -struggle of a frightened and famishing selfhood. - -The conduct dictated by such a passion must be of the worst kind. It -begins with a mean espionage and ends with a maniacal violence. Its -relentless cruelty compels its objects to have recourse to the most -unprincipled methods to avert its suspicion and avoid its wrath, sinking -self-respect and honorable frankness in hypocrisy and fraud. Why is the -word or even the oath of any man or woman in regard to a question of -chastity or fidelity to the marriage vow almost universally considered -perfectly worthless? It is because the penalties of dereliction on the -part of woman are so intolerable, so much worse than death, that to -secure escape from them the social conscience justifies means which the -social code condemns. Accordingly, we see the highest personages, the -greatest dignitaries and popular favorites, go into court and openly -perjure themselves, while society cries bravo! The woman is so fearfully -imperilled that for her rescue the fashionable standard of honor -sustains deliberate perjury, the debauching of religious conscience on -the very shrine of public authority. - -This wicked social exculpation of the male and immolation of the female -is a lingering accompaniment of the historic evolution of man, the -survival in human civilization of the selfish instincts which in the -lower ranks of the animal kingdom cause the stronger to drive away the -weaker and monopolize the weakest. Among the most potent and fearless -beasts the male, seeing any other male sportively inclined, is seized -with a frenzy to kill him and appropriate the object. Animal man has the -same instinct, and it has smeared the entire course of history with -broad trails of blood and victimized womanhood by the double weapons of -force and fear. The spectacle of the harem of one man with a thousand -imprisoned women guarded by eunuchs tells the whole story. But surely -when human beings, no longer remaining mere instinctive animals, become -free personalities, lords of thought and sentiment, each with a separate -individual responsibility distinctly conscious and immortal, they should -govern themselves by spontaneous choice from within and not be coerced -by an artificial terror applied from without. - -The method in history of giving the strongest males possession of the -females is no doubt the mode in which nature selects and exalts her -breeds. But as society refines it will be seen that the strength of -brute instinct, the strength of position, the strength of money, the -strength of every artificial advantage, should be put aside in favor of -the diviner strength of genius, goodness, beauty, moral and physical -completeness of harmony. Freedom would secure this as compulsion -prevents it. Man is destined to outgrow the destructive monopolizing -passion of jealousy native to his animality. This is shown by his -capacity for chivalry, which is a self-abnegating identification of his -personality with the personalities of others, not merely freeing them -from his will, but aiding them to secure their own happiness in their -own way. - -The effort to suppress free choice by the use of terror has been tried -terribly enough and long enough. It has always proved an utter failure, -viewed on any large scale. Has the awful penalty affixed to any -deviation from the prescribed legal method of sexual relations wholly -prevented such deviation? It has often led to concealment and -duplicity,—two lives carried on at once, a life of demure conformity in -public, a life of passionate fulfilment in secret. The well-understood -sacrifice of truth to appearance has ever served to inflame the mistrust -and swell the vengeance of the jealous. The only real remedy will be -found in perfect truth, frankness, and justice. In regard to the -personal autonomy of the affections, woman should be raised to the same -status and be tried by the same code as man. That code should not be as -now the legacy of the brutish and despotic past, but the achievement of -a scientific morality, those laws of universal order which express the -will of the Creator, the collective harmony of Nature. Since the unions -of the sexes are of all grades and qualities, all degrees of impurity -and beastliness or of purity and sacredness, the parties to them cannot -be justly judged by a single rigid rule of external technicality, and -ought not to be sealed with one unvarying approval of respectable or -branded with one monotonous stigma of illicit. They should be judged by -the varying facts in the case as they are in the sight of God; and when -those facts are not known in their true merits there is no competency or -right to judge the man or the woman at all. The present judgments of -society unquestionably ought in many cases to be reversed. For example, -it is to be said that the women who consort with men they loathe, and -against their will breed children infected with ferocious passions and -diseased tendencies, no matter how regularly they are married or how -proud their social position, should be condemned or rescued. Also it is -to be said that persons filled with a true and divine love, whether -sanctioned or unsanctioned by conventional usages, claim to be left to -the inherent moral reactions of their acts, and to the unprejudiced -judgments of the competent. This central truth, compromise whom it may, -and encompassed with delicacies and with difficulties as it may be, is -to be firmly maintained, although Pecksniff and Grundy shriek at it -until the whole continent quivers. - -The distinction of love and freedom from lust and license is obvious, -and the unleashing of the latter in the disguise of the former cannot be -too vehemently deprecated. But that a man or a woman may cherish in the -wedded state an impure and detestable passion, or outside of it know a -heavenly one, is a truth which can be denied only by a character of -odious vulgarity. The rank and worth of a love are to be estimated by -its moral and religious quality in the sight of God and its natural -influence on character. To estimate it otherwise, as is usually done, is -to violate morality and religion with conventionality, and in place of -nature, sincerity and truth install arbitrary artifice, hypocrisy and -falsehood. The grand desiderata in all relationships of affection are, -first, the observance of open truth and honor, second, the recognition -of their varying grades of intrinsic nobleness and charm or intrinsic -foulness and criminality, and the treatment of the parties to them -accordingly. Meanwhile, the frank and clear discussion of the subject is -imperatively needed. The double system hitherto in vogue of at once -enforcing ignorance and stimulating prurience by banishing the subject -from confessed attention and study into the two regions of -shamefacedness and obscenity has wrought immeasurable evil. For the -sexual passion, morbidly excited by nearly all the influences of -society, and then mercilessly repressed by public opinion, has a morbid -development which breaks out in those monstrous forms of vice which are -the open sores of civilization. Take away the inflaming lures of mystery -and denial—shed the clear, cold light of scientific knowledge on the -facts of the case and the principles properly regulative of conduct—and -the passion will gradually become moderate and wholesome. Science has -brought region after region of human life under the light and guidance -of its benign methods. The region of the personal affections in society -and the procreation of posterity, being most obstinately held by -passions and prejudices, longest resists the application of impartial, -fearless study to the usages imposed by traditional authority. The -consistent doing of this will be one of the greatest steps ever taken. -It will break the historic superstition that the conjunction of a pair -married in seeming by a priest is necessarily holier than that of a pair -married in reality by God, destroy the stupid prejudice which makes in -the affectional relations of the sexes only the one discrimination that -they are in or out of wedlock, and remove the cruel social ban which -renders it impossible for straightforward sincerity of affection and -honesty of speech to escape the dishonor which double-facedness of -passion and duplicity of word and deed so easily shoulder aside. And -when this is done, much will have been done to inaugurate the better era -for which the expectation of mankind waits. - -The principal reason why the married so frequently experience satiety -and weariness, and the consequent sting of a foreign hunger provocative -of the wandering which gives occasion for jealousy, is that in their -long and close familiarity the partners come to feel that they have seen -all through and all around each other, have exhausted each other of all -fresh charm, piquancy, and interest. The genuine remedy for this, the -only really adequate and enduring remedy, is the recognition in each -other of the infinite mystery of all conscious being, a free personality -on endless probation and destined for immortal adventures. Then each -will be to the other—what every human being intrinsically is—a -concentrated epitome of the Kosmos and an explicit revelation of God. -There is no revelation of the free conscious God except in the free -conscious creature, and in every such being there is one. Let a pair be -worthy to see and feel this truth, and there can be no exhaustion of -their mutual interest, because before their reverential observation -there can be no end to the surprises of the infinite in the finite. Then -the sweetness, the wonder, the varying lure of love will never wither -and die into indifference, nor roil and perturb into jealousy and -madness. - -No doubt to many these views will seem a transcendental romance, a -delusive dream. Not every one has the nature finely touched to fine -issues capable of living in the ether of these ideal heights. But there -_are_ on the earth holy and entranced souls who live there. It is -obvious enough how absurdly inapplicable all this class of -considerations must be to the basest kinds of persons, those who, like -brutes, wallow in styes of sensuality, or, like devils, surrender -themselves to the tyranny of the lowest passions. Such must needs be -relegated to an inferior standard. Those whose consciences are coarser -and lower than the code of society may most properly be held in -subjection by its laws. But those whose consciences are purer and higher -than the current social code, the nobler natures who sincerely aspire to -the fulfilment of their destiny as children of God, should be a law unto -themselves. They will not be tyrants over or spies upon one another. -Full of self-respect and mutual respect, owning the indefeasible -sovereignty of each personality in the offices of its individual being, -they will pass and repass shrouded in transparent royalty, exacting no -subjection, making no inquiries. - -And now this long and central chapter in the life of Forrest, with the -essential lessons it has for others, may be ended by a brief statement -of the moral scale of degrees in the conduct of different men under the -provoking conditions of jealousy. - -One man detects the woman to whom he is legally united, but whom he -hates and loathes, in criminal relations with another. He takes an axe, -chops them in pieces, then sets the house on fire, and, cutting his own -throat, falls into the flames. In other cases his insane fury satiates -itself with a single victim, the man or the woman, as caprice dictates. -This is crazy ferocity, making its subject first a maniac, then a tiger, -then a devil. Has not humanity by its smothered approval too long kept -the diabolical horror of this style of behavior recrudescent? - -Another mournful and shocking form of this tragedy there is. And it is a -form repeated far more frequently in its essential features than ever -comes to the open light of day. A man of a sombre, vivid, and proud -nature, possessed with a passion so absorbing that it sways his being -with tidal power, awakens to the fact that the love he thought all his -own has wandered elsewhere. His heart stands still and his brain reels. -His love is too true and deep to change. To injure her is as impossible -as to restrain himself. He says not a word, makes not a sign, but his -sad, dark purpose is fixed. He leaves directions that no questions be -asked, no public notice taken of him or of his fate further than the -most modest funeral, and that a plain stone be reared over him with the -single word, _Infelicissimus_. Then a pistol-ball in his heart closes -the throbbing of an agony too great to be borne. The suicide is the -pathetic slave of his passion. Surely for such there must be a sequel in -some choicer world, where the tangled plot will be cleared up and the -soul not be thus helplessly self-entangled. - -In the third case, a husband, receiving proof of the infidelity of his -honored and trusted wife, in a furious revulsion of scorn and -detestation thrusts her into the street, proclaims her offence -everywhere, and seeks release and redress in a public court. This is one -form of the average of social feeling and conduct in such a case. It is -the common spirit of revenge cloaked in justice. It may not be thought -base, but it cannot be called noble. - -In still another example the jealous man is now enraged and now -distressed with conflicting impulses to revenge and to pardon. First he -storms and threatens, then he weeps and entreats; now, he strides up and -down, tearing his hair, crying and sobbing; and now he rushes out and -confides his misery, begging for sympathy and counsel. And whether he -condones or dismisses the offender depends on her own policy. This -course, ruled by no principle, is a mess of incoherent impulse, raw and -childish, a manner of proceeding of which, although it is so common, any -grown-up and well-conditioned man should be ashamed. - -In the next instance we see the man, on learning his misfortune in -losing the exclusive affection of her whom alone he has loved, staggered -by the blow, smitten to the heart with grief, flung upon himself in -recoiling anguish. But, to shield her from disgrace, and to avoid shame -to himself and scandal to the public, he keeps the secret sacredly; -ending, however, all marriage intimacy, their lives henceforth a mere -contiguity of ice and gloom until death. This is another expression of -the average level of men and style of social feeling, not lower, not -much higher, than might be expected. - -A greatly superior example, finer and braver, comparatively rare, -perhaps, yet with a larger list of performers than many would suppose, -is where the fault is frankly confessed and freely forgiven, just as -other faults are, or the deed justified and accepted on the ground of an -integral affection and an approving conscience willing with courageous -openness to take every consequence. There is valor, dignity, -consistency, force of character in this. It is impossible for persons of -low animal instincts or where there is treachery and lying. - -But the highest degree of chivalry under such circumstances is that -exemplified by the man who, cleansed from the foul and cruel usages of -the past, freed from the taints of the tyrannical masculine selfhood, -does what man has so rarely done, but what multitudes of women have -often done. He shows a love so pure and exalted that it subordinates his -selfhood and blends his happiness in that of the beloved object. For her -well-being he is willing to stand aside and yield up every claim. Is -such generosity beyond the limit of human nature? It may be beyond the -limit of _historic_ human nature, trailing the penalties of the past. It -is not beyond the limit of _prophetic_ human nature, carrying the -purposes of God. - -No doubt some barrier at present is necessary; and society has a right -to give the law, from insight, but not from despotism. Monogamic union -is the true relation, and its vow should not be broken by either party. -But if it _is_ broken the social penalty should be the same for man as -for woman. In such case the parties should either condone or separate -without furious controversy or personal revenge. Truth and fitness -should be set above conventionality and prejudice, and frankness remove -hypocrisy. Such alone is the teaching of this chapter, which invokes the -pure, steady light of science to shine on the facts of sex, cleanse -foulness out, and bring the code of society into unison with the code of -God. - - - - - CHAPTER XVI. -PROFESSIONAL CHARACTER.—RELATIONS WITH OTHER PLAYERS.—THE FUTURE OF THE - DRAMA. - - -One of the most striking traits in the character of Forrest was a -profound respect for his profession and a scrupulous observance of the -duties it imposed. His conscientiousness in studying his parts, in being -punctual in rehearsal and at performance, in holding all considerations -of convenience or pleasure sternly subordinate to the conditions for the -best fulfilment of his rôle, were worthy of exact imitation. Before -beginning a season he went into training, carefully regulating his -habits in diet and in hours of exercise and sleep; and during an -engagement he always exerted a good deal of self-denial in the nursing -and husbanding of his powers. He strove also to improve in his -renderings not only by an earnest, direct study of the part, and by a -careful attention to critical suggestions from every quarter, but -likewise by keeping his faculties alert during his own performances to -catch every hint of inspiration from nature or accident, to seize on the -causes of each failure or success, and to utilize the experience for the -future. - -These same habits of punctuality and critical self-observation belonged -to Mrs. Siddons, and were one of the secrets of her astonishing rise, -just as they were of that of Forrest. The first time that Mrs. Siddons -played the part of Lady Macbeth, she says, “So little did I know of my -part when it came night that my shame and confusion cured me, for the -remainder of my life, of procrastinating my business.” After this first -performance of Lady Macbeth, Mrs. Siddons recalled in her dressing-room -what she had done, and practised various improvements. Trying to get the -right look and tone for the words, “Here’s the smell of the blood -still,” she did it so naturally that her maid exclaimed, “Dear me, -ma’am, how hysterical you are! I vow, ma’am, it’s not blood, but rose- -paint and water!” - -Perhaps the just sense which Forrest had of the dignity of his -profession, and likewise his sense of manly behavior, will be shown most -forcibly by an anecdote. An old schoolmate of his, who had become a -clergyman, met him one day and asked the favor of a ticket to his -performance of Lear that evening, but added that he wished his seat to -be in a private box where he could see without being seen. “No, sir,” -was the reply with which the player rebuked the preacher; “when I look -at my audience I should feel ashamed to see there one who is ashamed to -be seen. Permit me to say, sir, that our acquaintance ends here.” Had he -remembered the lines of Richard Perkins to the old dramatic author -Thomas Heywood, their quotation would have been apt and pungent: - - “Still when I come to plays, I love to sit, - That all may see me, in a public place, - Even in the stage’s front, and not to get - Into a nook and hoodwink there my face. - This is the difference: Some would have me deem - Them what they are not: I am what I seem!” - -In no element or domain of his life was Forrest more misunderstood and -belied than in regard to his general and particular relations with the -other members of his profession. Justice to his memory requires that the -truth be shown; and, besides, the subject has a strong interest. - -The exercise of the dramatic faculty by itself is productive of -tenderness, largeness, flexibility, and generosity of mind and heart. It -is based on a rich, free intelligence and sensibility, and serves -directly to quicken and invigorate the imagination and the sympathies. -In fact, so far as its offices are fulfilled it delivers one from the -hard, narrow limits of his own selfhood, familiarizes him with the -conception and feeling of other grades and styles of character, conduct, -and experience, through his passing assumptions of their parts and -identification with their varieties develops the whole range of his -nature, and makes him, while sensitive to differences, tolerant of them -and full of charity. The true moral genius of the drama, supremely -exemplified in Shakspeare, is the same genial gentleness and forbearing -magnanimity towards every form of humanity as is shown by the God whose -earth sustains and sky overarches and rain and sun and harvest visit and -bless alike the coward and the hero, the saint and the scoundrel. For -the moral essence of the drama consists in the recognition and -appreciation of character and manners, not in asserting the will of self -nor in assailing the wills of others. But there is a sharp contradiction -between this natural tendency of the dramatic art by itself and the -ordinary influence exerted by the professional practice of the art as a -means of gaining celebrity and a livelihood. If the former would develop -a generous emulation to see who can best reproduce in sympathetic -imagination every height and depth of human nature and life, the latter -instinctively stimulates a hostile rivalry to see who can secure the -best parts and win the most pay and praise. Thus the members of the -histrionic profession are drawn to one another in kindly sentiment by -the intrinsic qualities of their art, but thrown into a hostile relation -by those accidental conditions of their trade which make them selfish -competitors for precedence. The breadth of the intrinsic tendency of the -art is seen in the unparalleled mutual interest and kindness of actors -and actresses, as a class standing by one another in all times of -adversity with a generosity no other class exhibits; the aggravating -power of the accidental influence of the profession is exposed in the -notorious jealousy and irritability of these hunters after popularity. -Accordingly, among the votaries of the stage a great many friendships -are fostered and a great many rankling animosities are bred. - -Forrest had all his life too profound an interest in his art, too -exalted an estimate of the mission of the stage, too dignified and just -a mind, too deep and ready a sympathy, to be capable of the contempt and -dislike for his theatrical compeers and associates of which he was often -accused. He was an irascible and imperious man. He was not a suspicious, -an envious, or an unkind man. And the high spirit of affection and -munificence breathing in his beautiful bequest of all his fortune to -soothe the declining years of aged or disabled actors and to elevate -their favorite art, will awaken a late remorse for the great wrong done -his heart. - -Others have suffered the same wrongs. Mrs. Siddons was accused of -“pride, insolence, and savage insensibility to the distresses of her -theatrical associates.” She was satirized in the daily papers for her -parsimony and avaricious inhospitality. The charges were cruelly unjust. -The truth simply was that she was engrossed in labor, study, and the -fulfilment of her duties to her family, while the meaner part of the -profession and of the public wished her to give herself to their -convivialities. Lawyers are not expected to plead cases for one another -gratuitously, nor doctors to transfer a fee to a rival. Why should an -actor alone be held bound to give his time and earnings to his -associates whenever they ask? The practice of calling up and -representing together the noblest sentiments of human nature is expected -to create in them more friendship, more genial feeling, than is -cultivated in others. This is a compliment to the profession. But any -actor of high rank who protects his individuality and asks no favor -beyond justice and good will, dignifies his profession and serves the -true interests of its members. - -Forrest had too profound and assured a sense of his own place and rank -and worth to be restlessly inquisitive and sensitive as to what his -associates thought or felt about him, or to feel any mean twinge of -jealousy at any attention they could draw. He did not, as Macready and -so many other renowned players did, desire to monopolize everything to -himself when before an audience. On the contrary, nothing so much -pleased him as to see another actor or actress studious, aspiring, and -successful. Then the more applause they secured the better he liked it. -But one point there was in his conduct which gave much offence to many -and was not forgiven by them. He shrank from all familiar association -with those of his profession who were not gentlemen and ladies in their -personal self-respect and professional conduct. He had a horror for -carelessness, sloth, unpunctuality, untruthfulness, drunkenness, or -other common neglect of duty and thrift, whether arising from a slipshod -good nature or from depravity. And it is notorious that the dramatic -profession, although the freest of all professions from the darker -crimes, is much addicted to indulgence in the vices associated with -conviviality and a relaxed sternness of social conscience. The -temptations to these snares of soul and body Forrest had felt and -resisted. The opposite traits he had made a second nature. He liked men -and women who kept their word, did their duty, saved their money, and -aspired to do more excellent work and win a better position. It was -because so many of those with whom he came in contact on the stage were -not studious, prompt, careful, self-respectful, but idle, loose, -negligent, reckless, that he stood socially aloof from them, censured -them, and drew their hostility. But the more faithful and honorable body -of the profession always cherished a warm appreciation of his sterling -qualities of character and stood in the most friendly personal relations -with him. Repeatedly, in different periods of his career, in Great -Britain and in America, the whole company of a theatre, at the close of -one of his engagements, united in bestowing some gift, with an address, -in testimony of their sense of his courtesy, their admiration for his -genius, and their gratitude for his professional example. John -McCullough, who for five years played second parts to him and was his -intimate comrade on and off the stage, speaks of him thus: “He was exact -to a moment in every appointment; and the tardiness of any one delaying -a rehearsal stirred his mightiest anger. He would sternly say to the -offender, ‘You have stolen from these ladies and gentlemen ten minutes -of their time,—ten minutes that even God cannot restore.’ But to those -whom he saw attentive and industrious he was the kindest of men. No -matter how incapable they might be, he aided them to the full extent of -his power, often at rehearsal playing the most unimportant parts to -teach an actor, and encouraging him by kind words and treatment. He -never recognized the existence of weaknesses so long as they did not -interfere with business. An actor might be what he pleased in private -life until he carried the effects into moments of duty, and then he knew -no mercy. On the stage he was the best and easiest of men. It was a -pleasure to act with him. He would in every way assist those around him, -aid them in every possible fashion, and do all to strengthen their faith -in him and in themselves. Particularly was this so in the case of -subordinates; while to equals who showed the slightest carelessness or -injustice he was unrelenting.” And in this connection the following -letter written by Forrest to Thomas Barry, manager of the old Tremont -Theatre and of the later Boston Theatre, is very characteristic: - - “BALTIMORE, December 17th, 1854. - - “MY DEAR MR. BARRY,—From an expression which you used to me while I - had the pleasure to be with you last in Boston, I inferred that you - could not justify my conduct towards Mr. —— in refusing him - permission to act with me during my late engagement there. When I - briefly replied to your expression, I supposed I had answered your - objections. But, thinking over the matter since, I am not so certain - that I had convinced you of my undeniable right to pursue the course - I then adopted. So I will now more fully state my views of the - question. - - “It is an axiom that a man in a state of liberty may choose his own - associates, and if he find one to be treacherous and unworthy he may - discard him. Therefore I discard Mr. ——. Again, I never believed in - the hypocrisy which tells us to love our enemies. _My_ religion is - to love the good and to eschew the evil. Therefore I eschew Mr. ——. - Physical cowardice may be forgiven, but I never forgave a moral - coward; and therefore I forgive not Mr. ——. He who insists upon - associating, professionally or otherwise, with another known to - despise him, is a wretch unworthy of the name of man. Consequently - Mr. —— is unworthy of the name of man. But, sir, besides all this, I - have an indisputable right to choose from the company such actors as - I consider will render me the most agreeable as well as the most - efficient support. - - “In my rejection of Mr. —— I took the earliest care not to - jeopardize any of the interests of your theatre. For I advised you - in ample time of my resolution, warning you of my intentions, and - giving my reasons therefor, so that you might choose between the - services of Mr. —— and my own. For, while I claim the right in these - matters to choose for myself, I unhesitatingly concede the same - right to another. - - “And now if, after this expression of my views relative to this - thing, you still hold to the opinion that my conduct was - unjustifiable, you cannot with the slightest propriety ask me to - fulfil another engagement so long as Mr. —— remains in your company. - For I pledge you my word as a man that he shall never, under any - circumstances, act with me again. - - “Yours truly, - “EDWIN FORREST. - - “THOS. BARRY, ESQ.” - -Two incidents of a different kind will illustrate other qualities in the -character of Forrest. A boy of sixteen or seventeen had a few lines to -recite. At rehearsal his delivery was incorrect and annoying. Forrest -repeated the lines, and asked to have them read in that manner. Each -attempt failed more badly than the preceding. At last, quite irritated -and out of patience, Forrest said, “Not so, not so. Read the passage as -I do.” The boy looked up with an injured but not immodest air, and -replied, “Mr. Forrest, if I could read the lines as you do, I should not -be occupying the low position I do in this company.” Forrest felt that -his petulance had been unjust. His chin sank upon his breast as he -paused a moment in reflection. Then he said, “I am properly rebuked, and -I ask your pardon.” At the close of the rehearsal he went to the manager -and inquired, “How much do you give that boy a week?” “Eight dollars.” -“Well, during my engagement pay him sixteen, and charge the extra amount -to me.” - -At another rehearsal the company had been waiting some time for the -arrival of a subordinate player who was usually very prompt and -faithful. When the delinquent entered, Forrest broke out testily, “Well, -sir, you see how long you have detained us all.” The poor man, pale, and -struggling with emotion, answered, humbly, “I am very sorry. I came as -soon as I could. I have suffered a great misfortune. My boy died last -night.” A thrill of sympathy went through the company. Forrest stepped -forward and took the man respectfully by the hand, and said, “Excuse me, -my friend, and go back to your home at once. You ought not to be here -to-day, and we will get along in some way without you.” Then, giving him -a fifty-dollar bill, he added, “And accept this with my sincere -apology.” - -The tremendous strength of Forrest, and the downright earnestness with -which he used it on those unhappy men whose business it was to be -seized, shaken, and hurled about, gave rise to scores of apocryphal -stories concerning his violence in acting and the terrible sufferings of -his subordinates. In many of these stories, under their exaggeration, -something characteristic can be discerned. On a certain occasion when he -impersonated a Roman hero attacked by six minions of a tyrant, he -complained that the aforesaid minions were too tame; they did not come -upon him as if it were a real struggle. After his storming against their -inefficiency, the supernumeraries sulked and consulted. Their captain -said, “If you want this to be a bully fight, Mr. Forrest, you have only -to say so.” “I do,” he replied. When the scene came on, the hero was -standing in the middle of the stage. The minions entered and deployed in -rapid skirmishing. One struck energetically at his face, a second -levelled a strenuous kick at his paunch, and the remainder made ready to -rush for a decisive tussle. For one instant he stood astounded, his -chest heaving, his eyes flashing, his legs planted like columns of rock. -Then came two minutes of powerful acting, at the end of which one -supernumerary was seen sticking head foremost in the bass-drum of the -orchestra, four were having their wounds dressed in the greenroom, and -one, finding himself in the flies, rushed on the roof of the theatre -shouting “fire!” Forrest, called before the curtain, panted his thanks -to the audience, who, taking it as a legitimate part of the performance, -protested that they had never before seen him act so splendidly. The -story is questionable, yet through its grotesque dilatation undoubtedly -one lower and lesser phase of the actor and of his public may be seen. - -During the earlier years of his own pecuniary prosperity, Forrest lent -at various times sums of money ranging from one dollar to five hundred -dollars to a large number of his more improvident theatrical associates. -In very few instances were these sums repaid. In most cases the -obligation was suffered to go by default, and in many the favor of the -loans, so far from being felt as a claim for gratitude, proved a source -of uneasiness and alienation. To a man of his just, careful, -straightforward character and habits this multiplied experience of -dishonesty, often coupled with treachery and slander, was extremely -trying. It nettled him, it embittered him, it tended strongly to close -his originally over-free hand against applications to borrow, and made -him sometimes suspicious that friendly attentions were designed, as they -not unfrequently were, as means to get at his purse. The rich man is -much exposed to this experience, with its hardening and souring -influence on character, especially the rich man in a profession like the -dramatic abounding with impecunious and unthrifty members. Under these -circumstances it was certain that many unsuccessful applicants for -pecuniary favors, persons whom he refused because he thought them -unworthy, would slander him. But throughout his life his heart and hand -were generously open to the appeals of all distressed actors or -actresses on whom he believed assistance would not be thrown away. In -many an instance of destitution and suffering among his unfortunate -brethren and sisters sick, deserted, dying, did his bounty come to -relieve and console. Among his papers a score or more of letters were -found, with widely-separated dates, from well-known members of the -profession, containing requests of this sort or thanks for his prompt -responses. For example, there was one from the estimable gentleman and -veteran actor George Holland gratefully acknowledging a gift of two -hundred dollars. The kind deeds of Forrest were not blazoned, but -carefully concealed. Yet the few friends who had his inmost confidence, -who were themselves the frequent channels of his secret beneficence, -knew how free and full his charities were, especially to worthy and -unfortunate members of the dramatic profession. In the course of his -career he gave over fifty benefits for needy associates, dramatic -authors, and public charities,—from Porter, Woodhull, Devese, and Stone, -to John Howard Payne and J. W. Wallack and the Dramatic Fund -Association,—the proceeds of which were upwards of twenty-five thousand -dollars. And when, in consequence of the thickening requests for such -favors and the invidiousness of a selection, he made a rule not to play -for the benefit of any one, unless in some exceptional case, he would -still often give towards the object his price for a single performance, -two hundred dollars. Yet, such is the unreasonableness of censorious -minds, he was severely blamed for showing an avaricious and -unsympathizing spirit towards his theatrical contemporaries. The -accusation frequently appeared in print and stung him, though he could -never brook to answer it. - -Many a time on the last night of his engagement at a theatre he would -send for the treasurer and make him his almoner for the distribution of -sums varying from five to fifteen dollars to the humbler laborers, the -scene-shifters, gasman, watchman, and others whose incomes were hardly -enough to keep the wolf from their doors. During one of his engagements -at Niblo’s Garden the actors and actresses for some reason did not -receive their regular salary. Learning the fact, he refused to take his -share of the proceeds until they had been paid; and, going still -further, he advanced a sum from his own pocket to make up what was due -them. - -More interesting and important, however, than his pecuniary attitude -towards his fellow-players is his moral relation. And this in one aspect -was eminently sweet and noble. If he avoided unworthy actors with -contempt, he yielded to no one in the admiration, gratitude, and love he -cherished for the gifted and faithful, the lustre of whose genius gilded -the theatre, and the merit of whose character lifted and adorned the -profession. - -The earliest strong and distinct feeling of love, in the usual sense of -the word, ever awakened in him, he said, was by a young and fascinating -actress in the part of Juliet, whom he saw in a Philadelphia theatre -when he was in his thirteenth year. What her name was he knew not, nor -what became of her, nor could he remember who played Romeo to her; but -the emotions she awakened in him by her representation of the sweet girl -of Verona, the picture of her face and form and moving, remained as fair -and bright and delicious as ever to the end of his days. Recounting the -story to his biographer one evening in the summer of 1869 as he sat in -his library, the moonlight streaming through the trees in at the open -window and across the floor, he said, “A thousand times have I wondered -at the intensity of the impression she made on my boyish soul, and -longed to know what her after-fate was. She was a vision of enchantment, -and, shutting my eyes, I seem to see her now. Years ago I came across -the following lines, which so well corresponded to my remembrance of her -that I committed them to memory: - - “‘’Twas the embodying of a lovely thought, - A living picture exquisitely wrought - With hues we think, but never hope to see - In all their beautiful reality, - With something more than fancy can create, - So full of life, so warm, so passionate. - Young beauty, sweetly didst thou paint the deep - Intense affection woman’s heart will keep - More tenderly than life! I see thee now, - With thy white-wreathed arms, thy pensive brow, - Standing so lovely in thy sorrowing. - I’ve sometimes read, and closed the page divine, - Dreaming what that Italian girl might be, - Yet ne’er imagined look or tone more sweet than thine.’” - -An actor named James Fennell, endowed with a superb figure and a noble -elocution, and a great favorite with play-goers in the boyhood of -Forrest, made an indelible impression on him. The finished actor, -however, was an unhappy man, thriftless in his affairs, and an -inveterate drunkard. When he had become an old man his intemperance grew -so gross, and his indebtedness to his landlady was so great, that she -would keep him no longer. Driven away, he roamed about for some time in -despair. Finally, on a bitter winter’s night, amidst a pelting snow- -storm, he came back and knocked at the door. The landlady opened the -window and looked out. Fennell, a picture of woebegone wretchedness, -struck an attitude and recited the lines,— - - “Pity the sorrows of a poor old man, - Whose trembling limbs have borne him to your door; - His days are dwindled to the shortest span: - Oh, give relief, and heaven will bless your store;—” - -with such powerful pathos that the heart of the woman relented, and she -took him in and cared for him till, a little later, he died. The piteous -case of this actor, whose infirmity destroyed the fruits of his genius, -taught the youthful Forrest a lesson which he never forgot. - -Instead of looking to artificial stimulants to prop up forces flagging -under the strain of the irregular exertions and late hours of a player, -he learned to depend on a sufficient supply of plain, wholesome food, -carefully and slowly taken, and a scrupulous observance of full hours of -sleep. Had they followed this wise course, how many—like the brilliant -and wayward Kean, whose conduct disgraced the profession his genius -glorified, and poor Mrs. George Barrett, whose beauty of person and -motion intoxicated the beholder—would have been kept from their untimely -and unhonored graves! - -The first actor of really strong original power and commanding art under -whose influence Forrest came in his early youth was Thomas A. Cooper. -From him the boyish aspirant caught much that was valuable. He always -retained a grateful recollection of his debt, and spoke warmly of his -benefactor. In the destitute age of the veteran, Forrest was one of the -first movers in securing a benefit for him. Unable himself to act on the -occasion in New York, he got up another benefit at New Orleans, in which -he acted the chief part, and raised a handsome sum for his old -instructor. Cooper warmly acknowledged the kindness of his young friend -in a published card. On another occasion also the same spirit was shown. -One of the daughters of Cooper was to make her débût in the character of -Virginia, the performance to be for the benefit of Cooper. Forrest -agreed to give his services and play the part of Virginius. As soon as -he heard that Miss Cooper would feel more confidence if her father -played that part, Forrest consented to undertake the part of Dentatus. -One of the daily journals remarked, “This is another instance of that -generous kindness on the part of Mr. Forrest which has bought him golden -opinions from all sorts of people. The public will award him the meed -which such an act merits.” - -Another actor of consummate merit, both as artist and as man, there was -in Philadelphia, in whose public performances and personal intercourse -the boy Forrest took the keenest delight,—Joseph Jefferson, the -incomparable comedian, great-grandfather of the present Joseph Jefferson -the exquisite perfection and unrivalled popularity of whose Rip Van -Winkle have filled the English-speaking world with his fame. The elder -Jefferson was a man universally beloved for his charming qualities of -character and universally admired for his inimitable art. Forrest’s -memory of him was singularly clear and strong and sweet. Whenever -touching on this theme his tongue was full of eloquent music and his -heart seemed steeped in tender reverence and love. He said the Theatre -had produced some saints as well as the Church, and Jefferson was one of -the most benignant and faultless. For thirty-five years he was the soul -and life of the Philadelphia stage, the pre-eminent favorite of all, -delighting every one who saw him with the quiet felicities and -irresistible strokes of an art that was as nature itself. He played the -characters of fools,—Launcelot Gobbo, Dogberry, Malvolio, the fool in -Lear,—Forrest said, in a manner that made them actually sublime, -suggesting something supernatural, through their mirth and simpleness -insinuating into the audience astounding and overpowering meanings. In -his age Jefferson risked his little fortune, the modest earnings of an -industrious life, in an enterprise of his friend Warren, the theatrical -manager. It was all lost. Once more he appealed to the patrons who had -always smiled on him. The summer birds had flown, and his benefit-night -showed him an empty house. The blow actually killed him. He left the -city and went to Harrisburg, where he soon afterwards died among -strangers. Hearing of his poverty and loneliness at Harrisburg, Forrest, -who was then in his high tide of success, wrote to him that he would get -up a benefit for him at the Arch Street Theatre and play Othello for -him. But the heart-broken player replied that he would never be a -suppliant for patronage in that city again. While he lay in his room -very sick, the doctor called and found him reading Lalla Rookh. “I can -assure you of a cure,” said the physician. Jefferson replied, in a sad -but firm voice, “My children are all grown up. I am of no further use to -them; and I am weary of life. I care not to get well. I think it is -better to be elsewhere.” And so he died. Chief-Justice Gibson placed a -marble slab over his dust, with a happy inscription which some nameless -but gifted friend of the actor has appended to his own tributary verses. - - For thee, poor Player, who hast seen the day - When stern neglect has bent thee to her state, - With fond remembrance let the poet pay - One tribute to thy melancholy fate. - - Haply some aged man may yet exclaim, - “Him I remember in his youthful pride, - When sober age ran riot at his name, - And roaring laughter held his bursting side.” - - There at his home, the father, husband kind, - Oft have I noted his calm noon of life; - With humor chastened, and with wit refined, - Enjoy the social board with comforts rife. - - Him have I seen when age crept on apace, - Portraying to the life some earlier part, - The soul of mirth reflected from his face, - While bitter pangs disturbed his throbbing heart. - - One night we missed him from his ancient chair, - Placed by our host beside the blazing hearth; - Another passed, yet still he was not there, - Gone was the spirit of our former mirth! - - The future came, and with it came the tale, - How Time had cured the wounds the world had given; - How Death had wrapt him in his sable veil - And gently borne him to the gates of heaven. - - Beneath the shadow of a sacred dome - The pride and honor of our stage reclines; - There stranger hands conveyed him to his home, - And graced his memory with these sculptured lines: - - Beneath this marble - _Are deposited the ashes of_ - JOSEPH JEFFERSON, - _An actor whose unrivalled powers_ - Took in the whole extent of Comic Character, - From Pathos to heart-shaking Mirth. - His coloring was that of nature, warm, fresh, - And enriched with the finest conceptions of Genius. - He was a member of the Chestnut Street Theatre, - Philadelphia, - In its most high and palmy days, - _and the compeer_ - OF COOPER, WOOD, WARREN, FRANCIS, - _and a host of worthies_ - Who, - like himself, - _Are remembered with admiration and praise._ - -The love and reverence which Forrest cherished for this exquisite actor -and good man were in the eyes of the numerous friends who often heard -him express them in fond lingering reminiscences, a touching proof of -the goodness of his own heart despite all the scars it had suffered. - -When Forrest was playing at Louisville in his youth, during a rehearsal -of Macbeth he came to the lines,— - - “Till that Bellona’s bridegroom, lapped in proof, - Confronted him with self-comparisons,” - -when Drake, the manager of the theatre, who happened to be on the stage, -said to him, “Boy, who was Bellona? And who was her bridegroom?” The -stripling tragedian was forced to answer, “I do not know.” “Then,” -exclaimed Drake, “get a classical dictionary and study the thing out. -Never go on spouting words ignorant of their meaning.” “Thank you, sir, -for so good a piece of advice,” replied young Forrest, with a little -mortification in his air. “I have had that lesson before, but see that I -have failed to practise it as I ought to have done.” A long time after, -in another city, when Drake had become a venerable white-haired -gentleman, Forrest was rehearsing Othello in his presence. These lines -were spoken relating to the magic handkerchief: - - “A sibyl, that had numbered in the world - The sun to course two hundred compasses, - In her prophetic fury sewed the work; - The worms were hallowed that did breed the silk; - And it was dyed in mummy, which the skilful - Conserved of maidens’ hearts.” - -A citizen who was standing by Drake asked him if he could explain these -strange words. He said he could not. Forrest immediately gave, with -great rapidity of utterance, an elegant and lucid exposition of the -classical superstitions on which the passage is based. He did it with -such grace and force that the whole company broke into applause. He -turned to Drake with a low bow and said, “My dear sir, I owe this to -you. Do you remember the lesson you taught me at Louisville, fifteen -years ago, about Bellona and her bridegroom? Allow me now to thank you.” -As he took him by the hand the tears were rolling down the cheeks both -of the old man and of the young man. - -Forrest ever remembered with gratitude the kindness shown him by Mr. -Jones, one of the managers under whom he made his first journey to the -West and served his practical apprenticeship on the stage. And when the -player had become a mature man, crowned with prosperity, living in his -great mansion on Broad Street, in Philadelphia, and the manager was -destitute and forsaken, bowed by misfortune and old age, he gave his -early benefactor a home, taking him into his own house, treating him -with kind consideration, comforting his last days, and following his -dust to the grave with affectionate respect. - -The relations of Forrest with the ladies who acted principal parts with -him were almost uniformly of the most satisfactory character, marked by -the greatest courtesy, justice, and delicacy. There were two or three -instances of strong dislike on both sides. But in all the other -examples, from his first assistants, Mrs. Riddle and Miss Placide, to -his latest protégées, Miss Kellogg and Miss Lillie, there was nothing -but the highest esteem and the most cordial good-will between the -parties, their kind sentiments towards him ever sincere, his grateful -recollections of them unalloyed. To that estimable woman and gifted -actress, Mrs. Riddle, he especially felt himself indebted. In a letter -to his biographer he says of her, “To her most kind and unselfish -friendship, her motherly care, her wise counsels, the valuable -instructions her artistic genius and experience enabled her to give me -during two of the most critical years of my young life, I owe more of -acknowledgment and affection than I can easily express or ever forget.” - -But the most beautiful of all his relations with women of the dramatic -profession was the long and sacred friendship subsisting between him and -Mrs. Sarah Wheatley. This honored lady, distinguished even more for the -rare strength and beauty of her character than for her extraordinary -histrionic talent, was a great favorite with the theatrical public of -New York. She was one of the few examples that charm and uplift all who -feel their influence, of a perfectly balanced womanhood, commanding the -whole range of feminine virtues, from modest gentleness and self-denial -to august dignity and authority, fitted to sweeten, adorn, or aggrandize -any station. She first went upon the stage, without any preparatory -training, to relieve and support her family, and, as it were by -instinctive fitness, was instantly at home and a mistress there. And -after withdrawing from the public, she lived amidst the worship of her -children and her children’s children to an extreme old age, full of -exalted worth and serenity, the admiration and delight of the widest -circle of friends, who felt that the atmosphere of her presence and -manner more than repaid every attention they could lavish on her. Mrs. -Wheatley saw the Othello of Forrest on the memorable night he played for -the benefit of poor Woodhull. She felt his power, foresaw what he might -become, and, with a generous impulse, went to him from behind the scenes -and spoke kindly to him words of warm appreciation. The poor, unfriended -youth was deeply touched. This was the beginning of an acquaintance -which was never interrupted or shadowed by the faintest cloud, but grew -stronger and holier to the end. She never noticed his foibles, for he -never had them in her presence; and he thought of her with a loving -veneration second only to that he felt for his mother. Her son, Mr. -William Wheatley,—widely known to the dramatic profession as actor and -manager, and esteemed by all for his talent, integrity, and refinement,— -speaking of the beauty of this friendship after the death of the great -tragedian, whom he had known long and most intimately, said, “If there -was one sentiment deeper and keener than any other in the soul of -Forrest, it was his reverence for a pure and good woman: and I know that -his esteem for my mother approached idolatry, and that she regarded him -with maternal fondness.” - -On a certain occasion when his friend James Oakes was with Forrest in -his room at a hotel in New York, something had occurred which had -greatly enraged him. He was pacing up and down the floor in a fury, -tearing and swearing with the greatest violence. A servant knocked at -the door, and announced that Mrs. Wheatley was in waiting. “The change -that came over my friend at the announcement of this name,” said Oakes, -“was like a work of magic. The wrinkles left his brow, a smile was on -his mouth, and his angered voice grew calm and musical.” “Mrs. -Wheatley?” he said. “Ask her if she will do me the honor to come to my -parlor.” Then, turning to his silent friend, he exclaimed, “Oakes, if -you want to see a woman fit to be worshipped by every good man, a model -of grace and dignity, a living embodiment of wisdom and goodness, you -shall now have that grand satisfaction.” As she entered he lifted his -head illuminated with joy, threw open his arms, and cried, “Why, Mother -Wheatley, how long it is since I saw you last,—more than a year!” “It -_is_ a long time,” she answered, with a sweet and grave fervor; “it _is_ -a long time; and how has it been with you all the while, my boy?” Oakes -adds, “It was a picture as charming to behold as anything I ever saw. It -stands in my memory holy to this day.” When such experiences are found -in the life of one whose biography is to be written, they should be -recorded, and not, as is usually done, be carefully omitted; for these -sacred passages are just what is most wholesome and needful in a world -gone insane with selfish struggles, hatred, and indifference. - -Of the appreciation Forrest had of the genius of the great comedian -William E. Burton, he gave a striking expression in the last year of his -life. He had been confined to his bed for several weeks in great agony. -Oakes was sitting by him. Their talk turned upon the unrivalled gifts -and charm of old Joseph Jefferson. Forrest poured out his heart warmly, -as he always did, on this favorite theme. He then spoke of the wonderful -pathos and instructiveness which might be thrown into the humblest comic -characters, and added in close, “I would give twenty thousand dollars to -have Burton alive again for ten years to go over the country and play -the fools of Shakspeare!” - -All who knew Forrest with any intimacy were well aware of his -enthusiastic appreciation of the genius and affection for the memory of -Kean. He never tired of expatiating on this subject. And he always felt -a sharp pleasure in the recollection that when his friend Hackett, the -incomparable American Falstaff, called on Kean in London, only a few -days before his death, the first words of the dying tragedian were a -kind inquiry after the welfare of Edwin Forrest. In his library one day, -showing a friend a superb steel engraving of Sir Thomas Lawrence’s -portrait of John Philip Kemble, he said earnestly and with a regretful -tone, “I would give a thousand dollars in gold for a likeness of Kean as -good as this is of Kemble.” He was familiar with the principal histories -of the stage and biographies of players, and felt the keenest interest -in their characters, their styles of acting, their personal fortunes. He -also felt a pride in the fame and triumphs of his best contemporaries. -He was always on kind terms with the elder Booth, to whom he assigned -dramatic powers of a very extraordinary degree, although he believed -that considerable of their effectiveness was caught from the contagious -and electrifying example of Edmund Kean. In the last year of his life, -when he was badly broken down in health and fortune, Booth said to -Forrest one day, “I want to play the Devil.” “It seems to me,” said -Forrest, “that you have done that pretty well all your life.” “Oh, I -don’t mean that,” replied Booth; “I am referring to the drama of Lord -Byron. I want to play Lucifer to your Cain. Would not that draw,—you -cast in the character of Cain, I in that of Lucifer?” “I think it -would,” remarked Forrest. “We _must_ do it before we die,” replied -Booth,—and went away, soon to pass into the impenetrable shadow, leaving -this too with many another broken and unfulfilled dream. - -Forrest assigned an exalted artistic rank to the very varied dramatic -impersonations of Mr. E. L. Davenport, every one of whose rôles is -marked by firm drawing, distinct light and shade, fine consistency and -finish. His Sir Giles Overreach was hardly surpassed by Kean or Booth, -and has not been approached by anybody else. His quick, alert, springy -tread full of fire and rapidity, the whole man in every step, fixed the -attention and made every one feel that there was a terrific -concentration of energy, an insane possession of the nerve-centres, -portending something frightful soon to come. An old play-goer on -witnessing this impersonation wrote the following impromptu: - - “While viewing each remembered scene, before my gaze appears - Each famed depictor of Sir Giles for almost fifty years; - The elder Kean and mighty Booth have held all hearts in thrall, - But, without overreaching truth, you overreach them all!” - -It is a satisfaction to put on record this judgment of one artist -concerning another whose merit transcends even his high reputation,— -especially as a coolness separated the two men, Mr. Davenport having -through a misapprehension of the fact of the publication of Jack Cade by -Judge Conrad inferred that it had thus in some sense become the property -of the public, and produced the play on the stage, while Forrest held it -to be his own private property. He had been so annoyed by such -proceedings on the part of other actors before, provoking him into angry -suits at law, that his temper was sore. He wrote sharply to Mr. -Davenport, who, even if he had made a mistake, had done no conscious -wrong and meant no offence, and who replied in a calmer tone and with -better taste. Here the matter closed, but left an alienation,—for -Forrest when irritated was relentlessly tenacious of his point. Mr. -Davenport is a man of gentle and generous character, respected and -beloved by all his companions. He is also in all parts of his profession -a highly accomplished artist and critic. Accordingly, when he expresses -the conviction, as he repeatedly has both before and since the decease -of his former friend and great compeer, that Forrest was beyond -comparison the most original and the greatest actor America has -produced, his words are weighty, and their spirit honors the speaker as -much as it does the subject. - -In a letter written to Forrest twenty-five years earlier, under date of -October 10th, 1847, Mr. Davenport had said, “I have not words to express -the gratification and pleasure I felt in witnessing your masterly -performance. It was probably the last time I shall have an opportunity -to see you for years; but I assure you, however long it may be, the -remembrance will always live in my mind as vividly as now.” - -The treatment also which Mr. John McCullough received from Forrest -during his five years of constant service under him, the impression he -made on his young coadjutor, and the permanent esteem and gratitude he -secured from him, are all pleasant to contemplate. At the close of their -business arrangement, Forrest said to McCullough, “I believe I have kept -my agreement with you to the letter; but before we part I want to thank -you for your strict fidelity to your professional duties at all times. -And allow me to say that I have been most of all pleased to see you -uniformly so studious and zealous in your efforts to improve. Continue -in this course, firm against every temptation, and you will command a -proud and happy future. Now, as a token of my esteem, I put in your -hands the sum of five hundred dollars, which I want you to invest for -your little boy, to accumulate until he is twenty-one years old, and -then to be given to him.” McCullough says that with the exception of two -or three unreasonable outbreaks, which he immediately forgave and -forgot, Forrest was extremely kind and good to him, sparing no pains to -encourage and further him. And in return the young man would at any time -have gladly given his heart’s blood for his dear old imperious master, -whom, in his enthusiasm, he held to be the most truthful and powerful -actor that ever lived. Such an estimate by one of his talent and rank, -making every allowance for the personal equation, is an abundant offset -for the squeamish purists who have stigmatized Forrest as “a coarse -ranter,” and the prejudiced critic who called him “a vast animal -bewildered with a grain of genius.” It may well be believed that in the -history of his country’s drama he will be seen by distant ages towering -in statuesque originality above the pigmy herd of his imitators and -detractors. - -Gabriel Harrison was another actor on whom the personality and the -playing of Forrest took the deepest effect. He was a long time on the -stage, and, though he afterwards became an author, a teacher, and a -painter, he never abated the intense fervor of his enthusiasm for the -dramatic art. His “Life of John Howard Payne,” and his “Hundred Years of -the Dramatic and Lyric Stage in Brooklyn,” show him to be a man of much -more than common intelligence and culture. He knew Forrest well for many -years, and cherished the warmest friendship for him as a man whose -nature he found noble and whose intercourse charming. The last -Thanksgiving Day that Forrest had on earth, Harrison, by invitation, -spent with him alone in his Broad Street mansion, enjoying a day of -frank and memorable reminiscences, delicious effusions of mind and heart -and soul. Harrison, writing to the biographer of his friend in protest -against the epithet melodramatic, records his estimate thus: “Are the -wonderful figures of Michael Angelo melodramatic because they are so -strongly outlined? Is Niagara unnatural and full of trick because it is -mighty and thunders so in its fall? When I looked at it, its sublimity -made me feel as if I were looking God in the face; and I have never -thought that God was melodramatic. I have seen Forrest act more than -four hundred times. I have sat at his feet as a pupil artist learning of -a master artist. In all his chief rôles I have studied him with the most -earnest carefulness, from his _tout ensemble_ to the minutest -particulars of look, tone, posture, and motion. And I say that without -doubt he was the most honest, finished, and powerful actor that ever -lived. Whenever I saw him act I used to feel with exultation how -perfectly grand God had made him. How grand a form! how grand a mind! -how grand a heart! how grand a voice! how grand a flood of passion, -sweeping all these to their mark in perfect unison! My memory of him is -so worshipful and affectionate, and so full of regret that I can see him -no more, that my tears are blotting the leaf on which I write.” - -One further incident in the life of Forrest will also serve to -illustrate his feeling towards the _personnel_ of his profession. It is -not without an element of romantic interest. It will fitly close the -treatment of this part of the subject. At the end of the war he received -a letter from a granddaughter of that Joseph Jefferson whose memory he -had always cherished so tenderly. Residing in the South, the fortunes of -war had reduced her to poverty, and she asked him to lend her a hundred -dollars to meet her immediate necessities. With joyous alacrity he -forwarded the amount, and deemed the ministration a great privilege. The -sequel of the good deed will please every one who reads it. It need only -be said that at the date of the ensuing correspondence Forrest had just -been bereaved of his last sister, Eleonora: - - “PHILADELPHIA, June 13th, 1871. - - “MY DEAR MR. FORREST,—I understand from my aunt, Mrs. Fisher, that - during my absence from America, and when she had become destitute - from the effects of the war, you were kind enough to let her have - one hundred dollars. - - “My being nearly related to the lady sufficiently explains why I - enclose you the sum you so generously gave. - - “Permit me to offer my condolence in your late sad loss, and to ask - pardon for addressing you at such a time. - - “Faithfully yours, - “J. JEFFERSON. - - “TO EDWIN FORREST.” - - “PHILADELPHIA, June 15th, 1871. - - “DEAR MR. JEFFERSON,—I received your note of 13th inst., covering a - check for one hundred dollars, in payment of a like sum loaned by - me, some years since, to your relative, Mrs. Fisher. - - “I have no claim whatever on you for the liquidation of this debt. - Yet, as the motive is apparent which prompts you to the kindly act, - I make no cavil in accepting its payment from you. - - “With thanks for the touching sympathy you express in my late - bereavement, I am sincerely yours, - - “EDWIN FORREST. - - “J. JEFFERSON, ESQ.” - -When an actor vanquishes the jealous instinct of his tribe and really -admires another, his professional training gives a distinct relish and -certainty to his praise. When Garrick heard of the decease of Mrs. -Theophilus Cibber, a sister of Arne the musician, he said, “Then Tragedy -is dead on one side.” Also when seeing Carlin Bertinazzi in a piece -where, having been beaten by his master, he threatened him with one hand -while rubbing his wounded loins with the other, Garrick was so delighted -with the truthfulness of the pantomime that he cried, “See, the back of -Carlin has its expression and physiognomy.” Old Quin had a strong -aversion to Mrs. Bellamy, and a conviction that she would fail. But at -the close of the first act, as she came off the stage, he caught her in -his arms, exclaiming, generously, “Thou art a divine creature, and the -true spirit is in thee.” Within a year of the expulsion of Mrs. Siddons -from Drury Lane as an uninteresting performer, Henderson declared that -“she was an actress who had never had an equal and would never have a -superior.” She remembered this with deep gratitude to her dying day; and -when his death had left his family poor she played Belvidera in Covent -Garden for their benefit. - -Forrest was abundantly capable of this same liberal spirit. No admirer -of Henry Placide in his best day could be more enthusiastic in his -eulogy than Forrest was, declaring that in his line he had no living -equal. He said the same also of the Jesse Rural and two or three other -parts of William R. Blake. He had likewise a profound admiration for the -romantic and electrifying Othello of Gustavus Vasa Brooke. And of the -performance of Cassio in Othello and of Cabrero in the Broker of Bogota, -by William Wheatley, he said, “They were two of the most perfect pieces -of acting I ever saw. One night when he had performed the part of -Cabrero better than he ever had done it before, producing a sensation -intense enough in the applause it drew to gratify the pride of any -player, he said to me, as he left the stage, ‘Never again will I play -that part.’ And, surely enough, he never did. The reason why was a -mystery I have not been able to this day to fathom.” - -Forrest once said, “An intelligent, sympathetic actor, who resists the -social temptations of his profession and keeps dignity of character and -high purpose, ought to be the most charming of companions. In a great -many cases this is the fact. With their insight into character, their -power of interpreting even the most unpurposed signals, the secrets of -society are more open to them than to others, and they have more -adventures. This naturally makes them interesting.” He gave two examples -in illustration. When he was playing in England, he and James Sheridan -Knowles became warm friends. Knowles had often seen Mrs. Siddons act. -Forrest asked him what was the mysterious effect she produced in her -celebrated sleep-walking scene of Lady Macbeth. He said, “I have read -all the high-flown descriptions of the critics, and they fall short. I -want you to tell me in plain blunt phrase just what impression she -produced on you.” Knowles replied, with a sort of shudder, as if the -mere remembrance terrified him still, “Well, sir, I smelt blood! I swear -that I smelt blood!” Forrest added that the whole life of that amazing -actress by Campbell was not worth so much to him as this one Hogarthean -stroke by Knowles. - -The other anecdote related to an incident which happened to John -McCullough, who for several years had been playing second parts to -Forrest. He was staying in Washington. Two or three nights before the -assassination of President Lincoln he was awakened by tears falling on -his face from the eyes of some one standing over him. Looking up, he saw -Wilkes Booth, and exclaimed, “Why, what is the matter?” “My God,” -replied the unhappy man, already burdened with his monstrous crime, and -speaking in a tone of long-drawn melancholy indescribably pathetic, “My -God, how peacefully you were sleeping! _I_ cannot sleep.” - -Another element of strong interest in actors, giving them an imaginative -attraction, is the obvious but profound symbolism of their art, the -analogies of scenic life and human life. Harley, while playing Bottom in -Midsummer Night’s Dream, was stricken with apoplexy. Carried home, the -last words he ever spoke were the words in his part, “I feel an -exposition to sleep coming over me.” Immediately it was so, and he slept -forever. The aged Macklin attended the funeral of Barry. Looking into -the grave, he murmured, “Poor Spranger!” One would have led him away, -but the old man said, mournfully, “Sir, I am at my rehearsal; do not -disturb my reverie.” The elements of the art of acting are the applied -elements of the science of human nature. They are the same on the stage -as in life, save that there they are systematized and pronounced, set in -relief, and consequently excite a more vivid interest. How rich it would -have been to share in the fellowship of Lekain and Garrick when in the -Champs Elysées they practised the representation of drunkenness! “How is -that?” said Lekain. “Very well,” replied Garrick. “You are all drunk -except your left leg.” - -Such works as Colley Cibber’s Apology, the several lives of Garrick, -Boaden’s Life of Kemble, Macklin’s Memoirs, Campbell’s Life of Mrs. -Siddons, Galt’s Lives of the Players, Proctor’s Life of Kean, Collier’s -Annals of the Stage, Doran’s His Majesty’s Servants, were familiar to -Forrest. His memory was well stored with their contents. He had -reflected carefully and much on the general topics of which they treat, -and he conversed on them with eloquence and with wisdom. He cherished an -eager interest in everything pertaining to his profession viewed in its -most comprehensive aspect. His intelligent and profound enthusiasm for -the theatre gave him an entire faith that the drama is destined to -flourish as long as human nature shall be embodied in men. Its seeming -eclipse by cheaper and coarser attractions he held to be but temporary. -Its perversion and degradation in meaningless spectacles and prurient -dances will pass by, and its restoration to its own high mission, the -exhibition of the grandest elements of the soul in the noblest -situations, the teaching of the most beautiful and sublime lessons by -direct exemplification in breathing life, will give it, ere many -generations pass, a glory and a popular charm it has never yet known. -Then we may expect to see a great purification and enrichment of the -subject-matter presented on the stage. The mere animal affections will -cease to have an exaggerated and morbid attention paid to them. Justice -will be done to the generic moral sentiments of man, and to his noblest -historic and ideal types. The passions of love of truth and spiritual -aspiration will dilate in treatment, those of individual jealousy and -social ambition dwindle. Instructive and inspiring plays will be -constructed out of the veracious materials furnished by characters and -careers like those of Columbus and Galileo. - -Certainly the realization of such a vision is a great desideratum; -because the theatre is a sort of universal Church of Humanity, where -good and evil are shown in their true colors without formalism or cant. -Its influence—unlike that of sectarian enclosures—is to draw all its -attendants together in common sympathies towards the good and fair, and -in common antipathies for the foul and cruel. Men are more open and -generous in their pleasures than in their pains. Places of public -amusement are the first to vibrate to the notes of public joy or grief, -defeat or triumph. Telegrams announcing victories or calamities are read -from the stage. Theatres are sure to be decked on great festival or -pageant days, the popular pulse beating strongest there. - -The taste for dramatic representations is native and ineradicable in -man. It is a fixed passion with man to love to see the passions of men -exhibited in plot and action, and to watch the mutual workings of -characters on one another through their different manners of behavior. -Just now, it is true, the great, complex, terribly exciting and exacting -drama of real life, revealed to us in the newspaper and the novel and -the telegraph, so fastens and drains our sympathies that we lack the -ideal freedom and restful leisure to enjoy the stage drama so eagerly as -it was enjoyed at an earlier and simpler time. But this will not always -be so;— - - “The world will grow a less distracting scene, - And life, less busy, wear a gentler mien.” - -Forrest looked for a revival, at no remote date, in America and Europe, -of the ancient Greek pride and joy in athletic exercises and the -development of nude strength and beauty. The reflex influence from such -a revival, he imagined, would flood the stage with a new lustre, making -it a resplendent and exalted centre for the inspiring exposure to the -public of the perfected models of every form of human excellence. Then -the gymnasium, the circus, the race-course, dance, music, song, and the -intellectual emulations of the academy may all be grouped around the -theatre and find their dazzling climax in the scenic drama, made -religious once more as it was in the palmiest day of Greece. - - - - - CHAPTER XVII. - OUTER AND INNER LIFE OF THE MAN. - - -The external life of Forrest from the close of his first engagement -after the divorce trial to the year 1869—the period stretching from his -forty-sixth to his sixty-third year—was largely but the continual -repetition of his old triumphs, varied now and then with some fresh -professional glory or new personal adventure. To recite the details of -his travels and theatrical experiences would be to make a monotonous -record of popular successes without any important significance or -general interest. A brief sketch of the leading incidents of this period -is all that the reader will care to have. - -The immense publicity and circulation given to the sensational reports -of the long-drawn legal warfare between Forrest and his wife in their -suits against each other added to his great fame a still greater -notoriety, which enhanced public curiosity and drew to the theatre -greater crowds than ever whenever he played. From Portland and Boston to -Cincinnati and St. Louis, from Buffalo and Detroit to Charleston and New -Orleans, the announcement of his name invariably brought out an -overwhelming throng. The first sight of his person on the stage was the -signal for wild applause. At the close of the performance he was often -called before the curtain and constrained to address the assembly, and -then on retiring to his hotel was not unfrequently followed by band and -orchestra and complimented with a serenade. - -The ranks of his enemies, reinforced with the malevolent critics or -Bohemians whom he would not propitiate by any favor, social or -pecuniary, continued to fling at him and annoy him in every way they -could. But while their pestiferous buzzing and stinging made him sore -and angry, it did not make him unhappy. His enormous professional -success and broad personal following prevented that. One example of his -remarkable public triumphs may stand to represent scores. It was the -last night of a long and most brilliant engagement in New York. The -“Forrest Light Guard,” in full uniform, occupied the front seats of the -parquet. No sooner had the curtain fallen on the performance of -Coriolanus than the air grew wild with the prolonged shouts of “Forrest! -Forrest!” At last he came forth, and the auditory, rising en masse, -greeted him with stormy plaudits. “Speech! speech!” they cried. He -responded thus: - - “I need not tell you, ladies and gentlemen, that I am gratified to - see this large assemblage before me; and I have an additional - gratification when I remember that among my troops of friends I have - now a military troop who have done me the honor to grace my name by - associating it with their soldier-like corps. This night, ladies and - gentlemen, ends my labors _inside_ of the theatre for the season. I - call them labors, for no one who has not experienced the toil of - acting such parts as I have been called upon nightly to present to - you, can have any idea of the labor, both mental and physical, - required in the performance of the task. They who suppose the - actor’s life to be one of comparative ease mistake the fact - egregiously. My experience has shown me that it is one of - unremitting toil. In no other profession in the world is high - eminence so difficult to reach as in ours. This proposition becomes - evident when you remember how many of rare talents and - accomplishments essay to mount the histrionic ladder, and how very - few approach its topmost round. My earliest ambition was distinction - upon the stage; and while yet a mere child I shaped my course to - reach the wished-for goal. I soon became aware that distinction in - any vocation was only to be won by hard work and by an unfailing - self-reliance. And I resolved - - ‘with such jewels as the exploring mind - Brings from the caves of knowledge, to buy my ransom - From those twin jailers of the daring heart, - Low birth and iron fortune.’ - - I resolved to educate myself; not that education only which belongs - to the schools, and which is often comprised in a knowledge of mere - words, but that other education of the world which makes words - things. I resolved to educate myself as Garrick, and Kemble, and - Cooke, and, last and greatest of all, Edmund Kean, had done. As he - had done before me, I educated myself. The self-same volume from - which the Bard of Avon drew his power of mastery lay open before me - also,—the infallible volume of Nature. And in the pages of that - great book, as in the pages of its epitome, the works of Shakspeare, - I have conned the lessons of my glorious art. The philosopher-poet - had taught me that - - ‘The proper study of mankind is man;’ - - and, in pursuit of this study, I sojourned in Europe, in Asia, in - Africa, as well as in the length and in the breadth of our own proud - Republic. To catch the living lineaments of passion, I mixed with - the prince and with the potentate, with the peasant and with the - proletary, with the serf and with the savage. All the glorious works - of Art belonging to the world, in painting and in sculpture, in - architecture and in letters, I endeavored to make subservient to the - studies of my calling. How successful I have been I leave to the - verdict of my fellow-countrymen,—my fellow-countrymen, who, for a - quarter of a century, have never denied to me their suffrages. - Ladies and gentlemen, I have spoken thus much not to indulge in any - feeling of pride, nor to gratify any sentiment of egotism, but I - have done so in the hope that the words which I have uttered here - to-night may be the means, perhaps, of inspiring in the bosom of - some young enthusiast who may hereafter aspire to the stage a - feeling of confidence. Some poor and friendless boy, perchance, - imbued with genius, and with those refined sensibilities which are - inseparably connected with genius, may be encouraged not to falter - in his path for the paltry obstacles flung across it by envy, - hatred, malice, and all uncharitableness. Let him rather, with a - vigorous heart, buckle on the armor of patient industry, with his - own discretion for his tutor, and then, with an unfaltering step, - despising the malice of his foes, - - ‘climb - The steep where Fame’s proud temple shines afar.’” - -A shower of bravos broke out, bouquets were thrown upon the stage, and -the actor slowly withdrew, crowned with the applauses of the people like -a victorious Roman in the Capitol. - -As the years passed on, Forrest came to take an ever keener interest in -accumulating wealth. A good deal of his time and thought was devoted to -the nursing of his earnings. He showed great shrewdness in his -investments, which, with scarcely a single exception, turned out -profitably. He was prudent and thrifty in his ways, but not parsimonious -or mean. He lived in a handsome, generous style, without ostentation or -extravagance, keeping plenty of servants, horses, and carriages, and a -table generous in wholesome fare but sparing of luxuries. This love of -money, and pleasure in amassing it, though it became a passion, as, with -his bitter early experience of poverty and constant lessons of the evils -of improvidence, it was natural that it should, did not become a vice or -a disease; for it never prevented his full and ready response to every -claim on his conscience or on his sympathy. And within this limit the -love of accumulation is more to be praised than blamed. In final -refutation of the gross injustice which so often during his life charged -upon him the vice of a grasping penuriousness, a few specimens of his -deeds of public spirit and benevolence—not a list, but a few specimens— -may fitly be recorded here. To the fund in aid of the Democratic -campaign which resulted in the election of Buchanan as President he sent -his check for one thousand dollars. He gave the like sum to the first -great meeting in Philadelphia at the outbreak of the war for the defence -of the Union. In 1867, when the South was in such distress from the -effects of the war, he gave five hundred dollars to the treasurer of a -fund in their behalf, saying, “God only knows the whole suffering of our -Southern brethren. Let us do all we can to relieve them, not stopping to -question what is _constitutional_; for charity itself fulfils the law.” -He subscribed five hundred dollars towards the relief of the sufferers -by the great Chicago fire in 1871. The ship “Edwin Forrest” being in -distress on the coast, the towboat “Ajax,” from New York, went to her -assistance, having on board three pilots. The “Ajax” was never heard of -afterwards. To the widows of the three lost pilots Forrest, unsolicited, -sent one thousand dollars each. On two separate occasions he is known to -have sent contributions of five hundred dollars to the Masonic Charity -Fund of the New York Grand Lodge. These acts, which were not -exceptional, but in keeping with his nature and habit, are not the acts -of an unclean slave of avarice. The jealousy too often felt towards the -rich too often incites groundless fault-finding. - -It is true that an absorbing passion for truth, for beauty, for -humanity, for perfection, is more glorious and commanding than even the -most honorable chase of riches. But it is likewise true that reckless -idlers and spendthrifts are a greater curse to society, breed worse -evils, than can be attributed to misers. Self-indulgence, dependence, -distress, contempt, the worst temptations, and untimely death, follow -the steps of thriftlessness. Self-denial, foresight, industry, manifold -power of usefulness, wait on a well-regulated purpose to secure -pecuniary independence. Money represents the means of life,—the command -of the best outer conditions of life,—food, shelter, education, culture -in every direction. In itself it is a good, and the fostering of the -virtues adapted to win it is beneficial alike to the individual and the -community, despite the enormous evils associated with the excessive or -unprincipled pursuit of it. Sharp and exacting as he was, the absolute -honesty and honor of Forrest in all pecuniary dealings were so high -above suspicion that they were never questioned. Although often -wrongfully accused of a miserly and sordid temper, he never was accused -of falsehood or trickery. The large fortune he obtained was honorably -earned, liberally used, and at last nobly bestowed. He had a good right -to the deep, vivid satisfaction and sense of power which it yielded him. -His fortune was to him a huge supplementary background of support, a -wide border of the means of life surrounding and sustaining his -immediate life. - -An extract from a letter written by him to his biographer may fitly be -cited to complete what has been said above. Under date of August 28th, -1870, he wrote. “The desire I had for wealth was first fostered only -that I might be abler to contribute to the comforts of those whose veins -bore blood like mine, and to smooth the pathway to the grave of the -gentlest, the truest, the most unselfish friend I ever knew—my mother!— -and so, from this holy source, to widen the boundaries of all good and -charitable deeds,—to relieve the wants of friends less fortunate than -myself, and to succor the distressed wherever found. In early life, from -necessity, I learned to depend solely upon myself for my own sustenance. -This self-reliance soon gave me power in a small way to relieve the -wants of others, and this I never failed to do even to the extent of my -ability. So far did I carry this feeling for the distress of others that -I have frequently been forced to ask an advance of salary from the -theatre to pay the current expenses of my own frugal living. And this I -have done when in the receipt of eight thousand dollars a year. I have -been very, very poor; but in my whole life I have never from need -borrowed more than two hundred dollars in all. I have lent two thousand -times that sum, only an infinitesimal part of which was ever returned.” - -In 1851 Forrest moved from New York to Philadelphia, and took his three -sisters to live with him. But he paid frequent visits to his romantic -castle on the Hudson. During one of these visits an incident occurred -which presents him to the imagination in real life in a light as -picturesque and sensational as many of those scenes of fiction on the -stage in which he had so often thrilled the multitude who beheld him. -The steamboat “Henry Clay,” plying on the Hudson between New York and -Albany, when opposite Fonthill was suddenly wrapt in flames by an -explosion of its boiler, and sunk with a crowd of shrieking passengers. -The New York “Mirror” of the next day said, “We are informed that while -the unfortunate wretches were struggling, Edwin Forrest, who was then at -his castle, seeing their condition, rushed down to the river, jumped in, -and succeeded in rescuing many from a watery grave, as well as in -recovering the bodies of several who were drowned.” - -In 1856 Forrest sold Fonthill to the Catholic Sisterhood of Mount Saint -Vincent, for one hundred thousand dollars. For the devout and beneficent -lives of the members of this order he had a profound reverence; and -immediately on completing the sale he made to the Mother Superior a -present of the sum of five thousand dollars. And so ended all the dreams -of domestic peace and bliss his fancy had woven on that enchanted spot, -still to be associated with memories of his career and echoes of his -name as long as its gray towers shall peer above the trees and be -descried from afar by the sailers on the lordly river below. - -In 1857 Forrest received an unparalleled compliment from the State of -California. The Governor, Lieutenant-Governor, Secretary, Treasurer, and -Comptroller of the State, twenty-seven members of the Senate, with the -Secretary and Sergeant-at-Arms, the Speaker and forty-eight members of -the House of Representatives, sent him a letter of invitation to make a -professional visit to the Golden Coast. It read as follows: - - “STATE CAPITOL, SACRAMENTO, April 20th, 1857. - - “RESPECTED SIR,—The undersigned, State officers and members of the - Senate and Assembly, a small portion of your many admirers on the - coast of the Pacific, avail themselves of this, the only mode under - their control, of signifying to you the very high estimation, as a - gentleman and an actor, in which you are generally and universally - held by all who have a taste for the legitimate drama. Genuine taste - and rigid criticism have united with the verdict of impartial - history to pronounce you the head and leader of the noble profession - to which you have consecrated abilities that would in any sphere of - life render you eminent. We believe that so long as Shakspeare is - remembered, and his words revered, your name, too, will be - remembered with pride by all who glory in the triumphs of our Saxon - literature. - - “In conclusion, permit us to express the hope that your existing - engagements will so far coincide with our wishes as to permit us, at - an early day, to welcome you to the shores of the Pacific, assuring - you of a warm and sincere reception, so far as our efforts can - accomplish the same, and we feel that we but express the feelings of - every good citizen of the State.” - -To this he replied: - - “PHILADELPHIA, July 10th, 1857. - - “GENTLEMEN,—With a grateful pleasure I acknowledge your - communication of April 20th, delivered to me a short time since by - the hands of Mr. Maguire. - - “Your flattering invitation, so generously bestowed and so - gracefully expressed, to enter the Golden Gate and visit your - beautiful land, is one of the highest compliments I have ever - received. It is an honor, I venture to say, that was never before - conferred on one of my profession. - - “It comes not from the lovers of the drama or men of letters merely, - but from the Executive, the Representatives, and other high - officials of a great State of the American Confederacy; and I shall - ever regard it as one of the proudest compliments in all my - professional career. - - “Believe me, I deeply feel this mark of your kindness, not as mere - incense to professional or personal vanity, but as a proud tribute - to that art which I have loved so well and have followed so long: - - “‘The youngest of the Sister Arts, - Where all their beauty blends.’ - - “This art, permit me to add, from my youth I have sought personally - to elevate, and professionally to improve, more from the truths in - nature’s infallible volume than from the pedantic words of the - schools,—a volume open to all, and which needs neither Greek nor - Latin lore to be understood. - - “And now, gentlemen, although I greatly regret that it is not in my - power to accept your invitation, I sincerely trust there will be a - time for such a word, when we may yet meet together under the roof - of one of those proud temples consecrated to the drama by the taste - and the munificence of your fellow-citizens.” - -During the crisis of his domestic unhappiness—1849–1852—Forrest had -withdrawn from the stage for about two years. In 1856, stricken down -with a severe attack of gout and inflammatory rheumatism, wearied also -of his long round of professional labors, he retired into private life -for a period of nearly five years. He now devoted his time to the care -of his rapidly increasing wealth, and to the cultivation of his mind by -reading, studying works of art, and conversing with a few chosen -friends, leading, on the whole, a still and secluded life. At this time -an enthusiastic religious revival was going on in the city, and it was -reported that the tragedian had been made a convert. An old and dear -friend, the Rev. E. L. Magoon, wrote to him a very cordial letter -expressing the hope that this report was well founded. Here is the reply -of Forrest: - - “PHILADELPHIA, March 27, 1858. - - “I have much pleasure in the receipt of yours of the 23d instant. - - “While I thank you and Mrs. Magoon with all my heart for the kind - hope you have expressed that the recent rumor with regard to my - highest welfare may be true, I am constrained to say the rumor is in - this, as in most matters which pertain to me, most pitifully in - error: there is not one word of truth in it. - - “But in answer to your questions, my good friend,—for I know you are - animated only by a sincere regard for my spiritual as well as for my - temporal welfare,—I am happy to assure you that the painful attack - of inflammatory rheumatism with which for the last three months I - have combated is now quite overcome, and I think I may safely say - that with the return of more genial weather I shall be restored once - more to a sound and pristine health. - - “Then, for the state of my mind. I do not know the time, since when - a boy I blew sportive bladders in the beamy sun, that it was ever so - tranquil and serene as in the present hour. Having profited by the - leisure given me by my lengthened illness seriously to review the - past and carefully to consider the future, both for time and for - eternity, I have with a chastened spirit beheld with many regrets - that there was much in the past that might have been improved; more, - perhaps, in the acts of omission than in acts of commission, for I - feel sustained that my whole conduct has been actuated solely by an - honest desire to adhere strictly to the rule of right; that the past - has been characterized, as I trust the future will be, to love my - friends, to hate my enemies,—for I cannot be a hypocrite,—and to - live in accordance with the Divine precept: ‘As ye would that men - should do to you, do ye also to them likewise.’ - - “And now for that ‘higher welfare’ of which you speak, I can only - say that, believing, as I sincerely do, in the justice, the mercy, - the wisdom, and the love of Him who knoweth the secrets of our - hearts, I hope I may with - - ‘An unfaltering trust approach my grave, - Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch - About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams.’ - - “Hoping you are in the enjoyment of good health, and that you still - prosper in the ‘good work,’ which to you I know is a labor of love, - - “I am your friend, - “EDWIN FORREST.” - -At length, rested in mind and body, chastened in taste, sobered and -polished in style, but with no abatement of fire or energy, sought by -the public, solicited by friends, urged by managers, and impelled by his -own feelings, he broke from his long repose, and reappeared in New York -under circumstances as flattering as any that had ever crowned his -ambition. Niblo’s Garden was packed to its remotest corners with an -auditory whose upturned expanse of eager faces lighted with smiles and -burst into cheers as he slowly advanced and received a welcome whose -earnestness and unity might well have thrilled him with pride and joy. -The following lines, strong and eloquent as their theme, written for the -occasion by William Ross Wallace, contain perhaps the most truthful and -characteristic tribute ever paid to his genius, drawing the real contour -and breathing the express spirit of the man and the player. - - - EDWIN FORREST. - - Welcome to his look of grandeur, welcome to his stately mien, - Always shedding native glory o’er the wondrous mimic scene, - Always like a mighty mirror glassing Vice or Virtue’s star, - Giving Time his very pressure, showing Nations as they are! - - Once again old Rome—the awful—rears her red imperial crest, - And _Virginius_ speaks her downfall in a father’s tortured breast; - Once again far Albion’s genius from sweet Avon leans to view, - As he was, her thoughtful _Hamlet_, and the very _Lear_ she drew. - - Nor alone does Europe glory in the Actor’s perfect art,— - From Columbia’s leafy mountains see the native hero start! - Not in depths of mere romances can you _Nature’s_ Indian find; - See him there, as God hath made him, in the _Metamora_ shrined. - - Where hast thou, O noble Artist,—crowned by Fame’s immortal flower,— - Grasped the lightnings of thy genius? caught the magic of thy power? - Not, I know, in foreign regions,—for thou art too true and bold: - ’Tis the _New_ alone gives daring thus to paint the shapes of _Old_: - - From the deep full wind that sweepeth through thine own wild native - woods, - From the organ-like grand cadence heard in autumn’s solemn floods, - Thou hast tuned the voice that thrills us with its modulated roll, - Echoing through the deepest caverns of the hearer’s startled soul: - - From the tender blossoms blooming on our haughty torrents’ side— - Like some angel sent by Pity, preaching gentleness to Pride— - Thou didst learn such tender bearing, hushing every listener’s breath, - When in thee poor _Lear_, the crownless, totters gently down to death: - - - From the boundless lakes and rivers, from our broad continuous climes, - Over which the bell of Freedom sounds her everlasting chimes, - Thou didst catch that breadth of manner; and to wreath the glorious - whole, - Sacred flames are ever leaping from thy democratic soul. - - Welcome then that look of grandeur, welcome then that stately mien, - Always shedding native glory o’er the wondrous mimic scene, - Always like a mighty mirror glassing Vice or Virtue’s star, - Giving Time his very pressure, showing Nations as they are! - -After a long absence from Albany, Forrest fulfilled an engagement there -in 1864. It carried his mind back to his early struggles in the same -place, though few of the kind friends who had then cheered him now -remained. There was no vacant spot, however, any more than there was any -loss of fervor. On the last night the audience—so crowded that “they -seemed actually piled on one another in the lobbies”—called him before -the curtain and asked for a speech. He said,— - -“I am very glad, ladies and gentlemen, that an opportunity is thus -afforded me to say a few words, to thank you for your generous welcome -here, and also for the kind applause you have lavished on my -performances. In Albany I seem to live a twofold existence,—I live one -in the past, and I live one in the present,—and both alike are filled -with the most agreeable memories. Here, within these very walls, even in -my boyish days, I was cheered on to those inspiring toils - - ‘Which make man master men.’ - -Here, within these walls, while yet in my boyish days, one of the -proudest honors of my professional life was achieved; for I here essayed -the part of Iago to the Othello of the greatest actor that ‘ever lived -in the tide of times,’—Edmund Kean. To me there is music in the very -name,—Edmund Kean, a name blended indissolubly with the genius of -Shakspeare; Edmund Kean, who did more by his acting to illustrate the -Bard of all time than all the commentators from Johnson, Warburton, and -Steevens down to the critics of the present day. It was said of Edmund -Kean by a distinguished English poet, that ‘he read Shakspeare by -flashes of lightning.’ It is true; but those flashes of lightning were -the coruscations of his own divine mind, which was in affinity with the -mind of Shakspeare. Now I must beg leave to express my heartfelt thanks -for this demonstration of your favor, hoping at no distant day to meet -you again.” - -Thus it is clear that, whatever the sufferings of Forrest may have been, -however many trials and pangs his growing experience of the world may -have brought him, he had great enjoyments still. Besides the proud -delight of his professional successes and the solid satisfaction of his -swelling property, he had an even more keen and substantial complacency -of pleasure in his own physical health and strength. His enormous vital -and muscular power supported a superb personal consciousness of joy and -contentment. He trod the earth like an indigenous monarch, afraid of -nothing. The dynamic charge, or rather surcharge, of his frame was often -so profuse that it would break out in wild feats of power to relieve the -aching muscles. For instance, one night when acting in the old Tremont -Theatre in Boston, under such an exhilarating impulse he struck his -sword against a wooden column at the side of the stage as he was passing -out, and cut into it to the depth of more than three inches. An -Englishman who sat near jumped from his seat in terror, and tremblingly -said, as he hastened out, “He is a damned brute. He is going to cut the -theatre down!” This full vigor of the organic nature, this vivid -relishing edge of unsatiated senses, yielded a constant feeling of -actual or potential happiness, and clothed him with an air of native -pride which was both attractive and authoritative. He had paid the price -for this great prize of an indomitable physique in systematic exercises -and temperance. He wore it most proudly and kept it intact until he was -fifty-nine years old. The lesson of his experience and example in -physical culture is well worth heeding. - -The fashion of society in regard to the education and care of the body -has passed through three phases. The most extraordinary phase, in the -glorious results it secured, was the worship of bodily perfection among -the Greeks, a reflex revival of which was shown by the nobles and -knights at the period of the Renaissance. The Greek gymnastic of the age -of Pericles, as described by Plato so often and with such enthusiasm,—a -gymnastic in which music, instead of being an end in itself, a sensuous -luxury of the soul, was made a guide and adjunct to bodily training, -giving rhythm to every motion, or that grace and economy of force which -so much enhances both beauty and power,—lifted men higher in unity of -strength and charm of health and harmony of faculties than has anywhere -else been known. The Grecian games were made an ennobling and joyous -religious service and festival. The eager, emulous, patriotic, and -artistic appreciation of the spectators,—the wondrous strength, beauty, -swiftness, rhythmic motions, imposing attitudes of the athletes,—the -legends of the presence and contentions of the gods themselves on that -very spot in earlier times,—the setting up of the statues of the victors -in the temples as a worship of the Givers of Strength, Joy, and Glory,— -served to carry the interest to a pitch hardly to be understood by us. -The sculptures by Phidias which immortalize the triumph of Greek -physical culture show a harmony of the circulations, a compacted unity -of the organism, a central poise of equilibrium, a profundity of -consciousness and a fulness of self-control, a perfect blending of the -automatic and the volitional sides of human nature, which must have -exalted the Olympic victors at once to the extreme of sensibility and to -the extreme of repose. It is a million pities that this ideal should -ever have been lost. But in Rome, under the military drill and unbridled -license of the emperors, it degenerated into a brutal tyranny and -sensuality, the gigantic superiority of potency it generated being -perverted to the two uses of indulging self and oppressing others. - -The next swing of the historic pendulum flung men, by the reaction of -spirituality, over to the fatal opposite,—the ecclesiastic contempt and -neglect of the body. The Christian ideal, or at least the Church ideal, -in its scornful revulsion from gladiators and voluptuaries, glorified -the soul at the expense of the loathed and mortified flesh. At the base -of this cultus was the ascetic superstition that matter is evil, that -the capacity for pleasure is an infernal snare, and that the only way to -heaven is through material maceration and renunciation. Sound philosophy -and religion teach, on the contrary, that the body is the temple of God, -to be developed, cleansed, and adorned to the highest degree possible -for His habitation. - -The third phase in the history of bodily training is that neutral -condition, between the two foregoing extremes, which generally -characterizes the present period,—a state of almost universal -indifference, or a fitful alternation of unregulated attention to it and -neglect of it. The pedagogue gives his pupils some crude exercises to -keep them from utterly losing their health and breaking down on his -hands under the barbaric pressure of mental forcing; the drill-sergeant -disciplines his recruits to go through their technical evolutions; the -dancing-master trains the aspirants for the mysteries of the ballet; and -the various other classes of public performers who get their living by -playing on the curiosity, taste, or passion of the public, have their -specialities of bodily education for their particular work. But a -perfected system of æsthetic gymnastics, based on all that is known of -the laws of anatomy, physiology, and hygiene,—a system of exercises -regulated by the exactest rhythm and fitted to liberate every -articulation, to develop every muscle, and to harmonize and exalt every -nerve,—such a system applied from childhood to maturity for the purpose -not of making professional exhibitors of themselves, but of perfecting -men and women for the completest fulfilment and fruition of life itself, -does not yet exist. It is the great educational desideratum of the age. -Co-ordinating all our bodily organs and spiritual faculties, unifying -the outward organism and the inward consciousness, it would remove -disease, crime, and untimely death, open to men and women the highest -conditions of inspiration, and raise them towards the estate of gods and -goddesses. Avoiding equally the classic deification of the body and the -mediæval excommunication of it, emerging from the general indifference -and inattention to it which belong to the modern absorption in mental -work and social ambition, the next phase in the progress of physical -education should be the awakening on the part of the whole people of a -thorough appreciation of its just importance, and the assigning to it of -its proportionate place in their practical discipline. This is a work -worthy to be done now in America. As democratic Athens gave the world -the first splendid gymnastic training with its transcendent models of -manhood, so let democratic America, improving on the old example with -all the new treasures of science and sympathy, make application to its -citizens of a system of motions for the simultaneous education of bodies -and souls to the full possession of their personal sovereignty, making -them all kings and queens of themselves, because strong and beautiful -and free and happy in every limb and in every faculty! - -There is a vulgar prejudice among many of the most refined and religious -people against the training of the body to its highest condition, as if -that necessitated an animality fatal to the richest action of mind, -heart, and soul. The fop whose delicacy is so exquisite that the least -shock of vigorous emotion makes him turn pale and sicken, fancies the -superb athlete a vulgar creature whose tissues are as coarse as wire -netting and the globules of his blood as big as peas. But in reality the -presence of fidgeting nerves in place of reposeful muscles gives feebler -reactions, not finer ones, a more irritable consciousness, not a richer -one. Were this squeamish prejudice well founded it would make God seem a -bungler in his work, essential discord inhering in its different parts. -It is not so. The harmonious development of all portions of our being -will raise the whole higher than any fragment can be lifted alone. The -two finest and loftiest and richest flowers of Greek genius, Plato and -Sophocles, were both crowned victors in the Olympic games. But this -strong, lazy prejudice has widely fulfilled itself in fact by limiting -the greatest triumphs of physical culture to the more debased and -profane types,—to professional dancers and pugilists. And even here it -is to be affirmed that, on this low range of brawn and pluck and skill, -physical power and prowess are better than physical weakness and -cowardice. It is better, if men are on that level, to surpass and be -admired there than to fail and be despised there. But since one God is -the Creator of flesh and spirit, both of which when obedient are -recipients of his influx and held in tune by all his laws, the best -material states are not hostile, but most favorable, to the best -spiritual fulfilments. The life of the mind will lift out of, not mire -in, the life of the body. And hitherto unknown revelations of inspired -power, delight, and longevity wait on that future age when the -vindication of a divineness for the body equally sacred with that of the -soul shall cause the choicest persons to be as faithful in physical -culture for the perfection of their experience as prize-fighters are for -winning the victory in the ring. Give us the soul of Channing, purest -lover and hero of God, in the body of Heenan, foremost bruiser and -champion of the world; the soul of Elizabeth Barrett Browning, tender -poetess of humanity, in the body of Fanny Elssler, incomparable queen of -the stage;—and what marvels of intuitive perception, creative genius, -irresistible authority, and redemptive conquest shall we not behold! - -Such is one of the prophecies drawn from the supremest examples of -combined mental and physical culture in the dramatic profession. Forrest -fell short of any such mark. His gymnastic was coarse and heavy, based -on bone and muscle rather than brain and nerve. The sense of musical -rhythm was not quick and fine in him. His blood was too densely charged -with amorous heat, and his tissues too much clogged with his weight of -over two hundred pounds, for the most ethereal delicacies of -spirituality and the inspired imagination. But within his limitations he -was a marked type of immense original and cultivated power. And his -sedulous fidelity in taking care of his bodily strength and health is -worthy of general imitation. He practised athletics daily, posturing -with dumb-bells or Indian clubs, taking walks and drives. He was -extremely attentive to ventilation, saying, “The first condition of -health is to breathe pure air plentifully.” He ever sought the sunshine, -worshipping the smile of the divine luminary with the ardor of a true -Parsee. “The weather has been pernicious,” he says in one of his -letters. “Oh for a day of pure sunshine! What a true worshipper of the -Sun I have always been! And how he has rewarded me, in the light of his -omnipotent and kindly eye, with health and joy and sweet content! How -reasonable and how sublime was the worship of Zoroaster! I had rather be -a beggar in a sunny climate than a Crœsus in a cloudy one.” He was -temperate in food and drink, shunning for the most part rich luxuries, -complex and highly-seasoned dishes, falling to with the greatest relish -on the simplest and wholesomest things, especially oatmeal, cracked -wheat, corn-meal mush, brown bread, Scotch bannocks, cream, buttermilk. -When fatigued, he turned from artificial stimulants and sought recovery -in rest and sleep. When hard-worked, he never omitted going regularly to -bed in the daytime to supplement the insufficient repose of the night. -He had great facility in catching a nap, and at such times his deep and -full respiration was as regular as clock-work. But above all the rest he -attributed the greatest importance to keeping his skin in a clean and -vigorous condition. Night and morning he gave himself a thorough -washing, followed by energetic scrubbing with coarse towels and a -percussing of his back and spine with elastic balls fastened to the ends -of two little clubs. His skin was always aglow with life, polished like -marble, a soft and sensitive yet firm and flowing mantle of protection -and avenue of influences between his interior world and the exterior -world. This extreme health and vigor of the skin relieved the tasks put -on the other excretory organs, and was most conducive to vital energy -and longevity. - -The one fault in the constitution of Forrest was the gouty diathesis he -inherited from his grandfather on the maternal side. This rheumatic -inflammability—a contracted and congested state of some part of the -capillary circulation and the associated sensory nerves accumulating -force to be discharged in hot explosions of twinging agony—might have -been cured by an æsthetic gymnastic adapted to free and harmonize all -the circulations,—the breath, the blood, the nerve-force. But, -unfortunately, his heavy and violent gymnastic was fitted to produce -rigidity rather than suppleness, and thus to cause breaks in the nervous -flow instead of an equable uniformity. This was the secret of his -painful attacks and of his otherwise unexpectedly early death. There are -three natures in man, the vital nature, the mental nature, the moral -nature. These natures express and reveal themselves in three kinds or -directions of movement. The vital nature betrays or asserts itself in -eccentric movement, movement from a centre; the mental, in acentric -movement, movement towards a centre; the moral, in concentric movement, -movement around a centre. Outward lines of motion express vital -activity, inward lines express mental activity, curved lines, which are -a blending of the two other, express moral or affectional activity. This -physiological philosophy is the basis of all sound and safe gymnastic. -The essential evil and danger of the heavy and violent gymnastic of the -circus and the ring is that it consists so largely of the outward and -inward lines which express the individual will or vital energy and -mental purpose. Each of these tends exclusively to strengthen the nature -which it exercises. Straight hitting, pushing, lifting, jumping, in -their two directions of exertion, tend to expand and to contract. That -is vital, and this is mental. Both are expensive in their drain on the -volition, but one tends to enlarge the physical organism, the other to -shrink it and to produce strictures at every weak point. The former -gives a heavy, obese development; the latter an irritable, irregular, at -once bulgy and constricted development. The vice of the vital nature -dominating unchecked is gluttony, and its end, idiocy. The vice of the -mental nature is avarice, both corporal and spiritual, and its end, -madness. The vice of the moral nature, when it becomes diseased, is -fanaticism; and its subject becomes, if the vital element in it -controls, an ecstatic devotee; if the mental element controls, a -reckless proselyter. Now, a true system of gymnastic will perfect all -the three natures of man by not allowing the vital or the mental to -domineer or its special motions to preponderate, but blending them in -those rotatory elliptical or spiral movements which combine the generous -expansion of the vital organs and the selfish concentration of the -mental faculties in just proportion and thereby constitute the language -of the moral nature. Rigid outward movements enlarge the bulk and -strengthen sensuality. Rigid inward movements cramp the organism and -break the unity and liberty of its circulations, leading to every -variety of disease. But flowing musical movements justly blent of the -other two movements, in which rhythm is observed, and the extensor -muscles are used in preponderance over the contractile so as to -neutralize the modern instinctive tendency to use the contractile more -than the extensor,—movements in which the motor nerves are, for the same -reason, used more than the sensory,—will economize the expenditure of -force, soothe the sensibilities, and secure a balanced and harmonious -development of the whole man in equal strength and grace. Such a system -of exercise will remove every tendency to a monstrous force in one part -and a dwarfed proportion in another. It will secure health and beauty in -a rounded fulness equally removed from shrivelled meagreness and -repulsive corpulence. It will make its practiser far more than a match -for the huge athletes of the coarse school, as the man whose every limb -is a whip is thrice more puissant and terrible than the man whose every -limb is a club. The deepest secret of the final result of this æsthetic -gymnastic is that it gives one the perfect possession of himself in the -perfected unity of his organism, _the connective tissue being so -developed by the practice of a slow and rhythmical extensor action that -it serves as an unbroken bed of solidarity for the whole muscular -coating of the man_. Nothing else can be so conducive as this to -equilibrium, and consequently to longevity. When the unity of the -connective tissue is broken by strictures at the articulations or -elsewhere, the waves of motion or force ever beating through the webs of -nerves are interrupted, stopped, or reflected by devitalized wrinkles -which they cannot pass. Thence result the innumerable mischiefs of -inflammation in the outer membrane and catarrh in the inner. - -The æsthetic gymnastic, which will serve as a diacatholicon and panacea -for a perverted and sick generation, is one whose measured and -curvilinear movements will not be wasteful of force but conservative of -it, by keeping the molecular vibrations circulating in the organism in -perpetual translations of their power, instead of shaking them out and -losing them through sharp angles and shocks. This will develop the brain -and nerves, the genius and character, as the old system developed the -muscles and the viscera. It will lead to harmony, virtue, inspiration, -and long life, as the old system led to exaggeration, lust, excess, and -early death. How greatly it is needed one fact shows, namely, the steady -process which has long been going on of lessening beauty and increasing -ugliness in the higher classes of society, lessening roundness and -increasing angularity of facial contour. The proof of this historic -encroachment of anxious, nervous wear and tear displacing the full grace -of curved lines with the sinister sharpness of straight lines is given -in most collections of family portraits, and may be strikingly seen by -glancing from the rosy and generous faces of Fox and Burke or of -Washington and Hamilton to the pinched and wrinkled visages of Gladstone -and D’Israeli or of Lincoln and Seward. - -There is probably only one man now living who is fully competent to -construct this system of æsthetic gymnastic,—James Steele Mackaye, the -heir of the traditions and the developer of the philosophy of François -Delsarte. It was he of whom Forrest, two years before his own death, -said, “He has thrown floods of light into my mind: in fifteen minutes he -has given me a deeper insight into the philosophy of my own art than I -had myself learned in fifty years of study.” If he shall die without -producing this work, it will be a calamity to the world greater than the -loss of any battle ever fought or the defeat of any legislative measure -ever advocated. For this style of gymnastic alone recognizes the -infinitely solemn and beautiful truth that every attitude, every motion, -tends to _produce_ the quality of which it is the legitimate expression. -Here is brought to light an education constantly going on in every one, -and far more momentous and fatal than any other. Here is a principle -which makes the body and the laws of mechanics as sacred revelations of -the will of God as the soul and the laws of morality. Here is the basis -of the new religious education destined to perfect the children of men, -abolish deformity, sickness, and crime, and redeem the earth. - -Had Forrest practised such a style of exercise, instead of weighing -upwards of two hundred pounds and suffering from those irregularities of -circulation which often disabled, at length paralyzed, and at last -killed him at sixty-seven, he would have weighed a hundred and sixty, -been as free and agile as he was powerful, and lived without an ache or -a shock to ninety or a hundred. - -His faithful exercises, defective as they were in the spirit of beauty -and economy, gave him enormous vital potency and tenacity. He felt this -keenly as a priceless luxury, and was justly proud of it. He used to be -extremely fond of the Turkish bath, and once said, “No man who has not -taken a Turkish bath has ever known the moral luxury of being personally -clean.” He was a great frequenter of the celebrated establishment of Dr. -Angell, on Lexington Avenue, in New York. After the bath and the -shampoo, and the inunction and the rest, on one occasion, as he was -striding up and down the room, feeling like an Olympian god who had been -freshly fed through all the pores of his skin with some diviner viands -than ambrosia, he vented his slight grief and his massive satisfaction -in these words: “What a pity it is that a man should have to suffer for -the sins of his ancestors! Were it not for this damned gouty diathesis, -I would not swap constitutions with any man on earth,—damned if I -would!” - -It was in 1865, while playing, on a terribly cold February night, in the -Holliday Street Theatre, in Baltimore, that Forrest received the first -dread intimation that his so proudly cherished prerogative of bodily -strength was insecure. He was enacting the part of Damon. The theatre -was so cold that, he said, he felt chilled from the extremities of his -hands and feet to the centre of his heart, and the words he uttered -seemed to freeze on his lips. Suddenly his right leg began twitching and -jerking. He nearly lost control of it; but by a violent effort of will -he succeeded in getting through the play. Reaching his lodgings and -calling a physician, he found, to his great grief and horror, that his -right sciatic nerve was partially paralyzed. - -An obvious lameness, a slight hobble in his gait, was the permanent -consequence of this attack. It was sometimes better, sometimes worse; -but not all his earnest and patient attempts to cure it ever availed to -find a remedy. It was a mortifying blow, from which he never fully -recovered, though he grew used to it. His strength of build and movement -had been so complete, such a glory to him, he had so exulted in it as it -drew admiring attention, that to be thus maimed and halted in one of its -most conspicuous centres was indeed a bitter trial to him. Still he kept -up good heart, and fondly hoped yet to outgrow it and be all himself -again. He was just as faithful as ever to his exercises, his diet, his -bathing, his rest and sleep; and he retained, in spite of this shocking -blow, an astonishing quantity of vital and muscular energy. Still a -large and dark blot had been made on his personal splendor, and all -those rôles which required grace and speed of bodily movement sank from -their previous height. Notwithstanding his strenuous endeavors to -neutralize the effects of this paralysis, its stealthy encroachments -spread by imperceptible degrees until his whole right side—shoulder and -chest and leg—shrank to smaller dimensions than the left, and at last he -was obliged when fencing to have the sword fastened to his hand. And yet -he continued to act to the end; acting still with a remarkable physical -power and with a mental vividness not one particle lowered from that of -his palmiest day. But, after the year 1865, for any of his old friends -who remembered the electrifying spontaneity of his terrible -demonstrations of strength in former days, to see him in such casts as -Metamora, Damon, Spartacus, and Cade, was painful. - -In the month of January, 1866, Forrest had a most gratifying triumph in -Chicago. The receipts were unprecedentedly large, averaging for the five -nights of his engagement nearly twenty-five hundred dollars a night. He -wrote to his friend Oakes: “Eighteen years since, I acted here in a -small theatre of which the present mayor of Chicago, J. B. Rice, Esq., -was manager. The population, then about six thousand, is now one hundred -and eighty thousand, with a theatre that would grace Naples, Florence, -or Paris. The applause I have received here has been as enthusiastic as -I have ever known, and the money-return greater. It beats the history of -the stage in New York, Boston, Philadelphia, Baltimore, Charleston, and -New Orleans. Give me joy, my dear and steadfast friend, that the veteran -does _not_ lag superfluous on the stage.” - -Early in the same year he accepted the munificent offer made by the -manager of the San Francisco theatre to induce him to pay a professional -visit to California. He remembered the flattering letter sent him by the -government of the State nine years before. He felt a keen desire, as a -patriotic American, to view the wondrous scenery and products of the -golden coast of the Pacific, and he also was ambitious that the youngest -part of the country should behold those dramatic portrayals which had so -long been applauded by the oldest. Landing in San Francisco on the third -of May, he was serenaded in the evening by the Philharmonic Society, and -on the fourteenth made his débût in the Opera House in the rôle of -Richelieu. The prices of admission were doubled, and the seats for the -opening night were sold at auction. The first ticket brought five -hundred dollars. “At an early hour last night,” said one of the morning -papers, “the tide of people turned with steady current towards the Opera -House. Throng after throng approached the portal and melted into the -vast space. Inside, the scene was one of extraordinary magnificence. -Hundreds of flaming jets poured a flood of shadowless light on the rich -painting and gilding of the amphitheatre, the luxurious draperies of the -boxes, and the galaxy of wealth and beauty smiling beneath its rays.” He -played for thirty-five nights to an aggregate of over sixty thousand -persons, and was paid twenty thousand dollars in gold. His engagement -was suddenly interrupted by a severe attack of his old enemy the gout. -He fled away to the cedar groves, the mineral springs, and the -mountains, to feast his eyes on the marvellous California landscapes and -to nurse his health. His enjoyment of the whole trip, and in particular -of his long tarry at the Mammoth Tree Grove, was profound. He delighted -in recalling and describing to his friends one scene in this grove, a -scene in which he was himself a striking figure. Visible in various -directions were gigantic trees hundreds of feet in height, whose age -could be reckoned by centuries, bearing the memorial names of celebrated -Americans, — Bryant, Lincoln, Seward, Longfellow, Webster, Kane, -Everett, and the darling of so many hearts, sweet Starr King,—whose top, -three hundred and sixty-six feet high, overpeers all the rest. Here the -Father of the Forest, long ago fallen, his trunk four hundred and fifty -feet long and one hundred and twelve feet in circumference at the base, -lies mouldering in gray and stupendous ruin. A hollow chamber, large -enough for one to pass through on horseback, extends for two hundred -feet through the colossal trunk of this prone and dead monarch of the -grove, whose descendants tower around him in their fresh life, and seem -mourning his requiem as the evening breeze sighs in their branches. -Forrest mounted a horse, and, with all the pageant personalities he had -so long made familiar to the American people clustering upon his own, -rode slowly through this incredible hollow just as the level beams of -the setting sun illuminated the columns of the grove and turned it into -a golden cathedral. - -In September he wrote to Oakes,— - -“Here I am still enjoying the salubrious air of the mountains, on -horseback and afoot, and bathing in waters from the hot and cold springs -which pour their affluent streams on every hand. - -“My health is greatly improved, and my lameness is now scarcely -perceptible. In a few weeks more I shall return to San Francisco to -finish my engagement, which was interrupted by my late indisposition. My -present intention is not to return to the East until next spring; for it -would be too great a risk to encounter the rigors of a winter there -which might prove disastrous. You are aware that the winter in San -Francisco is much more agreeable than the summer; and after my -professional engagement there I shall visit Sacramento and some few -other towns, and then go to Los Angelos, where I shall enjoy a climate -quite equal to that of the tropics. I am determined to come back to you -in perfect health. How I should like to take a tramp with you into the -mountains this blessed day! I can give you no reasonable idea of the -beauty of the weather here. The skies are cloudless, save with the rare -and rosiest shadows, not a drop of rain, and yet no drought, no aridity; -the trees are fresh and green, and the air as exhilarating as -champagne.” - -The news of the serious illness of his sister Caroline caused him to -abandon the purpose of resuming his interrupted engagement in San -Francisco, and, enriched with a thousand agreeable memories, on the -twentieth of October he set sail for home. - -The sentiment of patriotism was a fervid element in the inner life of -Forrest, a source of strength and pleasure. He had a deep faith in the -democratic principles and institutions of his country, a large knowledge -and enjoyment of her scenery, a strong interest in her honor, -industries, and fortunes, and an unshaken confidence and pride in her -sublime destiny. His sympathy in politics, which he studied and voted on -with intelligent conviction, had always been Southern as well as -democratic; but at the first sound of the war he sprang into the most -resolute attitude in defence of the imperilled cause of freedom and -humanity. He wrote the following letter to one of his old friends in the -West in June, 1861: - -“The political aspect of our country is ominous indeed, and yet I hope -with you that in the Divine Providence there will be some great good -brought out of this evil state of affairs which will prove at last a -blessing to our country. Oftentimes from that we consider evil comes a -reviving good. I trust it may prove so in this case. I do not, however, -condemn the South for their feelings of just indignation towards the -intermeddling abolitionist of the North,—the abolitionist who for years -by his incendiary acts has made the homestead of the planter a place of -anxiety and unrest instead of peace and tranquillity. But I do condemn -the leaders of this unwarrantable rebellion, those scurvy politicians -who, to serve their own selfish ends, flatter and fool, browbeat and -threaten honest people into an attitude which seems to threaten the -safety of our glorious Union. I still believe in man’s capacity to -govern himself, and I prophesy that by September next all our -difficulties will be adjusted. The South will know that the North has no -hostile, no subversive feelings to gratify, that it is the Union of the -States—that Union cemented by the blood of patriot sires—which is to be -preserved unbroken and inviolate, and that under its fraternal ægis all -discord shall cease, all wounds be healed. To this end we must be ready -for the field; we must gird up our loins and put on our armor; for a -graceful and lasting peace is only won when men are equals in honor and -in courage. And to this end it gives me pleasure to know that my -namesake, your son ——, has decided to take arms in defence of the Union -of the States and the Constitution of our fathers; and, more, that his -good mother, as well as yourself, approves his resolution. Now is the -time to test if our Government be really a shield and a protection -against anarchy and rebellion, or merely a rope of sand, an illusion, a -chimera; and it is this spontaneous uprising of every friend of freedom -rallying around the flag of his country—that sacred symbol of our -individual faith—which will proclaim to the world in tones more potent -than heaven’s thunder-peal that we HAVE a Government stronger and more -enduring than that of kings and potentates, because founded on equal and -exact justice, the offspring of man’s holiest and noblest nature, the -attribute of God himself.” - -Two years later, he wrote in a letter to another friend,— - -“Great God! in what a melancholy condition is our country now! _An -ineradicable curse begin at the very root of his heart that harbors a -single thought that favors disunion._ May God avert the overwhelming -evil!” - -He made himself familiar with the triumphs of American genius in every -department of industry and art, and glowed with pride over the names of -his illustrious countrymen. The following brief letter reveals his -heart. He never had any personal acquaintance with the brilliant man -whose departure he thus mourns. - - “NEW YORK, July 15th, 1859. - - “MY DEAR OAKES,—It is with the deepest emotions I have just heard of - the death of Rufus Choate. His decease is an irreparable loss to the - whole country. A noble citizen, a peerless advocate, a great - patriot, has gone, and there is no one to supply his place. In the - fall of this great man death has obtained a victory and humanity - suffered a defeat. - - “EDWIN FORREST.” - -One other letter of his should be preserved in this connection, for its -eloquent expression of blended friendship and patriotism: - - “PHILADELPHIA, July 28th, 1862. - - “MY DEAR FRIEND,—Where are you, and what are you doing? Are you ill - or well? I have telegraphed to you twice, and one answer is that you - are ill, another that you are much better. I called on Mr. - Chickering during my recent visit to New York, and he assured me you - could not be seriously ill, or he would have been advised of it; and - so I calmed my fears. That you have greatly suffered in mind I have - reason to know. The death of Colonel Wyman assured me of that. You - must have felt it intensely. But he fell nobly, in the discharge of - a most sacred duty which consecrates his name forever among the - defenders of the Union of his country. I too have lost friends in - the same glorious cause,—peace and renown to their ashes! Among them - one, the noblest of God’s manly creatures, Colonel Samuel Black, of - Pennsylvania. Enclosed you have a merited eulogy of him by our - friend Forney, who knew him well. Let us prepare ourselves for more - of the same sad bereavements. This unnatural war, which has already - ‘widow’d and unchilded many a one,’ has not yet reached its - fearfullest extent. The Union cemented by the blood of our fathers - must and shall be preserved; this is the unalterable decree of the - people of the Free States. Better that all the slaves should perish - and the blood of all those who uphold the institution of slavery - perish with them, than that this proud Temple, this glorious Union - consecrated to human freedom, should tumble into ruins. Do you - remember what Tom Paine, the great Apostle of Liberty, wrote to - General Washington in 1796? ‘A thousand years hence,’ he writes, - ‘perhaps much less, America may be what Britain now is. The - innocence of her character, that won the hearts of all nations in - her favor, may sound like a romance, and her inimitable virtue be as - if it had never been. The ruins of that Liberty thousands bled to - obtain may just furnish materials for a village tale. When we - contemplate the fall of empires and the extinction of the nations of - the Old World we see but little more to excite our regret than - mouldering ruins, pompous palaces, magnificent monuments, lofty - pyramids. But when the Empire of America shall fall the subject for - contemplative sorrow will be infinitely greater than crumbling brass - or marble can inspire. It will not then be said, here stood a temple - of vast antiquity, a Babel of invisible height, or there a palace of - sumptuous extravagance,—but here, oh painful thought! the noblest - work of human wisdom, the greatest scene of human glory, THE FAIR - CAUSE OF FREEDOM ROSE AND FELL!’ - - “May God in his infinite wisdom avert from us such a moral - desolation! Write to me soon, and tell me all about yourself. I have - been ill of late and confined to my bed. I am now better. - - “EDWIN FORREST. - - “JAMES OAKES, ESQ.” - -The earnestness of the feeling of Forrest as an American exerted a -profound influence in moulding his character and in coloring his -theatrical representations. The satisfactions it yielded, the proud -hopes it inspired, were a great comfort and inspiration to him. And he -said that one of his greatest regrets in dying would be that he should -not see the unparalleled growth, happiness, and glory of his country as -they would be a hundred years hence. - -Another source of unfailing consolation and pleasure to him was his love -of nature. He took a real solid joy in the forms and processes of the -material creation, the changing lights and shades of the world, the -solemn and lovely phenomena of morning and evening and summer and -winter, the gorgeous upholstery of the clouds, and the mysterious -marshalling of the stars. His letters abound in expressions which only a -sincere and fervent lover of nature could have used. Writing from -Philadelphia in early October, when recovering from a severe illness, he -says, “It is the true Indian summer. The sunbeams stream through the -golden veil of autumn with a softened radiance. How gratefully I receive -these benedictions from the Universal Cause!” And in a letter dated at -Savannah, November, 1870, he writes to his biographer, “Ah, my friend, -could the fine weather you boast of having in Boston make me feel fresh -and happy, Heaven has sent enough of it here to fill a world with -gladness. The skies are bright and roseate as in summer, the air is -filled with fragrance drawn by the warm sun from the balsamic trees, -while the autumnal wild-flowers waft their incense to the glorious day. -All these things I have enjoyed, and, I trust, with a spirit grateful to -the Giver of all good. Yet all these, though they may meliorate in a -degree the sadness of one’s life, cannot bind up the broken heart, heal -the wounded spirit, nor even, as Falstaff has it, ‘set a leg.’” - -This taste for nature, with the inexhaustible enjoyment and the refining -culture it yields, was his in a degree not common except with artists -and poets. While acting in Cleveland once in mid-winter, he persuaded a -friend to walk with him for a few miles early on a very cold morning. -Striding off, exulting in his strength, after an hour and a half he -paused on the edge of the lake, his blood glowing with the exercise, his -eyes sparkling with delight, while his somewhat overfat companion was -nearly frozen and panted with fatigue. Stretching his hand out towards -the magnificent expanse of scenery spread before them, he exclaimed, -“Bring your prating atheists out here, let them look on that, and then -say there is no God—if they can!” - -An eminent New York lawyer, an intimate friend of Forrest, who had spent -his whole life in the city absorbed in the social struggle, was utterly -indifferent to the beauties of nature. He had never felt even the -loveliness of a sunset,—something which one would think must fill the -commonest mind with glory. Walking with him in the environs of the city -on a certain occasion when approaching twilight had caused the blue -chamber of the west to blaze with such splendors of architectural clouds -and crimsoned squadrons of war as no scenic art could ever begin to -mock, Forrest called the attention of his comrade to the marvellous -spectacle. “I have no doubt,” said the lawyer, “that I have seen a great -many of these things; but I never cared anything about them.” The -disciple of Shakspeare proceeded to discourse to the disciple of Coke -upon Littleton on the charm of natural scenery, its soothing and -delight-giving ministrations to a man of taste and sensibility, in a -strain that left a permanent impression on his hearer, who from that -time began to watch the phenomena of the outward world with a new -interest. - -But even more than in his professional triumphs, his increasing store of -wealth, his animal health and strength, his patriotism, or his love for -the works of God in nature, Forrest found during the last twenty years -of his life a never-failing resource for his mind and heart in the -treasures of literature. He gathered a library of between ten and -fifteen thousand volumes, well selected, carefully arranged and -catalogued, for the accommodation of which he set apart the finest -apartment in his house, a lofty and spacious room running the whole -length of the edifice. In this bright and cheerful room all the -conveniences of use and comfort were collected. Beside his desk, where -from his chair he could lay his hand on it, superbly bound in purple -velvet, on a stand made expressly for it, rested his rare copy of the -original folio edition of Shakspeare, valued at two thousand dollars. -Around him, invitingly disposed, were the standard works of the -historians, the biographers, the poets, and especially the dramatists -and their commentators. Here he added to his shelved treasures many of -the best new works as they appeared, keeping himself somewhat abreast -with the fresh literature of the times in books like Motley’s -Netherlands, Grimm’s Life of Michael Angelo, and Hawkins’s Life of Kean, -which he read with a generous relish. Here, ensconced in an arm-chair by -the window, or lolling on a lounge in the centre of the library, or -seated at his study-table, he passed nearly all the leisure time of his -lonely later years. Here he would occupy himself for many an hour of day -and night,—hours that flew swiftly, laden with stingless enjoyment,— -passing from volume to volume sipping the hived sweetnesses of the -paradisal field of literature. Here, alone and quiet in the peopled -solitude of books, he loved to read aloud by the hour together, -listening to himself as if some one else were reading to him,—the -perfection of his breathing and the ease of his articulation being such -that the labor of utterance took nothing from the interest of the -subject, while the rich music and accurate inflections of his voice -added much. Here his not numerous intimates, with occasional callers -from abroad,—Rees, Forney, and his particular favorite, Daniel -Dougherty,—would often drop in, ever sure of an honest welcome and -genial fellowship, and speed the time with wit and humor, reminiscence, -anecdote, argument, joke, and repartee, vainly seeking to beguile him -into that more general society which would have gladly welcomed what he -could so richly give and take. - -An extract from a letter of his written in June, 1870, is of interest in -this connection: - -“I will read Forster’s Life of Walter Savage Landor, of which you speak, -at my first leisure; though I consider Forster personally to be a snob. -You will find among my papers in your possession exactly what I think of -him. For Landor, even as a boy, I had a great admiration. I sate with -wonder while I quaffed instruction at the shrine of his genius. There is -a book just published in England which I shall devour with an insatiable -mental appetite. It is called ‘Benedict Spinoza, his Life, -Correspondence, and Ethics.’ It is the first time that his works have -been collected and published in English. So that I shall have a rare -treat. His Ethics I have read in a French translation which I found in -Paris years ago; and its perusal divided my time between the pleasures -of the town and the intellectual culture which the study of his sublime -philosophy gave me. It was called ‘Spinoza’s Ethics; or, Man’s -Revelation to Man of the Dealings of God with the World.’” - -Yes, his library was indeed his sure refuge from care and sorrow, a -sweet solace for disappointment and vacancy and heartache. Here, in the -glorious fellowship of the genius and worth of all ages, he fully -gratified that love of reading without whose employment he would hardly -have known how to bear some of the years of his checkered life. An -anecdote will illustrate the strength of this habit in him and afford an -interesting glimpse of the interior of the man. In his library one -summer afternoon, the notes of birds in the trees and the hum of bees in -his garden languidly stealing in at the open window, he sat, with the -precious Shakspeare folio in his lap, conversing with his biographer. He -said, “If I could describe how large a space Shakspeare has filled of my -inward life, and how intense an interest I feel in his personality, no -one would believe me. I would this moment give one hundred thousand -dollars simply to read—even if the instant I had finished its perusal -the manuscript were to be destroyed forever—a full account of the first -eighteen years of the life of Shakspeare,—such an account as he could -himself have written at forty had he been so minded, of his joys and -sorrows, hopes and fears, his aspirations, his disappointments, his -friendships, his enmities, his quarrels, his fights, his day-dreams, his -loves; in short, the whole inward and outward drama of his boyhood.” It -was certainly one of the most striking tributes ever paid to the genius -of the immortal dramatist. A thorough familiarity with the works of -Shakspeare is of itself an education and a fortune for the inner man. -There all the known grades of experience, all the kinds of characters -and styles of life seen in the world, are shown in their most vivid -expressions. There all the varieties of thought and sentiment are -gathered in their most choice and energetic forms of utterance. There -are stimulus and employment for every faculty. There is incitement for -all ambition, solace for all sorrow, beguilement for all care, -provocation and means for every sort and degree of self-culture. -Shakspeare is one of the greatest teachers that ever lived, and those -players who have character, docility, and aspiration are his favorite -pupils. Betterton, who was born in 1635, only twelve years after the -death of Shakspeare, made a journey from London to Warwickshire on -purpose to gather up what traditions and anecdotes remained of him. -Garrick was the author of the remarkable centennial celebration of his -memory. And the voice of Kemble faltered and his tears were visible as -in his farewell speech on the stage he alluded to the divine Shakspeare. - -Anecdotes of the conduct and expressions of a man when he is off his -guard and unstudiedly natural give a truer picture of his character than -elaborate general statements. And three or four brief ones may be given -to close this chapter with an impartial view of the inner life of -Forrest in its contrasted aspects of refinement and even sublimity at -one time, and of rude severity and coarseness at another. - -One summer evening, when he was paying a visit to his friend Oakes, they -were at Cohasset, sitting on a piazza overhanging the sea. Mr. John F. -Mills, one of the best men that ever lived, whose beautiful spirit gave -pain to his host of friends for the first time only when he died, was -with them. There had been a long storm, and now that it had subsided the -moaning roar of the sea was loud and dismal. Forrest addressed it with -this extemporaneous apostrophe, as reported by Mr. Mills: “Howl on, -cursed old ocean, howl in remorse for the crimes you have committed. -Millions of skeletons lie bleaching on your bed; and if all our race -were swallowed there to-night you would not care any more for them than -for the bursting of a bubble on your breast. There is something dreadful -in this inhumanity of nature. Therefore I love to hear you groan, you -heartless monster! It makes you seem as unhappy as you make your victims -when they empty their stomachs into you or are themselves engulfed. -Gnash your rocky teeth and churn your rage white. Thank God, your cruel -reign will one day end, and there will be no more sea.” - -The next evening they sat in the same place, but the moon was up, and -his mood was different, more placid and pensive than before. The swell -and plunge of the billows on the beach made solemn accompaniment to the -guttural music of his voice. There was a mournfulness in the murmur of -his tones as elemental and sad as the tremendous sighing of the sea -itself. “This world,” he said, “seems to me a penal abode. We have all -lived elsewhere and gone astray, and now we expiate our bygone offences. -There is no other explanation that I can think of for the tangled snarl -of human fates. True, since we are ignorant of these sins, our -punishment seems not just. But then we may some time recover memory of -all and so understand everything clearly. It is all mystery now, but if -there is any explanation I am convinced we are convicts working out our -penances, and hell is not hereafter but here. Just hear those breakers -boom, boom, boom. Do they not seem to you to be drumming the funereal -Rogue’s March for this Botany Bay of a world?” - -A stranger to Forrest, merely to gratify his vanity by drawing the -attention of a company to his speech, said he had seen the celebrated -actor drunk in the gutter. The friend who reported this to Forrest would -not reveal who the man was. But one day he pointed him out on the -opposite sidewalk. The outraged and angry tragedian went quietly over -and accosted the slanderer; “Do you know Edwin Forrest, and do you say -you once saw him drunk in the gutter?” On receiving an affirmative reply -he broke out in the strong vernacular of which he was a master, “Now, -you sneaking scoundrel and lying calumniator, I am Edwin Forrest. I ache -all over to give you the damnedest thrashing you ever tasted. But it is -against my principles. I should be ashamed of myself if I stooped to -take such advantage of your cowardly weakness. But, while I will not do -it with my body, in my mind I kick and spit on you. Now pass on, and -relish yourself, and be damned, you human skunk.” - -Although Forrest used much profane language, his real spirit was not an -irreverential one. His profanity was but an expletive habit, a safety- -valve for wrath. When expostulated with on the custom, he said, “I never -knowingly swear before ladies or clergymen, lest it should shock or -grieve them. But at other times, when it is necessary either for proper -emphasis or as a vent for passion too hot and strong, why I let it rip -as it will.” - -In connection with the Broad Street mansion which he occupied at the -time of his death, Forrest built and fitted up a handsome private -theatre. John Wiser, a scenic artist, arranged and painted it. At its -completion Forrest seated himself in a large chair, and, after -expressing his pleasure at the effect, said, “John, do you know what -would be the most delightful sight in the world, eh? If I could only see -this room filled with children, and a company of little boys and girls -playing on that stage.” - -One day when Forrest was walking with a friend in Brooklyn a beggar -accosted them. Tears were in his eyes, and he had a ragged exterior as -well as a tottering form and a pale and sunken look. With a plaintive -voice he said, “For the love of heaven, gentlemen, give me a trifle for -the sake of my starving family. You will not feel it, and it will -relieve a half a score of hungry ones. Will you not aid me?” Forrest -looked at the man for a moment as if reading his very soul, and then -said, while placing a golden eagle in his hand, “Yes, my friend, you are -either a true subject for charity or else the best actor I ever saw.” - -Forrest always carried his professional humor and docility with him. He -gave a ludicrous description of an amateur grave-digger who lived in -Philadelphia. He was worth fifty thousand dollars, yet whenever a grave -was to be made he liked to have a hand in it. His nose was so turned up -that his brains might have been seen, had he possessed any. And his -voice was a perfect model for the second grave-digger in Hamlet, saying, -“The crowner hath set on her, and finds it Christian burial.” - -A strolling exhibitor of snakes came to Louisville when Forrest was -playing there in his youth. Wishing to feel the strongest emotions of -fear, that he might utilize the experience in his acting, Forrest asked -the man to take care of the head of a boa-constrictor some twelve feet -in length and let the hideous reptile crawl about his naked neck. He -never forgot the cold, clammy slip of the coils on his flesh and the -sickening horror it awakened. - - - - - CHAPTER XVIII. - PRIZES AND PENALTIES OF FAME. - - -The next important feature to be studied in order to appreciate the -character and life of Forrest is his experience of the prizes and the -penalties of fame. For he had a great fame; and fame, particularly in a -democratic country, inflicts penalties as well as bestows prizes. Not -one man in a thousand has enough force and tenacity of character to -determine to gain the solid and lasting prizes of life. Average men -willingly put up with cheap and transient substitutes for the real ends, -or with deluding mockeries of them. They seek passing pleasures instead -of the conditions of permanent happiness; applause instead of merit; a -crowd of acquaintances instead of true friends; notoriety or stagnant -indifference instead of fame. There is nothing more worthy of contempt, -although it is so miserably common, than the mean and whining cant which -puts negation and failure above affirmation and success, constantly -asserting the emptiness and deceit of all earthly goods. In opposition -to this morbid depreciation of every natural attractiveness without and -desire within, nothing is more wholesome or grand than a positive grasp -and fruition of all the native worths of the world. A great deal of the -fashionable disparagement and scorn of the prizes of wealth, position, -reputation, is but unconscious envy decrying what it lacks the strength -and courage to seize. The fame which a gifted and faithful man secures -is the reflex signal of the effects he has produced, and a broad, vivid, -healthy enjoyment of it is an intrinsic social good to be desired. It is -one of the greatest forces employed by Providence for the education of -men and the advancement of society. To condemn or despise it is to fling -in the face of God. The fancied pious who do this are dupes of an -impious error. - -Fame is a life in the souls of other men added to our own. It is a -feeling of the effect we have taken on the admiration and love of those -who regard us with honoring attention and sympathy. It is a social -atmosphere of respect and praise and curiosity, enveloping its subject, -fostering his self-esteem, keeping his soul in a moral climate of -complacency. The famous man has a secret feeling that the contributors -to his glory are his friends, loyal to him, ready to protect, further, -and bless him. Thus he is fortified and enriched by them, their powers -ideally appropriated to his ideal use. Thus fame is the multiplication -of the life of its subject, reflected in the lives of its givers. This -is the real cause of the powerful fascination of fame for its votaries; -for there is no instinct deeper in man than the instinct which leads him -to desire to intensify, enlarge, and prolong his existence; and fame -makes a man feel that in some sense his existence is multiplied and -continued in all those who think of him admiringly, and that it will -last as long as their successive generations endure. As Conrad makes -Jack Cade say,— - - “Fame is the thirst - Of gods and godlike men to make a life - Which nature made not, stealing from heaven - Its imaged immortality.” - -And so in its ultimate essence and use fame represents a magnified and -prolonged idealization of direct personal experience. It is ideal means -of life, a deeper foundation and wider range of reflected sympathetic -life embracing and sustaining immediate individual life. This great -prize is evidently a good to be desired, the evils connected with it -belonging not to itself but to unprincipled methods of pursuing it, -vulgar errors in distributing it, and the selfish perversion of its true -offices. It exists and is enjoyed in various degrees, on many different -levels, from the plebeian enthusiasm for the champion boxer to the -aristocratic recognition of a great thinker. As we ascend in rank we -lose in fervor. Fame is seen in its ruddiest intensity at the funeral of -Thomas Sayers celebrated by fifty thousand screaming admirers; in its -palest expansion in the renown of Plato, whose works are read by -scattered philosophers and whose name glitters inaccessibly in the -eternal empyrean. The reason for this greater heat of glory on its lower -ranges plainly is that men feel the sharpest interest in the lowest -bases of life, because these are the most indispensable. Existence can -be maintained without transcendent talents, but not without health, -strength, and courage. Animal perfection goes before spiritual -perfection, and its glory is more popular because more appreciable. - -Forrest drank the intoxicating cup of fame on widely separated levels, -from the idolatrous incense of the Bowery Boys who at the sight of his -herculean proportions shied their caps into the air with a wild yell of -delight, to the praise of the refined judges who applauded the -intellectual and imaginative genius of his Lear. It was a genuine luxury -to his soul for many years, and would have been a far deeper one had it -not been for the alloys accompanying it. He enjoyed the prize because he -had honorably won it, not sacrificing to it the more commanding aims of -life; and fame is a mockery only when it shines on the absence of the -goods greater than itself,—honor, health, peace, and love. He suffered -much on account of it, in consequence of the detestable jealousies, -plots, ranklings, and slanders always kindled by it among unhappy rivals -and malignant observers. But one suffering he was always spared, namely, -the bitter mortifications of the charlatan who has snatched the outward -semblance of the prizes of desert without paying their price or -possessing their substance. Striving always to deserve his reputation, -he did not forfeit his own esteem. The satisfaction he received from -applause was the joy of feeling his own power in the fibres of the -audience thrilling under his touch. Fame was the magnifying and -certified abstract of this,—a vast and constant assurance in his -imagination of life and power and pleasure. Dry sticks, leather men, may -sneer at the idea, but the rising moral ranks of souls are indicated by -the intensity with which they can act and react on ideal considerations. -Fame puts a favorable bias on all our relations with the approving -public, and thus enriches our inner life by aiding our sympathies to -appropriate their goods. - -The actor lives in an atmosphere electrized with human publicity, and -walks between walls lined with mirrors. Everything in his career is -calculated to develop an acute self-consciousness. And then by what -terrible trials his sensitiveness is beset in his exposure to the -opposite extremes of derision and eulogy! Dr. Johnson, alluding at one -time to the sensibility of Garrick, said, contemptuously, “Punch has no -feelings.” At another time, praising his genius, he said, sublimely, -“His death eclipsed the gayety of nations.” The actor tastes the -sweetness of fame more keenly than any other, because no other lives so -directly on it or draws the expression of it so openly and directly. -Bannister was invited by the royal family at Windsor one evening to read -a new play, and was treated with the utmost regard. The very next night -he was stopped by a footpad, who, dragging him to a lamp to plunder him, -discovered who he was, and said, “I’ll be damned if I can rob Jack -Bannister.” Having thus the esteem of both extremes of society, it is -safe to conclude that he enjoyed the admiration of all between. And this -boon of public honor and love will seem valuable to a performer in -proportion to the quickness and depth of his emotional power. “The awful -consciousness,” said Mrs. Siddons, “that one is the sole object of -attention to that immense space, lined as it were with human intellect -all around from top to bottom, may perhaps be imagined, but can never be -described.” A vulgar performer would rush on as if those heads were so -many turnips. The genius of imaginative sensibility is the raw material -for greatness. Forrest had much of this, although his self-possession -was so strong; and under his composed exterior, even after he had been -thirty years on the stage, he often shrank with temporary trepidation -from the ordeal of facing a fresh audience. His enjoyment of the -tributes paid to him was commensurately deep. - -And, stretching through the long fifty years of his professional course, -how varied, how numerous, how interesting and precious, these crowded -tributes were! There was no end to the compliments paid him, echoes of -the impression he had made on the country. Now it was a peerless race- -horse, carrying off prize on prize, that was named after him. Then it -was some beautiful yacht, club-boat, or pilot-boat, of which there were -a dozen or more to whose owners he presented sets of flags. At another -time it was a noble steamer or merchantman, of which there were a good -many named for him, each adorned with a statue of some one of his -characters as a figure-head. Locomotives and fire-engines also were -crowned with his name and his likeness. Military companies, too, took -their titles from him and carried his face copied on their banners. The -following letter indicates another of the results of his fame: - - “WALTHAM, February 12th, 1871. - - “EDWIN FORREST, ESQ.: - - “DEAR SIR,—Being one of the small army of boys called after you, I - should feel happy to receive some token from my illustrious - namesake, if nothing more than his autograph. Hoping to see you - before you leave the stage, - - “I am respectfully yours, - “EDWIN FORREST MOORE.” - -Seven different dramatic associations, composed of amateurs and -professionals, were formed in the cities of Portland, Boston, New York, -and elsewhere, bearing his name. And the notices of him in the -newspapers were to be reckoned by thousands, ranging all the way from -majestic eulogium to gross vituperation. - -Portraits of him, paintings, engravings, photographs, in his own -individuality and in his chief impersonations, were multiplied in many -quarters. Numerous plaster casts of him, four or five busts in marble, -and one full-length statue of surpassing grandeur, were taken. Many -celebrated artists studied him, from Gilbert Stuart, whose Washington -stands supremely immortal in American portraiture, to William Page, -whose lovingly elaborated Shakspeare may become so in creative -portraiture. Page has depicted Forrest in the role of Spartacus. He -shows him at that moment of the scene in the amphitheatre where he -utters the words which he never spoke without moving the audience to -repeated bursts of applause: “Let them come in: we are armed!” The last -portrait ever painted by the dying Stuart was of Forrest, then in his -youth and only just beginning to become famous. Forrest used often to -speak of his sitting to Stuart, whose strong fiery soul was enclosed in -a frame then tottering and tremulous with age. “He was an old white -lion,” said Forrest, “and so blind that I had to tell him the color of -my eyes and of my hair. By sudden efforts of will he _threw_ the lines -and bits of color on the canvas, and every stroke was speech.” - -Of the likenesses of Forrest published in this volume, the frontispiece -is engraved from a daguerreotype of him at the age of forty-six; the -succeeding one is from a painting by Samuel Lawrence, and shows him as -he was at twenty-eight; the last one is from a photograph taken when he -was in his sixty-seventh year. The illustrations of him in dramatic -characters are from photographs made after he had passed sixty and had -suffered partial paralysis. They do no justice to him as he appeared in -his perfect meridian. - -Of all the expressions of admiration, affection, pleasure, called forth -by a professional artist, of all the forms or signals of fame, perhaps -none is more flattering or more delightful to the recipient than the -tributary verses evoked from souls endowed with the poetic faculty. As -such natures are finer and higher than others, their homage is -proportionally more precious. During his life more than fifty poems -addressed to Forrest were published, and gave him a great deal of pure -pleasure. A few specimens of these offerings may properly find a place -here. - -The following lines felicitously copied were thrown upon the stage to -him one evening in a bouquet: - - - TO EDWIN FORREST. - - When Time hath often turned his glass, - And Memory scans the stage, - Foremost shall then thy image pass, - The Roscius of this age. - -The succeeding piece was written in 1828: - - - TO EDWIN FORREST. - - Young heir of glory, Nature’s bold and favorite child, - Nurtured ’midst matchless scenes of wild sublimity, - Thou who wert reared with sternest truth in groves of song, - To thy bare arm the grasp is given to hurl the bolts - Of wrathful heaven. ’Tis thine, with thundering voice to shake - Creation to her centre, wakening love or rage, - And show thyself as angels or as demons are. - Yea, thou didst seem, as at the shrine I saw thee kneel, - With that bold brow of thine, like some creation bright - From higher spheres breathing thy inspiration there, - As if the Altar’s flame itself had lit thine eye - With all the dazzling radiance of the Deity. - Go forth. Already round thy brow the wreath of fame - Amidst thy godlike locks with classic grace is curled. - Go forth, and shine, the Sun of the dramatic world! - - R. M. WARD. - -The next piece, in which he is associated with his friend Halleck, is -dated 1830: - - - TO EDWIN FORREST. - - When genius, with creative fancy fraught, - Moulds some new being for the sphere of thought, - How the soul triumphs as, supremely blest, - She opes her temple to the welcome guest, - And her white pulses feel, with answering glow, - The kindred breath of the young presence flow! - - Such moments, bright as hours in heaven that bring - To spirits life, a pure and deathless thing, - Cheer him who, warm with poesy’s true flame, - Rears in his bower of song the birds of fame; - He whose wreathed locks the lyric laurels wear - Green with immortal dew and cloudless air; - Whose harp-chords wildly echoed back the swell - Of glory’s clarion when BOZZARIS fell,— - Thus knew his human fancies grow divine, - And poured their spirit o’er the happy line. - - Yet not alone the sons of song can feel - This joy along the grateful senses steal. - To him who, musing, waits at Nature’s throne, - And feels, at last, her wealth become his own, - Then with the priceless gold, thought, passion, heart, - And feeling, tempers to the test of art, - Blends these with poesy’s mysterious spell - Strange as the sigh of ocean’s rosy shell, - No less belong the triumph-throb, the pride - To mind-ennobling sympathies allied, - The deep emotion, and the rapture free; - And these, O Forrest, we behold in thee! - - Who e’er has marked thine eye, thy matchless mien, - While, all forgetful of the mimic scene, - Spurning the formal, manner-taught control, - Thou bar’st the fire that lightens in the soul, - Has deemed there moved the form that Shakspeare drew - From visions bright with passion’s warmest hue, - As, wildly garbed in awful tragic guise, - MACBETH, OTHELLO, LEAR, he saw arise. - - When the last outrage of oppression falls - On man enthralled by man, and Freedom calls - Some champion to flash her steel where’er, - Bloody and black, death, shrieking, hovers near, - Who can portray like thee the throe of hate - Which warns the tyrant of his dreadful fate? - Who image forth th’ exalted agony - Of strife and maddening hope of victory? - There thrills an echo of the pulse, the tone, - That universal man exults to own, - A voice which teaches craven souls that War - For right than guilty Peace is holier far; - Nor suffers them to breathe and pass away - As dust that ne’er forsook its primal clay. - -The lines that follow next were printed in 1852, after the divorce -trial: - - - TO EDWIN FORREST. - - In every soul where Poesy and Beauty find a place, - Thy image, Forrest, sits enshrined in majesty and grace. - Could but the high and mighty bard, whose votary thou art, - Have seen with what a matchless power thou swayest the human heart, - He too had bowed beneath the spell and owned thy wondrous sway, - And bound thy brow with laurel, and with flowers strewn thy way. - - The clouds of grief that for a time obscured thy brilliant morn, - Like to the envious shadows that would dim the rising sun, - Meridian’s fame has put to flight. Cast not thy glances back, - But in the light of fearless genius hold thine onward track. - - MARGARET BARNETT. - -This sonnet was written in the same year: - - - TO EDWIN FORREST. - - King of the tragic art! without compeer! - Thy sway is sovereign in the scenic realm; - And where thy sceptre waves, or nods thy helm, - All crowd to be thy royal presence near. - Thou speakest,—we are stilled; the solemn Past, - Rich with grand thought, and filled with noble men - Over whose lives and deeds time’s veil is cast, - Rises to view, and they do live again! - While thou dost tread life’s stage, thy lofty fame, - Undimmed, shall grow, and be the drama’s pride - Centuries hence, when all shall see thy name - Carved deep and high her noblest names beside; - And, with the noblest placed, will aye be found, - In Thespis’ fane, thy statue, laurel-crowned! - - R. H. BACON. - -Here is a tribute penned in 1862, in the midst of our civil war: - - - EDWIN FORREST AS “DAMON.” - - Great master of the tragic art, - Whose genius moves the passions’ spring, - To melt the eye and warm the heart - With love of virtue, hate of sin, - Is it our nation’s bleeding fate - That gives thee such heroic fire - Singly to brave the Senate’s hate - And faith for country’s good inspire? - Yes; ’tis not all the mimic scene - We view when now beholding thee; - The heart-strung voice and earnest mien - Of “Damon” breathe pure liberty. - The test of friendship true is there; - But hope for freedom more than life - Starts the usurping tyrant near— - Pleads for the boy—weeps for the wife. - O art divine! when Forrest brings - His matchless eloquence to bear, - Denouncing treason’s poisonous stings, - While for his loved land falls the tear, - The temple of the Muses, filled - With beauty, fashion, youth, and age, - Proves admiration for the skilled - And perfect artist of the stage. - - G. C. HOWARD. - -And a year later the following eloquent verses were published by their -author in the Philadelphia “Press:” - - - FORREST. - - Pride of the Grecian art, - King of the glorious act, - Whose sceptre-touch can start - From airiest fancy fact! - Sole monarch of the stage! - Thy crowning is the truth - That garners unto age - The laurel-wreaths of youth. - Were massive mien or mould - Of Thespian gods divine - E’er richer in the gold - Of Thespian grace than _thine_? - A voice that thrills the soul - Through all her trembling keys, - From deepening organ-roll - To flute-born symphonies; - An eye that gleams the light - Of Tragedy’s quick fire, - And soul that sweeps aright - Each grandest poet-lyre,— - These into living thought, - FORREST! in thee sublime - The Thespian gods have wrought, - A masterpiece for Time! - - Not from the clods of earth - ’Mid grovelling toil and strife - Thy GENIUS hailed her birth - To all her peerless life; - Her viewless home hath been - Where Poesy hath flung - Its sweetest words to win - The music of thy tongue! - How Manhood’s honor rose, - How perished Woman’s shame, - When robed in worth and woes - Thine own VIRGINIUS came! - How Freedom claims a peal - And Tyranny a knell - When BRUTUS waves the steel - Where Slave and Tarquin fell! - When SPARTACUS leads on - Each gladiator-blade, - Or feudal tyrants fawn - To lion-hearted CADE,— - How every listening heart - its narrow span, - And, in that glorious art, - Adores the peerless man! - - But dearer than the rest - We own thy mystic spell - To lave the lingering breast - Where Avon’s sweetness fell! - To marshal from the page - And summon from the pen - Of SHAKSPEARE, to _thy_ stage, - His living, breathing men! - No longer Shakspeare’s line, - But _studious_ gaze controls; - It girds and gilds from _thine_ - The multitude of souls! - While Genius claims a crown, - Or mimic woe a tear, - Paled be the envious frown - And dumb the cynic sneer - That barreth from thy heart - Or veileth from thy name - The loftiest, grandest part - Of histrionic FAME! - - C. H. B. - -A single sonnet more shall end these examples of the poetic tributes to -the genius and worth of Forrest; tributes which, adding lustre to his -career and shedding comfort and joy into his heart, were and are one of -the most attractive illustrations of the value and sweetness of the -prize of fame: - - - ON ROOT’S DAGUERREOTYPE OF MR. FORREST. - - Light-born, and limned by Heaven! It is no cheat, - No image; but himself, his living shade! - With hurried pulse, the heart leaps forth to greet - The man who merits more than Tully said - Of his own Roscius, that the histrion’s power - Was but a leaf amid his garland wreath. - His swaying spirit ruled the magic hour, - But his vast virtues knew no day, no death. - He seems not now, but is. And I do know, - Or think I do, what meaning from those lips - Would break; and on that bold and manly brow - There hangs a light that knows not an eclipse, - The light of a true soul. If art can give - The bodied soul this life, who doubts the soul will live? - - ROBERT T. CONRAD. - -Public and private banquets were given in honor of the actor by -distinguished men in all parts of the country, occasions drawing -together brilliant assemblages and yielding the highest enjoyment to -every faculty of sense and soul. To meet around the social table, decked -with everything that wealth and taste can command, the most eminent -members of the learned professions, artists, authors, statesmen, the -leaders of the business world, beautiful and accomplished women, and -pass the hours in friendly converse seasoned with every charm of culture -and wit, is one of the choicest privileges society can bestow in -recognition and reward of worth and celebrity. Among the more notable of -these honors may be mentioned as especially brilliant and locally -conspicuous at the time a dinner given him at Detroit by General Lewis -Cass, one at Cincinnati by his old friend James Taylor, one at New -Orleans by a committee of the leading citizens, including some of his -early admirers, and, later, one at Washington by his intimate and -esteemed friend Colonel Forney, then Clerk of the House of -Representatives. During one of his engagements in Washington he dined -with a distinguished company under the princely auspices of Henry Clay. -The great Kentuckian, in allusion to Pierre Soulé, a Louisiana Senator, -who was a passionate orator but wanting, perhaps, in sobriety of -judgment and steadiness of character, said to one of the guests, “A mere -actor, sir, a mere actor!” At that instant chancing to catch the eye of -Forrest, he promptly added, with the courteous grace of self-possession -and winsome eloquence native to his thoroughbred soul, “I do not allude, -Mr. Forrest, when I use the word actor thus demeaningly, to those men of -genius who impersonate the great characters of Shakspeare and the other -immortal dramatists, holding the very mirror of truth up to nature; I -refer to the man who in real life affects convictions and plays parts -foreign to his soul.” - -At a banquet given in honor of John Howard Payne, the first vice- -president, Prosper M. Wetmore, an old and dear friend of Forrest, paid -him a compliment which, received as it was by the brilliant company with -three times three enthusiastic cheers, must have given him a proud -pleasure. Mr. Wetmore said, “Before mentioning the name of the gentleman -whose health I am about to ask you to drink, I take this opportunity to -say a word in relation to the generosity of his heart and the richness -of his mind. He was one of the very first who took an interest in the -festival of Thursday last, and kindly offered his name and services to -add to the attractions of the evening. He has always been the foremost -to do his share in honoring our sons of genius; and his purse has never -been shut against the meritorious who stood in need of his bounty. His -talents as an actor you all know and appreciate. Allow me to give you— -Edwin Forrest: - - “His health; and would on earth there stood - Some more of such a frame, - That life might be all poetry, - And weariness a name.” - -Such as above described were the satisfactions afforded to Forrest by -his fame. They are what thousands have vainly wished to win, fondly -believing that if they could gain them they should be happy indeed. But -to these advantages there are drawbacks, corresponding to these prizes -there are penalties, which were experienced by Forrest in all their -varieties of bitterness. The evils which dog the goods of public life, -as their shadows, went far to disenchant him, to sour him, to make him -turn sadly and resentfully into himself away from the lures and shams of -society. - -To any man of honorable instincts, clear perceptions, and high -principles, the incompetency, corruption, and selfish biases of many of -those who assume to sit in judgment on the claims of the competitors for -public favor and glory, the shallowness and fickleness of the average -public itself, the contemptible means successfully used by ignoble -aspirants for their own advancement and the defeat of their rivals, the -frequent reaction of their own modesty and high-mindedness to obscure -and keep down the most meritorious, have a strong influence to rob -ambition of its power, destroy all the relish of its rewards, and make -fame seem worthless or even odious. Critics write in utter ignorance of -the laws of criticism or standards of judgment, and even without having -seen the performance they presume to approve or to condemn. Claqueurs -are hired to clap one and to hiss another irrespective of merit or -demerit. Wreaths, bouquets, rings, jewelled snuff-boxes, are purchased -by actors or actresses themselves, through confederates, to be then -presented to them in the name of an admiring public. A vase or cup or -watch has been known to go with a popular performer from city to city to -be presented to him over and over with eulogistic addresses of his own -composition. A brazen politician, successful in compassing a nomination -and election by shameless wire-pulling, mendacity, and bribery, then -receives the tribute of an ostentatious testimonial of which he is -himself the secret originator and prime manager. No one who has not had -long experience of the world and been admitted behind the scenes, with -the keys for interpreting appearances, can suspect how common such -things are. They are terribly disheartening and repulsive to a generous -soul. They destroy the splendor and value of the outward prizes of -existence, and thus paralyze the grandest motives of action. When fools, -charlatans, and swindlers carry off honors, then wisdom, genius, and -heroism are tempted to despise honors. When the owl is umpire in a -contest of song between the donkey and the nightingale, and awards the -prize to the brayer, the lark and the mocking-bird may well decline to -enter the lists. - -In the fashionable rage for Master Betty, Kemble and Siddons were quite -neglected; as the levee of Tom Thumb drew a throng of the nobility and -fashion of London while poor Haydon, across the street, watched them -with a gnawing heart from the door of his deserted exhibition. Cowper -says in his “Task,”— - - “For Betty the boy - Did strut and storm and straddle, stamp and stare, - And show the world how Garrick did not act.” - -When, with pompous incompetency, Lord Abercorn told Mrs. Siddons that -“that boy would yet eclipse everything which had been called acting in -England,” she quietly replied, with crushing knowledge, “My lord, he is -a very clever, pretty boy, but nothing more.” Garrick said it was the -lot of actors to be alternately petted and pelted. And Kemble, when -congratulated on the superb honors given him at his final adieu to the -stage, responded, “It was very fine, but then I could not help -remembering that without any cause they were once going to burn my -house.” Genius and nobility naturally love fame, worship the public, -would pour out their very life-blood to gain popular sympathy and -admiration; but after such experiences of baseness and wrong and error -the fascination flies from the prizes they had adored as so sacred, and -never more do their souls leap and burn with the old enthusiasm of their -unsophisticated days. The injustice of the world drives from it the love -and homage of its noblest children. - -Parasites and egotists seek association with a famous man merely to -gratify their vanity, though they call it friendship. They fawn on him -to share a reflection of his glory, to reap advantage from his -influence, or to beg loans of his money; and when circumstances unmask -their characters and show how they were preying on his frankness, he is -revolted and his confidence in human nature shaken. Many a man of a -sweet and loving nature, like the noble Timon, has gone out to the world -with throbbing heart and open arms, and, met with selfishness and -treachery, reacted into despair and hate. One of the penalties of a -great reputation with its personal following is to be annoyed by -sycophants, toadies, the impertinent curiosity of a miscellaneous throng -who have neither genuine appreciation for talent nor sincere love for -excellence, but a pestiferous instinct for boring and preying. Mrs. -Siddons, bereaved of her children amidst her great fame, was so annoyed -by worrying interruptions, assailed by envy, slandered by enemies, and -vexed by parasites, that she breathed the deepest wishes of her soul in -these lines: - - “Say, what’s the brightest wreath of fame, - But cankered buds that opening close? - Ah, what the world’s most pleasing dream, - But broken fragments of repose? - - “Lead me where peace with steady hand - The mingled cup of life shall hold, - Where time shall smoothly pour his sand, - And wisdom turn that sand to gold. - - “Then haply at religion’s shrine - This weary heart its load shall lay, - Each wish my fatal love resign, - And passion melt in tears away.” - -The falsehood, the injustice, the plots, insincerity and triviality that -gather about the surfaces and course of a showy popular career Forrest -experienced in their full extent. He was not deceived by them, but saw -through them. They repelled and disgusted him, angered and depressed -him. They did not make him a misanthrope, but they chilled his demeanor, -hardened his face, checked the trustfulness of his sympathy, and gave -him an increasing distaste for convivial scenes and an increased liking -for his library and the chosen few in whom he could fully confide. He -was a man who esteemed justice and sincerity above all things else. -Flattery or interested eulogy he detested as much as he did venal -prejudice and blame. He loathed the unmeaning, conventional praises of -the journals, the polite compliments of acquaintances or strangers, but -was glad of all honest estimates. His dignity kept him from mingling -with the audience as they conversed on their way out of the theatre, but -he loved to hear what they said when it was repeated by one whom he -could trust. Nothing more surely proves that deep elements of love and -pride instead of shallow vanity and selfishness formed the basis of his -character than the fact that he hated to mix in great companies, either -public or private, where he was known and noticed, but loved to mingle -with the population of the streets, with festive multitudes, where, -unrecognized, he could look on and enter into their ways and pleasures. -“It is a great feat,” he used to say, “to resist the temptations of our -friends.” He did it when he withdrew from the obstreperous enthusiasm of -those who adulated him while revelling at his expense and shouting, “By -heaven, Forrest, you are an institution!”—forsaking them, and giving -himself exclusively to nature, his art, his books, and his disinterested -friends. - -The practice of the arts of purchasing unearned praise, the tricks of -the mean to circumvent the noble, the accredited verdicts of titled -ignorance, and the fickle superficiality of popular favor, lessen the -value of common fame in the eyes of all who understand these things. -They foul its prizes and repel ingenuous spirits from its pursuit. The -same influence is exerted in a yet stronger degree by the experience of -the malignant envy awakened in plebeian natures by the sight of the -success of others contrasted with their own failure. It was long ago -remarked that - - “With fame in just proportion envy grows; - The man that makes a character makes foes.” - -The selfishness—not to say the innate depravity—of human nature, as -transmitted by historic inheritance, is such that every one who has not -been regenerated by the reception or culture of a better spirit secretly -craves a monopoly of the goods which command his desires. He dislikes -his competitors, and would gladly defeat their designs and appropriate -every waiting laurel to himself. In 1865 Forrest wrote, in a letter to -Oakes, “Yes, my dear friend, there are many in this world who take -pleasure in the misfortunes of their fellow-men and gloat over the -miseries of their neighbors. And their envy, hatred, and malice are -always manifested most towards men of positive natures.” - -Souls of a generous type leave this base temper behind, and rejoice in -the glory of a rival as if it were their own. But mean souls, so far -from taking a disinterested delight in the spectacle of triumphant -genius or valor justly crowned with what it has justly won, are filled -with pain at the sight, a pain obscenely mixed up with fear and hate. -Wherever they see an illustrious head they would fain strike it down or -spatter it with mud. Their perverse instincts regard every good of -another as so much kept from them. There was a powerful passage in the -play of Jack Cade which Forrest used to pronounce with tremendous -effect, ingravidating every word with his own bitter experience of its -truth: - - “Life’s story still! all would o’ertop their fellows; - And every rank, the lowest, hath its height, - To which hearts flutter with as large a hope - As princes feel for empire! but in each - Ambition struggles with a sea of hate. - He who sweats up the ridgy grades of life - Finds in each station icy scorn above; - Below him, hooting envy!” - -The extent to which this dark and malign power operates in the breasts -of men is fearful. The careless see it not, the innocent suspect it not; -carefully disguising itself under all sorts of garbs, it dupes the -superficial observer. But the wise and earnest student of human life who -has had large experience knows that it is almost omnipresent. In every -walk of society, every profession,—even in the Church and among the -clergy,—are men who fear and hate their superiors simply because they -are superior, and the inferiors feel themselves obscured and taunted by -the superiority. A good free man loves to reverence a superior, feels -himself blessed and helped in looking up. But the slave of egotism and -envy feels elevated and enriched only in looking down on those he -fancies less favored than himself. It is a frightful and disheartening -phase of human nature; but it ought to be recognized, that we may be -guarded against it in others and stimulated to outgrow it in ourselves. - -No other profession is so beset by the temptations and trials of this -odious spirit as the histrionic, which lives directly in the public -gaze, feeding on popular favor. And among all the actors America has -produced, no other had so varied, so intense and immense an experience -of the results of it as Forrest. He wrote these sad and caustic words in -his old age: “For more than forty years the usual weapons of abuse, -ridicule, and calumny have been unceasingly levelled at me, personally -and professionally, by envious associates, by ungrateful friends turned -traitors, by the hirelings of the press, and by a crowd of causeless -enemies made such by sheer malignity.” In a speech made twenty-two years -previously in the Walnut Street Theatre, in response to a call before -the curtain, he had said, “I thank you with all my heart for this -glorious and generous reception. In the midst of my trials it is -gratifying to be thus sustained. I have been assailed, ladies and -gentlemen, by a fiendish combination of enemies, who, not content with -striking at my professional efforts, have let loose their calumnies upon -my private character and invaded the sacred precincts of my home. Apart -from the support of my ardent and cherished friends is the consciousness -that I possess a reputation far dearer than all the professional honors -that the world could bestow,—a reputation which is dearer to me than -life itself. I will therefore pursue unawed the even tenor of my way. I -will, with God’s blessing, live down the calumnies that would destroy me -with my countrymen; and, turning neither to the right hand nor to the -left hand, will fearlessly toil to preserve to the last the reputation -of an honest and independent American citizen.” - -To a man of his keen feeling and proud self-respect it must have been a -torture to read the studiously belittling estimates, the satires, the -insults, the slanderous caricatures continually published in the -newspapers under the name of criticism. No wonder they stirred his rage -and poisoned his repose, as they wounded his heart, offended his -conscience, and made him sometimes shrink from social intercourse and -sicken of the world. One critic says, “He is an injury to the stage. He -has established a bad school for the young actors who are all imitating -him. He has a contempt for genius and a disrelish for literature.” -Against this extract, pasted in one of his scrap-books, Forrest had -written, “Oh! oh!” A second writes, “It is impossible for us to admit -that a man of Mr. Forrest’s intelligence can take pleasure in making of -himself a silly spectacle for the amusement of the ignorant and the -sorrow and pity of the educated. We prefer to believe that it is even a -greater pain for him to play Metamora than it is for us to see him play -it. In that case, how great must be his anguish!” A third philosophizes -thus on his playing: “The best performances of Mr. Forrest are those -tame readings of ordinary authors which offer no opportunity for -enormous blunders. In the flat, dreary regions of the commonplace he -walks firmly. But he climbs painfully up Shakspeare as a blind man would -climb a mountain, continually tumbling over precipices without seeming -to know it. He shocks our sensibilities, astonishes our judgment, -bewilders and offends us; and this is at least excitement, if not -entertainment. But his Brutus is a remarkably stupid performance. The -only way in which he can redeem its stupidity is to make it worse; and -if he wants to do this he must inspire it with the spirit of his Hamlet -or his Othello.” A fourth makes malicious sport at his expense in this -manner: “Mr. Forrest excels every tragedian we remember in one grand -achievement. He can snort better than any man on the stage. It is an -accomplishment which must have cost him much labor, and of which he is -doubtless proud, for he introduces it whenever he gets a chance. His -snort in Hamlet is tremendous; but that dying, swan-like note, which -closes the career of the Gladiator, is unparalleled in the whole history -of his sonorous and tragic nose. It must be heard, not described. We can -only say that when he staggers in, with twenty mortal murders on his -crown, with a face hideous with gore, and falls dying on the stage, he -sounds a long, trumpet-like wail of dissolution, which is the most -supernaturally appalling sound we ever heard from any nose, either of -man or brute.” And a fifth caps the climax by calling him “A herculean -murderer of Shakspeare!” So did a critic say of Garrick, on the eve of -his retirement, “His voice is hoarse and hollow, his dimples are -furrows, his neck hideous, his lips ugly, especially the upper one, -which is raised all at once like a turgid piece of leather.” “He is a -grimace-maker, a haberdasher of wry faces, a hypocrite who laughs and -cries for hire!” Well might Byron exclaim,— - - “Hard is his fate on whom the public gaze - Is fixed forever to detract or praise.” - -A servile fawning on the press, a cowardly fear of its censures, a -tremulous sensitiveness to its comments, is one of the chief weaknesses -of American society. Its unprincipled meddlesomeness, tyranny, and -cruelty are thus pampered. A quiet ignoring of its impertinence or its -slander is undoubtedly the course most conducive to comfort on the part -of one assailed. But the man who has the independence and the courage -publicly to call his wanton assailant to account and prosecute him, even -though shielded by all the formidable immunities of an editorial chair, -sets a good example and does a real service to the whole community. -Every American who values his personal freedom should crown with his -applause the American who seizes an insolent newspaper by the throat and -brings it to its knees; for unkind and unprincipled criticism is the -bane of the American people. The antidote for this bane is personal -independence supported by personal conscience and honor in calm defiance -of all prying and censorious espionage. This would produce individual -distinction, raciness, and variety, resulting in an endless series of -personal ranks, with perfect freedom of circulation among them all; -whereas the two chief exposures of a democracy are individual envy and -social cowardice, yielding the double evil of universal rivalry and -universal truckling, and threatening to end in a dead level of conceited -mediocrity. The envy towards superiors which De Tocqueville showed to be -the cardinal vice of democracy finds its worst vent in the newspaper -press, which assails almost every official in the country with the -foulest accusations. Are these writers destitute of patriotism and of -faith in humanity? Are they ignorant of the fact that if they convince -the public that their superiors are all corrupt the irresistible reflex -influence of the conviction will itself corrupt the whole public? - -That American citizen who has original manhood and lives a fresh, honest -life of his own, regardless of the dictation of King Caucus or Queen -Average,—the most heartless and vulgar despots that ever reigned,—sets -the bravest of examples and teaches the most needed of lessons. Fenimore -Cooper did this, criticising the errors and defects of his fellow- -citizens as an enthusiastic and conscientious patriot should who sets -humanity and truth above even country and fashion, and in consequence he -was misunderstood, lampooned, and insulted by the baser newspapers, and -finally, after one or two hundred libel suits, hounded into his grave. -If they ever come to their senses, his repentant countrymen will one day -build him a monument. Forrest was much this sort of man. He asserted -himself, resented and defied dictation, and wanted others to do the -same. He secured at different times a verdict with damages against the -proprietors of four newspapers, and threatened libel suits against three -others, which he withdrew on receiving ample public apology. The apology -given in one instance, where he had been professionally abused and -personally accused of drunkenness, is of so exemplary a character that -it ought to be preserved. And here it is: - -“It will perhaps be remembered by most of our readers that Mr. Edwin -Forrest brought a libel suit against the proprietors of this paper for -articles which appeared in our issues of 10th, 17th, and 24th of -November, 1867. The solicitations and representations of mutual friends -have induced Mr. Forrest generously to consent to the withdrawal of the -case. Under these circumstances it becomes our duty as it is our -pleasure, to express our regret at the publication of the articles in -question. - -“The articles complained of were, we frankly admit, beyond the limits of -dramatic criticism; and the present proprietors, who saw them for the -first time when printed, were at the time and still are sincerely sorry -they appeared. Though not personally acquainted with Mr. Forrest, we do -know, what the world knows, that he has always been prompt and faithful -in his professional engagements; and his bitterest enemies, if he have -any, must admit that he is not only eminent in his profession but -especially free from the vice of intemperance.” - -The newspaper attack from which he suffered the most was so peculiar in -some of its features as to demand mention. In 1855 a series of elaborate -critiques on his chief rôles appeared in a leading metropolitan journal. -They were so scholarly, careful, and strong in their analysis of the -plays, and so cutting in their strictures on the player, that they -attracted wide attention and did him much damage. Now, two hands were -concerned in these articles. The learning, thought, and eloquence were -furnished by a German of uncommon scholarship and talent, who deeply -felt the power and merit of Forrest as an actor and considered him a man -of accomplished dramatic genius. The articles, as he wrote them, were -then padded with demeaning epithets and scurrilous estimates of Forrest -by one who was filled with prejudices theoretical and personal. Could -Forrest have totally disregarded the articles, fortified in a -magnanimous serenity, it had been well. He could not do it. He took them -home with extreme pain and with extreme wrath, intensely resenting their -injustice and their unkindness. This is a specimen of what is inflicted -and suffered in the battle of public life. It tempts one to say, Blessed -is the man who escapes all publicity, and lives and loves and dies -happily in private! No doubt, however, it is best to say, with the grand -old Faliero,— - - “I will be what I should be, or be nothing.” - -His long, crowded experience of unfairness and unkindness deposited in -Forrest a burning grudge against the world, a fierce animosity towards -his injurers, an angry recoil of self-esteem, and a morbid exaggeration -of the real vices of society. In one of his letters to a friend he -writes, “This human life is a wretched failure, and the sooner -annihilation comes to it the better.” An old poet makes one of his -characters who had been deeply wronged say,— - - “I will instruct my sorrows to be proud, - For grief is proud and makes his owner stout.” - -Mrs. Montagu wrote to John Philip Kemble under similar circumstances, -“If you retire, from an opinion that mankind are insincere, ungrateful, -and malignant, you will grow proud by reflecting that you are not like -these Pharisees.” How such an opinion in Forrest marred his peace of -mind and rankled in his general feelings—although much kindliness to men -and much enjoyment of life still remained—was obvious enough in his -later years, and is vividly expressed in many of his letters. “It would -amaze and shock the honest, upright people of this country,” he writes, -“could they but know as I do how these sage judges, these benign law- -peddlers, are manipulated by outsiders to give any decree that malice -and money may demand.” Again he writes, “I have all my life been cheated -and preyed on by harpies, right and left. While they have enjoyed my -money and maligned me I have toiled on for the next batch of swindlers. -I have squandered more than a quarter of a million dollars on friends -who, with a few noble exceptions, have returned my kindness not only -with ingratitude but with obloquy.” And at another time he says still -more at length, “Whatever my enemies may say of me—be it good or bad— -matters but little. I would not buy their mercy at the price of one fair -word. I claim no exemption from the infirmities of my temper, which are -doubtless many. But I would not exchange the honest vices of my blood -for the nefarious hypocrisies and assumed virtues of my malignant -detractors. I am no canting religionist, and I cordially hate those who -have wronged and backbitten me. I have—yes, let me own that I have—a -religion of hate; not of revenge, for while I detest I would not injure. -I have a hatred of oppression in whatever shape it may appear,—a hatred -of hypocrisy, falsehood, and injustice,—a hatred of bad and wicked men -and women,—and a hatred of my enemies, for whom I have no forgiveness -excepting through their own repentance of the injuries they have done -me. I have never flattered the blown-up fool above me nor crushed the -wretch beneath me. - - “‘I have not caused the widow’s tear, - Nor dimmed the orphan’s eye; - I have not stained the virgin years, - Nor mocked the mourner’s cry.’” - -“As for those who misjudge and mislike me, I hate and defy them, and -appeal for justice to Nature and God, confident that they will one day -grant it.” - -These expressions but too plainly reveal the sore places in his heart. -Ah, could he but have attained a sweet and magnanimous self- -sufficingness, frankly forgiven and forgotten his foes, and outgrown all -those chronic contempts and resentments,—could he but have turned his -thoughts away from brooding over the vices of men, and dwelt -prevailingly on the other side of the picture of the world,—how much -more peaceful and dignified and happy his age would have been! But this -is hardly to be expected of one passionately struggling in the emulous -arena, his veins swollen with hot blood in which still runs the barbaric -tradition, An eye for an eye, and a tooth for a tooth. To expurgate that -old animal tradition and introduce in its place the saintly principle of -forgiveness needs patient suffering and leisurely culture grafted on a -fine spirit. When this result is secured, man rises superior to wrong, -to enmity, to disgrace, is content to do his duty and fulfil his destiny -in the love of truth and humanity, sure that every one will at last be -rewarded after his deserts, and letting the cruel or ridiculous caprices -of fortune and fame pass by him as unregarded as the idle wind. - -It would not be fair to the truth of the case if this chapter left the -impression that Forrest found on the whole the penalties of his fame -bitterer to bear than its prizes were sweet to enjoy. The opposite was -the fact. The annoyances attendant on his great reputation alloyed but -destroyed not the comfort it yielded in its varied tributes and in its -vast supporting sense of sympathetic life. Besides, the very vexations -consequent on it were often accompanied by their own outweighing -compensations. Sallying out of the Tremont House in Boston, one -forenoon, arm in arm with his friend Oakes, and passing down Washington -Street, his attention was caught by a hideous caricature of himself in a -shop-window. A group of boys were gazing at it in great merriment. “Good -heavens, Oakes,” he cried, “just look at that infernal thing! It is -enough to make one curse the day he was born.” At that moment one of the -boys recognized him, and exclaimed to the others, “Here he is!” Forrest -whispered to his friend, “Boys are impartial; they have not the -prejudices men have. I am going to ask them their opinion. Look here, -boys, do I look like that?” One of them, a little older than the rest, -answered, promptly, “Well, we knew that it was you; but then you see -there is this difference,—this makes us laugh, and you make us cry.” -“Thank you, my lad, thank you,” responded Forrest, “Come on, Oakes; I -have got better than I bargained for. My enemy when he produced that -beastly monstrosity little dreamed what a pleasure he was going to give -me.” And, as they swung slowly along, he said, half musingly, “I wonder -why they always degrade me by caricature and never exalt me by -idealization.” The solution, which he left unattempted, is this. -Caricature is the exaggeration of bad points, idealization is the -heightening of good points. It is much easier to make the bad appear -worse than it is to make the good appear better. Man intuitively likes -to attempt what he feels he can succeed in, and dislikes to attempt what -he feels he shall fail in. Therefore, when commonplace natures represent -their superiors they lower them by travesty rather than raise them by -improvement. And so in critical art caricature abounds over -idealization. - - - - - CHAPTER XIX. -FRIENDSHIPS.—THEIR ESSENTIAL NATURE AND DIFFERENT LEVELS.—THEIR LOSS AND - GAIN, GRIEF AND JOY. - - -In addition to the satisfaction yielded by his professional triumphs, -the growth of his fortune, the enjoyment of his health and strength, his -taste for literature, his delight in nature, his love of country, and -the tributes of his fame, there was another element in the life of -Forrest which was of eminent importance, the source of a great deal of -comfort and not a little pain,—his friendships. Some sketch of this -portion and aspect of his experience must be essayed, though it will -perforce be a brief and poor one because these delicate concerns of the -heart are shy and elusive, leaving few records of themselves as they -glide secretly to oblivion enriching only the responsive places which -they bless and hallow as they pass. There are many histories which no -historian writes, and the inmost trials and joys of the soul are mostly -of them. - -Friendship, in our times, is more thought about and longed for than it -is talked of, and more talked of than experienced. Yet the experience -itself of men differs vastly according to their characters, situations, -and companions. To some, in their relations with humanity, the world is -made up of strangers; they have neither acquaintances, enemies, nor -friends. To some it consists of enemies alone. To a few it holds only -friends. But to most men it is divided into four groups,—a wilderness of -strangers, a throng of acquaintances, a snarl of enemies, and a knot of -friends. Among the members of this larger class the chief distinctions -lie in the comparative number and fervor of their lovers and of their -haters, and in the comparative space they themselves assign to their -experience respectively of sympathy and of antipathy. Some men pursued -by virulent foes have the gracious faculty and habit of ignoring their -existence, giving predominant attention to congenial persons, and -forgetting annoyances in the charm of diviner employment. Others are -continually infested by persecutions and resentments as by a species of -diabolical vermin which tarnish the brightness of every prize, destroy -the worth of every boon, and foster a chronic irritation in -consciousness. To hate enemies with barbaric pertinacity of -unforgivingness tends to this latter result, while to love friends with -frank and joyous surrender tends to the former. Both the sinister and -the benign experience were well illustrated in the life of Forrest, who -had sympathetic companionship richly and enjoyed it deeply, although he -was pestered by a mob of parasites, censors, and assailants whom he -religiously abhorred and loathed. Hostility filled a large, dark, sad, -cold place in his history, friendship a prominent, bright, warm, and -happy place. The two facts have their equal lesson,—one of warning, one -of example. Blessed is the fortunate man who cherishes his friends with -loving enthusiasm, but never has a single grudge or fear or sneer for a -foe. - -The universal interest felt in the subject of friendship—the strange -fascination the story of any ardent and noble instance of it has for all -readers,—the intense longing for such an experience which exists -explicit or latent in the centre of every heart in spite of all the -corrupting and hardening influences of the world—is a pathetic signal of -the mystery of our nature and a profound prophecy of our destiny. It -means that no man is sufficient unto himself, but must find a complement -in another. It means that man was not made to be alone, but must -supplement himself with his fellows. The final significance of -friendship—whereof love itself is but a specialized and intensified -variety—is an almost unfathomable deep, but it would appear to be this. -Every man in the structure and forces of his physical organism is an -epitome of all Nature, a living mirror of the material universe; and in -the faculties and desires of his soul he is a revelation of the Creator, -a conscious image of God. As the ancients said, man is a little universe -in the great universe,—_microcosmos in macrocosmo_. But every one of -these divine microcosms has a central indestructible originality -differencing it from all the rest. This is the eternal essence or monad -of its personality, which reflects in its own peculiar forms and colors -the substances and lights and shades of the whole. Thence arises that -inexhaustible charm of idiosyncrasy, that everlasting play and shimmer -of individual qualities, which constitutes the lure for all pursuit, the -zest wherewith all life antidotes the monotonous bane of sameness and -death. Now the secret of friendship becomes clear in the light of these -statements. First, it is the destiny of every man eternally to epitomize -in his own being the universe of matter and mind,—in other words, to be -an intelligent focal point in the surrounding infinitude of nature and -the interior infinitude of God. Secondly, he is to recognize such an -epitome embodied and endlessly varied in the endless variety of other -men, all of whom are perfectly distinguishable from one another by -unnumbered peculiarities, every shape and tinge of their experience -determined by their personal moulds and tints. Thirdly, the entire life -of every person consists, in the last analysis, of a mutual -communication between his selfhood and that surrounding Whole made up of -everything which is not himself,—an interchange of action and reaction -between his infinitely concentrated soul and his infinitely expanded -environment. Fourthly, when two men, two of these intellectual and -sentient microcosms, meet, so adjusted as mutually to reflect each other -with all their contents and possibilities in sympathetic communion, -their life is perfected, their destiny is fulfilled, since the infinite -Unity of Being is revealed in each made piquant with the bewitching -relish of foreign individuality, and nothing more is required, save -immortality of career in boundless theatre of space, to round in the -drama with sempiternal adventures and surprises, as, beneath the -sleepless eye of the One, the Many hide and peep beneath their incarnate -masks in life after life and world beyond world. Thus the highest idea -of the experience of friendship is that it is God glimmering in and out -of the souls of the friends in revelation of their destiny,—as Plato -would say, the perpetually varied perception of the SAME under the -provocative and delightful disguise of the OTHER. And every lower idea -of it which has any truth is in connection with this and points up to -it,—from the revellers who entwine their cups and attune their glee, the -soldiers who stand side by side in battle, and the politicians who vote -the same ballot, to the thinkers who see the same truths and the martyrs -who die in allegiance to the same sentiment. Everywhere, on all its -ranges, friendship means communion of lives, sharing of thought and -feeling, co-operative fellowship of personalities, the reflection of one -consciousness in another. Those who meet only at the bottom of the scale -in sensual mirth should be able sometimes, at least by the aid of a -literary telescope, to see those who commingle at its top in immortal -faith and aspiration. - -Forrest possessed in a marked degree many of the qualities of a good -friend; although, of course, it is not pretended that he had the mental -disinterestedness, the refined spirituality, or the profound philosophic -and religious insight which calls one to the most exalted style and -height of friendship as it is celebrated for perpetual remembrance in -the In Memoriam of Tennyson. He was affectionate, quick of perception, -full of spontaneous sympathy and a deep and wide humanity, strictly -truthful, in the highest degree just in his principles and purposes -though often badly warped by prejudice, prompt in attention, retentive -in memory, and inflexibly faithful to his pledge. If he was proud, it -was not an arrogant and cruel pride, but a lofty self-assertion bottomed -on a sense of worth. And even in regard to his irascible temper, the -inflammability and explosiveness were on the surface of his mind, while -tenderness, justice, and magnanimity were in its depths, excepting where -some supposed meanness or wrong had caused hate to percolate there. The -keenness and tenacity of his feelings took effect alike in his -attractions and repulsions, so that he was as slow to forget a comrade -as he was to forgive a foe. In London he saw two carriage-dogs who had -been mates for years running along together, when one of them was -crushed by a wheel and killed. The other just glanced at him, and, -without deigning so much as to stop and smell of him, trotted on. From -the sight of this Forrest caught such a contempt for the whole breed of -carriage-dogs that he could never afterwards look at one without -disgust. It was hardly fair perhaps to spread over an entire race what -was the fault of one, but the impulse was generous. So long as any man -with whom he had once been friends behaved properly and treated him -justly he remained as true as steel to his fellowship. But open -dereliction from duty, or clear degradation of character, or, in -particular, any instance of baseness, cowardice, or treachery, moved his -scorn and anger and fatally alienated him. It will be remembered that -while yet a mere youth he played very successfully at Albany with Edmund -Kean, whose genius he idolized. After the play a man whom he had always -liked said to him, “Your Iago was better than Kean’s Othello.” Forrest -says, “I never spoke to that man again!” - -There was a strong feeling of kindness and admiration between him and -Silas Wright, the celebrated Democratic Senator from New York. The day -was once fixed for an important debate between Silas Wright and Daniel -Webster. Early in the morning a man who had seen Wright drinking deeply -and somewhat overcharged went to Webster and said, “You will have an -easy task to-day in overthrowing your adversary; he already reels.” -Indignant at the meanness of the remark, the great man frowned darkly -and answered in his sternest tones, “Sir, no man has an easy victory -over Silas Wright, drunk or sober,” and stalked away. Forrest used to -tell this anecdote with characteristic relish of the rebuke pride gave -impertinence. He could well appreciate traits of character and modes of -conduct which he did not profess to practise but openly repudiated for -himself. For instance, though he preferred truth to charity when they -were opposed, he often quoted with the warmest admiration the sentiment -uttered by some one on the death of Robert Burns: “Let his faults be -like swans’ feet, hid beneath the stream.” And he also once said, “The -finest eulogy I ever heard spoken of General Grant was, as uttered by an -old acquaintance of his, ‘He never forgot a friend nor remembered an -enemy.’ Ah, is not that beautiful? If it be justly said, as I am sorry -to say I very much doubt, it sets a grace around his head which he -himself could never set there.” It is certainly a very curious—though -not at all an extraordinary—illustration of human nature to set against -the above utterance of Forrest the following quotation from a letter of -his dated Syracuse, October 5, 1868: “I saw by the telegraphic news in -the paper this morning that George W. Jamieson was killed last night by -a railroad train at Yonkers. God is great; and justice, though slow, is -sure. Another scoundrel has gone to hell—I trust forever!” - -Of the very large number of friends Forrest had, his intimacy continued -to the end of life with but comparatively few. Fatal barriers and chill -spaces of separation came between him and a great many of them, caused -sometimes by mere lapse of time and pressure of occupation or removal of -residence and change of personal tastes, sometimes by alienating -disagreements and collisions of temper. These estrangements were so -numerous that he acquired the reputation of being a quarrelsome man and -hard to get along with, which was not altogether the fact. - -One class of his earlier friends were in many cases converted into -enemies on this wise. Boon companions are easy to have, but cheap, -superficial, fickle. Genuine friendship, on the other hand, generous -community of life and aspiration, co-operative pursuit and enjoyment of -the worthiest ends, is a rare and costly prize, requiring virtues and -imposing tasks. Multitudes therefore are tempted to put up with jovial -fellowship in the pleasures of the table and let the desire for an -ennobling intercourse of souls die out. The parasitic and treacherous -nature of most pot-fellowship is proverbial. How well Shakspeare paints -it in his version of Timon! When the eyes of the generous Athenian were -opened to the selfishness of his pretended friends he became so rankling -a misanthrope that the Greek Anthology gives us this as the epitaph -sculptured on his sepulchre: - - “Dost hate the earth or Hades worse! Speak clear! - Hades, O fool! There are more of us here.” - -Forrest was not many years in learning how shallow, how selfish, how -untrustworthy such comrades were. He had too much ambition, too much -earnestness and dignity to be satisfied with a worthless substitute for -a sacred reality. He would not let an ungirt indulgence of the senses in -conviviality take the place of a consentient action of congenial souls -in the enjoyment of excellence and the pursuit of glory. More and more, -therefore, he withdrew from these scenes of banqueting, story-telling, -and singing, and found his contentment more and more in books, in the -repose and reflection of solitude, and in the society of a select few. -The most of those whom he thus left to themselves resented his defection -from their ways, and repaid his former favor and bounty with personal -dislike and invidious speech. - -Another class of his quondam friends he broke with not on the ground of -their general principles and social habits but in consequence of some -particular individual offence in their individual character and conduct. -His standard for a friend—his standard of honesty, sincerity, and manly -fairness—was an exacting one, and he brooked no gross deviation from it. -When he believed, either correctly or incorrectly, that any associate of -his had wilfully violated that standard, he at once openly repudiated -his friendship and walked with him no more. In this way dark gaps were -made in the ranks of his temporary friends by the expulsion thence of -the satellites who preyed on his money, the actors who pirated his -plays, the debauchees who dishonored themselves, the companions who -betrayed his confidence and slandered his name. And thus the crowd of -his revengeful assailants was again swelled. A single example in -illustration of his conduct under such circumstances is marked by such -racy vigor that it must be here adduced. A man of great smartness and of -considerable distinction, with whom he had been especially intimate, but -whom, having discovered his unworthiness, he had discarded, sought to -reingratiate himself. Forrest wrote him this remarkable specimen of -terse English: - - “NEW YORK, January 14, 1859. - - “I hope the motives which led you to address me a note under date of - 13th inst. will never induce you to do so again. Attempts upon - either my credulity or my purse will be found alike in vain. No - person however malicious, as you assume to believe, could change my - opinion of you. Your intention to write a book is a matter which - rests entirely with yourself. May I, however, take the liberty of - suggesting that at this late day such a thing is not really needed, - to illustrate your character, to alter public opinion, nor to prove - to the world how great a dust can be raised by an ass out of place - in either diplomacy or literature? There is already enough known of - your career to prove that your task of becoming the apologist for a - prostitution which has girdled the globe is one congenial to your - tastes, fitted to your peculiar abilities, and coincident with your - antecedents even from your birth to the present day. - - “EDWIN FORREST.” - -Furthermore, an important circle of his most honored friends fell away -from Forrest under circumstances peculiarly trying to his feelings. All -those who in the time of his domestic unhappiness and the consequent -lawsuits sympathized with the lady and supported her cause against him -he regarded as having committed an unpardonable offence. He would never -again speak with one of them. It was a heavy defection. It inflicted -much suffering on him and bred a bitter sense of hostility towards them, -with a sad feeling of impoverishment. For the places they had occupied -in his heart and memory were thenceforth as so many closed and sealed -chambers of funereal gloom. - -But, after all the foregoing failures have been allowed for, there -remain in the life we are contemplating a goodly number of friendships -full of hearty sincerity and wholesome human helpfulness and joy,— -friendships unstained by vice, unbroken by quarrels, undestroyed by -years. Several of these have already been alluded to; especially the -supreme example in his opening manhood, his relations with the eloquent, -heroic, and generous William Leggett. Some account also has been given -of his endeared intimacy with James Lawson, who first greeted him on the -night of his first appearance in New York, and whose faithful attachment -to his person and interests grew closer and stronger to the day of his -death, never for an instant having seen the prospect of a breach or -known the shadow of a passing cloud. “My friend Lawson,” said Forrest, -when near his end, “is a gentleman on whom, as Duncan remarked of the -thane of Cawdor, I have always built an absolute trust. He has, in our -long communion of nigh fifty years, never failed me in a single point -nor deceived me by so much as a look, but has been as good and kind to -me as man can be to man.” Here is one of his letters: - - “PHILADELPHIA, Dec. 1, 1869. - - “DEAR LAWSON,—I am glad you like the notice of _Spartacus_. It was - written by our friend Forney, in his hearty and friendly spirit. - - “My dear friend Lawson, it is not money that I play for now, but the - excitement of the stage keeps me from rusting physically and - mentally. It drives away the canker care, and averts the progress of - decay. It is wholesome to be employed in ‘the labor we delight in.’ - What prolonged the life of Izaak Walton, but his useful employments, - which gave vigor to his mind and body, until mildly drew on the slow - necessity of death? I hope to take you by the hand when you are - ninety, and tell some merry tales of times long past. Day after to- - morrow I leave home for Cincinnati, and shall be absent in the West - for several months, and return with the birds and the buds, to see - you once more, I hope, in your usual enjoyment of health and - happiness. God bless you. - - “Your sincere friend, - “EDWIN FORREST.” - -And now some examples of less conspicuous but true and valued -friendships, selected from among many, claim brief place in this -narrative. William D. Gallagher, a Quaker by persuasion, a man of -literary tastes and a most quiet and blameless spirit, cherished from -boyhood a fervid admiration and love for Forrest ever gratefully -appreciated by him. He took extreme pains to collect materials for the -biography of his friend, materials which have been often used in the -earlier pages of this volume. Forrest desired his biographer, if he -could find appropriate place in his work, to record an acknowledging and -tributary word in memory of this affectionate and unobtrusive friend. -The fittest words for that purpose will be the following citation from a -letter of Forrest himself. “I deeply regret to inform you of the death -of William D. Gallagher, who on his recent visit to Boston was so much -pleased in forming your acquaintance and hearing your discourses. He was -a man to be honored and loved for his genuine worth. He was quite free -from every vice of the world. He carried the spirit of a child all -through his life. He was as pure and gentle, I believe, as an angel. -Though he cut no figure in society, I was proud to know that so good a -man was my friend. I used to feel that I had rather at any time clasp -his hand than that of the heir apparent to the throne of England.” - -In the chief cities which Forrest every year visited professionally he -formed many delightful acquaintances, many of which, constantly renewed -and heightened by every fresh communion of heart and life, ripened into -precious friendships. Of these, John C. Breckinridge, of Lexington, -Kentucky, and John G. Stockly, of Cleveland, Ohio, and Charles G. -Greene, of Boston, Massachusetts, may be named. But more particular -mention should be made of James V. Wagner, of Baltimore. A Baltimore -correspondent of the “National Intelligencer,” in one of his -communications, says, “We learn that the distinguished American -tragedian during his recent sojourn in this city has presented a -splendid carriage and pair of horses to his long-tried and faithful -friend, our fellow-citizen James V. Wagner. When the celebrated actor -was but a stripling and at the beginning of his career, Mr. Wagner took -him warmly by the hand, and has been his ardent admirer and friend from -that time to the present. The gift is a magnificent one, and reflects -credit on bestower and receiver. It is an establishment altogether fit -for a duke or a prince.” In 1874 a son of Mr. Wagner gives this pleasing -reminiscence of the frequent and ever-charming visits of Forrest at his -father’s house: “Often in childhood have I sat upon his knee, and, as I -then felt, listened to the words of Metamora, Jack Cade, and Lear in -broadcloth. Often did he stroke my little black locks and ask me if I -would become a carpenter, a lawyer, a minister, or a merchant. I can -testify to his fondness for young children, consequently his goodness of -heart.” - -Judge Conrad, the eloquent author of Jack Cade, the high-souled, -brilliant man, was a very dear and close friend of Forrest. The -impulsive and generous writer gave the appreciative and steadfast player -much pleasure and inspiration by his intercourse, and received a cordial -esteem and many important favors in return. On Forrest’s arrival from -Europe with his wife in 1846 he was greeted with this hearty letter by -Conrad: - - “MY DEAR MR. AND MRS. FORREST,—A thousand warm and hearty welcomes - home! I had hoped to greet you in person, but my engagements - preclude me that pleasure. You doubtless find that the creaking and - crazy world has been grating upon its axis after the rough old - fashion since you left us; that there are fresh mounds in the grave- - yard, and fresh troubles in the way to it; but I am sure that you - find the hearts of old as true as ever. Your wandering way has had - anxious eyes watching over it; and your return is, in this city, - hailed with general rejoicing. Absence embalms friendships: friends - seldom change when so separated that they cannot offend. And to one - who has a circle such as you have, I should think it almost worth - while to go abroad for the luxury of returning home. Thank God that - you are back and in health! - - “Mrs. Conrad and our girls unite with me in bidding you welcome. The - news of your arrival made a jubilee with the children. We all look - forward anxiously for the privilege of taking you by the hand. - - “Very truly your friend, - “R. T. CONRAD.” - -One brief interruption to this friendship there was. It originated in -some misunderstanding which provoked anger and pain. Forrest wrote at -once, not unkindly, and asked an explanation. He was rejoiced by the -immediate receipt of the following letter, which he endorsed with the -single word “Reconciliation,” and they were again united: - - “PHILADELPHIA, June 25th, 1849. - - “MY DEAR FORREST,—Your letter throws the duty of apology upon me, - and, from my heart, I ask your pardon, and will tear to tatters all - record of what has passed. But there is no madness Coleridge tells - us, that so works upon the brain as unkindness in those we love. - - “Forget what has passed,—but not until you have forgiven one whose - pulses beat sometimes too hotly, but will always beat for you. This - single cloud in our past—a past all bright to me—has been absorbed - by the nobler and purer atmosphere of your nature. Surely it cannot - now cast a shadow. - - “Before the receipt of your note I had written a letter under my own - signature, replying to a brutal attack upon you in the Boston - ‘Aurora Borealis’ in relation to your course towards dramatic - authors. It will appear in McMakin’s ‘Courier,’ and I have seized - the occasion to make some editorial remarks upon the subject that - will not dissatisfy you; and, as the circulation of the ‘Courier’ is - nearly wide as that of the wind, I think it will do good. - - “Let me sign this hasty note as most truly and heartily - - “Your friend, - “R. T. CONRAD. - - “E. FORREST, ESQ.” - -The friendship with James Taylor, described in a previous chapter of -this biography, which was so pleasant and valuable to Forrest at the -time, never died, but was kept fresh and strong to the last. This will -appear from the interesting letters that follow: - - “FIRE ISLAND, N.Y., July 14th, 1870. - - “EDWIN FORREST, ESQ.: - - “MY DEAR FRIEND,—When you were last at my house I promised you a - copy of my portrait of George F. Cooke. I could not until now - procure such a copy as I thought worthy to be sent you. It was first - photographed and then painted, and is an exact counterfeit of the - original. It is not full size. Several attempts were made to get a - good photograph copy, or _negative_, and in the present size it was - the most perfect. The history of this picture (I mean the one in my - possession) is as follows: A young gentleman by the name of Jouitt - studied portrait-painting with Sully in 1816, and on his leaving for - his native State, Kentucky, Sully presented him with this picture of - Cooke, being a copy of his _original picture of the great - tragedian_. Jouitt presented the picture to Captain John Fowler, of - Lexington, Ky., in 1818, and he on his death-bed in 1840 gave it to - me. He was an old pioneer, and came to Kentucky with my mother in - 1783. Now, my old and much-admired friend, please accept this - portrait as a testimony of my high regard for you as a gentleman and - a man of genius. I often have a vivid recollection of the old times - when we were together,—the night you slept with me at Kean’s Hotel, - and the New Year’s dinner at Ayer’s Hotel with Clay, Merceir, and - others. We were young then, full of life, hope, and enthusiasm; and - I do not feel old yet. These days, my friend, I look back on with - pleasure. I was not then vexed or troubled with the cares of life. - If we should never meet again, I wish you much happiness and length - of days. I am here enjoying the breezes of ‘Neptune’s salt wash,’ - fishing, and sailing. I shall return to New York in a week or ten - days. Please write to me at the St. Nicholas, as I desire to know - whether the picture reached you uninjured. - - “Yours very sincerely, - “JAMES TAYLOR.” - - “FIRE ISLAND, August 1st, 1870. - - “EDWIN FORREST: - - “MY DEAR FRIEND,—Yours of the 21st of July was forwarded to me from - New York at the close of last week, and I regret that it was out of - my power to comply with your request to meet you at your home in - Philadelphia. I have been here now over three weeks,—a most - delightful cool place,—and I only regret that I have to leave it in - the midst of the hot season to return to Kentucky, where business - calls me. I am gratified that you liked the portrait; it is in fact - a true copy of the original. Dear Ned, I often think of our young - days in Lexington with our friends Lewis, Turpin, Clay, and others, - and how happy we were amidst those scenes. But they are gone, and we - are almost old men. I hope we shall gracefully go down to death, - having courageously fought the battle of life. You will leave a name - and a fame behind you as one of the great masters of the dramatic - art. Should you again visit the West, you know where to find your - friend, - - “JAMES TAYLOR.” - -Another letter, much longer and more important, was addressed by Mr. -Taylor to S. S. Smith, a common friend to the two persons,—a friend of -whom Forrest once wrote to Oakes, “If my old friend S. S. Smith does not -go to heaven when he dies, the office of door-keeper there is a sinecure -and the place might as well be shut up. He is one of the most honest, -kind-hearted, trustworthy men I have ever known. I have always cherished -the warmest esteem for him.” This letter was written after the death of -Forrest, and contains a most interesting and touching tribute to him. It -belongs in the closing chapter rather than here. - -Among the long- and well-cherished friends of Forrest, of a later date -than Taylor, were the two distinguished New York counsellors John Graham -and James T. Brady. The sudden death of the latter at the zenith of his -manhood called from him a strong expression of feeling in a letter to -one of their common friends: “The death of Brady shocked me very much. -He was a genial, noble man, and an eloquent and honest lawyer,—every way -so unlike the pettifogging peddlers of iniquity and the corrupt and -ermined ruffians of the bench whom we have known. I feel honored in -saying that I was his friend and that he was mine. His place will not -easily be supplied with any of those who knew him, and could not know -him without loving him. What an interesting figure he was, and how he -drew all eyes where he came, with his beating heart, his bright frank -face, his large and warm presence! He was a contrast indeed to those -commonplace creatures concerning whom nobody cares anything, and never -asks who they are, or what they do, or whence they come, or where they -go. I regret that he should have died and not have made friends with -John Graham. How I should like to have been instrumental with you in -bringing about a reconciliation between them!” - -And now we come to the central, crowning, supreme friendship which most -of all alleviated the life and blessed the heart of Forrest alike when -he was young and when he was old,—the glowing bond of cordiality that -knit his soul with the soul of James Oakes. One of the two partners in -this happy league of unselfish love and faithful service has passed -through nature to eternity, while one still lives. To do justice to the -relation on the side of the former it is necessary to know something of -the character of the man who sustained the other side of it. And though -it is a delicate office, and one somewhat offensive to fashion, to speak -frankly of the traits of the living, except indeed in assault and -censure, yet, since truth is truth, and moral lessons have the same -import whether drawn from those who are alive or from those who are -dead, one who is called to tell the story of a departed Damon may -perhaps venture honestly and with modesty to depict his lingering -Pythias. - -Oakes is a man of positive nature, downright and forthright, as blunt -and strong in act and word as Forrest himself, and, so far, fitted to -meet and mate him. He has made a host of foes by his bluff truth of -speech and deed, his sturdy standing to his opinion, his straight march -to his purpose. These foes, no matter who they were, high or low, he has -always scorned and defied with unfaltering and unrepentant vigor. He has -likewise made a host of friends, by his sound judgment always at their -service, his genially affectionate spirit, and his unwearied devotion to -gentle works of humanity in befriending the unfortunate and ministering -to the distressed, the sick, and the dying. To these friends, rich and -poor alike, and whether basking in popular favor or crushed under -obloquy, he has always been steadfastly true. No fickle misliker or mere -sunshine friend he, but, like Forrest, tenacious both in antipathies and -sympathies. His nature has ever been wax to receive, steel to retain, -the memory of injuries and of benefits, hostility and love. His -sensitive openness to the beauty of nature, to the charm of poetry, to -the voice of eloquence, to the touch of fine sentiment, is extreme. -Anything pathetic, noble, or grand makes his tears spring quicker than a -woman’s, and his blood burns with instant indignation and his heart -beats fast and loud against injustice, cruelty, or meanness. And yet he -is not what is called a society man, a careful observer of the sleek -proprieties of the polite world of conventional appearances. On the -contrary, in many things his aboriginal love of free sincerity has -shocked these. And he has been a strong lover of horses, of dogs, of -sporting life, and of the rough, warm, honest ways of fearless and -spontaneous sporting men. A soft heart, a true tongue, a clear head, -self-asserting character and life, pity for suffering, defiance to -pretension, contempt for fashion when opposed to nature, have been his -passports to men and theirs to him. From his boyhood he has taken -delight in doing kind deeds to the needy, carrying wines, fruits, -flowers, and other delicacies to the sick, being a champion for the weak -and injured, whether man or woman or child or quadruped or bird. -Hundreds of times has he been seen in drifting snow-storms, undeterred -by the pelting elements, in his wide-rimmed hat, shaggy overcoat, and -long boots up to his thighs, loaded with good things, on his way to the -bedside of some disabled friend or some poor sufferer forgotten by -others. His enemies no doubt may justly bring many accusations against -him. His friends certainly will confess his defects and faults. He -himself would blush at the thought of claiming immunity from a full -share of the weaknesses and sins of men. But no one who knows him, -whether friend or foe, can question his extreme tenderness, tenacity, -and fidelity of nature, his rare sensibility of hate for detestable -forms of character and action, his heroic adhesion and indefatigable -attentiveness to all whom he admires and loves. - -His moral portrait is limned by the hand of one who had known him most -thoroughly on his favorable side as a friend for nearly all his -lifetime, in this private epistle: - - “NEW YORK, Sunday morning, May 24, 1874. - - “MY DEAR OAKES,—Your letter of the 22d reached me yesterday morning, - and was read and re-read with pleasure. When you tell me you foot up - sixty-seven, I find it difficult to believe you, and if you refer me - to the record I shall still exclaim with Beau Shatterly (do you - remember how poor Finn used to play it?), ‘D—n parish registers! - They’re all impudent impositions and no authority!’ - - “There are a few exceptional men in the world who project their - youth far forward into their lives, and this not so much from force - of constitution as from the size of their hearts. You are one of - these few phenomenal men. That you may long continue to flourish in - perennial spring is my sincerest prayer. You have been just and - generous (except to yourself),—to what extent you forget. I think - the recording angel must sometimes curse your good deeds, you have - given him or her or it (there is no sex to angels) so many to record - in that huge log-book which is kept up aloft for future reference. - In the race for salvation, while the saints (professional) are - plying steel and whipcord, jostling each other and riding foul, you - will distance them and go into the gate at an easy canter under no - pull at all. As for me, it is different. I stood near the pyramid of - Caius Sextius at Rome, at the grave of Keats, and read his epitaph - by himself, ‘Here lies one whose name was writ in water,’ and said, - That ought to be mine. However, I went up the steps of the Santa - Scala on my knees, invested fifty francs or so in indulgences, and - left the Eternal City whiter than snow,—but perhaps only as a whited - sepulchre is sometimes whiter than snow. - - “Excuse my levity. You will read between the lines and find plenty - of sad and serious thoughts there. If I did not valiantly fight - against bitter memories, I should cave. - - “Yours entirely, - “F. A. D.” - -Oakes had many friends besides Forrest, some of whom he had known -earlier and most of whom were friends in common to them both. Among the -chief of these may be named—and they were men of extraordinary talent, -force, racy originality of character, and depth of human passion—George -W. Kendall and A. M. Holbrook, editors of the New Orleans “Picayune,” -William T. Porter, editor of the “Spirit of the Times,” Dr. Charles M. -Windship, of Roxbury, the romantic and tragic William Henry Herbert,— -better known as Frank Forrester, a sort of modern Bertrand du Guesclin, -who, when the woman he loved deceived him, resolutely severed every tie -joining him with humanity and the world, requested that no epitaph -should be written on him save “The Most Unhappy,” and quieted his -convulsed brain with a bullet,—Sargent S. Prentiss, of Mississippi, -Thomas F. Marshall, of Kentucky, George W. Prentice, Albert Pike, -Colonel Powell T. Wyman, and Francis A. Durivage. The inner lives of -such characters as these, and others whose names are not given, fully -revealed, show in human experience gulfs of delight and woe, degrees of -intensity and wonder, little dreamed of by the peaceful and feeble -superficialists who fancy in their innocence that the life of the -nineteenth century is tame and dull, wholly wanting in the extremities -of spiritual adventure and social excitement that marked the times of -old. The knowledge of the sincere life of society to day—the real -unconventional life behind the scenes—as it was uncovered and made -familiar to Forrest and Oakes, when it is suddenly appreciated by a -thoughtful scholar, an inexperienced recluse, gives him a shock of -amazement, a mingled sorrow and wonder which make him cry, “What a sad, -bitter, strange, beautiful, terrible world it is! O God! who knows or -can even faintly guess from afar the meaning of it all? These fathomless -passions of men and women, giving a bliss and a pain which make every -other heaven or hell utterly superfluous,—these temptations and crimes -which horrify the soul and curdle the blood,—these betrayals and -disappointments that break our hearts, unhinge our reason, and -precipitate us into self-sought graves, mad to pluck the secret of -eternity,—who shall ever read the infinite riddle and tell us what it -all is for?” - -As the heaping decades of years rolled by, Oakes had to part with many -of his dearest friends at the edge of that shadow which no mortal, only -immortals, can penetrate. But, unlike what happens with most men, his -friendly offices ceased not with the breath of the departed. For one and -another and another and another of his old comrades, whom he had -assiduously nursed in their last hours, when all was ended, with his own -hands he tenderly closed the eyes, washed the body, put on the burial- -garments, and reverently laid the humanized clay in the earth with -farewell tears. To so many of his closest comrades had he paid this last -service that at length in his twilight meditations he began to feel a -chilly solitude spreading around. It was in such a mood that he wrote a -letter to one of the surviving and central figures of that group of -strong, brave, fiery-passioned men, who knew the full height and depth -of the romance and tragedy of human experience, and had nearly all gone, -most of them untimely, and several by their own hands. It was to Albert -Pike that he wrote. What he wrote moved Pike to compose an essay, “Of -Leaves and their Falling,” in which this touching, tributary passage -occurs. Having alluded to the dead of their circle,—Porter, Elliot, -Lewis and Willis Gaylord Clark, Herbert, Wyman, Forrest, and others,—he -proceeds: “James Oakes, of the old Salt-Store, 49 Long Wharf, Boston,— -‘Acorn’ of the old ‘Spirit of the Times,’—lives yet, as generous and -genial as ever. He loved Porter like a brother, and, in a letter -received by me yesterday, says, ‘This is my birthday! 67 is marked on -the milestone of my life just passed. Among the few old friends of my -early days who are left on this side the river, none is dearer to me -than yourself. As I creep down the western slope towards the last -sunset, my old heart turns with irresistible longings to those early -friends, my love for whom grew with my growth and strengthened with my -strength. Alas, how few are left! As I look back upon the long line of -grave-stones by the wayside that remind me of my early associates, a -feeling of inexpressible sadness possesses me, and my heart yearns -towards the few old friends left, to whom I cling with hooks of steel.’ -And so he thanks me for a poem sent him, and tells me how he has worked -for the estate of Forrest, and sincerely and affectionately wishes that -God may bless me and keep me in health for many years to come. - -“Ah, dear old friend! the cold November days of life have come for both -of us, and the dull bars of cloud scowl on the barren stubble-fields, -the wind blows inhospitably, and the hills in the distance are bleak and -gray and bare, and the winter comes, when we must drop from the tree, -and be remembered a little while, and then forgotten almost as soon as -the dead leaves. - -“Well, what does it matter to us if we are to be forgotten before the -spring showers fall a second time on our graves, as Porter was, except -by two or three friends? What is it to the leaf that falls, killed by an -untimely frost, whether it is remembered or forgotten by its fellows -that still cling to the tree, to fall a little later in the season? Men -are seldom remembered after death for anything that you or I would care -to be remembered for. - -“Porter would not have cared to be remembered by many, nor by any one, -unless with affection for his unbounded goodness of heart and -generosity. Nor am I covetous of large remembrance among men. If I -should die before him, I should wish, if I cared for anything here after -death more than a dead leaf does, to have Oakes come to my grave, as I -wish that he and I could go to that of Porter, and there repeat, in the -language to which no translation can do justice, this exquisite threnody -of Catullus: - - - INFERIÆ AD FRATRIS TUMULUM. - - Multas per gentes et multa per æquora vectus, - Advenio has miseras, frater, ad inferias, - Ut te postremo donarem munere mortis, - Et mutum nequicquam alloquerer cinerem, - Quandoquidem Fortuna mihi tete abstulit ipsum, - Heu miser indigne frater ademte mihi - Nunc tamen interea hæc prisco quæ more parentum - Tradita sunt tristes munera ad inferias, - Accipe fraterno multum manantia fletu, - Atque in perpetuum, frater, ave atque vale. - -“Discontented with the translations whereof by Lamb, Elton, and Hodgson, -I have endeavored this more literal one: - - “Through many nations, over many seas, - Brother, to this sad sacrifice I come - To pay to thee Death’s final offices, - And, though in vain, invoke thine ashes dumb, - Since Fate’s fell swoop has torn thyself from me,— - Alas, poor brother, from me severed ruthlessly! - - “Therefore, meanwhile, these offices of sorrow, - Which, by old custom of our fathers’ years - To the last sacrifice assigned, I borrow, - Flowing with torrents of fraternal tears, - Accept, though only half my grief they tell,— - And so, forever, brother, bless thee, and farewell!” - -Such as he has been above described was the man who for forty-three -years best loved Edwin Forrest and whom in return Edwin Forrest best -loved. How much this means, the narrative of their friendship that -follows will show. - -At the time of their first meeting, which took place at the close of the -actor’s debut in Boston in the play of Damon and Pythias, Forrest was -within a few weeks of twenty-one and Oakes a little less than twenty. -They had so many traits and tastes in common that their souls chimed at -once. When absent they corresponded by letter, and, seizing every -opportunity for renewed personal fellowship, their mutual interest -quickly ripened into a fervent attachment. Oakes had a passion for the -theatre and the drama. He earnestly studied the principal plays -produced, and soon began scribbling criticisms. These paragraphs he -often gave to the regular reporters and dramatic critics of the -newspapers, and sometimes sent them directly in his own name to the -editors. Afterwards, over the signature of “Acorn,” he acquired good -reputation as a stated contributor to several leading journals in the -East and the South. Both he and Forrest were great sticklers for a -vigorous daily bath and scrub, and very fond of athletic exercises, -which they especially enjoyed together, an example which might be copied -with immense advantage by many daintily cultured people who fancy -themselves above it. They were about equally matched with the gloves and -the foils, if anything Forrest being the better boxer, Oakes the better -fencer, as his motions were the more nimble. - -As time passed and their mutual knowledge and confidence increased, the -sympathies of the friends were more closely interlocked and spread over -all their business interests and affectional experiences, and their -constantly crossing letters were transcripts of their inner states and -their daily outer lives. They scarcely held any secret back from each -other. Forrest almost invariably consulted Oakes and carefully weighed -his advice before taking any important step. Oakes made it his study to -do everything in his power to aid and further his honored friend alike -in his personal status and in his professional glory. For this end he -wrote and moved others to write hundreds and hundreds of newspaper -notices, working up every conceivable kind of item calculated to keep -the name and personality of the actor freshly before the eyes of the -public. His letters, with the alert instinct of love, were varied to -meet and minister to the trials and condition of him to whom they were -addressed, congratulating him in his triumph, counselling him in his -perplexity, soothing him in his anger, consoling him in his sorrow. In -the innumerable letters, transmitted for nearly fifty years at the rate -of from two to seven a week, Oakes used to enclose slips snipped from -the newspapers, and extracts from magazines and books, containing -everything he found which he thought would interest, amuse, or edify his -correspondent. Thus was he ever what a friend should be,—a mirror -glassing the soul and fortunes of the counterpart friend; but a mirror -which at the same time that it reflects what exists also reveals the -supply of what is needed. - -One of the charms of the correspondence of Oakes and Forrest is the -ingenuous freedom with which their feelings are expressed. A shamefaced -or frigid reticence on all matters of sentiment or personal affection -between men seems to be the conspicuous characteristic of the Anglo- -Saxon race. The most that the average well-to-do Englishman or American -can say on meeting his dearest friend is, Well, old fellow, how goes it? -Glad to see you! It is painful for a really rich and tender heart to -move about in this sterile wilderness of dumb and bashful sympathy or -frozen and petrified love. But these friends were wont to speak their -free hearts each to each without reserve or affectation. Early in their -acquaintance Oakes writes thus: - - “MY DEAR FORREST,—I cannot tell you how much delight I had in your - visit to me. When you left, the sinking of my heart told me how dear - you had become. The more I see of you the more I find to honor and - to love. I set your image against the remembrance of all the scamps - I have known, and think more highly of the human race. How I long - for the day when you will visit Boston again or I shall come to you! - Command my services to the fullest extent in anything and in - everything. For I am, from top to bottom, inside and out, and all - through, forever yours, - - “JAMES OAKES.” - -And Forrest replies: - - “MY DEAREST AND BEST OF FRIENDS,—Thanking you for your hearty - letter, which has given me a real pleasure, I assure you you could - not have enjoyed my visit more than I did. Your encouraging smiles - and delicate attentions gave a daily beauty to my life while I was - under the same roof with you. In my life I have had the fellowship - of many goodly men, brave and manly fellows who knew not what it was - to lie or to be afraid. I have never met one whose heart beat with a - nobler humanity than yours. I am proud to be your friend and to have - you for mine. God bless you, and keep us always worthy of one - another. - - “EDWIN FORREST.” - -Every summer for the last thirty years of his life Forrest made it a -rule to spend a week or a fortnight with Oakes, when they either -loitered about lovely Boston or went into the country or to the seaside -and gave themselves up to leisurely enjoyment, “fleeting the time -carelessly as they did in the golden world.” Then the days and nights -flew as if they were enchanted with speed. These visits were regularly -repaid at New York, at Fonthill, at Philadelphia. Whenever they met, -after a long separation, as soon as they were alone together they threw -their arms around each other in fond embrace with mutual kisses, after -the manner of lovers in our land or of friends in more tropical and -demonstrative climes. - -A single forlorn tomato was the entire crop raised at Fonthill Castle in -the season of 1851. As the friends stood looking at it, Oakes suddenly -plucked, peeled, and swallowed it. The tragedian gazed for some time in -open-eyed astonishment. At length with affected rage he broke out, -“Well, if this is not the most outrageous piece of selfishness! an -impudent and barbarous robbery! That was the tomato which I had -cherished and depended on as the precious product of all the money and -pains I have spent here. And now you come, whip out your jack-knife, -and, at one fell swoop, gulp down my whole harvest. I swear, it is the -meanest thing I ever knew done.” They looked each other in the eyes a -moment, burst into a hearty laugh, and, locking arms, strolled down to -the bank of the river. - -When Forrest engaged his friend S. S. Smith to oversee the laying out of -his estate of Forrest Hill, at Covington, opposite Cincinnati, he named -one of the principal streets Oakes Avenue. When he purchased and began -occasionally to occupy the Springbrook place he named the room opposite -his own Oakes’s Chamber. In his Broad Street Mansion, in Philadelphia, -there was a portrait of Oakes in the entry, a portrait of Oakes in the -dining-room, a portrait of Oakes in the picture-gallery, a portrait of -Oakes in the library, and a general seeming presence of Oakes all over -the house. Early one summer day, while visiting there, Oakes might have -been seen, wrapped in a silk morning-gown of George Frederick Cooke, -with a wig of John Philip Kemble on his head and a sword of Edmund Kean -by his side, tackled between the thills of a heavy stone roller, rolling -the garden walks to earn his breakfast. Forrest was behind him, urging -him forward. Henrietta and Eleanora Forrest gazed out of a window at the -scene in amazement until its amusing significance broke upon them, when -their frolicsome peals of laughter caused the busy pair of laborers -below to pause in their task and look up. - -Oakes was fond of being with Forrest during his professional engagements -as well as in his vacations. And the hours they then spent together -yielded them a keen and solid enjoyment. This experience was most -characteristic of their friendship, and is worthy of description. Oakes -would go to the play and watch with the most vigilant attention every -point in the performance. Then he would go behind the scenes to the -dressing-room. There the excited and perspiring actor, blowing off -steam, stripped and put himself in the hands of his body-servant, who -sponged him, vigorously rubbed him dry, and helped him to dress. Locking -arms, and avoiding all hangers-on who might be in the way, the friends -proceeded to their room at the hotel. Forrest would then throw off his -coat and boots, and loosen his nether garments so as to be perfectly at -ease, and call for his supper. It was his custom, as he ate nothing -before playing, to refresh himself afterwards with some simple dish. His -usual food was a generous bowl of cold corn-meal mush and milk. This he -took with a wholesome relish, the abstinent Oakes sharing only in -sympathy. Then was the tragedian to be seen in his highest social glory; -for he threw every restraint to the wind and gave full course to the -impulses of his nature. “Now here we are, my friend,” he would say, “and -let the world wag as it will, what do we care? Is it not a luxury to -unbutton your heart once in a while and let it all out where you know -there can be no misunderstanding? Come, go to, now, and let us have a -good time!” And a good time they _did_ have. They recalled past -adventures. They planned future ones. They gave every faculty of wit, -humor, and affection free play, without heed of any law beyond that of -their own friendly souls. Then, if he happened to be in the vein, -Forrest would tell anecdotes of other players, and give imitations of -them. He would take off with remarkable felicity the peculiarities of -Irishmen, Frenchmen, Germans, Englishmen, and, above all, of negroes. -Very few comic actors at their best on the stage appear better in -portraying ludicrous dialect characters or in telling funny stories than -Forrest did on these occasions when giving himself full swing with his -friend alone, thoroughly unbent from professional duty and social -stiffness. No one who then saw him sitting on the floor mimicking a -tailor at work, rolling on the bed in convulsions of laughter, or -representing the double part of two negro woodsawyers who undertook to -play Damon and Pythias, would dream that this was the man whom the world -thought so grim and sour and gloomy. He used to say, “It is often the -case that we solemn tragedians when off the stage are your jolliest -dogs, while your clowns and comedians are dyspeptic and melancholy in -private.” There was a genuine vein of humor in him very strong and -active. He was extremely fond of indulging it. He read “Darius Green and -his Flying Machine” with great effect. He said he would like very much -to recite it to the author, Mr. Trowbridge, and then recite to him the -“Idiot Boy,” that he might perceive the contrast of the humor in the one -and the pathos in the other as illustrated by a tragedian. - -Another feature in the friendship of Forrest and Oakes was their -frequent co-operation in works of mercy to the suffering and of -championship for the weak and wronged. In reading over their voluminous -correspondence many cases have been brought to light in which they took -up the cause of a poor man, an orphan, or an unfortunate widow, against -cruel and rapacious oppressors. One instance of this was where a rich -man was endeavoring by legal technicalities to defraud a widow and her -children of all the little property they had. Forrest heard of it, and -his just wrath was stirred. He wrote to Oakes to stand in the breach and -defeat this iniquity, promising to furnish whatever money was needed to -secure justice. It was a difficult case, and the poor woman was in -despair. But Oakes stood by her with acute advice and sympathy and -courage that never failed. After a hard and long fight, and a good deal -of expense, the right was vindicated. Writing to Forrest an account of -the result, and thanking him for his check, Oakes said, “This act is in -such keeping with your magnificent soul, and joins so with a multitude -of kindred deeds in reflecting lustre on you, that if my heart did not -feel at least as much satisfaction for your sake as for my own I would -tear it out and fling it at your feet.” - -The following extract is from another letter: - -“Your letter enclosing a hundred and fifty dollars reaches me this -moment. In an hour it will be in the hands of the poor forlorn creature -who indeed has no claim but the claim of a common humanity on either of -us, but whose near death of disease ought not to be anticipated by a -death of neglect, starvation, and cold. Your charity will now prevent -that. Once this unhappy woman moved in a high circle, envied and admired -by all. Now everybody deserts her death-garret. The Day of Judgment, if -there ever is one, will uncover strange secrets. Among the shameful -secrets dragged to light there will be glorious ones too,—like this your -response to my appeal for a desolated, forgotten outcast.” - -In 1856 Forrest had a severe illness which, in connection with his -domestic sorrow and vexatious litigation, greatly depressed his spirit. -Oakes, ever watchful and thoughtful for him, held it to be essential -that he should take a prolonged respite from public life and labor. On -purpose to persuade him to this course, to which he was obstinately -averse, Oakes made a journey to Philadelphia. After their greetings he -said, bluntly, “Forrest, I have come to ask a great favor.” Forrest -broke in on his speech with these words: “Oakes, in all our long -acquaintance never once have you asked anything of me in a selfish -spirit; and often as I have followed your advice I have never yet made a -mistake when I have allowed myself to be guided by you. Whatever the -request is which you have to make, it is granted before you make it.” -Oakes was deeply moved, but, commanding himself, he said, “Your -professional life has been one of hard work. Your health is not good, -and you are no longer young. You have money enough. You are now at the -top notch of your fame. To keep your rank there you will have to make -great exertions. You ought to have a good long rest. Now I want you to -promise me that you will not act again for three years.” Forrest drew a -long breath and dropped his head forward on his breast. In a minute he -looked up and said, “Ah, my friend, you have tested me in my tenderest -point. But it shall be so.” Nearly four years passed before he again -confronted an audience from his theatrical throne and welcomed their -applause. - -A group of the most ardent admirers of Forrest combined and subscribed a -handsome sum of money to secure a full-length marble statue of him in -one of his classic characters. But he shrank from the long and tedious -sittings, and refused to comply with their request. Oakes, who was -doubly desirous of securing this memorial, first as a tribute to his -illustrious friend, second as an important piece of patronage to a -gifted artist then just entering his career, now undertook the work of -persuasion. To his solicitation Forrest replied, “What troubles me is -the weary sittings I must undergo. But since you put this matter on -personal grounds, and ask me to endure the load for the sake of an old -unselfish friendship,—which cannot appeal in vain,—I yield with pleasure -to your request. Whenever Mr. Ball shall come to Philadelphia I will -submit myself with alacrity to the torture.” - -The name of Thomas Ball has acquired celebrity in art since that day, -but this statue of Forrest in the character of Coriolanus will always -stand as a proud landmark in his sculptured path of fame. It was a true -work of love not less than of ambition. For in the long hours of their -fellowship in the preparatory studying and sketching and casting the -sitter and the artist grew friends. The sculptor took his model and -sailed for Florence, there to produce the work he had conceived. And -when a year and a half had gone by, the complete result, safely landed -in Boston and set up for view in an art-gallery, greeted the eyes of -Oakes and gladdened his heart. For it more than met his expectations, it -perfectly contented him. He wrote to Mr. Ball, “I am glad the statue -came unheralded to our shores, and am content to let the verdict of the -public rest on the merits of the work. I congratulate you on an -unequivocal and grand success. As a personal likeness of Forrest it is -most truthful, and as an illustration of the Shakspearean conception of -the Roman Consul it is sublime. For more than forty years I have known -this man with an intimacy not common among men. Indeed, our friendship -has been more like the devotion of a man to the woman he loves than the -relations usually subsisting between men. In all my intercourse with the -world I have never known a truer man or one with a nobler nature than -Edwin Forrest, whose real worth and greatness will not be acknowledged -by the world until he is dead. I rejoice that one of his own countrymen -has given to posterity this true and magnificent portrait of him in -immortal marble. The eloquence of this marble will outlive the -malevolence of all the enemies and of all the critics who have assailed -him.” - -Forrest was indeed fortunate in the peaceful and time-enduring victory -achieved for him by the artist in this sculptured Coriolanus, whose -haughty beauty, and right foot insupportably advanced with the planted -weight of all imperious Rome, will speak his quality to generations yet -unborn. What a melancholy contrast is suggested by the words of Mrs. -Siddons after seeing the marble counterfeit of John Philip Kemble: “I -cannot help thinking of the statue of my poor brother. It is an absolute -libel on his noble person and air. I should like to pound it into dust -and scatter it to the winds.” - -The Coriolanus is colossal, eight feet and a half in height and weighing -six tons. The forms and muscles of the neck, the right side of the -chest, the right arm, left forearm, feet, and lower portion of the left -leg, are delineated in perfection, the remaining parts being concealed -by the folds of the mantle which is drawn around the left shoulder, -while the head is slightly turned to the right. The face and head are -superbly finished and seem pregnant with vitality. The whole expression -is one of massive and imperious strength, adamantine self-sufficingness, -reposeful, yet animated and resolute. It represents him at that point in -the play where he repels the intercessions of his mother and wife, and -says,— - - “Let the Volces - Plough Rome and harrow Italy, I’ll never - Be such a gosling to obey instinct, but stand - As if a man were author of himself - And knew no other kin.” - -So much pleased was Forrest with the statue, as his lingering gaze -studied it and drank in its majestic significance reflected on him from -the superb and classic pomp of marble, that he begged the privilege of -purchasing it from the subscribers. And so it now stands in the Actors’ -Home founded by his will. The enthusiastic and efficient zeal of Oakes -in securing this work drew his friend to him with an increased feeling -of obligation and of attachment, which he frankly expressed in an -eloquent letter of thanks. - -Forrest and Oakes had from time to time many pleasing adventures -together. A specimen or two may be related. Strolling in a quiet square -in Baltimore, they came upon a company of boys who were playing marbles. -“My little fellows,” said the tragedian, with his deep voice of music, -“will you lend me a marble and let me play with you?” “Oh, yes,” said a -barefoot, smiling urchin, and held up a marble in his dirty paw. Forrest -took it, sank on one knee, and began his game. In less than half an hour -he had won every marble they had, and the discomfited and destitute gang -were gazing at him in astonishment. “Don’t you see,” he then said, “how -dangerous it is for you to play with a stranger, about whose skill or -whose character you are wholly ignorant? Boys, as you grow up and mix in -the fight of life it will always be useful to you to know in advance -what kind of a fellow he is with whom you are going to deal.” One of the -boys, who had been sharply eying him, whispered to another, “I guess he -is Mr. Forrest, the play-actor, you know, at the theatre.” The other -replied, “Well, I should like to go there and see if he can playact as -well as he plays marbles.” “Yes,” said Forrest, “come, all of you. I -want you to come. I will do my best to please you.” And he wrote an -order of admission for them, gave them back their marbles, and bade them -good-morning. - -Once when he was filling an engagement in Boston, Oakes told him a story -of a humble mechanic whose landlord had compelled him to pay a debt -twice over, under circumstances of cruelty which had brought out proofs -of a most heroic honesty and refined sensibility in the poor man. -Forrest listened to the narrative with rapt attention. At its close he -exclaimed, “That landlord is a stony-hearted brute, and this mechanic is -a man of a royal soul! I must go and see him and his family before I -leave Boston.” Thanksgiving Day came that week. A friend of Oakes had -sent him for his Thanksgiving dinner an enormous wild turkey, weighing -with the feathers on twenty-seven and a half pounds. He showed this to -Forrest on Wednesday and told him they were to feast on it the next day. -“No, old chap,” replied Forrest; “you and I will dine on a beefsteak, -and take the wild turkey to the noble fellow who paid Shylock his money -twice.” Immediately after breakfast on Thanksgiving Day a barouche was -ordered, the big black turkey, looking nearly as large as a Newfoundland -dog, placed on the front seat, and Forrest and Oakes took the back seat. -They drove to the theatre. Forrest accosted the box-keeper: “Mr. Fenno, -I want for to-night’s performance six of the best seats in the house, -for an emperor and his family who are to honor me by their presence.” -Fenno gave him the tickets and declined to take pay for them. He -insisted on paying for them, saying, “They are my guests, sir.” They -then rode over to East Boston to the house of the honest man, found him, -announced their names, explained the cause and object of their visit, -and were invited in by him and introduced to his wife and four children. -Forrest kissed each one of the children. He brought in the huge turkey -and laid it on the table. Then, turning to the wife, he said, “We have -brought a turkey for your Thanksgiving dinner; and if you and your noble -husband and children enjoy as much in eating it as my friend and myself -do in offering it you will be very happy. And I am sure you deserve -great happiness, and I have faith that God will give it to you all.” He -then presented the tickets for the play of Metamora, saying, “I shall -look to see if you are all in the seats before I begin to act.” Not one -of them had ever been inside of a theatre. The sensations that were -awaiting them may be imagined. When the curtain rose and Metamora -appeared on the stage amidst that tumultuous applause which in those -times never failed to greet his entrance, he walked deliberately to the -front, fixed his eyes on the little family, bowed, and then proceeded. -Throughout the play he acted for and at that group, who seemed far -happier than any titular royalty could have been. Though this happened -twenty years before his death, he never forgot when in Boston to inquire -after the _American emperor_! The honest man is still living, and should -this little story ever meet his eye he will vouch for its entire truth. - -A few extracts taken almost at random from the letters of these friends -will clearly indicate the substantial earnestness and warmth of their -relation. Letters when honest and free reveal the likeness of the -writer, photographing the features of the soul, a feat which usually -baffles artistic skill and always defies chemical action. - -“You will doubtless receive this note to-morrow,—my birthday,—when, you -say, you will _think_ of me. Tell me the day, my dear friend, when you -do _not_ think of me! God bless you! Last night I acted at Washington in -Damon and Pythias. The sound of weeping was actually audible all over -the house as the noble Pythagorean rushed breathlessly back to save his -friend and then to die. What a grand moral is told in that play! What -sermon was ever half so impressive in its teaching! Had Shakspeare -written on the subject he had ‘drowned the stage with tears.’” - -“I cannot let this day pass without sending to you a renewed expression -of the esteem and high regard with which through so many years my heart -has unceasingly honored you. A merry Christmas to you, my glorious -friend, and a happy New Year, early in which I hope again to take you by -the hand.” - -“As the years go by us, my noble Spartacus, many things slip away never -to return, and many things that stay lose their charm. But one thing -seems to grow ever more fresh and precious,—the joy of an honest -friendship and trust in manly worth. May this, dear Forrest, never fail -for you or for me, however long we live.” - -“God bless you, Oakes, for your kindly greeting on the New Year’s day! -Though I was too busy to write, my soul went out to you on that day with -renewed messages of love, and with thanks to Almighty God that he has -quickened at least two hearts with an unselfish and unwavering devotion -to each other, and that those two hearts are yours and mine.” - -“You are almost the only intimate friend I have had who never asked of -me a pecuniary favor, and to whom I am indebted for as many personal -kindnesses as I ever received from any. I will send you my portrait to -hang in your parlor, with my autograph, and with such words as I have -not written, and will never write, upon another.” - -“It gives me great pleasure, my much-loved friend, to know that in a few -days more I shall see you again, and reach that haven of rest, the -presence of a true friend, where the storms of trouble cease to -prevail.” - -“And now, my friend, permit me to thank you for all the delicate -attentions you so considerately showed me during my late visit, and for -your noble manly sympathy for me in the wound I received from the legal -assassins of the Court of Appeals, who by their recent decision have -trampled upon law, precedent, justice, and the instinctive honor of the -human heart.” - -On the eve of his professional trip to California, Forrest wrote to -Oakes, “My dear friend, how much I should like, if your business matters -would permit, to have you accompany me to California! I would right -willingly pay all your expenses for the entire journey, and I am sure -you would enjoy the trip beyond expression. Is it not _possible_ for you -to arrange your affairs and go with me? It would make me the happiest -man in the world.” - -The scheme could not be realized, and after his own return he wrote, -“Yes, in a few days I will come to you in Boston, my dear friend. We -will talk of scenes long gone, and renew the pleasant things of the past -in sweet reflections on their memory. We will hopefully trust in the -future that our friendship may grow brighter with our years, and cease, -if it must cease then, only with our lives.” - -In 1864 he had written, “I think we both of us have vitality enough to -enjoy many happy years even in this vale of tears; but then we must -occupy it together. For - - “‘When true hearts lie withered, - And fond ones are gone, - Oh, who would inhabit - This bleak world alone?’” - -There was a partial change in his tone four years later, when he wrote, -“I think with you that we ought not to live so much asunder. Our time is -now dwindled to a span; and why should we not _together_ see the sinking -sun go brightly down on the evening of our day? What a blessed thing it -would be to realize that dream of Cuba I named to you when we last met!” - -In 1870 Oakes determined to retire from business, and Forrest wrote to -him from Macon, Georgia,— - -“I am glad to hear you are about to close your toils in the ‘Old Salt -House’ and give your much-worn mind and body the quiet repose they need. -In this way you will receive a new and happy lease of life, enlarge your -sphere of usefulness to your friends, and be a joy to yourself in giving -and taking kindnesses. I look forward with a loving impatience to the -end of my professional engagements this season, that I may repair to -Philadelphia, there to effect a settlement of such comforting means as -shall make the residue of your life glide on in ceaseless ease. Do not, -I beg you, let any pride or sensitiveness stand in the way of this my -purpose. It is a debt which I owe to you for the innumerable kindnesses -I have experienced at your hands, and for your unwearied fidelity to all -my interests.” - -Oakes rejected the proposition, though keenly feeling how generous and -beautiful it was. Argument and persuasion from friendly lips, however, -at length overcame his repugnance, and the noble kindness—so uncommon -and exemplary among friends in our hard grasping time—was finally as -gratefully accepted as it was gladly bestowed. This gift was the most -effective stroke of _real_ acting that ever came from the genius of the -player. Taken in connection with his traits of generous sweetness and -his clouded passages of ferocious hate, it reveals a character like one -of those barbaric kings who loom gigantic on the screen of the past, -dusky and explosive with the ground passions of nature, but wearing a -coronet of royal virtues and blazing all over with the jewelry of -splendid deeds. It shows in him such a spirit in daily life as would -enable him to utter on the stage with no knocking rebuke of memory the -proud words of the noble Roman:— - - “When Marcus Brutus grows so covetous - To lock his rascal counters from his friends, - Be ready, gods, with all your thunderbolts, - Dash him to pieces.” - -To anticipate here the sequel and earthly close of the friendship of -Forrest and Oakes would be to detract too much from the proper interest -of the last chapter of this biography. The story may well be left for -the present as it stands at this point, where a half-century of -unfaltering love and service was repaid not only by a heart full of -gratitude but also with a munificent material Philadelphia, there to -effect a settlement of such comforting means as shall make the residue -of your life glide on in ceaseless ease. - -When the hand that wrote these tender words had been nigh four years -mouldering in the tomb the survivor was heard to say, “Every year, every -month, every day, I more and more appreciate his noble qualities and -miss more and more his precious companionship. And I would, were it in -my power, bring him back from the grave to be with me as long as I am to -stay.” - -In ending this chapter of the friendships of Forrest, the justice of -history requires a few words more. For there are several names of -friends, who were long very dear to him and to whom he was very dear, -which should be added to those set down above. The reason why no account -of their relationship has been embodied here, is simply that the writer -had not knowledge of any incidents which he could so narrate as to make -them of public interest. Yet the friendships were of the most endeared -character, full of happiness, and never marred or clouded. The names of -the Rev. Elias L. Magoon, Colonel John W. Forney, and Mr. James Rees -should not be omitted in any list of the friends of Edwin Forrest. And -still more emphatic and conspicuous mention is due to that intimate, -affectionate, and sustained relation of trust and love with Daniel -Dougherty, on which the grateful actor and man set his unquestionable -seal in leaving him a bequest of five thousand dollars and making him -one of the executors of his will and one of the trustees of his estate. - - - - - CHAPTER XX. - PLACE AND RANK OF FORREST AS A PLAYER.—THE CLASSIC, ROMANTIC, NATURAL, - AND ARTISTIC SCHOOLS OF ACTING. - - -Forrest being the most conspicuous and memorable actor America has -produced, it is desirable to fix the place and rank which belong to him -in the history of his profession. To do this with any clearness or with -any authority we must first penetrate to the central characteristics of -each of the great schools of acting, illustrate them by some examples, -and explain his relation to them. - -Omitting the consideration of comedy and confining our attention to -tragedy, the most familiar distinction in the styles of dramatic -representation is that which divides them into the two schools called -Classic and Romantic or Ancient and Modern. But this enumeration is -altogether insufficient. It needs to be supplemented by two other -schools, namely, the Natural and the Artistic. - -The antique theatres of Greece and Rome stood open in the air unroofed -to the sky, and were so vast, holding from ten thousand to two hundred -thousand spectators, that the players in order not to be belittled and -inaudible were raised on the high cothurnus and wore a metallic mask -whose huge and reverberating mouth augmented the voice. The word persona -is derived from _personare_, to sound through. Dramatis personæ -originally meant masks, and only later came to denote the persons of the -play. The conditions suppressed all the finer inflections of tone and -the play of the features. The actor had to depend for his effects on -measured declamation, imposing forms and attitudes, slow and appropriate -movements, simple pictures distinctly outlined and set in bold relief. -The characters principally brought forward were kings, heroes, prophets, -demi-gods, deities. It was the stately representation of superhuman or -exalted personages, full of exaggerated solemnity and pomp both in -bearing and in speech. All this naturally arose from the circumstances -under which the serious drama was developed,—the audience a whole -population, the player at a distance from them, in the scenery of -surrounding sea and mountains and the overhanging heaven. The traditions -of the Classic School came directly down to the subsequent ages and gave -their mould and spirit to the modern theatre. They have been kept up by -the long list of all the great conventional tragedians in their stilted -pose and stride and grandiose delivery, until the very word theatrical -has come to signify something overdone, unreal, turgid, hollow, -bombastic. - -But when, from the sixteenth to the eighteenth century, in Italy, Spain, -Germany, France, and England, the drama revived and asserted itself in -such an extended and deepened popular interest,—when the theatres were -built on a smaller scale adapted for accurate seeing and hearing, and -the actors and the stage were brought close to the limited and select -audience,—when the plays, instead of dealing mainly with sublime themes -of fate and the tragic pomp and grandeur of monarchs and gods, began to -depict ordinary mortal characters and reflect the contents of real -life,—the scene changed from an enormous amphitheatre where before a -city of gazers giants stalked and trumpeted, to a parlor where a group -of ladies and gentlemen exhibited to a company of critical observers the -workings of human souls and the tangled plots of human life. The buskins -were thrown off and the masks laid aside, the true form and moving -displayed, living expression given to the features, and the changing -tones of passion restored to the voice. Then the mechanical in acting -gave way to the passionate; the Classic School, which was statuesque, -receded, and the Romantic School, which was picturesque, advanced. - -The Classic School modulates from the idea of dignity. Its attributes -are unity, calmness, gravity, symmetry, power, harmonic severity. Its -symbol is the Greek Parthenon, whose plain spaces marble images people -with purity and silence. The Romantic School modulates from the idea of -sensational effect. Its attributes are variety, change, excitement, -sudden contrasts, alternations of accord and discord, vehement extremes. -Its symbol is the Christian Cathedral, whose complicated cells and -arches palpitate as the strains of the organ swell and die within them -trembling with sensibility and mystery. The ancient tragedian -represented man as a plaything of destiny, sublimely helpless in the -grasp of his own doings and the will of the gods. The chief interest was -in the evolution of the character, which had but one dominant chord -raised with a cunning simplicity through ever-converging effects to a -single overwhelming climax. The modern tragedian impersonates man as now -the toy and now the master of his fate, a creature of a hundred -contradictions, his history full of contrasts and explosive crises. The -chief interest is in the complications of the character and the -situations of the plot so combined as to keep the sympathies and -antipathies in varying but constant excitement. The vices of the former -school are proud rigidity and frigidity, pompous formality and -mechanical bombast. The vices of the latter school, on the other hand, -are incongruity, sensational extravagance, and affectation. The Classic -virtue is unity set in relief, but a mathematical chill was its fault. -The Romantic virtue is variety set in relief, but its bane was -inconsistency. The true tone of the heart, however, and the breathing -warmth of life which it brings to the stage more than atone for all its -defects and excesses. - -The Romantic School early began to branch in two directions. In one it -degenerated into that Melodramatic Medley which, although it has a -nameless herd of followers, does not deserve to be called a school, -because it has no system and is but instinct and passion let loose and -run wild. In the other direction, joining with the traditional stream of -example from its Classic rival, the Romantic issued in what should be -named the Natural School. So the Classic School, too, forked in a double -tendency, one branch of which led to death in an icy formalism and -slavish subserviency to empiric rules, while the other led to the -perfecting of vital genius and skill in the rounded fulness of truth; -not truth as refracted in crude individualities but as generalized into -a scientific art. This higher result of the double issue of the Classic -School, joined with the higher result of the double issue of the -Romantic School, constitutes the Artistic School. The Natural School is -to be defined as having merely an empiric foundation, in it the contents -of human nature and their modes of manifestation being grasped by -intuition, instinct, observation, and practice, with no commanded -insight of ultimate principles. The Artistic School, on the contrary, -has a scientific foundation, in it the materials and methods being -mastered by a philosophical study which employs all the means of -enlightenment and inspiration systematically co-ordinated and applied. - -Betterton was a noble representative of the classic style with a large -infusion of the romantic and the natural and with a strong determination -towards the artistic. Garrick had less of the first two and more of the -third and fourth. In the history of the British stage Garrick is an -epochal mark in the progressive displacement of theatricality by nature. -He ridiculed the noisy mechanical declamation of the stage and -introduced a quiet conversational manner. He agreed with the suggestion -of his friend Aaron Hill that Shakspeare, judging from his wise -directions to the players in Hamlet, must himself have been a fine -actor, but in advance of the taste of his time. Quin, Young, Kemble, -Conway, and Vandenhoff were examples of the classic type of acting, -while Barton Booth, Mossop, and Spranger Barry exemplified the more -passionate and impulsive romantic type. Macklin was a bold and -intelligent though somewhat coarse and hard representative of the -Natural School. Cooper and Cooke, each of whom had a personality of -great original power, veered between the three preceding schools, with a -large and varying element of each one infused in their impersonations. -But the fullest glory of the Romantic School was seen in Edmund Kean, -the coruscations of whose meteoric genius blazed out equally in the -sensational feats of the melodramatic and in the profound triumphs of -the natural. In France, Lekain, Talma, and Lemaître moved the stiff -traditions of their art many degrees towards the simplicity and the free -fire of truth, released the actor from his stilts, and did much to -humanize the strutting and mouthing stage-ideal transmitted by tyrannic -tradition. - -The Classic and the Romantic School each had its separate reign. The -Melodramatic offshoot of the latter also had and still has its -prevalence, yielding its mushroom crops of empiric sensationalists. But -in the historic evolution of the art of acting there must come a -complete junction of two great historic schools in one person. The -plebeian Lekain, a working goldsmith, was not bred in the laps of -queens, as Baron said an actor ought to be; but, as Talma declared of -him, Nature, a nobler instructress than any queen, undertook to reveal -her secrets to him. And he broke the fetters of pedantry, repudiated the -sing-song or monotonous chant so long in vogue, and brought the -unaffected accents of the soul on the stage. Living, however, in the -very focus of monarchical traditions and habits, subject to every royal -and aristocratic influence, he could not establish in the eighteenth- -century-theatres of France the true Democratic School of Nature. This -was necessarily left for America and the nineteenth century. Edwin -Forrest was the man. By his burning depth and quick exuberance of -passion, his instinctive and cultivated democracy of conviction and -sentiment, his resolute defiance of old rules and customs, and his -constant recurrence to original observation of nature, it was easy for -him to master the Romantic School, while the spirit and mode of the -Classic School could not be difficult for one of his proud mind, -imposing physique, and severe self-possession. The intense bias he -caught from Kean in the melodramatic direction and the lofty bias -imparted to him by Cooper in the stately antique way were supplemented, -first, by his wild strolling experiences and training in the West and -South, secondly, by his patient self-culture and studies at the prime -fountain-heads of nature itself. In addition to this, he rose and -flourished in the midst of the latest and ripest development of all the -unconventional institutions and influences of the most democratic land -and people the world has yet known. And so he came to represent, in the -history of the drama, the moment of the fusion of the Classic and -Romantic Schools and their passage into the Natural School. As the -founder of this school in the United States he has been followed by a -whole brood of disciples,—such as Kirby, Neafie, Buchanan, and Proctor,— -who have reflected discredit on him by imitating his faultiness instead -of reproducing his excellence. - -Substantially intellectual, impassioned, profoundly ambitious, with -flaming physical energies, with a very imperfect education, and few -social advantages, Forrest was early thrown into the company of men who -had great natural force of mind, and were frank and generous, but -comparatively unpolished in taste and reckless in habits, leading a life -of free amusement, conviviality, and passion often exploding in frenzied -jealousies, rages, duels, deaths. He resisted the temptations that would -have proved fatal to him, as they did to so many of his fellows, kept -his self-respect, and faithfully studied and aspired to something -better. He was exposed to the widest extremes of praise and abuse,— -petted without bounds and assailed without measure. He kept his head -unturned by either extravagance, though not uninjured, and swiftly -sprang into a vast and intense popularity. But under the circumstances -of the case—his burning impulsiveness and exuberant energy and lack of -early culture, his tempestuous associates, and the general rawness or -sensational eagerness of our population at that time—he would have been -a miracle if his acting had not been marred with faults, if he had not -been extravagant in displays of muscle and voice, if he had not been in -some degree what his hostile critics called a melodramatic actor. Yet -even then there were excellences in his playing, virtues of sincerity, -truthfulness, intelligence, electric strokes of fine feeling, exquisite -touches of beauty, confluences of light and shade, sustained unity of -design, which justified the admiration and gave ground for the excessive -eulogies he received. In melodrama the action is more physical than -mental, the exertions of the actor blows of artifice to produce an -effect rather than strokes of art to reveal truth. But in this sense -Forrest always, even in his crudest day, was more tragic than -melodramatic, his efforts explosions of the soul through the senses -rather than convulsions of the muscles,—vents of the mind and glimpses -of the spirit rather than contortions of the person, limbs, voice, and -face. And he went steadily on, reading the best books, studying himself -and other men, scrutinizing the unconscious acting of all kinds of -persons in every diversity of situation, sedulously trying to correct -errors, outgrow faults, gain deeper insight, and secure a fuller and -finer mastery of the resources of his art. - -Consequently his career was a progressive one, and in his latest and -mentally best days he gave impersonations of the loftiest and most -difficult characters known in the drama which have hardly been -surpassed. The prejudices against him as a strutting and robustious -ranter who shivered the timbers of his hearers and tore everything to -tatters were largely unwarranted at the outset, and for every year -afterwards were a gross wrong. In the time of his herculean glory with -the Bowery Boys it may be true that his fame was bottomed on the great -lower classes of society, and made its strongest appeals through the -signs he gave of muscle, blood, and fire; yet there must have been -wonderful intelligence, pathos, and beauty, as well as naked power, to -have commanded, as his playing did at that early day, the glowing -tributes paid to him by Irving, Leggett, Bryant, Chandler, Clay, Conrad, -Wetmore, Halleck, Ingraham, Lawson, and Oakes. He always had sincerity -and earnestness. His audiences always felt his entrance as the -appearance of a genuine man among the hollow fictions of the stage. His -soul filled with power and passion by nature, without anything else was -greater than everything else could be without this. A celebrated English -actress generously undertook to train a young beginner, who was yet -unknown, to assume higher parts. Tutoring her in the rôle of a princess -neglected by the man she loved, the patroness could not get the pupil to -make her concern appear natural. “Heaven and earth!” she exclaimed. -“Suppose it real. Suppose yourself slighted by the man you devotedly -loved. How would you act then in real life?” The hopeless reply was, “I? -I should get another lover as quickly as I could.” The instructress saw -the fatal, fatal defect of nature. She shut the book and gave no more -lessons. Nature must supply the diamond which art polishes. - -The youthful Forrest not only had nature in himself, but he was a -careful student of nature in others. He used to walk behind old men, -watching every movement, to attain the gait and peculiarities of age. He -visited hospitals and asylums, and patiently observed the phases of -weakness and death, the features and actions of maniacs. His reading was -a model of precision and lucidity in the extrication of the sense of the -words. One of his earlier critics said, “He grasps the meaning of a -passage more firmly than any actor we know. He discloses the idea with -exactness, energy, and fulness, leaving in this respect nothing to be -desired. His recitation is as clear as a mathematical demonstration.” He -had also an exquisite tenderness of feeling and utterance which -penetrated the heart, and a power of intense mournfulness or delicious -sadness which could always unseal the eyes of the sensitive. He studied -the different forms of actual death with such minute attention that his -stage deaths were so painfully true as to excite repugnance while they -compelled admiration. The physical accompaniments were too literally -exact. He had not yet learned that the highest artistic power lowers and -absorbs the minor details in its broad grasp and conspicuous portrayal -of the whole. The Natural School, as a rule, does not enough -discriminate between the terror that paralyzes the brain and the horror -that turns the stomach. In the part of Virginius, Forrest for some years -had the hollow blade of the knife filled with a red fluid which, on the -pressure of a spring as he struck his daughter, spurted out like blood -following a stab. A lady fainted away as he played this scene in -Providence, and, feeling that the act was artifice, and not art, he -never afterwards repeated it. So it was nature, and not art, when Polus, -the Roman tragedian, having to act a part of great pathos secretly -brought in the urn the ashes of his own son. In distinction equally from -artifice and from nature, art grasps the essential with a noble -disregard of the accidental, and finely subordinates what is particular -to what is general. - -The Classic School modulates from the idea of grandeur or dignity; its -aim is to set unity in relief, and its attribute is power in repose. The -Romantic School modulates from the idea of effectiveness; its aim is to -set the contrasts of variety in relief, and its attribute is power in -excitement. The Natural School modulates from the idea of sincerity; its -aim is to set reality in relief, exhibiting both unity in variety and -variety in unity, and its attribute is alternation of power in repose -and power in excitement, according to the exigencies of character and -circumstance. The Artistic School modulates from the idea of truth; its -attributes are freedom from personal crudity and prejudice, liberation -of the faculties of the soul and the functions of the body, and an exact -discrimination of the accidental and the individual from the essential -and the universal; and its aim is to set in relief in due order and -degree every variety of character and experience, every style and grade -of spiritual manifestation, not as the workings of nature are made known -in any given person however sincere, but as they are generalized into -laws by a mastery of all the standards of comparison and classification. -Sincerity is individual truth, but truth is universal sincerity. “Why do -you enact that part in Macbeth as you do?” asked a friend of Forrest. -“Because,” he replied, “that is the way I should have done it had I been -Macbeth.” Ah, but the question is not how would a Forrestian Macbeth -have done it, but how would a Macbethian Macbeth do it? The sincere -Natural School of acting is hampered by the limiting of its vision to -the reflections of nature in the refracting individuality of the actor. -The true Artistic School purifies, corrects, supplements, and harmonizes -individual perceptions by that consensus of averages, or elimination of -the personal equation, which dispels illusions and reveals permanent -principles. - -Forrest stands at the head of the Natural School as its greatest -representative, with earnest aspirations and efforts towards that final -and perfect School whose threshold he thoroughly crossed but whose -central shrine and crown he could not attain. He attained a solitary -supremacy in the Natural School, but could not attain it in the Artistic -School, because he had not in his mind grasped the philosophically -perfected ideal of that School, and did not in his preliminary practices -apply to himself its scientifically systematized drill. His ideal and -drill were the old traditional ones, based on observation, instinct, and -empirical study, modified only by his originality and direct recurrence -to nature. But Nature gives her empirical student merely genuine facts -without and sincere impulses within. She yields essential universal -truths and principles only to the student who is equipped with -rectifying tests and a generalizing method. Destitute of this, both -theoretically and practically, Forrest wanted that clearness and -detachment of the spiritual faculties and the physical articulations, -that consummated liberty and swiftness of thought and feeling and -muscular play, which are absolutely necessary to the perfect actor. He -was so great an artist that he gave his pictures background, foreground, -proportion, perspective, light and shade, gradations of tone, and unity; -but he fell short of perfection, because carrying into every character -too much of his own individuality, and not sufficiently seizing their -various individualities and giving their distinctive attributes an -adequate setting in the refinements of an intellectualized -representation of universal human nature. - -The perfect artist—such an one as Delsarte was—will build a form of -character in the cold marble of pure intellect and then transfuse it -with passion till it blushes and burns. He will also reverse the -process, seize the spiritual shape born flaming from intuitive passion, -change it into critical perception, and deposit it in memory for -subsequent evocation at will. This is more than nature: it is art -superimposed on nature. Garrick, Siddons, Talma, Rachel, Salvini, -Forrest, were natural actors, and, more, they were artists. But the only -supreme master of the Artistic School known as yet, whose theoretic -ideal and actual training were perfect, was the great dramatic teacher -François Delsarte. - -Nature is truth in itself. But it is the ideal operation of truth that -constitutes art. Acting, like all art, is truth seen not in itself, but -reflected in man. It should not exhibit unmodified nature directly. It -should hold up the mirror of the human soul and reveal nature as -reflected there. It is a Claude Lorraine mirror of intellectual -sympathy, softening, shading, toning,—just as Shakspeare says, begetting -a temperance which gives smoothness to everything seen. The fights of -the gladiators and the butcheries of the victims in the Roman -amphitheatre were not acting, but reality. The splendor of art was -trodden into the mire of fact. The error, the defect, the exaggeration -in the acting of Forrest, so far as such existed, was that sometimes -excess of nature prevented perfection of art. If certainly a glorious -fault, it was no less clearly a fault. - -But as he advanced in years this fault diminished, and the polish of art -removed the crudeness of nature. Step by step the tricks into which he -had been betrayed revealed themselves to him as distasteful tricks, and -the sturdy impetuous honesty of his character made him repudiate them. -Too often in his earlier Lear he gave the impression that he was -buffeting fate and fortune instead of being buffeted by them; but slowly -the spiritual element predominated over the physical one, until the -embodiment stood alone in its balanced and massive combination of -sublimated truth, epic simplicity, exquisite tenderness, and tragic -strength. So his young Damon was greatly a performance of captivating -points and electrical transitions, stirring the audience to fever-heats -of fear and transport. No one who saw his wonderful burst of passion -when he learned that his slave had slain the horse that was to carry him -to the rescue of his friend and hostage—no one who saw his reappearance -before the block, stained and smeared with sweat and dust, crazed and -worn, yet sustained by a terrible nervous energy—could say that in any -class of passion he ever witnessed a truer or a grander thing. But the -conception was rather of a hot-blooded knight of the age of chivalry -than of a contemplative, resolute, symmetrical Greek senator. Gradually, -however, the maturing mind of the actor lessened the mere tumult of -sensational excitement, and increased and co-ordinated the mental and -moral qualities into a classical and climacteric harmony. One of the -most striking evidences of the progressive artistic improvement of -Forrest was the change in his delivery of the celebrated lament of -Othello, “Farewell the tranquil mind.” He used, speaking it in a kind of -musical recitative, to utter the words “neighing steed” in equine tones, -imitate the shrillness of “the shrill trump,” give a deep boom to the -phrase “spirit-stirring drum,” and swell and rattle his voice to portray -“the engines whose rude throats the immortal Jove’s dread clamors -counterfeit.” He learned to see that however effective this might be as -elocution it was neither nature nor art, but an artificiality; and then -he read the passage with consummate feeling and force, his voice broken -with passionate emotion but not moulded to any pedantic cadences or -flourishes. And yet it must be owned that after all his sedulous study -and great growth in taste, his too strong individuality would still crop -out sometimes to mar what else had been very nigh perfect. For instance, -there was, even to the last, an occasional touch of vanity that was -repulsive in those displays of voice which he would make on a favorite -sonorous word. In the line of the Gladiator, “We will make Rome howl for -this,” the boys would repeat as they went homeward along the streets his -vociferous and exaggerated downward slide and prolongation of the -unhappy word _howl_. And the same fault was conspicuous and painful in -the word _royal_, where Othello says,— - - “’Tis yet to know, - (Which, when I know that boasting is an honour, - I shall promulgate,) I fetch my life and being - From men of royal siege.” - -Despite this and other similar flaws, however, he had an intense -sincerity and force of nature, a varied truth blent in one consistent -whole of grand moral effectiveness, that place him high among the most -extraordinary players. His youthful Gladiator and Othello were as -impetuous, volcanic, and terrible as any of the delineations of -Frederick Lemaître. His mature Coriolanus had as imperial a stateliness, -as grand a hauteur, as massive a dynamic pomp, as were ever seen in John -Philip Kemble. His aged Lear was as boldly drawn and carefully finished, -as fearfully powerful in its general truth, and as wonderfully tinted, -toned, shaded, and balanced in its details, as any character-portrait -ever pictured by David Garrick. In the various parts he played in the -successive periods of his career he traversed the several schools of his -art,—except the last one, and fairly entered that,—and displayed the -leading traits of them all, the lava passion of Kean, the superb -pomposity of Vandenhoff, the statuesque kingliness of Talma, the -mechanically studied effects of Macready. His great glory was -“magnanimous breadth and generosity of manly temperament.” His faults -were an occasional slip in delicacy of taste, inability always to free -himself from himself, and the grave want of a swift grace and lightness -in the one direction equal to his ponderous weight and slowness in the -other. Thus, while in some respects he may be called the king of the -Natural School, he must be considered only a striking member, and not a -model, of the Artistic School. After his death his former wife, Mrs. -Sinclair, who was in every way an excellent judge of acting, and could -not be thought biased in his favor, was asked her opinion of him -professionally. She replied, “He was a very great artist. In some things -I do not think he ever had an equal; certainly not in my day. I do not -believe his Othello and his Lear were ever surpassed. His great -characteristics as an actor were power and naturalness.” In illustration -of this judgment the following anecdote, told by James Oakes, may be -adduced: - -“I was visiting my friend in Philadelphia, and went to the theatre to -see his Virginius. He had said to me at sunset, ‘I feel like acting this -part to-night better than I ever did it before;’ and accordingly I was -full of expectation. Surely enough, never before in his life had I seen -him so intensely grand. His touching and sublime pathos made not only -women but sturdy men weep audibly. As for myself, I cried like a baby. I -observed, sitting in the pit near the stage, a fine-looking old -gentleman with hair as white as snow, who seemed entirely absorbed in -the play, so much so that the attention of Forrest was drawn to him, and -in some of the most moving scenes he appeared acting directly towards -him. In the part where the desperate father kills his daughter the -acting was so vivid and real that many ladies, sobbing aloud, buried -their faces in their handkerchiefs and groaned. The old gentleman above -alluded to said, in quite a distinct tone, ‘My God, he has killed her!’ -Afterwards, when Virginius, having lost his reason, comes upon the stage -and says, with a distraught air, ‘Where is my daughter?’ utterly -absorbed and lost in the action, the old man rose from his seat, and, -looking the player earnestly in the face, while the tears were streaming -from his eyes, said, ‘Good God, sir, don’t you know that you killed -her?’ After the play Forrest told me that when he saw how deeply -affected the old gentleman was he came very near breaking down himself. -He esteemed it one of the greatest tributes ever paid him, one that he -valued more than the most boisterous applause of a whole audience.” - -The following critical notice of the histrionic type and style of -Forrest is from the gifted pen of William Winter, whose dramatic -criticisms in the New York “Tribune” for the past ten years have been -marked by a knowledge, an eloquence, an assured grasp and a -conscientiousness which make them stand out in refreshing contrast to -the average theatrical commenting of the newspaper press. Making a -little allowance for the obvious antipathy and sympathy of the writer, -the article is both just and generous: - -“Mr. Forrest has always been remarkable for his iron repose, his perfect -precision of method, his immense physical force, his capacity for -leonine banter, his fiery ferocity, and his occasional felicity of -elocution in passages of monotone and colloquy. These features are still -conspicuous in his acting. The spell of physical magnetism that he has -wielded so long is yet unbroken. The certainty of purpose that has -always distinguished him remains the same. Hence his popular success is -as great as ever. Strength and definiteness are always comprehensible, -and generally admirable. Mr. Forrest is the union of both. We may liken -him to a rugged old castle, conspicuous in a landscape. The architecture -may not be admired, but the building is distinctly seen and known. You -may not like the actor, but you cannot help seeing that he is the -graphic representative of a certain set of ideas in art. That is -something. Nay, in a world of loose and wavering motives and conduct, it -is much. We have little sympathy with the school of acting which Mr. -Forrest heads; but we know that it also serves in the great educational -system of the age, and we are glad to see it so thoroughly represented. -But, while Mr. Forrest illustrates the value of earnestness and of -assured skill, he also illustrates the law of classification in art as -well as in humanity. All mankind—artists among the rest—are distinctly -classified. We are what we are. Each man develops along his own grade, -but never rises into a higher one. Hence the world’s continual wrangling -over representative men,—wrangling between persons of different classes, -who can never possibly become of one mind. Mr. Forrest has from the -first been the theme of this sort of controversy. He represents the -physical element in art. He is a landmark on the border-line between -physical and spiritual power. Natures kindred with his own admire him, -follow him, reverence him as the finest type of artist. That is natural -and inevitable. But there is another sort of nature,—with which neither -Mr. Forrest nor his admirers can possibly sympathize,—that demands an -artist of a very different stamp; that asks continually for some great -spiritual hero and leader; that has crowned and uncrowned many false -monarchs; and that must for ever and ever hopelessly pursue its ideal. -This nature feels what Shelley felt when he wrote of ‘the desire of the -moth for the star, of the night for the morrow.’ To persons of this -order—and they are sufficiently numerous to constitute a large minority— -Mr. Forrest’s peculiar interpretations of character and passion are -unsatisfactory. They see and admire his certainty of touch, his profound -assurance, his solid symmetry. But they feel that something is wanting -to complete the artist. But enough of this. It is pleasanter now to -dwell upon whatever is most agreeable in the veteran’s professional -attitude. Mr. Forrest is one of the few thorough and indefatigable -students remaining to the stage. He has collected the best Shakspearean -library in America. He studies acting with an earnest and single-hearted -devotion worthy of all honor, worthy also of professional emulation. -Every one of his personations bears the marks of elaborate thought. -According to the measure of his abilities, Mr. Forrest is a true and -faithful artist; and if, as seems to us, the divine spark be wanting to -animate and glorify his creations, that lack, unhappily, is one that -nearly all artists endure, and one that not all the world can supply.” - -And now it is left to show more clearly and fully, while doing justice -to what Forrest was in his own noble School of Nature, how he fell short -in that other School of Art which is the finest and greatest of all. - -The voice of Forrest, naturally deep, rich, and strong, and developed by -constant exercise until it became astonishingly full and powerful, -ministered largely to the delight of his audiences and was a theme of -unfailing wonder and eulogy to his admirers. It may not be said which is -the most important weapon of the actor, the chest and neck, the arm and -hand, the face and head, or the voice; because they depend on and -contribute to one another, and each in its turn may be made the most -potent of the agents of expression. But if the primacy be assigned to -any organ it must be to the central and royal faculty of voice, since -this is the most varied and complex and intellectual of all the channels -of thought and emotion. A perfected voice can reveal almost everything -which human nature is capable of thinking or feeling or being, and not -only reveal it, but also wield it as an instrument of influence to -awaken in the auditor correspondent experiences. But for this result not -only an uncommon endowment by nature is necessary, but likewise an -exquisite artistic training, prolonged with a skill and a patience which -finally work a revolution in the vocal apparatus. Only one or two -examples of this are seen in a generation. The Italian school of -vocalization occasionally gives an instance in a Braham or a Lablache. -But such perfection in the speaking voice is even rarer than in the -singing. Henry Russell, whose reading and recitative were as consummate -as his song, and played as irresistibly on the feelings, had a voice of -perhaps the most nearly perfect expressive power known in our times. He -could infuse into it every quality of experience, color it with every -hue and tint of feeling, every light and shade of sentiment. To speak in -illustrative metaphor, he could issue it at will in such a varying -texture and quality of sound, such modified degrees of softness or -hardness, energy or gentleness, as would suggest bolts of steel, of -gold, of silver, or of opal; waves of velvet or of fire; ribbons of -satin or of crystal. His organism seemed a mass of electric sensibility, -all alive, and, in response to the touches of ideas within, giving out -fitted tones and articulations through the whole diapason of humanity, -from the very _vox angelica_ down to the gruff basses where lions roar -and serpents hiss. This is a result of the complete combination of -instinctive sensibility in the mind and developed elocutionary apparatus -in the body. The muscular connections of the thoracic and abdominal -structures are brought into unity, every part playing into all the parts -and propagating every vibration or undulatory impulse. At the slightest -volition the entire space sounding becomes a vital whole, all its walls, -from the roof of the mouth to the base of the inside, compressing and -relaxing with elastic exactitude, or yielding in supple undulation so as -to reveal in the sounds emitted precisely the tinge and energy of the -dominant thought and emotion. Then the voice appears a pure mental -agent, not a physical one. It seems to reside in the centre of the -breath, using air alone to articulate its syllables. Commanding, without -any bony or meaty quality, both extremes,—the thread-like diminuendo of -the nightingale and the stunning crash of the thunderbolt,—it gives -forth the whole contents of the man in explicit revelation. - -This perfection of the Italian School has been confined to the lyric -stage. Perhaps the nearest examples to it on the dramatic stage were -Edmund Kean for a short time in his best period, and Forrest and Salvini -in our own day. Forrest had it not in its complete finish. He grew up -wild, as it were, on a wild continent, where no such consummate training -had ever been known. Left to himself and to nature, he did everything -and more than everything that could have been expected. But _perfection_ -of voice, a detached vocal mentality which uses the column of -respiratory air alone as its instrument, sending its vibrations freely -into the sonorous surfaces around it, he did not wholly attain. His -voice seemed rather by direct will to employ the muscles to seize the -breath and shape and throw the words. He could crash it in sheeted -thunder better than he could hurl it in fagoted bolts, and he loved too -much to do it. In a word, his voice lacked, just as his character did, -the qualities of intellectualized spirituality, ethereal brilliancy, -aerial abstraction and liberty from its muscular settings and -environment. Had these qualities been fully his in body and soul, in -addition to what he was, he would have been the unrivalled paragon of -the stage. The fibres of the backbone and of the solar plexus were too -much intertangled with the fibres of the brain, the individual traits in -him were too closely mixed with the universal, for this. But -nevertheless, as it was, his voice was an organ of magnificent richness -and force for the expression of the elemental experiences of humanity in -all their wide ranges of intelligence, instinct, and passion. It could -do full justice to love and hate, scorn and admiration, desire, -entreaty, expostulation, remorse, wonder, and awe, and was most -especially effective in pity, in command, and in irony and sarcasm. His -profound visceral vitality and vigor were truly extraordinary. This grew -out of an athletic development exceptionally complete and a respiration -exceptionally deep and perfect. When Forrest under great passion or -mental energy spoke mighty words, his vocal blows, muffled thunder- -strokes on the diaphragmatic drum, used to send convulsive shocks of -emotion through the audience. The writer well remembers hearing him -imitate the peculiar utterance of Edmund Kean in his most concentrated -excitement. The sweet, gurgling, half-smothered and half-resonant -staccato spasms of articulation betokened the most intense state of -organic power, a girded and impassioned condition as terrible and -fascinating as the muscular splendor of an infuriated tiger. The voice -and elocution of Forrest were all that could be expected of nature and a -culture instinctive, observational, and intelligent, but irregular and -without fundamental principles. What was wanting was a systematic drill -based on ultimate laws and presided over by a consummate ideal, an ideal -which is the result of all the traditions of vocal training and triumphs -perfected with the latest physiological knowledge. Then he could have -done in tragedy what Braham did in song. Braham sang, “But the children -of Israel went on dry land.” He paused, and a painful hush filled the -vast space. Then, as if carved out of the solid stillness, came the -three little words, “through the sea.” The breath of the audience -failed, their pulses ceased to beat, as all the wonder of the miracle -seemed to pass over them with those accents, awful, radiant, resonant, -triumphant. He sat down amid the thunder of the whole house, while -people turned to one another wiping their eyes, and said, Braham! - -If the voice is the soul of the drama, facial expression is its life. In -the latter as in the former Forrest had remarkable power and skill, yet -fell short of the perfection of the few supreme masters. He stood at the -head of the Natural School whose representatives achieve everything that -can be done by a genuine inspiration and laborious study, but not -everything that can be done by these conjoined with that learned and -disciplined art which is the highest fruit of science applied in a -systematic drill. Imitatively and impulsively, with careful study of -nature in others, and with sincere excitement of his own faculties of -thought and feeling, he practised faithfully to acquire mobility of -feature and a facile command of every sort of passional expression. He -succeeded in a very uncommon yet clearly limited degree. The familiar -states of vernacular humanity when existing in their extremest degrees -of intensity and breadth he could express with a fidelity and vigor -possible to but few. His organic portraitures of the staple passions of -man were exact in detail and stereoscopic in outline,—breathing -sculptures, speaking pictures. Pre-eminently was this true in regard to -the basic attributes and ground passions of our nature. His Gladiator in -his palmiest day of vital strength was something never surpassed in its -kind. Every stroke touched the raw of the truth, and it was sublime in -its terribleness. At one moment he stood among his enemies like a column -of rock among dashing waves; at another moment the storm of passion -shook him as an oak is shaken by the hurricane. And when brought to bay -his action was a living revelation, never to be forgotten, of a dread -historic type of man,—the tense muscles, the distended neck, the -obstructed breath, the swollen arteries and veins, the rigid jaws, the -orbs now rolling like the dilated and blazing eyes of a leopard, now -white and set like the ferocious deathly eyes of a bull, while smothered -passion seemed to threaten an actual explosion of the whole frame. It -was fearful, but it was great. It was nature at first hand. And he could -paint with the same clear accuracy the sweeter and nobler phases of -human nature and the higher and grander elements of experience. His -expressions of domestic affection, friendship, honesty, honor, -patriotism, compassion, valor, fortitude, meditation, wonder, sorrow, -resignation, were marked by a delicate finish and a pronounced -distinctness of truth seldom equalled. For example, when in Virginius he -said to his motherless daughter, “I never saw you look so like your -mother in all my life,” the pensive and effusive tenderness of his look -and speech irresistibly drew tears. When he said to her, “So, thou art -Claudius’s slave!” the combination in his utterance of love for her and -ironic scorn for the tyrant was a stroke of art subtile and effective -beyond description. And when, in his subsequent madness, he exhibited -the phases of insanity from inane listlessness to raving frenzy, when -his sinews visibly set as he seized Appius and strangled him to death, -when he sat down beside the corpse and his face paled and his eyes -glazed and his limbs slowly stiffened and his head dropped in death,—his -attitudes and movements were a series of vital sculptures fit to be -photographed for immortality. - -Still, after every eulogy which can justly be paid him, it must be said -that he remained far from the complete mastership of his art in its -whole compass. Neither in conception nor execution did he ever grasp the -entire range of the possibilities of histrionic expression. Had he done -this he would not have stood at the head of the spontaneous and -cultivated Natural School, but would have represented that Artistic -School which practically still lies in the future, although its -boundaries have been mapped and its contents sketched by François -Delsarte. For instance, the feat performed by Lablache after a dinner at -Gore House, the representation of a thunder-storm simply by facial -expression, was something that Forrest would never have dreamed of -undertaking. Lablache said he once witnessed, when walking in the Champs -Elysées with Signor de Begnis, a distant thunder-storm above the Arc de -Triomphe, and the idea occurred to him of picturing it with the play of -his own features. He proceeded to do it without a single word. A gloom -overspread his countenance appearing to deepen into actual darkness, and -a terrific frown indicated the angry lowering of the tempest. The -lightnings began by winks of the eyes and twitchings of the muscles of -the face, succeeded by rapid sidelong movements of the mouth which -wonderfully recalled the forked flashes that seem to rend the sky, while -he conveyed the notion of thunder in the shaking of his head. By degrees -the lightnings became less vivid, the frown relaxed, the gloom departed, -and a broad smile illuminating his expressive face gave assurance that -the sun had broken through the clouds and the storm was over. - -By a Scientifically Artistic School of acting is not meant, as some -perversely understand, a cold-blooded procedure on mechanical -calculations, but a systematic application of the exact methods of -science to the materials and practice of the dramatic art. It means an -art of acting not left to chance, to caprice, to imitation, to -individual inspiration, or to a desultory and indigested observation of -others and study of self, but based on a comprehensive accurately -formulated knowledge of the truths of human nature and experience, and a -perfected mastery of the instruments for their expression. To be a -worthy representative of this school one must have spontaneous genius, -passion, inspiration, and mimetic instinct, and a patient training in -the actual exercise of his profession, no less than if he belonged to -the Classic, the Romantic, or the Natural School; while in addition he -seizes the laws of dramatic revelation by analysis and generalization, -and gains a complete possession of the organic apparatus for their -display in his own person by a physical and mental drill minute and -systematic to the last degree. The Artistic School of acting is the -Classic, Romantic, and Natural Schools combined, purified, supplemented -and perfected by adequate knowledge and drill methodically applied. - -Human nature has its laws of manifestation as well as every other -department of being. These laws are incomparably more elusive, obscure, -and complicated than those of natural philosophy, and therefore later to -gain formulation; but they are not a whit less real and unerring. The -business of the dramatic performer is to reveal the secrets of the -characters he represents by giving them open manifestation. Acting is -the art of commanding the discriminated manifestations of human nature. -If not based on the science of the structure and workings of human -nature it is not an art, but mere empiricism, as most acting always has -been. - -Delsarte toiled forty years with unswerving zeal to transform the -fumbling empiricism of the stage into a perfect art growing out of a -perfect science. He was himself beyond all comparison the most -accomplished actor that ever lived, and might, had he pleased, have -raised whirlwinds of applause and reaped fortunes. But, with a heroic -abnegation of fame and a proud consecration to the lonely pursuit of -truth, he refused to cater to a public who craved only amusement and -would not accept instruction; and he died comparatively obscure, in -poverty and martyrdom. He mastered the whole circle of the sciences and -the whole circle of the arts, and synthetized and crowned them all with -an art of acting based on a science of man as comprehensive as the world -and as minute as experience. It is to be hoped that he has left works -which will yet be published in justification of his claim, to glorify -his valiant, neglected, and saintly life, and to enrich mankind with an -invaluable bequest. - -Every form has its meaning. Every attitude has its meaning. Every motion -has its meaning. Every sound has its meaning. Every combination of -forms, attitudes, motions, or sounds, has its meaning. These meanings -are intrinsic or conventional or both. Their purport, value, rank, -beauty, merit, may be exactly determined, fixed, defined, portrayed. The -knowledge of all this with reference to human nature, methodically -arranged, constitutes the scientific foundation for dramatic -representation. Then the art consists in setting it all in free living -play. The first thing is a complete analysis and synthesis of the -actions and reactions of our nature in its three divisions of -intelligence, instinct, and passion; mind, heart, and conscience; -mentality, vitality, and morality. The second thing is a complete -command of the whole apparatus of expression, so that when it is known -exactly what the action of each muscle or of each combination of muscles -signifies, the actor may have the power to effect the requisite muscular -adjustment and excitation. The first requisite, then, is a competent -psychological knowledge of the spiritual functions of men, with a -sympathetic quickness to summon them into life; and the second, a -correspondent knowledge of anatomy and physiology applied in a gymnastic -drill to liberate all parts of the organism from stiffness and stricture -and unify it into a flexible and elastic whole. - -The æsthetic gymnastic which Delsarte devised, to perfect the dramatic -aspirant for the most exalted walks of his profession, was a series of -exercises aiming to invigorate the tissues and free the articulations of -the body, so as to give every joint and muscle its greatest possible -ease and breadth of movement and secure at once the fullest liberty of -each part and the exactest co-operation of all the parts. When the pupil -had finished this training he was competent to exemplify every physical -feat and capacity of man. Furthermore, this teacher arranged certain -gamuts of expression for the face, the practice of which would give the -brows, eyes, nose, and mouth their utmost vital mobility. He required -his pupil to sit before a mirror and cause to pass over his face, from -the appropriate ideas and emotions within, a series of revelatory -pictures. Beginning, for instance, with death, he ascended through -idiocy, drunkenness, despair, interest, curiosity, surprise, wonder, -astonishment, fear, and terror, to horror; or from grief, through pity, -love, joy, and delight, to ecstasy. Then he would reverse the passional -panorama, and descend phase by phase back again all the way from ecstasy -to despair and death. When he was able at will instantly to summon the -distinct and vivid picture on his face of whatever state of feeling -calls for expression, he was so far forth ready for entrance on his -professional career. - -Such is the training demanded of the consummate actor in that Artistic -School which combines the excellences of the three preceding schools, -cleansing them of their excesses and supplying all that they lack. The -prejudice against this sort of discipline, that it must be fatal to all -charm of impulse and fire of genius and reduce everything to a frigid -construction by rule, is either a fruit of ignorance or an excuse of -sloth. It is absurd to suppose that the perfecting of his mechanism -makes a man mechanical. On the contrary it spiritualizes him. It is -stiff obstructions or dead contractions in the organism that approximate -a man to a marionette. It is a ridiculous prejudice which fancies that -the strengthening, purification, and release of the organism from all -strictures destroys natural life and replaces it with artifice, or -banishes the fresh play of ideas and the surprising loveliness of -impulse by reducing the divine spontaneity of passion to a cold set of -formulas. The Delsartean drill so far from preventing inspiration -invites and enhances it by preparing a fit vehicle and providing the -needful conditions. The circulating curves of this æsthetic gymnastic, -whose soft elliptical lines supersede the hard and violent angles of the -vulgar style of exercise, redeem discordant man from his fragmentary -condition to a harmonious unity. He is raised from the likeness of a -puppet towards the likeness of a god. Then, as the influence of thought -and feeling breathes through him, the changes of the features and the -movement of the limbs and of the different zones of the body are so -fused and interfluent that they modulate the flesh as if it were -materialized music. - - “Unmarked he stands amid the throng, - In rumination deep and long, - Till you may see, with sudden grace, - The very thought come o’er his face, - And by the motion of his form - Anticipate the bursting of the storm, - And by the uplifting of his brow - Tell where the bolt will strike, and how.” - -Delsarte could shrink and diminish his stature under the shrivelling -contraction of meanness and cowardice or suspicion and crime until it -seemed dwarfed, or lift and dilate it under the inspiration of grand -ideas and magnanimous passions until it seemed gigantic. Every great -emotional impulse that took possession of him seemed to melt all the -parts of his organism together into a flexible whole with flowing -joints, and then his fused movements awed the spectator like something -supernatural. His face was a living canvas on which his soul painted the -very proportions and hues of every feeling. His voice in tone and -inflection took every color and shadow of thought and emotion, from the -sombre cloudiness of breathing awe to the crystalline lucidity of -articulating intellect. His inward furnishing even richer than the -outward, he would sit down at the piano, in a coarse overcoat, in a room -with bare walls, and, as he acted and sang, Œdipus, Agamemnon, Orestes, -Augustus, Cinna, Pompey, Robert le Diable, Tartuffe, rose before you and -revealed themselves in a truth that appeared almost miraculous and with -a power that was actually irresistible. It was no reproduction by -painful mimicry of externals, no portrayal by elaborate delineation of -details. It was positive identification and resurrection. It was a real -recreation of characters in their ensemble of being, and an exhibited -reanimation of them by imaginative insight and sympathetic assimilation. -Most wonderful of all, and greatest proof of the value of his system of -drill, he could catch a part by inspiration and go through it under the -automatic direction of nature, and then deliberately repeat the same -thing by critical perception and conscious free will; and he could also -reverse the process with equal ease, critically elaborate a rôle by -analysis and then fix it in the nerves and perform it with inspired -spontaneity. This was the highest possible exemplification of the -dramatic art by the founder of its only perfect school. It was Classic, -because it had the greatest dignity, repose, power, symmetry, unity. It -was Romantic, because it was full of the most startling effects, -beautiful combinations, sudden changes, surprising contrasts, and -extremes. It was Natural, because exactly conformed to the facts of -experience and the laws of truth as disclosed by the profoundest study -of nature. And above all it was supremely Artistic, because in it -intuition, instinct, inspiration, intelligence, will, and educated -discipline were reconciled with one another in co-operative harmony, and -everything was freely commanded by conscious knowledge and not left to -accident. - -True art is never merely an imitation of nature, nor is it ever purely -creative; but it is partly both. It arises from the desire to convert -conceptions into perceptions, to objectify the subjective in order to -enhance and prolong it in order to revive it at will and impart it to -others. Art, Delsarte said, with his matchless precision of phrase, is -feeling passed through thought and fixed in form. Grace without force is -the product of weakness or decay, and can please none save those whose -sensibilities are drained. Force without grace is like presenting a -figure skinned or flayed, and must shock every one who has taste. But -grace in force and force in grace, combined impetuosity and moderation, -power revealed hinting a far mightier power reserved,—this is what -irresistibly charms all. This is what only the very fewest ever attain -to in a superlative degree; for it requires not only richness of soul -and spontaneous instinct, and not only analytic study and systematic -drill, but all these added to patience and delicacy and energy. The -elements of the art of acting are the applied elements of the science of -human nature; yet on the stage those elements are different from what -they are in life in this respect, that there they are set in relief,— -that is, so systematized and pronounced as to give them distinct -prominence. That is precisely the difference of art from nature. It -heightens effect by the convergence of co-operative agencies. For -instance, when the variations of the speech exactly correspond with the -changes of the face, how the effect of each is heightened! Aaron Hill -said of Barton Booth that the blind might have seen him in his voice and -the deaf have heard him in his visage. Of those in whom nature is equal -he who has the greater art will carry the day, as of those in whom art -is equal he who has more nature must win. A lady said, “Had I been -Juliet to Garrick’s Romeo, so ardent and impassioned was he, I should -have expected that he would come up to me in the balcony; but had I been -Juliet to Barry’s Romeo, so tender, so eloquent and seductive was he, -that I should certainly have gone down to him.” In these two great -actors nature and art contended which was stronger. Very different was -it with Macready and Kean, of whom it used to be said respectively, “We -go to see Macready in Othello, but we go to see Othello in Kean.” The -latter himself enjoyed, and delighted others by showing, a transcript of -the great world of mankind in the little world of his heart. The -former,— - - “Whate’er the part in which his cast was laid, - Self still, like oil, upon the surface played.” - -Talma said, “In whatever sphere fate may have placed a man, the grand -movements of the soul lift him into an ideal nature.” The greatness of -every truly great actor shows itself in the general ideal which -characterizes his embodiments. If he has any originality it will publish -itself in his ideal. Now, while most actors are not only second-rate but -also second-hand, Forrest certainly was original alike as man and as -player. He was distinctively original in his personality, original and -independent in the very make of his mind and heart. This subtle and -striking originality of personal mind and genius was thoroughly leavened -and animated by a distinctively American spirit, the spirit generated by -the historic and material conditions of American society and the social -and moral conditions of American life. He was original by inherited -idiosyncrasy, original by his natural education, original by his self- -moulding culture which resented and shed every authoritative -interference with his freedom and every merely traditional dictation. He -was original in going directly to the instructions of nature and in -drawing directly from the revelations of his own soul. He was original -in a homely intensity of feeling and in a broad and unsophisticated -intelligence whose honest edges were never blunted by hypocritical -conformity and falsehood. And above all, as an actor he exhibited his -originality in a bearing or style of manners thoroughly democratic in -its prevailing scornful repudiation of tricks or squeamish nicety, and a -frank reliance on the simplicity of truth and nature in their naked -power. - -Now, precisely the crowning originality of Forrest as an actor, that -which secures him a distinctive place in the historic evolution of the -drama, is that while the ideals which the great actors before him -impersonated were monarchical, aristocratic, or purely individual, he -embodied the democratic ideal of the intrinsic independence and royalty -of man. Give Kemble only the man to play, he was nothing; give him the -paraphernalia of rank and station, he was imposing. But Forrest, a born -democrat, his bare feet on the earth, his bare breast to his foes, his -bare forehead to the sky, asked no foreign aid, no gilded toggery, no -superstitious titles, to fill the theatre with his presence and thrill -the crowd with his spell. There is an egotism of pride, an egotism of -vanity, an egotism of conceit, all of which, based in want of sympathy, -are contemptible and detestable. Forrest was remarkable for a tremendous -and obstinate pride, but not for vanity or conceit; and his sympathy was -as deep and quick as his pride, so that he was not an odious egotist, -although he was imperious and resentful. Many distinguished players have -trodden the stage as gentlemen, Forrest trod it as man. The ideal of -detachment, authority throned in cold-blooded self-regard, has been -often set forth. He exhibited the ideal of identification, burning -honesty of passion and open fellowship. The former is the ideal of -polite society. The latter is the ideal of unsophisticated humanity. -Macready asserted himself in his characters; Forrest asserted his -characters in himself. Both were self-attached, though in an opposite -way, and thus missed the perfect triumph which Delsarte achieved by -abolishing self and always resuscitating alive in its pure integrity the -very truth of the characters he essayed. Macready as an elaborate and -frigid representative of titular kings was a sovereign on the boards, a -subject elsewhere. Forrest as an inborn representative of natural kings -was a true sovereign in himself everywhere and always. The former by his -petulant pride and pomp and his drilled exemption from the sway of the -sympathies secured the approval of a sensitive and irritable _nil -admirari_ class. The latter by the fulness of his sympathies and his -impassioned eloquence as the impersonator of oppressed races awakened -the enthusiastic admiration of the people. A line, said an accomplished -critic, drawn across the tops of the points of Macready would leave -Forrest below in matters of mechanical detail, but would only cut the -bases of his pyramids of power and passion. His chief rôles were all -embodiments of the elemental vernacular of man in his natural virtue and -glory rather than in the refinements of his choicest dialects. Always -asserting the superiority of man to his accidents, he will be remembered -in the history of the theatre as the greatest democrat that up to his -time had ever stepped before the footlights. He had sincerity, -eloquence, power, nobleness, sublimity. His want was beauty, charm. The -epithets strong, fearless, heroic, grand, terrible, magnificent, were -fully applicable to him; but the epithets bright, bold, brisk, romantic, -winsome, graceful, poetic, were inapplicable. In a word, though -abounding in the broad substance of sensibility and the warm breath of -kindness, he lacked the artificial polish and finesse of etiquette; and -consequently the under-current of dissent from his fame, the murmur of -detraction, that followed him, was the resentment of the conventional -society whose superfine code he neglected and scorned. - -For this penalty, however, his sincerity and direct reliance on nature -gave ample compensation in making him capable of inspiration. Adherence -to mere authority, tradition, usage, or dry technicality, is fatal to -inspiration. This carried to an extreme makes the most cultivated player -a mere professor of postures and stage mechanics,—what the French called -Macready, “_L’artiste de poses_.” There is an infinite distance from -such external elaboration to the surprises of feeling which open the -soul directly upon the mysteries of experience, send cold waves of awe -through the nerves, and convert the man into a sublime automaton of -elemental nature, or a hand with which God himself gesticulates. Then -the performing of the actor originates not on the volitional surfaces of -the brain, but in the dynamic deeps of the spine and ganglia, and he -seems an incarnate fagot of thunderbolts. Then the gesticulating arms, -modulated by the profound spinal rhythms, become the instruments of a -visible music of passion mysteriously powerful. For all action from the -distal extremities of the nerves is feverish, twitching, anxious, with a -fidgety and wasteful expensiveness of force, while action from their -central extremities is steady, harmonious, commanding, economical of -force. The nearer to the central insertions of the muscles the initial -impulses take effect, so much the longer the lines they fling, the -acuter the angles they subtend, the vaster the segments they cut and the -areas they sweep. This suggests to the imagination of the spectator, -without his knowing the meaning or ground of it, a godlike dignity and -greatness. Forrest was full of this hinted and hinting power. It was the -secret of his loaded personality and magnetizing port. - -Art, while it is not pure and simple nature, is not anything substituted -for nature nor anything opposed to nature. It is something superadded to -nature, which gives the artist supreme possession of his theme, supreme -possession of himself, and supreme command of his treatment of his -theme. It is a grasped generalization of the truths of nature freed from -all coarse, crude, and degrading accidents and details. The consummate -artist, observing the principle or law, does everything easily; but the -empiric, striving at the facts, does everything laboriously. Feeling -transmuted into art by being passed through thought and fixed in form is -transferred for its exemplification from the volition of the cerebral -nerves to the automatic execution of the spinal nerves. This does not -exhaust the strength, but leaves one fresh after apparently the most -tremendous exertions. Talma, Rachel, Salvini, did not sweat or fatigue -themselves, however violent their action seemed. But when feeling, -instead of having been passed through thought and fixed in form for -automatic exhibition, is livingly radiated into form by the will freshly -exerted each time, the exaction on the forces of the organism is great. -It is then nature in her expensiveness that is seen, rather than the art -which secures the maximum of result at the minimum of cost. It was said -of Barry that excessive sensibility conquered his powers. His heart -overcame his head; while Garrick never lost possession of himself and of -his acting. The one felt everything himself before he made his audience -feel it; the other remained cool, and yet by his kingly self-control -forced his audience to feel so much the more. In his direct honest -feeling and exertion Forrest paid the expensive penalty of the Natural -School. After playing one of his great parts he was drenched with -perspiration and blew off steam like a locomotive brought to rest. The -nerves of his brain and the nerves of his spinal cord were -insufficiently detached in their activities, too much mixed. Like Edmund -Kean, he was as a fusee, and the points of the play were as matches; at -each electric touch his nerve-centres exploded and his muscles struck -lightning. But in the Artistic School the actor is like a lens made of -ice, through which the sunbeams passing set on fire whatever is placed -in their focus. The player who can pour the full fire of passion through -his soul while his nerves remain firm and calm has command of every -power of nature, and reaches the greatest effects without waste. But, as -Garrick said,— - - “In vain will Art from Nature help implore - When Nature for herself exhausts her store.” - -The essence of the dramatic art or the mission of the theatre is the -revelation of the different grades of character and culture as exhibited -in the different styles of manners, so that the spectator may assign -them their respective ranks. The skill or bungling of the actor is shown -by the degrees of accuracy and completeness which mark his portraitures. -And the predominant ideal illustrated in his impersonations betrays the -personal quality and level of the actor himself. - -Manners are the index of the soul, silently pointing out its rank. All -grades of souls, from the bottom of the moral scale to its top, have -their correspondent modes of behavior which are the direct expression of -their immediate states and the reflex revelation of their permanent -characters. The principle of politeness or good manners is the law of -the ideal appropriation of states of feeling on recognition of their -signs. Sympathy implies that when we see the sign of any state in -another we at once enter into that state ourselves. Interpreting the -sign we assimilate the substance signified and thus reflect the -experience. Everything injurious, repulsive, or petty, pains, lessens, -and lowers us. The signs of such states therefore are to be withheld. -But the signs of beautiful, powerful, sublime, and blessed states enrich -and exalt those who recognize them and reproduce their meaning. The -refinement and benignity of any style of manners are measured by the -largeness and purity of the sphere of sympathetic life it implies, the -generosity of its motives, and the universality of its objects. The -vulgarity and odiousness of manners are measured by the coarseness of -sensibility, the narrow egotism, the contracted sphere of consciousness -implied by them. Thus the person who fixes our attention on anything -spiritual, calming, authoritative, charming, or godlike, confers a -favor, ideally exalting us above our average level. But all such acts as -biting the nails or lips, taking snuff, smoking a cigar, talking of -things destitute of interest save to the vanity of the talker, are bad -manners, because they draw attention from dignified and pleasing themes -and fasten it to petty details, or inflict a severe nervous waste on the -sensibility that refuses to be degraded by obeying their signals. - -Now, there are four generic codes of manners in society, each of which -has its specific varieties, and all of which are exemplified in the -theatre,—that great explicit “mirror of fashion and mould of form.” -First there is the code of royal manners, the proper behavior of kings. -Kings are all of one family. They are all free, neither commanding one -another nor obeying one another, each one complete sovereign in himself -and of himself. The sphere of his personality is hedged about by a -divinity through which no one ventures to peep for dictation or -interference. In his relations with other persons the king is not an -individual, but is the focal consensus of the whole people over whom he -is placed, the apex of the collective unity of the nation. He therefore -represents public universality and no private egotism. He is the symbol -of perfect fulfilment, wealth, radiance, joy, peace. By personal will he -imposes nothing, exacts nothing, but like the sun sheds impartially on -all who approach him the golden largess of his own complete -satisfaction. That is the genuine ideal of royal manners. But the actual -exemplification is often the exact opposite,—an egotistic selfishness -pampered and maddened to its very acme. Then the formula of kingly -behavior is the essence of spiritual vulgarity and monopolizing -arrogance, namely, I am the highest of all: therefore every one must bow -to me and take the cue from me! Then, instead of representing the -universal, to enrich all, he degrades the universal into the individual, -to impoverish all. Then his insolent selfishness at the upper extreme -produces deceit and fawning at the lower extreme. The true king imposes -nothing, asks nothing, takes nothing, though all is freely offered him, -because he radiates upon all the overflow of his own absolute -contentment. Every one who sees him draws a reflected sympathetic -happiness from the spectacle of his perfect happiness. - -The formula expressed in truly royal manners is, I am so contented with -the sense of fulfilment and of universal support that my only want is to -see every one enjoying the same happiness! In a perfected state the -formula of democratic manners will be identical with this. For then the -whole community with its solidarity of wealth and power will be the -sustaining environment whereof each individual is a centre. But as yet -the private fortune of each man is his selfishly isolated environment; -and the totality of individual environments bristles with hostility, -while every one tries to break into and absorb the neighboring ones. - -The code of aristocratic manners, too, has its sinister or false -development as well as its true and benign development. The formula -which, in its ungenial phase, it is forever insinuating through all its -details of demeanor, when translated into plain words is this: I am -superior to you and therefore command you! But the real aristocratic -behavior does not say the inferior must obey the superior. On the -contrary, it withholds and suppresses the sense of superiority, seems -unconscious of it, and only indirectly implies it by the implicit -affirmation, I am glad to be able to bless and aid you, to comfort, -strengthen, and uplift you! The false aristocrat asserts himself and -would force others to follow his lead. The true aristocrat joyously -stoops to serve. His motto is not, I command, but Privilege imposes -obligation. - -The twofold aspect of plebeian manners affords a repetition of the same -contrast. The plebeian manner, discontented and insurrectionary, says, -You are superior to me, and therefore I distrust, fear, and hate you! -The plebeian manner, submissive and humble or cringing, says, I am -inferior to you, and therefore beseech your favor, deprecating your -scorn! But the plebeian manner, honest, manly, and good, says, You are -superior to me, and I am glad of it, because, looking up to you with -admiration and love, I shall appropriate your excellence and grow like -you myself! - -Finally, we come to the democratic code of manners. The spurious formula -for democratic behavior is, I am as good as you! This is the -interpretation too common in American practice thus far. It is the -insolent casting off of despotic usages and authorities, and the -replacing them with the defiant protest of a reckless independence. I am -as good as you, and therefore neither of us will have any regard or -deference for the other! But in wide distinction from this impolite and -harsh extreme, the formula implied in the genuine code of democratic -manners is, We are all amenable to the same open and universal standard -of right and good, and therefore we do not raise the question at all of -precedency or privilege, of conscious superiority or inferiority, but we -leave all such points to the decision of the facts themselves, and are -ready indifferently to lead or to follow according to the fitness of -intrinsic ranks! - -Spurious democracy would inaugurate a stagnant level of mediocrities, a -universal wilderness of social carelessness and self-assertion. Genuine -democracy recognizes every man as a monarch, independent and supreme in -his interior personal sphere of life, but in his social and public life -affiliated with endless grades of superiors, equals, and inferiors, all -called on to obey not the self-will of one another, or of any majority, -but to follow gladly the dictates of those inherent fitnesses of -inspiration from above and aspiration from below which will remain -eternally authoritative when every unjust immunity and merely -conventional or titular rank has been superseded. This was the style of -manners, this was the implied formula of behavior, embodied by Forrest -in all his great rôles. Affirming the indefeasible sovereignty of the -individual, he neither wished to command nor brooked to obey other men -except so far as the intrinsic credentials of God were displayed in -them. Thus, under every accidental or local diversity of garb and -bearing, he stood on the American stage, and stands and will stand in -front there, as the first sincere, vigorous, and grand theatrical -representative of the democratic royalty of man. - - - - - CHAPTER XXI. - HISTORIC EVOLUTION AND SOCIAL USES OF THE DRAMATIC ART.—GENIUS AND -RELATIONSHIP OF THE LIBERAL PROFESSIONS.—HOSTILITY OF THE CHURCH AND THE - THEATRE. - - -In an early chapter of this biography an analysis was given of the -dramatic art considered in its psychological origin and in its personal -uses for those who practise it. This was done that the reader might have -in his mind the data requisite for forming an intelligent judgment on -the life which was to be recorded and criticised in the succeeding -chapters. But in order to appreciate the just moral rank and worth or -the legitimate influences of such a life in its public sphere and -aspects, it is necessary to understand something of the historic -development and the social uses of the dramatic art,—its distinctive -genius in contrast with the other liberal professions, and the natural -effects on those who witness its exhibitions. The subject teems with -matters of unsuspected importance, and its discussion will yield -surprising revelations. - -Before attempting to trace the rise of the Theatre and its struggle with -its rivals, we must get an adequate idea of the essential substance of -the art practised in the Theatre. For this purpose it will be necessary -to approach the subject from a point of view different from those -generally taken hitherto. - -The practice of the dramatic art rests on the differences of men amidst -their similarities. The whole intercourse of life really consists at -bottom in a complex and subtile game of superiorities and inferiorities, -full of tests and tricks, surprises, pains, and pleasures. Every one who -has not been regenerated from the selfish heritage of history into a -saintly disinterestedness is constantly impelled by a desire far deeper -than his consciousness to wish to see others inferior to himself, to -feel himself superior to others, and to get this relative estimate -accepted in the imaginations of the bystanders. Human experience in -society is a half-open and half-disguised battle for advantage and -precedence, inward and outward, private and public, filled with attacks -and defences, feints and traps, overtures and defiances, every -conceivable sort of coarse or exquisite artifices for winning victories -and inflicting defeats in the occult and endless game of personal -comparisons. - -All comparisons imply standards of judgment. There are eight of these -standards,—four primary, and four secondary. The first of the primary -standards of excellence by which we try ourselves and one another is -bodily health, strength, grace, and beauty. The second is moral -character, goodness of disposition, purity and nobility of motives. The -third is genius and talent, brilliant powers of creative or beneficent -action. The fourth is technical acquisitions, artificial learning and -accomplishments, charm of manners, skill in doing attractive or -important things. The first of the secondary standards by which men are -estimated in society is hereditary rank or caste, birth, blood, and -title. The second is official place and power, social position and -influence. The third is reputation and fame. The fourth is wealth. All -these standards, it will be observed, find their ultimate meaning and -justification in the idea of adaptedness for the fulfilment of the ends -of life. Good is the fruition of function. The highest personal beauty -and genius imply the greatest fitness for the fulfilment of function. -Wealth is a material means, fame an ideal means, for the fruition of -life. - -But obviously there are distinctions of grade and of authority among -these standards, and he who ranks high when judged by one of them may -rank low according to another. It is the continual subterfuge of self- -love at the inner tribunal to evade the tests of the standards that are -unfavorable to it, and to court comparison by those whose verdicts are -surest to be flattering. On the contrary, in testing other people, the -egotistic and ungenerous person instinctively applies the tests most -likely to insure condemnation. This is the first vice of introspection -and of mutual criticism. - -The second evil is setting lower standards above higher ones, -attributing more importance to apparent or conventional claims than to -real and intrinsic merits. In all ignoble circles, among all men and -women of low sensibility or of shallow routine, there is a steady -tendency to estimate self and associates by factitious and hollow -standards of good instead of the inherent and substantial standards. -More deference is paid to dress and title than to form and bearing. -Privileged descent and station are put before genius and worth. Deeds -and deserts go to the wall in favor of shows and professions. Riches are -esteemed above character. What others think of us is deemed of greater -account than what God knows of us. This turning topsy-turvy of the -standards for the judging of men is what fills the world with the -confusion, wickedness, and misery of a rivalry that is as detestable as -it is pernicious and sad. - -No two men can be exactly alike. Inequality is the universal law of -existence. Without it there would be an unbroken monotony and stagnation -equivalent to death. It is the play of greater and lesser, fairer and -homelier, wiser and foolisher, higher and lower, better and worse, -richer and poorer, older and younger, that intersperses the spectacle of -being and the drama of experience with the glimpsing bewitchments of -surprise, the ravishing zest of pursuit and success, the everlasting -freshness and variety of desire, change, suspense, risk, and adventure. -The essential moral struggle for superiority, in which all men are -forever engaged whether they know it or not, is the divine method of -enchanting them with life and luring them forward. It would be an -unmixed good, covering all intercourse with the charm of a theatrical -beauty and spicing every day with the relish of a religious game, were -it not for the predominant vices of fraud, envy, and tyranny -surreptitiously introduced into the contest. Did all men regard their -superiors with joyous reverence and aspiration, their equals with co- -operative friendship, and their inferiors with respectful kindness and -help, never of their own will raising the question as to who shall -command or lead and who obey or follow, but leaving these points to be -decided by the laws in the manifest fitness of things, the unlikenesses -and inequalities which now set them at wretched odds would be the very -conditions of their orchestral harmony and the chief elements of their -converging delight. The general genius of the dramatic art, purified and -perfected, tends directly to bring this about, while the special genius -of each of the other liberal professions stands obstructively in the -way. For the spirit of each of the other professional classes segregates -it from general humanity into a privileged order whose members maintain -its prerogatives by means of a necessary _peculium_ for which their -special interest makes them desire that the rest of the world shall -depend exclusively on them. But the dramatic spirit freely enters the -soul and lot of every condition of men for the sympathetic -interpretation and intuitive feeling of their contents. The genuine -temper of this art, separate from the depraved usages of society, would -teach men to honor and copy those above, to love and blend with those -around, and to example and help those beneath. Then the strong and -cunning would no longer take selfish advantage of their power and hold -the masses of mankind in subjection by the triple bond of interest, -fraud, and fear. According to the principles of universal order, life -would everywhere become a mutual partnership of teaching and blessing -from above and learning and following from below, a spontaneous giving -and taking of all good things in justice and love without violence and -without money. Every one rendering his share of service in the co- -operation of the whole, no portion would be victimized by the rest, but -in the perfected equity and good will there would be abundant wealth for -all and plenty of leisure for each. - -There are certain select places or focal buildings in which all the -secrets of human nature are revealed and the arts of power grasped. Each -of these has become the centre of a profession which has employed the -knowledge and skill given by its social position to secure certain -advantages to its members and make the rest of mankind pay tribute to -them in return for the benefits they claim to bestow or in -acknowledgment of the authority they claim to possess. These are the -ruling or leading classes of the world, in whose hands the keys of power -are lodged. The advantages of their situation where all the secrets of -experience are uncovered and all the arts of influence developed, their -exemption from the hardships of physical drudgery, their varied training -in mental accomplishments and cumulative inheritance of superiority, -place the rest of mankind in subjection to them. Had they -disinterestedly used their power to enlighten and free other men, to -educate and enrich other men, the world would long since have been -redeemed. They have used it to secure special advantages for themselves, -making others their servants on whose uncompensated blood and sweat they -live. Therefore the strife and crime and poverty and misery of the world -continue. - -All forms of experience are laid bare in the palace of the king. Every -variety of character and of fortune is stripped of its disguises there; -every mode of behavior, every rank of motives, exposed in its true -signals. The lynx-eyed and selfish scrutiny which has its seat there -utilizes this knowledge, and the rules and methods in which ages have -generalized it, to endow the imperial profession with the peculiar -attributes and treasures by which they govern. The true function of the -king or other ruler is to represent the whole people with his -superiority of position and endowment, to warn, guide, enlighten, and -bless them, using all his privileges faithfully for their service. But -the reverse of this has been his prevailing vice in all times. He has -used his power for his own selfish luxury and the emoluments of his -favorites, making government less a means of universal welfare and more -a means of exalting the few at the cost of the many. The game of -comparisons, instead of being made a divine play of variety and surprise -in service and love, has been made a cruel engine for the oppression of -the weak by the strong. The individual interest of the governing class -has perverted its universal function into a personal privilege. The -genius of the palace is selfish luxury in irresponsible power. - -In the tent of the general the same revelation of the secrets of human -nature is made as in the royal palace, and the skill in assuming -authority and in controlling men thereby acquired is embodied in the -military profession, which is always the right arm of the imperial -profession. The genuine office of the martial profession is to raise the -protecting and executive energy of a nation to its maximum by scientific -precision of movement and unquestioning obedience to command. Its -twofold vice has been the fostering of a love of war or reckless spirit -of conquest, and the making of the officer a martinet and of the soldier -a puppet utterly mindless of right or wrong in their blind obedience to -orders. An army is a machine of destruction wielded by the most -consummate art the world has yet known. When that absolute obedience and -that perfect discipline and that matchless devotion become intelligent -and free, and are directed to beneficent ends, they will redeem the -world. But thus far the genius of the military headquarters is arbitrary -power in automatic drill to avenge and to destroy. - -By the sick-bed, in the hospital and the asylum, all the treasures of -memory are yielded up, all the mysteries of passion exposed, all the -operations of the soul unshrouded before the eyes of the physician. In -this knowledge, and in the ability which the accumulated experience of -so many centuries has gained to assuage pain, to heal disease, and to -give alleviating guidance, an immense deposit of power is placed in the -hands of the medical profession. The blessed function of the profession, -in its universal aspect, is to instruct the people in the laws of health -and to rescue them from suffering and danger. Its interest, in its class -aspect, thrives on the ills of other men. The more sickness there is, -the more completely dependent on them it is for remedy, the better for -their interest. The great vices of the craft have been charlatanism and -quackery, the owlish wisdom of the gold-headed cane and the spectacled -nose, and a helpless addictedness to routine and prescription. All the -defects of the profession, however, are fast vanishing, all its virtues -fast increasing, as under the infiltrating inspirations of science it is -shedding its bigotry and pride, subordinating pathology to hygiene, -repudiating its besotted faith in drugging, and freely throwing open to -the whole world the special discoveries and insights it used so -carefully to keep to itself as sacred secrets. This is its disinterested -phase. In its selfish phase its genius is a jealous guarding of its -knowledge and repute as a means of power and gain. - -The arts of rule are learned, the mechanism of human nature is unveiled -in all the agencies of influence that work it, perhaps even more fully -in the police-office, the court-house, and the prison, than in either of -the places previously named. Brought before the bar of the judge, -surrounded by the imposing and terrible array of the law with its dread -apparatus of inquisition and punishment, every secret of the human heart -is extorted. The culprit, the hero, the high and the low, the weak and -the strong, all kinds and states of men, there betray their several -characteristics in their demeanor, and uncover the springs of the world -in its deepest interests, passions, and plots. Thus the legal -profession, manipulating the laws, sitting as umpires for the decision -of the complex conflicts of men in the endless collisions of their -universal struggle of hostile interests, consummate masters of every -method and artifice of power, have a place nearest to the seat of -government. Their hands are on the very index and regulator of public -authority. Their omnipresent instinct, ever since the rise of the black- -gowned confraternity, has chiefly inspired and shaped as well as -administered the judicial code of society. Now, their profound knowledge -of the arts of sway, their matchless skill in victory and evasion, their -vast professional prerogative, have been chiefly used not to bless -mankind, but to win offices, honors, and fees from them. The universal -function of the lawyer is justice, the prevention or reconciliation of -disputes, the teaching of men to live in harmonious equity. But his -private individual and class interest is litigation, the putting of the -cause of a client above the public right, the retention of his light -that other men in their darkness may be forced to look to him for -guidance. The genius of the law is the nursing of its own authority by -preserving occult technicalities, blind submission to precedents, and -the pursuit of victory regardless of right or wrong. - -But the priestly profession, in the temple of religion, has penetrated -more profoundly into the soul than any of the other ruling castes to -seize the secrets of character and elaborate the arts of sway. Through -the lattice-work of the confessional breathes the dismal murmur of the -sins and miseries of men and sighs the glorious music of their -aspirations. The whole reach of experience in its degradations of vice -and its heights of virtue, from apathy to ecstasy, is a familiar thing -to the contemplation of the priest. Confided in or feared, set apart -from other men that he may study them and manage their faiths, nothing -is hidden from him. Suppressing or concealing his own passions, he -learns to play on those of others and mould them to his will. So -Jesuitism, entrenched in the superiority of its detaching and despotic -drill, holds obedience by that cold eyeball which has read human nature -so deeply and so long, plucking from it the tale of its weaknesses and -thus the secrets of rule. Every mystery of man and his life is revealed -to him who presides in the temple, at the altar, the confessional, and -the grave, and who is called in to pronounce the will of God at every -crisis of experience. His style and tenure of power are more ominous, -pervasive, and fatal than any other, because claiming a sanction -supernatural and absolute. It plants in heaven and hell the endless -lever of its hopes and fears to pry up the primitive instincts of -humanity and wrench apart the natural interests of the world. The -sublime office of the priesthood, in its generous and universal aspect, -is to teach men the truths of morality and religion and to administer -their consolations to human sorrow and doom. But, perverting this benign -office, it seeks to subdue all men to itself by claiming the exclusive -deposit of a supernatural revelation. Then it seeks its class interest -at the cost of the interests of the whole, puts authority in the place -of demonstrated truth, and persecutes dissent as the unpardonable sin. -The virtues of the clerical profession are studiousness, personal -purity, philanthropic works, self-sacrifice, and conscientious piety. -Its vices are the hideous brood of fanaticism, intolerance, cruelty, -love of power, vanity, a remorseless greed for subjecting the real -interests of the present world to the fancied interests of a future one. -The historic animus of priesthoods has been dictatorial superstition and -bigotry, setting their own favorite dogmas above the open truths of the -universe, and either superciliously pitying or ferociously hating all -outside of their own narrow folds. - -The next place for the revelation of the contents of human nature in all -the ranges of its experience is the studio of the artist. The open and -impassioned sensibility of the great artist gives him free admission to -the interiors of all whom he sees, and his genius enables him to -translate what is there and record it in his works. All experiences are -registered in the organism, and their signals, however invisible or -mystic to ordinary observers, are obvious and full of meanings to the -insight of genius. Sir Godfrey Kneller declared that the eyebrow of -Addison seemed to say, “You are a much greater fool than you think -yourself to be, but I would die sooner than tell you so!” The magic -attraction of the greatest works of art resides really in their occult -revelation of the inherent ranks of the persons depicted. Their -clearness or foulness, their beauty or deformity, their grace or -awkwardness, their radiant joy or their squalid and obscene -wretchedness, are so many hints of the degrees of good and evil in men -and women,—explicit symbols of their potencies of function, their -harmony or discord of powers. In their forms, proportions, attitudes, -gestures, lights and shades of expression, their respective capacities -for woe or bliss are ranged along the scale of human possibility. Thus, -in the paintings of Rubens the whole history of voluptuousness is made -transparent from the first musical breath of desire to the last lurid -madness of murder. In the sculptures of Phidias the most exquisite -living development into unity of all the organs and faculties of man is -petrified for posterity to behold and be stimulated to the same -achievement. In the statues of Buddha is clearly seen by the initiated -eye the intoxicating sense of godhead in the soul, the infinite dream -and entrancement of nirvana,—the molecular equilibrium of the cells of -the body and the dynamic equilibrium of the atoms of consciousness. This -is the charm and mystery with which art fascinates even its unwitting -beholders. But its great lessons of organic ranks and potencies, of -higher and lower characters and experiences, are not distinctly taught. -They are only suggested for those who have the keys to interpret them. -Thus they often give an idle pleasure or provoke a piquant curiosity, -but yield no moral fruit, no lasting benefit. The function of the artist -is revelation by inspired genius, and through this revelation to exalt -the ideals, purify and expand the sensibilities, and kindle the -aspirations of men while giving them a refined pleasure. His vice is the -luxurious enjoyment of his gifts as a subtile ministration to self- -indulgence. His class interest is not to communicate his gifts, but to -secure admiration and patronage for them. It is questionable whether as -yet art has not on the whole done more to unnerve and mislead than to -consecrate and uplift. Its genius is sympathetic insight catering to -complacence and luxury rather than prompting to edification. - -All other artists, however, must yield to the dramatic performer of -genius and experience as to the completeness with which he pierces the -secrecy of human nature and commands its manifestations. The actor gains -his knowledge of men not indirectly by ruling and making use of them, -but directly by intuitive perception and mimetic intelligence and -sympathy entering into all their conditions and experiences, reproducing -in himself their inner states of being and the outer signs of them. -Then, on the stage, he gives systematic exhibitions of the varieties of -character and life for the amusement and the instruction of the public. -The ideal of his art is the exemplification in living action of the -grades of personalities, the contrasts of conduct, the styles of -manners, so set off with appropriate foils and true standards as to -cause the spectators to discriminate the rank and worth of each, be -warned from the unworthy with fear and loathing, and drawn to the -excellent with admiration and love. This is contagious education -disguised in beguiling entertainment. Thus the genius of the drama is -earnest improvement concealed in free play, edification masked in -recreation. - -The vice that besets the player is not selfishness, despotism, avarice, -indifference, or the subserving of a class interest opposed to the -general interest. He is characteristically free from such faults. His -great error is using his art for ostentation and vanity merely to win -applause and profit. He is tempted to sacrifice the spirit of -earnestness and teaching for the spirit of sport and pleasure, playing a -part simply for people to enjoy, instead of adding to this lessons for -them to learn. As the church, in order to escape from its barren routine -of preceptive and ceremonial repetitions, needs the dramatic spirit of -reflective sympathy and living action, so the theatre, in order to -escape from its too frequent emptiness and tawdry frivolity, needs the -academic spirit of earnest instruction. When the dramatic spirit whose -home and throne are in the theatre shall add to what it already -possesses moral and religious earnestness, making the scene of its art a -school for training aspirants to perfection, it will be seen to be the -purest and richest spirit in the world. It will teach all to enter into -the soul and fortune of each, and each to feel himself bound up in one -bundle of life and destiny with all,—even as he, the Christ, who was the -divinest creature that ever wore this humanized and tearful mask of -clay, played the role of no individual ego, but impersonated collective -humanity, dramatically identifying himself to the end of time with all -the broken and suffering members of our race, saying, “Inasmuch as ye -have done it unto one of the least of these, ye have done it unto me.” -The universal prevalence of that same moralized and religious dramatic -spirit in all men is all that is needed for the immediate and perfect -redemption of the world. Dogmatic theology, ecclesiastical polity, and -sectarian mechanism do more to delay than to expedite the time. - -Thus it is plain that the professions that radiate from the palace, the -tent, the hospital, the tribunal, the temple, the studio, and the -theatre all have vices which largely neutralize their good offices and -prevent the fulfilment of their true mission, namely, the spreading of -the kingdom of heaven over the whole earth in the redemption of men from -ignorance, oppression, strife, and want. - -There is another building, the seat of another profession, quite exempt -from the evils which alloy and burden the foregoing. The academy takes -all knowledge, scientifically considered, for its province; and the -teaching profession administer their possession as no _peculium_ of -their own, but as an open and free inheritance for all. They have no -class interest to foster as against the welfare of the whole. They have -no dogma of authority to impose, aside from the inherent authority of -truth and right. They do not wish to rule, only to teach every one self- -rule. The academic spirit would break open the enclosures bristling with -technical secrets, the strongholds of partial power, and dispense -freedom to all instead of despotic sway to the ruler, justice to all -instead of victory for the client, health to all instead of a fee to the -doctor, the grace of God to all instead of a salary for the priest. The -vice of the teaching class is the pedagogic dryness of routine and -verbal iteration. Academic education needs to add to itself everywhere -the dramatic spirit of life, that creative action of free sympathy which -will supplement the preceptive word with the exemplifying deed and -change the prosaic aridity for poetic freshness and bloom. It also needs -the military principle of drill, or organic habits of rhythm, wherever -applicable; but not to displace spontaneous intelligence and choice. It -likewise needs to proclaim the religiousness of scientific truth, that -every truth of morals or things is a demonstrable revelation of the will -of God, and the same for all men of all lands and faiths. Then the -academic profession will in itself reject the excesses and supply the -defects of all the other professions, and be the one guiding class in a -condition of mankind which has thrown off obsolete leading-strings. For, -while the ideal state of mankind will have no despotic or selfish ruler, -soldier, lawyer, doctor, or priest, it will always have a class of -teaching artists and artistic teachers, men of original genius and -inspiration, to refresh, enlighten, and guide their less gifted -brethren. To such a class the final government of the world will be -intrusted, not governing by the force of authority but by the persuasion -of light. Then partisan politics, ruling by human will declared in a -majority of votes, will be transmuted into social science, guiding by -the will of God revealed in demonstration. Those who desire to lift -themselves at the expense of others, and to live without labor by -appropriating the toil of others, will dislike such a conception, and -scout it as visionary. But their spirit is bad and must pass away; -because Christ, or God incarnate in man, is surely one day to reign, -putting every enemy under his feet and being All in all. - -This millennial state might soon be ushered in if the ruling -professions, instead of guarding their class privileges and keeping the -rest of the world under them, sought disinterestedly to fulfil their -universal functions, securing order, justice, freedom, health, virtue, -piety, and education to all. But in reality the chief desire which -actuates them and shapes their policy and efforts is the instinctive -desire to avoid hardships and secure luxuries by governing other men and -appropriating the fruits of their labor without any equitable return. -This is seen now concentrated in the universal struggle for money, -because the superstition of money enables its possessor to command the -products of others without producing anything himself. How can this -fatal spell be broken, and that condition of society be inaugurated -wherein all things shall be exchanged for love alone, except labor and -its products, and these be exchanged on the principle of equivalences of -cost, abjuring the tyrannical fraud of profit? It can only be brought -about through an increased spirit of sympathy animating an improved -social science. And this is primarily the office of the dramatic -principle of imaginative identification, which is to make every one feel -for all others as if he were in their place. - -Thus it is clear that the genuine moral work of the drama is essentially -the same as that of the gospel,—to redeem men from self-love by sympathy -for their kind. And yet the theatre and the church have stood askance, -and the priests and the players generally been enemies. What is the -origin, what the significance, what the remedy, of this quarrel between -those who should be friends and co-workers? A brief historic sketch and -a little human analysis will answer these questions, perhaps with some -profit as well as light. - -The dramatic instinct and faculty are native in man in all times and -conditions. When David was afraid of his life in the house of Achish, -king of Gath, “he played the madman, scrabbling on the posts of the gate -and letting his spittle fall down on his beard.” But a theatre is a -fruit only of a high civilization, and it always reflects that -civilization. In India it seems to have been at first an appanage of the -palace, designed to give amusement to the king and his nobles and -favorites. It presented poetic descriptions of nature, romantic pictures -of life, songs, dances, and satires. In the Hindoo temples also were -sometimes enacted mythological religious and mystical dramas by the -priests and their assistants, less with theatrical machinery than in -words and movements, representing avatars of the gods, notably the -avatars of Vishnu as Rama and Krishna, supernatural adventures, -transmigrations, and scenes in other worlds. In China and Japan the -drama was in ancient times, as it still is, largely confined to the -illustration of history, presenting in long-drawn performances minute -pictures of legendary or historic personages, events, costumes, manners, -and customs. But it was in Egypt, where the priesthood was so distinct a -caste, so powerful an order, possessed of so much secret knowledge and -mechanism, that the doctrines and ritual of religion itself were first -wrought into a drama of the most sensational and appalling kind. In the -depths of the temple, with pomp of numbers and dresses, with music, -gorgeous and terrible scenery, artificial thunders and lightnings, -heavens and hells were unveiled, the dead shown in their immortal state, -celestial spirits and demons and deities were revealed, and such lessons -were enforced as suited the purposes of the managers of the spectacle. -It was a tool in the hands of the priests to play on the fears and hopes -of the people, who were taught to regard what they saw not as anything -artificial but as a vision of the supernatural. This was the drama of -the cryptic church, the theatre of the priestly conclave. - -In Greece, as in Egypt,—possibly derived thence,—the earliest theatre -and drama were religious and secret. In the Bacchic and Eleusinian and -other mysteries, the incarnation, penance, death, and resurrection of -some god were represented, and in connection with the spectacle various -religious and philosophical doctrines were taught in symbolic shows. -Every art of influencing the imagination and the senses was here -employed,—the imposing forms and gestures of the hierophant and his -helpers impersonating the demiurgus and his train,—light and darkness, -colors, strange noises, music, incantations, rhythmic processions, -enchanting and maddening dances. But, as there was in Greece no distinct -priesthood separate from the rulers and leaders of the state, the -intense interest and power of this mode of impression could not remain -sequestered from the people and confined to a few sacred legends. The -great freedom and restless intelligence and critical personal emulation -of the Greeks soon brought forth from its seclusion this fascinating and -peerless method of teaching, planted it on an open stage, applied it to -sacred and political subjects, to character and experience, and gave the -world the first public theatre of the people. Still retaining in its -best examples its original religious dignity and solemnity, it added -many other qualities, developed comedy alongside of tragedy, and in its -combination of ideal and satirical types and manners rendered the stage -a mirror for the mimic reflection of the real scenes of human life. Thus -it escaped from privacy and priestly management into publicity under the -direction of a literary and political class. It was wielded for the -threefold purpose of moral and religious impression, of social or party -influence, and of displaying various styles of character and behavior -for popular amusement and edification. - -In Rome the drama was modified and varied in some particulars from its -Greek model, but no new feature was added. It nearly lost its religious -quality, became more exclusively social and sensational, extended its -range only to profane and degrade it into the barbarity of the circus -and the arena. The Greek poet dealing with the simulated woes of the -soul was displaced by the Roman gladiator dealing in the real agonies of -the body, and the supernal beauty of classic tragedy expired in the -applauded horrors of butchery. - -As the drama and the theatre in the Oriental and in the Classic world -had a priestly and religious origin and character, so was it with their -revival and first development in Christendom. The early Christian Church -regarded the games, spectacles, and plays of the moribund civilization -amidst which it arose in regenerating energy, with intense abomination, -as intimately associated with and characteristic of the idolatrous pagan -faith, the persecuting pagan power, and the corrupt pagan morals, -against whose insidious influence and threatening array the new type of -belief and life had to maintain itself. Tertullian and other -distinguished Christian fathers fulminated against the actors and their -associates excommunication in this world and damnation in the next. But -after a while, as the young religion got established, spread among -millions of adherents, and had itself a vast popular sway to uphold and -extend, the love of power and the spirit of politic conformity entered -into it. Seeing what a strong attraction for the public was inherent in -the spectacular drama, with its costume, scenery, dialogue, and action, -and what a power it possessed for insinuating persuasion and -instruction, the church began to adopt its methods, modified to suit the -new ideas and situation. First the bait of amusement, sport, and -burlesque was thrown out to draw in and please the rabble by licensing -to be held in the church the Feast of Asses, the Feast of Fools, and -other like riotous and farcical mummeries borrowed with certain -alterations from the pagan Saturnalia. Then, to add a serious element of -edification, the priests dramatically constructed and enacted in -Miracle-Plays, Mysteries, and Moralities the chief events in Scriptural -history, the outlines of dogmatic theology, the lessons of practical -duty, and the claims of ecclesiastical authority, seeking thus to draw -the crowd and teach and drill them to obedience. The virtues and vices -of men, temptation, death, judgment, were allegorized, personified, and -brought on the stage to impress the rude audience. The Creation, the -Flood, the Crucifixion, the Day of Judgment, were represented. God, -Christ, the Virgin, angels, the devil and his imps, were shown. John -Rastale, brother-in-law of Sir Thomas More, composed a Merry Interlude -to serve as a vehicle of science and philosophy, explaining the four -elements and describing various strange lands, especially the recently -discovered America. The characters were Nature, Humanity, Studious -Desire, Sensual Appetite, a Taverner, Experience, Ignorance, and a -Messenger who spoke the prologue. These plays, simple, crude, fantastic, -grotesque, as they were, suited the tastes of the time, administered fun -and terror to the spectators, who alternately laughed and shuddered -while the meaning of the creed and the hold of its power sank deeper -into their souls. There was a mixture in it of good and evil, recreation -and fear, truth and superstition, fitted to the age and furnishing a -transition to something better. - - “When friars, monks, and priests of former days - Apocrypha and Scripture turned to plays, - The Festivals of Fools and Asses kept, - Obeyed boy-bishops and to crosses crept, - They made the mumming Church the people’s rod, - And held the grinning bauble for a God.” - -But quite aside from all these dramatic excrescences of the church, -these artifices for catering to and influencing the public, there has -been always imbedded in the very substance of Christianity, ever since -the great ecclesiastical system of dogmatic theology was evolved, a -profound and awful tragedy, the incomparable Drama of Redemption, whose -subject is the birth, life, teachings, sufferings, death, and -resurrection of Christ, whose action sweeps from the creation of the -world to the day of doom, whose characters are the whole human race, God -and his angels, Satan and his demons, and whose explicating close opens -the perfect bliss of heaven for the elect and seals the hopeless agony -of hell for the damned. This is the unrivalled ecclesiastical drama -whose meaning the Protestant Church makes implicit in its creed but the -Catholic Church makes explicit not only in the colossal pathos and -overpowering _miserere_ of Passion Week, but also in every celebration -of the mass, at whose infinite dénouement of a dying God the whole -universe might well stand aghast. - -In the course of time the companies of actors who, in connection with -the priests or under their permission and oversight, had played in the -Mysteries and Moralities, gradually detached themselves from -ecclesiastical localities and management, and, with licenses obtained -from sacred and secular authority, set up on their own account, strolled -from place to place, giving entertainments in public squares, at fairs, -in the court-yards of inns, in the mansions of nobles, and in the -palaces of royalty. Then kings and great dukes came to have their own -select companies of players, who wore their livery, obeyed their orders, -and ministered to their amusement and ostentation. Herein the drama was -degraded from its proper dignity to be a vassal of vanity and luxury. In -a masque performed at the marriage of an Italian duke in the sixteenth -century, Jupiter, Juno, Apollo, Diana, Venus, and Mars appeared bringing -in dishes of dainties and waiting on the guests. The immortal gods -represented as servants to honor and ornament a human festival! - -At length the dramatic profession, forsaking courts and inns, secured a -separate home of its own, and became a guild by itself, independently -established in the distinct theatre and appealing directly to the -general public for support. In the secret theatre of the priests the -substance of the drama, based on such legends as those of the Hindoo -Krishna, the Egyptian Osiris, and the Greek Dionysus, was fiction -exhibited as fact or poetry disguised as revelation. In the open theatre -of the state the substance of the drama, in such examples as the -Prometheus of Æschylus, was mythology, moral philosophy, or poetry -represented as history. In the plays foisted on the mediæval Christian -church the dramatic substance was tradition, ceremonial, and dogma -taught as religion. But now, with the rise of the educated histrionic -profession, all this passed away, and in the freed theatre of the people -the substance of the drama became coincident with the realities of human -life, a living reflex of the experience of society. In Portugal and -Spain, Lope de Vega and Calderon developed the highest flower and finish -of the Mysteries and Miracle-Plays in their transition from the -ecclesiastical to the social type of the drama, while in England, -France, Italy, and Germany the stage became a rounded mirror of the -world, reflecting human nature and conduct in their actual form, color, -and motion. Then the theatrical art was rapidly developed in all its -varieties,—the drama of character and fate, or tragedy; the drama of -plot and intrigue, or romance; and the drama of manners, or comedy and -farce. Then the theatre instinctively assumed for its whole business -what its comprehensive function now is and must ever remain, yet what it -has never grasped and wielded with distinct consciousness, but only -blindly groped after and fumbled about,—namely, the exhibition of the -entire range of the types of human character and behavior so set off -with the contrasts of their foils and in the light of their standards as -to make the spectators feel what is admirable and lovely and what is -contemptible and odious, as the operation of the laws of destiny is made -visible before them. But all who penetrate beneath mere appearances must -perceive that just in the degree in which the theatre does this work it -is trenching on the immediate province of the church, and the players -fulfilling a function identical in moral substance with that of the -priests. - -The church aims directly to teach and to impress, to persuade and to -command. The theatre aims directly to entertain, indirectly to teach, -persuade, and impress. It often accomplishes the last three aims so much -the better because of the surrendered, genial, and pleased condition of -soul induced by the success of the first one. Another advantage the -theatre has had over the church, in attempting to educate or exert -influence, is that it does it without the perfunctory air or the -dogmatic animus or repulsive severity of those who claim the tasks of -moral guidance and authority as their supernatural professional office. -The teachings of the theatre have also a freshness and attraction in -their inexhaustible range of natural variety which are wanting to the -monotonous verbal and ritualistic routine of the set themes and -unchanging forms in the ecclesiastical scheme of Sunday drill. And then, -finally, all natural competition of the dry, bleak pulpit with the stage -becomes hopeless when the priest sees the intense sensational pleasure -and impression secured for the lessons of the player by the convergent -action of the fourteen-fold charm of the theatre,—namely, the charm of a -happy and sympathetic crowd; the charm of ornate architectural -spaciousness and brilliancy; the charm of artistic views of natural -scenery; the charm of music; the charm of light and shade and color in -costumes and jewelry and on figures and landscapes now illuminated and -now darkened; the charm of rhythmic motion in marches and processions -and dances; the charm of poetry; the charm of eloquence in word and tone -and look and gesture; the charm of receiving beautiful lessons -exquisitely taught; the charm of following an intricate and thickening -plot to its satisfactory explication; the charm of beholding in varied -exercise human forms which are trained models of strength, beauty, and -grace; the charm of seeing the varieties of human characters act and -react on one another; the charm of sympathy with the fortunes and -feelings of others under exciting conditions rising to a climax; the -charm of a temporary release from the grinding mill of business and -habit to disport the faculties of the soul freely in an ideal world. - -Is it not obvious that such a power as this should be utilized by the -most cultivated minds in the community for the highest ends? - -When in the independent theatre such a power as this arose, no longer -asking favors or paying tribute, bidding with such a fearful -preponderance of fascinations for that docile attention of the populace -whereof the clergy had previously held a monopoly, it was no wonder that -the church looked on its rival with deadly jealousy. And there was good -ground for this jealousy separate from any personal interests or -animosities. For _the respective ideals of life held up by the priest -and the player_ are diametrically opposed to each other. This is the -real ultimate basis of the chronic hostility of the church and the -theatre. The deepest genius of the one contradicts that of the other. -The ecclesiastical ideal of life is abnegation, ascetic self-repression -and denial; while the dramatic ideal of life is fulfilment, harmonic -exaltation and completeness of being and function. Which of these ideals -is the more just and adequate? If God made us, it would appear that the -fulfilment of all the normal offices of our nature in their co-ordinated -plenitude of power is his will. It is only on the theory that the Devil -made us in opposition to the wisdom and wish of God, that intrinsic and -sheer denial can be our duty. Lower abnegation as a means for higher -fruition, partial denial for the sake of total fulfilment, are clear and -rational obligations. But the idea that ascetic self-sacrifice as an end -pure and simple in itself is a virtue or a means of salvation is a -morbid superstition with which the church has always been diseased, but -from which the theatre has always been free. Accordingly, the two -institutions in their very genius, as interpreted from the narrow -professional point of view, are hostile. The vices of the church have -been sour asceticism, fanatical ferocity, sentimental melancholy, dismal -gloom, narrow mechanical formalism and cant, and a deep hypocrisy -resulting from the reaction of excessive public strictness into secret -indulgence. The vices of the theatre, on the other hand, have been -frivolity, reckless gayety, conviviality, and voluptuousness. But these -vices have been envisaged with the virtues of quick sympathy, liberal -sentiment, an ingenuous spirit of enjoyment, open docility, universal -tolerance and kindliness. - -Purified from its accidental corruptions and redeemed from its shallow -carelessness, the theatre would have greater power to teach and mould -than the church. Aside from historic authority and social prestige, its -intrinsic impressiveness is greater. The deed must go for more than the -word. The dogma must yield to the life. And while in the pulpit the -dogmatic word is preached in its hortatory dryness, on the stage the -living deed is shown in its contagious persuasion or its electric -warning. Character is much more plastic to manners than to opinions. -Manners descend from the top of society; opinions ascend from the -bottom. This is because opinions indirectly govern the world while -manners directly govern it. And the ruling class desire to maintain -things as they are, that they may keep their prerogatives. Therefore -they are opposed to new doctrines. But the ground masses of the people, -who are ruled, desire to change the _status quo_ for their own -betterment. Now the church, representing the vested interests of -traditional authority and the present condition of things, has become a -school of opinions, not for the free testing and teaching of the True, -but for the drill of the Established; while the theatre, in its genuine -ideal, is what the church ought to be,—a school of manners, or -manufactory of character. - -Another superiority of the genius of the drama to the genius of theology -is the freedom and largeness of the application of its method. The moral -principle of the dramatic art is _disinterested sympathy animating -plastic intelligence for the interpretation and free circulation of -souls and lives_. It is the redemptive or enriching supplementation of -the individual with society. For in order to put on a superior we must -first put off self. And there is nothing nobler in the attributes of man -than his ability to subdue the tyranny of old egotistic custom with new -perception and impulse, and thus start on a fresh moral career endlessly -varied and progressive. The theatre gives this principle a natural and -universal application through the whole moral range of human life. The -ecclesiastical dogmatist restricts it to a single supernatural -application to the disciple of Christ, and would monopolize its -influence to that one channel. Notoriously every bigot would drill the -whole world in his own fixed mould, to his own set pattern, stiff, -harsh, ascetic, exclusive. But the cosmopolite would see exemplified in -mankind the same generous liberty and variety which prevail in nature. -He would, instead of directing attention only to the sectarian type of -saint, hold up all sorts of worthy ideals that each may be admired and -copied according to its fitness and beauty. - -The church paints the world as a sad and fearful place of probation, -where redemption is to be fought for while the violent and speedy end of -the entire scene is implored. The theatre regards it as a gift of beauty -and joy to be graciously perfected and perpetuated. The ideal of the -priest and the ideal of the actor contrast as Dominic and Pericles, or -as Simeon Stylites and Haroun-al-Raschid. All the words denoting the -church and its party—ecclesia, église, kirche, congregation—signify a -portion selected or elected and called aside by themselves for special -salvation, apart from the great whole who are to be left to the general -doom. But the word theatre in its etymology implies that the world of -life is something worthy of contemplation, beautiful to be gazed at and -enjoyed. - -The priest naturally disliked the player because he was more attractive -to the public than himself. He also disliked him because disapproving -his art. The very object of the drama is by its spectacle of action to -rouse the faculties and excite the feelings of the assembly who regard -it. But the priest would not have the passions vivified; he would have -them mortified. The contemplation of the dread passion and sacrifice of -Christ, the fear of sin and of death and judgment, should exclude or -suppress all other passions. On the contrary, the dramatist holds to the -great moral canon of all art, that perfected life is the continuous end -of life, and that the setting of intelligence and emotion into ideal -play, a spiritual gymnastic of the passions in mental space disentangled -from their muscular connections, purifies and frees them. - -The priest not only holds that the dramatic ideal of the natural -fulfilment of the offices of being is opposed to the religious ideal of -grace, is profane, and tends directly to ruin; he likewise, from all the -prejudices of his own rigidity of mould and bigoted routine, believes -that the facility and continual practice of the actor in passing from -assumption to assumption and from mood to mood must be fatal to moral -consistency, must loosen the fibre of character, and produce -dissoluteness of soul not less than of life. This is mostly a false -prejudice. Those of the greatest dramatic mobility of genius and -versatile spiritual physiognomy, like Cervantes, Molière, Goethe, -Schiller, Dickens, Voltaire, and the very greatest actors and actresses, -like Talma, Garrick, Rachel, Siddons, had the most firm and coherent -individuality of their own. Their penetrations and impersonations of -others reacted not to weaken and scatter but to define and gird their -own personal types of being and behavior. The dramatic type of character -is richer and freer than the priestly, but not less distinctly -maintained. - -Another circumstance stirring a keen resentment in the church against -the theatre is that it has often been attacked and satirized by it. When -the divines, who had long enjoyed a monopoly of the luxurious privilege -of being the censors of morals, the critics of other men, found -themselves unceremoniously hauled over the coals by the actors, their -vices exposed to the cautery of a merciless ridicule, their personal -peculiarities caricatured, it was but human nature that they should be -angry and try to put down the new censorship which with its secular -vigor and universal principles confronted the ecclesiastical standard. -The legal, medical, and clerical professions have often had to run the -gauntlet of a scorching criticism on the stage. Herein the drama has -been a power of wholesome purification; but it could not hope to escape -the penalty of the wrath of those it exposed with its light and -laughter. It has done much to make cant and hypocrisy odious and to -vindicate true morality and devotion by unmasking false. Louis XIV. said -to Condé, “Why do the saints who are scandalized at Tartuffe make no -complaint of Scaramouche?” Condé replied, “Because the author of -Scaramouche ridicules religion, for which these gentry care nothing; but -Molière ridicules themselves, and this they cannot endure.” The censure -and satire on the stage, concealed in the quips of fools or launched -from the maxims of the noble, have often had marked effect. Jesters like -Heywood and Tarleton, who were caressed by kings and statesmen, under -their masks of simplicity and merriment have shot many a brave bolt at -privileged pretences and wrongs and pompous imposition. The power of -satire is often most piercing and most fruitful. The all-wise Shakspeare -makes his melancholy Jaques say,— - - “Invest me in my motley: give me leave - To speak my mind, and I will through and through - Cleanse the foul body of the infected world, - If they will patiently receive my medicine.” - -Furthermore, the priest often has an antipathy for the player because in -spite of his arrogated spiritual superiority feeling himself personally -inferior to him. The preacher, rigid, hide-bound, of a dogmatic and -formal cast, cannot take off the mobile, hundred-featured actor, who, on -the contrary, can easily include and transcend him, caricature him, and -make him appear in the most ridiculous or the most disagreeable light. - - “If comprehension best can power express, - And that’s still greater which includes the less, - No rank’s high claim can make the player’s small, - Since acting each he comprehends them all.” - -Molière can show up Tartuffe, Tartuffe cannot show up Molière. Therefore -Tartuffe fears and hates Molière, excommunicates him, denies his body -consecrated burial, and, with a sharp relish, consigns his soul to the -brimstone gulf. The prevailing temper of the clerical guild towards the -histrionic guild, from the first till now, has been uncharitable and -unjust, intellectually unappreciative and morally repulsive. This is -shown all the way from the frenzied De Spectaculis of Tertullian and the -vituperative Histrio-Mastix of Prynne to the sweeping denunciation of -the drama by Henry Ward Beecher, who, never having seen a play, condemns -it from inherited prejudice, although himself every Sunday carrying a -whole theatre into his pulpit in his own person. An English clergyman in -1792 uttered these words in a sermon on the drama: “No player or any of -his children ought to be entitled to Christian burial or even to lie in -a church-yard. Not one of them can be saved. And those who enter a play- -house are equally certain with the players of eternal damnation. No -player can be an honest man.” Richard Robinson, who played Wittipol in -“The Devil is an Ass” so as to win warm praise from Ben Jonson, was, at -the siege of Bassinge-House, shot through the head after he had laid -down his arms. A puritan named Harrison shot him, crying, “Cursed be he -that doeth the work of the Lord deceitfully!” The body of the favorite -Parisian actor Philippe in 1824 was refused religious rites by the -priests, and his friends were so incensed that the military had to be -called out to quell the riot. A kindred disturbance was narrowly escaped -at the death of Talma. When the wife of Nokes, a dancing-master, had -rescued Edmund Kean and his wife and children from actual starvation and -lent them a room, the landlord, a Christian clergyman named Flower, said -that “no theatrical people should have the room.” And it is matter of -fresh remembrance how the same spirit of bigotry was manifested by a -Boston bishop in refusing confirmation to the universally respected and -beloved Thomas Comer because he led the orchestra in a theatre, and by a -New York pastor who declined to read the funeral-service over the -estimable George Holland because he had been an actor. - -It must be affirmed that the chief animus of the clerical profession has -been the desire to be obeyed, and that this is less Christian and less -amiable than the ruling spirit of the dramatic profession, which is the -desire to be loved. But the real spirit which ought to reign supreme in -every one is neither the desire to be obeyed nor the desire to be loved, -but the desire to be harmonized with the principles of universal order, -giving and taking accordingly without egotistic exactions of any kind -whether dictatorial or sympathetic. And this result can only be attained -by means of the dramatic art of mutual sympathetic interpretation -universally applied under the guidance of moral and religious -principles. - -The church of Christ, in opposition to the example of its divine -Founder, has been made an exclusive enclosure for a privileged class of -believers. In it their prejudices are cherished and their ascetic ideal -glorified and urged on all. The Saviour himself was a miracle of -tolerance and inclusiveness, mingling freely with the common people, not -spurning the publican, the sinner, or the harlot, but regarding all -ranks in the great brotherhood of humanity with a sweet and -inexhaustible kindness. There was one exception alone. Towards the -bigot, the pharisee, the hypocrite, the tyrant, his scorn and -indignation burned. But all other forms of man moved only his impartial -love or his healing compassion. This was the divinely democratic genius -of Christ, but has not been the genius of the priesthood who with -arrogance and persecution have claimed to represent him. The theatre has -been far more expansive in the range of its sympathies than the church. -The highest dramatic genius that has ever appeared in the world, -Shakspeare, shows in his works a serene charity, a boundless toleration, -a genial appreciation of the widest extremes, kindred to that of God in -nature and grace. His loving imagination, like the all-holding sky, -embraces Trinculo, Bardolph, Poins, Falstaff, and Malvolio, as well as -Bassanio, Prospero, Hamlet, Cæsar, and Lear; Audrey and Quickly, as well -as Portia and Cordelia. - -The first glory of the theatre is its freedom from sectarianism; and its -first use is to radiate abroad this generous spirit of universality, not -bigotedly limiting attention to any one province of life or any single -ideal, but revealing the whole world of man in its heights and breadths -and depths, exhibiting in turn every variety of ideal and doing justice -to them all. “The drama,” Macklin said, “should be a perfect -reproduction of general nature as it passes through human life in every -character, age, rank, and station.” Taught this by genius, experience, -and learning, it teaches the common observer how wondrously large and -rich is the world of mankind. Emperors and clowns pass, saints and -villains jostle, heroes and murderers meet, the divine lady and the foul -virago appear and vanish,—and all the meanings and values of their -traits and fortunes are laid bare to those who see and can understand. -There is indeed no other revelation of the complex contents and -destinies of humanity in this world so competent as that afforded in -dramatic literature and the theatre. For here all is concentrated, -heightened, set off, and revealed by aid of the most exquisite -contrivances of art of every sort. - -One of the most penetrative and wonderful but least generally -appreciated of these contrivances is the explication of the good and -evil or beauty and ugliness of souls and deeds, the moral worth and -significance of dispositions and situations, by means of music. -Rubinstein has depicted in his symphony of Ivan the Terrible the -character of that frightful monster of the Russian throne. In this -musical character-picture he has painted his hero in the blackest -colors, revealing his hideous traits and moods by violent and spasmodic -tones repulsively combined. But Mozart is the most dramatic of the -composers,—the very Shakspeare of the musicians. The personages of his -operas are distinctive creations, true to life. They appear to think, -feel, and act in tones and combinations of tones. Each of the musical -characters keeps his individuality, however the passions and scenes and -events change. The features and outlines of the characters are defined -or determined by the style, the phrases, the time, rhythm, range, -inflections, and accompaniment. In place of this, Wagner marks his chief -personages by the mannerism of repeating the same phrase with the same -instruments whenever one of them reappears. In the Tannhäuser, as often -as Venus enters the high chromatic violin tremolo and rhythmical whisper -of the wind instruments are repeated. The artifice is profound, and its -effect mysteriously impressive. The meaning of the mystery lies in the -facts that the sounds of the music correspond with vibrations in our -nerves, and that every quality of passion has its peculiar forms and -rates of vibration. The ratios in the physical sound are parallel with -other ratios in the spiritual consciousness. And so Giovanni and -Leporello, Elvira and Anna, are distinguished. And so the Benediction of -the Poignards and the Mass for the Dead are contrasted. - -Characters are interpreted on the stage by means of their visible -motions also. For the upper classes, the most dignified personages in -the stately tragedy, there is a solemn pomp of bearing, and the -employment of marches and processions. Everything partakes more of -slowness and formality. The most heavenly human characters, or angelic -visitants from another world, are indicated by floating contours and -melodious lines of motion. Perfected equilibrium in the body is the sign -of perfected harmony in the soul. Devils or demoniac men are suggested -by dances full of excessive energy, hideous and sudden contortions, -convulsive jumps and climaxes. - -The central characteristic of the genuine melodrama, now nearly or quite -obsolete, was its combination of musical tone and muscular movement as a -method of dramatic revelation and impression. Its theme and scene lay in -the middle or lower class and in a limited sphere. Thus, while the -assassination of a monarch suggested a tragedy, a village murder would -form the subject of a melodrama. But all the gestures and pantomime of -the performers were regulated or accompanied by instrumental music -played forte or fortissimo, piano or pianissimo, as the situation -required. The villain was marked by an orchestral discord or crash, -while lovers billed and cooed to the mellifluous breathings of the -German flute. Villagers always came over a bridge at the rise of the -curtain to lively music. The heroine entered to eight bars of plaintive -melody. Four harsh and strongly accented bars heralded the approach of -the villain. The characters struggled to hurried music, recognized one -another and were surprised to chords, and crept about in caves and dark -apartments to mysterious pizzicato strains. All this correspondence of -sound, color, and motion works on the souls of the audience in the -profoundest manner, obscurely suggestive of innumerable things beyond -the reach of any clear memory and below the depths of any distinct -apprehension. It stirs up that automatic region of our nature compacted -of prehistoric experiences. - -Few persons have any idea how closely the theatre even in its romantic -extravaganzas and fairy spectacles reflects the truths of human life. It -merely intensifies the effect and produces a magical impression by -expanding and shrinking the measures of space and time. But all its -seeming miracles are in the outer world slowly brought about in prosaic -reality. The suddenness of the changes in the mimic scenes ought to open -our eyes to the equal marvellousness of them in the gradual substance of -history. Harlequin in his spangled vestment, with his sword of -enchantment, pursuing the lovely Columbine, and always outwitting and -baffling the clumsy attempts of the Clown and Pantaloon to circumvent -him, is the type of how the aristocracy of genius has always snatched -the sweet prizes of the world from blundering plebeianism amidst the -astonishment, laughter, and rage of the bewildered bystanders, who so -imperfectly comprehend the game. The relations of coexistence and -sequence, the working of laws of cause and effect that preside over -events in the actual world, are not altered in the theatre. It is only -their measures or rates of action that are trifled with so to the -amazement of the senses. Appreciating this, it is obvious that no -transformation scenes on the stage can possibly equal the real ones in -life itself. Mohammed, the poor factor of Kadijah, receives an -inspiration, preaches a new faith, is hunted by his foes, conquers -nation after nation, till a quarter of the earth exults under his -crescent flag and hails him infallible prophet of Allah. Columbus -conceives a thought, his frail pinnaces pierce their perilous way over -the ocean, and a new world is discovered. Louis Napoleon is taken from -teaching French for a livelihood in New York to be throned in the palace -of the Tuileries and to inaugurate the _Exposition Universelle_ -surrounded by the leading monarchs of the earth. The young Rachel, -haggard and ill clad, begged an influential person to obtain leave for -her to appear on the stage of the Théâtre Français. He told her to get a -basket and sell flowers. When she did appear, and heaps of bouquets were -thrown at her feet, after the curtain fell she flung them all into a -basket, slung it from her shoulders, and, kneeling to the man who had -advised her to go and sell flowers, asked him, half in smiles and half -in tears, if he would not buy a nosegay. Nothing that befalls the -glittering Harlequin or Columbine amidst the swift enchantments of the -theatre is fuller of astounding contrasts than these realities, if our -thought but escapes the tyranny of space and time. - -An artifice of vast power by which the theatre intensifies its -revelations of character and experience, conduct and destiny, so as to -make them more effective and apparently more significant than the -original realities themselves are in actual life, is by increasing the -range and vividness of the standards and foils by which they are judged, -carrying them lower and raising them higher and making their contrasts -sharper than they are seen elsewhere. The fool used to have the head of -his stick or mock sceptre painted with human features, and talk and play -with it as if it were an intelligent comrade. This was his bauble, in -allusion to which Shakspeare says, “The fool holds his bauble for a -god.” Scoggan, the famous mummer, used to dress up his fists and make -them act for the amusement of a dinner company. This is the secret of -the vulgar delight in the clown, with his ridiculous dress made up of -absurdities, his face whitened with chalk and flour and blotched with -red patches and black and yellow streaks, his lips painted in -elongations so that when he laughs his mouth seems to open from ear to -ear. The mental disparity of his standard of intelligence and manners -with that in the minds of the spectators elicits roars of coarse joy -from them. It was said of Mazurier, the great Punchinello, that he was -in deformities what Apollo was in perfections. Humped equally before and -behind, perched on the legs of a heron, equipped with the arms of an -ape, he moved with that stiffness without force, that suppleness devoid -of reaction, characterizing the play of a body which has not in itself -the principle of its movement, and whose members, set in action by a -wire, are not attached to the trunk by articulations, but by rags. He -imitated mechanism with as close a fidelity as in another rôle mechanism -is made to imitate man. He seemed to be human and yet to have nothing -human. His motions and falls were such that one believed him made not of -flesh and bone but of cotton and thread. His face was wooden, and he -carried illusion to such a pitch that the children took him for a -gigantic puppet which had grown. - -Even below this there is a lower dramatic depth still, and filled with -yet keener sport for a large class. The reflection of human life in the -marionette or puppet-show makes a revelation of a phase of human nature -as profound and fearful as it is unexpected. The revelation is not -consciously made, but springs from an intuitive perception of truth and -sense of fitness as marvellous as anything in the history of the drama. -It has long been known that there is an intimate likeness between the -insane class and the criminal class. They both show the effect of -removing the restraints exerted on the ego by its sympathetic -connections with the general public. The restraint exercised on the -indulgence of egotistic feelings and interests by a consideration of the -feelings and interests of others being lifted off, these selfish -instincts, which are the deepest organic heritage from ancestral -history, break recklessly out. Now, the puppet has no sympathy. Moved -not by his brain and heart but by wires attached to his limbs, his -character shows the result. He is personified selfishness and whim. His -individual will is absolutely reckless of other wills or of -consequences. His ferocity is murderous, his jollity fiendish, his -conduct a jumble of animal passions, cunning impulses, and chaotic -impressions. This is unregenerate man released from social order and -given over to himself. And there is a deep, sinister, raw pleasure for -an uncultivated soul in the sight of a being freed from every law but -that of self-indulgence. This is the secret of the fascination of the -plebeian puppet-show. - -Sometimes there has been in it a strange and terrible element of social -satire. The lower class vent through it their hatred for their -oppressors. One type of the Italian Polichinelle was a representative of -the populace angered and made vindictive by their wrongs. He lays the -stick lustily on the shoulders of his master and on the necks of the -police, and takes summary vengeance for the iniquities of official -justice. He is also a frightful cynic. He says, “I despise men so much -that I care not what they think or say of me. I have suffered as much as -others, but I have turned my back and my heart into leather. I am -laughter personified, triumphant laughter, wicked laughter. Pshaw for -the poor creatures knocked over by a breath! I am of iron and wood, old -also as the world.” “In thus speaking,” says his French historian, “he -is truthful; for his heart is as dry as his baton, and he is a thorough -egotist. Ferocious under his seeming good humor, he does evil for the -love of it. Valuing the life of a man no more than that of a flea, he -delights in quarrels and massacres.” He has no sincere affection, no -reverence, no fear either of God or devil, is always eager for coarse -and low enjoyment, and laughs most loudly when he has done the cruellest -deeds. He is the very type of the strong, vital, abandoned criminal; and -he opens a huge vista into the most horrible experience of the human -race. - -And now it will be a relief to turn attention aloft in the opposite -direction. The upward action of the dramatic art is its benign aspect. -The egotist looks down to learn how great he is, and up to learn how -little. The generous man looks up to feel how rich he is, and down to -feel how poor. The former sees himself in contrast with others, the -latter sees himself in unison with them. This may be exemplified in -comedy as well as in tragedy. The portraiture of reality on the stage -hitherto has perhaps chiefly aimed to amuse by exhibiting the follies -and absurdities of people and making the spectators laugh at them in -reaction from standards in their own minds. It will one day aim to -correct the follies and absurdities of the spectators by setting before -them models of superiority and ideals of perfection. - -To enter into and appropriate the states and prerogatives of those -happier, greater, and better than we, either for an admiring estimate of -them, for the enrichment of ourselves, or for the free play of desirable -spiritual qualities, is at once recreation, luxury, redemption, and -education. This is the highest application of the dramatic principle, -the mending of the characters of men with the characters of superior -men. And it tends to the reconciliation and attuning of all the world. -This is the principle which Paul illustrates in his doctrine that true -circumcision is not of the flesh but of the soul, and that the genuine -children of Abraham are the new race of spiritual characters which, -reproducing his type of faith and conduct, will supersede his mere -material descendants. He also says that those who measure themselves by -themselves and compare themselves among themselves are not wise. The -complement of this statement would be that we should compare ourselves -with all sorts of people, that we may put off every imperfection of our -own and put on every perfection of theirs. And the same apostle gives -this principle its supremest application in his immortal text, “Put ye -on the Lord Jesus Christ.” The Pauline formula for the salvation of the -world embodies the regenerating essence of the dramatic art, which is -the assimilation by less divine characters of a more divine one, raising -them into fellowship with the Divinest. It calls on all men to “behold -with open face, as in a mirror, the glory of the Lord,” and gaze on it -until “they are changed into the same image, from glory to glory, by the -Spirit of the Lord.” - -In distinction from this high use of the dramatic life and spirit, the -fault of the ordinary range of coarse and careless men is the utter -absence of all vital sympathetic insight. Fixed in the grooves of habit, -shut up in their own hard and narrow type, they move stolidly among -other men, insensible to the treasures they contain, giving and taking -no more than so many sticks would. - -And in some who have a fair share of the dramatic instinct it suffers a -direct inversion of its purest office. For the weak and reckless allow -themselves to be degraded to the level of the worst characters they -behold, adopt their customs, assume their traits, copy their vices, and -repeat their retributive ruin. The man of moral earnestness is warned -and armed by a dramatic knowledge of the profligate and criminal. Only -the impure or heedless idler will be led astray by it. - -Yet there is another abuse of this art of dramatic penetration, which, -if less fearful, is more frequent and almost as much to be reprehended, -namely, a fruitless toying with it in a spirit of mere frivolity. A -great many persons enter imaginatively into the states of other people, -neither to honor and imitate nor to disapprove and avoid, but in empty -sport and as an ostentatious luxury of vanity and pride. There is -nothing which vulgar natures are so fond of as, in vulgar phrase, -feeling their oats, pampering their fancied superiority to those they -contemplate. They hate to be rebuked and commanded by excellences beyond -their own attainment. They love to look down on something beneath their -own arrogated estimate of self. And so they come to interpret almost -everything they see as being inferior, and to draw from it a reflex -complacency. Their noisy laughter is but an indirect self-applause -consisting of what Emerson has called “contemptible squeals of joy.” For -whatever a man can laugh at he deems he is superior to. Nothing did the -audiences at the old miracle-plays enjoy half so keenly as laughing at -the devil when he was driven through a trap-door in a sulphurous shower -of fire and squibs. The reason why a superficial exhibition of wit or -humor is so popular is that it affords, at so low a price of effort, the -luxury of the feeling of detachment and mastery. The insincere or -unconsecrated nature always prefers a cheap seeming superiority to a -costly real one. However much Harlequin and Punch and Judy may relieve -and amuse, and thus find justification, they do not purify nor lift nor -inspire nor educate the ordinary spectator. The genuine drama does all -these in addition to bestowing the richest entertainment. Still, it must -be remembered that the influence of a performance depends ultimately on -the character and spirit of the spectator. Some persons seeing -Washington would think nothing of his character, but be absorbed in -admiration of his regimentals. One, at a given exhibition, will be -simply entertained. Another will be debauched. A third will be lastingly -impressed, stimulatingly edified. A fourth may enjoy the delusive luxury -of a criticising superiority, persuading himself that he includes and -transcends the characters whose enactments he so clearly understands and -sees around. Those who laugh at those who weep fancy they are above them -while really grovelling below in vulgar insensibility. One may easily -lift armor he cannot wear. - -The next use of the theatre, the most obvious of its serious uses, lies -in the force with which it carries the great practical truths of -morality home to the heart and the soul. The power of the stage in -enforcing moral lessons, the rewards of virtue, the beauty of nobleness, -the penalties of vice and crime, the horrors of remorse and disgrace, -the peace and comfort of a self-approving conscience, is greater than -that of any other mode of teaching. Its living exemplification of the -workings of good and evil in the secret soul and in the social sphere -has an effectiveness of incitement and of warning far beyond that of the -mere didactic precept or exhortation of the pulpit. It is said that many -a dissipated and felonious apprentice who saw Ross play George Barnwell -was turned from his evil courses by the terrible force of the -representation. One who was thus saved used every year anonymously to -send Ross on his benefit-night the sum of ten guineas as a token of his -gratitude. And Dr. Barrowby assured the player that he had done more -good by his acting than many a parson had by his preaching. This -educational function or moral edification in uncovering the secrets of -experience and showing how every style of character and conduct entails -its own compensatory consequences is even now a high and fruitful office -of the theatre, frivolous and corrupt as it often is. And when the drama -shall be made in all respects what it ought to be, fulfilling its own -proper ideal, it will be beyond comparison the most effective agency in -the world for imparting moral instruction and influence. The teaching of -the stage is indeed all the more insinuating and powerful because it is -indirect and not perfunctory or interested. The audience are not on -their guard against it. It works with the force of nature and sincerity -themselves. - - “I have heard - That guilty creatures, sitting at a play, - Have by the very cunning of the scene - Been struck so to the soul that presently - They have proclaimed their malefactions.” - -No thoughtful and earnest person could possibly see the wickedness of -Iago, the torture of Othello, the struggle and remorse of Macbeth, -depicted by a great actor and not be profoundly instructed, moved, and -morally fortified. - -Not only does the drama array its teachings of morality in living forms -so much more contagious and powerful than abstract precepts, but it also -gives the highest examples of didactic eloquence. It abounds in the most -beautiful expressions of poetry and philosophy, the wisest and most -charming instances of insight and moralizing experience, verbal -descriptions of character and of nature set off with every adjunct of -oratoric art and heightening scenery. The preaching on the stage is -often richer and sounder as well as more splendid than that heard from -the pulpit. Besides, the pleasing excitement of the scene, the -persuasive interest of the play, the surrendered and receptive spirits -of the crowd blending in quickest sympathy and applause always over the -most disinterested and exalted sentiments, predispose every hearer to -the most favorable mood for being impressed by what is lovely, good, and -great. The actor, inspired by his theme and his audience, makes -thousands thrill and weep as he gives burning utterance to burning -thoughts or infuses his own high spirit into beautiful and heroic -examples of eloquence and virtue. When in Macbeth Forrest said,— - - “I dare do all that may become a man, - Who dares do more is none;”— - -when in the Peruvian hero he replied to the accusation from Pizarro of -having spoken falsely, “Rolla utter falsehood! I would I had thee in a -desert with thy troop around thee, and I but with my sword in this -unshackled hand!” when in Damon he said, in rebuke of the corrupt and -sycophantic office-seeker,— - - “I told you, boy, I favored not this stealing - And winding into place: what he deserves, - An honest man dares challenge ’gainst the world,”— - -it must have been a brutish breast in which his words did not start -generous and ennobling echoes. Tell says,— - - “Ha! behold in air - Where a majestic eagle floats above - The northern turrets of the citadel, - And as the sun breaks through yon rifted cloud - His plumage shines, embathed in burning gold, - And sets off his regality in heaven!” - -To have such a picture painted in speech and action so vividly that the -hearers are transported out of themselves and tremble with pleasure is -an educational influence of a pure and lofty order. The victorious -Spartacus soliloquizes,— - - “A cloud is on my path, but my ambition - Sees glory in it. As travellers, who stand - On mountains, view upon some neighboring peak - Among the mists a figure of themselves - Traced in sublimer characters; so I - Here see the vapory image of myself - Distant and dim, but giant-like.” - -All who take the impression of the actor and his imagery in this passage -must receive some sense of the greatness of man and the mystery of his -destiny, and feel themselves magnified beyond their wonted state. And -when Forrest spoke these words of Virginius whole audiences were -electrified by their power and inspirited with their sublime faith: - - “Whoever says Justice will be defeated— - He lies in the face of the gods. She is immutable, - Immaculate, and immortal. And though all - The guilty globe should blaze, she will spring up - Through the fire and soar above the crackling pile - With not a downy feather ruffled by - Its fierceness!” - -The noble lines of the poet full of great thoughts, scarcely heeded and -soon forgotten by the reader, are by the fiery or solemn elocution of -the actor sculptured on the memories of his auditors for ineffaceable -retention. - -The theatre is always in some degree a school of manners, but it ought -to be far more distinctly and systematically such. The different -personages are foils and contrasts to set one another off. As they act -and react in their various styles of being and of behavior, they -advertise and illuminate what they are, and tacitly, but with the most -penetrative effect, teach the spectator to estimate them by mutual -comparisons and by reference to such standards as he knows. Grandeur and -meanness, awkwardness and grace, brutal or fiendish cruelty and divine -sensibility, selfish arrogance and sweet renunciation, grossness and -delicacy,—in a word, every possible sort and grade of inward disposition -and of outward bearing are exemplified on the stage. The instructive -spectacle is too often gazed at with frivolity and mirth alone. But more -profound, more vital, more important lessons are nowhere in the world -taught. This art of manners precisely fitted to the character and rank -of the person has been particularly studied in the Théâtre Français. The -writer saw a play represented there in which there were three distinct -sets of characters. The first belonged to the circle of royalty, the -second to the gentry, and the third were of the laboring class. The -second carefully aped the first, and the third painfully aped the -second. The bearing of the first was composed, easy, dignified; that of -the second was a lowered copy with curious differences made most -instructively perceptible; while the third was a ludicrous travesty. The -superior always, as by a secret magic, overswayed and gave the cue to -the inferior. The king, disguised, sat down at table with a plebeian. -The king ate and drank slowly, quietly, with a silent refinement in -every motion; but the plebeian hurried, shuffled, fussed, choked, and -sneezed. The actor who is really master of his whole business teaches in -a thousand indescribably subtile ways a thousand indescribably valuable -lessons for all who have eyes to see and intelligence behind the eyes to -interpret what they see and apply its morals to their own edification. - -Another service rendered by the theatre is in uncovering the arts of -deceit and villainy. In their unsophisticated openness the innocent are -often the helpless victims of seductive adepts in dissipation and crime. -All the designing ways and tricks of the votaries of vice, the -hypocritical wiles of brilliant scoundrels, their insinuating movements, -the magnetizing spells they weave around the unsuspicious, are exposed -on the stage in such a manner as fully to put every careful observer on -guard. This unmasking of dangers, this warning and arming, is a species -of moral instruction quite necessary in the present state of society, -and nowhere so consummately exhibited as before the footlights. Nor is -it to be fancied that the instruction is more demoralizing than -guardian; for the instinctive sympathies of a public assembly move -towards virtue, not towards vice. They who seem to be corrupted by -public plays are inwardly corrupt beforehand. - -A further and fairer utility of the stage is the exact opposite of that -last mentioned. It is the delightful privilege of dramatic performers to -exhibit pleasing and admirable types of character and display their -worths and graces so as to kindle the love and worship of those who -behold, and awaken in them emulous desires for the noble virtues and the -exquisite charms which they see so divinely embodied. If the -manifestation of heroism, piety, modesty, tenderness, self-sacrifice, -glorious aspiration in the drama is not an educational and redemptive -spectacle, it must be because the stolidity and shallowness of the -audience neutralize its proper influence. Then it is they who are -disgraced, not the play which is discredited. - -It is also a signal function of dramatic acting to reveal to ordinary -people the extraordinary attributes of their own nature by exemplifying -before them the transcendent heights and depths of the human soul. -Average persons and their average lives are prosaic and monotonous, -often mean and tiresome or repulsive. They have no conception of the -august or appalling extremes reached by those of the greatest -endowments, the intensities of their experience, the grandeurs and the -mysteries of their fate. In contrast with the tame level of vulgar life, -the dull plod of the humdrum world, the theatre shows the romantic side -of life, the supernal passions and adventures of genius, the -entrancements of dreaming ideality, the glimpsing hints and marvels of -destiny. An actor like Garrick or Salvini, an actress like Rachel or -Ristori, carrying the graduated signals of love to the climax of -beatific bliss, or the signals of jealousy to the explosive point of -madness, makes common persons feel that they had not dreamed what these -passions were. In beholding a great play greatly performed an audience -gain a new measure for the richness of experience and the width of its -extremes. Thus average people are brought to see the exceptional -greatnesses of humanity and initiated into some appreciation of those -astonishing passions, feats, and utterances of genius which must -otherwise have remained sealed mysteries to them. Rachel used to stand, -every nerve seeming an adder, and freeze and thrill the audience with -terror, as her fusing gestures, perfectly automatic although guided by -will, glided in slow continuity of curves or darted in electric starts. -The commanding majesty, intelligence, and passion of Siddons seemed to -bring her audience before her and not her before her audience. A great -actor enlarges the diapason of man. Our kind is aggrandized in him. He -is copy to men of grosser faculty and teaches them how to feel. It was -this sort of association in his mind that made Dryden say of the aged -Betterton, with such magnifying pomp of phrase,— - - “He, like the sun, still shoots a glimmering ray, - Like ancient Rome majestic in decay.” - -But the central and essential office of the drama is to serve as a means -of spiritual purification, freedom, and enrichment. It is a most -powerful alterative for those wearied, sickened, and soured with -egotism. It takes them out of themselves, transfers their thoughts from -their own affairs, and trains them in disinterested sympathy. They are -made to hate the tyrants, loathe the sycophants, admire the heroes, pity -the sufferers, love the lovers, grieve with the unhappy, and rejoice -with the glad. Redeemed from the dismal treadmill of the ego, they enter -into the fortunes of others and put on their feelings, and, exulting to -be out of the purgatory of self-consciousness, they roam at large in the -romantic paradise of sympathetic human kind. As we sit in the theatre -and follow the course of the play, a torrent of ideal life is poured -through the soul, free from the sticky attachments of personal -prejudices, slavish likes and dislikes, viscous and disturbing -morbidities. It therefore cleanses and emancipates. This is what -Aristotle meant in saying that the soul should be purged by the passions -of pity and terror. The impure mixture of broken interests and -distracted feelings known in daily life is washed away by the -overwhelming rush of the emotions and lessons of a great tragedy. One -may recognize in another the signs of states—a glow of muscle, a vigor -of thought, a height of sentiment—which he could not create in himself, -but which he easily enters into by sympathy. An actor of splendid genius -and tone, in the focus of a breathless audience, is for the hour a -millionaire of soul. Two thousand spectators sitting before him divest -themselves of themselves and put him on, and are for the hour -millionaires of soul too. And so the stage illustrates a cheap way to -wealth of consciousness, or every man his own spiritual Crœsus. - -The histrionic art is likewise the best illustration of history. No -narrative of events or biographic description can vie with a good play -properly set on the stage in giving a vivid conception of an ancient -period or a great personage. It steals the keys of time, enters the -chambers of the past, and summons the sleeping dead to life again in -their very forms, costumes, and motions. - - “Time rushes o’er us: thick as evening clouds - Ages roll back. What calls them from their shrouds? - What in full vision brings their good and great, - The men whose virtues make a nation’s fate, - The far forgotten stars of human kind? - _The Stage, that mighty telescope of mind!_” - -What are the words of Tacitus or Livy in their impression on the common -mind compared with the visible resurrection of the people and life of -Rome in “Virginius,” “Brutus,” “Julius Cæsar,” or “Antony and -Cleopatra”? Colley Cibber said, with felicitous phrase, “The most a -Vandyke can arrive at is to make his portraits of great persons seem to -think. A Shakspeare goes further, and tells you what his pictures -thought. A Betterton steps beyond both, and calls them from the grave to -breathe and be themselves again in feature, speech, and motion.” The -theatrical art puts in our hands a telescope wherewith we pierce distant -ages and nations and see them as they were. - -And as it revives the truths and wonders of antiquity, so it reflects -the present world, depicting in its successive scenes all forms of -society and experience, from the luxuries of the palace to the -wretchedness of the hovel. Moreover, in addition to thus lifting the -curtain from the past and the present, it gives prophetic glimpses of -the future, in its representations of ideal types of men and women and -in its poetic pictures of happier times yet to bless the world. While -most buildings are devoted to the mere interests and comforts of the -private individual or family, or to mechanical business and selfish -scheming, well is it that there should be one fair and open edifice -dedicated to the revelation of human nature in its whole extent, of -human experience in all its seriousness and mirth, of human love and -hope in all their beautiful glory. - -But, after all the uses of the theatre enumerated above, there remains -to be stated what is perhaps its most constant, most valuable and -universal benefit; namely, its delightful ministry of recreation and -amusement. In its charmed enclosure there is a blessed escape from the -jading cares and toils and hates and griefs and fears that so harass and -corrode heart and mind in the emulous strifes of the world. Here -pictures of beauty and bravery are exhibited, adventures of romantic -interest set forth, the most sublime deeds and engaging traits of men -lifted into relief, a tide of pride and joy and love sent warm to the -hearts of the crowd, and all factitious distinctions swept away, as -thousands of eyes gaze on the same scenes and thousands of bosoms beat -together with one emotion. In the drama all the arts are concentrated, -and made accessible to those of the most moderate means, with a splendor -which elsewhere, if found at all, can be commanded only by the favored -few. There is the rich and imposing architecture of the theatre itself, -with its stately proportions and fair ornaments. There is the audience -with its brilliant toilets and its array of celebrity, beauty, and -fashion. There are colors in every direction, and painting in the -elaborate scenery heightened by the gorgeous illumination poured over -all. There is sculpture in the most exquisite forms and motions, the -living statuary of the trained performers. There are poetry and oratory -in the skilled elocution of the speakers. There are the interest of the -story, the interplay of the characters, and the evolution and climax of -the plot. There is the profound magnetic charm of the sympathetic -assembly, all swayed and breathing as one. And then there is the -penetrative incantation, the omnipotent spell of rhythm, in the music of -the orchestra, the chant of the singers, the dancing of the ballet. - -Here indeed is an art equally fitted to amuse the weary, to instruct the -docile, and to express the inspired. The prejudiced deprecators of the -drama have delighted to depict the kings and queens of the stage -descending from their scenic pedestals, casting off their tinsel robes, -and slinking away in slovenly attire into cellar and garret. How much -worthier of note is the reverse aspect, the noble metamorphosis actors -undergo when the prosaic belittlement of their daily life of poverty and -care slips off and they enter the scene in the greatest characters of -history to enact the grandest conceptions of passion and poetry! And -there is an influence in great impersonations to purify and ennoble -their performers. The law of congruity necessitates it. “If,” said -Clairon, “I am only an ordinary woman for twenty of the twenty-four -hours of the day, no effort I can make will render me more than an -ordinary woman when I appear as Agrippina or Semiramis.” The actor, to -make heroic, sublime, or tender manifestations of the mysterious power -and pity and doom of human nature, must have these qualities in his -soul. No petty or vulgar nature could be competent to such strokes of -wonder and pathos as the “Prithee, undo this button!” of Garrick; the -“Fool, fool, fool!” of Kean; the “Vous pleurez, Zaïre!” of Lekain; the -“After life’s fitful fever he sleeps well!” of Forrest. - -The theatre offers us an unrivalled opportunity for the economical -activity of all our faculties, especially of our finer sentiments, which -there play freely, disconnected from the exacting action of the studious -intellect. The whole concentrated mass of life shown in action on the -stage is ideally radiated into the bosoms of the beholders without cost -to them. They despise, they admire, they laugh, they weep, they feel -complacent in their contempt or in their reverence. Many who are too -poor and outcast, or too busy and worn, or too proud and irascible, or -too grieved and unfortunately circumstanced, for the indulgence of these -feelings in real life, find the luxuries copiously and cheaply supplied -in the scene. This is one reason why so many play-goers retain such -grateful recollections of their favorites. Steele said, “From the acting -of Mr. Betterton I have received more strong impressions of what is -great and noble in human nature than from the arguments of the most -solid philosophers or the descriptions of the most charming poets.” -Robson declared, “I never came away from seeing Bannister without -feeling ten years younger, and that if I had not, with Christian, got -rid of my sins, I had got rid of what was pretty nearly as heavy to -carry, my cares.” A noble lady of Edinburgh who in her youth had seen -Siddons, when blind and nearly speechless in the torpor of extreme age, -on being reminded of the great actress, broke into enthusiastic -expressions, while smiles lighted up the features pale and wrinkled with -nearly a hundred years. - -An old English writer asking how he shall seclude and refresh himself -from fretting care and hardship puts aside every form of vicious -dissipation, and says,— - - “My faculties truly to recreate - With modest mirth and myself to please, - Give me a PLAY that no distaste can breed. - Prove thou a spider and from flowers suck gall; - I will, bee-like, take honey from a weed, - For I was never puritanical.” - -Collective history looked at from the human point of view may sometimes -appear a chaos, but seen from the divine auditorium above it is a -perfect drama, the earth its stage, the generations its actors. Thus the -argument of Thomas Heywood was sound, No Theatre, No World! - - “If then the world a theatre present, - As by the roundnesse it appears most fit, - Built with starre-galleries of high ascent - In which Jehove doth as spectator sit - And chief determines to applaud the best, - But by their evil actions doome the rest, - He who denies that theatres should be - He may as well deny the world to me!” - -For as the world is a stage, so the stage is a world. It is an artistic -world in which not only the natural but also the supernatural world is -revealed. This is shown with overwhelming abundance of power in William -Winter’s description of the Saul of Alfieri as rendered by Salvini: - -“It depicts the condition of an imaginative mind, a stately and robust -character, an arrogant, fiery spirit, an affectionate heart, and, -altogether, a royal and regally-poised nature, that have first been -undermined by sin and the consciousness of sin, and then crazed by -contact with the spirit-world and by a nameless dread of the impending -anger of an offended God. It would be difficult to conceive of a more -distracting and piteous state. Awe and terror surround this august -sufferer, and make him both holy and dreadful. In his person and his -condition, as these are visible to the imaginative mind, he combines all -the elements that impress and thrill. He is of vast physical stature, -which time has not bent, and of great beauty of face, which griefs have -ravaged but not destroyed. He is a valiant and bloody warrior, and -danger seems to radiate from his presence. He is a magnanimous king and -a loving father, and he softens by generosity and wins by gentleness. He -is a maniac, haunted by spectres and scourged with a whip of scorpions, -and his red-eyed fury makes all space a hell and shatters silence with -the shrieks of the damned. He is a human soul, burdened with the -frightful consciousness of the Almighty’s wrath, and poised in torment -on the precipice that overhangs the dark and storm-beaten ocean of -eternity. His human weakness is affrighted by ghastly visions and by all -manner of indefinite horrors, against which his vain struggles do but -make more piteous his awful condition. The gleams of calm that fall upon -his tortured heart only light up an abyss of misery,—a vault of darkness -peopled by demons. He is already cut off from among the living by the -doom of inevitable fate, and while we pity him we fear him. His coming -seems attended with monstrous shapes; he diffuses dissonance; his voice -is a cry of anguish or a wail of desolation; his existence is a tempest; -there can be no relief for him save death, and the death that ends him -comes like the blessing of tears to the scorched eyelids of consuming -misery. That is the Saul of the Bible and of Alfieri’s tragedy; and that -is the Saul whom Salvini embodies. It is a colossal monument of human -suffering that the actor presents, and no man can look upon it without -being awed and chastened and lifted above the common level of this -world.” - -But the culminating utility and glory and eulogy of the art of the -theatre are not that it furnishes common people an opportunity for -learning what are the exceptional greatness, beauty, and wonder of human -nature by the sight of its most colossal faculties unveiled and its most -marvellous terrors, splendors, sorrows, and ecstasies exposed for study, -but that _its inherent genius tends to produce expansive sympathy, -sincerity of soul, generous deeds, and an open catholicity of temper_. -No other class is so true and liberal to its own members in distress or -so prompt in response to public calamity as that of the actors. Their -constant familiarity with the sentiments of nobleness and pity imbues -them with the qualities. In trying exigencies, personal or national, -their conduct has often illustrated the truth of the compliment paid -them by the poet: - - “These men will act the passions they inspire, - And wave the sabre as they sweep the lyre.” - -Macklin said, “I have always loved the conscious worth of a good action -more than the profit that would arise from a bad one.” A famous singer -was passing through the market-place of Lyons one day, when a woman with -a sick child asked alms of him. He had left his purse behind, but, -wishing to aid the woman, he took off his hat, sang his best, and -hastily gave her the money he collected. - - “The singer, pleased, passed on, and softly thought, - Men will not know by whom this deed was wrought; - But when at night he came upon the stage, - Cheer after cheer went up from that wide throng, - And flowers rained on him. Nothing could assuage - The tumult of the welcome save the song - That for the beggars he had sung that day - While standing in the city’s busy way.” - -So when in his old age the great tenor, Duprez, reappeared to sing some -stanzas he had composed in behalf of the sufferers by an inundation, as -he said he could no longer utter the sensational cry of Arnold in -William Tell, _Suivez-moi_, but that he still had strength to sing -_Secourons le malheur_, the house rang with plaudits. - -The flexibility of the actor, his sympathetic art, the affecting poetic -situations in which he is seen set off by aggrandizing and romantic -adjuncts, clothe him with fascinating associations, make him gazed after -and courted. This is one secret of the keen interest felt in him. He who -gives the most powerful signs of soul is naturally thought to have the -greatest soul. The great have always been drawn to make favorites of -actors. Demosthenes was the friend of Satyrus; Cicero, of Roscius; Louis -the Fourteenth, of Molière; Bolingbroke, of Barton Booth; Napoleon, of -Talma; Byron, of Kean. The Duke of Northumberland gave Kemble ten -thousand pounds sterling. Lord Loughborough settled a handsome annuity -on Macklin in his destitute age; and when the old actor in his one -hundred and eighth year was about to die he besought the friend who had -agreed to write his life to make grateful mention of this. - -Players have given kings and nobles greater benefits than they have -received from them, often teaching them character as well as manners. -When the Earl of Essex told Edmund Kean that by continuing to associate -with Incledon, the decayed singer, he would endanger his own further -welcome in the upper class, the actor replied, “My lord, Incledon was my -friend, in the strictest sense of the word, when I had scarcely another -friend in the world; and if I should now desert him in the decline of -his popularity and the fall of his fortunes I should little deserve the -friendship of any man, and be quite unworthy of the favorable opinion -your lordship has done me the honor to entertain for me.” Thus speaking, -he rose, and, with a profound bow to the earl, left the room. - -The greatest social characters have not only always affected the society -of gifted players, but have themselves had a profound passion for the -personal practice of the art. This is because the art deals with all the -most subtile secrets of human nature and experience, out of which grow -those arts of power which they feel to be their peculiar province. It is -also because in this practice they escape from the empty round of the -merely conventional and titular which soon becomes so wearying to the -soul and so nauseous to the heart, and come into the realm of reality. -The effect produced by the king, the deference paid to him, may be -hollow. The power of the actor depends on genuine gifts, on his own real -being and skill and charm. And he sees through all cold forms and -shallow pretences. His very art, in its bedizenments and factitious -accessories, sickens him of all shams in private life. There he wants -sincerity and the unaffected substantial goods of nature, a friendly -fellowship springing straight from the heart. When the wife of Kean -asked him what Lord Essex had said of his Shylock, the actor replied, -“Damn Lord Essex. The pit rose at me!” A common soldier with whom Cooke -had quarrelled refused to fight him because he was rich and the persons -present would favor him. Cooke said, “Look here, sir. This is all I -possess in the world,” showing three hundred and fifty pounds in bank- -notes, which he immediately thrust into the fire, holding the poker on -them till they were consumed. Then he added, “Now I am a beggar, sir. -Will you fight me now?” - -This democratic spirit which spurns social affectations and tramples -unreal claims, keenly recognizing distinctions but insisting that they -shall be genuine and not merely supposititious, is the very genius of -the drama as felt in its inmost essence. Rulers have ever delighted to -evade their imprisonment in etiquette, put on an incognito, and disport -themselves in the original relishes of human intercourse on the basis of -facts. Nothing in literature is more charming than the adventures in -this kind of Haroun-al-Raschid and his Vizier in the Arabian Nights’ -Entertainments. Nero and Commodus were proudest of all to strip off -their imperial insignia and win plaudits by their performances in the -amphitheatre. Julius Cæsar acted in his own theatre the part of Hercules -Furens. He was so carried away by the spirit of the rôle that he -actually killed the youth who played Lycus and swung the body two or -three times round his head. Louis the Fourteenth appeared in the -Magnificent Lovers, by Molière, and pantomimed, danced, sang, and played -on the flute and the guitar. He especially loved in gorgeous ballets to -perform the rôle of the Sun; and in the ballet of the Seasons he -repeatedly filled the rôle of the blonde Ceres surrounded by harvesters. -Even Oliver Cromwell once acted the part of Tactus in the play of -“Lingua, or the Combat of the Five Senses for Superiority.” - -But the life of the dramatic profession is not all a brilliant round of -power, gayety, and indulgence. It too has sacrifices, toils, tears, -strenuous duty and virtue, tragedy, mystery, and triumph. The strange -picture of human life and death is nowhere more vividly reflected than -in the theatrical career. The little prodigy James Speaight, whose -performances on the violin had for three years been applauded by crowds, -when he was not yet seven years old, was one evening slightly ill as he -left the stage. About midnight his father heard him say, “Gracious God, -make room for another little child in heaven.” The father spoke, -received no answer, and on going to him found him dead. In 1819, a Mlle. -Charton made her débût at the Odéon. Her enchanting loveliness and -talent captivated all. Intoxicated Paris rang with her praises. Suddenly -she ceased to act. A jealous lover had flung into that beautiful and -happy face a cup of vitriol, destroying beauty, happiness, and eyesight -forever. She refused to prosecute the ruffian, but sat at home, -suffering and helpless, and was soon absorbed in the population and -forgotten. What could be more dreadful than such a doom, or more -pathetic than such submission! In fact, many of those who lived by -acting on the stage have given as noble specimens of acting off of it as -are to be found in history. Mrs. Porter, a famous actress of the -generation preceding Garrick, riding home after the play, in a one-horse -chaise, was accosted by a highwayman with a demand for her money. “She -levelled a pistol at him, when he changed his tone to supplication, told -her his name and the abode of his starving family, and appealed to her -compassion so strongly that she gave him ten guineas. He left her, and, -as she lashed her horse, the animal started aside, upset the chaise, and -in the fall her hip-joint was dislocated. Notwithstanding all the pain -and loss the man had thus occasioned her, she inquired into his -circumstances, and, finding that he had told her the truth, raised sixty -pounds among her acquaintances and sent it to his family.” Her lameness -forced her to leave the stage, and she had herself to subsist upon -charity. - -The dread shrinking and anxiety felt by Mrs. Siddons on the night of her -first successful appearance in London, after her earlier failure, were -such as common natures cannot imagine, and such as nothing but a holy -love for her young dependent children could have nerved even her heroic -nature to bear. The dying away of the frenzied shouts and plaudits left -her half dead, as she wrote to a friend. “My joy and thankfulness were -of too solemn and overpowering a nature to admit of words or even tears. -My father, my husband, and myself sat down to a frugal supper in a -silence uninterrupted except by exclamations of gladness from Mr. -Siddons. My father enjoyed his refreshments, but occasionally stopped -short, and, laying down his knife and fork, and lifting up his venerable -face, and throwing back his silver hair, gave way to tears of -happiness.” - -The essence of the ecclesiastical and theatrical quarrel lies in the -relation of the natural passions to duty. It is especially concentrated -and prominent in regard to the passion of love, concerning which the -opposed views are seen on the one side in the prurient plays constantly -produced on the boards, and on the other side in the repressive -injunctions as constantly iterated from the pulpit. The latter loudly -commands denial, the former silently insinuates indulgence. The one is -inflamed with the love of power, the other is infected with the love of -pleasure. The battle can never be ended by the victory of either party. -The strife is hopeless so long as the ascetic ideal is proclaimed alone, -kindling the bigoted mental passions, and the voluptuous ideal is -exhibited alone, inflaming the loose sensual passions. Each will have -its party, and they will keep on fighting. The only solution lies in the -appearance and triumph of that juster and broader ideal which shows that -the genuine aim and end of life are not the gratification of any -despotic separate passions, whether spiritual or physical, but the -perfection of individual being in social unity. The two combatants, -therefore, must be reconciled by a mediator diviner than either of them, -armed with a truer authority than the one and animated by a purer mind -than the other. That mediator is Science, unfolding the psychological -and physiological laws of the subject, and bringing denial and -indulgence into reconciliation by giving wholesomeness and normality to -every passion, which shall then seek fulfilment only in accordance with -the conditions of universal order, securing a pure harmony at once of -all the functions of the individual and of all the interests of society. -The incomplete and vain formula of the church is, Deny thyself. The -equally defective and dangerous formula of the theatre is, Indulge -thyself. But the perfect and bridging formula of science is, So deny or -rule in the parts of thy being and life as to fulfil thyself in the -whole. - -Virtue is not confined to the votaries of the pulpit, but is often -glorified in the votaries of the stage. Vice, if sometimes openly -flaunted in the theatre, is sometimes secretly cherished in the church. -Neither should scorn the other, but they should mutually teach and aid -each other, and combine their methods as friends, to purify, enlighten, -and free the world. Each has much to give the other, and as much to -receive from it. For, while the mischief of the ascetic ecclesiastic -ideal of repression and denial is the breeding of a spirit of sour and -fanatical gloom, its glory is the earnest conscience, the trimmed lamp, -and the girt loins. Add this sacred self-restraint, which allows no -indulgence not in accordance with the conditions of universal order, to -the genial dramatic ideal of man and life,—a perfect organism and -perfect faculties in perfect conditions of fulfilment and liberty, or -the greatest amount of harmonious experience rooted in the physical -nature and flowering in the spiritual,—and it is the just ideal. - -The true business of the church is to inculcate morality and religion. -Its perversions are traditional routine, creed authority, and ceremony. -The true business of the theatre is to exhibit characters and manners in -their contrasts so as to secure appropriating approval for the best, -condemnation and avoidance for the worst. Its perversions are -carelessness, frivolity, and license. When the church purifies itself -for its two genuine functions,—truth and consolation,—and the theatre -cleanly administers its two genuine functions,—wholesome recreation and -earnest teaching,—their offices will coincide and the strife of priest -and player cease. - - - - - CHAPTER XXII. - FORREST IN SEVEN OF HIS CHIEF ROLES.—CHARACTERS OF IMAGINATIVE -PORTRAITURE.—RICHELIEU.—MACBETH.—RICHARD.—HAMLET.—CORIOLANUS.—OTHELLO.— - LEAR. - - -At the date of this writing, although there are many good actors in -America, there are none who are generally recognized as great. There -also appears for the time to be a decline in the popular taste for the -serious and lofty drama, and a general preference for sensational, -comic, and spectacular plays. In vain does the call-boy summon the -sublime characters and parts that entranced the audiences of a bygone -generation. They seem to have died with the strong and stately actors -who gave them such noble life and motion. The sceptred pall of gorgeous -tragedy has vanished from the stage, it may almost be said, and for the -poet and the thinker have been substituted the carpenter, the scene- -painter, the upholsterer, and the milliner. Nudity, prurience, broad -appeals to sensual passion, extravagant glare and movement and noise, -have largely thrust aside tragic action, romantic sentiment, and moral -grandeur. Even though the depravation be but temporary, marking a -transitional crisis, it is a feature unpleasant to contemplate. And it -may be of some service, not only in completing the picture of the life -of Forrest, but likewise in revealing the higher social uses and lessons -of his art, to give a description of the chief of those massive and -heroic rôles he loved best to fill in the ripest period of his -professional career. The accounts must be brief and fragmentary, and -very inadequate at the best. To preserve or re-create the full -impression of a great actor in a great part, he should be sculptured in -every attitude and movement, with every gesture and look, and painted in -every tone, emphasis, and inflection of his voice. Yet, without -attempting this impossible feat in the case of Forrest, enough may be -rapidly indicated in general sketches to enable intelligent readers to -form some approximate conception of his leading impersonations and of -the influences they were calculated to exert. - -The pictures of the acting of Forrest now to be essayed must be -tantalizingly faint and imperfect, in the absence of an art to translate -and reproduce all the other eight dramatic languages of human nature in -the one language of words. But to appreciate even these poor attempts at -their worth one preliminary condition on the part of those who read is -pre-eminently necessary. They must remember that Forrest was one of -those rare men profusely endowed with that mysterious power to interest -and impress which is popularly called personal magnetism. He was -signally charged with that secret spell, that loaded and swaying -fascination, which all feel though no one understands, which -contagiously works on those who come within its reach, seizing -curiosity, enlisting sympathy, or evoking repulsion. The distinguishing -differences of men in this respect are indescribable and fatal. No art -can efface them or neutralize them. For an artist who makes direct -personal appeal to an audience the having or the not having this -magnetic gift is as the hidden core of destiny. With it obstacles are -removed as by magic, friends won, enemies overthrown, and wherever the -possessor sails through the community he leaves a wide phosphorescent -wake of social interest and gossip. Without it, though flags are waved -and trumpets are blown and all pains taken to make an impression and -secure a victorious career, yet the efforts prove futile and public -attention wanders listlessly away. One seems created to be the victim of -perpetual slights, dry, trivial, destitute of charm, nobody caring -anything about him; while another, freighted with occult talismans, -strangely interests everybody. The recognition of such contrasts is one -of the most familiar facts of experience. These phenomena are suggested -by the word sphere as applied to the characteristic influence of -personality. The spiritual sphere or signalling power of an individual -is described as attractive or repulsive, strong or weak, vast or little, -harmonious or discordant. The mystery is not so blankly baffling as it -has been supposed, but is in a large degree susceptible of rational -explication. - -Out of a hundred accomplished singers, beautiful in person and -marvellous in voice, one prima donna shall surpass all the rest in -fascinating the public. There is a nameless distinction in her bearing, -there is an indescribable charm in her song, which bewitch and enthrall, -are her irresistible passports to public enthusiasm, and make her sure -of a long and dazzling career; while one after another of the rest with -desperate exertions and fitful plaudits disappear. Here is a tragedian -who exercises the same spell and quickly obscures his distanced rivals. -He advances on the stage with a quiet step, his mantle negligently -crossing his breast, his countenance calm. Without a start, without a -gesture, without a word, he simply is and looks. Yet, as he approaches, -awe spreads around him. Why this breathless silence all over the -theatre, this rooted attention from every one? He seats himself, he -leans on the arm of the chair; his voice, quick and deep, seems not to -utter common words, but to pronounce supernatural oracles. By what -transcendent faculty does he render hate so terrible, irony so -frightful, disdain so superhuman, devotion so entrancing, love so -inexpressibly sweet, that the whole assembly rivet their eyes and hold -their breath while their hearts throb under the mystic influence of his -action? The secret is purely a matter of law without anything of chance -or whim or caprice in it. It is the profound and universal law which -regulates the exercise of sympathetic influence by one person on -another. It has two elements, namely, beauty and power. Beauty and power -both can be expressed in shapes, features, motions, and tones. Shapes, -features, and tones are results and revelations of modes of motion. The -face is shaped and modulated by the ideal forces within, the rhythmical -vibrations which preside over the processes of nutrition. All those -shapes or movements in a person which in their completeness constitute, -or in their segments imply, returning curves or undulations, such as -circles, ellipses, and spirals, are beautiful. They suggest economy of -force, ease of function, sustained vitality, and potency. But abrupt -changes of direction, sudden snatches and breaks of movement, sharp -angles, are ugly and repellent, because they suggest waste of force, -difficulty of function, discord of the individual with the universal, -and therefore hint evil and death. The serpent was anciently considered -a symbol of immortality on account, no doubt, of all its motions being -endless lines or undulations circling in themselves. This is the law of -beauty which just in proportion to its pervasive prevalence and -exhibition in any one gives its possessor charm. The subtile indication -of this in the incessant and innumerable play of the person fascinates -and delights all who see it; and those who do not consciously perceive -it are still influenced by it in the unconscious depths of their nature. - -The element of power is closely allied in its mode of revelation and -influence with that of beauty. Every attitude, gesture, or facial -expression is composed of contours and lines, static and dynamic, latent -and explicit, fragmentary and complete, straight, curved, or angularly -crooked. Now, the nature of these lines, the degree in which their -curves return or do not return into themselves, the nature and sizes of -the figures they describe, or would describe if completed according to -their indicative commencements, determine their beauty or ugliness and -decide what effect they shall produce on the spectator. The beauty and -the pleasure it yields are proportioned to the preponderance of endless -lines suggestive of circulation of force without waste, and therefore of -perfect grace and immortal life. But that sense of power which breeds -awe in the beholder is measured by the proportion of exertion made to -effect produced. All force expended passes off on angular lines. The -angles of movement may be obtuse or sharp in varying degrees, and -consequently subtend lines of different lengths. All attitudes and -gestures compose curves and figures, or cast lines and form angles, -which constitute their æsthetic and dynamic values, those measuring -beauty, these measuring power. For, on the principle of the lever and -momentum, the power expended at the end of a line is equal to that -exerted at the beginning of the line multiplied by its length. The -amounts of exertion and the lengths of lines are unconsciously estimated -by the intuitions of the observer, and the unconscious interpretations -to which he is led are what yield the impressions he experiences on -seeing any given actor. The greatest sense of power is received when the -minimum of initial effort is seen with the maximum of terminal result; -when the smallest weight at the central extremity balances the largest -one at the distal extremity. The law of combined beauty and power of -action, then, is contained in the relations of returning lines and -lengths of straight lines. The measure of dramatic expression is this: -impression of grace is according to the preponderance of perpetuating -curves, and impression of strength according to the degrees of the -angles formed by the straight lines. That actress or actor in whose -organism there is the greatest freedom of the parts and the greatest -unity of the whole, the most perfect co-operation of all the nerve- -centres in a free dynamic solidarity and the most complete surrender of -the individual will to universal principles, will make the deepest -sensation,—in other words, will have the largest amount of what has been -vaguely called personal magnetism. The divinest character expresses -itself in softly-flowing forms and inexpensive movements. The most royal -and august majesty of function indicates its rank of power by the -slightest exertions implying the vastest effects. Frivolous, false, and -vulgar characters are ever full of short lines, incongruous, fussy, and -broken motions, curves everywhere subordinated and angles obtrusive. -Such persons are, as it is said, destitute of magnetism. They do not -interest. They cannot possibly charm or awe. It is a law of -inexpressible importance that _the quality, grade, and measure of a -personality are revealed primarily in the proportions, secondarily in -the movements, of the physical organism_. These proportions and -movements betray alike the permanent features of the indwelling -character and all its passing thoughts and emotions. The truth is all -there, though the spectator may be incompetent to interpret its signals. -The most harmonious and perfect character will show the most exquisite -symmetry and grace of repose and action. The irregulated, raw, and -reckless type of character expresses itself in awkward, violent, or -incongruous movements, wasteful of energy yet not impressive in result. -Beauty of motion, the implication of endless lines, is the normal sign -of loveliness of soul. Grandeur of soul or dynamic greatness of mind is -indicated by implicit extent and ponderous slowness of motion. When the -smallest displays of motion at the centres suggest the most sustained -and extended lines, the impression given of power is the most mysterious -and overwhelming. The most tremendous exertions, in lines and angles -whose invisible complements are small, produce a weak impression, -because they make no appeal to the imagination. The beauty of the -figures implied in the forms of the movements of a man is the analogue -of his goodness; the dimensions of the figures, the analogue of his -strength. And in the case of every one the spectators are constantly -apprehending the forms of these figures and how far they reach, and -emotionally reacting in accordance with the results thus attained. It is -not a conscious and critical process of the understanding or the senses, -but a swift procedure of the intuitions or organic habits, including the -sum of ancestral experiences deposited in instinctive faculty. Many who -are ignorant of this law of the revelation of human nature, and of the -sympathetic influence of man on man involved in it, may feel that the -whole conception is merely a fine-spun fancy, with no solid basis in -fact. But a perfect parallel to the process here described as taking -place through the eye has been both mathematically and visibly -demonstrated in the case of the ear. The beauty of form as perceived by -the eye depends on implicit perception of geometric law, and is -proportioned to the simplicity of the law and the variety of the outline -embodying it, just as the harmony of colors or the harmony of sounds -depends on the implicit perception of arithmetical ratios, and is -proportioned to the harmony of times in which the vibrations of the -visible or audible medium occur. We distinguish the beauty and the -quality of a tone of the same pitch produced by different instruments or -voices, and our feelings are differently affected with pleasure or pain -as we listen to them. But the beauty of a tone consists in the -equidistance of the pulsations of air composing it, and the quality of a -tone consists in the forms of the pulsations. The auditory apparatus -reports the symmetry or asymmetry of the pulsations in form and rate, -and the soul, intuitively grasping the secret significance, is delighted -or disturbed accordingly. The charm of a delicious, musical, powerful -voice has these four elements, beautiful forms in its vibrations, -perfect rhythm or equidistance in its vibrations, varying breadth in its -vibrations, and varying extent of vibratory surface in the sounding -mechanism. Without knowing anything about any of these conditions, the -sensitive hearer, played on by them through his ear, accurately responds -in feeling. It is exactly the same, in the case of the eye, with the -geometrical lines and figures involved in the bearing of a person. If -these are beautiful in forms, graceful in motions, sublime in implicit -dimensions, the impression is delightful and profound; while if they are -petty and incoherent, or clumsy and unbalanced, their appeal is -superficial and disagreeable. This is the law of personal magnetism, -which always exerts the vastest swing of power from the most exactly -centred equilibrium. The mysteries of God are revealed in space and time -through form and motion. They are concentrated in rhythm, which, as -defined by Delsarte, is the simultaneous vibration of number, weight, -and measure. We are creatures of space and time; all our experience has -been written and is organized in that language. Our whole nature -therefore in its inmost depths corresponds and thrills to the mystic -symbols of harmony or discord with love and pleasure or with fear and -pain. The secret of the delight that waits on the perception or feeling -of beauty and power is the recognition of sequent ratios which express -symmetry in time or algebraic law, and coexistent ratios which express -symmetry in space or geometric law. Spatial symmetry is the law of -equilibrium, the adjustment of the individual with the universal, and -measures power. Temporal symmetry is the law of health, the pulsating -adjustment of function with its norm, and measures the melodious flow of -life. Rhythm is the constant dynamic reproduction of symmetry in space -and time combined. It is the secret of personal magnetism. Its charm and -its power are at their height when the symmetries are most varied in -detail and most perfect in unity. - -Now, Forrest ever possessed this magnetic temperament, this firmly -poised and ingravidated personality, and ever wielded its signals with -startling effect. The tones and inflections of his sweet and majestic -voice in its wide diapason were felt by his hearers palpitating among -the pulses of their hearts. His attitude, look, and gesture in great -situations often produced on a whole assembly the electric creep of the -flesh and the cold shudder of the marrow. His fearlessness and -deliberation were conspicuous and proverbial. A censorious critic said, -“Mr. Forrest is the most painfully elaborate actor on the stage. He -swings in a great slow orbit, and, though he revolves with dignity and -sublimity, the sublimity is often stupid and the dignity a little -pompous. He dwells so long on unimportant passages that one might -imagine he intended to take up an everlasting rest on a period, to go to -sleep over a semicolon, or spend the evening with a comma. His pauses -are like the distances from star to star, and if he continues in his -course people will have time to stroll in the lobbies between his -sentences. His performances might be defined by his enemies as infinite -extensions of silence with incidental intervals of speech.” Through this -enveloping burlesque one discerns the poise, sang-froid, and grandeur of -the man. - -Senator Stockton, passing the Broadway Theatre one evening, met a friend -coming out, and asked him, “What is going on in there?” The reply was, -“Oh, nothing: Forrest is in one of his pauses!” An admiring critic said -of him, and if the diction be exaggerated it yet invests the truth, -“There is no actor living who takes a stronger hold of the feelings of -his audience or grasps the passions of the human heart with such a -giant-like clutch. He is as imposing and daring in his action as the -mountain condor when he darts on the flock, or the bird of Jove when he -wheels from the peaks and burnishes his plumage in the blaze of the sun. -It is not one here and there that submits to his sovereignty. The entire -audience are swayed and fashioned after the workings of his soul. He -permits none to escape the potency of his sceptre, but makes all bow to -his terrible and overwhelming mastery.” Of course different persons had -different degrees of susceptibility to this elemental power and -earnestness of nature and to this trained and skilled display of art, -though all must feel it more or less either as attraction or as -repulsion. The varying effects of the playing of character through its -signs is the genuine drama of life itself. The idiot holds his bauble -for a god, as Shakspeare says. The ruffian is hardened against all -delicate and noble manifestations of mind. The dilettante, in his -dryness, veneer, and varnish, is incapable of any enthusiasm for -persons. And there are multitudes so harassed and exhausted in the -selfish contests of the day, their hearts and imaginations so perverted -or shrivelled, that the brightest signals of heroism, genius, and -saintliness shine before them in vain. The play of personal qualities, -the study and appreciation of them, are more neglected now than they -ever were before. It is one of the greatest of social calamities; for it -takes the social stimulus away from spiritual ambition or the passion -for excellence. And it is one of the supreme benefactions conferred on -society by a great actor that he intensifies and illuminates the -revelatory language of character and fixes attention on its import by -lifting all its modes of expression to their highest pitch. - - - RICHELIEU. - -In a previous chapter an attempt was made to describe Forrest in those -characters of physical and mental realism with which his fame was -chiefly identified during the earlier and middle portions of his popular -career. It remains now to essay a similar sketch of those characters of -imaginative portraiture which he best loved to impersonate in the -culminating glory and at the close of his artistic career. In the Rolla, -Damon, Spartacus, Metamora of his young manhood he was, rather than -played, the men whose parts he assumed, so intensely did he feel them -and so completely did he reproduce nature. He wrestled with the genius -of his art as Hercules with Antæus, throwing it to the ground -continually, but making its vitality more vigorous with every fall. As -years passed, and brought the philosophic mind, they tempered and -refined the animal fierceness, strained out the crudity and excess, and -secured a result marked by greater symmetry in details, fuller harmony -of accessories, a purer unity in the whole, and a loftier climax of -interest and impression. Then studious intellect and impassioned -sentiment, guided by truth and taste, preponderated over mere instinct -and observation, and imaginative portraiture took the place which had -been held by sensational realism. This is what in dramatic art gives the -violence of passion moderating restraint, puts the calm girdle of beauty -about the throbbing loins of power. Imagination, it is true, cannot -create, but it can idealize, order, and unify, unravel the tangled snarl -of details, and wind the intricacies in one unbroken thread, making -nature more natural by abstraction of the accidental and arrangement of -the essential. This was what the acting of Forrest, always sincere and -natural, for a long time needed, but at last, in a great degree, -attained, and, in attaining, became genuinely artistic. - -The Richelieu of Forrest was a grand conception consummately elaborated -and grandly represented. It was a part suited to his nature, and which -he always loved to portray. The glorious patriotism which knit his soul -to France, the tender affection which bound his heart to his niece, the -leonine banter with which he mocked his rivals, the indomitable courage -with which he defied his foes, the sublime self-sufficingness with which -he trusted in fate and in the deepest emergencies prophesied the dawn -while his followers were trembling in the gloom, his immense personal -superiority of mind and force swaying all others, as the sun sways its -orbs,—these were traits to which Forrest brought congenial qualities and -moods, making their representation a delight to his soul. - -He dressed for the part in long robes, an iron-gray wig, and the scarlet -cap of a cardinal. He stooped a little, coughed, but gave no signs of -superannuation. As the conspiracies thickened about him and the end drew -on, he seemed visibly to grow older and more excitable. His age and -feebleness, though simulated with an exquisite skill, were not obtruded. -Though the picture of an old man, it was the picture of a very grand old -man, like the ruin of a mighty castle, worn by time and broken by -storms, yet towering proudly in its strength, with foundations the -earthquake could not uproot and battlements over which the thunder -crashed in vain. Forrest made the character not only intensely -interesting and exciting by the great variety of sharp contrasts he -brought into reconciliation in it, but also admirable and lovable from -the honest virtues and august traits it embodied. He represented -Richelieu as a patriotic statesman of the loftiest order, and also as a -sage deeply read in the lore of the human heart, tenaciously just, a -careful weigher of motives, his sometimes rough and repellent manner -always covering a deep well of love and a rich vein of satire. - -In the opening scene, the cunning slyness of the veteran plotter and -detective, the dignity of the great statesman, and the magnetic command -of the powerful minister were revealed in rapid alternation in a manner -which was a masterpiece of art. - - “And so you think this new conspiracy - The craftiest trap yet laid for the old fox? - Fox? Well, I like the nickname. What did Plutarch - Say of the Greek Lysander? - That where the lion’s skin fell short, he eked it - Out with the fox’s! A great statesman, Joseph, - That same Lysander!” - -There was in the delivery of these words a mixture of sportiveness and -sobriety, complacency and irony, which spoke volumes. Then, speaking of -Baradas, the conceited upstart who expected to outwit and overthrow him, -the expression of self-conscious greatness in his manner, combined with -contempt for the mushroom success of littleness, made the verbal passage -and the picture he painted in uttering it equally memorable as he said,— - - “It cost me six long winters - To mount as high as in six little moons - This painted lizard. But I hold the ladder, - And when I shake—he falls!” - -As his hand imaginatively shook the ladder, his eye blazed, his voice -grew solid, and the audience saw everything indicated by the words as -distinctly as if it had been presented in material reality. Nothing -could be more finely drawn and colored than the variety of moods, the -changing qualities of character and temper, called out in Richelieu by -the reactions of his soul on the contrasted persons of the play and -exigencies of the plot as he came in contact with them. When, alluding -to the attachment of the king for his ward as an ivy, he said— - - “Insidious ivy, - And shall it creep around my blossoming tree, - Where innocent thoughts, like happy birds, make music - That spirits in heaven might hear?”— - -there was a fond caressing sweetness in his tones that fell on the heart -like a celestial dew. Into what a wholly different world of human nature -we were taken in the absolute transformation of his demeanor with -Joseph, the Capuchin monk, his confidant! Here there was a grim humor, -an amusing yet sinister banter: - - “In my closet - You’ll find a rosary, Joseph: ere you tell - Three hundred beads I’ll summon you. Stay, Joseph. - I did omit an Ave in my matins,— - A grievous fault. Atone it for me, Joseph. - There is a scourge within; I am weak, you strong. - It were but charity to take my sin - On such broad shoulders. Exercise is healthful.” - -His interview with De Mauprat reminded one of a cat playing with a -mouse, or of a royal tiger which had laid its paw on one of the sacred -cattle and was watching its quiverings under the velvet-sheathed claws. -When De Mauprat expects to be ordered to the block, Richelieu sends him -to his darling Julie: - - “To the tapestry chamber. You will there behold - The executioner: your doom be private, - And heaven have mercy on you!” - -The delightful humor here follows the desperate terror like sunlight -streaming on a thunder-cloud. What a contrast was furnished in the -allusion to the detested Baradas and his confederates when the aroused -cardinal, after the failure of every method to conciliate, towers into -his kingliest port, and exclaims, with concentrated and vindictive -resolution,— - - “All means to crush. As with the opening and - The clenching of this little hand, I will - Crush the small vermin of the stinging courtiers!” - -The central and all-conspicuous merit of Forrest’s rendering of -Richelieu was the unfailing felicity of skill with which he kept the -unity of the character clear through all the variety of its -manifestations. It was a character fixed in its centre but mobile in its -exterior, dominated by a magnificent patriotic ambition, open to -everything great, tinged with cynicism by bitter experience, if -irascible and revengeful yet full of honest human sympathy. He enjoyed -circumventing traitors with a finesse keener than their own, and defying -enemies with a haughtiness that blasted, while ever and anon gleams of -gentle and generous affection lighted up and softened the sombre -prominences of a nature formed to mould rugged wills and to rule stormy -times. - -It is only great actors who are able to make the individuality of a -character imperially prominent and absorbing yet at the same time to do -equal justice to every universal thought or sentiment occurring in the -part. Forrest was remarkable for this supreme excellence. Whenever the -author had introduced any idea or passion of especial dignity from the -depth of its meaning or the largeness of its scope, he was sure to -express it with corresponding emphasis and finish. This makes a dramatic -entertainment educational and ennobling no less than pleasurable. When -François, starting on an important errand, says, “If I fail?” Richelieu -gazes on the boy, while recollections of the marvellous triumphs of his -own career flit over his face, and exclaims, with an electric -accentuation of surprise and unconquerable assurance,— - - “Fail? - In the lexicon of youth, which fate reserves - For a bright manhood, there is no such word - As fail!” - -When the huge sword of his martial period at Rochelle drops from his -grasp, and he is reminded that he has other weapons now, he goes slowly -to his desk, the old hand from which the heavy falchion had dropped -takes up the light feather, his eyes look into vacancy, the soldier -passes into the seer, an indefinable presence of prophecy broods over -him, and the meditative exultation of his air and the solemn warmth of -his voice make the whole audience thrill as his sculptured syllables -fall on their ears: - - “True,—_this_! - Beneath the rule of men entirely great - The pen is mightier than the sword. Behold - The arch-enchanted wand! Itself a nothing, - But taking sorcery from the master hand - To paralyze the Cæsars and to strike - The loud earth breathless. Take away the sword: - States _can_ be saved without it.” - -When Julie, appealing to him for aid which he cannot promise, -expostulatingly asks,— - - “Art thou not Richelieu?”— - -he answers in a manner whose attitude, look, and tone instantly carry -the imagination and sympathy of the soul-stricken auditors from the -individual instance before them to the solemn pathos and mystery of the -destiny of all mankind in this world: - - “Yesterday I was: - To-day, a very weak old man: to-morrow, - I know not what!” - -So, when, amidst unveiled treason, hate and fear and sickening -ingratitude, left alone in his desolation, his spirit for a moment -wavered under the load of suspicion and melancholy, but quickly rallied -into its own invincible heroism, he so painted and voiced the successive -moods that every bosom palpitated in living response: - - “My leeches bribed to poisoners; pages - To strangle me in sleep; my very king— - This brain the unresting loom from which was woven - The purple of his greatness—leagued against me! - Old, childless, friendless, broken—all forsake, - All, all, but the indomitable heart - Of Armand Richelieu!” - -Never was transition more powerful than from the minor wail of -lamentation with which Forrest here began to the glorious eloquence of -the climax, where his vocal thunderbolts drove home to every heart the -lesson of conscious greatness and courage. The treachery was depicted -with a look and voice expressive of a weary and mournful indignation and -scorn touched with loathing; the desertion, with bowed head and drooping -arms, in low, lingering, tearful tones; the self-assertion was launched -from a mien that swelled with sudden access of inspiration, as if -heaving off its weakness and stiffened in its utmost erection. - -Another imposing instance in which Forrest so rendered a towering sense -of genius and personal superiority as to change it from egotism to -revelation, merging the individual peculiarity in a universal attribute, -was where the armed De Mauprat comes upon the solitary cardinal and -tells him the next step will be his grave. The defiant retort to this -threat was so given as to impress the audience with a sense of prophetic -power, a feeling that the destiny of man is mysteriously linked with -unseen and supernatural ranks of being: - - “Thou liest, knave! - I am old, infirm, most feeble—but thou liest. - Armand de Richelieu dies not by the hand - Of man. The stars have said it, and the voice - Of my own prophetic and oracular soul - Confirms the shining sibyls!” - -A crowning glory of the impersonation of this great rôle by Forrest was -the august grandeur of the method by which he set the intrinsic royalty -of Richelieu over against the titular royalty of Louis. In many nameless -ways besides by his subtile irony, his air of inherent command masked in -studied courtesy of subordination, and the continual contrast of the -comprehensive measures and sublime visions of the one with the petty -personal spites and schemes of the other, he made it ever clear that the -crowned monarch was a sham, the statesman the real one anointed and -sealed by heaven itself. This true and democratic idea of superiority, -that he is the genuine king, not who chances to hold the throne, but who -knows how to govern, received a splendid setting in all the interviews -of the king and the cardinal. When the conspirators had won Louis to -turn his back on his minister with the words,— - - “Remember, he who made can unmake,”— - -who that saw it could ever forget the dilating mien and burning oratoric -burst which instantly made the sovereign seem a menial subject, and the -subject a vindicated sovereign? - - “Never! Your anger can recall your trust, - Annul my office, spoil me of my lands, - Rifle my coffers: but my name, my deeds, - Are royal in a land beyond your sceptre. - Pass sentence on me if you will. From kings, - Lo, I appeal to Time!” - -Again, when Louis, with mere personal passion, had harshly rebuffed him -with the words,— - - “For our conference - This is no place nor season,”— - -the narrow selfishness of the king makes him seem a pygmy and a plebeian -in the light of the universal sentiment and expansive thought with which -Richelieu overwhelmingly responds,— - - “Good my liege, for justice - All place is a temple and all season summer. - Do you deny me justice?” - -But the grandest exhibition of the superiority of democratic personal -royalty of character and inspiration to the conventional royalty of -title and place, the supreme dramatic moment of the play, was the -protection of Julie from the polluting pursuit of the king. Folding the -affrighted girl to his breast with his left arm, he lifted his loaded -right hand, and, with visage of smouldering fire and clarion tone, -cried,— - - “To those who sent you! - And say you found the virtue they would slay, - Here, couched upon this heart, as at an altar, - And sheltered by the wings of sacred Rome. - Begone!” - -Baradas asserts that the king claims her. Then came such a climax of -physical, moral, and artistic power as no man could witness without -being electrified through and through. Forrest prepared and executed -this climax with an exquisite skill that made it seem an unstudied -inspiration. His intellect appeared to have the eager fire that burns -and flashes along a train of thought, gathering speed and glory as it -moves, till at last it strikes with irresistible momentum. At first with -noble repression the low deep voice uttered the portentous words,— - - “Ay, is it so? - Then wakes the power which in the age of iron - Burst forth to curb the great and raise the low.” - -Here the surge of passion began to sweep cumulatively on. The eyes grew -wild, the outstretched hands quivered, the tones swelled and rang, the -expanded and erected figure looked like a transparent mass of fire, and -the climax fell as though the sky had burst with a broadside of -thunders. - - “Mark where she stands! Around her form I draw - The awful circle of our solemn Church. - Set but a foot within that holy ground, - And on thy head, yea, though it wore a crown, - I launch the curse of Rome!” - -The sudden passage of Richelieu from the extreme of tottering feebleness -to the extreme of towering strength, under the stimulus of some -impersonal passion, illustrated a deep and marvellous principle of human -nature. Forrest never forgot how startlingly he had once seen this -exemplified by Andrew Jackson when discussing the expediency of the -annexation of Texas to the United States. A disinterested and universal -sentiment suddenly admitted to the mind, lifting the man out of egotism, -sometimes seems to open the valves of the brain, flood the organism with -supernatural power, and transform a shrivelled skeleton into a glowing -athlete. Richelieu had fainted, and was thought to be dying. The king -repents, and restores his office, saying,— - - “Live, Richelieu, if not for me, for France!” - -In one instant the might of his whole idolized country passes into his -withered frame. - - “My own dear France, I have thee yet, I have saved thee. - All earth shall never pluck thee from my heart, - My mistress France, my wedded wife, sweet France!” - -It was the colossal scale of intellect, imagination, passion, and energy -exposed by Forrest in his representation of Richelieu that made the rôle -to ordinary minds a new revelation of the capacities of human nature. -When, with a tone and inflection whose sweet and long-drawn cadence -almost made the audience hear the melody of the spheres clanging in -endless space, he said,— - - “No, let us own it, there is One above - Sways the harmonious mystery of the world - Even better than prime ministers,”— - -he produced on the stage a religious impression of which Bossuet might -have been proud in the pulpit. And to hear him declaim, with a modest -pomp and solemn glow of elocution befitting the thoughts and imagery, -the following passage, was to receive an influence most ennobling while -most pleasurable: - - “I found France rent asunder; - The rich men despots, and the poor, banditti; - Sloth in the mart, and schism in the temple; - Brawls festering to rebellion, and weak laws - Rotting away with rust in antique sheaths. - I have re-created France, and from the ashes - Of the old feudal and decrepit carcass - Civilization, on her luminous wings, - Soars, phœnix-like, to Jove. What was my art? - Genius, some say; some, fortune; witchcraft, some. - Not so: my art was JUSTICE!” - -It was no wonder that Charles Kean, after beholding this interpretation -of Richelieu by Forrest, said to his wife, “Ellen, this is the greatest -acting we have ever seen or ever shall see.” It was but just that Henry -Sedley, himself an accomplished actor and owned to be one of the best -dramatic critics in the country, should write, “We can imagine a -Richelieu more French than that of Mr. Forrest, but we cannot well -conceive one more full of dramatic passion, of sustained power, or of -the mysterious magnetism that takes captive and sways at will the -average human imagination.” - - - SHAKSPEAREAN CHARACTERS. - -In all the last forty years of his life Forrest was an enthusiastic -reader and student of Shakspeare. As his experience deepened and his -observation enlarged and his familiarity with the works of this -unrivalled genius became more thorough, his love and admiration rose -into wondering reverence, and ended in boundless idolatry. His library -teemed with books illustrative of the plays and poems of the immortal -dramatist. He delighted to pore even over the commentators, and the -original pages were his solace, his joy, and his worship. He relished -the Comedies as much as he did the Tragedies, and in the Sonnets found -inexhaustible beauties entwined with exquisite autobiographic -revelations. Thus he came within the esoteric circle of readers. One of -the latest schemes with which his heart pleased his fancy was a design -to erect in some suitable place in his native city a group of statuary -representing Shakspeare with Heminge and Condell, the two editors whose -pious care collected and gave to posterity the matchless writings which -otherwise might have been lost. - -The personal feelings and the professional pride of Forrest were more -bound up with his representations of Shakspearean characters than with -any others. Of the eight Shakspearean rôles which he played, those of -Shylock and Iago were early dropped, on account of his extreme distaste -for the parts, and his unwillingness to bear the ideal hate and loathing -they awakened in the spectators. But to the remaining six parts—Macbeth, -Richard, Hamlet, Coriolanus, Othello, and Lear—he gave the most -unwearied study, and in their representation showed the extremest -elaboration of his art. He spent an incredible amount of time and pains -in striving to grasp the true types and attributes of these characters, -and in perfecting his portrayals of them according to the intentions of -the author and the realities of nature. And he actually attained -conceptions of them far more comprehensive, accurate, and distinct than -he received credit for. His playing of them, too, was marked not only by -a bold sweep of power and truth, but also by a keenness of insight, a -delicate perception of fitness, a just distribution of light and shade, -a felicity of transition and contrast, which were lost on the average of -an audience. The knowledge that his finest points were not appreciated -by many was one of his trials. In spite of this, however, his own -conviction of the minute truthfulness and merit of his acting of -Shakspearean characters, based on indefatigable study of nature and -honest reproduction of what he saw, was the sweetest satisfaction of his -professional life. He always wished his fame to stand or fall with a -fair estimate of his renderings of these rôles. And one thing is to be -affirmed of him, which the carelessness of miscellaneous assemblies -superficially seeking amusement generally failed to appreciate, namely, -that he felt profoundly the solemn lessons with which those characters -were charged, and conscientiously endeavored to emphasize and enforce -them, making his performance a panorama of living instruction, an -illuminated revelation of human nature and human destiny, and not a mere -series of piques of curiosity or traps for sensation. - -In the ordinary dramatist or novelist a character is manufactured out of -a formula, but in Shakspeare every great character is so deeply true -that it suggests many formulas. In the highest ancient art situations -vary with characters; in average modern art characters vary with -situations; in Shakspeare both these results are shown as they are in -real life, where sometimes characters are moulds for shaping situations, -and sometimes situations are furnaces for testing characters. Of old, -when life was deeper because less complex, the dramatized legend was the -channel of a force or fate; there its interest lay. In Shakspeare the -interest is not to see the supernatural force reflected blazing on a -character, but rather to see it broken up by the faculties of the -character, to see it refracted on his idiosyncrasies. This makes the -task of the player more difficult, because he must seize the unity of -the character in its relations with the plot, and keep it clear, however -modulated in variety of manifestations. This Forrest did in all his -Shakspearean impersonations. Though few who saw him act appreciated it, -the distinctness with which he kept this in view was his crowning merit -as an artist. - -[Illustration: - - D G Thompson - - EDWIN FORREST AS - - SHYLOCK. -] - - - MACBETH. - -Many actors have represented Macbeth as a coward moulded and directed at -will by his stronger wife,—a weakling caught like a leaf in an -irresistible current and hurried helplessly on to his doom. Such is not -the picture painted by Shakspeare. Such was not the interpretation given -by Forrest. Macbeth is a broad, rich, powerful nature, with a poetic -mind, a loving heart, a courageous will. He is also strongly ambitious, -and prone to superstition. To gratify his ambition he is tempted to -commit a dreadful crime, and the temptation is urged on him by what he -holds to be supernatural agencies. After misgivings and struggles with -himself, he yields. The horrid deed being perpetrated, the results -disappoint him. The supernatural prophecies that led him on change to -supernatural terrors, his soul is filled with remorse, his brain reels, -and as the sequel of his guilt thickens darkly around him he rallies his -desperate energies and meets his fate with superb defiance. The struggle -of temptation in a soul richly furnished with good yet fatally -susceptible to evil, the violation of conscience, the overwhelming -retribution,—these points, softened with sunny touches of domestic love -and poetic moral sentiment, compose the lurid substance and movement of -the drama. And these points Forrest embodied in his portraiture with an -emotional intensity and an intellectual clearness which enthralled his -audience. - -As he came over the hills at the back of the stage, accompanied by -Banquo, in his Highland tartan, his plumed Scotch cap, his legs bare -from the knee to the ankle, his pointed targe on his arm, with his free -and commanding air, and his appearance of elastic strength and -freshness, he was a picture of vigorous, breezy manhood. His first words -were addressed to Banquo in an easy tone, such as one would naturally -use in describing the weather: - - “So foul and fair a day I have not seen.” - -The witches hailing him with new titles and a royal prophecy, he -starts,— - - “And seems to fear - Things that do sound so fair.” - -As they concluded, the manner in which, with subdued breathing -eagerness, he said,— - - “Stay, you imperfect speakers; tell me more,”— - -showed what a deep and prepared chord in his soul their greeting had -struck. And when they made themselves vapor and disappeared, he stood -rapt in the wonder of it, and replied to the question of Banquo, -“Whither have they vanished?” with a dissolving whispering voice, in an -attitude of musing suspense and astonishment,— - - “Into the air; and what seemed corporal melted - As breath into the wind. Would they had stayed!” - -When the missives from the king saluted him Glamis and Cawdor, he -attributed more than mortal knowledge to the weird sisters; and at once -the terrible temptation to gratify his ambition by murder seized his -soul, and conscience began to struggle with it. This struggle, in all -its dread import, he pictured forth as he delivered the ensuing -soliloquy with speaking features and in quick low tones of suppressed -questioning eagerness: - - “This supernatural soliciting - Cannot be ill; cannot be good. If ill, - Why hath it given me earnest of success, - Commencing in a truth? I am thane of Cawdor. - If good, why do I yield to that suggestion - Whose horrid image doth unfix my hair, - And make my seated heart knock at my ribs, - Against the use of nature? - My thought, whose murder yet is but fantastical, - Shakes so my single state of man that function - Is smothered in surmise, and nothing is, - But what is not.” - -In uttering these words he painted to eye and ear how temptation divides -the soul into the desiring passion and the forbidding principle and sets -them in deadly contention. Then the apologetic sympathy of his reply to -the expostulation of Banquo,— - - “Worthy Macbeth, we stay upon your leisure,”— - -showed the gentle quality of his nature: - - “Give me your favor: my dull brain was wrought - With things forgotten. Kind gentlemen, your pains - Are registered where every day I turn - The leaf to read them. Let us toward the king.” - -[Illustration: - - A. Robin. - - EDWIN FORREST AS - - MACBETH. -] - -Macbeth was one originally full of the milk of human kindness, who would -not play false, but would win holily what he wished highly: yet his -ambition was so sharp that the sight of the coveted prize made him wild -to snatch it the nearest way. This conflict Forrest continually -indicated by alternations of geniality towards his comrades and of -lowering gloom in himself, while his brain seemed heaving in the throes -of a moral earthquake. Thus, when Duncan had indicated Malcolm as -successor to the throne, Macbeth betrayed the depths of his soul by -saying, with sinister mien, aside,— - - “The Prince of Cumberland! That is a step - On which I must fall down, or else o’erleap, - For in my way it lies. Stars, hide your fires! - Let not light see my black and deep desires.” - -The earnest and tender warmth which Forrest made Macbeth put into his -greeting of his wife after his absence, his dangers in battle, and his -mysterious adventure with the witches, proved how deeply he loved her. -And his first words,— - - “My dearest love, - Duncan comes here to-night,”— - -were spoken with an abstracted and concentrated air that fully revealed -the awful scheme that loomed darkly far back in his mind. Left alone -with himself, the temptation renewed the struggle between his better and -his worse self. In the long and wonderful soliloquy, beginning— - - “If it were done when ’tis done, then ’twere well,”— - -he painted the gradual victory of reason, honor, conscience, and -affection over the fell ambition that was spurring him to murder, and, -as Lady Macbeth entered, he exclaimed, with a clearing and relieved -look,— - - “We will proceed no further in this business.” - -But the stinging taunts with which she upbraided him, and the frightful -energy of her own resolution with which she eloquently infected him, -worked so strongly on his susceptible nature that he reinstalled his -discarded purpose, and went out saying firmly,— - - “I am settled, and bend up - Each corporal agent to this terrible feat.” - -In this scene he so distinctly exhibited the operation of her influence -on him, the slow change of his innocent determination into uncertain -wavering, and then the change of the irresolute state into guilty -determination, that the spectators could almost see the inspiring -temptress pour her spirits into him, as with the valor of her tongue she -chastised his hesitation away. - -When he next appeared he looked oppressed, bowed, haggard, and pale, as -if the fearful crisis had exerted on him the effect of years of misery. -In half-undress, with semi-distraught air, his hushed and gliding manner -of sinewy stealth, in conjunction with the silence and darkness of the -hour, conveyed a mysterious impression of awe and terror to every soul. -He said to the servant, with an absent look and tone, as if the words -uttered themselves without his heed,— - - “Go; bid thy mistress, when my drink is ready, - She strike upon the bell. Get thee to bed.” - -Then slowly came the appalling climax in the temptation whose influences -had been progressively operating in the automatic strata of his being -deeper than his free consciousness could reach. Those influences were -now ready to produce an illusion, by a reversal of the normal action of -the faculties unconscious ideas reporting themselves outwardly as -objects. Buried in thought, he stands gazing on the floor. Lifting his -head, at last, as if to speak, he sees a dagger floating in the air. He -winks rapidly, then rubs his eyes, to clear his sight and dispel his -doubt. The fatal vision stays. He reasons with himself, and acts the -reasoning out, to decide whether it is a deception of fancy or a -supernatural reality. First he thinks it real, but, failing in his -attempt to clutch it, he holds it to be a false creation of the brain. -Then its persistence drives him insane, and as he sees the blade and -dudgeon covered with gouts of blood he shrieks in a frenzy of horror. -Passing this crisis, he re-seizes possession of his mind, and, with an -air of profound relief, sighs,— - - “There’s no such thing: - It is the bloody business which informs - Thus to mine eyes.” - -Then, changing his voice from a giant whisper to a full sombre vocality, -the next words fell on the ear in their solemn music like thunder -rolling mellowed and softened in the distance: - - “Now o’er the one half world - Nature seems dead, and wicked dreams abuse - The curtained sleep.” - -Gathering his faculties and girding up his resolution for the final -deed, as the bell rang he grasped his dagger and made his exit, saying,— - - “Hear it not, Duncan; for it is a knell - That summons thee to heaven or to hell.” - -These words he spoke, not with the bellowing declamation many players -had given them, but in a low, firm tone tinged with sadness, a tone -expressive of melancholy mixed with determination. As he came out of the -fatal chamber backwards, with his hands recking, he did not see Lady -Macbeth standing there in an attitude of intense listening, until he -struck against her. They both started and gazed at each other in -terror,—an action so true to nature that it always electrified the -house. - -Then at once began the dread reaction of sorrow, fear, and remorse. -Forrest made the regret and lamentation of Macbeth over the crime and -its irreparable consequences exquisitely piteous and mournful. The -marvellous wail of his description of innocent sleep forfeited -thenceforth, the panic surprise of his - - “How is it with me when every noise appals me?” - -the lacerating distress of his - - “Wake Duncan with thy knocking: I would thou couldst!” - -penetrated the heart of every hearer with commiseration. - -Forrest gave Macbeth, in the first scene of the play, a cheerful and -observant air; after the interview with the witches he was absorbed and -abstracted; pending his direful crime he was agitated, moody, troubled,— - - “Dark thoughts rolling to and fro in his mind - Like thunder-clouds darkening the lucid sky;” - -after the murder he was restless, suspicious, terrified, at times -insane. These alterations of mood and manner were distinctly marked with -the evolution of the plot through its salient stages. Of the pervasive -remorse with which the moral nature of Macbeth afflicted and shook him, -Forrest presented a picture fascinating in its fearful beauty and truth. -When he spoke the following passage, the mournfulness of his voice was -like the sighing of the November wind as it throws its low moan over the -withered leaves: - - “Better be with the dead, - Whom we to gain our peace have sent to peace, - Than on the torture of the mind to lie - In restless ecstasy. Duncan is in his grave: - After life’s fitful fever he sleeps well: - Treason has done his worst; nor steel, nor poison, - Malice domestic, foreign levy, nothing - Can touch him farther.” - -Then, seeking sympathy and consolation, he turned to the partner of his -bosom and his greatness with the agonizing outburst,— - - “O, full of scorpions is my mind, dear wife.” - -Close on the awful remorse and on the pathetic tenderness, with -consummate truth to nature the selfish instincts were shown hardening -the man in his crime, making him resolve to strengthen with further ill -things bad begun: - - “I am in blood - Stept in so far, that, should I wade no more, - Returning were as tedious as go o’er.” - -So unstably poised was his disposition between his good affections and -his wicked desires that the conflict was still repeated, and with each -defeat of conscience the dominion of evil grew completer. As his -remorseful fears translated themselves into outward spectres, Forrest -vividly illustrated the curdling horror human nature experiences when -guilt opens the supernatural world to its apprehension. He made Macbeth -show a proud and lion-mettled courage in human relations, but seem cowed -with abject terror by ghostly visitations. His criminal course collects -momentum till it hurries him headlong to wholesale slaughters and to his -own inevitable ruin. In his mad infatuation of self-entangling crime he -says of his own proposed massacre of the family of Macduff,— - - “No boasting like a fool: - This deed I’ll do before this purpose cool.” - -Relying on the promise of the witches that none of woman born should -harm him, and that he should never be vanquished till Birnam wood came -to Dunsinane, he added crime to crime till the whole land was in arms -for his overthrow. Then, despite his forced faith and bravery, a -profound melancholy sank on him. His vital spirits failed. He grew sick -of life and weary of the sun. To this phase of the character and career -Forrest did conspicuous justice. Nothing of the kind could exceed the -exquisite beauty of his readings of the three famous passages,— - - “I have lived long enough; my way of life - Has fallen into the sere, the yellow leaf:” - - · · · · · - - “Canst thou not minister to a mind diseased, - Pluck from the memory a rooted sorrow?” - - · · · · · - - She should have died hereafter: - “There would have been a time for such a word.” - -His voice lingered on the melodious melancholy of the words and every -line of his face responded to their mournful and despairing -significance. - -When told that Birnam wood was moving, the sense of supernatural power -turned against him. For a moment he stood, a solid dismay. Then he -staggered as if his brain had received a blow from the words which smote -to its reeling centre. So, when Macduff exposed to him the paltering of -the fiends in a double sense, his boasted charm seemed visibly to melt -from him, and he shrank back as though struck by a withering spell. His -towering form contracted into itself, his knees shook, and his sword -half dropped from his grasp. But the next instant, goaded by the taunts -of his adversary, he rallied on his native heroism, braced himself for -the struggle as if he resolved to rise superior to fate whether natural -or demoniac, and fell at last like a ruined king, with all his blazing -regalia on. The performance left on the mind of the appreciative -beholder, stamped in terrible impress, the eternal moral of temptation -and crime culminating in fatal success and followed by the inevitable -swoop of retribution: - - “Naught’s had, all’s spent, - Where our desire is got without content.” - - - RICHARD. - -Quite early in his histrionic career Forrest wrote to his friend -Leggett, “My notions of the character of Richard the Third do not accord -with those of the players I have seen personate it. They have not made -him gay enough in the earlier scenes, but too sullen, frowning, and -obvious a villain. He was an exulting and dashing, not a moody, villain. -Success followed his schemes too rapidly and gave him too much elation -to make appropriate the haggard and penthouse aspect he is usually made -to wear. Contempt for mankind forms a stronger feature of his character -than hatred; and he has a sort of reckless jollity, a joyous audacity, -which has not been made conspicuous enough.” In general accord with this -conception he afterwards elaborated his portraiture of the deformed -tyrant, the savage humorist, the murderous and brilliant villain. He set -aside the stereotyped idea of Richard as a strutting, ranting, gloomy -plotter, forever cynical and sarcastic and parading his crimes. Not -excluding these traits, Forrest subordinated them to his cunning -hypocrisy, his gleaming intellectuality, his jocose irony, his exulting -self-complacence and fiendish sportiveness. He represented him not only -as ravenously ambitious, but also full of a subtle pride and vanity -which delighted him with the constant display of his mental superiority -to those about him. Above all he was shown to be possessed of a laughing -devil, a witty and sardonic genius, which amused itself with playing on -the faculties of the weaklings he wheedled, scoffing at what they -thought holy, and bluntly utilizing the most sacred things for the most -selfish ends. There can be no doubt that in removing the conventional -stage Richard with this more dashing and versatile one Forrest restored -the genuine conception of Shakspeare, who has painted him as rattling -not brooding, exuberantly complacent even under his own dispraises, an -endlessly inventive and triumphant hypocrite, master of a gorgeous -eloquence whose splendid phrases adorn the ugliness of his schemes -almost out of sight. His mental nature devours his moral nature, and, -swallowing remorse, leaves him free to be gay. The character thus -portrayed was hard, cruel, deceitful, mocking,—less melodramatically -fiendish and electrical than the Richard of Kean, but more true to -nature. The picture was a consistent one. The deformity of the man, -reacting on his matchless intellect and courage and sensual passion, had -made him a bitter cynic. But his genius was too rich to stagnate into an -envenomed gloom of misanthropy. Its exuberance broke out in aspiring -schemes and crimes gilded with philosophy, hypocrisy, laughter, and -irony. Moving alone in a murky atmosphere of sin and sensuality, he knew -himself to the bottom of his soul, and read everybody else through and -through. He believed in no one, and scoffed at truth, because he was -himself without conscience. But his insight and his solid understanding -and glittering wit, making of everything a foil to display his self- -satisfied powers, hid the degradation of his wickedness from his own -eyes, and sometimes almost excused it in the eyes of others. Yet, so -wondrous was the moral genius of Shakspeare, the devilish chuckling with -which he hugged the notion of his own superiority in his exemption from -the standards that rule other men, instead of infecting, shocked and -warned and repelled the auditor: - -[Illustration: - - H B Hall & Sons - - EDWIN FORREST AS - - RICHARD III. -] - - “Come, this conscience is a convenient scarecrow; - It guards the fruit which priests and wise men taste, - Who never set it up to fright themselves.” - -Thus in the impersonation of him by Forrest Richard lost his perpetual -scowl, and took on here and there touches of humor and grim comedy. He -burst upon the stage, cloaked and capped, waving his glove in triumph -over the downfall of the house of Lancaster. Not in frowning gutturals -or with snarling complaint but merrily came the opening words,— - - “Now is the winter of our discontent - Made glorious summer by this sun of York.” - -Gradually as he came to descant upon his own defects and unsuitedness -for peace and love, the tone passed from glee to sarcasm, and ended with -dissembling and vindictive earnestness in the apostrophe,— - - “Dive, thoughts, down to my soul. Here Clarence comes.” - -The scene with Lady Anne, where he overcomes every conceivable kind and -degree of obstacles to her favor by the sheer fascination of his gifted -tongue, was a masterpiece of nature and art. He gave his pleading just -enough semblance of sincerity to make a plausible pathway to the -feminine heart, but not enough to hide the sinister charm of a -consummate hypocrisy availing itself of every secret of persuasion. It -was a fearful unmasking of the weakness of ordinary woman under the -siege of passion. No sermon was ever preached in any pulpit one-half so -terrible in power for those prepared to appreciate all that it meant. -When Lady Anne withdrew, the delighted vanity of Richard, the self- -pampering exultation of the artist in dissimulation, shone out in the -soliloquy wherewith he applauded and caressed himself: - - “Was ever woman in this humor wooed? - Was ever woman in this humor won? - I’ll have her,—but I will not keep her long - To take her in her heart’s extremest hate, - With curses in her mouth, tears in her eyes, - The bleeding witness of my hatred by; - Having heaven, her conscience, and these bars against me! - And I no friends to back my suit withal, - But the plain devil, and dissembling looks! - And yet to win her,—all the world to nothing!” - -In many places in the play his air of searching and sarcastic -incredulity, and his rich vindictive chuckle of self-applause, were as -artistically fine as they were morally repulsive. As Kean had done -before him, he made an effective point in speaking the line, - - “To shrink my arm up like a withered shrub:” - -he looked at the limb for some time with a sort of bitter discontent, -and struck it back with angry disgust. When the queenly women widowed by -his murderous intervention began to upbraid him with his monstrous -deeds, the cool audacity, the immense aplomb, the half-hidden enjoyment -of the joke, with which he relieved himself from the situation by -calling out,— - - “A flourish, trumpets! strike alarums, drums! - Let not the heavens hear these tell-tale women - Rail on the Lord’s Anointed!”— - -were a bit of grotesque satire, a gigantic and serviceable absurdity, -worthy of Rabelais. - -The acting of Forrest in the tent-scene, where Richard in his broken -sleep dreams he sees the successive victims of his murderous hand -approach and threaten him, was original and effective in the highest -degree. He struggled on his couch with horrible phantoms. Ghosts pursued -him. Visions of battle, overthrow, despair, and death convulsed him. -Acting his dreams out he dealt his blows around with frightful and -aimless energy, and with an intense expression of remorse and vengeance -on his face fell apparently cloven to the earth. He then arose like a -man coming out of hell, dragging his dream with him, and, struggling -fiercely to awake, rushed to the footlights, sank on his knee, and spoke -these words, beginning with a shriek and softening down to a shuddering -whisper: - - “Give me another horse! Bind up my wounds! - Have mercy, Jesu! Soft; I did but dream. - O coward conscience, how dost thou afflict me! - The lights burn blue. It is now dead midnight. - Cold fearful drops stand on my trembling flesh.” - -The merely selfish individual instincts and passions of unregenerate -human nature are kept from breaking out into the crimes which they would -spontaneously commit, by an ethical regulation which consists of a set -of ideal sympathies representing the rights and feelings of other men, -representing the word of God or the collective principles of universal -order. The criminal type of character embodied in Richard throws off or -suppresses this restraining and retributive apparatus, and enthrones a -lawless egotism masked in hypocrisy. Thus, Richard had so obscured, -clogged, and deadened the moral action of conscience, that his egotistic -passions held rampant supremacy, and success made him gay and exultant, -unchecked by any touch of remorse or shame. In his own eyes he clothed -himself in the glimmering mail of his triumphant deeds of wickedness, -and dilated with pride like Lucifer in hell. He could not weep nor -tremble, but he could shake with horrid laughter. In drawing this -terrible outline Shakspeare showed that he knew what was in man. In -painting the audacious picture Forrest proved himself a profound artist. -And the moral for the spectators was complete when the hardened -intellectual monster of depravity, in the culmination of the secret -forces of destiny and his own organism, was stripped of his self- -sufficiency, and, as the supernatural world broke on his vision, he -stood aghast, with curdled blood and stiffened hair, shrieking with -terror and despair. - -Forrest was too large, with too much ingrained justice and heavy -grandeur, to be really suited for this part. He needed, especially in -its scolding contests of wit and spiteful invective, to be smaller, -lighter, swifter, more vixenish. It was just the character for Kean and -Booth, who in their way were unapproachable in it. Yet the conception of -Forrest was far truer on the whole; and his performance was full of -sterling merit. - - - HAMLET. - -The clear good sense, the trained professional skill, and the deep -personal experience of Forrest gave him an accurate perception of the -general character of Hamlet. There will always be room for critical -differences of judgment on the details. But he could not commit the -gross blunders illustrated by so many noted actors who have exhibited -the enigmatical prince either as a petulant, querulous egotist morbidly -brooding over himself and irritable with everybody else, or as a -robustious, periwig-pated fellow always in a roaring passion or on the -verge of it. Forrest saw in the mind and heart of Hamlet sweet and noble -elements of the courtier, the scholar, the philosopher, the poet, and -the lover, but joined with a sensitive organization whose nerves were -too exquisitely strung not to be a little jangled by the harsh contact -of the circumstances into which he was flung. He regarded him as -naturally wise, just, modest, and affectionate, but by his experience of -wrong and fickleness in others, and of disturbed health in himself, led -to an exaggerated self-consciousness profoundly tinged with mournfulness -and easily provoked to sarcasm. In the melancholy young Dane was -embodied the sad malady of the highest natures, the great spiritual -disease of modern life,—an over-excited intellectuality dwelling with -too much eagerness and persistence on the mysteries of things; allured, -perplexed, baffled, vainly trying to solve the problems of existence, -injustice, misery, death, and wearying itself out with the restless -effort. Thus there is produced a tendency of blood to the head, which -leaves the extremities cold, the centres congested, and the surface -anæmic. The fevered and hungry brain devours the juices of the body, the -exhausted organic and animal functions complainingly react on the -spiritual nature or conscious essence with a wretched depression, -everything within is sicklied over with a pale cast of thought, and -everything without becomes a sterile and pestilent burden. The strong -and gentle nature, finely touched for fine issues, but too delicately -poised, is stricken with the disease of introspective inquiry, and, not -content to accept things as they are and wholesomely make the best of -them, keeps forever probing too curiously into the mysterious cause and -import of events, until mental gloom sets in on the lowered physical -tone. Then the opening of the supernatural world upon him, revealing the -murder of his father and imposing the duty of vengeance, hurries him in -his weakened and anxious condition to the edge of lunacy, over which he -sometimes purposely affects to pass, and sometimes, in his sleepless -care or sudden excitement, is really precipitated. Such was the -conception which Forrest strove to represent in his portraiture of -Hamlet. And in rendering it he did all he could to neutralize the ill- -adaptedness of his stalwart person and abounding vigor for the -philosophical and romantic sentimentality of the part by a subdued and -pensive manner and a costume which made his figure appear more tall and -slender. He laid aside the massive hauteur of his port, and walked the -stage and conversed with the interlocutors as a thoughtful scholar would -walk the floor of his library and talk with his friends. Even when he -broke into passionate indignation or scorn a restraining power of -culture and refinement curbed the violence. Still, the incongruity -between his form and that of the ideal Hamlet was felt by the audience; -and it abated from the admiration and enjoyment due to the sound -intelligence, sincere feeling, beautiful elocution, and just acting -which he displayed in the performance. - -[Illustration: - - G H Cushman - - EDWIN FORREST AS - - HAMLET. -] - -Most players of Hamlet, in the scene where he first appears among the -courtiers before the king and queen, have taken a conspicuous position, -drawing all eyes. Forrest, with a delicate perception that the deep -melancholy and suspicion in which he was plunged would make him averse -to ostentation, was seen in the rear, as if avoiding notice, and only -came forward when the king called him by name with the title of son. He -then betrayed his prophetic mislike of his uncle by the dark look and -satirical inflection with which he said, aside,— - - “A little more than kin and less than kind.” - -His reply to the expostulation of his mother against his grief seeming -so particular and persistent,— - - “Seems, madam: nay, it is: I know not seems. - ’Tis not alone my inky cloak, good mother, - Nor customary suits of solemn black,”— - -was given with a sincerity, naturalness, and beauty irresistible in -effect. His grief and gloom appeared to embody themselves in a voice -that wailed and quivered the weeping syllables like the tones of a bell -swinging above a city stricken with the plague. The impression thus -produced was continued, modified with new elements of emotion, and -carried to a still higher pitch, when, left alone, he began to commune -with himself and to utter his thoughts and feelings aloud. What an all- -pervasive disheartenment possessed him, how sick he was of life, how -tenderly he loved and mourned his father, how loathingly he shrank from -the shameless speed and facility wherewith his widowed mother had -transferred herself to a second husband,—these phases of his unhappiness -were painted with an earnest truthfulness which seized and held the -sympathies as with a spell. - - “O that this too, too solid flesh would melt, - Thaw, and resolve itself into a dew: - Or that the Everlasting had not fixed - His canon ’gainst self-slaughter. O God! O God! - How weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable - Seem to me all the uses of this world!” - -Hamlet had been a deep solitary self-communer, had penetrated the hollow -forms and shows of the conventional world, and with his questioning -spirit touched the very quick of the mystery of the universe. His soul -must have vibrated at least with obscure presentiments of the invisible -state and supernal ranges of being in hidden connection with the scenes -in which he was playing his part. Forrest revealed this by his manner of -listening to Horatio while he described how he and Marcellus and -Bernardo had seen the ghost of the buried majesty of Denmark walking by -them at midnight. This sense of a providential, retributive, -supernatural scheme mysteriously interwoven with our human life was -breathed yet more forcibly in his soliloquizing moods after agreeing to -watch with them that night in hope that the ghost would walk again: - - “My father’s spirit in arms! All is not well; - I doubt some foul play: would the night were come! - Till then sit still, my soul. Foul deeds will rise, - Though all the earth o’erwhelm them, to men’s eyes.” - -When Hamlet, with Horatio and Marcellus, came upon the platform at -twelve to watch for the ghost, and said,— - - “The air bites shrewdly: it is very cold,”— - -he finely indicated by his absent and preoccupied manner that he was not -thinking about the cold, but was full of the solemn expectation of -something else. He took a position nigh to the entrance of the ghost, -and continued his desultory talk about the custom of carousing in -Denmark, till the spectral figure stalked in, almost touching him. Then -Hamlet turned, with a violent start of amazement and a short cry, and, -while the white face looked down into his own, uttered the most -affecting invocation ever spoken by man, in a subdued and beseeching -tone that seemed freighted with the very soul of bewildered awe and -piteous pleading. His voice was in a high key but husky, the vocality -half dissolved in mysterious breath. His look was that of startled -amazement touched with love and eagerness. The remorseful Macbeth -confronted the ghost of Banquo with petrifying terror. The thunder- -struck Richard saw the ghosts of his victims with wild horror. But -Hamlet was innocent; his spirit was that of truth and filial piety; and -when the marble tomb yawned forth its messenger from the invisible world -to revisit the glimpses of the moon, although his fleshly nature might -tremble at recognizing the manifest supernatural, his soul would indeed -be wonder-thrilled but not unhinged, feeling itself as immortal as that -on which it looked. His figure perfectly still, leaning forward with -intent face, his whole soul concentrated in eye and ear, breathed mute -supplication. And when in reply to the pathetic words of the ghost,— - - “My hour is almost come - When I to sulphurous and tormenting flames - Must render up myself,”— - -he said,— - - “Alas, poor ghost!”— - -his voice was so heart-brokenly expressive of commiseration that the -hearers almost anticipated the response,— - - “Pity me not: but lend thy serious hearing - To what I shall unfold.” - -The harrowing tale finished, the task of revenge enjoined, the ghost -disappears, saying,— - - “Adieu! adieu! Hamlet, remember me.” - -Nothing in dramatic art has ever been conceived more overwhelmingly -affecting and appalling than this scene and speech. A withering spell -seemed to have fallen on Hamlet and instantly aged him. He looked as -pale and shrivelled as the frozen moonlight and the wintry landscape -around him. He spoke the soliloquy that followed with a feeble and slow -laboriousness expressive of terrible pain and anxiety: - - “Hold, hold, my heart; - And you, my sinews, grow not instant old, - But bear me stiffly up! Remember thee? - Ay, thou poor ghost, while memory holds a seat - In this distracted globe. Remember thee? - Yea, from the table of my memory - I’ll wipe away all trivial fond records, - All saws of books, all forms, all pressures past, - That youth and observation copied there, - And thy commandment all alone shall live - Within the book and volume of my brain.” - -To these words Forrest imparted an expression loaded with the whole -darkening and dislocating effect which the vision and injunction of his -father had exerted on him and was thenceforth to exert. For he was -changed beyond the power of recovery. He now moves through the mysteries -of the play, himself the densest mystery of all, at once shedding and -absorbing night, his steady purpose drifting through his unstable plans, -and his methodical madness hurrying king, queen, Polonius, Ophelia, -Laertes, and himself to their tragic doom. The load of his supernatural -mission darkens every prospect; yet his royal reason rifts the darkness -with its flashes, the splendor of his imagination flings rainbows around -him, and the native tenderness of his heart contrasts with his hard and -lonely fate like an Alpine rose springing from the crags and pressing -its fragrant petals against the very glacier. He was unhappy before, -because his faculties transcended his conditions, his boundless soul -chafed under the trifles of every-day experience, and his nobleness -revolted from the hollow shams and frivolous routine which he saw so -clearly. But now that the realm of the dead has opened on him, filling -him with distressful doubts and burdening him with distasteful duty, -revealing murder on the throne and making love and joy impossible, his -miserable dejection becomes supreme. He seeks to escape from the -pressure of his doom in thought, conversation, friendship, sportive wit. -Embittered by his knowledge, he turns on the shallow and treacherous -praters about him with a sarcastic humor which seems not part of his -character but elicited from him by accidents and glittering out of his -gloom like lamplight reflected on an ebony caryatid, or like a scattered -rosary of stars burning in a night of solid black. - -Forrest endeavored to represent in their truth the rapid succession of -transitory and contradictory moods of Hamlet and yet never to lose the -central thread of unity on which they were strung. That unity was -imaginative intellectuality, introspective skepticism, profound -unhappiness, and a shrinking yet persistent determination to avenge the -murder of his father. The great intelligence and skill of the actor were -proved by his presenting both the variety and the unity, and never -forgetting that his portraiture was of a refined and scholarly prince -and a satirical humorist who loved solitude and secrecy and would rather -be misunderstood than reveal himself to the crowd. Among the many -delicate shadings of character exemplified in the impersonation one of -the quietest and best was the contrast of his sharp lawyer-like manner -of cross-examining Rosencrantz and Guildenstern and detecting that in -the disguise of friends they were really spies, with the thoughtful and -gracious kindness of his dealing with the players. Seated part of the -time, he spoke to the poor actor like an old friend, and called him -back, when he was retiring, to add another thought, and finally -dismissed him with a sympathetic touch on his shoulder and a smile. - -The closet scene with the queen-mother, as Forrest played it, was a -model of justness. He began in a respectful and sorrowing tone. -Gradually, as he dwelt on her faithlessness to his father, and her -loathsome sensuality, his glowing memory and burning words wrought him -up to vehement indignation, and he appeared on the point of offering -violence, when the ghost reappeared with warning signal and message. The -suddenness of change in his manner—pallor of face, shrunken shoulders, -fixed dilatation of eyes—was electrifying. And when in response to the -queen’s - - “O Hamlet, thou hast rent my heart in twain!” - -he said,— - - “O throw away the worser part of it, - And live the purer with the other half. - Good-night: but go not to my uncle’s bed: - Assume a virtue if you have it not,”— - -he compressed into his utterance, in one indescribable mixture, a world -of entreaty, command, disgust, grief, deference, love, and mournfulness. - -The scene in the church-yard was one full of felicitous design and -execution. Entering slowly with Horatio, he seemed, as he looked about, -invested with a religious reverence. Then he sat down on a tombstone, -and entered easily into conversation in a humorous vein with the clown -who was digging a grave. At the same time he kept up an even flow of -understanding with Horatio. He so bore himself that the audience could -reach no foregone conclusion to withdraw their absorbed attention from -the strange funereal phantasmagoria on which the curtain was soon to -sink like a pall. Over the skull of Yorick, in quick transition from the -bantering with the clown, his reminiscences, not far from mirth, his -profound yet simple moralizing, so heartfelt and natural, were naïve and -solemn and pathetic to the verge of smiles and awe and tears. When he -learned that Ophelia was dead, and that this grave was for her, he -staggered, and bent his head for a moment on the shoulder of his friend -Horatio. Though so quickly done, it told the whole story of his love for -her and his enforced renunciation. - -Of all who have acted the part no one perhaps has ever done such -complete justice to the genius of Hamlet as Forrest did in his noble -delivery of the great speeches and soliloquies, with full observance of -every requirement of measure, accent, inflection, and relative -importance of thought. Some admired actors rattle the words off with no -sense whatever of the fathomless depths of meaning in them. In the -famous description by Hamlet of the disenchanting effect of his heavy- -heartedness the voice of Forrest brought the very objects spoken of -before the hearer,—the goodly frame, the earth; the most excellent -canopy, the air; the brave overhanging firmament; the majestical roof -fretted with golden fire. And when, turning from the beauty of the -material universe to the greater glory and mystery of the divine foster- -child and sovereign of the earth, man, he altered the tone of admiration -to a tone of awe, his speech stirred the soul like the grandest chords -in the Requiem of Mozart, thrilling it with sublime premonitions of its -own infinity. - -Forrest thoroughly understood from the combined lessons of experience -and study the irremediable unhappiness and skepticism of the great, -dark, tender, melancholy soul of Hamlet,—how sick he was at heart, how -nauseated with the faithless shallowness of the hangers-on at court, how -weary of life. He comprehended the misery of the affectionate nature -that had lost all its illusions and was unable to reconcile itself to -the loss,—the unrest of the ardent imagination that could not forego the -search for happiness though constantly finding but emptiness and -desolation. And he made all this so clear that he actually startled and -spell-bound the audience by his interpretation of the wonderful -soliloquy wherein Hamlet debates whether he had not better with his own -hand seize that consummation of death so devoutly to be wished, and -escape - - “The whips and scorns of time, - The oppressor’s wrong, the proud man’s contumely, - The pangs of despised love, the law’s delay, - The insolence of office, and the spurns - That patient merit of the unworthy takes.” - -The deep intuition that felt there were more things in heaven and earth -than philosophy had ever dreamed, the sore resentment at the unjust -discriminations of the world, the over-inquisitive intellect of the fool -of nature, horridly shaking his disposition with thoughts beyond the -reaches of his soul, the instinctive shrinking from the undiscovered -country after death, the broken will forever hankering after action but -forever baffled from it, the unfathomable desire for rest, the intense -ennui raising sighs so piteous and profound that they seemed to shatter -all the bulk,—all these were so brought out as to constitute a -revelation of the history of genius diseased by excessive exercise -within itself with no external outlets of wholesome activity. This -lesson has the greatest significance for the present time, when so many -gifted men allow their faculties to spin barrenly in their sockets, -incessantly struggling with abstract desires and doubts, wasting the -health and strength all away because the spiritual mechanism is not -lubricated by outward fruition of its functions, till normal religious -faith is made impossible, and at last, in their sterilized and irritable -exhaustion, they apotheosize despair, like Schopenhauer, and perpetually -toss between the two poles of pessimism and nihilism,—Everything is bad, -Everything is nothing! The true moral of the revelation is, Shut off the -wastes of an ambitious intellect and a rebellious will by humility and -resignation, do the clear duties next your hand, enjoy the simple -pleasures of the day with an innocent heart, trusting in the benignant -order of the universe, and you shall at last find peace in such an -optimistic faith as that illustrated by Leibnitz,—Everything is good, -Everything in the infinite degrees of being from vacuity to plenum is -centred in God! - -It has always been felt that in Hamlet Shakspeare has embodied more of -his own inner life than in any other of his characters. Certainly Hamlet -is the literary father of the prolific modern brood of men of genius who -fail of all satisfactory outward activity because wasting their -spiritual peace and force in the friction of an inane cerebral strife -and worry. Few appreciate the true teaching or importance of this -portrayal. Hamlet said he lacked advancement, and that there was nothing -good or bad but thinking made it so, and that were it not that he had -bad dreams he could be bounded in a nutshell and count himself king of -infinite space. His comments on others were usually contemptuous and -satirical. He despised and mocked Polonius, and treated Osric, -Rosencrantz, and Guildenstern with scorn and sarcasm. And yet, although -he vilifies the general crowd and the drossy age, he is clearly -sensitive to public opinion and really most anxious to appear well, and -unwilling to bear a wounded name. In a word, he represents that class of -select and unhappy spirits whose great imaginative sympathy is -constantly showing to them themselves reflected in others and others -reflected in themselves, the result of the comparisons being personal -complacence and social irritability. For they form an estimate of their -own superiority which they cannot by action justify to others and get -them to ratify. The disparity of their inward power and their outward -production annoys them, fixes itself in chronic consciousness, and in -the consequent spiritual resistance and fret expends all the energy -which if economized and fruitfully directed would remove the evil they -resent and bless them with the good they desire. Then they react from -the world into cynical bitterness and painful solitude. The empty -struggle and misanthropic buzz within exhaust brain and nerves, and -initiate a resentful, desponding, suicidal state made up of discordant -aspiration and despair. Unable to fulfil themselves happily they madly -seek to destroy themselves in order to end their misery. The remedy lies -in a secret at once so deep and so transparent that hardly any of the -victims ever see it. It is simply to think less pamperingly of -themselves and more lovingly of others; cease from resistance, purify -their ambition with humble faith, and in a quiet surrender to the -Universal allow their drained and exasperated individuality leisure to -be replenished and harmonized. Corresponding with a religious attunement -of the soul, nervous tissues divinely filled with equalizing vitality -and power are the physical ground of contentment with self, nature, -mankind, destiny, and God. And the man of genius who has once lost it -can gain this combined moral and physical condition only by a modest -self-conquest, lowering his excessive exactions, and giving him a fair -outlet for his inward desires in productive activity. - -Forrest distinguished the wavering of his Hamlet from the indecision of -his Macbeth and the promptitude of his Richard, and contrasted their -deaths with a luminous marking both fine and bold. Richard, whose -selfish intellect and stony heart had no conscience mediating between -them, with solid equilibrium and ruthless decision swept directly to his -object without pause or question. His death was characterized by -convulsions of impotent rage that closed in paralyzing horror. The -conscience of Macbeth made him hesitate, weigh, and vacillate until -rising passion or foreign influence turned the scale. His death was one -of climacteric bravery and frenzied exertion embraced in reckless -despair. The intellect of Hamlet set his heart and his conscience at -odds, and kept him ever balancing between opposed thoughts and -solicitations. He had lost his stable poise, and was continually tipping -from central sanity now towards dramatic madness, now towards -substantial madness. He died with philosophic resignation and -undemonstrative quietude. While all the mutes and audience to the act -looked pale and trembled at the tragic chance, he bequeathed the -justification of his memory to his dear Horatio, gave his dying voice -for the election of Fortinbras, and slowly, as the potent poison quite -o’ercrowed his spirit, let his head sink on the bosom of his one friend, -and with a long breath faintly whispered,— - - “The rest is silence;”— - -and then all was done. - - “Now cracks a noble heart. Good-night, sweet prince, - And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest.” - -In the few pages of this tragedy Shakspeare gives perhaps the supremest -existing example of the richness and power of the dramatic art. It sums -up the story of life,—the joy of lovers, the anguish of bereavement, the -trial of friendship, hope and fear, plot and counterplot, lust, hatred, -crime and the remorse that follows, hearty mirth contrasted with sublime -despair, death, and the dark ignorance of what it all means which shuts -around the horizon with impenetrable clouds. Here are expressed an -intensity of passion, a bitter irony, a helpless doubt, a vain struggle, -a saturating melancholy and a bewildered end which would be too -repulsive for endurance were it not for the celestial poetry which plays -over it and permeates it all and makes it appear like a strange and -beautiful dream. - -As to the interpretation by Forrest of the part of Hamlet in the play it -is but fair to quote in close what was said by a severe and unfriendly -anonymous critic who admitted that the intelligence shown was uncommon, -the elocution perfect, the manner discreet, the light and shade -impressive. “Mr. Forrest struggles continually with Mr. Forrest. Mind -wrestles with muscle; and although intellect is manifest, it is plain -that the body with great obstinacy refuses to fulfil the demands of -thought. To conceive bright images is a different thing from portraying -them on the canvas. And when Mr. Forrest, attempting with high ambition -to do that which nature forbids him to do, makes of philosophy a -physical exhibition and reduces mental supremacy to the dominion of -corporeal authority, he must blame that fate which cast him in no common -mould and gave to the body a preponderance which neither study nor -inspiration can overcome.” The critic here indicates the defect of the -actor, unquestionably, but so exaggerated as to dwarf and obscure his -greater merits. - - - CORIOLANUS. - -Not many dramatic contrasts are wider than that between the complex -imaginative character of the melancholy Hamlet, spontaneously betaking -himself to speculation, and the simple passionate character of the proud -Coriolanus, instinctively rushing to action. There was much in the build -and soul of Forrest that closely resembled the haughty patrician, and he -was drawn to the part by a liking for it accordant with his inherent -fitness for it. For several years he played it a great deal and produced -a strong sensation in it. So thoroughly suited were he and the part for -each other, so pervasive and genuine was the identification of his -personal quality with the ideal picture, that his most intimate friend, -and the gifted artist chosen for the work, selected this as the most -appropriate representative character for his portrait-statue in marble. - -The features and contour of the honest, imperious, fiery, scornful, and -heroic Coriolanus, as impersonated by Forrest with immense solidity and -distinctness, were simple but grand in their colossal and unwavering -relief. Kemble had been celebrated in this rôle. He played it as if he -were a symmetrical statue cut out of cold steel and set in motion by -some precise mechanical action. Forrest added to this a blood that -seemed to flame through him and a voice whose ponderous syllables -pulsated with fire. Stern virtue, ambition, deep tenderness, -magnanimity, transcendent daring and pride and scorn,—the man as soldier -and hero in uncorrupt sincerity and haughty defiance of everything wrong -or mean,—these were the favorite attributes which Forrest met in -Coriolanus, and absorbed as by an electric affinity, and made the people -recognize with applauding enthusiasm. He might well utter as his own the -words of his part to Volumnia,— - - “Would you have me - False to my nature? Rather say, I play - The man I am.” - -What unconsciously delighted Forrest in Coriolanus, and what he -represented with consummate felicity and force of nature, was that his -aristocracy was of the true democratic type; that is, it rested on a -consciousness of intrinsic personal worth and superiority, not on -conventional privilege and prescription. He loathed and launched his -scorching invectives against the commonalty not because they were -plebeians and he was a patrician, but because of the revolting -opposition of their baseness to his loftiness, of their sycophancy to -his pride, of their treacherous fickleness to his adamantine -steadfastness. As an antique Roman, he had the resentful haughtiness of -his social caste, but morally as an individual his disdain and sarcasm -were based on the contrast of intrinsically noble qualities in himself -to the contemptible qualities he saw predominating in those beneath him. -And although this is far removed from the beautiful bearing of a -spiritually purified and perfected manhood, yet there is in it a certain -relative historical justification, utility, and even glory, entirely -congenial to the honest vernacular fervor of Forrest. - -Coriolanus, in his utter loathing for the arts of the demagogue, goes to -the other extreme, and makes the people hate him because, as they say, -“For the services he has done he pays himself with being proud.” At his -first appearance in the play he cries to the citizens, with scathing -contempt,— - - “What’s the matter, you dissentient rogues, - That, rubbing the poor itch of your opinion, - Make yourselves scabs? - He that trusts to you, - Where he should find you lions, finds you hares; - Where foxes, geese. You are no surer, no, - Than is the coal of fire upon the ice, - Or hailstone in the sun. Hang ye! Trust ye? - With every minute you do change a mind; - And call him noble that was now your hate; - Him vile, that was your garland.” - -As his constancy despises their unstableness, so his audacious courage -detests their cowardice: - - “Now put your shields before your hearts, and fight - With hearts more proof than shields.” - -Seeing them driven back by the Volsces, he exclaims,— - - “You souls of geese - That bear the shapes of men, how have you run - From slaves that apes would beat? Pluto and hell! - All hurt behind; backs red, and faces pale - With flight and agued fear! Mend, and charge home, - Or, by the fires of heaven, I’ll leave the foe - And make my wars on you.” - -In all these speeches the measureless contempt, the blasting irony, the -huge moral chasm separating the haughty speaker from the cowering -rabble, were deeply relished by Forrest, and received an expression in -his bearing, look, and tone, everyway befitting their intensity and -their dimensions. Particularly in the reply to Sicinius,— - - “Shall remain! - Hear you this Triton of the minnows? Mark you - His absolute ‘shall’?”— - -the width of the gamut of the ironical circumflexes gave one an enlarged -idea of the capacity of the human voice to express contempt. And when -his disdain to beg the votes of the people and his mocking gibes at them -had aggravated them to pronounce his banishment, his superhuman -expression of scornful wrath no witness could ever forget: - - “You common cry of curs! whose breath I hate - As reek o’ the rotten fens, whose loves I prize - As the dead carcasses of unburied men - That do corrupt my air, I banish you.” - -His eyes flashed, his form lifted to its loftiest altitude, and the -words were driven home concentrated into hissing bolts. As the enraged -mob pressed yelping at his heels, he turned, and with marvellous -simplicity of purpose calmly looked them reeling backwards, his single -sphere swallowing all theirs and swaying them helplessly at his magnetic -will. - -His farewell, when “the beast with many heads had butted him away,” was -a noble example of manly tenderness and dignity, all the more pathetic -from the self-control which masked his pain in a smiling aspect: - - “Thou old and true Menenius, - Thy tears are salter than a younger man’s, - And venomous to thine eyes. I’ll do well yet. - Come, my sweet wife, my dearest mother, and - My friends of noble touch, when I am forth, - Bid me farewell, and smile. I pray you, come. - While I remain above the ground, you shall - Hear from me still.” - -But his most charming and delightful piece of acting in the whole play -was the interview with his family on his return with Aufidius and the -conquering Volscians before the gates of Rome. The swift-recurring -struggle and alternation of feeling between the opposite extremes of -intense natural affection and revengeful tenacity of pride were painted -in all the vivid lineaments of truth. Fixed in the frozen pomp of his -power and his purpose, he soliloquizes,— - - “My wife comes foremost, then the honored mould - Wherein this trunk was framed, and in her hand - The grandchild to her blood. But out, affection! - All bond and privilege of nature, break! - Let it be virtuous to be obstinate. - What is that curt’sy worth, or those doves’ eyes, - Which can make gods forsworn? I melt and am not - Of stronger earth than others. My mother bows; - As if Olympus to a molehill should - In supplication nod; and my young boy - Hath an aspect of intercession, which - Great nature cries, ‘Deny not.’ Let the Volsces - Plough Rome and harrow Italy; I’ll never - Be such a gosling to obey instinct; but stand - As if a man were author of himself - And knew no other kin.” - -But when Virgilia fixed her eyes on him and said, “My lord and husband!” -his ice flowed quite away, and the exquisite thoughts which followed -were vibrated on the vocal chords as if not his lungs but his heart -supplied the voice: - - “Like a dull actor now, - I have forgot my part, and I am out, - Even to a full disgrace. Best of my flesh, - Forgive my tyranny; but do not say, - For that, ‘Forgive our Romans.’ O, a kiss - Long as my exile, sweet as my revenge! - Now, by the jealous queen of heaven, that kiss - I carried from thee, dear; and my true lip - Hath virgined it e’er since. You gods! I prate, - And the most noble mother of the world - Leave unsaluted. Sink, my knee, i’ the earth; - Of thy deep duty more impression show - Than that of common sons.” - -Yielding to the prayers of Volumnia, he took her hand with tender -reverence, and said, with upturned look and deprecating tone,— - - “O, mother, mother! - What have you done? Behold, the heavens do ope, - The gods look down, and this unnatural scene - They laugh at.” - -From the solemn reverence of this scene the change was wonderful to the -frenzied violence of untamable anger and scorn with which he broke on -Aufidius, who had called him “a boy of tears:” - - “Measureless liar, thou hast made my heart - Too great for what contains it. Boy! O slave! - Cut me to pieces, Volsces; men and lads, - Stain all your edges on me. Boy! False hound! - If you have writ your annals true, ’tis there, - That, like an eagle in a dovecote, I - Fluttered your Volsces in Corioli: - Alone I did it. Boy!” - -The signalizing memorable mark of the Coriolanus impersonated by Forrest -was the gigantic grandeur of his scale of being and consciousness. He -revealed this in his stand and port and moving and look and voice. The -manner in which he did it was no result of critical analysis, but was -intuitive with him, given to him by nature and inspiration. He exhibited -a gravitating solidity of person, a length of lines, a slowness of -curves, an immensity of orbit, a reverberating sonority of tone, which -illustrated the man who, as Menenius said, “wanted nothing of a god but -eternity, and a heaven to throne in.” They went far to justify the -amazing descriptions given in the play itself of the impressions -produced by him on those who approached him. - - “Being moved, he will not spare to gird the gods. - Marked you his lip, and eyes?” - - “Who is yonder? - O gods! he has the stand of Marcius.” - - “The shepherd knows not thunder from a tabor - More than I know the sound of Marcius’ tongue - From every meaner man.” - - “Marcius, - A carbuncle entire, as big as thou art, - Were not so rich a jewel. Thou art a soldier - Even to Cato’s wish, not fierce and terrible - Only in strokes; but, with thy grim looks, and - The thunder-like percussion of thy sounds, - Thou mak’st thine enemies shake, as if the world - Were feverous and did tremble.” - - “The man I speak of cannot in the world - Be singly counterpoised.” - -When, after his peerless feats in battle, the army and its leaders would -idolize him with praises, crown him with garlands, and load him with -spoils, he felt his deeds to be their own sufficient pay, and waved all -the rewards peremptorily aside with a mien as imposing as if some god - - “Were slily crept into his human powers - And gave him noble posture.” - -Entering the capital in triumph, the vast and steady imperiality of his -attitude, the tremendous weight of his slightest inclination, as though -the whole earth were the pedestal-slab on which he stood, drew and -fascinated all gaze. - - “Matrons flung gloves, - Ladies and maids their scarfs and handkerchiefs, - Upon him as he passed; the nobles bended - As to Jove’s statue; and the commons made - A shower and thunder with their caps and shouts.” - -The rare and exalted use of such acting as this is that it invites the -audience to lift their eyes above the vulgar pettinesses to which they -are accustomed and extend their souls with a superior conception of the -dignity of human nature and of the mysterious meanings latent in it. - -The Coriolanus of Forrest was a marble apotheosis of heroic strength, -pride, and scorn. His moral glory was that he asserted himself on the -solid grounds of conscious truth, justice, and merit, and not, as -popular demagogues and the selfish members of the patrician class do, on -hollow grounds of assumption, trickery, and spoliating fraud. There was -great beauty, too, in his reverential love for his mother, his tender -love for his wife, his hearty love for his friend, and his magnanimous -incapacity for any recognized littleness of soul or of deed. The weight -and might of his spirit could give away victories and confer favors, but -could not steal a laurel or endure flattery. His fatal defect was that -he did not know the spirit of forgiveness, and was utterly incompetent -to self-renunciation. He had the repulsive and fatal fault of a crude, -harsh, revengeful temper, that clothed his gigantic indirect egotism in -the glorifying disguise of justice and sacrificed even his country to -his personal passion. Just and true at the roots, his virtues grew -insane from pride. Wrath destroyed his equilibrium, and belched his -grandeur and his life away in incontinent insolence of expression. Like -all the favorite characters of Forrest, however, he was no starveling -fed on verbality and ceremony, no pygmy imitator or empty conformist, -but one who lived in rich power from his own original centres and let -his qualities honestly out with democratic sincerity of self-assertion. -There is indeed a royal lesson in what he says: - - “Should we in all things do what custom wills, - The dust on antique time would lie unswept, - And mountainous error be too highly heaped - For truth to o’er-peer.” - -Still, self-will ought abnegatingly to give way in docile and -disinterested devotion to the public good. The great, strong, fearless -man should conquer himself, render his pride impersonal, renounce -revenge for individual slights or wrongs, and, instead of despising and -insulting the plebeian multitude, labor to abate their vices, remove -their errors, guide their efforts, and build their virtues into a fabric -of popular freedom and happiness. Then the selfish, passional ideal of -the past would give way to the rational, social ideal which is to redeem -the future. For, as a general rule thus far in the history of the world, -power, both private and public, in the proportion of its degree, has -been complacent instead of sympathetic, despotic instead of helpful, -indulging its own passions, despising the needs of others, filling -civilization itself with the spirit of moral murder. The chief -characters of Shakspeare embody this pagan ideal. Is there not a -Christian ideal, long since divinely born, but still waiting to be -nurtured to full growth, to be illustrated by dramatic genius, and to be -glorified in universal realization? - - - OTHELLO. - -There was no character in which Forrest appeared more frequently or with -more effect on those who saw him than in that of Othello. He was pre- -eminently suited to the part by his own nature and experience, as well -as by unwearied observation and study. The play turns on the most vital -and popular of all the passions, love, and its revulsion into the most -cruel and terrible one, jealousy. He devoted incredible pains to the -perfecting of his representation of it; and undoubtedly it was, on the -whole, the most true and powerful of all his performances, though in -single particulars some others equalled and his Lear surpassed it. -Unprejudiced and competent judges agreed that he portrayed Othello in -the great phases of his character,—as a man dignified, clear, generous, -and calm,—as a man ecstatically happy in an all-absorbing love,—as a man -slowly wrought up through the successive degrees of jealousy,—as a man -actually converted into a maniac by the frightful conflict and agony of -his soul,—and, finally, as a man who in the frenzy of despair closes the -scene with murder and suicide;—that he acted all this with an intensity, -an accuracy, a varied naturalness and sweeping power very rarely -paralleled in the history of the stage. The reason why the portraiture -received so much censorious criticism amidst the abundant admiration it -excited was because the scale and fervor of the passions bodied forth in -it were so much beyond the experience of average natures. They were not -exaggerated or false, but seemed so to the cold or petty souls who knew -nothing of the lava-floods of bliss and avalanches of woe that ravage -the sensibilities of the impassioned souls that find complete fulfilment -and lose it. It is a most significant and interesting fact that when the -matchless Salvini played Othello in the principal American cities to -such enthusiastic applause, his conception and performance of the part -were so identical with those of Forrest, and he himself so closely -resembled his deceased compeer, that hundreds of witnesses in different -portions of the country spontaneously exclaimed that it seemed as if -Forrest had risen from the dead and reappeared in his favorite rôle. The -old obstinate prejudices did not interfere; and although Salvini made -the passion more raw and the force more shuddering and carried the -climax one degree farther than the American tragedian had done, actually -sinking the human maniac in the infuriated tiger, he was greeted with -wondering acclaim. If his portraiture of the Moor was a true one,—as it -unquestionably was,—then that of Forrest was equally true and better -moderated. - -[Illustration: - - G R Hall - - EDWIN FORREST AS - - OTHELLO. -] - -In the first speech of Othello, referring to the purpose of Brabantio to -injure him with the Duke, Forrest won all hearts by the impression he -gave of the noble self-possession of a free and generous nature full of -honest affection and manly potency. He alluded to Brabantio without any -touch of anger or scorn, to himself with an air of quiet pride bottomed -on conscious worth and not on any vanity or egotism, and to Desdemona -with a softened tone of effusive warmth which betrayed the precious -freight and direction of his heart: - - “Let him do his spite; - My services, which I have done the seignory, - Shall out-tongue his complaints. My demerits - May speak, unbonneted, to as proud a fortune - As this that I have reached. For know, Iago, - But that I love the gentle Desdemona, - I would not my unhoused, free condition - Put into circumscription and confine - For the sea’s worth.” - -The easy frankness of his look and the rich flowing elocution of his -delivery of these words indicated a nature so ingenuous and honorable -that already the sympathies of every man and woman before him were won -to the Moor. This impression was continued and enhanced when, in -response to the abusive epithet of Brabantio and the threats of his -armed followers, he said, in a tone of unruffled self-command, touched -with a humorous playfulness and with a deprecating respect,— - - “Keep up your bright swords, for the dew will rust them.— - Good seignior, you shall more command with years, - Than with your weapons.” - -There was an exquisite moral beauty in the whole attitude and carriage -which Forrest gave Othello in the scene in the council-chamber, where he -replied to the accusations of using spells and medicines to draw -Desdemona to his arms. There was a combination of modest assurance and -picturesque dignity in his bearing, and a simple eloquence in his -pronouncing of the narrative of all his wooing, so artistic in its -seeming artlessness, so full of breathing honesty straight from the -heart of nature, that not a word could be doubted, nor could any hearer -resist the conviction expressed by the Duke,— - - “I think this tale would win my daughter too, - Good Brabantio.” - -To the bewitching power of simple sincerity and glowing truth he put -into this marvellous speech hundreds of testimonies were given like that -of the refined and lovely young lady who was heard saying to her -companion, “If that is the way Moors look and talk and love, give me a -Moor for my husband.” - -When Desdemona entered, while she stayed, as she spoke, as she departed, -all the action of Othello towards her, his motions, looks, words, -inflections, clearly betokened the nature and supremacy of his affection -for her. Through the high and pure character of these signals it was -made obvious that his love was an entrancing possession; not an animal -love bred in the senses alone, but a love born in the soul and flooding -the senses with its divineness. On the keen fires of his high-blooded -organism and the poetic enchantments of his ardent imagination the -exquisite sweetness of this surrendered and gentle Desdemona played a -delicious intoxication, and the enthrallment of his passion made the -very movement of existence a rapture. Everything else faded before the -happiness he felt. Life was too short, the earth too dull, the stars too -dim, for the blissful height of his consciousness. In contrast with this -enchanted possession, day, night, joy, laughter, air, sea, the thrilling -notes of war, victory, fame, and power, were but passing illusions. The -voice of duty could rouse him from his dream, but the moment his task -was done he sank again into its ecstatic depths. All this still -saturation of delight and fulness of expanded being the Othello of -Forrest revealed by his acting and speech on meeting Desdemona in Cyprus -after their separation by his sudden departure to the wars. As, all -eager loveliness, she came in sight, exclaiming, “My dear Othello!” the -sudden brightness of his eyes, the rapturous smile that clothed his -face, his parted lips, his heaving breast and outstretched arms, were so -significant that they worked on the spectators like an incantation. And -when he drew her passionately to his bosom, kissed her on the forehead -and lips, and gazed into her face with unfathomable fondness, it was a -picture not to be surpassed of the exquisite doting of the new-made -husband while the honeymoon yet hung over them full-orbed in the silent -and dewy heaven, its inundation undimmed by the breath of custom. Then -he spoke: - - “O, my soul’s joy! - If after every tempest come such calms, - May the winds blow till they have wakened death; - And let the laboring bark climb hills of seas - Olympus-high, and duck again as low - As hell’s from heaven! If it were now to die, - ’Twere now to be most happy; for, I fear, - My soul hath her content so absolute, - That not another comfort like to this - Succeeds in unknown fate.” - -The last lines he uttered with a restrained, prolonged, murmuring music, -a tremulous mellowness, as if the burden of emotion broke the vocal -breath into quivers. It suggested a tenderness whose very excess made it -timid and mystic with a pathetic presentiment of its own evanescence. -The yearning, aching deliciousness of love filled his breast so more -than full that even while he seemed to strive to hold back all verbal -expression for fear of losing the emotional substance, it broke forth -itself with melodious softness in the syllabled beats of the lingering -words: - - “I cannot speak enough of this content: - It stops me here: it is too much of joy. - Come, let us to the castle. O, my sweet, - I prattle out of fashion, and I dote - In mine own comforts.” - -In the scene of the drunken brawl in Cyprus most actors had made Othello -rush in with drawn sword, crying, with extravagant pose and emphasis, -“Hold, for your lives!” Forrest entered without sword, in haste, his -night-mantle thrown over his shoulders as if just from his bed. He went -through the scene, rebuking the brawlers and restoring order, with an -admirable moderation combined with commanding moral authority. Only -once, when answer to his inquiry was delayed, his volcanic heat burst -out. He spoke rapidly, with surprise rather than anger, and bore down -all with a personal weight that had neither pomp nor offence, yet was -not to be resisted. Throughout the first and second acts Forrest played -Othello as a man of beautiful human nature, noble in honor, rich in -affection, gentle in manners, though, when justly roused, capable of a -terrific headlong wrath: - - “Now, by Heaven, - My blood begins my safer guides to rule; - And passion, having my best judgment collied, - Assays to lead the way. If I once stir - Or do but lift this arm, the best of you - Shall sink in my rebuke.” - -In the third act the diabolical malignity and cunning of Iago begin to -take effect, more and more insinuating poisonous suspicions and doubts -into the naturally open and truthful mind of Othello. The process and -advancement of the horrid struggle found in Forrest a man and an artist -to whose experience of human nature and life no item in the whole dread -catalogue of the courses, symptoms, and consequences of love encroached -on and subdued by jealousy was foreign, and whose skill in expression -was abundantly able to set every feature of the tragedy in distinct -relief. As now the guileless Desdemona shone on him, and anon the -devilish Iago distilled his venom, he was torn between his loving -confidence in his wife and his confiding trust in his tempter: - - “As if two hearts did in one body reign - And urge conflicting streams from vein to vein.” - -When he saw or thought of her a blessed reassurance tranquillized him; -when he heeded the hideous suggestions of his treacherous servant a -frozen shudder ran through him. The waves of tenderness and violence -chased one another over the mimic scene. At one moment he said,— - - “If she be false, O, then heaven mocks itself. - I’ll not believe it.” - -At another moment he writhed in excruciating anguish under the fearful -innuendoes which Iago wound about him. The spectacle was like that of an -anaconda winding her tightening coils around a tiger until one can hear -the cracking of the bones in his lordly back. - -When the fiendish suggestions of Iago first took thorough effect the -result startled even him, and he gazed on the awful convulsions in the -face of his victim as one might look into the crater of Vesuvius. That -which had seemed granite proved to be gunpowder. As with the prairie -fire: the traveller lets a spark fall, and the whole earth seems to be -one rushing flame. Then swiftly followed those lacerating alternations -of contradictory excitements which are the essence of jealousy,—the -mixture of intense opposites into an experience of infernal discord. His -love lingers on her and gloats over her, and will not believe any evil -of her. His suspicion makes him shrink into himself with horror: - - “O curse of marriage, - That we can call these delicate creatures ours, - And not their appetites.” - -Now he seeks relief in loathing and hating her, trying to tear her dear -image out from among his heart-strings. From the crazing agony of this -effort he springs wildly into wrath against her traducer. Forrest -expressed these sudden and violent transitions from extreme to extreme -with exact truth to nature, by that constant interchanging of intense -muscles and languid eyes with intense eyes and languid muscles which -corresponds with the successive apprehension of a blessing to be -embraced and an evil to be abhorred. The change in his appearance and -moving too was commensurate with what he had undergone. As he advanced -to meet his wife on her arrival in Cyprus, he walked like one inspired, -weightless and illumined with joy: - - “Treading on air each step the soul displays, - The looks all lighten and the limbs all blaze.” - -But after the dreadful doubt had ruined his peace, he grew so pale and -haggard, wore so startled and dismal a look, was so self-absorbed in -misery, that he appeared an incarnate comment on the descriptive words,— - - “Look where he comes! Not poppy nor mandragora, - Nor all the drowsy syrups of the world, - Shall ever medicine thee to that sweet sleep - Which thou ow’dst yesterday.” - -There was an imaginative vastness and unity in the soul of Othello which -aggrandized his experiences and allowed him to do nothing by halves. -Forrest so perceived and exemplified this as to make his performance -come before the audience as a new revelation to them of the colossal and -blazing extremes, the entrancing, maddening, and fatal extremes, to -which human passions can mount. His love, his conflict with doubt, his -melancholy, his wrath, his hate, his revenge, his remorse, his despair, -each in turn absorbingly possesses him and floods the earth with heaven -or hell. - -The unrivalled speech of lamentation over his lost happiness he gave -not, as many a famous actor has, partly in a tone of complaining -vexation and partly with a noisy pomp of declamation. He began with an -exquisite quality of tearful regret and sorrow which was a breathing -requiem over the ruins of his past delights. The mournfulness of it was -so sweet and chill that it seemed perfumed with the roses and moss -growing over the tomb of all his love. - - “I had been happy if the general camp, - Pioneers and all, had tasted her sweet body, - So I had nothing known.” - -Then the voice, still low and plaintive, swelled and quivered with the -glorious words that followed: - - “O, now, forever, - Farewell the tranquil mind! farewell content! - Farewell the plumed troop, and the big wars, - That make ambition virtue! O, farewell!” - -And as he ended with the line, - - “Farewell! Othello’s occupation’s gone!” - -his form and limbs drooping, his lips sunken and tremulous, his very -life seemed going out with each word, as if everything had been taken -from him and he was all gone. Suddenly, with one electrifying bound, he -leaped the whole gamut from mortal exhaustion to gigantic rage, his -eyeballs rolling and flashing and his muscles strung, seized the -cowering Iago by the throat, and, with a startling transition of voice -from mellow and mournfully lingering notes to crackling thunderbolts of -articulation, shrieked,— - - “If thou dost slander her, and torture me, - Never pray more; abandon all remorse; - On horror’s head horrors accumulate; - Do deeds to make heaven weep, all earth amazed;— - For nothing canst thou to damnation add - Greater than that.” - -The wild inspiration subsided as swiftly as it had risen, and left him -gazing in blank amazement at what he had done. Again his struggling -emotions were carried to a kindred climax when Iago told him the -pretended dream of Cassio. He uttered the sentence, “I will tear her all -to pieces,” in a manner whose force of pathos surprised every heart. His -revenge began furiously, “I will tear her”—when his love came over it, -and he suddenly ended with pitying softness—“all to pieces.” It was as -if an avalanche, sweeping along earth and rocks and trees, were met by a -breath which turned it into a feather. In the next act he gave an -instance just the reverse of this: first he says, with doting fondness, -“O, the world hath not a sweeter creature;” then, the imaginative -associations changing the picture, he screams ferociously, “I will chop -her into messes!” - -Thence onward Othello was painted in a more and more piteous plight. The -great soul was conquered by the remorseless intellect of Iago, leagued -with its own weakness and excess. He grew less massive and more -petulant. He stooped to spies and plots, and compassed the assassination -of Cassio. His misery sapped his mind and toppled down his chivalrous -sentiments until he could unpack his sore and wretched heart in abusive -words and treat Desdemona with unrelenting cruelty. - -Finally his tossing convulsions passed away, and a fixed resolution to -kill the woman who had been false to him settled down in gloomy -calmness. The curtain rose and showed him seated at an open window -looking out on the night sky. Desdemona was asleep in her bed. He sighed -heavily, and in slow tones, loaded with thoughtful and resigned -melancholy, soliloquized,— - - “It is the cause, it is the cause, my soul,— - Let me not name it to you, you chaste stars!— - It is the cause. Yet I’ll not shed her blood, - Nor scar that whiter skin of hers than snow, - And smooth as monumental alabaster. - Yet she must die, else she’ll betray more men. - Put out the light, and then put out the light. - If I quench thee, thou flaming minister, - I can again thy former light restore, - Should I repent me. But once put out thy light, - Thou cunning’st pattern of excelling nature, - I know not where is that Promethean heat - That can thy light relume.” - -He permitted the audience to see the vast dimension and intensity of his -love, doubt, agony, sorrow, despair, vengeance,—and the revelation was -appalling in its solemnity. Henceforth even his invective was moderated -and quiet. He seemed to fancy himself not so much revenging his personal -wrong as vindicating himself and executing justice. He did not make a -horror of the killing, as Kean did. He drew the curtains apart,—a slight -struggle,—a choking murmur,—and as Emilia knocked at the door, and he -turned, with the pillow in his hand, his listening attitude and his -bronze face and glistening eyes formed a dramatic picture not to be -forgotten. Then came the final revulsion of his agonizing sorrow: - - “O, insupportable! O, heavy hour! - Methinks it should be now a huge eclipse - Of sun and moon; and that the affrighted globe - Should yawn at alteration.” - -His deadly distress and paralyzing bewilderment now illustrated what he -had before said, that he loved her so with the entirety of his being -that the loss of her, even in thought, brought back chaos: - - “Had she been true, - If heaven would make me such another world - Of one entire and perfect chrysolite, - I’d not have sold her for it.” - -When Emilia revealed the plot by which he had been deceived, and -convinced him of the innocence of his wife, an absolute desolation and -horror of remorse, as if a thunderbolt had burst within his brain, smote -him to the floor. Staggering to the fatal couch, his gaze was riveted on -the marble face there, and a broken heart and a distracted conscience -moaned and sobbed in the syllables,— - - “Now, how dost thou look now? O, ill-starred wench! - Pale as thy smock! when we shall meet at compt, - This look of thine will hurl my soul from heaven, - And fiends will snatch at it. Cold, cold, my girl? - Even like thy chastity. - O, cursed, cursed slave! Whip me, ye devils, - From the possession of this heavenly sight! - Blow’ me about in winds! roast me in sulphur! - Wash me in steep-down gulfs of liquid fire! - O Desdemona! Desdemona! dead?” - -The strain had been too great to be borne, and he was himself nearly -dead. He wore the aspect of one who felt that to live was calamity, and -to die the sole happiness left. Collecting himself, he spoke the calm -words of appeal that justice might be done to his memory, nothing -extenuated nor aught set down in malice. He turned towards the -breathless form, once so dear, with a look of tenderness slowly -dissolving and freezing into despair. Then, with one stroke of his -dagger, he fell dead without a groan or a shudder. - - “This did I fear, but thought he had no weapon; - For he was great of heart.” - -Some actors have made Othello feared and disliked; others have caused -him to be regarded with moral curiosity or poetic interest. As Forrest -impersonated him he was first warmly admired, then profoundly pitied. Of -the tragedians most celebrated in the past, according to the best -descriptions which have been given of their representations, it may be -said that the Othello of Quin was a jealous plebeian; the Othello of -Kean, in parts a jealous king, in parts a jealous savage; the Othello of -Vandenhoff, a jealous general; the Othello of Macready, a jealous -theatrical player; the Othello of Brooke, a jealous knight; the Othello -of Salvini, a jealous lover transformed into a jealous tiger; but the -Othello of Forrest was a jealous man carried truthfully through all the -degrees of his passion. One of his predecessors in the rôle had veiled -the woes of the man beneath the dignities of his rank and station as a -martial commander; another had theatricized the part, with wondrous -study and toil, elaborating posture, look, and emphasis, presenting a -correctness of drawing which might secure admiring criticism but could -never move feeling; yet another, fascinated with the romantic -accessories and vicissitudes of the character, made a gorgeous picture -of a gorgeous hero in a gorgeous time. Forrest analyzed away from his -Othello all adventitious circumstances; took him from the picturesque -scenes of Venice, stripped off his official robes, and placed him on the -stage in the glories and tortures of his naked humanity, a living mirror -to every one of the struggles of a master-passion tearing a great heart -asunder, driving a powerful mind into the awful abyss of insanity, -making a generous man a coward, an eavesdropper, a murderer, and a -suicide. - -The explicit contents and teaching of the part as Shakspeare wrote it -and as Forrest acted it are the unspeakable privilege and preciousness -of a supreme human love crowned with fulfilment, and the fearful nature -and results of an ill-grounded jealousy. The deeper implicit meaning and -lesson it bears is the animal degradation, the frightful ugliness and -danger, the intrinsically immoral and murderous character of the passion -of jealousy. This all-important revelation latent in the tragedy of -Othello has not been illumined, emphasized, or brought into relief on -the stage as yet. It ought to be done. The historical traditions of -tyrannical selfishness, almost universally organized in the interests of -the world, which make men feel that in sexual love the lover possesses -the object of his love as an appanage and personal property, all whose -free wishes are merged in his will and whose disloyalty is justly -visited with merciless cruelty and even death itself, have blinded most -persons to the inherent unworthiness and vulgarity, the inherent -ferocity and peril, of the passion of jealousy. It is common among -brutes, and belongs to the brutish stage in man. It cannot be imagined -in heaven among the cherubim and seraphim. Freedom, the self-possession -of each one in equilibrium with all others and in harmony with universal -order, belongs to the divine stage of developed humanity. There can be -no certainty against madness, crime, and self-immolation so long as an -automatic passion in the lower regions of the organism enslaves the -royal reason meant to reign by right from God. Happen what may, self- -poise and the steady aim at progress towards perfection should be kept. -This cannot be when love is degraded to physical pleasure sought as an -end, instead of being consecrated to the fruitful purposes for which it -was ordained. The only absolute pledge of blessedness and peace between -those who love and would hope to love always is an adjustment of conduct -based not on mere feeling, whether low or high, but on feeling as itself -subdued and disciplined by reason, justice, and truth, first developed -in the thinking mind and constituted as it were into the science of the -subject, then appropriated by the sentiments and made habitual in the -individual character. What details of conduct will result, what -innovations on the present social state will be made, when a scientific -morality shall have mastered the subject and formulated its principles -into practical rules, it is premature to say. But it is certain that the -leading of one life in the light and another one in the dark will be -forbidden. It is certain that the discords, the diseases, the -distresses, the crimes, which are now so profuse in this region of -experience will be no longer tolerated. And it is safe to prophesy that -such delirious expressions of hate and revenge as have hitherto usually -been thought tragic and terrible will come to be thought bombastic and -ludicrous: - - “O that the slave had forty thousand lives; - One is too poor, too weak for my revenge! - Now do I see ’tis true. Look here, Iago; - All my fond love thus do I blow to heaven. ’Tis gone.— - Arise, black vengeance, from thy hollow cell! - Yield up, O love, thy crown, and hearted throne, - To tyrannous hate! swell, bosom, with thy fraught; - For ’tis of aspics’ tongues! O blood, blood, blood!” - -Othello, like most of the characters of Shakspeare, illustrates the -historic actual, not the prophetic ideal. The present state of society -is so ill adjusted, so full of painful evils, that things cannot always -remain as temporary and local habits and mere empirical authority have -seemingly settled them. To think they can is the sure mark of a narrow -mind, a petty character, and a selfish heart. Nothing is more certain -than continuous change. Nothing is, therefore, more characteristic of -the genuine thinker than his ability to contemplate other modes of -thought, other varieties of sentiment, than those to which he was bred. -With the progress of social evolution the hitherto prevalent ideas of -love and jealousy may undergo changes amounting in some instances, -perhaps, to a reversal. Meanwhile, those who are not prepared to adopt -any new opinions in detail should, with hospitable readiness impartially -to investigate, consider within themselves which is better, an imperial -delicacy and magnanimity in those who love causing them to refuse to -know anything that occurs in absence so long as each preserves self- -respecting personal fidelity to the ideal of progressive perfection? or, -as at present, spiritual mutilation and misery, treacherous concealment, -espionage, detection, disgrace, frenzy, and death? - -One thing at all events is sure, namely, that of him alone whose love -for God, or the universal in himself and others, is superior to his love -for the individual, or the egotistic in himself and others, can it ever -be safely said, as it was once so mistakenly said of the unhappy Moor,— - - “This is a man - Whom passion cannot shake; whose solid virtue - The shock of accident nor dart of chance - Can neither graze nor pierce.” - - - LEAR. - -Nearly every season for more than forty years Forrest played the part of -Lear many times. He never ceased to study it and to improve his -representation, adding new touches here and there, until at last it -became, if not the most elaborately finished and perfect of all his -performances, certainly the sublimest in spiritual power and tragic -pathos. As he grew old, as his experience of the desolating miseries of -the world deepened, as his perception was sharpened of the hollowness -and irony of the pomps and pleasures of human power contrasted with the -solemn drifting of destiny and death, as the massiveness of his physique -was expanded in its mould and loosened in its fibre by the shocks of -time and fate, he seemed ever better fitted, both in faculty and -appearance, to meet the ideal demands of the rôle. He formed his -conception of it directly from the pages of Shakspeare and the dictates -of nature. His elaboration and acting of it were original, the result of -his own inspiration and study. Heeding no traditional authority, copying -no predecessor, but testing each particular by the standard of truth, he -might have proudly protested, like the veritable Lear,— - -[Illustration: - - G H Cushman - - EDWIN FORREST AS - - KING LEAR. -] - - “No, they cannot touch me for coining,— - I am the king himself.” - -No person of common sensibility could witness his impersonation of the -character during his latter years without paying it the tribute of tears -and awe. - -Lear appears in a shape of imposing majesty, but with the authentic -signals of breaking sorrow and ruin already obvious. He is a king in the -native build and furniture of his being, not merely by outward rank. His -scale of passion is gigantic, and always exerted at the extremes. When -deferred to and pleased, his magnanimity is boundless and his love most -tender. But, once crossed, nothing can restrain his petulance, and his -outbursts of anger are terrible to others and dangerously expensive to -himself. His identity is always marked by greatness, like some huge -landmark dwarfing everything near. There is a royal scope and altitude -belonging to the structure of his soul which is never lost. It is seen, -whether he be ruler, outcast, or madman, in the grandeur of his mien, in -the majestic eloquence of his thought and expression, in the towering -swell of his ambition. He is ever insistingly conscious of his -kingliness, and must be bowed to and have his way, as much when with the -poor fool he hides his nakedness from the pelting blast as when in -august plenitude of power he divides his realm among his children. This -central point of unity Forrest firmly seized, and made it everywhere in -his representation abundantly prominent and impressive. - -At the opening of the play Lear is a very old man. Moved by some secret -premonition of failing reason or decay, he is about to abdicate his -crown. He is seen to be an imperial spirit throned in an enfeebled -nature, a power girdled with weakness. An exacting and unbridled spirit -of authority, a splenetic assertion of his kingly will, with the -incessant worries and frictions to which such a habit always gives rise, -have undermined his poise and lowered his strength, and brought his mind -into that state of unstable equilibrium which is the condition of an -explosive irritability fated to issue in madness. He himself, in the -organic strata below his free intelligence, has obscure premonitions of -his crumbling state; but every intimation of it which reaches his -consciousness fills him with an angry resentment that seeks some instant -vent. - -The task to indicate all this, so clearly, with such moving force, with -such combination of overtopping power and piteous weakness, as to fix it -all in the apprehending sympathies of the audience, was marvellously -accomplished by Forrest in the opening scene. The vast frame whose -motions were alternately ponderous and fretful, the pale massive face, -the restless wild eyes, the rich deep voice magnificent in oratoric -phrase and breaking in querulous anger,—these, skilfully managed, -revealed at once the ruining greatness of the royal nature, dowered with -imposing and gracious qualities but fatally cored with irritable self- -love. - - “Know that we have divided - In three our kingdom; and ’tis our fast intent - To shake all cares and business from our age; - Conferring them on younger strengths, while we, - Unburthened, crawl toward death. Tell me, my daughters, - (Since now we will divest us, both of rule, - Interest of territory, cares of state,) - Which of you, shall we say, doth love us most? - That we our largest bounty may extend - Where nature doth with merit challenge.” - -The treacherous Goneril and Regan, whose heartless natures their younger -sister so well knew, made such fulsome protestations as shocked her into -a dumb reliance on her own true affection; and when the yearning and -testy monarch fondly asks what she can say, her whole being of love and -sincerity is behind her words: - - “Unhappy that I am, I cannot heave - My heart into my mouth. I love your majesty - According to my bond.” - -Then broke forth the insane pride and self-will, which, brooking no -appearance of opposition or evasion, were stricken with judicial -blindness and left to prefer evil to good, to embrace the selfishness -which was as false and cruel as hell, and to reject the love which was -as gentle and true as heaven. With a terrible look, and a deep intensely -girded voice, whose rapid accents made his whole chest shake with -muffled reverberations, like a throbbing drum, he cried,— - - “Let it be so: thy truth then be thy dower; - For, by the sacred radiance of the sun, - The mysteries of Hecate, and the night; - By all the operations of the orbs, - From whom we do exist, and cease to be; - Here I disclaim all my paternal care, - Propinquity, and property of blood, - And as a stranger to my heart and me - Hold thee, from this, forever. The barbarous Scythian, - Or he that makes his generation messes - To gorge his appetite, shall to my bosom - Be as well neighbored, pitied, and relieved, - As thou, my sometime daughter.” - -And when the noble Kent would have interceded, his frenzied wrong- -headedness peremptorily destroyed the last hope of remedy: - - “Peace, Kent! - Come not between the dragon and his wrath.” - -Then, with the piteous side-revelation,— - - “I loved her most, and thought to set my rest - On her kind nursery,”— - -he subscribed and sealed his hideous fault by harshly driving the poor, -sweet Cordelia from his presence, and banishing from his dominions the -best friend he ever had, honest Kent. - -The disease in the nature of Lear, a morbid self-consciousness that -prevented alike self-rule and self-knowledge, did not let his passion -expire like flaming tinder, but kept it long smouldering. Forrest -pictured to perfection its recurring swells and tardy subsidence. Each -advancing step showed more completely the vice that had cloyed the -kingly nobility and gradually prepared the retributive tempest about to -burst. His injured vanity feeding itself with its own inflaming -deception now made his fancy ascribe to the angelic Cordelia, dismantled -from the folds of his old favor, such foul and ugly features of -character that he called her - - “A wretch whom nature is ashamed - Almost to acknowledge hers,”— - -while, perversely investing the tiger-breasted Goneril and Regan with -imaginary goodness and charm, he said to them,— - - “Ourself, by monthly course - With reservation of an hundred knights, - By you to be sustained, shall our abode - Make with you by due turns. Only we will retain - The name and all the additions to a king.” - -So to combine in the representation of Lear the power and the weakness, -the mental and physical grandeur and irritability, as to compose a -consistent picture true to nature, and to make their manifestations -accurate both in the whirlwinds of passion and in the periods of calm,— -this is what few even of the greatest actors have been able to do. -Forrest did it in a degree which made the most competent judges the most -enthusiastic applauders. The nervous and tottering walk, with its sudden -changes, the quick transitions of his voice from thundering fulness to -querulous shrillness, the illuminated and commanding aspect passing into -sunken pallor and recovering, the straightenings up of the figure into -firm equilibrium, the palsying collapses,—all these he gave with a -precision and entireness which were the transcript and epitome of a -thousand original studies of himself and of grand old men whom he had -watched in different lands, in the streets, in lunatic asylums. - -But the deepest merit of this representation was not its exactness in -mimetic simulation or reproduction of the visible peculiarities of -shattered and irascible age. Its chief merit was the luminous revelation -it gave of the inner history of the character impersonated. He made it a -living exhibition of the justifying causes and the profound moral -lessons of the tragedy of the aged monarch, who, self-hurled both from -his outer and his inner kingdom, was left to gibber with the gales and -the lightnings on the rain-swept and desolate moor. In every fibre of -his frame and every crevice of his soul Forrest felt the tremendous -teachings intrusted by Shakspeare to the tragedy of Lear. It is true the -feeling did not lead him morally to master these teachings for a -redemptive application to himself; and his own experience paid the -bitter penalty of a personal pride too exacting in its ideal estimate of -self and others. But the feeling did enable him dramatically to portray -these lessons, with matchless vividness and power, and a rugged realism -softened and tinted with art. Shakspeare’s own notion of Lear is -remarkably expressed by one of the characters in the play: “He hath ever -but slenderly known himself. Then we must look from his age to receive -not alone the imperfections of long-engrafted condition, but, -therewithal, the unruly waywardness that infirm and choleric years bring -with them.” - -The whole history of the world in every part of society abounds with -correspondences to the cruel error, the awful wrong, committed by Lear -in accepting Goneril and Regan and rejecting Cordelia. But there is a -cause for everything that happens. These dread and lamentable injustices -arise from vices in the characters that perpetrate them. Their blindness -is the punishment for their sin. The most inherent and obstinate sin in -every unregenerate soul is excess of egotistic self-love. The strongest -and richest natures are most exposed to this evil disguised in shapes so -subtile as to deceive the very elect, making them unconsciously desire -to subdue the wills of others to their will. This is a proud and fearful -historic inheritance in the automatic depth of man below his free -consciousness. Overcoming it, he is divinely free and peaceful. Yielding -to it, he wears his force away in unhappy repinings and resentments. -Aggravated by indulgence, it blinds his instincts and perverts his -perceptions, makes him praise and clasp the bad who yield and flatter, -denounce and shun the good who faithfully resist and try to bless. This -profound moral truth Shakspeare makes the dim background of the tragedy, -whose foreground blazes with a dreadful example of the penalties visited -on those who violate its commands. He teaches that those who, bound and -blinded by wilful self-love, embrace the designing and corrupt instead -of the honest and pure, are left to the natural consequences of their -choice. These consequences are the avenging Nemesis of divine -providence. The actor who, as Forrest did, worthily illustrates this -conception, becomes for the time the sublimest of preachers; for his -appalling sermon is not an exhortation verbally articulated, it is a -demonstration vitally incarnated. - -The monstrous mistake of Lear soon brought its results to sight. The -poor old monarch, fast weakening, even-paced, in his wits and muscles, -but not abating one jot of his arrogant self-estimate and royal -requiring, was so scolded, thwarted, and badgered by Goneril that he was -quite beside himself with indignation. Then, most pitiably in his -distress, relenting memory turned his regards towards the faithful -gentleness he had spurned: - - “O, most small fault! - How ugly didst thou in Cordelia show, - Which, like an engine, wrenched my frame of nature - From the fixed place, drew from my heart all love, - And added to the gall. O Lear, Lear, Lear! - Beat at this gate, that let thy folly in, - And thy dear judgment out.” - -Uttering these remorseful words, striking his forehead, Forrest stood, -for a moment, a picture of uncertainty, regret, self-deprecation, and -woe. Then a sense of the insulting disrespect and ingratitude of Goneril -seemed to break on him afresh, and let loose the whole volcanic flood of -his injured selfhood. Anguish, wrath, and helplessness drove him mad. -The blood made path from his heart to his brow, and hung there, a red -cloud, beneath his crown. His eyes flashed and faded and reflashed. He -beat his breast as if not knowing what he did. His hands clutched wildly -at the air as though struggling with something invisible. Then, sinking -on his knees, with upturned look and hands straight outstretched towards -his unnatural daughter, he poured out, in frenzied tones of mingled -shriek and sob, his withering curse, half adjuration, half malediction. -It was a terrible thing, almost too fearful to be gazed at as a work of -art, yet true to the character, the words, and the situation furnished -by Shakspeare. Drawing for the moral world comparisons from the material -world, it was a maelstrom of the conscience, an earthquake of the mind, -a hurricane of the soul, and an avalanche of the heart. By a perfect -gradation his protruded and bloodshot eyeballs, his crimsoned and -swollen features, and his trembling frame subsided from their convulsive -exertion. And with a confidence touching in its groundlessness, he -bethought him,— - - “I have another daughter, - Who, I am sure, is kind and comfortable.” - -He went to her, and said, with a distraught air of sorrowful anger, more -pathetic than mere words can describe,— - - “Thy sister’s naught: O Regan! She hath tied - Sharp-toothed unkindness, like a vulture, here: - I can scarce speak to thee; thou’lt not believe - With how depraved a quality,—O Regan!” - -Told by her that he was old, that in him nature stood on the verge of -her confine, that he needed guidance, and had best return to Goneril and -ask her forgiveness, he stood an instant in blank amazement, as if not -trusting his ears; a tremor of agony and rage shot through him, fixed -itself in a scornful smile, and, throwing himself on his knees, he -vented his heart with superhuman irony: - - “Dear daughter, I confess that I am old: - Age is unnecessary; on my knees I beg - That you’ll vouchsafe me raiment, bed, and food.” - -Goneril entered. Shrinking from her partly with loathing, partly with -fear, he exclaimed, in a tone of mournful and pleading pain befitting -the transcendent pathos of the imagery,— - - “O Heavens! - If you do love old men, if your sweet sway - Allow obedience, if yourselves are old, - Make it your cause: send down, and take my part!” - -As Regan and Goneril chaffered and haggled to reduce the cost of his -entertainment, he revealed in his face and by-play the effect their -conduct had on him. The rising thoughts and emotions suffused his -features in advance of their expression. He stood before the audience -like a stained window that burns with the light of the landscape it -hides. He then began in a low tone of supplicating feebleness and -gradually mounted to a climax of frenzy, where the voice, raised to -screaming shrillness, broke in helplessness, exemplifying that degree of -passion which is impotent from its very intensity. Those critics who -blamed him for this excess as a fault were wrong, not he; for it belongs -to a rage which unseats the reason to have no power of repression, and -so to recoil on itself in exhaustion: - - “You see me here, you gods, a poor old man, - As full of grief as age; wretched in both. - If it be you that stir these daughters’ hearts - Against their father, fool me not so much - To bear it tamely: touch me with noble anger. - O, let not women’s weapons, water-drops, - Stain my man’s cheeks. No, you unnatural hags, - I will have such revenges on you both - That all the world shall—I will do such things— - What they are yet I know not—but they shall be - The terrors of the earth.” - -The elemental storm at that moment heard rumbling in the distance -actually seemed an echo of the more terrible spiritual storm raging in -him. - -The scene by night on the heath, where Lear, discrowned of his reason, -wanders in the tempest,—the earth his floor, the sky his roof, the -elements his comrades,—was sustained by Forrest with a broad strength -and intensity which left nothing wanting. Even the imagination was -satisfied with the scale of acting when the old king was seen, colossal -in his broken decay, exulting as the monarch of a new realm, pelted by -tempests, shrilling with curses, and peopled with wicked daughters! His -eyes aflame, his breast distended, his arms flying, his white hair all -astream in the wind, his voice rolling and crashing like another thunder -below, he seemed some wild spirit in command of the scene; and he -called, as if to his conscious subjects,— - - “Blow, winds, and crack your cheeks! rage! blow! - You cataracts and hurricanoes, spout, - Till you have drenched our steeples, drowned the cocks! - You sulphurous and thought-executing fires, - Vaunt-couriers to oak-cleaving thunderbolts, - Singe my white head! And thou, all-shaking thunder, - Strike flat the thick rotundity o’ the world! - Nor rain, wind, thunder, fire, are my daughters. - I tax not you, ye elements, with unkindness: - I never gave you kingdom, called you children; - You owe me no subscription. Then let fall - Your horrible pleasure: here I stand, your slave, - A poor, infirm, weak, and despised old man. - But yet I call you servile ministers - That will with two pernicious daughters join - Your high-engendered battles ’gainst a head - So old and white as this. O, O, ’tis foul.” - -These last words, beginning with “_high_-engendered battles,” he -delivered with a down-sweeping cadence as mighty in its swell as one of -the great symphonic swings of Beethoven. The auditor seemed to hear the -peal strike on the mountain-top and its slow reverberations roll through -the valleys. The next speech, commencing with,— - - “Let the great gods, - That keep this dreadful pother o’er our heads, - Find out their enemies now,”— - -and ending with,— - - “I am a man - More sinned against than sinning,”— - -he pronounced in a way that emphasized the vast ethical meaning involved -in it, and illustrated the strong humanity of Lear. He seemed to be -saying, “These woes are just; I have been proud, rash, and cruel; but -others have treated me worse than I have treated them.” This unconscious -effort at a halting justification, this disguised appeal for kindly -judgment, was profoundly natural and affecting. Then his brain reeled -under its load of woe, and he sighed, with a piteous bewilderment, “My -wits begin to turn,” bringing back with awful fulfilment his prophetic -prayer long before, “O, let me not be mad, sweet heaven! keep me in -temper: I would not be mad!” - -There was something in the immense outspread of the sorrows of Lear and -the enlacement of their gigantic portrayal with the elemental scenery of -nature, the desolate heath, the blackness of night, the howling gale, -the stabbing flashes of lightning, overwhelmingly pathetic and sublime. -The passion of Othello pours along like a vast river turbulent and -raging, yet with placid eddies. The passion of Lear is like the -continual swell and moan of the ocean, whose limitless expanse, with no -beacon of hope to meet the eye, baffles our comprehension and bewilders -us with its awful mystery. This part of the play, as Forrest represented -it in person and voice, gave one a new measure of the greatness of man -in his glory and in his ruin. And in the subsequent scenes, where the -disease of Lear had progressed and his faculties become more wrecked, he -was so interpreted from the splendid might over which he had exulted to -the mournful decay into which he had sunk, that when he said, in reply -to a request to be allowed to kiss his hand, “Let me wipe it first; it -smells of mortality,” the whole audience felt like exclaiming, with -Gloster,— - - “O ruined piece of nature! This great world - Shall so wear out to naught.” - -The acting of all the closing scenes with Cordelia was something to be -treasured apart in the memories of all who saw it and who were capable -of appreciating its exquisite beauty and its unfathomable pathos. When -he was awakened out of the merciful sleep which had fallen on the -soreness of his soul, and heard her whose voice was ever soft, gentle, -and low, addressing him as she had been wont in happier days, his look -of wondering weariness, his mistaking her for a spirit in bliss, his -kneeling to her, his gradual recognition of her,—all these were executed -with a unity of purpose, a simplicity of means, and an ineffable -tenderness of affection, to which it is impossible for any verbal -description to do justice. Who, that did not carry a stone in his breast -in place of a heart, could refrain from tears when he heard the -exhausted sufferer—his gaze fixed on hers, his hands moving in -unpurposed benediction, a solemn calm wrapping him after the long -tempest, passing from the old arrogance of self-assertion into a supreme -sympathy—murmur,— - - “Where have I been? Where am I?—Fair daylight? - I am mightily abused.—I should even die with pity - To see another thus.” - -Who that saw his instinctive action and heard his broken utterance when -she was dead, and he stood trying with insane perseverance to restore -her, fondling her with his paralyzed hands, can ever forget? With -insistent eagerness he asked,— - - “Why should a dog, a horse, a rat, have life, - And thou no breath at all?” - -With complaining resignation he said,— - - “Thou’lt come no more, - Never, never, never, never, never!—” - -With wild surprise he exclaimed, while his lips parted and a weird and -shrivelling smile stole through his wearied face,— - - “Do you see this?—Look on her,—look,—her lips,— - Look there, look there!” - -He stood erect and still, gazing into vacancy. Not a rustle, not a -breath, could be heard in the house. Slowly the head nodded, the muscles -of the face relaxed, the hands opened, the eyes closed, one long hollow -gasp through the nostrils, then on the worn-out king of grief and pain -fell the last sleep, and his form sank upon the stage, while the parting -salvos of the storm rolled afar. - - -Such were the principal characters represented by Edwin Forrest. So, as -far as an incompetent pen can describe their portraiture, did he -represent them. The work was a dignified and useful one, moralizing the -scene not less than entertaining the crowd. It was full of noble lessons -openly taught. It was still richer, as all acting is, in yet deeper -latent lessons to be gathered and self-applied by the spectators who -were wise enough to pierce to them and earnest enough to profit from -them. - -For every dramatic impersonation of a character in the unravelling of a -plot and the fulfilment of a fate is charged with implicit morals. This -is inevitable because every type of man, every grade of life, every kind -of conduct, every style of manners, embodies those laws of cause and -effect between the soul and its circumstances which constitute the -movement of human destiny, and illustrates the varying standards of -truth and beauty, or of error and sin, in charming examples to be -assimilated, or in repulsive ones to serve as warnings. Thus the stage -is potentially as much more instructive than the pulpit, as life is more -inclusive and contagious than words. The trouble is that its teaching is -so largely disguised and latent. It sorely needs an infusion of the -religious and academic spirit to explicate and drive home its morals. -For instance, when Coriolanus says, with action of immovable -haughtiness,— - - “Let them pull all about mine ears; present me - Death on the wheel, or at wild horses’ heels; - Or pile ten hills on the Tarpeian rock, - That the precipitation might down stretch - Below the beam of sight, yet will I still - Be thus to them,—” - -it is a huge and grand personality, filled to bursting with arrogant -pride and indirect vanity, asserting itself obstinately against the mass -of the people. As a piece of power it is imposing; but morally it is -vulgar and odious. The single superior should not assert his egotistic -will defiantly against the wills of the multitude of inferiors and hate -them for their natural resistance. He should modestly modulate his self- -will with the real claims of the collective many, or blend and assert it -through universal right and good, thus representing God with the -strength of truth and the suavity of love. That is the lesson of -Coriolanus,—a great lesson if taught and learned. And, to take an -exactly opposite example, what is it that so pleases and holds everybody -who sees the exquisite Rip Van Winkle of Joseph Jefferson? Analyze the -performance to the bottom, and it is clear that the charm consists in -the absence of self-assertion, the abeyance of all egotistic will. -Against the foil of his wife’s tartar temper, who with arms akimbo and -frowning brow and scolding acidity of voice opposes everything, and -asserts her authority, and, despite her faithful virtues, is as -disagreeable as an incarnated broomstick, Rip, lazy and worthless as he -is, steals into every heart with his yielding movement, soft tones, and -winsome look of unsuspicious innocence. He resists not evil or good, -neither his appetite for drink nor his inclinations to reform. The -spontaneity, the perfect surrender of the man, the unresisted sway of -nature in him, plays on the unconscious sympathies of the spectators -with a charm whose divine sweetness not all the vices of the vagabond -can injure. It is, in this homely and almost unclean disguise, a moral -music strangely wafted out of an unlost paradise of innocence into which -drunkenness has strayed. But the real secret of the fascination is -hidden from most of those who intuitively feel its delicious -fascination. Did the audience but appreciate the graceful spirit of its -spell, and for themselves catch from its influence the same unresisted -spontaneousness of soul in unconscious abnegation of self-will, they -would go home regenerated. - -But beyond the special lessons in the parts played by Forrest, he was, -through his whole professional course, constantly teaching the great -lesson of the beauty and value of the practice of the dramatic art for -the purposes of social life itself. Should the stage decline and -disappear, the art so long practised on it will not cease, but will be -transferred to the ordinary walks of social life. Nothing is so charming -as a just and vivid play of the spiritual faculties through all the -languages of their outer signs, in the friendly intercourse of real -life. But in our day the tendency is to confine expression to the one -language of articulate words. This suppression of the free play of the -organism stiffens and sterilizes human nature, impoverishes the -interchanges of souls makes existence formal and barren. The most -precious relish of conversation and the divinest charm of manners is the -living play of the spirit in the features, and the spontaneous -modulation of the form by the passing experience. A man grooved in -bigotry and glued in awkwardness, with no alert intelligence and -sympathy, is a painful object and a repulsive companion. He moves like a -puppet and talks like a galvanized corpse. But it is delightful and -refreshing to associate with one thoroughly possessed by the dramatic -spirit, who, his articulations all freed and his faculties all earnest, -speaks like an angel and moves like a god. The theatre all the time -offers society this inspiring lesson. For there are seen free and -developed souls lightening and darkening through free and sensitive -faces. If bodies did not answer to spirits nor faces reveal minds, -nature would be a huge charnelhouse and society a brotherhood of the -dead. And if things go on unchecked as they have been going on, we bid -fair to come to that. It is to be hoped, however, that the examples of -universal, liberated expression given on the stage will more and more -take effect in the daily intercourse of all classes. As a guiding hint -and stimulus in that direction, the central law of dramatic expression -may here be explicitly formulated. All emotions that betoken the -exaltation of life, or the recognition of influences that tend to -heighten life, confirm the face, but expand and brighten it. All -emotions that indicate the sinking of life, or the recognition of -influences that threaten to lower life, relax and vacate the face if -these emotions are negative, contract and darken it if they are -positive. In answer to the exalting influences the face either grasps -what it has or opens and smiles to hail and receive what is offered; in -answer to the depressing influences, it either droops under its load or -shuts and frowns to oppose and exclude what is threatened. The eyes -reveal the mental states; the muscles reveal the effects of those states -in the body. In genial states active, the eyes and the muscles are both -intense, but the eyes are smiling. In genial states passive, the eyes -are intense, the muscles languid. In hostile states active, both eyes -and muscles are intense, but the eyes are frowning. In hostile states -passive, the eyes are languid, the muscles intense. In simple or -harmonious states, the eyes and the muscles agree in their excitement or -relaxation. In complex and inconsistent states, the eyes and the muscles -are opposed in their expression. To expound the whole philosophy of -these rules would take a volume. But they formulate with comprehensive -brevity the central law of dramatic expression as a guide for -observation in daily life. - -In filling up the outlines of the majestic characters imperfectly limned -in the preceding pages, exhibiting them in feature and proportion and -color and tone as they were, setting in relief the full dimensions and -quality of their intellect and their passion, living over again their -experiences and laying bare for public appreciation the lessons of their -fate, Forrest found the high and noble joy of his existence, the most -satisfying employment for his faculties, and a deep, unselfish solace -for his afflictions. He reposed on the grand moments of each drama, as -if they were thrones which he was loath to abdicate. He dilated and -glowed in the exciting situations, as if they were no mimic reflections -of the crises of other souls, but original and thrilling incarnations of -his own. He lingered over the nobler utterances, as if he would have -paused to repeat their music, and would willingly let the action wait -that the thought might receive worthy emphasis. Every inspired -conception of eloquence, every delicate beauty of sentiment, every -aggrandizing attitude of man contained in the plays he lifted into a -relief of light and warmth that gave it new attraction and more power. -And to trace the thoughts and feelings that gained heightened expression -through him, echoed and working with contagious sympathy in the hearts -of the crowds who hung on his lips, was a divine pleasure which he would -fain have indefinitely prolonged. But the movement on the stage, that -affecting mirror of life, hurries forward, the business of the world -breaks in upon philosophy, and the dreams of the poet and the player -burst like painted bubbles. - -Meanwhile, not only do the parts played and the scenes amidst which they -are shown vanish and become the prey of oblivion, but those who played -them disappear also, leaving the providential and prophetic Spirit of -Humanity, a sublimer Prospero, to say,— - - “These, our actors, - As I foretold you, were all spirits, and - Are melted into air, into thin air.” - - - - - CHAPTER XXIII. - CLOSING YEARS AND THE EARTHLY FINALE. - - -When in the fullest glory of his strength and his fame Forrest bought a -farm and quite made up his mind to retire from the stage forever. While -under this impulse he played a parting engagement in New Orleans. Called -out after the play, he said, among other things, “The bell which tolled -the fall of the curtain also announced my final departure from among -you. I have chosen a pursuit congenial to my feelings,—that pursuit -which the immortal Washington pronounced one of the most noble and -useful ever followed by man,—the tilling of the soil. And now, ladies -and gentlemen, I have to say that little word which must so often be -said in this sad, bright world,—farewell.” The purpose, however, passed -away with its now forgotten cause. Again he seriously thought for a -little time, when a nomination to Congress was pressed on him, of -exchanging his dramatic career for a political one. This idea, too, on -careful reflection he rejected. And once more, when depressed and -embittered by his domestic trouble, and sick of appearing before the -public, he was for a season strongly tempted to say he would never again -enter the theatre as a player. With these three brief and fitful -exceptions he never entertained any design of abandoning the practice of -his profession, until a shattering illness in the spring of 1872 -compelled him to take the step. Then he took the step quietly, with no -public announcement. - -Thus the dramatic seasons of the five years preceding his death found -the veteran still in harness, working vigorously as of old in the art of -which he had ever been so fond and so proud. His earnings during each of -these seasons were between twenty-five and forty thousand dollars, and -the applause given to his performances and the friendly and flattering -personal attentions paid him were almost everywhere very marked. He had -no reason to feel that he was lingering superfluous on the stage. Many, -it is true, asked why, with his great wealth, his satiation of fame, his -literary taste, his growing infirmity of lameness, he did not give up -this drudgery and enjoy the luxury of his home in leisure and dignity. -There were two chief reasons why he persisted in his vocation. No doubt -the large sum of ready money he earned by it was welcome to him, because -while his fortune was great it was mostly unproductive and a burden of -taxes. No doubt, also, he well relished the admiration and applause he -drew; for the habit of enjoying this had become a second nature with -him. Neither of these considerations, however, was it which caused him -to undergo the toil and hardship of his profession to the last. His real -motives were stronger. The first was the sincere conviction that it was -better for the preservation of his health and faculties, his interest -and zest in life and the world, to keep at his wonted task. He feared -that a withdrawal of this spur and stimulus would the sooner dull his -powers, stagnate him, and break him down. He often asserted this. For -example, in 1871 he wrote thus, after speaking of what he had suffered -from severe journeyings, extreme cold, poor food, many vexations, and a -fall over a balustrade so terrible that it would have killed him had it -not been for his professional practice in falling: “This is very hard -work; but it is best to do it, as it prevents both physical and mental -rust, which is a sore decayer of body and soul.” - -But the most effectual motive in keeping him on the stage was a real -professional enthusiasm, an intense love of his art for its own sake. He -felt that he was still improving in his best parts, in everything except -mere material power, giving expression to his refining conceptions with -a greater delicacy and subtilty, a more minute truthfulness and finish. -He keenly enjoyed his own applause of his own best performances. This -was a satisfaction to him beyond anything which the critics or the -public could bestow or withhold. It was a luxury he was not willing to -forego. He was a great artist still delighting himself with touching and -tinting his favorite pictures, still loyal to truth and nature, and -feeling the joy of a devotee as he placed now a more delicate shade here -or a more ethereal light there, producing a higher harmony of tone, a -greater convergence of effects in a finer unity of the whole. Even had -this been an illusion with him, it would have been touching and noble. -But it was a reality. His Richelieu and Lear were never rendered by him -with such entire artistic beauty and grandeur as the last times he -played them. In the thoughts of those who knew that as he went over the -country in his later years the plaudits of the audiences and the -approvals of critics were insignificant to him in comparison with his -own judgment and feeling, and that he deeply relished the minutely -earnest and natural truth and power and rounded skill of his own chosen -portrayals of human nature, the fact lent an extreme interest and -dignity to his character. This unaffected enthusiasm of the old artist, -this intrinsic delight in his work, was a sublime reward for his long- -continued conscientious devotion, and an example which his professional -followers in future time should thoughtfully heed. He wrote to a friend -from Washington near the close of his career, “Last night I played Lear -in a cold house, with a wretched support, and to a sparse and -undemonstrative audience. But I think I never in my life more thoroughly -enjoyed any performance of mine, because I really believed, and do -believe so now, that I never before in my life played the part so well. -For forty years I have studied and acted Lear. I have studied the part -in the closet, in the street, on the stage, in lunatic asylums all over -the world, and I hold that next to God, Shakspeare comprehended the mind -of man. Now I would like to have had my representation of the character -last night photographed to the minutest particular. Then next to the -creation of the part I would not barter the fame of its representation.” -This, written to a bosom friend from whom he kept back nothing, when the -shadow of the grave was approaching, was not egotism or vanity. It was -truth and sincerity, and its meaning is glorious. What a man works for -with downright and persevering honesty, that, and the satisfaction or -the retribution of it, he shall at last have. And there is only one -thing of which no artist can ever tire,—merit. The passion for mere fame -grows weak and cold, and, under its prostituted accompaniments, dies out -in disgust; but the zeal and the joy of a passion for excellence keep -fresh and increase to the end. - -Aside from that self-rewarding love of his art and delight in exercising -it and improving in it, of which no invidious influence could rob him, -Forrest continued still to be followed by the same extremes of praise -and abuse to which he had ever been accustomed. But one grateful form of -compliment and eulogy became more frequent towards the close. He was in -the frequent receipt of letters, drawn up and signed by large numbers of -the leading citizens of important towns, urging him to pay them a visit -and gratify them with another, perhaps a final, opportunity of -witnessing some of his most celebrated impersonations. Among his papers -were found, carefully labelled, autograph letters of this description -from New Orleans, Savannah, Cincinnati, Louisville, Detroit, Troy, and -other cities,—flattering testimonials to his celebrity and the interest -felt in him. These dignified and disinterested demonstrations were -fitted to offset and soothe the wounds continually inflicted on his -proud sensibility by many vulgar persons who chanced to have access to -newspapers for the expression of their frivolity, malignity, or envy. -For detraction is the shadow flung before and behind as the sun of fame -journeys through the empyrean. To illustrate the scurrilous treatment -Forrest had to bear, even in his old age, from heartless ribalds, it is -needful only to set a few characteristic examples in contrast with his -real character. His professional and personal character, in the spirit -and aim of his public life, is justly indicated in this brief newspaper -editorial: - -“In the line of heroic characters—such as Brutus, Virginius, Tell—Mr. -Forrest has had no rival in this country. He is himself rich in the -generous, manly qualities fitted for such grand ideal parts. The old- -time favorite plays of the heroic and romantic school, like Damon and -Pythias, are well-nigh banished from the stage. The materialistic -tendencies and aspirations of this intensely practical age disqualify -most audiences for seeing with the zest of their fathers a play so -purely poetic and imaginative as the immortal tale of the Pythagorean -friends. That Mr. Forrest, almost alone among his contemporaries, should -cling to this style of plays with such true enthusiasm is evidence of -the fidelity with which he seeks purity rather than attractiveness in -the models of his art. His name has never been identified with a single -one of the meretricious innovations which have within the past two -decades so lowered the dignity of the drama. Every play associated with -his person has some noble hero as its central figure, and some sublime -moral quality and lesson in the unravelling of its plot. And his -unwavering seriousness of purpose in everything he plays cannot be -questioned, whatever else may be questioned.” - -The above estimate is sustained by the unconscious betrayal, the latent -implications, in the following speech made by Forrest himself when -called out after a performance: - -“LADIES AND GENTLEMEN,—For this and for the many tokens of your kind -approbation, I return you my sincere and heartfelt acknowledgments. It -is a source of peculiar gratification to me to perceive that the drama -is yet, with you, a subject of consideration. Permit me to express my -conviction that it is, in one form or another, whether for good or for -evil, intimately blended with our social institutions. It is for you, -then, to give it the necessary and appropriate direction. If it be left -in charge of the bad and the dissolute, the consequences will be -deplorable; but if the fostering protection of the wise and the good be -extended to it, the result cannot but tend to the advancement of morals -and the intellectual improvement of the community. It is indeed the true -province of the drama - - ‘To wake the soul by tender strokes of art, - To raise the genius, and to mend the heart; - To make mankind in conscious virtue bold, - Live o’er each scene, and be what they behold; - For this, the tragic muse first trod the stage, - Commanding tears to stream through every age; - Tyrants no more their savage nature kept, - And foes to virtue wondered how they wept.’” - -What a descent from the above level to the ridicule, insult, and -misrepresentation in notices like the succeeding: - -“Forrest reminded us of the Butcher of Chandos, and his rendition of the -fifth act was reminiscent of the wild madness, the ungovernable -bellowings and fierce snortings of a short-horned bull chased by a score -of terriers. He raved, and rumbled, and snorted, and paused, gathering -wind for a fresh start, as if the ghost of Shakspeare were whispering in -his ear, - - ‘Now crack thy lungs, and split thy brazen pipe; - Blow, actor, till thy sphered bias cheek - Outswell the colic of puffed Aquilon; - Come, stretch thy chest, and let thy eyes spout blood; - Thou blow’st for Hector.’ - -We are fearful that the more he studies and improves his part the worse -it will be.” - -“Last night we went with great expectations to the Academy of Music to -see Forrest. We were never so astonished as to witness there the most -successful practical imposition ever played on the public. Manager Leake -has got Old Brown the hatter there, with his white head blacked, playing -leading parts under the assumed name of Edwin Forrest.” - -“Mr. Forrest dragged his weary performances out to empty boxes last -week. Save in his voice, which still soars, crackles, rumbles, grumbles, -growls and hisses, as in his younger days, this great actor is but a -dreary echo of his former self. Appropriately may he exclaim,— - - ‘Othello’s occupation’s gone!’ - -and it would be well if, like the heroic Moor, he would bid farewell to -the bustling world by an abrupt retirement from the stage, instead of -inflicting nightly stabs upon his high reputation and wounding his old- -time friends by his attempts to soar into the sublime regions of -tragedy.” - -“The interest that still crowds the theatre whenever Mr. Forrest appears -is less admiration of his present power than curiosity to see a gigantic -ruin.” - -“The intellectual portion of the community never thoroughly appreciated -the style of histrionic gymnastics which our great tragedian has -introduced; the ponderous tenderness and gladiatorial grace of his -conceptions, though excellent in their way, had never any charm for -people of delicate nerves, who delight not in viewing experiments in -spasmodic contortion, or delineations of violent death, evidently after -studies from nature in the slaughterhouse! But lately the faithful -themselves are tiring of it.” - -The man with a thin and acid nature who aspires to be an author or an -artist, and cannot succeed, sometimes becomes a spiteful critic. The -only pity is that he should usually find it so easy to get an organ for -his spites. Would-be genius hates and criticises, actual genius loves -and creates. The former enviously despises those who succeed where he -has failed, the latter generously admires all true merit. - -And now it will be a relief to turn from such criticisms to facts. The -season of 1871 was marked by an experience altogether memorable in the -professional history of Forrest, his last engagement in New York, where -he played for twenty nights in February at the Fourteenth Street -Theatre, sustaining only the two roles of Lear and Richelieu. These were -his two best parts, and being characters of old men his cruel sciatica -scarcely interfered with his rendering of them. One or two newspaper -writers complained, as if it were a crime in the actor and a personal -offence to them, that “when Forrest came this season to New York he -neglected, and apparently with a purpose, the usual precautions of -metropolitan managers, and seemed to avoid all the modern appliances of -success, either from a contempt for the appliances or from indifference -as to the result.” They did not seem once to suspect that his scorn for -every species of bribery or meretricious advertising, his frank and -careless trust in simple truth, was, considering the corrupt custom of -the times, in the highest degree honorable to him and exemplary for -others. It was always his way to make a plain announcement of his -appearance, and then let the verdict be what it might, with no -interference of his. - -There was no popular rush to see him now. In the crowd of new -excitements and the quick forgetfulness belonging to our day, the -curiosity about him and the interest in him had largely passed away. But -the old friends who rallied at his name, and the respectable numbers of -cultivated people who were glad of a chance to see the most historic -celebrity of the American stage before it should be too late, were -unanimous in their enthusiastic admiration. They declared with one voice -that his playing was filled with wonderful power in general and with -wonderful felicities in detail. That metropolitan press, too, from which -he had so long received not only unjust depreciation, but wrong and -contumely, spoke of him and his performances now in a very different -tone. Its voice appeared a kindly response to what he had privately -written to his friend Oakes: “Well, I am here, here in New York once -more, and on Monday next begin again my professional labor,—labors begun -more than forty years ago in the same city. What changes since then in -men and things! Will any one of that great and enthusiastic audience -which greeted my efforts as a boy, be here on Monday evening next to -witness the matured performance of the man? If so, how I should like to -hear from his own lips if the promises of spring-time have been entirely -fulfilled by the fruits of the autumn of life!” Without any notable -exception, extreme praise was lavished on his acting, and his name was -treated with a tenderness and a respect akin to reverence. It seemed as -though the writers felt some premonition of the near farewell and the -endless exit, and were moved to be just and kind. The late amends -touched the heart of the old player deeply. It was a comfort to him to -be thus appreciated in the city of his greatest pride ere he ceased -acting, and to have the estimates of his friends endorsed in elaborate -critiques from the pens of the best dramatic censors, William Winter, -Henry Sedley, John S. Moray, and others. It is due to him and to them -that some specimens of these notices be preserved here. Space will allow -but a few extracts from the leading articles: - -“Edwin Forrest, the actor, who is identified with much that is -intellectual, picturesque, and magnificently energetic in the history of -the American stage, is again before the New York public. His -reappearance is deeply interesting upon several accounts. His -reputation, far from being confined to the United States, extends -wherever the language of Shakspeare is spoken, and to a great many -countries where translations have rendered that poet’s meanings known. -His name has grown with the name of the American people, and has -greatened with the increasing greatness of the country. At home and -abroad he is recognized as the superbly unique representative of several -characters whose creators owe their inspiration to the genius of -American history. No other actor has presented Americans with such -powerful and original conceptions of King Lear, Coriolanus, and Macbeth. -No other unites such grand physical forces with such intellectual vigor -and delicacy. His hand has an infinity of tints at its command, and his -tenderest touches are never weak. He is, therefore, deservedly and -almost universally considered as the fair representative of what -Americans have most reason to be proud of in the history of their stage. -He is not a weak copyist of foreign originalities and of schools of the -past. His virtues and his vices, dramatically speaking, are his own. His -genius is thoroughly self-responsible, and his strong, conscious, and -magnificent repose is resplendently suggestive of the degree in which -the great actor rates, and has a right to rate himself.” - -“Mr. Forrest can indeed be now admired more than he ever was before; for -his magnificent and picturesque energies are now chastened and -restrained by great intellectual culture, and softened by the presence -of that tender glow which varied experience is pretty sure to ultimately -lend. One strives in vain to recall the name of any other actor, either -in this country or in England, who possesses such immense physical -energies under such perfect subservience to the intellect. We insist -more particularly upon this point, because it is one upon which even the -admirers of Mr. Forrest are not apt to dwell. There is a very large -class of people who are so absorbed in the generous breadth, the -brilliant coloring, and the large treatment of Mr. Forrest’s favorite -themes, that they neglect to give him credit for intellectual niceties -and delicate emotional distinctions. They vulgarly admire merely the -large style and heroic presence of the man, and the rich reverberations -of a voice that all the demands of the entire gamut of passion have not -yet perceptibly worn, and they omit to give him that intellectual -appreciation which is very decidedly his due. In no other character -which he is fond of playing are all these qualifications so harmoniously -united as in Lear. In no other character are the distinctive qualities -of Mr. Forrest’s genius so beautifully blended and played. Those who -have been familiar with his rendering of this character in the days that -are past will take a curious pleasure in accompanying him from scene to -scene, and from act to act, and in remarking how true he remains to the -ideal of his younger years, and how powerful he is in expressing that -ideal. It is a rare thing for an actor to awaken in a later generation -the same quality and degree of delight that he awoke in his own. It is a -rare thing for him to be as youthful in his maturity as he was mature in -his youth, and to thus succeed in delighting those who measure by a -standard more exacting and severe than the standard was which the -public, in an earlier age of American dramatic art, was fond of -applying. Mr. Forrest has passed these tests. We do not care for the -ignorant sarcasm of those who claim that the ‘school’ he represents is a -‘physical’ school. It is a school wherein Mr. Forrest is supreme master, -and where an unrivalled voice and physique are made absolutely -subservient to intellectual expression.” - -“Never were plaudits better deserved by any actor in any age than those -which have been showered down upon Forrest during the past week. His -conception and his rendering of King Lear were alike magnificent. In his -prime, when theatres were crowded by the brightest and fairest of -America, who listened spell-bound to the favorite of the hour, he never -played this character half so well. The idiosyncrasy of his nature -forbade it. The fierce ungovernable fire within him could not be -restrained within the limits of the rôle. Forrest could never modulate -the transport of his feelings. He leaped at once from a calm and even -tenor to the full violence of frenzied anger. There was no _crescendo_, -no gradation. He was so fully possessed of his rôle that he threw aside -every consideration of different circumstances which the case suggested. -He was for the moment Lear, but not Shakspeare’s old man: he was -Forrest’s Lear. Hence the fire of furious anger and the decrepitude of -age were alike exaggerated. But these things have passed away. Age has -tamed the lion-like excesses of the royal Forrest, and his impersonation -of King Lear is now absolutely faultless. Seeing and hearing him under -the disadvantages of a mangled text, a poor company, a miserable _mise -en scène_, and a thin house, the visitor must still be impressed by the -one grand central figure, so eloquent, so strong, so sweet in gentlest -pathos. There is an unconscious reproach in the manner in which he bows -his head to the shouts of applause. He is the King Lear of the American -stage; he gave to his children, the public, all that he had, and now -they have deserted him. They have crowned a new king before whom they -bow, and the old man eloquent is cheered by few voices. The -consciousness of his royal nature supports him. He knows that while he -lives there can be no other head of the American stage; but still he is -deserted and alone. That some such feeling overpowered him when the -flats parted, and the audience, seeing the king on his throne, cheered -him, there can be little doubt. He bowed his head slightly in response -to the acclamations of those scantily-filled seats. But throughout the -play there was an added dignity of sorrow, which showed that the neglect -of the public had wounded him. He knew his fate. He recognized that he -was a discrowned king, and that the fickle public had crowned another -not worthy of sovereignty and having no sceptre of true genius. The play -went on and he became absorbed in his rôle, forgetting in the delirium -of his art that his house was nearly empty. Had there been but five -there, he would have played it. For to him acting is existence, and the -histrionic fire in his bosom can never be quenched save with life. -Actors may come and actors may go, but it will be centuries before a -Lear arises like unto this man Forrest, whom the public seems to have so -nearly forgotten.” - -“The curtain rose a few minutes after eight, and the cold air issuing -from the stage threw a chill over the audience. But when at last the -scene opened and revealed Lear on his throne, the old form in its Jove- -like grandeur, the quiet eye that spoke of worlds of reserved power, -brought back the memories of old, and round after round of applause -stopped the utterance of the opening words. There was such a heartiness -of admiring welcome about the thing, so much of the old feeling of -theatrical enthusiasm, that Forrest felt for once compelled to stand up, -and, with a bend of his leonine head, acknowledge the welcome. He tested -the love of his daughters; he gave away his kingdom, taking, as he gave -it, the sympathies of the audience. He called on the eldest, and was -taunted; he lost his ill-controlled temper, and finally, goaded till his -whole frame seemed about to shatter, he invoked the curse of heaven. As -he spoke, you could hear all over the house that hissing of breath drawn -through the teeth which sudden pain causes, and when the curtain fell -people looked into each other’s eyes in silence. Then you would hear, -‘That is acting.’ ‘It is awful!’ Then suddenly rose bravos, not your -petty clapping of hands, but shouts from boxes and orchestra, and they -came in volleys. The old king tottered calmly out before the curtain, -looked around slowly, and bowed back. But there was now in that quiet -eye a suppressed gleam in which those nearest the stage could read as in -a book the pride and gratification of genius enjoying the effect of its -power.” - -“With the drawbacks of ordinary scenery and a wretched support, Forrest -gives us a Richelieu which at the close of the fourth act nightly draws -forth a perfect whirlwind of applause, and brings the veteran before the -curtain amidst a wild cry of enthusiasm which must stir old memories in -his bosom. His genius spreads an electric glow through the house and -carries the sympathies by storm.” - -“Mr. Forrest’s reading of Richelieu is remarkable for its firmness and -intelligibility of purpose, for its singular pathos, for its often -unaffected melody of elocution, and—in this point approaching his Lear— -for its revelation, at intervals, of unmistakable subtlety of thought. -Like his Lear, too, the part is embroidered over with those swift -touches of electricity that gild and enrich the underlying fabric which -might otherwise appear too weighty and sombre.” - -“The actor who would vitalize this part has no common work to perform. -It is incumbent upon him to make martial heroism visible through a veil -of intellectual finesse, and to indicate the natural soldier-like -qualities of the man projecting through that smoothness and -dissimulation which the ambition of the statesman rendered expedient. It -is necessary for him to develop so that they may be perceived by the -audience those characteristics which Bulwer has unfolded in the play -through the instrumentality of long soliloquies that are necessarily -omitted upon the stage, and unless this is done by the actor the -character is deprived of that subtlety and force and that human -complexity of motive which Bulwer, in spite of his artificiality and -conceits, contrives to make apparent.” - -“This, however, is the task which Mr. Forrest performs to perfection. -Not being a purely intellectual character, Richelieu demands in the -delineation all those aids which are desirable from Mr. Forrest’s august -physique and wonderfully rich voice. A just discrimination compels us to -own that beside this representation that of Mr. Booth appears faint and -pale. A film seems to cover it; whereas the representation of Mr. -Forrest gathers color and strength from the contrast. As a piece of mere -elocution Mr. Forrest’s reading is exquisitely beautiful, the ear -floating upon the profound and varied music of its cadences. But, -flawlessly exquisite as are these graces of enunciation, they are, after -all, merely channels in which the spirit of the entire interpretation -runs. The most cultured man in the audience which last night filled the -Fourteenth Street Theatre might have closely followed every line which -the actor enunciated, without being able to perceive wherein it could be -more heavily freighted with significance.” - -But perhaps the most gratifying testimony borne at this time to the -natural power and artistic genius and skill of Forrest was the following -eloquent article by Mr. Winter, whose repeated previous notices of the -actor had been unfavorable and severe, but who, irresistibly moved, now -showed himself as magnanimous as he was conscientious: - -“Probably the public does not quite yet appreciate either the value of -its opportunity or the importance of improving it. Two facts, therefore, -ought to be strongly stated: one, that Mr. Forrest’s personation of Lear -is an extraordinary work of art; the other, that, in the natural order -of things, it must soon pass forever away from the stage. Those who see -it now will enjoy a luxury and a benefit. Those who miss seeing it now -will sow the seed of a possible future regret. We have not in times past -been accustomed to extol, without considerable qualification, the acting -of Mr. Forrest. This was natural, and it was right. An unpleasant -physical element—the substitution of muscle for brain and of force for -feeling—has usually tainted his performances. That element has been -substantially discarded from his Lear. We have seen him play the part -when he was no more than a strong, resolute, robustious man in a state -of inconsequent delirium. The form of the work, of course, was always -definite. Strength of purpose in Mr. Forrest’s acting always went hand -in hand with strength of person. He was never vague. He knew his intent, -and he was absolutely master of the means that were needful to fulfil -it. Precision, directness, culminating movement, and physical magnetism -were his weapons; and he used them with a firm hand. Self-distrust never -depressed him. Vacillation never defeated his purpose. It was the -triumph of enormous and overwhelming individuality. Lear could not be -seen, because Mr. Forrest stood before him and eclipsed him. - -“All that is greatly modified. Time and suffering seem to have done -their work. It is no secret that Mr. Forrest has passed through a great -deal of trouble. It is no secret that he is an old man. We do not touch -upon these facts in a spirit of heartlessness or flippancy. But what we -wish to indicate is that natural causes have wrought a remarkable change -in Mr. Forrest’s acting, judged, as we now have the opportunity of -judging it, by his thrilling delineation of the tremendous agonies and -the ineffably pathetic madness of Shakspeare’s Lear. In form his -performance is neither more nor less distinct than it was of old. Almost -every condition of symmetry is satisfied in this respect. The port is -kingly; the movement is grand; the transitions are natural; the delivery -is resonant; the intellect is potential; the manifestations of madness -are accurate; the method is precise. But, beyond all this, there is now -a spiritual quality such as we have not seen before in this extremely -familiar work. Here and there, indeed, the actor uses his ancient snort, -or mouths a line for the sake of certain words that intoxicate his -imagination by their sound and movement. Here and there, also, he -becomes suddenly and inexplicably prosaic in his rendering of meanings. -But these defects are slight in contrast with the numberless beauties -that surround and overshadow them. We have paid to this personation the -involuntary and sincere tribute of tears. We cannot, and would not -desire to, withhold from it the merited recognition of critical praise. -Description it can scarcely be said to require. Were we to describe it -in detail, however, we should dwell, with some prolixity of remark, upon -the altitude of imaginative abstraction which Mr. Forrest attains in the -mad scenes. Shakspeare’s Lear is a person with the most tremulously -tender heart and the most delicately sensitive and poetical mind -possible to mortal man, and his true grandeur appears in his overthrow, -which is pathetic for that reason. The shattered fragments of the column -reveal its past magnificence. No man can play Lear in these scenes so as -to satisfy, even approximately, the ideal inspired by Shakspeare’s text -unless he knows, whether by intuition or by experience, the vanity, the -mutability, the hollowness of this world. The deepest deep of philosophy -is sounded here, and the loftiest height of pathos is attained. It is -high praise to say that Mr. Forrest, whether consciously or -unconsciously, interprets these portions of the tragedy in such a manner -as frequently to enthrall the imagination and melt the heart. The -miserable desolation of a noble and tender nature scathed and blasted by -physical decay and by unnatural cruelty looks out of his eyes and speaks -in his voice. This may be only the successful simulation of practised -art; but, whatever it be, its power and beauty and emotional influence -are signal and irresistible.” - -The New York “Courier” said, in a striking editorial, “The engagement of -Edwin Forrest at the Fourteenth Street Theatre, and the praises lavished -on him by the whole press of this city, afford us an opportunity to make -a little contribution to the truth of history.” The “Courier,” after -maintaining that Forrest had always been a great actor, and that the -total change of tone in the press was not so much owing to his -improvement as to the fact that time had softened and removed the -prejudices of his judges, continues,— - -“When Edwin Forrest, who might have been called at the time the American -boy tragedian, was playing at the Old Bowery, and Edmund Kean at the Old -Park, there was a little society of gentlemen in this city, who were -passionate admirers of the drama. Young in years, they were already ripe -in scholarship and profound as well as independent critics. Amongst -them, and constantly associating together, were Anthony L. Robertson, -afterwards Vice-Chancellor; John Nathan, afterwards law partner with -Secretary Fish; John Lawrence; John K. Keese, better known as ‘Kinney -Keese,’ the wittiest and most learned of book auctioneers, whose mind -was a Bodleian Library and whose tongue a telegraph battery of joke and -repartee, and a dozen others,—all since eminent at the bar, in -literature, or in national politics. Their little semi-social, semi- -literary society was known as ‘The Column,’ and subsisted for many -years. During the rival engagements of Kean and Forrest these gentlemen -went backwards and forwards between the ‘Park’ and the ‘Bowery,’ and -after witnessing the ‘Lear’ of the greatest of English actors since -Garrick, and the Lear of Forrest, unanimously decided, upon the most -careful and critical discussion, that, great as Kean was, Forrest was -THE Lear. Unhappily he was only an American boy, and American actors -were not then the fashion. It was in the days of Anglomania, and the -fashion was to pooh-pooh everything that had not graduated at Covent -Garden or Drury Lane and lacked the full diploma of cockney approbation. -Forrest, both as man and actor, was a full-blooded American and a sturdy -Democrat,—two fearful crimes at a time when art was measured wholly by -an English standard and politics reduced criticism to almost as -despicable servility as they do now. Happily for the impartiality of -discussion in art we have outlived the period of Anglomania, and are -rather virtuously proud than otherwise of anything genuinely American. -And this Edwin Forrest is. His career, too, is a fine example at once of -personal devotion to art, and of ‘the sober second thought of the -people,’ which all the critics failed to alter. For, even when the -latter were most mad against him, he always drew crowds, and we may say -safely, by the power of native genius, supported only by an iron will, -he has shone for fifty years, with increasing lustre, as a star in the -dramatic firmament. William Leggett of the Evening _Post_, who was a -power in New York politics and loved Forrest as a brother, tried to draw -him, in his early manhood, into politics. Had the latter consented to -abandon his profession, he might have commanded, at that time, any -nomination in the gift of the New York Democracy, and risen to the -highest political employments in the State. But he had chosen art as a -mistress, and refused to abandon her for the colder but equally exacting -idol of the mind,—political ambition. It is to this refusal we owe the -fact that our stage is still graced by the greatest actor America has -ever produced.” - -The dramatic season of 1871–72 gave an astonishing proof of the vital -endurance and popular attractiveness of the veteran player, then in his -sixty-sixth year. Between October 1st and April 4th he travelled over -seven thousand miles, acted in fifty-two different places, one hundred -and twenty-eight nights, and received the sum of $39,675.47. He began at -the Walnut Street Theatre, Philadelphia, proceeded to Columbus and -Cincinnati, and then appeared in regular succession at New Orleans, -Galveston, Houston, Nashville, Omaha, and Kansas City. At Kansas City -excursionists were brought by railroad from the distance of a hundred -and fifty miles, at three dollars each the round trip. From this place -his series of engagements took him to Saint Louis, Quincy, Pittsburg, -Cleveland, Buffalo, Detroit, Rochester, Syracuse, Utica, Troy, and -Albany. From Albany he journeyed to Boston, where he opened an -engagement at the Globe Theatre with Lear, before an audience of great -brilliancy completely crowding the house. He had a triumph in every way -flattering, although the herculean toils of the season behind him had -most severely taxed his strength. How he played may be imagined from the -following report, made by a distinguished author in a private letter. “I -went last night to see Forrest. I saw Lear himself; and never can I -forget him, the poor, discrowned, wandering king, whose every look and -tone went to the heart. Though mimic sorrows latterly have little power -over me, I could not suppress my tears in the last scene. The tones of -the heart-broken father linger in my ear like the echo of a distant -strain of sad sweet music, inexpressibly mournful, yet sublime. The -whole picture will stay in my memory so long as soul and body hang -together.” - -On the Monday and Tuesday evenings of the second week, he appeared as -Richelieu. He had taken a severe cold, and was suffering so badly from -congestion and hoarseness that Oakes tried to persuade him not to act. -He could not be induced, he said, to disappoint the audience by failing -to keep his appointment. Oakes accompanied him to his dressing-room, -helped him on with his costume, and, when the bell rang, led his -tottering steps to the stage entrance. The instant the foot of the -veteran touched the stage and his eye caught the footlights and the -circling expanse of expectant faces, he straightened up as if from an -electric shock and was all himself. At the end of each scene Oakes was -waiting at the wing to receive him and almost carry him to a chair. -Besought to take some stimulant, he replied, “No: if I die to-night, -they shall find no liquor in me. My mind shall be clear.” And so he -struggled on, playing by sheer dint of will, with fully his wonted -spirit and energy, but the moment he left the eyes of the audience -seeming almost in a state of collapse. The play was drawing near its -end. And this, though no one thought of it, this was to be the last -appearance of Edwin Forrest on the stage. Débût, Rosalia de Borgia,— -interval of fifty-five years with slow illumination of the continent by -his fame,—exit, Richelieu! Oakes stood at the wing, all anxiety, peering -in and listening intently. The characters were grouped in the final -tableau. He stood central, resting on his left foot, his right slightly -advanced and at ease, his right arm lifted and his venerable face -upturned. Then his massive and solemn voice, breaking clear from any -impediment, was heard articulating with a mournful beauty the last words -of the play: - - “There is ONE above - Sways the harmonious mystery of the world - Even better than prime ministers. Alas! - Our glories float between the earth and heaven - Like clouds that seem pavilions of the sun - And are the playthings of the casual wind. - Still, like the cloud which drops on unseen crags - The dews the wild-flower feeds on, our ambition - May from its airy height drop gladness down - On unsuspected virtue; and the flower - May bless the cloud when it hath passed away.” - -Then, instead of inclining for the rise of the audience and the fall of -the curtain, he gazed for an instant musingly into vacancy, and, as if -some strange intuition or prophetic spirit had raised the veil of fate, -uttered from his own mind the significant words, “_And so it ends_.” - -He slept little that night, and, the next day, was clearly so much worse -that Oakes insisted resolutely that he should not act at any rate. He -was announced for Virginius, and was so set on going that his friend had -almost to use force to restrain him. Dr. S. W. Langmaid, so justly -eminent for his faithful skill, was called. He said, positively, “If you -undertake to act to-night, Mr. Forrest, you will in all likelihood die -upon the stage.” He replied, pointing to Oakes, “Then I owe my life to -that dear old fellow yonder; for if he had not obstinately resisted I -should certainly have gone.” Pneumonia set in, and for more than a week -a fatal result was feared. During all this time Oakes was his constant -nurse, catching a few moments of sleep when he could, but for the whole -period of danger never taking off his clothes except for a daily bath. -Unwearied and incessant in attentions, he left not his station until his -friend was so far recovered as to be able to start for Philadelphia. The -day after the convalescent reached home he wrote a letter of -affectionate acknowledgment to Oakes for all the services rendered with -such a loving fidelity. Here is an extract from it: “The air is sunny, -warm, and delicious, and I am pervaded by a feeling of rest which -belongs only to home. How marvellously I was spared from death’s -effacing fingers, and permitted for a little longer time to worship God -in the glad sunshine of his eternal temple. To your tender care and -solicitude during my illness I owe everything.” And thus the old tie of -friendship between the pair received another degree of depth and was -cemented with a new seal. - -Here it is fit to pause awhile in the narrative, go back a little to -gather up a few interesting things not yet mentioned, and supplement the -account previously given of his inner life by some further description -of the kind of man he was in social intercourse and in the privacy of -his home during his last years. - -His home was always a charmed and happy place to him, although -sorrowfully vacant of wife and children. He took great delight in the -works of art he had collected. In his picture-gallery he had paintings -of which he really made friends; and often of a night when he was -restless he would rise, go to them, light the gas, and gaze on them as -if they had a living sympathy to soothe and bless his spirit. But his -library was the favorite haunt where he felt himself indeed at ease and -supplied with just the ministration and companionship he craved. It -opened in the rear upon a spacious garden. Mr. Rees once asked him why -he did not clear up this garden and beautify it with more flower-beds. -He answered, “I prefer the trees. When I sit here alone the whistling of -the wind through their branches sounds like a voice from another world.” -He always went away with regret and came back with pleasure. Nor was his -satisfaction altogether solitary. Writing to Oakes once he says, “Yes, -my friend, I am indeed happy once more to reach this sweet haven of -rest, my own dear home. My sisters received me with the greatest joy, -the servants with unaffected gladness, and the two dogs actually went -into ecstasies over me. It was a welcome fit for an emperor.” - -The loss of his three sisters one by one struck heavy blows on his -heart, and left his house darker each time than it had been before. In -1863 he writes,— - - “DEAR FRIEND OAKES,—I cannot sufficiently thank you for the kind - words of sympathy you have expressed for me in my late unhappy - bereavement—the loss of my dear sister Henrietta, who on the death - of my beloved mother devoted her whole life to me. Her wisdom was - indeed a lamp to my feet, and her love a joy to my heart. Ah, my - friend, we cannot but remember such things were that were most dear - to us. Do we love our friends more as we advance in life, that our - loss of them is so poignant, while in youth we see them fall around - us like leaves in winter weather as though the next spring would - once more restore them? I read your letter to my remaining sisters, - and they thanked you with their tears. You may remember that once - under a severe affliction of your own—the death of a loved friend—I - endeavored to console you with the hope of immortality. That fails - me now.” - -In 1869 he wrote again, “My sister Caroline died last night. We have a -sad house. Why under such bereavements has God not given us some -comforting reasonable hope in the future, where these severed ties of -friendship and love may be again united? Man’s vanity and self-love have -betrayed him into such a belief; but who knows that the fact -substantiates it?” And in 1871 once more he wrote, “My sister Eleanora -is dead, and there is now no one on earth whose veins bear blood like -mine. My heart is desolate.” This obituary notice appeared at the time: - -“The death of Eleanora Forrest, sister of Mr. Edwin Forrest the -tragedian, has cast a gloom over the large circle of her acquaintances, -which time alone can dispel; but the gloom which rests over the -household in which her gentle sway and influence brought peace and -happiness no change of time or season can ever remove. To one, at least, -the light of home went out with her life. To one, now the last of his -race, his splendid mansion will be as some stately hall deserted. Its -light has gone out; the garlands which her hands twined are dead; ‘the -eyes that shone, now dimmed and gone,’ will only appear again to him in -memory. Memory, however, - - “‘Is but a gift - Within a ruined temple left, - Recalling what its beauties were - And then painting what they are.’ - -“There was something so mild, so pure, so Christian-like, in this lady, -that her passing away from us is but a translation from earth to Heaven, -like a flower blooming here for awhile to find eternal blossom there. - -“Kind, gentle, with a hand open to charity, she did not remain at home -awaiting the call of the destitute and suffering, but when the storms -and the tempests of winter came and the poor were suffering, bearing -their poverty and wretchedness in silence, she came forth unsolicited to -aid them. We could name many instances of this; but she, who while -living did not wish her charities known, receives her reward from One -who reads the human heart and sways the destinies of mankind. The writer -of this speaks feelingly of one whom it was a pleasure and a happiness -to know. If ever a pure spirit left its earthly tenement to follow -father, mother, brothers, and sisters to the home ‘eternal in the -skies,’ it was that of Eleanora Forrest. There are many left to mourn -her loss, but only one of kindred remains to grieve. To him the -knowledge of her many virtues, sisterly affection, and the bright -hereafter, must bring that peace no friendly aid can effect. Let us -remember, in our hours of affliction, that - - “‘Life’s a debtor to the grave, - Dark lattice, letting in eternal day.’” - -The revolutions of his tempestuous blood, the resentful memory of -wrongs, the keen perception of insincerity, shallowness, and -evanescence, and the want of any grounded faith in a future life gave -Forrest many hours of melancholy, of bitterness, and almost of despair. -But he never, not even in the darkest hour, became a misanthrope or an -atheist. In one of his commonplace books he had copied these lines which -he was often heard to quote: - - “The weariness, the wildness, the unrest, - Like an awakened tempest, would not cease; - And I said in my sorrow, Who is blessed? - What is good? What is truth? Where is peace?” - -A few of his characteristic expressions in his depressed moods may have -interest for the reader: - -“Is there then no rest but in the grave? Rest without the consciousness -of rest? The rest of annihilation?” - -“I am very sad and disheartened at the iniquitous decisions of these -juries and judges. I could willingly die now with an utter contempt for -this world and a perfect indifference to my fate in the next.” - -“I wish the great Day of Doom were not a chimera. What a solace it would -be to all those whom man has so deeply wronged!” - -“This human life is a wretched failure, and the sooner annihilation -comes to it the better.” - -While these impulsive phrases reveal his intense and unstable -sensibility, they must be taken with great allowance, or they will do -injustice to his better nature. They are transitory phases of experience -betraying his weakness. In his deeper and clearer moods he felt a -strange and profound presentiment of immortality, and surmised that this -life was neither the first nor the last of us. But living as he did -mostly for this material world and its prizes, he could not hold his -mind steadily to the sublime height of belief in the eternal life of the -soul. And so all sorts of doubts came in and were recklessly -entertained. Had his spirituality equalled his sensibility and -intelligence, and had he aimed at personal perfection as zealously as he -aimed at professional excellence, his faith in immortality would have -been as unshakable as was his faith in God. Also could he have filled -his soul with the spirit of forgiveness and charity instead of harboring -tenacious instincts of hate and disgust, he would have been a serene and -benignant man. His complaining irritability would have vanished in a -devout contentment; for he would have seen a plan of exact compensations -everywhere threading the maze of human life. - -But then he would not have been Edwin Forrest. Inconsistent extremes, -unregulated impulsiveness, unsubdued passion, some moral incongruity of -character and conduct, of intuition and thought, belonged to his type of -being. It is only required that those who assume to judge him shall be -just, and not be misled by any superficial or partial appearance of good -or evil to give an unfair verdict. His defects were twofold, and he had -to pay the full penalty for them. First, no man can lead a really happy -and noble life, in the high and true sense of the words, who is infested -with feelings of hate and loathing towards persons who have injured him -or shown themselves detestable. He must refuse to entertain such -emotions, and with a magnanimous and loving heart contemplate the fairer -side of society. For almost all our experience, whether we know it or -not, is strained through and tested and measured by our emotional -estimates of our fellow-men. It is chiefly in them, or in ourselves as -affected by our thoughts of them, that God reveals himself to us or -hides himself from us. Second, Forrest not only dwelt too much on mean -or hostile persons and on real or fancied wrongs, but he did not live -chiefly for the only ends which are worthy to be the supreme aim of man. -The genuine ends of a man in this world are to glorify God, to serve -humanity, and to perfect himself. And these three are inseparably -conjoined, a triune unity. The man who faithfully lives for these -religious ends will surely attain peace of mind and unwavering faith in -a Providence which orders everything and cannot err. The highest -conscious ends of Forrest were not religious, but were to glorify his -art, to perfect his strength and skill, and to win the ordinary prizes -of society,—wealth, fame, and pleasure. Elements of the superior aims -indeed entered largely into his spirit and conduct, but were not his -proposed and consecrating aim. This, as now frankly set forth, was his -failure, and the lesson it has for other men. - -But, on the other hand, he had his praiseworthy success. If he was -inferior to the best men, he was greatly superior to most men. For he -was no hypocrite, parasite, profligate, squanderer of his own resources, -or usurper of the rights of others. After every abatement it will be -said of him, by all who knew the man through and through, that he was -great and original in personality, honest in every fibre, truthful and -upright according to the standard of his own conscience, tender and -sweet and generous in the inmost impulses of his soul. On the other -hand, it must be admitted that he was often the obstinate victim of -injurious and unworthy prejudices, and abundantly capable of a profanity -that was vulgar and of animosities that were ferocious. This is written -in the very spirit which he himself inculcated on his biographer, to -whom he addressed these words with his own hand in 1870: “Having -revealed myself and my history to you without disguise or affectation, I -say, Tell the blunt truth in every particular you touch, no matter where -it hits or what effect it may have. To make it easier for you, I could -well wish that my whole life, moral and mental, professional and social, -could have been photographed for your use in this biographical -undertaking. And then, ‘though all occasions should inform against me,’ -though I might have too much cause to sigh over my many weaknesses and -follies, no single act of mine, I am sure, should ever make me blush -with shame. I always admired the spirit of Cromwell, who said sternly, -when an artist in taking his portrait would have omitted the disfiguring -wart on his face, ‘Paint me as I am!’” - -Forrest was one of those elemental men who want always to live in direct -contact with great realities, and cannot endure to accept petty -substitutes for them, or pale phantoms of them at several removes. He -craved to taste the substantial goods of the earth in their own -freshness, and refused to be put off with mere social symbols of them. -He loved the grass, the wind, the sun, the rain, the sky, the mountains, -the thunder, the democracy. He loved his country earnestly, truth -sincerely, his art profoundly, men and women passionately and made them -love him passionately,—the last too often and too much. For these -reasons he is an interesting and contagious character, and, as his -figure is destined to loom in history, it is important that his best -traits be appreciated at their full worth. - -It is but justice, as an offset to his occasional fits of the blues and -to the lugubrious sentiments he then expressed, some of which were -quoted a page or two back, to affirm the truth that if he suffered more -than most people he likewise enjoyed much more. Prevailingly he loved -the world, and set a high value on life and took uncommon pains to -secure longevity. As a general thing his spirit of enjoyment was sharp -and strong. One illustration of this was the pronounced activity of the -element of humor in him. This humor was sometimes grim, almost sardonic, -and bordering on irony and satire, but often breathed itself out in a -sunny playfulness. This lubricated the joints and sockets of the soul, -so to speak, and made the mechanism of experience move smoothly when -otherwise it would have gritted harshly with great frictional waste in -unhappy resistances. It is difficult to give in words due illustration -of this quality, of its genial manifestations in his manner, and of its -happy influence on his inner life. But all his intimate friends know -that the trait was prominent in him and of great importance. When on -board the steamer bound for California, sick and wretched, he sent for -the captain, and with great earnestness demanded, “For how much will you -sell this ship and cargo?” After giving a rough estimate of the value, -the captain asked, “But why do you wish to know this?” Forrest answered, -“I want to scuttle her and end this detestable business by sinking the -whole concern to the bottom of the sea!” A soft-spoken clergyman, who -occupied the next state-room, overheard him giving energetic expression -to his discontent, and called on him to expostulate on the duty of -forbearance and patience, saying, “Our Saviour, you know, was always -patient.” “Yes,” retorted the actor, grimly, “but our Saviour went to -sea only once, and then he disliked it so much that he got out and -walked. Unfortunately, we cannot do that.” - -At another time a Calvinistic divine had been trying to convince him of -the punitive character of death, arguing that death was not the original -destiny of man, but a penalty imposed for sin. “What,” said Forrest, “do -you mean to say that if it had not been for that unlucky apple we should -have seen old Adam hobbling around here still?” - -Even to the end of his life he had the heart of a boy, and when with -trusted friends it was ever and anon breaking forth in a playfulness and -a jocosity which would have astonished those who deemed him so stern and -lugubrious a recluse. One day he went into a druggist’s shop where he -was familiar, for some little article. The druggist chanced to be alone -and stooping very low behind his counter pouring something from a jug. -Forrest slipped up and leaning over him thundered in his ear with full -pomp of declamation, “An ounce of civet, good apothecary!” The poor -trader revealed his comic fright by a bound from the floor which would -not have disgraced a gymnast. - -On arriving at the places where he was to act he was often annoyed by -strangers who pressed about him with pestering importunity merely from a -vulgar curiosity. On these occasions he would sometimes, as he reached -the hotel and saw the crowd, leap out of the carriage, say with a low -bow to his agent, “Please keep your seat, Mr. Forrest, and I will -inquire about a room,” and then vanish, laughing in his sleeve, and -leaving the embarrassed McArdle to sustain the situation as best he -might. - -His just and complacent pride in his work, too, kept him from being -chronically any such disappointed and grouty complainer as he might -sometimes appear. It is a sublime joy for a man of genius, a great -artist, to feel, as the reward of heroic labor engrafted on great -endowment, that his rank is at the top of the world; that in some -particulars he is superior to all the twelve hundred millions of men -that are alive. There were passages in the acting of Forrest, besides -the terrific burst of passion in the curse of Lear, which he might well -believe no other man on earth could equal. - -The knowledge and culture of Forrest were in no sense limited to the -range of his profession. He was uncommonly well educated, not only by a -wide acquaintance with books, but also by a remarkably varied -observation and experience of the world. Whenever he spoke or wrote, -some proof appeared of his reading and reflection. Speaking of Humboldt, -he said, “Humboldt was a man open to truth without a prejudice. He was -to the tangible and physical world what Shakspeare was to the mind and -heart of man.” Characterizing a religious discourse which much pleased -him, he said, “Its logic is incontrovertible, its philosophy -unexceptionable, and its humanity most admirable,—quite different from -those homilies which people earth with demons, heaven with slaves, and -hell with men.” On one occasion, alluding to the facts that Shakspeare -when over forty attended the funeral of his mother, and that his boy -Hamnet died at the age of twelve, he regretted that the peerless poet -had not written out what he must then have felt, and given it to the -world. His genius under such an inspiration might have produced -something which would have made thenceforth to the end of time all -parents who read it treat their children more tenderly, all children -love and honor their parents more religiously. But, he added, it seemed -contrary to the genius of Shakspeare to utilize his own experience for -any didactic purpose. At another time he said, “Shakspeare is the most -eloquent preacher that ever taught humanity to man. The sermons he -uttered will be repeated again and again with renewed and unceasing -interest not only in his own immortal pages, but from the inspired lips -of great tragedians through all the coming ages of the world.” - -A touching thing in Forrest in his last years was the unpurposed organic -revelation in his voice of what he had suffered in the battle of life. -What he had experienced of injustice and harshness, of selfishness and -treachery, of beautiful things relentlessly snatched away by time and -death, had left a permanent memorial in the unstudied tones and cadences -of his speech. As he narrated or quoted or read, his utterance was -varied in close keeping with what was to be expressed. But the moment he -fell back on himself, and gave spontaneous utterance from within, there -was a perpetual recurrence of a minor cadence, a half-veiled sigh, a -strangely plaintive tone, sweet and mournful as the wail of a dying wind -in a hemlock grove. - -A trait of Forrest, to which all his friends will testify, was the -perfect freedom of his usual manner in private life from all -theatricality or affectation. His bearing was natural and honest, -varying truthfully with his impulses. With an actor so powerfully marked -as he this is not common. Most great actors carry from their -professional into their daily life some fixed strut of attitude or -chronic stilt of elocution or pompous trick of quotation. It was not so -with Forrest, and his detachment from all such habits, his straight-on -simplicity, were an honor to him and a charm to those who could -appreciate the suppression of the shop in the manly assertion of dignity -and rectitude. He had no swagger, though he had a swing which belonged -to his heavy equilibrium. His speech attracted attention only from its -uncommon ease and finish, not from any ostentation. The actor, it has -been justly said, is so far contemptible who keeps his mock grandeur on -when his buskins are off, and orders a coffee-boy with the air of a -Roman general commanding an army. He seems ever to say by his manner, It -is easier to be a hero than to act one. Charles Lamb relates that a -friend one day said to Elliston, “I like Wrench because he is the same -natural easy creature on the stage that he is off.” Elliston replied, -with charming unconsciousness, “My case exactly. I am the same person -off the stage that I am on.” The inference instead of being identical -was opposite. The one was never acting, the other always. Mrs. Siddons, -it is said, used to stab the potatoes, and call for a teaspoon in a tone -that curdled the blood of the waiter. Once when she was buying a piece -of calico at a shop in Bath, she interrupted the voluble trader by -inquiring, Will it wash? with an accent that made him start back from -the counter. John Philip Kemble, dissatisfied with Sheridan’s management -and resolved to free himself from all engagements with him, rose in the -greenroom like a slow pillar of state, and said to that astonished -individual, “I am an eagle whose wings have long been bound down by -frosts and snows; but now I shake my pinions and cleave into the general -air unto which I am born.” Sheridan looked into the heart of the eagle, -and with a few wheedling words smoothed his ruffled plumage and made him -coo like a dove in response to new proposals. Greatness of soul is -necessary for a great actor, quick detachableness, and facility of -transitions, with full understanding, sensibility, and fire; but cold -counterfeits of these, empty forms of them swollen out with mechanic -pomp, are as odious as they are frequent. Some are great only when -inspired and set off by grand adjuncts; others are great by the native -build of their being. Forrest was of this latter class. He knew how to -act in the theatre, and to be simple and sincere in the parlor. - -But, when all is said, the greatest quality and charm of Forrest, the -deepest hiding of his magnetism, was his softness and truth of heart, -the quickness, strength, and beauty of his affection. Bitter experience -had taught him, before he was an old man, not to wear his heart on his -sleeve for the heartless to peck at it. But how shallow the observation -which, not seeing his heart on his sleeve, incontinently concluded that -he had none! The reverential gratitude with which he delighted to dwell -on the memory of his mother, the yearning fondness with which he was -wont to recall the names of his early benefactors and dwell on the -thought of the few living friends who had been ever kind and true to -him, amply demonstrated the strong grasp of his affection. “My mother,” -he one day said to him who now copies his words, “was weeping on a -certain occasion in my early childhood when she was hard pressed by -poverty and care. My father, in his grave, almost awful way, said to -her, ‘Do not weep, Rebecca. It will do no good. I know it is very dark -here. But it is all right. Above the clouds the sun is still shining.’ I -remember it made a great impression on my young mind; and many a time in -afterlife it came up and was a comfort to me. Ah, what, what would I not -give if I could really believe that when that dear good soul left the -earth my father met her ‘on a happier shore,’ and said, ‘Rebecca, you -will weep no more now. Did I not tell you it was all right?’” After the -death of Forrest, nigh a quarter of a century after it was written, was -found among his papers a faded and tear-stained letter, enclosing two -withered leaves, which read thus: - - “EDWIN FORREST, ESQ., FONTHILL: - - “These leaves were taken from your mother’s grave, on Sunday, August - 5th, 1849, and are presented as a humble but sacred memorial by your - friend, - - “W. H. M.” - -There is no surer proof of plentifulness of love within than is shown by -its finding vent in endearments lavished on lower creatures and on -inanimate things,—flowers, books, pictures, birds, dogs, horses. All -these were copiously loved by Forrest. All his life he had some dog for -a friend, and for the last twenty years he kept two or more. In the -summer of 1870 a little turkey in his garden, only a week old, by some -accident got its leg broken. He saw it, and commiserately picked up the -poor thing, carefully set its leg, laid it in a basket of wool, hung it -in a tree in the sunshine, and tenderly nursed and fed it till it was -whole. This and the succeeding incidents occurred under the observation -of his biographer, who was then paying him a visit. - -He used to go into his stable and pat and fondle his horses and talk -with them, looking in their eyes and smoothing their necks, as if they -had full intelligence and sympathy with him. “Why, Brownie, poor -Brownie, handsome Brownie, are you not happy to come out to-day?” he -said, as we rode along the Wissahickon, in a tone so tender and sad that -it moistened the eyes of his human hearer. It was his custom to go up -the river-side to a secluded place, and there get out and feed the horse -with apples. One day he had forgotten his supply, and, as he dismounted -and walked along in front of Brownie, he was touched to find the -intelligent creature following him, smelling at his pockets and nudging -him for her apples. - -In one aspect it was beautiful, in another it was mournful, to see him -going about his house, lonely, lonely, solacing himself for what was -absent with humble substitutes. He had a mocking-bird wonderfully gifted -and a great favorite with him and his sister. It bore the nickname of -Bob. In moulting it fell sick, lost both voice and sight, and seemed to -be dying. The great soft-hearted tragedian, thought by many to be so -gruff and savage, was overheard, as he stood before the cage, talking to -the sick bird, “Ah, poor Bob, poor Bob! Your myriad-voiced throat has -filled my house with wondrous melodies these years past. Why must this -cruel affliction come to you? You are a sinless creature. You cannot do -any harm. It perplexes my philosophy to know why you should have to -suffer in this way. Ah, little Bob, where now are all your sweet -mockeries? Blind? Dumb? It cuts me to the very soul to think of it. Ah, -well, well!” And he tottered slowly away, musing, quite as his Lear used -to do on the stage when unkindness had broken the old royal heart. - -Another characteristic incident is worth relating. He had a chamber at -the Metropolitan Hotel fronting on Broadway. Oakes and the present -writer were in a rear room. He sent for us to come to him and see the -funeral-procession of Farragut pass. He sank on his knees at the open -window as the sacred corse went by, and we saw the tears streaming down -his cheeks. The bands played a dirge, and the soldiers and marines -marched on, visible masses of music in blue and gold, as the sailors -proudly carried their dead admiral through the central artery of the -nation, and every heart seemed vibrating with reverence and grief. “The -grandest thing about this,” said Forrest, “is that he was a good man, -worthy of all the honor he receives. He whose modesty kept his bosom -from ever swelling with complacency while he was alive may now well -exult in death, as the sailors, unwilling to confide their commander to -any catafalque, lovingly bear him on their shoulders to his grave.” - -The love which Forrest had for children was one of the deepest traits of -his disposition. This tenderness was the same all through his career, -except that it seemed to grow more profound and pensive in his age. Two -anecdotes selected from among many will set this quality in an -interesting light. When he was in the fullest strength of his manhood -and was acting in Boston at the old National Theatre, there was at his -hotel a very sick child whose mother was quite worn out with nursing it. -Forrest begged permission to take care of the little sufferer through -the succeeding night, that the mother might sleep. The mother, fearing -that the terrible Metamora would prove rather a repulsive nurse for her -darling, hesitated, but at length gave consent. At the close of the play -he hurried back with so much haste that half the paint was left on one -of his cheeks. Through the whole night, hour after hour, he paced up and -down the room, tenderly soothing the fevered babe, which lay on his -great chest with nothing but a silk shirt between its face and his skin. -The mother slept, and so did the child. And when the doctor came in the -morning, he said that the care of Forrest and the vitality the infant -drew from his body during the long hours had saved its life. - - All night long the baby-voice - Wailed pitiful and low; - All night long the mother paced - Wearily to and fro, - Striving to woo to those dim eyes - Health-giving slumbers deep; - Striving to stay the fluttering life - With heavenly balm of sleep. - - Three nights have passed—the fourth has come; - O weary, weary feet! - That still must wander to and fro— - Relief and rest were sweet. - But still the pain-wrung, ceaseless moan - Breaks from the baby-breast, - And still the mother strives to soothe - The suffering child to rest. - - Lo, at the door a giant form - Stands sullen, grand, and vast! - Over that broad brow every storm - Life’s clouds can send has passed. - Those features of heroic mould - Can waken awe or fear; - Those eyes have known Othello’s scowl, - The maniac glare of Lear. - - The deep, full voice, whose tones can sweep - In thunder to the ear, - Has learned such softness that the babe - Can only smile to hear. - The strong arms fold the little form - Upon the massive breast. - “Go, mother, _I_ will watch your child,” - He whispers; “go and rest!” - - All night long the giant form - Treads gently to and fro; - All night long the deep voice speaks - In murmured soothings low, - Until the rose-light of the morn - Flushes the far-off skies: - In slumber sweet on Forrest’s breast - At last the baby lies. - - O Saviour, Thou didst bid one day - The children come to Thee! - He who has served Thy little ones, - Hath he not, too, served Thee? - Low lies the actor now at rest - Beneath the summer light; - Sweet be his sleep as that he gave - The suffering child that night! - - LUCY H. HOOPER. - -The other anecdote, though less dramatic, is of still deeper -significance as a revelation of his soul. During the last ten or twelve -years of his life, when he was fulfilling his engagements in the -different cities, he used so to time and direct his walks that he might -be near some great public school at the hour when the children were -dismissed. There he would stand—the grim-looking, lonely old man, whose -surface might be hard, but whose heart was very soft—and gaze with a -thoughtful and loving regard on the throng of boys and girls as they -rushed out bubbling over with delight, variously sorting and grouping -themselves on their way home. This was a great enjoyment to him, though -not unmixed with an attractive pain. It soothed his childless soul with -ideal parentage, gave him a bright glad life in reflected sympathy with -the dancing shouters he saw, and stirred in his imagination a thousand -dreams, now of the irrevocable past, now of the mysterious future. - -Resuming the narrative with the opening of June, 1872, Forrest is lying -in his bed in a woeful state, brought on him by a nostrum called -“Jenkins’s cure for gout.” A doctor Jenkins of New Orleans told him if -he would take it, it would produce an excruciating attack of the -disease, but would then eradicate it from the system and effect a -permanent cure. He took it. He experienced the excruciating attack. The -permanent cure did not follow. As soon as Oakes learned of his -situation, body racked with torture, limbs palsied, mind at times -unhinged and wandering, he started for the scene. His own words will -best describe their meeting. “When I entered his chamber he was in a -doze, and I stood at his bedside until he awoke. Opening his eyes, he -gazed steadily into my face for about a minute. He knew me then, and -said, in the most touching manner, ‘My friend, I am always glad to see -you, but never in my life so much so as now.’ Again looking steadily at -me for about a minute, he said, ‘Oakes, put my hand in yours: it is -paralyzed but true.’ I took his hand tenderly from the bed and placed it -in mine. He could not move the fingers, but I felt his noble heart throb -through them. At once I began organizing my hospital. I had him washed, -his flannel and the bed-linen changed, the doors and windows flung wide -open, and gave him all he could take of the best of nourishment,— -strawberries, fresh buttermilk, and beef tea strong enough to draw four -hundred pounds the whole length of the house. Already he is greatly -improved. I keep him perfectly quiet, allowing no one on any excuse -whatever to see him.” Under this style of doctoring and nursing, all -impregnated with the magnetism of friendship, it was natural that in -three weeks he should be comfortably about his house, as he was. - -One morning in the midst of his illness, but when he had passed a night -free from pain, and his mind was in a most serene state yet marked by -great exaltation of thought and language, he began relating to Oakes, in -the most eloquent manner, his recollections of old Joseph Jefferson, the -great comedian. He told how when a boy he had visited that beautiful and -gifted old man; what poverty and what purity and high morality were in -his household; how he had educated his children; and how at last he had -died among strangers, heart-broken by ingratitude. He told how he had -seen him act Dogberry in a way that out-topped all comparison; how at a -later time he had again seen him play the part of the Fool in Lear so as -to set up an idol in the memory of the beholders, for he insinuated into -the words such wonderful contrasts of the greatness and misery and -mystery of life with the seeming ignorant and innocent simplicity of the -comments on them, that comedy became wiser and stronger than tragedy. - -His listener afterwards said, “We two were alone. Never had I seen him -so deeply and so loftily stirred in his very soul as he was then about -Jefferson. His eulogy had more moral dignity and intense religious -feeling than any sermon I ever heard from the pulpit. It was as grand -and fine as anything said by Cicero. This was especially true of his -closing words. When he seemed to have emptied his heart in admiring -praises on the old player, he ended thus, querying with himself as if -soliloquizing: ‘Is it possible that all of such a man can go into the -ground and rot, and nothing of him at all be left forever? If he is not -immortal, he ought to be. It must be that he is, though our philosophy -cannot find it out.’” - -It is a curious proof of how his moods shaped and colored his beliefs to -read in connection with the above the following extract from a letter he -wrote in 1866. “There is great consolation in the sincere belief of the -immortality of the soul. If I could honestly and reasonably entertain -such a faith, that the love and friendship of to-day will extend through -all time with renewed devotion, death would have no sting and the grave -no victory. I quite envied the closing hours of Senator Foote the other -day. He was so serenely confident of seeing all his friends again, that -by the perishing light of his fervid brain he seemed for a moment to -realize the illusion of his earth-taught faith.” - -It was now September. The semi-paralyzed condition of his limbs forbade -every thought of returning to the stage that season; though, with a -self-flattery singular in one of so experienced and clear a head, he -fondly hoped to recover in time, and to act for years yet. His interest -in everything connected with his profession knew no abatement, and he -always took the most cheerful view of the future of the drama. He did -not yield to that common fallacy which glorifies the past at the expense -of the present and holds that everything glorious is always in decline -and sure ere long to perish. Sheridan said, while surrounded by Johnson, -Burke, Hume, Robertson, Gibbon, Pitt, and Fox, “The days of little men -have arrived.” The trouble is that we see the foibles and feel the -faults of our contemporaries, but not those of our predecessors who sit, -afar and still, aggrandized into Olympians in historic memory. Mrs. -Siddons often saw before her, sitting together in the orchestra, all in -tears, Burke, Reynolds, Fox, Gibbon, Windham, and Sheridan. Yet in her -day as now the constant talk was of the failing glory of the theatre. -Also in the time of Talma, in 1807, Cailhava presented a memoir to the -Institute of France, “Sur les Causes de la Décadence du Théâtre.” The -fact is, the theatres of the world were never so numerous, so splendid, -so largely attended, as now; the playing as a whole was never so good, -the morality of the pieces never so high, and the behavior of the -audiences never so orderly and refined. In spite of everything that can -be said on the other side, this is the truth. The former advantage of -the drama was simply that it stood out in more solitary and conspicuous -relief, occupied a larger relative space, and made therefore a greater -and more talked-of sensation. Its rule is now divided with a swarm of -other claimants. Still, intrinsically its worth and rank must increase -in the future, and not diminish. Forrest always clearly held to this -faith, and was much cheered by it. His conviction that the drama was -charged with a sacred and indestructible mission, and his enthusiastic -love for the personal practice of its art,—these were thoughts and -feelings - - “In him which though all others should decay, - Would be the last that time could bear away.” - -Accordingly, he would withdraw from the worship of his life, if withdraw -he must, only piecemeal and as compelled. His voice was unimpaired, and -he had for years been solicited to give readings. And so he resolved, -since he could not play Hamlet and Othello on the stage, he would read -them in the lecture-room. - -Therefore he read these two plays in Philadelphia, Wilmington, Brooklyn, -New York, and Boston. Although the rich mellow fulness, ease, and force -of his elocution were highly enjoyable, and there were many beauties of -characterization in his readings, his physique was so deeply shattered, -and his vital forces so depressed, that the vivacity, the magnetism, the -spirited variety of power necessary to draw and to hold a miscellaneous -crowd were wanting. The experiment was comparatively a failure. The -large halls were so thinly seated that, though the marks of approval -were strong, the result was not inspiring. He felt somewhat -disheartened, much wearied, and sighed for a good long period of rest in -his own quiet home. And so on Saturday afternoon, December 7, 1872, in -Tremont Temple, Boston, he read Othello, and made unconsciously his last -bow on earth to a public assembly, with the apt words of the unhappy -Moor, whose character much resembled his own: - - “I kissed thee ere I killed thee: no way but this,— - Killing myself, to die upon a kiss.” - -Oakes went with him to the train, saw him comfortably installed in the -car, and bade him an affectionate good-bye. “Another parting, my -friend!” said Forrest: “the last one must come some time. I shall -probably be the first to die.” Arriving at the hotel in New York, he -ordered a room and a fire, and went to bed, “and lay there thinking,” as -he said, “what a pleasant time he was indebted to his friend for in -Boston.” He reached home safely on the 9th. Two days he passed in rest, -lounging about his library, reading a little, and attending only to a -few necessary matters of business. “The time glided away like an -ecstatic dream, without any let or hindrance,” he wrote on the 11th to -Oakes,—the last letter he ever penned,—closing with the words, “God -bless you ever, my dear and much valued friend.” - -The earthly finale was at hand. Twenty years before this, in 1852, he -wrote to one of his early friends: - - “I thank you for your kindness in drinking my health in company with - my sisters to-day, the anniversary of my birth. The weather here is - gloomy and wears an aspect in accordance with the color of my fate. - There is a destiny in this strange world which often decrees an - undeserved doom. The ways of Providence are truly mysterious. From - boyhood to the present time I have endeavored to walk the paths of - honor and honesty with a kindly and benevolent spirit towards all - men. And I am not unwilling that my whole course of life should be - scrutinized with justice and impartiality. When it shall be so all - weighed together I have no fear of the result. And yet I have been - fearfully wronged, maligned, and persecuted. I do not, however, lose - my faith and trust in that God who will one day hold all men to a - strict and sure account. Kind regards to all, and believe me, - - “Ever yours, - “EDWIN FORREST.” - -On the eighth recurrence of the same anniversary after the date of the -above sombre epistle—that is, in 1860—he wrote these words: “Friendship -is as much prostituted as love. My heart is sick, and I grow aweary of -life.” And once more, on the 9th of March, 1871, he set down his feeling -in the melancholy sentence, “This is my birthday, another funeral -procession in my sad life, and the end not far off.” These expressions -reveal the gloomier side of a soul which had its sunny side as well, and -the more painful aspect of a life which was also abundantly blessed with -wealth, triumphs, and pleasures. But be the outward lot of any man what -it may, unless he has communion with God, a love for his fellows that -swallows up every hatred, and a firm faith in immortality, the burden of -the song of his unsatisfied soul will ever be, “Vanity of vanities, all -is vanity.” - -But sooner or later there is an hour for every earthly vanity to cease. -Nothing mortal can escape or be denied the universal fate and boon of -death. Its meaning is the same for all, however diverse its disguises or -varied its forms. A slave and prisoner, starved and festered in his -chains, groaned, as the sweet and strange release came, “How welcome is -this deliverance! Farewell, painful world and cruel men!” A Sultan, -stricken and sinking on his throne, cried, “O God, I am passing away in -the hand of the wind!” A fool, in his painted costume, with his grinning -bauble in his hand, said, as he too vanished into the hospitable -Unknown, “Alackaday, poor Tom is a dying, and nobody cares. O me! was -there ever such a pitiful to-do?” And a Pope, the crucifix lifted before -his eyes and the tiara trembling from his brow, breathed his life out in -the words, “Now I surrender my soul to Him who gave it!” - -The death of a player is particularly suggestive and impressive from the -sharp contrast of its perfect reality and sincerity with all the -fictitious assumptions and scenery of his professional life. The last -drop-scene is the lowering of the eyelid on that emptied ocular stage -which in its time has held so many acts and actors. The deaths of many -players have been marked by mysterious coincidences. Powell, starting -from the bed on which he lay ill, cried, “Is this a dagger which I see -before me? O God!”—and instantly expired. Peterson, playing the Duke in -Measure for Measure, said,— - - “Reason thus with life: - If I do lose thee, I do lose a thing - That none but fools would keep; a breath thou art”— - -and fell into the arms of the Friar to whom he was speaking; and these -were his last words. Cummings had just spoken the words of Dumont in -Jane Shore— - - “Be witness for me, ye celestial hosts, - Such mercy and such pardon as my soul - Accords to thee and begs of heaven to show thee, - May such befall me at my latest hour”— - -when he suddenly gasped, and was dead. Palmer, while enacting the part -of the Stranger, having uttered the sentence in his rôle, “There is -another and a better world,” dropped lifeless on the stage. In such -instances Fate interpolates in the stereotyped performance a dread -impromptu which must make us all feel what mysteries we are and by what -mysteries enshrouded. - -The morning of the 12th came, and the death of Edwin Forrest was at -hand. In the early light, solitary in the privacy of his chamber, he who -had no blood relative on earth, the last of his race, was summoned to -give up his soul and take the unreturning road into the voiceless -mystery. He who in the mimic scene had so often acted death was now to -perform it in reality. Now he who in all his theatrical impersonations -had been so democratic, was to be, in his closing and unwitnessed human -impersonation, supremely democratic, both in the substance and in the -manner of his performing. For this severing of the spirit from the -flesh, this shrouded and mystic farewell of the soul to the world, is a -part cast inevitably for every member of the family of man, and enacted -under conditions essentially identical by all, from the emperor to the -pauper. Perform or omit whatever else he may, every one must go through -with this. Furthermore, in the enactment of it all artificial dialects -of expression, all caste peculiarities of behavior, fall away; the -profoundest vernacular language of universal nature alone comes to the -surface, and the pallor of the face, the tremor of the limbs, the -glazing of the eye, the gasp, the rattle, the long sigh, and the -unbreakable silence,—are the same for all. Death knows neither -politeness nor impoliteness, only truth. Now the hour was at hand whose -coming and method had been foresignalled years ago, when, at Washington, -an apoplectic clot hung the warning of its black flag in his brain. No -visible spectators gathered to the sight, whatever invisible ones may -have come. No lights were kindled, no music played, no bell rang, no -curtain rose, no prompter spoke. But the august theatre of nature, -crowded with the circulating ranks of existence, stood open for the -performance of the most critical and solemn portion of a mortal destiny. -And suddenly the startling command came. With a shudder of all the -terrified instincts of the organism he sprang to the action. There was a -sanguinary rush through the proscenium of the senses. The cerebral stage -deluged in blood, the will instantly surrendered its private functions, -all fleshly consciousness vanished, and that automatic procedure of -nature, which, when not meddled with by individual volition, is -infallible, took up the task. Then, step by step, point for point, phase -on phase, he went through the enactment of his own death, in the -minutest particulars from beginning to end, with a precision that was -absolutely perfect, and a completeness that could never admit of a -repetition. It was the greatest part, filled with the most boundless -meaning, of all that he had ever sustained; and no critic could detect -the slightest flaw in its representation. - -The appalling performance was done, the actor disrobed, transformed, and -vanished, when the servants, concerned at his delay to appear, and -alarmed at obtaining no answer to their knocking, entered the chamber. -The body, dressed excepting as to the outer coat, lay facing upwards on -the bed, with the hands grasping a pair of light dumb-bells, and a livid -streak across the right temple. A near friend and a physician were -immediately called. But it was vain. The fatal acting was finished, and -the player gone beyond recall. - - The curtain falls. The drama of a life - Is ended. One who trod the mimic stage - As if the crown, the sceptre, and the robe - Were his by birthright—worn from youth to age— - “Ay, every inch a king,” with voiceless lips, - Lies in the shadow of Death’s cold eclipse. - - _Valete et plaudite!_ Well might he - Have used the Roman’s language of farewell - Who was “the noblest Roman of them all;” - For Brutus spoke, and Coriolanus fell, - And Spartacus defied the she-wolf’s power, - In the great actor’s high meridian hour. - - How as the noble Moor he wooed and wed - His bride of Venice; how his o’erwrought soul, - Tortured and racked and wildly passion-tossed, - Was whirled, resisting, to the fatal goal, - Doting, yet dooming! Every trait was true; - He lived the being that the poet drew. - - Room for the aged Cardinal! Once more - The greatest statesman France has ever known - Waked from the grave and wove his subtle spells; - A power behind, but greater than, the throne. - Is Richelieu gone? It seems but yesterday - We heard his voice and watched his features’ play. - - Greatest of all in high creative skill - Was Lear, poor discrowned king and hapless sire. - What varied music in the actor’s voice! - The sigh of grief, the trumpet-tone of ire. - Now both are hushed; we ne’er shall hear that strain - Of well-remembered melody again. - - No fading laurels did his genius reap; - With Shakspeare’s best interpreters full high - His name is graven on Fame’s temple-front, - With Kean’s and Kemble’s, names that will not die - While memory venerates the poet’s shrine - And holds his music more than half divine. - - FRANCIS A. DURIVAGE. - -Before noon Oakes received the shock of this portentous telegram from -Dougherty: “Forrest died this morning; nothing will be done until you -arrive.” He started at once, and reached Philadelphia in the bitter cold -of the next morning at four o’clock. Describing the scene, at a later -period, he writes, “I went directly into his bedchamber. There he lay, -white and pulseless as a man of marble. For a few minutes it seemed to -me that my body was as cold as his and my heart as still. The little -while I stood at his side, speechless, almost lifeless, seemed an age. -No language can express the agony of that hour, and even now I cannot -bear to turn my mind back to it.” - -Arrangements were made for a simple and unostentatious funeral; a modest -card of invitation being sent to only about sixty of his nearest friends -or associates in private and professional life. But it was found -necessary to forego the design of a reserved and quiet burial on account -of the multitudes who felt so deep an interest in the occasion, and -expressed so strong a desire to be present at the last services that -they could not be refused admission. When the hour arrived, on that dark -and rainy December day, the heavens muffled in black and weeping as if -they felt with the human gloom below, the streets were blocked with the -crowd, all anxious to see once more, ere it was borne forever from -sight, the memorable form and face. The doors were thrown open to them, -and it was estimated that nearly two thousand people in steady stream -flowed in and out, each one in turn taking his final gaze. The house was -draped in mourning and profusely filled with flowers. In a casket -covered with a black cloth, silver mounted, and with six silver handles, -clothed in a black dress suit, reposed the dead actor. Every trace of -passion and of pain was gone from the firm and fair countenance, looking -startlingly like life, whose placid repose nothing could ever disturb -again. All over the body and the casket and around it were heaped floral -tributes in every form, sent from far and near,—crosses, wreaths, -crowns, and careless clusters. From four actresses in four different -cities came a cross of red and white roses, a basket of evergreens, a -wreath of japonicas, and a crown of white camelias. Delegations from -various dramatic associations were present. A large deputation of the -Lotus Club came from New York with the mayor of that city at their head. -All classes were there, from the most distinguished to the most humble. -Many of the old steadfast friends of other days passed the coffin, and -looked their last on its occupant, with dripping eyes. One, a life-long -professional coadjutor, stooped and kissed the clay-cold brow. Several -poor men and women who had been blessed by his silent charities touched -every heart by the deep grief they showed. And the household servants -wept aloud at parting from the old master who had made himself earnestly -loved by them. - -The only inscription on the coffin-lid was the words, - - EDWIN FORREST. - - _Born March 9, 1806. Died December 12, 1872._ - -The pall-bearers were James Oakes, James Lawson, Daniel Dougherty, John -W. Forney, Jesse R. Burden, Samuel D. Gross, George W. Childs, and James -Page. The funeral cortége, consisting of some sixty carriages, moved -through throngs of people lining the sidewalk along the way to Saint -Paul’s Church, where the crowd was so great, notwithstanding the rain, -as to cause some delay. It seemed as though the very reserve and -retiracy of the man in his last years had increased the latent popular -curiosity about him, investing him with a kind of mystery. A simple -prayer was read; and then, in the family vault, with the coffined and -mouldering forms of his father and mother and brother and sisters around -him, loving hands placed all that was mortal of the greatest tragedian -that ever lived in America. - -The announcement of the sudden and solitary death of Forrest produced a -marked sensation throughout the country. In the chief cities meetings of -the members of the dramatic profession were called, and resolutions -passed in honor and lamentation for the great man and player, “whose -remarkable originality, indomitable will, and unswerving fidelity,” they -asserted, “made him an honor to the walk of life he had chosen,” and -“whose lasting monument will be the memory of his sublime delineations -of the highest types of character on the modern stage.” - -For a long time the newspapers abounded with biographic and obituary -notices of him, with criticisms, anecdotes, personal reminiscences. In a -very few instances the bitterness of ancient grudges still pursued him -and spoke in unkindness and detraction. There are men in whose meanness -so much malignity mixes that they cannot forgive or forget even the -dead. But in nearly every case the tone of remark on him was highly -honorable, appreciative, and even generous. Two brief examples of this -style may be cited. - -“One thing must be said of Edwin Forrest, now that he lies cold in the -tomb—he never courted popularity; he never flattered power. Importuned a -thousand times to enter society, he rather avoided it. The few -friendships he had were sincere. He never boasted of his charities; and -yet we think, when the secrets of his life are unsealed, this solitary -man, who dies without leaving a single known person of his own blood, -will prove that he had a heart that could throb for all humanity. Having -known him and loved him through his tribulations and his triumphs for -more than a generation, we feel that in what we say we speak the truth -of one who was a sincere friend, an honest citizen, and a benevolent -man.” - -“In our view Edwin Forrest was a great man; the one genius, perhaps, -that the American stage has given to history. The conditions of his -youth, the rough-and-tumble struggle of a life fired by a grand purpose, -the loves, hates, triumphs, and failures that preceded the placing of -the bays upon his brow, and the long reign that no new-comer ventured to -disturb, all point to a nature that could do nothing by halves and bore -the ineffaceable imprint of positive greatness. He was, essentially, a -self-made man. All the angularities that result from a culture confined -by the very conditions of its existence to a few of the many directions -in which men need to grow were his. His genius developed itself -irresistibly,—even as a spire of corn will shoot up despite encumbering -stones,—gnarled, rugged, and perhaps disproportioned. His art was -acquired not in the scholar’s closet or under the careful eye of learned -tradition, but from demonstrative American audiences. Therefore such -errors of performance as jumped with the easily excited emotions of an -unskilled auditory were made a part of his education and his creed by a -law which not even genius can surmount. So Forrest grew to giant -stature, a one-sided man. Experience and a liberal culture in later life -worked for him all that opportunity can do for greatness. That these did -not wholly remove the faults of his early training was inevitable, but -they so broadened his life and power that men of wisest censure saw in -him the greatest actor of his time, and a man who under favorable early -conditions would have stood, perhaps, peerless in the history of his -art. Such a man, bearing a life flooded with the sunshine of glory, but -often clouded with storm and almost wrecked by the pain that is born of -passion, needs from the nation that produced and honored him, not -fulsome adulation or biased praise, but dispassionate analysis and -intelligent appreciation.” - -One elaborate sketch of his life and character was published—by far the -ablest and boldest that appeared—whose most condemnatory portion and -moral gist ought to be quoted here, for two reasons. First, on account -of its incisive power, honesty, and splendid eloquence. Second, that -what is unjust in it may be seen and qualified: - -“The death of this remarkable man is an incident which seems to prompt -more of indefinite emotion than of definite thought. The sense that is -uppermost is the sense that a great vitality, an enormous individuality -of character, a boundless ambition, a tempestuous spirit, a life of rude -warfare and often of harsh injustice, an embittered mind, and an age -laden with disappointment and pain, are all at rest. Mr. Forrest, partly -from natural bias to the wrong and partly from the force of -circumstances and the inexorable action of time, had made shipwreck of -his happiness; had cast away many golden opportunities; had outlived his -fame; had outlived many of his friends and alienated others; had seen -the fabric of his popularity begin to crumble; had seen the growth of -new tastes and the rise of new idols; had found his claims as an actor, -if accepted by many among the multitude, rejected by many among the -judicious; and, in wintry age, broken in health, dejected in spirit, and -thwarted in ambition, had come to the ‘last scene of all’ with great -wealth, indeed, but with very little of either love or peace or hope. -Death, at almost all times a blessing, must, in ending such an -experience as this, be viewed as a tender mercy. His nature—which should -have been noble, for it contained elements of greatness and beauty—was -diseased with arrogance, passion, and cruelty. It warred with itself, -and it made him desolate. He has long been a wreck. There was nothing -before him here but an arid waste of suffering; and, since we understand -him thus, we cannot but think with a tender gratitude that at last he is -beyond the reach of all trouble, and where neither care, sorrow, self- -rebuke, unreasoning passion, resentment against the world, nor physical -pain can any more torment him. His intellect was not broad enough to -afford him consolation under the wounds that his vanity so often -received. All his resource was to shut himself up in a kind of feudal -retreat and grim seclusion, where he brooded upon himself as a great -genius misunderstood and upon the rest of the world as a sort of -animated scum. This was an unlovely nature; but, mingled in it, were the -comprehension and the incipient love of goodness, sweetness, beauty, -great imaginings, and beneficent ideas. He knew what he had missed, -whether of intellectual grandeur, moral excellence, or the happiness of -the affections, and in the solitude of his spirit he brooded upon his -misery. The sense of this commended him to our sympathy when he was -living, and it commends his memory to our respect in death.” - -The writer of the powerful article from which the above extract is -taken, in another part of it, said of Forrest, “He was utterly selfish. -He did not love dramatic art for itself, but because it was tributary to -him.” - -Now, although the brave and sincere spirit of the article is as clear as -its masterly ability, something is to be said in protest against the -sweeping verdict it gives and in vindication of the man so terribly -censured. That there is some truth in the charges made is not denied. -All of them—except the two last, which are wholly baseless—have been -illustrated and commented on in this biography, but, as is hoped, in a -tone and with a proportion and emphasis more accordant with the facts of -the whole case. The charges, as above made, of sourness, ferocity, -arrogance, cynicism, wretchedness, wreck, and despair, are greatly -unjust in their overcharged statement of the sinister and sad, -profoundly unfair in their omission of the sunny and smiling, features -and qualities in the life and character with which they deal. The writer -must have taken his cue either from inadequate and unfortunate personal -knowledge of the man or from representations made by prejudiced parties. -Ample data certainly are afforded in preceding pages of this volume to -neutralize the extravagance in the accusations while leaving the truth -that is also in them with its proper weight. - -One fact alone scatters the entire theory that the social and moral -condition of the tragedian was so fearfully dismal, forlorn, and -execrable,—the fact that he had high and precious friendships with -women, tenderly cherished and sacredly maintained. These were the -foremost joy and solace of his life. They were kept up by unfailing -attentions, epistolary and personal, to the last of his days. Into these -relations he carried a fervor of affection, a poetry of sentiment, a -considerate delicacy and refinement of speech and manner, which secured -the amplest return for all he gave, and drew from the survivors, when he -was gone, tributes which if they were published would cover him with the -lustre of a romantic interest. But it is forbidden to spread such -matters before the common gaze. They have a sacred right of privacy -which must be no further violated than is needed to refute the absurd -belief that the experience of Edwin Forrest was one of such unfathomable -desolation and unhappiness. - -No, a portrait in which he is shown as a man whose all-ruling motives -were cruel egotism, pride, vanity, and avarice, a man “whose nature -fulfilled itself,” and for that reason made his life a half-ignominious -and half-pathetic “failure,” will be repudiated by his countrymen. At -the same time his genuine portrait will reveal the truth that while he -loved the good in this world well, he hated the evil too much,—the truth -that while he sought success by honorable means, he too rancorously -loathed those who opposed him with dishonorable means,—and the truth -that while he won many of the solid prizes of existence and enjoyed them -with a more than average measure of happiness, he missed the very -highest and best prizes from lack of spirituality, serene equilibrium of -soul, and religious consecration. - -His literary agent for three years and intimate theatrical confrère for -a much longer period, Mr. C. G. Rosenberg, moved by the injurious things -said of him, published an article admitting his explosive irritability, -but affirming his justice and kindness and fund of genial humor and -denying the charges of an oppressive temper and arrogant selfishness. -His business manager and constant companion for a great many years loved -him as a brother, and always testified to his high rectitude of soul and -his many endearing qualities. In one of his latest years, when this -faithful servant lost a pocket-book containing over three thousand -dollars of his money, and was in excessive distress about it, Forrest, -without one sign of anger or peevishness or regret, simply said, in a -gentle tone, “Do not blame yourself, McArdle. Accidents will happen. We -can make it all up in a few nights. So let it go and never mind.” John -McCullough, who for six years had every condition requisite for reading -his character to the very bottom, bore witness to his rare nobility and -social charm, saying, “In heart he was a prince, and would do anything -for a friend. A thorough student of human nature, gifted with intensity, -he applied himself to the heart, and ever reached it. He was essentially -an autocrat. His personal magnetism was great, and he could draw -everything to him. Wherever he might be, men recognized him as king, and -he reigned without resistance, also without imposition.” For six years, -after the close of the War, he gave a one-armed soldier, as a vegetable -garden, the free use of a piece of land worth twenty-five thousand -dollars. This is an extract from one of his letters: “Notice has been -sent me that the price of the picture by Tom Gaylord is one hundred and -fifty dollars, but that if I think this too much I may fix my own price. -No doubt it is more than the painting is worth, but as the young man is -just beginning, and needs to be cheered on, I shall gladly give it to -encourage him for his long career of art.” When a certain poor man of -his acquaintance had died, and his widow knew not where to bury him, he -gave her a space for this purpose in his own lot in the cemetery. And -every winter he gave private orders to his grocer to supply such -suffering, worthy families as he knew, with what they needed, and charge -the bills to him. Surely these are not the kind of deeds done by, these -not the kind of tributes paid to, a misanthropic old tyrant, -discontented with himself, sick of the world, and breathing scorn and -wrath against everybody who approached him. - -The following letter, addressed by one of the oldest and choicest -friends of Forrest to another one, speaks for itself: - - “NEWPORT, KY., December 30, 1872. - - “S. S. SMITH, ESQ.,— - - “MY DEAR FRIEND,—Our old and distinguished friend is no more. It is - a great sorrow to us and to his country. The papers show that all - mourn his loss, for he and his fame belonged to the public. I knew - Forrest well; except yourself, no man knew him better than I did. He - was a man of genius, of great will and energy, and, without much - education, by his own untiring efforts raised himself to the very - highest pinnacle of fame in his profession. There was a grandeur in - the man, in every thing he did and said, and hence the great - admiration his friends had for him. He was a truly noble and - generous man, one who loved his friends with devotion, and despised - his enemies. I first made his acquaintance at Lexington, Kentucky, - in the fall of 1822. He came there with Collins & Jones as one of - their theatrical corps. He was then between sixteen and seventeen, - and was the pet of us college boys. He made his first appearance as - Young Norval, and the boys were so much taken with him that after - the play was over we went to the greenroom, and took him, dressed as - he was in character, to a supper. That night he slept with me in my - boarding-house. We had breakfast in my room, and it was late before - he left. I wanted to lend him a suit to go home in; but no, he would - go in his Highland costume, a feather in his hat, straight down Main - Street, with a crowd of boys following him to his hotel. He played - all that winter in Lexington, and when the Medical and Law Colleges - broke up in the spring he went to Cincinnati. That was in March or - April, and he boarded at Mrs. Bryson’s, on Main Street. In the - summer of 1823 he came to Newport with Mrs. Riddle and her daughter - and two or three actors, and rented a house on the bank of the - river. I assisted him in fixing up a small theatre in the old frame - buildings of the United States barracks at the Point of Licking, and - we had plays there until October. My brother-in-law, Major Harris, - played Iago to his Othello. I was to have played Damon to his - Pythias, but some difficulty occurred which prevented it. Forrest - was then very poor, but kept up his spirits, and spent many nights - with me in my father’s old office. His great delight was to get in a - boat and sail for hours on the river when the wind was high. In the - fall of 1823 he returned with Collins & Jones to Lexington, the - Drakes, I think, uniting, and played the winter of 1823-24. He - played with Pelby and his wife, and Pemberton, an actor from - Nashville. He improved rapidly in his profession, and had always one - of the most prominent characters cast to him. In fact, he would play - second to no man. I was very intimate with him that whole winter, - and on the first day of January, 1824, Tom Clay and several of us - gave a fine dinner at Ayers’s Hotel, and he was the _distinguished - guest_. We all made speeches and recitations, and before we had - finished the entertainment we had an extensive audience. Forrest had - many intimate friends among the students, and he often attended the - college declamations. He had a great admiration for the eloquence of - Doctor Holley, our President, and has often told me of the benefit - he derived from the style of this remarkable orator. In March of - 1824 I returned home, after the breaking up of the Law School, and - played Zanga, in Young’s Revenge, at the Columbia Street Theatre, - for the benefit of old Colonel John Cleve Symmes. We had a crowded - house. Sallie Riddle played in the same piece. It was to enable Mr. - Symmes to get to his Hole at the North Pole; but, poor man, he never - got further than New York. I think Mr. Forrest went that spring to - New Orleans. I am very certain he was not in Cincinnati when I - played in the Revenge, otherwise he would have performed in the same - play. It has been published in the papers that Forrest was once a - circus rider and tumbler. No such thing. The only time he was ever - connected with a circus was when with the circus company in - Lexington he played Timour the Tartar. Mrs. Pelby and others were in - the same piece. He looked Grandeur itself when mounted on Pepin’s - famous cream-colored horse. After March, 1824, I did not meet Mr. - Forrest again until the spring of 1828. He was then playing in New - York, and I saw him in his great character of Othello. His star had - then begun to rise, and it continued to rise until it reached its - zenith, and there it continued to shine until the last hour of his - life. His place cannot be filled in this country. Great actors are - born, and not made. To be a great tragedian a man must possess the - soul, the passion, and the eloquence to delineate the character he - represents. Forrest had that beyond most men. - - “I thank you for the paper containing his will and other - reminiscences of him. My wife has been since his death clipping from - the newspapers all that has been written about him, and has put the - notices in her scrap-book. Some of the journals have done him - justice, others have not; but posterity will cherish his memory and - feel proud of the man. In 1870 I had a copy made of my portrait of - George Frederick Cooke by Sully, and sent it to him. I think you saw - it. He wrote me at Fire Island, New York, a long and affectionate - letter acknowledging the receipt of the portrait and pressing me to - spend a week with him at his house. My daughter, Mrs. Jones, has the - letter, and has copied it in her book of original letters written to - my father by Henry Clay and many other distinguished men of our - country. The last time Mr. Forrest was in Cincinnati he walked over - one morning to see me and the family. We took him back in my - carriage to his hotel, and as he parted from my daughter Martha and - myself his eyes were filled with tears, and he exclaimed, ‘God bless - you!’ and left us. This was the last time I ever saw our - distinguished and much beloved friend. My daughter, only last night, - was speaking of this event of our parting, and how much affected Mr. - Forrest seemed to be. - - “Forrest was a great favorite with my wife. She knew him in 1823 and - 1824, and, before our marriage, had often witnessed his performances - at Lexington when a girl. She well knew the great friendship that - united us: hence in referring to our boy and girl days in Lexington, - Kentucky, she often speaks of Forrest, and how much he was respected - and his company sought by the college boys at Old Transylvania. I - have a very fine daguerreotype picture of our friend, and two quite - large photographs he sent me through you several years ago. They - will be faithfully preserved and handed down to my children and to - their children as the picture of a man concerning whom it may well - be said, ‘Take him for all in all, we shall not look upon his like - again.’ - - “All we have left to us, my friend, is to meet and talk over the - pleasure we once enjoyed in the company of our friend. He was so - full of wit and humor! And how well he told a story! I remember the - day, some years back, he and you spent at my house. All my family - were present, together with several friends, and he fascinated us - all at dinner by his eloquence, and his incidents of foreign travel. - How heartily we laughed at the anecdotes which he told with such - fine effect! Then we had music at night, and he recited the ‘Idiot - Boy,’ to the delight of every one, and it was the ‘witching time of - night’ when the company broke up. - - “I am very truly your friend and obedient servant, - “JAMES TAYLOR.” - -Alas, how easy it is, and how congenial it seems to be to many, to let -down and tarnish the memory of a great man by an estimate in which his -vices are magnified and his virtues omitted! So did old Macklin say of -David Garrick, “He had a narrow mind, bounded on one side by suspicion, -by envy on the other, by avarice in front, by fear in the rear, and with -self in the centre.” But against every unkind or demeaning word spoken -of the departed Forrest a multitude of facts protest. Two of these may -be cited to show the genius he had to make himself loved and admired and -remembered. - -On receiving intelligence of the death of his benefactor, a literary -gentleman who had been tried by severe misfortunes of poverty and -blindness and paralysis, and had experienced extreme kindness as well as -generous aid at the hands of Forrest, wrote to Oakes a long letter, -eloquent with gratitude and admiration, and closing with the poetic -acrostic which follows. The writer thoroughly knew and loved the actor -both personally and professionally,—a fact that adds value to his -eulogistic appreciation: - - Ever foremost in histrionic fame, - Death cannot dim the lustre of thy name. - Wondrously bright the record of thy life, - In spite of wrongs that drove thee into strife. - Nobler by far than titled lord or peer! - - Friend of thy race, philanthropist sincere, - On earth esteemed for charms of intellect, - Renowned as well for manhood most erect; - Reserved, but kind, from ostentation free, - Envying no one of high or low degree, - Scorning all tricks of meretricious kind, - Thy course is run, thy glory left behind! - - LOUIS F. TASISTRO. - -On the first anniversary of his death a company of gentlemen, actuated -by purely disinterested motives, met in New York and organized the Edwin -Forrest Club, with a president, vice-president, and seven directors. -“The primary object of the club shall be to foster the memory of the -great actor, to erect a statue of him in the Central Park, and to -collect criticisms, pictures, and all things relating to him, for the -purpose of forming a Forrest Museum.” After the memory of Forrest had -been drunk standing, Mr. G. W. Metlar, a friend from his earliest -boyhood, paid an affectionate eulogy to his worth. Others offered -similar tributes. And the corresponding secretary of the club, Mr. -Harrison, said, “Gentlemen, however well the world may know Mr. Forrest -as an actor, it knows comparatively nothing of him as a man. A kinder -heart never beat in the bosom of a human being. In the finer sympathies -of our nature he was more like a child than one who had felt an undue -share of the rude buffets of ingratitude. When speaking with him of the -troubles of others I have often seen his eyes suffused with tears. The -beggar never knocked at his door and went away unladen. And many is the -charity that fell from his manly hand and the relieved knew not whence -it came; but - - ‘Like the song of the lone nightingale, - Which answereth with her most soothing song - Out of the ivy bower, it came and blessed.’ - -And I may say with conscientious pride that however much any of the -great actors may have done for their national stage, Mr. Forrest, equal -to any of them, has done as much for the theatre of his country, and -will remain a recognized peer in the everlasting group. - - ‘He stands serene amid the actors old, - Like Chimborazo when the setting sun - Has left his hundred mountains dark and dun, - Sole object visible, the imperial one - In purple robe and diadem of gold. - Immortal Forrest, who can hope to tell, - With tongue less gifted, of the pleasing sadness - Wrought in your deepest scenes of woe and madness? - Who hope by words to paint your Damon and your Lear? - Their noble forms before me pass, - Like breathing things of a living class.’ - -The longer I allude to the tragedian the stronger becomes the sadness -that tinctures my feelings to think that he is no more, and that the -existence of the gifts Nature had so liberally bestowed on him had to -cease with the cessation of his pulse.” - -Everything set down by the biographer in this volume has been stated in -the simple spirit of truth. And if the pen that writes has distilled -along the pages such a spirit of love for their subject as makes the -reader suspect the writer possessed with a fond partiality, he asks, Why -is it so? His love is but a response to the love he received, and to the -grand and beautiful qualities he saw. A dried-up and malignant heart -does not breathe such effusive words in such a sincere tone as those -which, in 1869, Forrest wrote to Oakes: “The good news you send of the -restored health of our dear friend Alger gives me inexpressible relief. -Now I go into the country with abounding joy.” - -The fortune Forrest had laboriously amassed would amount, it was -thought, when it should all be made available, to upwards of a million -dollars. It was found that in his will he had left the whole of it— -excepting a few personal bequests—to found, on his beautiful estate of -“Spring Brook,” about eight miles from the heart of Philadelphia, the -EDWIN FORREST HOME, for the support of actors and actresses decayed by -age or disabled by infirmity. - -The trustees and executors have arranged the grounds and prepared the -buildings, removed thither all the relics of the testator, his books, -pictures, and statues, and made public announcement that the home is -ready for occupation. Thus the greatest charity ever bequeathed in the -sole interest of his own profession by any actor since the world began -is already in active operation, and promises to carry the name it wears -through unlimited ages. It pleasantly allies its American founder with -the old tragedian Edward Alleyn, the friend of Shakspeare, who two -hundred and fifty years ago established munificent institutions of -knowledge and mercy, which have been growing ever since and are now one -of the princeliest endowments in England. - -Those who loved Forrest best had hoped for him that, reposing on his -laurels, pointed out in the streets as the veteran of a hundred battles, -the vexations and resentments of earlier years outgrown and forgotten, -enjoying the calls of his friends, luxuriating in bookish leisure, -overseeing with paternal fondness the progress of the home he had -planned for the aged and needy of his profession, taking a proud joy in -the prosperity and glory of his country and in the belief that his -idolized art has before it here amidst the democratic institutions of -America a destiny whose splendor and usefulness shall surpass everything -it has yet known,—the days of his mellow and vigorous old age should -glide pleasantly towards the end where waits the strange Shadow with the -key and the seal. Then, they trusted, nothing in his life should have -become him better than the leaving of it would. For, receding step by -step from the stage and the struggle, he should fade out in a broadening -illumination from behind the scenes, the murmur of applause reaching him -until his ear closed to every sound of earth. - -It would have been so had he been all that he should have been. It was -ordained not to be so. Shattered and bowed, he was snatched untimely -from his not properly perfected career. But all that he was and did will -not be forgotten in consequence of what he was not and did not do. - -He will live as a great tradition in the history of the stage. He will -live as a personal image in the magnificent Coriolanus statue. He will -live as a learned and versatile histrionist in the exact photographic -embodiments of his costumed and breathing characters. He will live as a -diffused presence in the retreat he has founded for his less fortunate -brethren. Perhaps he will live, in some degree, as a friend in the -hearts of those who perusing these pages shall appreciate the story of -his toils, his trials, his triumphs, and his disappearance from the eyes -of men. He will certainly live in the innumerable and untraceable but -momentous influences of his deeds and effluences of his powerful -personality and exhibitions caught up by sensitive organisms and -transmitted in their posterity to the end of our race. And, still -further, if, as Swedenborg teaches, there are theatres in heaven, and -all sorts of plays represented there, those who in succeeding ages shall -recall his memory amidst the shades of time may think of him still as -acting some better part before angelic spectators within the unknown -scenery of eternity. - -Here the pen of the writer drops from his hand in the conclusion of its -task, and, with the same words with which it began, ends the story of -EDWIN FORREST. - - - - - APPENDIX. - - - I. - THE WILL OF EDWIN FORREST. - -I, EDWIN FORREST, of the city of Philadelphia, State of Pennsylvania, do -make and publish this my last Will and Testament. - -I give, bequeath and devise unto my friends JAMES OAKES, Esquire, of -Boston, JAMES LAWSON, Esquire, of New York, and DANIEL DOUGHERTY, -Esquire, of Philadelphia, all my property and estate, real and personal, -of whatsoever description and wheresoever situated, upon the trusts and -confidences hereinafter expressed; and I also appoint them my executors -to administer my personal estate and bring it into the hands of said -trustees; that is to say, upon trust, - -_First._ That they the said trustees, the survivors and survivor of -them, shall be authorized to sell all my real estate, at public or -private sale, at such times as in their judgment shall appear to be for -the best advantage of my estate, excepting from this power my country -place, in the Twenty-third Ward of the city of Philadelphia, called -“Springbrook,” and to convey to purchasers thereof a good title, in fee -simple, discharged of all trusts and obligation to see to the -application of the purchase moneys; and such purchase moneys, and the -proceeds of all the personal estate, shall be invested in such -securities and loans as are made lawful investments by the laws of -Pennsylvania, and shall be in the joint names of the trustees under my -Will. The investments which I shall have made my executors or trustees -may retain or change as they may think for the best advantage of my -estate. - -_Secondly._ Upon trust, to pay to my two sisters, Caroline and Eleanora, -jointly, while both remain single, and to the survivor of them until her -marriage or death, which shall first happen, an annuity of six thousand -dollars, in equal quarterly payments, in advance, from the date of my -decease; and should one marry, then to pay the said annuity of six -thousand dollars unto the other until marriage or death, whichever event -shall first happen; said annuity, however, not to be a charge upon any -real estate which shall be sold, but only upon the proceeds, and upon -trust to permit my said sisters, and the survivor of them, to use and -occupy my country place called Springbrook, with the necessary furniture -and utensils, and stock, until marriage or death as aforesaid, free of -all charge for rent, and to take the income and profits thereof; and the -said trustees shall pay the taxes thereon, and keep the same in repair. - -_Thirdly._ To take and hold all said property and estate in trust for an -institution, which they will call “THE EDWIN FORREST HOME,” to embrace -the purposes of which I hereinafter give the outlines; which institution -shall be established at my country place called Springbrook, certainly -within twenty-one years after the decease of the survivor of my said -sisters, and sooner if found judiciously practicable. - -The following is an _Outline of my Plan_ for said Home, which may be -filled out in more detail by the Charter and By-Laws. - -ARTICLE 1st. The said Institution shall be for the support and -maintenance of Actors and Actresses, decayed by age, or disabled by -infirmity, who if natives of the United States shall have served at -least five years in the Theatrical profession; and if of foreign birth -shall have served in that profession at least ten years, whereof three -years, next previous to the application, shall have been in the United -States; and who shall in all things comply with the laws and regulations -of the Home, otherwise be subject to be discharged by the Managers, -whose decision shall be final. - -ARTICLE 2d. The number of inmates in the Home shall never exceed the -annual net rent and revenue of the Institution; and after the number of -inmates therein shall exceed twelve, others to be admitted shall be such -only as shall receive the approval of the majority of the inmates as -well as of the Managers. - -ARTICLE 3d. The said corporation shall be managed by a Board of -Managers, seven in number, who shall in the first instance be chosen by -the said Trustees, and shall include themselves so long as any of them -shall be living, and also the Mayor of the city of Philadelphia for the -time being; and as vacancies shall occur, the existing Managers shall, -from time to time, fill them, so that, if practicable, only one vacancy -shall ever exist at a time. - -ARTICLE 4th. The Managers shall elect one of their number to be the -President of the Institution; appoint a Treasurer and Secretary, -Steward, and Matron, and, if needed, a Clerk; the said Treasurer, -Secretary, Steward, Matron, and Clerk subject to be at any time -discharged by the Managers; except the Treasurer, the said officers may -be chosen from the inmates of the Home; and the Treasurer shall not be a -Manager, nor either of his sureties. The Managers shall also appoint a -Physician for the Home. - -ARTICLE 5th. Should there be any failure of the Managers to fill any -vacancy which may occur in their board for three months, or should they -in any respect fail to fulfil their trust according to the intent of my -Will and the Charter of the Institution, it is my will, that upon the -petition of any two or more of said Managers, or of the Mayor of the -City, the Orphans’ Court of Philadelphia county shall make such -appointments to fill any vacancy or vacancies, and all orders and -decrees necessary to correct any failure or breach of trust, which shall -appear to said court to be required, as in case of any other -testamentary trust, so that the purposes of this charity may never fail -or be abused. - -ARTICLE 6th. The purposes of the said “Edwin Forrest Home” are intended -to be partly educational and self-sustaining, as well as eleemosynary, -and never to encourage idleness or thriftlessness in any who are capable -of any useful exertion. My library shall be placed therein in precise -manner as now it exists in my house in Broad Street, Philadelphia. There -shall be a neat and pleasant theatre for private exhibitions and -histrionic culture. There shall be a picture gallery for the -preservation and exhibition of my collection of engravings, pictures, -statuary, and other works of art, to which additions may be made from -time to time, if the revenues of the Institution shall suffice. These -objects are not only intended to improve the taste, but to promote the -health and happiness of the inmates, and such visitors as may be -admitted. - -ARTICLE 7th. Also as a means of preserving health, and consequently the -happiness, of the inmates, as well as to aid in sustaining the Home, -there shall be lectures and readings therein, upon oratory and the -histrionic art, to which pupils shall be admitted upon such terms and -under such regulations as the Managers may prescribe. The garden and -grounds are to be made productive of profit as well as of health and -pleasure, and, so far as capable, the inmates not otherwise profitably -occupied, shall assist in farming, horticulture, and the cultivation of -flowers in the garden and conservatory. - -ARTICLE 8th. “The Edwin Forrest Home” may also, if the revenues shall -suffice, embrace in its plan, lectures on science, literature and the -arts; but preferably oratory and the histrionic art, in manner to -prepare the American citizen for the more creditable and effective -discharge of his public duties, and to raise the education and -intellectual and moral tone and character of actors, that thereby they -may elevate the drama, and cause it to subserve its true and great -mission to mankind, as their profoundest teacher of virtue and morality. - -ARTICLE 9th. The “Edwin Forrest Home” shall also be made to promote the -love of liberty, our country and her institutions, to hold in honor the -name of the great Dramatic Bard, as well as to cultivate a taste and -afford opportunity for the enjoyment of social rural pleasures. -Therefore there shall be read therein, to the inmates and public, by an -inmate or pupil thereof, the immortal Declaration of Independence, as -written by Thomas Jefferson, without expurgation, on every Fourth day of -July, to be followed by an oration under the folds of our National flag. -There shall be prepared and read therein before the like assemblage, on -the birthday of Shakspeare, the twenty-third of April in every year, an -eulogy upon his character and writings, and one of his plays, or scenes -from his plays, shall, on that day, be represented in the theatre. And -on the first Mondays of every June and October the “Edwin Forrest Home” -and grounds shall be opened for the admission of ladies and gentlemen of -the theatrical profession, and their friends, in the manner of social -picnics, when all shall provide their own entertainments. - -The foregoing general outline of my plan of the Institution I desire to -establish, has been sketched during my preparations for a long voyage by -sea and land, and should God spare my life, it is my purpose to be more -full and definite; but should I leave no later Will or Codicil, my -friends, who sympathize in my purposes, will execute them in the best -and fullest manner possible, understanding that they have been long -meditated by me and are very dear to my heart. - -They will also remember that my professional brothers and sisters are -often unfortunate, and that little has been done for them either to -elevate them in their profession or to provide for their necessities -under sickness or other misfortunes. God has favored my efforts and -given me great success, and I would make my fortune the means to elevate -the education of others, and promote their success and to alleviate -their sufferings, and smooth the pillows of the unfortunate in sickness, -or other disability, or the decay of declining years. - -These are the grounds upon which I would appeal to the Legislature of my -Native State, to the Chief Magistrate of my Native City, to the Courts -and my Fellow-Citizens to assist my purposes, which I believe to be -demanded by the just claims of humanity, and by that civilization and -refinement which spring from intellectual and moral culture. - -I, therefore, lay it as a duty on my Trustees to frame a bill which the -Legislature may enact as and for the Charter of said Institution, which -shall ratify the Articles in said Outline of Plan, shall authorize the -Mayor of the City to act as one of its Managers, and the said Court to -exercise the visitatorial jurisdiction invoked; and prevent streets from -being run through so much of the Springbrook grounds as shall include -the buildings and sixty acres of ground. Such a Charter being obtained, -the corporation shall be authorized, at a future period, to sell the -grounds outside said space, the proceeds to be applied to increase the -endowment and usefulness of the Home. And so far as I shall not have -built to carry out my views, I authorize the said Managers, with consent -of my sisters, or survivor of them, having a right to reside at -Springbrook, to proceed to erect and build the buildings required by my -outline of plan, and towards their erection apply the income, -accumulated or current, of my estate. And should my sisters consent, or -the survivor of them consent, in case of readiness to open the Home, to -remove therefrom, a comfortable house shall be procured for them -elsewhere, furnished, and rent and taxes paid, as required in respect to -Springbrook, at the cost and charge of my estate, or of the said -corporation, if then in possession thereof. Whensoever the requisite -Charter shall be obtained, and the corporation be organized and ready to -proceed to carry out its design, then it shall be the duty of said -Trustees to assign and convey all my said property and estate unto the -said “Edwin Forrest Home,” their successors and assigns forever; and for -the latter to execute and deliver, under the corporate seal, a full and -absolute discharge and acquittance forever, with or without auditing of -accounts by an auditor of the court as they may think proper, unto the -said Executors and Trustees. - -In testimony whereof, I have hereunto set my hand and seal, this fifth -day of April, eighteen hundred and sixty-six. - - EDWIN FORREST, [SEAL.] - - Signed, sealed, declared and published as and for his last Will and - Testament by Edwin Forrest, in our presence, who at his request and - in his presence, and in presence of each other, have hereunto set - our hands as witnesses thereto. - - ELI K. PRICE, - H. C. TOWNSEND, - J. SERGEANT PRICE. - -Whereas I, EDWIN FORREST, of the city of Philadelphia, State of -Pennsylvania, having made and duly executed my last Will and Testament -in writing, bearing date the fifth day of April, eighteen hundred and -sixty-six. Now I do hereby declare this present writing to be as a -Codicil to my said Will, and direct the same to be annexed thereto, and -taken as a part thereof. - -And I do hereby give and bequeath unto my friend James Lawson, Esq., of -the city of New York, the sum of five thousand dollars. - -And, also, to my friend Daniel Dougherty, Esq., the sum of five thousand -dollars. - -And, also, to my beloved friend Miss Elizabeth, sometimes called Lillie -Welsh, eldest daughter of John R. Welsh, broker, of Philadelphia, the -sum of five thousand dollars. - -And, also, to my friend S. S. Smith, Esq., of Cincinnati, Ohio, the sum -of two thousand dollars. - -And, also, to the benevolent society called the Actors’ Order of -Friendship, “the first one of that name established in Philadelphia,” I -will and bequeath the like sum of two thousand dollars. - -In witness whereof, I, the said Edwin Forrest, have to this Codicil set -my hand and seal, this fifth day of April, eighteen hundred and sixty- -six. - - EDWIN FORREST, [SEAL.] - - Published and declared as a Codicil to his Will in our presence, by - E. Forrest, who in his presence and at his request have signed as - witnesses in presence of each other. - - ELI K. PRICE, - H. C. TOWNSEND, - J. SERGEANT PRICE. - -Whereas I have this day, October 18th, 1871, provided my friend James -Oakes with an annuity of twenty-five hundred dollars during his life, I -have erased from this Codicil and do revoke the five thousand dollars’ -legacy to him, and now do bequeath the said sum of five thousand dollars -intended for James Oakes, to my beloved friend Miss Elizabeth, sometimes -called Lillie Welsh, eldest daughter of John R. Welsh, broker, of -Philadelphia. This five thousand dollars is to be given in addition to -the sum of five thousand dollars already bequeathed to the said Miss -Welsh, making in all to her the gift of ten thousand dollars ($10,000). - -In witness hereof I set my hand and seal. - - EDWIN FORREST, [SEAL.] - - Witnesses present at signing: - - GEO. C. THOMAS, - J. PAUL DIVER. - -[Illustration: - - FORREST MEDALS. -] - - - II. - THE FORREST MEDALS. - -The duplicate of the first medal in gold was presented by Mr. Forrest to -the New York Historical Society, at a meeting held June 22d, 1868, -through the hands of James Lawson. It was accepted, with a vote of -thanks to the donor, and placed in the archives of the Society. - -The legend or motto on the second medal is from a sonnet by James Lawson -“To Andrew Jackson,” which may be found in Duyckinck’s Cyclopædia of -American Literature, vol. ii. p. 280, New York edition, 1855. - -The tokens were issued by tradesmen as a mode of advertisement. They are -an interesting proof of the great popularity of the tragedian. - - - I. - - _Ob._—A profile head of Forrest, facing to the left. Below the head - engraver’s initials, “C. C. W., Sc.” - - _Leg._—“Histrioni optimo Eduino Forrest, viro præstanti, MDCCC. - XXXIV.” - - _Rev._—The muse of Tragedy seated, holding in one hand a wreath, the - other holding a dagger, and resting on her lap. A mask resting - beside her. - - _Leg._—“Great in mouths of wisest censure.” - - _Ex._—“C. INGHAM, Del.” - - Metal, silver; size, 1–11/16 inch; edge plain. Two struck in - gold, twenty-six in silver. - - - II. - - _Ob._—A profile bust of Forrest, facing to the left. - - _Leg._—“Edwin Forrest.” - - _Ex._—In small letters, “_A. W. Jones, Del._ F. B. Smith & Hartmann, - N. Y., fecit.” - - _Rev._—A wreath bound with a ribbon, on which are inscribed the names - of Mr. Forrest’s celebrated characters. Within the wreath, “Born - in the City of Philadelphia, Pa., March 9, 1806.” “Just to - opposers, and to friends sincere.” - - Metal, copper; size, 3 inches; edge plain. Two struck in - silver; also struck in tin. - - - III. - - _Ob._—A profile head of Forrest, facing to the left. Below the head - the engraver’s name, “Merriam, Boston.” - - _Leg._—“Edwin Forrest, born March 9, 1806.” - - _Rev._—An olive wreath, enclosing the words, “Rose by his own - efforts,” also engraver’s name, “Merriam, Boston.” Outside of - the wreath, “Just to opposers, and to friends sincere.” - - Metal, copper; size, 1⅕ inch; edge plain. Also struck in - tin. - - - THE FORREST TOKENS. - - - I. - - _Ob._—A profile bust of Forrest enclosed with laurel branches, and - facing to the right. - - _Rev._—“E. Hill, Dealer in Coins, Medals, Minerals, Autographs, - Engravings, Old Curiosities, &c., No. 6 Bleecker St., N. York, - 1860.” - - Metal, tin; edge plain; size, 1⅛ inch. - - - II. - - _Ob._—Same as last. - - _Rev._—Half-length figure of a man smoking. Legend, “No pleasure can - exceed the smoking of the weed.” - - Metal, tin; edge milled; size, 1⅛ inch. - - - III. - - _Ob._—Same as No. I. - - _Rev._—A box of cigars (regalias), two pipes crossed above the box. - Legend, “Levick, 904 Broadway, New York, 1860.” - - Metal, tin; edge milled; size, 1⅛ inch. - - - IV. - - _Ob._—Same as No. I. - - _Rev._—“F. C. Key & Sons, Die Sinkers and Medalists, 123 Arch St., - Phila.,” enclosed within a circle of thirty-two stars. - - Metal, tin; edge plain; size, 1⅛ inch. - - - V. - - _Ob._—A profile bust of Forrest, facing to the right. Legend, “Edwin - Forrest.” - - _Rev._—Same as Rev. IX., last. - - Metal, tin; edge plain; size, 1⅛ inch. - - - VI. - - _Ob._— Same as No. V. - - _Rev._—Profile bust of Webster, facing to the right. Legend, “Daniel - Webster.” - - Metal, tin; edge plain; size, 1⅛ inch. - - - VII. - - _Ob._—Same as No. V. - - _Rev._—“Dedicated to Coin and Medal Collectors,” enclosed by two palm - branches crossed. Ex., “1860.” - - Metal, tin; edge plain; size, 1⅛ inch. - - - VIII. - - _Ob._—Same as No. V. - - _Rev._—A race-horse standing, and facing to the left. “Mobile Jockey - Club.” “Member’s Medal.” - - Metal, tin; edge plain; size, 1⅛ inch. - - - IX. - - _Ob._—Same as No. V. - - _Rev._—A witch riding on a broomstick. “We all have our hobbies.” “G. - H. L.” - - Metal, tin; edge plain; size, 1⅛ inch. - - - X. - - _Ob._—Same as No. V. - - _Rev._—The name “Key” in large letters occupying the entire centre of - the field; within the name are enclosed in small letters the - following, “Ornamental Medal and Seal Die Sinkers, &c., &c., 329 - Arch St., Phila.” The whole surrounded by a constellation of - stars. - - Metal, tin; edge plain; size, 1⅛ inch. - - - XI. - - _Ob._—Same as No. V. - - _Rev._—“Not transferable, 1853.” - - Metal, tin; edge plain; size, 1⅛ inch. - - - XII. - - _Ob._—Same as No. V. - - _Rev._—Cupid on a dolphin. Ex., “1860.” - - Metal, tin; edge plain; size, 1⅛ inch. - - - XIII. - - _Ob._—Same as No. V. - - _Rev._—“F. C. Key & Sons, Die Sinkers and Medalists, 123 Arch St., - Philadelphia.” - - Metal, tin; edge plain; size, 1⅛ inch. - - - - - INDEX. - - - Acrostic on Forrest, 845. - - Actions, the ninth dramatic language, 467. - - Actor, fame of, not perishable, 338. - - Actors, generosity of, 526. - lives of, 20. - - Adams, Samuel, 24. - - Æsthetic gymnastic, 659. - - Albany, speech of Forrest there in 1864, 559. - - Alger, William R., 846. - - Allen, Caridora, 324. - - Alleyn, Edward, 847. - - America, characteristic faults of, 49. - composite of races in, 47-52. - future of drama in, 547. - idea and genius and destiny of, 40-44. - lessons for, from the East, 48. - - American Drama, 421. - - American School of Acting, 17. - - Americanism, intense, of Forrest, 39, 40. - - Angelo, Michael, 480. - - Animal magnetism, 468, 469. - - Animals, societies for preventing cruelty to, 86. - - Aristocratic code of manners, 669. - - Artistic School of Acting, 646, 658-662. - - Asp, hisses the Cleopatra of Marmontel, 479. - - Asses, Feast of, in the Church, 685. - - Astor Place Opera-House Riot, 430-432. - - Atheists, 576. - - Athletic development, its glory, 251. - - Attitudes, the second dramatic language, 464. - - Auld Lang Syne, 422. - - - Ball, Thomas, sculptor, his Coriolanus statue, 631-633. - - Bannister, John, Forrest’s admiration of, 30. - his retort on the jealous actors, 480. - his vast popularity, 585. - - Barnwell, George, moral power of the play, 703. - - Baron, the French actor, 643. - - Barrett, Mrs. George, 533. - - Barry, Thomas, 527. - - Bath, Russian, Forrest’s first one, 283. - - Battle of the Theatre and the Church, 682-695. - - Beecher, Henry Ward, on theatre, 693. - - Bertinazzi, the pantomimist, 544. - - Betty, Master, the Infant Roscius, 595. - - Biddle, Nicholas, 325. - - Bird, Robert M., 169. - - Black, Colonel Samuel, 574. - - Blake, William R., his Jesse Rural, 545. - - Bob, Forrest’s mocking-bird, 824. - - Bogota, Broker of, 350. - - Bohemians, dramatic critics, 438, 549. - - Bonaparte, Jerome, Forrest’s interview with, 413. - - Booth, Edwin, abusive criticism of, 457. - the elder, 540. - Wilkes, affecting anecdote of, 546. - - Borgia, Rosalia de, Forrest appears as, 60. - - Bowie, Colonel James, 118-120. - - Bozzaris, Marco, 192, 289. - - Brady, James T., 618. - - Breeding, animals and human species, laws of, 46. - - Broker of Bogota, 350. - - Brooke, Gustavus Vasa, plays Iago to Forrest’s Othello, 401. - - Brownie, Forrest’s horse, 823. - - Browning, Elizabeth Barrett, 563. - - Brutus, 220. - - Bryant, William Cullen, 338. - speech at Forrest Banquet, 417. - - Bryson, Mrs., Forrest boards with, 105. - - Burns, Robert, birthday festival in memory of, 403. - - Burton, W. G., his toast, 339. - - - Cade, Jack, by R. T. Conrad, 360. - - Caldwell, James H., 71, 111, 116, 137. - - California, official honors to Forrest, 555. - visit of Forrest there, 570. - - Cass, Lewis, gives a banquet in honor of Forrest, 593. - - Catullus, his threnody, 624. - - Chamouni, Forrest reads Coleridge’s hymn there, 281. - - Chandler, Joseph R., 333. - verses on Forrest, 67. - - Channing, William Ellery, 563. - - Character, three types of, in every man, 460. - - Charm, fourteen-fold, of the theatre, 688. - - Children, Forrest’s love for, 581, 824-826. - - Childs, George W., 836. - - Chinese Drama, 683. - - Choate, Rufus, death of, 573. - - Church and Theatre reconciled, 718. - - Circus, Forrest engages as a rider in, 112. - - Claqueurs, hired, 594. - - Classic School of Acting, 640. - - Clay, Henry, anecdote of, 593. - - Clown, secret of the vulgar delight in, 698. - - Club, the Edwin Forrest, 845. - - Coleridge, 24. - - Columbine and Harlequin, 697. - - Columbus, 698. - - Comer, Thomas, subjected to priestly bigotry, 694. - - Comparisons, personal, uses of, 673. - - Conrad, Robert T., 169, 332, 615, 616. - - Consuelo letter, the, 486. - - Contradictory accounts of Forrest’s Claude Melnotte, 458. - - Conway, the ill-fated actor, 136. - - Cooke, George Frederick, 456. - - Cooper, J. Fenimore, tribute to, 601. - - Cooper, Thomas A., interview of Forrest with, 68, 533. - - Coriolanus, as played by Forrest, 762-769. - Leggett on, 324. - - Criticism, dramatic, in newspapers, 458. - need of, for the critics, 439. - - Critics, Forrest grateful to three classes of, 434-436. - - Cushman, Charlotte, her Nancy Sykes, 457. - - - Damon, 211. - - Davenport, E. L., 540. - his tribute to Forrest, 541. - - Dawson, Moses, 104. - - Death always essentially the same, 831. - and immortality, Forrest on, 814. - of actors, 831. - of Forrest, 832. - - Definition of the Drama, 22, 459. - - Delsarte, François, 657-662. - - Democracy, ideal of, in Forrest, 53. - - Democratic code of manners, 669. - - Democratic Review on Forrest’s second reception in England, 399. - - Dewey, Rev. Orville, his eloquence, 339. - - Dougherty, Daniel, 16, 577, 834, 836. - - Drake, the theatrical manager, 536. - - Drama, definition of, 22, 459. - - Dramatic Art, definition of, 87. - illustrated in fables, 84. - in animals, 78-80. - in children, 83, 84. - in savages, 80-82. - - Dramatic Art, in society and in the theatre, 90. - varieties and levels of the, 95. - - Dramatic literature, American, patronized by Forrest, 167-170. - - Duane, William, first criticism on Forrest, 66. - - Dunlap, William, letter of, 336. - - Durang, Charles, 149. - - Durivage, F. A., letter by, 620. - poem by, 833. - - - Elssler, Fanny, 563. - - Emperor, the American, 634. - - England, Forrest’s first appearance in, 298. - American actors in, 296. - - Envy, 173. - vanity, and jealousy among actors, 387. - - Eshcol, grapes of, 62, 278. - - Evans, Platt, and the Distressed Tailor, 109. - - Expression, laws of, 463. - - - Facial expression, the fifth dramatic language, 465. - - Fame defined, 583. - not to be despised, 582. - - Farragut, Admiral, funeral of, 823. - - Feast of Asses, 685. - of Fools, 685. - - Febro, Richelieu, and Lear, as represented by Forrest, 354. - - Fennell, James, 532. - - Five classes of censorious critics, 436-439. - - Focal points in society where human nature is revealed, 674-680. - - Fonthill Castle, 484, 485. - - Fools of Shakspeare, 540. - - Forgiveness of enemies, beauty and wisdom of, 605. - - Forms, the first dramatic language, 464. - - Formula of central law of dramatic expression, 793. - - Forney, John W., 577, 593, 836. - - Forrest, Mrs. Catherine N., 483. - letters by her, 382, 493, 506. - - Forrest, Edwin, the author’s first interview with, 15. - misrepresentations of him, 26, 27. - his father, 33. - his mother, 35. - his brothers and sisters, 36-39. - intended for Christian ministry, 56. - first appearance on the stage, 60, 61. - takes nitrous oxide in the Tivoli Garden, 63. - his spirit of revenge, 64, 65. - his early practice of gymnastics, 96. - sickness of, in New Orleans, 130. - chased by a shark, 139. - his gymnastics, 141. - forswears gambling, 147. - his débût in New York, 150. - pays his father’s debts, 167. - makes his mother and sisters independent, 167. - attacks on, and enmity to, 173-179. - public dinner to, in New York, 181. - disliked to impersonate ignoble characters, 259. - visits the grave of Talma, 266. - public dinner to, in Philadelphia, 325. - nominated for Congress, 348. - his letter on the giving of benefits by actors, 378. - hisses Macready, 410. - anecdotes of, at Edinburgh, 412. - his limitations as an actor, 472. - flings off his wig on the stage, 478. - tribute to, by James E. Murdoch, 480. - his jealousy of his wife, 488-490. - first appearance on the stage after divorce, 502. - his tremendous strength, 539. - portraits of, at different ages, 586, 587. - originality of, 664. - thrice thought of leaving the stage, 795. - his letter on Lear, 797. - his last appearance in New York, 801-810. - last appearance on the stage, 811. - defects in character of, 816. - his love of his mother, 822. - estimates of, after his death, 836-840. - his lasting memory, 847, 848. - - Fourth-of-July celebration, oration by Forrest, 339. - in London, 413. - - French notice of Forrest in Parisian journal, 398. - - Friendship, its rarity, its nature, its meaning, 606-609. - - Future of the Drama in America, 547. - - - Gallagher, William D., 101, 105, 614. - - Gambling, its fearful power, 147. - - Garrick, 455. - and Lekain in Paris, 546. - his couplet on Nature and Art, 667. - tomb of, 189. - - Garrick Club, banquet to Forrest by, 316. - - Gaylord, Tom, 841. - - Gazonac, the gambler and duellist, 122-124. - - Genealogy, its interest and importance, 32. - - Genius of the Drama in Shakspeare, 524. - - Genoa, Forrest boards an American man-of-war at, 277. - - Georges, Mademoiselle, 264. - - Gestures, the fourth dramatic language, 465. - - Gilfert, Charles, the manager, 147, 150, 154, 155. - - Gospel and Drama have the same end, 682. - - Government, the ideal of, 51. - - Graham, Captain, 126, 131. - - Graham, John, 618. - - Grant, General, 610. - - Great men, 23, 24. - - Greek Drama, 683. - - Greene, Charles Gordon, 614. - - Gymnastic, æsthetic system, 563-566. - ecclesiastic contempt for, 561. - the Greek, 560. - training of Forrest, 564. - - - Hackett, James H., 191. - the American Falstaff, 540. - - Halleck, Fitz-Greene, 192, 403. - - Hamlet, as played by Forrest, 751-762. - - Harlequin and Columbine, 697. - - Harrison, Gabriel, 542. - acknowledgments to, 31. - speech by, 845, 846. - - Harrison, William Henry, his kindness to Forrest, 105. - - Heenan, John C., 563. - - Henry Clay, burning of the steamer, 554. - - Hereditary qualities in Forrest, 45. - - Heredity, law of, 44, 45. - - Hernizer, George, teaches Forrest to spar, 160, 161. - - Heywood, Thomas, lines to, 524. - - Hissing justified by Forrest, 411. - - Holland, George, 531. - subject of priestly bigotry, 694. - - Holley, President Horace, 101, 102, 842. - - Home, the Edwin Forrest, for Decayed Actors, 847. - - Hooper, Lucy H., poem by, 825. - - Hospital, secrets of human nature discovered in, 676. - - Humboldt, Forrest’s tribute to, 820. - - Humor, a happy attribute, 818. - - Humorous anecdotes of Forrest, 819. - - Hunter, James, a valuable critic of Forrest, 434. - - - Iago, the canal-boatman on Forrest’s, 477. - - Idea, the American, Asiatic, and European, 54. - - Ideal of life, the ecclesiastic and the dramatic, 689. - - Ideals expressed in acting, 195, 196. - - Immigration to America, 40, 41. - - Indian summer, 575. - - Ingersoll, Charles, his speech at the Forrest banquet in Philadelphia, - 336. - - Ingersoll, Joseph R., 327. - - Ingham, C. C., the artist, 182. - - Ingraham, D. P., 166. - - Irving, Washington, 338. - - - Jackson, Andrew, Forrest’s visit to, 384. - - Jamieson, George W., 486, 610. - - Japanese Drama, 683. - - Jealousy, its different levels, 513-522. - the, of Forrest, 488-490. - - Jefferson, Joseph, his letter to Forrest, 544. - - Jefferson, Joseph, the elder, 456, 534-536. - Forrest’s tribute to, 827. - - Jefferson, Thomas, tribute to, by Forrest, 343. - - Johnson, Dr. Samuel, on Garrick, 585. - - Jones, the theatrical manager, 537. - - Juliet, actress in, first awakened love in Forrest, 532. - - - Kean, Edmund, 141-146. - belittling and insulting critiques on, 456. - - Kellogg, Miss Gertrude, 537. - - Kemble, Charles, presents two swords to Forrest, 317. - - Kemble, John Philip, 456. - - Kennedy, John P., 338. - - King, Starr, tree in Mammoth Grove, 571. - - Kingship and priesthood of man, 53. - - Kneller, Sir Godfrey, on Addison, 678. - - Knowles, James Sheridan, 275. - his anecdote of Siddons, 545. - - - Lablache, his facial picture of a thunder-storm, 657. - - Labor and Cost, 682. - - La Fayette, Forrest sees him, 133. - - Lafitte, the pirate, 125. - - Landor, Walter Savage, 577. - - Languages, the nine dramatic, 464. - - Laughter, abuse of, 702. - - Laws of dramatic expression, 793. - - Lawson, James, 152, 491, 506, 836. - a great friend of Forrest, 613, 645. - - Lawyer, a New York, taught love of nature by Forrest, 576. - - Lear, as played by Forrest, 781-792. - Forrest’s letter on, 797. - - Leggett, William, 152, 192. - anecdotes of, 373. - desires to write a play on Jack Cade, 325. - his death in 1838, 372. - letter of Forrest to, 316. - letter of, to mother of Forrest, 297. - speech in Philadelphia, 337. - toast in memory of, 422. - - Leggett, William, tributes to, by Bryant and Whittier, 374. - - Lekain, the French actor, 643. - and Garrick in the Champs Elysées, 546. - - Lesson of Coriolanus, 791. - of Rip Van Winkle, 792. - - Lessons in the acting of Forrest, 792, 793. - - Library, the, of Forrest, 578. - - Lillie, Miss, 537. - - Limitations of Forrest as an actor, 472. - - Love, in human life and in dramatic art, 508-510. - the six tragedies of, 510-513. - - - Macbeth, as played by Forrest, 737-746. - - Mackaye, James Steele, 567. - - Mackenzie, Dr. R. Shelton, 448. - - Macklin, Charles, 455. - on Garrick, 844. - - Macready, William Charles, 389-391. - - Magnetism, human, 26, 118. - personal, its power, its grades and law, 721-726. - - Magoon, Rev. E. L., 556. - - Man, his inherent kingship and priesthood, 53. - his nine dramatic languages, 464. - - Manliness of Forrest as an actor, 664. - - Manners, index of souls, 667. - the art of, seen on the stage, 706. - the four codes of, 668. - - Marionette-play, or a puppet-show, 699. - - Marriage of Forrest and Miss Sinclair, 321. - - Mars, Mademoiselle, Forrest’s introduction to, 270. - - Marshall, Chief-Justice, Forrest sees him, 132. - - Mazurier, the famous Punchinello, 699. - - McArdle, Joseph, 819, 840. - - McCoun, Chancellor, his speech at the Forrest Banquet, 1855, 185-187. - - McCullough, John, 527, 542, 840. - - McMichael, Morton, 331. - - Melnotte, Claude, by Lord Lytton, 356. - - Melodrama, defined, 696. - - Melodramatic acting, 543, 643. - justified, 250. - - Memory, the, of Forrest, 847, 848. - - Metamora, 237. - London Times on, 476. - - Miles, George H., 169. - - Millennial state, how to be secured, 682. - - Mills, John F., his report of Forrest’s talk at Cohasset, 579, 580. - - Milman, Henry Hart, 321. - - Mob, the Forrest-Macready, dispersed by military, 431. - - Mohammed, 697. - - Money, evils of the intense struggle for, 682. - Forrest’s alleged love of, 552, 553. - ingratitude of borrowers of, 530. - - Moralities and Mysteries, 686. - - Moray, John S., 802. - - Morrell, T. H., a friend of Forrest, 31. - - Mossop, 455. - - Mother, Forrest’s love for his, 423-428, 822. - - Motions, tend to produce the emotions they express, 568. - - Movements, automatic, the third dramatic language, 464. - - Murdoch, James E., his tribute to Forrest, 480. - - Music, revelation of characters by, 695. - - Mysteries and Moralities, 686. - - - Napoleon, Louis, 698. - - Natural School of Acting, 643. - - Nature and art in acting, 648, 663. - - Negro, Forrest the earliest impersonator of, on the stage, 108, 109. - - New Orleans, characteristics of, 113, 114. - - Newspapers, their good and evil, 432. - - Nine dramatic languages of man, the, 464. - - Noises, inarticulate, the sixth dramatic language, 466. - - - Oakes, James, at the bier of Forrest, 833. - causes this biography to be written, 14-16. - his description of Forrest in Virginius, 650. - his first meeting with Forrest, 164. - his friendship with Forrest, 624-638. - his impression of Mrs. Wheatley, 533. - letters of Forrest to, 571, 573, 813, 814. - nurses Forrest, 812, 826, 830. - sketch of him, 619-624. - - Oblivion speedily overtakes most men, 34. - - O’Conor, Charles, his attack on Forrest, 486. - - Originality has to buffet detraction, 475. - - Othello, as played by Forrest, 769-781. - - - Padishah, Forrest’s adventure with, 288. - - Page, William, his portrait of Forrest as Spartacus, 586. - - Paine, Thomas, letter of, to Washington, 574. - - Palace of king, secrets of human nature discovered in, 675. - - Paralysis, Forrest attacked by, 569. - - Parasites, 595. - - Passions, the great dramatic, 463. - - Paulding, James K., his advice to Forrest, 238. - - Penalties of fame, 594. - - Personal criticism, two evils of, 672. - - Physical training, 158, 159. - - Pike, Albert, 623, 624. - - Pilmore, Dr. Joseph, 56. - - Placide, Henry, 282. - - Placide, Miss Jane, 137, 291. - - Player, the perfect, his requirements, 472. - - Plebeian code of manners, 669. - - Politeness, principle of, 667. - - Popularity, formerly and now, 172. - - Porter, Charles S., the manager, 59, 147. - - Prentiss, Sargent S., 24. - - Press, its abuses in America, 432, 433. - - Pride and vanity, 388. - - Priest and player, their hostility, 689-695. - - Priesthood and kingship of man, 53. - - Prison, secrets of human nature discovered in, 676. - - Prizes and penalties of fame, 594. - - Profanity a safety-valve sometimes, 580. - - Professional habits, 523. - - Professions, the, 674-682. - the academic, 681. - the artistic, 678. - the dramatic, 679. - the imperial, 675. - the legal, 676. - the medical, 676. - the military, 675. - the priestly, 667. - - Puppet-show, 699. - - Push-ma-ta-ha, the young Choctaw chief, 125, 128, 138. - - - Quaker, cruelty of, to young Forrest, 65. - - Quarrel, the Macready and Forrest, 422, 428-431. - - Quin, 455. - - - Rachel, Forrest’s early prophecy of her greatness, 266. - her astonishing power, 707. - - Readings, dramatic, by Forrest, 829. - - Rees, James, 577, 813. - anecdote by, 478. - - Richard, as played by Forrest, 746-751. - - Richelieu, as played by Forrest, 728-737. - - Riddle, Mrs., 99, 106, 110, 537. - - Riot, Astor Place Opera-House, 430-432. - - Robson, William, his “Old Play-Goer,” 456. - - Rolla, 199. - - Roman Drama, 684. - - Romantic School of Acting, 641. - - Royal code of manners, 668. - - Russian Bath, Forrest’s, at Hamburg, 283. - - - Salvini, his La Civile Morte, 354. - his Othello compared with Forrest’s, 769. - inconsistent judgments on, 458. - - San Francisco, Forrest’s first appearance there, 570. - - Sarcasm, contradiction of tone and word, 470. - - Satire of priests by players, 692, 693. - - Saul, representation of, by Salvini, 712-718. - - Sayers, Thomas, the pugilist, his funeral, 583. - - Schools of Acting, 630-670. - - Scoggan, the fool, 698. - - Sedley, Henry, 439, 802. - - Servility to the newspaper press an American vice, 600, 601. - - Shakspeare, 524. - Forrest’s tribute to, 820. - remarkable tribute to, 578. - - Shakspearean characters, interest of Forrest in, 737-739. - - Shark, a, chases Forrest, 139. - - Siddons, Mrs. Sarah, 456, 523, 525. - verses by, 596. - - Sinclair, Catherine Norton, Forrest first meets, 320. - - Sinclair, Mrs. C. N., 650. - - Sinister and benign aspects of the four codes of manners, 668-670. - - Smith, Sol, 104, 112, 618. - - Sonnet to Forrest, 406. - - Spartacus, 249. - - Spinoza, Benedict, his Ethics, 578. - - Standard, true, of criticism, 459, 469. - - Standards for judging men, primary and secondary, 672. - - Steevens, George, satirizes Mrs. Siddons, 456. - - Stone, John A., 169. - - Stratford-upon-Avon, Forrest’s visit there, 291. - - Stuart, Gilbert, his last portrait one of Forrest, 586. - - Studio, secrets of human nature discovered in, 676. - - Sunshine, Forrest’s love of, 564. - - Swift, Colonel John, 63, 333. - - - Talfourd, Thomas Noon, 316. - - Talma, 189, 266, 317, 455. - - Tartuffe, 692. - - Tasistro, Louis F., acrostic on Forrest by, 845. - - Taylor, James, 101, 616-618. - letter by, 841-844. - - Tell, 204. - - Temperaments, the chief varieties enumerated, 461. - - Temple, secrets of human nature discovered in, 667. - - Tent of general, secrets of human nature discovered in, 675. - - Terrible fall from a balustrade, 796. - - Theatre, alleged decline of, 828. - a nation in itself, 19. - fourteen-fold charm of, 688. - its future, 19. - its relation to church and state, 52. - secrets of human nature discovered in, 679. - the whole universe a divine one, 77. - - Theatres of Greece and Rome, 639. - - Theatricality, Forrest’s freedom from, off the stage, 821, 822. - - Timon and parasitic friendship, 611. - - Tivoli Garden, 329. - - Tones, inflected, the seventh dramatic language, 466. - - Tragedy, melodrama, and comedy compared, 91-93. - - Training, physical, 158, 159, 161. - - Tree, Ellen, 324. - - Trowbridge, J. T., his “Darius Green,” 629. - - - Union, the American, Forrest on, 573. - - Uses, social, of the dramatic art, 695. - - - Verses written by Forrest, 134-136. - - Vincent, Mount Saint, Catholic sisterhood, 554. - - Virginius, 230. - - Voice of Braham, 655. - of Henry Russell, 653. - - Voice, the perfection of, 653-656. - - Voyage to Europe, 263. - - - Wagner, James V., 614. - - Wallace, William Ross, poem on Forrest, 558. - - Walpole, Horace, 455. - - Walsh, Mike, his attack on Forrest, 375. - - Webster, Daniel, 25, 388. - - Wetmore, Prosper M., verses by, 156. - - Wheatley, Mrs. Sarah, 538. - - Wheatley, William, 538, 545. - - Willis, N. P., 498. - - Wilson, Alexander, the ornithologist, 57, 58. - - Winter, William, 712, 651, 802. - - Woffington, Peg, 459. - - Woodhull, the actor, Forrest plays for his benefit, 149. - - Words, articulated, the eighth dramatic language, 467. - - Wright, C. C., the artist, 182. - - Wright, Silas, and Daniel Webster, 610. - - Wyman, Col. Powell T., 574, 622. - - - Zoroaster, 564. - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES - - - 1. Silently corrected typographical errors and variations in spelling. - 2. Anachronistic, non-standard, and uncertain spellings retained as - printed. - 3. Enclosed italics font in _underscores_. - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Life of Edwin Forrest, the American -Tragedian. 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Volume 2 (of 2), by William Rounseville Alger - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll -have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using -this ebook. - - - -Title: Life of Edwin Forrest, the American Tragedian. Volume 2 (of 2) - -Author: William Rounseville Alger - -Release Date: February 22, 2020 [EBook #61470] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK EDWIN FORREST *** - - - - -Produced by Richard Tonsing, David Edwards, and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This -book was produced from images made available by the -HathiTrust Digital Library.) - - - - - - -</pre> - - -<div class='tnotes covernote'> - -<p class='c000'><b>Transcriber’s Note:</b></p> - -<p class='c000'>The cover image was created by the transcriber and is placed in the public domain.</p> - -</div> - -<div class='figcenter id001'> -<img src='images/frontis.jpg' alt='Yours Sincerely, Edwin Forrest' class='ig001' /> -<div class='ic001'> -<p>ÆT 65</p> -</div> -</div> - -<div class='titlepage'> - -<div> - <h1 class='c001'>LIFE<br /> <span class='small'>OF</span><br /> EDWIN FORREST,<br /> <span class='xlarge'>THE AMERICAN TRAGEDIAN.</span></h1> -</div> - -<div class='nf-center-c0'> -<div class='nf-center c002'> - <div><span class='small'>BY</span></div> - <div class='c003'><span class='large'>WILLIAM ROUNSEVILLE ALGER.</span></div> - </div> -</div> - -<div class='lg-container-b c002'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line in16'><span class='xsmall'>“All the world’s a stage,</span></div> - <div class='line'><span class='xsmall'>And all the men and women merely players.”</span></div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<div class='nf-center-c0'> -<div class='nf-center c002'> - <div>VOLUME II.</div> - <div class='c002'><span class='small'>PHILADELPHIA:</span></div> - <div>J. B. LIPPINCOTT & CO.</div> - <div>1877.</div> - </div> -</div> - -</div> - -<div class='nf-center-c0'> -<div class='nf-center c004'> - <div>Copyright, 1877, by <span class='sc'>J. B. Lippincott & Co.</span></div> - </div> -</div> - -<div class='pbb'> - <hr class='pb c003' /> -</div> -<div class='chapter'> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_433'>433</span> - <h2 class='c005'>CHAPTER XIV.<br /> <span class='large'>NEWSPAPER ESTIMATES.—ELEMENTS OF THE DRAMATIC ART, AND ITS TRUE STANDARD OF CRITICISM.</span></h2> -</div> - -<p class='c006'>The newspaper in some countries has been a crime and in -others a luxury. In all civilized countries it has now become a -necessity. With us it is a duty. It is often corrupted and degraded -into a nuisance. It ought to be cleansed and exalted -into a pure benefaction, a circulating medium of intelligence and -good will alone. Certainly it is far from being that at the present -time. It is true that our newspapers are an invaluable and indispensable -protection against all other tyrannies and social abuses; -and their fierce vanity, self-interest, and hostile watchfulness of -one another keep their common arrogance and encroachments -pretty well in check. If they were of one mind and interest we -should be helplessly in their power. From the great evils which -so seriously alloy the immense benefits of the press, Forrest -suffered much in the latter half of his life. The abuse he met -irritated his temper, and left a chronic resentment in his mind. -Two specimens of this abuse will show something of the nettling -wrongs he encountered.</p> - -<p class='c007'>A Philadelphia newspaper stigmatized him in the most offensive -terms as a drunkard. Now it was a moral glory of Forrest -that, despite the temptations to which his professional career exposed -him, he was never intoxicated in his life. The newspaper -in question, threatened with a libel suit, withdrew its words with -an abject apology,—a poor satisfaction for the pain and injury it -had inflicted.</p> - -<p class='c007'>The other instance was on occasion of the driving of Macready -from the stage of the Astor Place Opera House. A New York -newspaper, in language of studied insolence, called Forrest the -instigator and author of the outrage. “Mr. Forrest succeeded -last night in doing what even his bad acting and unmanly conduct -never did before: he inflicted a thorough and lasting disgrace -<span class='pageno' id='Page_434'>434</span>upon the American character.” “To revenge himself on -Mr. Macready he packed the house and paid rowdies for driving -decent people away.” “With his peculiar tastes he will probably -enjoy the infamy and deem it a triumph.” Forrest, instead of -cowhiding the writer of this atrocious slander,—as some men of -his high-spirited nature would have done,—sent a letter, through -his legal friend Theodore Sedgwick, demanding immediate retraction -and apology. The editor assented to the request, confessing -that he had spoken with no knowledge of facts to justify him!</p> - -<p class='c007'>From the time of his first appearance on the stage, Forrest -was a careful reader of the criticisms on his performances. He -generally read them, too, with a just mind, discriminating the -valuable from the worthless, quick to adopt a useful hint, indignant -or contemptuous towards unfairness and imbecility. There -were three classes of persons whose comments on his performances -gave him pleasure and instruction. He paid earnest attention -to their remarks, and was always generous in expressing his -sense of indebtedness to them.</p> - -<p class='c007'>The first class consisted of those who had a personal friendship -for him, combined with a strong taste for the drama, and who -studied and criticised his efforts in a sympathetic spirit for the -purpose of encouraging him and aiding him to improve. Such -men as Duane and Chandler and Swift in Philadelphia, Dawson -in Cincinnati, Holley at Louisville, Canonge in New Orleans, -Leggett and Lawson in New York, and Oakes in Boston, gave -him the full benefit of their varied knowledge of human nature, -literary art, and dramatic expression. Their censure was unhesitating, -their questionings frank, their praise unstinted. Among -these friendly critics the name of James Hunter, of Albany, -one of the editors of “The Daily Advertiser,” in the important -period of young Forrest’s engagement there, deserves to -be remembered. He was one of the best critics of that day. -He used to sit close to the stage and watch the actor with the -keenest scrutiny, not allowing the smallest particular to escape -his notice. Then at the end of the play he would in a private -interview submit to his protégé the results of his observation, -carefully pointing out every fault and indicating the remedy. He -lived to see the favorite, who profited so well from his instructions, -reach the proudest pitch of success and fame. When Mr. -<span class='pageno' id='Page_435'>435</span>Hunter died, Forrest interrupted an engagement he was filling in a -distant city in order to attend the funeral, and followed the remains -of his old benefactor to the tomb as one of the chief mourners.</p> - -<p class='c007'>The second class of commenters on the playing of Forrest -from whose judgments he received satisfaction and help was composed -of that portion of the writers of dramatic criticism for the -press who were comparatively competent to the task they undertook. -They were men who were neither his friends nor his foes, -but impartial judges, who knew what they were writing about and -who recorded their honest thoughts in an honorable spirit and a -good style. Among the many thousands of articles written on the -acting of Forrest during the fifty years of his career there are -hundreds written in excellent style, revealing competent knowledge, -insight, and sympathy, and marked by an unexceptionable -moral tone. They suggest doubts, administer blame, and express -admiration, not from caprice or prejudice, but from principle, and -with lights and shades varying in accordance with the facts of the -case and the truth of the subject. These articles have an interest -and a value in the highest degree creditable to their authors, and -they go far to redeem the dramatic criticism of our national press -from the severe condemnation justly provoked by the greater -portion of it. Did space allow, it would be a pleasure to cite full -specimens of this better class of dramatic critiques from the collected -portfolios left behind him by the departed actor. Enough -that he profoundly appreciated them, and that in various directions -they did good service in their day.</p> - -<p class='c007'>The third class whose words concerning his performances -Forrest gladly heeded were men who simply gave truthful reports -of the impressions made on themselves, not professing to -sit in judgment or to dogmatize, but honestly declaring what -they felt and what they thought. Free from prejudices and perversities, -fair average representatives of human nature in its ordinary -degrees of power and culture, their experiences under his -impersonations, ingenuously expressed, were always interesting -and instructive, throwing light on many secrets of cause and -effect, on many points of conventional falsity and of natural sincerity, -in histrionic portrayals. Often while the newspaper writer -who pretends to know the most about the dramatic art is so full -of conceit and biases that his verdict on any particular representation -<span class='pageno' id='Page_436'>436</span>has neither weight nor justice, the instincts of the bright-minded -and warm-hearted boy or girl, the native intelligence and -sympathy of the unsophisticated man or woman, whose soul is -all open to the living truth of things, are almost infallible. Nobody -knew this better than our tragedian, or was readier to act -on it.</p> - -<p class='c007'>The light and joy he drew from these three sets of critics -found a heavy counterpoise in the unjust estimates, perverse, -exaggerated, malignant, or absurd, of which he was constantly -made the subject by five classes of censors. The first were his -personal enemies. Among the meaner fry of men who came in -contact with him, a multitude hated him from jealousy and envy, -from resentment of his independent and uncompromising ways, -his refusal to grant them his intimacy or to serve their purposes. -They sought to gratify their animosity by backbiting at his reputation, -and especially by trying to destroy his professional rank. -Year after year they made the columns of many a newspaper -groan and reek under the load of their abuse, ranging from -envenomed invective to grotesque ridicule. For example, a -jocose foe said, in parody of the great Moslem proclamation, -“There is but one Bowery, and Hellitisplit is its profit.” And a -serious foe said, “Mr. Forrest is an injury to the stage. He is a -false leader, an oppression, a bad model, and a corrupter of the -popular taste.” A great part of the hostile criticism he suffered -may be traced to bitter personal enmity, which had but slight regard -to truth or fairness in its attacks on him, whether as man or -as player.</p> - -<p class='c007'>The next class of assailants of Forrest in his professional repute -were not his personal enemies, but were the tools of the various -cliques, cabals, or social castes who had an antipathy for him -and for the party to which he belonged. The English interest -was especially active and bitter against him after his quarrel with -Macready. Some of these writers were wilfully corrupt in their -attitude and consciously false in their written estimates. They -expressed neither their own feelings nor their own convictions, -but merely the passion and policy of their employers. For example, -at the time of the death of the tragedian a well-known -editor confessed to a friend that some twenty years previously, -when he was a reporter, his employer sent him to the theatre to -<span class='pageno' id='Page_437'>437</span>see Forrest play, and with explicit directions to write the severest -condemnation he could of the actor. He went accordingly, and -made notes for a savage satirical article, although at the moment -of his making these notes the tears were streaming down his -cheeks, so sincere and so powerful was the representation which -he was, against his conscience, preparing to abuse. Much dishonorable -work of this kind has been done, and still is done, by -men disgracefully connected with the press.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Another set of critics who assailed the acting of Forrest were -those whose tastes were repelled by his realistic method and -robust energy. He was too vehemently genuine, his art not far -enough removed from material reality, to suit their fancy. They -demanded a style more graceful, delicate, and free. Under the -impulse of their resentful prejudices they overlooked his great -merits, depreciated everything he did, angrily denied him his just -rank, magnified every fault beyond measure, and maliciously caricatured -him. A volume might be filled with articles purely of -this description, proceeding from writers whose want of native -manliness unfitted them for appreciating the magnificent manliness -of his impersonations, and whose offended fastidiousness -expressed itself in terms which were an offence to justice.</p> - -<p class='c007'>The fourth class of abusers of Forrest were men who had an -instinctive repugnance for the imposing grandeur of the types of -character he represented, for the self-sufficing, autocratic power -and stateliness of his impersonations. Mean and envious spirits -dislike to look up to those higher and stronger than themselves. -Those who either never had any romance and reverence or have -been disenchanted, feel an especial enmity or incompetent contempt -for every one whose character and bearing appeal to those -qualities. This disinclination to admire, this wish to look on -equals or inferiors alone, is the special vice of a democracy. -Demagogues, whether in politics or in letters, are men of torpid -imaginations and dry hearts,—slow to worship, quick to sneer. -The style of man enacted by Forrest, full of an imperial personality, -overswaying all who come near, massive in will, ponderous -in movement, volcanic in passion, majestic in poise, was hateful -to the cynical critic the petty proportions of whose soul were -revealed and rebuked in its presence. He seized the weapon -of ridicule to revenge himself on the actor whose grander portrayals -<span class='pageno' id='Page_438'>438</span>angered him instead of aweing or shaming or delighting -him. There seems to be among us in America a growing dislike -for the contemplation on the stage of the grandest heroism and -power, and an increasing fondness for seeing specimens of commonplace -or inferiority promotive of amusement. Already in -his life Forrest was a sufferer by this degradation of popular -taste, and were he now to appear in our theatres he would feel it -still more.</p> - -<p class='c007'>The fifth and largest class of writers who assumed to criticise -the acting of Forrest was made up of persons professionally connected -with the press, whose blundering or extravagant estimates -arose rather from their ignorance and utter incompetency for the -task they undertook than from a spirit of antipathy or partisanship. -The censures and laudations in these notices were the -cause of an immense amount of varied mortification, amusement, -vexation, and anger, as they came under his eyes. No small -portion of the criticisms in the American newspapers on actors, -singers, lecturers, and other public characters have been written, -and still continue to be written, by uneducated and inexperienced -young men scarcely out of their teens, serving an apprenticeship -in the art and trade of journalism. With low aims and views, -slight literary culture, superficial knowledge of life, a vile contempt -for sentiment, a cynical estimate of human nature, equally -ready to extol and to denounce for pay, these writers are the -nuisance and the scandal of their craft. Were their articles -accompanied by their names they would be destitute of weight -or mischief; but, published with apparent editorial sanction, they -often assume a pernicious importance.</p> - -<p class='c007'>The art of a people expresses the character and aspiration of -a people and reacts to develop them. To sit in judgment on it -is a high and sacred office, for which none but the most intelligent, -refined, and honorable are fit. The praise and blame given -to artists play on the living sensibilities of that most sensitive -class whose careers are a vital index of the moral state of the -community. Yet this momentous office is frequently entrusted -to beardless youths, whose chief experience is in dissipation, and -who unblushingly sell their pens to the highest bidder. A severe -article exposing this abuse appeared in the “Round Table” in -1864, written by the editor, and entitled “Dramatic Critics in New -<span class='pageno' id='Page_439'>439</span>York.” Forrest put it in one of his scrap-books with the endorsement, -“How true this is!” Mr. Sedley said, “What dramatic -criticism in New York has been the public well know. Its low, -egotistic, unfair, malicious character, its blind partialities and -undying hates, its brazen ignorance and insulting familiarity, -have given it wide notoriety and brought upon it equally wide -contempt.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>There is no art which more needs to be criticised than that of -criticism itself, because there is none which requires in its votary -such varied knowledge and cultivation, and such integrity of -mind and purity of motive; because, furthermore, no other art -is exposed to such subtle temptations of prejudice and vanity. -The critic, in assuming to be a judge, is no exception to other -writers. Like them he reveals and betrays himself in what he -writes. In dissecting others he lays his own soul bare. In consciously -judging them he pronounces unconscious judgment on -himself,—in the tenderness or the insensibility, the generosity and -candor or the meanness and spite, the knowledge and beauty or -the ignorance and foulness, which he expresses. The pen of a -base, vindictive critic is a stiletto, a fang, or an anal gland. The -pen of a competent and genial critic is the wand of an intellectual -Midas turning everything it touches to gold. For such a critic -has the true standard of judgment in his knowledge, and, whatever -the merit or demerit of the work he estimates, as he points -out its conformity with that standard or its departure from it his -lucid illustration is always full of instruction and help.</p> - -<p class='c007'>But the great majority of those journalists who presume to -print their estimates of histrionic performances are profoundly -ignorant of the elements of the dramatic art. Thus, having no -knowledge of the real standard of judgment by which all impersonations -should be tested, they cannot fairly criticise the artists -who appear before them for a verdict. Instead of criticising or -even justly describing them they victimize them. They use -them as the stalking-horses of their own presumption or caprice, -prejudice or interest. Unable to write with intelligent candor on -the subject which they profess to treat, they employ it only as a -text whereon to append whatever they think they can make -effective in displaying their own abilities or amusing their readers. -The unfittedness of such critics for their task is sufficiently proved -<span class='pageno' id='Page_440'>440</span>by the chief attributes of their writing, namely, prejudice, absurd -extravagance, reckless caprice, ridiculous assumption of superiority, -violent efforts to lug in every irrelevant matter which -they can in any way associate with the topic to enhance the -effect they wish to produce regardless of justice or propriety.</p> - -<p class='c007'>A few specimens of these various kinds of criticism will be -found full of curious interest and suggestiveness, while they will -illustrate something of what the proud and sensitive nature of -Forrest had to undergo at the hands of his admirers and his -contemners.</p> - -<p class='c007'>One enthusiastic worshipper, in the year 1826, overflowed in the -following style: “In the Iron Chest, on Thursday evening last, -Mr. Forrest established a name and a fame which, should he die -to-morrow, would give him a niche in the temple of renown to -endure uncrumbled in the decay of ages!” Another one wrote -thus: “In his Richard, Macbeth, Lear, and Othello, Mr. Forrest -displays abilities and accomplishments which, for power and -finish, we do not believe have ever been at all approached by -any other actor that ever stepped upon the stage. The range of -his delicate and varied by-play and the terrific energy of his -explosions of naked passion leave the very greatest of his predecessors -far in the rear and deep in the shade!” Such slopping -eulogy defeats its own purpose. For want of discrimination its -exaggerations are unmeaning and powerless. To be thus bedaubed -and plastered with praise mortifies the actor, and injures -him with the judicious, though springing from a generous sensibility -and most kindly meant. This style of praise, however, is -quite exceptional. The general run of critics have altogether too -much knowingness and vanity for it. Their cue is to depreciate -and detract, to satirize and belittle, so as either directly or indirectly -to imply the superiority of their own knowledge and taste. -Your ordinary critic is nothing if not superior to the artist he -assumes to estimate. The publicity and admiration enjoyed by -the performer seem to taunt the critic with his own obscurity and -neglect, and he seeks an ignoble gratification in denying the -merit of what he really envies. This base animus of the baser -members of a properly high and useful literary guild betrays -itself in many ways. For example, one of this sort, sneering at -the idea of applauding the genius of an actor, characterized -<span class='pageno' id='Page_441'>441</span>dramatists as “the class of men who administer in the most -humiliating of all forms to the amusement of a large and mixed -assembly.” It needs no more than his own words to place Pecksniff -before us in full life.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Through the whole dramatic life of Forrest one class of his -assailants were found accusing him of tameness and dulness, -while another class blamed him for extravagant energy and frenzied -earnestness. Both classes spoke from personal bias or capricious -whim, instead of judging by a fixed standard of truth and -discerning where reserve and quietness were appropriate and -where explosive vehemence was natural. One critic, in 1831, -says, “He wants passion and force. He has no sincerity of -feeling, no spontaneous and climacteric force. He often counterfeits -well,—for the stage,—but nature is not there.” At the -same time the critic attached to another journal wrote, “Mr. -Forrest’s greatest fault is lack of self-control and repose. His -feelings are so intense and mighty that they break through all -bounds. With added years, no doubt, he will grow more reserved -and artistic.” Thirty years later the same blunt contradiction, -the same blind caprice or prejudice, are found in the two -extracts that follow:</p> - -<p class='c007'>“For nearly three months the heavy tragedian has weighed -like an incubus on the public, which now, that the oppression of -this theatrical nightmare is removed, breathes freely. We part -with Mr. Forrest without regret; he has taken his leave, and, as -that slight acquaintance of his, William Shakspeare, remarks, he -could ‘take nothing we would more willingly part withal.’ Those -only who, like ourselves, have constantly attended his performances, -have a true knowledge of their tedium and dulness. The -occasional visitor may bear with Mr. Forrest for a night or two, -but we are really nauseated. The stupid, solemn, melancholy -evenings we have passed in watching his stupid, solemn, and -melancholy personations will always be remembered with disgust. -Nothing but a sense of duty compelled us to submit to -this ineffable bore.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Mr. Forrest belongs to the robustious school of tragedy,—that -class who ‘split the ears of the groundlings,’—and his eminent -example has ruined the American stage. He is a dramatic tornado, -and plucks up the author’s words by the roots and hurls -<span class='pageno' id='Page_442'>442</span>them at the heads of the audience. He mistakes rant for earnestness, -frenzy for vigor. The modulations of his voice are -unnatural, and his pauses painful. A man in a furious passion -does not measure his words like a pedagogue declaiming before -his school, but speaks rapidly and fiercely, without taking time -to hiss like a locomotive blowing off steam. Mr. Forrest was -not so in his prime; and he has probably borrowed the habit -from some antiquated actor who has been afflicted with asthma.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>There is no candid criticism in such effusions of obvious prepossession -and satire. They show no reference to a fixed standard, -no sincere devotion to the interests of truth and art; but a -desire to awaken laughter, a purpose to make the player appear -ridiculous and the writer appear witty. The same may be -said of the following examples, wherein amusing or malignant -ridicule takes the place of fair and intelligent judgment. Such -writers care not what their victims suffer, or what justice suffers, -so long as they can succeed in gaining attention and raising a -laugh. They feel with the English critic who excoriated Payne -for his Macbeth, “No matter if the labor we delight in physics -Payne, it <em>pays</em> us.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>First. “Mr. Forrest’s personation of the Broker of Bogota is -feeble and uninteresting. Contrasted with his <em>Othello</em>, it has the -advantage which the Stupid has over the Outrageous. <em>Febro</em> may -be compared to one of those intolerable bores who prose and -prose, with sublime contempt of all that is interesting, for hours. -<em>Othello</em> is like one of those social torments who destroy your -peace of mind with incessant and furious attacks. The bore is -the negative of Good; his opposite is the affirmative of Evil.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>Second. “We can account for the popularity which Forrest enjoys -as the greatest master of the Epigastric School of Acting on -no other hypothesis than that of the innate depravity of human -taste. Like the vicious propensity in mankind to chew tobacco -and drink whisky, the majority of men have a depraved appetite -for this false and outrageous caricature of human nature which -Mr. Forrest calls acting. Our strictures apply in a lesser degree -to the stage delineations of all tragedians. They are all false, -and Forrest is only a little more so. His particular excellence -seems to lie in his extraordinary power of pumping up rage from -his epigastrium, and expectorating it upon his audience, through -<span class='pageno' id='Page_443'>443</span>the interstices of his set teeth. Other tragedians equal him in -their facial contortions, and in the power of converting their -chests into an immense bellows violently worked. His great -rival, McKean Buchanan, excels Mr. Forrest in this department -of high art, but fails in the epigastric power. Mr. Forrest may -well claim to stand at the head of the Epigastric School. He -does not underestimate the value of epilepsy in delineation, and -‘chaws,’ tears, rends, and foams at the mouth quite as artistically -as the best of his rivals; but he especially cultivates his epigastrium. -We do not want Mr. Forrest to die soon. But when he -<em>does</em> pass away, we have a physiological and anatomical curiosity -which we would be pleased to have gratified at the expense of a -<i><span lang="la" xml:lang="la">post mortem</span></i> on the great tragedian. We have a grave suspicion -that, deep down in his stomach, beneath the liver and other less -important viscera, he has concealed additional vocal apparatus, -by means of which he is enabled to produce those diabolical -<em>tremolo</em> sounds which have so often thrilled and chilled his auditors. -But in our opinion, with its two great exponents, Edwin -Forrest and McKean Buchanan, the Epigastric and Epileptic -School of Acting will pass away.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>Third. “We thought to have dropped Mr. Edwin Forrest as a -subject of newspaper remark; but several of his friends, or persons -who think themselves such, are very anxious that we should do -him justice, as an actor, though that is just what they ought to -fear for him. We will take his performance as Richard. In this -part, in the first place, his gait is very bad, awkward, and ungraceful. -Richard may, possibly, have halted a little, but he did -not roll like a sailor just ashore from a three years’ cruise. A -king does not walk so. Then, his features are totally devoid of -expression; he can contort, but he can throw neither meaning nor -feeling into them. When he attempts to look love, anger, hate, or -fear, he resembles one of the ghouls and afrites in Harper’s new -illustrated edition of the Arabian Nights. He wins Lady Anne -with a smile that would frighten a fiend, and that varies not a -single line from that with which he evinces his satisfaction at the -prospect of gaining the crown, and his contempt for the weakness -of his enemies. A more outrageous and hideous contortion still -expresses his rage at Buckingham’s importunity, and at the reproaches -of his mother. When he awakes in the tent-scene, he -<span class='pageno' id='Page_444'>444</span>keeps his jaws at their utmost possible distension for about two -minutes, and presents no bad emblem of an anaconda about to -engorge a buffalo; one might fling in a pound of butter without -greasing a tooth. At the same time, his whole frame writhes -and shakes like a frog subjected to the action of a galvanic -battery. We have seen folks frightened and convulsed before -now, but we never saw one of them retain his senses in a convulsion. -We like a deep, manly, powerful voice; but we dislike -to hear it strained to the screech of a damned soul in hell-torment, -like Mr. Forrest’s when he calls on his drums to strike -up and his men to charge. Often he displays his tremendous -physical energies where there is not the least occasion for them, -and as often does he repress them where they are needed. For -instance, Richard ought to work himself into a passion before -he slays King Henry. Mr. Forrest kills him as coolly and as -quietly as a butcher sticks a pig or knocks down a calf, and he -repulses Buckingham with the voice and action of a raving -maniac. But Mr. Forrest is not to blame for his face, which is -as nature moulded it, neither because he has but three notes to -his voice, nor because the only inflections he is capable of are -their exaltation and depression. But he need not aggravate the -slight deformity of Richard more than Shakspeare did, who -greatly exaggerated it himself. Nor do we blame him for raving, -ranting, roaring, and bellowing to houses who never applaud him -but when he commits some gross outrage upon good taste and -propriety. He adapts his goods to his market, and he does -wisely.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>As a contrast and offset to the foregoing specimens of self-display -disguised as criticism of another, it is but fair to cite a -few extracts from different writers who had really something -appropriate to say on the subject they were treating, and who -said it with exemplary directness and impartiality:</p> - -<p class='c007'>“As a reader Mr. Forrest has, in our opinion, few equals. -Believing him to be the most overrated actor on the stage, we -are yet not blind to his merit, but are glad to speak of the least -of his excellences, and only wish they were more numerous. -Let us take his inherent faults for granted, and consider his -reading at the best. Does he fail in the first essential,—intelligibility? -On the contrary, he enunciates a thought with -<span class='pageno' id='Page_445'>445</span>such clearness that the meaning cannot be mistaken. Does -he fail to give the rhythm and the rhetoric of verse? On the -contrary, verse in his utterance retains its melody and music, and -the high-sounding eloquence of words its majesty. He subtly -marks the changes of reflection, and keeps the leading idea emphatic -and distinct. There stands the <em>thought</em> at least, no matter -if the <em>feeling</em> is a thousand miles away. He has carved the statue -correctly, though he wants the power of the ancient sculptor to -give the cold marble life. This he cannot do by ‘emphasizing -every word,’ in the unnatural way of which our correspondent -accuses him. Analyze one of his well-read sentences, and mark -how the strong word and the strong sound fall together; then -listen to most of the actors that surround him, and notice with -what amusing vehemence they shout their ‘ands’ and ‘ifs’ and -‘buts.’ They begin every sentence with a stentorian cry that -dwindles into an exhausted whisper.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“As regards Forrest, we are often amused to hear people, who -have vainly refused for years to recognize his great histrionic -abilities, wonder how it is that he invariably attracts crowded -houses whenever he performs. We do not know any actor of -his rank who has been so scurrilously abused and to so little -purpose. The most elaborate pretences at criticism are always -poured out on his devoted head, and if the power of the press -could have written a man down he surely would have been long -since; for he has few special champions among acknowledged -critics, a fact which shows how deep is the feeling against him -among particular classes. We must candidly confess to have -never been biased by profound admiration of Forrest’s acting, -and yet we must also admit that after having calmly, patiently, -and attentively watched some entire performances of his, we were -convinced that he really possessed far greater powers of mind -than any of the critics ever had given him credit for. His style -is apt to be uneven, and men of his mould of intellect cannot -always enact the same parts with the same good taste. But of -his superb elocution,—of the noble idea of latent force and suppressed -passion which his whole manner embodies,—of the perfection -of manly dignity and physical development which have -never had a better representative on the stage than in his person,—of -the marvellous voice, so musical in its sound, and so happily -<span class='pageno' id='Page_446'>446</span>adjusted in its modulations to increase the expression of a sentence,—there -ought, in our judgment, to be no abatement of that -admiration so long and so justly accorded to him. If all the -critics in the country were with one voice to deny the existence -of these things, their fiat would be powerless against the evidence -of men’s senses. We admit that he has no subtlety of intellect, -no finely-drawn perceptions of delicate shades of human character. -What he does is the result of the action of a very strong -mind, capable of being directed in a particular channel with resistless -energy; but this is the very class of minds out of which -have arisen some of the greatest men in the world’s annals. -When Forrest performs an engagement people go to see him -who know all his defects, but they go because it is the only acting -of the highest class they have the opportunity of seeing, and it -is so far above the rivalry of such actors as have been here during -the last decade as to admit of no comparison.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“It is said when Canova was finishing a choice marble that his -friends were very anxious to see the work on exhibition, but the -great artist restrained their impatience, and proposed to gratify -their desire at the end of a given term. At the expiration of the -time, his friends assembled eagerly, and, in tones of disappointment, -exclaimed, ‘What have you been doing? You have been -idle; you have done nothing to your piece.’ To which he replied, -‘On the contrary, my chisel has been exceedingly busy; I -have subdued this muscle, I have brought out this feature, enlivened -this expression, polished my marble.’ ‘Oh, but,’ said -they, ‘these are mere trifles!’ ‘They may be,’ he said, ‘but trifles -make up the sum of perfection.’ The Virginius of Mr. Forrest -revived this anecdote of Canova, as well as remembrances of his -early performances. The difference in the two cases, however, is -that it is not the artist now, but his friends that see the perfection. -Virginius has long been identified with Mr. Forrest’s fame; but, -great as the lustre may be which his surpassing self-possession, -noble and balanced bearing, rich, copious, and manly elocution, -and deft, minute, and relative action have heretofore thrown upon -this character, it has now been still more varied and beautified by -the mellow tints that shadow and relieve the local splendor of -salient features. It is indeed a masterpiece of acting and the ‘top -of admiration.’ It is difficult to perceive any point of improvement -<span class='pageno' id='Page_447'>447</span>that could give it more truth, in its lifelike resemblance, as -a copy of fiction; and we are sure, after the ribaldry which of late -years has degraded the boards, that there is not a single lover of -the drama who saw this enactment who does not feel grateful to -Mr. Edwin Forrest for his manly reassertion of the dignity of -the stage.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“We are disposed to admit the greatest liberty possible to the -theatrical critic employed upon the daily press, but we cannot -help alluding to the disgracefully savage bitterness of the writer -in one of our weekly contemporaries as equally damaging to his -employer’s reputation and his own. Mr. Forrest has now passed -that period of his life in which he might have been injured by -the malevolence of the individual. In the mass, criticism bows -before his assured superiority, and it is simply a petty spite which -dares persistently to deny his claims to genius of the highest order. -He is no longer a man respecting whose position in the history -of the American stage there can be any dispute. He stands -completely alone. We are induced this week to make this remark -from having freshly seen him in ‘<em>Othello</em>’ and ‘<em>Macbeth</em>.’ Can -any observer who remembers his interpretation of the first of -these characters, some twenty years since, or his rendering of the -last one, but four years ago, and is disposed to examine them fairly, -with reference to his present reading and acting of either part, -deny this? If he does so, we can but feel that he is alike ungifted -with the talent to recognize and the honesty to admit the -wide difference which exists between them. His ‘<em>Othello</em>’ is now -a most coherent and perfect whole. Where is the artist who can -infuse a more perfect and thorough spirit of love than he does -in that scene where he meets <em>Desdemona</em> again in Cyprus, after -having quitted her in Venice? Where is the one who grows -under the heat of <em>Iago’s</em> viperous tongue into a more sublimely -savage delineation of jealousy than he does in the subsequent -acts? Is not his</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line in10'>‘I love thee, Cassio,</div> - <div class='line'>But never more be officer of mine,’</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c009'>one of the most perfect bits of natural feeling that has ever been -uttered upon the stage? Friendship, anger, pity, and justice are -all struggling within him, and shape the sorrow of the words -that strip his lieutenant of the office which he considers him no -<span class='pageno' id='Page_448'>448</span>longer worthy to retain. It may be observed that in alluding to -these points we have not marked any of those more obvious -beauties which have for many years been acknowledged in his -representation of this character. These are settled excellencies -in the estimation of all who love the tragic stage. Certain lines -have been stereotyped to us by the genius of those who have -embodied this greatest of Shaksperian characters; but for those -who will reverently observe his impersonation, there are hitherto -hidden points developed by Forrest which justify us in laughing -at those whose resolute hatred of the artist blinds them to his -excellence, and to the wonderful finish in the histrionic portraits -which he offers them. We have good artists amongst us, but we -certainly have none who can for a moment be fairly compared -with him; and therefore is it that we say the man who constantly -undervalues him simply marks himself as notoriously incapable -of balancing the critical scales.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>The next extract is taken from a long article by the well-known -scholar and author, Dr. R. Shelton Mackenzie:</p> - -<p class='c007'>“We once heard a great author say, ‘Scurrility is the shadow -of Fame, and as often precedes as follows it.’ That author was -Bulwer, and his remark has the weight of an aphorism. With -respect to Mr. Edwin Forrest, it is singular that he has been assailed -in his native town by scurrility at an advanced period of -his brilliant career, and at a time when his powers have ripened -into something very close to perfection.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Unless the actuating principle of the writer be a merely malignant -dislike of the man, it seems almost impossible to us that -any critic, possessed of the ordinary intelligence current among -the more respectable members of the fraternity, can refuse or be so -morally blind as not to see the wide difference existing between the -Forrest of the present time and the Forrest who was admitted by -the public to be the greatest American actor some twenty years -ago. At that time he was wonderful,—wonderful by his intensity, -his dashing power, his superb manhood, his fine voice, and his -noble presence. This made him a great artist. He might have -many faults, but these were obliterated from the mind of the spectator -by his many and dazzling merits, which were even the more -striking from the comparative blemishes with which they were -mingled.</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_449'>449</span>“The artistic career of Edwin Forrest has now, however, made -a great stride in advance. He has polished, refined, and completed -his style. It was said of Garrick, who was several years -older than Forrest when he retired from the stage, that in his -latter seasons he acted better than ever, and the fact that he never, -even when a master in the art, ceased to be a student, explained -the cause. The same may be said, and even with more truth, of -Edwin Forrest. There is no living actor half so studious as -himself. His mind, always under thorough self-cultivation, has -matured in later years, and the effects are apparent. He is so -near perfection as an actor that it is impossible to be so attracted -by his excellencies now as we might have been when contrast -made them more palpable.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Fully to appreciate the various power of Mr. Forrest cannot -be done by examining him in any single character. We have -therefore waited until his engagement is nearly completed, and -have carefully studied him in eleven different characters,—<em>Richelieu</em>, -<em>Damon</em>, <em>Richard III.</em>, <em>Hamlet</em>, <em>Othello</em>, <em>Virginius</em>, <em>Macbeth</em>, -<em>Lucius Junius Brutus</em>, <em>Febro</em>, <em>Jack Cade</em>, and <em>Lear</em>. Of these, -perhaps, his <em>Lear</em>, his <em>Othello</em>, his <em>Macbeth</em>, his <em>Richelieu</em>, and his -<em>Damon</em> are the greatest; but there is comparatively so little difference -in excellence between his <em>Hamlet</em> and his <em>Othello</em>, his <em>Virginius</em> -and his <em>Damon</em>, that he might reasonably except to us for -noting that difference, which, after all, is in some measure the -result of a purely physical variation in the bodily means at his -disposal for each special embodiment.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“The almost even excellence, in so many of his great parts, to -which Edwin Forrest has attained, contains in itself a strong assertion -of his right not only to the first place in the histrionic -annals of the last few years, but registers a positive claim to the -highest position, as an artist, in all histrionic history to which the -slightest degree of faith can be attached. To be at the same -time a great <em>Hamlet</em> and a great <em>Othello</em>, even granting a difference -in the excellence of the two parts, argues that the actor possesses -to a larger extent than common that intellectual adaptability -without which it would be impossible for him to represent -two such widely different men. Slightly deranged, a philosophic -dreamer, without the capability of sustained action, energetic only -by immediate impulse, the Danish Prince differs widely from the -<span class='pageno' id='Page_450'>450</span>passionate, powerful, one-purposed, and sublimely simple nature -of the Moor. In grasping these two opposite characters as -completely as Edwin Forrest has done, he has displayed an intellectual -strength of the highest order, approaching very nearly -to that subtlety of intelligence which is but rarely coupled with -genius, but which, when coupled with it, makes it a genius of -the highest order.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“This subtlety of intelligence he develops in his wonderful rendering -of <em>Richard</em>, as widely opposed a character to both or either -of the others as could well be presented to us. For the physical -nature of <em>Richard</em> he has preferred Horace Walpole’s ‘Historic -Doubts’ to Shakspeare’s delineation of the man, but in portraying -him intellectually Edwin Forrest has simply depended on himself. -He paints <em>Richard</em> with strong and vigorous execution, as a -crafty and cruel hypocrite, with a positively unequalled subtlety -of touch, rendering his hypocrisy frank and pleasant to the outside -observer and coloring it with a comedy of which he offers -no example in <em>Othello</em> and but a vague suspicion in <em>Hamlet</em>. His -love-scene with <em>Lady Anne</em> is a marvellous piece of acting, which -excerpts from the character as a worthy pendant to the mad scene -in <em>Lear</em>. It was probably much more easily, although more recently, -perfected by him than the latter, inasmuch as the last -named was the result of careful and minute study, while the -former is simply an effort of pure cultured genius which is as -positively real as stage simulation ever can be. But this difference -in character of the three extends even to those points in -which <em>Richard</em> touches upon the two others. <em>Richard</em> is a man -of strong passion as well as <em>Othello</em>. He is a philosopher as well -as <em>Hamlet</em>. But passion is suppressed in <em>Richard</em> under the vest -of his craft. It is addressed to other objects than <em>Othello</em> yearns -for. It is bold and crafty. <em>Othello</em> is brave and honest. This -is wonderfully discriminated by Mr. Forrest. The philosophy of -<em>Hamlet</em> is reflective and uncertain, colored by study and lunacy. -That of <em>Richard</em> is worldly and practical, subjected by him to his -immediate ambition. Here Mr. Forrest, as an artist, is truly admirable. -In <em>Hamlet</em> his philosophy is impulsively given to the -audience. In <em>Richard</em> it is reasoned out and calculated with.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Let us look at <em>Macbeth</em>, reaching, as <em>Richard</em> does, at the Crown. -Most of our modern actors vary the two but little in their manner, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_451'>451</span>without following the line of difference made between them -by the great dramatist. This difference was in the intellectual -strength of their natures. <em>Richard</em> is the tool of nobody. <em>Macbeth</em> -is but a plaster in the fingers of his wife. How exquisitely -does Mr. Forrest mark out the two natures! You trace <em>Macbeth’s</em> -indecision of purpose in his very manner. His entrance in the -first scene is characterized by it. The breaking off from his -friends,—his return to himself when addressed by them,—his interjectional -reveries,—his uncertainty of action, are all as they are -given to us by Shakspeare, but scarcely such as we might have -expected a man of Mr. Forrest’s physical temperament to embody. -In <em>Richard</em> the ambition is positive. He does not reason of the -acts which he commits. Hence here the artist’s actions are positive. -When he commits or orders one of these deeds which tend -to secure his desires or objects, it is done at once. The positive -decision of the man is translated by the actor, whether it be in -the passionate command or the sneering jest, by the calculated -impulse of the man.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>Here is a part of an elaborate attack written by a relentless -enemy and persecutor, quite remarkable for the untempered -way in which it mixes truth and misrepresentation, justice and -wrong:</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Mr. Forrest is now an actor who depends almost entirely -on his voice as a medium of expression. He throws all his force -into his reading; elocution is intended to compensate for everything,—for -facial expression, for suitable action, for muscular -vigor, and often, indeed, for true feeling and appreciation. By -his impressive reading he frequently gains applause when in -reality he deserves condemnation. There are whole scenes in his -<em>Lear</em> unredeemed by one spark of feeling, the poverty of which -he attempts to hide under a superficial gloss of elocutionary -charlatanism. His fine voice aids him in this attempt; for that -he has a noble voice, of great power,—whose tones are often -commanding, and sometimes would be tender if they were inspired -by any sincere feeling,—no one who has heard him can -doubt. Take away this voice and Mr. Forrest is a nonentity, for -<em>he cannot act</em>, and his face has no variety of expression. We -know that, instead of using this fine element of success well, he -has abused it; for his mannerisms of tone are perpetual, and disfigure -<span class='pageno' id='Page_452'>452</span>every lengthy passage he reads. His voice has too great -a burden to bear.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“This is one reason why he is so very monotonous. Another -and a deeper reason is that the man himself is nothing but a -monotone. No man on the stage has a more strongly marked -individuality than Mr. Forrest; once seen, he cannot be easily -forgotten, nor can his performances ever be confused in memory -with those of others. Yet this individuality is a prison-house to -him; he cannot escape from it. He is forced, in spite of himself, -to play every character in exactly the same way. He develops -<em>Spartacus</em> by the identical methods he employs in <em>Hamlet</em>; -his <em>Lear</em> and his <em>Claude Melnotte</em> are made impressive, not by -different styles. He has but one style. He is Edwin Forrest in -everything; and, worse than this, he seems to care nothing for -the best character he plays in comparison with his own success. -Egotism is a marked peculiarity of his acting; he seems to say -to the audience, not, ‘How fine is this character! how great was -the author!’ but ever, ‘How finely <em>I</em> play it! am I not the greatest -actor you ever saw?’</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Of course this strong personality is sometimes to Mr. Forrest -an advantage. There are <i><span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">rôles</span></i> which are adapted to his powers,—such -as <em>Virginius</em>, <em>Damon</em>, and <em>Spartacus</em>. These he plays well -because they do not require of him the transcendent power of -genius,—the imagination which enables a man to penetrate the -motives of a being foreign to himself, and to re-create in his own -living nature the beauty and the passion of a dream. These he -plays well because he finds in them something of himself. And -even in Shaksperian characters, which are alien to his nature, -he occasionally meets a passage which he <em>can</em> feel, and which he -therefore expresses; and these moments of earnestness, occurring -suddenly in the midst of long scenes of artificiality and dulness, -are like flashes of lightning in a black midnight: while they last -they are bright, but when they are gone they make the darkness -deeper.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>The two brief notices that succeed appeared at the same time -and in the same city in two opposed newspapers. The contrast -is amusing, and it is easy to see how little impartial critical judgment -went to the composition of either of them, as well as how -bewildering they must have been to the reader who was seeking -<span class='pageno' id='Page_453'>453</span>from the judgment of the press to form a dispassionate opinion -on the merits of the actor:</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Having within the present year closely criticised Edwin Forrest’s -performances during a long engagement, we do not intend -to bore our readers with repetitions of what we have said. Mr. -Forrest will go through his programme like a machine, and like -most machines it may be discovered that his powers have suffered -somewhat by wear and tear. He has long since passed the -point of improvement. Fully settled in his own conceit that his -personations are the most wonderful that the world ever saw, his -only care will be to heighten defects which he considers beauties, -and to dwell with increased tenderness upon each fault. There -are some mothers who give their hearts to their puny, deformed, -and bad-tempered children, to the neglect of others who are -handsome, gentle, and intelligent. Mr. Forrest is an admirer of -this policy. He slights his better qualities in acting, and dandles -his absurdities with more than just parental fondness. His faults -are inveterate; his beauties daily grow homely. It would be -supererogation to expose at length those vices and stage tricks -which have already been freely cauterized.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“During the week Mr. Forrest has been performing the characters -of <em>Richelieu</em>, <em>Damon</em>, <em>Richard</em>, and <em>Hamlet</em>. At each representation -the invariable compliment of a crowded house has -been paid him. With the advance of every year this actor seems -to grow greater. The intellectuality of his acting becomes more -and more apparent. The experience of years is now devoted to -his art; a lifetime is concentrated upon the development of his -transcendent genius. Mr. Forrest has shaped the colossal block -of crude genius into wonderful statues of natural and lovely proportions. -No intelligent praise can be extravagant which extols -the exceeding beauty of the conceptions of this wonderful artist. -We can scarcely think of Mr. Forrest’s fame as otherwise than -increasing. It throws around his name a luminous halo, whose -brightness and extent the progress of years will only intensify -and enlarge.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>One more specimen will suffice. It is from the pen of an -anonymous English critic:</p> - -<p class='c007'>“If Forrest is not in a paroxysm, he is a mere wicker idol; -huge to the eye, but <em>full of emptiness</em>,—a gigantic vacuum. His -<span class='pageno' id='Page_454'>454</span>distortions of character are monstrous; the athletic, muscular -vigor of his Lear is a positive libel upon consistency and truth. -Spartacus was made for him, and he for Spartacus; the athlete -is everlastingly present in all his personations. His ravings in -Othello, in Macbeth, and in Richard the Third are orgasms of -vigorous commonplace.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“When Mr. Forrest represents terror, his knees shake, his -hands vibrate, his chest heaves, his throat swells, and his muscles -project as if he were under the influence of a galvanic battery or -his whole frame put in motion by a machine. He always appears -anxious to show the toughness of his sinews, the cast-iron capabilities -of his body, and the prodigious muscularity of his legs, -which really haunt the spectator’s eyes like huge, grim-looking -spectres, appearing too monstrous for realities, as they certainly -are for the dignified grace of tragedy. He delights to represent -physical agony with the most revolting exaggerations. When -he dies, he likes that the audience should hear the rattles in -his throat, and will, no doubt, some day have a bladder of pig’s -blood concealed under his doublet, that, when stabbed, the -tragic crimson may stream upon the stage, and thus give him -the opportunity of representing death, in the words of his admirers, -<em>to the life</em>.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Perhaps no stronger test of Mr. Forrest’s want of intellectual -power as an actor can be given than his slow, drawling, whining -mode of delivering the speech to the senate, in the play of Othello. -No schoolboy could do it worse, and though in the more energetic -scenes there is a certain mechanical skill and seeming reality -of passion, yet the charm which this might be calculated to produce -is lost by the closeness of resemblance to a well-remembered -original. It is almost frightfully vigorous, and though there are -some touches of true energy, this is much too boisterous, coarse, -and unrelieved by those delicate inflections which so eloquently -express true feeling to obtain for it that meed of praise only due -to the efforts of original genius. There is much art and much -skill in Mr. Forrest’s acting; but its grand defect is the general -absence of truth.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>The medley of praise and abuse, the hodge-podge of incongruous -opinions, seen in the foregoing illustrations of newspaper -criticism, arose far less from any contradiction of excellences and -<span class='pageno' id='Page_455'>455</span>faults in the acting of Forrest than from the prejudices and ignorance -of the writers. A large proportion of those writers were -obstinately prepossessed or corruptly interested, and few of them -had any distinct appreciation of the constituent elements of the -dramatic art. Destitute of the true standard of criticism, the -final canon of authority, their judgments were at the mercy of -impulse and chance influences.</p> - -<p class='c007'>But Forrest was no solitary, though he was an extreme, sufferer -in this respect. The greatest of his predecessors, all the most -gifted and famous actors and actresses, have had to undergo the -same pitiless ordeal. Those concerning whose illustrious pre-eminence -there can be no question whatever have borne the -same shower of detraction, insult, and ridicule, the same pelting -of cynical badinage. The restless vanity, presumptuous conceit, -and <i><span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">blasé</span></i> omniscience of the common order of critics have -spared none of the conspicuous dramatic artists. And if any one -infer from the abuse and depreciation rained on Forrest that he -must have been guilty of the worst faults, he may draw the like -conclusion from the like premises in relation to every celebrated -name in the history of the stage.</p> - -<p class='c007'>The bigoted opposition and belittling estimates met by Talma -in his bold and resolute effort to displace the conventional inanity -and stilted bombast of the French stage with truth and nature -are a matter of notorious record. Some of his sapient critics -thought they were administering a caustic censure when they -uttered the unwitting compliment, extorted by their surprise at -his severe costume and grand attitudes, “Why, he looks exactly -like a Roman statue just stepped out of the antique.” The biographers -of Garrick give abundant evidence of the misrepresentation, -ridicule, and manifold censure with which his enemies and -rivals and their venal tools pursued and vexed him. He even -stooped to buy them off, and sometimes counteracted their malice -with his own anonymous pen. Horace Walpole wrote, “I have -seen the acting of Garrick, and can say that I see nothing wonderful -in it.” His small stature, his starts and pauses, were, in -especial, maliciously animadverted on. Mossop was sneered at -as “a distiller of syllables,” Macklin for the prominent “lines, or -rather cordage, of his face,” and Quin for the “mechanic regularity -and swollen pomp of his declamation.” George Steevens wrote -<span class='pageno' id='Page_456'>456</span>a bitter satire, utterly unjust and unprovoked, on Mrs. Siddons. -She and her brother, John Philip Kemble, were stigmatized as -icebergs and pompous pretenders, and were repeatedly hissed -and insulted on the stage. Before her marriage, while Siddons -was playing at the Haymarket, a critic, trying to put her down, -wrote to Hayley, the manager, “Miss Kemble, though patronized -by a number of clamorous friends, will prove only a piece of -beautiful imbecility.” In 1807 a leading London newspaper said -of George Frederick Cooke, “His delivery of Lear is just what -it is in Richard: in its subdued passages, little and mean; in its -more prominent efforts, rugged, rumbling, and staccato, resembling -rather a watchman’s rattle than any other object in art or -nature.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>William Robson, in his “Old Play-Goer,” says of Edmund Kean, -“His person and carriage are mean and contemptible, his judgment -poor, his pathos weak, his passion extravagant and unnatural;” -and then sums up his estimate of the immortal histrionist -in these remarkable words: “He is nothing but a little vixenish -black girl in short petticoats!” On the first appearance of Kean -in Philadelphia some critics there, who were great admirers of -Cooke, called him “a quack, a mountebank, a vulgar impostor.” -William B. Wood said of Kean, when he had just finished a rehearsal -and gone out, “He is a mere mummer.” Joseph Jefferson, -great-grandfather of the Joseph Jefferson of Rip Van Winkle -fame,—a beautiful and noble old man, afterwards characterized by -Forrest in loving memory as “one of the purest men that ever -lived, sad, sweet, lofty, thoughtful, generous,”—overheard the remark, -and replied, with a quiet indignation in his tone, “Ah, Wood, -you would give all the riches you ever dreamed of amassing in -this world to be another just such a mummer.” The “London -Spectator,” in 1836, said, “Bunn in his drowning desperation -catches at any straw. He has just put forward Booth, the shadow -and foil of Kean in bygone days. Booth’s Richard seems to have -been a wretched failure.” At the same time another English -journal used the following expressive language, in which the -writer evidently does justice to himself whatever he endeavors to -do to the actors he names: “Since the retirement of Young and -the death of Kean, the very name of tragedy has passed away -from us. We have had to submit to the presumptuous and uninspired -<span class='pageno' id='Page_457'>457</span>feelings of Mr. Bell-wether Kemble, or to the melodramatic -jerks and pumpings of Mr. Macready.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>An American critic wrote thus of the Nancy Sykes of Charlotte -Cushman: “Miss Cushman’s performance is of the Anatomical -Museum style. Her effects are thrilling and vulgar. -Her poses are awkward, and her pictures unfinished and coarse -in outline. She has an unpleasantly pre-raphaelite death scene, -and is dragged off, stiff and stark, when all the characters express -their internal satisfaction at the circumstance by smiling, -shaking hands, and joining in a feeble chorus. The secret of -her attraction is vigor. The masses like vigor. If they can have -a little art with it, very well. But vigor they must have.” Of -late it has been the fashion to extol Miss Cushman as the queenly -mistress of all the dignities and refinements of the dramatic profession; -but the foregoing notice is exactly of a piece with the treatment -visited upon Forrest for many years by the vulgar coteries -of criticism, whose aim was not justice and usefulness but effect -upon the prejudiced and the careless. Even the quiet and gentlemanly -Edwin Booth has been as unsparingly assailed as he has -been lavishly praised. An insidious article on him, entitled “The -Machine-Actor,” called him a “self-acting dramatic machine warranted;” -and while admitting, with great generosity, that “he -was not wholly destitute of dramatic ability,” attributed his success -and reputation chiefly to extraneous conditions, in especial -the shrewdness of “his managing agent, who judiciously prepared -his houses for him, and pecuniarily and personally appreciated the -power of the press and conciliated the critics.” The two following -notices of Mr. Booth’s Melnotte—the first obviously by a critic -who had, the second by one who had not, been “conciliated”—are -quite as absurd in their contradiction as those so often composed -on Forrest:</p> - -<p class='c007'>“On Monday evening last we enjoyed the first opportunity of -seeing Mr. Edwin Booth in the character of <em>Claude Melnotte</em>, in the -‘Lady of Lyons.’ Our impressions of Mr. Booth in the part may -be briefly summed up in saying that he is one of the very best -<em>Claudes</em> we have ever seen,—scholarly, sustained, and forcibly reticent -at all points,—not so youthful in his make-up as to suggest -the enthusiastic boy of Bulwer’s drama, but in all other regards -the very ideal of the character. His marvellously melodious -<span class='pageno' id='Page_458'>458</span>voice sounds to peculiar advantage in the rich prose-poetry of the -more sentimental passages, and in the passages of sterner interest -the latent strength of the tragedian comes nobly into play. -Booth’s <em>Claude</em> is an unqualified success, and its first rendering -was witnessed by an audience brilliant in number and intelligence -and markedly enthusiastic in their reception of the best -points.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Mr. Booth’s <em>Claude Melnotte</em> was a failure. It was neither -serious nor sentimental, comic nor tragic. The best that can be -said of it is that it came near being an effective burlesque. When -he first came on to the stage, I almost thought it was his intention -to make it so. His carriage and general make-up were those -of one of Teniers’ Dutch boors, even to the extent of yellow -hair combed straight down the forehead and clipped square -across from temple to temple. His action consisted mainly in a -series of shrugs. I don’t remember a natural movement of body -or expression of countenance, from the beginning of the piece to -the end; nor a natural tone of voice.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>Still later we have seen different representatives of the press, -both in America and in England, alternately describing the wonderful -Othello of Salvini as “the electrifying impersonation of a -demi-god” and as “an exhibition of disgusting brutality.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>The class of examples of which these are a few specimens -show how little worthy the ordinary newspaper dramatic criticism -is to be considered authoritative. No branch of journalism, -allowing for notable individual exceptions, is more incompetent -or more corrupt, because no other set of writers have so difficult -a task or are so beset by vicious influences. Their vanity, prejudice, -and interest worked upon, their sympathies appealed to by -the artist and his friends, their antipathies by his rivals and foes, -harassed and hurried with work, moved by promises of money -and patronage, no wonder they often turn from the exactions of -conscientious labor and study to something so much easier. The -unsophisticated portion of the public, who are too much influenced -by what they read in the papers, and who fancy that -applause is a good proof of merit and censure a sure evidence -of fault, ought to know how full of fraud and injustice the world -of histrionic ambition and criticism is, and to learn to give little -weight to verdicts not ascertained to come from competent and -<span class='pageno' id='Page_459'>459</span>honest judges. The husband of Madame Linguet, a favorite -actress at the Italian Theatre in Paris, hired a party to hiss -every other actress, but to applaud her to the echo. A ludicrous -mistake let out the secret. Linguet told his men one night to -hiss the first actress who appeared and applaud the second. The -play was changed, and in the substituted piece Madame Linguet -came forward first, and was overpowered with hisses. Sir John -Hill asked Peg Woffington if she had seen in the paper his praise -of her performance the previous evening in the part of Calista. -She thanked him for his kindness, but added that the play was -changed and she had acted the character of Lady Townley. In -a New York paper, in 1863, this notice appeared: “Mr. Forrest -repeated, by special request, his great character of Spartacus -last evening, before one of the most brilliant and enthusiastic -audiences of the season. His acting was grand throughout, and -at the end of the last act he received a perfect ovation from the -audience.” Appended to this, in his own handwriting, pasted in -one of his scrap-books, were found these words: “Mr. Forrest on -the night above referred to was in Philadelphia, and did not act -at all, having been called home by the death of his sister.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>After going over the mass of ignorant, capricious, and contradictory -criticism bestowed on Forrest,—criticism destitute of -fundamental principles or ultimate insight,—the reader may well -feel at a loss to know how he is to regulate his judgment upon -the subject and form a just estimate of the actor and his performances. -The critics, instead of aiding, bewilder him, because -themselves appear to be wildly adrift. To work our way through -the chaos it is necessary for us to understand distinctly what the -dramatic art is in its nature and object, and what are the materials -and methods with which it aims to accomplish its purpose. The -answers to these inquiries will clear away confusion, lay bare the -elements of the art, and put us in possession of those laws of -expression which constitute the only final standard for justly -criticising the efforts of the player.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Considered in its full scope, the drama is <em>the practical science of -human nature exemplified in the revelation of its varieties of character -and conduct</em>. It aims to uncover and illustrate man in the -secret springs of his action and suffering and destiny, by representing -the whole range and diversity of his experience in living -<span class='pageno' id='Page_460'>460</span>evolution. The drama is the reflection of human life in the idealizing -mirror of art. In what does this reflection consist? In the -correct exhibition of the different modes of behavior that belong -to the different types of humanity in the various exigencies of their -fortunes. The critic, therefore, in order to be able to say whether -histrionic performances are true or false, consistent or inconsistent, -noble or base, refined or vulgar, artistically elaborated and complete -or absurdly exaggerated and defective, must understand the -contents of human nature in all its grades of development, and -know how the representatives of those grades naturally deport -themselves under given conditions of inward consciousness and -of exterior situation. That is to say, a man to be thoroughly -equipped for the task of dramatic criticism must have mastered -these three provinces of knowledge; first, the characters of men -in their vast variety; second, the modes of manifestation whereby -those characters reveal their inward states through outward signs; -third, the manner in which those characters and those modes of -manifestation are affected by changes of consciousness or of -situation, how they are modified by the reflex play of their own -experience.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Every man has three types of character, in all of which he -must be studied before he can be adequately represented. First -he has his inherited constitutional or temperamental character, -his fixed native character, in which the collective experience and -qualities of his progenitors are consolidated, stamped, and transmitted. -Next he has his peculiar fugitive or passional character, -which is the modification of his stable average character -under the influence of exciting impulses, temporary exaltations -of instinct or sentiment. And then he has his acquired habitual -character, gradually formed in him by the moulding power of his -occupation and associations, as expressed in the familiar proverb, -“Habit is a second nature.” The first type reveals his ancestral -or organic rank, what he is in the fatal line of his parentage. -The second shows his moral or personal rank, what he has become -through his own experience and discipline, self-indulgence and -self-denial. The third betrays his social rank, what he has been -made by his employment and caste. The original estimate or -value assigned to the man by nature is indicated in his constitutional -form, the geometrical proportions and dynamic furnishing -<span class='pageno' id='Page_461'>461</span>of his organs, his physical and mental make-up. The estimate -he puts on himself, in himself and in his relations with others, -his egotistical value, is seen in the transitive modifications of his -form by movements made under the stimulus of passions. The -conventional estimate or social value awarded him is suggested -through the permanent modifications wrought in his organs and -bearing by his customary actions and relations with his fellows. -Thus the triple type of character possessed by every man is to be -studied by means of an analysis of the forms of his organs in -repose and of his movements in passion or habit.</p> - -<p class='c007'>The classes of constitutional character are as numerous as the -human temperaments which mark the great vernacular distinctions -of our nature according to the preponderant development -of some portion of the organism. There is the osseous temperament, -in which the bones and ligaments are most developed; -the lymphatic temperament, in which the adipose and mucous -membrane preponderate; the sanguine temperament, in which -the heart and arteries give the chief emphasis; the melancholic -temperament, in which the liver and the veins oversway; the -executive temperament, in which the capillaries and the nerves -take the lead; the mental temperament, in which the brain is -enthroned; the visceral temperament, in which the vital appetites -reign; the spiritual temperament, in which there is a fine harmony -of the whole. The enumeration might be greatly varied -and extended, but this is enough for our purpose. Each head -of the classification denotes a distinct style of character, distinguished -by definite modes of manifesting itself, the principal sign -of every character, the key-note from which all its expressions -are modulated, being the quality and rate of movement or the -<em>nervous rhythm</em> of the organism in which it is embodied.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Besides the vernacular classes of character ranged under their -leading temperaments, there are almost innumerable dialect -varieties arising from these, as modified both by the steady influence -of chronic conditions of life, historic, national, local, or -clique, and by fitful and eccentric individual combinations of -faculty and impulse. For instance, how many types of barbarian -character there are,—such as the garrulous, laughing, sensual -Negro, the taciturn, solemn, abstinent Indian, the fat and frigid -Esquimaux, the Hottentot, the Patagonian, the New Zealander,—all -<span class='pageno' id='Page_462'>462</span>differing widely in stature, feature, gesture, disposition, costume, -creed, speech, while agreeing in the fundamentals of a -common nature. Among civilized nations the diversity of characters -is still greater. It would require an almost endless recital -of particulars to describe the differences of the Chinaman, the -Japanese, the Egyptian, the Persian, the Arab, the Hindu, the -Italian, the Spaniard, the German, the Russian, the Frenchman, -the Englishman, the American. And then what a maze of attributes, -each one at the same time clear in its sharpness or its profundity, -qualify and discriminate the various orders, castes, and -groups of society!—the Brahmin, the Sudra, the king, the slave, -the soldier, the doctor, the lawyer, the priest, the teacher, the -shop-keeper, the porter, the detective, the legislator, the hangman, -the scientist, and the philosopher. Every professional pursuit, -social position, mechanical employment, physical culture, -spiritual belief or aptitude, has its peculiar badge of dress, look, -posture, motion, in which it reveals its secrets; and the pettifogger -or the jurisconsult, the prophet or the necromancer, the -Quaker and the Shaker, the Calvinist and the Catholic, the tailor, -the gymnast, the gambler, the bully, the hero, the poet, and the -saint, stand unveiled before us. How the habitual life reveals -itself in the bearing is clearly seen in the sailor when he leaves -his tossing ship for the solid shore. His sensation of the strange -firmness of the earth makes him tread in a sort of heavy-light -way,—half wagoner, half dancing-master. There is always this -appearance of lightness of foot and heavy upper works in a -sailor, his shoulders rolling, his feet touching and going.</p> - -<p class='c007'>To know how consistently to construct an ideal character of -any one of these kinds, at any given height or depth in the -historic gamut of humanity, and to be able to embody and enact -it with the harmonious truth of nature, is the task of the consummate -actor. And to be qualified to catalogue all these attributes -of human being and manifestation with accuracy, recognizing -every fitness, detecting every incongruity, is the business of the -dramatic critic. Who of our ordinary newspaper writers is competent -to the work? Yet the youngest and crudest of them -never hesitates to pronounce a snap judgment on the most renowned -tragedians as if his magisterial “we” were the very ipse -dixit of Pythagoras!</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_463'>463</span>Still further, the task of the actor and of the critic is made yet -more complicated and difficult by the varied modifications of all -the classes of character indicated above under the influence of -specific passion. The great dramatic passions, which may be -subdivided into many more, are love, hatred, joy, grief, jealousy, -wonder, pity, scorn, anger, and fear. To obtain a fine perception -and a ready and exact command of the relations of the apparatus -of expression to all these passions in their different degrees as -manifesting different styles of character, to know for each phase -of excitement or depression the precise adjustment of the limbs, -chest, and head, of intense or slackened muscles, of compressed -or reposeful lips, of dilated or contracted nostrils, of pensive or -glaring or fiery or supplicating eyes, of deprecating or threatening -mien, of firm or vacillating posture, is an accomplishment -as rare as it is arduous. All this is capable of reduction by study -and practice to an exact science, and then of development into a -perfect art. For every passion has its natural law of expression, -and all these laws are related and consistent in an honest and -earnest character, incoherent only in a discordant or hypocritical -character. There is an art to find the mind’s construction in the -face. The spirit shines and speaks in the flesh. And a learned -eye looks quite through the seemings of men to their genuine -being and states. This is indeed the very business of the -dramatic art,—to read the truths of human nature through all -its attempted disguises, and expose them for instruction. How -minute the detail, how keen the perception, how subtle and alert -the power of adaptation requisite for this, may be illustrated by -a single example. Suppose a criminal character is to be played. -He may be of a timid, suspicious, furtive type, or careless, jovial, -and rollicking, or brazen and defiant, or sullen and gloomy, yet -be a criminal in all. He may be portrayed in the stage of excitement -under the interest of plot and pursuit, or in success and -triumph, or in defeat and wrath, or in the shame and terror of -detection, or in final remorse and despair. There is scarcely any -end to the possibilities of variety, yet verisimilitude must be kept -up and nature not violated.</p> - -<p class='c007'>But we have as yet hardly hinted at the richness of the elements -of the dramatic art and the scope of the knowledge and -skill necessary for applying them. The aim of the dramatic art -<span class='pageno' id='Page_464'>464</span>being the revelation of the characters and experiences of men, the -question arises, By what means is this revelation effected? The -inner states of man are revealed through outer signs. Every distinct -set of outer signs through which inner states are made known -constitutes a dramatic language. Now, there are no less than nine -of these sets of signs or dramatic languages of human nature.</p> - -<p class='c007'>The first language is forms. When we look on an eagle, a -mouse, a horse, a tiger, a worm, a turtle, an alligator, a rattlesnake, -their very forms reveal their natures and dispositions and -habits. In their shapes and proportions we read their history. -So with man. His generic nature, his specific inheritance, his -individual peculiarities are signalized in his form and physiognomy -with an accuracy and particularity proportioned to the -interpreting power of the spectator. The truth is all there for -the competent gazer. The actor modifies his form and features -by artifice and will to correspond with what should be the form -of the person whose character he impersonates. And <em>costume</em>, -with its varieties of outline and color, constitutes a secondary -province artificially added to the natural language of form.</p> - -<p class='c007'>The second language is attitudes. Attitudes are living modifications -of shape, or the fluencies of form. There are, for example, -nine elementary attitudes of the feet, of the hands, of the -toes, of the head, which may be combined in an exhaustless -series. Every one of these attitudes has its natural meaning -and value. All emotions strong enough to pronounce themselves -find expression in appropriate attitudes or significant -changes of the form in itself and in its relations to others. He -who has the key for interpreting the reactions of human nature -on the agencies that affect it, easily reads in the outer signs of -attitude the inner states of defiance, doubt, exaltation, prostration, -nonchalance, respect, fear, misery, or supplication, and so on.</p> - -<p class='c007'>The third language is automatic movements, which are unconscious -escapes of character, unpurposed motions through which -the states of the mover are betrayed, sometimes with surprising -clearness and force. For instance, how often impatience, vexation, -or restrained anger, breaks out in a nervous tapping of the -foot or the finger! What can be more legible than the fidgety -manner of one in embarrassment? And the degree and kind of -the embarrassment, together with the personal grade and social -<span class='pageno' id='Page_465'>465</span>position and culture of the subject, will be revealed in the peculiar -nature of the fidgeting. There is a whole class of these automatic -movements, such as trembling, nodding, shaking the head, -biting the lips, lolling the tongue, the shiver of the flesh, the -quiver of the mouth or eyelids, the shudder of the bones, and -they compose a rich primordial language of revelation, perfectly -intelligible and common to universal humanity.</p> - -<p class='c007'>The fourth language is gestures. This is the language so -marvellously flexible, copious, and powerful among many barbarous -peoples. It was carried to such a pitch of perfection by -the mimes of ancient Rome, that Roscius and Cicero had a -contest to decide which could express a given idea in the most -clear and varied manner, the actor by gestures, or the orator by -words. Gestures are a purposed system of bodily motions, both -spontaneous and deliberate, intended as preparatory, auxiliary, or -substitutional for the expressions by speech. There is hardly -any state of consciousness which cannot be revealed more vividly -by pantomime than is possible in mere verbal terms. As fixed -attitudes are inflected form, and automatic movements inflected attitude, -so pantomimic gestures are systematically inflected motion. -The wealth of meaning and power in gesticulation depends on -the richness, freedom, and harmony of the character and organism. -The beauty or deformity, nobleness or baseness, of its pictures -are determined by the zones of the body from which the -gestures start, the direction and elevation at which they terminate, -their rate of moving, and the nature and proportions of the figures, -segments of which their lines and curves describe. Music has -no clearer rhythm, melody, and harmony to the ear than inflected -gesture has to the eye. The first law of gesture is, that it -follows the look or the eye, and precedes the sound or the -voice. The second law is, that its velocity is precisely proportional -to the mass moved. The third and profoundest law, first -formulated by Delsarte, is that efferent or outward lines of movement -reveal the sensitive life or vital nature of the man; that afferent -or inward lines reveal the percipient and reflective life or -mental nature; and that immanent or curved lines, blended of -the other two, reveal the affectional life or moral nature.</p> - -<p class='c007'>The fifth language is what is called facial expression. It consists -of muscular contractions and relaxations, dilatations and -<span class='pageno' id='Page_466'>466</span>diminutions, the fixing or the flitting of nervous lights and shades -over the organism. Its changes are not motions of masses of -the body, but visible modifications of parts of its periphery, as in -smiles, frowns, tears. The girding up or letting down of the -sinews, the tightening or loosening or horripilating creep of the -skin, changes of color, as in paleness and blushing, and all the -innumerable alterations of look and meaning in the brows, the -eyes, the nose, the mouth, the chin, come under this head. The -delicacy, power, and comprehensiveness of this language are inexhaustible. -So numerous and infinitely adjustable, for instance, -are the nerves of the mouth, that Swedenborg asserts that no -spoken language is necessary for the illuminated, every state of -the soul being instantly understood from the modulation of the -lips alone.</p> - -<p class='c007'>The sixth language is inarticulate noises, the first undigested -rudiments of the voice. All our organic and emotional states, -when they are keen enough to seek expression, and we are under -no restraint, distinguish and reveal themselves in crude noises, -each one the appropriate effect of a corresponding cause. We -breathe aloud, whistle, gasp, sigh, choke, whimper, sob, groan, -grunt, sneeze, snore, snort, sip, hiss, smack, sniff, gulp, gurgle, -gag, wheeze, cough, hawk, spit, hiccup, and give the death-rattle. -These and kindred noises take us back to the rawest elemental -experiences, and express them to universal apprehension -in the most unmistakable manner. The states of the organism -in its various sensations, the forms its affected parts assume under -different stimuli, are as dies which strike the sounds then made -into audible coins or medals revelatory of their faces. This is -the broadest and vulgarest language of unrefined vernacular man. -The lower the style of acting the larger part this will play in it. -From the representation of high characters it is more and more -strained out and sublimated away, the other languages quite -superseding it.</p> - -<p class='c007'>The seventh language is inflected tones, vocalized and modulated -breath. The mere tones of the sounding apparatus of the -voice, in the variety of their quality, pitch, and cadence, reveal -the emotional nature of man through the whole range of his -feelings, both in kind and degree. The moan of pain, the howl -of anguish, the yell of rage, the shriek of despair, the wail of -<span class='pageno' id='Page_467'>467</span>sorrow, the ringing laugh of joy, the ecstatic and smothering -murmur of love, the penetrative tremor of pathos, the solemn -monotone of sublimity, and the dissolving whisper of wonder -and adoration,—these are some of the great family of inflected -sounds in which the emotions of the human heart are reflected -and echoed to the recognition of the sympathetic auditor.</p> - -<p class='c007'>The eighth language is articulated words, the final medium of -the intellect. Vocal sounds articulated in verbal forms are the -pure vehicle of the thoughts of the head, and the inflected tones -with which they are expressed convey the accompanying comments -of the heart upon those thoughts. What a man thinks -goes out on his articulate words, but what he feels is taught in -the purity or harshness of the tones, the pitch, rate, emphasis, -direction and length of slide with which the words are enunciated. -The word reveals the intellectual state; the tone, the sensitive -state; the inflection, the moral state. The character of a man is -nowhere so concentratedly revealed as in his voice. In its clang-tints -all the colors and shades of his being are mingled and symbolized. -But it requires a commensurate wisdom, sensibility, -trained skill and impartiality to interpret what it implies. Yet -one fact remains sure: give a man a completely developed and -freed voice, and there is nothing in his experience which he -cannot suggest by it. Nothing can be clearer or more impressive -than the revelation of characters by the voice: the stutter and -splutter of the frightened dolt, the mincing lisp of the fop, the -broad and hearty blast of the strong and good-natured boor, the -clarion note of the leader, the syrupy and sickening sweetness -of the goody, the nasal and mechanical whine of the pious hypocrite, -the muddy and raucous vocality of vice and disease, the -crystal clarity and precision of honest health and refinement. -Cooke spoke with two voices, one harsh and severe, one mild -and caressing. His greatest effects were produced by a rapid -transition from one of these to the other. He used the first to -convince or to command, the second to soothe or to betray.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Actions speak louder than words; and the ninth language is -deeds, the completest single expression of the whole man. The -thoughts, affections, designs, expose and execute themselves in -rounded revelation and fulfilment in a deed. When a hungry -man sits down to a banquet and satisfies his appetite, when one -<span class='pageno' id='Page_468'>468</span>knocks down his angered opponent or opens the window and calls -a policeman, when one gives his friend the title-deed of an estate, -everything is clear, there is no need of explanatory comment. -The sowing of a seed, the building of a house, the painting of a -picture, the writing of a book or letter, any intentional act, is in -its substance and form the most solid manifestation of its performer. -In truth, the deeds of every man, in their material and -moral physiognomy, betray what he has been, demonstrate what -he is, and prophesy what he will become. They are a language -in which his purposes materialize themselves and set up mirrors -of his history. Deeds are, above all, the special dramatic language, -because the dramatic art seeks to unveil human nature by -a representation of it not in description, but in living action.</p> - -<p class='c007'>These nine languages, or sets of outer signs for revealing inner -states, are all sustained and pervaded by a system of invisible -motions or molecular vibrations in the brain and the other nerve-centres. -The consensus of these hidden motions, in connection -at the subjective pole with the essence of our personality, at -the objective pole with other personalities and all the forces of -the kosmos, presides over our bodily and spiritual evolution; -and all that outwardly appears of our character and experience -is but a partial manifestation of its working. From the differing -nature, extent, and combination of these occult vibrations in the -secret nerve-centres originate the characteristic peculiarities of -individuals. It may not be said that all the substances and -forms of life and consciousness <em>consist in</em> modes of motion, but -undoubtedly every vital or conscious state of embodied man is -<em>accompanied by</em> appropriate kinds and rates of organic undulations -or pulses of force, and is revealed through these if revealed -at all. The forms and measures of these molecular vibrations in -the nerve-centres and fibres,—whether they are rectilinear, spherical, -circular, elliptical, or spiral,—the width of their gamut, with -the slowness and swiftness of the beats in their extremes,—and -the complexity and harmony of their co-operation,—determine -the quality and scale of the man. The signals of these concealed -things exhibited through the nine languages of his organism -mysteriously hint the kinds and degrees of his power, and announce -the scope and rank of his being. This is the real secret -of what is vulgarly called animal magnetism. One person communicates -<span class='pageno' id='Page_469'>469</span>his vibrations to another, either by direct contact, or -through ideal signs intuitively recognized and which discharge -their contents in the apprehending soul, just as a musical string -takes up the vibrations of another one in tune with it. He whose -organism is richest in differentiated centres and most perfect in -their co-ordinated action, having the exactest equilibrium in rest -and the freest play in exercise, having the amplest supply of -force at command and the most consummate grace or economy -in expending it, is naturally the king of all other men. He is -closest to nature and God, fullest of a reconciled self-possession -and surrender to the universal. He is indeed a divine magnetic -battery. The beauty and grandeur of his bearing bewitch and -dominate those who look on him, because suggestive of the -subtlety and power of the modes of motion vibrating within him. -The unlimited automatic intelligence associated with these interior -motions can impart its messages not only through the -confessed languages enumerated above, but also, as it seems, -immediately, thus enveloping our whole race with an unbroken -mental atmosphere alive and electric with intercommunication.</p> - -<p class='c007'>The variety of human characters, in their secret selfhood and -in their social play,—the variety of languages through which they -express themselves and their states, all based on that infinitely -fine system of molecular motions in the nerve-centres where the -individual and the universal meet and blend and react in volitional -or reflex manifestation,—the variety of modes and degrees -in which characters are modified under the influence of passion -within or society and custom without,—the variety of changes -in the adaptation of expression to character, perpetually altering -with the altering situations,—such are the elements of the -dramatic art. What cannot be said can be sung; what cannot be -sung can be looked; what cannot be looked can be gesticulated; -what cannot be gesticulated can be danced; what cannot be -danced can be sat or stood,—and be understood. The knowledge -of these elements properly formulated and systematized -composes the true standard of dramatic criticism.</p> - -<p class='c007'>It is obvious enough how few of the actors and critics of the -day possess this knowledge. Without it the player has to depend -on intuition, inspiration, instinct, happy or unhappy luck, -laborious guess-work, and servile imitation. He has not the -<span class='pageno' id='Page_470'>470</span>safe guidance of fundamental principles. Without it the critic is -at the mercy of every bias and caprice. Now, one of the greatest -causes of error and injustice in acting and in the criticism of -acting is the difficulty of determining exactly how a given character -in given circumstances will deport and deliver himself. -With what specific combinations of the nine dramatic languages -of human nature, in what relative prominence or subtlety, used -with what degrees of reserve or explosiveness, will he reveal his -inner states through outer signs? Here the differences and the -chances for truthful skill are innumerable; for every particular in -expression will be modified by every particular in the character -of the person represented. What is perfectly natural and within -limits for one would be false or extravagant for another. The -taciturnity of an iron pride, the demonstrativeness of a restless -vanity, the abundance of unpurposed movements and unvocalized -sounds characteristic of boorishness and vulgarity, the careful -repression of automatic language by the man of finished culture, -are illustrations.</p> - -<p class='c007'>And then the degree of harmony in the different modes of -expression by which a given person reveals himself is a point of -profound delicacy for actor and critic. In a type of ideal perfection -every signal of thought or feeling, of being or purpose, -will denote precisely what it is intended to denote and nothing -else, and all the simultaneous signals will agree with one another. -But real characters, so far as they fall short of perfection, are -inconsistent in their expressions, continually indefinite, superfluous -or defective, often flatly contradictory. Multitudes of -characters are so undeveloped or so ill developed that they fall -into attitudes without fitness or direct significance, employ -gestures vaguely or unmeaningly, and are so insincere or little -in earnest that their postures, looks, motions, and voices carry -opposite meanings and thus belie one another. It requires no -superficial art to be able instantly to detect every incongruity of -this sort, to assign it to its just cause, and to decide whether -the fault arises from conscious falsity in the character or from -some incompetency of the physical organism to reflect the states -of its spiritual occupant. For instance, in sarcastic speech the -meaning of the tone contradicts the meaning of the words. The -articulation is of the head, but the tone is of the heart. So when -<span class='pageno' id='Page_471'>471</span>the voice is ever so soft and wheedling, if the language of the -eyes and the fingers is ferocious, he is a fool who trusts the voice. -In like manner the revelations in form and attitude are deeper -and more massive than those of gesture. But in order that all -the expressions of the soul through the body should be marked -by truth and agreement, it is necessary that the soul should be -completely sincere and unembarrassed and that the body should -be completely free and flexible to reflect its passing states. No -character furnishes these conditions perfectly, and therefore every -character will betray more or less inconsistency in its manifestations. -Still, every pronounced character has a general unity of -design and coloring in its type which must be kept prevailingly -in view.</p> - -<p class='c007'>The one thing to be demanded of every actor is that he shall -conceive his part with distinctness and represent it coherently. -No actor can be considered meritorious who has not a full and -vivid conception of his rôle and does not present a consistent -living picture of it. But, this essential condition met, there may -be much truth and great merit in many different conceptions and -renderings of the same rôle. Then the degree of intellectuality, -nobleness, beauty, and charm, or of raw passion and material -power, in any stated performance is a fair subject for critical discussion, -and will depend on the quality of the actor. But the -critic should be as large and generous as God and nature in his -standard, and not set up a factitious limit of puling feebleness -and refuse to pardon anything that goes beyond it. He must -remember that a great deal ought to be pardoned to honest and -genuine genius when it electrifyingly exhibits to the crowd of -tame and commonplace natures a character whose scale of power -is incomparably grander than their own. It is ever one of the -most imposing and benign elements in the mission of the stage -to show to average men, through magnificent examples of depth -of passion, force of will, strength of muscle, compass of voice, -and organic play of revelation, how much wider than they had -known is the gamut of humanity, how much more intense and -exquisite its love, how much more blasting its wrath, more awful -its sorrow, more hideous its crime and revenge, more godlike its -saintliness and heroism.</p> - -<p class='c007'>It is not to be pretended that Forrest had ever made the systematic -<span class='pageno' id='Page_472'>472</span>analysis of the dramatic art sketched above. But when -it was submitted to him he instantly appreciated it with enthusiasm; -for he was experimentally familiar with all the rudiments -of it. He was all his life an earnest student of human nature, in -literature, in social intercourse, in his own consciousness, and in -the critical practice of his profession. In fixing his rank as an -actor the only question is how far he had the ability to represent -in action what he unquestionably had the ability to appreciate in -conception. While some of his admirers have eulogized him as -the greatest tragedian that ever lived, some of his detractors -have denounced him as one of the worst. The truth, of course, -lies between these extremes. His excellences were of the most -distinguished kind, but the limitations of his excellence were -obvious to the judicious and sometimes repulsive to the fastidious.</p> - -<p class='c007'>To be the complete and incomparable actor which the partisans -of Forrest claim him to have been requires some conditions -plainly wanting in him. The perfect player must have a detached, -imaginative, mercurial, yet impassioned mind, free from chronic -biases and prejudices, lodged in a rich, symmetrical body as full -of elastic grace as of commanding power. The spirit must be -freely attuned to the whole range of humanity, and the articulations -and muscles of the frame so liberated and co-operative as -to furnish an instrument obviously responsive to all the play of -thought and emotion. Now, Forrest, after his early manhood, -under the rigorous athletic training he gave himself, was a ponderous -Hercules, magnificent indeed, but incapable of the more -airy and delicate qualities, the fascination of free grace and spontaneous -variety. He lacked the lightning-like suppleness of -Garrick and of Kean. His rugged and imposing physique, -handsome and serviceable as it was, wanted the varying flexibility -of the diviner forms of beauty, and so put rigid limitations on -him. The same was true mentally; for while his intellect was -keen, clear, broad, and vigorous, and his heart warm and faithful, -and his passion deep and intense, yet his seated antipathies were -as strong as his artistic sympathies, and shut him up in scorn and -hostility from whole classes of character. Both physically and -spiritually he was moulded in the fixed ways of the general type -of characters which his own predominant qualities caused him -to affect. These were grand characters, glorious in attributes, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_473'>473</span>sublime in manifestation, but in spite of all his art many of their -traits were in common, and there was something of monotony -in the histrionic cortége, electrifying as their scale of heroism -and strength was. Could he but have mastered in tragedy the -spirituelle and free as he did the sombre and tenacious, he had -been perfect.</p> - -<p class='c007'>The same defect here admitted for his form and mind, it must -be confessed applied to his facial expression, gesture, and voice. -As in attitude he could express with immense energy everything -slow and tremendous in purpose or swift and resistless in execution, -while the more subtile and fleeting moods were baffled of a -vent, so in look and motion and tone he could give most vivid -and sustained revelation to all the great cardinal emotions of the -human breast, the elemental characteristics of our nature, but -could not so well expose the more elusive sentiments and delicate -activities. As in his tone and limbs so in his face and voice, the -heavy style of gymnastic culture had fixed itself in certain rigid -moulds or lines, which could not break up in endless forms -accordant with endless moods, melting into one another, all -underlaid by that living unity which it is the end of a true -æsthetic gymnastic to produce. On occasion of his first professional -visit to London an English journal well said,—</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Mr. Forrest is in person most remarkable for symmetrical -but somewhat Herculean proportions. He might take the Farnese -club and stand a perfect model to painter or sculptor. His -neck is also as a pillar of strength, and his head is finely set on. -His features are marked, but by no means of a classic caste, nor -are they well suited for histrionic effect. Abundantly indicative -of energy, they have not breadth of character, or beauty, or -variety of expression. Under strong excitement they cut or -contrast into sharp angularities, which cannot harmonize with -the grand in passion.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>Even the marvellous voice of Forrest—celebrated as it was for -power, tenderness, and manly sincerity—was prevailingly too -dark or too crashing. He articulated a certain range of thoughts -and intoned a certain range of feelings with superb correctness -and force. Still, his voice wanted a clarity and a bolted solidity -corresponding with its sombreness and its smashing violence. -That is to say, while it wonderfully expressed the ordinary contents -<span class='pageno' id='Page_474'>474</span>of understanding and passion, it relatively failed in delivering -the contents of intellectualized imagination and sentiment. -His voice was astonishing in volume of power, tearing fury of -articulation, long-drawn cadences of solemnity and affectional -sweetness, but it was deficient in light graceful play, brilliancy, -concentrated and echoing sonority. For the absolute perfection -often claimed in its behalf its crashing gutturality needed supplementing -with that Italian quality of transparent, round, elastic, -ringing precision which delivers the words on the silent air like -crystal balls on black velvet.</p> - -<p class='c007'>The everlasting refrain in the cry of the weak or snarling -critics of Forrest was that he overdid everything,—striding, -screeching, howling, tearing passions to tatters, disregarding the -sacred bounds of propriety. That there was an apparent modicum -of justice in this charge must be admitted. And yet when all -the truth is seen the admission makes but a very small abatement -from his merit. There is a comparatively raw elemental language -of human nature, such as is seen in the sneer, the growl, the hiss, -the grinding of the teeth, muscular contortion, which is progressively -restrained, sifted out and left behind with the advance of -polished dignity and refinement. In his impersonations Forrest -unquestionably retained more of this than is tolerated by -the standard of courtly fashion. His democratic soul despised -courtly fashion and paid its homage only at the shrine of native -universal manhood. But, on the other hand, it is unquestionable -that these vigorous expressions were perfectly in accordance -with truth and nature as represented in men of such exceptional -strength and intensity as he and the types of character he best -loved to portray. He gave extraordinarily vigorous expression -to an extraordinarily wide gamut of passion because he sincerely -felt it, and thus nature informed his art with it. He did not in -cold blood overstep truth for effect, but he earnestly set forth the -truth as he conceived and felt it. With the mould and furnishing -given by his physique and soul for the great rôles he essayed, -efforts were easy and moderate which pale and feeble spindlings -might well find extravagant or shocking. The fault clearly is -more theirs than his. Power, sincerity, earnestness, are always -respectable except to the envious. His total career is proof -enough how profound and conscientious and popularly effective -<span class='pageno' id='Page_475'>475</span>his sincerity, earnestness, and power were. But he must needs -run the scathing gauntlet which all bold originality has to run. -It is the same in all the arts. Nine-tenths of the current criticism -is worthless and contemptible, because ignorant or corrupt. -Beethoven was ridiculed as a madman and a bungler, Rossini -sneered at as a shallow trickster, Bellini, Donizetti, and Verdi -denounced as impostors, and Wagner systematically scouted as -an insufferable charlatan. As Lewes says, “The effort to create -a new form is deprecated, and a patient hearing denied. Repeat -the old forms, and the critics denounce the want of originality. -Present new forms, and the critics, deprived of their standards, -denounce the heresy. It remains with the public to discover real -genius in the artist, and it does so by its genuine response to his -work.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>In reply to the accusation of overdoing a character by excessive -force of demonstration, Forrest might fairly have asked his -critics, Overdone for whom? For Boythorn or for Skimpole? -For Coriolanus or for Launcelot Gobbo? For Spartacus or for a -dry-goods clerk? The precision with which he conceived each -of his leading characters, the patience with which he elaborated -all its elements into a consistent unity, the thoroughness with -which he assimilated it into his soul and identified himself with -it, and the unfaltering coherency and bold relief with which he -enacted it, carefully observing every condition of perspective and -light and shade and relative emphasis, placed his chief rôles -among the most complete specimens of the dramatic art in their -way. And they forced from his own generation the almost -universal acknowledgment of his solitary pre-eminence on the -American stage. An anonymous writer justly said of him in -1855, “An actor of the most positive qualities, decisive in discrimination, -pronounced in every attitude and phase, his embodiments -have sharp and stern definition. Therefore they challenge -with double force the most searching criticism, and invite while -they defy the sneers of less bold and more artificial schools. -His delineations are not mere cartoons, where the faults, like the -virtues, are elusive and shadowy. They are pictures finished -with unmistakable color, sharp expression of form, and a single, -unerring meaning. Their simplicity is such that if not grand -they would be shallow commonplace: just as it is but a step -<span class='pageno' id='Page_476'>476</span>from Doric majesty to unrelieved and squat ugliness. A modern -school of actors is perplexing itself to get rid of demonstration -on the stage, to avoid scrupulously what is called ‘a scene,’ -to express passion by silent and gentlemanly bitterness, to reduce -all emotion to bloodless and suppressed propriety. Love is -to be made a morbid gnawing; anger clipped as close as -hypocrisy; jealousy corrode, but never bubble; joy be trim -and well behaved; and madness violent only at rare intervals. -Not of such stuff as this are made the Virginius, the Lear, the -Metamora, and the Hamlet of Forrest. It is not in his nature -to polish passion until, like a sentence too much refined, it loses -all that is striking and natural. His anger is not conveyed off -like electricity by invisible agents. His moods are construed -in his audience by instinct, not by analysis. The moment he -touches an emotional key a major chord is struck that rings out -clear and piercing and brings back an echo equally distinct.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>The “London Times” said of the Metamora of Forrest, “It -is a most accurate delineation of Indian character. There is the -awkward bluntness that even approaches the comic and raises a -laugh when it defies; and there is, rising from behind this, the -awful sense of right that makes the Indian respected as a wronged -man. The dull deportment which petrifies the figurative language -that flows lazily from the lips, and the hurricane of passion that -rages beneath it, are the two elements of the character, and the -manner in which they are combined by Mr. Forrest renders his -Metamora a most remarkable performance.” In contrast with -the foregoing fairness of statement the following specimen of -base and insolent ridicule is a literary curiosity:</p> - -<p class='c007'>“The <em>Metamora</em> of Mr. Forrest is as much like a gorilla as an -Indian, and in fact more like a dignified monkey than a man. It -has not the face of a man, nor the voice nor the gait of a man. -Du Chaillu’s description of the gorilla would apply equally well -to Forrest’s <em>Metamora</em>. We are told by that celebrated traveller -that upon the approach of an enemy this ferocious baboon, standing -upright on his hind legs, his eyes dilated, his teeth gritting -and grinding, gives vent to divers snorts and grunts, and then, -beating his breast fiercely with his hands till it sounds like a -muffled drum, utters a loud roar. What a singular coincidence! -The similarity need scarcely be pointed out. Substitute the -<span class='pageno' id='Page_477'>477</span>words ‘great tragedian’ for ‘ferocious baboon,’ omit the word -‘hind,’ and you have as accurate a description of Mr. Forrest in -<em>Metamora</em> as any reasonable man could wish. The snorting, -gritting, and especially the beating of the breast and roaring, are -so familiar to us, that we could almost imagine that the tragedian -and the traveller have met.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>One more example of the kind of “criticism” too common in -the American press will suffice:</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Can any man or woman who has paid a dollar to see Mr. -Forrest in any of his great characters recall any evidence in real -life to substantiate his assertions that such bellowing is natural? -Did anybody ever see anybody that looked as Mr. Forrest looks -when he pretends to be representing the passions of rage, hate, -remorse? If Mr. Forrest ‘holds the mirror up to nature,’ he first -carefully scrawls over the face certain hideous etchings, with only -a small portion of surface here and there left open for reflection. -His Othello is a creature to be kicked, instead of feared or loved, -if met with in actual life. Is it credible that any one was ever -actually moved or interested in witnessing one of this actor’s -tedious and absurd performances?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>Ample reply to these brutal inquiries is afforded by the rapt -silence, the copious tears, and the all-shaking plaudits of the -unprecedented crowds, drawn for so long a series of years in -every part of the country by the magnetic impersonations which -have secured him the first illustrious place in the history of his -country’s stage. But two or three individual anecdotes possess -interest enough to warrant their preservation here.</p> - -<p class='c007'>While he was enacting the part of Iago to the Othello of -Edmund Kean in Albany one night, a stalwart canal-boatman -was seated in the pit, so near the stage that he rested his elbow -on it close to the footlights. Iago, in the scene where he -had wrought so fearfully on the jealousy of the Moor, crossed -the stage near the boatman, and, as he passed, the man looked -savagely at him and hissed through his teeth while grinding -them together, “You damned lying scoundrel, I would like to -get hold of you after this show is over and wring your infernal -neck!” When they met in the dressing-room, Kean generously -said to Forrest, “Young man, if my acting to-night had received -as high a compliment as that brawny fellow in the pit bestowed -<span class='pageno' id='Page_478'>478</span>on yours I should feel very proud. You made the mimic show -real to him, and I will tell you your acting merited the criticism.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>Mr. Rees recalls among his interesting reminiscences an incident -of which he was a witness in New Orleans. Forrest was delivering -the curse in Lear with his wonted fierce and overwhelming -vehemence. Mr. Rees heard a strange sound proceeding from -some one beside him, and, turning, found, to his alarm, an elderly -gentleman with his eyes fixed, his mouth open, and a deathly -paleness overspreading his face. Seizing him by the shoulders -and giving him a sudden jerk, he caused a reaction of the blood. -The gentleman gasped, heaved a deep sigh, and gazed around -like one awaking from a troubled sleep. The awful curse so -awfully uttered, which had taken away his breath, seemed still -ringing in his ears. “One moment more and I should have been -a dead man,” he said. And, looking towards the vacant stage, -he asked, “Is that terrible old man gone?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>Hazlitt tells the traditional story that once when Garrick was -acting Lear the crown of straw which he wore was discomposed -or fell off, which happening to any common actor would have -caused a burst of laughter; but with him not the slightest notice -was taken of the accident, but the attention of the audience remained -riveted. The same thing actually befell Forrest, and gave -the most astonishing proof of his absorbed earnestness and magnetizing -power. It was in the old Broadway Theatre, near Anthony -Street. He was performing Lear, with Barry, Davidge, -Conway, Whiting, Madame Ponisi, Mrs. Abbott, and other favorites -in the cast. In the last scene of the second act, when depicting -the frenzy of the aged monarch, whose brain, maddened by -injuries, was reeling on its throne, in the excitement of the moment -Forrest tore the wig of whitened hair from his head and -hurled it some twenty feet towards the footlights. The wig thus -removed, there was revealed to the audience a head of glossy -raven locks, forming a singular contrast to the hoary beard still -fastened by a white cord to the actor’s chin. Not the least embarrassment -resulted either to actor or to spectators. Amidst the -vast assembly not a titter was heard, scarce a smile discerned. -Enchained, entranced by the power of the player, two thousand -breathless spectators gazed with bedimmed eyes on the mimic -scene. Nor made he any pause or hesitation. Still did that -<span class='pageno' id='Page_479'>479</span>superb voice, so rich and grand in melody and compass, speak -forth in anguish and wrath the indignant denunciation of the outraged -king and father, making every heart tremble with his tones. -One of the actors on the stage at the time, in describing the -event more than twenty years afterwards, said that as he recalled -the effect produced by Forrest in that scene on the house, and -on the players about him, it seemed something superhuman.</p> - -<p class='c007'>In the tragedy of Cleopatra, by Marmontel, an asp had been -made so natural that it seemed alive. As it approached the queen -its eyes sparkled like fire, and it began to hiss. At the close of -the scene one asked a critic who sat by him how he liked the -play. He replied, “I am of the same opinion as the asp.” This -is the case with the average sort of critic, whose commonplace -inferiority of soul seeks to revenge itself, whose vanity or complacency -seeks to exalt itself, by a demeaning estimate of every -artist of whom he writes. But, fortunately, there are numerous -instances of a nobler style, men equally just and generous, who -in all their judgments hold individual prejudices in abeyance, -and, actuated solely by public spirit and love of truth and of -art, follow the guidance not of whim or interest, but of general -principles, as exemplified in the great fixed types of character -and modified in their dialect variations. One writer of this kind -has admirably said,—</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Every actor has some particular excellence, which stamps his -style in everything he does. This in Forrest is the ever visible -manliness of spirit, and love of equality and liberty, which place -his Damon, Spartacus, Brutus, and all characters of a like nature -so far above the reach of other actors. He is always the <em>true -man</em>, casting defiance in the face of tyranny; his hand always -open to the grasp of a friend, resolute, generous, and faithful. -This spirit is something which every true heart, be its owner rich -or poor, learned or unlearned, will always acknowledge and worship -as the noblest attribute of man; and here is the real secret -of Forrest’s success. The unlettered cannot but admire him for -this feature, while to those who can appreciate artistic finish and -detail, his acting must be an inexhaustible source of pleasure. -After he has gone the stage will feel his worth. Who has not -wept over the last act of Brutus? Who has not felt his ‘seated -heart knock at his ribs’ while listening to the tragedian’s astonishing -<span class='pageno' id='Page_480'>480</span>delivery in the third act of Damon and Pythias? Who -that has ever heard him exclaim in the last act of the Gladiator, -‘There are no gods in heaven!’ can accuse him of being coarse -or vulgar? Indeed, it may be said of his acting in many characters -(as a Shaksperian commentator has said of Lear), ‘The genius of -antiquity bows before it, and moderns gaze upon it with awe.’”</p> - -<p class='c007'>The strong proclivity of professional artists to jealousy is as -proverbial as the tendency of the critic to attack and belittle. -Forrest suffered much from both. His imperious independence, -not less than his great success, provoked it, and he was maligned, -spattered, and backbitten sufficiently from the stage as well as -from the office. If in this respect he was an exception, it was -merely in degree. The mortified and envious actors of Drury -Lane discussing Kean in the greenroom, one of them sneeringly -remarked, “They say he is a good harlequin.” “Yes,” retorted -honest Jack Bannister, “an extraordinary one; for he has leaped -over all your heads.” But the other side of this view was also -true, and Forrest numbered his most enthusiastic admirers in -the dramatic profession itself in all its ranks. They paid him -many tributes from first to last, on which he justly set the highest -value. For when the player is intelligent and candid, his special -experience makes him the most competent critic of a player. -The extent to which the peculiar style of Forrest took effect in -producing imitators, conscious and unconscious,—who often, it -is true, unhappily, copied his least praiseworthy points,—was a -vast and unquestionable testimonial to his original power. And -in here leaving the subject of criticism, it is enough, passing over -the recorded praises of his genius by many leading American -actors, to set down the deliberate estimate of James E. Murdock, -himself a player of uncommon merit, as well as a man of refined -scholarly culture. Some one had made a degrading allusion to -Forrest, when Murdock replied, “Never had I been able to find -a fitting illustration of the massive and powerful acting of Forrest -until, on a visit to Rome some years ago, I stood before -the mighty works of Michael Angelo,—his Last Judgment, his -gigantic Moses. Call it exaggerated if you will. But there it -is, beautiful in symmetry, impressive in proportions, sublime in -majesty. Such was Edwin Forrest when representing the chosen -characters of Shakspeare.” The illustration was as exact as the -<span class='pageno' id='Page_481'>481</span>spirit that prompted it was generous. It indicates precisely the -central attribute of the subject. For the powerful and reposeful -port, the elemental poise and swing of the colossal figures of -Angelo, reveal just what the histrionic pose and bearing of Forrest -revealed, namely, the preponderance in him of the universal -over the individual, the working of the forces of nature rather -than the straining of his will. This is what makes a personality -memorable, for it is contagious on others, and so invisibly descends -the ages.</p> - -<div class='chapter'> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_482'>482</span> - <h2 class='c005'>CHAPTER XV.<br /> <span class='large'>PERSONAL AND DOMESTIC LIFE.—FONTHILL CASTLE.—JEALOUSY.—DIVORCE.—LAWSUITS.—TRAGEDIES OF LOVE IN HUMAN LIFE AND IN THE DRAMATIC ART.</span></h2> -</div> - -<p class='c006'>Forrest was now in his forty-fourth year, as magnificent a -specimen of manhood perhaps as there was on the continent. -His strength, vitality, fulness of functional power, and confronting -fearlessness of soul before the course of nature and the faces -of men, were so complete as to give him a chronic sense of complacency -and luxury in the mere feeling of existence endowed -with so much ability to do whatever he wished to do.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Despite a few annoying drawbacks his cup of outward prosperity -too was full. It is true his fancy had been somewhat disenchanted -and his temper embittered by experiences of meanness, -ingratitude, and worthlessness, the envy and rancor of rivals, the -shallowness and malignity of the multitude, and especially by a -lasting soreness created in his heart from his late English trip -and its unhappy sequel. It is also true that this evil influence -had been negatively increased by the loss of the wise and benign -restraint and inspiration given him during their lives by the devoted -friendship of Leggett and the guardian love of his mother. -Still, he had an earnest, democratic sympathy with the masses of -men and a deep pride in their admiration. His popularity was -unbounded. His rank in his art was acknowledged on the part of -his professional brethren by his election as the first President of -the Dramatic Fund Association, a society to whose exchequer he -contributed the proceeds of an annual benefit for many years. He -had fought his way with strenuous vigor through many hardships -of orphanage, poverty, defective education, and a fearful furnace -of temptations. And his reputation in every respect was without -stain or shadow. This was certified by all sorts of public testimonials, -the offers of political office and honor, the studied eulogies -<span class='pageno' id='Page_483'>483</span>of the most cultivated and eloquent civilians, the smiling -favors of the loveliest women in the land, the shouts of the -crowd, and the golden filling of his coffers. His large earnings -were invested with rare sagacity, his sound financial judgment -and skill always enabling him to reap a good harvest wherever -he tilled his fortune. He was at this time already worth two or -three hundred thousand dollars. And this, in an age of Mammon, -is a pledge to society of high deserts and a hostage for good -behavior.</p> - -<p class='c007'>But above all he was signally blessed in his married life, the -point in a character like his by far the most central and vital of -all. The first ten years of his state of wedlock had indeed been -happy beyond the ordinary portion of mortals. It was a well-mated -match, he a noble statue of strength, she a melting picture -of beauty, mutually proud and fond of each other, his native -honesty and imperious will met by her polished refinement and -conciliatory sweetness. Beyond all doubt he deeply and passionately -loved her. And well he might, for his nature was one -greatly endowed in all points for impassioned love, and she was -in person, disposition, and accomplishments equally adapted to -awaken it. “She was perfection,” said one, in allusion to her -bridal landing in America; “the most beautiful vision I ever -saw.” After the death of Forrest she herself said, “The first ten -years of our married life were a season of contentment and happiness, -scarcely ruffled by so much as a summer flaw; then bickering -began, followed by deeper misunderstanding, and the fatal -result drew on, which I have always deplored.” Yet even in these -halcyon years, too short and too few, there was one thing wanting -to finished household felicity. This one want was children, -the eternal charm of the passing ages of humanity. Of the four -pathetic creatures born to them, but one lived, and that only for -a few months. Abandoning the hope of heirs to his name and -fortune, and foreseeing that his estate was destined to be a large -one, Forrest, with the long anticipation characteristic of a reflective -mind, bethought him what disposal he had best make -of his acquisitions when he should be forced to relinquish them -in death. He settled upon a purpose combining elements of -romance, beneficence, and imposing permanence, which showed -him possessed of qualities above the vulgar average of men.</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_484'>484</span>He bought an extensive tract of land on the banks of the Hudson, -about sixteen miles from New York, on a site commanding -one of the most enchanting prospects in the world. Here he -proposed to erect a building to be called Fonthill Castle, somewhat -after the fashion of the old ruined structures on the banks -of the Rhine, whose beauty should gratify his taste, whose conveniences -should secure his household comfort, whose historic -and poetic suggestiveness should please his countrymen passing -up and down the river, and whose final object should be an enduring -memorial of his love for his profession and of his compassion -for its less fortunate members. The building of a house -is an epoch of great interest in the lives of many men. This was -especially so in the life of Forrest. In a chiselled orifice of the -corner-stone of Fonthill Castle he placed specimens of the American -coinage, a copy of Shakspeare, and the following paper,—marred -only by its betrayal of that prejudice against foreigners -which was so unworthy of his own nature and of his nationality:</p> - -<p class='c010'>“In building this house, I am impelled by no vain desire to -occupy a grand mansion for the gratification of self-love; but my -object is to build a desirable, spacious, and comfortable abode for -myself and my wife, to serve us during our natural lives, and at -our death to endow the building with a sufficient yearly income, -so that a certain number of decayed or superannuated actors and -actresses of American birth (<em>all foreigners to be strictly excluded</em>) -may inhabit the mansion and enjoy the grounds thereunto belonging, -so long as they live; and at the death of any one of the -actors or actresses inhabiting the premises, his or her place to be -supplied by another from the theatrical profession, who, from age -or infirmity, may be found unable to obtain a livelihood upon the -stage. The rules and regulations by which this institution is to -be governed will, at some future day, be framed by</p> - -<div class='lg-container-r c011'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“<span class='sc'>Edwin Forrest.</span>”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c007'>To this charity he meant to devote his whole property forever. -As the estate grew in value an American Dramatic School was -to be added to it, lectures delivered, practical training imparted, -and native histrionic authors encouraged. It was estimated that -in fifty years the rich acres surrounding the Castle would be a -<span class='pageno' id='Page_485'>485</span>part of New York, and that the rise of value would make the -bequest at last one of the noblest known in any age.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Fonthill Castle was built of gray silicious granite of extraordinary -hardness and fine grain, hammer-dressed and pointed -with gray cement. The building consists of six octagon towers -clumped together, the battlements of some notched with embrasures, -the others capped with corniced coping. The highest -tower rises about seventy feet from the base, the centre tower, -the main tower, the library tower, the drawing-room tower, and -the dining-room tower being of proportioned heights. The basement -contains the kitchen, cellar, and store-rooms. On the next -floor are the parlor, banquet-hall, study, boudoir, and library. -The centre tower comprises a hall or rotunda, and above this -a picture-gallery lighted from the dome. The upper rooms are -divided into chambers for guests and apartments for servants. -The staircase tower has a spiral staircase of granite inserted in a -solid brick column, rising from the basement to the top of the -tower, with landings on each floor leading to the chief apartments. -The architectural design was understood to be chiefly -the work of Mrs. Forrest, with modifications by him. It combined -the Norman and Gothic styles, softened in detail so as to -embrace some of the luxuries of modern improvements. For -instance, the drawing-room and banqueting-room are lighted with -deep, square, bay-windows, while those of the upper chambers -and of the boudoir are of the Gothic order. In other portions of -the edifice are to be seen the rounded windows of the Norman -period, with their solid stone mullions dividing the compartments -again into pointed Gothic. Loop-holes and buttresses give the -structure the military air of a fortified castle. There are two -entrances, one on the water side, one on the land side. From the -summit of the staircase tower one sees up the river as far as Sing -Sing and down to Staten Island. On the opposite shore frowns -the wall of the Palisades. On the north lie Yonkers, Hastings, -Nyack, the lovely inlet of Tappan Zee, and the cottages of -Piermont, glistening like white shells on the distant beach.</p> - -<p class='c007'>During the progress of the building Forrest had improvised -a rude residence on the grounds, which he constantly visited, -growing ever more deeply attached to the place and to his enterprise. -In this romantic spot, one Fourth of July, he gathered -<span class='pageno' id='Page_486'>486</span>his neighbors and friends, to the number of some two or -three hundreds, and held a celebration,—reading the Declaration -of Independence and delivering an oration, followed by the distributing -of refreshments under waving flags and amidst booming -guns. It was a brilliant and joyous affair,—a sort of initial, and, -as it proved, farewell, dedication of the scene with commingled -friendly and patriotic associations. For in its opening stages of -suspicion and distress the domestic tragedy had already begun -which was destined to make the enchantments of Fonthill so -painful to him that he would withdraw from it forever, sell it to -a Catholic sisterhood for a conventual school, and take up his -final abode in the city of his birth.</p> - -<p class='c007'>In the spring of 1848 Forrest was fulfilling a professional engagement -in Cincinnati, and his wife was with him. One day, -on entering his room at the hotel unexpectedly, he saw Mrs. -Forrest standing between the knees of George W. Jamieson, an -actor of low moral character, whose hands were upon her person. -Jamieson at once left the room. Forrest was greatly excited, -but the protestations of his wife soothed his angry suspicion, -and he overlooked the affair as a mere matter of indiscreetness -of manners. Still, the incident was not wholly forgotten. And -some months later, after their return home, certain trifling circumstances -came under his observation which again made him -feel uneasy. On opening a drawer in which his wife kept her -papers, he found, addressed to her, the following letter, worn and -rumpled, and in the handwriting of this Jamieson:</p> - -<p class='c007'>“And now, sweetest Consuelo, our brief dream is over; and -such a dream! Have we not known real bliss? Have we not -realized what poets love to set up as an ideal state, giving full -license to their imagination, scarcely believing in its reality? -Have we not experienced the truth that ecstasy is not a fiction? -I have; and, as I will not permit myself to doubt you, am certain -you have. And oh! what an additional delight to think,—no, -to know, that I have made some hours happy to you! Yes, and -that remembrance of me may lighten the heavy time of many an -hour to come. Yes, our little dream of great account is over; -reality stares us in the face. Let us peruse its features. Look -with me and read as I do, and you will find our dream is ‘not -all a dream.’ Can reality take from us, when she separates and -<span class='pageno' id='Page_487'>487</span>exiles us from each other,—can she divide our souls, our spirits? -Can slander’s tongue or rumor’s trumpet summon us to a parley -with ourselves, where, to doubt each other, we should hold a -council? <em>No! no!</em> a doubt of thee can no more find harbor in -my brain than the opened rose shall cease to be the hum-bird’s -harbor. And as my heart and soul are in your possession, examine -them, and you will find no text from which to discourse a -doubt of <em>me</em>. But you have told me (and oh! what music did -your words create upon my grateful ear) that you would <em>not -doubt me</em>. With these considerations, dearest, our separation, -though painful, will not be unendurable; and if a sombre hour -should intrude itself upon you, banish it by knowing there is one -who is whispering to himself, Consuelo.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“There is another potent reason why you should be happy,—that -is, having been the means of another’s happiness; for I <em>am</em> -happy, and, with you to remember and the blissful anticipation of -seeing you again, shall remain so. I wish I could tell you my -happiness. I cannot. No words have been yet invented that -could convey an idea of the depth of that passion, composed of -pride, admiration, awe, gratitude, veneration, and love, without -being earthy, that I feel for you.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Be happy, dearest; write to me and tell me you are happy. -Think of the time when we shall meet again; believe that I shall -do my utmost to be worthy of your love; and now God bless you -a thousand times, my own, my heart’s altar.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I would say more, but must stow away my shreds and tinsel -patches. Ugh! how hideous they look after thinking of you!</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“Adieu! adieu! and when thou’rt gone,</div> - <div class='line'>My joy shall be made up alone</div> - <div class='line'>Of calling back, with fancy’s charm,</div> - <div class='line'>Those halcyon hours when in my arm</div> - <div class='line in18'>Clasped Consuelo.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“Adieu! adieu! be thine each joy</div> - <div class='line'>That earth can yield without alloy,</div> - <div class='line'>Shall be the earnest constant prayer</div> - <div class='line'>Of him who in his heart shall wear</div> - <div class='line in18'>But Consuelo.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“Adieu! adieu! when next we meet,</div> - <div class='line'>Will not all sadness then retreat,</div> - <div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_488'>488</span>And yield the conquered time to bliss,</div> - <div class='line'>And seal the triumph with a kiss?</div> - <div class='line in18'>Say, Consuelo.”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c007'>On reading this missive, as might well be supposed, Forrest -was struck to the heart with surprise, grief, and rage. To one -of his ample experience of the world it seemed to leave no -doubt of an utter lapse from the marriage-vow on the part of -its recipient. He was heard rapidly pacing the floor of his -library until long after midnight, when his wife arrived from a -party and a violent scene of accusation and denial occurred. -He wrote an oath, couched in the most stringent and solemn -terms, which she signed, swearing that she was innocent of -any criminal infringement of her marital obligations. He was -quieted, but not satisfied. On questioning the servants as to the -scenes and course of conduct in his house during his absences, -and employing such other methods of inquiry as did not involve -publicity, he learned a variety of facts which confirmed his fear -and resulted in a fixed belief that his wife had been unfaithful to -him. Many a jealous husband has entertained a similar belief -on insufficient and on erroneous grounds. He, too, may have -done so. All that justice requires to be affirmed here is the -assertion that he was himself firmly convinced, whether on adequate -or inadequate evidence, that he had been grossly wronged, -and he acted on that conviction in good faith. The pretence that -he had tired of his marriage, longed to be free, and devised false -charges in order to compass his purpose, is a pure slander, without -truth or reason. And as to the theory of the distinguished -counsel against him, namely, that he found himself by the building -of Fonthill Castle involved in a financial ruin that would -disgrace him and change its name to Forrest’s Folly, and so, -as the easiest way out, he deliberately “determined to have a -quarrel with his wife for some private cause not to be explained, -and then to assign the breaking up of his family as the reason -for relinquishing his rural residence,”—it is not only the flimsiest -of fancies, but a perfect absurdity in face of the facts, and an infamous -outrage on the helpless memory of the dead. Could a -woman of the mind, spirit, position, and with the friends of Mrs. -Forrest be expected meekly to submit to such a fiendish sacrifice? -How does such a thought seem in the light of the first letters of -<span class='pageno' id='Page_489'>489</span>the parties in the controversy? The supposition, too, is inconceivably -contradictory to the character of Forrest, who, however -rough, violent, or furious he may sometimes have been, was -not a man of cruel injustice or selfish malignity, was never a -sneaking liar and hypocrite. Furthermore, no financial difficulty -existed; since the fortune of Forrest at that time was about three -hundred thousand dollars, and his direct earnings from his professional -labor some thirty thousand a year. Fonthiil cost him -all told less than a hundred thousand, and on separating from his -wife, in addition to carrying the load of Fonthiil for six years -longer, the residence which he purchased and occupied in Philadelphia -was worth nearly as much more, and, besides paying out -over two hundred thousand dollars in his divorce lawsuits, his -wealth was steadily swelling all the time.</p> - -<p class='c007'>After the intense personal hostility and indomitable professional -zeal and persistency with which Charles O’Conor pushed -the cause of his fair client, in eight years securing five repetitions -of judgment, heaping up the expenses for the defendant, as he -says, “with the peculiar effect of compound interest,” he should -not have penned so unfounded and terrible an accusation. The -man who could sacrifice the honor and happiness of his wife -with the motive and in the manner O’Conor attributes to Forrest -must be the most loathsome of scoundrels. But in the very -paper in which the great illustrious lawyer presents this theory -he says, “Mr. Forrest possessed great talents, and, unless his -conduct in that controversy be made a subject of censure, he -has no blemish on his name.” The innocence of Mrs. Forrest -is publicly accredited, and is not here impugned. But history -abundantly shows that her husband’s affirmation of her guilt -does not prove him to have been a wilful monster. His suspicion -was naturally aroused, and, though it may have been mistaken, -naturally culminated, under the circumstances accompanying -its course, in an assured conviction of its justice.</p> - -<p class='c007'>In his proud, sensitive, and tenacious mind, recoiling with all -its fibres from the fancied wrong and shame, the poison of the -Consuelo letter worked like a deadly drug, burning and mining -all within. By day or by night he could not forget it. The full -experience of jealousy, as so many poor wretches in every age -have felt it, gnawed and tore him. He who had so often enacted -<span class='pageno' id='Page_490'>490</span>the passion now had to suffer it in its dire reality. For more -than a year he kept his dark secret in silence, not saying a word -even to his dearest friends, secluding himself much of the time, -brooding morbidly over his pent-up misery. Now he learned -to probe in their deepest significance the words of his great -Master,—</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“But oh, what damned minutes tells he o’er</div> - <div class='line'>Who dotes yet doubts, suspects yet strongly loves!”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c009'>The evidence of the love he had for his wife and of the agony -his jealousy caused him is abundant. His letters to her are -tender and effusive. Such extracts as these are a specimen of -them: “I am quite tired of this wandering, and every hour I -wish myself again with you. God bless you, my dearest Kate, -and believe me wholly yours.” “This is a warm, bright, beautiful -day, and I am sitting at an open window in the Eutaw House; -and while I write there is above me a clear, blue, cloudless sky,—just -such a day as I yearn to have with you at Fonthill.” “I -saw Mr. Mackay to-day. He spoke of you in terms of unmitigated -praise, and said you were every way worthy of my most -devoted affection. Of course he made conquest of my whole -heart. I do love to hear you praised, and value it most highly -when, as in the present instance, it is the spontaneous offering of -the candid and the good.” “Your two letters have been received, -and I thank you, my dearest Kate, for your kind attentions in -writing to me so often. Indeed, your messages are always welcome.” -“I seem quite lonely without you, and even in this short -absence have often wished you were here. But the three weeks -<em>will</em> pass away, and then we shall see each other again.” Many -witnesses in the trial testified to the happy domestic life of the -couple, their devoted attentions and confiding tenderness up to the -time of their dissension. And that the change which then occurred -was as secretly painful as it was publicly marked is beyond -doubt. He appeared no longer on the stage, but shunned society, -even shrank from his friends, wore a gloomy and absorbed air, -and brooded in solitude. The following verses—as unjust as -they are severe, for jealousy is always more or less insane, a -morbid fixture displacing the freedom of the mind—reflecting his -feelings were found after his death, in his handwriting, copied -into one of his scrap-books at the date of the divorce trial:</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_491'>491</span>Away from my heart, for thy spirit is vain</div> - <div class='line in2'>As the meanest of insects that flutter in air;</div> - <div class='line'>I have broken the bonds of our union in twain,</div> - <div class='line in2'>For the spots of deceit and of falsehood are there.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>The woman who still in the day-dawn of youth</div> - <div class='line in2'>Can hold out her hand to the kisses of all,</div> - <div class='line'>Whose tongue is polluted by guile and untruth,</div> - <div class='line in2'>Doth justify man when he breaks from her thrall.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>But think not I hate thee; my heart is too high</div> - <div class='line in2'>To prey on the spoil of so abject a foe;</div> - <div class='line'>I deem thee unworthy a curse or a sigh,</div> - <div class='line in2'>For pity too base, and for vengeance too low.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Then away, unregretted, unhonored thy name,</div> - <div class='line in2'>In my moments of scorn recollected alone,—</div> - <div class='line'>Soon others shall wake to behold thee the same</div> - <div class='line in2'>As I have beheld thee, and thou shalt be known.</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c007'>When at last he spoke reservedly on the subject to his confidential -friend, he said he had begun life a very poor boy, had -struggled hard to reach a pinnacle, and it now seemed severe to -be struck down from all his happiness by one individual, and -that one the woman whom he had loved the most of all on earth. -And when the listener to whom he spoke replied with praises of -the physical and spiritual beauty of Mrs. Forrest, he exclaimed, -“She now looks ugly to me: her face is black and hideous.” -This friend, Lawson, wrote these words at the time: “I am persuaded -that both parties are still warmly attached to one another. -He, judging by his looks, has suffered deeply, and has grown -ten years older during the last few months. She is not less -affected.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>At length a natural but unfortunate incident carried their alienation -to the point of a violent and final rupture. In indignant -reply to some cutting remarks on her sister, Mrs. Forrest inconsiderately -said to her husband, “It is a lie!” If there was one -point on which he had always been proudly scrupulous, as every -friend would testify, it was that of being a man of the uttermost -straightforward veracity, whatever might betide. The words, “It -is a lie!” fell into his irascible blood like drops of molten iron. -He restrained himself, and said, “If a man had said that to me he -<span class='pageno' id='Page_492'>492</span>should die. I cannot live with a woman who says it.” From -that moment separation was inevitable and irrevocable.</p> - -<p class='c007'>A little later they agreed to part, mutually pledging themselves -not to allow the cause to be made known. Before leaving his -house she asked him to give her a copy of the works of Shakspeare -as a memento of him. He did so, writing in it, “Mrs. -Edwin Forrest, from Edwin Forrest,” a sad alteration from the -inscription uniformly made in the books he had before presented -to her, “From her lover and husband, Edwin Forrest.” Taking -her in a carriage, with a large portrait of himself at the most -glorious height of his physical life, he accompanied her to the -house of her generous friends, Parke and Fanny Godwin, whose -steadfast fidelity had caused them to offer her an asylum in this -trying hour. Parting from each other silently at that hospitable -door, the gulf of pain between them was henceforth without a -bridge. Slow months passed on, various causes of irritation still -at work, when the following letter, which explains itself, was -written:</p> - -<p class='c010'>“I am compelled to address you, by reports and rumors that -reach me from every side, and which a due respect for my own -character compels me not to disregard. You cannot forget that -before we parted you obtained from me a solemn pledge that I -would say nothing of the guilty cause; the guilt alone on your -part, not on mine, which led to our separation; you cannot forget -that, at the same time, you also pledged yourself to a like silence, -a silence that I supposed you would be glad to have preserved; -but I understand from various sources, and in ways that cannot -deceive me, that you have repeatedly disregarded that promise, -and are constantly assigning false reasons for our separation, -and making statements in regard to it intended and calculated to -exonerate yourself and to throw the whole blame on me, and -necessarily to alienate from me the respect and attachment of the -friends I have left to me. Is this a fitting return for the kindness -I have ever shown you? Is this your gratitude to one who, -though aware of your guilt and most deeply wronged, has endeavored -to shield you from the scorn and contempt of the world? -The evidence of your guilt, you know, is in my possession; I -took that evidence from among your papers, and I have your -<span class='pageno' id='Page_493'>493</span>own acknowledgment by whom it was written, and that the infamous -letter was addressed to you. You know, as well as I do, -that the cause of my leaving you was the conviction of your infidelity. -I have said enough to make the object of this letter -apparent; I am content that the past shall remain in silence, but -I do not intend, nor will I permit, that either you, or any one -connected with you, shall ascribe our separation to my misconduct.</p> - -<p class='c010'>“I desire you, therefore, to let me know at once, whether you -have by your own assertions, or by sanctioning those of others, -endeavored to throw the blame of our miserable position on me. -My future conduct will depend on your reply.</p> - -<div class='lg-container-r c011'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“Once yours,</div> - <div class='line in10'>“<span class='sc'>Edwin Forrest</span>.”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c007'>To this the writer received immediate response:</p> - -<p class='c010'>“I hasten to answer the letter Mr. Stevens has just left with -me, with the utmost alacrity, as it affords me, at least, the melancholy -satisfaction of correcting misstatements, and of assuring -you that the various rumors and reports which have reached you -are false.</p> - -<p class='c010'>“You say that you have been told that I am ‘constantly assigning -false reasons for our separation, and making statements in -regard to it intended and calculated to exonerate myself and -throw the whole blame on you;’ this I beg most distinctly to -state is utterly untrue.</p> - -<p class='c010'>“I have, when asked the cause of our sad differences, invariably -replied that was a matter only known to ourselves, and which -would never be explained, and I neither acknowledge the right -of the world, nor our most intimate friends, to question our -conduct in this affair.</p> - -<p class='c010'>“You say, ‘I desire you, therefore, to let me know at once, -whether you have by your own assertions, or by sanctioning -those of others, endeavored to throw the blame of our miserable -position on me.’ I most solemnly assert that I have never done -so, directly or indirectly, nor has any one connected with me ever -made such assertions with my knowledge, nor have I ever permitted -any one to speak of you in my presence with censure or -<span class='pageno' id='Page_494'>494</span>disrespect. I am glad you have enabled me to reply directly to -yourself concerning this, as it must be evident to you that we are -both in a position to be misrepresented to each other; but I cannot -help adding that the tone of your letter wounds me deeply: -a few months ago you would not have written thus. But in this -neither do I blame you, but those who have for their own motives -poisoned your mind against me; this is surely an unnecessary -addition to my sufferings, but while I suffer I feel the strong conviction -that some day, perhaps one so distant that it may no -longer be possible for us to meet on this earth, your own naturally -noble and just mind will do me justice, and that you will believe -in the affection which, for twelve years, has never swerved from -you. I cannot, nor would I, subscribe myself other than,</p> - -<div class='lg-container-r c011'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“Yours now and ever,</div> - <div class='line in8'>“<span class='sc'>Catharine N. Forrest</span>.”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c007'>The above letter was succeeded five days later by another:</p> - -<p class='c010'>“In replying to the letter I received from you on Monday last, -I confined myself to an answer to the questions you therein ask -me; for inasmuch as you said you were content that the past -should remain in silence, and as I was myself unwilling to revive -any subject of dispute between us, I passed over the harsh and -new accusations contained in your letter; but on reading and -weighing it carefully, as I have done since, I fear that my silence -would be construed into an implied assent to those accusations. -After your repeated assurances to me prior to our separation, and -to others since then, of your conviction that there had been -nothing criminal on my part, I am pained that you should have -been persuaded to use such language to me. You know as well -as I do that there has been nothing in my conduct to justify -those gross and unexpected charges, and I cannot think why you -should now seem to consider a foolish and anonymous letter as -an evidence of guilt, never before having thought so, unless you -have ulterior views, and seek to found some grounds on this for -divorce. If this be your object, it could be more easily, not to -say more generously, obtained. I repeatedly told you that if a -divorce would make you happy, I was willing to go out of this -State with you to obtain it, and that at any future time my -<span class='pageno' id='Page_495'>495</span>promise to this effect would hold good. You said such was not -your wish, and that we needed no court of law to decide our -future position for us. From the time you proposed our separation, -I used no remonstrance, save to implore you to weigh the -matter seriously, and be sure, before you decided, that such a step -would make you happy; you said it would, and to conduce as -much as lay in my power to that happiness, was my only aim and -employment until the day you took me from my home. Of my -own desolate and prospectless future I scarcely dared to think or -speak to you, but once you said that if any one dared to cast an -imputation on me, not consistent with honor, I should call on -you to defend me. That you should, therefore, now write and -speak as you do, I can only impute to your yielding to the suggestions -of those who, under the garb of friendship, are daring to -interfere between us; but it is not in their power to know whether -your happiness will be insured by endeavoring to work my utter -ruin. I cannot believe it, and implore you, Edwin, for God’s -sake, to trust to your own better judgment; and, as I am certain -that your heart will tell you I could not seek to injure you, so -likewise I am sure your future will not be brighter if you succeed -in crushing me more completely, in casting disgrace upon one -who has known no higher pride than the right of calling herself -your wife.</p> - -<div class='lg-container-r c011'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“<span class='sc'>Catharine N. Forrest.</span>”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c007'>To this Forrest replied thus:</p> - -<p class='c010'>“I answer your letter dated the 29th and received by me on -the 31st ult., solely to prevent my silence being misunderstood. -Mr. Godwin has told me that the tardy reply to the most material -part of mine of the 24th was sent by his advice. I should indeed -think from its whole tone and character that it was written -under instructions. I do not desire to use harsh epithets or -severe language to you; it can do no good. But you compel me -to say that all the important parts of yours are utterly untrue. -It is utterly untrue that the accusations I now bring against you -are ‘new.’ It is utterly untrue that since the discovery of that -infamous letter, which you callously call ‘foolish,’ I have ever, -in any way, expressed my belief of your freedom from guilt. I -<span class='pageno' id='Page_496'>496</span>could not have done so, and you know that I have not done it. -But I cannot carry on a correspondence of this kind; I have no -desire to injure or to crush you; the fatal wrong has been done -to me, and I only wish to put a final termination to a state of -things which has destroyed my peace of mind, and which is -wearing out my life.</p> - -<div class='lg-container-r c011'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“<span class='sc'>Edwin Forrest.</span>”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c007'>The next step in the tragedy was the filing of an application for -divorce by Forrest in Philadelphia, instantly counterchecked by -a similar application on the part of Mrs. Forrest in New York. -He was led to his suit because, in his own words, “unwilling to -submit to calumnies industriously circulated by my enemies that -I had unmanfully wronged an innocent woman, the only choice -open to me was either to assert my rectitude before the tribunals -of my country or endure throughout life a weight of reproach -which I trust my entire life proves undeserved.” Her obvious -motive in the counter-suit was the instinctive impulse and the deliberate -determination to protect herself from remediless disgrace -and utter social ostracism. No woman with her spirit, and with -the host of friends which she had in the most honored walk of the -community, could willingly accept the fearful penalty of letting -such a case go by default, whether she were innocent or guilty. -To those who held her innocent, as the best people did, her attitude -appealed to every chivalrous sentiment of admiration and -sympathy; but to him who believed her guilty, as her husband -did, it presented every motive to aggravate anger and resentment. -The inevitable consequences resulted, and a prolonged struggle -ensued, which was a desperate fight for moral existence. The -miserable details need not be specified. As the combat thickened, -the deeper grew the passions on each side, and the more -damaging the charges and alleged disclosures. The hostile -championship likewise became intenser and wider. The trial, -with the incrimination of adultery and the recrimination of the -same offence, began in December, 1851, and reached through six -weeks. No trial of the kind in this country had ever awakened -so eager and extended an interest. The evidence and arguments -were minutely reproduced in the press, sold by wholesale in every -corner of the land, and devoured by unnumbered thousands with -<span class='pageno' id='Page_497'>497</span>every sort of scandalous gossip and comment. The completed -report of the trial fills two enormous volumes of more than twelve -hundred pages each. The lady gained much for her cause by -her strict propriety of language, her elegant deportment, the unequalled -ability and passionate zeal of her counsel, and the exalted -character of her large circle of influential and unfaltering friends. -The man lost as much for his cause by the partisan prejudices -against him, by the imprudences of his more reckless friends, and -especially by the repelling violence and coarseness of expression -and demeanor to which in his exasperated state he was too often -tempted. Abundant examples have already been furnished in these -pages of his scholarly taste, intellectual dignity, moral refinement -and strength. Justice to the truth requires the frank admission -that there was also in him a rude and harsh element, a streak of -uncivilized bluntness or barbaric honesty of impulse, shocking to -people of conventional politeness. These people did him injustice -by chiefly seeing this cruder feature in his character, for it -was quite a subordinate part of his genuine nature. But it is -only fair to give specimens of the level to which it not unfrequently -sank him in social appearance. In his eyes observance -of external seemings was nothing in comparison with sincerity -to internal realities. After his separation, but before his divorce, -meeting his wife in the street, she said he kept her there walking -up and down for over two hours in a pouring rain, hearing and -replying to him, neither of them having an umbrella. At this -same period watching one night to see who entered or left his -house, in which his wife was still residing, though alone, a man -named Raymond came out. The following intelligible dialogue -immediately took place, as sworn to in court by Raymond himself. -“Why are you sneaking away like a guilty man?” “Edwin -Forrest, you have waylaid me by night with a bludgeon. -You want a pretence for attacking me, and I shall not give it -you.” “Bludgeon! I don’t want a bludgeon to kill you. Damn -you, I can choke you to death with my hands. But you are not -the man I am after now. If I catch that damned villain I’ll rip -his liver out. I’ll cut his damned throat at the door. You may -go this time, damn you. But I have marked you, all of you, and -I’ll have vengeance.” This style of speech, as laughable as it -is repulsive, and which really marked not at all the extent but -<span class='pageno' id='Page_498'>498</span>merely the limitation of his culture, greatly injured him, alloying -alike his worth, his peace, and his success. In one instance alone, -however, did his violence of temper carry him beyond discourteous -and furious speech to illegal action. Meeting in Central -Park Mr. N. P. Willis, whom he regarded as one of the chief -fomenters of his domestic trouble, he inflicted severe personal -chastisement on him. The sufferer prosecuted his assailant, and -secured a verdict with damages of one dollar. Forrest brought a -suit against Willis for libel, and gained a verdict with five hundred -dollars damages.</p> - -<p class='c007'>In the divorce case a somewhat unexpected judgment was -decreed against Forrest, acquitting his wife and condemning him -to pay costs and three thousand dollars a year for alimony. He -appealed, and was defeated, with an added thousand dollars a year -alimony. Five times he appealed, carrying his case from court -to court, and every time was baffled and thrown. And it actually -was not until 1868, after eighteen years of unrelenting litigation,—years -filled with irritation, acrimony, and every species of annoyance, -settling in many instances into a lodged hatred,—that -he finally abandoned further resistance and paid over the full -award. Sixty-four thousand dollars came to Mrs. Forrest, of -which sum the various expenses swallowed fifty-nine thousand, -leaving the pittance of five thousand,—an edifying example of -the beauty of legal controversies.</p> - -<p class='c007'>The writer is unwilling in any way to enter between the now -long and forever separated disputants or to go behind the rendering -of the court. The defendant is dead, and only requires -for justice’s sake the assertion that he believed himself to have -been wronged, and that he acted on that belief with the unforgivingness -belonging to him. The plaintiff has suffered fearfully -enough for any imprudence or error, was believed by her intimate -and most honored friends to be innocent, was vindicated by -a jury after a most searching trial, and is now living in modest -and blameless retirement. She has a right to the benefit of her -acquittal, and shall be left unassailed to that unseen Tribunal -which alone is as just and merciful as it is infallible.</p> - -<p class='c007'>The verdict of the jury was hailed with acclamations by one -party, with amazement and derision by the other. Rumors and -charges of perjury, fraud, and corruption were rife, and many a -<span class='pageno' id='Page_499'>499</span>character suffered badly, while the end left the contestants pretty -much where the beginning found them, with the exception of -the bad passion, costs, and anguish that lay between. They had -been hoisted into a public pillory in the face of the whole country, -subjected to all kinds of odious remarks, the very sanctities -of their being defiled and profaned by the miscellaneous gawking -and commenting of the prurient crowd. Besides all this long -strain on his feelings and huge drain on his purse, Forrest had -the angry grief of seeing large numbers of his most cherished -friends fall away from him to the side of his antagonist, never to -be spoken to again. And then he had the mortification of defeat -amidst the cheers and jeers of his foes, who combined to honor -the victorious lawyer to whom at every step he owed his repulses -with a brilliant banquet and a service of plate, including a massive -silver pitcher bearing the inscription, “From God the conquering -champion cometh!” He was just the kind of man to feel these -things most keenly. No wonder the unsuccessful warfare and its -shameful close stung his pride, envenomed his resentment, darkened -his life, and left on him rather a permanent wound than a -scar. But, sure of the rightfulness of his cause, his self-respect -and his faith in ultimate justice for the iniquity he felt had been -done him enabled him to bear up with defiant fortitude. And he -was far from being unsustained without, numerous as were the -familiar associates who deserted him. Whenever he appeared in -public the same enthusiastic multitudes as of old greeted him with -an even wilder admiration. Many a voice and pen were lifted to -defend and applaud him, while many attacked him. The tributes -in the newspapers more than equalled the denunciations. Two -examples in verse will show the estimate of him and his cause -formed by close acquaintances:</p> - -<div class='nf-center-c0'> -<div class='nf-center c002'> - <div>TO EDWIN FORREST.</div> - </div> -</div> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Thou noble and unflinching one,</div> - <div class='line in2'>Who stoodst the test so firm and true;</div> - <div class='line'>Doubt not, though clouds may hide the sun,</div> - <div class='line in2'>The eye of truth shall pierce them through.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Heed not the sneer and heartless mirth</div> - <div class='line in2'>Of those whose black hearts cannot know</div> - <div class='line'>The sterling honesty and worth</div> - <div class='line in2'>Of him at whom they aim the blow.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_500'>500</span>Thy peace is wrecked—thy heart is riven—</div> - <div class='line in2'>By her so late thy joy and pride,</div> - <div class='line'>And thou a homeless wanderer driven</div> - <div class='line in2'>Upon the world’s tumultuous tide.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Yet doubt not, for amid the throng</div> - <div class='line in2'>There’s many a heart beats warm and high</div> - <div class='line'>For him who cannot brook a wrong,</div> - <div class='line in2'>Whose noble soul disdains a lie.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Then hail, Columbia’s gifted son,</div> - <div class='line in2'>Pride of our glorious Drama, hail!</div> - <div class='line'>Thou deeply wronged and injured one,</div> - <div class='line in2'>Let not thy hope or courage fail.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Though perjury seek thy name to blight,</div> - <div class='line in2'>And venomed tongues with envy rail,</div> - <div class='line'>The truth, in all its lustre bright,</div> - <div class='line in2'>’Gainst heartless fops shall yet prevail.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line in44'>M. C.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line in8'>TO EDWIN FORREST.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>May I, in this gay masquerade of thought,</div> - <div class='line in8'>When crowds will seek thee,</div> - <div class='line'>With gay devices curiously wrought,</div> - <div class='line in8'>And love-words greet thee,</div> - <div class='line'>Bestow the offering of an earnest soul,</div> - <div class='line in8'>Though it be vain</div> - <div class='line'>As to Niagara’s eternal roll</div> - <div class='line in8'>The drops of summer rain!</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>A thought of thee dwells ever in my heart</div> - <div class='line in8'>And haunts my brain,</div> - <div class='line'>And tears unbidden to mine eyelids start</div> - <div class='line in8'>Whene’er I hear thy name.</div> - <div class='line'>Yet ’tis no love-thought,—no impassioned dream</div> - <div class='line in8'>Of wild unrest</div> - <div class='line'>Quickening my pulses when with earnest beam</div> - <div class='line in8'>Thine eyes upon me rest.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>But something deeper, holier far than this,—</div> - <div class='line in8'>A mournful thought</div> - <div class='line'>Of all the sorrow and the loneliness</div> - <div class='line in8'>With which thy life is fraught,—</div> - <div class='line'>Of thy great, noble heart, so rudely torn</div> - <div class='line in8'>From the deep trust of years,—</div> - <div class='line'>Of the proud laurels which thy brow has worn,</div> - <div class='line in8'>Dim with the rust of tears;</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Of wrongs and treachery in the princely home</div> - <div class='line in8'>Thy genius earned;</div> - <div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_501'>501</span>Thy hearth made desolate, thy pathway lone,</div> - <div class='line in8'>Thy heart’s deep worship spurned;</div> - <div class='line'>Thy manly prayer for justice coldly met</div> - <div class='line in8'>With mocking jeers,</div> - <div class='line'>The seal of exile on thy forehead set</div> - <div class='line in8'>For all thy coming years.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Most deeply injured! yet unshaken still</div> - <div class='line in8'>Amid the storm,</div> - <div class='line'>Thy soul leans calmly on its own high will</div> - <div class='line in8'>And waits the coming morn.</div> - <div class='line'>And all pure hearts are with thee, and beat high</div> - <div class='line in8'>To know at last</div> - <div class='line'>The world will scan thee with unbiassed eye,</div> - <div class='line in8'>Revoking all the past.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line in44'><span class='sc'>Celia.</span></div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c007'>A fortnight after the close of the trial, Forrest began a new -engagement at the Broadway Theatre.</p> - -<p class='c007'>One of the leading journals of the day said, “The return of -Mr. Forrest to the stage, from which he has been so long self-exiled, -will form the most interesting feature in the dramatic -season. There have been many, though we have not been of -the number, who have thought he would never reappear on the -boards after the unwarrantable treatment he received at the hands -of the maliciously and ignorantly prejudiced. Mr. Forrest, however, -has justly relied upon the spirit of fair play which characterizes -the American people. Let all men be fairly judged before -they are condemned, and especially those who, like him, have -long and manfully withstood such a ‘downright violence and -storm of fortune’ as would have overwhelmed most men, and -whose careers have added to the lustre of their country’s history. -We believe that he will never have cause to say, like Wolsey,—</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line in22'>‘I shall fall</div> - <div class='line'>Like a bright exhalation in the evening,</div> - <div class='line'>And no man see me more!’</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c009'>but that he who has so long</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line in18'>‘Trod the ways of glory,</div> - <div class='line'>And sounded all the depths and shoals of honor,</div> - <div class='line'>Will find a way, out of his wreck, to rise in.’</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c007'>“All men have their faults, and envy makes those of the great -as prominent as possible.</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_502'>502</span>‘Men’s evil manners live in brass; their virtues</div> - <div class='line'>We write in water.’</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c007'>“Much to their ignominy, the assailants of Forrest have never -given him credit for those high-minded and disinterested acts of -generosity which those who know him best can never recall -without admiration, and which, when his history is written, will -leave little comfort to his maligners, professional or otherwise. -We wish for him a delighted welcome back to the stage, and a -complete deliverance from the toils in which his enemies have -sought to destroy him.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>The house was packed to its extremest capacity, and hundreds -clamored in the streets. An inscription was hung across the parquet, -“This is the people’s verdict!” As he entered on his ever -favorite roll of Damon, the audience rose en masse, and greeted -him with waving hats, handkerchiefs, and scarfs, and long, deafening -plaudits, which shook the building from dome to foundation. -In matchless solidity of port he stood before the frenzied tempest -of humanity, and bowed his acknowledgments slowly, as when -Zeus nods and all Olympus shakes. A shower of bouquets -entwined with small American flags fell at his feet. He addressed -the assembly thus, constantly interrupted with cheers:</p> - -<p class='c007'>“<span class='sc'>Ladies and Gentlemen</span>,—After the unparalleled verdict which -you have rendered me here to-night, you will not doubt that I -consider this the proudest moment of my life. And yet it is a -moment not unmingled with sadness. Instinctively I ask myself -the question, Why is this vast assemblage here to-night, composed -as it is of the intelligent, the high-minded, the right-minded, and -last, though not least, the beautiful of the Empire City? Is it -because a favorite actor appears in a favorite character? No, the -actor and the performances are as familiar to you as household -words. Why, then, this unusual ferment? It is because you -have come to express your irrepressible sympathy for one whom -you know to be a deeply-injured man. Nay, more, you are here -with a higher and a holier purpose,—to vindicate the principle of -even-handed justice. I do not propose to examine the proceedings -of the late unhappy trial; those proceedings are now before -you, and before the world, and you can judge as rightly of them -as I can. I have no desire to instruct you in the verdict you -shall render. The issue of that trial will yet be before the court, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_503'>503</span>and I shall patiently await the judgment of that court, be it what -it may. In the mean while I submit my cause to you; my cause, -did I say?—no, not ‘my’ cause alone, but yours, the cause of every -man in this community, the cause of every human being, the -cause of every honest wife, the cause of every virtuous woman, -the cause of every one who cherishes a home and the pure spirit -which should abide there. Ladies and gentlemen, I submit my -cause to a tribunal uncorrupt and incorruptible; I submit it to -the sober second-thought of the people. A little while since, and -I thought my pathway of life was filled with thorns; you have -this night strewed it with roses (looking at the bouquets at his -feet). Their perfume is gratifying to the senses, and I am grateful -for your beautiful and fragrant offering.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>The success of the entire engagement was unprecedentedly -brilliant. Called before the curtain at the close of the final performance, -he said,—</p> - -<p class='c007'>“<span class='sc'>Ladies and Gentlemen</span>,—This is the sixty-ninth night of an -engagement which, take it all in all, has, I believe, no parallel in -the history of the stage. It is without parallel in its duration, it -is without parallel in the amount of its labors, and it is without -parallel in its success. For sixty-nine almost successive nights, -in despite of a season more inclement than any I ever remember, -the tide of popular favor has flowed, like the Pontic Sea, without -feeling a retiring ebb. For sixty-nine nights I have been called, -by your acclamations, to the spot where I now stand to receive the -generous plaudits of your hands, and I may say hands with hearts -in them. No popular assembly, in my opinion, utters the public -voice with more freedom and with more truth than the assembly -usually convened within the walls of a theatre. If this be so, I -have reason to be greatly proud of the demonstration which for -twelve successive weeks has greeted me here. Such a demonstration -any man ought to be proud of. Such a demonstration -eloquently vindicates the thought of the great poet:</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line in4'>‘Sweet are the uses of adversity,</div> - <div class='line'>Which, like the toad, though ugly and venomous,</div> - <div class='line'>Wears yet a precious jewel in his head.’</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c009'>Such a demonstration speaks more eloquently to the heart than -any words. Such a demonstration contains in it an unmistakable -<span class='pageno' id='Page_504'>504</span>moral. Such a demonstration vindicates me more than a thousand -verdicts, for it springs from those who make and unmake -judges.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>But despite the flattering applause of the multitude, added -to the support of his own conscience, and notwithstanding his -abounding health and strength and enhancing riches, from the -date of his separation and desire for divorce the dominant tone -of the life of Forrest was changed. His demeanor had a more forbidding -aspect, his disposition a sterner tinge, his faith in human -nature less genial expansion, his joy in existence less spontaneous -exuberance. The circle of his friends was greatly contracted, a -certain irritable soreness was fixed in his sensibility, he shrank -more strongly than ever from miscellaneous society, and seemed -to be more asserting or protecting himself cloaked in an appearance -of reserve and gloom. In fact, the excitement and suffering -he had gone through in connection with his domestic unhappiness -gave his whole nature a fearful wrench, and deposited some -permanent settlings of acridity and suspicion. The world of -human life never again wore to him the smiling aspect it had so -often worn before. His sense of justice had been wounded, his -heart cut, his confidence thrown back, and his rebelling will was -constrained to resist and to defy.</p> - -<p class='c007'>And why all this strife and pain? Why all this bitter unyielding -opposition and writhing agony under what was and -is and will be? Wherefore not quietly accept the inevitable -with magnanimous gentleness and wisdom, and, without anger or -fuss or regret, conform his conduct to the best conditions for -serenity of soul and wholesomeness of heart, in contentment with -self and charity for all? Why not rather have suppressed wrath, -avoided dispute, foregone retaliation, parted in peace if part they -must, and, each uncomplained of and uninterfered with by the -other, passed freely on in the strangely-checkered pathways of -the world, to test the good of life and the mystery of death and -the everlasting divineness of Providence? How much more auspicious -such a course would have been than to be so convulsed -with tormenting passions and strike to and fro in furious contention! -Yes, why did they not either forgive and forget and -renew their loving covenant, or else silently divide in kindness -and liberty without one hostile deed or thought? Thus they -<span class='pageno' id='Page_505'>505</span>would have consulted their truest dignity and interest. But, alas! -in these infinitely delicate, inflammable, and explosive affairs of -sentiment, dignity and interest are usually trampled contemptuously -under foot by passion.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Every one acts and reacts in accordance with his style and -grade of character, his degrees of loyalty or enslavement to the -different standards of action prevailing around him. A man held -fast in a certain low or mediocre stage of spiritual evolution will -naturally conduct himself in any trying emergency in a very -different manner from one who has reached a transcendent height -of emancipation, spontaneity, and nobleness. And there were -two clear reasons why Forrest, in this most critical passage of his -life, did not behave purely in the best and grandest way, but with -a mixture of the vulgar method and the better one. First, he -had not attained that degree of self-detachment which would make -it possible for him to act under exciting circumstances calmly in -the light of universal principles. He could not disentangle the -prejudiced fibres of his consciousness from the personality long -and closely associated with his own so as to treat her with impartiality -and wisdom, regarding her as an independent personality -rather than as a merged part of his own. He must still continue -related to her by personal passion of some kind, when one passion -died an opposite one springing up in its place. And, secondly, -he could not in this matter free himself, although in many other -matters he did remarkably free himself, from the tyranny of what -is called public opinion. He had in this instance an extreme -sensitiveness as to what would be thought of him and said of -him in case his conduct openly deviated much from the average -social usage. Thus his personal passions, mixed up in his -imagination with every reference to the woman he had adored -but now abominated, incapacitated him from acting consistently -throughout with disinterested delicacy and forbearance, though -these qualities were not wanting in the earlier stages of the difficulty -before he had become so far inflamed and committed.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Speculation is often easy and practice hard. One may lightly -hold as a theory that which when brought home in private experience -gives a terrible shock and is repelled with horror and -loathing. Both Forrest and his wife had reflected much on what -is now attracting so much attention under the title of the Social -<span class='pageno' id='Page_506'>506</span>question. They both entertained bold, enlightened views on the -subject, as clearly appears from a remarkable letter written from -Chicago, in 1848, by Mrs. Forrest in reply to one from James -Lawson. A comprehensive extract, followed by a few suggestions -on the general lessons of the subject, particularly as connected -with the dramatic art, shall close this unwelcome yet -indispensable chapter of the biography.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“It is impossible, my dear friend, that the wonderful change -which has taken place in men’s minds within the last ten years -can have escaped the notice of so acute an observer as you are; -and if you have read the works which the great men of Europe -have given us within that time, you have found they all tend to -illustrate the great principle of progress, and to show at the same -time that for man to attain the high position for which he is by -nature fitted, woman must keep pace with him. Man cannot be -free if woman be a slave. You say, ‘The rights of woman, -whether as maid or wife, and all those notions, I utterly abhor.’ -I do not quite understand what you here mean by the rights of -woman. You cannot mean that she has none. The poorest and -most abject thing of earth has some rights. But if you mean -the right to outrage the laws of nature, by running out of her -own sphere and seeking to place herself in a position for which -she is unfitted, then I perfectly agree with you. At the same -time, woman has as high a mission to perform in this world as -man has; and he never can hold his place in the ranks of -progression and improvement who seeks to degrade woman to -a mere domestic animal. Nature intended her for his companion, -and him for hers; and without the respect which places -her socially and intellectually on the same platform, his love for -her personally is an insult.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Again, you say, ‘A man loves her as much for her very -dependence on him as for her beauty or loveliness.’ (Intellect -snugly put out of the question.) This remark from you astonished -me so much that I submitted the question at once to Forrest, -who instantly agreed with me that for once our good friend -was decidedly wrong. (Pardon the heresy, I only say for once.) -What! do you value the love of a woman who only clings to you -because she cannot do without your support? Why, this is -what in nursery days we used to call ‘cupboard love,’ and value -<span class='pageno' id='Page_507'>507</span>accordingly. Depend upon it, as a general rule, there would be -fewer family jars if each were pecuniarily independent of the -other. With regard to mutual confidence, I perfectly agree with -you that it should exist; but for this there must be mutual sympathy; -the relative position of man and wife must be that of -companions,—not mastery on one side and dependence on the -other. Again, you say, ‘A wife, if she blame her husband for -seeking after new fancies, should examine her own heart, and -see if she find not in some measure justification for him.’ Truly, -my dear friend, I think so too (when we do agree, our unanimity -is wonderful); and if after that self-examination she finds -the fault is hers, she should amend it; but if she finds on reflection -that her whole course has been one of devotion and affection -for him, she must even let matters take their course, and -rest assured, if he be a man of appreciative mind, his affection -for her will return. This is rather a degrading position; but a true -woman has pride in self-sacrifice. In any case, I do not think a -woman should blame a man for indulging in fancies. I think we -discussed this once before, and that I then said, as I do now, that -he is to blame when these fancies are degrading, or for an unworthy -object; the last words I mean not to apply morally, but -intellectually. A sensible woman, who loves her husband in the -true spirit of love, without selfishness, desires to see him happy, -and rejoices in his elevation. She would grieve that he should -give the world cause to talk, or in any way risk the loss of that -respect due to both himself and her; but she would infinitely -rather that he should indulge ‘new fancies’ (I quote you) than -lead an unhappy life of self-denial and unrest, feeling each day -the weight of his chains become more irksome, making him in -fact a living lie. This is what society demands of us. In our -present state we cannot openly brave its laws; but it is a despotism -which cannot exist forever; and in the mean time those -whose minds soar above common prejudice can, if such be -united, do much to make their present state endurable. It is a -fearful thing to think of the numbers who, after a brief acquaintance, -during which they can form no estimate of each other’s -characters, swear solemnly to love each other while they ‘on -this earth do dwell.’ Men and women boldly make this vow, as -though they could by the magic of these few words enchain forever -<span class='pageno' id='Page_508'>508</span>every feeling and passion of their nature. It is absurd. No -man can do so; and society, as though it had made a compact -with the devil to make man commit more sins than his nature -would otherwise prompt, says, ‘Now you are fairly in the trap, -seek to get out, and we cast you off forever,—you and your -helpless children.’ Man never was made to endure even such a -yoke as unwise governments have sought to lay on him; how -much more galling, then, must be that which seeks to bind the -noblest feelings and affections of his nature, and makes him—</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>‘So, with one chained friend, perhaps a jealous foe,</div> - <div class='line'>The dreariest and the longest journey go.’</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c007'>“That there is any necessity to insure, by any means, a -woman’s happiness, is a proposition you do not seem to have entertained -while writing your letter of May 24th; but perhaps we -are supposed to be happy under all circumstances.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>There is for man and woman on this earth one supreme happiness, -one contenting fulfilment of destiny, whether there are -more or not. It is a pure, calm, holy, and impassioned love, -joining them in one life, filling both soul and body with a peaceful -and rapturous harmony, glorifying the scenery of nature by -its reflection, making the current of daily experience a stream of -prophetic bliss, revealing to them authentic glimpses of God in -each other, and opening eternity to their faith with mystic suggestions -of worlds bygone and worlds to come, lives already led -and forgotten and lives yet to be welcomed. This is the one -absolute blessing, without whose appeasing and sufficing seal the -human creature pines for he knows not what, and dies unsatisfied, -no matter how much else is granted him. Any one to whom -this divine fortune falls, and whose conscience, instead of wearing -it proudly as a crown of glory in the sight of God, shrinks -with it guiltily before the sight of men, is a contemptible coward, -unworthy of the boon, and sure to forfeit it. As the most original -thinker, the boldest diver into the mysteries of our nature, -America has produced, expresses it,—</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“The sense of the world is short,</div> - <div class='line'>Long and various the report,</div> - <div class='line in2'>To love and be beloved.</div> - <div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_509'>509</span>Men and gods have not outlearned it,</div> - <div class='line'>And how oft soe’er they’ve turned it,</div> - <div class='line in2'>’Tis not to be improved.”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c009'>Thousands, enslaved by the conventional, distracted by the external, -absorbed in the trivial, may be ignorant of the incomparable -importance of the truth here expressed, care nothing -about it, and give themselves up to selfish ambitions and contemptible -materialities. This must be so, since the blind cannot -see; and even the seeing eye sees in an object only what it brings -the means of seeing; and the marvellous heights and depths of -experience are fatally locked from the inexperienced. Nevertheless, -the truth above affirmed survives its overlooking by the -unworthy, and every man and woman gifted with profound insight -and sensibility knows it and feels it beyond everything else. The -great multitudes of society also have at least dim glimpses of it, -strange presentiments of it, blind intuitions awakening a strong -and incessant curiosity in that direction. This is the secret cause -of the universal interest felt in the subject of love and in every -instance of its transcendent experience or exemplification. One -of the most central functions of art—whether written romance, -painting, sculpture, music, or the drama—is directly or indirectly -to celebrate this truth by giving it concentrated and relieved expression, -and thus inciting the contemplators to aspire after their -own highest bliss. To those whose emotions are rich and quick -enough to interpret them, what are the finest songs of the composers -but sighings for the fulfilment of affection, or raptures in -its fruition, or wailings over its loss? With what unrivalled power -Rubens, in his fearful pictures of love and war, has uncovered to -the competent spectator the horrible tragedy all through history -of the intimate association of lust and murder, libidinous passion -and death! And pre-eminently the stage, in all its forms,—tragic, -comic, and operatic,—has ever found, and always will find, its -most fascinating employment and crowning mission in the open -display—published to those who have the keys to read it, veiled -from all who have not—of the varied bewitchments, evasions, -agonies, and ecstasies of the passion of love between the sexes. -That is the most effective actor or actress whose gamut of emotional -being and experience, real and ideal, is greatest, and whose -training gives completest command of the apparatus of expression, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_510'>510</span>making the organism a living series of revelations, setting -before the audience in visible play, in the most precise and intense -manner, the working of love, in all its kinds and degrees, through -the language of its occult signals. The competent actor shows -to the competent gazer the exact rank and quality of the love -actuating him by the adjustment of his behavior to it,—every -look and tone, every changing rate and quality in the rhythm -of his motions, every part of his body which leads or dominates -in his bearing, whether head, shoulder, chest, elbow, hand, abdomen, -hip, knee, or foot, having its determinate significance. -Thus people are taught to discern grades of character through -styles of manners, inspired to admire the noble and loathe the -base at the same time that they are deepened in their own desires -for the divine prizes of beauty and joy.</p> - -<p class='c007'>The most wholesome and triumphant art of the stage has -always taught in its personifying revelation that the highest blessedness -of human life is the perfect attunement of the natures of -man and woman in a perfect love around which nature thrills -and over which God smiles. No diviner lesson ever has been or -ever will be taught on this earth. All other fruitions here are but -preliminaries to this, all sacrifices penances for its failure, all diseases -and crimes the fruit of its violation.</p> - -<p class='c007'>In contrast with this glorious proper fulfilment of affection, -wherever we look on the history of our race we find six great -chronic tragedies which dramatic art has portrayed perhaps even -more fully than it has the positive triumph itself.</p> - -<p class='c007'>First, is the tragedy of the indifferent heart which neither receives -nor gives nor possesses love. Thin and sour natures, -frivolous, dry, cynical, or hard and arrogant,—the enchanted -charms and mysteries of nature and humanity have no existence -for them. They sit aloof and sneer, or plot and struggle and -get money and win office, or eat and drink and joke and sleep -and perish,—the amazing horrors and the entrancing delights -of experience equally sealed books to them. They may attain -incidental trifles, but, with their poor, shrivelled, loveless hearts, -not attaining that for which man most was made, to the sorrowing -gaze of nobler natures their earthly lot is a tragedy.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Secondly, is the pathetic tragedy of being loved without the -power to return it. Coquetry, which has strewn its way everywhere -<span class='pageno' id='Page_511'>511</span>with ravaged and trampled prizes, reverses this, and without -sympathy or principle seeks to elicit and attract affection -merely to pamper vanity and gratify an obscene love of power; -and this too is a tragedy, but one of a fiendish import. The -other is a sad and painful experience, yet with something of an -angelic touch in it. It seems to hint at a great dislocation somewhere -in the past of our race, causing this plaintive discord of -conjoined but jarring souls, whose incongruous rhythms can never -blend though in juxtaposition, like an ill-matched span whose -paces will not coincide but still hobble and interfere. To be the -recipient of a great absorbing love which one is absolutely unable -to reciprocate is to any one of generous sympathies a keen sorrow. -Sometimes too it is a sharp and wearing annoyance. And -yet it is not infrequent, both out of wedlock and in it. There -are limits alike of adaptation and of misadaptation to awaken love; -and we can never have any more love than we awaken or give -any more than is awakened in us. There are fatalities in these -relations wholly beyond the reach of the will. When two persons -are married whose characters, culture, and fitnesses place -them on such different levels that they can meet only by a laborious -ascent on one side or a distasteful descent on the other, -where the ideal life of one is constantly hurt and baffled and flung -in on itself from every attempt at genial fellowship, any high -degree of love is hopeless. The conjunction is a yoke, not a -partnership. Respect, gratitude, pity, service, almost every quality -except love, may be earned. But love comes, if it come at -all, spontaneously, in answer to the native signals which evoke it. -In vain do we strive to love one not suited to us nor fitted for us; -and a sensitive spirit forced to receive the affectionate manifestations -of such a one is often sorely tried when seemingly bound -to appear blessed.</p> - -<p class='c007'>The same considerations apply with double weight and poignancy -to the third and larger class of tragedies of affection, namely, -those who love where they are not acceptable and cannot win -a return. Piteous indeed is the lot, touching the sight, of one -humbly offering his worship, patiently continuing every tender -care and service at a shrine which, despite every effort to change -or disguise its insuperable repugnance, must still feel repugnant. -And then, furthermore, there is the anguish of the homage welcomed -<span class='pageno' id='Page_512'>512</span>at first and toyed with, but soon betrayed and cast away. -The pangs of jilted love are proverbial, and the experience is -one of the commonest as it is one of the cruellest in the world. -Broken hearts, blasted lives, early deaths, terrible struggles of -injured pride and sacred sentiment to conceal themselves and -hold bravely up, caused by failures to secure the hand of the one -devotedly beloved but idly entreated, are much more numerous -than is imagined by the superficial humdrum world. They are -in reality so numerous that if they were all known everybody not -familiar with the poetic side and shyer recesses of human nature -would be astonished. This forms a heavy item in the big statistics -of human woe.</p> - -<p class='c007'>The examples contained under the head of the fourth tragedy -are the experiences of those who are full of rich affections but -find no congenial person on whom to bestow them or from whom -to obtain a return. Accordingly, their real passions find only -ideal vents in fervent longings and dreams, in music, prayer, and -faith, or embodiment in industry and beneficence. Their unfulfilled -affection thus either fortifies their being with the culture and -good works it prompts, or opens an imaginative world into which -they exhale away in romantic desires. A noble woman whose -rare wealth and effusiveness of soul had not been happily bestowed, -once said, with a sigh, to Thackeray, when they had been -conversing of the extremes in the character of the great Swift, -“I would gladly have suffered his brutality to have had his tenderness.” -The remark pierces us with a keen and wide pain -expanding to brood in pity over the vast tragedy of humanity -pining unsatisfied in every age. Yes, exhalations of sinless and -ardent desire, yearnings of beautiful and baffled passion, are -wasted in the air, sufficient, if they were legitimately appropriated, -to make the whole world a heaven. Ah, let us trust that they -are not wasted after all, but that they enter into the air to make -it warmer and sweeter for the breathing of the happier generations -to come, when the earth shall be purely peopled with children -begotten by pairs all whose rhythms correspond, and who love -the individuality of self in one another not less because they love -the universality of God in one another more.</p> - -<p class='c007'>The fifth tragedy in the history of human affection consists of -the instances of those who have been blessed with an adequate -<span class='pageno' id='Page_513'>513</span>love rounded and fulfilled on both sides, but who have ceased to -possess it longer, except in its results. They have in some cases -outgrown and wearied of their objects, in others been outgrown -and wearied of, in others still been parted by death. These examples -likewise are tragic each in its way, but less melancholy on -the whole than the others. These have had fruition, have, once -at least, lived. The memory is divine. If they are worthy, it -enriches and sanctifies their characters, and, in its treasures of influence, -remains to be transferred from its exclusive concentration -on one and freely poured forth on humanity, nature, and God. It -then prepares its possessor for that immortal future of which it is -itself an upholding prophecy. And so every deep and tender -nature must feel with the poet that it is better to have loved and -lost than never to have loved at all.</p> - -<p class='c007'>But the sixth tragedy of love is the most lacerating and merciless -of the whole, and that is the tragedy of jealousy. This dire -passion played the most ravaging part in the domestic life of -Forrest, and his enactment of it in the rôle of Othello held the -highest rank in his professional career. It has also exercised a -most extensive and awful sway in the entire history of the human -race up to this moment. The relative place and function of the -dramatic and lyric stage cannot be appreciated without a full -appreciation of this hydra passion, the green-eyed monster that -makes the meat it feeds on.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Even of its victims few clearly understand the ingredients -and essence of jealousy. In the catalogue of the passions it -is the impurest, the insanest, and the most murderous. Every -composition whose elements blend in harmony is pure. Earth -is pure and honey is pure, but a mixture of earth and honey -is impure. So in moral subjects. Loyalty is pure, being consonantly -composed of reverence and obedience; conscious disloyalty -is impure, being inconsonantly composed of a perception -of rightful authority and rebellious resistance to it. Now, no -other passion is composed of such an intense and incongruous -combination of intense opposites as jealousy. In it love and -hate, esteem and scorn, trust and suspicion, hope and fear, joy -and pain, swiftly alternate or discordantly mix and conflict. It -is these meeting shocks of contradictory polarities repulsing or -penetrating one another in the soul, rending and exploding in -<span class='pageno' id='Page_514'>514</span>every direction in the consciousness of its victim, that make -jealousy the maddest and most slaughterous because it is the -most violently impure passion known to man. In every one of -its forms, when strong enough, it is a begetter of murders, has -been ever since the devil first peered on Adam and Eve embracing -in Paradise, and will be until it is abolished by slowly-advancing -disinterestedness. It is an appalling fact that the murders of -wives by jealous husbands are tenfold greater in number than -any other single class of murders. When we add to these the -husbands murdered by their wives, and the despatched paramours -on both sides, the wild and deadly raging of jealousy may be -recognized in something of its frightful fury.</p> - -<p class='c007'>The cause of the greater prevalence of murder between the -married is not far to seek. It is the weariness of an over-close -and continual intimacy, with the wearing and goading irritations -it engenders. It is the tyrannical assertion of the possession of -one by the other as something owned and to be governed. This -provokes the rebellious and revengeful instincts of a personality -aching to be free; and the aggravated and ruminating desire -is finally so nourished and stung as to burst into frenzied performance. -And those ill-starred couples one of whose members -violently destroys the life of the other are insignificant in number -when compared with those who are slowly and stealthily murdered -without the explicit consciousness of either party, by the gnawing -shock and fret of discordant nerves, the steady grinding out of -the very springs and sockets of the faculties by repressive contempt -and hate and fear. A proud, sensitive woman may go into -the presence of her husband an angel, and leave it a fiend, her -<i><span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">amour-propre</span></i> having been wounded in its sacredest part and filled -with irrepressible resentment. Persons of genius, of absorbing -devotion to an aim, are either more unhappy in wedlock or else -more exquisitely blessed and blessing than others. They live -largely in an ideal realm, on a ticklish level of self-respect, a height -of consciousness vital to them. Socrates, Cicero, Dante, Milton, -Chateaubriand, Byron, Bulwer, Kean, Talma, Thackeray, Dickens, -are examples. A collision jars the statue off its pedestal. A tone -of contempt or a look of indifference cuts like a dagger, tears the -spiritual tissues of selfhood,—and the invisible blood of the soul -follows, draining faith, love, life itself, away. The one vast secret -<span class='pageno' id='Page_515'>515</span>of pleasing and living happily with high sensitive natures is sympathetic -and deferential attention. Where this is not given, and -there is sorrow and chafing, an intercourse which is ever a slow -moral murder, and often inflamed into a swift physical murder, -that liberty of divorce should be granted for which the chaste and -noble Milton so long ago made his plea. Society should cease -to say, Whom man has joined together let not God put asunder!</p> - -<p class='c007'>Having seen what the constituent elements of jealousy are, it -now remains to probe its essence. What is jealousy in its substance -and action? It is the appropriation of one person by -another as a piece of property, and a spontaneous resentment and -resistance to any assertion of its personality on its own part. -The jealous man virtually says, “She belongs to me and not to -herself. If she dares to alienate herself from me or give anything -to anybody besides me, I will kill her.” The jealous woman says, -“He is mine, and if he leaves me or smiles on another I will stab -him and poison her.” This is the fell passion in its fiercest -extreme of selfishness.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Viewed in another light it is less dreadful, though just as -narrow and selfish. The lover has assimilated the beloved as a -portion of his own being. His life seems bound up in her and -dependent on her. Her withdrawal is a loss so impoverishing to -his imagination that it threatens death. He feels that the dissolution -of their unity will tear him asunder. Then jealousy is his -instinct of self-preservation, rising in grief, pain and anger to -repel or revenge an attack on the dearest part of his life. Still, -in this form as in the previous it implies the subdual and suppression -of one personality by another, and is the sure signal of -a crude character and an imperfect development. The rich, generous -nature, detached from himself, full of free affection, living -directly on objects according to their worth, ready to react on -every action according to its intrinsic claim, is not jealous. Liberty -and magnanimity at home and abroad are the marks of the -fully-ripened man. He knows his own personal sovereignty and -abundant resources as a child of God and an heir of the universe, -and frankly allows the equal personal sovereignty of each of his -fellow-creatures. He claims and grants no imposition of will or -slavish subserviency, but seeks only spontaneous companionship -in affection. Mechanical conformity and hypocrisy can be compelled. -<span class='pageno' id='Page_516'>516</span>Love, veiled in its divinity, comes and goes as it lists, -and is everywhere the most authentic envoy of the Creator. -Jealousy is mental slavery, spiritual poverty, the ravenous cry of -affectional starvation, the blind, fallacious, desperate, murderous -struggle of a frightened and famishing selfhood.</p> - -<p class='c007'>The conduct dictated by such a passion must be of the worst -kind. It begins with a mean espionage and ends with a maniacal -violence. Its relentless cruelty compels its objects to have -recourse to the most unprincipled methods to avert its suspicion -and avoid its wrath, sinking self-respect and honorable frankness -in hypocrisy and fraud. Why is the word or even the oath of -any man or woman in regard to a question of chastity or fidelity -to the marriage vow almost universally considered perfectly worthless? -It is because the penalties of dereliction on the part of -woman are so intolerable, so much worse than death, that to secure -escape from them the social conscience justifies means which -the social code condemns. Accordingly, we see the highest personages, -the greatest dignitaries and popular favorites, go into -court and openly perjure themselves, while society cries bravo! -The woman is so fearfully imperilled that for her rescue the -fashionable standard of honor sustains deliberate perjury, the -debauching of religious conscience on the very shrine of public -authority.</p> - -<p class='c007'>This wicked social exculpation of the male and immolation of -the female is a lingering accompaniment of the historic evolution -of man, the survival in human civilization of the selfish instincts -which in the lower ranks of the animal kingdom cause the -stronger to drive away the weaker and monopolize the weakest. -Among the most potent and fearless beasts the male, seeing any -other male sportively inclined, is seized with a frenzy to kill him -and appropriate the object. Animal man has the same instinct, -and it has smeared the entire course of history with broad trails -of blood and victimized womanhood by the double weapons of -force and fear. The spectacle of the harem of one man with a -thousand imprisoned women guarded by eunuchs tells the whole -story. But surely when human beings, no longer remaining mere -instinctive animals, become free personalities, lords of thought -and sentiment, each with a separate individual responsibility distinctly -conscious and immortal, they should govern themselves -<span class='pageno' id='Page_517'>517</span>by spontaneous choice from within and not be coerced by an -artificial terror applied from without.</p> - -<p class='c007'>The method in history of giving the strongest males possession -of the females is no doubt the mode in which nature selects and -exalts her breeds. But as society refines it will be seen that the -strength of brute instinct, the strength of position, the strength -of money, the strength of every artificial advantage, should be -put aside in favor of the diviner strength of genius, goodness, -beauty, moral and physical completeness of harmony. Freedom -would secure this as compulsion prevents it. Man is destined -to outgrow the destructive monopolizing passion of jealousy -native to his animality. This is shown by his capacity for chivalry, -which is a self-abnegating identification of his personality -with the personalities of others, not merely freeing them from -his will, but aiding them to secure their own happiness in their -own way.</p> - -<p class='c007'>The effort to suppress free choice by the use of terror has been -tried terribly enough and long enough. It has always proved an -utter failure, viewed on any large scale. Has the awful penalty affixed -to any deviation from the prescribed legal method of sexual -relations wholly prevented such deviation? It has often led to -concealment and duplicity,—two lives carried on at once, a life -of demure conformity in public, a life of passionate fulfilment in -secret. The well-understood sacrifice of truth to appearance has -ever served to inflame the mistrust and swell the vengeance of -the jealous. The only real remedy will be found in perfect truth, -frankness, and justice. In regard to the personal autonomy of -the affections, woman should be raised to the same status and -be tried by the same code as man. That code should not be as -now the legacy of the brutish and despotic past, but the achievement -of a scientific morality, those laws of universal order which -express the will of the Creator, the collective harmony of Nature. -Since the unions of the sexes are of all grades and qualities, -all degrees of impurity and beastliness or of purity and sacredness, -the parties to them cannot be justly judged by a single -rigid rule of external technicality, and ought not to be sealed with -one unvarying approval of respectable or branded with one -monotonous stigma of illicit. They should be judged by the -varying facts in the case as they are in the sight of God; and when -<span class='pageno' id='Page_518'>518</span>those facts are not known in their true merits there is no competency -or right to judge the man or the woman at all. The -present judgments of society unquestionably ought in many cases -to be reversed. For example, it is to be said that the women -who consort with men they loathe, and against their will breed -children infected with ferocious passions and diseased tendencies, -no matter how regularly they are married or how proud their -social position, should be condemned or rescued. Also it is to -be said that persons filled with a true and divine love, whether -sanctioned or unsanctioned by conventional usages, claim to be -left to the inherent moral reactions of their acts, and to the -unprejudiced judgments of the competent. This central truth, -compromise whom it may, and encompassed with delicacies and -with difficulties as it may be, is to be firmly maintained, although -Pecksniff and Grundy shriek at it until the whole continent quivers.</p> - -<p class='c007'>The distinction of love and freedom from lust and license is -obvious, and the unleashing of the latter in the disguise of the -former cannot be too vehemently deprecated. But that a man or -a woman may cherish in the wedded state an impure and detestable -passion, or outside of it know a heavenly one, is a truth -which can be denied only by a character of odious vulgarity. -The rank and worth of a love are to be estimated by its moral -and religious quality in the sight of God and its natural influence -on character. To estimate it otherwise, as is usually done, is to -violate morality and religion with conventionality, and in place -of nature, sincerity and truth install arbitrary artifice, hypocrisy -and falsehood. The grand desiderata in all relationships of affection -are, first, the observance of open truth and honor, second, the -recognition of their varying grades of intrinsic nobleness and -charm or intrinsic foulness and criminality, and the treatment of -the parties to them accordingly. Meanwhile, the frank and clear -discussion of the subject is imperatively needed. The double -system hitherto in vogue of at once enforcing ignorance and -stimulating prurience by banishing the subject from confessed -attention and study into the two regions of shamefacedness and -obscenity has wrought immeasurable evil. For the sexual passion, -morbidly excited by nearly all the influences of society, and -then mercilessly repressed by public opinion, has a morbid development -which breaks out in those monstrous forms of vice which -<span class='pageno' id='Page_519'>519</span>are the open sores of civilization. Take away the inflaming lures -of mystery and denial—shed the clear, cold light of scientific -knowledge on the facts of the case and the principles properly -regulative of conduct—and the passion will gradually become -moderate and wholesome. Science has brought region after -region of human life under the light and guidance of its benign -methods. The region of the personal affections in society and the -procreation of posterity, being most obstinately held by passions -and prejudices, longest resists the application of impartial, fearless -study to the usages imposed by traditional authority. The consistent -doing of this will be one of the greatest steps ever taken. -It will break the historic superstition that the conjunction of a -pair married in seeming by a priest is necessarily holier than that -of a pair married in reality by God, destroy the stupid prejudice -which makes in the affectional relations of the sexes only the one -discrimination that they are in or out of wedlock, and remove -the cruel social ban which renders it impossible for straightforward -sincerity of affection and honesty of speech to escape the -dishonor which double-facedness of passion and duplicity of -word and deed so easily shoulder aside. And when this is done, -much will have been done to inaugurate the better era for which -the expectation of mankind waits.</p> - -<p class='c007'>The principal reason why the married so frequently experience -satiety and weariness, and the consequent sting of a foreign hunger -provocative of the wandering which gives occasion for jealousy, is -that in their long and close familiarity the partners come to feel -that they have seen all through and all around each other, have -exhausted each other of all fresh charm, piquancy, and interest. -The genuine remedy for this, the only really adequate and enduring -remedy, is the recognition in each other of the infinite -mystery of all conscious being, a free personality on endless probation -and destined for immortal adventures. Then each will be -to the other—what every human being intrinsically is—a concentrated -epitome of the Kosmos and an explicit revelation of God. -There is no revelation of the free conscious God except in the -free conscious creature, and in every such being there is one. -Let a pair be worthy to see and feel this truth, and there can be -no exhaustion of their mutual interest, because before their reverential -observation there can be no end to the surprises of the -<span class='pageno' id='Page_520'>520</span>infinite in the finite. Then the sweetness, the wonder, the varying -lure of love will never wither and die into indifference, nor roil -and perturb into jealousy and madness.</p> - -<p class='c007'>No doubt to many these views will seem a transcendental -romance, a delusive dream. Not every one has the nature finely -touched to fine issues capable of living in the ether of these ideal -heights. But there <em>are</em> on the earth holy and entranced souls -who live there. It is obvious enough how absurdly inapplicable -all this class of considerations must be to the basest kinds of persons, -those who, like brutes, wallow in styes of sensuality, or, like -devils, surrender themselves to the tyranny of the lowest passions. -Such must needs be relegated to an inferior standard. Those -whose consciences are coarser and lower than the code of society -may most properly be held in subjection by its laws. But those -whose consciences are purer and higher than the current social -code, the nobler natures who sincerely aspire to the fulfilment -of their destiny as children of God, should be a law unto themselves. -They will not be tyrants over or spies upon one another. -Full of self-respect and mutual respect, owning the indefeasible -sovereignty of each personality in the offices of its individual -being, they will pass and repass shrouded in transparent royalty, -exacting no subjection, making no inquiries.</p> - -<p class='c007'>And now this long and central chapter in the life of Forrest, -with the essential lessons it has for others, may be ended by a -brief statement of the moral scale of degrees in the conduct of -different men under the provoking conditions of jealousy.</p> - -<p class='c007'>One man detects the woman to whom he is legally united, but -whom he hates and loathes, in criminal relations with another. -He takes an axe, chops them in pieces, then sets the house on -fire, and, cutting his own throat, falls into the flames. In other -cases his insane fury satiates itself with a single victim, the man -or the woman, as caprice dictates. This is crazy ferocity, making -its subject first a maniac, then a tiger, then a devil. Has not -humanity by its smothered approval too long kept the diabolical -horror of this style of behavior recrudescent?</p> - -<p class='c007'>Another mournful and shocking form of this tragedy there -is. And it is a form repeated far more frequently in its essential -features than ever comes to the open light of day. A man of a -sombre, vivid, and proud nature, possessed with a passion so absorbing -<span class='pageno' id='Page_521'>521</span>that it sways his being with tidal power, awakens to the -fact that the love he thought all his own has wandered elsewhere. -His heart stands still and his brain reels. His love is too true -and deep to change. To injure her is as impossible as to restrain -himself. He says not a word, makes not a sign, but his sad, -dark purpose is fixed. He leaves directions that no questions be -asked, no public notice taken of him or of his fate further than -the most modest funeral, and that a plain stone be reared over -him with the single word, <i><span lang="la" xml:lang="la">Infelicissimus</span></i>. Then a pistol-ball in -his heart closes the throbbing of an agony too great to be borne. -The suicide is the pathetic slave of his passion. Surely for such -there must be a sequel in some choicer world, where the tangled -plot will be cleared up and the soul not be thus helplessly self-entangled.</p> - -<p class='c007'>In the third case, a husband, receiving proof of the infidelity -of his honored and trusted wife, in a furious revulsion of scorn -and detestation thrusts her into the street, proclaims her offence -everywhere, and seeks release and redress in a public court. This -is one form of the average of social feeling and conduct in such -a case. It is the common spirit of revenge cloaked in justice. -It may not be thought base, but it cannot be called noble.</p> - -<p class='c007'>In still another example the jealous man is now enraged and -now distressed with conflicting impulses to revenge and to pardon. -First he storms and threatens, then he weeps and entreats; now, -he strides up and down, tearing his hair, crying and sobbing; and -now he rushes out and confides his misery, begging for sympathy -and counsel. And whether he condones or dismisses the offender -depends on her own policy. This course, ruled by no principle, -is a mess of incoherent impulse, raw and childish, a manner of -proceeding of which, although it is so common, any grown-up -and well-conditioned man should be ashamed.</p> - -<p class='c007'>In the next instance we see the man, on learning his misfortune -in losing the exclusive affection of her whom alone he has -loved, staggered by the blow, smitten to the heart with grief, -flung upon himself in recoiling anguish. But, to shield her from -disgrace, and to avoid shame to himself and scandal to the public, -he keeps the secret sacredly; ending, however, all marriage intimacy, -their lives henceforth a mere contiguity of ice and gloom -until death. This is another expression of the average level of -<span class='pageno' id='Page_522'>522</span>men and style of social feeling, not lower, not much higher, -than might be expected.</p> - -<p class='c007'>A greatly superior example, finer and braver, comparatively -rare, perhaps, yet with a larger list of performers than many -would suppose, is where the fault is frankly confessed and freely -forgiven, just as other faults are, or the deed justified and accepted -on the ground of an integral affection and an approving -conscience willing with courageous openness to take every consequence. -There is valor, dignity, consistency, force of character -in this. It is impossible for persons of low animal instincts or -where there is treachery and lying.</p> - -<p class='c007'>But the highest degree of chivalry under such circumstances -is that exemplified by the man who, cleansed from the foul and -cruel usages of the past, freed from the taints of the tyrannical -masculine selfhood, does what man has so rarely done, but what -multitudes of women have often done. He shows a love so -pure and exalted that it subordinates his selfhood and blends his -happiness in that of the beloved object. For her well-being he -is willing to stand aside and yield up every claim. Is such generosity -beyond the limit of human nature? It may be beyond -the limit of <em>historic</em> human nature, trailing the penalties of the -past. It is not beyond the limit of <em>prophetic</em> human nature, carrying -the purposes of God.</p> - -<p class='c007'>No doubt some barrier at present is necessary; and society -has a right to give the law, from insight, but not from despotism. -Monogamic union is the true relation, and its vow should not be -broken by either party. But if it <em>is</em> broken the social penalty -should be the same for man as for woman. In such case the -parties should either condone or separate without furious controversy -or personal revenge. Truth and fitness should be set above -conventionality and prejudice, and frankness remove hypocrisy. -Such alone is the teaching of this chapter, which invokes the -pure, steady light of science to shine on the facts of sex, cleanse -foulness out, and bring the code of society into unison with the -code of God.</p> - -<div class='chapter'> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_523'>523</span> - <h2 class='c005'>CHAPTER XVI.<br /> <span class='large'>PROFESSIONAL CHARACTER.—RELATIONS WITH OTHER PLAYERS.—THE FUTURE OF THE DRAMA.</span></h2> -</div> - -<p class='c006'>One of the most striking traits in the character of Forrest was -a profound respect for his profession and a scrupulous observance -of the duties it imposed. His conscientiousness in studying his -parts, in being punctual in rehearsal and at performance, in holding -all considerations of convenience or pleasure sternly subordinate -to the conditions for the best fulfilment of his rôle, were -worthy of exact imitation. Before beginning a season he went -into training, carefully regulating his habits in diet and in hours -of exercise and sleep; and during an engagement he always exerted -a good deal of self-denial in the nursing and husbanding -of his powers. He strove also to improve in his renderings not -only by an earnest, direct study of the part, and by a careful -attention to critical suggestions from every quarter, but likewise -by keeping his faculties alert during his own performances to -catch every hint of inspiration from nature or accident, to seize -on the causes of each failure or success, and to utilize the -experience for the future.</p> - -<p class='c007'>These same habits of punctuality and critical self-observation -belonged to Mrs. Siddons, and were one of the secrets of her -astonishing rise, just as they were of that of Forrest. The first -time that Mrs. Siddons played the part of Lady Macbeth, she -says, “So little did I know of my part when it came night that -my shame and confusion cured me, for the remainder of my life, -of procrastinating my business.” After this first performance of -Lady Macbeth, Mrs. Siddons recalled in her dressing-room what -she had done, and practised various improvements. Trying to -get the right look and tone for the words, “Here’s the smell of -the blood still,” she did it so naturally that her maid exclaimed, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_524'>524</span>“Dear me, ma’am, how hysterical you are! I vow, ma’am, it’s -not blood, but rose-paint and water!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>Perhaps the just sense which Forrest had of the dignity of his -profession, and likewise his sense of manly behavior, will be -shown most forcibly by an anecdote. An old schoolmate of -his, who had become a clergyman, met him one day and asked -the favor of a ticket to his performance of Lear that evening, -but added that he wished his seat to be in a private box where -he could see without being seen. “No, sir,” was the reply with -which the player rebuked the preacher; “when I look at my -audience I should feel ashamed to see there one who is ashamed -to be seen. Permit me to say, sir, that our acquaintance ends -here.” Had he remembered the lines of Richard Perkins to the -old dramatic author Thomas Heywood, their quotation would -have been apt and pungent:</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“Still when I come to plays, I love to sit,</div> - <div class='line'>That all may see me, in a public place,</div> - <div class='line'>Even in the stage’s front, and not to get</div> - <div class='line'>Into a nook and hoodwink there my face.</div> - <div class='line'>This is the difference: Some would have me deem</div> - <div class='line'>Them what they are not: I am what I seem!”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c007'>In no element or domain of his life was Forrest more misunderstood -and belied than in regard to his general and particular -relations with the other members of his profession. Justice to -his memory requires that the truth be shown; and, besides, the -subject has a strong interest.</p> - -<p class='c007'>The exercise of the dramatic faculty by itself is productive -of tenderness, largeness, flexibility, and generosity of mind and -heart. It is based on a rich, free intelligence and sensibility, and -serves directly to quicken and invigorate the imagination and the -sympathies. In fact, so far as its offices are fulfilled it delivers -one from the hard, narrow limits of his own selfhood, familiarizes -him with the conception and feeling of other grades -and styles of character, conduct, and experience, through his -passing assumptions of their parts and identification with their -varieties develops the whole range of his nature, and makes him, -while sensitive to differences, tolerant of them and full of charity. -The true moral genius of the drama, supremely exemplified in -Shakspeare, is the same genial gentleness and forbearing magnanimity -<span class='pageno' id='Page_525'>525</span>towards every form of humanity as is shown by the God -whose earth sustains and sky overarches and rain and sun and -harvest visit and bless alike the coward and the hero, the saint -and the scoundrel. For the moral essence of the drama consists -in the recognition and appreciation of character and manners, -not in asserting the will of self nor in assailing the wills of others. -But there is a sharp contradiction between this natural tendency -of the dramatic art by itself and the ordinary influence exerted -by the professional practice of the art as a means of gaining -celebrity and a livelihood. If the former would develop a generous -emulation to see who can best reproduce in sympathetic -imagination every height and depth of human nature and life, -the latter instinctively stimulates a hostile rivalry to see who can -secure the best parts and win the most pay and praise. Thus -the members of the histrionic profession are drawn to one another -in kindly sentiment by the intrinsic qualities of their art, -but thrown into a hostile relation by those accidental conditions -of their trade which make them selfish competitors for precedence. -The breadth of the intrinsic tendency of the art is seen in the -unparalleled mutual interest and kindness of actors and actresses, -as a class standing by one another in all times of adversity with -a generosity no other class exhibits; the aggravating power of -the accidental influence of the profession is exposed in the notorious -jealousy and irritability of these hunters after popularity. -Accordingly, among the votaries of the stage a great many friendships -are fostered and a great many rankling animosities are bred.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Forrest had all his life too profound an interest in his art, too -exalted an estimate of the mission of the stage, too dignified and -just a mind, too deep and ready a sympathy, to be capable of the -contempt and dislike for his theatrical compeers and associates of -which he was often accused. He was an irascible and imperious -man. He was not a suspicious, an envious, or an unkind man. -And the high spirit of affection and munificence breathing in his -beautiful bequest of all his fortune to soothe the declining years -of aged or disabled actors and to elevate their favorite art, will -awaken a late remorse for the great wrong done his heart.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Others have suffered the same wrongs. Mrs. Siddons was -accused of “pride, insolence, and savage insensibility to the distresses -of her theatrical associates.” She was satirized in the -<span class='pageno' id='Page_526'>526</span>daily papers for her parsimony and avaricious inhospitality. The -charges were cruelly unjust. The truth simply was that she was -engrossed in labor, study, and the fulfilment of her duties to her -family, while the meaner part of the profession and of the public -wished her to give herself to their convivialities. Lawyers are -not expected to plead cases for one another gratuitously, nor -doctors to transfer a fee to a rival. Why should an actor alone -be held bound to give his time and earnings to his associates -whenever they ask? The practice of calling up and representing -together the noblest sentiments of human nature is expected to -create in them more friendship, more genial feeling, than is cultivated -in others. This is a compliment to the profession. But -any actor of high rank who protects his individuality and asks no -favor beyond justice and good will, dignifies his profession and -serves the true interests of its members.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Forrest had too profound and assured a sense of his own place -and rank and worth to be restlessly inquisitive and sensitive as to -what his associates thought or felt about him, or to feel any mean -twinge of jealousy at any attention they could draw. He did -not, as Macready and so many other renowned players did, desire -to monopolize everything to himself when before an audience. -On the contrary, nothing so much pleased him as to see another -actor or actress studious, aspiring, and successful. Then the -more applause they secured the better he liked it. But one point -there was in his conduct which gave much offence to many and -was not forgiven by them. He shrank from all familiar association -with those of his profession who were not gentlemen and -ladies in their personal self-respect and professional conduct. He -had a horror for carelessness, sloth, unpunctuality, untruthfulness, -drunkenness, or other common neglect of duty and thrift, whether -arising from a slipshod good nature or from depravity. And it -is notorious that the dramatic profession, although the freest of -all professions from the darker crimes, is much addicted to indulgence -in the vices associated with conviviality and a relaxed -sternness of social conscience. The temptations to these snares -of soul and body Forrest had felt and resisted. The opposite -traits he had made a second nature. He liked men and women -who kept their word, did their duty, saved their money, and -aspired to do more excellent work and win a better position. It -<span class='pageno' id='Page_527'>527</span>was because so many of those with whom he came in contact on -the stage were not studious, prompt, careful, self-respectful, but -idle, loose, negligent, reckless, that he stood socially aloof from -them, censured them, and drew their hostility. But the more -faithful and honorable body of the profession always cherished a -warm appreciation of his sterling qualities of character and stood -in the most friendly personal relations with him. Repeatedly, in -different periods of his career, in Great Britain and in America, -the whole company of a theatre, at the close of one of his engagements, -united in bestowing some gift, with an address, in -testimony of their sense of his courtesy, their admiration for his -genius, and their gratitude for his professional example. John -McCullough, who for five years played second parts to him and -was his intimate comrade on and off the stage, speaks of him -thus: “He was exact to a moment in every appointment; and -the tardiness of any one delaying a rehearsal stirred his mightiest -anger. He would sternly say to the offender, ‘You have stolen -from these ladies and gentlemen ten minutes of their time,—ten -minutes that even God cannot restore.’ But to those whom he -saw attentive and industrious he was the kindest of men. No -matter how incapable they might be, he aided them to the full -extent of his power, often at rehearsal playing the most unimportant -parts to teach an actor, and encouraging him by kind words -and treatment. He never recognized the existence of weaknesses -so long as they did not interfere with business. An actor might -be what he pleased in private life until he carried the effects into -moments of duty, and then he knew no mercy. On the stage he -was the best and easiest of men. It was a pleasure to act with -him. He would in every way assist those around him, aid them -in every possible fashion, and do all to strengthen their faith in -him and in themselves. Particularly was this so in the case of -subordinates; while to equals who showed the slightest carelessness -or injustice he was unrelenting.” And in this connection -the following letter written by Forrest to Thomas Barry, manager -of the old Tremont Theatre and of the later Boston Theatre, is -very characteristic:</p> - -<div class='lg-container-r c011'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“<span class='sc'>Baltimore</span>, December 17th, 1854.</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c010'>“<span class='sc'>My dear Mr. Barry</span>,—From an expression which you used -to me while I had the pleasure to be with you last in Boston, I -<span class='pageno' id='Page_528'>528</span>inferred that you could not justify my conduct towards Mr. —— -in refusing him permission to act with me during my late engagement -there. When I briefly replied to your expression, I -supposed I had answered your objections. But, thinking over -the matter since, I am not so certain that I had convinced you of -my undeniable right to pursue the course I then adopted. So I -will now more fully state my views of the question.</p> - -<p class='c010'>“It is an axiom that a man in a state of liberty may choose his -own associates, and if he find one to be treacherous and unworthy -he may discard him. Therefore I discard Mr. ——. Again, I -never believed in the hypocrisy which tells us to love our enemies. -<em>My</em> religion is to love the good and to eschew the evil. Therefore -I eschew Mr. ——. Physical cowardice may be forgiven, but -I never forgave a moral coward; and therefore I forgive not -Mr. ——. He who insists upon associating, professionally or -otherwise, with another known to despise him, is a wretch unworthy -of the name of man. Consequently Mr. —— is unworthy -of the name of man. But, sir, besides all this, I have an -indisputable right to choose from the company such actors as I -consider will render me the most agreeable as well as the most -efficient support.</p> - -<p class='c010'>“In my rejection of Mr. —— I took the earliest care not to -jeopardize any of the interests of your theatre. For I advised -you in ample time of my resolution, warning you of my intentions, -and giving my reasons therefor, so that you might choose -between the services of Mr. —— and my own. For, while I -claim the right in these matters to choose for myself, I unhesitatingly -concede the same right to another.</p> - -<p class='c010'>“And now if, after this expression of my views relative to this -thing, you still hold to the opinion that my conduct was unjustifiable, -you cannot with the slightest propriety ask me to fulfil -another engagement so long as Mr. —— remains in your company. -For I pledge you my word as a man that he shall never, -under any circumstances, act with me again.</p> - -<div class='lg-container-r c011'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“Yours truly,</div> - <div class='line in4'>“<span class='sc'>Edwin Forrest</span>.</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<div class='lg-container-l c011'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“<span class='sc'>Thos. Barry, Esq.</span>”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c007'>Two incidents of a different kind will illustrate other qualities -in the character of Forrest. A boy of sixteen or seventeen had -<span class='pageno' id='Page_529'>529</span>a few lines to recite. At rehearsal his delivery was incorrect and -annoying. Forrest repeated the lines, and asked to have them -read in that manner. Each attempt failed more badly than the -preceding. At last, quite irritated and out of patience, Forrest -said, “Not so, not so. Read the passage as I do.” The boy looked -up with an injured but not immodest air, and replied, “Mr. Forrest, -if I could read the lines as you do, I should not be occupying -the low position I do in this company.” Forrest felt that his -petulance had been unjust. His chin sank upon his breast as he -paused a moment in reflection. Then he said, “I am properly -rebuked, and I ask your pardon.” At the close of the rehearsal -he went to the manager and inquired, “How much do you give -that boy a week?” “Eight dollars.” “Well, during my engagement -pay him sixteen, and charge the extra amount to me.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>At another rehearsal the company had been waiting some time -for the arrival of a subordinate player who was usually very -prompt and faithful. When the delinquent entered, Forrest -broke out testily, “Well, sir, you see how long you have detained -us all.” The poor man, pale, and struggling with emotion, answered, -humbly, “I am very sorry. I came as soon as I could. -I have suffered a great misfortune. My boy died last night.” A -thrill of sympathy went through the company. Forrest stepped -forward and took the man respectfully by the hand, and said, -“Excuse me, my friend, and go back to your home at once. -You ought not to be here to-day, and we will get along in some -way without you.” Then, giving him a fifty-dollar bill, he added, -“And accept this with my sincere apology.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>The tremendous strength of Forrest, and the downright earnestness -with which he used it on those unhappy men whose -business it was to be seized, shaken, and hurled about, gave rise -to scores of apocryphal stories concerning his violence in acting -and the terrible sufferings of his subordinates. In many of these -stories, under their exaggeration, something characteristic can be -discerned. On a certain occasion when he impersonated a Roman -hero attacked by six minions of a tyrant, he complained that the -aforesaid minions were too tame; they did not come upon him -as if it were a real struggle. After his storming against their -inefficiency, the supernumeraries sulked and consulted. Their -captain said, “If you want this to be a bully fight, Mr. Forrest, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_530'>530</span>you have only to say so.” “I do,” he replied. When the scene -came on, the hero was standing in the middle of the stage. The -minions entered and deployed in rapid skirmishing. One struck -energetically at his face, a second levelled a strenuous kick at -his paunch, and the remainder made ready to rush for a decisive -tussle. For one instant he stood astounded, his chest heaving, -his eyes flashing, his legs planted like columns of rock. Then -came two minutes of powerful acting, at the end of which one -supernumerary was seen sticking head foremost in the bass-drum -of the orchestra, four were having their wounds dressed in the -greenroom, and one, finding himself in the flies, rushed on the -roof of the theatre shouting “fire!” Forrest, called before the -curtain, panted his thanks to the audience, who, taking it as a -legitimate part of the performance, protested that they had never -before seen him act so splendidly. The story is questionable, -yet through its grotesque dilatation undoubtedly one lower and -lesser phase of the actor and of his public may be seen.</p> - -<p class='c007'>During the earlier years of his own pecuniary prosperity, Forrest -lent at various times sums of money ranging from one dollar to -five hundred dollars to a large number of his more improvident -theatrical associates. In very few instances were these sums -repaid. In most cases the obligation was suffered to go by default, -and in many the favor of the loans, so far from being felt as a -claim for gratitude, proved a source of uneasiness and alienation. -To a man of his just, careful, straightforward character and habits -this multiplied experience of dishonesty, often coupled with treachery -and slander, was extremely trying. It nettled him, it embittered -him, it tended strongly to close his originally over-free -hand against applications to borrow, and made him sometimes -suspicious that friendly attentions were designed, as they not unfrequently -were, as means to get at his purse. The rich man is -much exposed to this experience, with its hardening and souring -influence on character, especially the rich man in a profession -like the dramatic abounding with impecunious and unthrifty -members. Under these circumstances it was certain that many -unsuccessful applicants for pecuniary favors, persons whom he -refused because he thought them unworthy, would slander him. -But throughout his life his heart and hand were generously open -to the appeals of all distressed actors or actresses on whom he -<span class='pageno' id='Page_531'>531</span>believed assistance would not be thrown away. In many an -instance of destitution and suffering among his unfortunate -brethren and sisters sick, deserted, dying, did his bounty come -to relieve and console. Among his papers a score or more of -letters were found, with widely-separated dates, from well-known -members of the profession, containing requests of this sort or -thanks for his prompt responses. For example, there was one -from the estimable gentleman and veteran actor George Holland -gratefully acknowledging a gift of two hundred dollars. The -kind deeds of Forrest were not blazoned, but carefully concealed. -Yet the few friends who had his inmost confidence, who were -themselves the frequent channels of his secret beneficence, knew -how free and full his charities were, especially to worthy and unfortunate -members of the dramatic profession. In the course of -his career he gave over fifty benefits for needy associates, dramatic -authors, and public charities,—from Porter, Woodhull, Devese, -and Stone, to John Howard Payne and J. W. Wallack and the -Dramatic Fund Association,—the proceeds of which were upwards -of twenty-five thousand dollars. And when, in consequence of -the thickening requests for such favors and the invidiousness of a -selection, he made a rule not to play for the benefit of any one, -unless in some exceptional case, he would still often give towards -the object his price for a single performance, two hundred dollars. -Yet, such is the unreasonableness of censorious minds, he -was severely blamed for showing an avaricious and unsympathizing -spirit towards his theatrical contemporaries. The accusation -frequently appeared in print and stung him, though he could -never brook to answer it.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Many a time on the last night of his engagement at a theatre -he would send for the treasurer and make him his almoner for -the distribution of sums varying from five to fifteen dollars to -the humbler laborers, the scene-shifters, gasman, watchman, and -others whose incomes were hardly enough to keep the wolf from -their doors. During one of his engagements at Niblo’s Garden -the actors and actresses for some reason did not receive their -regular salary. Learning the fact, he refused to take his share -of the proceeds until they had been paid; and, going still further, -he advanced a sum from his own pocket to make up what was -due them.</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_532'>532</span>More interesting and important, however, than his pecuniary -attitude towards his fellow-players is his moral relation. And -this in one aspect was eminently sweet and noble. If he avoided -unworthy actors with contempt, he yielded to no one in the -admiration, gratitude, and love he cherished for the gifted and -faithful, the lustre of whose genius gilded the theatre, and the -merit of whose character lifted and adorned the profession.</p> - -<p class='c007'>The earliest strong and distinct feeling of love, in the usual -sense of the word, ever awakened in him, he said, was by a young -and fascinating actress in the part of Juliet, whom he saw in a -Philadelphia theatre when he was in his thirteenth year. What -her name was he knew not, nor what became of her, nor could -he remember who played Romeo to her; but the emotions she -awakened in him by her representation of the sweet girl of -Verona, the picture of her face and form and moving, remained -as fair and bright and delicious as ever to the end of his days. -Recounting the story to his biographer one evening in the summer -of 1869 as he sat in his library, the moonlight streaming -through the trees in at the open window and across the floor, he -said, “A thousand times have I wondered at the intensity of the -impression she made on my boyish soul, and longed to know -what her after-fate was. She was a vision of enchantment, and, -shutting my eyes, I seem to see her now. Years ago I came -across the following lines, which so well corresponded to my -remembrance of her that I committed them to memory:</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“‘’Twas the embodying of a lovely thought,</div> - <div class='line'>A living picture exquisitely wrought</div> - <div class='line'>With hues we think, but never hope to see</div> - <div class='line'>In all their beautiful reality,</div> - <div class='line'>With something more than fancy can create,</div> - <div class='line'>So full of life, so warm, so passionate.</div> - <div class='line'>Young beauty, sweetly didst thou paint the deep</div> - <div class='line'>Intense affection woman’s heart will keep</div> - <div class='line'>More tenderly than life! I see thee now,</div> - <div class='line'>With thy white-wreathed arms, thy pensive brow,</div> - <div class='line'>Standing so lovely in thy sorrowing.</div> - <div class='line'>I’ve sometimes read, and closed the page divine,</div> - <div class='line'>Dreaming what that Italian girl might be,</div> - <div class='line'>Yet ne’er imagined look or tone more sweet than thine.’”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c007'>An actor named James Fennell, endowed with a superb figure -<span class='pageno' id='Page_533'>533</span>and a noble elocution, and a great favorite with play-goers in the -boyhood of Forrest, made an indelible impression on him. The -finished actor, however, was an unhappy man, thriftless in his affairs, -and an inveterate drunkard. When he had become an old -man his intemperance grew so gross, and his indebtedness to his -landlady was so great, that she would keep him no longer. Driven -away, he roamed about for some time in despair. Finally, on a -bitter winter’s night, amidst a pelting snow-storm, he came back -and knocked at the door. The landlady opened the window and -looked out. Fennell, a picture of woebegone wretchedness, -struck an attitude and recited the lines,—</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“Pity the sorrows of a poor old man,</div> - <div class='line in2'>Whose trembling limbs have borne him to your door;</div> - <div class='line'>His days are dwindled to the shortest span:</div> - <div class='line in2'>Oh, give relief, and heaven will bless your store;—”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c009'>with such powerful pathos that the heart of the woman relented, -and she took him in and cared for him till, a little later, he died. -The piteous case of this actor, whose infirmity destroyed the fruits -of his genius, taught the youthful Forrest a lesson which he -never forgot.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Instead of looking to artificial stimulants to prop up forces flagging -under the strain of the irregular exertions and late hours -of a player, he learned to depend on a sufficient supply of plain, -wholesome food, carefully and slowly taken, and a scrupulous -observance of full hours of sleep. Had they followed this wise -course, how many—like the brilliant and wayward Kean, whose -conduct disgraced the profession his genius glorified, and poor -Mrs. George Barrett, whose beauty of person and motion intoxicated -the beholder—would have been kept from their untimely -and unhonored graves!</p> - -<p class='c007'>The first actor of really strong original power and commanding -art under whose influence Forrest came in his early youth was -Thomas A. Cooper. From him the boyish aspirant caught much -that was valuable. He always retained a grateful recollection of -his debt, and spoke warmly of his benefactor. In the destitute -age of the veteran, Forrest was one of the first movers in securing -a benefit for him. Unable himself to act on the occasion in New -York, he got up another benefit at New Orleans, in which he -acted the chief part, and raised a handsome sum for his old instructor. -<span class='pageno' id='Page_534'>534</span>Cooper warmly acknowledged the kindness of his young -friend in a published card. On another occasion also the same -spirit was shown. One of the daughters of Cooper was to make -her débût in the character of Virginia, the performance to be -for the benefit of Cooper. Forrest agreed to give his services -and play the part of Virginius. As soon as he heard that Miss -Cooper would feel more confidence if her father played that part, -Forrest consented to undertake the part of Dentatus. One of -the daily journals remarked, “This is another instance of that -generous kindness on the part of Mr. Forrest which has bought -him golden opinions from all sorts of people. The public will -award him the meed which such an act merits.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>Another actor of consummate merit, both as artist and as man, -there was in Philadelphia, in whose public performances and -personal intercourse the boy Forrest took the keenest delight,—Joseph -Jefferson, the incomparable comedian, great-grandfather -of the present Joseph Jefferson the exquisite perfection and unrivalled -popularity of whose Rip Van Winkle have filled the -English-speaking world with his fame. The elder Jefferson was -a man universally beloved for his charming qualities of character -and universally admired for his inimitable art. Forrest’s memory -of him was singularly clear and strong and sweet. Whenever -touching on this theme his tongue was full of eloquent music and -his heart seemed steeped in tender reverence and love. He said -the Theatre had produced some saints as well as the Church, and -Jefferson was one of the most benignant and faultless. For thirty-five -years he was the soul and life of the Philadelphia stage, the -pre-eminent favorite of all, delighting every one who saw him -with the quiet felicities and irresistible strokes of an art that was -as nature itself. He played the characters of fools,—Launcelot -Gobbo, Dogberry, Malvolio, the fool in Lear,—Forrest said, in a -manner that made them actually sublime, suggesting something -supernatural, through their mirth and simpleness insinuating into -the audience astounding and overpowering meanings. In his age -Jefferson risked his little fortune, the modest earnings of an industrious -life, in an enterprise of his friend Warren, the theatrical -manager. It was all lost. Once more he appealed to the patrons -who had always smiled on him. The summer birds had flown, -and his benefit-night showed him an empty house. The blow -<span class='pageno' id='Page_535'>535</span>actually killed him. He left the city and went to Harrisburg, -where he soon afterwards died among strangers. Hearing of his -poverty and loneliness at Harrisburg, Forrest, who was then in -his high tide of success, wrote to him that he would get up a -benefit for him at the Arch Street Theatre and play Othello for -him. But the heart-broken player replied that he would never -be a suppliant for patronage in that city again. While he lay in -his room very sick, the doctor called and found him reading -Lalla Rookh. “I can assure you of a cure,” said the physician. -Jefferson replied, in a sad but firm voice, “My children are all -grown up. I am of no further use to them; and I am weary of -life. I care not to get well. I think it is better to be elsewhere.” -And so he died. Chief-Justice Gibson placed a marble slab over -his dust, with a happy inscription which some nameless but -gifted friend of the actor has appended to his own tributary -verses.</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>For thee, poor Player, who hast seen the day</div> - <div class='line in2'>When stern neglect has bent thee to her state,</div> - <div class='line'>With fond remembrance let the poet pay</div> - <div class='line in2'>One tribute to thy melancholy fate.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Haply some aged man may yet exclaim,</div> - <div class='line in2'>“Him I remember in his youthful pride,</div> - <div class='line'>When sober age ran riot at his name,</div> - <div class='line in2'>And roaring laughter held his bursting side.”</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>There at his home, the father, husband kind,</div> - <div class='line in2'>Oft have I noted his calm noon of life;</div> - <div class='line'>With humor chastened, and with wit refined,</div> - <div class='line in2'>Enjoy the social board with comforts rife.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Him have I seen when age crept on apace,</div> - <div class='line in2'>Portraying to the life some earlier part,</div> - <div class='line'>The soul of mirth reflected from his face,</div> - <div class='line in2'>While bitter pangs disturbed his throbbing heart.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>One night we missed him from his ancient chair,</div> - <div class='line in2'>Placed by our host beside the blazing hearth;</div> - <div class='line'>Another passed, yet still he was not there,</div> - <div class='line in2'>Gone was the spirit of our former mirth!</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>The future came, and with it came the tale,</div> - <div class='line in2'>How Time had cured the wounds the world had given;</div> - <div class='line'>How Death had wrapt him in his sable veil</div> - <div class='line in2'>And gently borne him to the gates of heaven.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_536'>536</span>Beneath the shadow of a sacred dome</div> - <div class='line in2'>The pride and honor of our stage reclines;</div> - <div class='line'>There stranger hands conveyed him to his home,</div> - <div class='line in2'>And graced his memory with these sculptured lines:</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<div class='nf-center-c0'> -<div class='nf-center c012'> - <div>Beneath this marble</div> - <div><em>Are deposited the ashes of</em></div> - <div><span class='sc'>Joseph Jefferson</span>,</div> - <div><em>An actor whose unrivalled powers</em></div> - <div>Took in the whole extent of Comic Character,</div> - <div>From Pathos to heart-shaking Mirth.</div> - <div>His coloring was that of nature, warm, fresh,</div> - <div>And enriched with the finest conceptions of Genius.</div> - <div>He was a member of the Chestnut Street Theatre,</div> - <div>Philadelphia,</div> - <div>In its most high and palmy days,</div> - <div><em>and the compeer</em></div> - <div><span class='sc'>Of Cooper, Wood, Warren, Francis</span>,</div> - <div><em>and a host of worthies</em></div> - <div>Who,</div> - <div>like himself,</div> - <div><em>Are remembered with admiration and praise.</em></div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c007'>The love and reverence which Forrest cherished for this exquisite -actor and good man were in the eyes of the numerous -friends who often heard him express them in fond lingering -reminiscences, a touching proof of the goodness of his own -heart despite all the scars it had suffered.</p> - -<p class='c007'>When Forrest was playing at Louisville in his youth, during -a rehearsal of Macbeth he came to the lines,—</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“Till that Bellona’s bridegroom, lapped in proof,</div> - <div class='line'>Confronted him with self-comparisons,”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c009'>when Drake, the manager of the theatre, who happened to be on -the stage, said to him, “Boy, who was Bellona? And who was -her bridegroom?” The stripling tragedian was forced to answer, -“I do not know.” “Then,” exclaimed Drake, “get a classical -dictionary and study the thing out. Never go on spouting words -ignorant of their meaning.” “Thank you, sir, for so good a -piece of advice,” replied young Forrest, with a little mortification -in his air. “I have had that lesson before, but see that I have -failed to practise it as I ought to have done.” A long time after, -in another city, when Drake had become a venerable white-haired -gentleman, Forrest was rehearsing Othello in his presence. These -lines were spoken relating to the magic handkerchief:</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_537'>537</span>“A sibyl, that had numbered in the world</div> - <div class='line'>The sun to course two hundred compasses,</div> - <div class='line'>In her prophetic fury sewed the work;</div> - <div class='line'>The worms were hallowed that did breed the silk;</div> - <div class='line'>And it was dyed in mummy, which the skilful</div> - <div class='line'>Conserved of maidens’ hearts.”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c007'>A citizen who was standing by Drake asked him if he could -explain these strange words. He said he could not. Forrest -immediately gave, with great rapidity of utterance, an elegant and -lucid exposition of the classical superstitions on which the passage -is based. He did it with such grace and force that the -whole company broke into applause. He turned to Drake with -a low bow and said, “My dear sir, I owe this to you. Do you -remember the lesson you taught me at Louisville, fifteen years -ago, about Bellona and her bridegroom? Allow me now to -thank you.” As he took him by the hand the tears were rolling -down the cheeks both of the old man and of the young man.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Forrest ever remembered with gratitude the kindness shown -him by Mr. Jones, one of the managers under whom he made his -first journey to the West and served his practical apprenticeship -on the stage. And when the player had become a mature man, -crowned with prosperity, living in his great mansion on Broad -Street, in Philadelphia, and the manager was destitute and forsaken, -bowed by misfortune and old age, he gave his early benefactor -a home, taking him into his own house, treating him with -kind consideration, comforting his last days, and following his -dust to the grave with affectionate respect.</p> - -<p class='c007'>The relations of Forrest with the ladies who acted principal -parts with him were almost uniformly of the most satisfactory -character, marked by the greatest courtesy, justice, and delicacy. -There were two or three instances of strong dislike on both sides. -But in all the other examples, from his first assistants, Mrs. Riddle -and Miss Placide, to his latest protégées, Miss Kellogg and -Miss Lillie, there was nothing but the highest esteem and the -most cordial good-will between the parties, their kind sentiments -towards him ever sincere, his grateful recollections of them -unalloyed. To that estimable woman and gifted actress, Mrs. -Riddle, he especially felt himself indebted. In a letter to his -biographer he says of her, “To her most kind and unselfish -<span class='pageno' id='Page_538'>538</span>friendship, her motherly care, her wise counsels, the valuable instructions -her artistic genius and experience enabled her to give -me during two of the most critical years of my young life, I owe -more of acknowledgment and affection than I can easily express -or ever forget.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>But the most beautiful of all his relations with women of the -dramatic profession was the long and sacred friendship subsisting -between him and Mrs. Sarah Wheatley. This honored lady, -distinguished even more for the rare strength and beauty of her -character than for her extraordinary histrionic talent, was a great -favorite with the theatrical public of New York. She was one -of the few examples that charm and uplift all who feel their influence, -of a perfectly balanced womanhood, commanding the -whole range of feminine virtues, from modest gentleness and self-denial -to august dignity and authority, fitted to sweeten, adorn, -or aggrandize any station. She first went upon the stage, without -any preparatory training, to relieve and support her family, and, -as it were by instinctive fitness, was instantly at home and a mistress -there. And after withdrawing from the public, she lived -amidst the worship of her children and her children’s children to -an extreme old age, full of exalted worth and serenity, the admiration -and delight of the widest circle of friends, who felt that -the atmosphere of her presence and manner more than repaid -every attention they could lavish on her. Mrs. Wheatley saw -the Othello of Forrest on the memorable night he played for the -benefit of poor Woodhull. She felt his power, foresaw what he -might become, and, with a generous impulse, went to him from -behind the scenes and spoke kindly to him words of warm appreciation. -The poor, unfriended youth was deeply touched. This -was the beginning of an acquaintance which was never interrupted -or shadowed by the faintest cloud, but grew stronger and -holier to the end. She never noticed his foibles, for he never had -them in her presence; and he thought of her with a loving veneration -second only to that he felt for his mother. Her son, Mr. -William Wheatley,—widely known to the dramatic profession as -actor and manager, and esteemed by all for his talent, integrity, -and refinement,—speaking of the beauty of this friendship after -the death of the great tragedian, whom he had known long and -most intimately, said, “If there was one sentiment deeper and -<span class='pageno' id='Page_539'>539</span>keener than any other in the soul of Forrest, it was his reverence -for a pure and good woman: and I know that his esteem for my -mother approached idolatry, and that she regarded him with -maternal fondness.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>On a certain occasion when his friend James Oakes was with -Forrest in his room at a hotel in New York, something had -occurred which had greatly enraged him. He was pacing up and -down the floor in a fury, tearing and swearing with the greatest -violence. A servant knocked at the door, and announced that -Mrs. Wheatley was in waiting. “The change that came over my -friend at the announcement of this name,” said Oakes, “was like -a work of magic. The wrinkles left his brow, a smile was on his -mouth, and his angered voice grew calm and musical.” “Mrs. -Wheatley?” he said. “Ask her if she will do me the honor to -come to my parlor.” Then, turning to his silent friend, he exclaimed, -“Oakes, if you want to see a woman fit to be worshipped -by every good man, a model of grace and dignity, a -living embodiment of wisdom and goodness, you shall now have -that grand satisfaction.” As she entered he lifted his head illuminated -with joy, threw open his arms, and cried, “Why, Mother -Wheatley, how long it is since I saw you last,—more than a -year!” “It <em>is</em> a long time,” she answered, with a sweet and grave -fervor; “it <em>is</em> a long time; and how has it been with you all the -while, my boy?” Oakes adds, “It was a picture as charming to -behold as anything I ever saw. It stands in my memory holy to -this day.” When such experiences are found in the life of one -whose biography is to be written, they should be recorded, and -not, as is usually done, be carefully omitted; for these sacred -passages are just what is most wholesome and needful in a world -gone insane with selfish struggles, hatred, and indifference.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Of the appreciation Forrest had of the genius of the great -comedian William E. Burton, he gave a striking expression in -the last year of his life. He had been confined to his bed for -several weeks in great agony. Oakes was sitting by him. Their -talk turned upon the unrivalled gifts and charm of old Joseph -Jefferson. Forrest poured out his heart warmly, as he always -did, on this favorite theme. He then spoke of the wonderful -pathos and instructiveness which might be thrown into the -humblest comic characters, and added in close, “I would give -<span class='pageno' id='Page_540'>540</span>twenty thousand dollars to have Burton alive again for ten years -to go over the country and play the fools of Shakspeare!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>All who knew Forrest with any intimacy were well aware of -his enthusiastic appreciation of the genius and affection for the -memory of Kean. He never tired of expatiating on this subject. -And he always felt a sharp pleasure in the recollection that when -his friend Hackett, the incomparable American Falstaff, called on -Kean in London, only a few days before his death, the first words -of the dying tragedian were a kind inquiry after the welfare of -Edwin Forrest. In his library one day, showing a friend a superb -steel engraving of Sir Thomas Lawrence’s portrait of John Philip -Kemble, he said earnestly and with a regretful tone, “I would -give a thousand dollars in gold for a likeness of Kean as good as -this is of Kemble.” He was familiar with the principal histories -of the stage and biographies of players, and felt the keenest -interest in their characters, their styles of acting, their personal -fortunes. He also felt a pride in the fame and triumphs of his -best contemporaries. He was always on kind terms with the -elder Booth, to whom he assigned dramatic powers of a very -extraordinary degree, although he believed that considerable of -their effectiveness was caught from the contagious and electrifying -example of Edmund Kean. In the last year of his life, when he -was badly broken down in health and fortune, Booth said to -Forrest one day, “I want to play the Devil.” “It seems to me,” -said Forrest, “that you have done that pretty well all your life.” -“Oh, I don’t mean that,” replied Booth; “I am referring to the -drama of Lord Byron. I want to play Lucifer to your Cain. -Would not that draw,—you cast in the character of Cain, I in -that of Lucifer?” “I think it would,” remarked Forrest. “We -<em>must</em> do it before we die,” replied Booth,—and went away, soon -to pass into the impenetrable shadow, leaving this too with many -another broken and unfulfilled dream.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Forrest assigned an exalted artistic rank to the very varied -dramatic impersonations of Mr. E. L. Davenport, every one of -whose rôles is marked by firm drawing, distinct light and shade, -fine consistency and finish. His Sir Giles Overreach was hardly -surpassed by Kean or Booth, and has not been approached by -anybody else. His quick, alert, springy tread full of fire and rapidity, -the whole man in every step, fixed the attention and made -<span class='pageno' id='Page_541'>541</span>every one feel that there was a terrific concentration of energy, -an insane possession of the nerve-centres, portending something -frightful soon to come. An old play-goer on witnessing this -impersonation wrote the following impromptu:</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“While viewing each remembered scene, before my gaze appears</div> - <div class='line'>Each famed depictor of Sir Giles for almost fifty years;</div> - <div class='line'>The elder Kean and mighty Booth have held all hearts in thrall,</div> - <div class='line'>But, without overreaching truth, you overreach them all!”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c007'>It is a satisfaction to put on record this judgment of one artist -concerning another whose merit transcends even his high reputation,—especially -as a coolness separated the two men, Mr. -Davenport having through a misapprehension of the fact of -the publication of Jack Cade by Judge Conrad inferred that it -had thus in some sense become the property of the public, and -produced the play on the stage, while Forrest held it to be -his own private property. He had been so annoyed by such -proceedings on the part of other actors before, provoking him -into angry suits at law, that his temper was sore. He wrote -sharply to Mr. Davenport, who, even if he had made a mistake, -had done no conscious wrong and meant no offence, and who -replied in a calmer tone and with better taste. Here the matter -closed, but left an alienation,—for Forrest when irritated was -relentlessly tenacious of his point. Mr. Davenport is a man of -gentle and generous character, respected and beloved by all his -companions. He is also in all parts of his profession a highly -accomplished artist and critic. Accordingly, when he expresses -the conviction, as he repeatedly has both before and since the -decease of his former friend and great compeer, that Forrest was -beyond comparison the most original and the greatest actor -America has produced, his words are weighty, and their spirit -honors the speaker as much as it does the subject.</p> - -<p class='c007'>In a letter written to Forrest twenty-five years earlier, under -date of October 10th, 1847, Mr. Davenport had said, “I have not -words to express the gratification and pleasure I felt in witnessing -your masterly performance. It was probably the last time I shall -have an opportunity to see you for years; but I assure you, however -long it may be, the remembrance will always live in my mind -as vividly as now.”</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_542'>542</span>The treatment also which Mr. John McCullough received from -Forrest during his five years of constant service under him, the -impression he made on his young coadjutor, and the permanent -esteem and gratitude he secured from him, are all pleasant to -contemplate. At the close of their business arrangement, Forrest -said to McCullough, “I believe I have kept my agreement with -you to the letter; but before we part I want to thank you for -your strict fidelity to your professional duties at all times. And -allow me to say that I have been most of all pleased to see you -uniformly so studious and zealous in your efforts to improve. -Continue in this course, firm against every temptation, and you -will command a proud and happy future. Now, as a token of -my esteem, I put in your hands the sum of five hundred dollars, -which I want you to invest for your little boy, to accumulate -until he is twenty-one years old, and then to be given to him.” -McCullough says that with the exception of two or three unreasonable -outbreaks, which he immediately forgave and forgot, -Forrest was extremely kind and good to him, sparing no pains -to encourage and further him. And in return the young man -would at any time have gladly given his heart’s blood for his -dear old imperious master, whom, in his enthusiasm, he held to -be the most truthful and powerful actor that ever lived. Such -an estimate by one of his talent and rank, making every allowance -for the personal equation, is an abundant offset for the -squeamish purists who have stigmatized Forrest as “a coarse -ranter,” and the prejudiced critic who called him “a vast animal -bewildered with a grain of genius.” It may well be believed that -in the history of his country’s drama he will be seen by distant -ages towering in statuesque originality above the pigmy herd of -his imitators and detractors.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Gabriel Harrison was another actor on whom the personality -and the playing of Forrest took the deepest effect. He was a -long time on the stage, and, though he afterwards became an -author, a teacher, and a painter, he never abated the intense fervor -of his enthusiasm for the dramatic art. His “Life of John Howard -Payne,” and his “Hundred Years of the Dramatic and Lyric -Stage in Brooklyn,” show him to be a man of much more than -common intelligence and culture. He knew Forrest well for -many years, and cherished the warmest friendship for him as a -<span class='pageno' id='Page_543'>543</span>man whose nature he found noble and whose intercourse charming. -The last Thanksgiving Day that Forrest had on earth, -Harrison, by invitation, spent with him alone in his Broad Street -mansion, enjoying a day of frank and memorable reminiscences, -delicious effusions of mind and heart and soul. Harrison, writing -to the biographer of his friend in protest against the epithet melodramatic, -records his estimate thus: “Are the wonderful figures -of Michael Angelo melodramatic because they are so strongly -outlined? Is Niagara unnatural and full of trick because it is -mighty and thunders so in its fall? When I looked at it, its -sublimity made me feel as if I were looking God in the face; and -I have never thought that God was melodramatic. I have seen -Forrest act more than four hundred times. I have sat at his feet -as a pupil artist learning of a master artist. In all his chief rôles -I have studied him with the most earnest carefulness, from his -<i><span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">tout ensemble</span></i> to the minutest particulars of look, tone, posture, -and motion. And I say that without doubt he was the most -honest, finished, and powerful actor that ever lived. Whenever I -saw him act I used to feel with exultation how perfectly grand -God had made him. How grand a form! how grand a mind! -how grand a heart! how grand a voice! how grand a flood of -passion, sweeping all these to their mark in perfect unison! My -memory of him is so worshipful and affectionate, and so full of -regret that I can see him no more, that my tears are blotting the -leaf on which I write.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>One further incident in the life of Forrest will also serve to -illustrate his feeling towards the <em>personnel</em> of his profession. It -is not without an element of romantic interest. It will fitly -close the treatment of this part of the subject. At the end of -the war he received a letter from a granddaughter of that Joseph -Jefferson whose memory he had always cherished so tenderly. -Residing in the South, the fortunes of war had reduced her -to poverty, and she asked him to lend her a hundred dollars to -meet her immediate necessities. With joyous alacrity he forwarded -the amount, and deemed the ministration a great privilege. -The sequel of the good deed will please every one who -reads it. It need only be said that at the date of the ensuing -correspondence Forrest had just been bereaved of his last sister, -Eleonora:</p> - -<div class='lg-container-r c011'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_544'>544</span>“<span class='sc'>Philadelphia</span>, June 13th, 1871.</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c010'>“<span class='sc'>My dear Mr. Forrest</span>,—I understand from my aunt, Mrs. -Fisher, that during my absence from America, and when she had -become destitute from the effects of the war, you were kind -enough to let her have one hundred dollars.</p> - -<p class='c010'>“My being nearly related to the lady sufficiently explains why -I enclose you the sum you so generously gave.</p> - -<p class='c010'>“Permit me to offer my condolence in your late sad loss, and -to ask pardon for addressing you at such a time.</p> - -<div class='lg-container-r c011'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“Faithfully yours,</div> - <div class='line in12'>“<span class='sc'>J. Jefferson</span>.</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<div class='lg-container-l c011'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“<span class='sc'>To Edwin Forrest.</span>”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<div class='lg-container-r c011'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“<span class='sc'>Philadelphia</span>, June 15th, 1871.</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c010'>“<span class='sc'>Dear Mr. Jefferson</span>,—I received your note of 13th inst., -covering a check for one hundred dollars, in payment of a like -sum loaned by me, some years since, to your relative, Mrs. -Fisher.</p> - -<p class='c010'>“I have no claim whatever on you for the liquidation of this -debt. Yet, as the motive is apparent which prompts you to the -kindly act, I make no cavil in accepting its payment from you.</p> - -<p class='c010'>“With thanks for the touching sympathy you express in my -late bereavement, I am sincerely yours,</p> - -<div class='lg-container-r c011'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“<span class='sc'>Edwin Forrest</span>.</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<div class='lg-container-l c011'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“<span class='sc'>J. Jefferson, Esq.</span>”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c007'>When an actor vanquishes the jealous instinct of his tribe and -really admires another, his professional training gives a distinct -relish and certainty to his praise. When Garrick heard of the -decease of Mrs. Theophilus Cibber, a sister of Arne the musician, -he said, “Then Tragedy is dead on one side.” Also when seeing -Carlin Bertinazzi in a piece where, having been beaten by his -master, he threatened him with one hand while rubbing his -wounded loins with the other, Garrick was so delighted with -the truthfulness of the pantomime that he cried, “See, the back -of Carlin has its expression and physiognomy.” Old Quin had -a strong aversion to Mrs. Bellamy, and a conviction that she -would fail. But at the close of the first act, as she came off the -stage, he caught her in his arms, exclaiming, generously, “Thou -art a divine creature, and the true spirit is in thee.” Within a -year of the expulsion of Mrs. Siddons from Drury Lane as an -<span class='pageno' id='Page_545'>545</span>uninteresting performer, Henderson declared that “she was an -actress who had never had an equal and would never have a -superior.” She remembered this with deep gratitude to her -dying day; and when his death had left his family poor she -played Belvidera in Covent Garden for their benefit.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Forrest was abundantly capable of this same liberal spirit. No -admirer of Henry Placide in his best day could be more enthusiastic -in his eulogy than Forrest was, declaring that in his line -he had no living equal. He said the same also of the Jesse -Rural and two or three other parts of William R. Blake. He -had likewise a profound admiration for the romantic and electrifying -Othello of Gustavus Vasa Brooke. And of the performance -of Cassio in Othello and of Cabrero in the Broker of -Bogota, by William Wheatley, he said, “They were two of the -most perfect pieces of acting I ever saw. One night when he -had performed the part of Cabrero better than he ever had done -it before, producing a sensation intense enough in the applause it -drew to gratify the pride of any player, he said to me, as he left -the stage, ‘Never again will I play that part.’ And, surely -enough, he never did. The reason why was a mystery I have -not been able to this day to fathom.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>Forrest once said, “An intelligent, sympathetic actor, who -resists the social temptations of his profession and keeps dignity -of character and high purpose, ought to be the most charming -of companions. In a great many cases this is the fact. With -their insight into character, their power of interpreting even the -most unpurposed signals, the secrets of society are more open -to them than to others, and they have more adventures. This -naturally makes them interesting.” He gave two examples in -illustration. When he was playing in England, he and James -Sheridan Knowles became warm friends. Knowles had often -seen Mrs. Siddons act. Forrest asked him what was the mysterious -effect she produced in her celebrated sleep-walking scene -of Lady Macbeth. He said, “I have read all the high-flown descriptions -of the critics, and they fall short. I want you to tell -me in plain blunt phrase just what impression she produced on -you.” Knowles replied, with a sort of shudder, as if the mere -remembrance terrified him still, “Well, sir, I smelt blood! I -swear that I smelt blood!” Forrest added that the whole life of -<span class='pageno' id='Page_546'>546</span>that amazing actress by Campbell was not worth so much to him -as this one Hogarthean stroke by Knowles.</p> - -<p class='c007'>The other anecdote related to an incident which happened -to John McCullough, who for several years had been playing -second parts to Forrest. He was staying in Washington. Two -or three nights before the assassination of President Lincoln he -was awakened by tears falling on his face from the eyes of some -one standing over him. Looking up, he saw Wilkes Booth, and -exclaimed, “Why, what is the matter?” “My God,” replied -the unhappy man, already burdened with his monstrous crime, -and speaking in a tone of long-drawn melancholy indescribably -pathetic, “My God, how peacefully you were sleeping! <em>I</em> cannot -sleep.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>Another element of strong interest in actors, giving them an -imaginative attraction, is the obvious but profound symbolism -of their art, the analogies of scenic life and human life. Harley, -while playing Bottom in Midsummer Night’s Dream, was stricken -with apoplexy. Carried home, the last words he ever spoke were -the words in his part, “I feel an exposition to sleep coming over -me.” Immediately it was so, and he slept forever. The aged -Macklin attended the funeral of Barry. Looking into the grave, -he murmured, “Poor Spranger!” One would have led him away, -but the old man said, mournfully, “Sir, I am at my rehearsal; do -not disturb my reverie.” The elements of the art of acting are the -applied elements of the science of human nature. They are the -same on the stage as in life, save that there they are systematized -and pronounced, set in relief, and consequently excite a more vivid -interest. How rich it would have been to share in the fellowship -of Lekain and Garrick when in the Champs Elysées they practised -the representation of drunkenness! “How is that?” said Lekain. -“Very well,” replied Garrick. “You are all drunk except your -left leg.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>Such works as Colley Cibber’s Apology, the several lives of -Garrick, Boaden’s Life of Kemble, Macklin’s Memoirs, Campbell’s -Life of Mrs. Siddons, Galt’s Lives of the Players, Proctor’s Life -of Kean, Collier’s Annals of the Stage, Doran’s His Majesty’s -Servants, were familiar to Forrest. His memory was well stored -with their contents. He had reflected carefully and much on the -general topics of which they treat, and he conversed on them -<span class='pageno' id='Page_547'>547</span>with eloquence and with wisdom. He cherished an eager interest -in everything pertaining to his profession viewed in its most comprehensive -aspect. His intelligent and profound enthusiasm for -the theatre gave him an entire faith that the drama is destined to -flourish as long as human nature shall be embodied in men. Its -seeming eclipse by cheaper and coarser attractions he held to -be but temporary. Its perversion and degradation in meaningless -spectacles and prurient dances will pass by, and its restoration -to its own high mission, the exhibition of the grandest elements -of the soul in the noblest situations, the teaching of the most -beautiful and sublime lessons by direct exemplification in breathing -life, will give it, ere many generations pass, a glory and a popular -charm it has never yet known. Then we may expect to see a -great purification and enrichment of the subject-matter presented -on the stage. The mere animal affections will cease to have an -exaggerated and morbid attention paid to them. Justice will be -done to the generic moral sentiments of man, and to his noblest -historic and ideal types. The passions of love of truth and -spiritual aspiration will dilate in treatment, those of individual -jealousy and social ambition dwindle. Instructive and inspiring -plays will be constructed out of the veracious materials furnished -by characters and careers like those of Columbus and Galileo.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Certainly the realization of such a vision is a great desideratum; -because the theatre is a sort of universal Church of -Humanity, where good and evil are shown in their true colors -without formalism or cant. Its influence—unlike that of sectarian -enclosures—is to draw all its attendants together in common -sympathies towards the good and fair, and in common antipathies -for the foul and cruel. Men are more open and generous in -their pleasures than in their pains. Places of public amusement -are the first to vibrate to the notes of public joy or grief, defeat -or triumph. Telegrams announcing victories or calamities are -read from the stage. Theatres are sure to be decked on great -festival or pageant days, the popular pulse beating strongest -there.</p> - -<p class='c007'>The taste for dramatic representations is native and ineradicable -in man. It is a fixed passion with man to love to see the passions -of men exhibited in plot and action, and to watch the mutual -workings of characters on one another through their different -<span class='pageno' id='Page_548'>548</span>manners of behavior. Just now, it is true, the great, complex, -terribly exciting and exacting drama of real life, revealed to us -in the newspaper and the novel and the telegraph, so fastens and -drains our sympathies that we lack the ideal freedom and restful -leisure to enjoy the stage drama so eagerly as it was enjoyed at -an earlier and simpler time. But this will not always be so;—</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“The world will grow a less distracting scene,</div> - <div class='line'>And life, less busy, wear a gentler mien.”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c007'>Forrest looked for a revival, at no remote date, in America and -Europe, of the ancient Greek pride and joy in athletic exercises -and the development of nude strength and beauty. The reflex -influence from such a revival, he imagined, would flood the stage -with a new lustre, making it a resplendent and exalted centre for -the inspiring exposure to the public of the perfected models of -every form of human excellence. Then the gymnasium, the -circus, the race-course, dance, music, song, and the intellectual -emulations of the academy may all be grouped around the -theatre and find their dazzling climax in the scenic drama, made -religious once more as it was in the palmiest day of Greece.</p> - -<div class='chapter'> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_549'>549</span> - <h2 class='c005'>CHAPTER XVII.<br /> <span class='large'>OUTER AND INNER LIFE OF THE MAN.</span></h2> -</div> - -<p class='c006'>The external life of Forrest from the close of his first engagement -after the divorce trial to the year 1869—the period stretching -from his forty-sixth to his sixty-third year—was largely but -the continual repetition of his old triumphs, varied now and then -with some fresh professional glory or new personal adventure. -To recite the details of his travels and theatrical experiences -would be to make a monotonous record of popular successes -without any important significance or general interest. A brief -sketch of the leading incidents of this period is all that the -reader will care to have.</p> - -<p class='c007'>The immense publicity and circulation given to the sensational -reports of the long-drawn legal warfare between Forrest and his -wife in their suits against each other added to his great fame a -still greater notoriety, which enhanced public curiosity and drew -to the theatre greater crowds than ever whenever he played. -From Portland and Boston to Cincinnati and St. Louis, from -Buffalo and Detroit to Charleston and New Orleans, the announcement -of his name invariably brought out an overwhelming -throng. The first sight of his person on the stage was the signal -for wild applause. At the close of the performance he was often -called before the curtain and constrained to address the assembly, -and then on retiring to his hotel was not unfrequently followed -by band and orchestra and complimented with a serenade.</p> - -<p class='c007'>The ranks of his enemies, reinforced with the malevolent critics -or Bohemians whom he would not propitiate by any favor, social -or pecuniary, continued to fling at him and annoy him in every -way they could. But while their pestiferous buzzing and stinging -made him sore and angry, it did not make him unhappy. His -enormous professional success and broad personal following prevented -<span class='pageno' id='Page_550'>550</span>that. One example of his remarkable public triumphs -may stand to represent scores. It was the last night of a long -and most brilliant engagement in New York. The “Forrest -Light Guard,” in full uniform, occupied the front seats of the -parquet. No sooner had the curtain fallen on the performance -of Coriolanus than the air grew wild with the prolonged shouts -of “Forrest! Forrest!” At last he came forth, and the auditory, -rising en masse, greeted him with stormy plaudits. “Speech! -speech!” they cried. He responded thus:</p> - -<p class='c010'>“I need not tell you, ladies and gentlemen, that I am gratified -to see this large assemblage before me; and I have an additional -gratification when I remember that among my troops of friends I -have now a military troop who have done me the honor to grace -my name by associating it with their soldier-like corps. This -night, ladies and gentlemen, ends my labors <em>inside</em> of the theatre -for the season. I call them labors, for no one who has not experienced -the toil of acting such parts as I have been called upon -nightly to present to you, can have any idea of the labor, both -mental and physical, required in the performance of the task. -They who suppose the actor’s life to be one of comparative ease -mistake the fact egregiously. My experience has shown me that -it is one of unremitting toil. In no other profession in the world -is high eminence so difficult to reach as in ours. This proposition -becomes evident when you remember how many of rare talents -and accomplishments essay to mount the histrionic ladder, and -how very few approach its topmost round. My earliest ambition -was distinction upon the stage; and while yet a mere child I -shaped my course to reach the wished-for goal. I soon became -aware that distinction in any vocation was only to be won by -hard work and by an unfailing self-reliance. And I resolved</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line in4'>‘with such jewels as the exploring mind</div> - <div class='line'>Brings from the caves of knowledge, to buy my ransom</div> - <div class='line'>From those twin jailers of the daring heart,</div> - <div class='line'>Low birth and iron fortune.’</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c013'>I resolved to educate myself; not that education only which -belongs to the schools, and which is often comprised in a knowledge -of mere words, but that other education of the world which -makes words things. I resolved to educate myself as Garrick, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_551'>551</span>and Kemble, and Cooke, and, last and greatest of all, Edmund -Kean, had done. As he had done before me, I educated myself. -The self-same volume from which the Bard of Avon drew his -power of mastery lay open before me also,—the infallible volume -of Nature. And in the pages of that great book, as in the pages -of its epitome, the works of Shakspeare, I have conned the lessons -of my glorious art. The philosopher-poet had taught me -that</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>‘The proper study of mankind is man;’</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c013'>and, in pursuit of this study, I sojourned in Europe, in Asia, in -Africa, as well as in the length and in the breadth of our own -proud Republic. To catch the living lineaments of passion, I -mixed with the prince and with the potentate, with the peasant -and with the proletary, with the serf and with the savage. All -the glorious works of Art belonging to the world, in painting and -in sculpture, in architecture and in letters, I endeavored to make -subservient to the studies of my calling. How successful I have -been I leave to the verdict of my fellow-countrymen,—my fellow-countrymen, -who, for a quarter of a century, have never denied -to me their suffrages. Ladies and gentlemen, I have spoken thus -much not to indulge in any feeling of pride, nor to gratify any -sentiment of egotism, but I have done so in the hope that the -words which I have uttered here to-night may be the means, perhaps, -of inspiring in the bosom of some young enthusiast who -may hereafter aspire to the stage a feeling of confidence. Some -poor and friendless boy, perchance, imbued with genius, and -with those refined sensibilities which are inseparably connected -with genius, may be encouraged not to falter in his path for -the paltry obstacles flung across it by envy, hatred, malice, and -all uncharitableness. Let him rather, with a vigorous heart, -buckle on the armor of patient industry, with his own discretion -for his tutor, and then, with an unfaltering step, despising the -malice of his foes,</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line in34'>‘climb</div> - <div class='line'>The steep where Fame’s proud temple shines afar.’”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c007'>A shower of bravos broke out, bouquets were thrown upon the -stage, and the actor slowly withdrew, crowned with the applauses -of the people like a victorious Roman in the Capitol.</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_552'>552</span>As the years passed on, Forrest came to take an ever keener -interest in accumulating wealth. A good deal of his time and -thought was devoted to the nursing of his earnings. He showed -great shrewdness in his investments, which, with scarcely a single -exception, turned out profitably. He was prudent and thrifty in -his ways, but not parsimonious or mean. He lived in a handsome, -generous style, without ostentation or extravagance, keeping -plenty of servants, horses, and carriages, and a table generous -in wholesome fare but sparing of luxuries. This love of money, -and pleasure in amassing it, though it became a passion, as, with -his bitter early experience of poverty and constant lessons of -the evils of improvidence, it was natural that it should, did not -become a vice or a disease; for it never prevented his full and -ready response to every claim on his conscience or on his sympathy. -And within this limit the love of accumulation is more -to be praised than blamed. In final refutation of the gross injustice -which so often during his life charged upon him the vice -of a grasping penuriousness, a few specimens of his deeds of -public spirit and benevolence—not a list, but a few specimens—may -fitly be recorded here. To the fund in aid of the Democratic -campaign which resulted in the election of Buchanan as President -he sent his check for one thousand dollars. He gave the -like sum to the first great meeting in Philadelphia at the outbreak -of the war for the defence of the Union. In 1867, when the -South was in such distress from the effects of the war, he gave -five hundred dollars to the treasurer of a fund in their behalf, -saying, “God only knows the whole suffering of our Southern -brethren. Let us do all we can to relieve them, not stopping to -question what is <em>constitutional</em>; for charity itself fulfils the law.” -He subscribed five hundred dollars towards the relief of the sufferers -by the great Chicago fire in 1871. The ship “Edwin Forrest” -being in distress on the coast, the towboat “Ajax,” from -New York, went to her assistance, having on board three pilots. -The “Ajax” was never heard of afterwards. To the widows of -the three lost pilots Forrest, unsolicited, sent one thousand dollars -each. On two separate occasions he is known to have sent -contributions of five hundred dollars to the Masonic Charity -Fund of the New York Grand Lodge. These acts, which were -not exceptional, but in keeping with his nature and habit, are not -<span class='pageno' id='Page_553'>553</span>the acts of an unclean slave of avarice. The jealousy too often -felt towards the rich too often incites groundless fault-finding.</p> - -<p class='c007'>It is true that an absorbing passion for truth, for beauty, for -humanity, for perfection, is more glorious and commanding than -even the most honorable chase of riches. But it is likewise true -that reckless idlers and spendthrifts are a greater curse to society, -breed worse evils, than can be attributed to misers. Self-indulgence, -dependence, distress, contempt, the worst temptations, and -untimely death, follow the steps of thriftlessness. Self-denial, -foresight, industry, manifold power of usefulness, wait on a well-regulated -purpose to secure pecuniary independence. Money -represents the means of life,—the command of the best outer -conditions of life,—food, shelter, education, culture in every -direction. In itself it is a good, and the fostering of the virtues -adapted to win it is beneficial alike to the individual and the community, -despite the enormous evils associated with the excessive -or unprincipled pursuit of it. Sharp and exacting as he was, the -absolute honesty and honor of Forrest in all pecuniary dealings -were so high above suspicion that they were never questioned. -Although often wrongfully accused of a miserly and sordid -temper, he never was accused of falsehood or trickery. The large -fortune he obtained was honorably earned, liberally used, and -at last nobly bestowed. He had a good right to the deep, vivid -satisfaction and sense of power which it yielded him. His fortune -was to him a huge supplementary background of support, a -wide border of the means of life surrounding and sustaining his -immediate life.</p> - -<p class='c007'>An extract from a letter written by him to his biographer may -fitly be cited to complete what has been said above. Under date -of August 28th, 1870, he wrote. “The desire I had for wealth was -first fostered only that I might be abler to contribute to the comforts -of those whose veins bore blood like mine, and to smooth -the pathway to the grave of the gentlest, the truest, the most unselfish -friend I ever knew—my mother!—and so, from this holy -source, to widen the boundaries of all good and charitable deeds,—to -relieve the wants of friends less fortunate than myself, and -to succor the distressed wherever found. In early life, from -necessity, I learned to depend solely upon myself for my own -sustenance. This self-reliance soon gave me power in a small -<span class='pageno' id='Page_554'>554</span>way to relieve the wants of others, and this I never failed to do -even to the extent of my ability. So far did I carry this feeling -for the distress of others that I have frequently been forced to -ask an advance of salary from the theatre to pay the current expenses -of my own frugal living. And this I have done when in -the receipt of eight thousand dollars a year. I have been very, -very poor; but in my whole life I have never from need borrowed -more than two hundred dollars in all. I have lent two thousand -times that sum, only an infinitesimal part of which was ever returned.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>In 1851 Forrest moved from New York to Philadelphia, and -took his three sisters to live with him. But he paid frequent -visits to his romantic castle on the Hudson. During one of these -visits an incident occurred which presents him to the imagination -in real life in a light as picturesque and sensational as many of -those scenes of fiction on the stage in which he had so often -thrilled the multitude who beheld him. The steamboat “Henry -Clay,” plying on the Hudson between New York and Albany, -when opposite Fonthill was suddenly wrapt in flames by an explosion -of its boiler, and sunk with a crowd of shrieking passengers. -The New York “Mirror” of the next day said, “We -are informed that while the unfortunate wretches were struggling, -Edwin Forrest, who was then at his castle, seeing their condition, -rushed down to the river, jumped in, and succeeded in rescuing -many from a watery grave, as well as in recovering the bodies of -several who were drowned.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>In 1856 Forrest sold Fonthill to the Catholic Sisterhood of -Mount Saint Vincent, for one hundred thousand dollars. For -the devout and beneficent lives of the members of this order he -had a profound reverence; and immediately on completing the -sale he made to the Mother Superior a present of the sum of -five thousand dollars. And so ended all the dreams of domestic -peace and bliss his fancy had woven on that enchanted spot, still -to be associated with memories of his career and echoes of his -name as long as its gray towers shall peer above the trees and be -descried from afar by the sailers on the lordly river below.</p> - -<p class='c007'>In 1857 Forrest received an unparalleled compliment from the -State of California. The Governor, Lieutenant-Governor, Secretary, -Treasurer, and Comptroller of the State, twenty-seven members -<span class='pageno' id='Page_555'>555</span>of the Senate, with the Secretary and Sergeant-at-Arms, the -Speaker and forty-eight members of the House of Representatives, -sent him a letter of invitation to make a professional visit -to the Golden Coast. It read as follows:</p> - -<div class='lg-container-r c011'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“<span class='sc'>State Capitol, Sacramento</span>, April 20th, 1857.</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c010'>“<span class='sc'>Respected Sir</span>,—The undersigned, State officers and members -of the Senate and Assembly, a small portion of your many -admirers on the coast of the Pacific, avail themselves of this, the -only mode under their control, of signifying to you the very high -estimation, as a gentleman and an actor, in which you are generally -and universally held by all who have a taste for the legitimate -drama. Genuine taste and rigid criticism have united with -the verdict of impartial history to pronounce you the head and -leader of the noble profession to which you have consecrated -abilities that would in any sphere of life render you eminent. We -believe that so long as Shakspeare is remembered, and his words -revered, your name, too, will be remembered with pride by all -who glory in the triumphs of our Saxon literature.</p> - -<p class='c010'>“In conclusion, permit us to express the hope that your existing -engagements will so far coincide with our wishes as to -permit us, at an early day, to welcome you to the shores of the -Pacific, assuring you of a warm and sincere reception, so far as -our efforts can accomplish the same, and we feel that we but express -the feelings of every good citizen of the State.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>To this he replied:</p> - -<div class='lg-container-r c011'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“<span class='sc'>Philadelphia</span>, July 10th, 1857.</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c010'>“<span class='sc'>Gentlemen</span>,—With a grateful pleasure I acknowledge your -communication of April 20th, delivered to me a short time since -by the hands of Mr. Maguire.</p> - -<p class='c010'>“Your flattering invitation, so generously bestowed and so -gracefully expressed, to enter the Golden Gate and visit your -beautiful land, is one of the highest compliments I have ever received. -It is an honor, I venture to say, that was never before -conferred on one of my profession.</p> - -<p class='c010'>“It comes not from the lovers of the drama or men of letters -merely, but from the Executive, the Representatives, and other -high officials of a great State of the American Confederacy; and -<span class='pageno' id='Page_556'>556</span>I shall ever regard it as one of the proudest compliments in all -my professional career.</p> - -<p class='c010'>“Believe me, I deeply feel this mark of your kindness, not as -mere incense to professional or personal vanity, but as a proud -tribute to that art which I have loved so well and have followed -so long:</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“‘The youngest of the Sister Arts,</div> - <div class='line'>Where all their beauty blends.’</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c010'>“This art, permit me to add, from my youth I have sought -personally to elevate, and professionally to improve, more from -the truths in nature’s infallible volume than from the pedantic -words of the schools,—a volume open to all, and which needs -neither Greek nor Latin lore to be understood.</p> - -<p class='c010'>“And now, gentlemen, although I greatly regret that it is not -in my power to accept your invitation, I sincerely trust there will -be a time for such a word, when we may yet meet together under -the roof of one of those proud temples consecrated to the drama -by the taste and the munificence of your fellow-citizens.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>During the crisis of his domestic unhappiness—1849–1852—Forrest -had withdrawn from the stage for about two years. In -1856, stricken down with a severe attack of gout and inflammatory -rheumatism, wearied also of his long round of professional -labors, he retired into private life for a period of nearly five years. -He now devoted his time to the care of his rapidly increasing -wealth, and to the cultivation of his mind by reading, studying -works of art, and conversing with a few chosen friends, leading, -on the whole, a still and secluded life. At this time an enthusiastic -religious revival was going on in the city, and it was reported -that the tragedian had been made a convert. An old and -dear friend, the Rev. E. L. Magoon, wrote to him a very cordial -letter expressing the hope that this report was well founded. -Here is the reply of Forrest:</p> - -<div class='lg-container-r c011'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“<span class='sc'>Philadelphia</span>, March 27, 1858.</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c010'>“I have much pleasure in the receipt of yours of the 23d -instant.</p> - -<p class='c010'>“While I thank you and Mrs. Magoon with all my heart for -the kind hope you have expressed that the recent rumor with -regard to my highest welfare may be true, I am constrained to -<span class='pageno' id='Page_557'>557</span>say the rumor is in this, as in most matters which pertain to me, -most pitifully in error: there is not one word of truth in it.</p> - -<p class='c010'>“But in answer to your questions, my good friend,—for I know -you are animated only by a sincere regard for my spiritual as -well as for my temporal welfare,—I am happy to assure you that -the painful attack of inflammatory rheumatism with which for the -last three months I have combated is now quite overcome, and I -think I may safely say that with the return of more genial weather -I shall be restored once more to a sound and pristine health.</p> - -<p class='c010'>“Then, for the state of my mind. I do not know the time, -since when a boy I blew sportive bladders in the beamy sun, that -it was ever so tranquil and serene as in the present hour. Having -profited by the leisure given me by my lengthened illness seriously -to review the past and carefully to consider the future, both for -time and for eternity, I have with a chastened spirit beheld with -many regrets that there was much in the past that might have -been improved; more, perhaps, in the acts of omission than in -acts of commission, for I feel sustained that my whole conduct -has been actuated solely by an honest desire to adhere strictly to -the rule of right; that the past has been characterized, as I trust -the future will be, to love my friends, to hate my enemies,—for I -cannot be a hypocrite,—and to live in accordance with the Divine -precept: ‘As ye would that men should do to you, do ye also -to them likewise.’</p> - -<p class='c010'>“And now for that ‘higher welfare’ of which you speak, I can -only say that, believing, as I sincerely do, in the justice, the -mercy, the wisdom, and the love of Him who knoweth the secrets -of our hearts, I hope I may with</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>‘An unfaltering trust approach my grave,</div> - <div class='line'>Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch</div> - <div class='line'>About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams.’</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c010'>“Hoping you are in the enjoyment of good health, and that -you still prosper in the ‘good work,’ which to you I know is a -labor of love,</p> - -<div class='lg-container-r c011'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“I am your friend,</div> - <div class='line in6'>“<span class='sc'>Edwin Forrest</span>.”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c007'>At length, rested in mind and body, chastened in taste, sobered -and polished in style, but with no abatement of fire or energy, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_558'>558</span>sought by the public, solicited by friends, urged by managers, -and impelled by his own feelings, he broke from his long repose, -and reappeared in New York under circumstances as flattering as -any that had ever crowned his ambition. Niblo’s Garden was -packed to its remotest corners with an auditory whose upturned -expanse of eager faces lighted with smiles and burst into cheers -as he slowly advanced and received a welcome whose earnestness -and unity might well have thrilled him with pride and joy. -The following lines, strong and eloquent as their theme, written -for the occasion by William Ross Wallace, contain perhaps the -most truthful and characteristic tribute ever paid to his genius, -drawing the real contour and breathing the express spirit of the -man and the player.</p> - -<div class='nf-center-c0'> -<div class='nf-center c002'> - <div>EDWIN FORREST.</div> - </div> -</div> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Welcome to his look of grandeur, welcome to his stately mien,</div> - <div class='line'>Always shedding native glory o’er the wondrous mimic scene,</div> - <div class='line'>Always like a mighty mirror glassing Vice or Virtue’s star,</div> - <div class='line'>Giving Time his very pressure, showing Nations as they are!</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Once again old Rome—the awful—rears her red imperial crest,</div> - <div class='line'>And <em>Virginius</em> speaks her downfall in a father’s tortured breast;</div> - <div class='line'>Once again far Albion’s genius from sweet Avon leans to view,</div> - <div class='line'>As he was, her thoughtful <em>Hamlet</em>, and the very <em>Lear</em> she drew.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Nor alone does Europe glory in the Actor’s perfect art,—</div> - <div class='line'>From Columbia’s leafy mountains see the native hero start!</div> - <div class='line'>Not in depths of mere romances can you <em>Nature’s</em> Indian find;</div> - <div class='line'>See him there, as God hath made him, in the <em>Metamora</em> shrined.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Where hast thou, O noble Artist,—crowned by Fame’s immortal flower,—</div> - <div class='line'>Grasped the lightnings of thy genius? caught the magic of thy power?</div> - <div class='line'>Not, I know, in foreign regions,—for thou art too true and bold:</div> - <div class='line'>’Tis the <em>New</em> alone gives daring thus to paint the shapes of <em>Old</em>:</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>From the deep full wind that sweepeth through thine own wild native woods,</div> - <div class='line'>From the organ-like grand cadence heard in autumn’s solemn floods,</div> - <div class='line'>Thou hast tuned the voice that thrills us with its modulated roll,</div> - <div class='line'>Echoing through the deepest caverns of the hearer’s startled soul:</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>From the tender blossoms blooming on our haughty torrents’ side—</div> - <div class='line'>Like some angel sent by Pity, preaching gentleness to Pride—</div> - <div class='line'>Thou didst learn such tender bearing, hushing every listener’s breath,</div> - <div class='line'>When in thee poor <em>Lear</em>, the crownless, totters gently down to death:</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_559'>559</span>From the boundless lakes and rivers, from our broad continuous climes,</div> - <div class='line'>Over which the bell of Freedom sounds her everlasting chimes,</div> - <div class='line'>Thou didst catch that breadth of manner; and to wreath the glorious whole,</div> - <div class='line'>Sacred flames are ever leaping from thy democratic soul.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Welcome then that look of grandeur, welcome then that stately mien,</div> - <div class='line'>Always shedding native glory o’er the wondrous mimic scene,</div> - <div class='line'>Always like a mighty mirror glassing Vice or Virtue’s star,</div> - <div class='line'>Giving Time his very pressure, showing Nations as they are!</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c007'>After a long absence from Albany, Forrest fulfilled an engagement -there in 1864. It carried his mind back to his early -struggles in the same place, though few of the kind friends who -had then cheered him now remained. There was no vacant spot, -however, any more than there was any loss of fervor. On the -last night the audience—so crowded that “they seemed actually -piled on one another in the lobbies”—called him before the -curtain and asked for a speech. He said,—</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I am very glad, ladies and gentlemen, that an opportunity -is thus afforded me to say a few words, to thank you for your -generous welcome here, and also for the kind applause you have -lavished on my performances. In Albany I seem to live a twofold -existence,—I live one in the past, and I live one in the present,—and -both alike are filled with the most agreeable memories. -Here, within these very walls, even in my boyish days, I was -cheered on to those inspiring toils</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>‘Which make man master men.’</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c009'>Here, within these walls, while yet in my boyish days, one of the -proudest honors of my professional life was achieved; for I here -essayed the part of Iago to the Othello of the greatest actor that -‘ever lived in the tide of times,’—Edmund Kean. To me there -is music in the very name,—Edmund Kean, a name blended indissolubly -with the genius of Shakspeare; Edmund Kean, who -did more by his acting to illustrate the Bard of all time than all -the commentators from Johnson, Warburton, and Steevens down -to the critics of the present day. It was said of Edmund Kean -by a distinguished English poet, that ‘he read Shakspeare by -flashes of lightning.’ It is true; but those flashes of lightning -were the coruscations of his own divine mind, which was in -affinity with the mind of Shakspeare. Now I must beg leave to -<span class='pageno' id='Page_560'>560</span>express my heartfelt thanks for this demonstration of your favor, -hoping at no distant day to meet you again.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>Thus it is clear that, whatever the sufferings of Forrest may -have been, however many trials and pangs his growing experience -of the world may have brought him, he had great enjoyments -still. Besides the proud delight of his professional successes and -the solid satisfaction of his swelling property, he had an even -more keen and substantial complacency of pleasure in his own -physical health and strength. His enormous vital and muscular -power supported a superb personal consciousness of joy and -contentment. He trod the earth like an indigenous monarch, -afraid of nothing. The dynamic charge, or rather surcharge, of -his frame was often so profuse that it would break out in wild -feats of power to relieve the aching muscles. For instance, one -night when acting in the old Tremont Theatre in Boston, under -such an exhilarating impulse he struck his sword against a -wooden column at the side of the stage as he was passing out, -and cut into it to the depth of more than three inches. An -Englishman who sat near jumped from his seat in terror, and -tremblingly said, as he hastened out, “He is a damned brute. -He is going to cut the theatre down!” This full vigor of the -organic nature, this vivid relishing edge of unsatiated senses, -yielded a constant feeling of actual or potential happiness, and -clothed him with an air of native pride which was both attractive -and authoritative. He had paid the price for this great prize of -an indomitable physique in systematic exercises and temperance. -He wore it most proudly and kept it intact until he was fifty-nine -years old. The lesson of his experience and example in physical -culture is well worth heeding.</p> - -<p class='c007'>The fashion of society in regard to the education and care of -the body has passed through three phases. The most extraordinary -phase, in the glorious results it secured, was the worship of -bodily perfection among the Greeks, a reflex revival of which was -shown by the nobles and knights at the period of the Renaissance. -The Greek gymnastic of the age of Pericles, as described by -Plato so often and with such enthusiasm,—a gymnastic in which -music, instead of being an end in itself, a sensuous luxury of the -soul, was made a guide and adjunct to bodily training, giving -rhythm to every motion, or that grace and economy of force which -<span class='pageno' id='Page_561'>561</span>so much enhances both beauty and power,—lifted men higher in -unity of strength and charm of health and harmony of faculties -than has anywhere else been known. The Grecian games were -made an ennobling and joyous religious service and festival. The -eager, emulous, patriotic, and artistic appreciation of the spectators,—the -wondrous strength, beauty, swiftness, rhythmic motions, -imposing attitudes of the athletes,—the legends of the presence -and contentions of the gods themselves on that very spot in earlier -times,—the setting up of the statues of the victors in the temples -as a worship of the Givers of Strength, Joy, and Glory,—served -to carry the interest to a pitch hardly to be understood by us. -The sculptures by Phidias which immortalize the triumph of -Greek physical culture show a harmony of the circulations, a -compacted unity of the organism, a central poise of equilibrium, -a profundity of consciousness and a fulness of self-control, a perfect -blending of the automatic and the volitional sides of human -nature, which must have exalted the Olympic victors at once to -the extreme of sensibility and to the extreme of repose. It is a -million pities that this ideal should ever have been lost. But in -Rome, under the military drill and unbridled license of the emperors, -it degenerated into a brutal tyranny and sensuality, the -gigantic superiority of potency it generated being perverted to -the two uses of indulging self and oppressing others.</p> - -<p class='c007'>The next swing of the historic pendulum flung men, by the -reaction of spirituality, over to the fatal opposite,—the ecclesiastic -contempt and neglect of the body. The Christian ideal, or at -least the Church ideal, in its scornful revulsion from gladiators -and voluptuaries, glorified the soul at the expense of the loathed -and mortified flesh. At the base of this cultus was the ascetic -superstition that matter is evil, that the capacity for pleasure is -an infernal snare, and that the only way to heaven is through -material maceration and renunciation. Sound philosophy and -religion teach, on the contrary, that the body is the temple of -God, to be developed, cleansed, and adorned to the highest -degree possible for His habitation.</p> - -<p class='c007'>The third phase in the history of bodily training is that neutral -condition, between the two foregoing extremes, which generally -characterizes the present period,—a state of almost universal indifference, -or a fitful alternation of unregulated attention to it and -<span class='pageno' id='Page_562'>562</span>neglect of it. The pedagogue gives his pupils some crude exercises -to keep them from utterly losing their health and breaking -down on his hands under the barbaric pressure of mental forcing; -the drill-sergeant disciplines his recruits to go through their technical -evolutions; the dancing-master trains the aspirants for the -mysteries of the ballet; and the various other classes of public -performers who get their living by playing on the curiosity, taste, -or passion of the public, have their specialities of bodily education -for their particular work. But a perfected system of æsthetic -gymnastics, based on all that is known of the laws of anatomy, -physiology, and hygiene,—a system of exercises regulated by the -exactest rhythm and fitted to liberate every articulation, to develop -every muscle, and to harmonize and exalt every nerve,—such a -system applied from childhood to maturity for the purpose not -of making professional exhibitors of themselves, but of perfecting -men and women for the completest fulfilment and fruition of -life itself, does not yet exist. It is the great educational desideratum -of the age. Co-ordinating all our bodily organs and -spiritual faculties, unifying the outward organism and the inward -consciousness, it would remove disease, crime, and untimely -death, open to men and women the highest conditions of inspiration, -and raise them towards the estate of gods and goddesses. -Avoiding equally the classic deification of the body and the -mediæval excommunication of it, emerging from the general -indifference and inattention to it which belong to the modern -absorption in mental work and social ambition, the next phase in -the progress of physical education should be the awakening on -the part of the whole people of a thorough appreciation of its -just importance, and the assigning to it of its proportionate place -in their practical discipline. This is a work worthy to be done -now in America. As democratic Athens gave the world the first -splendid gymnastic training with its transcendent models of manhood, -so let democratic America, improving on the old example -with all the new treasures of science and sympathy, make application -to its citizens of a system of motions for the simultaneous -education of bodies and souls to the full possession of their personal -sovereignty, making them all kings and queens of themselves, -because strong and beautiful and free and happy in every -limb and in every faculty!</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_563'>563</span>There is a vulgar prejudice among many of the most refined -and religious people against the training of the body to its highest -condition, as if that necessitated an animality fatal to the -richest action of mind, heart, and soul. The fop whose delicacy -is so exquisite that the least shock of vigorous emotion makes -him turn pale and sicken, fancies the superb athlete a vulgar creature -whose tissues are as coarse as wire netting and the globules -of his blood as big as peas. But in reality the presence of -fidgeting nerves in place of reposeful muscles gives feebler reactions, -not finer ones, a more irritable consciousness, not a richer -one. Were this squeamish prejudice well founded it would make -God seem a bungler in his work, essential discord inhering in its -different parts. It is not so. The harmonious development of -all portions of our being will raise the whole higher than any -fragment can be lifted alone. The two finest and loftiest and -richest flowers of Greek genius, Plato and Sophocles, were both -crowned victors in the Olympic games. But this strong, lazy -prejudice has widely fulfilled itself in fact by limiting the greatest -triumphs of physical culture to the more debased and profane -types,—to professional dancers and pugilists. And even here it -is to be affirmed that, on this low range of brawn and pluck and -skill, physical power and prowess are better than physical weakness -and cowardice. It is better, if men are on that level, to -surpass and be admired there than to fail and be despised there. -But since one God is the Creator of flesh and spirit, both of which -when obedient are recipients of his influx and held in tune by all -his laws, the best material states are not hostile, but most favorable, -to the best spiritual fulfilments. The life of the mind will -lift out of, not mire in, the life of the body. And hitherto unknown -revelations of inspired power, delight, and longevity wait -on that future age when the vindication of a divineness for the -body equally sacred with that of the soul shall cause the choicest -persons to be as faithful in physical culture for the perfection of -their experience as prize-fighters are for winning the victory in -the ring. Give us the soul of Channing, purest lover and hero -of God, in the body of Heenan, foremost bruiser and champion -of the world; the soul of Elizabeth Barrett Browning, tender -poetess of humanity, in the body of Fanny Elssler, incomparable -queen of the stage;—and what marvels of intuitive perception, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_564'>564</span>creative genius, irresistible authority, and redemptive conquest -shall we not behold!</p> - -<p class='c007'>Such is one of the prophecies drawn from the supremest examples -of combined mental and physical culture in the dramatic -profession. Forrest fell short of any such mark. His gymnastic -was coarse and heavy, based on bone and muscle rather than -brain and nerve. The sense of musical rhythm was not quick and -fine in him. His blood was too densely charged with amorous -heat, and his tissues too much clogged with his weight of over -two hundred pounds, for the most ethereal delicacies of spirituality -and the inspired imagination. But within his limitations he was -a marked type of immense original and cultivated power. And -his sedulous fidelity in taking care of his bodily strength and -health is worthy of general imitation. He practised athletics -daily, posturing with dumb-bells or Indian clubs, taking walks -and drives. He was extremely attentive to ventilation, saying, -“The first condition of health is to breathe pure air plentifully.” -He ever sought the sunshine, worshipping the smile of the divine -luminary with the ardor of a true Parsee. “The weather has -been pernicious,” he says in one of his letters. “Oh for a day -of pure sunshine! What a true worshipper of the Sun I have -always been! And how he has rewarded me, in the light of his -omnipotent and kindly eye, with health and joy and sweet content! -How reasonable and how sublime was the worship of -Zoroaster! I had rather be a beggar in a sunny climate than a -Crœsus in a cloudy one.” He was temperate in food and drink, -shunning for the most part rich luxuries, complex and highly-seasoned -dishes, falling to with the greatest relish on the simplest and -wholesomest things, especially oatmeal, cracked wheat, corn-meal -mush, brown bread, Scotch bannocks, cream, buttermilk. When -fatigued, he turned from artificial stimulants and sought recovery -in rest and sleep. When hard-worked, he never omitted going -regularly to bed in the daytime to supplement the insufficient -repose of the night. He had great facility in catching a nap, and -at such times his deep and full respiration was as regular as -clock-work. But above all the rest he attributed the greatest -importance to keeping his skin in a clean and vigorous condition. -Night and morning he gave himself a thorough washing, followed -by energetic scrubbing with coarse towels and a percussing of his -<span class='pageno' id='Page_565'>565</span>back and spine with elastic balls fastened to the ends of two little -clubs. His skin was always aglow with life, polished like marble, -a soft and sensitive yet firm and flowing mantle of protection and -avenue of influences between his interior world and the exterior -world. This extreme health and vigor of the skin relieved the -tasks put on the other excretory organs, and was most conducive -to vital energy and longevity.</p> - -<p class='c007'>The one fault in the constitution of Forrest was the gouty -diathesis he inherited from his grandfather on the maternal side. -This rheumatic inflammability—a contracted and congested state -of some part of the capillary circulation and the associated sensory -nerves accumulating force to be discharged in hot explosions -of twinging agony—might have been cured by an æsthetic gymnastic -adapted to free and harmonize all the circulations,—the -breath, the blood, the nerve-force. But, unfortunately, his heavy -and violent gymnastic was fitted to produce rigidity rather than -suppleness, and thus to cause breaks in the nervous flow instead -of an equable uniformity. This was the secret of his painful -attacks and of his otherwise unexpectedly early death. There -are three natures in man, the vital nature, the mental nature, the -moral nature. These natures express and reveal themselves in -three kinds or directions of movement. The vital nature betrays -or asserts itself in eccentric movement, movement from a centre; -the mental, in acentric movement, movement towards a centre; -the moral, in concentric movement, movement around a centre. -Outward lines of motion express vital activity, inward lines express -mental activity, curved lines, which are a blending of the -two other, express moral or affectional activity. This physiological -philosophy is the basis of all sound and safe gymnastic. -The essential evil and danger of the heavy and violent gymnastic -of the circus and the ring is that it consists so largely of the outward -and inward lines which express the individual will or vital -energy and mental purpose. Each of these tends exclusively to -strengthen the nature which it exercises. Straight hitting, pushing, -lifting, jumping, in their two directions of exertion, tend to -expand and to contract. That is vital, and this is mental. Both -are expensive in their drain on the volition, but one tends to enlarge -the physical organism, the other to shrink it and to produce -strictures at every weak point. The former gives a heavy, obese -<span class='pageno' id='Page_566'>566</span>development; the latter an irritable, irregular, at once bulgy and -constricted development. The vice of the vital nature dominating -unchecked is gluttony, and its end, idiocy. The vice of the -mental nature is avarice, both corporal and spiritual, and its end, -madness. The vice of the moral nature, when it becomes diseased, -is fanaticism; and its subject becomes, if the vital element -in it controls, an ecstatic devotee; if the mental element controls, -a reckless proselyter. Now, a true system of gymnastic will perfect -all the three natures of man by not allowing the vital or the -mental to domineer or its special motions to preponderate, but -blending them in those rotatory elliptical or spiral movements -which combine the generous expansion of the vital organs and -the selfish concentration of the mental faculties in just proportion -and thereby constitute the language of the moral nature. -Rigid outward movements enlarge the bulk and strengthen sensuality. -Rigid inward movements cramp the organism and break -the unity and liberty of its circulations, leading to every variety -of disease. But flowing musical movements justly blent of the -other two movements, in which rhythm is observed, and the extensor -muscles are used in preponderance over the contractile so -as to neutralize the modern instinctive tendency to use the contractile -more than the extensor,—movements in which the motor -nerves are, for the same reason, used more than the sensory,—will -economize the expenditure of force, soothe the sensibilities, -and secure a balanced and harmonious development of the whole -man in equal strength and grace. Such a system of exercise will -remove every tendency to a monstrous force in one part and a -dwarfed proportion in another. It will secure health and beauty -in a rounded fulness equally removed from shrivelled meagreness -and repulsive corpulence. It will make its practiser far more -than a match for the huge athletes of the coarse school, as the -man whose every limb is a whip is thrice more puissant and -terrible than the man whose every limb is a club. The deepest -secret of the final result of this æsthetic gymnastic is that -it gives one the perfect possession of himself in the perfected -unity of his organism, <em>the connective tissue being so developed by -the practice of a slow and rhythmical extensor action that it serves -as an unbroken bed of solidarity for the whole muscular coating -of the man</em>. Nothing else can be so conducive as this to equilibrium, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_567'>567</span>and consequently to longevity. When the unity of the -connective tissue is broken by strictures at the articulations or -elsewhere, the waves of motion or force ever beating through the -webs of nerves are interrupted, stopped, or reflected by devitalized -wrinkles which they cannot pass. Thence result the innumerable -mischiefs of inflammation in the outer membrane and catarrh in -the inner.</p> - -<p class='c007'>The æsthetic gymnastic, which will serve as a diacatholicon and -panacea for a perverted and sick generation, is one whose measured -and curvilinear movements will not be wasteful of force but conservative -of it, by keeping the molecular vibrations circulating in -the organism in perpetual translations of their power, instead of -shaking them out and losing them through sharp angles and -shocks. This will develop the brain and nerves, the genius and -character, as the old system developed the muscles and the viscera. -It will lead to harmony, virtue, inspiration, and long life, -as the old system led to exaggeration, lust, excess, and early -death. How greatly it is needed one fact shows, namely, the -steady process which has long been going on of lessening beauty -and increasing ugliness in the higher classes of society, lessening -roundness and increasing angularity of facial contour. The -proof of this historic encroachment of anxious, nervous wear and -tear displacing the full grace of curved lines with the sinister -sharpness of straight lines is given in most collections of family -portraits, and may be strikingly seen by glancing from the rosy -and generous faces of Fox and Burke or of Washington and -Hamilton to the pinched and wrinkled visages of Gladstone and -D’Israeli or of Lincoln and Seward.</p> - -<p class='c007'>There is probably only one man now living who is fully competent -to construct this system of æsthetic gymnastic,—James -Steele Mackaye, the heir of the traditions and the developer of -the philosophy of François Delsarte. It was he of whom Forrest, -two years before his own death, said, “He has thrown floods of -light into my mind: in fifteen minutes he has given me a deeper -insight into the philosophy of my own art than I had myself -learned in fifty years of study.” If he shall die without producing -this work, it will be a calamity to the world greater than -the loss of any battle ever fought or the defeat of any legislative -measure ever advocated. For this style of gymnastic alone -<span class='pageno' id='Page_568'>568</span>recognizes the infinitely solemn and beautiful truth that every -attitude, every motion, tends to <em>produce</em> the quality of which it is -the legitimate expression. Here is brought to light an education -constantly going on in every one, and far more momentous -and fatal than any other. Here is a principle which makes the -body and the laws of mechanics as sacred revelations of the will -of God as the soul and the laws of morality. Here is the basis -of the new religious education destined to perfect the children of -men, abolish deformity, sickness, and crime, and redeem the earth.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Had Forrest practised such a style of exercise, instead of weighing -upwards of two hundred pounds and suffering from those -irregularities of circulation which often disabled, at length paralyzed, -and at last killed him at sixty-seven, he would have weighed -a hundred and sixty, been as free and agile as he was powerful, -and lived without an ache or a shock to ninety or a hundred.</p> - -<p class='c007'>His faithful exercises, defective as they were in the spirit of -beauty and economy, gave him enormous vital potency and tenacity. -He felt this keenly as a priceless luxury, and was justly -proud of it. He used to be extremely fond of the Turkish bath, -and once said, “No man who has not taken a Turkish bath has -ever known the moral luxury of being personally clean.” He -was a great frequenter of the celebrated establishment of Dr. -Angell, on Lexington Avenue, in New York. After the bath and -the shampoo, and the inunction and the rest, on one occasion, -as he was striding up and down the room, feeling like an Olympian -god who had been freshly fed through all the pores of his -skin with some diviner viands than ambrosia, he vented his slight -grief and his massive satisfaction in these words: “What a pity -it is that a man should have to suffer for the sins of his ancestors! -Were it not for this damned gouty diathesis, I would not -swap constitutions with any man on earth,—damned if I would!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>It was in 1865, while playing, on a terribly cold February -night, in the Holliday Street Theatre, in Baltimore, that Forrest -received the first dread intimation that his so proudly cherished -prerogative of bodily strength was insecure. He was enacting -the part of Damon. The theatre was so cold that, he said, he felt -chilled from the extremities of his hands and feet to the centre -of his heart, and the words he uttered seemed to freeze on his -lips. Suddenly his right leg began twitching and jerking. He -<span class='pageno' id='Page_569'>569</span>nearly lost control of it; but by a violent effort of will he succeeded -in getting through the play. Reaching his lodgings and -calling a physician, he found, to his great grief and horror, that -his right sciatic nerve was partially paralyzed.</p> - -<p class='c007'>An obvious lameness, a slight hobble in his gait, was the permanent -consequence of this attack. It was sometimes better, -sometimes worse; but not all his earnest and patient attempts to -cure it ever availed to find a remedy. It was a mortifying blow, -from which he never fully recovered, though he grew used to it. -His strength of build and movement had been so complete, such -a glory to him, he had so exulted in it as it drew admiring attention, -that to be thus maimed and halted in one of its most conspicuous -centres was indeed a bitter trial to him. Still he kept -up good heart, and fondly hoped yet to outgrow it and be all -himself again. He was just as faithful as ever to his exercises, -his diet, his bathing, his rest and sleep; and he retained, in spite -of this shocking blow, an astonishing quantity of vital and muscular -energy. Still a large and dark blot had been made on his -personal splendor, and all those rôles which required grace and -speed of bodily movement sank from their previous height. -Notwithstanding his strenuous endeavors to neutralize the effects -of this paralysis, its stealthy encroachments spread by imperceptible -degrees until his whole right side—shoulder and chest -and leg—shrank to smaller dimensions than the left, and at last he -was obliged when fencing to have the sword fastened to his hand. -And yet he continued to act to the end; acting still with a -remarkable physical power and with a mental vividness not one -particle lowered from that of his palmiest day. But, after the -year 1865, for any of his old friends who remembered the electrifying -spontaneity of his terrible demonstrations of strength in -former days, to see him in such casts as Metamora, Damon, -Spartacus, and Cade, was painful.</p> - -<p class='c007'>In the month of January, 1866, Forrest had a most gratifying -triumph in Chicago. The receipts were unprecedentedly large, -averaging for the five nights of his engagement nearly twenty-five -hundred dollars a night. He wrote to his friend Oakes: -“Eighteen years since, I acted here in a small theatre of which -the present mayor of Chicago, J. B. Rice, Esq., was manager. -The population, then about six thousand, is now one hundred -<span class='pageno' id='Page_570'>570</span>and eighty thousand, with a theatre that would grace Naples, -Florence, or Paris. The applause I have received here has been as -enthusiastic as I have ever known, and the money-return greater. -It beats the history of the stage in New York, Boston, Philadelphia, -Baltimore, Charleston, and New Orleans. Give me joy, my -dear and steadfast friend, that the veteran does <em>not</em> lag superfluous -on the stage.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>Early in the same year he accepted the munificent offer made -by the manager of the San Francisco theatre to induce him to -pay a professional visit to California. He remembered the flattering -letter sent him by the government of the State nine years -before. He felt a keen desire, as a patriotic American, to view -the wondrous scenery and products of the golden coast of the -Pacific, and he also was ambitious that the youngest part of the -country should behold those dramatic portrayals which had so -long been applauded by the oldest. Landing in San Francisco -on the third of May, he was serenaded in the evening by the -Philharmonic Society, and on the fourteenth made his débût in -the Opera House in the rôle of Richelieu. The prices of admission -were doubled, and the seats for the opening night were sold at -auction. The first ticket brought five hundred dollars. “At an -early hour last night,” said one of the morning papers, “the tide -of people turned with steady current towards the Opera House. -Throng after throng approached the portal and melted into the -vast space. Inside, the scene was one of extraordinary magnificence. -Hundreds of flaming jets poured a flood of shadowless -light on the rich painting and gilding of the amphitheatre, the -luxurious draperies of the boxes, and the galaxy of wealth and -beauty smiling beneath its rays.” He played for thirty-five -nights to an aggregate of over sixty thousand persons, and was -paid twenty thousand dollars in gold. His engagement was -suddenly interrupted by a severe attack of his old enemy the -gout. He fled away to the cedar groves, the mineral springs, -and the mountains, to feast his eyes on the marvellous California -landscapes and to nurse his health. His enjoyment of the whole -trip, and in particular of his long tarry at the Mammoth Tree -Grove, was profound. He delighted in recalling and describing -to his friends one scene in this grove, a scene in which he was -himself a striking figure. Visible in various directions were -<span class='pageno' id='Page_571'>571</span>gigantic trees hundreds of feet in height, whose age could be -reckoned by centuries, bearing the memorial names of celebrated -Americans, — Bryant, Lincoln, Seward, Longfellow, Webster, -Kane, Everett, and the darling of so many hearts, sweet Starr -King,—whose top, three hundred and sixty-six feet high, overpeers -all the rest. Here the Father of the Forest, long ago fallen, -his trunk four hundred and fifty feet long and one hundred and -twelve feet in circumference at the base, lies mouldering in gray -and stupendous ruin. A hollow chamber, large enough for one to -pass through on horseback, extends for two hundred feet through -the colossal trunk of this prone and dead monarch of the grove, -whose descendants tower around him in their fresh life, and -seem mourning his requiem as the evening breeze sighs in their -branches. Forrest mounted a horse, and, with all the pageant personalities -he had so long made familiar to the American people -clustering upon his own, rode slowly through this incredible -hollow just as the level beams of the setting sun illuminated the -columns of the grove and turned it into a golden cathedral.</p> - -<p class='c007'>In September he wrote to Oakes,—</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Here I am still enjoying the salubrious air of the mountains, -on horseback and afoot, and bathing in waters from the hot and -cold springs which pour their affluent streams on every hand.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“My health is greatly improved, and my lameness is now -scarcely perceptible. In a few weeks more I shall return to San -Francisco to finish my engagement, which was interrupted by -my late indisposition. My present intention is not to return to -the East until next spring; for it would be too great a risk to -encounter the rigors of a winter there which might prove disastrous. -You are aware that the winter in San Francisco is much -more agreeable than the summer; and after my professional -engagement there I shall visit Sacramento and some few other -towns, and then go to Los Angelos, where I shall enjoy a climate -quite equal to that of the tropics. I am determined to come -back to you in perfect health. How I should like to take a tramp -with you into the mountains this blessed day! I can give you -no reasonable idea of the beauty of the weather here. The skies -are cloudless, save with the rare and rosiest shadows, not a drop -of rain, and yet no drought, no aridity; the trees are fresh and -green, and the air as exhilarating as champagne.”</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_572'>572</span>The news of the serious illness of his sister Caroline caused -him to abandon the purpose of resuming his interrupted engagement -in San Francisco, and, enriched with a thousand agreeable -memories, on the twentieth of October he set sail for home.</p> - -<p class='c007'>The sentiment of patriotism was a fervid element in the inner -life of Forrest, a source of strength and pleasure. He had a -deep faith in the democratic principles and institutions of his -country, a large knowledge and enjoyment of her scenery, a -strong interest in her honor, industries, and fortunes, and an -unshaken confidence and pride in her sublime destiny. His -sympathy in politics, which he studied and voted on with intelligent -conviction, had always been Southern as well as democratic; -but at the first sound of the war he sprang into the most -resolute attitude in defence of the imperilled cause of freedom -and humanity. He wrote the following letter to one of his -old friends in the West in June, 1861:</p> - -<p class='c007'>“The political aspect of our country is ominous indeed, and -yet I hope with you that in the Divine Providence there will be -some great good brought out of this evil state of affairs which -will prove at last a blessing to our country. Oftentimes from -that we consider evil comes a reviving good. I trust it may prove -so in this case. I do not, however, condemn the South for their -feelings of just indignation towards the intermeddling abolitionist -of the North,—the abolitionist who for years by his incendiary -acts has made the homestead of the planter a place of anxiety and -unrest instead of peace and tranquillity. But I do condemn the -leaders of this unwarrantable rebellion, those scurvy politicians -who, to serve their own selfish ends, flatter and fool, browbeat -and threaten honest people into an attitude which seems to -threaten the safety of our glorious Union. I still believe in -man’s capacity to govern himself, and I prophesy that by September -next all our difficulties will be adjusted. The South will -know that the North has no hostile, no subversive feelings to -gratify, that it is the Union of the States—that Union cemented -by the blood of patriot sires—which is to be preserved unbroken -and inviolate, and that under its fraternal ægis all discord shall -cease, all wounds be healed. To this end we must be ready for -the field; we must gird up our loins and put on our armor; for a -graceful and lasting peace is only won when men are equals in -<span class='pageno' id='Page_573'>573</span>honor and in courage. And to this end it gives me pleasure to -know that my namesake, your son ——, has decided to take -arms in defence of the Union of the States and the Constitution -of our fathers; and, more, that his good mother, as well as yourself, -approves his resolution. Now is the time to test if our -Government be really a shield and a protection against anarchy -and rebellion, or merely a rope of sand, an illusion, a chimera; -and it is this spontaneous uprising of every friend of freedom -rallying around the flag of his country—that sacred symbol of -our individual faith—which will proclaim to the world in tones -more potent than heaven’s thunder-peal that we <span class='fss'>HAVE</span> a Government -stronger and more enduring than that of kings and potentates, -because founded on equal and exact justice, the offspring of -man’s holiest and noblest nature, the attribute of God himself.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>Two years later, he wrote in a letter to another friend,—</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Great God! in what a melancholy condition is our country -now! <em>An ineradicable curse begin at the very root of his heart that -harbors a single thought that favors disunion.</em> May God avert the -overwhelming evil!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>He made himself familiar with the triumphs of American genius -in every department of industry and art, and glowed with pride -over the names of his illustrious countrymen. The following -brief letter reveals his heart. He never had any personal -acquaintance with the brilliant man whose departure he thus -mourns.</p> - -<div class='lg-container-r c011'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“<span class='sc'>New York</span>, July 15th, 1859.</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c010'>“<span class='sc'>My dear Oakes</span>,—It is with the deepest emotions I have just -heard of the death of Rufus Choate. His decease is an irreparable -loss to the whole country. A noble citizen, a peerless advocate, -a great patriot, has gone, and there is no one to supply his -place. In the fall of this great man death has obtained a victory -and humanity suffered a defeat.</p> - -<div class='lg-container-r c011'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“<span class='sc'>Edwin Forrest.</span>”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c007'>One other letter of his should be preserved in this connection, -for its eloquent expression of blended friendship and patriotism:</p> - -<div class='lg-container-r c011'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“<span class='sc'>Philadelphia</span>, July 28th, 1862.</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c010'>“<span class='sc'>My dear Friend</span>,—Where are you, and what are you doing? -Are you ill or well? I have telegraphed to you twice, and one -<span class='pageno' id='Page_574'>574</span>answer is that you are ill, another that you are much better. I -called on Mr. Chickering during my recent visit to New York, -and he assured me you could not be seriously ill, or he would -have been advised of it; and so I calmed my fears. That you -have greatly suffered in mind I have reason to know. The death -of Colonel Wyman assured me of that. You must have felt it -intensely. But he fell nobly, in the discharge of a most sacred -duty which consecrates his name forever among the defenders of -the Union of his country. I too have lost friends in the same -glorious cause,—peace and renown to their ashes! Among them -one, the noblest of God’s manly creatures, Colonel Samuel Black, -of Pennsylvania. Enclosed you have a merited eulogy of him -by our friend Forney, who knew him well. Let us prepare ourselves -for more of the same sad bereavements. This unnatural -war, which has already ‘widow’d and unchilded many a one,’ -has not yet reached its fearfullest extent. The Union cemented -by the blood of our fathers must and shall be preserved; this is -the unalterable decree of the people of the Free States. Better -that all the slaves should perish and the blood of all those who -uphold the institution of slavery perish with them, than that this -proud Temple, this glorious Union consecrated to human freedom, -should tumble into ruins. Do you remember what Tom Paine, -the great Apostle of Liberty, wrote to General Washington in -1796? ‘A thousand years hence,’ he writes, ‘perhaps much less, -America may be what Britain now is. The innocence of her -character, that won the hearts of all nations in her favor, may -sound like a romance, and her inimitable virtue be as if it had -never been. The ruins of that Liberty thousands bled to obtain -may just furnish materials for a village tale. When we contemplate -the fall of empires and the extinction of the nations of the -Old World we see but little more to excite our regret than -mouldering ruins, pompous palaces, magnificent monuments, -lofty pyramids. But when the Empire of America shall fall the -subject for contemplative sorrow will be infinitely greater than -crumbling brass or marble can inspire. It will not then be said, -here stood a temple of vast antiquity, a Babel of invisible height, or -there a palace of sumptuous extravagance,—but here, oh painful -thought! the noblest work of human wisdom, the greatest scene -of human glory, <span class='sc'>the fair cause of Freedom rose and fell</span>!’</p> - -<p class='c010'><span class='pageno' id='Page_575'>575</span>“May God in his infinite wisdom avert from us such a moral -desolation! Write to me soon, and tell me all about yourself. I -have been ill of late and confined to my bed. I am now better.</p> - -<div class='lg-container-r c011'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“<span class='sc'>Edwin Forrest</span>.</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<div class='lg-container-l c011'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“<span class='sc'>James Oakes, Esq.</span>”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c007'>The earnestness of the feeling of Forrest as an American -exerted a profound influence in moulding his character and in -coloring his theatrical representations. The satisfactions it yielded, -the proud hopes it inspired, were a great comfort and inspiration -to him. And he said that one of his greatest regrets in dying -would be that he should not see the unparalleled growth, happiness, -and glory of his country as they would be a hundred years -hence.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Another source of unfailing consolation and pleasure to him -was his love of nature. He took a real solid joy in the forms -and processes of the material creation, the changing lights and -shades of the world, the solemn and lovely phenomena of morning -and evening and summer and winter, the gorgeous upholstery -of the clouds, and the mysterious marshalling of the stars. His -letters abound in expressions which only a sincere and fervent -lover of nature could have used. Writing from Philadelphia in -early October, when recovering from a severe illness, he says, -“It is the true Indian summer. The sunbeams stream through -the golden veil of autumn with a softened radiance. How gratefully -I receive these benedictions from the Universal Cause!” -And in a letter dated at Savannah, November, 1870, he writes -to his biographer, “Ah, my friend, could the fine weather you -boast of having in Boston make me feel fresh and happy, Heaven -has sent enough of it here to fill a world with gladness. The -skies are bright and roseate as in summer, the air is filled with -fragrance drawn by the warm sun from the balsamic trees, while -the autumnal wild-flowers waft their incense to the glorious day. -All these things I have enjoyed, and, I trust, with a spirit grateful -to the Giver of all good. Yet all these, though they may meliorate -in a degree the sadness of one’s life, cannot bind up the -broken heart, heal the wounded spirit, nor even, as Falstaff has -it, ‘set a leg.’”</p> - -<p class='c007'>This taste for nature, with the inexhaustible enjoyment and -<span class='pageno' id='Page_576'>576</span>the refining culture it yields, was his in a degree not common -except with artists and poets. While acting in Cleveland once -in mid-winter, he persuaded a friend to walk with him for a few -miles early on a very cold morning. Striding off, exulting in his -strength, after an hour and a half he paused on the edge of the -lake, his blood glowing with the exercise, his eyes sparkling with -delight, while his somewhat overfat companion was nearly frozen -and panted with fatigue. Stretching his hand out towards the -magnificent expanse of scenery spread before them, he exclaimed, -“Bring your prating atheists out here, let them look on that, and -then say there is no God—if they can!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>An eminent New York lawyer, an intimate friend of Forrest, -who had spent his whole life in the city absorbed in the social -struggle, was utterly indifferent to the beauties of nature. He -had never felt even the loveliness of a sunset,—something which -one would think must fill the commonest mind with glory. -Walking with him in the environs of the city on a certain occasion -when approaching twilight had caused the blue chamber of -the west to blaze with such splendors of architectural clouds -and crimsoned squadrons of war as no scenic art could ever -begin to mock, Forrest called the attention of his comrade to the -marvellous spectacle. “I have no doubt,” said the lawyer, “that -I have seen a great many of these things; but I never cared anything -about them.” The disciple of Shakspeare proceeded to -discourse to the disciple of Coke upon Littleton on the charm of -natural scenery, its soothing and delight-giving ministrations to -a man of taste and sensibility, in a strain that left a permanent -impression on his hearer, who from that time began to watch the -phenomena of the outward world with a new interest.</p> - -<p class='c007'>But even more than in his professional triumphs, his increasing -store of wealth, his animal health and strength, his patriotism, or -his love for the works of God in nature, Forrest found during the -last twenty years of his life a never-failing resource for his mind -and heart in the treasures of literature. He gathered a library -of between ten and fifteen thousand volumes, well selected, carefully -arranged and catalogued, for the accommodation of which -he set apart the finest apartment in his house, a lofty and spacious -room running the whole length of the edifice. In this bright and -cheerful room all the conveniences of use and comfort were collected. -<span class='pageno' id='Page_577'>577</span>Beside his desk, where from his chair he could lay his -hand on it, superbly bound in purple velvet, on a stand made -expressly for it, rested his rare copy of the original folio edition -of Shakspeare, valued at two thousand dollars. Around him, invitingly -disposed, were the standard works of the historians, the -biographers, the poets, and especially the dramatists and their -commentators. Here he added to his shelved treasures many -of the best new works as they appeared, keeping himself somewhat -abreast with the fresh literature of the times in books like -Motley’s Netherlands, Grimm’s Life of Michael Angelo, and -Hawkins’s Life of Kean, which he read with a generous relish. -Here, ensconced in an arm-chair by the window, or lolling on a -lounge in the centre of the library, or seated at his study-table, he -passed nearly all the leisure time of his lonely later years. Here -he would occupy himself for many an hour of day and night,—hours -that flew swiftly, laden with stingless enjoyment,—passing -from volume to volume sipping the hived sweetnesses of the paradisal -field of literature. Here, alone and quiet in the peopled -solitude of books, he loved to read aloud by the hour together, -listening to himself as if some one else were reading to him,—the -perfection of his breathing and the ease of his articulation being -such that the labor of utterance took nothing from the interest -of the subject, while the rich music and accurate inflections of -his voice added much. Here his not numerous intimates, with -occasional callers from abroad,—Rees, Forney, and his particular -favorite, Daniel Dougherty,—would often drop in, ever sure of -an honest welcome and genial fellowship, and speed the time -with wit and humor, reminiscence, anecdote, argument, joke, and -repartee, vainly seeking to beguile him into that more general -society which would have gladly welcomed what he could so -richly give and take.</p> - -<p class='c007'>An extract from a letter of his written in June, 1870, is of -interest in this connection:</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I will read Forster’s Life of Walter Savage Landor, of which -you speak, at my first leisure; though I consider Forster personally -to be a snob. You will find among my papers in your possession -exactly what I think of him. For Landor, even as a boy, -I had a great admiration. I sate with wonder while I quaffed -instruction at the shrine of his genius. There is a book just -<span class='pageno' id='Page_578'>578</span>published in England which I shall devour with an insatiable -mental appetite. It is called ‘Benedict Spinoza, his Life, Correspondence, -and Ethics.’ It is the first time that his works -have been collected and published in English. So that I shall -have a rare treat. His Ethics I have read in a French translation -which I found in Paris years ago; and its perusal divided my -time between the pleasures of the town and the intellectual culture -which the study of his sublime philosophy gave me. It was -called ‘Spinoza’s Ethics; or, Man’s Revelation to Man of the -Dealings of God with the World.’”</p> - -<p class='c007'>Yes, his library was indeed his sure refuge from care and -sorrow, a sweet solace for disappointment and vacancy and heartache. -Here, in the glorious fellowship of the genius and worth -of all ages, he fully gratified that love of reading without whose -employment he would hardly have known how to bear some of -the years of his checkered life. An anecdote will illustrate the -strength of this habit in him and afford an interesting glimpse of -the interior of the man. In his library one summer afternoon, -the notes of birds in the trees and the hum of bees in his garden -languidly stealing in at the open window, he sat, with the precious -Shakspeare folio in his lap, conversing with his biographer. He -said, “If I could describe how large a space Shakspeare has -filled of my inward life, and how intense an interest I feel in his -personality, no one would believe me. I would this moment -give one hundred thousand dollars simply to read—even if the -instant I had finished its perusal the manuscript were to be destroyed -forever—a full account of the first eighteen years of the -life of Shakspeare,—such an account as he could himself have -written at forty had he been so minded, of his joys and sorrows, -hopes and fears, his aspirations, his disappointments, his friendships, -his enmities, his quarrels, his fights, his day-dreams, his -loves; in short, the whole inward and outward drama of his -boyhood.” It was certainly one of the most striking tributes -ever paid to the genius of the immortal dramatist. A thorough -familiarity with the works of Shakspeare is of itself an education -and a fortune for the inner man. There all the known grades of -experience, all the kinds of characters and styles of life seen in -the world, are shown in their most vivid expressions. There all -the varieties of thought and sentiment are gathered in their most -<span class='pageno' id='Page_579'>579</span>choice and energetic forms of utterance. There are stimulus and -employment for every faculty. There is incitement for all ambition, -solace for all sorrow, beguilement for all care, provocation -and means for every sort and degree of self-culture. Shakspeare -is one of the greatest teachers that ever lived, and those players -who have character, docility, and aspiration are his favorite pupils. -Betterton, who was born in 1635, only twelve years after the -death of Shakspeare, made a journey from London to Warwickshire -on purpose to gather up what traditions and anecdotes remained -of him. Garrick was the author of the remarkable centennial -celebration of his memory. And the voice of Kemble -faltered and his tears were visible as in his farewell speech on the -stage he alluded to the divine Shakspeare.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Anecdotes of the conduct and expressions of a man when he -is off his guard and unstudiedly natural give a truer picture of -his character than elaborate general statements. And three or -four brief ones may be given to close this chapter with an impartial -view of the inner life of Forrest in its contrasted aspects of -refinement and even sublimity at one time, and of rude severity -and coarseness at another.</p> - -<p class='c007'>One summer evening, when he was paying a visit to his friend -Oakes, they were at Cohasset, sitting on a piazza overhanging -the sea. Mr. John F. Mills, one of the best men that ever lived, -whose beautiful spirit gave pain to his host of friends for the first -time only when he died, was with them. There had been a long -storm, and now that it had subsided the moaning roar of the sea -was loud and dismal. Forrest addressed it with this extemporaneous -apostrophe, as reported by Mr. Mills: “Howl on, cursed -old ocean, howl in remorse for the crimes you have committed. -Millions of skeletons lie bleaching on your bed; and if all our -race were swallowed there to-night you would not care any more -for them than for the bursting of a bubble on your breast. There -is something dreadful in this inhumanity of nature. Therefore I -love to hear you groan, you heartless monster! It makes you -seem as unhappy as you make your victims when they empty -their stomachs into you or are themselves engulfed. Gnash your -rocky teeth and churn your rage white. Thank God, your cruel -reign will one day end, and there will be no more sea.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>The next evening they sat in the same place, but the moon was -<span class='pageno' id='Page_580'>580</span>up, and his mood was different, more placid and pensive than -before. The swell and plunge of the billows on the beach made -solemn accompaniment to the guttural music of his voice. There -was a mournfulness in the murmur of his tones as elemental and -sad as the tremendous sighing of the sea itself. “This world,” -he said, “seems to me a penal abode. We have all lived elsewhere -and gone astray, and now we expiate our bygone offences. -There is no other explanation that I can think of for the tangled -snarl of human fates. True, since we are ignorant of these sins, -our punishment seems not just. But then we may some time -recover memory of all and so understand everything clearly. It -is all mystery now, but if there is any explanation I am convinced -we are convicts working out our penances, and hell is not hereafter -but here. Just hear those breakers boom, boom, boom. Do -they not seem to you to be drumming the funereal Rogue’s March -for this Botany Bay of a world?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>A stranger to Forrest, merely to gratify his vanity by drawing -the attention of a company to his speech, said he had seen the -celebrated actor drunk in the gutter. The friend who reported -this to Forrest would not reveal who the man was. But one day -he pointed him out on the opposite sidewalk. The outraged and -angry tragedian went quietly over and accosted the slanderer; -“Do you know Edwin Forrest, and do you say you once saw -him drunk in the gutter?” On receiving an affirmative reply he -broke out in the strong vernacular of which he was a master, -“Now, you sneaking scoundrel and lying calumniator, I am Edwin -Forrest. I ache all over to give you the damnedest thrashing -you ever tasted. But it is against my principles. I should -be ashamed of myself if I stooped to take such advantage of -your cowardly weakness. But, while I will not do it with my -body, in my mind I kick and spit on you. Now pass on, and -relish yourself, and be damned, you human skunk.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>Although Forrest used much profane language, his real spirit -was not an irreverential one. His profanity was but an expletive -habit, a safety-valve for wrath. When expostulated with on the -custom, he said, “I never knowingly swear before ladies or clergymen, -lest it should shock or grieve them. But at other times, -when it is necessary either for proper emphasis or as a vent for -passion too hot and strong, why I let it rip as it will.”</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_581'>581</span>In connection with the Broad Street mansion which he occupied -at the time of his death, Forrest built and fitted up a handsome -private theatre. John Wiser, a scenic artist, arranged and -painted it. At its completion Forrest seated himself in a large -chair, and, after expressing his pleasure at the effect, said, “John, -do you know what would be the most delightful sight in the -world, eh? If I could only see this room filled with children, -and a company of little boys and girls playing on that stage.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>One day when Forrest was walking with a friend in Brooklyn -a beggar accosted them. Tears were in his eyes, and he had a -ragged exterior as well as a tottering form and a pale and sunken -look. With a plaintive voice he said, “For the love of heaven, -gentlemen, give me a trifle for the sake of my starving family. -You will not feel it, and it will relieve a half a score of hungry -ones. Will you not aid me?” Forrest looked at the man for a -moment as if reading his very soul, and then said, while placing -a golden eagle in his hand, “Yes, my friend, you are either a -true subject for charity or else the best actor I ever saw.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>Forrest always carried his professional humor and docility with -him. He gave a ludicrous description of an amateur grave-digger -who lived in Philadelphia. He was worth fifty thousand dollars, -yet whenever a grave was to be made he liked to have a hand in -it. His nose was so turned up that his brains might have been -seen, had he possessed any. And his voice was a perfect model -for the second grave-digger in Hamlet, saying, “The crowner -hath set on her, and finds it Christian burial.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>A strolling exhibitor of snakes came to Louisville when Forrest -was playing there in his youth. Wishing to feel the strongest -emotions of fear, that he might utilize the experience in his -acting, Forrest asked the man to take care of the head of a -boa-constrictor some twelve feet in length and let the hideous -reptile crawl about his naked neck. He never forgot the cold, -clammy slip of the coils on his flesh and the sickening horror it -awakened.</p> - -<div class='chapter'> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_582'>582</span> - <h2 class='c005'>CHAPTER XVIII.<br /> <span class='large'>PRIZES AND PENALTIES OF FAME.</span></h2> -</div> - -<p class='c006'>The next important feature to be studied in order to appreciate -the character and life of Forrest is his experience of the prizes -and the penalties of fame. For he had a great fame; and fame, -particularly in a democratic country, inflicts penalties as well as -bestows prizes. Not one man in a thousand has enough force -and tenacity of character to determine to gain the solid and lasting -prizes of life. Average men willingly put up with cheap and -transient substitutes for the real ends, or with deluding mockeries -of them. They seek passing pleasures instead of the conditions -of permanent happiness; applause instead of merit; a crowd of -acquaintances instead of true friends; notoriety or stagnant -indifference instead of fame. There is nothing more worthy of -contempt, although it is so miserably common, than the mean -and whining cant which puts negation and failure above affirmation -and success, constantly asserting the emptiness and deceit of -all earthly goods. In opposition to this morbid depreciation of -every natural attractiveness without and desire within, nothing is -more wholesome or grand than a positive grasp and fruition of -all the native worths of the world. A great deal of the fashionable -disparagement and scorn of the prizes of wealth, position, -reputation, is but unconscious envy decrying what it lacks the -strength and courage to seize. The fame which a gifted and -faithful man secures is the reflex signal of the effects he has -produced, and a broad, vivid, healthy enjoyment of it is an -intrinsic social good to be desired. It is one of the greatest -forces employed by Providence for the education of men and -the advancement of society. To condemn or despise it is to -fling in the face of God. The fancied pious who do this are -dupes of an impious error.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Fame is a life in the souls of other men added to our own. -<span class='pageno' id='Page_583'>583</span>It is a feeling of the effect we have taken on the admiration and -love of those who regard us with honoring attention and sympathy. -It is a social atmosphere of respect and praise and -curiosity, enveloping its subject, fostering his self-esteem, keeping -his soul in a moral climate of complacency. The famous -man has a secret feeling that the contributors to his glory are -his friends, loyal to him, ready to protect, further, and bless him. -Thus he is fortified and enriched by them, their powers ideally -appropriated to his ideal use. Thus fame is the multiplication -of the life of its subject, reflected in the lives of its givers. This -is the real cause of the powerful fascination of fame for its -votaries; for there is no instinct deeper in man than the instinct -which leads him to desire to intensify, enlarge, and prolong his -existence; and fame makes a man feel that in some sense his -existence is multiplied and continued in all those who think of -him admiringly, and that it will last as long as their successive -generations endure. As Conrad makes Jack Cade say,—</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line in12'>“Fame is the thirst</div> - <div class='line'>Of gods and godlike men to make a life</div> - <div class='line'>Which nature made not, stealing from heaven</div> - <div class='line'>Its imaged immortality.”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c009'>And so in its ultimate essence and use fame represents a magnified -and prolonged idealization of direct personal experience. -It is ideal means of life, a deeper foundation and wider range of -reflected sympathetic life embracing and sustaining immediate -individual life. This great prize is evidently a good to be -desired, the evils connected with it belonging not to itself but to -unprincipled methods of pursuing it, vulgar errors in distributing -it, and the selfish perversion of its true offices. It exists and is -enjoyed in various degrees, on many different levels, from the -plebeian enthusiasm for the champion boxer to the aristocratic -recognition of a great thinker. As we ascend in rank we lose -in fervor. Fame is seen in its ruddiest intensity at the funeral -of Thomas Sayers celebrated by fifty thousand screaming -admirers; in its palest expansion in the renown of Plato, whose -works are read by scattered philosophers and whose name -glitters inaccessibly in the eternal empyrean. The reason for -this greater heat of glory on its lower ranges plainly is that men -<span class='pageno' id='Page_584'>584</span>feel the sharpest interest in the lowest bases of life, because these -are the most indispensable. Existence can be maintained without -transcendent talents, but not without health, strength, and -courage. Animal perfection goes before spiritual perfection, -and its glory is more popular because more appreciable.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Forrest drank the intoxicating cup of fame on widely separated -levels, from the idolatrous incense of the Bowery Boys -who at the sight of his herculean proportions shied their caps -into the air with a wild yell of delight, to the praise of the -refined judges who applauded the intellectual and imaginative -genius of his Lear. It was a genuine luxury to his soul for many -years, and would have been a far deeper one had it not been for -the alloys accompanying it. He enjoyed the prize because he -had honorably won it, not sacrificing to it the more commanding -aims of life; and fame is a mockery only when it shines on the -absence of the goods greater than itself,—honor, health, peace, -and love. He suffered much on account of it, in consequence -of the detestable jealousies, plots, ranklings, and slanders always -kindled by it among unhappy rivals and malignant observers. -But one suffering he was always spared, namely, the bitter -mortifications of the charlatan who has snatched the outward -semblance of the prizes of desert without paying their price or -possessing their substance. Striving always to deserve his reputation, -he did not forfeit his own esteem. The satisfaction he -received from applause was the joy of feeling his own power in -the fibres of the audience thrilling under his touch. Fame was -the magnifying and certified abstract of this,—a vast and constant -assurance in his imagination of life and power and pleasure. -Dry sticks, leather men, may sneer at the idea, but the rising -moral ranks of souls are indicated by the intensity with which -they can act and react on ideal considerations. Fame puts a -favorable bias on all our relations with the approving public, and -thus enriches our inner life by aiding our sympathies to appropriate -their goods.</p> - -<p class='c007'>The actor lives in an atmosphere electrized with human publicity, -and walks between walls lined with mirrors. Everything -in his career is calculated to develop an acute self-consciousness. -And then by what terrible trials his sensitiveness is beset -in his exposure to the opposite extremes of derision and eulogy! -<span class='pageno' id='Page_585'>585</span>Dr. Johnson, alluding at one time to the sensibility of Garrick, -said, contemptuously, “Punch has no feelings.” At another -time, praising his genius, he said, sublimely, “His death eclipsed -the gayety of nations.” The actor tastes the sweetness of fame -more keenly than any other, because no other lives so directly -on it or draws the expression of it so openly and directly. Bannister -was invited by the royal family at Windsor one evening -to read a new play, and was treated with the utmost regard. -The very next night he was stopped by a footpad, who, dragging -him to a lamp to plunder him, discovered who he was, and said, -“I’ll be damned if I can rob Jack Bannister.” Having thus the -esteem of both extremes of society, it is safe to conclude that he -enjoyed the admiration of all between. And this boon of public -honor and love will seem valuable to a performer in proportion -to the quickness and depth of his emotional power. “The awful -consciousness,” said Mrs. Siddons, “that one is the sole object of -attention to that immense space, lined as it were with human -intellect all around from top to bottom, may perhaps be imagined, -but can never be described.” A vulgar performer would rush on -as if those heads were so many turnips. The genius of imaginative -sensibility is the raw material for greatness. Forrest had -much of this, although his self-possession was so strong; and -under his composed exterior, even after he had been thirty years -on the stage, he often shrank with temporary trepidation from -the ordeal of facing a fresh audience. His enjoyment of the -tributes paid to him was commensurately deep.</p> - -<p class='c007'>And, stretching through the long fifty years of his professional -course, how varied, how numerous, how interesting and precious, -these crowded tributes were! There was no end to the compliments -paid him, echoes of the impression he had made on the -country. Now it was a peerless race-horse, carrying off prize on -prize, that was named after him. Then it was some beautiful yacht, -club-boat, or pilot-boat, of which there were a dozen or more to -whose owners he presented sets of flags. At another time it was -a noble steamer or merchantman, of which there were a good -many named for him, each adorned with a statue of some one of -his characters as a figure-head. Locomotives and fire-engines -also were crowned with his name and his likeness. Military -companies, too, took their titles from him and carried his face -<span class='pageno' id='Page_586'>586</span>copied on their banners. The following letter indicates another -of the results of his fame:</p> - -<div class='lg-container-r c011'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“<span class='sc'>Waltham</span>, February 12th, 1871.</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<div class='lg-container-l c011'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“<span class='sc'>Edwin Forrest, Esq.</span>:</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c010'>“<span class='sc'>Dear Sir</span>,—Being one of the small army of boys called after -you, I should feel happy to receive some token from my illustrious -namesake, if nothing more than his autograph. Hoping -to see you before you leave the stage,</p> - -<div class='lg-container-r c011'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“I am respectfully yours,</div> - <div class='line in8'>“<span class='sc'>Edwin Forrest Moore</span>.”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c007'>Seven different dramatic associations, composed of amateurs -and professionals, were formed in the cities of Portland, Boston, -New York, and elsewhere, bearing his name. And the notices -of him in the newspapers were to be reckoned by thousands, -ranging all the way from majestic eulogium to gross vituperation.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Portraits of him, paintings, engravings, photographs, in his -own individuality and in his chief impersonations, were multiplied -in many quarters. Numerous plaster casts of him, four -or five busts in marble, and one full-length statue of surpassing -grandeur, were taken. Many celebrated artists studied him, from -Gilbert Stuart, whose Washington stands supremely immortal in -American portraiture, to William Page, whose lovingly elaborated -Shakspeare may become so in creative portraiture. Page has -depicted Forrest in the role of Spartacus. He shows him at that -moment of the scene in the amphitheatre where he utters the -words which he never spoke without moving the audience to -repeated bursts of applause: “Let them come in: we are armed!” -The last portrait ever painted by the dying Stuart was of Forrest, -then in his youth and only just beginning to become famous. -Forrest used often to speak of his sitting to Stuart, whose strong -fiery soul was enclosed in a frame then tottering and tremulous -with age. “He was an old white lion,” said Forrest, “and so -blind that I had to tell him the color of my eyes and of my hair. -By sudden efforts of will he <em>threw</em> the lines and bits of color on -the canvas, and every stroke was speech.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>Of the likenesses of Forrest published in this volume, the -frontispiece is engraved from a daguerreotype of him at the age -of forty-six; the succeeding one is from a painting by Samuel -<span class='pageno' id='Page_587'>587</span>Lawrence, and shows him as he was at twenty-eight; the last one -is from a photograph taken when he was in his sixty-seventh -year. The illustrations of him in dramatic characters are from -photographs made after he had passed sixty and had suffered -partial paralysis. They do no justice to him as he appeared in -his perfect meridian.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Of all the expressions of admiration, affection, pleasure, called -forth by a professional artist, of all the forms or signals of fame, -perhaps none is more flattering or more delightful to the recipient -than the tributary verses evoked from souls endowed with the -poetic faculty. As such natures are finer and higher than others, -their homage is proportionally more precious. During his life -more than fifty poems addressed to Forrest were published, and -gave him a great deal of pure pleasure. A few specimens of these -offerings may properly find a place here.</p> - -<p class='c007'>The following lines felicitously copied were thrown upon the -stage to him one evening in a bouquet:</p> - -<div class='nf-center-c0'> -<div class='nf-center c002'> - <div>TO EDWIN FORREST.</div> - </div> -</div> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>When Time hath often turned his glass,</div> - <div class='line in2'>And Memory scans the stage,</div> - <div class='line'>Foremost shall then thy image pass,</div> - <div class='line in2'>The Roscius of this age.</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c007'>The succeeding piece was written in 1828:</p> - -<div class='nf-center-c0'> -<div class='nf-center c002'> - <div>TO EDWIN FORREST.</div> - </div> -</div> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Young heir of glory, Nature’s bold and favorite child,</div> - <div class='line'>Nurtured ’midst matchless scenes of wild sublimity,</div> - <div class='line'>Thou who wert reared with sternest truth in groves of song,</div> - <div class='line'>To thy bare arm the grasp is given to hurl the bolts</div> - <div class='line'>Of wrathful heaven. ’Tis thine, with thundering voice to shake</div> - <div class='line'>Creation to her centre, wakening love or rage,</div> - <div class='line'>And show thyself as angels or as demons are.</div> - <div class='line'>Yea, thou didst seem, as at the shrine I saw thee kneel,</div> - <div class='line'>With that bold brow of thine, like some creation bright</div> - <div class='line'>From higher spheres breathing thy inspiration there,</div> - <div class='line'>As if the Altar’s flame itself had lit thine eye</div> - <div class='line'>With all the dazzling radiance of the Deity.</div> - <div class='line'>Go forth. Already round thy brow the wreath of fame</div> - <div class='line'>Amidst thy godlike locks with classic grace is curled.</div> - <div class='line'>Go forth, and shine, the Sun of the dramatic world!</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line in46'>R. M. <span class='sc'>Ward</span>.</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_588'>588</span>The next piece, in which he is associated with his friend -Halleck, is dated 1830:</p> - -<div class='nf-center-c0'> -<div class='nf-center c002'> - <div>TO EDWIN FORREST.</div> - </div> -</div> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>When genius, with creative fancy fraught,</div> - <div class='line'>Moulds some new being for the sphere of thought,</div> - <div class='line'>How the soul triumphs as, supremely blest,</div> - <div class='line'>She opes her temple to the welcome guest,</div> - <div class='line'>And her white pulses feel, with answering glow,</div> - <div class='line'>The kindred breath of the young presence flow!</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Such moments, bright as hours in heaven that bring</div> - <div class='line'>To spirits life, a pure and deathless thing,</div> - <div class='line'>Cheer him who, warm with poesy’s true flame,</div> - <div class='line'>Rears in his bower of song the birds of fame;</div> - <div class='line'>He whose wreathed locks the lyric laurels wear</div> - <div class='line'>Green with immortal dew and cloudless air;</div> - <div class='line'>Whose harp-chords wildly echoed back the swell</div> - <div class='line'>Of glory’s clarion when <span class='sc'>Bozzaris</span> fell,—</div> - <div class='line'>Thus knew his human fancies grow divine,</div> - <div class='line'>And poured their spirit o’er the happy line.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Yet not alone the sons of song can feel</div> - <div class='line'>This joy along the grateful senses steal.</div> - <div class='line'>To him who, musing, waits at Nature’s throne,</div> - <div class='line'>And feels, at last, her wealth become his own,</div> - <div class='line'>Then with the priceless gold, thought, passion, heart,</div> - <div class='line'>And feeling, tempers to the test of art,</div> - <div class='line'>Blends these with poesy’s mysterious spell</div> - <div class='line'>Strange as the sigh of ocean’s rosy shell,</div> - <div class='line'>No less belong the triumph-throb, the pride</div> - <div class='line'>To mind-ennobling sympathies allied,</div> - <div class='line'>The deep emotion, and the rapture free;</div> - <div class='line'>And these, O Forrest, we behold in thee!</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Who e’er has marked thine eye, thy matchless mien,</div> - <div class='line'>While, all forgetful of the mimic scene,</div> - <div class='line'>Spurning the formal, manner-taught control,</div> - <div class='line'>Thou bar’st the fire that lightens in the soul,</div> - <div class='line'>Has deemed there moved the form that Shakspeare drew</div> - <div class='line'>From visions bright with passion’s warmest hue,</div> - <div class='line'>As, wildly garbed in awful tragic guise,</div> - <div class='line'><span class='sc'>Macbeth</span>, <span class='sc'>Othello</span>, <span class='sc'>Lear</span>, he saw arise.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>When the last outrage of oppression falls</div> - <div class='line'>On man enthralled by man, and Freedom calls</div> - <div class='line'>Some champion to flash her steel where’er,</div> - <div class='line'>Bloody and black, death, shrieking, hovers near,</div> - <div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_589'>589</span>Who can portray like thee the throe of hate</div> - <div class='line'>Which warns the tyrant of his dreadful fate?</div> - <div class='line'>Who image forth th’ exalted agony</div> - <div class='line'>Of strife and maddening hope of victory?</div> - <div class='line'>There thrills an echo of the pulse, the tone,</div> - <div class='line'>That universal man exults to own,</div> - <div class='line'>A voice which teaches craven souls that War</div> - <div class='line'>For right than guilty Peace is holier far;</div> - <div class='line'>Nor suffers them to breathe and pass away</div> - <div class='line'>As dust that ne’er forsook its primal clay.</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c007'>The lines that follow next were printed in 1852, after the -divorce trial:</p> - -<div class='nf-center-c0'> -<div class='nf-center c002'> - <div>TO EDWIN FORREST.</div> - </div> -</div> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>In every soul where Poesy and Beauty find a place,</div> - <div class='line'>Thy image, Forrest, sits enshrined in majesty and grace.</div> - <div class='line'>Could but the high and mighty bard, whose votary thou art,</div> - <div class='line'>Have seen with what a matchless power thou swayest the human heart,</div> - <div class='line'>He too had bowed beneath the spell and owned thy wondrous sway,</div> - <div class='line'>And bound thy brow with laurel, and with flowers strewn thy way.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>The clouds of grief that for a time obscured thy brilliant morn,</div> - <div class='line'>Like to the envious shadows that would dim the rising sun,</div> - <div class='line'>Meridian’s fame has put to flight. Cast not thy glances back,</div> - <div class='line'>But in the light of fearless genius hold thine onward track.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line in50'><span class='sc'>Margaret Barnett.</span></div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c009'>This sonnet was written in the same year:</p> - -<div class='nf-center-c0'> -<div class='nf-center c002'> - <div>TO EDWIN FORREST.</div> - </div> -</div> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>King of the tragic art! without compeer!</div> - <div class='line'>Thy sway is sovereign in the scenic realm;</div> - <div class='line'>And where thy sceptre waves, or nods thy helm,</div> - <div class='line'>All crowd to be thy royal presence near.</div> - <div class='line'>Thou speakest,—we are stilled; the solemn Past,</div> - <div class='line'>Rich with grand thought, and filled with noble men</div> - <div class='line'>Over whose lives and deeds time’s veil is cast,</div> - <div class='line'>Rises to view, and they do live again!</div> - <div class='line'>While thou dost tread life’s stage, thy lofty fame,</div> - <div class='line'>Undimmed, shall grow, and be the drama’s pride</div> - <div class='line'>Centuries hence, when all shall see thy name</div> - <div class='line'>Carved deep and high her noblest names beside;</div> - <div class='line'>And, with the noblest placed, will aye be found,</div> - <div class='line'>In Thespis’ fane, thy statue, laurel-crowned!</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line in40'><span class='sc'>R. H. Bacon.</span></div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c009'>Here is a tribute penned in 1862, in the midst of our civil war:</p> - -<div class='nf-center-c0'> -<div class='nf-center c002'> - <div><span class='pageno' id='Page_590'>590</span>EDWIN FORREST AS “DAMON.”</div> - </div> -</div> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Great master of the tragic art,</div> - <div class='line in2'>Whose genius moves the passions’ spring,</div> - <div class='line'>To melt the eye and warm the heart</div> - <div class='line in2'>With love of virtue, hate of sin,</div> - <div class='line'>Is it our nation’s bleeding fate</div> - <div class='line in2'>That gives thee such heroic fire</div> - <div class='line'>Singly to brave the Senate’s hate</div> - <div class='line in2'>And faith for country’s good inspire?</div> - <div class='line'>Yes; ’tis not all the mimic scene</div> - <div class='line in2'>We view when now beholding thee;</div> - <div class='line'>The heart-strung voice and earnest mien</div> - <div class='line in2'>Of “Damon” breathe pure liberty.</div> - <div class='line'>The test of friendship true is there;</div> - <div class='line in2'>But hope for freedom more than life</div> - <div class='line'>Starts the usurping tyrant near—</div> - <div class='line in2'>Pleads for the boy—weeps for the wife.</div> - <div class='line'>O art divine! when Forrest brings</div> - <div class='line in2'>His matchless eloquence to bear,</div> - <div class='line'>Denouncing treason’s poisonous stings,</div> - <div class='line in2'>While for his loved land falls the tear,</div> - <div class='line'>The temple of the Muses, filled</div> - <div class='line in2'>With beauty, fashion, youth, and age,</div> - <div class='line'>Proves admiration for the skilled</div> - <div class='line in2'>And perfect artist of the stage.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line in24'><span class='sc'>G. C. Howard.</span></div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c007'>And a year later the following eloquent verses were published -by their author in the Philadelphia “Press:”</p> - -<div class='nf-center-c0'> -<div class='nf-center c002'> - <div>FORREST.</div> - </div> -</div> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Pride of the Grecian art,</div> - <div class='line in2'>King of the glorious act,</div> - <div class='line'>Whose sceptre-touch can start</div> - <div class='line in2'>From airiest fancy fact!</div> - <div class='line'>Sole monarch of the stage!</div> - <div class='line in2'>Thy crowning is the truth</div> - <div class='line'>That garners unto age</div> - <div class='line in2'>The laurel-wreaths of youth.</div> - <div class='line'>Were massive mien or mould</div> - <div class='line in2'>Of Thespian gods divine</div> - <div class='line'>E’er richer in the gold</div> - <div class='line in2'>Of Thespian grace than <em>thine</em>?</div> - <div class='line'>A voice that thrills the soul</div> - <div class='line in2'>Through all her trembling keys,</div> - <div class='line'>From deepening organ-roll</div> - <div class='line in2'>To flute-born symphonies;</div> - <div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_591'>591</span>An eye that gleams the light</div> - <div class='line in2'>Of Tragedy’s quick fire,</div> - <div class='line'>And soul that sweeps aright</div> - <div class='line in2'>Each grandest poet-lyre,—</div> - <div class='line'>These into living thought,</div> - <div class='line in2'><span class='sc'>Forrest!</span> in thee sublime</div> - <div class='line'>The Thespian gods have wrought,</div> - <div class='line in2'>A masterpiece for Time!</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Not from the clods of earth</div> - <div class='line in2'>’Mid grovelling toil and strife</div> - <div class='line'>Thy <span class='sc'>Genius</span> hailed her birth</div> - <div class='line in2'>To all her peerless life;</div> - <div class='line'>Her viewless home hath been</div> - <div class='line in2'>Where Poesy hath flung</div> - <div class='line'>Its sweetest words to win</div> - <div class='line in2'>The music of thy tongue!</div> - <div class='line'>How Manhood’s honor rose,</div> - <div class='line in2'>How perished Woman’s shame,</div> - <div class='line'>When robed in worth and woes</div> - <div class='line in2'>Thine own <span class='sc'>Virginius</span> came!</div> - <div class='line'>How Freedom claims a peal</div> - <div class='line in2'>And Tyranny a knell</div> - <div class='line'>When <span class='sc'>Brutus</span> waves the steel</div> - <div class='line in2'>Where Slave and Tarquin fell!</div> - <div class='line'>When <span class='sc'>Spartacus</span> leads on</div> - <div class='line in2'>Each gladiator-blade,</div> - <div class='line'>Or feudal tyrants fawn</div> - <div class='line in2'>To lion-hearted <span class='sc'>Cade</span>,—</div> - <div class='line'>How every listening heart</div> - <div class='line in3'>its narrow span,</div> - <div class='line'>And, in that glorious art,</div> - <div class='line in2'>Adores the peerless man!</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>But dearer than the rest</div> - <div class='line in2'>We own thy mystic spell</div> - <div class='line'>To lave the lingering breast</div> - <div class='line in2'>Where Avon’s sweetness fell!</div> - <div class='line'>To marshal from the page</div> - <div class='line in2'>And summon from the pen</div> - <div class='line'>Of <span class='sc'>Shakspeare</span>, to <em>thy</em> stage,</div> - <div class='line in2'>His living, breathing men!</div> - <div class='line'>No longer Shakspeare’s line,</div> - <div class='line in2'>But <em>studious</em> gaze controls;</div> - <div class='line'>It girds and gilds from <em>thine</em></div> - <div class='line in2'>The multitude of souls!</div> - <div class='line'>While Genius claims a crown,</div> - <div class='line in2'>Or mimic woe a tear,</div> - <div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_592'>592</span>Paled be the envious frown</div> - <div class='line in2'>And dumb the cynic sneer</div> - <div class='line'>That barreth from thy heart</div> - <div class='line in2'>Or veileth from thy name</div> - <div class='line'>The loftiest, grandest part</div> - <div class='line in2'>Of histrionic <span class='sc'>Fame</span>!</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line in26'>C. H. B.</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c007'>A single sonnet more shall end these examples of the poetic -tributes to the genius and worth of Forrest; tributes which, -adding lustre to his career and shedding comfort and joy into -his heart, were and are one of the most attractive illustrations of -the value and sweetness of the prize of fame:</p> - -<div class='nf-center-c0'> -<div class='nf-center c002'> - <div>ON ROOT’S DAGUERREOTYPE OF MR. FORREST.</div> - </div> -</div> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Light-born, and limned by Heaven! It is no cheat,</div> - <div class='line in2'>No image; but himself, his living shade!</div> - <div class='line'>With hurried pulse, the heart leaps forth to greet</div> - <div class='line in2'>The man who merits more than Tully said</div> - <div class='line'>Of his own Roscius, that the histrion’s power</div> - <div class='line in2'>Was but a leaf amid his garland wreath.</div> - <div class='line'>His swaying spirit ruled the magic hour,</div> - <div class='line in2'>But his vast virtues knew no day, no death.</div> - <div class='line'>He seems not now, but is. And I do know,</div> - <div class='line in2'>Or think I do, what meaning from those lips</div> - <div class='line'>Would break; and on that bold and manly brow</div> - <div class='line in2'>There hangs a light that knows not an eclipse,</div> - <div class='line'>The light of a true soul. If art can give</div> - <div class='line'>The bodied soul this life, who doubts the soul will live?</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line in46'><span class='sc'>Robert T. Conrad.</span></div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c007'>Public and private banquets were given in honor of the actor -by distinguished men in all parts of the country, occasions drawing -together brilliant assemblages and yielding the highest enjoyment -to every faculty of sense and soul. To meet around the -social table, decked with everything that wealth and taste can -command, the most eminent members of the learned professions, -artists, authors, statesmen, the leaders of the business world, -beautiful and accomplished women, and pass the hours in friendly -converse seasoned with every charm of culture and wit, is one -of the choicest privileges society can bestow in recognition and -reward of worth and celebrity. Among the more notable of -these honors may be mentioned as especially brilliant and locally -conspicuous at the time a dinner given him at Detroit by General -<span class='pageno' id='Page_593'>593</span>Lewis Cass, one at Cincinnati by his old friend James Taylor, -one at New Orleans by a committee of the leading citizens, -including some of his early admirers, and, later, one at Washington -by his intimate and esteemed friend Colonel Forney, then -Clerk of the House of Representatives. During one of his -engagements in Washington he dined with a distinguished company -under the princely auspices of Henry Clay. The great -Kentuckian, in allusion to Pierre Soulé, a Louisiana Senator, -who was a passionate orator but wanting, perhaps, in sobriety of -judgment and steadiness of character, said to one of the guests, -“A mere actor, sir, a mere actor!” At that instant chancing to -catch the eye of Forrest, he promptly added, with the courteous -grace of self-possession and winsome eloquence native to his -thoroughbred soul, “I do not allude, Mr. Forrest, when I use -the word actor thus demeaningly, to those men of genius who -impersonate the great characters of Shakspeare and the other -immortal dramatists, holding the very mirror of truth up to -nature; I refer to the man who in real life affects convictions and -plays parts foreign to his soul.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>At a banquet given in honor of John Howard Payne, the first -vice-president, Prosper M. Wetmore, an old and dear friend of -Forrest, paid him a compliment which, received as it was by the -brilliant company with three times three enthusiastic cheers, must -have given him a proud pleasure. Mr. Wetmore said, “Before -mentioning the name of the gentleman whose health I am about -to ask you to drink, I take this opportunity to say a word in relation -to the generosity of his heart and the richness of his mind. -He was one of the very first who took an interest in the festival -of Thursday last, and kindly offered his name and services to add -to the attractions of the evening. He has always been the foremost -to do his share in honoring our sons of genius; and his -purse has never been shut against the meritorious who stood in -need of his bounty. His talents as an actor you all know and -appreciate. Allow me to give you—Edwin Forrest:</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“His health; and would on earth there stood</div> - <div class='line in2'>Some more of such a frame,</div> - <div class='line'>That life might be all poetry,</div> - <div class='line in2'>And weariness a name.”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c009'>Such as above described were the satisfactions afforded to -<span class='pageno' id='Page_594'>594</span>Forrest by his fame. They are what thousands have vainly -wished to win, fondly believing that if they could gain them -they should be happy indeed. But to these advantages there -are drawbacks, corresponding to these prizes there are penalties, -which were experienced by Forrest in all their varieties of bitterness. -The evils which dog the goods of public life, as their -shadows, went far to disenchant him, to sour him, to make him -turn sadly and resentfully into himself away from the lures and -shams of society.</p> - -<p class='c007'>To any man of honorable instincts, clear perceptions, and high -principles, the incompetency, corruption, and selfish biases of -many of those who assume to sit in judgment on the claims of -the competitors for public favor and glory, the shallowness and -fickleness of the average public itself, the contemptible means -successfully used by ignoble aspirants for their own advancement -and the defeat of their rivals, the frequent reaction of their own -modesty and high-mindedness to obscure and keep down the -most meritorious, have a strong influence to rob ambition of its -power, destroy all the relish of its rewards, and make fame seem -worthless or even odious. Critics write in utter ignorance of the -laws of criticism or standards of judgment, and even without -having seen the performance they presume to approve or to condemn. -Claqueurs are hired to clap one and to hiss another irrespective -of merit or demerit. Wreaths, bouquets, rings, jewelled -snuff-boxes, are purchased by actors or actresses themselves, -through confederates, to be then presented to them in the name -of an admiring public. A vase or cup or watch has been known -to go with a popular performer from city to city to be presented -to him over and over with eulogistic addresses of his own composition. -A brazen politician, successful in compassing a nomination -and election by shameless wire-pulling, mendacity, and -bribery, then receives the tribute of an ostentatious testimonial -of which he is himself the secret originator and prime manager. -No one who has not had long experience of the world and been -admitted behind the scenes, with the keys for interpreting appearances, -can suspect how common such things are. They are -terribly disheartening and repulsive to a generous soul. They -destroy the splendor and value of the outward prizes of existence, -and thus paralyze the grandest motives of action. When fools, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_595'>595</span>charlatans, and swindlers carry off honors, then wisdom, genius, -and heroism are tempted to despise honors. When the owl is -umpire in a contest of song between the donkey and the nightingale, -and awards the prize to the brayer, the lark and the -mocking-bird may well decline to enter the lists.</p> - -<p class='c007'>In the fashionable rage for Master Betty, Kemble and Siddons -were quite neglected; as the levee of Tom Thumb drew a throng -of the nobility and fashion of London while poor Haydon, -across the street, watched them with a gnawing heart from the -door of his deserted exhibition. Cowper says in his “Task,”—</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line in22'>“For Betty the boy</div> - <div class='line'>Did strut and storm and straddle, stamp and stare,</div> - <div class='line'>And show the world how Garrick did not act.”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c009'>When, with pompous incompetency, Lord Abercorn told Mrs. -Siddons that “that boy would yet eclipse everything which had -been called acting in England,” she quietly replied, with crushing -knowledge, “My lord, he is a very clever, pretty boy, but nothing -more.” Garrick said it was the lot of actors to be alternately -petted and pelted. And Kemble, when congratulated on the -superb honors given him at his final adieu to the stage, responded, -“It was very fine, but then I could not help remembering -that without any cause they were once going to burn my -house.” Genius and nobility naturally love fame, worship the -public, would pour out their very life-blood to gain popular sympathy -and admiration; but after such experiences of baseness -and wrong and error the fascination flies from the prizes they -had adored as so sacred, and never more do their souls leap and -burn with the old enthusiasm of their unsophisticated days. The -injustice of the world drives from it the love and homage of its -noblest children.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Parasites and egotists seek association with a famous man -merely to gratify their vanity, though they call it friendship. -They fawn on him to share a reflection of his glory, to reap -advantage from his influence, or to beg loans of his money; and -when circumstances unmask their characters and show how they -were preying on his frankness, he is revolted and his confidence -in human nature shaken. Many a man of a sweet and loving -nature, like the noble Timon, has gone out to the world with -<span class='pageno' id='Page_596'>596</span>throbbing heart and open arms, and, met with selfishness and -treachery, reacted into despair and hate. One of the penalties -of a great reputation with its personal following is to be annoyed -by sycophants, toadies, the impertinent curiosity of a miscellaneous -throng who have neither genuine appreciation for talent nor -sincere love for excellence, but a pestiferous instinct for boring -and preying. Mrs. Siddons, bereaved of her children amidst her -great fame, was so annoyed by worrying interruptions, assailed -by envy, slandered by enemies, and vexed by parasites, that she -breathed the deepest wishes of her soul in these lines:</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“Say, what’s the brightest wreath of fame,</div> - <div class='line in2'>But cankered buds that opening close?</div> - <div class='line'>Ah, what the world’s most pleasing dream,</div> - <div class='line in2'>But broken fragments of repose?</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“Lead me where peace with steady hand</div> - <div class='line in2'>The mingled cup of life shall hold,</div> - <div class='line'>Where time shall smoothly pour his sand,</div> - <div class='line in2'>And wisdom turn that sand to gold.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“Then haply at religion’s shrine</div> - <div class='line in2'>This weary heart its load shall lay,</div> - <div class='line'>Each wish my fatal love resign,</div> - <div class='line in2'>And passion melt in tears away.”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c007'>The falsehood, the injustice, the plots, insincerity and triviality -that gather about the surfaces and course of a showy popular -career Forrest experienced in their full extent. He was not -deceived by them, but saw through them. They repelled and -disgusted him, angered and depressed him. They did not make -him a misanthrope, but they chilled his demeanor, hardened his -face, checked the trustfulness of his sympathy, and gave him an -increasing distaste for convivial scenes and an increased liking -for his library and the chosen few in whom he could fully confide. -He was a man who esteemed justice and sincerity above -all things else. Flattery or interested eulogy he detested as -much as he did venal prejudice and blame. He loathed the -unmeaning, conventional praises of the journals, the polite compliments -of acquaintances or strangers, but was glad of all honest -estimates. His dignity kept him from mingling with the audience -as they conversed on their way out of the theatre, but he -loved to hear what they said when it was repeated by one whom -<span class='pageno' id='Page_597'>597</span>he could trust. Nothing more surely proves that deep elements -of love and pride instead of shallow vanity and selfishness -formed the basis of his character than the fact that he hated to -mix in great companies, either public or private, where he was -known and noticed, but loved to mingle with the population of -the streets, with festive multitudes, where, unrecognized, he could -look on and enter into their ways and pleasures. “It is a great -feat,” he used to say, “to resist the temptations of our friends.” -He did it when he withdrew from the obstreperous enthusiasm -of those who adulated him while revelling at his expense and -shouting, “By heaven, Forrest, you are an institution!”—forsaking -them, and giving himself exclusively to nature, his art, his -books, and his disinterested friends.</p> - -<p class='c007'>The practice of the arts of purchasing unearned praise, the -tricks of the mean to circumvent the noble, the accredited verdicts -of titled ignorance, and the fickle superficiality of popular favor, -lessen the value of common fame in the eyes of all who understand -these things. They foul its prizes and repel ingenuous -spirits from its pursuit. The same influence is exerted in a yet -stronger degree by the experience of the malignant envy awakened -in plebeian natures by the sight of the success of others contrasted -with their own failure. It was long ago remarked that</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“With fame in just proportion envy grows;</div> - <div class='line'>The man that makes a character makes foes.”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c007'>The selfishness—not to say the innate depravity—of human -nature, as transmitted by historic inheritance, is such that every -one who has not been regenerated by the reception or culture -of a better spirit secretly craves a monopoly of the goods which -command his desires. He dislikes his competitors, and would -gladly defeat their designs and appropriate every waiting laurel -to himself. In 1865 Forrest wrote, in a letter to Oakes, “Yes, -my dear friend, there are many in this world who take pleasure -in the misfortunes of their fellow-men and gloat over the miseries -of their neighbors. And their envy, hatred, and malice -are always manifested most towards men of positive natures.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>Souls of a generous type leave this base temper behind, and -rejoice in the glory of a rival as if it were their own. But mean -souls, so far from taking a disinterested delight in the spectacle -<span class='pageno' id='Page_598'>598</span>of triumphant genius or valor justly crowned with what it has -justly won, are filled with pain at the sight, a pain obscenely -mixed up with fear and hate. Wherever they see an illustrious -head they would fain strike it down or spatter it with mud. -Their perverse instincts regard every good of another as so much -kept from them. There was a powerful passage in the play of -Jack Cade which Forrest used to pronounce with tremendous -effect, ingravidating every word with his own bitter experience -of its truth:</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“Life’s story still! all would o’ertop their fellows;</div> - <div class='line'>And every rank, the lowest, hath its height,</div> - <div class='line'>To which hearts flutter with as large a hope</div> - <div class='line'>As princes feel for empire! but in each</div> - <div class='line'>Ambition struggles with a sea of hate.</div> - <div class='line'>He who sweats up the ridgy grades of life</div> - <div class='line'>Finds in each station icy scorn above;</div> - <div class='line'>Below him, hooting envy!”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c009'>The extent to which this dark and malign power operates in the -breasts of men is fearful. The careless see it not, the innocent -suspect it not; carefully disguising itself under all sorts of garbs, -it dupes the superficial observer. But the wise and earnest student -of human life who has had large experience knows that it is -almost omnipresent. In every walk of society, every profession,—even -in the Church and among the clergy,—are men who fear -and hate their superiors simply because they are superior, and -the inferiors feel themselves obscured and taunted by the superiority. -A good free man loves to reverence a superior, feels himself -blessed and helped in looking up. But the slave of egotism -and envy feels elevated and enriched only in looking down on -those he fancies less favored than himself. It is a frightful and -disheartening phase of human nature; but it ought to be recognized, -that we may be guarded against it in others and stimulated -to outgrow it in ourselves.</p> - -<p class='c007'>No other profession is so beset by the temptations and trials -of this odious spirit as the histrionic, which lives directly in the -public gaze, feeding on popular favor. And among all the actors -America has produced, no other had so varied, so intense and -immense an experience of the results of it as Forrest. He wrote -these sad and caustic words in his old age: “For more than forty -<span class='pageno' id='Page_599'>599</span>years the usual weapons of abuse, ridicule, and calumny have -been unceasingly levelled at me, personally and professionally, by -envious associates, by ungrateful friends turned traitors, by the -hirelings of the press, and by a crowd of causeless enemies made -such by sheer malignity.” In a speech made twenty-two years -previously in the Walnut Street Theatre, in response to a call -before the curtain, he had said, “I thank you with all my heart -for this glorious and generous reception. In the midst of my -trials it is gratifying to be thus sustained. I have been assailed, -ladies and gentlemen, by a fiendish combination of enemies, who, -not content with striking at my professional efforts, have let loose -their calumnies upon my private character and invaded the sacred -precincts of my home. Apart from the support of my ardent -and cherished friends is the consciousness that I possess a reputation -far dearer than all the professional honors that the world -could bestow,—a reputation which is dearer to me than life itself. -I will therefore pursue unawed the even tenor of my way. I -will, with God’s blessing, live down the calumnies that would -destroy me with my countrymen; and, turning neither to the -right hand nor to the left hand, will fearlessly toil to preserve to -the last the reputation of an honest and independent American -citizen.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>To a man of his keen feeling and proud self-respect it must -have been a torture to read the studiously belittling estimates, the -satires, the insults, the slanderous caricatures continually published -in the newspapers under the name of criticism. No wonder they -stirred his rage and poisoned his repose, as they wounded his -heart, offended his conscience, and made him sometimes shrink -from social intercourse and sicken of the world. One critic says, -“He is an injury to the stage. He has established a bad school -for the young actors who are all imitating him. He has a contempt -for genius and a disrelish for literature.” Against this -extract, pasted in one of his scrap-books, Forrest had written, -“Oh! oh!” A second writes, “It is impossible for us to admit -that a man of Mr. Forrest’s intelligence can take pleasure in -making of himself a silly spectacle for the amusement of the -ignorant and the sorrow and pity of the educated. We prefer to -believe that it is even a greater pain for him to play Metamora -than it is for us to see him play it. In that case, how great must -<span class='pageno' id='Page_600'>600</span>be his anguish!” A third philosophizes thus on his playing: -“The best performances of Mr. Forrest are those tame readings -of ordinary authors which offer no opportunity for enormous -blunders. In the flat, dreary regions of the commonplace he -walks firmly. But he climbs painfully up Shakspeare as a blind -man would climb a mountain, continually tumbling over precipices -without seeming to know it. He shocks our sensibilities, -astonishes our judgment, bewilders and offends us; and this is at -least excitement, if not entertainment. But his Brutus is a remarkably -stupid performance. The only way in which he can -redeem its stupidity is to make it worse; and if he wants to do -this he must inspire it with the spirit of his Hamlet or his Othello.” -A fourth makes malicious sport at his expense in this manner: -“Mr. Forrest excels every tragedian we remember in one grand -achievement. He can snort better than any man on the stage. It -is an accomplishment which must have cost him much labor, and -of which he is doubtless proud, for he introduces it whenever he -gets a chance. His snort in Hamlet is tremendous; but that -dying, swan-like note, which closes the career of the Gladiator, is -unparalleled in the whole history of his sonorous and tragic nose. -It must be heard, not described. We can only say that when he -staggers in, with twenty mortal murders on his crown, with a face -hideous with gore, and falls dying on the stage, he sounds a long, -trumpet-like wail of dissolution, which is the most supernaturally -appalling sound we ever heard from any nose, either of man or -brute.” And a fifth caps the climax by calling him “A herculean -murderer of Shakspeare!” So did a critic say of Garrick, on -the eve of his retirement, “His voice is hoarse and hollow, his -dimples are furrows, his neck hideous, his lips ugly, especially -the upper one, which is raised all at once like a turgid piece of -leather.” “He is a grimace-maker, a haberdasher of wry faces, -a hypocrite who laughs and cries for hire!” Well might Byron -exclaim,—</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“Hard is his fate on whom the public gaze</div> - <div class='line'>Is fixed forever to detract or praise.”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c007'>A servile fawning on the press, a cowardly fear of its censures, -a tremulous sensitiveness to its comments, is one of the chief -weaknesses of American society. Its unprincipled meddlesomeness, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_601'>601</span>tyranny, and cruelty are thus pampered. A quiet ignoring -of its impertinence or its slander is undoubtedly the course most -conducive to comfort on the part of one assailed. But the man -who has the independence and the courage publicly to call his -wanton assailant to account and prosecute him, even though -shielded by all the formidable immunities of an editorial chair, -sets a good example and does a real service to the whole community. -Every American who values his personal freedom -should crown with his applause the American who seizes an -insolent newspaper by the throat and brings it to its knees; -for unkind and unprincipled criticism is the bane of the American -people. The antidote for this bane is personal independence -supported by personal conscience and honor in calm defiance -of all prying and censorious espionage. This would produce -individual distinction, raciness, and variety, resulting in an endless -series of personal ranks, with perfect freedom of circulation -among them all; whereas the two chief exposures of a -democracy are individual envy and social cowardice, yielding -the double evil of universal rivalry and universal truckling, and -threatening to end in a dead level of conceited mediocrity. The -envy towards superiors which De Tocqueville showed to be the -cardinal vice of democracy finds its worst vent in the newspaper -press, which assails almost every official in the country with the -foulest accusations. Are these writers destitute of patriotism -and of faith in humanity? Are they ignorant of the fact that if -they convince the public that their superiors are all corrupt the -irresistible reflex influence of the conviction will itself corrupt -the whole public?</p> - -<p class='c007'>That American citizen who has original manhood and lives -a fresh, honest life of his own, regardless of the dictation of -King Caucus or Queen Average,—the most heartless and vulgar -despots that ever reigned,—sets the bravest of examples and -teaches the most needed of lessons. Fenimore Cooper did this, -criticising the errors and defects of his fellow-citizens as an enthusiastic -and conscientious patriot should who sets humanity and -truth above even country and fashion, and in consequence he was -misunderstood, lampooned, and insulted by the baser newspapers, -and finally, after one or two hundred libel suits, hounded into his -grave. If they ever come to their senses, his repentant countrymen -<span class='pageno' id='Page_602'>602</span>will one day build him a monument. Forrest was much -this sort of man. He asserted himself, resented and defied dictation, -and wanted others to do the same. He secured at different -times a verdict with damages against the proprietors of four -newspapers, and threatened libel suits against three others, which -he withdrew on receiving ample public apology. The apology -given in one instance, where he had been professionally abused -and personally accused of drunkenness, is of so exemplary a -character that it ought to be preserved. And here it is:</p> - -<p class='c007'>“It will perhaps be remembered by most of our readers that -Mr. Edwin Forrest brought a libel suit against the proprietors -of this paper for articles which appeared in our issues of 10th, -17th, and 24th of November, 1867. The solicitations and representations -of mutual friends have induced Mr. Forrest generously -to consent to the withdrawal of the case. Under these circumstances -it becomes our duty as it is our pleasure, to express our -regret at the publication of the articles in question.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“The articles complained of were, we frankly admit, beyond -the limits of dramatic criticism; and the present proprietors, who -saw them for the first time when printed, were at the time and -still are sincerely sorry they appeared. Though not personally -acquainted with Mr. Forrest, we do know, what the world knows, -that he has always been prompt and faithful in his professional -engagements; and his bitterest enemies, if he have any, must -admit that he is not only eminent in his profession but especially -free from the vice of intemperance.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>The newspaper attack from which he suffered the most was so -peculiar in some of its features as to demand mention. In 1855 a -series of elaborate critiques on his chief rôles appeared in a leading -metropolitan journal. They were so scholarly, careful, and strong -in their analysis of the plays, and so cutting in their strictures -on the player, that they attracted wide attention and did him -much damage. Now, two hands were concerned in these articles. -The learning, thought, and eloquence were furnished by a German -of uncommon scholarship and talent, who deeply felt the -power and merit of Forrest as an actor and considered him a -man of accomplished dramatic genius. The articles, as he wrote -them, were then padded with demeaning epithets and scurrilous -estimates of Forrest by one who was filled with prejudices theoretical -<span class='pageno' id='Page_603'>603</span>and personal. Could Forrest have totally disregarded the -articles, fortified in a magnanimous serenity, it had been well. -He could not do it. He took them home with extreme pain -and with extreme wrath, intensely resenting their injustice and -their unkindness. This is a specimen of what is inflicted and -suffered in the battle of public life. It tempts one to say, Blessed -is the man who escapes all publicity, and lives and loves and dies -happily in private! No doubt, however, it is best to say, with -the grand old Faliero,—</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“I will be what I should be, or be nothing.”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c007'>His long, crowded experience of unfairness and unkindness -deposited in Forrest a burning grudge against the world, a fierce -animosity towards his injurers, an angry recoil of self-esteem, -and a morbid exaggeration of the real vices of society. In one -of his letters to a friend he writes, “This human life is a wretched -failure, and the sooner annihilation comes to it the better.” An -old poet makes one of his characters who had been deeply -wronged say,—</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“I will instruct my sorrows to be proud,</div> - <div class='line'>For grief is proud and makes his owner stout.”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c009'>Mrs. Montagu wrote to John Philip Kemble under similar circumstances, -“If you retire, from an opinion that mankind are -insincere, ungrateful, and malignant, you will grow proud by -reflecting that you are not like these Pharisees.” How such an -opinion in Forrest marred his peace of mind and rankled in his -general feelings—although much kindliness to men and much -enjoyment of life still remained—was obvious enough in his later -years, and is vividly expressed in many of his letters. “It would -amaze and shock the honest, upright people of this country,” he -writes, “could they but know as I do how these sage judges, -these benign law-peddlers, are manipulated by outsiders to give -any decree that malice and money may demand.” Again he -writes, “I have all my life been cheated and preyed on by -harpies, right and left. While they have enjoyed my money -and maligned me I have toiled on for the next batch of swindlers. -I have squandered more than a quarter of a million dollars -on friends who, with a few noble exceptions, have returned my -kindness not only with ingratitude but with obloquy.” And at -<span class='pageno' id='Page_604'>604</span>another time he says still more at length, “Whatever my -enemies may say of me—be it good or bad—matters but little. -I would not buy their mercy at the price of one fair word. I -claim no exemption from the infirmities of my temper, which -are doubtless many. But I would not exchange the honest vices -of my blood for the nefarious hypocrisies and assumed virtues -of my malignant detractors. I am no canting religionist, and I -cordially hate those who have wronged and backbitten me. I -have—yes, let me own that I have—a religion of hate; not of -revenge, for while I detest I would not injure. I have a hatred -of oppression in whatever shape it may appear,—a hatred of -hypocrisy, falsehood, and injustice,—a hatred of bad and wicked -men and women,—and a hatred of my enemies, for whom I have -no forgiveness excepting through their own repentance of the -injuries they have done me. I have never flattered the blown-up -fool above me nor crushed the wretch beneath me.</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“‘I have not caused the widow’s tear,</div> - <div class='line in2'>Nor dimmed the orphan’s eye;</div> - <div class='line'>I have not stained the virgin years,</div> - <div class='line in2'>Nor mocked the mourner’s cry.’”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c007'>“As for those who misjudge and mislike me, I hate and defy -them, and appeal for justice to Nature and God, confident that -they will one day grant it.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>These expressions but too plainly reveal the sore places in his -heart. Ah, could he but have attained a sweet and magnanimous -self-sufficingness, frankly forgiven and forgotten his foes, and -outgrown all those chronic contempts and resentments,—could -he but have turned his thoughts away from brooding over the -vices of men, and dwelt prevailingly on the other side of the -picture of the world,—how much more peaceful and dignified -and happy his age would have been! But this is hardly to be -expected of one passionately struggling in the emulous arena, -his veins swollen with hot blood in which still runs the barbaric -tradition, An eye for an eye, and a tooth for a tooth. To -expurgate that old animal tradition and introduce in its place -the saintly principle of forgiveness needs patient suffering and -leisurely culture grafted on a fine spirit. When this result is -secured, man rises superior to wrong, to enmity, to disgrace, is -content to do his duty and fulfil his destiny in the love of -<span class='pageno' id='Page_605'>605</span>truth and humanity, sure that every one will at last be rewarded -after his deserts, and letting the cruel or ridiculous caprices of -fortune and fame pass by him as unregarded as the idle wind.</p> - -<p class='c007'>It would not be fair to the truth of the case if this chapter left -the impression that Forrest found on the whole the penalties of -his fame bitterer to bear than its prizes were sweet to enjoy. The -opposite was the fact. The annoyances attendant on his great -reputation alloyed but destroyed not the comfort it yielded in its -varied tributes and in its vast supporting sense of sympathetic -life. Besides, the very vexations consequent on it were often -accompanied by their own outweighing compensations. Sallying -out of the Tremont House in Boston, one forenoon, arm in arm -with his friend Oakes, and passing down Washington Street, his -attention was caught by a hideous caricature of himself in a shop-window. -A group of boys were gazing at it in great merriment. -“Good heavens, Oakes,” he cried, “just look at that infernal -thing! It is enough to make one curse the day he was born.” -At that moment one of the boys recognized him, and exclaimed -to the others, “Here he is!” Forrest whispered to his friend, -“Boys are impartial; they have not the prejudices men have. I -am going to ask them their opinion. Look here, boys, do I look -like that?” One of them, a little older than the rest, answered, -promptly, “Well, we knew that it was you; but then you see -there is this difference,—this makes us laugh, and you make us -cry.” “Thank you, my lad, thank you,” responded Forrest, -“Come on, Oakes; I have got better than I bargained for. My -enemy when he produced that beastly monstrosity little dreamed -what a pleasure he was going to give me.” And, as they swung -slowly along, he said, half musingly, “I wonder why they always -degrade me by caricature and never exalt me by idealization.” -The solution, which he left unattempted, is this. Caricature is -the exaggeration of bad points, idealization is the heightening of -good points. It is much easier to make the bad appear worse -than it is to make the good appear better. Man intuitively likes -to attempt what he feels he can succeed in, and dislikes to attempt -what he feels he shall fail in. Therefore, when commonplace -natures represent their superiors they lower them by travesty -rather than raise them by improvement. And so in critical art -caricature abounds over idealization.</p> - -<div class='chapter'> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_606'>606</span> - <h2 class='c005'>CHAPTER XIX.<br /> <span class='large'>FRIENDSHIPS.—THEIR ESSENTIAL NATURE AND DIFFERENT LEVELS.—THEIR LOSS AND GAIN, GRIEF AND JOY.</span></h2> -</div> - -<p class='c006'>In addition to the satisfaction yielded by his professional -triumphs, the growth of his fortune, the enjoyment of his health -and strength, his taste for literature, his delight in nature, his -love of country, and the tributes of his fame, there was another -element in the life of Forrest which was of eminent importance, -the source of a great deal of comfort and not a little pain,—his -friendships. Some sketch of this portion and aspect of his experience -must be essayed, though it will perforce be a brief and -poor one because these delicate concerns of the heart are shy and -elusive, leaving few records of themselves as they glide secretly -to oblivion enriching only the responsive places which they bless -and hallow as they pass. There are many histories which no -historian writes, and the inmost trials and joys of the soul are -mostly of them.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Friendship, in our times, is more thought about and longed for -than it is talked of, and more talked of than experienced. Yet -the experience itself of men differs vastly according to their -characters, situations, and companions. To some, in their relations -with humanity, the world is made up of strangers; they have -neither acquaintances, enemies, nor friends. To some it consists -of enemies alone. To a few it holds only friends. But to most -men it is divided into four groups,—a wilderness of strangers, a -throng of acquaintances, a snarl of enemies, and a knot of friends. -Among the members of this larger class the chief distinctions -lie in the comparative number and fervor of their lovers and of -their haters, and in the comparative space they themselves assign -to their experience respectively of sympathy and of antipathy. -Some men pursued by virulent foes have the gracious faculty and -habit of ignoring their existence, giving predominant attention -<span class='pageno' id='Page_607'>607</span>to congenial persons, and forgetting annoyances in the charm -of diviner employment. Others are continually infested by persecutions -and resentments as by a species of diabolical vermin -which tarnish the brightness of every prize, destroy the worth of -every boon, and foster a chronic irritation in consciousness. To -hate enemies with barbaric pertinacity of unforgivingness tends -to this latter result, while to love friends with frank and joyous -surrender tends to the former. Both the sinister and the benign -experience were well illustrated in the life of Forrest, who had -sympathetic companionship richly and enjoyed it deeply, although -he was pestered by a mob of parasites, censors, and assailants -whom he religiously abhorred and loathed. Hostility filled a -large, dark, sad, cold place in his history, friendship a prominent, -bright, warm, and happy place. The two facts have their equal -lesson,—one of warning, one of example. Blessed is the fortunate -man who cherishes his friends with loving enthusiasm, but never -has a single grudge or fear or sneer for a foe.</p> - -<p class='c007'>The universal interest felt in the subject of friendship—the -strange fascination the story of any ardent and noble instance of -it has for all readers,—the intense longing for such an experience -which exists explicit or latent in the centre of every heart in spite -of all the corrupting and hardening influences of the world—is -a pathetic signal of the mystery of our nature and a profound -prophecy of our destiny. It means that no man is sufficient unto -himself, but must find a complement in another. It means that -man was not made to be alone, but must supplement himself -with his fellows. The final significance of friendship—whereof -love itself is but a specialized and intensified variety—is an almost -unfathomable deep, but it would appear to be this. Every man -in the structure and forces of his physical organism is an epitome -of all Nature, a living mirror of the material universe; and in the -faculties and desires of his soul he is a revelation of the Creator, -a conscious image of God. As the ancients said, man is a little -universe in the great universe,—<em>microcosmos in macrocosmo</em>. But -every one of these divine microcosms has a central indestructible -originality differencing it from all the rest. This is the eternal -essence or monad of its personality, which reflects in its own -peculiar forms and colors the substances and lights and shades of -the whole. Thence arises that inexhaustible charm of idiosyncrasy, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_608'>608</span>that everlasting play and shimmer of individual qualities, -which constitutes the lure for all pursuit, the zest wherewith all -life antidotes the monotonous bane of sameness and death. Now -the secret of friendship becomes clear in the light of these statements. -First, it is the destiny of every man eternally to epitomize -in his own being the universe of matter and mind,—in -other words, to be an intelligent focal point in the surrounding -infinitude of nature and the interior infinitude of God. Secondly, -he is to recognize such an epitome embodied and endlessly varied -in the endless variety of other men, all of whom are perfectly -distinguishable from one another by unnumbered peculiarities, -every shape and tinge of their experience determined by their -personal moulds and tints. Thirdly, the entire life of every person -consists, in the last analysis, of a mutual communication -between his selfhood and that surrounding Whole made up of -everything which is not himself,—an interchange of action and -reaction between his infinitely concentrated soul and his infinitely -expanded environment. Fourthly, when two men, two of these -intellectual and sentient microcosms, meet, so adjusted as mutually -to reflect each other with all their contents and possibilities in -sympathetic communion, their life is perfected, their destiny is -fulfilled, since the infinite Unity of Being is revealed in each made -piquant with the bewitching relish of foreign individuality, and -nothing more is required, save immortality of career in boundless -theatre of space, to round in the drama with sempiternal adventures -and surprises, as, beneath the sleepless eye of the One, the -Many hide and peep beneath their incarnate masks in life after -life and world beyond world. Thus the highest idea of the experience -of friendship is that it is God glimmering in and out of -the souls of the friends in revelation of their destiny,—as Plato -would say, the perpetually varied perception of the <span class='sc'>Same</span> under -the provocative and delightful disguise of the <span class='sc'>Other</span>. And every -lower idea of it which has any truth is in connection with this -and points up to it,—from the revellers who entwine their cups and -attune their glee, the soldiers who stand side by side in battle, -and the politicians who vote the same ballot, to the thinkers -who see the same truths and the martyrs who die in allegiance -to the same sentiment. Everywhere, on all its ranges, friendship -means communion of lives, sharing of thought and feeling, co-operative -<span class='pageno' id='Page_609'>609</span>fellowship of personalities, the reflection of one consciousness -in another. Those who meet only at the bottom of -the scale in sensual mirth should be able sometimes, at least by -the aid of a literary telescope, to see those who commingle at -its top in immortal faith and aspiration.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Forrest possessed in a marked degree many of the qualities of a -good friend; although, of course, it is not pretended that he had the -mental disinterestedness, the refined spirituality, or the profound -philosophic and religious insight which calls one to the most exalted -style and height of friendship as it is celebrated for perpetual -remembrance in the In Memoriam of Tennyson. He was affectionate, -quick of perception, full of spontaneous sympathy and a deep -and wide humanity, strictly truthful, in the highest degree just in -his principles and purposes though often badly warped by prejudice, -prompt in attention, retentive in memory, and inflexibly faithful -to his pledge. If he was proud, it was not an arrogant and cruel -pride, but a lofty self-assertion bottomed on a sense of worth. -And even in regard to his irascible temper, the inflammability -and explosiveness were on the surface of his mind, while tenderness, -justice, and magnanimity were in its depths, excepting where -some supposed meanness or wrong had caused hate to percolate -there. The keenness and tenacity of his feelings took effect alike -in his attractions and repulsions, so that he was as slow to forget -a comrade as he was to forgive a foe. In London he saw two -carriage-dogs who had been mates for years running along together, -when one of them was crushed by a wheel and killed. -The other just glanced at him, and, without deigning so much -as to stop and smell of him, trotted on. From the sight of this -Forrest caught such a contempt for the whole breed of carriage-dogs -that he could never afterwards look at one without disgust. -It was hardly fair perhaps to spread over an entire race what was -the fault of one, but the impulse was generous. So long as any -man with whom he had once been friends behaved properly and -treated him justly he remained as true as steel to his fellowship. -But open dereliction from duty, or clear degradation of character, -or, in particular, any instance of baseness, cowardice, or treachery, -moved his scorn and anger and fatally alienated him. It will be -remembered that while yet a mere youth he played very successfully -at Albany with Edmund Kean, whose genius he idolized. -<span class='pageno' id='Page_610'>610</span>After the play a man whom he had always liked said to him, -“Your Iago was better than Kean’s Othello.” Forrest says, “I -never spoke to that man again!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>There was a strong feeling of kindness and admiration between -him and Silas Wright, the celebrated Democratic Senator from -New York. The day was once fixed for an important debate -between Silas Wright and Daniel Webster. Early in the morning -a man who had seen Wright drinking deeply and somewhat -overcharged went to Webster and said, “You will have an easy -task to-day in overthrowing your adversary; he already reels.” -Indignant at the meanness of the remark, the great man frowned -darkly and answered in his sternest tones, “Sir, no man has an -easy victory over Silas Wright, drunk or sober,” and stalked -away. Forrest used to tell this anecdote with characteristic -relish of the rebuke pride gave impertinence. He could well -appreciate traits of character and modes of conduct which he did -not profess to practise but openly repudiated for himself. For -instance, though he preferred truth to charity when they were -opposed, he often quoted with the warmest admiration the sentiment -uttered by some one on the death of Robert Burns: “Let -his faults be like swans’ feet, hid beneath the stream.” And he -also once said, “The finest eulogy I ever heard spoken of General -Grant was, as uttered by an old acquaintance of his, ‘He -never forgot a friend nor remembered an enemy.’ Ah, is not -that beautiful? If it be justly said, as I am sorry to say I very -much doubt, it sets a grace around his head which he himself -could never set there.” It is certainly a very curious—though -not at all an extraordinary—illustration of human nature to set -against the above utterance of Forrest the following quotation -from a letter of his dated Syracuse, October 5, 1868: “I saw by -the telegraphic news in the paper this morning that George W. -Jamieson was killed last night by a railroad train at Yonkers. -God is great; and justice, though slow, is sure. Another scoundrel -has gone to hell—I trust forever!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>Of the very large number of friends Forrest had, his intimacy -continued to the end of life with but comparatively few. Fatal -barriers and chill spaces of separation came between him and a -great many of them, caused sometimes by mere lapse of time -and pressure of occupation or removal of residence and change -<span class='pageno' id='Page_611'>611</span>of personal tastes, sometimes by alienating disagreements and -collisions of temper. These estrangements were so numerous -that he acquired the reputation of being a quarrelsome man and -hard to get along with, which was not altogether the fact.</p> - -<p class='c007'>One class of his earlier friends were in many cases converted -into enemies on this wise. Boon companions are easy to have, -but cheap, superficial, fickle. Genuine friendship, on the other -hand, generous community of life and aspiration, co-operative -pursuit and enjoyment of the worthiest ends, is a rare and costly -prize, requiring virtues and imposing tasks. Multitudes therefore -are tempted to put up with jovial fellowship in the pleasures -of the table and let the desire for an ennobling intercourse of -souls die out. The parasitic and treacherous nature of most pot-fellowship -is proverbial. How well Shakspeare paints it in his -version of Timon! When the eyes of the generous Athenian -were opened to the selfishness of his pretended friends he became -so rankling a misanthrope that the Greek Anthology gives us this -as the epitaph sculptured on his sepulchre:</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“Dost hate the earth or Hades worse! Speak clear!</div> - <div class='line'>Hades, O fool! There are more of us here.”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c009'>Forrest was not many years in learning how shallow, how selfish, -how untrustworthy such comrades were. He had too much ambition, -too much earnestness and dignity to be satisfied with a -worthless substitute for a sacred reality. He would not let an -ungirt indulgence of the senses in conviviality take the place of -a consentient action of congenial souls in the enjoyment of excellence -and the pursuit of glory. More and more, therefore, he -withdrew from these scenes of banqueting, story-telling, and -singing, and found his contentment more and more in books, in -the repose and reflection of solitude, and in the society of a select -few. The most of those whom he thus left to themselves resented -his defection from their ways, and repaid his former favor -and bounty with personal dislike and invidious speech.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Another class of his quondam friends he broke with not on -the ground of their general principles and social habits but in -consequence of some particular individual offence in their individual -character and conduct. His standard for a friend—his -standard of honesty, sincerity, and manly fairness—was an exacting -<span class='pageno' id='Page_612'>612</span>one, and he brooked no gross deviation from it. When he -believed, either correctly or incorrectly, that any associate of his -had wilfully violated that standard, he at once openly repudiated -his friendship and walked with him no more. In this way dark -gaps were made in the ranks of his temporary friends by the -expulsion thence of the satellites who preyed on his money, the -actors who pirated his plays, the debauchees who dishonored -themselves, the companions who betrayed his confidence and -slandered his name. And thus the crowd of his revengeful -assailants was again swelled. A single example in illustration -of his conduct under such circumstances is marked by such racy -vigor that it must be here adduced. A man of great smartness -and of considerable distinction, with whom he had been especially -intimate, but whom, having discovered his unworthiness, he had -discarded, sought to reingratiate himself. Forrest wrote him this -remarkable specimen of terse English:</p> - -<div class='lg-container-r c011'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“<span class='sc'>New York</span>, January 14, 1859.</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c010'>“I hope the motives which led you to address me a note under -date of 13th inst. will never induce you to do so again. Attempts -upon either my credulity or my purse will be found alike -in vain. No person however malicious, as you assume to believe, -could change my opinion of you. Your intention to write a -book is a matter which rests entirely with yourself. May I, -however, take the liberty of suggesting that at this late day such -a thing is not really needed, to illustrate your character, to alter -public opinion, nor to prove to the world how great a dust can -be raised by an ass out of place in either diplomacy or literature? -There is already enough known of your career to prove that your -task of becoming the apologist for a prostitution which has -girdled the globe is one congenial to your tastes, fitted to your -peculiar abilities, and coincident with your antecedents even from -your birth to the present day.</p> -<div class='c014'>“<span class='sc'>Edwin Forrest.</span>”</div> - -<p class='c007'>Furthermore, an important circle of his most honored friends fell -away from Forrest under circumstances peculiarly trying to his -feelings. All those who in the time of his domestic unhappiness -and the consequent lawsuits sympathized with the lady and supported -<span class='pageno' id='Page_613'>613</span>her cause against him he regarded as having committed -an unpardonable offence. He would never again speak with one -of them. It was a heavy defection. It inflicted much suffering -on him and bred a bitter sense of hostility towards them, with a -sad feeling of impoverishment. For the places they had occupied -in his heart and memory were thenceforth as so many closed -and sealed chambers of funereal gloom.</p> - -<p class='c007'>But, after all the foregoing failures have been allowed for, there -remain in the life we are contemplating a goodly number of -friendships full of hearty sincerity and wholesome human helpfulness -and joy,—friendships unstained by vice, unbroken by -quarrels, undestroyed by years. Several of these have already -been alluded to; especially the supreme example in his opening -manhood, his relations with the eloquent, heroic, and generous -William Leggett. Some account also has been given of his -endeared intimacy with James Lawson, who first greeted him on -the night of his first appearance in New York, and whose faithful -attachment to his person and interests grew closer and stronger -to the day of his death, never for an instant having seen the -prospect of a breach or known the shadow of a passing cloud. -“My friend Lawson,” said Forrest, when near his end, “is a gentleman -on whom, as Duncan remarked of the thane of Cawdor, -I have always built an absolute trust. He has, in our long communion -of nigh fifty years, never failed me in a single point nor -deceived me by so much as a look, but has been as good and -kind to me as man can be to man.” Here is one of his letters:</p> - -<div class='lg-container-r c011'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“<span class='sc'>Philadelphia</span>, Dec. 1, 1869.</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c010'>“<span class='sc'>Dear Lawson</span>,—I am glad you like the notice of <em>Spartacus</em>. -It was written by our friend Forney, in his hearty and friendly -spirit.</p> - -<p class='c010'>“My dear friend Lawson, it is not money that I play for now, -but the excitement of the stage keeps me from rusting physically -and mentally. It drives away the canker care, and averts the -progress of decay. It is wholesome to be employed in ‘the -labor we delight in.’ What prolonged the life of Izaak Walton, -but his useful employments, which gave vigor to his mind and -body, until mildly drew on the slow necessity of death? I hope -to take you by the hand when you are ninety, and tell some -<span class='pageno' id='Page_614'>614</span>merry tales of times long past. Day after to-morrow I leave -home for Cincinnati, and shall be absent in the West for several -months, and return with the birds and the buds, to see you once -more, I hope, in your usual enjoyment of health and happiness. -God bless you.</p> - -<div class='lg-container-r c011'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“Your sincere friend,</div> - <div class='line in8'>“<span class='sc'>Edwin Forrest</span>.”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c007'>And now some examples of less conspicuous but true and -valued friendships, selected from among many, claim brief place -in this narrative. William D. Gallagher, a Quaker by persuasion, -a man of literary tastes and a most quiet and blameless -spirit, cherished from boyhood a fervid admiration and love for -Forrest ever gratefully appreciated by him. He took extreme -pains to collect materials for the biography of his friend, materials -which have been often used in the earlier pages of this volume. -Forrest desired his biographer, if he could find appropriate place -in his work, to record an acknowledging and tributary word in -memory of this affectionate and unobtrusive friend. The fittest -words for that purpose will be the following citation from a -letter of Forrest himself. “I deeply regret to inform you of the -death of William D. Gallagher, who on his recent visit to Boston -was so much pleased in forming your acquaintance and hearing -your discourses. He was a man to be honored and loved for -his genuine worth. He was quite free from every vice of the -world. He carried the spirit of a child all through his life. He -was as pure and gentle, I believe, as an angel. Though he cut no -figure in society, I was proud to know that so good a man was -my friend. I used to feel that I had rather at any time clasp his -hand than that of the heir apparent to the throne of England.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>In the chief cities which Forrest every year visited professionally -he formed many delightful acquaintances, many of which, -constantly renewed and heightened by every fresh communion of -heart and life, ripened into precious friendships. Of these, John -C. Breckinridge, of Lexington, Kentucky, and John G. Stockly, -of Cleveland, Ohio, and Charles G. Greene, of Boston, Massachusetts, -may be named. But more particular mention should be made -of James V. Wagner, of Baltimore. A Baltimore correspondent -of the “National Intelligencer,” in one of his communications, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_615'>615</span>says, “We learn that the distinguished American tragedian during -his recent sojourn in this city has presented a splendid carriage -and pair of horses to his long-tried and faithful friend, our fellow-citizen -James V. Wagner. When the celebrated actor was but a -stripling and at the beginning of his career, Mr. Wagner took him -warmly by the hand, and has been his ardent admirer and friend -from that time to the present. The gift is a magnificent one, and -reflects credit on bestower and receiver. It is an establishment -altogether fit for a duke or a prince.” In 1874 a son of Mr. -Wagner gives this pleasing reminiscence of the frequent and -ever-charming visits of Forrest at his father’s house: “Often in -childhood have I sat upon his knee, and, as I then felt, listened -to the words of Metamora, Jack Cade, and Lear in broadcloth. -Often did he stroke my little black locks and ask me if I would -become a carpenter, a lawyer, a minister, or a merchant. I can -testify to his fondness for young children, consequently his goodness -of heart.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>Judge Conrad, the eloquent author of Jack Cade, the high-souled, -brilliant man, was a very dear and close friend of Forrest. -The impulsive and generous writer gave the appreciative and -steadfast player much pleasure and inspiration by his intercourse, -and received a cordial esteem and many important favors in -return. On Forrest’s arrival from Europe with his wife in 1846 -he was greeted with this hearty letter by Conrad:</p> - -<p class='c010'>“<span class='sc'>My dear Mr. and Mrs. Forrest</span>,—A thousand warm and -hearty welcomes home! I had hoped to greet you in person, -but my engagements preclude me that pleasure. You doubtless -find that the creaking and crazy world has been grating upon its -axis after the rough old fashion since you left us; that there are -fresh mounds in the grave-yard, and fresh troubles in the way -to it; but I am sure that you find the hearts of old as true as -ever. Your wandering way has had anxious eyes watching over -it; and your return is, in this city, hailed with general rejoicing. -Absence embalms friendships: friends seldom change when so -separated that they cannot offend. And to one who has a circle -such as you have, I should think it almost worth while to go -abroad for the luxury of returning home. Thank God that you -are back and in health!</p> - -<p class='c010'><span class='pageno' id='Page_616'>616</span>“Mrs. Conrad and our girls unite with me in bidding you -welcome. The news of your arrival made a jubilee with the -children. We all look forward anxiously for the privilege of -taking you by the hand.</p> - -<div class='lg-container-r c011'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“Very truly your friend,</div> - <div class='line in12'>“<span class='sc'>R. T. Conrad</span>.”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c007'>One brief interruption to this friendship there was. It originated -in some misunderstanding which provoked anger and pain. Forrest -wrote at once, not unkindly, and asked an explanation. He -was rejoiced by the immediate receipt of the following letter, -which he endorsed with the single word “Reconciliation,” and -they were again united:</p> - -<div class='lg-container-r c011'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“<span class='sc'>Philadelphia</span>, June 25th, 1849.</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c010'>“<span class='sc'>My dear Forrest</span>,—Your letter throws the duty of apology -upon me, and, from my heart, I ask your pardon, and will tear to -tatters all record of what has passed. But there is no madness -Coleridge tells us, that so works upon the brain as unkindness in -those we love.</p> - -<p class='c010'>“Forget what has passed,—but not until you have forgiven one -whose pulses beat sometimes too hotly, but will always beat for -you. This single cloud in our past—a past all bright to me—has -been absorbed by the nobler and purer atmosphere of your -nature. Surely it cannot now cast a shadow.</p> - -<p class='c010'>“Before the receipt of your note I had written a letter under -my own signature, replying to a brutal attack upon you in the -Boston ‘Aurora Borealis’ in relation to your course towards -dramatic authors. It will appear in McMakin’s ‘Courier,’ and I -have seized the occasion to make some editorial remarks upon the -subject that will not dissatisfy you; and, as the circulation of the -‘Courier’ is nearly wide as that of the wind, I think it will do -good.</p> - -<p class='c010'>“Let me sign this hasty note as most truly and heartily</p> - -<div class='lg-container-r c011'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“Your friend,</div> - <div class='line in4'>“<span class='sc'>R. T. Conrad</span>.</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c010'>“<span class='sc'>E. Forrest, Esq.</span>”</p> - -<p class='c007'>The friendship with James Taylor, described in a previous -chapter of this biography, which was so pleasant and valuable to -<span class='pageno' id='Page_617'>617</span>Forrest at the time, never died, but was kept fresh and strong to -the last. This will appear from the interesting letters that follow:</p> - -<div class='lg-container-r c011'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“<span class='sc'>Fire Island, N.Y.</span>, July 14th, 1870.</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<div class='lg-container-l c011'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“<span class='sc'>Edwin Forrest, Esq.</span>:</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c010'>“<span class='sc'>My dear Friend</span>,—When you were last at my house I promised -you a copy of my portrait of George F. Cooke. I could not -until now procure such a copy as I thought worthy to be sent you. -It was first photographed and then painted, and is an exact counterfeit -of the original. It is not full size. Several attempts were -made to get a good photograph copy, or <em>negative</em>, and in the present -size it was the most perfect. The history of this picture -(I mean the one in my possession) is as follows: A young gentleman -by the name of Jouitt studied portrait-painting with Sully -in 1816, and on his leaving for his native State, Kentucky, Sully -presented him with this picture of Cooke, being a copy of his -<em>original picture of the great tragedian</em>. Jouitt presented the picture -to Captain John Fowler, of Lexington, Ky., in 1818, and he -on his death-bed in 1840 gave it to me. He was an old pioneer, -and came to Kentucky with my mother in 1783. Now, my old -and much-admired friend, please accept this portrait as a testimony -of my high regard for you as a gentleman and a man of genius. -I often have a vivid recollection of the old times when we were -together,—the night you slept with me at Kean’s Hotel, and the -New Year’s dinner at Ayer’s Hotel with Clay, Merceir, and others. -We were young then, full of life, hope, and enthusiasm; and I do -not feel old yet. These days, my friend, I look back on with -pleasure. I was not then vexed or troubled with the cares of life. -If we should never meet again, I wish you much happiness and -length of days. I am here enjoying the breezes of ‘Neptune’s -salt wash,’ fishing, and sailing. I shall return to New York in -a week or ten days. Please write to me at the St. Nicholas, as I -desire to know whether the picture reached you uninjured.</p> - -<div class='lg-container-r c011'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“Yours very sincerely,</div> - <div class='line in12'>“<span class='sc'>James Taylor</span>.”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<div class='lg-container-r c011'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“<span class='sc'>Fire Island</span>, August 1st, 1870.</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<div class='lg-container-l c011'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“<span class='sc'>Edwin Forrest</span>:</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c010'>“<span class='sc'>My dear Friend</span>,—Yours of the 21st of July was forwarded -to me from New York at the close of last week, and I regret that -<span class='pageno' id='Page_618'>618</span>it was out of my power to comply with your request to meet you -at your home in Philadelphia. I have been here now over three -weeks,—a most delightful cool place,—and I only regret that I -have to leave it in the midst of the hot season to return to Kentucky, -where business calls me. I am gratified that you liked the -portrait; it is in fact a true copy of the original. Dear Ned, I -often think of our young days in Lexington with our friends -Lewis, Turpin, Clay, and others, and how happy we were amidst -those scenes. But they are gone, and we are almost old men. I -hope we shall gracefully go down to death, having courageously -fought the battle of life. You will leave a name and a fame behind -you as one of the great masters of the dramatic art. Should -you again visit the West, you know where to find your friend,</p> - -<div class='lg-container-r c011'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“<span class='sc'>James Taylor</span>.”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c007'>Another letter, much longer and more important, was addressed -by Mr. Taylor to S. S. Smith, a common friend to the two persons,—a -friend of whom Forrest once wrote to Oakes, “If my old -friend S. S. Smith does not go to heaven when he dies, the office of -door-keeper there is a sinecure and the place might as well be -shut up. He is one of the most honest, kind-hearted, trustworthy -men I have ever known. I have always cherished the warmest -esteem for him.” This letter was written after the death of Forrest, -and contains a most interesting and touching tribute to him. -It belongs in the closing chapter rather than here.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Among the long- and well-cherished friends of Forrest, of a -later date than Taylor, were the two distinguished New York -counsellors John Graham and James T. Brady. The sudden -death of the latter at the zenith of his manhood called from him -a strong expression of feeling in a letter to one of their common -friends: “The death of Brady shocked me very much. He was -a genial, noble man, and an eloquent and honest lawyer,—every -way so unlike the pettifogging peddlers of iniquity and the corrupt -and ermined ruffians of the bench whom we have known. I feel -honored in saying that I was his friend and that he was mine. -His place will not easily be supplied with any of those who knew -him, and could not know him without loving him. What an interesting -figure he was, and how he drew all eyes where he came, -with his beating heart, his bright frank face, his large and warm -<span class='pageno' id='Page_619'>619</span>presence! He was a contrast indeed to those commonplace -creatures concerning whom nobody cares anything, and never -asks who they are, or what they do, or whence they come, or -where they go. I regret that he should have died and not have -made friends with John Graham. How I should like to have -been instrumental with you in bringing about a reconciliation -between them!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>And now we come to the central, crowning, supreme friendship -which most of all alleviated the life and blessed the heart of Forrest -alike when he was young and when he was old,—the glowing -bond of cordiality that knit his soul with the soul of James Oakes. -One of the two partners in this happy league of unselfish love -and faithful service has passed through nature to eternity, while -one still lives. To do justice to the relation on the side of the -former it is necessary to know something of the character of -the man who sustained the other side of it. And though it is a -delicate office, and one somewhat offensive to fashion, to speak -frankly of the traits of the living, except indeed in assault and -censure, yet, since truth is truth, and moral lessons have the same -import whether drawn from those who are alive or from those -who are dead, one who is called to tell the story of a departed -Damon may perhaps venture honestly and with modesty to depict -his lingering Pythias.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Oakes is a man of positive nature, downright and forthright, as -blunt and strong in act and word as Forrest himself, and, so far, -fitted to meet and mate him. He has made a host of foes by his -bluff truth of speech and deed, his sturdy standing to his opinion, -his straight march to his purpose. These foes, no matter who -they were, high or low, he has always scorned and defied with -unfaltering and unrepentant vigor. He has likewise made a host -of friends, by his sound judgment always at their service, his -genially affectionate spirit, and his unwearied devotion to gentle -works of humanity in befriending the unfortunate and ministering -to the distressed, the sick, and the dying. To these friends, rich -and poor alike, and whether basking in popular favor or crushed -under obloquy, he has always been steadfastly true. No fickle -misliker or mere sunshine friend he, but, like Forrest, tenacious -both in antipathies and sympathies. His nature has ever been -wax to receive, steel to retain, the memory of injuries and of -<span class='pageno' id='Page_620'>620</span>benefits, hostility and love. His sensitive openness to the beauty -of nature, to the charm of poetry, to the voice of eloquence, to -the touch of fine sentiment, is extreme. Anything pathetic, noble, -or grand makes his tears spring quicker than a woman’s, and his -blood burns with instant indignation and his heart beats fast and -loud against injustice, cruelty, or meanness. And yet he is not -what is called a society man, a careful observer of the sleek proprieties -of the polite world of conventional appearances. On the -contrary, in many things his aboriginal love of free sincerity has -shocked these. And he has been a strong lover of horses, of -dogs, of sporting life, and of the rough, warm, honest ways of -fearless and spontaneous sporting men. A soft heart, a true -tongue, a clear head, self-asserting character and life, pity for -suffering, defiance to pretension, contempt for fashion when opposed -to nature, have been his passports to men and theirs to -him. From his boyhood he has taken delight in doing kind -deeds to the needy, carrying wines, fruits, flowers, and other delicacies -to the sick, being a champion for the weak and injured, -whether man or woman or child or quadruped or bird. Hundreds -of times has he been seen in drifting snow-storms, undeterred by -the pelting elements, in his wide-rimmed hat, shaggy overcoat, -and long boots up to his thighs, loaded with good things, on his -way to the bedside of some disabled friend or some poor sufferer -forgotten by others. His enemies no doubt may justly bring -many accusations against him. His friends certainly will confess -his defects and faults. He himself would blush at the thought -of claiming immunity from a full share of the weaknesses and -sins of men. But no one who knows him, whether friend or foe, -can question his extreme tenderness, tenacity, and fidelity of -nature, his rare sensibility of hate for detestable forms of character -and action, his heroic adhesion and indefatigable attentiveness to -all whom he admires and loves.</p> - -<p class='c007'>His moral portrait is limned by the hand of one who had -known him most thoroughly on his favorable side as a friend for -nearly all his lifetime, in this private epistle:</p> - -<div class='lg-container-r c011'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“<span class='sc'>New York</span>, Sunday morning, May 24, 1874.</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c010'>“<span class='sc'>My dear Oakes</span>,—Your letter of the 22d reached me yesterday -morning, and was read and re-read with pleasure. When -<span class='pageno' id='Page_621'>621</span>you tell me you foot up sixty-seven, I find it difficult to believe -you, and if you refer me to the record I shall still exclaim with -Beau Shatterly (do you remember how poor Finn used to play -it?), ‘D—n parish registers! They’re all impudent impositions -and no authority!’</p> - -<p class='c010'>“There are a few exceptional men in the world who project their -youth far forward into their lives, and this not so much from -force of constitution as from the size of their hearts. You are -one of these few phenomenal men. That you may long continue -to flourish in perennial spring is my sincerest prayer. You have -been just and generous (except to yourself),—to what extent you -forget. I think the recording angel must sometimes curse your -good deeds, you have given him or her or it (there is no sex to -angels) so many to record in that huge log-book which is kept -up aloft for future reference. In the race for salvation, while the -saints (professional) are plying steel and whipcord, jostling each -other and riding foul, you will distance them and go into the -gate at an easy canter under no pull at all. As for me, it is different. -I stood near the pyramid of Caius Sextius at Rome, at -the grave of Keats, and read his epitaph by himself, ‘Here lies -one whose name was writ in water,’ and said, That ought to be -mine. However, I went up the steps of the Santa Scala on my -knees, invested fifty francs or so in indulgences, and left the -Eternal City whiter than snow,—but perhaps only as a whited -sepulchre is sometimes whiter than snow.</p> - -<p class='c010'>“Excuse my levity. You will read between the lines and find -plenty of sad and serious thoughts there. If I did not valiantly -fight against bitter memories, I should cave.</p> - -<div class='lg-container-r c011'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“Yours entirely,</div> - <div class='line in16'>“F. A. D.”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c007'>Oakes had many friends besides Forrest, some of whom he had -known earlier and most of whom were friends in common to them -both. Among the chief of these may be named—and they were -men of extraordinary talent, force, racy originality of character, -and depth of human passion—George W. Kendall and A. M. Holbrook, -editors of the New Orleans “Picayune,” William T. Porter, -editor of the “Spirit of the Times,” Dr. Charles M. Windship, -of Roxbury, the romantic and tragic William Henry Herbert,—better -<span class='pageno' id='Page_622'>622</span>known as Frank Forrester, a sort of modern Bertrand du -Guesclin, who, when the woman he loved deceived him, resolutely -severed every tie joining him with humanity and the world, -requested that no epitaph should be written on him save “The -Most Unhappy,” and quieted his convulsed brain with a bullet,—Sargent -S. Prentiss, of Mississippi, Thomas F. Marshall, of -Kentucky, George W. Prentice, Albert Pike, Colonel Powell T. -Wyman, and Francis A. Durivage. The inner lives of such -characters as these, and others whose names are not given, fully -revealed, show in human experience gulfs of delight and woe, -degrees of intensity and wonder, little dreamed of by the peaceful -and feeble superficialists who fancy in their innocence that the -life of the nineteenth century is tame and dull, wholly wanting in -the extremities of spiritual adventure and social excitement that -marked the times of old. The knowledge of the sincere life of -society to day—the real unconventional life behind the scenes—as -it was uncovered and made familiar to Forrest and Oakes, -when it is suddenly appreciated by a thoughtful scholar, an inexperienced -recluse, gives him a shock of amazement, a mingled -sorrow and wonder which make him cry, “What a sad, bitter, -strange, beautiful, terrible world it is! O God! who knows or -can even faintly guess from afar the meaning of it all? These -fathomless passions of men and women, giving a bliss and a pain -which make every other heaven or hell utterly superfluous,—these -temptations and crimes which horrify the soul and curdle -the blood,—these betrayals and disappointments that break our -hearts, unhinge our reason, and precipitate us into self-sought -graves, mad to pluck the secret of eternity,—who shall ever read -the infinite riddle and tell us what it all is for?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>As the heaping decades of years rolled by, Oakes had to part -with many of his dearest friends at the edge of that shadow which -no mortal, only immortals, can penetrate. But, unlike what happens -with most men, his friendly offices ceased not with the -breath of the departed. For one and another and another and -another of his old comrades, whom he had assiduously nursed -in their last hours, when all was ended, with his own hands he -tenderly closed the eyes, washed the body, put on the burial-garments, -and reverently laid the humanized clay in the earth -with farewell tears. To so many of his closest comrades had he -<span class='pageno' id='Page_623'>623</span>paid this last service that at length in his twilight meditations he -began to feel a chilly solitude spreading around. It was in such -a mood that he wrote a letter to one of the surviving and central -figures of that group of strong, brave, fiery-passioned men, who -knew the full height and depth of the romance and tragedy of -human experience, and had nearly all gone, most of them untimely, -and several by their own hands. It was to Albert Pike -that he wrote. What he wrote moved Pike to compose an essay, -“Of Leaves and their Falling,” in which this touching, tributary -passage occurs. Having alluded to the dead of their circle,—Porter, -Elliot, Lewis and Willis Gaylord Clark, Herbert, Wyman, -Forrest, and others,—he proceeds: “James Oakes, of the old -Salt-Store, 49 Long Wharf, Boston,—‘Acorn’ of the old ‘Spirit -of the Times,’—lives yet, as generous and genial as ever. He -loved Porter like a brother, and, in a letter received by me yesterday, -says, ‘This is my birthday! 67 is marked on the milestone -of my life just passed. Among the few old friends of my -early days who are left on this side the river, none is dearer to -me than yourself. As I creep down the western slope towards -the last sunset, my old heart turns with irresistible longings to -those early friends, my love for whom grew with my growth and -strengthened with my strength. Alas, how few are left! As I -look back upon the long line of grave-stones by the wayside -that remind me of my early associates, a feeling of inexpressible -sadness possesses me, and my heart yearns towards the few old -friends left, to whom I cling with hooks of steel.’ And so he -thanks me for a poem sent him, and tells me how he has worked -for the estate of Forrest, and sincerely and affectionately wishes -that God may bless me and keep me in health for many years -to come.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Ah, dear old friend! the cold November days of life have -come for both of us, and the dull bars of cloud scowl on the -barren stubble-fields, the wind blows inhospitably, and the hills -in the distance are bleak and gray and bare, and the winter -comes, when we must drop from the tree, and be remembered a -little while, and then forgotten almost as soon as the dead leaves.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Well, what does it matter to us if we are to be forgotten -before the spring showers fall a second time on our graves, as -Porter was, except by two or three friends? What is it to the -<span class='pageno' id='Page_624'>624</span>leaf that falls, killed by an untimely frost, whether it is remembered -or forgotten by its fellows that still cling to the tree, to fall -a little later in the season? Men are seldom remembered after -death for anything that you or I would care to be remembered -for.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Porter would not have cared to be remembered by many, nor -by any one, unless with affection for his unbounded goodness of -heart and generosity. Nor am I covetous of large remembrance -among men. If I should die before him, I should wish, if I cared -for anything here after death more than a dead leaf does, to have -Oakes come to my grave, as I wish that he and I could go to that -of Porter, and there repeat, in the language to which no translation -can do justice, this exquisite threnody of Catullus:</p> - -<div class='nf-center-c0'> -<div class='nf-center c002'> - <div><span lang="la" xml:lang="la">INFERIÆ AD FRATRIS TUMULUM.</span></div> - </div> -</div> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'><span lang="la" xml:lang="la">Multas per gentes et multa per æquora vectus,</span></div> - <div class='line in2'><span lang="la" xml:lang="la">Advenio has miseras, frater, ad inferias,</span></div> - <div class='line'><span lang="la" xml:lang="la">Ut te postremo donarem munere mortis,</span></div> - <div class='line in2'><span lang="la" xml:lang="la">Et mutum nequicquam alloquerer cinerem,</span></div> - <div class='line'><span lang="la" xml:lang="la">Quandoquidem Fortuna mihi tete abstulit ipsum,</span></div> - <div class='line in2'><span lang="la" xml:lang="la">Heu miser indigne frater ademte mihi</span></div> - <div class='line'><span lang="la" xml:lang="la">Nunc tamen interea hæc prisco quæ more parentum</span></div> - <div class='line in2'><span lang="la" xml:lang="la">Tradita sunt tristes munera ad inferias,</span></div> - <div class='line'><span lang="la" xml:lang="la">Accipe fraterno multum manantia fletu,</span></div> - <div class='line in2'><span lang="la" xml:lang="la">Atque in perpetuum, frater, ave atque vale.</span></div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c007'>“Discontented with the translations whereof by Lamb, Elton, -and Hodgson, I have endeavored this more literal one:</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“Through many nations, over many seas,</div> - <div class='line in2'>Brother, to this sad sacrifice I come</div> - <div class='line'>To pay to thee Death’s final offices,</div> - <div class='line in2'>And, though in vain, invoke thine ashes dumb,</div> - <div class='line'>Since Fate’s fell swoop has torn thyself from me,—</div> - <div class='line'>Alas, poor brother, from me severed ruthlessly!</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“Therefore, meanwhile, these offices of sorrow,</div> - <div class='line in2'>Which, by old custom of our fathers’ years</div> - <div class='line'>To the last sacrifice assigned, I borrow,</div> - <div class='line in2'>Flowing with torrents of fraternal tears,</div> - <div class='line'>Accept, though only half my grief they tell,—</div> - <div class='line'>And so, forever, brother, bless thee, and farewell!”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c007'>Such as he has been above described was the man who for -forty-three years best loved Edwin Forrest and whom in return -<span class='pageno' id='Page_625'>625</span>Edwin Forrest best loved. How much this means, the narrative -of their friendship that follows will show.</p> - -<p class='c007'>At the time of their first meeting, which took place at the -close of the actor’s debut in Boston in the play of Damon and -Pythias, Forrest was within a few weeks of twenty-one and -Oakes a little less than twenty. They had so many traits and -tastes in common that their souls chimed at once. When absent -they corresponded by letter, and, seizing every opportunity for -renewed personal fellowship, their mutual interest quickly ripened -into a fervent attachment. Oakes had a passion for the theatre -and the drama. He earnestly studied the principal plays produced, -and soon began scribbling criticisms. These paragraphs -he often gave to the regular reporters and dramatic critics of the -newspapers, and sometimes sent them directly in his own name -to the editors. Afterwards, over the signature of “Acorn,” he -acquired good reputation as a stated contributor to several leading -journals in the East and the South. Both he and Forrest -were great sticklers for a vigorous daily bath and scrub, and very -fond of athletic exercises, which they especially enjoyed together, -an example which might be copied with immense advantage by -many daintily cultured people who fancy themselves above it. -They were about equally matched with the gloves and the foils, -if anything Forrest being the better boxer, Oakes the better -fencer, as his motions were the more nimble.</p> - -<p class='c007'>As time passed and their mutual knowledge and confidence -increased, the sympathies of the friends were more closely interlocked -and spread over all their business interests and affectional -experiences, and their constantly crossing letters were transcripts -of their inner states and their daily outer lives. They scarcely -held any secret back from each other. Forrest almost invariably -consulted Oakes and carefully weighed his advice before -taking any important step. Oakes made it his study to do everything -in his power to aid and further his honored friend alike in -his personal status and in his professional glory. For this end -he wrote and moved others to write hundreds and hundreds of -newspaper notices, working up every conceivable kind of item -calculated to keep the name and personality of the actor freshly -before the eyes of the public. His letters, with the alert instinct -of love, were varied to meet and minister to the trials and condition -<span class='pageno' id='Page_626'>626</span>of him to whom they were addressed, congratulating him in -his triumph, counselling him in his perplexity, soothing him in -his anger, consoling him in his sorrow. In the innumerable -letters, transmitted for nearly fifty years at the rate of from two -to seven a week, Oakes used to enclose slips snipped from the -newspapers, and extracts from magazines and books, containing -everything he found which he thought would interest, amuse, or -edify his correspondent. Thus was he ever what a friend should -be,—a mirror glassing the soul and fortunes of the counterpart -friend; but a mirror which at the same time that it reflects what -exists also reveals the supply of what is needed.</p> - -<p class='c007'>One of the charms of the correspondence of Oakes and Forrest -is the ingenuous freedom with which their feelings are expressed. -A shamefaced or frigid reticence on all matters of sentiment or -personal affection between men seems to be the conspicuous -characteristic of the Anglo-Saxon race. The most that the -average well-to-do Englishman or American can say on meeting -his dearest friend is, Well, old fellow, how goes it? Glad to see -you! It is painful for a really rich and tender heart to move -about in this sterile wilderness of dumb and bashful sympathy or -frozen and petrified love. But these friends were wont to speak -their free hearts each to each without reserve or affectation. -Early in their acquaintance Oakes writes thus:</p> - -<p class='c010'>“<span class='sc'>My dear Forrest</span>,—I cannot tell you how much delight I -had in your visit to me. When you left, the sinking of my heart -told me how dear you had become. The more I see of you the -more I find to honor and to love. I set your image against the -remembrance of all the scamps I have known, and think more -highly of the human race. How I long for the day when you -will visit Boston again or I shall come to you! Command my -services to the fullest extent in anything and in everything. For -I am, from top to bottom, inside and out, and all through, forever -yours,</p> - -<div class='lg-container-r c011'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“<span class='sc'>James Oakes</span>.”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c007'>And Forrest replies:</p> - -<p class='c010'>“<span class='sc'>My Dearest and Best of Friends</span>,—Thanking you for your -hearty letter, which has given me a real pleasure, I assure you -<span class='pageno' id='Page_627'>627</span>you could not have enjoyed my visit more than I did. Your -encouraging smiles and delicate attentions gave a daily beauty -to my life while I was under the same roof with you. In my -life I have had the fellowship of many goodly men, brave and -manly fellows who knew not what it was to lie or to be afraid. -I have never met one whose heart beat with a nobler humanity -than yours. I am proud to be your friend and to have you for -mine. God bless you, and keep us always worthy of one another.</p> - -<div class='lg-container-r c011'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“<span class='sc'>Edwin Forrest.</span>”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c007'>Every summer for the last thirty years of his life Forrest made -it a rule to spend a week or a fortnight with Oakes, when they -either loitered about lovely Boston or went into the country or -to the seaside and gave themselves up to leisurely enjoyment, -“fleeting the time carelessly as they did in the golden world.” -Then the days and nights flew as if they were enchanted with -speed. These visits were regularly repaid at New York, at -Fonthill, at Philadelphia. Whenever they met, after a long separation, -as soon as they were alone together they threw their arms -around each other in fond embrace with mutual kisses, after the -manner of lovers in our land or of friends in more tropical and -demonstrative climes.</p> - -<p class='c007'>A single forlorn tomato was the entire crop raised at Fonthill -Castle in the season of 1851. As the friends stood looking at it, -Oakes suddenly plucked, peeled, and swallowed it. The tragedian -gazed for some time in open-eyed astonishment. At length -with affected rage he broke out, “Well, if this is not the most -outrageous piece of selfishness! an impudent and barbarous robbery! -That was the tomato which I had cherished and depended -on as the precious product of all the money and pains I have -spent here. And now you come, whip out your jack-knife, and, -at one fell swoop, gulp down my whole harvest. I swear, it is -the meanest thing I ever knew done.” They looked each other -in the eyes a moment, burst into a hearty laugh, and, locking -arms, strolled down to the bank of the river.</p> - -<p class='c007'>When Forrest engaged his friend S. S. Smith to oversee the -laying out of his estate of Forrest Hill, at Covington, opposite -Cincinnati, he named one of the principal streets Oakes Avenue. -When he purchased and began occasionally to occupy the Springbrook -<span class='pageno' id='Page_628'>628</span>place he named the room opposite his own Oakes’s Chamber. -In his Broad Street Mansion, in Philadelphia, there was a -portrait of Oakes in the entry, a portrait of Oakes in the dining-room, -a portrait of Oakes in the picture-gallery, a portrait of -Oakes in the library, and a general seeming presence of Oakes -all over the house. Early one summer day, while visiting there, -Oakes might have been seen, wrapped in a silk morning-gown -of George Frederick Cooke, with a wig of John Philip Kemble -on his head and a sword of Edmund Kean by his side, tackled -between the thills of a heavy stone roller, rolling the garden walks -to earn his breakfast. Forrest was behind him, urging him forward. -Henrietta and Eleanora Forrest gazed out of a window -at the scene in amazement until its amusing significance broke -upon them, when their frolicsome peals of laughter caused the -busy pair of laborers below to pause in their task and look up.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Oakes was fond of being with Forrest during his professional -engagements as well as in his vacations. And the hours they -then spent together yielded them a keen and solid enjoyment. -This experience was most characteristic of their friendship, and -is worthy of description. Oakes would go to the play and watch -with the most vigilant attention every point in the performance. -Then he would go behind the scenes to the dressing-room. There -the excited and perspiring actor, blowing off steam, stripped and -put himself in the hands of his body-servant, who sponged him, -vigorously rubbed him dry, and helped him to dress. Locking -arms, and avoiding all hangers-on who might be in the way, the -friends proceeded to their room at the hotel. Forrest would -then throw off his coat and boots, and loosen his nether garments -so as to be perfectly at ease, and call for his supper. It -was his custom, as he ate nothing before playing, to refresh himself -afterwards with some simple dish. His usual food was a -generous bowl of cold corn-meal mush and milk. This he took -with a wholesome relish, the abstinent Oakes sharing only in -sympathy. Then was the tragedian to be seen in his highest -social glory; for he threw every restraint to the wind and gave -full course to the impulses of his nature. “Now here we are, -my friend,” he would say, “and let the world wag as it will, what -do we care? Is it not a luxury to unbutton your heart once in a -while and let it all out where you know there can be no misunderstanding? -<span class='pageno' id='Page_629'>629</span>Come, go to, now, and let us have a good time!” -And a good time they <em>did</em> have. They recalled past adventures. -They planned future ones. They gave every faculty of wit, -humor, and affection free play, without heed of any law beyond -that of their own friendly souls. Then, if he happened to be in -the vein, Forrest would tell anecdotes of other players, and give -imitations of them. He would take off with remarkable felicity -the peculiarities of Irishmen, Frenchmen, Germans, Englishmen, -and, above all, of negroes. Very few comic actors at their best -on the stage appear better in portraying ludicrous dialect characters -or in telling funny stories than Forrest did on these occasions -when giving himself full swing with his friend alone, thoroughly -unbent from professional duty and social stiffness. No one who -then saw him sitting on the floor mimicking a tailor at work, -rolling on the bed in convulsions of laughter, or representing the -double part of two negro woodsawyers who undertook to play -Damon and Pythias, would dream that this was the man whom -the world thought so grim and sour and gloomy. He used to -say, “It is often the case that we solemn tragedians when off the -stage are your jolliest dogs, while your clowns and comedians -are dyspeptic and melancholy in private.” There was a genuine -vein of humor in him very strong and active. He was extremely -fond of indulging it. He read “Darius Green and his Flying -Machine” with great effect. He said he would like very much -to recite it to the author, Mr. Trowbridge, and then recite to -him the “Idiot Boy,” that he might perceive the contrast of the -humor in the one and the pathos in the other as illustrated by a -tragedian.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Another feature in the friendship of Forrest and Oakes was -their frequent co-operation in works of mercy to the suffering -and of championship for the weak and wronged. In reading -over their voluminous correspondence many cases have been -brought to light in which they took up the cause of a poor man, -an orphan, or an unfortunate widow, against cruel and rapacious -oppressors. One instance of this was where a rich man was -endeavoring by legal technicalities to defraud a widow and her -children of all the little property they had. Forrest heard of it, -and his just wrath was stirred. He wrote to Oakes to stand in -the breach and defeat this iniquity, promising to furnish whatever -<span class='pageno' id='Page_630'>630</span>money was needed to secure justice. It was a difficult case, and -the poor woman was in despair. But Oakes stood by her with -acute advice and sympathy and courage that never failed. After -a hard and long fight, and a good deal of expense, the right was -vindicated. Writing to Forrest an account of the result, and -thanking him for his check, Oakes said, “This act is in such -keeping with your magnificent soul, and joins so with a multitude -of kindred deeds in reflecting lustre on you, that if my -heart did not feel at least as much satisfaction for your sake as -for my own I would tear it out and fling it at your feet.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>The following extract is from another letter:</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Your letter enclosing a hundred and fifty dollars reaches me -this moment. In an hour it will be in the hands of the poor -forlorn creature who indeed has no claim but the claim of a -common humanity on either of us, but whose near death of disease -ought not to be anticipated by a death of neglect, starvation, -and cold. Your charity will now prevent that. Once this unhappy -woman moved in a high circle, envied and admired by all. -Now everybody deserts her death-garret. The Day of Judgment, -if there ever is one, will uncover strange secrets. Among the -shameful secrets dragged to light there will be glorious ones too,—like -this your response to my appeal for a desolated, forgotten -outcast.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>In 1856 Forrest had a severe illness which, in connection with -his domestic sorrow and vexatious litigation, greatly depressed -his spirit. Oakes, ever watchful and thoughtful for him, held it -to be essential that he should take a prolonged respite from public -life and labor. On purpose to persuade him to this course, to -which he was obstinately averse, Oakes made a journey to Philadelphia. -After their greetings he said, bluntly, “Forrest, I have -come to ask a great favor.” Forrest broke in on his speech with -these words: “Oakes, in all our long acquaintance never once -have you asked anything of me in a selfish spirit; and often as I -have followed your advice I have never yet made a mistake when -I have allowed myself to be guided by you. Whatever the request -is which you have to make, it is granted before you make -it.” Oakes was deeply moved, but, commanding himself, he said, -“Your professional life has been one of hard work. Your health -is not good, and you are no longer young. You have money -<span class='pageno' id='Page_631'>631</span>enough. You are now at the top notch of your fame. To keep -your rank there you will have to make great exertions. You -ought to have a good long rest. Now I want you to promise -me that you will not act again for three years.” Forrest drew -a long breath and dropped his head forward on his breast. In a -minute he looked up and said, “Ah, my friend, you have tested -me in my tenderest point. But it shall be so.” Nearly four -years passed before he again confronted an audience from his -theatrical throne and welcomed their applause.</p> - -<p class='c007'>A group of the most ardent admirers of Forrest combined -and subscribed a handsome sum of money to secure a full-length -marble statue of him in one of his classic characters. But he -shrank from the long and tedious sittings, and refused to comply -with their request. Oakes, who was doubly desirous of securing -this memorial, first as a tribute to his illustrious friend, second -as an important piece of patronage to a gifted artist then just -entering his career, now undertook the work of persuasion. To -his solicitation Forrest replied, “What troubles me is the weary -sittings I must undergo. But since you put this matter on personal -grounds, and ask me to endure the load for the sake of an -old unselfish friendship,—which cannot appeal in vain,—I yield -with pleasure to your request. Whenever Mr. Ball shall come -to Philadelphia I will submit myself with alacrity to the torture.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>The name of Thomas Ball has acquired celebrity in art since -that day, but this statue of Forrest in the character of Coriolanus -will always stand as a proud landmark in his sculptured -path of fame. It was a true work of love not less than of ambition. -For in the long hours of their fellowship in the preparatory -studying and sketching and casting the sitter and the artist grew -friends. The sculptor took his model and sailed for Florence, -there to produce the work he had conceived. And when a -year and a half had gone by, the complete result, safely landed in -Boston and set up for view in an art-gallery, greeted the eyes of -Oakes and gladdened his heart. For it more than met his expectations, -it perfectly contented him. He wrote to Mr. Ball, -“I am glad the statue came unheralded to our shores, and am -content to let the verdict of the public rest on the merits of the -work. I congratulate you on an unequivocal and grand success. -As a personal likeness of Forrest it is most truthful, and as an -<span class='pageno' id='Page_632'>632</span>illustration of the Shakspearean conception of the Roman Consul -it is sublime. For more than forty years I have known this man -with an intimacy not common among men. Indeed, our friendship -has been more like the devotion of a man to the woman he -loves than the relations usually subsisting between men. In all -my intercourse with the world I have never known a truer man -or one with a nobler nature than Edwin Forrest, whose real worth -and greatness will not be acknowledged by the world until he is -dead. I rejoice that one of his own countrymen has given to -posterity this true and magnificent portrait of him in immortal -marble. The eloquence of this marble will outlive the malevolence -of all the enemies and of all the critics who have assailed -him.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>Forrest was indeed fortunate in the peaceful and time-enduring -victory achieved for him by the artist in this sculptured Coriolanus, -whose haughty beauty, and right foot insupportably advanced -with the planted weight of all imperious Rome, will speak his -quality to generations yet unborn. What a melancholy contrast -is suggested by the words of Mrs. Siddons after seeing the marble -counterfeit of John Philip Kemble: “I cannot help thinking of -the statue of my poor brother. It is an absolute libel on his -noble person and air. I should like to pound it into dust and -scatter it to the winds.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>The Coriolanus is colossal, eight feet and a half in height and -weighing six tons. The forms and muscles of the neck, the right -side of the chest, the right arm, left forearm, feet, and lower portion -of the left leg, are delineated in perfection, the remaining -parts being concealed by the folds of the mantle which is drawn -around the left shoulder, while the head is slightly turned to the -right. The face and head are superbly finished and seem pregnant -with vitality. The whole expression is one of massive and -imperious strength, adamantine self-sufficingness, reposeful, yet -animated and resolute. It represents him at that point in the -play where he repels the intercessions of his mother and wife, -and says,—</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line in12'>“Let the Volces</div> - <div class='line'>Plough Rome and harrow Italy, I’ll never</div> - <div class='line'>Be such a gosling to obey instinct, but stand</div> - <div class='line'>As if a man were author of himself</div> - <div class='line'>And knew no other kin.”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_633'>633</span>So much pleased was Forrest with the statue, as his lingering -gaze studied it and drank in its majestic significance reflected on -him from the superb and classic pomp of marble, that he begged -the privilege of purchasing it from the subscribers. And so it now -stands in the Actors’ Home founded by his will. The enthusiastic -and efficient zeal of Oakes in securing this work drew his friend -to him with an increased feeling of obligation and of attachment, -which he frankly expressed in an eloquent letter of thanks.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Forrest and Oakes had from time to time many pleasing adventures -together. A specimen or two may be related. Strolling in -a quiet square in Baltimore, they came upon a company of boys -who were playing marbles. “My little fellows,” said the tragedian, -with his deep voice of music, “will you lend me a marble -and let me play with you?” “Oh, yes,” said a barefoot, smiling -urchin, and held up a marble in his dirty paw. Forrest took -it, sank on one knee, and began his game. In less than half an -hour he had won every marble they had, and the discomfited and -destitute gang were gazing at him in astonishment. “Don’t you -see,” he then said, “how dangerous it is for you to play with a -stranger, about whose skill or whose character you are wholly -ignorant? Boys, as you grow up and mix in the fight of life it -will always be useful to you to know in advance what kind of -a fellow he is with whom you are going to deal.” One of the -boys, who had been sharply eying him, whispered to another, “I -guess he is Mr. Forrest, the play-actor, you know, at the theatre.” -The other replied, “Well, I should like to go there and see if he -can playact as well as he plays marbles.” “Yes,” said Forrest, -“come, all of you. I want you to come. I will do my best to -please you.” And he wrote an order of admission for them, gave -them back their marbles, and bade them good-morning.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Once when he was filling an engagement in Boston, Oakes -told him a story of a humble mechanic whose landlord had compelled -him to pay a debt twice over, under circumstances of cruelty -which had brought out proofs of a most heroic honesty and refined -sensibility in the poor man. Forrest listened to the narrative with -rapt attention. At its close he exclaimed, “That landlord is a -stony-hearted brute, and this mechanic is a man of a royal soul! -I must go and see him and his family before I leave Boston.” -Thanksgiving Day came that week. A friend of Oakes had sent -<span class='pageno' id='Page_634'>634</span>him for his Thanksgiving dinner an enormous wild turkey, weighing -with the feathers on twenty-seven and a half pounds. He -showed this to Forrest on Wednesday and told him they were -to feast on it the next day. “No, old chap,” replied Forrest; -“you and I will dine on a beefsteak, and take the wild turkey -to the noble fellow who paid Shylock his money twice.” Immediately -after breakfast on Thanksgiving Day a barouche was -ordered, the big black turkey, looking nearly as large as a Newfoundland -dog, placed on the front seat, and Forrest and Oakes -took the back seat. They drove to the theatre. Forrest accosted -the box-keeper: “Mr. Fenno, I want for to-night’s performance -six of the best seats in the house, for an emperor and his family -who are to honor me by their presence.” Fenno gave him the -tickets and declined to take pay for them. He insisted on paying -for them, saying, “They are my guests, sir.” They then rode -over to East Boston to the house of the honest man, found him, -announced their names, explained the cause and object of their -visit, and were invited in by him and introduced to his wife and -four children. Forrest kissed each one of the children. He -brought in the huge turkey and laid it on the table. Then, turning -to the wife, he said, “We have brought a turkey for your -Thanksgiving dinner; and if you and your noble husband and -children enjoy as much in eating it as my friend and myself do in -offering it you will be very happy. And I am sure you deserve -great happiness, and I have faith that God will give it to you all.” -He then presented the tickets for the play of Metamora, saying, -“I shall look to see if you are all in the seats before I begin to -act.” Not one of them had ever been inside of a theatre. The -sensations that were awaiting them may be imagined. When the -curtain rose and Metamora appeared on the stage amidst that -tumultuous applause which in those times never failed to greet -his entrance, he walked deliberately to the front, fixed his eyes on -the little family, bowed, and then proceeded. Throughout the -play he acted for and at that group, who seemed far happier than -any titular royalty could have been. Though this happened -twenty years before his death, he never forgot when in Boston -to inquire after the <em>American emperor</em>! The honest man is still -living, and should this little story ever meet his eye he will vouch -for its entire truth.</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_635'>635</span>A few extracts taken almost at random from the letters of -these friends will clearly indicate the substantial earnestness and -warmth of their relation. Letters when honest and free reveal -the likeness of the writer, photographing the features of the -soul, a feat which usually baffles artistic skill and always defies -chemical action.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“You will doubtless receive this note to-morrow,—my birthday,—when, -you say, you will <em>think</em> of me. Tell me the day, my -dear friend, when you do <em>not</em> think of me! God bless you! Last -night I acted at Washington in Damon and Pythias. The sound -of weeping was actually audible all over the house as the noble -Pythagorean rushed breathlessly back to save his friend and then -to die. What a grand moral is told in that play! What sermon -was ever half so impressive in its teaching! Had Shakspeare -written on the subject he had ‘drowned the stage with tears.’”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I cannot let this day pass without sending to you a renewed -expression of the esteem and high regard with which through -so many years my heart has unceasingly honored you. A merry -Christmas to you, my glorious friend, and a happy New Year, -early in which I hope again to take you by the hand.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“As the years go by us, my noble Spartacus, many things slip -away never to return, and many things that stay lose their charm. -But one thing seems to grow ever more fresh and precious,—the -joy of an honest friendship and trust in manly worth. May this, -dear Forrest, never fail for you or for me, however long we live.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“God bless you, Oakes, for your kindly greeting on the New -Year’s day! Though I was too busy to write, my soul went out -to you on that day with renewed messages of love, and with -thanks to Almighty God that he has quickened at least two hearts -with an unselfish and unwavering devotion to each other, and -that those two hearts are yours and mine.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“You are almost the only intimate friend I have had who never -asked of me a pecuniary favor, and to whom I am indebted for as -many personal kindnesses as I ever received from any. I will -send you my portrait to hang in your parlor, with my autograph, -and with such words as I have not written, and will never write, -upon another.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“It gives me great pleasure, my much-loved friend, to know -that in a few days more I shall see you again, and reach that -<span class='pageno' id='Page_636'>636</span>haven of rest, the presence of a true friend, where the storms of -trouble cease to prevail.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“And now, my friend, permit me to thank you for all the delicate -attentions you so considerately showed me during my late -visit, and for your noble manly sympathy for me in the wound -I received from the legal assassins of the Court of Appeals, who -by their recent decision have trampled upon law, precedent, -justice, and the instinctive honor of the human heart.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>On the eve of his professional trip to California, Forrest wrote to -Oakes, “My dear friend, how much I should like, if your business -matters would permit, to have you accompany me to California! -I would right willingly pay all your expenses for the entire -journey, and I am sure you would enjoy the trip beyond expression. -Is it not <em>possible</em> for you to arrange your affairs and go -with me? It would make me the happiest man in the world.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>The scheme could not be realized, and after his own return he -wrote, “Yes, in a few days I will come to you in Boston, my -dear friend. We will talk of scenes long gone, and renew the -pleasant things of the past in sweet reflections on their memory. -We will hopefully trust in the future that our friendship may -grow brighter with our years, and cease, if it must cease then, -only with our lives.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>In 1864 he had written, “I think we both of us have vitality -enough to enjoy many happy years even in this vale of tears; -but then we must occupy it together. For</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“‘When true hearts lie withered,</div> - <div class='line in2'>And fond ones are gone,</div> - <div class='line'>Oh, who would inhabit</div> - <div class='line in2'>This bleak world alone?’”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c007'>There was a partial change in his tone four years later, when -he wrote, “I think with you that we ought not to live so much -asunder. Our time is now dwindled to a span; and why should -we not <em>together</em> see the sinking sun go brightly down on the -evening of our day? What a blessed thing it would be to realize -that dream of Cuba I named to you when we last met!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>In 1870 Oakes determined to retire from business, and Forrest -wrote to him from Macon, Georgia,—</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I am glad to hear you are about to close your toils in the -<span class='pageno' id='Page_637'>637</span>‘Old Salt House’ and give your much-worn mind and body the -quiet repose they need. In this way you will receive a new and -happy lease of life, enlarge your sphere of usefulness to your -friends, and be a joy to yourself in giving and taking kindnesses. -I look forward with a loving impatience to the end of -my professional engagements this season, that I may repair to -Philadelphia, there to effect a settlement of such comforting -means as shall make the residue of your life glide on in ceaseless -ease. Do not, I beg you, let any pride or sensitiveness stand in -the way of this my purpose. It is a debt which I owe to you for -the innumerable kindnesses I have experienced at your hands, -and for your unwearied fidelity to all my interests.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>Oakes rejected the proposition, though keenly feeling how -generous and beautiful it was. Argument and persuasion from -friendly lips, however, at length overcame his repugnance, and -the noble kindness—so uncommon and exemplary among friends -in our hard grasping time—was finally as gratefully accepted as -it was gladly bestowed. This gift was the most effective stroke -of <em>real</em> acting that ever came from the genius of the player. -Taken in connection with his traits of generous sweetness and -his clouded passages of ferocious hate, it reveals a character like -one of those barbaric kings who loom gigantic on the screen of -the past, dusky and explosive with the ground passions of nature, -but wearing a coronet of royal virtues and blazing all over with -the jewelry of splendid deeds. It shows in him such a spirit -in daily life as would enable him to utter on the stage with -no knocking rebuke of memory the proud words of the noble -Roman:—</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“When Marcus Brutus grows so covetous</div> - <div class='line'>To lock his rascal counters from his friends,</div> - <div class='line'>Be ready, gods, with all your thunderbolts,</div> - <div class='line'>Dash him to pieces.”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c007'>To anticipate here the sequel and earthly close of the friendship -of Forrest and Oakes would be to detract too much from the -proper interest of the last chapter of this biography. The story -may well be left for the present as it stands at this point, where a -half-century of unfaltering love and service was repaid not only -by a heart full of gratitude but also with a munificent material -<span class='pageno' id='Page_638'>638</span>Philadelphia, there to effect a settlement of such comforting -means as shall make the residue of your life glide on in ceaseless -ease.</p> - -<p class='c007'>When the hand that wrote these tender words had been nigh -four years mouldering in the tomb the survivor was heard to say, -“Every year, every month, every day, I more and more appreciate -his noble qualities and miss more and more his precious -companionship. And I would, were it in my power, bring him -back from the grave to be with me as long as I am to stay.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>In ending this chapter of the friendships of Forrest, the justice -of history requires a few words more. For there are several -names of friends, who were long very dear to him and to whom -he was very dear, which should be added to those set down above. -The reason why no account of their relationship has been embodied -here, is simply that the writer had not knowledge of any -incidents which he could so narrate as to make them of public -interest. Yet the friendships were of the most endeared character, -full of happiness, and never marred or clouded. The names -of the Rev. Elias L. Magoon, Colonel John W. Forney, and Mr. -James Rees should not be omitted in any list of the friends of -Edwin Forrest. And still more emphatic and conspicuous mention -is due to that intimate, affectionate, and sustained relation of -trust and love with Daniel Dougherty, on which the grateful actor -and man set his unquestionable seal in leaving him a bequest of -five thousand dollars and making him one of the executors of -his will and one of the trustees of his estate.</p> - -<div class='chapter'> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_639'>639</span> - <h2 class='c005'>CHAPTER XX.<br /> <span class='large'>PLACE AND RANK OF FORREST AS A PLAYER.—THE CLASSIC, ROMANTIC, NATURAL, AND ARTISTIC SCHOOLS OF ACTING.</span></h2> -</div> - -<p class='c006'>Forrest being the most conspicuous and memorable actor -America has produced, it is desirable to fix the place and rank -which belong to him in the history of his profession. To do -this with any clearness or with any authority we must first penetrate -to the central characteristics of each of the great schools -of acting, illustrate them by some examples, and explain his -relation to them.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Omitting the consideration of comedy and confining our attention -to tragedy, the most familiar distinction in the styles of -dramatic representation is that which divides them into the two -schools called Classic and Romantic or Ancient and Modern. -But this enumeration is altogether insufficient. It needs to be -supplemented by two other schools, namely, the Natural and the -Artistic.</p> - -<p class='c007'>The antique theatres of Greece and Rome stood open in the -air unroofed to the sky, and were so vast, holding from ten -thousand to two hundred thousand spectators, that the players -in order not to be belittled and inaudible were raised on the -high cothurnus and wore a metallic mask whose huge and -reverberating mouth augmented the voice. The word persona -is derived from <i><span lang="la" xml:lang="la">personare</span></i>, to sound through. Dramatis personæ -originally meant masks, and only later came to denote the persons -of the play. The conditions suppressed all the finer inflections -of tone and the play of the features. The actor had to -depend for his effects on measured declamation, imposing forms -and attitudes, slow and appropriate movements, simple pictures -distinctly outlined and set in bold relief. The characters principally -brought forward were kings, heroes, prophets, demi-gods, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_640'>640</span>deities. It was the stately representation of superhuman or -exalted personages, full of exaggerated solemnity and pomp -both in bearing and in speech. All this naturally arose from -the circumstances under which the serious drama was developed,—the -audience a whole population, the player at a distance from -them, in the scenery of surrounding sea and mountains and the -overhanging heaven. The traditions of the Classic School came -directly down to the subsequent ages and gave their mould and -spirit to the modern theatre. They have been kept up by the -long list of all the great conventional tragedians in their stilted -pose and stride and grandiose delivery, until the very word -theatrical has come to signify something overdone, unreal, turgid, -hollow, bombastic.</p> - -<p class='c007'>But when, from the sixteenth to the eighteenth century, in -Italy, Spain, Germany, France, and England, the drama revived -and asserted itself in such an extended and deepened popular -interest,—when the theatres were built on a smaller scale adapted -for accurate seeing and hearing, and the actors and the stage -were brought close to the limited and select audience,—when the -plays, instead of dealing mainly with sublime themes of fate and -the tragic pomp and grandeur of monarchs and gods, began to -depict ordinary mortal characters and reflect the contents of real -life,—the scene changed from an enormous amphitheatre where -before a city of gazers giants stalked and trumpeted, to a parlor -where a group of ladies and gentlemen exhibited to a company -of critical observers the workings of human souls and the -tangled plots of human life. The buskins were thrown off and -the masks laid aside, the true form and moving displayed, living -expression given to the features, and the changing tones of passion -restored to the voice. Then the mechanical in acting gave -way to the passionate; the Classic School, which was statuesque, -receded, and the Romantic School, which was picturesque, -advanced.</p> - -<p class='c007'>The Classic School modulates from the idea of dignity. Its -attributes are unity, calmness, gravity, symmetry, power, harmonic -severity. Its symbol is the Greek Parthenon, whose plain -spaces marble images people with purity and silence. The Romantic -School modulates from the idea of sensational effect. Its -attributes are variety, change, excitement, sudden contrasts, alternations -<span class='pageno' id='Page_641'>641</span>of accord and discord, vehement extremes. Its symbol -is the Christian Cathedral, whose complicated cells and arches -palpitate as the strains of the organ swell and die within them -trembling with sensibility and mystery. The ancient tragedian -represented man as a plaything of destiny, sublimely helpless -in the grasp of his own doings and the will of the gods. The -chief interest was in the evolution of the character, which had -but one dominant chord raised with a cunning simplicity through -ever-converging effects to a single overwhelming climax. The -modern tragedian impersonates man as now the toy and now -the master of his fate, a creature of a hundred contradictions, -his history full of contrasts and explosive crises. The chief -interest is in the complications of the character and the situations -of the plot so combined as to keep the sympathies and -antipathies in varying but constant excitement. The vices of -the former school are proud rigidity and frigidity, pompous -formality and mechanical bombast. The vices of the latter -school, on the other hand, are incongruity, sensational extravagance, -and affectation. The Classic virtue is unity set in relief, -but a mathematical chill was its fault. The Romantic virtue is -variety set in relief, but its bane was inconsistency. The true -tone of the heart, however, and the breathing warmth of life -which it brings to the stage more than atone for all its defects -and excesses.</p> - -<p class='c007'>The Romantic School early began to branch in two directions. -In one it degenerated into that Melodramatic Medley which, -although it has a nameless herd of followers, does not deserve -to be called a school, because it has no system and is but instinct -and passion let loose and run wild. In the other direction, joining -with the traditional stream of example from its Classic rival, -the Romantic issued in what should be named the Natural -School. So the Classic School, too, forked in a double tendency, -one branch of which led to death in an icy formalism and slavish -subserviency to empiric rules, while the other led to the perfecting -of vital genius and skill in the rounded fulness of truth; not -truth as refracted in crude individualities but as generalized into -a scientific art. This higher result of the double issue of the -Classic School, joined with the higher result of the double issue -of the Romantic School, constitutes the Artistic School. The -<span class='pageno' id='Page_642'>642</span>Natural School is to be defined as having merely an empiric -foundation, in it the contents of human nature and their modes -of manifestation being grasped by intuition, instinct, observation, -and practice, with no commanded insight of ultimate principles. -The Artistic School, on the contrary, has a scientific foundation, -in it the materials and methods being mastered by a philosophical -study which employs all the means of enlightenment and -inspiration systematically co-ordinated and applied.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Betterton was a noble representative of the classic style with -a large infusion of the romantic and the natural and with a -strong determination towards the artistic. Garrick had less of -the first two and more of the third and fourth. In the history -of the British stage Garrick is an epochal mark in the progressive -displacement of theatricality by nature. He ridiculed -the noisy mechanical declamation of the stage and introduced a -quiet conversational manner. He agreed with the suggestion -of his friend Aaron Hill that Shakspeare, judging from his wise -directions to the players in Hamlet, must himself have been a -fine actor, but in advance of the taste of his time. Quin, Young, -Kemble, Conway, and Vandenhoff were examples of the classic -type of acting, while Barton Booth, Mossop, and Spranger Barry -exemplified the more passionate and impulsive romantic type. -Macklin was a bold and intelligent though somewhat coarse and -hard representative of the Natural School. Cooper and Cooke, -each of whom had a personality of great original power, veered -between the three preceding schools, with a large and varying -element of each one infused in their impersonations. But -the fullest glory of the Romantic School was seen in Edmund -Kean, the coruscations of whose meteoric genius blazed out -equally in the sensational feats of the melodramatic and in the -profound triumphs of the natural. In France, Lekain, Talma, -and Lemaître moved the stiff traditions of their art many -degrees towards the simplicity and the free fire of truth, released -the actor from his stilts, and did much to humanize -the strutting and mouthing stage-ideal transmitted by tyrannic -tradition.</p> - -<p class='c007'>The Classic and the Romantic School each had its separate -reign. The Melodramatic offshoot of the latter also had and -still has its prevalence, yielding its mushroom crops of empiric -<span class='pageno' id='Page_643'>643</span>sensationalists. But in the historic evolution of the art of acting -there must come a complete junction of two great historic schools -in one person. The plebeian Lekain, a working goldsmith, was -not bred in the laps of queens, as Baron said an actor ought to -be; but, as Talma declared of him, Nature, a nobler instructress -than any queen, undertook to reveal her secrets to him. And -he broke the fetters of pedantry, repudiated the sing-song or -monotonous chant so long in vogue, and brought the unaffected -accents of the soul on the stage. Living, however, in the very -focus of monarchical traditions and habits, subject to every royal -and aristocratic influence, he could not establish in the eighteenth-century-theatres -of France the true Democratic School of Nature. -This was necessarily left for America and the nineteenth century. -Edwin Forrest was the man. By his burning depth and quick -exuberance of passion, his instinctive and cultivated democracy -of conviction and sentiment, his resolute defiance of old rules and -customs, and his constant recurrence to original observation of -nature, it was easy for him to master the Romantic School, while -the spirit and mode of the Classic School could not be difficult -for one of his proud mind, imposing physique, and severe -self-possession. The intense bias he caught from Kean in the -melodramatic direction and the lofty bias imparted to him by -Cooper in the stately antique way were supplemented, first, by -his wild strolling experiences and training in the West and South, -secondly, by his patient self-culture and studies at the prime -fountain-heads of nature itself. In addition to this, he rose and -flourished in the midst of the latest and ripest development of all -the unconventional institutions and influences of the most democratic -land and people the world has yet known. And so he -came to represent, in the history of the drama, the moment of the -fusion of the Classic and Romantic Schools and their passage -into the Natural School. As the founder of this school in the -United States he has been followed by a whole brood of disciples,—such -as Kirby, Neafie, Buchanan, and Proctor,—who have reflected -discredit on him by imitating his faultiness instead of -reproducing his excellence.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Substantially intellectual, impassioned, profoundly ambitious, -with flaming physical energies, with a very imperfect education, -and few social advantages, Forrest was early thrown into the -<span class='pageno' id='Page_644'>644</span>company of men who had great natural force of mind, and were -frank and generous, but comparatively unpolished in taste and -reckless in habits, leading a life of free amusement, conviviality, -and passion often exploding in frenzied jealousies, rages, duels, -deaths. He resisted the temptations that would have proved -fatal to him, as they did to so many of his fellows, kept his self-respect, -and faithfully studied and aspired to something better. -He was exposed to the widest extremes of praise and abuse,—petted -without bounds and assailed without measure. He kept -his head unturned by either extravagance, though not uninjured, -and swiftly sprang into a vast and intense popularity. But under -the circumstances of the case—his burning impulsiveness and -exuberant energy and lack of early culture, his tempestuous -associates, and the general rawness or sensational eagerness of -our population at that time—he would have been a miracle if -his acting had not been marred with faults, if he had not been -extravagant in displays of muscle and voice, if he had not been -in some degree what his hostile critics called a melodramatic -actor. Yet even then there were excellences in his playing, -virtues of sincerity, truthfulness, intelligence, electric strokes of -fine feeling, exquisite touches of beauty, confluences of light and -shade, sustained unity of design, which justified the admiration -and gave ground for the excessive eulogies he received. In -melodrama the action is more physical than mental, the exertions -of the actor blows of artifice to produce an effect rather than -strokes of art to reveal truth. But in this sense Forrest always, -even in his crudest day, was more tragic than melodramatic, his -efforts explosions of the soul through the senses rather than -convulsions of the muscles,—vents of the mind and glimpses of -the spirit rather than contortions of the person, limbs, voice, and -face. And he went steadily on, reading the best books, studying -himself and other men, scrutinizing the unconscious acting of all -kinds of persons in every diversity of situation, sedulously trying -to correct errors, outgrow faults, gain deeper insight, and secure -a fuller and finer mastery of the resources of his art.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Consequently his career was a progressive one, and in his -latest and mentally best days he gave impersonations of the -loftiest and most difficult characters known in the drama which -have hardly been surpassed. The prejudices against him as a -<span class='pageno' id='Page_645'>645</span>strutting and robustious ranter who shivered the timbers of his -hearers and tore everything to tatters were largely unwarranted -at the outset, and for every year afterwards were a gross wrong. -In the time of his herculean glory with the Bowery Boys it may -be true that his fame was bottomed on the great lower classes of -society, and made its strongest appeals through the signs he gave -of muscle, blood, and fire; yet there must have been wonderful -intelligence, pathos, and beauty, as well as naked power, to have -commanded, as his playing did at that early day, the glowing -tributes paid to him by Irving, Leggett, Bryant, Chandler, Clay, -Conrad, Wetmore, Halleck, Ingraham, Lawson, and Oakes. He -always had sincerity and earnestness. His audiences always felt -his entrance as the appearance of a genuine man among the hollow -fictions of the stage. His soul filled with power and passion by -nature, without anything else was greater than everything else -could be without this. A celebrated English actress generously -undertook to train a young beginner, who was yet unknown, -to assume higher parts. Tutoring her in the rôle of a princess -neglected by the man she loved, the patroness could not get the -pupil to make her concern appear natural. “Heaven and earth!” -she exclaimed. “Suppose it real. Suppose yourself slighted by -the man you devotedly loved. How would you act then in real -life?” The hopeless reply was, “I? I should get another lover -as quickly as I could.” The instructress saw the fatal, fatal defect -of nature. She shut the book and gave no more lessons. Nature -must supply the diamond which art polishes.</p> - -<p class='c007'>The youthful Forrest not only had nature in himself, but he -was a careful student of nature in others. He used to walk -behind old men, watching every movement, to attain the gait -and peculiarities of age. He visited hospitals and asylums, and -patiently observed the phases of weakness and death, the features -and actions of maniacs. His reading was a model of precision -and lucidity in the extrication of the sense of the words. One -of his earlier critics said, “He grasps the meaning of a passage -more firmly than any actor we know. He discloses the idea with -exactness, energy, and fulness, leaving in this respect nothing to -be desired. His recitation is as clear as a mathematical demonstration.” -He had also an exquisite tenderness of feeling and -utterance which penetrated the heart, and a power of intense -<span class='pageno' id='Page_646'>646</span>mournfulness or delicious sadness which could always unseal the -eyes of the sensitive. He studied the different forms of actual -death with such minute attention that his stage deaths were so -painfully true as to excite repugnance while they compelled admiration. -The physical accompaniments were too literally exact. -He had not yet learned that the highest artistic power lowers -and absorbs the minor details in its broad grasp and conspicuous -portrayal of the whole. The Natural School, as a rule, does not -enough discriminate between the terror that paralyzes the brain -and the horror that turns the stomach. In the part of Virginius, -Forrest for some years had the hollow blade of the knife filled -with a red fluid which, on the pressure of a spring as he struck -his daughter, spurted out like blood following a stab. A lady -fainted away as he played this scene in Providence, and, feeling -that the act was artifice, and not art, he never afterwards repeated -it. So it was nature, and not art, when Polus, the Roman tragedian, -having to act a part of great pathos secretly brought in the -urn the ashes of his own son. In distinction equally from artifice -and from nature, art grasps the essential with a noble disregard of -the accidental, and finely subordinates what is particular to what -is general.</p> - -<p class='c007'>The Classic School modulates from the idea of grandeur or -dignity; its aim is to set unity in relief, and its attribute is power -in repose. The Romantic School modulates from the idea of -effectiveness; its aim is to set the contrasts of variety in relief, -and its attribute is power in excitement. The Natural School -modulates from the idea of sincerity; its aim is to set reality in -relief, exhibiting both unity in variety and variety in unity, and -its attribute is alternation of power in repose and power in excitement, -according to the exigencies of character and circumstance. -The Artistic School modulates from the idea of truth; its attributes -are freedom from personal crudity and prejudice, liberation -of the faculties of the soul and the functions of the body, and an -exact discrimination of the accidental and the individual from the -essential and the universal; and its aim is to set in relief in due -order and degree every variety of character and experience, every -style and grade of spiritual manifestation, not as the workings of -nature are made known in any given person however sincere, but -as they are generalized into laws by a mastery of all the standards -<span class='pageno' id='Page_647'>647</span>of comparison and classification. Sincerity is individual truth, -but truth is universal sincerity. “Why do you enact that part -in Macbeth as you do?” asked a friend of Forrest. “Because,” -he replied, “that is the way I should have done it had I been -Macbeth.” Ah, but the question is not how would a Forrestian -Macbeth have done it, but how would a Macbethian Macbeth do -it? The sincere Natural School of acting is hampered by the -limiting of its vision to the reflections of nature in the refracting -individuality of the actor. The true Artistic School purifies, -corrects, supplements, and harmonizes individual perceptions by -that consensus of averages, or elimination of the personal equation, -which dispels illusions and reveals permanent principles.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Forrest stands at the head of the Natural School as its greatest -representative, with earnest aspirations and efforts towards that -final and perfect School whose threshold he thoroughly crossed -but whose central shrine and crown he could not attain. He -attained a solitary supremacy in the Natural School, but could -not attain it in the Artistic School, because he had not in his -mind grasped the philosophically perfected ideal of that School, -and did not in his preliminary practices apply to himself its scientifically -systematized drill. His ideal and drill were the old -traditional ones, based on observation, instinct, and empirical -study, modified only by his originality and direct recurrence to -nature. But Nature gives her empirical student merely genuine -facts without and sincere impulses within. She yields essential -universal truths and principles only to the student who is equipped -with rectifying tests and a generalizing method. Destitute of this, -both theoretically and practically, Forrest wanted that clearness -and detachment of the spiritual faculties and the physical articulations, -that consummated liberty and swiftness of thought and feeling -and muscular play, which are absolutely necessary to the perfect -actor. He was so great an artist that he gave his pictures background, -foreground, proportion, perspective, light and shade, gradations -of tone, and unity; but he fell short of perfection, because -carrying into every character too much of his own individuality, -and not sufficiently seizing their various individualities and giving -their distinctive attributes an adequate setting in the refinements -of an intellectualized representation of universal human nature.</p> - -<p class='c007'>The perfect artist—such an one as Delsarte was—will build -<span class='pageno' id='Page_648'>648</span>a form of character in the cold marble of pure intellect and then -transfuse it with passion till it blushes and burns. He will also -reverse the process, seize the spiritual shape born flaming from -intuitive passion, change it into critical perception, and deposit it -in memory for subsequent evocation at will. This is more than -nature: it is art superimposed on nature. Garrick, Siddons, -Talma, Rachel, Salvini, Forrest, were natural actors, and, more, -they were artists. But the only supreme master of the Artistic -School known as yet, whose theoretic ideal and actual training -were perfect, was the great dramatic teacher François Delsarte.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Nature is truth in itself. But it is the ideal operation of truth -that constitutes art. Acting, like all art, is truth seen not in -itself, but reflected in man. It should not exhibit unmodified -nature directly. It should hold up the mirror of the human soul -and reveal nature as reflected there. It is a Claude Lorraine -mirror of intellectual sympathy, softening, shading, toning,—just -as Shakspeare says, begetting a temperance which gives -smoothness to everything seen. The fights of the gladiators and -the butcheries of the victims in the Roman amphitheatre were -not acting, but reality. The splendor of art was trodden into the -mire of fact. The error, the defect, the exaggeration in the acting -of Forrest, so far as such existed, was that sometimes excess -of nature prevented perfection of art. If certainly a glorious -fault, it was no less clearly a fault.</p> - -<p class='c007'>But as he advanced in years this fault diminished, and the -polish of art removed the crudeness of nature. Step by step -the tricks into which he had been betrayed revealed themselves -to him as distasteful tricks, and the sturdy impetuous honesty of -his character made him repudiate them. Too often in his earlier -Lear he gave the impression that he was buffeting fate and fortune -instead of being buffeted by them; but slowly the spiritual -element predominated over the physical one, until the embodiment -stood alone in its balanced and massive combination of -sublimated truth, epic simplicity, exquisite tenderness, and tragic -strength. So his young Damon was greatly a performance of -captivating points and electrical transitions, stirring the audience -to fever-heats of fear and transport. No one who saw his wonderful -burst of passion when he learned that his slave had slain -the horse that was to carry him to the rescue of his friend and -<span class='pageno' id='Page_649'>649</span>hostage—no one who saw his reappearance before the block, -stained and smeared with sweat and dust, crazed and worn, yet -sustained by a terrible nervous energy—could say that in any class -of passion he ever witnessed a truer or a grander thing. But the -conception was rather of a hot-blooded knight of the age of chivalry -than of a contemplative, resolute, symmetrical Greek senator. -Gradually, however, the maturing mind of the actor lessened the -mere tumult of sensational excitement, and increased and co-ordinated -the mental and moral qualities into a classical and climacteric -harmony. One of the most striking evidences of the -progressive artistic improvement of Forrest was the change in -his delivery of the celebrated lament of Othello, “Farewell the -tranquil mind.” He used, speaking it in a kind of musical recitative, -to utter the words “neighing steed” in equine tones, imitate -the shrillness of “the shrill trump,” give a deep boom to the -phrase “spirit-stirring drum,” and swell and rattle his voice to -portray “the engines whose rude throats the immortal Jove’s -dread clamors counterfeit.” He learned to see that however -effective this might be as elocution it was neither nature nor art, -but an artificiality; and then he read the passage with consummate -feeling and force, his voice broken with passionate emotion -but not moulded to any pedantic cadences or flourishes. And -yet it must be owned that after all his sedulous study and great -growth in taste, his too strong individuality would still crop out -sometimes to mar what else had been very nigh perfect. For -instance, there was, even to the last, an occasional touch of vanity -that was repulsive in those displays of voice which he would -make on a favorite sonorous word. In the line of the Gladiator, -“We will make Rome howl for this,” the boys would repeat as -they went homeward along the streets his vociferous and exaggerated -downward slide and prolongation of the unhappy word -<em>howl</em>. And the same fault was conspicuous and painful in the -word <em>royal</em>, where Othello says,—</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line in22'>“’Tis yet to know,</div> - <div class='line'>(Which, when I know that boasting is an honour,</div> - <div class='line'>I shall promulgate,) I fetch my life and being</div> - <div class='line'>From men of royal siege.”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c007'>Despite this and other similar flaws, however, he had an intense -<span class='pageno' id='Page_650'>650</span>sincerity and force of nature, a varied truth blent in one consistent -whole of grand moral effectiveness, that place him high -among the most extraordinary players. His youthful Gladiator -and Othello were as impetuous, volcanic, and terrible as any of -the delineations of Frederick Lemaître. His mature Coriolanus -had as imperial a stateliness, as grand a hauteur, as massive a -dynamic pomp, as were ever seen in John Philip Kemble. His -aged Lear was as boldly drawn and carefully finished, as fearfully -powerful in its general truth, and as wonderfully tinted, toned, -shaded, and balanced in its details, as any character-portrait ever -pictured by David Garrick. In the various parts he played in the -successive periods of his career he traversed the several schools -of his art,—except the last one, and fairly entered that,—and displayed -the leading traits of them all, the lava passion of Kean, -the superb pomposity of Vandenhoff, the statuesque kingliness -of Talma, the mechanically studied effects of Macready. His -great glory was “magnanimous breadth and generosity of manly -temperament.” His faults were an occasional slip in delicacy of -taste, inability always to free himself from himself, and the grave -want of a swift grace and lightness in the one direction equal to -his ponderous weight and slowness in the other. Thus, while in -some respects he may be called the king of the Natural School, -he must be considered only a striking member, and not a model, -of the Artistic School. After his death his former wife, Mrs. -Sinclair, who was in every way an excellent judge of acting, and -could not be thought biased in his favor, was asked her opinion -of him professionally. She replied, “He was a very great artist. -In some things I do not think he ever had an equal; certainly -not in my day. I do not believe his Othello and his Lear were -ever surpassed. His great characteristics as an actor were power -and naturalness.” In illustration of this judgment the following -anecdote, told by James Oakes, may be adduced:</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I was visiting my friend in Philadelphia, and went to the -theatre to see his Virginius. He had said to me at sunset, ‘I feel -like acting this part to-night better than I ever did it before;’ and -accordingly I was full of expectation. Surely enough, never before -in his life had I seen him so intensely grand. His touching -and sublime pathos made not only women but sturdy men weep -audibly. As for myself, I cried like a baby. I observed, sitting -<span class='pageno' id='Page_651'>651</span>in the pit near the stage, a fine-looking old gentleman with hair -as white as snow, who seemed entirely absorbed in the play, so -much so that the attention of Forrest was drawn to him, and in -some of the most moving scenes he appeared acting directly -towards him. In the part where the desperate father kills his -daughter the acting was so vivid and real that many ladies, sobbing -aloud, buried their faces in their handkerchiefs and groaned. -The old gentleman above alluded to said, in quite a distinct tone, -‘My God, he has killed her!’ Afterwards, when Virginius, having -lost his reason, comes upon the stage and says, with a distraught -air, ‘Where is my daughter?’ utterly absorbed and lost in the -action, the old man rose from his seat, and, looking the player -earnestly in the face, while the tears were streaming from his -eyes, said, ‘Good God, sir, don’t you know that you killed her?’ -After the play Forrest told me that when he saw how deeply -affected the old gentleman was he came very near breaking down -himself. He esteemed it one of the greatest tributes ever paid -him, one that he valued more than the most boisterous applause -of a whole audience.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>The following critical notice of the histrionic type and style -of Forrest is from the gifted pen of William Winter, whose dramatic -criticisms in the New York “Tribune” for the past ten -years have been marked by a knowledge, an eloquence, an -assured grasp and a conscientiousness which make them stand -out in refreshing contrast to the average theatrical commenting -of the newspaper press. Making a little allowance for the obvious -antipathy and sympathy of the writer, the article is both -just and generous:</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Mr. Forrest has always been remarkable for his iron repose, -his perfect precision of method, his immense physical force, his -capacity for leonine banter, his fiery ferocity, and his occasional -felicity of elocution in passages of monotone and colloquy. -These features are still conspicuous in his acting. The spell of -physical magnetism that he has wielded so long is yet unbroken. -The certainty of purpose that has always distinguished him remains -the same. Hence his popular success is as great as ever. -Strength and definiteness are always comprehensible, and generally -admirable. Mr. Forrest is the union of both. We may -liken him to a rugged old castle, conspicuous in a landscape. -<span class='pageno' id='Page_652'>652</span>The architecture may not be admired, but the building is distinctly -seen and known. You may not like the actor, but you -cannot help seeing that he is the graphic representative of a certain -set of ideas in art. That is something. Nay, in a world of -loose and wavering motives and conduct, it is much. We have -little sympathy with the school of acting which Mr. Forrest -heads; but we know that it also serves in the great educational -system of the age, and we are glad to see it so thoroughly represented. -But, while Mr. Forrest illustrates the value of earnestness -and of assured skill, he also illustrates the law of classification -in art as well as in humanity. All mankind—artists among -the rest—are distinctly classified. We are what we are. Each -man develops along his own grade, but never rises into a higher -one. Hence the world’s continual wrangling over representative -men,—wrangling between persons of different classes, who can -never possibly become of one mind. Mr. Forrest has from the -first been the theme of this sort of controversy. He represents -the physical element in art. He is a landmark on the border-line -between physical and spiritual power. Natures kindred with his -own admire him, follow him, reverence him as the finest type of -artist. That is natural and inevitable. But there is another sort -of nature,—with which neither Mr. Forrest nor his admirers can -possibly sympathize,—that demands an artist of a very different -stamp; that asks continually for some great spiritual hero and -leader; that has crowned and uncrowned many false monarchs; -and that must for ever and ever hopelessly pursue its ideal. This -nature feels what Shelley felt when he wrote of ‘the desire of -the moth for the star, of the night for the morrow.’ To persons -of this order—and they are sufficiently numerous to constitute a -large minority—Mr. Forrest’s peculiar interpretations of character -and passion are unsatisfactory. They see and admire his certainty -of touch, his profound assurance, his solid symmetry. But -they feel that something is wanting to complete the artist. But -enough of this. It is pleasanter now to dwell upon whatever is -most agreeable in the veteran’s professional attitude. Mr. Forrest -is one of the few thorough and indefatigable students remaining -to the stage. He has collected the best Shakspearean library in -America. He studies acting with an earnest and single-hearted -devotion worthy of all honor, worthy also of professional emulation. -<span class='pageno' id='Page_653'>653</span>Every one of his personations bears the marks of elaborate -thought. According to the measure of his abilities, Mr. Forrest -is a true and faithful artist; and if, as seems to us, the divine -spark be wanting to animate and glorify his creations, that lack, -unhappily, is one that nearly all artists endure, and one that not -all the world can supply.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>And now it is left to show more clearly and fully, while doing -justice to what Forrest was in his own noble School of Nature, -how he fell short in that other School of Art which is the finest -and greatest of all.</p> - -<p class='c007'>The voice of Forrest, naturally deep, rich, and strong, and -developed by constant exercise until it became astonishingly full -and powerful, ministered largely to the delight of his audiences -and was a theme of unfailing wonder and eulogy to his admirers. -It may not be said which is the most important weapon of the -actor, the chest and neck, the arm and hand, the face and head, -or the voice; because they depend on and contribute to one -another, and each in its turn may be made the most potent of -the agents of expression. But if the primacy be assigned to any -organ it must be to the central and royal faculty of voice, since -this is the most varied and complex and intellectual of all the -channels of thought and emotion. A perfected voice can reveal -almost everything which human nature is capable of thinking or -feeling or being, and not only reveal it, but also wield it as an -instrument of influence to awaken in the auditor correspondent -experiences. But for this result not only an uncommon endowment -by nature is necessary, but likewise an exquisite artistic -training, prolonged with a skill and a patience which finally work -a revolution in the vocal apparatus. Only one or two examples -of this are seen in a generation. The Italian school of vocalization -occasionally gives an instance in a Braham or a Lablache. -But such perfection in the speaking voice is even rarer than in -the singing. Henry Russell, whose reading and recitative were -as consummate as his song, and played as irresistibly on the -feelings, had a voice of perhaps the most nearly perfect expressive -power known in our times. He could infuse into it every -quality of experience, color it with every hue and tint of feeling, -every light and shade of sentiment. To speak in illustrative -metaphor, he could issue it at will in such a varying texture and -<span class='pageno' id='Page_654'>654</span>quality of sound, such modified degrees of softness or hardness, -energy or gentleness, as would suggest bolts of steel, of gold, of -silver, or of opal; waves of velvet or of fire; ribbons of satin or -of crystal. His organism seemed a mass of electric sensibility, -all alive, and, in response to the touches of ideas within, giving -out fitted tones and articulations through the whole diapason of -humanity, from the very <i><span lang="la" xml:lang="la">vox angelica</span></i> down to the gruff basses -where lions roar and serpents hiss. This is a result of the -complete combination of instinctive sensibility in the mind and -developed elocutionary apparatus in the body. The muscular -connections of the thoracic and abdominal structures are brought -into unity, every part playing into all the parts and propagating -every vibration or undulatory impulse. At the slightest volition -the entire space sounding becomes a vital whole, all its walls, -from the roof of the mouth to the base of the inside, compressing -and relaxing with elastic exactitude, or yielding in supple -undulation so as to reveal in the sounds emitted precisely the -tinge and energy of the dominant thought and emotion. Then -the voice appears a pure mental agent, not a physical one. It -seems to reside in the centre of the breath, using air alone to -articulate its syllables. Commanding, without any bony or meaty -quality, both extremes,—the thread-like diminuendo of the nightingale -and the stunning crash of the thunderbolt,—it gives forth -the whole contents of the man in explicit revelation.</p> - -<p class='c007'>This perfection of the Italian School has been confined to the -lyric stage. Perhaps the nearest examples to it on the dramatic -stage were Edmund Kean for a short time in his best period, and -Forrest and Salvini in our own day. Forrest had it not in its -complete finish. He grew up wild, as it were, on a wild continent, -where no such consummate training had ever been known. -Left to himself and to nature, he did everything and more than -everything that could have been expected. But <em>perfection</em> of -voice, a detached vocal mentality which uses the column of respiratory -air alone as its instrument, sending its vibrations freely -into the sonorous surfaces around it, he did not wholly attain. -His voice seemed rather by direct will to employ the muscles to -seize the breath and shape and throw the words. He could crash -it in sheeted thunder better than he could hurl it in fagoted -bolts, and he loved too much to do it. In a word, his voice -<span class='pageno' id='Page_655'>655</span>lacked, just as his character did, the qualities of intellectualized -spirituality, ethereal brilliancy, aerial abstraction and liberty from -its muscular settings and environment. Had these qualities been -fully his in body and soul, in addition to what he was, he would -have been the unrivalled paragon of the stage. The fibres of -the backbone and of the solar plexus were too much intertangled -with the fibres of the brain, the individual traits in him were too -closely mixed with the universal, for this. But nevertheless, as -it was, his voice was an organ of magnificent richness and force -for the expression of the elemental experiences of humanity in -all their wide ranges of intelligence, instinct, and passion. It -could do full justice to love and hate, scorn and admiration, desire, -entreaty, expostulation, remorse, wonder, and awe, and was -most especially effective in pity, in command, and in irony and -sarcasm. His profound visceral vitality and vigor were truly -extraordinary. This grew out of an athletic development exceptionally -complete and a respiration exceptionally deep and perfect. -When Forrest under great passion or mental energy spoke -mighty words, his vocal blows, muffled thunder-strokes on the -diaphragmatic drum, used to send convulsive shocks of emotion -through the audience. The writer well remembers hearing him -imitate the peculiar utterance of Edmund Kean in his most concentrated -excitement. The sweet, gurgling, half-smothered and -half-resonant staccato spasms of articulation betokened the most -intense state of organic power, a girded and impassioned condition -as terrible and fascinating as the muscular splendor of an -infuriated tiger. The voice and elocution of Forrest were all -that could be expected of nature and a culture instinctive, observational, -and intelligent, but irregular and without fundamental -principles. What was wanting was a systematic drill based on -ultimate laws and presided over by a consummate ideal, an ideal -which is the result of all the traditions of vocal training and -triumphs perfected with the latest physiological knowledge. Then -he could have done in tragedy what Braham did in song. Braham -sang, “But the children of Israel went on dry land.” He -paused, and a painful hush filled the vast space. Then, as if carved -out of the solid stillness, came the three little words, “through -the sea.” The breath of the audience failed, their pulses ceased -to beat, as all the wonder of the miracle seemed to pass over -<span class='pageno' id='Page_656'>656</span>them with those accents, awful, radiant, resonant, triumphant. -He sat down amid the thunder of the whole house, while people -turned to one another wiping their eyes, and said, Braham!</p> - -<p class='c007'>If the voice is the soul of the drama, facial expression is its -life. In the latter as in the former Forrest had remarkable power -and skill, yet fell short of the perfection of the few supreme -masters. He stood at the head of the Natural School whose -representatives achieve everything that can be done by a genuine -inspiration and laborious study, but not everything that can be -done by these conjoined with that learned and disciplined art -which is the highest fruit of science applied in a systematic drill. -Imitatively and impulsively, with careful study of nature in others, -and with sincere excitement of his own faculties of thought and -feeling, he practised faithfully to acquire mobility of feature and -a facile command of every sort of passional expression. He succeeded -in a very uncommon yet clearly limited degree. The -familiar states of vernacular humanity when existing in their -extremest degrees of intensity and breadth he could express with -a fidelity and vigor possible to but few. His organic portraitures -of the staple passions of man were exact in detail and stereoscopic -in outline,—breathing sculptures, speaking pictures. Pre-eminently -was this true in regard to the basic attributes and ground -passions of our nature. His Gladiator in his palmiest day of -vital strength was something never surpassed in its kind. Every -stroke touched the raw of the truth, and it was sublime in its -terribleness. At one moment he stood among his enemies like a -column of rock among dashing waves; at another moment the -storm of passion shook him as an oak is shaken by the hurricane. -And when brought to bay his action was a living revelation, never -to be forgotten, of a dread historic type of man,—the tense -muscles, the distended neck, the obstructed breath, the swollen -arteries and veins, the rigid jaws, the orbs now rolling like the -dilated and blazing eyes of a leopard, now white and set like the -ferocious deathly eyes of a bull, while smothered passion seemed -to threaten an actual explosion of the whole frame. It was fearful, -but it was great. It was nature at first hand. And he could -paint with the same clear accuracy the sweeter and nobler phases -of human nature and the higher and grander elements of experience. -His expressions of domestic affection, friendship, honesty, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_657'>657</span>honor, patriotism, compassion, valor, fortitude, meditation, wonder, -sorrow, resignation, were marked by a delicate finish and a pronounced -distinctness of truth seldom equalled. For example, -when in Virginius he said to his motherless daughter, “I never -saw you look so like your mother in all my life,” the pensive and -effusive tenderness of his look and speech irresistibly drew tears. -When he said to her, “So, thou art Claudius’s slave!” the combination -in his utterance of love for her and ironic scorn for the -tyrant was a stroke of art subtile and effective beyond description. -And when, in his subsequent madness, he exhibited the phases -of insanity from inane listlessness to raving frenzy, when his -sinews visibly set as he seized Appius and strangled him to -death, when he sat down beside the corpse and his face paled -and his eyes glazed and his limbs slowly stiffened and his head -dropped in death,—his attitudes and movements were a series of -vital sculptures fit to be photographed for immortality.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Still, after every eulogy which can justly be paid him, it must -be said that he remained far from the complete mastership of his -art in its whole compass. Neither in conception nor execution -did he ever grasp the entire range of the possibilities of histrionic -expression. Had he done this he would not have stood at the -head of the spontaneous and cultivated Natural School, but would -have represented that Artistic School which practically still lies -in the future, although its boundaries have been mapped and its -contents sketched by François Delsarte. For instance, the feat -performed by Lablache after a dinner at Gore House, the representation -of a thunder-storm simply by facial expression, was -something that Forrest would never have dreamed of undertaking. -Lablache said he once witnessed, when walking in the Champs -Elysées with Signor de Begnis, a distant thunder-storm above the -Arc de Triomphe, and the idea occurred to him of picturing it -with the play of his own features. He proceeded to do it without -a single word. A gloom overspread his countenance appearing -to deepen into actual darkness, and a terrific frown indicated -the angry lowering of the tempest. The lightnings began by -winks of the eyes and twitchings of the muscles of the face, -succeeded by rapid sidelong movements of the mouth which -wonderfully recalled the forked flashes that seem to rend the sky, -while he conveyed the notion of thunder in the shaking of his -<span class='pageno' id='Page_658'>658</span>head. By degrees the lightnings became less vivid, the frown -relaxed, the gloom departed, and a broad smile illuminating his -expressive face gave assurance that the sun had broken through -the clouds and the storm was over.</p> - -<p class='c007'>By a Scientifically Artistic School of acting is not meant, as -some perversely understand, a cold-blooded procedure on mechanical -calculations, but a systematic application of the exact -methods of science to the materials and practice of the dramatic -art. It means an art of acting not left to chance, to caprice, to -imitation, to individual inspiration, or to a desultory and indigested -observation of others and study of self, but based on -a comprehensive accurately formulated knowledge of the truths -of human nature and experience, and a perfected mastery of the -instruments for their expression. To be a worthy representative -of this school one must have spontaneous genius, passion, inspiration, -and mimetic instinct, and a patient training in the actual -exercise of his profession, no less than if he belonged to the -Classic, the Romantic, or the Natural School; while in addition -he seizes the laws of dramatic revelation by analysis and generalization, -and gains a complete possession of the organic apparatus -for their display in his own person by a physical and mental drill -minute and systematic to the last degree. The Artistic School -of acting is the Classic, Romantic, and Natural Schools combined, -purified, supplemented and perfected by adequate knowledge and -drill methodically applied.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Human nature has its laws of manifestation as well as every -other department of being. These laws are incomparably more -elusive, obscure, and complicated than those of natural philosophy, -and therefore later to gain formulation; but they are not a whit -less real and unerring. The business of the dramatic performer -is to reveal the secrets of the characters he represents by giving -them open manifestation. Acting is the art of commanding the -discriminated manifestations of human nature. If not based on -the science of the structure and workings of human nature it is -not an art, but mere empiricism, as most acting always has been.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Delsarte toiled forty years with unswerving zeal to transform -the fumbling empiricism of the stage into a perfect art growing -out of a perfect science. He was himself beyond all comparison -the most accomplished actor that ever lived, and might, had he -<span class='pageno' id='Page_659'>659</span>pleased, have raised whirlwinds of applause and reaped fortunes. -But, with a heroic abnegation of fame and a proud consecration -to the lonely pursuit of truth, he refused to cater to a public who -craved only amusement and would not accept instruction; and -he died comparatively obscure, in poverty and martyrdom. He -mastered the whole circle of the sciences and the whole circle -of the arts, and synthetized and crowned them all with an art of -acting based on a science of man as comprehensive as the world -and as minute as experience. It is to be hoped that he has left -works which will yet be published in justification of his claim, -to glorify his valiant, neglected, and saintly life, and to enrich -mankind with an invaluable bequest.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Every form has its meaning. Every attitude has its meaning. -Every motion has its meaning. Every sound has its meaning. -Every combination of forms, attitudes, motions, or sounds, has -its meaning. These meanings are intrinsic or conventional or -both. Their purport, value, rank, beauty, merit, may be exactly -determined, fixed, defined, portrayed. The knowledge of all this -with reference to human nature, methodically arranged, constitutes -the scientific foundation for dramatic representation. Then -the art consists in setting it all in free living play. The first -thing is a complete analysis and synthesis of the actions and -reactions of our nature in its three divisions of intelligence, -instinct, and passion; mind, heart, and conscience; mentality, -vitality, and morality. The second thing is a complete command -of the whole apparatus of expression, so that when it is -known exactly what the action of each muscle or of each combination -of muscles signifies, the actor may have the power to -effect the requisite muscular adjustment and excitation. The -first requisite, then, is a competent psychological knowledge of -the spiritual functions of men, with a sympathetic quickness to -summon them into life; and the second, a correspondent knowledge -of anatomy and physiology applied in a gymnastic drill to -liberate all parts of the organism from stiffness and stricture and -unify it into a flexible and elastic whole.</p> - -<p class='c007'>The æsthetic gymnastic which Delsarte devised, to perfect the -dramatic aspirant for the most exalted walks of his profession, -was a series of exercises aiming to invigorate the tissues and -free the articulations of the body, so as to give every joint and -<span class='pageno' id='Page_660'>660</span>muscle its greatest possible ease and breadth of movement and -secure at once the fullest liberty of each part and the exactest -co-operation of all the parts. When the pupil had finished this -training he was competent to exemplify every physical feat and -capacity of man. Furthermore, this teacher arranged certain -gamuts of expression for the face, the practice of which would -give the brows, eyes, nose, and mouth their utmost vital mobility. -He required his pupil to sit before a mirror and cause to pass -over his face, from the appropriate ideas and emotions within, a -series of revelatory pictures. Beginning, for instance, with death, -he ascended through idiocy, drunkenness, despair, interest, curiosity, -surprise, wonder, astonishment, fear, and terror, to horror; -or from grief, through pity, love, joy, and delight, to ecstasy. -Then he would reverse the passional panorama, and descend -phase by phase back again all the way from ecstasy to despair -and death. When he was able at will instantly to summon the -distinct and vivid picture on his face of whatever state of feeling -calls for expression, he was so far forth ready for entrance on his -professional career.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Such is the training demanded of the consummate actor in -that Artistic School which combines the excellences of the three -preceding schools, cleansing them of their excesses and supplying -all that they lack. The prejudice against this sort of discipline, -that it must be fatal to all charm of impulse and fire of -genius and reduce everything to a frigid construction by rule, is -either a fruit of ignorance or an excuse of sloth. It is absurd -to suppose that the perfecting of his mechanism makes a man -mechanical. On the contrary it spiritualizes him. It is stiff -obstructions or dead contractions in the organism that approximate -a man to a marionette. It is a ridiculous prejudice which -fancies that the strengthening, purification, and release of the -organism from all strictures destroys natural life and replaces it -with artifice, or banishes the fresh play of ideas and the surprising -loveliness of impulse by reducing the divine spontaneity -of passion to a cold set of formulas. The Delsartean drill so far -from preventing inspiration invites and enhances it by preparing -a fit vehicle and providing the needful conditions. The circulating -curves of this æsthetic gymnastic, whose soft elliptical -lines supersede the hard and violent angles of the vulgar style -<span class='pageno' id='Page_661'>661</span>of exercise, redeem discordant man from his fragmentary condition -to a harmonious unity. He is raised from the likeness of a -puppet towards the likeness of a god. Then, as the influence of -thought and feeling breathes through him, the changes of the -features and the movement of the limbs and of the different -zones of the body are so fused and interfluent that they modulate -the flesh as if it were materialized music.</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“Unmarked he stands amid the throng,</div> - <div class='line'>In rumination deep and long,</div> - <div class='line'>Till you may see, with sudden grace,</div> - <div class='line'>The very thought come o’er his face,</div> - <div class='line'>And by the motion of his form</div> - <div class='line'>Anticipate the bursting of the storm,</div> - <div class='line'>And by the uplifting of his brow</div> - <div class='line'>Tell where the bolt will strike, and how.”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c007'>Delsarte could shrink and diminish his stature under the -shrivelling contraction of meanness and cowardice or suspicion -and crime until it seemed dwarfed, or lift and dilate it under the -inspiration of grand ideas and magnanimous passions until it -seemed gigantic. Every great emotional impulse that took possession -of him seemed to melt all the parts of his organism -together into a flexible whole with flowing joints, and then his -fused movements awed the spectator like something supernatural. -His face was a living canvas on which his soul -painted the very proportions and hues of every feeling. His -voice in tone and inflection took every color and shadow of -thought and emotion, from the sombre cloudiness of breathing -awe to the crystalline lucidity of articulating intellect. His -inward furnishing even richer than the outward, he would sit -down at the piano, in a coarse overcoat, in a room with bare -walls, and, as he acted and sang, Œdipus, Agamemnon, Orestes, -Augustus, Cinna, Pompey, Robert le Diable, Tartuffe, rose before -you and revealed themselves in a truth that appeared almost -miraculous and with a power that was actually irresistible. It -was no reproduction by painful mimicry of externals, no portrayal -by elaborate delineation of details. It was positive identification -and resurrection. It was a real recreation of characters -in their ensemble of being, and an exhibited reanimation of -them by imaginative insight and sympathetic assimilation. Most -<span class='pageno' id='Page_662'>662</span>wonderful of all, and greatest proof of the value of his system of -drill, he could catch a part by inspiration and go through it -under the automatic direction of nature, and then deliberately -repeat the same thing by critical perception and conscious free -will; and he could also reverse the process with equal ease, critically -elaborate a rôle by analysis and then fix it in the nerves -and perform it with inspired spontaneity. This was the highest -possible exemplification of the dramatic art by the founder of its -only perfect school. It was Classic, because it had the greatest -dignity, repose, power, symmetry, unity. It was Romantic, because -it was full of the most startling effects, beautiful combinations, -sudden changes, surprising contrasts, and extremes. It -was Natural, because exactly conformed to the facts of experience -and the laws of truth as disclosed by the profoundest study of -nature. And above all it was supremely Artistic, because in it -intuition, instinct, inspiration, intelligence, will, and educated -discipline were reconciled with one another in co-operative harmony, -and everything was freely commanded by conscious -knowledge and not left to accident.</p> - -<p class='c007'>True art is never merely an imitation of nature, nor is it ever -purely creative; but it is partly both. It arises from the desire -to convert conceptions into perceptions, to objectify the subjective -in order to enhance and prolong it in order to revive it at will -and impart it to others. Art, Delsarte said, with his matchless -precision of phrase, is feeling passed through thought and fixed -in form. Grace without force is the product of weakness or -decay, and can please none save those whose sensibilities are -drained. Force without grace is like presenting a figure skinned -or flayed, and must shock every one who has taste. But grace -in force and force in grace, combined impetuosity and moderation, -power revealed hinting a far mightier power reserved,—this -is what irresistibly charms all. This is what only the very fewest -ever attain to in a superlative degree; for it requires not only -richness of soul and spontaneous instinct, and not only analytic -study and systematic drill, but all these added to patience and -delicacy and energy. The elements of the art of acting are the -applied elements of the science of human nature; yet on the -stage those elements are different from what they are in life in this -respect, that there they are set in relief,—that is, so systematized -<span class='pageno' id='Page_663'>663</span>and pronounced as to give them distinct prominence. That is -precisely the difference of art from nature. It heightens effect by -the convergence of co-operative agencies. For instance, when -the variations of the speech exactly correspond with the changes -of the face, how the effect of each is heightened! Aaron Hill -said of Barton Booth that the blind might have seen him in his -voice and the deaf have heard him in his visage. Of those in -whom nature is equal he who has the greater art will carry the -day, as of those in whom art is equal he who has more nature -must win. A lady said, “Had I been Juliet to Garrick’s Romeo, -so ardent and impassioned was he, I should have expected that -he would come up to me in the balcony; but had I been Juliet -to Barry’s Romeo, so tender, so eloquent and seductive was he, -that I should certainly have gone down to him.” In these two -great actors nature and art contended which was stronger. Very -different was it with Macready and Kean, of whom it used to be -said respectively, “We go to see Macready in Othello, but we -go to see Othello in Kean.” The latter himself enjoyed, and -delighted others by showing, a transcript of the great world of -mankind in the little world of his heart. The former,—</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“Whate’er the part in which his cast was laid,</div> - <div class='line'>Self still, like oil, upon the surface played.”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c007'>Talma said, “In whatever sphere fate may have placed a man, -the grand movements of the soul lift him into an ideal nature.” -The greatness of every truly great actor shows itself in the general -ideal which characterizes his embodiments. If he has any originality -it will publish itself in his ideal. Now, while most actors -are not only second-rate but also second-hand, Forrest certainly -was original alike as man and as player. He was distinctively original -in his personality, original and independent in the very make -of his mind and heart. This subtle and striking originality of -personal mind and genius was thoroughly leavened and animated -by a distinctively American spirit, the spirit generated by the historic -and material conditions of American society and the social -and moral conditions of American life. He was original by -inherited idiosyncrasy, original by his natural education, original -by his self-moulding culture which resented and shed every -authoritative interference with his freedom and every merely -<span class='pageno' id='Page_664'>664</span>traditional dictation. He was original in going directly to the -instructions of nature and in drawing directly from the revelations -of his own soul. He was original in a homely intensity -of feeling and in a broad and unsophisticated intelligence whose -honest edges were never blunted by hypocritical conformity and -falsehood. And above all, as an actor he exhibited his originality -in a bearing or style of manners thoroughly democratic in its -prevailing scornful repudiation of tricks or squeamish nicety, and -a frank reliance on the simplicity of truth and nature in their -naked power.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Now, precisely the crowning originality of Forrest as an actor, -that which secures him a distinctive place in the historic evolution -of the drama, is that while the ideals which the great actors -before him impersonated were monarchical, aristocratic, or purely -individual, he embodied the democratic ideal of the intrinsic independence -and royalty of man. Give Kemble only the man to -play, he was nothing; give him the paraphernalia of rank and -station, he was imposing. But Forrest, a born democrat, his bare -feet on the earth, his bare breast to his foes, his bare forehead to -the sky, asked no foreign aid, no gilded toggery, no superstitious -titles, to fill the theatre with his presence and thrill the crowd -with his spell. There is an egotism of pride, an egotism of -vanity, an egotism of conceit, all of which, based in want of sympathy, -are contemptible and detestable. Forrest was remarkable -for a tremendous and obstinate pride, but not for vanity or conceit; -and his sympathy was as deep and quick as his pride, so -that he was not an odious egotist, although he was imperious and -resentful. Many distinguished players have trodden the stage -as gentlemen, Forrest trod it as man. The ideal of detachment, -authority throned in cold-blooded self-regard, has been often set -forth. He exhibited the ideal of identification, burning honesty -of passion and open fellowship. The former is the ideal of polite -society. The latter is the ideal of unsophisticated humanity. -Macready asserted himself in his characters; Forrest asserted -his characters in himself. Both were self-attached, though in an -opposite way, and thus missed the perfect triumph which Delsarte -achieved by abolishing self and always resuscitating alive -in its pure integrity the very truth of the characters he essayed. -Macready as an elaborate and frigid representative of titular kings -<span class='pageno' id='Page_665'>665</span>was a sovereign on the boards, a subject elsewhere. Forrest as -an inborn representative of natural kings was a true sovereign in -himself everywhere and always. The former by his petulant -pride and pomp and his drilled exemption from the sway of the -sympathies secured the approval of a sensitive and irritable <i><span lang="la" xml:lang="la">nil -admirari</span></i> class. The latter by the fulness of his sympathies and -his impassioned eloquence as the impersonator of oppressed races -awakened the enthusiastic admiration of the people. A line, said -an accomplished critic, drawn across the tops of the points of Macready -would leave Forrest below in matters of mechanical detail, -but would only cut the bases of his pyramids of power and passion. -His chief rôles were all embodiments of the elemental vernacular -of man in his natural virtue and glory rather than in the refinements -of his choicest dialects. Always asserting the superiority -of man to his accidents, he will be remembered in the history of -the theatre as the greatest democrat that up to his time had ever -stepped before the footlights. He had sincerity, eloquence, power, -nobleness, sublimity. His want was beauty, charm. The epithets -strong, fearless, heroic, grand, terrible, magnificent, were fully -applicable to him; but the epithets bright, bold, brisk, romantic, -winsome, graceful, poetic, were inapplicable. In a word, though -abounding in the broad substance of sensibility and the warm -breath of kindness, he lacked the artificial polish and finesse of -etiquette; and consequently the under-current of dissent from -his fame, the murmur of detraction, that followed him, was the -resentment of the conventional society whose superfine code he -neglected and scorned.</p> - -<p class='c007'>For this penalty, however, his sincerity and direct reliance on -nature gave ample compensation in making him capable of inspiration. -Adherence to mere authority, tradition, usage, or dry -technicality, is fatal to inspiration. This carried to an extreme -makes the most cultivated player a mere professor of postures -and stage mechanics,—what the French called Macready, “<i><span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">L’artiste -de poses</span></i>.” There is an infinite distance from such external -elaboration to the surprises of feeling which open the soul directly -upon the mysteries of experience, send cold waves of awe -through the nerves, and convert the man into a sublime automaton -of elemental nature, or a hand with which God himself gesticulates. -Then the performing of the actor originates not on the -<span class='pageno' id='Page_666'>666</span>volitional surfaces of the brain, but in the dynamic deeps of the -spine and ganglia, and he seems an incarnate fagot of thunderbolts. -Then the gesticulating arms, modulated by the profound -spinal rhythms, become the instruments of a visible music of -passion mysteriously powerful. For all action from the distal -extremities of the nerves is feverish, twitching, anxious, with a -fidgety and wasteful expensiveness of force, while action from -their central extremities is steady, harmonious, commanding, -economical of force. The nearer to the central insertions of the -muscles the initial impulses take effect, so much the longer the -lines they fling, the acuter the angles they subtend, the vaster -the segments they cut and the areas they sweep. This suggests -to the imagination of the spectator, without his knowing -the meaning or ground of it, a godlike dignity and greatness. -Forrest was full of this hinted and hinting power. It was the -secret of his loaded personality and magnetizing port.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Art, while it is not pure and simple nature, is not anything -substituted for nature nor anything opposed to nature. It is -something superadded to nature, which gives the artist supreme -possession of his theme, supreme possession of himself, and -supreme command of his treatment of his theme. It is a grasped -generalization of the truths of nature freed from all coarse, crude, -and degrading accidents and details. The consummate artist, -observing the principle or law, does everything easily; but the -empiric, striving at the facts, does everything laboriously. Feeling -transmuted into art by being passed through thought and -fixed in form is transferred for its exemplification from the volition -of the cerebral nerves to the automatic execution of the -spinal nerves. This does not exhaust the strength, but leaves -one fresh after apparently the most tremendous exertions. Talma, -Rachel, Salvini, did not sweat or fatigue themselves, however -violent their action seemed. But when feeling, instead of having -been passed through thought and fixed in form for automatic exhibition, -is livingly radiated into form by the will freshly exerted -each time, the exaction on the forces of the organism is great. -It is then nature in her expensiveness that is seen, rather than -the art which secures the maximum of result at the minimum of -cost. It was said of Barry that excessive sensibility conquered -his powers. His heart overcame his head; while Garrick never -<span class='pageno' id='Page_667'>667</span>lost possession of himself and of his acting. The one felt everything -himself before he made his audience feel it; the other remained -cool, and yet by his kingly self-control forced his audience -to feel so much the more. In his direct honest feeling and -exertion Forrest paid the expensive penalty of the Natural School. -After playing one of his great parts he was drenched with perspiration -and blew off steam like a locomotive brought to rest. -The nerves of his brain and the nerves of his spinal cord were -insufficiently detached in their activities, too much mixed. Like -Edmund Kean, he was as a fusee, and the points of the play were -as matches; at each electric touch his nerve-centres exploded -and his muscles struck lightning. But in the Artistic School the -actor is like a lens made of ice, through which the sunbeams -passing set on fire whatever is placed in their focus. The player -who can pour the full fire of passion through his soul while his -nerves remain firm and calm has command of every power of -nature, and reaches the greatest effects without waste. But, as -Garrick said,—</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“In vain will Art from Nature help implore</div> - <div class='line'>When Nature for herself exhausts her store.”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c007'>The essence of the dramatic art or the mission of the theatre -is the revelation of the different grades of character and culture -as exhibited in the different styles of manners, so that the -spectator may assign them their respective ranks. The skill or -bungling of the actor is shown by the degrees of accuracy and -completeness which mark his portraitures. And the predominant -ideal illustrated in his impersonations betrays the personal -quality and level of the actor himself.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Manners are the index of the soul, silently pointing out its -rank. All grades of souls, from the bottom of the moral scale -to its top, have their correspondent modes of behavior which are -the direct expression of their immediate states and the reflex -revelation of their permanent characters. The principle of politeness -or good manners is the law of the ideal appropriation of -states of feeling on recognition of their signs. Sympathy implies -that when we see the sign of any state in another we at -once enter into that state ourselves. Interpreting the sign we -assimilate the substance signified and thus reflect the experience. -Everything injurious, repulsive, or petty, pains, lessens, and -<span class='pageno' id='Page_668'>668</span>lowers us. The signs of such states therefore are to be withheld. -But the signs of beautiful, powerful, sublime, and blessed states -enrich and exalt those who recognize them and reproduce their -meaning. The refinement and benignity of any style of manners -are measured by the largeness and purity of the sphere of sympathetic -life it implies, the generosity of its motives, and the -universality of its objects. The vulgarity and odiousness of -manners are measured by the coarseness of sensibility, the narrow -egotism, the contracted sphere of consciousness implied by -them. Thus the person who fixes our attention on anything -spiritual, calming, authoritative, charming, or godlike, confers a -favor, ideally exalting us above our average level. But all -such acts as biting the nails or lips, taking snuff, smoking a -cigar, talking of things destitute of interest save to the vanity -of the talker, are bad manners, because they draw attention from -dignified and pleasing themes and fasten it to petty details, or -inflict a severe nervous waste on the sensibility that refuses to -be degraded by obeying their signals.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Now, there are four generic codes of manners in society, each -of which has its specific varieties, and all of which are exemplified -in the theatre,—that great explicit “mirror of fashion and mould -of form.” First there is the code of royal manners, the proper -behavior of kings. Kings are all of one family. They are all -free, neither commanding one another nor obeying one another, -each one complete sovereign in himself and of himself. The -sphere of his personality is hedged about by a divinity through -which no one ventures to peep for dictation or interference. In -his relations with other persons the king is not an individual, but -is the focal consensus of the whole people over whom he is -placed, the apex of the collective unity of the nation. He therefore -represents public universality and no private egotism. He -is the symbol of perfect fulfilment, wealth, radiance, joy, peace. -By personal will he imposes nothing, exacts nothing, but like the -sun sheds impartially on all who approach him the golden largess -of his own complete satisfaction. That is the genuine ideal of -royal manners. But the actual exemplification is often the exact -opposite,—an egotistic selfishness pampered and maddened to its -very acme. Then the formula of kingly behavior is the essence -of spiritual vulgarity and monopolizing arrogance, namely, I am -<span class='pageno' id='Page_669'>669</span>the highest of all: therefore every one must bow to me and -take the cue from me! Then, instead of representing the universal, -to enrich all, he degrades the universal into the individual, -to impoverish all. Then his insolent selfishness at the upper extreme -produces deceit and fawning at the lower extreme. The -true king imposes nothing, asks nothing, takes nothing, though -all is freely offered him, because he radiates upon all the overflow -of his own absolute contentment. Every one who sees -him draws a reflected sympathetic happiness from the spectacle -of his perfect happiness.</p> - -<p class='c007'>The formula expressed in truly royal manners is, I am so contented -with the sense of fulfilment and of universal support that -my only want is to see every one enjoying the same happiness! -In a perfected state the formula of democratic manners will be -identical with this. For then the whole community with its solidarity -of wealth and power will be the sustaining environment -whereof each individual is a centre. But as yet the private fortune -of each man is his selfishly isolated environment; and the -totality of individual environments bristles with hostility, while -every one tries to break into and absorb the neighboring ones.</p> - -<p class='c007'>The code of aristocratic manners, too, has its sinister or false -development as well as its true and benign development. The -formula which, in its ungenial phase, it is forever insinuating -through all its details of demeanor, when translated into plain -words is this: I am superior to you and therefore command you! -But the real aristocratic behavior does not say the inferior must -obey the superior. On the contrary, it withholds and suppresses -the sense of superiority, seems unconscious of it, and only indirectly -implies it by the implicit affirmation, I am glad to be able -to bless and aid you, to comfort, strengthen, and uplift you! The -false aristocrat asserts himself and would force others to follow -his lead. The true aristocrat joyously stoops to serve. His -motto is not, I command, but Privilege imposes obligation.</p> - -<p class='c007'>The twofold aspect of plebeian manners affords a repetition -of the same contrast. The plebeian manner, discontented and -insurrectionary, says, You are superior to me, and therefore I -distrust, fear, and hate you! The plebeian manner, submissive -and humble or cringing, says, I am inferior to you, and therefore -beseech your favor, deprecating your scorn! But the plebeian -<span class='pageno' id='Page_670'>670</span>manner, honest, manly, and good, says, You are superior to me, -and I am glad of it, because, looking up to you with admiration -and love, I shall appropriate your excellence and grow like you -myself!</p> - -<p class='c007'>Finally, we come to the democratic code of manners. The -spurious formula for democratic behavior is, I am as good as -you! This is the interpretation too common in American practice -thus far. It is the insolent casting off of despotic usages -and authorities, and the replacing them with the defiant protest -of a reckless independence. I am as good as you, and therefore -neither of us will have any regard or deference for the other! -But in wide distinction from this impolite and harsh extreme, the -formula implied in the genuine code of democratic manners is, -We are all amenable to the same open and universal standard of -right and good, and therefore we do not raise the question at all -of precedency or privilege, of conscious superiority or inferiority, -but we leave all such points to the decision of the facts themselves, -and are ready indifferently to lead or to follow according -to the fitness of intrinsic ranks!</p> - -<p class='c007'>Spurious democracy would inaugurate a stagnant level of mediocrities, -a universal wilderness of social carelessness and self-assertion. -Genuine democracy recognizes every man as a monarch, -independent and supreme in his interior personal sphere of -life, but in his social and public life affiliated with endless grades -of superiors, equals, and inferiors, all called on to obey not the -self-will of one another, or of any majority, but to follow gladly -the dictates of those inherent fitnesses of inspiration from above -and aspiration from below which will remain eternally authoritative -when every unjust immunity and merely conventional or -titular rank has been superseded. This was the style of manners, -this was the implied formula of behavior, embodied by Forrest in -all his great rôles. Affirming the indefeasible sovereignty of the -individual, he neither wished to command nor brooked to obey -other men except so far as the intrinsic credentials of God were -displayed in them. Thus, under every accidental or local diversity -of garb and bearing, he stood on the American stage, and -stands and will stand in front there, as the first sincere, vigorous, -and grand theatrical representative of the democratic royalty of -man.</p> - -<div class='chapter'> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_671'>671</span> - <h2 class='c005'>CHAPTER XXI.<br /> <span class='large'>HISTORIC EVOLUTION AND SOCIAL USES OF THE DRAMATIC ART.—GENIUS AND RELATIONSHIP OF THE LIBERAL PROFESSIONS.—HOSTILITY OF THE CHURCH AND THE THEATRE.</span></h2> -</div> - -<p class='c006'>In an early chapter of this biography an analysis was given of -the dramatic art considered in its psychological origin and in its -personal uses for those who practise it. This was done that the -reader might have in his mind the data requisite for forming an -intelligent judgment on the life which was to be recorded and -criticised in the succeeding chapters. But in order to appreciate -the just moral rank and worth or the legitimate influences of such -a life in its public sphere and aspects, it is necessary to understand -something of the historic development and the social uses of the -dramatic art,—its distinctive genius in contrast with the other liberal -professions, and the natural effects on those who witness its -exhibitions. The subject teems with matters of unsuspected importance, -and its discussion will yield surprising revelations.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Before attempting to trace the rise of the Theatre and its struggle -with its rivals, we must get an adequate idea of the essential -substance of the art practised in the Theatre. For this purpose -it will be necessary to approach the subject from a point of view -different from those generally taken hitherto.</p> - -<p class='c007'>The practice of the dramatic art rests on the differences of men -amidst their similarities. The whole intercourse of life really consists -at bottom in a complex and subtile game of superiorities and -inferiorities, full of tests and tricks, surprises, pains, and pleasures. -Every one who has not been regenerated from the selfish heritage -of history into a saintly disinterestedness is constantly impelled by -a desire far deeper than his consciousness to wish to see others -inferior to himself, to feel himself superior to others, and to get -this relative estimate accepted in the imaginations of the bystanders. -Human experience in society is a half-open and half-disguised -<span class='pageno' id='Page_672'>672</span>battle for advantage and precedence, inward and outward, -private and public, filled with attacks and defences, feints -and traps, overtures and defiances, every conceivable sort of coarse -or exquisite artifices for winning victories and inflicting defeats in -the occult and endless game of personal comparisons.</p> - -<p class='c007'>All comparisons imply standards of judgment. There are eight -of these standards,—four primary, and four secondary. The first -of the primary standards of excellence by which we try ourselves -and one another is bodily health, strength, grace, and beauty. -The second is moral character, goodness of disposition, purity -and nobility of motives. The third is genius and talent, brilliant -powers of creative or beneficent action. The fourth is technical -acquisitions, artificial learning and accomplishments, charm of -manners, skill in doing attractive or important things. The first -of the secondary standards by which men are estimated in society -is hereditary rank or caste, birth, blood, and title. The second is -official place and power, social position and influence. The third -is reputation and fame. The fourth is wealth. All these standards, -it will be observed, find their ultimate meaning and justification -in the idea of adaptedness for the fulfilment of the ends of -life. Good is the fruition of function. The highest personal -beauty and genius imply the greatest fitness for the fulfilment -of function. Wealth is a material means, fame an ideal means, -for the fruition of life.</p> - -<p class='c007'>But obviously there are distinctions of grade and of authority -among these standards, and he who ranks high when judged by -one of them may rank low according to another. It is the continual -subterfuge of self-love at the inner tribunal to evade the -tests of the standards that are unfavorable to it, and to court -comparison by those whose verdicts are surest to be flattering. -On the contrary, in testing other people, the egotistic and ungenerous -person instinctively applies the tests most likely to insure -condemnation. This is the first vice of introspection and of -mutual criticism.</p> - -<p class='c007'>The second evil is setting lower standards above higher ones, -attributing more importance to apparent or conventional claims -than to real and intrinsic merits. In all ignoble circles, among all -men and women of low sensibility or of shallow routine, there is -a steady tendency to estimate self and associates by factitious and -<span class='pageno' id='Page_673'>673</span>hollow standards of good instead of the inherent and substantial -standards. More deference is paid to dress and title than to form -and bearing. Privileged descent and station are put before genius -and worth. Deeds and deserts go to the wall in favor of shows -and professions. Riches are esteemed above character. What -others think of us is deemed of greater account than what God -knows of us. This turning topsy-turvy of the standards for the -judging of men is what fills the world with the confusion, -wickedness, and misery of a rivalry that is as detestable as it is -pernicious and sad.</p> - -<p class='c007'>No two men can be exactly alike. Inequality is the universal -law of existence. Without it there would be an unbroken -monotony and stagnation equivalent to death. It is the play of -greater and lesser, fairer and homelier, wiser and foolisher, higher -and lower, better and worse, richer and poorer, older and younger, -that intersperses the spectacle of being and the drama of experience -with the glimpsing bewitchments of surprise, the ravishing -zest of pursuit and success, the everlasting freshness and variety -of desire, change, suspense, risk, and adventure. The essential -moral struggle for superiority, in which all men are forever -engaged whether they know it or not, is the divine method of -enchanting them with life and luring them forward. It would -be an unmixed good, covering all intercourse with the charm of -a theatrical beauty and spicing every day with the relish of a -religious game, were it not for the predominant vices of fraud, -envy, and tyranny surreptitiously introduced into the contest. -Did all men regard their superiors with joyous reverence and -aspiration, their equals with co-operative friendship, and their -inferiors with respectful kindness and help, never of their own -will raising the question as to who shall command or lead and -who obey or follow, but leaving these points to be decided by -the laws in the manifest fitness of things, the unlikenesses and -inequalities which now set them at wretched odds would be the -very conditions of their orchestral harmony and the chief elements -of their converging delight. The general genius of the -dramatic art, purified and perfected, tends directly to bring this -about, while the special genius of each of the other liberal professions -stands obstructively in the way. For the spirit of each -of the other professional classes segregates it from general -<span class='pageno' id='Page_674'>674</span>humanity into a privileged order whose members maintain its -prerogatives by means of a necessary <i><span lang="la" xml:lang="la">peculium</span></i> for which their -special interest makes them desire that the rest of the world -shall depend exclusively on them. But the dramatic spirit freely -enters the soul and lot of every condition of men for the sympathetic -interpretation and intuitive feeling of their contents. The -genuine temper of this art, separate from the depraved usages of -society, would teach men to honor and copy those above, to love -and blend with those around, and to example and help those -beneath. Then the strong and cunning would no longer take -selfish advantage of their power and hold the masses of mankind -in subjection by the triple bond of interest, fraud, and fear. -According to the principles of universal order, life would everywhere -become a mutual partnership of teaching and blessing -from above and learning and following from below, a spontaneous -giving and taking of all good things in justice and love -without violence and without money. Every one rendering his -share of service in the co-operation of the whole, no portion -would be victimized by the rest, but in the perfected equity and -good will there would be abundant wealth for all and plenty of -leisure for each.</p> - -<p class='c007'>There are certain select places or focal buildings in which all -the secrets of human nature are revealed and the arts of power -grasped. Each of these has become the centre of a profession -which has employed the knowledge and skill given by its social -position to secure certain advantages to its members and make -the rest of mankind pay tribute to them in return for the benefits -they claim to bestow or in acknowledgment of the authority they -claim to possess. These are the ruling or leading classes of the -world, in whose hands the keys of power are lodged. The advantages -of their situation where all the secrets of experience are -uncovered and all the arts of influence developed, their exemption -from the hardships of physical drudgery, their varied training in -mental accomplishments and cumulative inheritance of superiority, -place the rest of mankind in subjection to them. Had -they disinterestedly used their power to enlighten and free other -men, to educate and enrich other men, the world would long -since have been redeemed. They have used it to secure special -advantages for themselves, making others their servants on whose -<span class='pageno' id='Page_675'>675</span>uncompensated blood and sweat they live. Therefore the strife -and crime and poverty and misery of the world continue.</p> - -<p class='c007'>All forms of experience are laid bare in the palace of the king. -Every variety of character and of fortune is stripped of its disguises -there; every mode of behavior, every rank of motives, -exposed in its true signals. The lynx-eyed and selfish scrutiny -which has its seat there utilizes this knowledge, and the rules -and methods in which ages have generalized it, to endow the -imperial profession with the peculiar attributes and treasures by -which they govern. The true function of the king or other -ruler is to represent the whole people with his superiority of -position and endowment, to warn, guide, enlighten, and bless -them, using all his privileges faithfully for their service. But the -reverse of this has been his prevailing vice in all times. He has -used his power for his own selfish luxury and the emoluments -of his favorites, making government less a means of universal -welfare and more a means of exalting the few at the cost of the -many. The game of comparisons, instead of being made a -divine play of variety and surprise in service and love, has been -made a cruel engine for the oppression of the weak by the -strong. The individual interest of the governing class has perverted -its universal function into a personal privilege. The -genius of the palace is selfish luxury in irresponsible power.</p> - -<p class='c007'>In the tent of the general the same revelation of the secrets of -human nature is made as in the royal palace, and the skill in -assuming authority and in controlling men thereby acquired is -embodied in the military profession, which is always the right -arm of the imperial profession. The genuine office of the martial -profession is to raise the protecting and executive energy of -a nation to its maximum by scientific precision of movement and -unquestioning obedience to command. Its twofold vice has been -the fostering of a love of war or reckless spirit of conquest, and -the making of the officer a martinet and of the soldier a puppet -utterly mindless of right or wrong in their blind obedience to -orders. An army is a machine of destruction wielded by the -most consummate art the world has yet known. When that -absolute obedience and that perfect discipline and that matchless -devotion become intelligent and free, and are directed to beneficent -ends, they will redeem the world. But thus far the genius of the -<span class='pageno' id='Page_676'>676</span>military headquarters is arbitrary power in automatic drill to -avenge and to destroy.</p> - -<p class='c007'>By the sick-bed, in the hospital and the asylum, all the treasures -of memory are yielded up, all the mysteries of passion exposed, -all the operations of the soul unshrouded before the eyes of the -physician. In this knowledge, and in the ability which the -accumulated experience of so many centuries has gained to -assuage pain, to heal disease, and to give alleviating guidance, -an immense deposit of power is placed in the hands of the medical -profession. The blessed function of the profession, in its -universal aspect, is to instruct the people in the laws of health -and to rescue them from suffering and danger. Its interest, in its -class aspect, thrives on the ills of other men. The more sickness -there is, the more completely dependent on them it is for remedy, -the better for their interest. The great vices of the craft have -been charlatanism and quackery, the owlish wisdom of the gold-headed -cane and the spectacled nose, and a helpless addictedness -to routine and prescription. All the defects of the profession, -however, are fast vanishing, all its virtues fast increasing, -as under the infiltrating inspirations of science it is shedding its -bigotry and pride, subordinating pathology to hygiene, repudiating -its besotted faith in drugging, and freely throwing open to -the whole world the special discoveries and insights it used so -carefully to keep to itself as sacred secrets. This is its disinterested -phase. In its selfish phase its genius is a jealous guarding -of its knowledge and repute as a means of power and gain.</p> - -<p class='c007'>The arts of rule are learned, the mechanism of human nature -is unveiled in all the agencies of influence that work it, perhaps -even more fully in the police-office, the court-house, and the -prison, than in either of the places previously named. Brought -before the bar of the judge, surrounded by the imposing and -terrible array of the law with its dread apparatus of inquisition -and punishment, every secret of the human heart is extorted. -The culprit, the hero, the high and the low, the weak and the -strong, all kinds and states of men, there betray their several -characteristics in their demeanor, and uncover the springs of the -world in its deepest interests, passions, and plots. Thus the -legal profession, manipulating the laws, sitting as umpires for the -decision of the complex conflicts of men in the endless collisions -<span class='pageno' id='Page_677'>677</span>of their universal struggle of hostile interests, consummate -masters of every method and artifice of power, have a place -nearest to the seat of government. Their hands are on the very -index and regulator of public authority. Their omnipresent instinct, -ever since the rise of the black-gowned confraternity, has -chiefly inspired and shaped as well as administered the judicial -code of society. Now, their profound knowledge of the arts of -sway, their matchless skill in victory and evasion, their vast -professional prerogative, have been chiefly used not to bless -mankind, but to win offices, honors, and fees from them. The -universal function of the lawyer is justice, the prevention or -reconciliation of disputes, the teaching of men to live in harmonious -equity. But his private individual and class interest -is litigation, the putting of the cause of a client above the public -right, the retention of his light that other men in their darkness -may be forced to look to him for guidance. The genius of the -law is the nursing of its own authority by preserving occult -technicalities, blind submission to precedents, and the pursuit -of victory regardless of right or wrong.</p> - -<p class='c007'>But the priestly profession, in the temple of religion, has penetrated -more profoundly into the soul than any of the other ruling -castes to seize the secrets of character and elaborate the arts of -sway. Through the lattice-work of the confessional breathes the -dismal murmur of the sins and miseries of men and sighs the -glorious music of their aspirations. The whole reach of experience -in its degradations of vice and its heights of virtue, from -apathy to ecstasy, is a familiar thing to the contemplation of the -priest. Confided in or feared, set apart from other men that he -may study them and manage their faiths, nothing is hidden from -him. Suppressing or concealing his own passions, he learns to -play on those of others and mould them to his will. So Jesuitism, -entrenched in the superiority of its detaching and despotic -drill, holds obedience by that cold eyeball which has read human -nature so deeply and so long, plucking from it the tale of its -weaknesses and thus the secrets of rule. Every mystery of man -and his life is revealed to him who presides in the temple, at the -altar, the confessional, and the grave, and who is called in to -pronounce the will of God at every crisis of experience. His -style and tenure of power are more ominous, pervasive, and fatal -<span class='pageno' id='Page_678'>678</span>than any other, because claiming a sanction supernatural and -absolute. It plants in heaven and hell the endless lever of its -hopes and fears to pry up the primitive instincts of humanity -and wrench apart the natural interests of the world. The sublime -office of the priesthood, in its generous and universal aspect, -is to teach men the truths of morality and religion and to administer -their consolations to human sorrow and doom. But, -perverting this benign office, it seeks to subdue all men to itself -by claiming the exclusive deposit of a supernatural revelation. -Then it seeks its class interest at the cost of the interests of the -whole, puts authority in the place of demonstrated truth, and -persecutes dissent as the unpardonable sin. The virtues of the -clerical profession are studiousness, personal purity, philanthropic -works, self-sacrifice, and conscientious piety. Its vices are the -hideous brood of fanaticism, intolerance, cruelty, love of power, -vanity, a remorseless greed for subjecting the real interests of the -present world to the fancied interests of a future one. The historic -animus of priesthoods has been dictatorial superstition and -bigotry, setting their own favorite dogmas above the open truths -of the universe, and either superciliously pitying or ferociously -hating all outside of their own narrow folds.</p> - -<p class='c007'>The next place for the revelation of the contents of human -nature in all the ranges of its experience is the studio of the -artist. The open and impassioned sensibility of the great artist -gives him free admission to the interiors of all whom he sees, -and his genius enables him to translate what is there and record it -in his works. All experiences are registered in the organism, -and their signals, however invisible or mystic to ordinary observers, -are obvious and full of meanings to the insight of -genius. Sir Godfrey Kneller declared that the eyebrow of -Addison seemed to say, “You are a much greater fool than you -think yourself to be, but I would die sooner than tell you so!” -The magic attraction of the greatest works of art resides really -in their occult revelation of the inherent ranks of the persons -depicted. Their clearness or foulness, their beauty or deformity, -their grace or awkwardness, their radiant joy or their squalid and -obscene wretchedness, are so many hints of the degrees of good -and evil in men and women,—explicit symbols of their potencies -of function, their harmony or discord of powers. In their forms, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_679'>679</span>proportions, attitudes, gestures, lights and shades of expression, -their respective capacities for woe or bliss are ranged along the -scale of human possibility. Thus, in the paintings of Rubens -the whole history of voluptuousness is made transparent from -the first musical breath of desire to the last lurid madness of -murder. In the sculptures of Phidias the most exquisite living -development into unity of all the organs and faculties of man is -petrified for posterity to behold and be stimulated to the same -achievement. In the statues of Buddha is clearly seen by the -initiated eye the intoxicating sense of godhead in the soul, the -infinite dream and entrancement of nirvana,—the molecular equilibrium -of the cells of the body and the dynamic equilibrium of -the atoms of consciousness. This is the charm and mystery with -which art fascinates even its unwitting beholders. But its great -lessons of organic ranks and potencies, of higher and lower characters -and experiences, are not distinctly taught. They are only -suggested for those who have the keys to interpret them. Thus -they often give an idle pleasure or provoke a piquant curiosity, -but yield no moral fruit, no lasting benefit. The function of the -artist is revelation by inspired genius, and through this revelation -to exalt the ideals, purify and expand the sensibilities, and kindle -the aspirations of men while giving them a refined pleasure. -His vice is the luxurious enjoyment of his gifts as a subtile ministration -to self-indulgence. His class interest is not to communicate -his gifts, but to secure admiration and patronage for them. -It is questionable whether as yet art has not on the whole done -more to unnerve and mislead than to consecrate and uplift. Its -genius is sympathetic insight catering to complacence and luxury -rather than prompting to edification.</p> - -<p class='c007'>All other artists, however, must yield to the dramatic performer -of genius and experience as to the completeness with which he -pierces the secrecy of human nature and commands its manifestations. -The actor gains his knowledge of men not indirectly by -ruling and making use of them, but directly by intuitive perception -and mimetic intelligence and sympathy entering into all their -conditions and experiences, reproducing in himself their inner -states of being and the outer signs of them. Then, on the stage, -he gives systematic exhibitions of the varieties of character and -life for the amusement and the instruction of the public. The -<span class='pageno' id='Page_680'>680</span>ideal of his art is the exemplification in living action of the -grades of personalities, the contrasts of conduct, the styles of -manners, so set off with appropriate foils and true standards as -to cause the spectators to discriminate the rank and worth of -each, be warned from the unworthy with fear and loathing, and -drawn to the excellent with admiration and love. This is contagious -education disguised in beguiling entertainment. Thus -the genius of the drama is earnest improvement concealed in free -play, edification masked in recreation.</p> - -<p class='c007'>The vice that besets the player is not selfishness, despotism, -avarice, indifference, or the subserving of a class interest opposed -to the general interest. He is characteristically free from such -faults. His great error is using his art for ostentation and vanity -merely to win applause and profit. He is tempted to sacrifice -the spirit of earnestness and teaching for the spirit of sport and -pleasure, playing a part simply for people to enjoy, instead of -adding to this lessons for them to learn. As the church, in order -to escape from its barren routine of preceptive and ceremonial -repetitions, needs the dramatic spirit of reflective sympathy and -living action, so the theatre, in order to escape from its too frequent -emptiness and tawdry frivolity, needs the academic spirit of -earnest instruction. When the dramatic spirit whose home and -throne are in the theatre shall add to what it already possesses -moral and religious earnestness, making the scene of its art a -school for training aspirants to perfection, it will be seen to be the -purest and richest spirit in the world. It will teach all to enter -into the soul and fortune of each, and each to feel himself bound -up in one bundle of life and destiny with all,—even as he, the -Christ, who was the divinest creature that ever wore this humanized -and tearful mask of clay, played the role of no individual ego, -but impersonated collective humanity, dramatically identifying -himself to the end of time with all the broken and suffering -members of our race, saying, “Inasmuch as ye have done it unto -one of the least of these, ye have done it unto me.” The universal -prevalence of that same moralized and religious dramatic -spirit in all men is all that is needed for the immediate and perfect -redemption of the world. Dogmatic theology, ecclesiastical -polity, and sectarian mechanism do more to delay than to expedite -the time.</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_681'>681</span>Thus it is plain that the professions that radiate from the palace, -the tent, the hospital, the tribunal, the temple, the studio, and the -theatre all have vices which largely neutralize their good offices -and prevent the fulfilment of their true mission, namely, the -spreading of the kingdom of heaven over the whole earth in the -redemption of men from ignorance, oppression, strife, and want.</p> - -<p class='c007'>There is another building, the seat of another profession, quite -exempt from the evils which alloy and burden the foregoing. -The academy takes all knowledge, scientifically considered, for -its province; and the teaching profession administer their possession -as no <em>peculium</em> of their own, but as an open and free -inheritance for all. They have no class interest to foster as -against the welfare of the whole. They have no dogma of -authority to impose, aside from the inherent authority of truth -and right. They do not wish to rule, only to teach every one -self-rule. The academic spirit would break open the enclosures -bristling with technical secrets, the strongholds of partial power, -and dispense freedom to all instead of despotic sway to the -ruler, justice to all instead of victory for the client, health to all -instead of a fee to the doctor, the grace of God to all instead -of a salary for the priest. The vice of the teaching class is the -pedagogic dryness of routine and verbal iteration. Academic -education needs to add to itself everywhere the dramatic spirit of -life, that creative action of free sympathy which will supplement -the preceptive word with the exemplifying deed and change the -prosaic aridity for poetic freshness and bloom. It also needs the -military principle of drill, or organic habits of rhythm, wherever -applicable; but not to displace spontaneous intelligence and -choice. It likewise needs to proclaim the religiousness of scientific -truth, that every truth of morals or things is a demonstrable -revelation of the will of God, and the same for all men of -all lands and faiths. Then the academic profession will in itself -reject the excesses and supply the defects of all the other professions, -and be the one guiding class in a condition of mankind -which has thrown off obsolete leading-strings. For, while the -ideal state of mankind will have no despotic or selfish ruler, -soldier, lawyer, doctor, or priest, it will always have a class of -teaching artists and artistic teachers, men of original genius -and inspiration, to refresh, enlighten, and guide their less gifted -<span class='pageno' id='Page_682'>682</span>brethren. To such a class the final government of the world -will be intrusted, not governing by the force of authority but -by the persuasion of light. Then partisan politics, ruling by -human will declared in a majority of votes, will be transmuted -into social science, guiding by the will of God revealed in demonstration. -Those who desire to lift themselves at the expense -of others, and to live without labor by appropriating the toil of -others, will dislike such a conception, and scout it as visionary. -But their spirit is bad and must pass away; because Christ, or -God incarnate in man, is surely one day to reign, putting every -enemy under his feet and being All in all.</p> - -<p class='c007'>This millennial state might soon be ushered in if the ruling -professions, instead of guarding their class privileges and keeping -the rest of the world under them, sought disinterestedly to -fulfil their universal functions, securing order, justice, freedom, -health, virtue, piety, and education to all. But in reality the -chief desire which actuates them and shapes their policy and -efforts is the instinctive desire to avoid hardships and secure -luxuries by governing other men and appropriating the fruits -of their labor without any equitable return. This is seen now -concentrated in the universal struggle for money, because the -superstition of money enables its possessor to command the -products of others without producing anything himself. How -can this fatal spell be broken, and that condition of society be -inaugurated wherein all things shall be exchanged for love -alone, except labor and its products, and these be exchanged -on the principle of equivalences of cost, abjuring the tyrannical -fraud of profit? It can only be brought about through an increased -spirit of sympathy animating an improved social science. -And this is primarily the office of the dramatic principle of -imaginative identification, which is to make every one feel for -all others as if he were in their place.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Thus it is clear that the genuine moral work of the drama is -essentially the same as that of the gospel,—to redeem men from -self-love by sympathy for their kind. And yet the theatre and -the church have stood askance, and the priests and the players -generally been enemies. What is the origin, what the significance, -what the remedy, of this quarrel between those who -should be friends and co-workers? A brief historic sketch -<span class='pageno' id='Page_683'>683</span>and a little human analysis will answer these questions, perhaps -with some profit as well as light.</p> - -<p class='c007'>The dramatic instinct and faculty are native in man in all -times and conditions. When David was afraid of his life in the -house of Achish, king of Gath, “he played the madman, scrabbling -on the posts of the gate and letting his spittle fall down -on his beard.” But a theatre is a fruit only of a high civilization, -and it always reflects that civilization. In India it seems to have -been at first an appanage of the palace, designed to give amusement -to the king and his nobles and favorites. It presented -poetic descriptions of nature, romantic pictures of life, songs, -dances, and satires. In the Hindoo temples also were sometimes -enacted mythological religious and mystical dramas by -the priests and their assistants, less with theatrical machinery -than in words and movements, representing avatars of the -gods, notably the avatars of Vishnu as Rama and Krishna, supernatural -adventures, transmigrations, and scenes in other worlds. -In China and Japan the drama was in ancient times, as it still is, -largely confined to the illustration of history, presenting in long-drawn -performances minute pictures of legendary or historic -personages, events, costumes, manners, and customs. But it was -in Egypt, where the priesthood was so distinct a caste, so powerful -an order, possessed of so much secret knowledge and mechanism, -that the doctrines and ritual of religion itself were first wrought -into a drama of the most sensational and appalling kind. In the -depths of the temple, with pomp of numbers and dresses, with -music, gorgeous and terrible scenery, artificial thunders and -lightnings, heavens and hells were unveiled, the dead shown in -their immortal state, celestial spirits and demons and deities were -revealed, and such lessons were enforced as suited the purposes -of the managers of the spectacle. It was a tool in the hands of -the priests to play on the fears and hopes of the people, who -were taught to regard what they saw not as anything artificial -but as a vision of the supernatural. This was the drama of the -cryptic church, the theatre of the priestly conclave.</p> - -<p class='c007'>In Greece, as in Egypt,—possibly derived thence,—the earliest -theatre and drama were religious and secret. In the Bacchic and -Eleusinian and other mysteries, the incarnation, penance, death, -and resurrection of some god were represented, and in connection -<span class='pageno' id='Page_684'>684</span>with the spectacle various religious and philosophical doctrines -were taught in symbolic shows. Every art of influencing -the imagination and the senses was here employed,—the imposing -forms and gestures of the hierophant and his helpers impersonating -the demiurgus and his train,—light and darkness, colors, -strange noises, music, incantations, rhythmic processions, enchanting -and maddening dances. But, as there was in Greece no distinct -priesthood separate from the rulers and leaders of the state, -the intense interest and power of this mode of impression could -not remain sequestered from the people and confined to a few -sacred legends. The great freedom and restless intelligence and -critical personal emulation of the Greeks soon brought forth from -its seclusion this fascinating and peerless method of teaching, -planted it on an open stage, applied it to sacred and political -subjects, to character and experience, and gave the world the first -public theatre of the people. Still retaining in its best examples -its original religious dignity and solemnity, it added many other -qualities, developed comedy alongside of tragedy, and in its combination -of ideal and satirical types and manners rendered the -stage a mirror for the mimic reflection of the real scenes of human -life. Thus it escaped from privacy and priestly management into -publicity under the direction of a literary and political class. It -was wielded for the threefold purpose of moral and religious impression, -of social or party influence, and of displaying various -styles of character and behavior for popular amusement and -edification.</p> - -<p class='c007'>In Rome the drama was modified and varied in some particulars -from its Greek model, but no new feature was added. It -nearly lost its religious quality, became more exclusively social -and sensational, extended its range only to profane and degrade -it into the barbarity of the circus and the arena. The Greek -poet dealing with the simulated woes of the soul was displaced -by the Roman gladiator dealing in the real agonies of the body, -and the supernal beauty of classic tragedy expired in the applauded -horrors of butchery.</p> - -<p class='c007'>As the drama and the theatre in the Oriental and in the Classic -world had a priestly and religious origin and character, so was it -with their revival and first development in Christendom. The -early Christian Church regarded the games, spectacles, and plays -<span class='pageno' id='Page_685'>685</span>of the moribund civilization amidst which it arose in regenerating -energy, with intense abomination, as intimately associated with -and characteristic of the idolatrous pagan faith, the persecuting -pagan power, and the corrupt pagan morals, against whose -insidious influence and threatening array the new type of belief -and life had to maintain itself. Tertullian and other distinguished -Christian fathers fulminated against the actors and their associates -excommunication in this world and damnation in the next. -But after a while, as the young religion got established, spread -among millions of adherents, and had itself a vast popular sway -to uphold and extend, the love of power and the spirit of politic -conformity entered into it. Seeing what a strong attraction for -the public was inherent in the spectacular drama, with its costume, -scenery, dialogue, and action, and what a power it possessed for -insinuating persuasion and instruction, the church began to adopt -its methods, modified to suit the new ideas and situation. First -the bait of amusement, sport, and burlesque was thrown out to -draw in and please the rabble by licensing to be held in the -church the Feast of Asses, the Feast of Fools, and other like -riotous and farcical mummeries borrowed with certain alterations -from the pagan Saturnalia. Then, to add a serious element of -edification, the priests dramatically constructed and enacted in -Miracle-Plays, Mysteries, and Moralities the chief events in Scriptural -history, the outlines of dogmatic theology, the lessons of -practical duty, and the claims of ecclesiastical authority, seeking -thus to draw the crowd and teach and drill them to obedience. -The virtues and vices of men, temptation, death, judgment, were -allegorized, personified, and brought on the stage to impress the -rude audience. The Creation, the Flood, the Crucifixion, the Day -of Judgment, were represented. God, Christ, the Virgin, angels, -the devil and his imps, were shown. John Rastale, brother-in-law -of Sir Thomas More, composed a Merry Interlude to serve -as a vehicle of science and philosophy, explaining the four elements -and describing various strange lands, especially the recently discovered -America. The characters were Nature, Humanity, -Studious Desire, Sensual Appetite, a Taverner, Experience, Ignorance, -and a Messenger who spoke the prologue. These plays, -simple, crude, fantastic, grotesque, as they were, suited the tastes -of the time, administered fun and terror to the spectators, who -<span class='pageno' id='Page_686'>686</span>alternately laughed and shuddered while the meaning of the -creed and the hold of its power sank deeper into their souls. -There was a mixture in it of good and evil, recreation and fear, -truth and superstition, fitted to the age and furnishing a transition -to something better.</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“When friars, monks, and priests of former days</div> - <div class='line'>Apocrypha and Scripture turned to plays,</div> - <div class='line'>The Festivals of Fools and Asses kept,</div> - <div class='line'>Obeyed boy-bishops and to crosses crept,</div> - <div class='line'>They made the mumming Church the people’s rod,</div> - <div class='line'>And held the grinning bauble for a God.”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c007'>But quite aside from all these dramatic excrescences of the -church, these artifices for catering to and influencing the public, -there has been always imbedded in the very substance of Christianity, -ever since the great ecclesiastical system of dogmatic -theology was evolved, a profound and awful tragedy, the incomparable -Drama of Redemption, whose subject is the birth, -life, teachings, sufferings, death, and resurrection of Christ, whose -action sweeps from the creation of the world to the day of doom, -whose characters are the whole human race, God and his angels, -Satan and his demons, and whose explicating close opens the -perfect bliss of heaven for the elect and seals the hopeless agony -of hell for the damned. This is the unrivalled ecclesiastical -drama whose meaning the Protestant Church makes implicit in -its creed but the Catholic Church makes explicit not only in the -colossal pathos and overpowering <i><span lang="la" xml:lang="la">miserere</span></i> of Passion Week, but -also in every celebration of the mass, at whose infinite dénouement -of a dying God the whole universe might well stand aghast.</p> - -<p class='c007'>In the course of time the companies of actors who, in connection -with the priests or under their permission and oversight, had -played in the Mysteries and Moralities, gradually detached themselves -from ecclesiastical localities and management, and, with -licenses obtained from sacred and secular authority, set up on -their own account, strolled from place to place, giving entertainments -in public squares, at fairs, in the court-yards of inns, in the -mansions of nobles, and in the palaces of royalty. Then kings -and great dukes came to have their own select companies of -players, who wore their livery, obeyed their orders, and ministered -to their amusement and ostentation. Herein the drama -<span class='pageno' id='Page_687'>687</span>was degraded from its proper dignity to be a vassal of vanity and -luxury. In a masque performed at the marriage of an Italian -duke in the sixteenth century, Jupiter, Juno, Apollo, Diana, -Venus, and Mars appeared bringing in dishes of dainties and -waiting on the guests. The immortal gods represented as servants -to honor and ornament a human festival!</p> - -<p class='c007'>At length the dramatic profession, forsaking courts and inns, -secured a separate home of its own, and became a guild by itself, -independently established in the distinct theatre and appealing -directly to the general public for support. In the secret theatre -of the priests the substance of the drama, based on such legends -as those of the Hindoo Krishna, the Egyptian Osiris, and the -Greek Dionysus, was fiction exhibited as fact or poetry disguised -as revelation. In the open theatre of the state the substance -of the drama, in such examples as the Prometheus of -Æschylus, was mythology, moral philosophy, or poetry represented -as history. In the plays foisted on the mediæval Christian -church the dramatic substance was tradition, ceremonial, -and dogma taught as religion. But now, with the rise of the -educated histrionic profession, all this passed away, and in the -freed theatre of the people the substance of the drama became -coincident with the realities of human life, a living reflex of the -experience of society. In Portugal and Spain, Lope de Vega and -Calderon developed the highest flower and finish of the Mysteries -and Miracle-Plays in their transition from the ecclesiastical to the -social type of the drama, while in England, France, Italy, and -Germany the stage became a rounded mirror of the world, reflecting -human nature and conduct in their actual form, color, and -motion. Then the theatrical art was rapidly developed in all its -varieties,—the drama of character and fate, or tragedy; the drama -of plot and intrigue, or romance; and the drama of manners, or -comedy and farce. Then the theatre instinctively assumed for -its whole business what its comprehensive function now is and -must ever remain, yet what it has never grasped and wielded -with distinct consciousness, but only blindly groped after and -fumbled about,—namely, the exhibition of the entire range of -the types of human character and behavior so set off with the -contrasts of their foils and in the light of their standards as to -make the spectators feel what is admirable and lovely and what -<span class='pageno' id='Page_688'>688</span>is contemptible and odious, as the operation of the laws of destiny -is made visible before them. But all who penetrate beneath -mere appearances must perceive that just in the degree in which -the theatre does this work it is trenching on the immediate province -of the church, and the players fulfilling a function identical -in moral substance with that of the priests.</p> - -<p class='c007'>The church aims directly to teach and to impress, to persuade -and to command. The theatre aims directly to entertain, indirectly -to teach, persuade, and impress. It often accomplishes the -last three aims so much the better because of the surrendered, -genial, and pleased condition of soul induced by the success of -the first one. Another advantage the theatre has had over the -church, in attempting to educate or exert influence, is that it -does it without the perfunctory air or the dogmatic animus or -repulsive severity of those who claim the tasks of moral guidance -and authority as their supernatural professional office. The teachings -of the theatre have also a freshness and attraction in their -inexhaustible range of natural variety which are wanting to the -monotonous verbal and ritualistic routine of the set themes and -unchanging forms in the ecclesiastical scheme of Sunday drill. -And then, finally, all natural competition of the dry, bleak pulpit -with the stage becomes hopeless when the priest sees the intense -sensational pleasure and impression secured for the lessons of the -player by the convergent action of the fourteen-fold charm of the -theatre,—namely, the charm of a happy and sympathetic crowd; -the charm of ornate architectural spaciousness and brilliancy; the -charm of artistic views of natural scenery; the charm of music; -the charm of light and shade and color in costumes and jewelry -and on figures and landscapes now illuminated and now darkened; -the charm of rhythmic motion in marches and processions and -dances; the charm of poetry; the charm of eloquence in word -and tone and look and gesture; the charm of receiving beautiful -lessons exquisitely taught; the charm of following an intricate -and thickening plot to its satisfactory explication; the charm -of beholding in varied exercise human forms which are trained -models of strength, beauty, and grace; the charm of seeing the -varieties of human characters act and react on one another; the -charm of sympathy with the fortunes and feelings of others under -exciting conditions rising to a climax; the charm of a temporary -<span class='pageno' id='Page_689'>689</span>release from the grinding mill of business and habit to disport -the faculties of the soul freely in an ideal world.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Is it not obvious that such a power as this should be utilized -by the most cultivated minds in the community for the highest -ends?</p> - -<p class='c007'>When in the independent theatre such a power as this arose, -no longer asking favors or paying tribute, bidding with such a -fearful preponderance of fascinations for that docile attention of -the populace whereof the clergy had previously held a monopoly, -it was no wonder that the church looked on its rival with -deadly jealousy. And there was good ground for this jealousy -separate from any personal interests or animosities. For <em>the -respective ideals of life held up by the priest and the player</em> are -diametrically opposed to each other. This is the real ultimate -basis of the chronic hostility of the church and the theatre. -The deepest genius of the one contradicts that of the other. The -ecclesiastical ideal of life is abnegation, ascetic self-repression and -denial; while the dramatic ideal of life is fulfilment, harmonic -exaltation and completeness of being and function. Which of -these ideals is the more just and adequate? If God made us, -it would appear that the fulfilment of all the normal offices of -our nature in their co-ordinated plenitude of power is his will. -It is only on the theory that the Devil made us in opposition to -the wisdom and wish of God, that intrinsic and sheer denial can -be our duty. Lower abnegation as a means for higher fruition, -partial denial for the sake of total fulfilment, are clear and -rational obligations. But the idea that ascetic self-sacrifice as an -end pure and simple in itself is a virtue or a means of salvation -is a morbid superstition with which the church has always been -diseased, but from which the theatre has always been free. Accordingly, -the two institutions in their very genius, as interpreted -from the narrow professional point of view, are hostile. The -vices of the church have been sour asceticism, fanatical ferocity, -sentimental melancholy, dismal gloom, narrow mechanical formalism -and cant, and a deep hypocrisy resulting from the reaction -of excessive public strictness into secret indulgence. The -vices of the theatre, on the other hand, have been frivolity, reckless -gayety, conviviality, and voluptuousness. But these vices -have been envisaged with the virtues of quick sympathy, liberal -<span class='pageno' id='Page_690'>690</span>sentiment, an ingenuous spirit of enjoyment, open docility, universal -tolerance and kindliness.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Purified from its accidental corruptions and redeemed from its -shallow carelessness, the theatre would have greater power to -teach and mould than the church. Aside from historic authority -and social prestige, its intrinsic impressiveness is greater. The -deed must go for more than the word. The dogma must yield to -the life. And while in the pulpit the dogmatic word is preached -in its hortatory dryness, on the stage the living deed is shown -in its contagious persuasion or its electric warning. Character -is much more plastic to manners than to opinions. Manners descend -from the top of society; opinions ascend from the bottom. -This is because opinions indirectly govern the world while manners -directly govern it. And the ruling class desire to maintain -things as they are, that they may keep their prerogatives. Therefore -they are opposed to new doctrines. But the ground masses -of the people, who are ruled, desire to change the <i><span lang="la" xml:lang="la">status quo</span></i> for -their own betterment. Now the church, representing the vested -interests of traditional authority and the present condition of -things, has become a school of opinions, not for the free testing -and teaching of the True, but for the drill of the Established; -while the theatre, in its genuine ideal, is what the church ought -to be,—a school of manners, or manufactory of character.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Another superiority of the genius of the drama to the genius -of theology is the freedom and largeness of the application of its -method. The moral principle of the dramatic art is <em>disinterested -sympathy animating plastic intelligence for the interpretation and -free circulation of souls and lives</em>. It is the redemptive or enriching -supplementation of the individual with society. For in -order to put on a superior we must first put off self. And there -is nothing nobler in the attributes of man than his ability to subdue -the tyranny of old egotistic custom with new perception and -impulse, and thus start on a fresh moral career endlessly varied -and progressive. The theatre gives this principle a natural and -universal application through the whole moral range of human -life. The ecclesiastical dogmatist restricts it to a single supernatural -application to the disciple of Christ, and would monopolize -its influence to that one channel. Notoriously every bigot would -drill the whole world in his own fixed mould, to his own set pattern, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_691'>691</span>stiff, harsh, ascetic, exclusive. But the cosmopolite would -see exemplified in mankind the same generous liberty and variety -which prevail in nature. He would, instead of directing attention -only to the sectarian type of saint, hold up all sorts of worthy -ideals that each may be admired and copied according to its fitness -and beauty.</p> - -<p class='c007'>The church paints the world as a sad and fearful place of probation, -where redemption is to be fought for while the violent -and speedy end of the entire scene is implored. The theatre regards -it as a gift of beauty and joy to be graciously perfected and -perpetuated. The ideal of the priest and the ideal of the actor -contrast as Dominic and Pericles, or as Simeon Stylites and -Haroun-al-Raschid. All the words denoting the church and its -party—ecclesia, église, kirche, congregation—signify a portion -selected or elected and called aside by themselves for special salvation, -apart from the great whole who are to be left to the -general doom. But the word theatre in its etymology implies -that the world of life is something worthy of contemplation, -beautiful to be gazed at and enjoyed.</p> - -<p class='c007'>The priest naturally disliked the player because he was more -attractive to the public than himself. He also disliked him because -disapproving his art. The very object of the drama is by -its spectacle of action to rouse the faculties and excite the feelings -of the assembly who regard it. But the priest would not have -the passions vivified; he would have them mortified. The contemplation -of the dread passion and sacrifice of Christ, the fear -of sin and of death and judgment, should exclude or suppress all -other passions. On the contrary, the dramatist holds to the great -moral canon of all art, that perfected life is the continuous end -of life, and that the setting of intelligence and emotion into ideal -play, a spiritual gymnastic of the passions in mental space disentangled -from their muscular connections, purifies and frees -them.</p> - -<p class='c007'>The priest not only holds that the dramatic ideal of the natural -fulfilment of the offices of being is opposed to the religious ideal -of grace, is profane, and tends directly to ruin; he likewise, from -all the prejudices of his own rigidity of mould and bigoted -routine, believes that the facility and continual practice of the -actor in passing from assumption to assumption and from mood -<span class='pageno' id='Page_692'>692</span>to mood must be fatal to moral consistency, must loosen the -fibre of character, and produce dissoluteness of soul not less -than of life. This is mostly a false prejudice. Those of the -greatest dramatic mobility of genius and versatile spiritual physiognomy, -like Cervantes, Molière, Goethe, Schiller, Dickens, Voltaire, -and the very greatest actors and actresses, like Talma, -Garrick, Rachel, Siddons, had the most firm and coherent individuality -of their own. Their penetrations and impersonations -of others reacted not to weaken and scatter but to define and -gird their own personal types of being and behavior. The -dramatic type of character is richer and freer than the priestly, -but not less distinctly maintained.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Another circumstance stirring a keen resentment in the church -against the theatre is that it has often been attacked and satirized -by it. When the divines, who had long enjoyed a monopoly of -the luxurious privilege of being the censors of morals, the critics -of other men, found themselves unceremoniously hauled over the -coals by the actors, their vices exposed to the cautery of a merciless -ridicule, their personal peculiarities caricatured, it was but -human nature that they should be angry and try to put down -the new censorship which with its secular vigor and universal -principles confronted the ecclesiastical standard. The legal, medical, -and clerical professions have often had to run the gauntlet -of a scorching criticism on the stage. Herein the drama has -been a power of wholesome purification; but it could not hope to -escape the penalty of the wrath of those it exposed with its light -and laughter. It has done much to make cant and hypocrisy -odious and to vindicate true morality and devotion by unmasking -false. Louis XIV. said to Condé, “Why do the saints who are -scandalized at Tartuffe make no complaint of Scaramouche?” -Condé replied, “Because the author of Scaramouche ridicules -religion, for which these gentry care nothing; but Molière ridicules -themselves, and this they cannot endure.” The censure -and satire on the stage, concealed in the quips of fools or launched -from the maxims of the noble, have often had marked effect. -Jesters like Heywood and Tarleton, who were caressed by kings -and statesmen, under their masks of simplicity and merriment -have shot many a brave bolt at privileged pretences and wrongs -and pompous imposition. The power of satire is often most -<span class='pageno' id='Page_693'>693</span>piercing and most fruitful. The all-wise Shakspeare makes his -melancholy Jaques say,—</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“Invest me in my motley: give me leave</div> - <div class='line'>To speak my mind, and I will through and through</div> - <div class='line'>Cleanse the foul body of the infected world,</div> - <div class='line'>If they will patiently receive my medicine.”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c007'>Furthermore, the priest often has an antipathy for the player -because in spite of his arrogated spiritual superiority feeling himself -personally inferior to him. The preacher, rigid, hide-bound, -of a dogmatic and formal cast, cannot take off the mobile, hundred-featured -actor, who, on the contrary, can easily include and -transcend him, caricature him, and make him appear in the most -ridiculous or the most disagreeable light.</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“If comprehension best can power express,</div> - <div class='line'>And that’s still greater which includes the less,</div> - <div class='line'>No rank’s high claim can make the player’s small,</div> - <div class='line'>Since acting each he comprehends them all.”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c009'>Molière can show up Tartuffe, Tartuffe cannot show up Molière. -Therefore Tartuffe fears and hates Molière, excommunicates him, -denies his body consecrated burial, and, with a sharp relish, consigns -his soul to the brimstone gulf. The prevailing temper of -the clerical guild towards the histrionic guild, from the first till -now, has been uncharitable and unjust, intellectually unappreciative -and morally repulsive. This is shown all the way from -the frenzied De Spectaculis of Tertullian and the vituperative -Histrio-Mastix of Prynne to the sweeping denunciation of the -drama by Henry Ward Beecher, who, never having seen a play, -condemns it from inherited prejudice, although himself every -Sunday carrying a whole theatre into his pulpit in his own person. -An English clergyman in 1792 uttered these words in a sermon -on the drama: “No player or any of his children ought to be -entitled to Christian burial or even to lie in a church-yard. Not -one of them can be saved. And those who enter a play-house -are equally certain with the players of eternal damnation. No -player can be an honest man.” Richard Robinson, who played -Wittipol in “The Devil is an Ass” so as to win warm praise -from Ben Jonson, was, at the siege of Bassinge-House, shot -through the head after he had laid down his arms. A puritan -<span class='pageno' id='Page_694'>694</span>named Harrison shot him, crying, “Cursed be he that doeth the -work of the Lord deceitfully!” The body of the favorite Parisian -actor Philippe in 1824 was refused religious rites by the priests, -and his friends were so incensed that the military had to be -called out to quell the riot. A kindred disturbance was narrowly -escaped at the death of Talma. When the wife of Nokes, a -dancing-master, had rescued Edmund Kean and his wife and -children from actual starvation and lent them a room, the landlord, -a Christian clergyman named Flower, said that “no theatrical -people should have the room.” And it is matter of fresh -remembrance how the same spirit of bigotry was manifested by -a Boston bishop in refusing confirmation to the universally respected -and beloved Thomas Comer because he led the orchestra -in a theatre, and by a New York pastor who declined to read the -funeral-service over the estimable George Holland because he had -been an actor.</p> - -<p class='c007'>It must be affirmed that the chief animus of the clerical profession -has been the desire to be obeyed, and that this is less -Christian and less amiable than the ruling spirit of the dramatic -profession, which is the desire to be loved. But the real spirit -which ought to reign supreme in every one is neither the desire -to be obeyed nor the desire to be loved, but the desire to be harmonized -with the principles of universal order, giving and taking -accordingly without egotistic exactions of any kind whether dictatorial -or sympathetic. And this result can only be attained by -means of the dramatic art of mutual sympathetic interpretation -universally applied under the guidance of moral and religious -principles.</p> - -<p class='c007'>The church of Christ, in opposition to the example of its -divine Founder, has been made an exclusive enclosure for a -privileged class of believers. In it their prejudices are cherished -and their ascetic ideal glorified and urged on all. The Saviour -himself was a miracle of tolerance and inclusiveness, mingling -freely with the common people, not spurning the publican, the -sinner, or the harlot, but regarding all ranks in the great brotherhood -of humanity with a sweet and inexhaustible kindness. There -was one exception alone. Towards the bigot, the pharisee, the -hypocrite, the tyrant, his scorn and indignation burned. But all -other forms of man moved only his impartial love or his healing -<span class='pageno' id='Page_695'>695</span>compassion. This was the divinely democratic genius of Christ, -but has not been the genius of the priesthood who with arrogance -and persecution have claimed to represent him. The theatre has -been far more expansive in the range of its sympathies than the -church. The highest dramatic genius that has ever appeared -in the world, Shakspeare, shows in his works a serene charity, -a boundless toleration, a genial appreciation of the widest extremes, -kindred to that of God in nature and grace. His -loving imagination, like the all-holding sky, embraces Trinculo, -Bardolph, Poins, Falstaff, and Malvolio, as well as Bassanio, Prospero, -Hamlet, Cæsar, and Lear; Audrey and Quickly, as well as -Portia and Cordelia.</p> - -<p class='c007'>The first glory of the theatre is its freedom from sectarianism; -and its first use is to radiate abroad this generous spirit of universality, -not bigotedly limiting attention to any one province -of life or any single ideal, but revealing the whole world of man -in its heights and breadths and depths, exhibiting in turn every -variety of ideal and doing justice to them all. “The drama,” -Macklin said, “should be a perfect reproduction of general nature -as it passes through human life in every character, age, rank, and -station.” Taught this by genius, experience, and learning, it -teaches the common observer how wondrously large and rich -is the world of mankind. Emperors and clowns pass, saints and -villains jostle, heroes and murderers meet, the divine lady and -the foul virago appear and vanish,—and all the meanings and -values of their traits and fortunes are laid bare to those who see -and can understand. There is indeed no other revelation of the -complex contents and destinies of humanity in this world so competent -as that afforded in dramatic literature and the theatre. -For here all is concentrated, heightened, set off, and revealed by -aid of the most exquisite contrivances of art of every sort.</p> - -<p class='c007'>One of the most penetrative and wonderful but least generally -appreciated of these contrivances is the explication of the good -and evil or beauty and ugliness of souls and deeds, the moral -worth and significance of dispositions and situations, by means of -music. Rubinstein has depicted in his symphony of Ivan the -Terrible the character of that frightful monster of the Russian -throne. In this musical character-picture he has painted his hero -in the blackest colors, revealing his hideous traits and moods by -<span class='pageno' id='Page_696'>696</span>violent and spasmodic tones repulsively combined. But Mozart -is the most dramatic of the composers,—the very Shakspeare -of the musicians. The personages of his operas are distinctive -creations, true to life. They appear to think, feel, and act in -tones and combinations of tones. Each of the musical characters -keeps his individuality, however the passions and scenes -and events change. The features and outlines of the characters -are defined or determined by the style, the phrases, the time, -rhythm, range, inflections, and accompaniment. In place of this, -Wagner marks his chief personages by the mannerism of repeating -the same phrase with the same instruments whenever one of -them reappears. In the Tannhäuser, as often as Venus enters -the high chromatic violin tremolo and rhythmical whisper of the -wind instruments are repeated. The artifice is profound, and its -effect mysteriously impressive. The meaning of the mystery -lies in the facts that the sounds of the music correspond with -vibrations in our nerves, and that every quality of passion has its -peculiar forms and rates of vibration. The ratios in the physical -sound are parallel with other ratios in the spiritual consciousness. -And so Giovanni and Leporello, Elvira and Anna, are -distinguished. And so the Benediction of the Poignards and -the Mass for the Dead are contrasted.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Characters are interpreted on the stage by means of their -visible motions also. For the upper classes, the most dignified -personages in the stately tragedy, there is a solemn pomp of -bearing, and the employment of marches and processions. -Everything partakes more of slowness and formality. The -most heavenly human characters, or angelic visitants from another -world, are indicated by floating contours and melodious -lines of motion. Perfected equilibrium in the body is the sign -of perfected harmony in the soul. Devils or demoniac men -are suggested by dances full of excessive energy, hideous and -sudden contortions, convulsive jumps and climaxes.</p> - -<p class='c007'>The central characteristic of the genuine melodrama, now -nearly or quite obsolete, was its combination of musical tone -and muscular movement as a method of dramatic revelation -and impression. Its theme and scene lay in the middle or -lower class and in a limited sphere. Thus, while the assassination -of a monarch suggested a tragedy, a village murder would -<span class='pageno' id='Page_697'>697</span>form the subject of a melodrama. But all the gestures and pantomime -of the performers were regulated or accompanied by instrumental -music played forte or fortissimo, piano or pianissimo, -as the situation required. The villain was marked by an orchestral -discord or crash, while lovers billed and cooed to the -mellifluous breathings of the German flute. Villagers always -came over a bridge at the rise of the curtain to lively music. -The heroine entered to eight bars of plaintive melody. Four -harsh and strongly accented bars heralded the approach of the -villain. The characters struggled to hurried music, recognized -one another and were surprised to chords, and crept about in caves -and dark apartments to mysterious pizzicato strains. All this correspondence -of sound, color, and motion works on the souls of -the audience in the profoundest manner, obscurely suggestive of -innumerable things beyond the reach of any clear memory and -below the depths of any distinct apprehension. It stirs up that -automatic region of our nature compacted of prehistoric experiences.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Few persons have any idea how closely the theatre even in its -romantic extravaganzas and fairy spectacles reflects the truths of -human life. It merely intensifies the effect and produces a magical -impression by expanding and shrinking the measures of space -and time. But all its seeming miracles are in the outer world slowly -brought about in prosaic reality. The suddenness of the changes -in the mimic scenes ought to open our eyes to the equal marvellousness -of them in the gradual substance of history. Harlequin -in his spangled vestment, with his sword of enchantment, pursuing -the lovely Columbine, and always outwitting and baffling the -clumsy attempts of the Clown and Pantaloon to circumvent him, -is the type of how the aristocracy of genius has always snatched -the sweet prizes of the world from blundering plebeianism amidst -the astonishment, laughter, and rage of the bewildered bystanders, -who so imperfectly comprehend the game. The relations of coexistence -and sequence, the working of laws of cause and effect -that preside over events in the actual world, are not altered in -the theatre. It is only their measures or rates of action that are -trifled with so to the amazement of the senses. Appreciating this, -it is obvious that no transformation scenes on the stage can possibly -equal the real ones in life itself. Mohammed, the poor factor of -<span class='pageno' id='Page_698'>698</span>Kadijah, receives an inspiration, preaches a new faith, is hunted by -his foes, conquers nation after nation, till a quarter of the earth -exults under his crescent flag and hails him infallible prophet -of Allah. Columbus conceives a thought, his frail pinnaces pierce -their perilous way over the ocean, and a new world is discovered. -Louis Napoleon is taken from teaching French for a livelihood -in New York to be throned in the palace of the Tuileries and to -inaugurate the <i><span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Exposition Universelle</span></i> surrounded by the leading -monarchs of the earth. The young Rachel, haggard and ill clad, -begged an influential person to obtain leave for her to appear on -the stage of the Théâtre Français. He told her to get a basket -and sell flowers. When she did appear, and heaps of bouquets were -thrown at her feet, after the curtain fell she flung them all into a -basket, slung it from her shoulders, and, kneeling to the man who -had advised her to go and sell flowers, asked him, half in smiles -and half in tears, if he would not buy a nosegay. Nothing that -befalls the glittering Harlequin or Columbine amidst the swift -enchantments of the theatre is fuller of astounding contrasts than -these realities, if our thought but escapes the tyranny of space -and time.</p> - -<p class='c007'>An artifice of vast power by which the theatre intensifies its -revelations of character and experience, conduct and destiny, so -as to make them more effective and apparently more significant -than the original realities themselves are in actual life, is by increasing -the range and vividness of the standards and foils by -which they are judged, carrying them lower and raising them -higher and making their contrasts sharper than they are seen -elsewhere. The fool used to have the head of his stick or mock -sceptre painted with human features, and talk and play with it as -if it were an intelligent comrade. This was his bauble, in allusion -to which Shakspeare says, “The fool holds his bauble for a god.” -Scoggan, the famous mummer, used to dress up his fists and make -them act for the amusement of a dinner company. This is the -secret of the vulgar delight in the clown, with his ridiculous dress -made up of absurdities, his face whitened with chalk and flour -and blotched with red patches and black and yellow streaks, his -lips painted in elongations so that when he laughs his mouth -seems to open from ear to ear. The mental disparity of his -standard of intelligence and manners with that in the minds of -<span class='pageno' id='Page_699'>699</span>the spectators elicits roars of coarse joy from them. It was said -of Mazurier, the great Punchinello, that he was in deformities -what Apollo was in perfections. Humped equally before and -behind, perched on the legs of a heron, equipped with the arms -of an ape, he moved with that stiffness without force, that suppleness -devoid of reaction, characterizing the play of a body which -has not in itself the principle of its movement, and whose members, -set in action by a wire, are not attached to the trunk by -articulations, but by rags. He imitated mechanism with as close -a fidelity as in another rôle mechanism is made to imitate man. -He seemed to be human and yet to have nothing human. His -motions and falls were such that one believed him made not of -flesh and bone but of cotton and thread. His face was wooden, -and he carried illusion to such a pitch that the children took him -for a gigantic puppet which had grown.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Even below this there is a lower dramatic depth still, and filled -with yet keener sport for a large class. The reflection of human -life in the marionette or puppet-show makes a revelation of a -phase of human nature as profound and fearful as it is unexpected. -The revelation is not consciously made, but springs -from an intuitive perception of truth and sense of fitness as marvellous -as anything in the history of the drama. It has long -been known that there is an intimate likeness between the insane -class and the criminal class. They both show the effect of -removing the restraints exerted on the ego by its sympathetic -connections with the general public. The restraint exercised on -the indulgence of egotistic feelings and interests by a consideration -of the feelings and interests of others being lifted off, these -selfish instincts, which are the deepest organic heritage from -ancestral history, break recklessly out. Now, the puppet has -no sympathy. Moved not by his brain and heart but by wires -attached to his limbs, his character shows the result. He is personified -selfishness and whim. His individual will is absolutely -reckless of other wills or of consequences. His ferocity is murderous, -his jollity fiendish, his conduct a jumble of animal passions, -cunning impulses, and chaotic impressions. This is unregenerate -man released from social order and given over to himself. And -there is a deep, sinister, raw pleasure for an uncultivated soul in -the sight of a being freed from every law but that of self-indulgence. -<span class='pageno' id='Page_700'>700</span>This is the secret of the fascination of the plebeian -puppet-show.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Sometimes there has been in it a strange and terrible element -of social satire. The lower class vent through it their hatred -for their oppressors. One type of the Italian Polichinelle was a -representative of the populace angered and made vindictive by -their wrongs. He lays the stick lustily on the shoulders of his -master and on the necks of the police, and takes summary vengeance -for the iniquities of official justice. He is also a frightful -cynic. He says, “I despise men so much that I care not what -they think or say of me. I have suffered as much as others, but -I have turned my back and my heart into leather. I am laughter -personified, triumphant laughter, wicked laughter. Pshaw for the -poor creatures knocked over by a breath! I am of iron and wood, -old also as the world.” “In thus speaking,” says his French historian, -“he is truthful; for his heart is as dry as his baton, and he -is a thorough egotist. Ferocious under his seeming good humor, -he does evil for the love of it. Valuing the life of a man no more -than that of a flea, he delights in quarrels and massacres.” He -has no sincere affection, no reverence, no fear either of God or -devil, is always eager for coarse and low enjoyment, and laughs -most loudly when he has done the cruellest deeds. He is the very -type of the strong, vital, abandoned criminal; and he opens a huge -vista into the most horrible experience of the human race.</p> - -<p class='c007'>And now it will be a relief to turn attention aloft in the opposite -direction. The upward action of the dramatic art is its -benign aspect. The egotist looks down to learn how great he -is, and up to learn how little. The generous man looks up to feel -how rich he is, and down to feel how poor. The former sees -himself in contrast with others, the latter sees himself in unison -with them. This may be exemplified in comedy as well as in -tragedy. The portraiture of reality on the stage hitherto has -perhaps chiefly aimed to amuse by exhibiting the follies and -absurdities of people and making the spectators laugh at them in -reaction from standards in their own minds. It will one day aim -to correct the follies and absurdities of the spectators by setting -before them models of superiority and ideals of perfection.</p> - -<p class='c007'>To enter into and appropriate the states and prerogatives of -those happier, greater, and better than we, either for an admiring -<span class='pageno' id='Page_701'>701</span>estimate of them, for the enrichment of ourselves, or for the free -play of desirable spiritual qualities, is at once recreation, luxury, -redemption, and education. This is the highest application of -the dramatic principle, the mending of the characters of men -with the characters of superior men. And it tends to the reconciliation -and attuning of all the world. This is the principle -which Paul illustrates in his doctrine that true circumcision is -not of the flesh but of the soul, and that the genuine children of -Abraham are the new race of spiritual characters which, reproducing -his type of faith and conduct, will supersede his mere -material descendants. He also says that those who measure -themselves by themselves and compare themselves among themselves -are not wise. The complement of this statement would be -that we should compare ourselves with all sorts of people, that -we may put off every imperfection of our own and put on every -perfection of theirs. And the same apostle gives this principle -its supremest application in his immortal text, “Put ye on the -Lord Jesus Christ.” The Pauline formula for the salvation of -the world embodies the regenerating essence of the dramatic art, -which is the assimilation by less divine characters of a more -divine one, raising them into fellowship with the Divinest. It -calls on all men to “behold with open face, as in a mirror, the -glory of the Lord,” and gaze on it until “they are changed into -the same image, from glory to glory, by the Spirit of the Lord.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>In distinction from this high use of the dramatic life and spirit, -the fault of the ordinary range of coarse and careless men is the -utter absence of all vital sympathetic insight. Fixed in the grooves -of habit, shut up in their own hard and narrow type, they move -stolidly among other men, insensible to the treasures they contain, -giving and taking no more than so many sticks would.</p> - -<p class='c007'>And in some who have a fair share of the dramatic instinct -it suffers a direct inversion of its purest office. For the weak and -reckless allow themselves to be degraded to the level of the worst -characters they behold, adopt their customs, assume their traits, -copy their vices, and repeat their retributive ruin. The man of -moral earnestness is warned and armed by a dramatic knowledge -of the profligate and criminal. Only the impure or heedless idler -will be led astray by it.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Yet there is another abuse of this art of dramatic penetration, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_702'>702</span>which, if less fearful, is more frequent and almost as much to -be reprehended, namely, a fruitless toying with it in a spirit of -mere frivolity. A great many persons enter imaginatively into -the states of other people, neither to honor and imitate nor to -disapprove and avoid, but in empty sport and as an ostentatious -luxury of vanity and pride. There is nothing which vulgar -natures are so fond of as, in vulgar phrase, feeling their oats, -pampering their fancied superiority to those they contemplate. -They hate to be rebuked and commanded by excellences beyond -their own attainment. They love to look down on something -beneath their own arrogated estimate of self. And so they come -to interpret almost everything they see as being inferior, and to -draw from it a reflex complacency. Their noisy laughter is but -an indirect self-applause consisting of what Emerson has called -“contemptible squeals of joy.” For whatever a man can laugh -at he deems he is superior to. Nothing did the audiences at the -old miracle-plays enjoy half so keenly as laughing at the devil -when he was driven through a trap-door in a sulphurous shower -of fire and squibs. The reason why a superficial exhibition of -wit or humor is so popular is that it affords, at so low a price -of effort, the luxury of the feeling of detachment and mastery. -The insincere or unconsecrated nature always prefers a cheap -seeming superiority to a costly real one. However much Harlequin -and Punch and Judy may relieve and amuse, and thus find -justification, they do not purify nor lift nor inspire nor educate -the ordinary spectator. The genuine drama does all these in -addition to bestowing the richest entertainment. Still, it must -be remembered that the influence of a performance depends -ultimately on the character and spirit of the spectator. Some -persons seeing Washington would think nothing of his character, -but be absorbed in admiration of his regimentals. One, at a -given exhibition, will be simply entertained. Another will be -debauched. A third will be lastingly impressed, stimulatingly -edified. A fourth may enjoy the delusive luxury of a criticising -superiority, persuading himself that he includes and transcends -the characters whose enactments he so clearly understands and -sees around. Those who laugh at those who weep fancy they -are above them while really grovelling below in vulgar insensibility. -One may easily lift armor he cannot wear.</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_703'>703</span>The next use of the theatre, the most obvious of its serious -uses, lies in the force with which it carries the great practical -truths of morality home to the heart and the soul. The power -of the stage in enforcing moral lessons, the rewards of virtue, -the beauty of nobleness, the penalties of vice and crime, the -horrors of remorse and disgrace, the peace and comfort of a self-approving -conscience, is greater than that of any other mode of -teaching. Its living exemplification of the workings of good -and evil in the secret soul and in the social sphere has an effectiveness -of incitement and of warning far beyond that of the -mere didactic precept or exhortation of the pulpit. It is said -that many a dissipated and felonious apprentice who saw Ross -play George Barnwell was turned from his evil courses by the -terrible force of the representation. One who was thus saved -used every year anonymously to send Ross on his benefit-night -the sum of ten guineas as a token of his gratitude. And Dr. -Barrowby assured the player that he had done more good by his -acting than many a parson had by his preaching. This educational -function or moral edification in uncovering the secrets of -experience and showing how every style of character and conduct -entails its own compensatory consequences is even now a -high and fruitful office of the theatre, frivolous and corrupt as it -often is. And when the drama shall be made in all respects what -it ought to be, fulfilling its own proper ideal, it will be beyond -comparison the most effective agency in the world for imparting -moral instruction and influence. The teaching of the stage is -indeed all the more insinuating and powerful because it is indirect -and not perfunctory or interested. The audience are not on -their guard against it. It works with the force of nature and -sincerity themselves.</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line in20'>“I have heard</div> - <div class='line'>That guilty creatures, sitting at a play,</div> - <div class='line'>Have by the very cunning of the scene</div> - <div class='line'>Been struck so to the soul that presently</div> - <div class='line'>They have proclaimed their malefactions.”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c009'>No thoughtful and earnest person could possibly see the wickedness -of Iago, the torture of Othello, the struggle and remorse -of Macbeth, depicted by a great actor and not be profoundly -instructed, moved, and morally fortified.</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_704'>704</span>Not only does the drama array its teachings of morality in -living forms so much more contagious and powerful than abstract -precepts, but it also gives the highest examples of didactic -eloquence. It abounds in the most beautiful expressions of -poetry and philosophy, the wisest and most charming instances -of insight and moralizing experience, verbal descriptions of character -and of nature set off with every adjunct of oratoric art and -heightening scenery. The preaching on the stage is often richer -and sounder as well as more splendid than that heard from the -pulpit. Besides, the pleasing excitement of the scene, the persuasive -interest of the play, the surrendered and receptive spirits -of the crowd blending in quickest sympathy and applause always -over the most disinterested and exalted sentiments, predispose -every hearer to the most favorable mood for being impressed by -what is lovely, good, and great. The actor, inspired by his theme -and his audience, makes thousands thrill and weep as he gives -burning utterance to burning thoughts or infuses his own high -spirit into beautiful and heroic examples of eloquence and virtue. -When in Macbeth Forrest said,—</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“I dare do all that may become a man,</div> - <div class='line'>Who dares do more is none;”—</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c009'>when in the Peruvian hero he replied to the accusation from -Pizarro of having spoken falsely, “Rolla utter falsehood! I -would I had thee in a desert with thy troop around thee, and I -but with my sword in this unshackled hand!” when in Damon he -said, in rebuke of the corrupt and sycophantic office-seeker,—</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“I told you, boy, I favored not this stealing</div> - <div class='line'>And winding into place: what he deserves,</div> - <div class='line'>An honest man dares challenge ’gainst the world,”—</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c009'>it must have been a brutish breast in which his words did not -start generous and ennobling echoes. Tell says,—</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line in8'>“Ha! behold in air</div> - <div class='line'>Where a majestic eagle floats above</div> - <div class='line'>The northern turrets of the citadel,</div> - <div class='line'>And as the sun breaks through yon rifted cloud</div> - <div class='line'>His plumage shines, embathed in burning gold,</div> - <div class='line'>And sets off his regality in heaven!”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_705'>705</span>To have such a picture painted in speech and action so vividly -that the hearers are transported out of themselves and tremble -with pleasure is an educational influence of a pure and lofty -order. The victorious Spartacus soliloquizes,—</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“A cloud is on my path, but my ambition</div> - <div class='line'>Sees glory in it. As travellers, who stand</div> - <div class='line'>On mountains, view upon some neighboring peak</div> - <div class='line'>Among the mists a figure of themselves</div> - <div class='line'>Traced in sublimer characters; so I</div> - <div class='line'>Here see the vapory image of myself</div> - <div class='line'>Distant and dim, but giant-like.”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c007'>All who take the impression of the actor and his imagery in -this passage must receive some sense of the greatness of man -and the mystery of his destiny, and feel themselves magnified -beyond their wonted state. And when Forrest spoke these -words of Virginius whole audiences were electrified by their -power and inspirited with their sublime faith:</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“Whoever says Justice will be defeated—</div> - <div class='line'>He lies in the face of the gods. She is immutable,</div> - <div class='line'>Immaculate, and immortal. And though all</div> - <div class='line'>The guilty globe should blaze, she will spring up</div> - <div class='line'>Through the fire and soar above the crackling pile</div> - <div class='line'>With not a downy feather ruffled by</div> - <div class='line'>Its fierceness!”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c007'>The noble lines of the poet full of great thoughts, scarcely -heeded and soon forgotten by the reader, are by the fiery or -solemn elocution of the actor sculptured on the memories of his -auditors for ineffaceable retention.</p> - -<p class='c007'>The theatre is always in some degree a school of manners, -but it ought to be far more distinctly and systematically such. -The different personages are foils and contrasts to set one another -off. As they act and react in their various styles of being -and of behavior, they advertise and illuminate what they are, and -tacitly, but with the most penetrative effect, teach the spectator -to estimate them by mutual comparisons and by reference to -such standards as he knows. Grandeur and meanness, awkwardness -and grace, brutal or fiendish cruelty and divine sensibility, -selfish arrogance and sweet renunciation, grossness and delicacy,—in -<span class='pageno' id='Page_706'>706</span>a word, every possible sort and grade of inward disposition -and of outward bearing are exemplified on the stage. The instructive -spectacle is too often gazed at with frivolity and mirth -alone. But more profound, more vital, more important lessons -are nowhere in the world taught. This art of manners precisely -fitted to the character and rank of the person has been -particularly studied in the Théâtre Français. The writer saw a -play represented there in which there were three distinct sets of -characters. The first belonged to the circle of royalty, the second -to the gentry, and the third were of the laboring class. The -second carefully aped the first, and the third painfully aped the -second. The bearing of the first was composed, easy, dignified; -that of the second was a lowered copy with curious differences made -most instructively perceptible; while the third was a ludicrous -travesty. The superior always, as by a secret magic, overswayed -and gave the cue to the inferior. The king, disguised, sat down -at table with a plebeian. The king ate and drank slowly, quietly, -with a silent refinement in every motion; but the plebeian hurried, -shuffled, fussed, choked, and sneezed. The actor who is really -master of his whole business teaches in a thousand indescribably -subtile ways a thousand indescribably valuable lessons for all who -have eyes to see and intelligence behind the eyes to interpret -what they see and apply its morals to their own edification.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Another service rendered by the theatre is in uncovering the -arts of deceit and villainy. In their unsophisticated openness -the innocent are often the helpless victims of seductive adepts in -dissipation and crime. All the designing ways and tricks of -the votaries of vice, the hypocritical wiles of brilliant scoundrels, -their insinuating movements, the magnetizing spells they weave -around the unsuspicious, are exposed on the stage in such a -manner as fully to put every careful observer on guard. This -unmasking of dangers, this warning and arming, is a species of -moral instruction quite necessary in the present state of society, -and nowhere so consummately exhibited as before the footlights. -Nor is it to be fancied that the instruction is more demoralizing -than guardian; for the instinctive sympathies of a public assembly -move towards virtue, not towards vice. They who seem to -be corrupted by public plays are inwardly corrupt beforehand.</p> - -<p class='c007'>A further and fairer utility of the stage is the exact opposite -<span class='pageno' id='Page_707'>707</span>of that last mentioned. It is the delightful privilege of dramatic -performers to exhibit pleasing and admirable types of -character and display their worths and graces so as to kindle -the love and worship of those who behold, and awaken in them -emulous desires for the noble virtues and the exquisite charms -which they see so divinely embodied. If the manifestation of -heroism, piety, modesty, tenderness, self-sacrifice, glorious aspiration -in the drama is not an educational and redemptive spectacle, -it must be because the stolidity and shallowness of the -audience neutralize its proper influence. Then it is they who are -disgraced, not the play which is discredited.</p> - -<p class='c007'>It is also a signal function of dramatic acting to reveal to ordinary -people the extraordinary attributes of their own nature by -exemplifying before them the transcendent heights and depths of -the human soul. Average persons and their average lives are -prosaic and monotonous, often mean and tiresome or repulsive. -They have no conception of the august or appalling extremes -reached by those of the greatest endowments, the intensities of -their experience, the grandeurs and the mysteries of their fate. In -contrast with the tame level of vulgar life, the dull plod of the -humdrum world, the theatre shows the romantic side of life, the -supernal passions and adventures of genius, the entrancements -of dreaming ideality, the glimpsing hints and marvels of destiny. -An actor like Garrick or Salvini, an actress like Rachel or Ristori, -carrying the graduated signals of love to the climax of beatific -bliss, or the signals of jealousy to the explosive point of madness, -makes common persons feel that they had not dreamed what these -passions were. In beholding a great play greatly performed an -audience gain a new measure for the richness of experience and -the width of its extremes. Thus average people are brought -to see the exceptional greatnesses of humanity and initiated into -some appreciation of those astonishing passions, feats, and utterances -of genius which must otherwise have remained sealed mysteries -to them. Rachel used to stand, every nerve seeming an -adder, and freeze and thrill the audience with terror, as her fusing -gestures, perfectly automatic although guided by will, glided in -slow continuity of curves or darted in electric starts. The commanding -majesty, intelligence, and passion of Siddons seemed to -bring her audience before her and not her before her audience. -<span class='pageno' id='Page_708'>708</span>A great actor enlarges the diapason of man. Our kind is aggrandized -in him. He is copy to men of grosser faculty and teaches -them how to feel. It was this sort of association in his mind -that made Dryden say of the aged Betterton, with such magnifying -pomp of phrase,—</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“He, like the sun, still shoots a glimmering ray,</div> - <div class='line'>Like ancient Rome majestic in decay.”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c007'>But the central and essential office of the drama is to serve as -a means of spiritual purification, freedom, and enrichment. It is -a most powerful alterative for those wearied, sickened, and soured -with egotism. It takes them out of themselves, transfers their -thoughts from their own affairs, and trains them in disinterested -sympathy. They are made to hate the tyrants, loathe the sycophants, -admire the heroes, pity the sufferers, love the lovers, -grieve with the unhappy, and rejoice with the glad. Redeemed -from the dismal treadmill of the ego, they enter into the fortunes -of others and put on their feelings, and, exulting to be out of the -purgatory of self-consciousness, they roam at large in the romantic -paradise of sympathetic human kind. As we sit in the theatre -and follow the course of the play, a torrent of ideal life is poured -through the soul, free from the sticky attachments of personal -prejudices, slavish likes and dislikes, viscous and disturbing morbidities. -It therefore cleanses and emancipates. This is what -Aristotle meant in saying that the soul should be purged by the -passions of pity and terror. The impure mixture of broken interests -and distracted feelings known in daily life is washed away -by the overwhelming rush of the emotions and lessons of a great -tragedy. One may recognize in another the signs of states—a -glow of muscle, a vigor of thought, a height of sentiment—which -he could not create in himself, but which he easily enters -into by sympathy. An actor of splendid genius and tone, in the -focus of a breathless audience, is for the hour a millionaire of -soul. Two thousand spectators sitting before him divest themselves -of themselves and put him on, and are for the hour millionaires -of soul too. And so the stage illustrates a cheap way to -wealth of consciousness, or every man his own spiritual Crœsus.</p> - -<p class='c007'>The histrionic art is likewise the best illustration of history. -No narrative of events or biographic description can vie with a -<span class='pageno' id='Page_709'>709</span>good play properly set on the stage in giving a vivid conception -of an ancient period or a great personage. It steals the keys of -time, enters the chambers of the past, and summons the sleeping -dead to life again in their very forms, costumes, and motions.</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“Time rushes o’er us: thick as evening clouds</div> - <div class='line'>Ages roll back. What calls them from their shrouds?</div> - <div class='line'>What in full vision brings their good and great,</div> - <div class='line'>The men whose virtues make a nation’s fate,</div> - <div class='line'>The far forgotten stars of human kind?</div> - <div class='line'><em>The Stage, that mighty telescope of mind!</em>”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c007'>What are the words of Tacitus or Livy in their impression on -the common mind compared with the visible resurrection of the -people and life of Rome in “Virginius,” “Brutus,” “Julius Cæsar,” -or “Antony and Cleopatra”? Colley Cibber said, with felicitous -phrase, “The most a Vandyke can arrive at is to make his portraits -of great persons seem to think. A Shakspeare goes further, -and tells you what his pictures thought. A Betterton steps beyond -both, and calls them from the grave to breathe and be themselves -again in feature, speech, and motion.” The theatrical art puts -in our hands a telescope wherewith we pierce distant ages and -nations and see them as they were.</p> - -<p class='c007'>And as it revives the truths and wonders of antiquity, so it -reflects the present world, depicting in its successive scenes all -forms of society and experience, from the luxuries of the palace -to the wretchedness of the hovel. Moreover, in addition to thus -lifting the curtain from the past and the present, it gives prophetic -glimpses of the future, in its representations of ideal types of men -and women and in its poetic pictures of happier times yet to bless -the world. While most buildings are devoted to the mere interests -and comforts of the private individual or family, or to mechanical -business and selfish scheming, well is it that there should be one -fair and open edifice dedicated to the revelation of human nature -in its whole extent, of human experience in all its seriousness and -mirth, of human love and hope in all their beautiful glory.</p> - -<p class='c007'>But, after all the uses of the theatre enumerated above, there -remains to be stated what is perhaps its most constant, most -valuable and universal benefit; namely, its delightful ministry -of recreation and amusement. In its charmed enclosure there -<span class='pageno' id='Page_710'>710</span>is a blessed escape from the jading cares and toils and hates -and griefs and fears that so harass and corrode heart and mind -in the emulous strifes of the world. Here pictures of beauty and -bravery are exhibited, adventures of romantic interest set forth, -the most sublime deeds and engaging traits of men lifted into relief, -a tide of pride and joy and love sent warm to the hearts of the -crowd, and all factitious distinctions swept away, as thousands -of eyes gaze on the same scenes and thousands of bosoms beat -together with one emotion. In the drama all the arts are concentrated, -and made accessible to those of the most moderate -means, with a splendor which elsewhere, if found at all, can be -commanded only by the favored few. There is the rich and -imposing architecture of the theatre itself, with its stately proportions -and fair ornaments. There is the audience with its -brilliant toilets and its array of celebrity, beauty, and fashion. -There are colors in every direction, and painting in the elaborate -scenery heightened by the gorgeous illumination poured over -all. There is sculpture in the most exquisite forms and motions, -the living statuary of the trained performers. There are poetry -and oratory in the skilled elocution of the speakers. There -are the interest of the story, the interplay of the characters, and -the evolution and climax of the plot. There is the profound -magnetic charm of the sympathetic assembly, all swayed and -breathing as one. And then there is the penetrative incantation, -the omnipotent spell of rhythm, in the music of the orchestra, -the chant of the singers, the dancing of the ballet.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Here indeed is an art equally fitted to amuse the weary, to -instruct the docile, and to express the inspired. The prejudiced -deprecators of the drama have delighted to depict the kings -and queens of the stage descending from their scenic pedestals, -casting off their tinsel robes, and slinking away in slovenly -attire into cellar and garret. How much worthier of note is -the reverse aspect, the noble metamorphosis actors undergo -when the prosaic belittlement of their daily life of poverty and -care slips off and they enter the scene in the greatest characters -of history to enact the grandest conceptions of passion and -poetry! And there is an influence in great impersonations to -purify and ennoble their performers. The law of congruity -necessitates it. “If,” said Clairon, “I am only an ordinary -<span class='pageno' id='Page_711'>711</span>woman for twenty of the twenty-four hours of the day, no -effort I can make will render me more than an ordinary woman -when I appear as Agrippina or Semiramis.” The actor, to -make heroic, sublime, or tender manifestations of the mysterious -power and pity and doom of human nature, must have these -qualities in his soul. No petty or vulgar nature could be competent -to such strokes of wonder and pathos as the “Prithee, -undo this button!” of Garrick; the “Fool, fool, fool!” of Kean; -the “Vous pleurez, Zaïre!” of Lekain; the “After life’s fitful -fever he sleeps well!” of Forrest.</p> - -<p class='c007'>The theatre offers us an unrivalled opportunity for the economical -activity of all our faculties, especially of our finer sentiments, -which there play freely, disconnected from the exacting -action of the studious intellect. The whole concentrated mass -of life shown in action on the stage is ideally radiated into the -bosoms of the beholders without cost to them. They despise, -they admire, they laugh, they weep, they feel complacent in -their contempt or in their reverence. Many who are too poor -and outcast, or too busy and worn, or too proud and irascible, -or too grieved and unfortunately circumstanced, for the indulgence -of these feelings in real life, find the luxuries copiously -and cheaply supplied in the scene. This is one reason why so -many play-goers retain such grateful recollections of their favorites. -Steele said, “From the acting of Mr. Betterton I have -received more strong impressions of what is great and noble in -human nature than from the arguments of the most solid philosophers -or the descriptions of the most charming poets.” Robson -declared, “I never came away from seeing Bannister without -feeling ten years younger, and that if I had not, with Christian, -got rid of my sins, I had got rid of what was pretty nearly as -heavy to carry, my cares.” A noble lady of Edinburgh who -in her youth had seen Siddons, when blind and nearly speechless -in the torpor of extreme age, on being reminded of the -great actress, broke into enthusiastic expressions, while smiles -lighted up the features pale and wrinkled with nearly a hundred -years.</p> - -<p class='c007'>An old English writer asking how he shall seclude and refresh -himself from fretting care and hardship puts aside every form of -vicious dissipation, and says,—</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_712'>712</span>“My faculties truly to recreate</div> - <div class='line'>With modest mirth and myself to please,</div> - <div class='line'>Give me a <span class='fss'>PLAY</span> that no distaste can breed.</div> - <div class='line'>Prove thou a spider and from flowers suck gall;</div> - <div class='line'>I will, bee-like, take honey from a weed,</div> - <div class='line'>For I was never puritanical.”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c009'>Collective history looked at from the human point of view may -sometimes appear a chaos, but seen from the divine auditorium -above it is a perfect drama, the earth its stage, the generations -its actors. Thus the argument of Thomas Heywood was sound, -No Theatre, No World!</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“If then the world a theatre present,</div> - <div class='line'>As by the roundnesse it appears most fit,</div> - <div class='line'>Built with starre-galleries of high ascent</div> - <div class='line'>In which Jehove doth as spectator sit</div> - <div class='line'>And chief determines to applaud the best,</div> - <div class='line'>But by their evil actions doome the rest,</div> - <div class='line'>He who denies that theatres should be</div> - <div class='line'>He may as well deny the world to me!”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c009'>For as the world is a stage, so the stage is a world. It is an -artistic world in which not only the natural but also the supernatural -world is revealed. This is shown with overwhelming -abundance of power in William Winter’s description of the Saul -of Alfieri as rendered by Salvini:</p> - -<p class='c007'>“It depicts the condition of an imaginative mind, a stately and -robust character, an arrogant, fiery spirit, an affectionate heart, -and, altogether, a royal and regally-poised nature, that have first -been undermined by sin and the consciousness of sin, and then -crazed by contact with the spirit-world and by a nameless dread -of the impending anger of an offended God. It would be difficult -to conceive of a more distracting and piteous state. Awe -and terror surround this august sufferer, and make him both -holy and dreadful. In his person and his condition, as these are -visible to the imaginative mind, he combines all the elements that -impress and thrill. He is of vast physical stature, which time has -not bent, and of great beauty of face, which griefs have ravaged -but not destroyed. He is a valiant and bloody warrior, and -danger seems to radiate from his presence. He is a magnanimous -king and a loving father, and he softens by generosity and -<span class='pageno' id='Page_713'>713</span>wins by gentleness. He is a maniac, haunted by spectres and -scourged with a whip of scorpions, and his red-eyed fury makes -all space a hell and shatters silence with the shrieks of the -damned. He is a human soul, burdened with the frightful consciousness -of the Almighty’s wrath, and poised in torment on -the precipice that overhangs the dark and storm-beaten ocean -of eternity. His human weakness is affrighted by ghastly visions -and by all manner of indefinite horrors, against which his vain -struggles do but make more piteous his awful condition. The -gleams of calm that fall upon his tortured heart only light up an -abyss of misery,—a vault of darkness peopled by demons. He is -already cut off from among the living by the doom of inevitable -fate, and while we pity him we fear him. His coming seems -attended with monstrous shapes; he diffuses dissonance; his -voice is a cry of anguish or a wail of desolation; his existence -is a tempest; there can be no relief for him save death, and -the death that ends him comes like the blessing of tears to the -scorched eyelids of consuming misery. That is the Saul of the -Bible and of Alfieri’s tragedy; and that is the Saul whom Salvini -embodies. It is a colossal monument of human suffering that -the actor presents, and no man can look upon it without being -awed and chastened and lifted above the common level of this -world.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>But the culminating utility and glory and eulogy of the art of -the theatre are not that it furnishes common people an opportunity -for learning what are the exceptional greatness, beauty, -and wonder of human nature by the sight of its most colossal -faculties unveiled and its most marvellous terrors, splendors, -sorrows, and ecstasies exposed for study, but that <em>its inherent -genius tends to produce expansive sympathy, sincerity of soul, generous -deeds, and an open catholicity of temper</em>. No other class is -so true and liberal to its own members in distress or so prompt -in response to public calamity as that of the actors. Their constant -familiarity with the sentiments of nobleness and pity imbues -them with the qualities. In trying exigencies, personal or national, -their conduct has often illustrated the truth of the compliment -paid them by the poet:</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“These men will act the passions they inspire,</div> - <div class='line'>And wave the sabre as they sweep the lyre.”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_714'>714</span>Macklin said, “I have always loved the conscious worth of a -good action more than the profit that would arise from a bad -one.” A famous singer was passing through the market-place -of Lyons one day, when a woman with a sick child asked alms -of him. He had left his purse behind, but, wishing to aid the -woman, he took off his hat, sang his best, and hastily gave her -the money he collected.</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“The singer, pleased, passed on, and softly thought,</div> - <div class='line'>Men will not know by whom this deed was wrought;</div> - <div class='line'>But when at night he came upon the stage,</div> - <div class='line'>Cheer after cheer went up from that wide throng,</div> - <div class='line'>And flowers rained on him. Nothing could assuage</div> - <div class='line'>The tumult of the welcome save the song</div> - <div class='line'>That for the beggars he had sung that day</div> - <div class='line'>While standing in the city’s busy way.”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c009'>So when in his old age the great tenor, Duprez, reappeared to -sing some stanzas he had composed in behalf of the sufferers by -an inundation, as he said he could no longer utter the sensational -cry of Arnold in William Tell, <i><span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Suivez-moi</span></i>, but that he still had -strength to sing <i><span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Secourons le malheur</span></i>, the house rang with plaudits.</p> - -<p class='c007'>The flexibility of the actor, his sympathetic art, the affecting -poetic situations in which he is seen set off by aggrandizing and -romantic adjuncts, clothe him with fascinating associations, make -him gazed after and courted. This is one secret of the keen -interest felt in him. He who gives the most powerful signs of -soul is naturally thought to have the greatest soul. The great -have always been drawn to make favorites of actors. Demosthenes -was the friend of Satyrus; Cicero, of Roscius; Louis the -Fourteenth, of Molière; Bolingbroke, of Barton Booth; Napoleon, -of Talma; Byron, of Kean. The Duke of Northumberland -gave Kemble ten thousand pounds sterling. Lord Loughborough -settled a handsome annuity on Macklin in his destitute -age; and when the old actor in his one hundred and eighth year -was about to die he besought the friend who had agreed to write -his life to make grateful mention of this.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Players have given kings and nobles greater benefits than they -have received from them, often teaching them character as well -as manners. When the Earl of Essex told Edmund Kean that -by continuing to associate with Incledon, the decayed singer, he -<span class='pageno' id='Page_715'>715</span>would endanger his own further welcome in the upper class, the -actor replied, “My lord, Incledon was my friend, in the strictest -sense of the word, when I had scarcely another friend in the world; -and if I should now desert him in the decline of his popularity -and the fall of his fortunes I should little deserve the friendship -of any man, and be quite unworthy of the favorable opinion your -lordship has done me the honor to entertain for me.” Thus -speaking, he rose, and, with a profound bow to the earl, left the -room.</p> - -<p class='c007'>The greatest social characters have not only always affected -the society of gifted players, but have themselves had a profound -passion for the personal practice of the art. This is because the -art deals with all the most subtile secrets of human nature and -experience, out of which grow those arts of power which they feel -to be their peculiar province. It is also because in this practice -they escape from the empty round of the merely conventional -and titular which soon becomes so wearying to the soul and so -nauseous to the heart, and come into the realm of reality. The -effect produced by the king, the deference paid to him, may be -hollow. The power of the actor depends on genuine gifts, on -his own real being and skill and charm. And he sees through -all cold forms and shallow pretences. His very art, in its bedizenments -and factitious accessories, sickens him of all shams -in private life. There he wants sincerity and the unaffected substantial -goods of nature, a friendly fellowship springing straight -from the heart. When the wife of Kean asked him what Lord -Essex had said of his Shylock, the actor replied, “Damn Lord -Essex. The pit rose at me!” A common soldier with whom -Cooke had quarrelled refused to fight him because he was rich -and the persons present would favor him. Cooke said, “Look -here, sir. This is all I possess in the world,” showing three -hundred and fifty pounds in bank-notes, which he immediately -thrust into the fire, holding the poker on them till they were -consumed. Then he added, “Now I am a beggar, sir. Will -you fight me now?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>This democratic spirit which spurns social affectations and -tramples unreal claims, keenly recognizing distinctions but insisting -that they shall be genuine and not merely supposititious, -is the very genius of the drama as felt in its inmost essence. -<span class='pageno' id='Page_716'>716</span>Rulers have ever delighted to evade their imprisonment in -etiquette, put on an incognito, and disport themselves in the -original relishes of human intercourse on the basis of facts. -Nothing in literature is more charming than the adventures in -this kind of Haroun-al-Raschid and his Vizier in the Arabian -Nights’ Entertainments. Nero and Commodus were proudest -of all to strip off their imperial insignia and win plaudits by their -performances in the amphitheatre. Julius Cæsar acted in his -own theatre the part of Hercules Furens. He was so carried -away by the spirit of the rôle that he actually killed the youth -who played Lycus and swung the body two or three times -round his head. Louis the Fourteenth appeared in the Magnificent -Lovers, by Molière, and pantomimed, danced, sang, and -played on the flute and the guitar. He especially loved in -gorgeous ballets to perform the rôle of the Sun; and in the ballet -of the Seasons he repeatedly filled the rôle of the blonde Ceres -surrounded by harvesters. Even Oliver Cromwell once acted -the part of Tactus in the play of “Lingua, or the Combat of -the Five Senses for Superiority.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>But the life of the dramatic profession is not all a brilliant -round of power, gayety, and indulgence. It too has sacrifices, -toils, tears, strenuous duty and virtue, tragedy, mystery, and -triumph. The strange picture of human life and death is nowhere -more vividly reflected than in the theatrical career. The -little prodigy James Speaight, whose performances on the violin -had for three years been applauded by crowds, when he was not -yet seven years old, was one evening slightly ill as he left the -stage. About midnight his father heard him say, “Gracious -God, make room for another little child in heaven.” The father -spoke, received no answer, and on going to him found him dead. -In 1819, a Mlle. Charton made her débût at the Odéon. Her -enchanting loveliness and talent captivated all. Intoxicated Paris -rang with her praises. Suddenly she ceased to act. A jealous -lover had flung into that beautiful and happy face a cup of vitriol, -destroying beauty, happiness, and eyesight forever. She refused -to prosecute the ruffian, but sat at home, suffering and helpless, -and was soon absorbed in the population and forgotten. What -could be more dreadful than such a doom, or more pathetic than -such submission! In fact, many of those who lived by acting on -<span class='pageno' id='Page_717'>717</span>the stage have given as noble specimens of acting off of it as are -to be found in history. Mrs. Porter, a famous actress of the -generation preceding Garrick, riding home after the play, in a -one-horse chaise, was accosted by a highwayman with a demand -for her money. “She levelled a pistol at him, when he changed -his tone to supplication, told her his name and the abode of his -starving family, and appealed to her compassion so strongly that -she gave him ten guineas. He left her, and, as she lashed her -horse, the animal started aside, upset the chaise, and in the fall -her hip-joint was dislocated. Notwithstanding all the pain and -loss the man had thus occasioned her, she inquired into his circumstances, -and, finding that he had told her the truth, raised -sixty pounds among her acquaintances and sent it to his family.” -Her lameness forced her to leave the stage, and she had herself -to subsist upon charity.</p> - -<p class='c007'>The dread shrinking and anxiety felt by Mrs. Siddons on the -night of her first successful appearance in London, after her -earlier failure, were such as common natures cannot imagine, -and such as nothing but a holy love for her young dependent -children could have nerved even her heroic nature to bear. The -dying away of the frenzied shouts and plaudits left her half dead, -as she wrote to a friend. “My joy and thankfulness were of too -solemn and overpowering a nature to admit of words or even -tears. My father, my husband, and myself sat down to a frugal -supper in a silence uninterrupted except by exclamations of gladness -from Mr. Siddons. My father enjoyed his refreshments, -but occasionally stopped short, and, laying down his knife and -fork, and lifting up his venerable face, and throwing back his -silver hair, gave way to tears of happiness.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>The essence of the ecclesiastical and theatrical quarrel lies in -the relation of the natural passions to duty. It is especially -concentrated and prominent in regard to the passion of love, -concerning which the opposed views are seen on the one side in -the prurient plays constantly produced on the boards, and on the -other side in the repressive injunctions as constantly iterated -from the pulpit. The latter loudly commands denial, the former -silently insinuates indulgence. The one is inflamed with the -love of power, the other is infected with the love of pleasure. -The battle can never be ended by the victory of either party. -<span class='pageno' id='Page_718'>718</span>The strife is hopeless so long as the ascetic ideal is proclaimed -alone, kindling the bigoted mental passions, and the voluptuous -ideal is exhibited alone, inflaming the loose sensual passions. -Each will have its party, and they will keep on fighting. The -only solution lies in the appearance and triumph of that juster -and broader ideal which shows that the genuine aim and end of -life are not the gratification of any despotic separate passions, -whether spiritual or physical, but the perfection of individual -being in social unity. The two combatants, therefore, must be -reconciled by a mediator diviner than either of them, armed with -a truer authority than the one and animated by a purer mind -than the other. That mediator is Science, unfolding the psychological -and physiological laws of the subject, and bringing denial -and indulgence into reconciliation by giving wholesomeness and -normality to every passion, which shall then seek fulfilment only -in accordance with the conditions of universal order, securing a -pure harmony at once of all the functions of the individual and -of all the interests of society. The incomplete and vain formula -of the church is, Deny thyself. The equally defective and dangerous -formula of the theatre is, Indulge thyself. But the perfect -and bridging formula of science is, So deny or rule in the parts -of thy being and life as to fulfil thyself in the whole.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Virtue is not confined to the votaries of the pulpit, but is -often glorified in the votaries of the stage. Vice, if sometimes -openly flaunted in the theatre, is sometimes secretly cherished in -the church. Neither should scorn the other, but they should -mutually teach and aid each other, and combine their methods -as friends, to purify, enlighten, and free the world. Each has -much to give the other, and as much to receive from it. For, -while the mischief of the ascetic ecclesiastic ideal of repression -and denial is the breeding of a spirit of sour and fanatical gloom, -its glory is the earnest conscience, the trimmed lamp, and the -girt loins. Add this sacred self-restraint, which allows no indulgence -not in accordance with the conditions of universal -order, to the genial dramatic ideal of man and life,—a perfect -organism and perfect faculties in perfect conditions of fulfilment -and liberty, or the greatest amount of harmonious experience -rooted in the physical nature and flowering in the spiritual,—and -it is the just ideal.</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_719'>719</span>The true business of the church is to inculcate morality and -religion. Its perversions are traditional routine, creed authority, -and ceremony. The true business of the theatre is to exhibit -characters and manners in their contrasts so as to secure appropriating -approval for the best, condemnation and avoidance for -the worst. Its perversions are carelessness, frivolity, and license. -When the church purifies itself for its two genuine functions,—truth -and consolation,—and the theatre cleanly administers its -two genuine functions,—wholesome recreation and earnest teaching,—their -offices will coincide and the strife of priest and player -cease.</p> - -<div class='chapter'> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_720'>720</span> - <h2 class='c005'>CHAPTER XXII.<br /> <span class='large'>FORREST IN SEVEN OF HIS CHIEF ROLES.—CHARACTERS OF IMAGINATIVE PORTRAITURE.—RICHELIEU.—MACBETH.—RICHARD.—HAMLET.—CORIOLANUS.—OTHELLO.—LEAR.</span></h2> -</div> - -<p class='c006'>At the date of this writing, although there are many good -actors in America, there are none who are generally recognized -as great. There also appears for the time to be a decline in the -popular taste for the serious and lofty drama, and a general -preference for sensational, comic, and spectacular plays. In -vain does the call-boy summon the sublime characters and parts -that entranced the audiences of a bygone generation. They -seem to have died with the strong and stately actors who gave -them such noble life and motion. The sceptred pall of gorgeous -tragedy has vanished from the stage, it may almost be -said, and for the poet and the thinker have been substituted -the carpenter, the scene-painter, the upholsterer, and the milliner. -Nudity, prurience, broad appeals to sensual passion, extravagant -glare and movement and noise, have largely thrust aside tragic -action, romantic sentiment, and moral grandeur. Even though -the depravation be but temporary, marking a transitional crisis, it -is a feature unpleasant to contemplate. And it may be of some -service, not only in completing the picture of the life of Forrest, -but likewise in revealing the higher social uses and lessons of -his art, to give a description of the chief of those massive and -heroic rôles he loved best to fill in the ripest period of his professional -career. The accounts must be brief and fragmentary, -and very inadequate at the best. To preserve or re-create the -full impression of a great actor in a great part, he should be -sculptured in every attitude and movement, with every gesture -and look, and painted in every tone, emphasis, and inflection of -his voice. Yet, without attempting this impossible feat in the -case of Forrest, enough may be rapidly indicated in general -sketches to enable intelligent readers to form some approximate -<span class='pageno' id='Page_721'>721</span>conception of his leading impersonations and of the influences -they were calculated to exert.</p> - -<p class='c007'>The pictures of the acting of Forrest now to be essayed must -be tantalizingly faint and imperfect, in the absence of an art to -translate and reproduce all the other eight dramatic languages -of human nature in the one language of words. But to appreciate -even these poor attempts at their worth one preliminary condition -on the part of those who read is pre-eminently necessary. -They must remember that Forrest was one of those rare men -profusely endowed with that mysterious power to interest and -impress which is popularly called personal magnetism. He was -signally charged with that secret spell, that loaded and swaying -fascination, which all feel though no one understands, which -contagiously works on those who come within its reach, seizing -curiosity, enlisting sympathy, or evoking repulsion. The distinguishing -differences of men in this respect are indescribable -and fatal. No art can efface them or neutralize them. For -an artist who makes direct personal appeal to an audience -the having or the not having this magnetic gift is as the -hidden core of destiny. With it obstacles are removed as by -magic, friends won, enemies overthrown, and wherever the -possessor sails through the community he leaves a wide phosphorescent -wake of social interest and gossip. Without it, -though flags are waved and trumpets are blown and all pains -taken to make an impression and secure a victorious career, -yet the efforts prove futile and public attention wanders listlessly -away. One seems created to be the victim of perpetual slights, -dry, trivial, destitute of charm, nobody caring anything about -him; while another, freighted with occult talismans, strangely -interests everybody. The recognition of such contrasts is one -of the most familiar facts of experience. These phenomena are -suggested by the word sphere as applied to the characteristic -influence of personality. The spiritual sphere or signalling -power of an individual is described as attractive or repulsive, -strong or weak, vast or little, harmonious or discordant. The -mystery is not so blankly baffling as it has been supposed, but -is in a large degree susceptible of rational explication.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Out of a hundred accomplished singers, beautiful in person -and marvellous in voice, one prima donna shall surpass all the -<span class='pageno' id='Page_722'>722</span>rest in fascinating the public. There is a nameless distinction -in her bearing, there is an indescribable charm in her song, -which bewitch and enthrall, are her irresistible passports to public -enthusiasm, and make her sure of a long and dazzling career; -while one after another of the rest with desperate exertions and -fitful plaudits disappear. Here is a tragedian who exercises the -same spell and quickly obscures his distanced rivals. He advances -on the stage with a quiet step, his mantle negligently -crossing his breast, his countenance calm. Without a start, -without a gesture, without a word, he simply is and looks. Yet, -as he approaches, awe spreads around him. Why this breathless -silence all over the theatre, this rooted attention from every one? -He seats himself, he leans on the arm of the chair; his voice, -quick and deep, seems not to utter common words, but to pronounce -supernatural oracles. By what transcendent faculty does -he render hate so terrible, irony so frightful, disdain so superhuman, -devotion so entrancing, love so inexpressibly sweet, that -the whole assembly rivet their eyes and hold their breath while -their hearts throb under the mystic influence of his action? The -secret is purely a matter of law without anything of chance or -whim or caprice in it. It is the profound and universal law -which regulates the exercise of sympathetic influence by one -person on another. It has two elements, namely, beauty and -power. Beauty and power both can be expressed in shapes, -features, motions, and tones. Shapes, features, and tones are results -and revelations of modes of motion. The face is shaped -and modulated by the ideal forces within, the rhythmical vibrations -which preside over the processes of nutrition. All those -shapes or movements in a person which in their completeness -constitute, or in their segments imply, returning curves or undulations, -such as circles, ellipses, and spirals, are beautiful. They -suggest economy of force, ease of function, sustained vitality, and -potency. But abrupt changes of direction, sudden snatches and -breaks of movement, sharp angles, are ugly and repellent, because -they suggest waste of force, difficulty of function, discord of the -individual with the universal, and therefore hint evil and death. -The serpent was anciently considered a symbol of immortality on -account, no doubt, of all its motions being endless lines or undulations -circling in themselves. This is the law of beauty which -<span class='pageno' id='Page_723'>723</span>just in proportion to its pervasive prevalence and exhibition -in any one gives its possessor charm. The subtile indication of -this in the incessant and innumerable play of the person fascinates -and delights all who see it; and those who do not consciously -perceive it are still influenced by it in the unconscious depths of -their nature.</p> - -<p class='c007'>The element of power is closely allied in its mode of revelation -and influence with that of beauty. Every attitude, gesture, -or facial expression is composed of contours and lines, static and -dynamic, latent and explicit, fragmentary and complete, straight, -curved, or angularly crooked. Now, the nature of these lines, the -degree in which their curves return or do not return into themselves, -the nature and sizes of the figures they describe, or would -describe if completed according to their indicative commencements, -determine their beauty or ugliness and decide what effect -they shall produce on the spectator. The beauty and the pleasure -it yields are proportioned to the preponderance of endless -lines suggestive of circulation of force without waste, and therefore -of perfect grace and immortal life. But that sense of power -which breeds awe in the beholder is measured by the proportion -of exertion made to effect produced. All force expended passes -off on angular lines. The angles of movement may be obtuse -or sharp in varying degrees, and consequently subtend lines of -different lengths. All attitudes and gestures compose curves -and figures, or cast lines and form angles, which constitute their -æsthetic and dynamic values, those measuring beauty, these -measuring power. For, on the principle of the lever and momentum, -the power expended at the end of a line is equal to -that exerted at the beginning of the line multiplied by its length. -The amounts of exertion and the lengths of lines are unconsciously -estimated by the intuitions of the observer, and the unconscious -interpretations to which he is led are what yield the -impressions he experiences on seeing any given actor. The -greatest sense of power is received when the minimum of initial -effort is seen with the maximum of terminal result; when the -smallest weight at the central extremity balances the largest one -at the distal extremity. The law of combined beauty and power -of action, then, is contained in the relations of returning lines and -lengths of straight lines. The measure of dramatic expression is -<span class='pageno' id='Page_724'>724</span>this: impression of grace is according to the preponderance of -perpetuating curves, and impression of strength according to the -degrees of the angles formed by the straight lines. That actress -or actor in whose organism there is the greatest freedom of the -parts and the greatest unity of the whole, the most perfect co-operation -of all the nerve-centres in a free dynamic solidarity and -the most complete surrender of the individual will to universal -principles, will make the deepest sensation,—in other words, -will have the largest amount of what has been vaguely called -personal magnetism. The divinest character expresses itself in -softly-flowing forms and inexpensive movements. The most -royal and august majesty of function indicates its rank of power -by the slightest exertions implying the vastest effects. Frivolous, -false, and vulgar characters are ever full of short lines, incongruous, -fussy, and broken motions, curves everywhere subordinated -and angles obtrusive. Such persons are, as it is said, -destitute of magnetism. They do not interest. They cannot -possibly charm or awe. It is a law of inexpressible importance -that <em>the quality, grade, and measure of a personality are revealed -primarily in the proportions, secondarily in the movements, of the -physical organism</em>. These proportions and movements betray -alike the permanent features of the indwelling character and -all its passing thoughts and emotions. The truth is all there, -though the spectator may be incompetent to interpret its signals. -The most harmonious and perfect character will show the most -exquisite symmetry and grace of repose and action. The irregulated, -raw, and reckless type of character expresses itself in awkward, -violent, or incongruous movements, wasteful of energy yet -not impressive in result. Beauty of motion, the implication of endless -lines, is the normal sign of loveliness of soul. Grandeur of -soul or dynamic greatness of mind is indicated by implicit extent -and ponderous slowness of motion. When the smallest displays -of motion at the centres suggest the most sustained and extended -lines, the impression given of power is the most mysterious and -overwhelming. The most tremendous exertions, in lines and -angles whose invisible complements are small, produce a weak -impression, because they make no appeal to the imagination. -The beauty of the figures implied in the forms of the movements -of a man is the analogue of his goodness; the dimensions of the -<span class='pageno' id='Page_725'>725</span>figures, the analogue of his strength. And in the case of every -one the spectators are constantly apprehending the forms of these -figures and how far they reach, and emotionally reacting in accordance -with the results thus attained. It is not a conscious -and critical process of the understanding or the senses, but a -swift procedure of the intuitions or organic habits, including -the sum of ancestral experiences deposited in instinctive faculty. -Many who are ignorant of this law of the revelation of human -nature, and of the sympathetic influence of man on man involved -in it, may feel that the whole conception is merely a fine-spun -fancy, with no solid basis in fact. But a perfect parallel to the -process here described as taking place through the eye has been -both mathematically and visibly demonstrated in the case of the -ear. The beauty of form as perceived by the eye depends on -implicit perception of geometric law, and is proportioned to the -simplicity of the law and the variety of the outline embodying it, -just as the harmony of colors or the harmony of sounds depends -on the implicit perception of arithmetical ratios, and is proportioned -to the harmony of times in which the vibrations of the -visible or audible medium occur. We distinguish the beauty -and the quality of a tone of the same pitch produced by different -instruments or voices, and our feelings are differently affected -with pleasure or pain as we listen to them. But the beauty of a -tone consists in the equidistance of the pulsations of air composing -it, and the quality of a tone consists in the forms of the pulsations. -The auditory apparatus reports the symmetry or asymmetry -of the pulsations in form and rate, and the soul, intuitively -grasping the secret significance, is delighted or disturbed accordingly. -The charm of a delicious, musical, powerful voice has -these four elements, beautiful forms in its vibrations, perfect -rhythm or equidistance in its vibrations, varying breadth in its -vibrations, and varying extent of vibratory surface in the sounding -mechanism. Without knowing anything about any of these -conditions, the sensitive hearer, played on by them through his -ear, accurately responds in feeling. It is exactly the same, in the -case of the eye, with the geometrical lines and figures involved in -the bearing of a person. If these are beautiful in forms, graceful -in motions, sublime in implicit dimensions, the impression is delightful -and profound; while if they are petty and incoherent, or -<span class='pageno' id='Page_726'>726</span>clumsy and unbalanced, their appeal is superficial and disagreeable. -This is the law of personal magnetism, which always exerts -the vastest swing of power from the most exactly centred equilibrium. -The mysteries of God are revealed in space and time -through form and motion. They are concentrated in rhythm, -which, as defined by Delsarte, is the simultaneous vibration of -number, weight, and measure. We are creatures of space and -time; all our experience has been written and is organized in -that language. Our whole nature therefore in its inmost depths -corresponds and thrills to the mystic symbols of harmony or -discord with love and pleasure or with fear and pain. The -secret of the delight that waits on the perception or feeling of -beauty and power is the recognition of sequent ratios which express -symmetry in time or algebraic law, and coexistent ratios -which express symmetry in space or geometric law. Spatial -symmetry is the law of equilibrium, the adjustment of the individual -with the universal, and measures power. Temporal symmetry -is the law of health, the pulsating adjustment of function -with its norm, and measures the melodious flow of life. Rhythm -is the constant dynamic reproduction of symmetry in space and -time combined. It is the secret of personal magnetism. Its -charm and its power are at their height when the symmetries -are most varied in detail and most perfect in unity.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Now, Forrest ever possessed this magnetic temperament, this -firmly poised and ingravidated personality, and ever wielded its -signals with startling effect. The tones and inflections of his -sweet and majestic voice in its wide diapason were felt by his -hearers palpitating among the pulses of their hearts. His attitude, -look, and gesture in great situations often produced on a -whole assembly the electric creep of the flesh and the cold -shudder of the marrow. His fearlessness and deliberation were -conspicuous and proverbial. A censorious critic said, “Mr. Forrest -is the most painfully elaborate actor on the stage. He -swings in a great slow orbit, and, though he revolves with dignity -and sublimity, the sublimity is often stupid and the dignity a -little pompous. He dwells so long on unimportant passages -that one might imagine he intended to take up an everlasting -rest on a period, to go to sleep over a semicolon, or spend the -evening with a comma. His pauses are like the distances from -<span class='pageno' id='Page_727'>727</span>star to star, and if he continues in his course people will have -time to stroll in the lobbies between his sentences. His performances -might be defined by his enemies as infinite extensions -of silence with incidental intervals of speech.” Through this -enveloping burlesque one discerns the poise, sang-froid, and -grandeur of the man.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Senator Stockton, passing the Broadway Theatre one evening, -met a friend coming out, and asked him, “What is going on in -there?” The reply was, “Oh, nothing: Forrest is in one of his -pauses!” An admiring critic said of him, and if the diction be exaggerated -it yet invests the truth, “There is no actor living who -takes a stronger hold of the feelings of his audience or grasps the -passions of the human heart with such a giant-like clutch. He is as -imposing and daring in his action as the mountain condor when -he darts on the flock, or the bird of Jove when he wheels from -the peaks and burnishes his plumage in the blaze of the sun. It -is not one here and there that submits to his sovereignty. The -entire audience are swayed and fashioned after the workings of -his soul. He permits none to escape the potency of his sceptre, -but makes all bow to his terrible and overwhelming mastery.” -Of course different persons had different degrees of susceptibility -to this elemental power and earnestness of nature and to this -trained and skilled display of art, though all must feel it more or -less either as attraction or as repulsion. The varying effects of -the playing of character through its signs is the genuine drama -of life itself. The idiot holds his bauble for a god, as Shakspeare -says. The ruffian is hardened against all delicate and noble manifestations -of mind. The dilettante, in his dryness, veneer, and -varnish, is incapable of any enthusiasm for persons. And there -are multitudes so harassed and exhausted in the selfish contests -of the day, their hearts and imaginations so perverted or shrivelled, -that the brightest signals of heroism, genius, and saintliness shine -before them in vain. The play of personal qualities, the study -and appreciation of them, are more neglected now than they ever -were before. It is one of the greatest of social calamities; for it -takes the social stimulus away from spiritual ambition or the -passion for excellence. And it is one of the supreme benefactions -conferred on society by a great actor that he intensifies and illuminates -the revelatory language of character and fixes attention -<span class='pageno' id='Page_728'>728</span>on its import by lifting all its modes of expression to their highest -pitch.</p> - -<h3 class='c015'>RICHELIEU.</h3> - -<p class='c016'>In a previous chapter an attempt was made to describe Forrest -in those characters of physical and mental realism with which his -fame was chiefly identified during the earlier and middle portions -of his popular career. It remains now to essay a similar sketch -of those characters of imaginative portraiture which he best loved -to impersonate in the culminating glory and at the close of his -artistic career. In the Rolla, Damon, Spartacus, Metamora of -his young manhood he was, rather than played, the men whose -parts he assumed, so intensely did he feel them and so completely -did he reproduce nature. He wrestled with the genius of his art -as Hercules with Antæus, throwing it to the ground continually, -but making its vitality more vigorous with every fall. As years -passed, and brought the philosophic mind, they tempered and refined -the animal fierceness, strained out the crudity and excess, -and secured a result marked by greater symmetry in details, fuller -harmony of accessories, a purer unity in the whole, and a loftier -climax of interest and impression. Then studious intellect and -impassioned sentiment, guided by truth and taste, preponderated -over mere instinct and observation, and imaginative portraiture -took the place which had been held by sensational realism. This -is what in dramatic art gives the violence of passion moderating -restraint, puts the calm girdle of beauty about the throbbing loins -of power. Imagination, it is true, cannot create, but it can idealize, -order, and unify, unravel the tangled snarl of details, and wind -the intricacies in one unbroken thread, making nature more natural -by abstraction of the accidental and arrangement of the essential. -This was what the acting of Forrest, always sincere and -natural, for a long time needed, but at last, in a great degree, -attained, and, in attaining, became genuinely artistic.</p> - -<p class='c007'>The Richelieu of Forrest was a grand conception consummately -elaborated and grandly represented. It was a part suited -to his nature, and which he always loved to portray. The glorious -patriotism which knit his soul to France, the tender affection -which bound his heart to his niece, the leonine banter with which -he mocked his rivals, the indomitable courage with which he defied -his foes, the sublime self-sufficingness with which he trusted -<span class='pageno' id='Page_729'>729</span>in fate and in the deepest emergencies prophesied the dawn while -his followers were trembling in the gloom, his immense personal -superiority of mind and force swaying all others, as the sun sways -its orbs,—these were traits to which Forrest brought congenial -qualities and moods, making their representation a delight to his -soul.</p> - -<p class='c007'>He dressed for the part in long robes, an iron-gray wig, and -the scarlet cap of a cardinal. He stooped a little, coughed, but -gave no signs of superannuation. As the conspiracies thickened -about him and the end drew on, he seemed visibly to grow older -and more excitable. His age and feebleness, though simulated -with an exquisite skill, were not obtruded. Though the picture -of an old man, it was the picture of a very grand old man, like -the ruin of a mighty castle, worn by time and broken by storms, -yet towering proudly in its strength, with foundations the earthquake -could not uproot and battlements over which the thunder -crashed in vain. Forrest made the character not only intensely -interesting and exciting by the great variety of sharp contrasts he -brought into reconciliation in it, but also admirable and lovable -from the honest virtues and august traits it embodied. He represented -Richelieu as a patriotic statesman of the loftiest order, and -also as a sage deeply read in the lore of the human heart, tenaciously -just, a careful weigher of motives, his sometimes rough -and repellent manner always covering a deep well of love and a -rich vein of satire.</p> - -<p class='c007'>In the opening scene, the cunning slyness of the veteran plotter -and detective, the dignity of the great statesman, and the magnetic -command of the powerful minister were revealed in rapid alternation -in a manner which was a masterpiece of art.</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“And so you think this new conspiracy</div> - <div class='line'>The craftiest trap yet laid for the old fox?</div> - <div class='line'>Fox? Well, I like the nickname. What did Plutarch</div> - <div class='line'>Say of the Greek Lysander?</div> - <div class='line'>That where the lion’s skin fell short, he eked it</div> - <div class='line'>Out with the fox’s! A great statesman, Joseph,</div> - <div class='line'>That same Lysander!”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c007'>There was in the delivery of these words a mixture of sportiveness -and sobriety, complacency and irony, which spoke volumes. -Then, speaking of Baradas, the conceited upstart who -<span class='pageno' id='Page_730'>730</span>expected to outwit and overthrow him, the expression of self-conscious -greatness in his manner, combined with contempt for -the mushroom success of littleness, made the verbal passage and -the picture he painted in uttering it equally memorable as he -said,—</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“It cost me six long winters</div> - <div class='line'>To mount as high as in six little moons</div> - <div class='line'>This painted lizard. But I hold the ladder,</div> - <div class='line'>And when I shake—he falls!”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c007'>As his hand imaginatively shook the ladder, his eye blazed, -his voice grew solid, and the audience saw everything indicated -by the words as distinctly as if it had been presented in material -reality. Nothing could be more finely drawn and colored than -the variety of moods, the changing qualities of character and -temper, called out in Richelieu by the reactions of his soul on -the contrasted persons of the play and exigencies of the plot as -he came in contact with them. When, alluding to the attachment -of the king for his ward as an ivy, he said—</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line in26'>“Insidious ivy,</div> - <div class='line'>And shall it creep around my blossoming tree,</div> - <div class='line'>Where innocent thoughts, like happy birds, make music</div> - <div class='line'>That spirits in heaven might hear?”—</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c009'>there was a fond caressing sweetness in his tones that fell on the -heart like a celestial dew. Into what a wholly different world -of human nature we were taken in the absolute transformation -of his demeanor with Joseph, the Capuchin monk, his confidant! -Here there was a grim humor, an amusing yet sinister banter:</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line in20'>“In my closet</div> - <div class='line'>You’ll find a rosary, Joseph: ere you tell</div> - <div class='line'>Three hundred beads I’ll summon you. Stay, Joseph.</div> - <div class='line'>I did omit an Ave in my matins,—</div> - <div class='line'>A grievous fault. Atone it for me, Joseph.</div> - <div class='line'>There is a scourge within; I am weak, you strong.</div> - <div class='line'>It were but charity to take my sin</div> - <div class='line'>On such broad shoulders. Exercise is healthful.”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c007'>His interview with De Mauprat reminded one of a cat playing -with a mouse, or of a royal tiger which had laid its paw on one -of the sacred cattle and was watching its quiverings under the -velvet-sheathed claws. When De Mauprat expects to be ordered -to the block, Richelieu sends him to his darling Julie:</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_731'>731</span>“To the tapestry chamber. You will there behold</div> - <div class='line'>The executioner: your doom be private,</div> - <div class='line'>And heaven have mercy on you!”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c007'>The delightful humor here follows the desperate terror like -sunlight streaming on a thunder-cloud. What a contrast was -furnished in the allusion to the detested Baradas and his confederates -when the aroused cardinal, after the failure of every -method to conciliate, towers into his kingliest port, and exclaims, -with concentrated and vindictive resolution,—</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“All means to crush. As with the opening and</div> - <div class='line'>The clenching of this little hand, I will</div> - <div class='line'>Crush the small vermin of the stinging courtiers!”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c007'>The central and all-conspicuous merit of Forrest’s rendering -of Richelieu was the unfailing felicity of skill with which he kept -the unity of the character clear through all the variety of its -manifestations. It was a character fixed in its centre but mobile -in its exterior, dominated by a magnificent patriotic ambition, -open to everything great, tinged with cynicism by bitter experience, -if irascible and revengeful yet full of honest human sympathy. -He enjoyed circumventing traitors with a finesse keener -than their own, and defying enemies with a haughtiness that -blasted, while ever and anon gleams of gentle and generous -affection lighted up and softened the sombre prominences of a -nature formed to mould rugged wills and to rule stormy times.</p> - -<p class='c007'>It is only great actors who are able to make the individuality -of a character imperially prominent and absorbing yet at the -same time to do equal justice to every universal thought or sentiment -occurring in the part. Forrest was remarkable for this -supreme excellence. Whenever the author had introduced any -idea or passion of especial dignity from the depth of its meaning -or the largeness of its scope, he was sure to express it with corresponding -emphasis and finish. This makes a dramatic entertainment -educational and ennobling no less than pleasurable. -When François, starting on an important errand, says, “If I fail?” -Richelieu gazes on the boy, while recollections of the marvellous -triumphs of his own career flit over his face, and exclaims, -with an electric accentuation of surprise and unconquerable assurance,—</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line in24'><span class='pageno' id='Page_732'>732</span>“Fail?</div> - <div class='line'>In the lexicon of youth, which fate reserves</div> - <div class='line'>For a bright manhood, there is no such word</div> - <div class='line'>As fail!”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c007'>When the huge sword of his martial period at Rochelle drops -from his grasp, and he is reminded that he has other weapons -now, he goes slowly to his desk, the old hand from which the -heavy falchion had dropped takes up the light feather, his eyes -look into vacancy, the soldier passes into the seer, an indefinable -presence of prophecy broods over him, and the meditative exultation -of his air and the solemn warmth of his voice make the -whole audience thrill as his sculptured syllables fall on their -ears:</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line in26'>“True,—<em>this</em>!</div> - <div class='line'>Beneath the rule of men entirely great</div> - <div class='line'>The pen is mightier than the sword. Behold</div> - <div class='line'>The arch-enchanted wand! Itself a nothing,</div> - <div class='line'>But taking sorcery from the master hand</div> - <div class='line'>To paralyze the Cæsars and to strike</div> - <div class='line'>The loud earth breathless. Take away the sword:</div> - <div class='line'>States <em>can</em> be saved without it.”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c007'>When Julie, appealing to him for aid which he cannot promise, -expostulatingly asks,—</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“Art thou not Richelieu?”—</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c009'>he answers in a manner whose attitude, look, and tone instantly -carry the imagination and sympathy of the soul-stricken auditors -from the individual instance before them to the solemn pathos and -mystery of the destiny of all mankind in this world:</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line in16'>“Yesterday I was:</div> - <div class='line'>To-day, a very weak old man: to-morrow,</div> - <div class='line'>I know not what!”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c007'>So, when, amidst unveiled treason, hate and fear and sickening -ingratitude, left alone in his desolation, his spirit for a moment -wavered under the load of suspicion and melancholy, but quickly -rallied into its own invincible heroism, he so painted and voiced -the successive moods that every bosom palpitated in living -response:</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_733'>733</span>“My leeches bribed to poisoners; pages</div> - <div class='line'>To strangle me in sleep; my very king—</div> - <div class='line'>This brain the unresting loom from which was woven</div> - <div class='line'>The purple of his greatness—leagued against me!</div> - <div class='line'>Old, childless, friendless, broken—all forsake,</div> - <div class='line'>All, all, but the indomitable heart</div> - <div class='line'>Of Armand Richelieu!”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c007'>Never was transition more powerful than from the minor wail -of lamentation with which Forrest here began to the glorious -eloquence of the climax, where his vocal thunderbolts drove -home to every heart the lesson of conscious greatness and -courage. The treachery was depicted with a look and voice -expressive of a weary and mournful indignation and scorn -touched with loathing; the desertion, with bowed head and -drooping arms, in low, lingering, tearful tones; the self-assertion -was launched from a mien that swelled with sudden access of inspiration, -as if heaving off its weakness and stiffened in its utmost -erection.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Another imposing instance in which Forrest so rendered a -towering sense of genius and personal superiority as to change -it from egotism to revelation, merging the individual peculiarity -in a universal attribute, was where the armed De Mauprat comes -upon the solitary cardinal and tells him the next step will be -his grave. The defiant retort to this threat was so given as to -impress the audience with a sense of prophetic power, a feeling -that the destiny of man is mysteriously linked with unseen and -supernatural ranks of being:</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line in24'>“Thou liest, knave!</div> - <div class='line'>I am old, infirm, most feeble—but thou liest.</div> - <div class='line'>Armand de Richelieu dies not by the hand</div> - <div class='line'>Of man. The stars have said it, and the voice</div> - <div class='line'>Of my own prophetic and oracular soul</div> - <div class='line'>Confirms the shining sibyls!”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c007'>A crowning glory of the impersonation of this great rôle by -Forrest was the august grandeur of the method by which he set -the intrinsic royalty of Richelieu over against the titular royalty -of Louis. In many nameless ways besides by his subtile irony, -his air of inherent command masked in studied courtesy of -subordination, and the continual contrast of the comprehensive -measures and sublime visions of the one with the petty personal -<span class='pageno' id='Page_734'>734</span>spites and schemes of the other, he made it ever clear that the -crowned monarch was a sham, the statesman the real one anointed -and sealed by heaven itself. This true and democratic idea of -superiority, that he is the genuine king, not who chances to hold -the throne, but who knows how to govern, received a splendid -setting in all the interviews of the king and the cardinal. When -the conspirators had won Louis to turn his back on his minister -with the words,—</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“Remember, he who made can unmake,”—</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c009'>who that saw it could ever forget the dilating mien and burning -oratoric burst which instantly made the sovereign seem a menial -subject, and the subject a vindicated sovereign?</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“Never! Your anger can recall your trust,</div> - <div class='line'>Annul my office, spoil me of my lands,</div> - <div class='line'>Rifle my coffers: but my name, my deeds,</div> - <div class='line'>Are royal in a land beyond your sceptre.</div> - <div class='line'>Pass sentence on me if you will. From kings,</div> - <div class='line'>Lo, I appeal to Time!”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c007'>Again, when Louis, with mere personal passion, had harshly -rebuffed him with the words,—</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line in14'>“For our conference</div> - <div class='line'>This is no place nor season,”—</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c009'>the narrow selfishness of the king makes him seem a pygmy and -a plebeian in the light of the universal sentiment and expansive -thought with which Richelieu overwhelmingly responds,—</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line in12'>“Good my liege, for justice</div> - <div class='line'>All place is a temple and all season summer.</div> - <div class='line'>Do you deny me justice?”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c007'>But the grandest exhibition of the superiority of democratic -personal royalty of character and inspiration to the conventional -royalty of title and place, the supreme dramatic moment of the -play, was the protection of Julie from the polluting pursuit of the -king. Folding the affrighted girl to his breast with his left arm, -he lifted his loaded right hand, and, with visage of smouldering -fire and clarion tone, cried,—</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line in14'><span class='pageno' id='Page_735'>735</span>“To those who sent you!</div> - <div class='line'>And say you found the virtue they would slay,</div> - <div class='line'>Here, couched upon this heart, as at an altar,</div> - <div class='line'>And sheltered by the wings of sacred Rome.</div> - <div class='line'>Begone!”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c007'>Baradas asserts that the king claims her. Then came such a -climax of physical, moral, and artistic power as no man could -witness without being electrified through and through. Forrest -prepared and executed this climax with an exquisite skill that -made it seem an unstudied inspiration. His intellect appeared to -have the eager fire that burns and flashes along a train of thought, -gathering speed and glory as it moves, till at last it strikes with -irresistible momentum. At first with noble repression the low -deep voice uttered the portentous words,—</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line in24'>“Ay, is it so?</div> - <div class='line'>Then wakes the power which in the age of iron</div> - <div class='line'>Burst forth to curb the great and raise the low.”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c007'>Here the surge of passion began to sweep cumulatively on. -The eyes grew wild, the outstretched hands quivered, the tones -swelled and rang, the expanded and erected figure looked like a -transparent mass of fire, and the climax fell as though the sky -had burst with a broadside of thunders.</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“Mark where she stands! Around her form I draw</div> - <div class='line'>The awful circle of our solemn Church.</div> - <div class='line'>Set but a foot within that holy ground,</div> - <div class='line'>And on thy head, yea, though it wore a crown,</div> - <div class='line'>I launch the curse of Rome!”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c007'>The sudden passage of Richelieu from the extreme of tottering -feebleness to the extreme of towering strength, under the stimulus -of some impersonal passion, illustrated a deep and marvellous -principle of human nature. Forrest never forgot how startlingly -he had once seen this exemplified by Andrew Jackson when -discussing the expediency of the annexation of Texas to the -United States. A disinterested and universal sentiment suddenly -admitted to the mind, lifting the man out of egotism, sometimes -seems to open the valves of the brain, flood the organism with -supernatural power, and transform a shrivelled skeleton into a -<span class='pageno' id='Page_736'>736</span>glowing athlete. Richelieu had fainted, and was thought to be -dying. The king repents, and restores his office, saying,—</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“Live, Richelieu, if not for me, for France!”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c007'>In one instant the might of his whole idolized country passes -into his withered frame.</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“My own dear France, I have thee yet, I have saved thee.</div> - <div class='line'>All earth shall never pluck thee from my heart,</div> - <div class='line'>My mistress France, my wedded wife, sweet France!”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c007'>It was the colossal scale of intellect, imagination, passion, and -energy exposed by Forrest in his representation of Richelieu that -made the rôle to ordinary minds a new revelation of the capacities -of human nature. When, with a tone and inflection whose -sweet and long-drawn cadence almost made the audience hear the -melody of the spheres clanging in endless space, he said,—</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“No, let us own it, there is One above</div> - <div class='line'>Sways the harmonious mystery of the world</div> - <div class='line'>Even better than prime ministers,”—</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c009'>he produced on the stage a religious impression of which Bossuet -might have been proud in the pulpit. And to hear him declaim, -with a modest pomp and solemn glow of elocution befitting the -thoughts and imagery, the following passage, was to receive an -influence most ennobling while most pleasurable:</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line in10'>“I found France rent asunder;</div> - <div class='line'>The rich men despots, and the poor, banditti;</div> - <div class='line'>Sloth in the mart, and schism in the temple;</div> - <div class='line'>Brawls festering to rebellion, and weak laws</div> - <div class='line'>Rotting away with rust in antique sheaths.</div> - <div class='line'>I have re-created France, and from the ashes</div> - <div class='line'>Of the old feudal and decrepit carcass</div> - <div class='line'>Civilization, on her luminous wings,</div> - <div class='line'>Soars, phœnix-like, to Jove. What was my art?</div> - <div class='line'>Genius, some say; some, fortune; witchcraft, some.</div> - <div class='line'>Not so: my art was <span class='sc'>Justice</span>!”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c007'>It was no wonder that Charles Kean, after beholding this interpretation -of Richelieu by Forrest, said to his wife, “Ellen, this is -the greatest acting we have ever seen or ever shall see.” It was -but just that Henry Sedley, himself an accomplished actor and -<span class='pageno' id='Page_737'>737</span>owned to be one of the best dramatic critics in the country, -should write, “We can imagine a Richelieu more French than -that of Mr. Forrest, but we cannot well conceive one more full -of dramatic passion, of sustained power, or of the mysterious -magnetism that takes captive and sways at will the average -human imagination.”</p> - -<h3 class='c015'>SHAKSPEAREAN CHARACTERS.</h3> - -<p class='c016'>In all the last forty years of his life Forrest was an enthusiastic -reader and student of Shakspeare. As his experience deepened -and his observation enlarged and his familiarity with the works -of this unrivalled genius became more thorough, his love and admiration -rose into wondering reverence, and ended in boundless -idolatry. His library teemed with books illustrative of the plays -and poems of the immortal dramatist. He delighted to pore even -over the commentators, and the original pages were his solace, -his joy, and his worship. He relished the Comedies as much as -he did the Tragedies, and in the Sonnets found inexhaustible -beauties entwined with exquisite autobiographic revelations. -Thus he came within the esoteric circle of readers. One of the -latest schemes with which his heart pleased his fancy was a design -to erect in some suitable place in his native city a group of -statuary representing Shakspeare with Heminge and Condell, the -two editors whose pious care collected and gave to posterity the -matchless writings which otherwise might have been lost.</p> - -<p class='c007'>The personal feelings and the professional pride of Forrest -were more bound up with his representations of Shakspearean -characters than with any others. Of the eight Shakspearean rôles -which he played, those of Shylock and Iago were early dropped, -on account of his extreme distaste for the parts, and his unwillingness -to bear the ideal hate and loathing they awakened in the -spectators. But to the remaining six parts—Macbeth, Richard, -Hamlet, Coriolanus, Othello, and Lear—he gave the most unwearied -study, and in their representation showed the extremest -elaboration of his art. He spent an incredible amount of time and -pains in striving to grasp the true types and attributes of these -characters, and in perfecting his portrayals of them according to -the intentions of the author and the realities of nature. And he -actually attained conceptions of them far more comprehensive, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_738'>738</span>accurate, and distinct than he received credit for. His playing -of them, too, was marked not only by a bold sweep of power and -truth, but also by a keenness of insight, a delicate perception of -fitness, a just distribution of light and shade, a felicity of transition -and contrast, which were lost on the average of an audience. -The knowledge that his finest points were not appreciated by -many was one of his trials. In spite of this, however, his own -conviction of the minute truthfulness and merit of his acting of -Shakspearean characters, based on indefatigable study of nature -and honest reproduction of what he saw, was the sweetest satisfaction -of his professional life. He always wished his fame to -stand or fall with a fair estimate of his renderings of these rôles. -And one thing is to be affirmed of him, which the carelessness of -miscellaneous assemblies superficially seeking amusement generally -failed to appreciate, namely, that he felt profoundly the solemn -lessons with which those characters were charged, and conscientiously -endeavored to emphasize and enforce them, making his -performance a panorama of living instruction, an illuminated -revelation of human nature and human destiny, and not a mere -series of piques of curiosity or traps for sensation.</p> - -<p class='c007'>In the ordinary dramatist or novelist a character is manufactured -out of a formula, but in Shakspeare every great character -is so deeply true that it suggests many formulas. In the highest -ancient art situations vary with characters; in average modern -art characters vary with situations; in Shakspeare both these results -are shown as they are in real life, where sometimes characters -are moulds for shaping situations, and sometimes situations -are furnaces for testing characters. Of old, when life was deeper -because less complex, the dramatized legend was the channel of -a force or fate; there its interest lay. In Shakspeare the interest -is not to see the supernatural force reflected blazing on a character, -but rather to see it broken up by the faculties of the character, -to see it refracted on his idiosyncrasies. This makes the task of -the player more difficult, because he must seize the unity of the -character in its relations with the plot, and keep it clear, however -modulated in variety of manifestations. This Forrest did in all -his Shakspearean impersonations. Though few who saw him -act appreciated it, the distinctness with which he kept this in -view was his crowning merit as an artist.</p> - -<div class='figcenter id001'> -<img src='images/p738.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' /> -<div class='ic001'> -<p><span class='right'>D G Thompson</span><br /><br />EDWIN FORREST AS<br /><br />SHYLOCK.</p> -</div> -</div> - -<div> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_739'>739</span> - <h3 class='c015'>MACBETH.</h3> -</div> - -<p class='c016'>Many actors have represented Macbeth as a coward moulded -and directed at will by his stronger wife,—a weakling caught like -a leaf in an irresistible current and hurried helplessly on to his -doom. Such is not the picture painted by Shakspeare. Such -was not the interpretation given by Forrest. Macbeth is a broad, -rich, powerful nature, with a poetic mind, a loving heart, a courageous -will. He is also strongly ambitious, and prone to superstition. -To gratify his ambition he is tempted to commit a -dreadful crime, and the temptation is urged on him by what he -holds to be supernatural agencies. After misgivings and struggles -with himself, he yields. The horrid deed being perpetrated, -the results disappoint him. The supernatural prophecies that -led him on change to supernatural terrors, his soul is filled with -remorse, his brain reels, and as the sequel of his guilt thickens -darkly around him he rallies his desperate energies and meets -his fate with superb defiance. The struggle of temptation in a -soul richly furnished with good yet fatally susceptible to evil, -the violation of conscience, the overwhelming retribution,—these -points, softened with sunny touches of domestic love and poetic -moral sentiment, compose the lurid substance and movement of -the drama. And these points Forrest embodied in his portraiture -with an emotional intensity and an intellectual clearness which -enthralled his audience.</p> - -<p class='c007'>As he came over the hills at the back of the stage, accompanied -by Banquo, in his Highland tartan, his plumed Scotch -cap, his legs bare from the knee to the ankle, his pointed targe -on his arm, with his free and commanding air, and his appearance -of elastic strength and freshness, he was a picture of vigorous, -breezy manhood. His first words were addressed to Banquo in -an easy tone, such as one would naturally use in describing the -weather:</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“So foul and fair a day I have not seen.”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c007'>The witches hailing him with new titles and a royal prophecy, -he starts,—</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line in12'>“And seems to fear</div> - <div class='line'>Things that do sound so fair.”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c007'>As they concluded, the manner in which, with subdued breathing -eagerness, he said,—</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_740'>740</span>“Stay, you imperfect speakers; tell me more,”—</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c007'>showed what a deep and prepared chord in his soul their greeting -had struck. And when they made themselves vapor and -disappeared, he stood rapt in the wonder of it, and replied to -the question of Banquo, “Whither have they vanished?” with a -dissolving whispering voice, in an attitude of musing suspense -and astonishment,—</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“Into the air; and what seemed corporal melted</div> - <div class='line'>As breath into the wind. Would they had stayed!”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c007'>When the missives from the king saluted him Glamis and -Cawdor, he attributed more than mortal knowledge to the weird -sisters; and at once the terrible temptation to gratify his ambition -by murder seized his soul, and conscience began to struggle -with it. This struggle, in all its dread import, he pictured forth -as he delivered the ensuing soliloquy with speaking features and -in quick low tones of suppressed questioning eagerness:</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line in8'>“This supernatural soliciting</div> - <div class='line'>Cannot be ill; cannot be good. If ill,</div> - <div class='line'>Why hath it given me earnest of success,</div> - <div class='line'>Commencing in a truth? I am thane of Cawdor.</div> - <div class='line'>If good, why do I yield to that suggestion</div> - <div class='line'>Whose horrid image doth unfix my hair,</div> - <div class='line'>And make my seated heart knock at my ribs,</div> - <div class='line'>Against the use of nature?</div> - <div class='line'>My thought, whose murder yet is but fantastical,</div> - <div class='line'>Shakes so my single state of man that function</div> - <div class='line'>Is smothered in surmise, and nothing is,</div> - <div class='line'>But what is not.”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c007'>In uttering these words he painted to eye and ear how temptation -divides the soul into the desiring passion and the forbidding -principle and sets them in deadly contention. Then the apologetic -sympathy of his reply to the expostulation of Banquo,—</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“Worthy Macbeth, we stay upon your leisure,”—</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c009'>showed the gentle quality of his nature:</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“Give me your favor: my dull brain was wrought</div> - <div class='line'>With things forgotten. Kind gentlemen, your pains</div> - <div class='line'>Are registered where every day I turn</div> - <div class='line'>The leaf to read them. Let us toward the king.”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<div class='figcenter id001'> -<img src='images/p740.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' /> -<div class='ic001'> -<p><span class='right'>A. Robin.</span><br /><br />EDWIN FORREST AS<br /><br />MACBETH.</p> -</div> -</div> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_741'>741</span>Macbeth was one originally full of the milk of human kindness, -who would not play false, but would win holily what he -wished highly: yet his ambition was so sharp that the sight of -the coveted prize made him wild to snatch it the nearest way. -This conflict Forrest continually indicated by alternations of -geniality towards his comrades and of lowering gloom in himself, -while his brain seemed heaving in the throes of a moral earthquake. -Thus, when Duncan had indicated Malcolm as successor -to the throne, Macbeth betrayed the depths of his soul by saying, -with sinister mien, aside,—</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“The Prince of Cumberland! That is a step</div> - <div class='line'>On which I must fall down, or else o’erleap,</div> - <div class='line'>For in my way it lies. Stars, hide your fires!</div> - <div class='line'>Let not light see my black and deep desires.”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c007'>The earnest and tender warmth which Forrest made Macbeth -put into his greeting of his wife after his absence, his dangers in -battle, and his mysterious adventure with the witches, proved -how deeply he loved her. And his first words,—</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line in14'>“My dearest love,</div> - <div class='line'>Duncan comes here to-night,”—</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c009'>were spoken with an abstracted and concentrated air that fully -revealed the awful scheme that loomed darkly far back in his -mind. Left alone with himself, the temptation renewed the -struggle between his better and his worse self. In the long and -wonderful soliloquy, beginning—</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“If it were done when ’tis done, then ’twere well,”—</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c009'>he painted the gradual victory of reason, honor, conscience, and -affection over the fell ambition that was spurring him to murder, -and, as Lady Macbeth entered, he exclaimed, with a clearing and -relieved look,—</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“We will proceed no further in this business.”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c007'>But the stinging taunts with which she upbraided him, and the -frightful energy of her own resolution with which she eloquently -infected him, worked so strongly on his susceptible nature that -he reinstalled his discarded purpose, and went out saying firmly,—</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line in14'>“I am settled, and bend up</div> - <div class='line'>Each corporal agent to this terrible feat.”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_742'>742</span>In this scene he so distinctly exhibited the operation of her -influence on him, the slow change of his innocent determination -into uncertain wavering, and then the change of the irresolute -state into guilty determination, that the spectators could almost -see the inspiring temptress pour her spirits into him, as with the -valor of her tongue she chastised his hesitation away.</p> - -<p class='c007'>When he next appeared he looked oppressed, bowed, haggard, -and pale, as if the fearful crisis had exerted on him the effect of -years of misery. In half-undress, with semi-distraught air, his -hushed and gliding manner of sinewy stealth, in conjunction with -the silence and darkness of the hour, conveyed a mysterious impression -of awe and terror to every soul. He said to the servant, -with an absent look and tone, as if the words uttered themselves -without his heed,—</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“Go; bid thy mistress, when my drink is ready,</div> - <div class='line'>She strike upon the bell. Get thee to bed.”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c007'>Then slowly came the appalling climax in the temptation whose -influences had been progressively operating in the automatic -strata of his being deeper than his free consciousness could reach. -Those influences were now ready to produce an illusion, by a -reversal of the normal action of the faculties unconscious ideas -reporting themselves outwardly as objects. Buried in thought, -he stands gazing on the floor. Lifting his head, at last, as if to -speak, he sees a dagger floating in the air. He winks rapidly, -then rubs his eyes, to clear his sight and dispel his doubt. The -fatal vision stays. He reasons with himself, and acts the reasoning -out, to decide whether it is a deception of fancy or a supernatural -reality. First he thinks it real, but, failing in his attempt -to clutch it, he holds it to be a false creation of the brain. Then -its persistence drives him insane, and as he sees the blade and -dudgeon covered with gouts of blood he shrieks in a frenzy of -horror. Passing this crisis, he re-seizes possession of his mind, -and, with an air of profound relief, sighs,—</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line in12'>“There’s no such thing:</div> - <div class='line'>It is the bloody business which informs</div> - <div class='line'>Thus to mine eyes.”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c007'>Then, changing his voice from a giant whisper to a full -sombre vocality, the next words fell on the ear in their solemn -<span class='pageno' id='Page_743'>743</span>music like thunder rolling mellowed and softened in the -distance:</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line in14'>“Now o’er the one half world</div> - <div class='line'>Nature seems dead, and wicked dreams abuse</div> - <div class='line'>The curtained sleep.”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c007'>Gathering his faculties and girding up his resolution for the -final deed, as the bell rang he grasped his dagger and made his -exit, saying,—</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“Hear it not, Duncan; for it is a knell</div> - <div class='line'>That summons thee to heaven or to hell.”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c007'>These words he spoke, not with the bellowing declamation -many players had given them, but in a low, firm tone tinged with -sadness, a tone expressive of melancholy mixed with determination. -As he came out of the fatal chamber backwards, with his -hands recking, he did not see Lady Macbeth standing there in -an attitude of intense listening, until he struck against her. They -both started and gazed at each other in terror,—an action so true -to nature that it always electrified the house.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Then at once began the dread reaction of sorrow, fear, and -remorse. Forrest made the regret and lamentation of Macbeth -over the crime and its irreparable consequences exquisitely -piteous and mournful. The marvellous wail of his description -of innocent sleep forfeited thenceforth, the panic surprise of his</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“How is it with me when every noise appals me?”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c009'>the lacerating distress of his</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“Wake Duncan with thy knocking: I would thou couldst!”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c009'>penetrated the heart of every hearer with commiseration.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Forrest gave Macbeth, in the first scene of the play, a cheerful -and observant air; after the interview with the witches he -was absorbed and abstracted; pending his direful crime he was -agitated, moody, troubled,—</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“Dark thoughts rolling to and fro in his mind</div> - <div class='line'>Like thunder-clouds darkening the lucid sky;”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c009'>after the murder he was restless, suspicious, terrified, at times -insane. These alterations of mood and manner were distinctly -marked with the evolution of the plot through its salient stages. -<span class='pageno' id='Page_744'>744</span>Of the pervasive remorse with which the moral nature of Macbeth -afflicted and shook him, Forrest presented a picture fascinating -in its fearful beauty and truth. When he spoke the following -passage, the mournfulness of his voice was like the sighing of -the November wind as it throws its low moan over the withered -leaves:</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line in14'>“Better be with the dead,</div> - <div class='line'>Whom we to gain our peace have sent to peace,</div> - <div class='line'>Than on the torture of the mind to lie</div> - <div class='line'>In restless ecstasy. Duncan is in his grave:</div> - <div class='line'>After life’s fitful fever he sleeps well:</div> - <div class='line'>Treason has done his worst; nor steel, nor poison,</div> - <div class='line'>Malice domestic, foreign levy, nothing</div> - <div class='line'>Can touch him farther.”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c007'>Then, seeking sympathy and consolation, he turned to the -partner of his bosom and his greatness with the agonizing outburst,—</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“O, full of scorpions is my mind, dear wife.”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c007'>Close on the awful remorse and on the pathetic tenderness, -with consummate truth to nature the selfish instincts were shown -hardening the man in his crime, making him resolve to strengthen -with further ill things bad begun:</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line in22'>“I am in blood</div> - <div class='line'>Stept in so far, that, should I wade no more,</div> - <div class='line'>Returning were as tedious as go o’er.”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c007'>So unstably poised was his disposition between his good affections -and his wicked desires that the conflict was still repeated, -and with each defeat of conscience the dominion of evil grew -completer. As his remorseful fears translated themselves into -outward spectres, Forrest vividly illustrated the curdling horror -human nature experiences when guilt opens the supernatural -world to its apprehension. He made Macbeth show a proud and -lion-mettled courage in human relations, but seem cowed with -abject terror by ghostly visitations. His criminal course collects -momentum till it hurries him headlong to wholesale slaughters -and to his own inevitable ruin. In his mad infatuation of self-entangling -crime he says of his own proposed massacre of the -family of Macduff,—</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line in16'>“No boasting like a fool:</div> - <div class='line'>This deed I’ll do before this purpose cool.”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_745'>745</span>Relying on the promise of the witches that none of woman born -should harm him, and that he should never be vanquished till -Birnam wood came to Dunsinane, he added crime to crime till -the whole land was in arms for his overthrow. Then, despite -his forced faith and bravery, a profound melancholy sank on him. -His vital spirits failed. He grew sick of life and weary of the -sun. To this phase of the character and career Forrest did conspicuous -justice. Nothing of the kind could exceed the exquisite -beauty of his readings of the three famous passages,—</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“I have lived long enough; my way of life</div> - <div class='line'>Has fallen into the sere, the yellow leaf:”</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'><hr class='dotted' /></div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“Canst thou not minister to a mind diseased,</div> - <div class='line'>Pluck from the memory a rooted sorrow?”</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'><hr class='dotted' /></div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>She should have died hereafter:</div> - <div class='line'>“There would have been a time for such a word.”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c009'>His voice lingered on the melodious melancholy of the words -and every line of his face responded to their mournful and despairing -significance.</p> - -<p class='c007'>When told that Birnam wood was moving, the sense of supernatural -power turned against him. For a moment he stood, a -solid dismay. Then he staggered as if his brain had received a -blow from the words which smote to its reeling centre. So, when -Macduff exposed to him the paltering of the fiends in a double -sense, his boasted charm seemed visibly to melt from him, and -he shrank back as though struck by a withering spell. His -towering form contracted into itself, his knees shook, and his -sword half dropped from his grasp. But the next instant, goaded -by the taunts of his adversary, he rallied on his native heroism, -braced himself for the struggle as if he resolved to rise superior -to fate whether natural or demoniac, and fell at last like a ruined -king, with all his blazing regalia on. The performance left on -the mind of the appreciative beholder, stamped in terrible impress, -the eternal moral of temptation and crime culminating in fatal -success and followed by the inevitable swoop of retribution:</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line in8'>“Naught’s had, all’s spent,</div> - <div class='line'>Where our desire is got without content.”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<div> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_746'>746</span> - <h3 class='c015'>RICHARD.</h3> -</div> - -<p class='c016'>Quite early in his histrionic career Forrest wrote to his friend -Leggett, “My notions of the character of Richard the Third do -not accord with those of the players I have seen personate it. -They have not made him gay enough in the earlier scenes, but -too sullen, frowning, and obvious a villain. He was an exulting -and dashing, not a moody, villain. Success followed his schemes -too rapidly and gave him too much elation to make appropriate -the haggard and penthouse aspect he is usually made to wear. -Contempt for mankind forms a stronger feature of his character -than hatred; and he has a sort of reckless jollity, a joyous audacity, -which has not been made conspicuous enough.” In general accord -with this conception he afterwards elaborated his portraiture of -the deformed tyrant, the savage humorist, the murderous and -brilliant villain. He set aside the stereotyped idea of Richard as -a strutting, ranting, gloomy plotter, forever cynical and sarcastic -and parading his crimes. Not excluding these traits, Forrest -subordinated them to his cunning hypocrisy, his gleaming intellectuality, -his jocose irony, his exulting self-complacence and -fiendish sportiveness. He represented him not only as ravenously -ambitious, but also full of a subtle pride and vanity which delighted -him with the constant display of his mental superiority to those -about him. Above all he was shown to be possessed of a laughing -devil, a witty and sardonic genius, which amused itself with -playing on the faculties of the weaklings he wheedled, scoffing at -what they thought holy, and bluntly utilizing the most sacred -things for the most selfish ends. There can be no doubt that in -removing the conventional stage Richard with this more dashing -and versatile one Forrest restored the genuine conception -of Shakspeare, who has painted him as rattling not brooding, exuberantly -complacent even under his own dispraises, an endlessly -inventive and triumphant hypocrite, master of a gorgeous eloquence -whose splendid phrases adorn the ugliness of his schemes -almost out of sight. His mental nature devours his moral nature, -and, swallowing remorse, leaves him free to be gay. The character -thus portrayed was hard, cruel, deceitful, mocking,—less melodramatically -fiendish and electrical than the Richard of Kean, but -more true to nature. The picture was a consistent one. The deformity -of the man, reacting on his matchless intellect and courage -and sensual passion, had made him a bitter cynic. But his genius -was too rich to stagnate into an envenomed gloom of misanthropy. -Its exuberance broke out in aspiring schemes and crimes gilded -with philosophy, hypocrisy, laughter, and irony. Moving alone -in a murky atmosphere of sin and sensuality, he knew himself to -the bottom of his soul, and read everybody else through and -through. He believed in no one, and scoffed at truth, because -he was himself without conscience. But his insight and his solid -understanding and glittering wit, making of everything a foil to -display his self-satisfied powers, hid the degradation of his wickedness -from his own eyes, and sometimes almost excused it in the -eyes of others. Yet, so wondrous was the moral genius of Shakspeare, -the devilish chuckling with which he hugged the notion -of his own superiority in his exemption from the standards that -rule other men, instead of infecting, shocked and warned and -repelled the auditor:</p> - -<div class='figcenter id001'> -<img src='images/p746.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' /> -<div class='ic001'> -<p><span class='right'>H B Hall & Sons</span><br /><br />EDWIN FORREST AS<br /><br />RICHARD III.</p> -</div> -</div> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_747'>747</span>“Come, this conscience is a convenient scarecrow;</div> - <div class='line'>It guards the fruit which priests and wise men taste,</div> - <div class='line'>Who never set it up to fright themselves.”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c007'>Thus in the impersonation of him by Forrest Richard lost his -perpetual scowl, and took on here and there touches of humor -and grim comedy. He burst upon the stage, cloaked and capped, -waving his glove in triumph over the downfall of the house of -Lancaster. Not in frowning gutturals or with snarling complaint -but merrily came the opening words,—</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“Now is the winter of our discontent</div> - <div class='line'>Made glorious summer by this sun of York.”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c009'>Gradually as he came to descant upon his own defects and unsuitedness -for peace and love, the tone passed from glee to sarcasm, -and ended with dissembling and vindictive earnestness in -the apostrophe,—</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“Dive, thoughts, down to my soul. Here Clarence comes.”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c007'>The scene with Lady Anne, where he overcomes every conceivable -kind and degree of obstacles to her favor by the sheer -fascination of his gifted tongue, was a masterpiece of nature and -art. He gave his pleading just enough semblance of sincerity to -<span class='pageno' id='Page_748'>748</span>make a plausible pathway to the feminine heart, but not enough -to hide the sinister charm of a consummate hypocrisy availing -itself of every secret of persuasion. It was a fearful unmasking -of the weakness of ordinary woman under the siege of passion. -No sermon was ever preached in any pulpit one-half so terrible -in power for those prepared to appreciate all that it meant. When -Lady Anne withdrew, the delighted vanity of Richard, the self-pampering -exultation of the artist in dissimulation, shone out in -the soliloquy wherewith he applauded and caressed himself:</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“Was ever woman in this humor wooed?</div> - <div class='line'>Was ever woman in this humor won?</div> - <div class='line'>I’ll have her,—but I will not keep her long</div> - <div class='line'>To take her in her heart’s extremest hate,</div> - <div class='line'>With curses in her mouth, tears in her eyes,</div> - <div class='line'>The bleeding witness of my hatred by;</div> - <div class='line'>Having heaven, her conscience, and these bars against me!</div> - <div class='line'>And I no friends to back my suit withal,</div> - <div class='line'>But the plain devil, and dissembling looks!</div> - <div class='line'>And yet to win her,—all the world to nothing!”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c007'>In many places in the play his air of searching and sarcastic -incredulity, and his rich vindictive chuckle of self-applause, were -as artistically fine as they were morally repulsive. As Kean had -done before him, he made an effective point in speaking the line,</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“To shrink my arm up like a withered shrub:”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c009'>he looked at the limb for some time with a sort of bitter discontent, -and struck it back with angry disgust. When the queenly -women widowed by his murderous intervention began to upbraid -him with his monstrous deeds, the cool audacity, the immense -aplomb, the half-hidden enjoyment of the joke, with which -he relieved himself from the situation by calling out,—</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“A flourish, trumpets! strike alarums, drums!</div> - <div class='line'>Let not the heavens hear these tell-tale women</div> - <div class='line'>Rail on the Lord’s Anointed!”—</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c009'>were a bit of grotesque satire, a gigantic and serviceable absurdity, -worthy of Rabelais.</p> - -<p class='c007'>The acting of Forrest in the tent-scene, where Richard in his -broken sleep dreams he sees the successive victims of his murderous -<span class='pageno' id='Page_749'>749</span>hand approach and threaten him, was original and effective -in the highest degree. He struggled on his couch with horrible -phantoms. Ghosts pursued him. Visions of battle, overthrow, -despair, and death convulsed him. Acting his dreams out he -dealt his blows around with frightful and aimless energy, and -with an intense expression of remorse and vengeance on his face -fell apparently cloven to the earth. He then arose like a man -coming out of hell, dragging his dream with him, and, struggling -fiercely to awake, rushed to the footlights, sank on his knee, and -spoke these words, beginning with a shriek and softening down -to a shuddering whisper:</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“Give me another horse! Bind up my wounds!</div> - <div class='line'>Have mercy, Jesu! Soft; I did but dream.</div> - <div class='line'>O coward conscience, how dost thou afflict me!</div> - <div class='line'>The lights burn blue. It is now dead midnight.</div> - <div class='line'>Cold fearful drops stand on my trembling flesh.”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c007'>The merely selfish individual instincts and passions of unregenerate -human nature are kept from breaking out into the crimes -which they would spontaneously commit, by an ethical regulation -which consists of a set of ideal sympathies representing the -rights and feelings of other men, representing the word of God -or the collective principles of universal order. The criminal type -of character embodied in Richard throws off or suppresses this -restraining and retributive apparatus, and enthrones a lawless -egotism masked in hypocrisy. Thus, Richard had so obscured, -clogged, and deadened the moral action of conscience, that his -egotistic passions held rampant supremacy, and success made -him gay and exultant, unchecked by any touch of remorse or -shame. In his own eyes he clothed himself in the glimmering -mail of his triumphant deeds of wickedness, and dilated with pride -like Lucifer in hell. He could not weep nor tremble, but he could -shake with horrid laughter. In drawing this terrible outline Shakspeare -showed that he knew what was in man. In painting the -audacious picture Forrest proved himself a profound artist. And -the moral for the spectators was complete when the hardened -intellectual monster of depravity, in the culmination of the secret -forces of destiny and his own organism, was stripped of his self-sufficiency, -and, as the supernatural world broke on his vision, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_750'>750</span>he stood aghast, with curdled blood and stiffened hair, shrieking -with terror and despair.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Forrest was too large, with too much ingrained justice and -heavy grandeur, to be really suited for this part. He needed, -especially in its scolding contests of wit and spiteful invective, to -be smaller, lighter, swifter, more vixenish. It was just the character -for Kean and Booth, who in their way were unapproachable -in it. Yet the conception of Forrest was far truer on the whole; -and his performance was full of sterling merit.</p> - -<h3 class='c015'>HAMLET.</h3> - -<p class='c016'>The clear good sense, the trained professional skill, and the -deep personal experience of Forrest gave him an accurate perception -of the general character of Hamlet. There will always -be room for critical differences of judgment on the details. But -he could not commit the gross blunders illustrated by so many -noted actors who have exhibited the enigmatical prince either as -a petulant, querulous egotist morbidly brooding over himself and -irritable with everybody else, or as a robustious, periwig-pated -fellow always in a roaring passion or on the verge of it. Forrest -saw in the mind and heart of Hamlet sweet and noble elements -of the courtier, the scholar, the philosopher, the poet, and the -lover, but joined with a sensitive organization whose nerves were -too exquisitely strung not to be a little jangled by the harsh contact -of the circumstances into which he was flung. He regarded -him as naturally wise, just, modest, and affectionate, but by his -experience of wrong and fickleness in others, and of disturbed -health in himself, led to an exaggerated self-consciousness profoundly -tinged with mournfulness and easily provoked to sarcasm. -In the melancholy young Dane was embodied the sad malady of -the highest natures, the great spiritual disease of modern life,—an -over-excited intellectuality dwelling with too much eagerness -and persistence on the mysteries of things; allured, perplexed, -baffled, vainly trying to solve the problems of existence, injustice, -misery, death, and wearying itself out with the restless effort. -Thus there is produced a tendency of blood to the head, which -leaves the extremities cold, the centres congested, and the surface -anæmic. The fevered and hungry brain devours the juices of the -body, the exhausted organic and animal functions complainingly -react on the spiritual nature or conscious essence with a wretched -depression, everything within is sicklied over with a pale cast of -thought, and everything without becomes a sterile and pestilent -burden. The strong and gentle nature, finely touched for fine -issues, but too delicately poised, is stricken with the disease of -introspective inquiry, and, not content to accept things as they are -and wholesomely make the best of them, keeps forever probing -too curiously into the mysterious cause and import of events, until -mental gloom sets in on the lowered physical tone. Then the -opening of the supernatural world upon him, revealing the murder -of his father and imposing the duty of vengeance, hurries him -in his weakened and anxious condition to the edge of lunacy, -over which he sometimes purposely affects to pass, and sometimes, -in his sleepless care or sudden excitement, is really precipitated. -Such was the conception which Forrest strove to represent -in his portraiture of Hamlet. And in rendering it he did all -he could to neutralize the ill-adaptedness of his stalwart person -and abounding vigor for the philosophical and romantic sentimentality -of the part by a subdued and pensive manner and a -costume which made his figure appear more tall and slender. He -laid aside the massive hauteur of his port, and walked the stage -and conversed with the interlocutors as a thoughtful scholar would -walk the floor of his library and talk with his friends. Even when -he broke into passionate indignation or scorn a restraining power -of culture and refinement curbed the violence. Still, the incongruity -between his form and that of the ideal Hamlet was felt by -the audience; and it abated from the admiration and enjoyment -due to the sound intelligence, sincere feeling, beautiful elocution, -and just acting which he displayed in the performance.</p> - -<div class='figcenter id001'> -<img src='images/p750.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' /> -<div class='ic001'> -<p><span class='right'>G H Cushman</span><br /><br />EDWIN FORREST AS<br /><br />HAMLET.</p> -</div> -</div> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_751'>751</span>Most players of Hamlet, in the scene where he first appears -among the courtiers before the king and queen, have taken a conspicuous -position, drawing all eyes. Forrest, with a delicate perception -that the deep melancholy and suspicion in which he was -plunged would make him averse to ostentation, was seen in the -rear, as if avoiding notice, and only came forward when the king -called him by name with the title of son. He then betrayed his -prophetic mislike of his uncle by the dark look and satirical -inflection with which he said, aside,—</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“A little more than kin and less than kind.”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_752'>752</span>His reply to the expostulation of his mother against his grief -seeming so particular and persistent,—</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“Seems, madam: nay, it is: I know not seems.</div> - <div class='line'>’Tis not alone my inky cloak, good mother,</div> - <div class='line'>Nor customary suits of solemn black,”—</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c009'>was given with a sincerity, naturalness, and beauty irresistible in -effect. His grief and gloom appeared to embody themselves in -a voice that wailed and quivered the weeping syllables like the -tones of a bell swinging above a city stricken with the plague. -The impression thus produced was continued, modified with new -elements of emotion, and carried to a still higher pitch, when, -left alone, he began to commune with himself and to utter his -thoughts and feelings aloud. What an all-pervasive disheartenment -possessed him, how sick he was of life, how tenderly he -loved and mourned his father, how loathingly he shrank from the -shameless speed and facility wherewith his widowed mother had -transferred herself to a second husband,—these phases of his unhappiness -were painted with an earnest truthfulness which seized -and held the sympathies as with a spell.</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“O that this too, too solid flesh would melt,</div> - <div class='line'>Thaw, and resolve itself into a dew:</div> - <div class='line'>Or that the Everlasting had not fixed</div> - <div class='line'>His canon ’gainst self-slaughter. O God! O God!</div> - <div class='line'>How weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable</div> - <div class='line'>Seem to me all the uses of this world!”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c007'>Hamlet had been a deep solitary self-communer, had penetrated -the hollow forms and shows of the conventional world, and with -his questioning spirit touched the very quick of the mystery of -the universe. His soul must have vibrated at least with obscure -presentiments of the invisible state and supernal ranges of being -in hidden connection with the scenes in which he was playing his -part. Forrest revealed this by his manner of listening to Horatio -while he described how he and Marcellus and Bernardo had seen -the ghost of the buried majesty of Denmark walking by them at -midnight. This sense of a providential, retributive, supernatural -scheme mysteriously interwoven with our human life was breathed -yet more forcibly in his soliloquizing moods after agreeing to -watch with them that night in hope that the ghost would walk -again:</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_753'>753</span>“My father’s spirit in arms! All is not well;</div> - <div class='line'>I doubt some foul play: would the night were come!</div> - <div class='line'>Till then sit still, my soul. Foul deeds will rise,</div> - <div class='line'>Though all the earth o’erwhelm them, to men’s eyes.”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c007'>When Hamlet, with Horatio and Marcellus, came upon the -platform at twelve to watch for the ghost, and said,—</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“The air bites shrewdly: it is very cold,”—</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c009'>he finely indicated by his absent and preoccupied manner that -he was not thinking about the cold, but was full of the solemn -expectation of something else. He took a position nigh to the -entrance of the ghost, and continued his desultory talk about the -custom of carousing in Denmark, till the spectral figure stalked -in, almost touching him. Then Hamlet turned, with a violent -start of amazement and a short cry, and, while the white face -looked down into his own, uttered the most affecting invocation -ever spoken by man, in a subdued and beseeching tone that -seemed freighted with the very soul of bewildered awe and piteous -pleading. His voice was in a high key but husky, the vocality -half dissolved in mysterious breath. His look was that of startled -amazement touched with love and eagerness. The remorseful -Macbeth confronted the ghost of Banquo with petrifying terror. -The thunder-struck Richard saw the ghosts of his victims with -wild horror. But Hamlet was innocent; his spirit was that of -truth and filial piety; and when the marble tomb yawned forth -its messenger from the invisible world to revisit the glimpses of -the moon, although his fleshly nature might tremble at recognizing -the manifest supernatural, his soul would indeed be wonder-thrilled -but not unhinged, feeling itself as immortal as that on -which it looked. His figure perfectly still, leaning forward with -intent face, his whole soul concentrated in eye and ear, breathed -mute supplication. And when in reply to the pathetic words of -the ghost,—</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line in10'>“My hour is almost come</div> - <div class='line'>When I to sulphurous and tormenting flames</div> - <div class='line'>Must render up myself,”—</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c009'>he said,—</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“Alas, poor ghost!”—</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c009'>his voice was so heart-brokenly expressive of commiseration that -the hearers almost anticipated the response,—</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line in4'><span class='pageno' id='Page_754'>754</span>“Pity me not: but lend thy serious hearing</div> - <div class='line'>To what I shall unfold.”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c009'>The harrowing tale finished, the task of revenge enjoined, the -ghost disappears, saying,—</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“Adieu! adieu! Hamlet, remember me.”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c009'>Nothing in dramatic art has ever been conceived more overwhelmingly -affecting and appalling than this scene and speech. -A withering spell seemed to have fallen on Hamlet and instantly -aged him. He looked as pale and shrivelled as the frozen moonlight -and the wintry landscape around him. He spoke the soliloquy -that followed with a feeble and slow laboriousness expressive -of terrible pain and anxiety:</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line in10'>“Hold, hold, my heart;</div> - <div class='line'>And you, my sinews, grow not instant old,</div> - <div class='line'>But bear me stiffly up! Remember thee?</div> - <div class='line'>Ay, thou poor ghost, while memory holds a seat</div> - <div class='line'>In this distracted globe. Remember thee?</div> - <div class='line'>Yea, from the table of my memory</div> - <div class='line'>I’ll wipe away all trivial fond records,</div> - <div class='line'>All saws of books, all forms, all pressures past,</div> - <div class='line'>That youth and observation copied there,</div> - <div class='line'>And thy commandment all alone shall live</div> - <div class='line'>Within the book and volume of my brain.”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c009'>To these words Forrest imparted an expression loaded with the -whole darkening and dislocating effect which the vision and injunction -of his father had exerted on him and was thenceforth to -exert. For he was changed beyond the power of recovery. He -now moves through the mysteries of the play, himself the densest -mystery of all, at once shedding and absorbing night, his steady -purpose drifting through his unstable plans, and his methodical -madness hurrying king, queen, Polonius, Ophelia, Laertes, and -himself to their tragic doom. The load of his supernatural mission -darkens every prospect; yet his royal reason rifts the darkness -with its flashes, the splendor of his imagination flings rainbows -around him, and the native tenderness of his heart contrasts -with his hard and lonely fate like an Alpine rose springing from -the crags and pressing its fragrant petals against the very glacier. -He was unhappy before, because his faculties transcended his conditions, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_755'>755</span>his boundless soul chafed under the trifles of every-day -experience, and his nobleness revolted from the hollow shams -and frivolous routine which he saw so clearly. But now that the -realm of the dead has opened on him, filling him with distressful -doubts and burdening him with distasteful duty, revealing murder -on the throne and making love and joy impossible, his miserable -dejection becomes supreme. He seeks to escape from the pressure -of his doom in thought, conversation, friendship, sportive -wit. Embittered by his knowledge, he turns on the shallow and -treacherous praters about him with a sarcastic humor which -seems not part of his character but elicited from him by accidents -and glittering out of his gloom like lamplight reflected on an -ebony caryatid, or like a scattered rosary of stars burning in a -night of solid black.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Forrest endeavored to represent in their truth the rapid succession -of transitory and contradictory moods of Hamlet and -yet never to lose the central thread of unity on which they were -strung. That unity was imaginative intellectuality, introspective -skepticism, profound unhappiness, and a shrinking yet persistent -determination to avenge the murder of his father. The great intelligence -and skill of the actor were proved by his presenting -both the variety and the unity, and never forgetting that his -portraiture was of a refined and scholarly prince and a satirical -humorist who loved solitude and secrecy and would rather be -misunderstood than reveal himself to the crowd. Among the -many delicate shadings of character exemplified in the impersonation -one of the quietest and best was the contrast of his sharp -lawyer-like manner of cross-examining Rosencrantz and Guildenstern -and detecting that in the disguise of friends they were really -spies, with the thoughtful and gracious kindness of his dealing -with the players. Seated part of the time, he spoke to the poor -actor like an old friend, and called him back, when he was retiring, -to add another thought, and finally dismissed him with a -sympathetic touch on his shoulder and a smile.</p> - -<p class='c007'>The closet scene with the queen-mother, as Forrest played it, -was a model of justness. He began in a respectful and sorrowing -tone. Gradually, as he dwelt on her faithlessness to his father, -and her loathsome sensuality, his glowing memory and burning -words wrought him up to vehement indignation, and he appeared -<span class='pageno' id='Page_756'>756</span>on the point of offering violence, when the ghost reappeared with -warning signal and message. The suddenness of change in his -manner—pallor of face, shrunken shoulders, fixed dilatation of -eyes—was electrifying. And when in response to the queen’s</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“O Hamlet, thou hast rent my heart in twain!”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c009'>he said,—</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“O throw away the worser part of it,</div> - <div class='line'>And live the purer with the other half.</div> - <div class='line'>Good-night: but go not to my uncle’s bed:</div> - <div class='line'>Assume a virtue if you have it not,”—</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c009'>he compressed into his utterance, in one indescribable mixture, -a world of entreaty, command, disgust, grief, deference, love, and -mournfulness.</p> - -<p class='c007'>The scene in the church-yard was one full of felicitous design -and execution. Entering slowly with Horatio, he seemed, as he -looked about, invested with a religious reverence. Then he sat -down on a tombstone, and entered easily into conversation in a -humorous vein with the clown who was digging a grave. At the -same time he kept up an even flow of understanding with Horatio. -He so bore himself that the audience could reach no foregone -conclusion to withdraw their absorbed attention from the strange -funereal phantasmagoria on which the curtain was soon to sink -like a pall. Over the skull of Yorick, in quick transition from the -bantering with the clown, his reminiscences, not far from mirth, -his profound yet simple moralizing, so heartfelt and natural, were -naïve and solemn and pathetic to the verge of smiles and awe -and tears. When he learned that Ophelia was dead, and that -this grave was for her, he staggered, and bent his head for a -moment on the shoulder of his friend Horatio. Though so -quickly done, it told the whole story of his love for her and -his enforced renunciation.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Of all who have acted the part no one perhaps has ever done -such complete justice to the genius of Hamlet as Forrest did in -his noble delivery of the great speeches and soliloquies, with full -observance of every requirement of measure, accent, inflection, -and relative importance of thought. Some admired actors rattle -the words off with no sense whatever of the fathomless depths of -meaning in them. In the famous description by Hamlet of the -<span class='pageno' id='Page_757'>757</span>disenchanting effect of his heavy-heartedness the voice of Forrest -brought the very objects spoken of before the hearer,—the goodly -frame, the earth; the most excellent canopy, the air; the brave -overhanging firmament; the majestical roof fretted with golden -fire. And when, turning from the beauty of the material universe -to the greater glory and mystery of the divine foster-child and -sovereign of the earth, man, he altered the tone of admiration to -a tone of awe, his speech stirred the soul like the grandest chords -in the Requiem of Mozart, thrilling it with sublime premonitions -of its own infinity.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Forrest thoroughly understood from the combined lessons of -experience and study the irremediable unhappiness and skepticism -of the great, dark, tender, melancholy soul of Hamlet,—how -sick he was at heart, how nauseated with the faithless shallowness -of the hangers-on at court, how weary of life. He comprehended -the misery of the affectionate nature that had lost all its illusions -and was unable to reconcile itself to the loss,—the unrest of the -ardent imagination that could not forego the search for happiness -though constantly finding but emptiness and desolation. And he -made all this so clear that he actually startled and spell-bound -the audience by his interpretation of the wonderful soliloquy -wherein Hamlet debates whether he had not better with his own -hand seize that consummation of death so devoutly to be wished, -and escape</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line in16'>“The whips and scorns of time,</div> - <div class='line'>The oppressor’s wrong, the proud man’s contumely,</div> - <div class='line'>The pangs of despised love, the law’s delay,</div> - <div class='line'>The insolence of office, and the spurns</div> - <div class='line'>That patient merit of the unworthy takes.”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c009'>The deep intuition that felt there were more things in heaven -and earth than philosophy had ever dreamed, the sore resentment -at the unjust discriminations of the world, the over-inquisitive intellect -of the fool of nature, horridly shaking his disposition with -thoughts beyond the reaches of his soul, the instinctive shrinking -from the undiscovered country after death, the broken will forever -hankering after action but forever baffled from it, the unfathomable -desire for rest, the intense ennui raising sighs so piteous and -profound that they seemed to shatter all the bulk,—all these were -so brought out as to constitute a revelation of the history of genius -<span class='pageno' id='Page_758'>758</span>diseased by excessive exercise within itself with no external outlets -of wholesome activity. This lesson has the greatest significance -for the present time, when so many gifted men allow their -faculties to spin barrenly in their sockets, incessantly struggling -with abstract desires and doubts, wasting the health and strength -all away because the spiritual mechanism is not lubricated by -outward fruition of its functions, till normal religious faith is -made impossible, and at last, in their sterilized and irritable exhaustion, -they apotheosize despair, like Schopenhauer, and perpetually -toss between the two poles of pessimism and nihilism,—Everything -is bad, Everything is nothing! The true moral of the -revelation is, Shut off the wastes of an ambitious intellect and a -rebellious will by humility and resignation, do the clear duties -next your hand, enjoy the simple pleasures of the day with an -innocent heart, trusting in the benignant order of the universe, -and you shall at last find peace in such an optimistic faith as that -illustrated by Leibnitz,—Everything is good, Everything in the -infinite degrees of being from vacuity to plenum is centred in -God!</p> - -<p class='c007'>It has always been felt that in Hamlet Shakspeare has embodied -more of his own inner life than in any other of his characters. -Certainly Hamlet is the literary father of the prolific -modern brood of men of genius who fail of all satisfactory -outward activity because wasting their spiritual peace and -force in the friction of an inane cerebral strife and worry. Few -appreciate the true teaching or importance of this portrayal. -Hamlet said he lacked advancement, and that there was nothing -good or bad but thinking made it so, and that were it not that -he had bad dreams he could be bounded in a nutshell and count -himself king of infinite space. His comments on others were -usually contemptuous and satirical. He despised and mocked -Polonius, and treated Osric, Rosencrantz, and Guildenstern with -scorn and sarcasm. And yet, although he vilifies the general -crowd and the drossy age, he is clearly sensitive to public opinion -and really most anxious to appear well, and unwilling to bear -a wounded name. In a word, he represents that class of select -and unhappy spirits whose great imaginative sympathy is constantly -showing to them themselves reflected in others and others -reflected in themselves, the result of the comparisons being personal -<span class='pageno' id='Page_759'>759</span>complacence and social irritability. For they form an estimate -of their own superiority which they cannot by action justify -to others and get them to ratify. The disparity of their inward -power and their outward production annoys them, fixes itself in -chronic consciousness, and in the consequent spiritual resistance -and fret expends all the energy which if economized and fruitfully -directed would remove the evil they resent and bless them -with the good they desire. Then they react from the world -into cynical bitterness and painful solitude. The empty struggle -and misanthropic buzz within exhaust brain and nerves, and initiate -a resentful, desponding, suicidal state made up of discordant -aspiration and despair. Unable to fulfil themselves happily they -madly seek to destroy themselves in order to end their misery. -The remedy lies in a secret at once so deep and so transparent -that hardly any of the victims ever see it. It is simply to think -less pamperingly of themselves and more lovingly of others; -cease from resistance, purify their ambition with humble faith, -and in a quiet surrender to the Universal allow their drained -and exasperated individuality leisure to be replenished and harmonized. -Corresponding with a religious attunement of the soul, -nervous tissues divinely filled with equalizing vitality and power -are the physical ground of contentment with self, nature, mankind, -destiny, and God. And the man of genius who has once -lost it can gain this combined moral and physical condition only -by a modest self-conquest, lowering his excessive exactions, and -giving him a fair outlet for his inward desires in productive -activity.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Forrest distinguished the wavering of his Hamlet from the -indecision of his Macbeth and the promptitude of his Richard, -and contrasted their deaths with a luminous marking both fine -and bold. Richard, whose selfish intellect and stony heart had -no conscience mediating between them, with solid equilibrium -and ruthless decision swept directly to his object without pause -or question. His death was characterized by convulsions of impotent -rage that closed in paralyzing horror. The conscience -of Macbeth made him hesitate, weigh, and vacillate until rising -passion or foreign influence turned the scale. His death was one -of climacteric bravery and frenzied exertion embraced in reckless -despair. The intellect of Hamlet set his heart and his conscience -<span class='pageno' id='Page_760'>760</span>at odds, and kept him ever balancing between opposed thoughts -and solicitations. He had lost his stable poise, and was continually -tipping from central sanity now towards dramatic madness, -now towards substantial madness. He died with philosophic -resignation and undemonstrative quietude. While all the mutes -and audience to the act looked pale and trembled at the tragic -chance, he bequeathed the justification of his memory to his -dear Horatio, gave his dying voice for the election of Fortinbras, -and slowly, as the potent poison quite o’ercrowed his spirit, let -his head sink on the bosom of his one friend, and with a long -breath faintly whispered,—</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“The rest is silence;”—</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c009'>and then all was done.</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“Now cracks a noble heart. Good-night, sweet prince,</div> - <div class='line'>And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest.”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c007'>In the few pages of this tragedy Shakspeare gives perhaps the -supremest existing example of the richness and power of the -dramatic art. It sums up the story of life,—the joy of lovers, the -anguish of bereavement, the trial of friendship, hope and fear, -plot and counterplot, lust, hatred, crime and the remorse that -follows, hearty mirth contrasted with sublime despair, death, and -the dark ignorance of what it all means which shuts around -the horizon with impenetrable clouds. Here are expressed an -intensity of passion, a bitter irony, a helpless doubt, a vain -struggle, a saturating melancholy and a bewildered end which -would be too repulsive for endurance were it not for the celestial -poetry which plays over it and permeates it all and makes it -appear like a strange and beautiful dream.</p> - -<p class='c007'>As to the interpretation by Forrest of the part of Hamlet in the -play it is but fair to quote in close what was said by a severe and -unfriendly anonymous critic who admitted that the intelligence -shown was uncommon, the elocution perfect, the manner discreet, -the light and shade impressive. “Mr. Forrest struggles continually -with Mr. Forrest. Mind wrestles with muscle; and although -intellect is manifest, it is plain that the body with great obstinacy -refuses to fulfil the demands of thought. To conceive bright -<span class='pageno' id='Page_761'>761</span>images is a different thing from portraying them on the canvas. -And when Mr. Forrest, attempting with high ambition to do that -which nature forbids him to do, makes of philosophy a physical -exhibition and reduces mental supremacy to the dominion of -corporeal authority, he must blame that fate which cast him in -no common mould and gave to the body a preponderance which -neither study nor inspiration can overcome.” The critic here -indicates the defect of the actor, unquestionably, but so exaggerated -as to dwarf and obscure his greater merits.</p> - -<h3 class='c015'>CORIOLANUS.</h3> - -<p class='c016'>Not many dramatic contrasts are wider than that between the -complex imaginative character of the melancholy Hamlet, spontaneously -betaking himself to speculation, and the simple passionate -character of the proud Coriolanus, instinctively rushing to -action. There was much in the build and soul of Forrest that -closely resembled the haughty patrician, and he was drawn to -the part by a liking for it accordant with his inherent fitness for -it. For several years he played it a great deal and produced a -strong sensation in it. So thoroughly suited were he and the -part for each other, so pervasive and genuine was the identification -of his personal quality with the ideal picture, that his most -intimate friend, and the gifted artist chosen for the work, selected -this as the most appropriate representative character for his portrait-statue -in marble.</p> - -<p class='c007'>The features and contour of the honest, imperious, fiery, scornful, -and heroic Coriolanus, as impersonated by Forrest with immense -solidity and distinctness, were simple but grand in their -colossal and unwavering relief. Kemble had been celebrated in -this rôle. He played it as if he were a symmetrical statue cut -out of cold steel and set in motion by some precise mechanical -action. Forrest added to this a blood that seemed to flame -through him and a voice whose ponderous syllables pulsated -with fire. Stern virtue, ambition, deep tenderness, magnanimity, -transcendent daring and pride and scorn,—the man as soldier -and hero in uncorrupt sincerity and haughty defiance of everything -wrong or mean,—these were the favorite attributes which -Forrest met in Coriolanus, and absorbed as by an electric affinity, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_762'>762</span>and made the people recognize with applauding enthusiasm. He -might well utter as his own the words of his part to Volumnia,—</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line in22'>“Would you have me</div> - <div class='line'>False to my nature? Rather say, I play</div> - <div class='line'>The man I am.”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c007'>What unconsciously delighted Forrest in Coriolanus, and what -he represented with consummate felicity and force of nature, was -that his aristocracy was of the true democratic type; that is, it -rested on a consciousness of intrinsic personal worth and superiority, -not on conventional privilege and prescription. He loathed -and launched his scorching invectives against the commonalty -not because they were plebeians and he was a patrician, but because -of the revolting opposition of their baseness to his loftiness, -of their sycophancy to his pride, of their treacherous fickleness -to his adamantine steadfastness. As an antique Roman, he had -the resentful haughtiness of his social caste, but morally as an -individual his disdain and sarcasm were based on the contrast of -intrinsically noble qualities in himself to the contemptible qualities -he saw predominating in those beneath him. And although -this is far removed from the beautiful bearing of a spiritually -purified and perfected manhood, yet there is in it a certain relative -historical justification, utility, and even glory, entirely congenial -to the honest vernacular fervor of Forrest.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Coriolanus, in his utter loathing for the arts of the demagogue, -goes to the other extreme, and makes the people hate him because, -as they say, “For the services he has done he pays himself -with being proud.” At his first appearance in the play he -cries to the citizens, with scathing contempt,—</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“What’s the matter, you dissentient rogues,</div> - <div class='line'>That, rubbing the poor itch of your opinion,</div> - <div class='line'>Make yourselves scabs?</div> - <div class='line in24'>He that trusts to you,</div> - <div class='line'>Where he should find you lions, finds you hares;</div> - <div class='line'>Where foxes, geese. You are no surer, no,</div> - <div class='line'>Than is the coal of fire upon the ice,</div> - <div class='line'>Or hailstone in the sun. Hang ye! Trust ye?</div> - <div class='line'>With every minute you do change a mind;</div> - <div class='line'>And call him noble that was now your hate;</div> - <div class='line'>Him vile, that was your garland.”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_763'>763</span>As his constancy despises their unstableness, so his audacious -courage detests their cowardice:</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“Now put your shields before your hearts, and fight</div> - <div class='line'>With hearts more proof than shields.”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c007'>Seeing them driven back by the Volsces, he exclaims,—</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line in24'>“You souls of geese</div> - <div class='line'>That bear the shapes of men, how have you run</div> - <div class='line'>From slaves that apes would beat? Pluto and hell!</div> - <div class='line'>All hurt behind; backs red, and faces pale</div> - <div class='line'>With flight and agued fear! Mend, and charge home,</div> - <div class='line'>Or, by the fires of heaven, I’ll leave the foe</div> - <div class='line'>And make my wars on you.”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c007'>In all these speeches the measureless contempt, the blasting -irony, the huge moral chasm separating the haughty speaker -from the cowering rabble, were deeply relished by Forrest, and -received an expression in his bearing, look, and tone, everyway -befitting their intensity and their dimensions. Particularly in the -reply to Sicinius,—</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line in28'>“Shall remain!</div> - <div class='line'>Hear you this Triton of the minnows? Mark you</div> - <div class='line'>His absolute ‘shall’?”—</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c009'>the width of the gamut of the ironical circumflexes gave one -an enlarged idea of the capacity of the human voice to express -contempt. And when his disdain to beg the votes of the people -and his mocking gibes at them had aggravated them to pronounce -his banishment, his superhuman expression of scornful wrath no -witness could ever forget:</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“You common cry of curs! whose breath I hate</div> - <div class='line'>As reek o’ the rotten fens, whose loves I prize</div> - <div class='line'>As the dead carcasses of unburied men</div> - <div class='line'>That do corrupt my air, I banish you.”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c009'>His eyes flashed, his form lifted to its loftiest altitude, and the -words were driven home concentrated into hissing bolts. As the -enraged mob pressed yelping at his heels, he turned, and with -marvellous simplicity of purpose calmly looked them reeling -backwards, his single sphere swallowing all theirs and swaying -them helplessly at his magnetic will.</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_764'>764</span>His farewell, when “the beast with many heads had butted -him away,” was a noble example of manly tenderness and dignity, -all the more pathetic from the self-control which masked his -pain in a smiling aspect:</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line in16'>“Thou old and true Menenius,</div> - <div class='line'>Thy tears are salter than a younger man’s,</div> - <div class='line'>And venomous to thine eyes. I’ll do well yet.</div> - <div class='line'>Come, my sweet wife, my dearest mother, and</div> - <div class='line'>My friends of noble touch, when I am forth,</div> - <div class='line'>Bid me farewell, and smile. I pray you, come.</div> - <div class='line'>While I remain above the ground, you shall</div> - <div class='line'>Hear from me still.”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c007'>But his most charming and delightful piece of acting in the -whole play was the interview with his family on his return with -Aufidius and the conquering Volscians before the gates of Rome. -The swift-recurring struggle and alternation of feeling between -the opposite extremes of intense natural affection and revengeful -tenacity of pride were painted in all the vivid lineaments of truth. -Fixed in the frozen pomp of his power and his purpose, he soliloquizes,—</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“My wife comes foremost, then the honored mould</div> - <div class='line'>Wherein this trunk was framed, and in her hand</div> - <div class='line'>The grandchild to her blood. But out, affection!</div> - <div class='line'>All bond and privilege of nature, break!</div> - <div class='line'>Let it be virtuous to be obstinate.</div> - <div class='line'>What is that curt’sy worth, or those doves’ eyes,</div> - <div class='line'>Which can make gods forsworn? I melt and am not</div> - <div class='line'>Of stronger earth than others. My mother bows;</div> - <div class='line'>As if Olympus to a molehill should</div> - <div class='line'>In supplication nod; and my young boy</div> - <div class='line'>Hath an aspect of intercession, which</div> - <div class='line'>Great nature cries, ‘Deny not.’ Let the Volsces</div> - <div class='line'>Plough Rome and harrow Italy; I’ll never</div> - <div class='line'>Be such a gosling to obey instinct; but stand</div> - <div class='line'>As if a man were author of himself</div> - <div class='line'>And knew no other kin.”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c007'>But when Virgilia fixed her eyes on him and said, “My lord -and husband!” his ice flowed quite away, and the exquisite -thoughts which followed were vibrated on the vocal chords as -if not his lungs but his heart supplied the voice:</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line in22'>“Like a dull actor now,</div> - <div class='line'>I have forgot my part, and I am out,</div> - <div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_765'>765</span>Even to a full disgrace. Best of my flesh,</div> - <div class='line'>Forgive my tyranny; but do not say,</div> - <div class='line'>For that, ‘Forgive our Romans.’ O, a kiss</div> - <div class='line'>Long as my exile, sweet as my revenge!</div> - <div class='line'>Now, by the jealous queen of heaven, that kiss</div> - <div class='line'>I carried from thee, dear; and my true lip</div> - <div class='line'>Hath virgined it e’er since. You gods! I prate,</div> - <div class='line'>And the most noble mother of the world</div> - <div class='line'>Leave unsaluted. Sink, my knee, i’ the earth;</div> - <div class='line'>Of thy deep duty more impression show</div> - <div class='line'>Than that of common sons.”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c007'>Yielding to the prayers of Volumnia, he took her hand with -tender reverence, and said, with upturned look and deprecating -tone,—</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line in20'>“O, mother, mother!</div> - <div class='line'>What have you done? Behold, the heavens do ope,</div> - <div class='line'>The gods look down, and this unnatural scene</div> - <div class='line'>They laugh at.”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c007'>From the solemn reverence of this scene the change was wonderful -to the frenzied violence of untamable anger and scorn with -which he broke on Aufidius, who had called him “a boy of tears:”</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“Measureless liar, thou hast made my heart</div> - <div class='line'>Too great for what contains it. Boy! O slave!</div> - <div class='line'>Cut me to pieces, Volsces; men and lads,</div> - <div class='line'>Stain all your edges on me. Boy! False hound!</div> - <div class='line'>If you have writ your annals true, ’tis there,</div> - <div class='line'>That, like an eagle in a dovecote, I</div> - <div class='line'>Fluttered your Volsces in Corioli:</div> - <div class='line'>Alone I did it. Boy!”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c007'>The signalizing memorable mark of the Coriolanus impersonated -by Forrest was the gigantic grandeur of his scale of -being and consciousness. He revealed this in his stand and -port and moving and look and voice. The manner in which he -did it was no result of critical analysis, but was intuitive with -him, given to him by nature and inspiration. He exhibited a -gravitating solidity of person, a length of lines, a slowness of -curves, an immensity of orbit, a reverberating sonority of tone, -which illustrated the man who, as Menenius said, “wanted nothing -of a god but eternity, and a heaven to throne in.” They went far -to justify the amazing descriptions given in the play itself of the -impressions produced by him on those who approached him.</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_766'>766</span>“Being moved, he will not spare to gird the gods.</div> - <div class='line'>Marked you his lip, and eyes?”</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line in30'>“Who is yonder?</div> - <div class='line'>O gods! he has the stand of Marcius.”</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“The shepherd knows not thunder from a tabor</div> - <div class='line'>More than I know the sound of Marcius’ tongue</div> - <div class='line'>From every meaner man.”</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line in28'>“Marcius,</div> - <div class='line'>A carbuncle entire, as big as thou art,</div> - <div class='line'>Were not so rich a jewel. Thou art a soldier</div> - <div class='line'>Even to Cato’s wish, not fierce and terrible</div> - <div class='line'>Only in strokes; but, with thy grim looks, and</div> - <div class='line'>The thunder-like percussion of thy sounds,</div> - <div class='line'>Thou mak’st thine enemies shake, as if the world</div> - <div class='line'>Were feverous and did tremble.”</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“The man I speak of cannot in the world</div> - <div class='line'>Be singly counterpoised.”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c007'>When, after his peerless feats in battle, the army and its leaders -would idolize him with praises, crown him with garlands, and -load him with spoils, he felt his deeds to be their own sufficient -pay, and waved all the rewards peremptorily aside with a mien as -imposing as if some god</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“Were slily crept into his human powers</div> - <div class='line'>And gave him noble posture.”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c007'>Entering the capital in triumph, the vast and steady imperiality -of his attitude, the tremendous weight of his slightest inclination, -as though the whole earth were the pedestal-slab on which he -stood, drew and fascinated all gaze.</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line in24'>“Matrons flung gloves,</div> - <div class='line'>Ladies and maids their scarfs and handkerchiefs,</div> - <div class='line'>Upon him as he passed; the nobles bended</div> - <div class='line'>As to Jove’s statue; and the commons made</div> - <div class='line'>A shower and thunder with their caps and shouts.”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c007'>The rare and exalted use of such acting as this is that it invites -the audience to lift their eyes above the vulgar pettinesses to -which they are accustomed and extend their souls with a superior -conception of the dignity of human nature and of the mysterious -meanings latent in it.</p> - -<p class='c007'>The Coriolanus of Forrest was a marble apotheosis of heroic -strength, pride, and scorn. His moral glory was that he asserted -<span class='pageno' id='Page_767'>767</span>himself on the solid grounds of conscious truth, justice, and -merit, and not, as popular demagogues and the selfish members -of the patrician class do, on hollow grounds of assumption, trickery, -and spoliating fraud. There was great beauty, too, in his -reverential love for his mother, his tender love for his wife, his -hearty love for his friend, and his magnanimous incapacity for any -recognized littleness of soul or of deed. The weight and might -of his spirit could give away victories and confer favors, but could -not steal a laurel or endure flattery. His fatal defect was that he -did not know the spirit of forgiveness, and was utterly incompetent -to self-renunciation. He had the repulsive and fatal fault -of a crude, harsh, revengeful temper, that clothed his gigantic -indirect egotism in the glorifying disguise of justice and sacrificed -even his country to his personal passion. Just and true at -the roots, his virtues grew insane from pride. Wrath destroyed -his equilibrium, and belched his grandeur and his life away in -incontinent insolence of expression. Like all the favorite characters -of Forrest, however, he was no starveling fed on verbality -and ceremony, no pygmy imitator or empty conformist, but one -who lived in rich power from his own original centres and let his -qualities honestly out with democratic sincerity of self-assertion. -There is indeed a royal lesson in what he says:</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“Should we in all things do what custom wills,</div> - <div class='line'>The dust on antique time would lie unswept,</div> - <div class='line'>And mountainous error be too highly heaped</div> - <div class='line'>For truth to o’er-peer.”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c009'>Still, self-will ought abnegatingly to give way in docile and disinterested -devotion to the public good. The great, strong, fearless -man should conquer himself, render his pride impersonal, -renounce revenge for individual slights or wrongs, and, instead -of despising and insulting the plebeian multitude, labor to abate -their vices, remove their errors, guide their efforts, and build -their virtues into a fabric of popular freedom and happiness. -Then the selfish, passional ideal of the past would give way to -the rational, social ideal which is to redeem the future. For, as -a general rule thus far in the history of the world, power, both -private and public, in the proportion of its degree, has been -complacent instead of sympathetic, despotic instead of helpful, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_768'>768</span>indulging its own passions, despising the needs of others, filling -civilization itself with the spirit of moral murder. The chief -characters of Shakspeare embody this pagan ideal. Is there not -a Christian ideal, long since divinely born, but still waiting to -be nurtured to full growth, to be illustrated by dramatic genius, -and to be glorified in universal realization?</p> - -<h3 class='c015'>OTHELLO.</h3> - -<p class='c016'>There was no character in which Forrest appeared more frequently -or with more effect on those who saw him than in that -of Othello. He was pre-eminently suited to the part by his own -nature and experience, as well as by unwearied observation and -study. The play turns on the most vital and popular of all the -passions, love, and its revulsion into the most cruel and terrible -one, jealousy. He devoted incredible pains to the perfecting of -his representation of it; and undoubtedly it was, on the whole, -the most true and powerful of all his performances, though in -single particulars some others equalled and his Lear surpassed -it. Unprejudiced and competent judges agreed that he portrayed -Othello in the great phases of his character,—as a man dignified, -clear, generous, and calm,—as a man ecstatically happy in an all-absorbing -love,—as a man slowly wrought up through the successive -degrees of jealousy,—as a man actually converted into -a maniac by the frightful conflict and agony of his soul,—and, -finally, as a man who in the frenzy of despair closes the scene -with murder and suicide;—that he acted all this with an intensity, -an accuracy, a varied naturalness and sweeping power very rarely -paralleled in the history of the stage. The reason why the portraiture -received so much censorious criticism amidst the abundant -admiration it excited was because the scale and fervor of the -passions bodied forth in it were so much beyond the experience -of average natures. They were not exaggerated or false, but -seemed so to the cold or petty souls who knew nothing of the -lava-floods of bliss and avalanches of woe that ravage the sensibilities -of the impassioned souls that find complete fulfilment and -lose it. It is a most significant and interesting fact that when -the matchless Salvini played Othello in the principal American -cities to such enthusiastic applause, his conception and performance -of the part were so identical with those of Forrest, and he -himself so closely resembled his deceased compeer, that hundreds -of witnesses in different portions of the country spontaneously -exclaimed that it seemed as if Forrest had risen from the dead -and reappeared in his favorite rôle. The old obstinate prejudices -did not interfere; and although Salvini made the passion more -raw and the force more shuddering and carried the climax one -degree farther than the American tragedian had done, actually -sinking the human maniac in the infuriated tiger, he was greeted -with wondering acclaim. If his portraiture of the Moor was a -true one,—as it unquestionably was,—then that of Forrest was -equally true and better moderated.</p> - -<div class='figcenter id001'> -<img src='images/p768.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' /> -<div class='ic001'> -<p><span class='right'>G R Hall</span><br /><br />EDWIN FORREST AS<br /><br />OTHELLO.</p> -</div> -</div> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_769'>769</span>In the first speech of Othello, referring to the purpose of Brabantio -to injure him with the Duke, Forrest won all hearts by -the impression he gave of the noble self-possession of a free and -generous nature full of honest affection and manly potency. He -alluded to Brabantio without any touch of anger or scorn, to himself -with an air of quiet pride bottomed on conscious worth and -not on any vanity or egotism, and to Desdemona with a softened -tone of effusive warmth which betrayed the precious freight and -direction of his heart:</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line in14'>“Let him do his spite;</div> - <div class='line'>My services, which I have done the seignory,</div> - <div class='line'>Shall out-tongue his complaints. My demerits</div> - <div class='line'>May speak, unbonneted, to as proud a fortune</div> - <div class='line'>As this that I have reached. For know, Iago,</div> - <div class='line'>But that I love the gentle Desdemona,</div> - <div class='line'>I would not my unhoused, free condition</div> - <div class='line'>Put into circumscription and confine</div> - <div class='line'>For the sea’s worth.”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c009'>The easy frankness of his look and the rich flowing elocution of -his delivery of these words indicated a nature so ingenuous and -honorable that already the sympathies of every man and woman -before him were won to the Moor. This impression was continued -and enhanced when, in response to the abusive epithet of -Brabantio and the threats of his armed followers, he said, in a -tone of unruffled self-command, touched with a humorous playfulness -and with a deprecating respect,—</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“Keep up your bright swords, for the dew will rust them.—</div> - <div class='line'>Good seignior, you shall more command with years,</div> - <div class='line'>Than with your weapons.”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_770'>770</span>There was an exquisite moral beauty in the whole attitude and -carriage which Forrest gave Othello in the scene in the council-chamber, -where he replied to the accusations of using spells and -medicines to draw Desdemona to his arms. There was a combination -of modest assurance and picturesque dignity in his bearing, -and a simple eloquence in his pronouncing of the narrative -of all his wooing, so artistic in its seeming artlessness, so full -of breathing honesty straight from the heart of nature, that not a -word could be doubted, nor could any hearer resist the conviction -expressed by the Duke,—</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“I think this tale would win my daughter too,</div> - <div class='line'>Good Brabantio.”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c007'>To the bewitching power of simple sincerity and glowing truth -he put into this marvellous speech hundreds of testimonies were -given like that of the refined and lovely young lady who was -heard saying to her companion, “If that is the way Moors look -and talk and love, give me a Moor for my husband.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>When Desdemona entered, while she stayed, as she spoke, as -she departed, all the action of Othello towards her, his motions, -looks, words, inflections, clearly betokened the nature and supremacy -of his affection for her. Through the high and pure -character of these signals it was made obvious that his love was -an entrancing possession; not an animal love bred in the senses -alone, but a love born in the soul and flooding the senses with its -divineness. On the keen fires of his high-blooded organism and -the poetic enchantments of his ardent imagination the exquisite -sweetness of this surrendered and gentle Desdemona played a -delicious intoxication, and the enthrallment of his passion made -the very movement of existence a rapture. Everything else -faded before the happiness he felt. Life was too short, the earth -too dull, the stars too dim, for the blissful height of his consciousness. -In contrast with this enchanted possession, day, night, joy, -laughter, air, sea, the thrilling notes of war, victory, fame, and -power, were but passing illusions. The voice of duty could rouse -him from his dream, but the moment his task was done he sank -again into its ecstatic depths. All this still saturation of delight -and fulness of expanded being the Othello of Forrest revealed by -his acting and speech on meeting Desdemona in Cyprus after -<span class='pageno' id='Page_771'>771</span>their separation by his sudden departure to the wars. As, all -eager loveliness, she came in sight, exclaiming, “My dear -Othello!” the sudden brightness of his eyes, the rapturous smile -that clothed his face, his parted lips, his heaving breast and outstretched -arms, were so significant that they worked on the spectators -like an incantation. And when he drew her passionately -to his bosom, kissed her on the forehead and lips, and gazed into -her face with unfathomable fondness, it was a picture not to -be surpassed of the exquisite doting of the new-made husband -while the honeymoon yet hung over them full-orbed in the silent -and dewy heaven, its inundation undimmed by the breath of -custom. Then he spoke:</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line in10'>“O, my soul’s joy!</div> - <div class='line'>If after every tempest come such calms,</div> - <div class='line'>May the winds blow till they have wakened death;</div> - <div class='line'>And let the laboring bark climb hills of seas</div> - <div class='line'>Olympus-high, and duck again as low</div> - <div class='line'>As hell’s from heaven! If it were now to die,</div> - <div class='line'>’Twere now to be most happy; for, I fear,</div> - <div class='line'>My soul hath her content so absolute,</div> - <div class='line'>That not another comfort like to this</div> - <div class='line'>Succeeds in unknown fate.”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c009'>The last lines he uttered with a restrained, prolonged, murmuring -music, a tremulous mellowness, as if the burden of emotion broke -the vocal breath into quivers. It suggested a tenderness whose -very excess made it timid and mystic with a pathetic presentiment -of its own evanescence. The yearning, aching deliciousness of -love filled his breast so more than full that even while he seemed -to strive to hold back all verbal expression for fear of losing the -emotional substance, it broke forth itself with melodious softness -in the syllabled beats of the lingering words:</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“I cannot speak enough of this content:</div> - <div class='line'>It stops me here: it is too much of joy.</div> - <div class='line'>Come, let us to the castle. O, my sweet,</div> - <div class='line'>I prattle out of fashion, and I dote</div> - <div class='line'>In mine own comforts.”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c007'>In the scene of the drunken brawl in Cyprus most actors had -made Othello rush in with drawn sword, crying, with extravagant -<span class='pageno' id='Page_772'>772</span>pose and emphasis, “Hold, for your lives!” Forrest entered -without sword, in haste, his night-mantle thrown over his shoulders -as if just from his bed. He went through the scene, rebuking -the brawlers and restoring order, with an admirable moderation -combined with commanding moral authority. Only once, when -answer to his inquiry was delayed, his volcanic heat burst out. -He spoke rapidly, with surprise rather than anger, and bore down -all with a personal weight that had neither pomp nor offence, yet -was not to be resisted. Throughout the first and second acts -Forrest played Othello as a man of beautiful human nature, noble -in honor, rich in affection, gentle in manners, though, when justly -roused, capable of a terrific headlong wrath:</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line in16'>“Now, by Heaven,</div> - <div class='line'>My blood begins my safer guides to rule;</div> - <div class='line'>And passion, having my best judgment collied,</div> - <div class='line'>Assays to lead the way. If I once stir</div> - <div class='line'>Or do but lift this arm, the best of you</div> - <div class='line'>Shall sink in my rebuke.”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c007'>In the third act the diabolical malignity and cunning of -Iago begin to take effect, more and more insinuating poisonous -suspicions and doubts into the naturally open and truthful mind -of Othello. The process and advancement of the horrid struggle -found in Forrest a man and an artist to whose experience of -human nature and life no item in the whole dread catalogue of -the courses, symptoms, and consequences of love encroached on -and subdued by jealousy was foreign, and whose skill in expression -was abundantly able to set every feature of the tragedy in distinct -relief. As now the guileless Desdemona shone on him, and anon -the devilish Iago distilled his venom, he was torn between his -loving confidence in his wife and his confiding trust in his tempter:</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“As if two hearts did in one body reign</div> - <div class='line'>And urge conflicting streams from vein to vein.”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c007'>When he saw or thought of her a blessed reassurance tranquillized -him; when he heeded the hideous suggestions of his -treacherous servant a frozen shudder ran through him. The -waves of tenderness and violence chased one another over the -mimic scene. At one moment he said,—</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_773'>773</span>“If she be false, O, then heaven mocks itself.</div> - <div class='line'>I’ll not believe it.”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c009'>At another moment he writhed in excruciating anguish under the -fearful innuendoes which Iago wound about him. The spectacle -was like that of an anaconda winding her tightening coils around -a tiger until one can hear the cracking of the bones in his lordly -back.</p> - -<p class='c007'>When the fiendish suggestions of Iago first took thorough effect -the result startled even him, and he gazed on the awful convulsions -in the face of his victim as one might look into the crater -of Vesuvius. That which had seemed granite proved to be gunpowder. -As with the prairie fire: the traveller lets a spark fall, -and the whole earth seems to be one rushing flame. Then swiftly -followed those lacerating alternations of contradictory excitements -which are the essence of jealousy,—the mixture of intense -opposites into an experience of infernal discord. His love lingers -on her and gloats over her, and will not believe any evil of her. -His suspicion makes him shrink into himself with horror:</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line in16'>“O curse of marriage,</div> - <div class='line'>That we can call these delicate creatures ours,</div> - <div class='line'>And not their appetites.”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c009'>Now he seeks relief in loathing and hating her, trying to tear her -dear image out from among his heart-strings. From the crazing -agony of this effort he springs wildly into wrath against her traducer. -Forrest expressed these sudden and violent transitions -from extreme to extreme with exact truth to nature, by that constant -interchanging of intense muscles and languid eyes with -intense eyes and languid muscles which corresponds with the -successive apprehension of a blessing to be embraced and an evil -to be abhorred. The change in his appearance and moving too -was commensurate with what he had undergone. As he advanced -to meet his wife on her arrival in Cyprus, he walked like one -inspired, weightless and illumined with joy:</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“Treading on air each step the soul displays,</div> - <div class='line'>The looks all lighten and the limbs all blaze.”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c009'>But after the dreadful doubt had ruined his peace, he grew so -pale and haggard, wore so startled and dismal a look, was so -<span class='pageno' id='Page_774'>774</span>self-absorbed in misery, that he appeared an incarnate comment -on the descriptive words,—</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“Look where he comes! Not poppy nor mandragora,</div> - <div class='line'>Nor all the drowsy syrups of the world,</div> - <div class='line'>Shall ever medicine thee to that sweet sleep</div> - <div class='line'>Which thou ow’dst yesterday.”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c007'>There was an imaginative vastness and unity in the soul of -Othello which aggrandized his experiences and allowed him to -do nothing by halves. Forrest so perceived and exemplified -this as to make his performance come before the audience as -a new revelation to them of the colossal and blazing extremes, -the entrancing, maddening, and fatal extremes, to which human -passions can mount. His love, his conflict with doubt, his melancholy, -his wrath, his hate, his revenge, his remorse, his despair, -each in turn absorbingly possesses him and floods the earth with -heaven or hell.</p> - -<p class='c007'>The unrivalled speech of lamentation over his lost happiness -he gave not, as many a famous actor has, partly in a tone of -complaining vexation and partly with a noisy pomp of declamation. -He began with an exquisite quality of tearful regret and -sorrow which was a breathing requiem over the ruins of his past -delights. The mournfulness of it was so sweet and chill that it -seemed perfumed with the roses and moss growing over the tomb -of all his love.</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“I had been happy if the general camp,</div> - <div class='line'>Pioneers and all, had tasted her sweet body,</div> - <div class='line'>So I had nothing known.”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c009'>Then the voice, still low and plaintive, swelled and quivered with -the glorious words that followed:</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line in16'>“O, now, forever,</div> - <div class='line'>Farewell the tranquil mind! farewell content!</div> - <div class='line'>Farewell the plumed troop, and the big wars,</div> - <div class='line'>That make ambition virtue! O, farewell!”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c009'>And as he ended with the line,</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“Farewell! Othello’s occupation’s gone!”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c009'>his form and limbs drooping, his lips sunken and tremulous, his -<span class='pageno' id='Page_775'>775</span>very life seemed going out with each word, as if everything had -been taken from him and he was all gone. Suddenly, with one -electrifying bound, he leaped the whole gamut from mortal exhaustion -to gigantic rage, his eyeballs rolling and flashing and -his muscles strung, seized the cowering Iago by the throat, and, -with a startling transition of voice from mellow and mournfully lingering -notes to crackling thunderbolts of articulation, shrieked,—</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“If thou dost slander her, and torture me,</div> - <div class='line'>Never pray more; abandon all remorse;</div> - <div class='line'>On horror’s head horrors accumulate;</div> - <div class='line'>Do deeds to make heaven weep, all earth amazed;—</div> - <div class='line'>For nothing canst thou to damnation add</div> - <div class='line'>Greater than that.”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c009'>The wild inspiration subsided as swiftly as it had risen, and left -him gazing in blank amazement at what he had done. Again -his struggling emotions were carried to a kindred climax when -Iago told him the pretended dream of Cassio. He uttered the -sentence, “I will tear her all to pieces,” in a manner whose force -of pathos surprised every heart. His revenge began furiously, -“I will tear her”—when his love came over it, and he suddenly -ended with pitying softness—“all to pieces.” It was as if an avalanche, -sweeping along earth and rocks and trees, were met by a -breath which turned it into a feather. In the next act he gave -an instance just the reverse of this: first he says, with doting -fondness, “O, the world hath not a sweeter creature;” then, the -imaginative associations changing the picture, he screams ferociously, -“I will chop her into messes!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>Thence onward Othello was painted in a more and more piteous -plight. The great soul was conquered by the remorseless intellect -of Iago, leagued with its own weakness and excess. He -grew less massive and more petulant. He stooped to spies and -plots, and compassed the assassination of Cassio. His misery -sapped his mind and toppled down his chivalrous sentiments -until he could unpack his sore and wretched heart in abusive -words and treat Desdemona with unrelenting cruelty.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Finally his tossing convulsions passed away, and a fixed resolution -to kill the woman who had been false to him settled down -in gloomy calmness. The curtain rose and showed him seated -at an open window looking out on the night sky. Desdemona -<span class='pageno' id='Page_776'>776</span>was asleep in her bed. He sighed heavily, and in slow tones, -loaded with thoughtful and resigned melancholy, soliloquized,—</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“It is the cause, it is the cause, my soul,—</div> - <div class='line'>Let me not name it to you, you chaste stars!—</div> - <div class='line'>It is the cause. Yet I’ll not shed her blood,</div> - <div class='line'>Nor scar that whiter skin of hers than snow,</div> - <div class='line'>And smooth as monumental alabaster.</div> - <div class='line'>Yet she must die, else she’ll betray more men.</div> - <div class='line'>Put out the light, and then put out the light.</div> - <div class='line'>If I quench thee, thou flaming minister,</div> - <div class='line'>I can again thy former light restore,</div> - <div class='line'>Should I repent me. But once put out thy light,</div> - <div class='line'>Thou cunning’st pattern of excelling nature,</div> - <div class='line'>I know not where is that Promethean heat</div> - <div class='line'>That can thy light relume.”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c009'>He permitted the audience to see the vast dimension and intensity -of his love, doubt, agony, sorrow, despair, vengeance,—and -the revelation was appalling in its solemnity. Henceforth -even his invective was moderated and quiet. He seemed to fancy -himself not so much revenging his personal wrong as vindicating -himself and executing justice. He did not make a horror of the -killing, as Kean did. He drew the curtains apart,—a slight struggle,—a -choking murmur,—and as Emilia knocked at the door, -and he turned, with the pillow in his hand, his listening attitude -and his bronze face and glistening eyes formed a dramatic picture -not to be forgotten. Then came the final revulsion of his agonizing -sorrow:</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“O, insupportable! O, heavy hour!</div> - <div class='line'>Methinks it should be now a huge eclipse</div> - <div class='line'>Of sun and moon; and that the affrighted globe</div> - <div class='line'>Should yawn at alteration.”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c009'>His deadly distress and paralyzing bewilderment now illustrated -what he had before said, that he loved her so with the entirety -of his being that the loss of her, even in thought, brought back -chaos:</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line in10'>“Had she been true,</div> - <div class='line'>If heaven would make me such another world</div> - <div class='line'>Of one entire and perfect chrysolite,</div> - <div class='line'>I’d not have sold her for it.”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c009'>When Emilia revealed the plot by which he had been deceived, -and convinced him of the innocence of his wife, an absolute desolation -<span class='pageno' id='Page_777'>777</span>and horror of remorse, as if a thunderbolt had burst within -his brain, smote him to the floor. Staggering to the fatal couch, -his gaze was riveted on the marble face there, and a broken heart -and a distracted conscience moaned and sobbed in the syllables,—</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“Now, how dost thou look now? O, ill-starred wench!</div> - <div class='line'>Pale as thy smock! when we shall meet at compt,</div> - <div class='line'>This look of thine will hurl my soul from heaven,</div> - <div class='line'>And fiends will snatch at it. Cold, cold, my girl?</div> - <div class='line'>Even like thy chastity.</div> - <div class='line'>O, cursed, cursed slave! Whip me, ye devils,</div> - <div class='line'>From the possession of this heavenly sight!</div> - <div class='line'>Blow’ me about in winds! roast me in sulphur!</div> - <div class='line'>Wash me in steep-down gulfs of liquid fire!</div> - <div class='line'>O Desdemona! Desdemona! dead?”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c007'>The strain had been too great to be borne, and he was himself -nearly dead. He wore the aspect of one who felt that to live -was calamity, and to die the sole happiness left. Collecting himself, -he spoke the calm words of appeal that justice might be done -to his memory, nothing extenuated nor aught set down in malice. -He turned towards the breathless form, once so dear, with a look -of tenderness slowly dissolving and freezing into despair. Then, -with one stroke of his dagger, he fell dead without a groan or a -shudder.</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“This did I fear, but thought he had no weapon;</div> - <div class='line'>For he was great of heart.”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c007'>Some actors have made Othello feared and disliked; others -have caused him to be regarded with moral curiosity or poetic -interest. As Forrest impersonated him he was first warmly admired, -then profoundly pitied. Of the tragedians most celebrated -in the past, according to the best descriptions which have been -given of their representations, it may be said that the Othello of -Quin was a jealous plebeian; the Othello of Kean, in parts a -jealous king, in parts a jealous savage; the Othello of Vandenhoff, -a jealous general; the Othello of Macready, a jealous theatrical -player; the Othello of Brooke, a jealous knight; the Othello -of Salvini, a jealous lover transformed into a jealous tiger; but -the Othello of Forrest was a jealous man carried truthfully through -all the degrees of his passion. One of his predecessors in the -rôle had veiled the woes of the man beneath the dignities of his -<span class='pageno' id='Page_778'>778</span>rank and station as a martial commander; another had theatricized -the part, with wondrous study and toil, elaborating posture, -look, and emphasis, presenting a correctness of drawing which -might secure admiring criticism but could never move feeling; -yet another, fascinated with the romantic accessories and vicissitudes -of the character, made a gorgeous picture of a gorgeous -hero in a gorgeous time. Forrest analyzed away from his Othello -all adventitious circumstances; took him from the picturesque -scenes of Venice, stripped off his official robes, and placed him -on the stage in the glories and tortures of his naked humanity, -a living mirror to every one of the struggles of a master-passion -tearing a great heart asunder, driving a powerful mind into the -awful abyss of insanity, making a generous man a coward, an -eavesdropper, a murderer, and a suicide.</p> - -<p class='c007'>The explicit contents and teaching of the part as Shakspeare -wrote it and as Forrest acted it are the unspeakable privilege and -preciousness of a supreme human love crowned with fulfilment, -and the fearful nature and results of an ill-grounded jealousy. -The deeper implicit meaning and lesson it bears is the animal -degradation, the frightful ugliness and danger, the intrinsically -immoral and murderous character of the passion of jealousy. -This all-important revelation latent in the tragedy of Othello has -not been illumined, emphasized, or brought into relief on the -stage as yet. It ought to be done. The historical traditions of -tyrannical selfishness, almost universally organized in the interests -of the world, which make men feel that in sexual love the lover -possesses the object of his love as an appanage and personal -property, all whose free wishes are merged in his will and whose -disloyalty is justly visited with merciless cruelty and even death -itself, have blinded most persons to the inherent unworthiness -and vulgarity, the inherent ferocity and peril, of the passion of -jealousy. It is common among brutes, and belongs to the brutish -stage in man. It cannot be imagined in heaven among the cherubim -and seraphim. Freedom, the self-possession of each one -in equilibrium with all others and in harmony with universal -order, belongs to the divine stage of developed humanity. There -can be no certainty against madness, crime, and self-immolation -so long as an automatic passion in the lower regions of the organism -enslaves the royal reason meant to reign by right from -<span class='pageno' id='Page_779'>779</span>God. Happen what may, self-poise and the steady aim at progress -towards perfection should be kept. This cannot be when -love is degraded to physical pleasure sought as an end, instead -of being consecrated to the fruitful purposes for which it was -ordained. The only absolute pledge of blessedness and peace -between those who love and would hope to love always is an adjustment -of conduct based not on mere feeling, whether low or -high, but on feeling as itself subdued and disciplined by reason, -justice, and truth, first developed in the thinking mind and constituted -as it were into the science of the subject, then appropriated -by the sentiments and made habitual in the individual character. -What details of conduct will result, what innovations on -the present social state will be made, when a scientific morality -shall have mastered the subject and formulated its principles -into practical rules, it is premature to say. But it is certain that -the leading of one life in the light and another one in the dark -will be forbidden. It is certain that the discords, the diseases, -the distresses, the crimes, which are now so profuse in this region -of experience will be no longer tolerated. And it is safe to -prophesy that such delirious expressions of hate and revenge as -have hitherto usually been thought tragic and terrible will come -to be thought bombastic and ludicrous:</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“O that the slave had forty thousand lives;</div> - <div class='line'>One is too poor, too weak for my revenge!</div> - <div class='line'>Now do I see ’tis true. Look here, Iago;</div> - <div class='line'>All my fond love thus do I blow to heaven. ’Tis gone.—</div> - <div class='line'>Arise, black vengeance, from thy hollow cell!</div> - <div class='line'>Yield up, O love, thy crown, and hearted throne,</div> - <div class='line'>To tyrannous hate! swell, bosom, with thy fraught;</div> - <div class='line'>For ’tis of aspics’ tongues! O blood, blood, blood!”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c007'>Othello, like most of the characters of Shakspeare, illustrates -the historic actual, not the prophetic ideal. The present state -of society is so ill adjusted, so full of painful evils, that things -cannot always remain as temporary and local habits and mere -empirical authority have seemingly settled them. To think they -can is the sure mark of a narrow mind, a petty character, and a -selfish heart. Nothing is more certain than continuous change. -Nothing is, therefore, more characteristic of the genuine thinker -than his ability to contemplate other modes of thought, other varieties -<span class='pageno' id='Page_780'>780</span>of sentiment, than those to which he was bred. With the -progress of social evolution the hitherto prevalent ideas of love -and jealousy may undergo changes amounting in some instances, -perhaps, to a reversal. Meanwhile, those who are not prepared -to adopt any new opinions in detail should, with hospitable readiness -impartially to investigate, consider within themselves which -is better, an imperial delicacy and magnanimity in those who love -causing them to refuse to know anything that occurs in absence -so long as each preserves self-respecting personal fidelity to the -ideal of progressive perfection? or, as at present, spiritual mutilation -and misery, treacherous concealment, espionage, detection, -disgrace, frenzy, and death?</p> - -<p class='c007'>One thing at all events is sure, namely, that of him alone whose -love for God, or the universal in himself and others, is superior to -his love for the individual, or the egotistic in himself and others, -can it ever be safely said, as it was once so mistakenly said of the -unhappy Moor,—</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line in14'>“This is a man</div> - <div class='line'>Whom passion cannot shake; whose solid virtue</div> - <div class='line'>The shock of accident nor dart of chance</div> - <div class='line'>Can neither graze nor pierce.”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<h3 class='c015'>LEAR.</h3> - -<p class='c016'>Nearly every season for more than forty years Forrest played -the part of Lear many times. He never ceased to study it and -to improve his representation, adding new touches here and there, -until at last it became, if not the most elaborately finished and -perfect of all his performances, certainly the sublimest in spiritual -power and tragic pathos. As he grew old, as his experience of -the desolating miseries of the world deepened, as his perception -was sharpened of the hollowness and irony of the pomps and -pleasures of human power contrasted with the solemn drifting of -destiny and death, as the massiveness of his physique was expanded -in its mould and loosened in its fibre by the shocks of -time and fate, he seemed ever better fitted, both in faculty and -appearance, to meet the ideal demands of the rôle. He formed -his conception of it directly from the pages of Shakspeare and -the dictates of nature. His elaboration and acting of it were -original, the result of his own inspiration and study. Heeding -no traditional authority, copying no predecessor, but testing each -particular by the standard of truth, he might have proudly protested, -like the veritable Lear,—</p> - -<div class='figcenter id001'> -<img src='images/p780.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' /> -<div class='ic001'> -<p><span class='right'>G H Cushman</span><br /><br />EDWIN FORREST AS<br /><br />KING LEAR.</p> -</div> -</div> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_781'>781</span>“No, they cannot touch me for coining,—</div> - <div class='line'>I am the king himself.”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c007'>No person of common sensibility could witness his impersonation -of the character during his latter years without paying it the -tribute of tears and awe.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Lear appears in a shape of imposing majesty, but with the -authentic signals of breaking sorrow and ruin already obvious. -He is a king in the native build and furniture of his being, not -merely by outward rank. His scale of passion is gigantic, and -always exerted at the extremes. When deferred to and pleased, -his magnanimity is boundless and his love most tender. But, -once crossed, nothing can restrain his petulance, and his outbursts -of anger are terrible to others and dangerously expensive -to himself. His identity is always marked by greatness, like -some huge landmark dwarfing everything near. There is a royal -scope and altitude belonging to the structure of his soul which is -never lost. It is seen, whether he be ruler, outcast, or madman, -in the grandeur of his mien, in the majestic eloquence of his -thought and expression, in the towering swell of his ambition. -He is ever insistingly conscious of his kingliness, and must be -bowed to and have his way, as much when with the poor fool he -hides his nakedness from the pelting blast as when in august -plenitude of power he divides his realm among his children. -This central point of unity Forrest firmly seized, and made it -everywhere in his representation abundantly prominent and -impressive.</p> - -<p class='c007'>At the opening of the play Lear is a very old man. Moved by -some secret premonition of failing reason or decay, he is about to -abdicate his crown. He is seen to be an imperial spirit throned -in an enfeebled nature, a power girdled with weakness. An exacting -and unbridled spirit of authority, a splenetic assertion of -his kingly will, with the incessant worries and frictions to which -such a habit always gives rise, have undermined his poise and -lowered his strength, and brought his mind into that state of unstable -equilibrium which is the condition of an explosive irritability -fated to issue in madness. He himself, in the organic strata -<span class='pageno' id='Page_782'>782</span>below his free intelligence, has obscure premonitions of his crumbling -state; but every intimation of it which reaches his consciousness -fills him with an angry resentment that seeks some instant -vent.</p> - -<p class='c007'>The task to indicate all this, so clearly, with such moving -force, with such combination of overtopping power and piteous -weakness, as to fix it all in the apprehending sympathies of the -audience, was marvellously accomplished by Forrest in the opening -scene. The vast frame whose motions were alternately ponderous -and fretful, the pale massive face, the restless wild eyes, -the rich deep voice magnificent in oratoric phrase and breaking -in querulous anger,—these, skilfully managed, revealed at once -the ruining greatness of the royal nature, dowered with imposing -and gracious qualities but fatally cored with irritable self-love.</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line in14'>“Know that we have divided</div> - <div class='line'>In three our kingdom; and ’tis our fast intent</div> - <div class='line'>To shake all cares and business from our age;</div> - <div class='line'>Conferring them on younger strengths, while we,</div> - <div class='line'>Unburthened, crawl toward death. Tell me, my daughters,</div> - <div class='line'>(Since now we will divest us, both of rule,</div> - <div class='line'>Interest of territory, cares of state,)</div> - <div class='line'>Which of you, shall we say, doth love us most?</div> - <div class='line'>That we our largest bounty may extend</div> - <div class='line'>Where nature doth with merit challenge.”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c009'>The treacherous Goneril and Regan, whose heartless natures -their younger sister so well knew, made such fulsome protestations -as shocked her into a dumb reliance on her own true affection; -and when the yearning and testy monarch fondly asks what -she can say, her whole being of love and sincerity is behind her -words:</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“Unhappy that I am, I cannot heave</div> - <div class='line'>My heart into my mouth. I love your majesty</div> - <div class='line'>According to my bond.”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c009'>Then broke forth the insane pride and self-will, which, brooking -no appearance of opposition or evasion, were stricken with judicial -blindness and left to prefer evil to good, to embrace the selfishness -which was as false and cruel as hell, and to reject the love -which was as gentle and true as heaven. With a terrible look, -and a deep intensely girded voice, whose rapid accents made his -<span class='pageno' id='Page_783'>783</span>whole chest shake with muffled reverberations, like a throbbing -drum, he cried,—</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“Let it be so: thy truth then be thy dower;</div> - <div class='line'>For, by the sacred radiance of the sun,</div> - <div class='line'>The mysteries of Hecate, and the night;</div> - <div class='line'>By all the operations of the orbs,</div> - <div class='line'>From whom we do exist, and cease to be;</div> - <div class='line'>Here I disclaim all my paternal care,</div> - <div class='line'>Propinquity, and property of blood,</div> - <div class='line'>And as a stranger to my heart and me</div> - <div class='line'>Hold thee, from this, forever. The barbarous Scythian,</div> - <div class='line'>Or he that makes his generation messes</div> - <div class='line'>To gorge his appetite, shall to my bosom</div> - <div class='line'>Be as well neighbored, pitied, and relieved,</div> - <div class='line'>As thou, my sometime daughter.”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c009'>And when the noble Kent would have interceded, his frenzied -wrong-headedness peremptorily destroyed the last hope of -remedy:</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“Peace, Kent!</div> - <div class='line'>Come not between the dragon and his wrath.”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c009'>Then, with the piteous side-revelation,—</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“I loved her most, and thought to set my rest</div> - <div class='line'>On her kind nursery,”—</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c009'>he subscribed and sealed his hideous fault by harshly driving the -poor, sweet Cordelia from his presence, and banishing from his -dominions the best friend he ever had, honest Kent.</p> - -<p class='c007'>The disease in the nature of Lear, a morbid self-consciousness -that prevented alike self-rule and self-knowledge, did not let his -passion expire like flaming tinder, but kept it long smouldering. -Forrest pictured to perfection its recurring swells and tardy subsidence. -Each advancing step showed more completely the vice -that had cloyed the kingly nobility and gradually prepared the -retributive tempest about to burst. His injured vanity feeding -itself with its own inflaming deception now made his fancy ascribe -to the angelic Cordelia, dismantled from the folds of his old favor, -such foul and ugly features of character that he called her</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line in10'>“A wretch whom nature is ashamed</div> - <div class='line'>Almost to acknowledge hers,”—</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_784'>784</span>while, perversely investing the tiger-breasted Goneril and Regan -with imaginary goodness and charm, he said to them,—</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line in10'>“Ourself, by monthly course</div> - <div class='line'>With reservation of an hundred knights,</div> - <div class='line'>By you to be sustained, shall our abode</div> - <div class='line'>Make with you by due turns. Only we will retain</div> - <div class='line'>The name and all the additions to a king.”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c007'>So to combine in the representation of Lear the power and the -weakness, the mental and physical grandeur and irritability, as to -compose a consistent picture true to nature, and to make their -manifestations accurate both in the whirlwinds of passion and in -the periods of calm,—this is what few even of the greatest actors -have been able to do. Forrest did it in a degree which made -the most competent judges the most enthusiastic applauders. -The nervous and tottering walk, with its sudden changes, the -quick transitions of his voice from thundering fulness to querulous -shrillness, the illuminated and commanding aspect passing -into sunken pallor and recovering, the straightenings up -of the figure into firm equilibrium, the palsying collapses,—all -these he gave with a precision and entireness which were the -transcript and epitome of a thousand original studies of himself -and of grand old men whom he had watched in different lands, -in the streets, in lunatic asylums.</p> - -<p class='c007'>But the deepest merit of this representation was not its exactness -in mimetic simulation or reproduction of the visible peculiarities -of shattered and irascible age. Its chief merit was the -luminous revelation it gave of the inner history of the character -impersonated. He made it a living exhibition of the justifying -causes and the profound moral lessons of the tragedy of the aged -monarch, who, self-hurled both from his outer and his inner -kingdom, was left to gibber with the gales and the lightnings on -the rain-swept and desolate moor. In every fibre of his frame -and every crevice of his soul Forrest felt the tremendous teachings -intrusted by Shakspeare to the tragedy of Lear. It is true -the feeling did not lead him morally to master these teachings -for a redemptive application to himself; and his own experience -paid the bitter penalty of a personal pride too exacting in its -ideal estimate of self and others. But the feeling did enable -him dramatically to portray these lessons, with matchless vividness -<span class='pageno' id='Page_785'>785</span>and power, and a rugged realism softened and tinted with -art. Shakspeare’s own notion of Lear is remarkably expressed -by one of the characters in the play: “He hath ever but slenderly -known himself. Then we must look from his age to receive not -alone the imperfections of long-engrafted condition, but, therewithal, -the unruly waywardness that infirm and choleric years -bring with them.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>The whole history of the world in every part of society abounds -with correspondences to the cruel error, the awful wrong, committed -by Lear in accepting Goneril and Regan and rejecting -Cordelia. But there is a cause for everything that happens. -These dread and lamentable injustices arise from vices in the -characters that perpetrate them. Their blindness is the punishment -for their sin. The most inherent and obstinate sin in every -unregenerate soul is excess of egotistic self-love. The strongest -and richest natures are most exposed to this evil disguised in -shapes so subtile as to deceive the very elect, making them unconsciously -desire to subdue the wills of others to their will. -This is a proud and fearful historic inheritance in the automatic -depth of man below his free consciousness. Overcoming it, he -is divinely free and peaceful. Yielding to it, he wears his force -away in unhappy repinings and resentments. Aggravated by indulgence, -it blinds his instincts and perverts his perceptions, makes -him praise and clasp the bad who yield and flatter, denounce and -shun the good who faithfully resist and try to bless. This profound -moral truth Shakspeare makes the dim background of the -tragedy, whose foreground blazes with a dreadful example of the -penalties visited on those who violate its commands. He teaches -that those who, bound and blinded by wilful self-love, embrace -the designing and corrupt instead of the honest and pure, are left -to the natural consequences of their choice. These consequences -are the avenging Nemesis of divine providence. The actor who, -as Forrest did, worthily illustrates this conception, becomes for -the time the sublimest of preachers; for his appalling sermon -is not an exhortation verbally articulated, it is a demonstration -vitally incarnated.</p> - -<p class='c007'>The monstrous mistake of Lear soon brought its results to -sight. The poor old monarch, fast weakening, even-paced, in -his wits and muscles, but not abating one jot of his arrogant self-estimate -<span class='pageno' id='Page_786'>786</span>and royal requiring, was so scolded, thwarted, and badgered -by Goneril that he was quite beside himself with indignation. -Then, most pitiably in his distress, relenting memory turned -his regards towards the faithful gentleness he had spurned:</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line in14'>“O, most small fault!</div> - <div class='line'>How ugly didst thou in Cordelia show,</div> - <div class='line'>Which, like an engine, wrenched my frame of nature</div> - <div class='line'>From the fixed place, drew from my heart all love,</div> - <div class='line'>And added to the gall. O Lear, Lear, Lear!</div> - <div class='line'>Beat at this gate, that let thy folly in,</div> - <div class='line'>And thy dear judgment out.”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c009'>Uttering these remorseful words, striking his forehead, Forrest -stood, for a moment, a picture of uncertainty, regret, self-deprecation, -and woe. Then a sense of the insulting disrespect and -ingratitude of Goneril seemed to break on him afresh, and let -loose the whole volcanic flood of his injured selfhood. Anguish, -wrath, and helplessness drove him mad. The blood made path -from his heart to his brow, and hung there, a red cloud, beneath -his crown. His eyes flashed and faded and reflashed. He beat -his breast as if not knowing what he did. His hands clutched -wildly at the air as though struggling with something invisible. -Then, sinking on his knees, with upturned look and hands straight -outstretched towards his unnatural daughter, he poured out, in -frenzied tones of mingled shriek and sob, his withering curse, -half adjuration, half malediction. It was a terrible thing, almost -too fearful to be gazed at as a work of art, yet true to the character, -the words, and the situation furnished by Shakspeare. Drawing -for the moral world comparisons from the material world, it was -a maelstrom of the conscience, an earthquake of the mind, a hurricane -of the soul, and an avalanche of the heart. By a perfect -gradation his protruded and bloodshot eyeballs, his crimsoned -and swollen features, and his trembling frame subsided from their -convulsive exertion. And with a confidence touching in its -groundlessness, he bethought him,—</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line in18'>“I have another daughter,</div> - <div class='line'>Who, I am sure, is kind and comfortable.”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c009'>He went to her, and said, with a distraught air of sorrowful anger, -more pathetic than mere words can describe,—</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_787'>787</span>“Thy sister’s naught: O Regan! She hath tied</div> - <div class='line'>Sharp-toothed unkindness, like a vulture, here:</div> - <div class='line'>I can scarce speak to thee; thou’lt not believe</div> - <div class='line'>With how depraved a quality,—O Regan!”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c009'>Told by her that he was old, that in him nature stood on the -verge of her confine, that he needed guidance, and had best return -to Goneril and ask her forgiveness, he stood an instant in blank -amazement, as if not trusting his ears; a tremor of agony and -rage shot through him, fixed itself in a scornful smile, and, throwing -himself on his knees, he vented his heart with superhuman -irony:</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“Dear daughter, I confess that I am old:</div> - <div class='line'>Age is unnecessary; on my knees I beg</div> - <div class='line'>That you’ll vouchsafe me raiment, bed, and food.”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c009'>Goneril entered. Shrinking from her partly with loathing, partly -with fear, he exclaimed, in a tone of mournful and pleading pain -befitting the transcendent pathos of the imagery,—</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line in24'>“O Heavens!</div> - <div class='line'>If you do love old men, if your sweet sway</div> - <div class='line'>Allow obedience, if yourselves are old,</div> - <div class='line'>Make it your cause: send down, and take my part!”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c009'>As Regan and Goneril chaffered and haggled to reduce the cost -of his entertainment, he revealed in his face and by-play the effect -their conduct had on him. The rising thoughts and emotions -suffused his features in advance of their expression. He stood -before the audience like a stained window that burns with the -light of the landscape it hides. He then began in a low tone of -supplicating feebleness and gradually mounted to a climax of -frenzy, where the voice, raised to screaming shrillness, broke in -helplessness, exemplifying that degree of passion which is impotent -from its very intensity. Those critics who blamed him for -this excess as a fault were wrong, not he; for it belongs to a rage -which unseats the reason to have no power of repression, and so -to recoil on itself in exhaustion:</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“You see me here, you gods, a poor old man,</div> - <div class='line'>As full of grief as age; wretched in both.</div> - <div class='line'>If it be you that stir these daughters’ hearts</div> - <div class='line'>Against their father, fool me not so much</div> - <div class='line'>To bear it tamely: touch me with noble anger.</div> - <div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_788'>788</span>O, let not women’s weapons, water-drops,</div> - <div class='line'>Stain my man’s cheeks. No, you unnatural hags,</div> - <div class='line'>I will have such revenges on you both</div> - <div class='line'>That all the world shall—I will do such things—</div> - <div class='line'>What they are yet I know not—but they shall be</div> - <div class='line'>The terrors of the earth.”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c009'>The elemental storm at that moment heard rumbling in the distance -actually seemed an echo of the more terrible spiritual -storm raging in him.</p> - -<p class='c007'>The scene by night on the heath, where Lear, discrowned of -his reason, wanders in the tempest,—the earth his floor, the sky -his roof, the elements his comrades,—was sustained by Forrest -with a broad strength and intensity which left nothing wanting. -Even the imagination was satisfied with the scale of acting when -the old king was seen, colossal in his broken decay, exulting as -the monarch of a new realm, pelted by tempests, shrilling with -curses, and peopled with wicked daughters! His eyes aflame, -his breast distended, his arms flying, his white hair all astream in -the wind, his voice rolling and crashing like another thunder -below, he seemed some wild spirit in command of the scene; -and he called, as if to his conscious subjects,—</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“Blow, winds, and crack your cheeks! rage! blow!</div> - <div class='line'>You cataracts and hurricanoes, spout,</div> - <div class='line'>Till you have drenched our steeples, drowned the cocks!</div> - <div class='line'>You sulphurous and thought-executing fires,</div> - <div class='line'>Vaunt-couriers to oak-cleaving thunderbolts,</div> - <div class='line'>Singe my white head! And thou, all-shaking thunder,</div> - <div class='line'>Strike flat the thick rotundity o’ the world!</div> - <div class='line'>Nor rain, wind, thunder, fire, are my daughters.</div> - <div class='line'>I tax not you, ye elements, with unkindness:</div> - <div class='line'>I never gave you kingdom, called you children;</div> - <div class='line'>You owe me no subscription. Then let fall</div> - <div class='line'>Your horrible pleasure: here I stand, your slave,</div> - <div class='line'>A poor, infirm, weak, and despised old man.</div> - <div class='line'>But yet I call you servile ministers</div> - <div class='line'>That will with two pernicious daughters join</div> - <div class='line'>Your high-engendered battles ’gainst a head</div> - <div class='line'>So old and white as this. O, O, ’tis foul.”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c009'>These last words, beginning with “<em>high</em>-engendered battles,” he -delivered with a down-sweeping cadence as mighty in its swell as -one of the great symphonic swings of Beethoven. The auditor -seemed to hear the peal strike on the mountain-top and its slow -<span class='pageno' id='Page_789'>789</span>reverberations roll through the valleys. The next speech, commencing -with,—</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line in22'>“Let the great gods,</div> - <div class='line'>That keep this dreadful pother o’er our heads,</div> - <div class='line'>Find out their enemies now,”—</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c009'>and ending with,—</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line in26'>“I am a man</div> - <div class='line'>More sinned against than sinning,”—</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c009'>he pronounced in a way that emphasized the vast ethical meaning -involved in it, and illustrated the strong humanity of Lear. He -seemed to be saying, “These woes are just; I have been proud, -rash, and cruel; but others have treated me worse than I have -treated them.” This unconscious effort at a halting justification, -this disguised appeal for kindly judgment, was profoundly natural -and affecting. Then his brain reeled under its load of woe, and -he sighed, with a piteous bewilderment, “My wits begin to turn,” -bringing back with awful fulfilment his prophetic prayer long -before, “O, let me not be mad, sweet heaven! keep me in temper: -I would not be mad!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>There was something in the immense outspread of the sorrows -of Lear and the enlacement of their gigantic portrayal with the -elemental scenery of nature, the desolate heath, the blackness of -night, the howling gale, the stabbing flashes of lightning, overwhelmingly -pathetic and sublime. The passion of Othello pours -along like a vast river turbulent and raging, yet with placid -eddies. The passion of Lear is like the continual swell and moan -of the ocean, whose limitless expanse, with no beacon of hope to -meet the eye, baffles our comprehension and bewilders us with -its awful mystery. This part of the play, as Forrest represented -it in person and voice, gave one a new measure of the greatness -of man in his glory and in his ruin. And in the subsequent -scenes, where the disease of Lear had progressed and his faculties -become more wrecked, he was so interpreted from the splendid -might over which he had exulted to the mournful decay into which -he had sunk, that when he said, in reply to a request to be allowed -to kiss his hand, “Let me wipe it first; it smells of mortality,” -the whole audience felt like exclaiming, with Gloster,—</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“O ruined piece of nature! This great world</div> - <div class='line'>Shall so wear out to naught.”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_790'>790</span>The acting of all the closing scenes with Cordelia was something -to be treasured apart in the memories of all who saw it and -who were capable of appreciating its exquisite beauty and its unfathomable -pathos. When he was awakened out of the merciful -sleep which had fallen on the soreness of his soul, and heard -her whose voice was ever soft, gentle, and low, addressing him -as she had been wont in happier days, his look of wondering -weariness, his mistaking her for a spirit in bliss, his kneeling to -her, his gradual recognition of her,—all these were executed with -a unity of purpose, a simplicity of means, and an ineffable tenderness -of affection, to which it is impossible for any verbal description -to do justice. Who, that did not carry a stone in his -breast in place of a heart, could refrain from tears when he heard -the exhausted sufferer—his gaze fixed on hers, his hands moving -in unpurposed benediction, a solemn calm wrapping him after -the long tempest, passing from the old arrogance of self-assertion -into a supreme sympathy—murmur,—</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“Where have I been? Where am I?—Fair daylight?</div> - <div class='line'>I am mightily abused.—I should even die with pity</div> - <div class='line'>To see another thus.”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c009'>Who that saw his instinctive action and heard his broken utterance -when she was dead, and he stood trying with insane perseverance -to restore her, fondling her with his paralyzed hands, can -ever forget? With insistent eagerness he asked,—</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“Why should a dog, a horse, a rat, have life,</div> - <div class='line'>And thou no breath at all?”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c009'>With complaining resignation he said,—</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line in20'>“Thou’lt come no more,</div> - <div class='line'>Never, never, never, never, never!—”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c009'>With wild surprise he exclaimed, while his lips parted and a weird -and shrivelling smile stole through his wearied face,—</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“Do you see this?—Look on her,—look,—her lips,—</div> - <div class='line'>Look there, look there!”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c009'>He stood erect and still, gazing into vacancy. Not a rustle, not -a breath, could be heard in the house. Slowly the head nodded, -the muscles of the face relaxed, the hands opened, the eyes closed, -one long hollow gasp through the nostrils, then on the worn-out -<span class='pageno' id='Page_791'>791</span>king of grief and pain fell the last sleep, and his form sank upon -the stage, while the parting salvos of the storm rolled afar.</p> - -<p class='c006'>Such were the principal characters represented by Edwin -Forrest. So, as far as an incompetent pen can describe their -portraiture, did he represent them. The work was a dignified -and useful one, moralizing the scene not less than entertaining the -crowd. It was full of noble lessons openly taught. It was still -richer, as all acting is, in yet deeper latent lessons to be gathered -and self-applied by the spectators who were wise enough to pierce -to them and earnest enough to profit from them.</p> - -<p class='c007'>For every dramatic impersonation of a character in the unravelling -of a plot and the fulfilment of a fate is charged with -implicit morals. This is inevitable because every type of man, -every grade of life, every kind of conduct, every style of manners, -embodies those laws of cause and effect between the soul and its -circumstances which constitute the movement of human destiny, -and illustrates the varying standards of truth and beauty, or of -error and sin, in charming examples to be assimilated, or in repulsive -ones to serve as warnings. Thus the stage is potentially -as much more instructive than the pulpit, as life is more -inclusive and contagious than words. The trouble is that its -teaching is so largely disguised and latent. It sorely needs an -infusion of the religious and academic spirit to explicate and drive -home its morals. For instance, when Coriolanus says, with action -of immovable haughtiness,—</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“Let them pull all about mine ears; present me</div> - <div class='line'>Death on the wheel, or at wild horses’ heels;</div> - <div class='line'>Or pile ten hills on the Tarpeian rock,</div> - <div class='line'>That the precipitation might down stretch</div> - <div class='line'>Below the beam of sight, yet will I still</div> - <div class='line'>Be thus to them,—”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c009'>it is a huge and grand personality, filled to bursting with arrogant -pride and indirect vanity, asserting itself obstinately against the -mass of the people. As a piece of power it is imposing; but -morally it is vulgar and odious. The single superior should not -assert his egotistic will defiantly against the wills of the multitude -of inferiors and hate them for their natural resistance. He should -modestly modulate his self-will with the real claims of the collective -<span class='pageno' id='Page_792'>792</span>many, or blend and assert it through universal right and -good, thus representing God with the strength of truth and the -suavity of love. That is the lesson of Coriolanus,—a great lesson -if taught and learned. And, to take an exactly opposite example, -what is it that so pleases and holds everybody who sees the exquisite -Rip Van Winkle of Joseph Jefferson? Analyze the performance -to the bottom, and it is clear that the charm consists -in the absence of self-assertion, the abeyance of all egotistic will. -Against the foil of his wife’s tartar temper, who with arms akimbo -and frowning brow and scolding acidity of voice opposes everything, -and asserts her authority, and, despite her faithful virtues, -is as disagreeable as an incarnated broomstick, Rip, lazy and -worthless as he is, steals into every heart with his yielding movement, -soft tones, and winsome look of unsuspicious innocence. -He resists not evil or good, neither his appetite for drink nor his -inclinations to reform. The spontaneity, the perfect surrender of -the man, the unresisted sway of nature in him, plays on the unconscious -sympathies of the spectators with a charm whose divine -sweetness not all the vices of the vagabond can injure. It is, in -this homely and almost unclean disguise, a moral music strangely -wafted out of an unlost paradise of innocence into which drunkenness -has strayed. But the real secret of the fascination is hidden -from most of those who intuitively feel its delicious fascination. -Did the audience but appreciate the graceful spirit of its spell, -and for themselves catch from its influence the same unresisted -spontaneousness of soul in unconscious abnegation of self-will, -they would go home regenerated.</p> - -<p class='c007'>But beyond the special lessons in the parts played by Forrest, -he was, through his whole professional course, constantly teaching -the great lesson of the beauty and value of the practice of -the dramatic art for the purposes of social life itself. Should the -stage decline and disappear, the art so long practised on it will not -cease, but will be transferred to the ordinary walks of social life. -Nothing is so charming as a just and vivid play of the spiritual -faculties through all the languages of their outer signs, in the -friendly intercourse of real life. But in our day the tendency is -to confine expression to the one language of articulate words. -This suppression of the free play of the organism stiffens and -sterilizes human nature, impoverishes the interchanges of souls -<span class='pageno' id='Page_793'>793</span>makes existence formal and barren. The most precious relish of -conversation and the divinest charm of manners is the living play -of the spirit in the features, and the spontaneous modulation of -the form by the passing experience. A man grooved in bigotry -and glued in awkwardness, with no alert intelligence and sympathy, -is a painful object and a repulsive companion. He moves -like a puppet and talks like a galvanized corpse. But it is delightful -and refreshing to associate with one thoroughly possessed -by the dramatic spirit, who, his articulations all freed and his -faculties all earnest, speaks like an angel and moves like a god. -The theatre all the time offers society this inspiring lesson. For -there are seen free and developed souls lightening and darkening -through free and sensitive faces. If bodies did not answer to -spirits nor faces reveal minds, nature would be a huge charnelhouse -and society a brotherhood of the dead. And if things go -on unchecked as they have been going on, we bid fair to come to -that. It is to be hoped, however, that the examples of universal, -liberated expression given on the stage will more and more take -effect in the daily intercourse of all classes. As a guiding hint -and stimulus in that direction, the central law of dramatic expression -may here be explicitly formulated. All emotions that -betoken the exaltation of life, or the recognition of influences that -tend to heighten life, confirm the face, but expand and brighten -it. All emotions that indicate the sinking of life, or the recognition -of influences that threaten to lower life, relax and vacate -the face if these emotions are negative, contract and darken it if -they are positive. In answer to the exalting influences the face -either grasps what it has or opens and smiles to hail and receive -what is offered; in answer to the depressing influences, it either -droops under its load or shuts and frowns to oppose and exclude -what is threatened. The eyes reveal the mental states; the muscles -reveal the effects of those states in the body. In genial -states active, the eyes and the muscles are both intense, but the -eyes are smiling. In genial states passive, the eyes are intense, -the muscles languid. In hostile states active, both eyes and -muscles are intense, but the eyes are frowning. In hostile states -passive, the eyes are languid, the muscles intense. In simple or -harmonious states, the eyes and the muscles agree in their excitement -or relaxation. In complex and inconsistent states, the -<span class='pageno' id='Page_794'>794</span>eyes and the muscles are opposed in their expression. To expound -the whole philosophy of these rules would take a volume. -But they formulate with comprehensive brevity the central law -of dramatic expression as a guide for observation in daily life.</p> - -<p class='c007'>In filling up the outlines of the majestic characters imperfectly -limned in the preceding pages, exhibiting them in feature -and proportion and color and tone as they were, setting in relief -the full dimensions and quality of their intellect and their passion, -living over again their experiences and laying bare for public appreciation -the lessons of their fate, Forrest found the high and -noble joy of his existence, the most satisfying employment for -his faculties, and a deep, unselfish solace for his afflictions. He -reposed on the grand moments of each drama, as if they were -thrones which he was loath to abdicate. He dilated and glowed -in the exciting situations, as if they were no mimic reflections of -the crises of other souls, but original and thrilling incarnations -of his own. He lingered over the nobler utterances, as if he -would have paused to repeat their music, and would willingly -let the action wait that the thought might receive worthy emphasis. -Every inspired conception of eloquence, every delicate -beauty of sentiment, every aggrandizing attitude of man contained -in the plays he lifted into a relief of light and warmth that gave -it new attraction and more power. And to trace the thoughts -and feelings that gained heightened expression through him, -echoed and working with contagious sympathy in the hearts of -the crowds who hung on his lips, was a divine pleasure which he -would fain have indefinitely prolonged. But the movement on -the stage, that affecting mirror of life, hurries forward, the business -of the world breaks in upon philosophy, and the dreams of -the poet and the player burst like painted bubbles.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Meanwhile, not only do the parts played and the scenes amidst -which they are shown vanish and become the prey of oblivion, -but those who played them disappear also, leaving the providential -and prophetic Spirit of Humanity, a sublimer Prospero, to -say,—</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line in18'>“These, our actors,</div> - <div class='line'>As I foretold you, were all spirits, and</div> - <div class='line'>Are melted into air, into thin air.”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<div class='chapter'> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_795'>795</span> - <h2 class='c005'>CHAPTER XXIII.<br /> <span class='large'>CLOSING YEARS AND THE EARTHLY FINALE.</span></h2> -</div> - -<p class='c006'>When in the fullest glory of his strength and his fame Forrest -bought a farm and quite made up his mind to retire from the -stage forever. While under this impulse he played a parting -engagement in New Orleans. Called out after the play, he said, -among other things, “The bell which tolled the fall of the curtain -also announced my final departure from among you. I have -chosen a pursuit congenial to my feelings,—that pursuit which -the immortal Washington pronounced one of the most noble and -useful ever followed by man,—the tilling of the soil. And now, -ladies and gentlemen, I have to say that little word which must -so often be said in this sad, bright world,—farewell.” The purpose, -however, passed away with its now forgotten cause. Again -he seriously thought for a little time, when a nomination to Congress -was pressed on him, of exchanging his dramatic career for -a political one. This idea, too, on careful reflection he rejected. -And once more, when depressed and embittered by his domestic -trouble, and sick of appearing before the public, he was for a -season strongly tempted to say he would never again enter the -theatre as a player. With these three brief and fitful exceptions -he never entertained any design of abandoning the practice of -his profession, until a shattering illness in the spring of 1872 -compelled him to take the step. Then he took the step quietly, -with no public announcement.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Thus the dramatic seasons of the five years preceding his death -found the veteran still in harness, working vigorously as of old -in the art of which he had ever been so fond and so proud. His -earnings during each of these seasons were between twenty-five -and forty thousand dollars, and the applause given to his performances -and the friendly and flattering personal attentions paid -<span class='pageno' id='Page_796'>796</span>him were almost everywhere very marked. He had no reason -to feel that he was lingering superfluous on the stage. Many, it -is true, asked why, with his great wealth, his satiation of fame, -his literary taste, his growing infirmity of lameness, he did not -give up this drudgery and enjoy the luxury of his home in -leisure and dignity. There were two chief reasons why he persisted -in his vocation. No doubt the large sum of ready money -he earned by it was welcome to him, because while his fortune -was great it was mostly unproductive and a burden of taxes. No -doubt, also, he well relished the admiration and applause he -drew; for the habit of enjoying this had become a second nature -with him. Neither of these considerations, however, was it which -caused him to undergo the toil and hardship of his profession to -the last. His real motives were stronger. The first was the sincere -conviction that it was better for the preservation of his health -and faculties, his interest and zest in life and the world, to keep -at his wonted task. He feared that a withdrawal of this spur and -stimulus would the sooner dull his powers, stagnate him, and -break him down. He often asserted this. For example, in 1871 -he wrote thus, after speaking of what he had suffered from severe -journeyings, extreme cold, poor food, many vexations, and a fall -over a balustrade so terrible that it would have killed him had it -not been for his professional practice in falling: “This is very -hard work; but it is best to do it, as it prevents both physical and -mental rust, which is a sore decayer of body and soul.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>But the most effectual motive in keeping him on the stage was -a real professional enthusiasm, an intense love of his art for its -own sake. He felt that he was still improving in his best parts, -in everything except mere material power, giving expression -to his refining conceptions with a greater delicacy and subtilty, -a more minute truthfulness and finish. He keenly enjoyed his -own applause of his own best performances. This was a satisfaction -to him beyond anything which the critics or the public -could bestow or withhold. It was a luxury he was not willing -to forego. He was a great artist still delighting himself with -touching and tinting his favorite pictures, still loyal to truth and -nature, and feeling the joy of a devotee as he placed now a more -delicate shade here or a more ethereal light there, producing a -higher harmony of tone, a greater convergence of effects in a -<span class='pageno' id='Page_797'>797</span>finer unity of the whole. Even had this been an illusion with -him, it would have been touching and noble. But it was a reality. -His Richelieu and Lear were never rendered by him with such -entire artistic beauty and grandeur as the last times he played -them. In the thoughts of those who knew that as he went over -the country in his later years the plaudits of the audiences and -the approvals of critics were insignificant to him in comparison -with his own judgment and feeling, and that he deeply relished -the minutely earnest and natural truth and power and rounded -skill of his own chosen portrayals of human nature, the fact lent -an extreme interest and dignity to his character. This unaffected -enthusiasm of the old artist, this intrinsic delight in his work, -was a sublime reward for his long-continued conscientious devotion, -and an example which his professional followers in future -time should thoughtfully heed. He wrote to a friend from Washington -near the close of his career, “Last night I played Lear -in a cold house, with a wretched support, and to a sparse and -undemonstrative audience. But I think I never in my life more -thoroughly enjoyed any performance of mine, because I really -believed, and do believe so now, that I never before in my life -played the part so well. For forty years I have studied and acted -Lear. I have studied the part in the closet, in the street, on the -stage, in lunatic asylums all over the world, and I hold that next -to God, Shakspeare comprehended the mind of man. Now I -would like to have had my representation of the character last -night photographed to the minutest particular. Then next to -the creation of the part I would not barter the fame of its representation.” -This, written to a bosom friend from whom he kept -back nothing, when the shadow of the grave was approaching, -was not egotism or vanity. It was truth and sincerity, and its -meaning is glorious. What a man works for with downright and -persevering honesty, that, and the satisfaction or the retribution -of it, he shall at last have. And there is only one thing of which -no artist can ever tire,—merit. The passion for mere fame grows -weak and cold, and, under its prostituted accompaniments, dies -out in disgust; but the zeal and the joy of a passion for excellence -keep fresh and increase to the end.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Aside from that self-rewarding love of his art and delight in -exercising it and improving in it, of which no invidious influence -<span class='pageno' id='Page_798'>798</span>could rob him, Forrest continued still to be followed by the same -extremes of praise and abuse to which he had ever been accustomed. -But one grateful form of compliment and eulogy became -more frequent towards the close. He was in the frequent receipt -of letters, drawn up and signed by large numbers of the leading -citizens of important towns, urging him to pay them a visit and -gratify them with another, perhaps a final, opportunity of witnessing -some of his most celebrated impersonations. Among -his papers were found, carefully labelled, autograph letters of this -description from New Orleans, Savannah, Cincinnati, Louisville, -Detroit, Troy, and other cities,—flattering testimonials to his -celebrity and the interest felt in him. These dignified and disinterested -demonstrations were fitted to offset and soothe the wounds -continually inflicted on his proud sensibility by many vulgar -persons who chanced to have access to newspapers for the expression -of their frivolity, malignity, or envy. For detraction is -the shadow flung before and behind as the sun of fame journeys -through the empyrean. To illustrate the scurrilous treatment -Forrest had to bear, even in his old age, from heartless ribalds, it -is needful only to set a few characteristic examples in contrast -with his real character. His professional and personal character, -in the spirit and aim of his public life, is justly indicated in this -brief newspaper editorial:</p> - -<p class='c007'>“In the line of heroic characters—such as Brutus, Virginius, -Tell—Mr. Forrest has had no rival in this country. He is himself -rich in the generous, manly qualities fitted for such grand -ideal parts. The old-time favorite plays of the heroic and romantic -school, like Damon and Pythias, are well-nigh banished -from the stage. The materialistic tendencies and aspirations of -this intensely practical age disqualify most audiences for seeing -with the zest of their fathers a play so purely poetic and imaginative -as the immortal tale of the Pythagorean friends. That -Mr. Forrest, almost alone among his contemporaries, should cling -to this style of plays with such true enthusiasm is evidence of the -fidelity with which he seeks purity rather than attractiveness in -the models of his art. His name has never been identified with -a single one of the meretricious innovations which have within -the past two decades so lowered the dignity of the drama. Every -play associated with his person has some noble hero as its central -<span class='pageno' id='Page_799'>799</span>figure, and some sublime moral quality and lesson in the unravelling -of its plot. And his unwavering seriousness of purpose in -everything he plays cannot be questioned, whatever else may be -questioned.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>The above estimate is sustained by the unconscious betrayal, -the latent implications, in the following speech made by Forrest -himself when called out after a performance:</p> - -<p class='c007'>“<span class='sc'>Ladies and Gentlemen</span>,—For this and for the many tokens -of your kind approbation, I return you my sincere and heartfelt -acknowledgments. It is a source of peculiar gratification to -me to perceive that the drama is yet, with you, a subject of consideration. -Permit me to express my conviction that it is, in one -form or another, whether for good or for evil, intimately blended -with our social institutions. It is for you, then, to give it the -necessary and appropriate direction. If it be left in charge of the -bad and the dissolute, the consequences will be deplorable; but -if the fostering protection of the wise and the good be extended -to it, the result cannot but tend to the advancement of morals -and the intellectual improvement of the community. It is indeed -the true province of the drama</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>‘To wake the soul by tender strokes of art,</div> - <div class='line'>To raise the genius, and to mend the heart;</div> - <div class='line'>To make mankind in conscious virtue bold,</div> - <div class='line'>Live o’er each scene, and be what they behold;</div> - <div class='line'>For this, the tragic muse first trod the stage,</div> - <div class='line'>Commanding tears to stream through every age;</div> - <div class='line'>Tyrants no more their savage nature kept,</div> - <div class='line'>And foes to virtue wondered how they wept.’”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c007'>What a descent from the above level to the ridicule, insult, and -misrepresentation in notices like the succeeding:</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Forrest reminded us of the Butcher of Chandos, and his -rendition of the fifth act was reminiscent of the wild madness, the -ungovernable bellowings and fierce snortings of a short-horned -bull chased by a score of terriers. He raved, and rumbled, and -snorted, and paused, gathering wind for a fresh start, as if the -ghost of Shakspeare were whispering in his ear,</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>‘Now crack thy lungs, and split thy brazen pipe;</div> - <div class='line'>Blow, actor, till thy sphered bias cheek</div> - <div class='line'>Outswell the colic of puffed Aquilon;</div> - <div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_800'>800</span>Come, stretch thy chest, and let thy eyes spout blood;</div> - <div class='line'>Thou blow’st for Hector.’</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c009'>We are fearful that the more he studies and improves his part the -worse it will be.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Last night we went with great expectations to the Academy -of Music to see Forrest. We were never so astonished as to -witness there the most successful practical imposition ever played -on the public. Manager Leake has got Old Brown the hatter -there, with his white head blacked, playing leading parts under -the assumed name of Edwin Forrest.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Mr. Forrest dragged his weary performances out to empty -boxes last week. Save in his voice, which still soars, crackles, -rumbles, grumbles, growls and hisses, as in his younger days, this -great actor is but a dreary echo of his former self. Appropriately -may he exclaim,—</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>‘Othello’s occupation’s gone!’</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c009'>and it would be well if, like the heroic Moor, he would bid farewell -to the bustling world by an abrupt retirement from the stage, -instead of inflicting nightly stabs upon his high reputation and -wounding his old-time friends by his attempts to soar into the -sublime regions of tragedy.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“The interest that still crowds the theatre whenever Mr. Forrest -appears is less admiration of his present power than curiosity -to see a gigantic ruin.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“The intellectual portion of the community never thoroughly -appreciated the style of histrionic gymnastics which our great -tragedian has introduced; the ponderous tenderness and gladiatorial -grace of his conceptions, though excellent in their way, had -never any charm for people of delicate nerves, who delight not in -viewing experiments in spasmodic contortion, or delineations of -violent death, evidently after studies from nature in the slaughterhouse! -But lately the faithful themselves are tiring of it.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>The man with a thin and acid nature who aspires to be an -author or an artist, and cannot succeed, sometimes becomes a -spiteful critic. The only pity is that he should usually find it so -easy to get an organ for his spites. Would-be genius hates and -criticises, actual genius loves and creates. The former enviously -<span class='pageno' id='Page_801'>801</span>despises those who succeed where he has failed, the latter generously -admires all true merit.</p> - -<p class='c007'>And now it will be a relief to turn from such criticisms to -facts. The season of 1871 was marked by an experience altogether -memorable in the professional history of Forrest, his last -engagement in New York, where he played for twenty nights in -February at the Fourteenth Street Theatre, sustaining only the -two roles of Lear and Richelieu. These were his two best parts, -and being characters of old men his cruel sciatica scarcely interfered -with his rendering of them. One or two newspaper writers -complained, as if it were a crime in the actor and a personal -offence to them, that “when Forrest came this season to New -York he neglected, and apparently with a purpose, the usual -precautions of metropolitan managers, and seemed to avoid all -the modern appliances of success, either from a contempt for the -appliances or from indifference as to the result.” They did not -seem once to suspect that his scorn for every species of bribery -or meretricious advertising, his frank and careless trust in simple -truth, was, considering the corrupt custom of the times, in the -highest degree honorable to him and exemplary for others. -It was always his way to make a plain announcement of his -appearance, and then let the verdict be what it might, with no -interference of his.</p> - -<p class='c007'>There was no popular rush to see him now. In the crowd of -new excitements and the quick forgetfulness belonging to our -day, the curiosity about him and the interest in him had largely -passed away. But the old friends who rallied at his name, and -the respectable numbers of cultivated people who were glad of a -chance to see the most historic celebrity of the American stage -before it should be too late, were unanimous in their enthusiastic -admiration. They declared with one voice that his playing was -filled with wonderful power in general and with wonderful felicities -in detail. That metropolitan press, too, from which he had -so long received not only unjust depreciation, but wrong and contumely, -spoke of him and his performances now in a very different -tone. Its voice appeared a kindly response to what he had privately -written to his friend Oakes: “Well, I am here, here in New -York once more, and on Monday next begin again my professional -labor,—labors begun more than forty years ago in the same city. -<span class='pageno' id='Page_802'>802</span>What changes since then in men and things! Will any one of -that great and enthusiastic audience which greeted my efforts as -a boy, be here on Monday evening next to witness the matured -performance of the man? If so, how I should like to hear from -his own lips if the promises of spring-time have been entirely fulfilled -by the fruits of the autumn of life!” Without any notable -exception, extreme praise was lavished on his acting, and his name -was treated with a tenderness and a respect akin to reverence. -It seemed as though the writers felt some premonition of the -near farewell and the endless exit, and were moved to be just -and kind. The late amends touched the heart of the old player -deeply. It was a comfort to him to be thus appreciated in the -city of his greatest pride ere he ceased acting, and to have the -estimates of his friends endorsed in elaborate critiques from the -pens of the best dramatic censors, William Winter, Henry Sedley, -John S. Moray, and others. It is due to him and to them -that some specimens of these notices be preserved here. Space -will allow but a few extracts from the leading articles:</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Edwin Forrest, the actor, who is identified with much that is -intellectual, picturesque, and magnificently energetic in the history -of the American stage, is again before the New York public. -His reappearance is deeply interesting upon several accounts. -His reputation, far from being confined to the United States, extends -wherever the language of Shakspeare is spoken, and to a -great many countries where translations have rendered that poet’s -meanings known. His name has grown with the name of the -American people, and has greatened with the increasing greatness -of the country. At home and abroad he is recognized as -the superbly unique representative of several characters whose -creators owe their inspiration to the genius of American history. -No other actor has presented Americans with such powerful and -original conceptions of King Lear, Coriolanus, and Macbeth. No -other unites such grand physical forces with such intellectual -vigor and delicacy. His hand has an infinity of tints at its command, -and his tenderest touches are never weak. He is, therefore, -deservedly and almost universally considered as the fair -representative of what Americans have most reason to be proud -of in the history of their stage. He is not a weak copyist of -foreign originalities and of schools of the past. His virtues and -<span class='pageno' id='Page_803'>803</span>his vices, dramatically speaking, are his own. His genius is -thoroughly self-responsible, and his strong, conscious, and magnificent -repose is resplendently suggestive of the degree in which -the great actor rates, and has a right to rate himself.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Mr. Forrest can indeed be now admired more than he ever -was before; for his magnificent and picturesque energies are now -chastened and restrained by great intellectual culture, and softened -by the presence of that tender glow which varied experience -is pretty sure to ultimately lend. One strives in vain to -recall the name of any other actor, either in this country or in -England, who possesses such immense physical energies under -such perfect subservience to the intellect. We insist more particularly -upon this point, because it is one upon which even the -admirers of Mr. Forrest are not apt to dwell. There is a very -large class of people who are so absorbed in the generous breadth, -the brilliant coloring, and the large treatment of Mr. Forrest’s -favorite themes, that they neglect to give him credit for intellectual -niceties and delicate emotional distinctions. They vulgarly -admire merely the large style and heroic presence of the -man, and the rich reverberations of a voice that all the demands -of the entire gamut of passion have not yet perceptibly worn, and -they omit to give him that intellectual appreciation which is very -decidedly his due. In no other character which he is fond of playing -are all these qualifications so harmoniously united as in Lear. -In no other character are the distinctive qualities of Mr. Forrest’s -genius so beautifully blended and played. Those who have -been familiar with his rendering of this character in the days that -are past will take a curious pleasure in accompanying him from -scene to scene, and from act to act, and in remarking how true -he remains to the ideal of his younger years, and how powerful -he is in expressing that ideal. It is a rare thing for an actor to -awaken in a later generation the same quality and degree of -delight that he awoke in his own. It is a rare thing for him to -be as youthful in his maturity as he was mature in his youth, and -to thus succeed in delighting those who measure by a standard -more exacting and severe than the standard was which the -public, in an earlier age of American dramatic art, was fond of -applying. Mr. Forrest has passed these tests. We do not care -for the ignorant sarcasm of those who claim that the ‘school’ he -<span class='pageno' id='Page_804'>804</span>represents is a ‘physical’ school. It is a school wherein Mr. -Forrest is supreme master, and where an unrivalled voice and -physique are made absolutely subservient to intellectual expression.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Never were plaudits better deserved by any actor in any age -than those which have been showered down upon Forrest during -the past week. His conception and his rendering of King Lear -were alike magnificent. In his prime, when theatres were crowded -by the brightest and fairest of America, who listened spell-bound -to the favorite of the hour, he never played this character half so -well. The idiosyncrasy of his nature forbade it. The fierce ungovernable -fire within him could not be restrained within the -limits of the rôle. Forrest could never modulate the transport -of his feelings. He leaped at once from a calm and even tenor -to the full violence of frenzied anger. There was no <em>crescendo</em>, -no gradation. He was so fully possessed of his rôle that -he threw aside every consideration of different circumstances -which the case suggested. He was for the moment Lear, but -not Shakspeare’s old man: he was Forrest’s Lear. Hence the -fire of furious anger and the decrepitude of age were alike exaggerated. -But these things have passed away. Age has tamed -the lion-like excesses of the royal Forrest, and his impersonation -of King Lear is now absolutely faultless. Seeing and hearing -him under the disadvantages of a mangled text, a poor company, -a miserable <i><span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">mise en scène</span></i>, and a thin house, the visitor must -still be impressed by the one grand central figure, so eloquent, -so strong, so sweet in gentlest pathos. There is an unconscious -reproach in the manner in which he bows his head to the -shouts of applause. He is the King Lear of the American stage; -he gave to his children, the public, all that he had, and now they -have deserted him. They have crowned a new king before whom -they bow, and the old man eloquent is cheered by few voices. -The consciousness of his royal nature supports him. He knows -that while he lives there can be no other head of the American -stage; but still he is deserted and alone. That some such feeling -overpowered him when the flats parted, and the audience, seeing -the king on his throne, cheered him, there can be little doubt. -He bowed his head slightly in response to the acclamations of -those scantily-filled seats. But throughout the play there was -<span class='pageno' id='Page_805'>805</span>an added dignity of sorrow, which showed that the neglect of the -public had wounded him. He knew his fate. He recognized -that he was a discrowned king, and that the fickle public had -crowned another not worthy of sovereignty and having no sceptre -of true genius. The play went on and he became absorbed -in his rôle, forgetting in the delirium of his art that his house -was nearly empty. Had there been but five there, he would have -played it. For to him acting is existence, and the histrionic fire -in his bosom can never be quenched save with life. Actors may -come and actors may go, but it will be centuries before a Lear -arises like unto this man Forrest, whom the public seems to have -so nearly forgotten.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“The curtain rose a few minutes after eight, and the cold air -issuing from the stage threw a chill over the audience. But -when at last the scene opened and revealed Lear on his throne, -the old form in its Jove-like grandeur, the quiet eye that spoke of -worlds of reserved power, brought back the memories of old, and -round after round of applause stopped the utterance of the opening -words. There was such a heartiness of admiring welcome -about the thing, so much of the old feeling of theatrical enthusiasm, -that Forrest felt for once compelled to stand up, and, with a -bend of his leonine head, acknowledge the welcome. He tested -the love of his daughters; he gave away his kingdom, taking, -as he gave it, the sympathies of the audience. He called on the -eldest, and was taunted; he lost his ill-controlled temper, and -finally, goaded till his whole frame seemed about to shatter, he -invoked the curse of heaven. As he spoke, you could hear all -over the house that hissing of breath drawn through the teeth -which sudden pain causes, and when the curtain fell people looked -into each other’s eyes in silence. Then you would hear, ‘That -is acting.’ ‘It is awful!’ Then suddenly rose bravos, not your -petty clapping of hands, but shouts from boxes and orchestra, -and they came in volleys. The old king tottered calmly out -before the curtain, looked around slowly, and bowed back. But -there was now in that quiet eye a suppressed gleam in which -those nearest the stage could read as in a book the pride and -gratification of genius enjoying the effect of its power.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“With the drawbacks of ordinary scenery and a wretched -support, Forrest gives us a Richelieu which at the close of the -<span class='pageno' id='Page_806'>806</span>fourth act nightly draws forth a perfect whirlwind of applause, -and brings the veteran before the curtain amidst a wild cry of -enthusiasm which must stir old memories in his bosom. His -genius spreads an electric glow through the house and carries -the sympathies by storm.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Mr. Forrest’s reading of Richelieu is remarkable for its firmness -and intelligibility of purpose, for its singular pathos, for its -often unaffected melody of elocution, and—in this point approaching -his Lear—for its revelation, at intervals, of unmistakable subtlety -of thought. Like his Lear, too, the part is embroidered -over with those swift touches of electricity that gild and enrich -the underlying fabric which might otherwise appear too weighty -and sombre.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“The actor who would vitalize this part has no common work -to perform. It is incumbent upon him to make martial heroism -visible through a veil of intellectual finesse, and to indicate the -natural soldier-like qualities of the man projecting through that -smoothness and dissimulation which the ambition of the statesman -rendered expedient. It is necessary for him to develop so -that they may be perceived by the audience those characteristics -which Bulwer has unfolded in the play through the instrumentality -of long soliloquies that are necessarily omitted upon -the stage, and unless this is done by the actor the character is -deprived of that subtlety and force and that human complexity -of motive which Bulwer, in spite of his artificiality and conceits, -contrives to make apparent.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“This, however, is the task which Mr. Forrest performs to -perfection. Not being a purely intellectual character, Richelieu -demands in the delineation all those aids which are desirable -from Mr. Forrest’s august physique and wonderfully rich voice. -A just discrimination compels us to own that beside this representation -that of Mr. Booth appears faint and pale. A film seems -to cover it; whereas the representation of Mr. Forrest gathers -color and strength from the contrast. As a piece of mere elocution -Mr. Forrest’s reading is exquisitely beautiful, the ear floating -upon the profound and varied music of its cadences. But, flawlessly -exquisite as are these graces of enunciation, they are, after -all, merely channels in which the spirit of the entire interpretation -runs. The most cultured man in the audience which last night -<span class='pageno' id='Page_807'>807</span>filled the Fourteenth Street Theatre might have closely followed -every line which the actor enunciated, without being able to perceive -wherein it could be more heavily freighted with significance.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>But perhaps the most gratifying testimony borne at this time -to the natural power and artistic genius and skill of Forrest was -the following eloquent article by Mr. Winter, whose repeated -previous notices of the actor had been unfavorable and severe, -but who, irresistibly moved, now showed himself as magnanimous -as he was conscientious:</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Probably the public does not quite yet appreciate either the -value of its opportunity or the importance of improving it. -Two facts, therefore, ought to be strongly stated: one, that Mr. -Forrest’s personation of Lear is an extraordinary work of art; -the other, that, in the natural order of things, it must soon pass -forever away from the stage. Those who see it now will enjoy -a luxury and a benefit. Those who miss seeing it now will sow -the seed of a possible future regret. We have not in times -past been accustomed to extol, without considerable qualification, -the acting of Mr. Forrest. This was natural, and it was right. -An unpleasant physical element—the substitution of muscle for -brain and of force for feeling—has usually tainted his performances. -That element has been substantially discarded from his -Lear. We have seen him play the part when he was no more -than a strong, resolute, robustious man in a state of inconsequent -delirium. The form of the work, of course, was always definite. -Strength of purpose in Mr. Forrest’s acting always went hand in -hand with strength of person. He was never vague. He knew his -intent, and he was absolutely master of the means that were needful -to fulfil it. Precision, directness, culminating movement, and -physical magnetism were his weapons; and he used them with a -firm hand. Self-distrust never depressed him. Vacillation never -defeated his purpose. It was the triumph of enormous and -overwhelming individuality. Lear could not be seen, because -Mr. Forrest stood before him and eclipsed him.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“All that is greatly modified. Time and suffering seem to -have done their work. It is no secret that Mr. Forrest has passed -through a great deal of trouble. It is no secret that he is an old -man. We do not touch upon these facts in a spirit of heartlessness -or flippancy. But what we wish to indicate is that natural -<span class='pageno' id='Page_808'>808</span>causes have wrought a remarkable change in Mr. Forrest’s -acting, judged, as we now have the opportunity of judging it, by -his thrilling delineation of the tremendous agonies and the ineffably -pathetic madness of Shakspeare’s Lear. In form his performance -is neither more nor less distinct than it was of old. Almost -every condition of symmetry is satisfied in this respect. The port -is kingly; the movement is grand; the transitions are natural; -the delivery is resonant; the intellect is potential; the manifestations -of madness are accurate; the method is precise. But, -beyond all this, there is now a spiritual quality such as we have -not seen before in this extremely familiar work. Here and there, -indeed, the actor uses his ancient snort, or mouths a line for the -sake of certain words that intoxicate his imagination by their -sound and movement. Here and there, also, he becomes suddenly -and inexplicably prosaic in his rendering of meanings. -But these defects are slight in contrast with the numberless -beauties that surround and overshadow them. We have paid to -this personation the involuntary and sincere tribute of tears. We -cannot, and would not desire to, withhold from it the merited -recognition of critical praise. Description it can scarcely be said -to require. Were we to describe it in detail, however, we should -dwell, with some prolixity of remark, upon the altitude of imaginative -abstraction which Mr. Forrest attains in the mad scenes. -Shakspeare’s Lear is a person with the most tremulously tender -heart and the most delicately sensitive and poetical mind possible -to mortal man, and his true grandeur appears in his overthrow, -which is pathetic for that reason. The shattered fragments of the -column reveal its past magnificence. No man can play Lear in -these scenes so as to satisfy, even approximately, the ideal inspired -by Shakspeare’s text unless he knows, whether by intuition or -by experience, the vanity, the mutability, the hollowness of this -world. The deepest deep of philosophy is sounded here, and -the loftiest height of pathos is attained. It is high praise to say -that Mr. Forrest, whether consciously or unconsciously, interprets -these portions of the tragedy in such a manner as frequently -to enthrall the imagination and melt the heart. The miserable -desolation of a noble and tender nature scathed and blasted by -physical decay and by unnatural cruelty looks out of his eyes -and speaks in his voice. This may be only the successful simulation -<span class='pageno' id='Page_809'>809</span>of practised art; but, whatever it be, its power and beauty -and emotional influence are signal and irresistible.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>The New York “Courier” said, in a striking editorial, “The -engagement of Edwin Forrest at the Fourteenth Street Theatre, -and the praises lavished on him by the whole press of this city, -afford us an opportunity to make a little contribution to the truth -of history.” The “Courier,” after maintaining that Forrest had -always been a great actor, and that the total change of tone in -the press was not so much owing to his improvement as to the -fact that time had softened and removed the prejudices of his -judges, continues,—</p> - -<p class='c007'>“When Edwin Forrest, who might have been called at the -time the American boy tragedian, was playing at the Old -Bowery, and Edmund Kean at the Old Park, there was a little -society of gentlemen in this city, who were passionate admirers -of the drama. Young in years, they were already ripe in scholarship -and profound as well as independent critics. Amongst them, -and constantly associating together, were Anthony L. Robertson, -afterwards Vice-Chancellor; John Nathan, afterwards law partner -with Secretary Fish; John Lawrence; John K. Keese, better -known as ‘Kinney Keese,’ the wittiest and most learned of book -auctioneers, whose mind was a Bodleian Library and whose -tongue a telegraph battery of joke and repartee, and a dozen -others,—all since eminent at the bar, in literature, or in national -politics. Their little semi-social, semi-literary society was known -as ‘The Column,’ and subsisted for many years. During the -rival engagements of Kean and Forrest these gentlemen went -backwards and forwards between the ‘Park’ and the ‘Bowery,’ -and after witnessing the ‘Lear’ of the greatest of English actors -since Garrick, and the Lear of Forrest, unanimously decided, -upon the most careful and critical discussion, that, great as Kean -was, Forrest was <span class='fss'>THE</span> Lear. Unhappily he was only an American -boy, and American actors were not then the fashion. It was -in the days of Anglomania, and the fashion was to pooh-pooh -everything that had not graduated at Covent Garden or Drury -Lane and lacked the full diploma of cockney approbation. Forrest, -both as man and actor, was a full-blooded American and -a sturdy Democrat,—two fearful crimes at a time when art was -measured wholly by an English standard and politics reduced -<span class='pageno' id='Page_810'>810</span>criticism to almost as despicable servility as they do now. Happily -for the impartiality of discussion in art we have outlived -the period of Anglomania, and are rather virtuously proud than -otherwise of anything genuinely American. And this Edwin -Forrest is. His career, too, is a fine example at once of personal -devotion to art, and of ‘the sober second thought of the people,’ -which all the critics failed to alter. For, even when the latter -were most mad against him, he always drew crowds, and we may -say safely, by the power of native genius, supported only by an -iron will, he has shone for fifty years, with increasing lustre, as -a star in the dramatic firmament. William Leggett of the Evening -<cite>Post</cite>, who was a power in New York politics and loved Forrest -as a brother, tried to draw him, in his early manhood, into -politics. Had the latter consented to abandon his profession, he -might have commanded, at that time, any nomination in the gift -of the New York Democracy, and risen to the highest political -employments in the State. But he had chosen art as a mistress, -and refused to abandon her for the colder but equally exacting -idol of the mind,—political ambition. It is to this refusal we -owe the fact that our stage is still graced by the greatest actor -America has ever produced.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>The dramatic season of 1871–72 gave an astonishing proof -of the vital endurance and popular attractiveness of the veteran -player, then in his sixty-sixth year. Between October 1st and -April 4th he travelled over seven thousand miles, acted in fifty-two -different places, one hundred and twenty-eight nights, and -received the sum of $39,675.47. He began at the Walnut Street -Theatre, Philadelphia, proceeded to Columbus and Cincinnati, -and then appeared in regular succession at New Orleans, Galveston, -Houston, Nashville, Omaha, and Kansas City. At Kansas -City excursionists were brought by railroad from the distance of -a hundred and fifty miles, at three dollars each the round trip. -From this place his series of engagements took him to Saint -Louis, Quincy, Pittsburg, Cleveland, Buffalo, Detroit, Rochester, -Syracuse, Utica, Troy, and Albany. From Albany he journeyed -to Boston, where he opened an engagement at the Globe Theatre -with Lear, before an audience of great brilliancy completely -crowding the house. He had a triumph in every way flattering, -although the herculean toils of the season behind him had most -<span class='pageno' id='Page_811'>811</span>severely taxed his strength. How he played may be imagined -from the following report, made by a distinguished author in a -private letter. “I went last night to see Forrest. I saw Lear -himself; and never can I forget him, the poor, discrowned, -wandering king, whose every look and tone went to the heart. -Though mimic sorrows latterly have little power over me, I -could not suppress my tears in the last scene. The tones of the -heart-broken father linger in my ear like the echo of a distant -strain of sad sweet music, inexpressibly mournful, yet sublime. -The whole picture will stay in my memory so long as soul and -body hang together.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>On the Monday and Tuesday evenings of the second week, he -appeared as Richelieu. He had taken a severe cold, and was suffering -so badly from congestion and hoarseness that Oakes tried -to persuade him not to act. He could not be induced, he said, -to disappoint the audience by failing to keep his appointment. -Oakes accompanied him to his dressing-room, helped him on -with his costume, and, when the bell rang, led his tottering steps -to the stage entrance. The instant the foot of the veteran touched -the stage and his eye caught the footlights and the circling expanse -of expectant faces, he straightened up as if from an electric -shock and was all himself. At the end of each scene Oakes was -waiting at the wing to receive him and almost carry him to a -chair. Besought to take some stimulant, he replied, “No: if I -die to-night, they shall find no liquor in me. My mind shall be -clear.” And so he struggled on, playing by sheer dint of will, -with fully his wonted spirit and energy, but the moment he left -the eyes of the audience seeming almost in a state of collapse. -The play was drawing near its end. And this, though no one -thought of it, this was to be the last appearance of Edwin Forrest -on the stage. Débût, Rosalia de Borgia,—interval of fifty-five -years with slow illumination of the continent by his fame,—exit, -Richelieu! Oakes stood at the wing, all anxiety, peering -in and listening intently. The characters were grouped in the -final tableau. He stood central, resting on his left foot, his -right slightly advanced and at ease, his right arm lifted and his -venerable face upturned. Then his massive and solemn voice, -breaking clear from any impediment, was heard articulating with -a mournful beauty the last words of the play:</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line in16'><span class='pageno' id='Page_812'>812</span>“There is <span class='sc'>One</span> above</div> - <div class='line'>Sways the harmonious mystery of the world</div> - <div class='line'>Even better than prime ministers. Alas!</div> - <div class='line'>Our glories float between the earth and heaven</div> - <div class='line'>Like clouds that seem pavilions of the sun</div> - <div class='line'>And are the playthings of the casual wind.</div> - <div class='line'>Still, like the cloud which drops on unseen crags</div> - <div class='line'>The dews the wild-flower feeds on, our ambition</div> - <div class='line'>May from its airy height drop gladness down</div> - <div class='line'>On unsuspected virtue; and the flower</div> - <div class='line'>May bless the cloud when it hath passed away.”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c007'>Then, instead of inclining for the rise of the audience and the -fall of the curtain, he gazed for an instant musingly into vacancy, -and, as if some strange intuition or prophetic spirit had raised -the veil of fate, uttered from his own mind the significant words, -“<em>And so it ends</em>.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>He slept little that night, and, the next day, was clearly so -much worse that Oakes insisted resolutely that he should not -act at any rate. He was announced for Virginius, and was so -set on going that his friend had almost to use force to restrain -him. Dr. S. W. Langmaid, so justly eminent for his faithful -skill, was called. He said, positively, “If you undertake to act -to-night, Mr. Forrest, you will in all likelihood die upon the -stage.” He replied, pointing to Oakes, “Then I owe my life to -that dear old fellow yonder; for if he had not obstinately resisted -I should certainly have gone.” Pneumonia set in, and for -more than a week a fatal result was feared. During all this time -Oakes was his constant nurse, catching a few moments of sleep -when he could, but for the whole period of danger never taking -off his clothes except for a daily bath. Unwearied and incessant -in attentions, he left not his station until his friend was so far -recovered as to be able to start for Philadelphia. The day after -the convalescent reached home he wrote a letter of affectionate -acknowledgment to Oakes for all the services rendered with -such a loving fidelity. Here is an extract from it: “The air is -sunny, warm, and delicious, and I am pervaded by a feeling of -rest which belongs only to home. How marvellously I was -spared from death’s effacing fingers, and permitted for a little -longer time to worship God in the glad sunshine of his eternal -temple. To your tender care and solicitude during my illness -<span class='pageno' id='Page_813'>813</span>I owe everything.” And thus the old tie of friendship between -the pair received another degree of depth and was cemented with -a new seal.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Here it is fit to pause awhile in the narrative, go back a little -to gather up a few interesting things not yet mentioned, and supplement -the account previously given of his inner life by some -further description of the kind of man he was in social intercourse -and in the privacy of his home during his last years.</p> - -<p class='c007'>His home was always a charmed and happy place to him, -although sorrowfully vacant of wife and children. He took -great delight in the works of art he had collected. In his picture-gallery -he had paintings of which he really made friends; -and often of a night when he was restless he would rise, go to -them, light the gas, and gaze on them as if they had a living -sympathy to soothe and bless his spirit. But his library was the -favorite haunt where he felt himself indeed at ease and supplied -with just the ministration and companionship he craved. It -opened in the rear upon a spacious garden. Mr. Rees once -asked him why he did not clear up this garden and beautify it -with more flower-beds. He answered, “I prefer the trees. -When I sit here alone the whistling of the wind through their -branches sounds like a voice from another world.” He always -went away with regret and came back with pleasure. Nor was -his satisfaction altogether solitary. Writing to Oakes once he -says, “Yes, my friend, I am indeed happy once more to reach -this sweet haven of rest, my own dear home. My sisters received -me with the greatest joy, the servants with unaffected -gladness, and the two dogs actually went into ecstasies over me. -It was a welcome fit for an emperor.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>The loss of his three sisters one by one struck heavy blows -on his heart, and left his house darker each time than it had -been before. In 1863 he writes,—</p> - -<p class='c010'>“<span class='sc'>Dear friend Oakes</span>,—I cannot sufficiently thank you for the -kind words of sympathy you have expressed for me in my late -unhappy bereavement—the loss of my dear sister Henrietta, who -on the death of my beloved mother devoted her whole life to -me. Her wisdom was indeed a lamp to my feet, and her love -a joy to my heart. Ah, my friend, we cannot but remember -<span class='pageno' id='Page_814'>814</span>such things were that were most dear to us. Do we love our -friends more as we advance in life, that our loss of them is -so poignant, while in youth we see them fall around us like -leaves in winter weather as though the next spring would once -more restore them? I read your letter to my remaining sisters, -and they thanked you with their tears. You may remember -that once under a severe affliction of your own—the death of -a loved friend—I endeavored to console you with the hope of -immortality. That fails me now.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>In 1869 he wrote again, “My sister Caroline died last night. -We have a sad house. Why under such bereavements has God -not given us some comforting reasonable hope in the future, -where these severed ties of friendship and love may be again -united? Man’s vanity and self-love have betrayed him into such -a belief; but who knows that the fact substantiates it?” And in -1871 once more he wrote, “My sister Eleanora is dead, and -there is now no one on earth whose veins bear blood like mine. -My heart is desolate.” This obituary notice appeared at the -time:</p> - -<p class='c007'>“The death of Eleanora Forrest, sister of Mr. Edwin Forrest -the tragedian, has cast a gloom over the large circle of her -acquaintances, which time alone can dispel; but the gloom -which rests over the household in which her gentle sway and -influence brought peace and happiness no change of time or -season can ever remove. To one, at least, the light of home -went out with her life. To one, now the last of his race, his -splendid mansion will be as some stately hall deserted. Its light -has gone out; the garlands which her hands twined are dead; -‘the eyes that shone, now dimmed and gone,’ will only appear -again to him in memory. Memory, however,</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line in10'>“‘Is but a gift</div> - <div class='line'>Within a ruined temple left,</div> - <div class='line'>Recalling what its beauties were</div> - <div class='line'>And then painting what they are.’</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c007'>“There was something so mild, so pure, so Christian-like, in -this lady, that her passing away from us is but a translation from -<span class='pageno' id='Page_815'>815</span>earth to Heaven, like a flower blooming here for awhile to find -eternal blossom there.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Kind, gentle, with a hand open to charity, she did not remain -at home awaiting the call of the destitute and suffering, but when -the storms and the tempests of winter came and the poor were -suffering, bearing their poverty and wretchedness in silence, she -came forth unsolicited to aid them. We could name many -instances of this; but she, who while living did not wish her -charities known, receives her reward from One who reads the -human heart and sways the destinies of mankind. The writer -of this speaks feelingly of one whom it was a pleasure and a -happiness to know. If ever a pure spirit left its earthly tenement -to follow father, mother, brothers, and sisters to the home -‘eternal in the skies,’ it was that of Eleanora Forrest. There -are many left to mourn her loss, but only one of kindred remains -to grieve. To him the knowledge of her many virtues, sisterly -affection, and the bright hereafter, must bring that peace no -friendly aid can effect. Let us remember, in our hours of affliction, -that</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“‘Life’s a debtor to the grave,</div> - <div class='line'>Dark lattice, letting in eternal day.’”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c007'>The revolutions of his tempestuous blood, the resentful -memory of wrongs, the keen perception of insincerity, shallowness, -and evanescence, and the want of any grounded faith in a -future life gave Forrest many hours of melancholy, of bitterness, -and almost of despair. But he never, not even in the darkest -hour, became a misanthrope or an atheist. In one of his -commonplace books he had copied these lines which he was -often heard to quote:</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“The weariness, the wildness, the unrest,</div> - <div class='line in2'>Like an awakened tempest, would not cease;</div> - <div class='line'>And I said in my sorrow, Who is blessed?</div> - <div class='line in2'>What is good? What is truth? Where is peace?”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c007'>A few of his characteristic expressions in his depressed moods -may have interest for the reader:</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Is there then no rest but in the grave? Rest without the -consciousness of rest? The rest of annihilation?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I am very sad and disheartened at the iniquitous decisions of -<span class='pageno' id='Page_816'>816</span>these juries and judges. I could willingly die now with an utter -contempt for this world and a perfect indifference to my fate in -the next.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I wish the great Day of Doom were not a chimera. What -a solace it would be to all those whom man has so deeply -wronged!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“This human life is a wretched failure, and the sooner annihilation -comes to it the better.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>While these impulsive phrases reveal his intense and unstable -sensibility, they must be taken with great allowance, or they will -do injustice to his better nature. They are transitory phases -of experience betraying his weakness. In his deeper and clearer -moods he felt a strange and profound presentiment of immortality, -and surmised that this life was neither the first nor the last of us. -But living as he did mostly for this material world and its prizes, -he could not hold his mind steadily to the sublime height of -belief in the eternal life of the soul. And so all sorts of doubts -came in and were recklessly entertained. Had his spirituality -equalled his sensibility and intelligence, and had he aimed at -personal perfection as zealously as he aimed at professional excellence, -his faith in immortality would have been as unshakable -as was his faith in God. Also could he have filled his soul with -the spirit of forgiveness and charity instead of harboring tenacious -instincts of hate and disgust, he would have been a serene and -benignant man. His complaining irritability would have vanished -in a devout contentment; for he would have seen a plan of exact -compensations everywhere threading the maze of human life.</p> - -<p class='c007'>But then he would not have been Edwin Forrest. Inconsistent -extremes, unregulated impulsiveness, unsubdued passion, some -moral incongruity of character and conduct, of intuition and -thought, belonged to his type of being. It is only required that -those who assume to judge him shall be just, and not be misled -by any superficial or partial appearance of good or evil to give an -unfair verdict. His defects were twofold, and he had to pay the -full penalty for them. First, no man can lead a really happy -and noble life, in the high and true sense of the words, who is -infested with feelings of hate and loathing towards persons who -have injured him or shown themselves detestable. He must -refuse to entertain such emotions, and with a magnanimous and -<span class='pageno' id='Page_817'>817</span>loving heart contemplate the fairer side of society. For almost -all our experience, whether we know it or not, is strained through -and tested and measured by our emotional estimates of our fellow-men. -It is chiefly in them, or in ourselves as affected by our -thoughts of them, that God reveals himself to us or hides himself -from us. Second, Forrest not only dwelt too much on mean -or hostile persons and on real or fancied wrongs, but he did not -live chiefly for the only ends which are worthy to be the supreme -aim of man. The genuine ends of a man in this world are to -glorify God, to serve humanity, and to perfect himself. And -these three are inseparably conjoined, a triune unity. The man -who faithfully lives for these religious ends will surely attain -peace of mind and unwavering faith in a Providence which orders -everything and cannot err. The highest conscious ends of Forrest -were not religious, but were to glorify his art, to perfect his -strength and skill, and to win the ordinary prizes of society,—wealth, -fame, and pleasure. Elements of the superior aims indeed -entered largely into his spirit and conduct, but were not his -proposed and consecrating aim. This, as now frankly set forth, -was his failure, and the lesson it has for other men.</p> - -<p class='c007'>But, on the other hand, he had his praiseworthy success. If -he was inferior to the best men, he was greatly superior to most -men. For he was no hypocrite, parasite, profligate, squanderer -of his own resources, or usurper of the rights of others. After -every abatement it will be said of him, by all who knew the man -through and through, that he was great and original in personality, -honest in every fibre, truthful and upright according to the standard -of his own conscience, tender and sweet and generous in the inmost -impulses of his soul. On the other hand, it must be admitted that -he was often the obstinate victim of injurious and unworthy prejudices, -and abundantly capable of a profanity that was vulgar and -of animosities that were ferocious. This is written in the very spirit -which he himself inculcated on his biographer, to whom he addressed -these words with his own hand in 1870: “Having revealed -myself and my history to you without disguise or affectation, -I say, Tell the blunt truth in every particular you touch, no -matter where it hits or what effect it may have. To make it -easier for you, I could well wish that my whole life, moral and -mental, professional and social, could have been photographed for -<span class='pageno' id='Page_818'>818</span>your use in this biographical undertaking. And then, ‘though -all occasions should inform against me,’ though I might have -too much cause to sigh over my many weaknesses and follies, -no single act of mine, I am sure, should ever make me blush -with shame. I always admired the spirit of Cromwell, who -said sternly, when an artist in taking his portrait would have -omitted the disfiguring wart on his face, ‘Paint me as I am!’”</p> - -<p class='c007'>Forrest was one of those elemental men who want always to -live in direct contact with great realities, and cannot endure to -accept petty substitutes for them, or pale phantoms of them at -several removes. He craved to taste the substantial goods of the -earth in their own freshness, and refused to be put off with mere -social symbols of them. He loved the grass, the wind, the sun, -the rain, the sky, the mountains, the thunder, the democracy. He -loved his country earnestly, truth sincerely, his art profoundly, -men and women passionately and made them love him passionately,—the -last too often and too much. For these reasons he is -an interesting and contagious character, and, as his figure is destined -to loom in history, it is important that his best traits be -appreciated at their full worth.</p> - -<p class='c007'>It is but justice, as an offset to his occasional fits of the blues -and to the lugubrious sentiments he then expressed, some of -which were quoted a page or two back, to affirm the truth that -if he suffered more than most people he likewise enjoyed much -more. Prevailingly he loved the world, and set a high value on -life and took uncommon pains to secure longevity. As a general -thing his spirit of enjoyment was sharp and strong. One illustration -of this was the pronounced activity of the element of -humor in him. This humor was sometimes grim, almost sardonic, -and bordering on irony and satire, but often breathed itself out -in a sunny playfulness. This lubricated the joints and sockets -of the soul, so to speak, and made the mechanism of experience -move smoothly when otherwise it would have gritted harshly -with great frictional waste in unhappy resistances. It is difficult -to give in words due illustration of this quality, of its genial -manifestations in his manner, and of its happy influence on his -inner life. But all his intimate friends know that the trait was -prominent in him and of great importance. When on board the -steamer bound for California, sick and wretched, he sent for the -<span class='pageno' id='Page_819'>819</span>captain, and with great earnestness demanded, “For how much -will you sell this ship and cargo?” After giving a rough estimate -of the value, the captain asked, “But why do you wish -to know this?” Forrest answered, “I want to scuttle her and -end this detestable business by sinking the whole concern to the -bottom of the sea!” A soft-spoken clergyman, who occupied -the next state-room, overheard him giving energetic expression -to his discontent, and called on him to expostulate on the duty -of forbearance and patience, saying, “Our Saviour, you know, -was always patient.” “Yes,” retorted the actor, grimly, “but our -Saviour went to sea only once, and then he disliked it so much -that he got out and walked. Unfortunately, we cannot do that.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>At another time a Calvinistic divine had been trying to convince -him of the punitive character of death, arguing that death -was not the original destiny of man, but a penalty imposed for -sin. “What,” said Forrest, “do you mean to say that if it had -not been for that unlucky apple we should have seen old Adam -hobbling around here still?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>Even to the end of his life he had the heart of a boy, and when -with trusted friends it was ever and anon breaking forth in a -playfulness and a jocosity which would have astonished those -who deemed him so stern and lugubrious a recluse. One day he -went into a druggist’s shop where he was familiar, for some little -article. The druggist chanced to be alone and stooping very -low behind his counter pouring something from a jug. Forrest -slipped up and leaning over him thundered in his ear with full -pomp of declamation, “An ounce of civet, good apothecary!” -The poor trader revealed his comic fright by a bound from the -floor which would not have disgraced a gymnast.</p> - -<p class='c007'>On arriving at the places where he was to act he was often -annoyed by strangers who pressed about him with pestering importunity -merely from a vulgar curiosity. On these occasions he -would sometimes, as he reached the hotel and saw the crowd, -leap out of the carriage, say with a low bow to his agent, “Please -keep your seat, Mr. Forrest, and I will inquire about a room,” -and then vanish, laughing in his sleeve, and leaving the embarrassed -McArdle to sustain the situation as best he might.</p> - -<p class='c007'>His just and complacent pride in his work, too, kept him from -being chronically any such disappointed and grouty complainer -<span class='pageno' id='Page_820'>820</span>as he might sometimes appear. It is a sublime joy for a man -of genius, a great artist, to feel, as the reward of heroic labor -engrafted on great endowment, that his rank is at the top of the -world; that in some particulars he is superior to all the twelve -hundred millions of men that are alive. There were passages in -the acting of Forrest, besides the terrific burst of passion in the -curse of Lear, which he might well believe no other man on -earth could equal.</p> - -<p class='c007'>The knowledge and culture of Forrest were in no sense limited -to the range of his profession. He was uncommonly well educated, -not only by a wide acquaintance with books, but also by -a remarkably varied observation and experience of the world. -Whenever he spoke or wrote, some proof appeared of his reading -and reflection. Speaking of Humboldt, he said, “Humboldt was -a man open to truth without a prejudice. He was to the tangible -and physical world what Shakspeare was to the mind and -heart of man.” Characterizing a religious discourse which much -pleased him, he said, “Its logic is incontrovertible, its philosophy -unexceptionable, and its humanity most admirable,—quite different -from those homilies which people earth with demons, heaven -with slaves, and hell with men.” On one occasion, alluding to -the facts that Shakspeare when over forty attended the funeral of -his mother, and that his boy Hamnet died at the age of twelve, -he regretted that the peerless poet had not written out what he -must then have felt, and given it to the world. His genius under -such an inspiration might have produced something which would -have made thenceforth to the end of time all parents who read -it treat their children more tenderly, all children love and honor -their parents more religiously. But, he added, it seemed contrary -to the genius of Shakspeare to utilize his own experience -for any didactic purpose. At another time he said, “Shakspeare -is the most eloquent preacher that ever taught humanity to man. -The sermons he uttered will be repeated again and again with -renewed and unceasing interest not only in his own immortal -pages, but from the inspired lips of great tragedians through all -the coming ages of the world.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>A touching thing in Forrest in his last years was the unpurposed -organic revelation in his voice of what he had suffered -in the battle of life. What he had experienced of injustice and -<span class='pageno' id='Page_821'>821</span>harshness, of selfishness and treachery, of beautiful things relentlessly -snatched away by time and death, had left a permanent -memorial in the unstudied tones and cadences of his speech. As -he narrated or quoted or read, his utterance was varied in close -keeping with what was to be expressed. But the moment he fell -back on himself, and gave spontaneous utterance from within, -there was a perpetual recurrence of a minor cadence, a half-veiled -sigh, a strangely plaintive tone, sweet and mournful as -the wail of a dying wind in a hemlock grove.</p> - -<p class='c007'>A trait of Forrest, to which all his friends will testify, was -the perfect freedom of his usual manner in private life from all -theatricality or affectation. His bearing was natural and honest, -varying truthfully with his impulses. With an actor so powerfully -marked as he this is not common. Most great actors carry -from their professional into their daily life some fixed strut of -attitude or chronic stilt of elocution or pompous trick of quotation. -It was not so with Forrest, and his detachment from all -such habits, his straight-on simplicity, were an honor to him and -a charm to those who could appreciate the suppression of the -shop in the manly assertion of dignity and rectitude. He had -no swagger, though he had a swing which belonged to his heavy -equilibrium. His speech attracted attention only from its uncommon -ease and finish, not from any ostentation. The actor, it -has been justly said, is so far contemptible who keeps his mock -grandeur on when his buskins are off, and orders a coffee-boy -with the air of a Roman general commanding an army. He -seems ever to say by his manner, It is easier to be a hero than -to act one. Charles Lamb relates that a friend one day said to -Elliston, “I like Wrench because he is the same natural easy -creature on the stage that he is off.” Elliston replied, with -charming unconsciousness, “My case exactly. I am the same -person off the stage that I am on.” The inference instead of -being identical was opposite. The one was never acting, the -other always. Mrs. Siddons, it is said, used to stab the potatoes, -and call for a teaspoon in a tone that curdled the blood of the -waiter. Once when she was buying a piece of calico at a shop -in Bath, she interrupted the voluble trader by inquiring, Will it -wash? with an accent that made him start back from the counter. -John Philip Kemble, dissatisfied with Sheridan’s management and -<span class='pageno' id='Page_822'>822</span>resolved to free himself from all engagements with him, rose -in the greenroom like a slow pillar of state, and said to that -astonished individual, “I am an eagle whose wings have long -been bound down by frosts and snows; but now I shake my -pinions and cleave into the general air unto which I am born.” -Sheridan looked into the heart of the eagle, and with a few -wheedling words smoothed his ruffled plumage and made him -coo like a dove in response to new proposals. Greatness of soul -is necessary for a great actor, quick detachableness, and facility -of transitions, with full understanding, sensibility, and fire; but -cold counterfeits of these, empty forms of them swollen out with -mechanic pomp, are as odious as they are frequent. Some are -great only when inspired and set off by grand adjuncts; others -are great by the native build of their being. Forrest was of this -latter class. He knew how to act in the theatre, and to be simple -and sincere in the parlor.</p> - -<p class='c007'>But, when all is said, the greatest quality and charm of Forrest, -the deepest hiding of his magnetism, was his softness and truth -of heart, the quickness, strength, and beauty of his affection. -Bitter experience had taught him, before he was an old man, not -to wear his heart on his sleeve for the heartless to peck at it. -But how shallow the observation which, not seeing his heart on -his sleeve, incontinently concluded that he had none! The reverential -gratitude with which he delighted to dwell on the memory -of his mother, the yearning fondness with which he was wont to -recall the names of his early benefactors and dwell on the thought -of the few living friends who had been ever kind and true to -him, amply demonstrated the strong grasp of his affection. “My -mother,” he one day said to him who now copies his words, “was -weeping on a certain occasion in my early childhood when she -was hard pressed by poverty and care. My father, in his grave, -almost awful way, said to her, ‘Do not weep, Rebecca. It will -do no good. I know it is very dark here. But it is all right. -Above the clouds the sun is still shining.’ I remember it made -a great impression on my young mind; and many a time in afterlife -it came up and was a comfort to me. Ah, what, what would -I not give if I could really believe that when that dear good soul -left the earth my father met her ‘on a happier shore,’ and said, -‘Rebecca, you will weep no more now. Did I not tell you it -<span class='pageno' id='Page_823'>823</span>was all right?’” After the death of Forrest, nigh a quarter of a -century after it was written, was found among his papers a faded -and tear-stained letter, enclosing two withered leaves, which read -thus:</p> - -<div class='lg-container-l c011'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“<span class='sc'>Edwin Forrest, Esq., Fonthill</span>:</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c010'>“These leaves were taken from your mother’s grave, on -Sunday, August 5th, 1849, and are presented as a humble but -sacred memorial by your friend,</p> - -<div class='lg-container-r c011'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“W. H. M.”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c007'>There is no surer proof of plentifulness of love within than -is shown by its finding vent in endearments lavished on lower -creatures and on inanimate things,—flowers, books, pictures, -birds, dogs, horses. All these were copiously loved by Forrest. -All his life he had some dog for a friend, and for the last twenty -years he kept two or more. In the summer of 1870 a little -turkey in his garden, only a week old, by some accident got its -leg broken. He saw it, and commiserately picked up the poor -thing, carefully set its leg, laid it in a basket of wool, hung it in -a tree in the sunshine, and tenderly nursed and fed it till it was -whole. This and the succeeding incidents occurred under the -observation of his biographer, who was then paying him a visit.</p> - -<p class='c007'>He used to go into his stable and pat and fondle his horses and -talk with them, looking in their eyes and smoothing their necks, -as if they had full intelligence and sympathy with him. “Why, -Brownie, poor Brownie, handsome Brownie, are you not happy -to come out to-day?” he said, as we rode along the Wissahickon, -in a tone so tender and sad that it moistened the eyes of his -human hearer. It was his custom to go up the river-side to a -secluded place, and there get out and feed the horse with apples. -One day he had forgotten his supply, and, as he dismounted and -walked along in front of Brownie, he was touched to find the -intelligent creature following him, smelling at his pockets and -nudging him for her apples.</p> - -<p class='c007'>In one aspect it was beautiful, in another it was mournful, to -see him going about his house, lonely, lonely, solacing himself -for what was absent with humble substitutes. He had a mocking-bird -wonderfully gifted and a great favorite with him and his -<span class='pageno' id='Page_824'>824</span>sister. It bore the nickname of Bob. In moulting it fell sick, -lost both voice and sight, and seemed to be dying. The great -soft-hearted tragedian, thought by many to be so gruff and savage, -was overheard, as he stood before the cage, talking to the sick -bird, “Ah, poor Bob, poor Bob! Your myriad-voiced throat has -filled my house with wondrous melodies these years past. Why -must this cruel affliction come to you? You are a sinless creature. -You cannot do any harm. It perplexes my philosophy to -know why you should have to suffer in this way. Ah, little -Bob, where now are all your sweet mockeries? Blind? Dumb? -It cuts me to the very soul to think of it. Ah, well, well!” And -he tottered slowly away, musing, quite as his Lear used to do on -the stage when unkindness had broken the old royal heart.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Another characteristic incident is worth relating. He had -a chamber at the Metropolitan Hotel fronting on Broadway. -Oakes and the present writer were in a rear room. He sent for -us to come to him and see the funeral-procession of Farragut -pass. He sank on his knees at the open window as the sacred -corse went by, and we saw the tears streaming down his cheeks. -The bands played a dirge, and the soldiers and marines marched -on, visible masses of music in blue and gold, as the sailors -proudly carried their dead admiral through the central artery of -the nation, and every heart seemed vibrating with reverence and -grief. “The grandest thing about this,” said Forrest, “is that he -was a good man, worthy of all the honor he receives. He whose -modesty kept his bosom from ever swelling with complacency -while he was alive may now well exult in death, as the sailors, -unwilling to confide their commander to any catafalque, lovingly -bear him on their shoulders to his grave.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>The love which Forrest had for children was one of the deepest -traits of his disposition. This tenderness was the same all -through his career, except that it seemed to grow more profound -and pensive in his age. Two anecdotes selected from among -many will set this quality in an interesting light. When he was -in the fullest strength of his manhood and was acting in Boston -at the old National Theatre, there was at his hotel a very sick -child whose mother was quite worn out with nursing it. Forrest -begged permission to take care of the little sufferer through the -succeeding night, that the mother might sleep. The mother, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_825'>825</span>fearing that the terrible Metamora would prove rather a repulsive -nurse for her darling, hesitated, but at length gave consent. At -the close of the play he hurried back with so much haste that -half the paint was left on one of his cheeks. Through the whole -night, hour after hour, he paced up and down the room, tenderly -soothing the fevered babe, which lay on his great chest with -nothing but a silk shirt between its face and his skin. The -mother slept, and so did the child. And when the doctor came -in the morning, he said that the care of Forrest and the vitality -the infant drew from his body during the long hours had saved -its life.</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>All night long the baby-voice</div> - <div class='line in2'>Wailed pitiful and low;</div> - <div class='line'>All night long the mother paced</div> - <div class='line in2'>Wearily to and fro,</div> - <div class='line'>Striving to woo to those dim eyes</div> - <div class='line in2'>Health-giving slumbers deep;</div> - <div class='line'>Striving to stay the fluttering life</div> - <div class='line in2'>With heavenly balm of sleep.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Three nights have passed—the fourth has come;</div> - <div class='line in2'>O weary, weary feet!</div> - <div class='line'>That still must wander to and fro—</div> - <div class='line in2'>Relief and rest were sweet.</div> - <div class='line'>But still the pain-wrung, ceaseless moan</div> - <div class='line in2'>Breaks from the baby-breast,</div> - <div class='line'>And still the mother strives to soothe</div> - <div class='line in2'>The suffering child to rest.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Lo, at the door a giant form</div> - <div class='line in2'>Stands sullen, grand, and vast!</div> - <div class='line'>Over that broad brow every storm</div> - <div class='line in2'>Life’s clouds can send has passed.</div> - <div class='line'>Those features of heroic mould</div> - <div class='line in2'>Can waken awe or fear;</div> - <div class='line'>Those eyes have known Othello’s scowl,</div> - <div class='line in2'>The maniac glare of Lear.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>The deep, full voice, whose tones can sweep</div> - <div class='line in2'>In thunder to the ear,</div> - <div class='line'>Has learned such softness that the babe</div> - <div class='line in2'>Can only smile to hear.</div> - <div class='line'>The strong arms fold the little form</div> - <div class='line in2'>Upon the massive breast.</div> - <div class='line'>“Go, mother, <em>I</em> will watch your child,”</div> - <div class='line in2'>He whispers; “go and rest!”</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_826'>826</span>All night long the giant form</div> - <div class='line in2'>Treads gently to and fro;</div> - <div class='line'>All night long the deep voice speaks</div> - <div class='line in2'>In murmured soothings low,</div> - <div class='line'>Until the rose-light of the morn</div> - <div class='line in2'>Flushes the far-off skies:</div> - <div class='line'>In slumber sweet on Forrest’s breast</div> - <div class='line in2'>At last the baby lies.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>O Saviour, Thou didst bid one day</div> - <div class='line in2'>The children come to Thee!</div> - <div class='line'>He who has served Thy little ones,</div> - <div class='line in2'>Hath he not, too, served Thee?</div> - <div class='line'>Low lies the actor now at rest</div> - <div class='line in2'>Beneath the summer light;</div> - <div class='line'>Sweet be his sleep as that he gave</div> - <div class='line in2'>The suffering child that night!</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line in24'><span class='sc'>Lucy H. Hooper.</span></div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c007'>The other anecdote, though less dramatic, is of still deeper -significance as a revelation of his soul. During the last ten or -twelve years of his life, when he was fulfilling his engagements -in the different cities, he used so to time and direct his walks that -he might be near some great public school at the hour when the -children were dismissed. There he would stand—the grim-looking, -lonely old man, whose surface might be hard, but whose -heart was very soft—and gaze with a thoughtful and loving regard -on the throng of boys and girls as they rushed out bubbling -over with delight, variously sorting and grouping themselves on -their way home. This was a great enjoyment to him, though -not unmixed with an attractive pain. It soothed his childless -soul with ideal parentage, gave him a bright glad life in reflected -sympathy with the dancing shouters he saw, and stirred in his -imagination a thousand dreams, now of the irrevocable past, now -of the mysterious future.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Resuming the narrative with the opening of June, 1872, Forrest -is lying in his bed in a woeful state, brought on him by a -nostrum called “Jenkins’s cure for gout.” A doctor Jenkins of -New Orleans told him if he would take it, it would produce an -excruciating attack of the disease, but would then eradicate it -from the system and effect a permanent cure. He took it. He -experienced the excruciating attack. The permanent cure did -not follow. As soon as Oakes learned of his situation, body -<span class='pageno' id='Page_827'>827</span>racked with torture, limbs palsied, mind at times unhinged and -wandering, he started for the scene. His own words will best -describe their meeting. “When I entered his chamber he was -in a doze, and I stood at his bedside until he awoke. Opening -his eyes, he gazed steadily into my face for about a minute. He -knew me then, and said, in the most touching manner, ‘My friend, -I am always glad to see you, but never in my life so much so as -now.’ Again looking steadily at me for about a minute, he said, -‘Oakes, put my hand in yours: it is paralyzed but true.’ I took -his hand tenderly from the bed and placed it in mine. He could -not move the fingers, but I felt his noble heart throb through -them. At once I began organizing my hospital. I had him -washed, his flannel and the bed-linen changed, the doors and -windows flung wide open, and gave him all he could take of the -best of nourishment,—strawberries, fresh buttermilk, and beef -tea strong enough to draw four hundred pounds the whole length -of the house. Already he is greatly improved. I keep him perfectly -quiet, allowing no one on any excuse whatever to see him.” -Under this style of doctoring and nursing, all impregnated with -the magnetism of friendship, it was natural that in three weeks -he should be comfortably about his house, as he was.</p> - -<p class='c007'>One morning in the midst of his illness, but when he had -passed a night free from pain, and his mind was in a most serene -state yet marked by great exaltation of thought and language, -he began relating to Oakes, in the most eloquent manner, his -recollections of old Joseph Jefferson, the great comedian. He -told how when a boy he had visited that beautiful and gifted old -man; what poverty and what purity and high morality were in his -household; how he had educated his children; and how at last -he had died among strangers, heart-broken by ingratitude. He -told how he had seen him act Dogberry in a way that out-topped -all comparison; how at a later time he had again seen him play -the part of the Fool in Lear so as to set up an idol in the memory -of the beholders, for he insinuated into the words such -wonderful contrasts of the greatness and misery and mystery of -life with the seeming ignorant and innocent simplicity of the -comments on them, that comedy became wiser and stronger -than tragedy.</p> - -<p class='c007'>His listener afterwards said, “We two were alone. Never had -<span class='pageno' id='Page_828'>828</span>I seen him so deeply and so loftily stirred in his very soul as he -was then about Jefferson. His eulogy had more moral dignity -and intense religious feeling than any sermon I ever heard from -the pulpit. It was as grand and fine as anything said by Cicero. -This was especially true of his closing words. When he seemed -to have emptied his heart in admiring praises on the old player, -he ended thus, querying with himself as if soliloquizing: ‘Is it -possible that all of such a man can go into the ground and rot, -and nothing of him at all be left forever? If he is not immortal, -he ought to be. It must be that he is, though our philosophy -cannot find it out.’”</p> - -<p class='c007'>It is a curious proof of how his moods shaped and colored his -beliefs to read in connection with the above the following extract -from a letter he wrote in 1866. “There is great consolation in -the sincere belief of the immortality of the soul. If I could -honestly and reasonably entertain such a faith, that the love and -friendship of to-day will extend through all time with renewed -devotion, death would have no sting and the grave no victory. -I quite envied the closing hours of Senator Foote the other day. -He was so serenely confident of seeing all his friends again, that -by the perishing light of his fervid brain he seemed for a moment -to realize the illusion of his earth-taught faith.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>It was now September. The semi-paralyzed condition of his -limbs forbade every thought of returning to the stage that season; -though, with a self-flattery singular in one of so experienced and -clear a head, he fondly hoped to recover in time, and to act for -years yet. His interest in everything connected with his profession -knew no abatement, and he always took the most cheerful -view of the future of the drama. He did not yield to that common -fallacy which glorifies the past at the expense of the present -and holds that everything glorious is always in decline and sure -ere long to perish. Sheridan said, while surrounded by Johnson, -Burke, Hume, Robertson, Gibbon, Pitt, and Fox, “The days of -little men have arrived.” The trouble is that we see the foibles -and feel the faults of our contemporaries, but not those of our -predecessors who sit, afar and still, aggrandized into Olympians -in historic memory. Mrs. Siddons often saw before her, sitting -together in the orchestra, all in tears, Burke, Reynolds, Fox, -Gibbon, Windham, and Sheridan. Yet in her day as now the -<span class='pageno' id='Page_829'>829</span>constant talk was of the failing glory of the theatre. Also in the -time of Talma, in 1807, Cailhava presented a memoir to the Institute -of France, “Sur les Causes de la Décadence du Théâtre.” -The fact is, the theatres of the world were never so numerous, so -splendid, so largely attended, as now; the playing as a whole was -never so good, the morality of the pieces never so high, and the -behavior of the audiences never so orderly and refined. In spite -of everything that can be said on the other side, this is the truth. -The former advantage of the drama was simply that it stood out -in more solitary and conspicuous relief, occupied a larger relative -space, and made therefore a greater and more talked-of sensation. -Its rule is now divided with a swarm of other claimants. Still, -intrinsically its worth and rank must increase in the future, and -not diminish. Forrest always clearly held to this faith, and was -much cheered by it. His conviction that the drama was charged -with a sacred and indestructible mission, and his enthusiastic love -for the personal practice of its art,—these were thoughts and -feelings</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“In him which though all others should decay,</div> - <div class='line'>Would be the last that time could bear away.”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c009'>Accordingly, he would withdraw from the worship of his life, -if withdraw he must, only piecemeal and as compelled. His -voice was unimpaired, and he had for years been solicited to give -readings. And so he resolved, since he could not play Hamlet -and Othello on the stage, he would read them in the lecture-room.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Therefore he read these two plays in Philadelphia, Wilmington, -Brooklyn, New York, and Boston. Although the rich mellow -fulness, ease, and force of his elocution were highly enjoyable, -and there were many beauties of characterization in his readings, -his physique was so deeply shattered, and his vital forces so depressed, -that the vivacity, the magnetism, the spirited variety of -power necessary to draw and to hold a miscellaneous crowd were -wanting. The experiment was comparatively a failure. The -large halls were so thinly seated that, though the marks of approval -were strong, the result was not inspiring. He felt somewhat -disheartened, much wearied, and sighed for a good long -period of rest in his own quiet home. And so on Saturday -afternoon, December 7, 1872, in Tremont Temple, Boston, he -<span class='pageno' id='Page_830'>830</span>read Othello, and made unconsciously his last bow on earth to a -public assembly, with the apt words of the unhappy Moor, whose -character much resembled his own:</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“I kissed thee ere I killed thee: no way but this,—</div> - <div class='line'>Killing myself, to die upon a kiss.”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c009'>Oakes went with him to the train, saw him comfortably installed -in the car, and bade him an affectionate good-bye. “Another -parting, my friend!” said Forrest: “the last one must come some -time. I shall probably be the first to die.” Arriving at the hotel -in New York, he ordered a room and a fire, and went to bed, “and -lay there thinking,” as he said, “what a pleasant time he was indebted -to his friend for in Boston.” He reached home safely on -the 9th. Two days he passed in rest, lounging about his library, -reading a little, and attending only to a few necessary matters of -business. “The time glided away like an ecstatic dream, without -any let or hindrance,” he wrote on the 11th to Oakes,—the last -letter he ever penned,—closing with the words, “God bless you -ever, my dear and much valued friend.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>The earthly finale was at hand. Twenty years before this, -in 1852, he wrote to one of his early friends:</p> - -<p class='c010'>“I thank you for your kindness in drinking my health in company -with my sisters to-day, the anniversary of my birth. The -weather here is gloomy and wears an aspect in accordance with -the color of my fate. There is a destiny in this strange world -which often decrees an undeserved doom. The ways of Providence -are truly mysterious. From boyhood to the present time -I have endeavored to walk the paths of honor and honesty with -a kindly and benevolent spirit towards all men. And I am not -unwilling that my whole course of life should be scrutinized with -justice and impartiality. When it shall be so all weighed together -I have no fear of the result. And yet I have been fearfully -wronged, maligned, and persecuted. I do not, however, -lose my faith and trust in that God who will one day hold all -men to a strict and sure account. Kind regards to all, and -believe me,</p> - -<div class='lg-container-r c011'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“Ever yours,</div> - <div class='line in8'>“<span class='sc'>Edwin Forrest</span>.”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_831'>831</span>On the eighth recurrence of the same anniversary after the -date of the above sombre epistle—that is, in 1860—he wrote -these words: “Friendship is as much prostituted as love. My -heart is sick, and I grow aweary of life.” And once more, on the -9th of March, 1871, he set down his feeling in the melancholy -sentence, “This is my birthday, another funeral procession in -my sad life, and the end not far off.” These expressions reveal -the gloomier side of a soul which had its sunny side as well, -and the more painful aspect of a life which was also abundantly -blessed with wealth, triumphs, and pleasures. But be the outward -lot of any man what it may, unless he has communion with -God, a love for his fellows that swallows up every hatred, and a -firm faith in immortality, the burden of the song of his unsatisfied -soul will ever be, “Vanity of vanities, all is vanity.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>But sooner or later there is an hour for every earthly vanity -to cease. Nothing mortal can escape or be denied the universal -fate and boon of death. Its meaning is the same for all, however -diverse its disguises or varied its forms. A slave and prisoner, -starved and festered in his chains, groaned, as the sweet and -strange release came, “How welcome is this deliverance! Farewell, -painful world and cruel men!” A Sultan, stricken and sinking -on his throne, cried, “O God, I am passing away in the hand -of the wind!” A fool, in his painted costume, with his grinning -bauble in his hand, said, as he too vanished into the hospitable -Unknown, “Alackaday, poor Tom is a dying, and nobody cares. -O me! was there ever such a pitiful to-do?” And a Pope, the -crucifix lifted before his eyes and the tiara trembling from his -brow, breathed his life out in the words, “Now I surrender my -soul to Him who gave it!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>The death of a player is particularly suggestive and impressive -from the sharp contrast of its perfect reality and sincerity with -all the fictitious assumptions and scenery of his professional life. -The last drop-scene is the lowering of the eyelid on that emptied -ocular stage which in its time has held so many acts and actors. -The deaths of many players have been marked by mysterious -coincidences. Powell, starting from the bed on which he lay -ill, cried, “Is this a dagger which I see before me? O God!”—and -instantly expired. Peterson, playing the Duke in Measure -for Measure, said,—</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_832'>832</span>“Reason thus with life:</div> - <div class='line'>If I do lose thee, I do lose a thing</div> - <div class='line'>That none but fools would keep; a breath thou art”—</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c009'>and fell into the arms of the Friar to whom he was speaking; -and these were his last words. Cummings had just spoken the -words of Dumont in Jane Shore—</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“Be witness for me, ye celestial hosts,</div> - <div class='line'>Such mercy and such pardon as my soul</div> - <div class='line'>Accords to thee and begs of heaven to show thee,</div> - <div class='line'>May such befall me at my latest hour”—</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c009'>when he suddenly gasped, and was dead. Palmer, while enacting -the part of the Stranger, having uttered the sentence in his rôle, -“There is another and a better world,” dropped lifeless on the -stage. In such instances Fate interpolates in the stereotyped -performance a dread impromptu which must make us all feel -what mysteries we are and by what mysteries enshrouded.</p> - -<p class='c007'>The morning of the 12th came, and the death of Edwin Forrest -was at hand. In the early light, solitary in the privacy of his -chamber, he who had no blood relative on earth, the last of his -race, was summoned to give up his soul and take the unreturning -road into the voiceless mystery. He who in the mimic scene had -so often acted death was now to perform it in reality. Now he -who in all his theatrical impersonations had been so democratic, -was to be, in his closing and unwitnessed human impersonation, -supremely democratic, both in the substance and in the manner -of his performing. For this severing of the spirit from the flesh, -this shrouded and mystic farewell of the soul to the world, is a -part cast inevitably for every member of the family of man, and -enacted under conditions essentially identical by all, from the emperor -to the pauper. Perform or omit whatever else he may, every -one must go through with this. Furthermore, in the enactment -of it all artificial dialects of expression, all caste peculiarities of -behavior, fall away; the profoundest vernacular language of universal -nature alone comes to the surface, and the pallor of the -face, the tremor of the limbs, the glazing of the eye, the gasp, the -rattle, the long sigh, and the unbreakable silence,—are the same -for all. Death knows neither politeness nor impoliteness, only -truth. Now the hour was at hand whose coming and method -had been foresignalled years ago, when, at Washington, an apoplectic -<span class='pageno' id='Page_833'>833</span>clot hung the warning of its black flag in his brain. No -visible spectators gathered to the sight, whatever invisible ones -may have come. No lights were kindled, no music played, no -bell rang, no curtain rose, no prompter spoke. But the august -theatre of nature, crowded with the circulating ranks of existence, -stood open for the performance of the most critical and -solemn portion of a mortal destiny. And suddenly the startling -command came. With a shudder of all the terrified instincts of -the organism he sprang to the action. There was a sanguinary -rush through the proscenium of the senses. The cerebral stage -deluged in blood, the will instantly surrendered its private functions, -all fleshly consciousness vanished, and that automatic procedure -of nature, which, when not meddled with by individual -volition, is infallible, took up the task. Then, step by step, point -for point, phase on phase, he went through the enactment of his -own death, in the minutest particulars from beginning to end, -with a precision that was absolutely perfect, and a completeness -that could never admit of a repetition. It was the greatest part, -filled with the most boundless meaning, of all that he had ever -sustained; and no critic could detect the slightest flaw in its -representation.</p> - -<p class='c007'>The appalling performance was done, the actor disrobed, transformed, -and vanished, when the servants, concerned at his delay -to appear, and alarmed at obtaining no answer to their knocking, -entered the chamber. The body, dressed excepting as to the -outer coat, lay facing upwards on the bed, with the hands grasping -a pair of light dumb-bells, and a livid streak across the right -temple. A near friend and a physician were immediately called. -But it was vain. The fatal acting was finished, and the player -gone beyond recall.</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>The curtain falls. The drama of a life</div> - <div class='line in2'>Is ended. One who trod the mimic stage</div> - <div class='line'>As if the crown, the sceptre, and the robe</div> - <div class='line in2'>Were his by birthright—worn from youth to age—</div> - <div class='line'>“Ay, every inch a king,” with voiceless lips,</div> - <div class='line'>Lies in the shadow of Death’s cold eclipse.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'><i><span lang="la" xml:lang="la">Valete et plaudite!</span></i> Well might he</div> - <div class='line in2'>Have used the Roman’s language of farewell</div> - <div class='line'>Who was “the noblest Roman of them all;”</div> - <div class='line in2'>For Brutus spoke, and Coriolanus fell,</div> - <div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_834'>834</span>And Spartacus defied the she-wolf’s power,</div> - <div class='line'>In the great actor’s high meridian hour.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>How as the noble Moor he wooed and wed</div> - <div class='line in2'>His bride of Venice; how his o’erwrought soul,</div> - <div class='line'>Tortured and racked and wildly passion-tossed,</div> - <div class='line in2'>Was whirled, resisting, to the fatal goal,</div> - <div class='line'>Doting, yet dooming! Every trait was true;</div> - <div class='line'>He lived the being that the poet drew.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Room for the aged Cardinal! Once more</div> - <div class='line in2'>The greatest statesman France has ever known</div> - <div class='line'>Waked from the grave and wove his subtle spells;</div> - <div class='line in2'>A power behind, but greater than, the throne.</div> - <div class='line'>Is Richelieu gone? It seems but yesterday</div> - <div class='line'>We heard his voice and watched his features’ play.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Greatest of all in high creative skill</div> - <div class='line in2'>Was Lear, poor discrowned king and hapless sire.</div> - <div class='line'>What varied music in the actor’s voice!</div> - <div class='line in2'>The sigh of grief, the trumpet-tone of ire.</div> - <div class='line'>Now both are hushed; we ne’er shall hear that strain</div> - <div class='line'>Of well-remembered melody again.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>No fading laurels did his genius reap;</div> - <div class='line in2'>With Shakspeare’s best interpreters full high</div> - <div class='line'>His name is graven on Fame’s temple-front,</div> - <div class='line in2'>With Kean’s and Kemble’s, names that will not die</div> - <div class='line'>While memory venerates the poet’s shrine</div> - <div class='line'>And holds his music more than half divine.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line in38'><span class='sc'>Francis A. Durivage.</span></div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c007'>Before noon Oakes received the shock of this portentous telegram -from Dougherty: “Forrest died this morning; nothing will -be done until you arrive.” He started at once, and reached -Philadelphia in the bitter cold of the next morning at four -o’clock. Describing the scene, at a later period, he writes, “I -went directly into his bedchamber. There he lay, white and -pulseless as a man of marble. For a few minutes it seemed to -me that my body was as cold as his and my heart as still. The -little while I stood at his side, speechless, almost lifeless, seemed -an age. No language can express the agony of that hour, and -even now I cannot bear to turn my mind back to it.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>Arrangements were made for a simple and unostentatious -funeral; a modest card of invitation being sent to only about -<span class='pageno' id='Page_835'>835</span>sixty of his nearest friends or associates in private and professional -life. But it was found necessary to forego the design of a reserved -and quiet burial on account of the multitudes who felt so -deep an interest in the occasion, and expressed so strong a desire -to be present at the last services that they could not be refused -admission. When the hour arrived, on that dark and rainy December -day, the heavens muffled in black and weeping as if they -felt with the human gloom below, the streets were blocked with -the crowd, all anxious to see once more, ere it was borne forever -from sight, the memorable form and face. The doors were thrown -open to them, and it was estimated that nearly two thousand -people in steady stream flowed in and out, each one in turn taking -his final gaze. The house was draped in mourning and profusely -filled with flowers. In a casket covered with a black cloth, -silver mounted, and with six silver handles, clothed in a black -dress suit, reposed the dead actor. Every trace of passion and -of pain was gone from the firm and fair countenance, looking -startlingly like life, whose placid repose nothing could ever -disturb again. All over the body and the casket and around -it were heaped floral tributes in every form, sent from far and -near,—crosses, wreaths, crowns, and careless clusters. From -four actresses in four different cities came a cross of red and -white roses, a basket of evergreens, a wreath of japonicas, and -a crown of white camelias. Delegations from various dramatic -associations were present. A large deputation of the Lotus -Club came from New York with the mayor of that city at their -head. All classes were there, from the most distinguished to the -most humble. Many of the old steadfast friends of other days -passed the coffin, and looked their last on its occupant, with -dripping eyes. One, a life-long professional coadjutor, stooped -and kissed the clay-cold brow. Several poor men and women -who had been blessed by his silent charities touched every heart -by the deep grief they showed. And the household servants -wept aloud at parting from the old master who had made -himself earnestly loved by them.</p> - -<p class='c007'>The only inscription on the coffin-lid was the words,</p> - -<div class='nf-center-c0'> - <div class='nf-center'> - <div><span class='sc'>Edwin Forrest.</span></div> - <div class='c003'><em>Born March 9, 1806. Died December 12, 1872.</em></div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_836'>836</span>The pall-bearers were James Oakes, James Lawson, Daniel -Dougherty, John W. Forney, Jesse R. Burden, Samuel D. Gross, -George W. Childs, and James Page. The funeral cortége, consisting -of some sixty carriages, moved through throngs of people -lining the sidewalk along the way to Saint Paul’s Church, where -the crowd was so great, notwithstanding the rain, as to cause -some delay. It seemed as though the very reserve and retiracy -of the man in his last years had increased the latent popular -curiosity about him, investing him with a kind of mystery. A -simple prayer was read; and then, in the family vault, with the -coffined and mouldering forms of his father and mother and -brother and sisters around him, loving hands placed all that was -mortal of the greatest tragedian that ever lived in America.</p> - -<p class='c007'>The announcement of the sudden and solitary death of Forrest -produced a marked sensation throughout the country. In the -chief cities meetings of the members of the dramatic profession -were called, and resolutions passed in honor and lamentation for -the great man and player, “whose remarkable originality, indomitable -will, and unswerving fidelity,” they asserted, “made -him an honor to the walk of life he had chosen,” and “whose -lasting monument will be the memory of his sublime delineations -of the highest types of character on the modern stage.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>For a long time the newspapers abounded with biographic -and obituary notices of him, with criticisms, anecdotes, personal -reminiscences. In a very few instances the bitterness of ancient -grudges still pursued him and spoke in unkindness and detraction. -There are men in whose meanness so much malignity mixes that -they cannot forgive or forget even the dead. But in nearly every -case the tone of remark on him was highly honorable, appreciative, -and even generous. Two brief examples of this style may -be cited.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“One thing must be said of Edwin Forrest, now that he lies -cold in the tomb—he never courted popularity; he never flattered -power. Importuned a thousand times to enter society, he rather -avoided it. The few friendships he had were sincere. He never -boasted of his charities; and yet we think, when the secrets of -his life are unsealed, this solitary man, who dies without leaving a -single known person of his own blood, will prove that he had a -heart that could throb for all humanity. Having known him and -<span class='pageno' id='Page_837'>837</span>loved him through his tribulations and his triumphs for more -than a generation, we feel that in what we say we speak the truth -of one who was a sincere friend, an honest citizen, and a benevolent -man.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“In our view Edwin Forrest was a great man; the one genius, -perhaps, that the American stage has given to history. The -conditions of his youth, the rough-and-tumble struggle of a life -fired by a grand purpose, the loves, hates, triumphs, and failures -that preceded the placing of the bays upon his brow, and the -long reign that no new-comer ventured to disturb, all point to a -nature that could do nothing by halves and bore the ineffaceable -imprint of positive greatness. He was, essentially, a self-made -man. All the angularities that result from a culture confined -by the very conditions of its existence to a few of the many -directions in which men need to grow were his. His genius -developed itself irresistibly,—even as a spire of corn will shoot -up despite encumbering stones,—gnarled, rugged, and perhaps -disproportioned. His art was acquired not in the scholar’s closet -or under the careful eye of learned tradition, but from demonstrative -American audiences. Therefore such errors of performance -as jumped with the easily excited emotions of an unskilled -auditory were made a part of his education and his creed by a -law which not even genius can surmount. So Forrest grew to -giant stature, a one-sided man. Experience and a liberal culture -in later life worked for him all that opportunity can do for greatness. -That these did not wholly remove the faults of his early -training was inevitable, but they so broadened his life and power -that men of wisest censure saw in him the greatest actor of his -time, and a man who under favorable early conditions would -have stood, perhaps, peerless in the history of his art. Such a -man, bearing a life flooded with the sunshine of glory, but often -clouded with storm and almost wrecked by the pain that is born -of passion, needs from the nation that produced and honored -him, not fulsome adulation or biased praise, but dispassionate -analysis and intelligent appreciation.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>One elaborate sketch of his life and character was published—by -far the ablest and boldest that appeared—whose most condemnatory -portion and moral gist ought to be quoted here, for -two reasons. First, on account of its incisive power, honesty, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_838'>838</span>and splendid eloquence. Second, that what is unjust in it may -be seen and qualified:</p> - -<p class='c007'>“The death of this remarkable man is an incident which seems -to prompt more of indefinite emotion than of definite thought. -The sense that is uppermost is the sense that a great vitality, -an enormous individuality of character, a boundless ambition, a -tempestuous spirit, a life of rude warfare and often of harsh injustice, -an embittered mind, and an age laden with disappointment -and pain, are all at rest. Mr. Forrest, partly from natural -bias to the wrong and partly from the force of circumstances and -the inexorable action of time, had made shipwreck of his happiness; -had cast away many golden opportunities; had outlived -his fame; had outlived many of his friends and alienated others; -had seen the fabric of his popularity begin to crumble; had seen -the growth of new tastes and the rise of new idols; had found -his claims as an actor, if accepted by many among the multitude, -rejected by many among the judicious; and, in wintry age, -broken in health, dejected in spirit, and thwarted in ambition, -had come to the ‘last scene of all’ with great wealth, indeed, -but with very little of either love or peace or hope. Death, at -almost all times a blessing, must, in ending such an experience -as this, be viewed as a tender mercy. His nature—which -should have been noble, for it contained elements of greatness -and beauty—was diseased with arrogance, passion, and cruelty. -It warred with itself, and it made him desolate. He has long -been a wreck. There was nothing before him here but an arid -waste of suffering; and, since we understand him thus, we cannot -but think with a tender gratitude that at last he is beyond -the reach of all trouble, and where neither care, sorrow, self-rebuke, -unreasoning passion, resentment against the world, nor -physical pain can any more torment him. His intellect was not -broad enough to afford him consolation under the wounds that -his vanity so often received. All his resource was to shut himself -up in a kind of feudal retreat and grim seclusion, where -he brooded upon himself as a great genius misunderstood and -upon the rest of the world as a sort of animated scum. This -was an unlovely nature; but, mingled in it, were the comprehension -and the incipient love of goodness, sweetness, beauty, great -imaginings, and beneficent ideas. He knew what he had missed, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_839'>839</span>whether of intellectual grandeur, moral excellence, or the happiness -of the affections, and in the solitude of his spirit he brooded -upon his misery. The sense of this commended him to our -sympathy when he was living, and it commends his memory to -our respect in death.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>The writer of the powerful article from which the above extract -is taken, in another part of it, said of Forrest, “He was -utterly selfish. He did not love dramatic art for itself, but -because it was tributary to him.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>Now, although the brave and sincere spirit of the article is -as clear as its masterly ability, something is to be said in protest -against the sweeping verdict it gives and in vindication of -the man so terribly censured. That there is some truth in -the charges made is not denied. All of them—except the two -last, which are wholly baseless—have been illustrated and commented -on in this biography, but, as is hoped, in a tone and -with a proportion and emphasis more accordant with the facts -of the whole case. The charges, as above made, of sourness, -ferocity, arrogance, cynicism, wretchedness, wreck, and despair, -are greatly unjust in their overcharged statement of the sinister -and sad, profoundly unfair in their omission of the sunny and -smiling, features and qualities in the life and character with -which they deal. The writer must have taken his cue either -from inadequate and unfortunate personal knowledge of the man -or from representations made by prejudiced parties. Ample -data certainly are afforded in preceding pages of this volume to -neutralize the extravagance in the accusations while leaving the -truth that is also in them with its proper weight.</p> - -<p class='c007'>One fact alone scatters the entire theory that the social and -moral condition of the tragedian was so fearfully dismal, forlorn, -and execrable,—the fact that he had high and precious friendships -with women, tenderly cherished and sacredly maintained. -These were the foremost joy and solace of his life. They were -kept up by unfailing attentions, epistolary and personal, to the last -of his days. Into these relations he carried a fervor of affection, -a poetry of sentiment, a considerate delicacy and refinement of -speech and manner, which secured the amplest return for all he -gave, and drew from the survivors, when he was gone, tributes -which if they were published would cover him with the lustre of -<span class='pageno' id='Page_840'>840</span>a romantic interest. But it is forbidden to spread such matters -before the common gaze. They have a sacred right of privacy -which must be no further violated than is needed to refute the -absurd belief that the experience of Edwin Forrest was one of -such unfathomable desolation and unhappiness.</p> - -<p class='c007'>No, a portrait in which he is shown as a man whose all-ruling -motives were cruel egotism, pride, vanity, and avarice, a man -“whose nature fulfilled itself,” and for that reason made his life -a half-ignominious and half-pathetic “failure,” will be repudiated -by his countrymen. At the same time his genuine portrait will -reveal the truth that while he loved the good in this world well, -he hated the evil too much,—the truth that while he sought success -by honorable means, he too rancorously loathed those who -opposed him with dishonorable means,—and the truth that while -he won many of the solid prizes of existence and enjoyed them -with a more than average measure of happiness, he missed the -very highest and best prizes from lack of spirituality, serene -equilibrium of soul, and religious consecration.</p> - -<p class='c007'>His literary agent for three years and intimate theatrical confrère -for a much longer period, Mr. C. G. Rosenberg, moved by -the injurious things said of him, published an article admitting -his explosive irritability, but affirming his justice and kindness -and fund of genial humor and denying the charges of an oppressive -temper and arrogant selfishness. His business manager -and constant companion for a great many years loved him as a -brother, and always testified to his high rectitude of soul and his -many endearing qualities. In one of his latest years, when this -faithful servant lost a pocket-book containing over three thousand -dollars of his money, and was in excessive distress about it, Forrest, -without one sign of anger or peevishness or regret, simply -said, in a gentle tone, “Do not blame yourself, McArdle. Accidents -will happen. We can make it all up in a few nights. So -let it go and never mind.” John McCullough, who for six years -had every condition requisite for reading his character to the -very bottom, bore witness to his rare nobility and social charm, -saying, “In heart he was a prince, and would do anything for a -friend. A thorough student of human nature, gifted with intensity, -he applied himself to the heart, and ever reached it. He -was essentially an autocrat. His personal magnetism was great, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_841'>841</span>and he could draw everything to him. Wherever he might be, -men recognized him as king, and he reigned without resistance, -also without imposition.” For six years, after the close of the -War, he gave a one-armed soldier, as a vegetable garden, the free -use of a piece of land worth twenty-five thousand dollars. This -is an extract from one of his letters: “Notice has been sent me -that the price of the picture by Tom Gaylord is one hundred and -fifty dollars, but that if I think this too much I may fix my own -price. No doubt it is more than the painting is worth, but as -the young man is just beginning, and needs to be cheered on, I -shall gladly give it to encourage him for his long career of art.” -When a certain poor man of his acquaintance had died, and his -widow knew not where to bury him, he gave her a space for this -purpose in his own lot in the cemetery. And every winter he -gave private orders to his grocer to supply such suffering, worthy -families as he knew, with what they needed, and charge the bills -to him. Surely these are not the kind of deeds done by, these -not the kind of tributes paid to, a misanthropic old tyrant, discontented -with himself, sick of the world, and breathing scorn -and wrath against everybody who approached him.</p> - -<p class='c007'>The following letter, addressed by one of the oldest and -choicest friends of Forrest to another one, speaks for itself:</p> - -<div class='lg-container-r c011'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“<span class='sc'>Newport, Ky.</span>, December 30, 1872.</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<div class='lg-container-l c011'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“<span class='sc'>S. S. Smith, Esq.</span>,—</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c010'>“<span class='sc'>My dear Friend</span>,—Our old and distinguished friend is no -more. It is a great sorrow to us and to his country. The papers -show that all mourn his loss, for he and his fame belonged to the -public. I knew Forrest well; except yourself, no man knew him -better than I did. He was a man of genius, of great will and -energy, and, without much education, by his own untiring efforts -raised himself to the very highest pinnacle of fame in his profession. -There was a grandeur in the man, in every thing he did -and said, and hence the great admiration his friends had for him. -He was a truly noble and generous man, one who loved his -friends with devotion, and despised his enemies. I first made his -acquaintance at Lexington, Kentucky, in the fall of 1822. He -came there with Collins & Jones as one of their theatrical corps. -He was then between sixteen and seventeen, and was the pet of -<span class='pageno' id='Page_842'>842</span>us college boys. He made his first appearance as Young Norval, -and the boys were so much taken with him that after the play -was over we went to the greenroom, and took him, dressed as he -was in character, to a supper. That night he slept with me in -my boarding-house. We had breakfast in my room, and it was -late before he left. I wanted to lend him a suit to go home in; -but no, he would go in his Highland costume, a feather in his -hat, straight down Main Street, with a crowd of boys following -him to his hotel. He played all that winter in Lexington, and -when the Medical and Law Colleges broke up in the spring he -went to Cincinnati. That was in March or April, and he boarded -at Mrs. Bryson’s, on Main Street. In the summer of 1823 he -came to Newport with Mrs. Riddle and her daughter and two or -three actors, and rented a house on the bank of the river. I -assisted him in fixing up a small theatre in the old frame buildings -of the United States barracks at the Point of Licking, and we -had plays there until October. My brother-in-law, Major Harris, -played Iago to his Othello. I was to have played Damon to his -Pythias, but some difficulty occurred which prevented it. Forrest -was then very poor, but kept up his spirits, and spent many nights -with me in my father’s old office. His great delight was to get -in a boat and sail for hours on the river when the wind was high. -In the fall of 1823 he returned with Collins & Jones to Lexington, -the Drakes, I think, uniting, and played the winter of 1823-24. -He played with Pelby and his wife, and Pemberton, an actor from -Nashville. He improved rapidly in his profession, and had always -one of the most prominent characters cast to him. In fact, he -would play second to no man. I was very intimate with him -that whole winter, and on the first day of January, 1824, Tom -Clay and several of us gave a fine dinner at Ayers’s Hotel, and -he was the <em>distinguished guest</em>. We all made speeches and recitations, -and before we had finished the entertainment we had an -extensive audience. Forrest had many intimate friends among -the students, and he often attended the college declamations. He -had a great admiration for the eloquence of Doctor Holley, our -President, and has often told me of the benefit he derived from -the style of this remarkable orator. In March of 1824 I returned -home, after the breaking up of the Law School, and played -Zanga, in Young’s Revenge, at the Columbia Street Theatre, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_843'>843</span>for the benefit of old Colonel John Cleve Symmes. We had -a crowded house. Sallie Riddle played in the same piece. It -was to enable Mr. Symmes to get to his Hole at the North -Pole; but, poor man, he never got further than New York. I -think Mr. Forrest went that spring to New Orleans. I am very -certain he was not in Cincinnati when I played in the Revenge, -otherwise he would have performed in the same play. It has been -published in the papers that Forrest was once a circus rider and -tumbler. No such thing. The only time he was ever connected -with a circus was when with the circus company in Lexington -he played Timour the Tartar. Mrs. Pelby and others were in -the same piece. He looked Grandeur itself when mounted on -Pepin’s famous cream-colored horse. After March, 1824, I did -not meet Mr. Forrest again until the spring of 1828. He was -then playing in New York, and I saw him in his great character -of Othello. His star had then begun to rise, and it continued to -rise until it reached its zenith, and there it continued to shine -until the last hour of his life. His place cannot be filled in this -country. Great actors are born, and not made. To be a great -tragedian a man must possess the soul, the passion, and the -eloquence to delineate the character he represents. Forrest had -that beyond most men.</p> - -<p class='c010'>“I thank you for the paper containing his will and other reminiscences -of him. My wife has been since his death clipping from -the newspapers all that has been written about him, and has -put the notices in her scrap-book. Some of the journals have -done him justice, others have not; but posterity will cherish his -memory and feel proud of the man. In 1870 I had a copy made -of my portrait of George Frederick Cooke by Sully, and sent it to -him. I think you saw it. He wrote me at Fire Island, New York, -a long and affectionate letter acknowledging the receipt of the -portrait and pressing me to spend a week with him at his house. -My daughter, Mrs. Jones, has the letter, and has copied it in her -book of original letters written to my father by Henry Clay and -many other distinguished men of our country. The last time -Mr. Forrest was in Cincinnati he walked over one morning to -see me and the family. We took him back in my carriage to -his hotel, and as he parted from my daughter Martha and myself -his eyes were filled with tears, and he exclaimed, ‘God bless -<span class='pageno' id='Page_844'>844</span>you!’ and left us. This was the last time I ever saw our distinguished -and much beloved friend. My daughter, only last -night, was speaking of this event of our parting, and how much -affected Mr. Forrest seemed to be.</p> - -<p class='c010'>“Forrest was a great favorite with my wife. She knew him in -1823 and 1824, and, before our marriage, had often witnessed his -performances at Lexington when a girl. She well knew the great -friendship that united us: hence in referring to our boy and girl -days in Lexington, Kentucky, she often speaks of Forrest, and -how much he was respected and his company sought by the college -boys at Old Transylvania. I have a very fine daguerreotype -picture of our friend, and two quite large photographs he -sent me through you several years ago. They will be faithfully -preserved and handed down to my children and to their children -as the picture of a man concerning whom it may well be said, -‘Take him for all in all, we shall not look upon his like again.’</p> - -<p class='c010'>“All we have left to us, my friend, is to meet and talk over the -pleasure we once enjoyed in the company of our friend. He was -so full of wit and humor! And how well he told a story! I remember -the day, some years back, he and you spent at my house. -All my family were present, together with several friends, and he -fascinated us all at dinner by his eloquence, and his incidents of -foreign travel. How heartily we laughed at the anecdotes which -he told with such fine effect! Then we had music at night, and -he recited the ‘Idiot Boy,’ to the delight of every one, and it -was the ‘witching time of night’ when the company broke up.</p> - -<div class='lg-container-r c011'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“I am very truly your friend and obedient servant,</div> - <div class='line in34'>“<span class='sc'>James Taylor</span>.”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c007'>Alas, how easy it is, and how congenial it seems to be to many, -to let down and tarnish the memory of a great man by an estimate -in which his vices are magnified and his virtues omitted! -So did old Macklin say of David Garrick, “He had a narrow -mind, bounded on one side by suspicion, by envy on the other, by -avarice in front, by fear in the rear, and with self in the centre.” -But against every unkind or demeaning word spoken of the -departed Forrest a multitude of facts protest. Two of these may -be cited to show the genius he had to make himself loved and -admired and remembered.</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_845'>845</span>On receiving intelligence of the death of his benefactor, a -literary gentleman who had been tried by severe misfortunes of -poverty and blindness and paralysis, and had experienced extreme -kindness as well as generous aid at the hands of Forrest, -wrote to Oakes a long letter, eloquent with gratitude and admiration, -and closing with the poetic acrostic which follows. -The writer thoroughly knew and loved the actor both personally -and professionally,—a fact that adds value to his eulogistic -appreciation:</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Ever foremost in histrionic fame,</div> - <div class='line'>Death cannot dim the lustre of thy name.</div> - <div class='line'>Wondrously bright the record of thy life,</div> - <div class='line'>In spite of wrongs that drove thee into strife.</div> - <div class='line'>Nobler by far than titled lord or peer!</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Friend of thy race, philanthropist sincere,</div> - <div class='line'>On earth esteemed for charms of intellect,</div> - <div class='line'>Renowned as well for manhood most erect;</div> - <div class='line'>Reserved, but kind, from ostentation free,</div> - <div class='line'>Envying no one of high or low degree,</div> - <div class='line'>Scorning all tricks of meretricious kind,</div> - <div class='line'>Thy course is run, thy glory left behind!</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line in34'><span class='sc'>Louis F. Tasistro.</span></div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c007'>On the first anniversary of his death a company of gentlemen, -actuated by purely disinterested motives, met in New York -and organized the Edwin Forrest Club, with a president, vice-president, -and seven directors. “The primary object of the club -shall be to foster the memory of the great actor, to erect a statue -of him in the Central Park, and to collect criticisms, pictures, and -all things relating to him, for the purpose of forming a Forrest -Museum.” After the memory of Forrest had been drunk standing, -Mr. G. W. Metlar, a friend from his earliest boyhood, paid an -affectionate eulogy to his worth. Others offered similar tributes. -And the corresponding secretary of the club, Mr. Harrison, said, -“Gentlemen, however well the world may know Mr. Forrest as -an actor, it knows comparatively nothing of him as a man. A -kinder heart never beat in the bosom of a human being. In -the finer sympathies of our nature he was more like a child than -one who had felt an undue share of the rude buffets of ingratitude. -When speaking with him of the troubles of others I -have often seen his eyes suffused with tears. The beggar never -<span class='pageno' id='Page_846'>846</span>knocked at his door and went away unladen. And many is the -charity that fell from his manly hand and the relieved knew not -whence it came; but</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>‘Like the song of the lone nightingale,</div> - <div class='line'>Which answereth with her most soothing song</div> - <div class='line'>Out of the ivy bower, it came and blessed.’</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c009'>And I may say with conscientious pride that however much any -of the great actors may have done for their national stage, Mr. -Forrest, equal to any of them, has done as much for the theatre -of his country, and will remain a recognized peer in the everlasting -group.</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>‘He stands serene amid the actors old,</div> - <div class='line'>Like Chimborazo when the setting sun</div> - <div class='line'>Has left his hundred mountains dark and dun,</div> - <div class='line'>Sole object visible, the imperial one</div> - <div class='line'>In purple robe and diadem of gold.</div> - <div class='line'>Immortal Forrest, who can hope to tell,</div> - <div class='line'>With tongue less gifted, of the pleasing sadness</div> - <div class='line'>Wrought in your deepest scenes of woe and madness?</div> - <div class='line'>Who hope by words to paint your Damon and your Lear?</div> - <div class='line'>Their noble forms before me pass,</div> - <div class='line'>Like breathing things of a living class.’</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c009'>The longer I allude to the tragedian the stronger becomes the -sadness that tinctures my feelings to think that he is no more, -and that the existence of the gifts Nature had so liberally -bestowed on him had to cease with the cessation of his pulse.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>Everything set down by the biographer in this volume has -been stated in the simple spirit of truth. And if the pen that -writes has distilled along the pages such a spirit of love for their -subject as makes the reader suspect the writer possessed with a -fond partiality, he asks, Why is it so? His love is but a response -to the love he received, and to the grand and beautiful qualities -he saw. A dried-up and malignant heart does not breathe such -effusive words in such a sincere tone as those which, in 1869, -Forrest wrote to Oakes: “The good news you send of the restored -health of our dear friend Alger gives me inexpressible -relief. Now I go into the country with abounding joy.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>The fortune Forrest had laboriously amassed would amount, -it was thought, when it should all be made available, to upwards -<span class='pageno' id='Page_847'>847</span>of a million dollars. It was found that in his will he had left the -whole of it—excepting a few personal bequests—to found, on -his beautiful estate of “Spring Brook,” about eight miles from -the heart of Philadelphia, the <span class='sc'>Edwin Forrest Home</span>, for the -support of actors and actresses decayed by age or disabled by -infirmity.</p> - -<p class='c007'>The trustees and executors have arranged the grounds and -prepared the buildings, removed thither all the relics of the testator, -his books, pictures, and statues, and made public announcement -that the home is ready for occupation. Thus the greatest -charity ever bequeathed in the sole interest of his own profession -by any actor since the world began is already in active operation, -and promises to carry the name it wears through unlimited -ages. It pleasantly allies its American founder with the -old tragedian Edward Alleyn, the friend of Shakspeare, who two -hundred and fifty years ago established munificent institutions -of knowledge and mercy, which have been growing ever since -and are now one of the princeliest endowments in England.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Those who loved Forrest best had hoped for him that, reposing -on his laurels, pointed out in the streets as the veteran of a -hundred battles, the vexations and resentments of earlier years -outgrown and forgotten, enjoying the calls of his friends, luxuriating -in bookish leisure, overseeing with paternal fondness the -progress of the home he had planned for the aged and needy of -his profession, taking a proud joy in the prosperity and glory -of his country and in the belief that his idolized art has before -it here amidst the democratic institutions of America a destiny -whose splendor and usefulness shall surpass everything it has -yet known,—the days of his mellow and vigorous old age should -glide pleasantly towards the end where waits the strange Shadow -with the key and the seal. Then, they trusted, nothing in his -life should have become him better than the leaving of it would. -For, receding step by step from the stage and the struggle, he -should fade out in a broadening illumination from behind the -scenes, the murmur of applause reaching him until his ear closed -to every sound of earth.</p> - -<p class='c007'>It would have been so had he been all that he should have -been. It was ordained not to be so. Shattered and bowed, he -was snatched untimely from his not properly perfected career. -<span class='pageno' id='Page_848'>848</span>But all that he was and did will not be forgotten in consequence -of what he was not and did not do.</p> - -<p class='c007'>He will live as a great tradition in the history of the stage. -He will live as a personal image in the magnificent Coriolanus -statue. He will live as a learned and versatile histrionist in the -exact photographic embodiments of his costumed and breathing -characters. He will live as a diffused presence in the retreat he -has founded for his less fortunate brethren. Perhaps he will live, -in some degree, as a friend in the hearts of those who perusing -these pages shall appreciate the story of his toils, his trials, his -triumphs, and his disappearance from the eyes of men. He will -certainly live in the innumerable and untraceable but momentous -influences of his deeds and effluences of his powerful personality -and exhibitions caught up by sensitive organisms and transmitted -in their posterity to the end of our race. And, still further, if, as -Swedenborg teaches, there are theatres in heaven, and all sorts -of plays represented there, those who in succeeding ages shall -recall his memory amidst the shades of time may think of him -still as acting some better part before angelic spectators within -the unknown scenery of eternity.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Here the pen of the writer drops from his hand in the conclusion -of its task, and, with the same words with which it began, -ends the story of <span class='sc'>Edwin Forrest</span>.</p> - -<div class='chapter'> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_849'>849</span> - <h2 class='c005'>APPENDIX.</h2> -</div> - -<h3 class='c015'>I.<br /> THE WILL OF EDWIN FORREST.</h3> - -<p class='c016'>I, <span class='sc'>Edwin Forrest</span>, of the city of Philadelphia, State of Pennsylvania, -do make and publish this my last Will and Testament.</p> - -<p class='c007'>I give, bequeath and devise unto my friends <span class='sc'>James Oakes</span>, Esquire, -of Boston, <span class='sc'>James Lawson</span>, Esquire, of New York, and <span class='sc'>Daniel Dougherty</span>, -Esquire, of Philadelphia, all my property and estate, real and -personal, of whatsoever description and wheresoever situated, upon -the trusts and confidences hereinafter expressed; and I also appoint -them my executors to administer my personal estate and bring it into -the hands of said trustees; that is to say, upon trust,</p> - -<p class='c007'><em>First.</em> That they the said trustees, the survivors and survivor of -them, shall be authorized to sell all my real estate, at public or private -sale, at such times as in their judgment shall appear to be for the best -advantage of my estate, excepting from this power my country place, -in the Twenty-third Ward of the city of Philadelphia, called “Springbrook,” -and to convey to purchasers thereof a good title, in fee simple, -discharged of all trusts and obligation to see to the application of the -purchase moneys; and such purchase moneys, and the proceeds of all -the personal estate, shall be invested in such securities and loans as are -made lawful investments by the laws of Pennsylvania, and shall be in -the joint names of the trustees under my Will. The investments which -I shall have made my executors or trustees may retain or change as they -may think for the best advantage of my estate.</p> - -<p class='c007'><em>Secondly.</em> Upon trust, to pay to my two sisters, Caroline and Eleanora, -jointly, while both remain single, and to the survivor of them until -her marriage or death, which shall first happen, an annuity of six thousand -dollars, in equal quarterly payments, in advance, from the date -of my decease; and should one marry, then to pay the said annuity of -six thousand dollars unto the other until marriage or death, whichever -<span class='pageno' id='Page_850'>850</span>event shall first happen; said annuity, however, not to be a charge upon -any real estate which shall be sold, but only upon the proceeds, and -upon trust to permit my said sisters, and the survivor of them, to use -and occupy my country place called Springbrook, with the necessary -furniture and utensils, and stock, until marriage or death as aforesaid, -free of all charge for rent, and to take the income and profits thereof; -and the said trustees shall pay the taxes thereon, and keep the same in -repair.</p> - -<p class='c007'><em>Thirdly.</em> To take and hold all said property and estate in trust for -an institution, which they will call “<span class='sc'>The Edwin Forrest Home</span>,” -to embrace the purposes of which I hereinafter give the outlines; -which institution shall be established at my country place called Springbrook, -certainly within twenty-one years after the decease of the survivor -of my said sisters, and sooner if found judiciously practicable.</p> - -<p class='c007'>The following is an <em>Outline of my Plan</em> for said Home, which may be -filled out in more detail by the Charter and By-Laws.</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='sc'>Article</span> 1st. The said Institution shall be for the support and maintenance -of Actors and Actresses, decayed by age, or disabled by infirmity, -who if natives of the United States shall have served at least -five years in the Theatrical profession; and if of foreign birth shall -have served in that profession at least ten years, whereof three years, -next previous to the application, shall have been in the United States; -and who shall in all things comply with the laws and regulations of the -Home, otherwise be subject to be discharged by the Managers, whose -decision shall be final.</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='sc'>Article</span> 2d. The number of inmates in the Home shall never exceed -the annual net rent and revenue of the Institution; and after the number -of inmates therein shall exceed twelve, others to be admitted shall -be such only as shall receive the approval of the majority of the inmates -as well as of the Managers.</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='sc'>Article</span> 3d. The said corporation shall be managed by a Board of -Managers, seven in number, who shall in the first instance be chosen -by the said Trustees, and shall include themselves so long as any of -them shall be living, and also the Mayor of the city of Philadelphia -for the time being; and as vacancies shall occur, the existing Managers -shall, from time to time, fill them, so that, if practicable, only one -vacancy shall ever exist at a time.</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='sc'>Article</span> 4th. The Managers shall elect one of their number to be -the President of the Institution; appoint a Treasurer and Secretary, -Steward, and Matron, and, if needed, a Clerk; the said Treasurer, -Secretary, Steward, Matron, and Clerk subject to be at any time discharged -by the Managers; except the Treasurer, the said officers may -<span class='pageno' id='Page_851'>851</span>be chosen from the inmates of the Home; and the Treasurer shall not -be a Manager, nor either of his sureties. The Managers shall also -appoint a Physician for the Home.</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='sc'>Article</span> 5th. Should there be any failure of the Managers to fill any -vacancy which may occur in their board for three months, or should -they in any respect fail to fulfil their trust according to the intent of -my Will and the Charter of the Institution, it is my will, that upon -the petition of any two or more of said Managers, or of the Mayor of -the City, the Orphans’ Court of Philadelphia county shall make such -appointments to fill any vacancy or vacancies, and all orders and decrees -necessary to correct any failure or breach of trust, which shall -appear to said court to be required, as in case of any other testamentary -trust, so that the purposes of this charity may never fail or be -abused.</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='sc'>Article</span> 6th. The purposes of the said “Edwin Forrest Home” are -intended to be partly educational and self-sustaining, as well as eleemosynary, -and never to encourage idleness or thriftlessness in any who -are capable of any useful exertion. My library shall be placed therein -in precise manner as now it exists in my house in Broad Street, Philadelphia. -There shall be a neat and pleasant theatre for private exhibitions -and histrionic culture. There shall be a picture gallery for the -preservation and exhibition of my collection of engravings, pictures, -statuary, and other works of art, to which additions may be made from -time to time, if the revenues of the Institution shall suffice. These -objects are not only intended to improve the taste, but to promote -the health and happiness of the inmates, and such visitors as may -be admitted.</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='sc'>Article</span> 7th. Also as a means of preserving health, and consequently -the happiness, of the inmates, as well as to aid in sustaining the Home, -there shall be lectures and readings therein, upon oratory and the histrionic -art, to which pupils shall be admitted upon such terms and -under such regulations as the Managers may prescribe. The garden -and grounds are to be made productive of profit as well as of health -and pleasure, and, so far as capable, the inmates not otherwise profitably -occupied, shall assist in farming, horticulture, and the cultivation -of flowers in the garden and conservatory.</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='sc'>Article</span> 8th. “The Edwin Forrest Home” may also, if the revenues -shall suffice, embrace in its plan, lectures on science, literature and the -arts; but preferably oratory and the histrionic art, in manner to prepare -the American citizen for the more creditable and effective discharge -of his public duties, and to raise the education and intellectual -and moral tone and character of actors, that thereby they may elevate -<span class='pageno' id='Page_852'>852</span>the drama, and cause it to subserve its true and great mission to mankind, -as their profoundest teacher of virtue and morality.</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='sc'>Article</span> 9th. The “Edwin Forrest Home” shall also be made to -promote the love of liberty, our country and her institutions, to hold -in honor the name of the great Dramatic Bard, as well as to cultivate -a taste and afford opportunity for the enjoyment of social rural pleasures. -Therefore there shall be read therein, to the inmates and public, -by an inmate or pupil thereof, the immortal Declaration of Independence, -as written by Thomas Jefferson, without expurgation, on every -Fourth day of July, to be followed by an oration under the folds of -our National flag. There shall be prepared and read therein before -the like assemblage, on the birthday of Shakspeare, the twenty-third -of April in every year, an eulogy upon his character and writings, and -one of his plays, or scenes from his plays, shall, on that day, be represented -in the theatre. And on the first Mondays of every June and -October the “Edwin Forrest Home” and grounds shall be opened for -the admission of ladies and gentlemen of the theatrical profession, and -their friends, in the manner of social picnics, when all shall provide -their own entertainments.</p> - -<p class='c007'>The foregoing general outline of my plan of the Institution I desire -to establish, has been sketched during my preparations for a long -voyage by sea and land, and should God spare my life, it is my purpose -to be more full and definite; but should I leave no later Will or Codicil, -my friends, who sympathize in my purposes, will execute them in -the best and fullest manner possible, understanding that they have -been long meditated by me and are very dear to my heart.</p> - -<p class='c007'>They will also remember that my professional brothers and sisters -are often unfortunate, and that little has been done for them either to -elevate them in their profession or to provide for their necessities under -sickness or other misfortunes. God has favored my efforts and given -me great success, and I would make my fortune the means to elevate -the education of others, and promote their success and to alleviate -their sufferings, and smooth the pillows of the unfortunate in sickness, -or other disability, or the decay of declining years.</p> - -<p class='c007'>These are the grounds upon which I would appeal to the Legislature -of my Native State, to the Chief Magistrate of my Native City, to the -Courts and my Fellow-Citizens to assist my purposes, which I believe to -be demanded by the just claims of humanity, and by that civilization -and refinement which spring from intellectual and moral culture.</p> - -<p class='c007'>I, therefore, lay it as a duty on my Trustees to frame a bill which -the Legislature may enact as and for the Charter of said Institution, -which shall ratify the Articles in said Outline of Plan, shall authorize -<span class='pageno' id='Page_853'>853</span>the Mayor of the City to act as one of its Managers, and the said -Court to exercise the visitatorial jurisdiction invoked; and prevent -streets from being run through so much of the Springbrook grounds as -shall include the buildings and sixty acres of ground. Such a Charter -being obtained, the corporation shall be authorized, at a future period, -to sell the grounds outside said space, the proceeds to be applied to -increase the endowment and usefulness of the Home. And so far as I -shall not have built to carry out my views, I authorize the said Managers, -with consent of my sisters, or survivor of them, having a right -to reside at Springbrook, to proceed to erect and build the buildings -required by my outline of plan, and towards their erection apply the -income, accumulated or current, of my estate. And should my sisters -consent, or the survivor of them consent, in case of readiness to open -the Home, to remove therefrom, a comfortable house shall be procured -for them elsewhere, furnished, and rent and taxes paid, as required in -respect to Springbrook, at the cost and charge of my estate, or of -the said corporation, if then in possession thereof. Whensoever the -requisite Charter shall be obtained, and the corporation be organized -and ready to proceed to carry out its design, then it shall be the duty -of said Trustees to assign and convey all my said property and estate -unto the said “Edwin Forrest Home,” their successors and assigns -forever; and for the latter to execute and deliver, under the corporate -seal, a full and absolute discharge and acquittance forever, with or -without auditing of accounts by an auditor of the court as they may -think proper, unto the said Executors and Trustees.</p> - -<p class='c007'>In testimony whereof, I have hereunto set my hand and seal, this fifth -day of April, eighteen hundred and sixty-six.</p> - -<div class='lg-container-r'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>EDWIN FORREST, [<span class='fss'>SEAL</span>.]</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c010'>Signed, sealed, declared and published as and for his last Will and -Testament by Edwin Forrest, in our presence, who at his request -and in his presence, and in presence of each other, have hereunto -set our hands as witnesses thereto.</p> - -<div class='lg-container-r'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'><span class='sc'>Eli K. Price</span>,</div> - <div class='line'><span class='sc'>H. C. Townsend</span>,</div> - <div class='line'><span class='sc'>J. Sergeant Price</span>.</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c007'>Whereas I, <span class='sc'>Edwin Forrest</span>, of the city of Philadelphia, State of -Pennsylvania, having made and duly executed my last Will and Testament -in writing, bearing date the fifth day of April, eighteen hundred -and sixty-six. Now I do hereby declare this present writing to be as a -<span class='pageno' id='Page_854'>854</span>Codicil to my said Will, and direct the same to be annexed thereto, -and taken as a part thereof.</p> - -<p class='c007'>And I do hereby give and bequeath unto my friend James Lawson, -Esq., of the city of New York, the sum of five thousand dollars.</p> - -<p class='c007'>And, also, to my friend Daniel Dougherty, Esq., the sum of five -thousand dollars.</p> - -<p class='c007'>And, also, to my beloved friend Miss Elizabeth, sometimes called -Lillie Welsh, eldest daughter of John R. Welsh, broker, of Philadelphia, -the sum of five thousand dollars.</p> - -<p class='c007'>And, also, to my friend S. S. Smith, Esq., of Cincinnati, Ohio, the -sum of two thousand dollars.</p> - -<p class='c007'>And, also, to the benevolent society called the Actors’ Order of -Friendship, “the first one of that name established in Philadelphia,” -I will and bequeath the like sum of two thousand dollars.</p> - -<p class='c007'>In witness whereof, I, the said Edwin Forrest, have to this Codicil -set my hand and seal, this fifth day of April, eighteen hundred and -sixty-six.</p> - -<div class='lg-container-r'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>EDWIN FORREST, [<span class='fss'>SEAL</span>.]</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c010'>Published and declared as a Codicil to his Will in our presence, by -E. Forrest, who in his presence and at his request have signed as -witnesses in presence of each other.</p> - -<div class='lg-container-r'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'><span class='sc'>Eli K. Price</span>,</div> - <div class='line'><span class='sc'>H. C. Townsend</span>,</div> - <div class='line'><span class='sc'>J. Sergeant Price</span>.</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c007'>Whereas I have this day, October 18th, 1871, provided my friend -James Oakes with an annuity of twenty-five hundred dollars during his -life, I have erased from this Codicil and do revoke the five thousand -dollars’ legacy to him, and now do bequeath the said sum of five -thousand dollars intended for James Oakes, to my beloved friend Miss -Elizabeth, sometimes called Lillie Welsh, eldest daughter of John R. -Welsh, broker, of Philadelphia. This five thousand dollars is to be -given in addition to the sum of five thousand dollars already bequeathed -to the said Miss Welsh, making in all to her the gift of ten -thousand dollars ($10,000).</p> - -<p class='c007'>In witness hereof I set my hand and seal.</p> - -<div class='lg-container-r'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>EDWIN FORREST, [<span class='fss'>SEAL</span>.]</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c010'>Witnesses present at signing:</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'><span class='sc'>Geo. C. Thomas</span>,</div> - <div class='line'><span class='sc'>J. Paul Diver</span>.</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<div class='figcenter id001'> -<img src='images/p854.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' /> -<div class='ic001'> -<p>FORREST MEDALS.</p> -</div> -</div> - -<div> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_855'>855</span> - <h3 class='c015'>II.<br /> THE FORREST MEDALS.</h3> -</div> - -<p class='c016'>The duplicate of the first medal in gold was presented by Mr. Forrest to the New -York Historical Society, at a meeting held June 22d, 1868, through the hands of -James Lawson. It was accepted, with a vote of thanks to the donor, and placed in -the archives of the Society.</p> - -<p class='c007'>The legend or motto on the second medal is from a sonnet by James Lawson “To -Andrew Jackson,” which may be found in Duyckinck’s Cyclopædia of American -Literature, vol. ii. p. 280, New York edition, 1855.</p> - -<p class='c007'>The tokens were issued by tradesmen as a mode of advertisement. They are an -interesting proof of the great popularity of the tragedian.</p> - -<h4 class='c017'>I.</h4> - -<p class='c018'><em>Ob.</em>—A profile head of Forrest, facing to the left. Below the head -engraver’s initials, “C. C. W., Sc.”</p> - -<p class='c019'><em>Leg.</em>—“<span lang="la" xml:lang="la">Histrioni optimo Eduino Forrest, viro præstanti, MDCCC. -XXXIV.</span>”</p> - -<p class='c019'><em>Rev.</em>—The muse of Tragedy seated, holding in one hand a wreath, -the other holding a dagger, and resting on her lap. A mask -resting beside her.</p> - -<p class='c019'><em>Leg.</em>—“Great in mouths of wisest censure.”</p> - -<p class='c019'><em>Ex.</em>—“C. INGHAM, Del.”</p> - -<p class='c020'>Metal, silver; size, 1<span class='fraction'>11<br /><span class='vincula'>16</span></span> inch; edge plain. Two struck -in gold, twenty-six in silver.</p> - -<h4 class='c017'>II.</h4> - -<p class='c018'><em>Ob.</em>—A profile bust of Forrest, facing to the left.</p> - -<p class='c019'><em>Leg.</em>—“Edwin Forrest.”</p> - -<p class='c019'><em>Ex.</em>—In small letters, “<em>A. W. Jones, Del.</em> F. B. Smith & Hartmann, -N. Y., <span lang="la" xml:lang="la">fecit</span>.”</p> - -<p class='c019'><em>Rev.</em>—A wreath bound with a ribbon, on which are inscribed the -names of Mr. Forrest’s celebrated characters. Within the -wreath, “Born in the City of Philadelphia, Pa., March 9, -1806.” “Just to opposers, and to friends sincere.”</p> - -<p class='c020'>Metal, copper; size, 3 inches; edge plain. Two struck -in silver; also struck in tin.</p> - -<div> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_856'>856</span> - <h4 class='c017'>III.</h4> -</div> - -<p class='c018'><em>Ob.</em>—A profile head of Forrest, facing to the left. Below the head -the engraver’s name, “Merriam, Boston.”</p> - -<p class='c019'><em>Leg.</em>—“Edwin Forrest, born March 9, 1806.”</p> - -<p class='c019'><em>Rev.</em>—An olive wreath, enclosing the words, “Rose by his own efforts,” -also engraver’s name, “Merriam, Boston.” Outside of the -wreath, “Just to opposers, and to friends sincere.”</p> - -<p class='c020'>Metal, copper; size, 1⅕ inch; edge plain. Also struck -in tin.</p> - -<h3 class='c015'>THE FORREST TOKENS.</h3> - -<h4 class='c017'>I.</h4> - -<p class='c018'><em>Ob.</em>—A profile bust of Forrest enclosed with laurel branches, and -facing to the right.</p> - -<p class='c019'><em>Rev.</em>—“E. Hill, Dealer in Coins, Medals, Minerals, Autographs, Engravings, -Old Curiosities, &c., No. 6 Bleecker St., N. York, -1860.”</p> - -<p class='c020'>Metal, tin; edge plain; size, 1⅛ inch.</p> - -<h4 class='c017'>II.</h4> - -<p class='c018'><em>Ob.</em>—Same as last.</p> - -<p class='c019'><em>Rev.</em>—Half-length figure of a man smoking. Legend, “No pleasure -can exceed the smoking of the weed.”</p> - -<p class='c020'>Metal, tin; edge milled; size, 1⅛ inch.</p> - -<h4 class='c017'>III.</h4> - -<p class='c018'><em>Ob.</em>—Same as No. <span class='fss'>I</span>.</p> - -<p class='c019'><em>Rev.</em>—A box of cigars (regalias), two pipes crossed above the box. -Legend, “Levick, 904 Broadway, New York, 1860.”</p> - -<p class='c020'>Metal, tin; edge milled; size, 1⅛ inch.</p> - -<h4 class='c017'>IV.</h4> - -<p class='c018'><em>Ob.</em>—Same as No. <span class='fss'>I</span>.</p> - -<p class='c019'><em>Rev.</em>—“F. C. Key & Sons, Die Sinkers and Medalists, 123 Arch St., -Phila.,” enclosed within a circle of thirty-two stars.</p> - -<p class='c020'>Metal, tin; edge plain; size, 1⅛ inch.</p> - -<div> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_857'>857</span> - <h4 class='c017'>V.</h4> -</div> - -<p class='c018'><em>Ob.</em>—A profile bust of Forrest, facing to the right. Legend, “Edwin -Forrest.”</p> - -<p class='c019'><em>Rev.</em>—Same as Rev. <span class='fss'>IX</span>., last.</p> - -<p class='c020'>Metal, tin; edge plain; size, 1⅛ inch.</p> - -<h4 class='c017'>VI.</h4> - -<p class='c018'><em>Ob.</em>— Same as No. <span class='fss'>V</span>.</p> - -<p class='c019'><em>Rev.</em>—Profile bust of Webster, facing to the right. Legend, “Daniel -Webster.”</p> - -<p class='c020'>Metal, tin; edge plain; size, 1⅛ inch.</p> - -<h4 class='c017'>VII.</h4> - -<p class='c018'><em>Ob.</em>—Same as No. <span class='fss'>V</span>.</p> - -<p class='c019'><em>Rev.</em>—“Dedicated to Coin and Medal Collectors,” enclosed by two -palm branches crossed. Ex., “1860.”</p> - -<p class='c020'>Metal, tin; edge plain; size, 1⅛ inch.</p> - -<h4 class='c017'>VIII.</h4> - -<p class='c018'><em>Ob.</em>—Same as No. <span class='fss'>V</span>.</p> - -<p class='c019'><em>Rev.</em>—A race-horse standing, and facing to the left. “Mobile Jockey -Club.” “Member’s Medal.”</p> - -<p class='c020'>Metal, tin; edge plain; size, 1⅛ inch.</p> - -<h4 class='c017'>IX.</h4> - -<p class='c018'><em>Ob.</em>—Same as No. <span class='fss'>V</span>.</p> - -<p class='c019'><em>Rev.</em>—A witch riding on a broomstick. “We all have our hobbies.” -“G. H. L.”</p> - -<p class='c020'>Metal, tin; edge plain; size, 1⅛ inch.</p> - -<h4 class='c017'>X.</h4> - -<p class='c018'><em>Ob.</em>—Same as No. <span class='fss'>V</span>.</p> - -<p class='c019'><em>Rev.</em>—The name “Key” in large letters occupying the entire centre of -the field; within the name are enclosed in small letters the -following, “Ornamental Medal and Seal Die Sinkers, &c., -&c., 329 Arch St., Phila.” The whole surrounded by a constellation -of stars.</p> - -<p class='c020'>Metal, tin; edge plain; size, 1⅛ inch.</p> - -<div> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_858'>858</span> - <h4 class='c017'>XI.</h4> -</div> - -<p class='c018'><em>Ob.</em>—Same as No. <span class='fss'>V</span>.</p> - -<p class='c019'><em>Rev.</em>—“Not transferable, 1853.”</p> - -<p class='c020'>Metal, tin; edge plain; size, 1⅛ inch.</p> - -<h4 class='c017'>XII.</h4> - -<p class='c018'><em>Ob.</em>—Same as No. <span class='fss'>V</span>.</p> - -<p class='c019'><em>Rev.</em>—Cupid on a dolphin. Ex., “1860.”</p> - -<p class='c020'>Metal, tin; edge plain; size, 1⅛ inch.</p> - -<h4 class='c017'>XIII.</h4> - -<p class='c018'><em>Ob.</em>—Same as No. <span class='fss'>V</span>.</p> - -<p class='c019'><em>Rev.</em>—“F. C. Key & Sons, Die Sinkers and Medalists, 123 Arch St., -Philadelphia.”</p> - -<p class='c020'>Metal, tin; edge plain; size, 1⅛ inch.</p> - -<div class='chapter'> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_859'>859</span> - <h2 class='c005'>INDEX.</h2> -</div> - -<ul class='index c002'> - <li class='c021'>Acrostic on Forrest, <a href='#Page_845'>845</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Actions, the ninth dramatic language, <a href='#Page_467'>467</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Actor, fame of, not perishable, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_338'>338</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Actors, generosity of, <a href='#Page_526'>526</a>. - <ul> - <li>lives of, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_20'>20</a>.</li> - </ul> - </li> - <li class='c021'>Adams, Samuel, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_24'>24</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Æsthetic gymnastic, <a href='#Page_659'>659</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Albany, speech of Forrest there in 1864, <a href='#Page_559'>559</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Alger, William R., <a href='#Page_846'>846</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Allen, Caridora, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_324'>324</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Alleyn, Edward, <a href='#Page_847'>847</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>America, characteristic faults of, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_49'>49</a>. - <ul> - <li>composite of races in, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_47'>47</a>-52.</li> - <li>future of drama in, <a href='#Page_547'>547</a>.</li> - <li>idea and genius and destiny of, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_40'>40</a>-44.</li> - <li>lessons for, from the East, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_48'>48</a>.</li> - </ul> - </li> - <li class='c021'>American Drama, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_421'>421</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>American School of Acting, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_17'>17</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Americanism, intense, of Forrest, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_39'>39</a>, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_40'>40</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Angelo, Michael, <a href='#Page_480'>480</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Animal magnetism, <a href='#Page_468'>468</a>, <a href='#Page_469'>469</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Animals, societies for preventing cruelty to, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_86'>86</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Aristocratic code of manners, <a href='#Page_669'>669</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Artistic School of Acting, <a href='#Page_646'>646</a>, <a href='#Page_658'>658</a>-662.</li> - <li class='c021'>Asp, hisses the Cleopatra of Marmontel, <a href='#Page_479'>479</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Asses, Feast of, in the Church, <a href='#Page_685'>685</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Astor Place Opera-House Riot, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_430'>430</a>-432.</li> - <li class='c021'>Atheists, <a href='#Page_576'>576</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Athletic development, its glory, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_251'>251</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Attitudes, the second dramatic language, <a href='#Page_464'>464</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Auld Lang Syne, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_422'>422</a>.</li> - <li class='c002'>Ball, Thomas, sculptor, his Coriolanus statue, <a href='#Page_631'>631</a>-633.</li> - <li class='c021'>Bannister, John, Forrest’s admiration of, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_30'>30</a>. - <ul> - <li>his retort on the jealous actors, <a href='#Page_480'>480</a>.</li> - <li>his vast popularity, <a href='#Page_585'>585</a>.</li> - </ul> - </li> - <li class='c021'>Barnwell, George, moral power of the play, <a href='#Page_703'>703</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Baron, the French actor, <a href='#Page_643'>643</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Barrett, Mrs. George, <a href='#Page_533'>533</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Barry, Thomas, <a href='#Page_527'>527</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Bath, Russian, Forrest’s first one, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_283'>283</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Battle of the Theatre and the Church, <a href='#Page_682'>682</a>-695.</li> - <li class='c021'>Beecher, Henry Ward, on theatre, <a href='#Page_693'>693</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Bertinazzi, the pantomimist, <a href='#Page_544'>544</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Betty, Master, the Infant Roscius, <a href='#Page_595'>595</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Biddle, Nicholas, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_325'>325</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Bird, Robert M., <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_169'>169</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Black, Colonel Samuel, <a href='#Page_574'>574</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Blake, William R., his Jesse Rural, <a href='#Page_545'>545</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Bob, Forrest’s mocking-bird, <a href='#Page_824'>824</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Bogota, Broker of, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_350'>350</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Bohemians, dramatic critics, <a href='#Page_438'>438</a>, <a href='#Page_549'>549</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Bonaparte, Jerome, Forrest’s interview with, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_413'>413</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Booth, Edwin, abusive criticism of, <a href='#Page_457'>457</a>. - <ul> - <li>the elder, <a href='#Page_540'>540</a>.</li> - <li>Wilkes, affecting anecdote of, <a href='#Page_546'>546</a>.</li> - </ul> - </li> - <li class='c021'>Borgia, Rosalia de, Forrest appears as, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_60'>60</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Bowie, Colonel James, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_118'>118</a>-120.</li> - <li class='c021'>Bozzaris, Marco, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_192'>192</a>, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_289'>289</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Brady, James T., <a href='#Page_618'>618</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Breeding, animals and human species, laws of, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_46'>46</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Broker of Bogota, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_350'>350</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Brooke, Gustavus Vasa, plays Iago to Forrest’s Othello, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_401'>401</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Brownie, Forrest’s horse, <a href='#Page_823'>823</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Browning, Elizabeth Barrett, <a href='#Page_563'>563</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Brutus, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_220'>220</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Bryant, William Cullen, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_338'>338</a>. - <ul> - <li>speech at Forrest Banquet, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_417'>417</a>.</li> - </ul> - </li> - <li class='c021'>Bryson, Mrs., Forrest boards with, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_105'>105</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Burns, Robert, birthday festival in memory of, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_403'>403</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Burton, W. G., his toast, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_339'>339</a>.</li> - <li class='c002'>Cade, Jack, by R. T. Conrad, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_360'>360</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Caldwell, James H., <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_71'>71</a>, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_111'>111</a>, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_116'>116</a>, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_137'>137</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>California, official honors to Forrest, <a href='#Page_555'>555</a>. - <ul> - <li>visit of Forrest there, <a href='#Page_570'>570</a>.</li> - </ul> - </li> - <li class='c021'>Cass, Lewis, gives a banquet in honor of Forrest, <a href='#Page_593'>593</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Catullus, his threnody, <a href='#Page_624'>624</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Chamouni, Forrest reads Coleridge’s hymn there, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_281'>281</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Chandler, Joseph R., <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_333'>333</a>. - <ul> - <li>verses on Forrest, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_67'>67</a>.</li> - </ul> - </li> - <li class='c021'>Channing, William Ellery, <a href='#Page_563'>563</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'><span class='pageno' id='Page_860'>860</span>Character, three types of, in every man, <a href='#Page_460'>460</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Charm, fourteen-fold, of the theatre, <a href='#Page_688'>688</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Children, Forrest’s love for, <a href='#Page_581'>581</a>, <a href='#Page_824'>824</a>-826.</li> - <li class='c021'>Childs, George W., <a href='#Page_836'>836</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Chinese Drama, <a href='#Page_683'>683</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Choate, Rufus, death of, <a href='#Page_573'>573</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Church and Theatre reconciled, <a href='#Page_718'>718</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Circus, Forrest engages as a rider in, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_112'>112</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Claqueurs, hired, <a href='#Page_594'>594</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Classic School of Acting, <a href='#Page_640'>640</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Clay, Henry, anecdote of, <a href='#Page_593'>593</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Clown, secret of the vulgar delight in, <a href='#Page_698'>698</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Club, the Edwin Forrest, <a href='#Page_845'>845</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Coleridge, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_24'>24</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Columbine and Harlequin, <a href='#Page_697'>697</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Columbus, <a href='#Page_698'>698</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Comer, Thomas, subjected to priestly bigotry, <a href='#Page_694'>694</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Comparisons, personal, uses of, <a href='#Page_673'>673</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Conrad, Robert T., <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_169'>169</a>, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_332'>332</a>, <a href='#Page_615'>615</a>, <a href='#Page_616'>616</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Consuelo letter, the, <a href='#Page_486'>486</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Contradictory accounts of Forrest’s Claude Melnotte, <a href='#Page_458'>458</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Conway, the ill-fated actor, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_136'>136</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Cooke, George Frederick, <a href='#Page_456'>456</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Cooper, J. Fenimore, tribute to, <a href='#Page_601'>601</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Cooper, Thomas A., interview of Forrest with, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_68'>68</a>, <a href='#Page_533'>533</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Coriolanus, as played by Forrest, <a href='#Page_762'>762</a>-769. - <ul> - <li>Leggett on, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_324'>324</a>.</li> - </ul> - </li> - <li class='c021'>Criticism, dramatic, in newspapers, <a href='#Page_458'>458</a>. - <ul> - <li>need of, for the critics, <a href='#Page_439'>439</a>.</li> - </ul> - </li> - <li class='c021'>Critics, Forrest grateful to three classes of, <a href='#Page_434'>434</a>-436.</li> - <li class='c021'>Cushman, Charlotte, her Nancy Sykes, <a href='#Page_457'>457</a>.</li> - <li class='c002'>Damon, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_211'>211</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Davenport, E. L., <a href='#Page_540'>540</a>. - <ul> - <li>his tribute to Forrest, <a href='#Page_541'>541</a>.</li> - </ul> - </li> - <li class='c021'>Dawson, Moses, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_104'>104</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Death always essentially the same, <a href='#Page_831'>831</a>. - <ul> - <li>and immortality, Forrest on, <a href='#Page_814'>814</a>.</li> - <li>of actors, <a href='#Page_831'>831</a>.</li> - <li>of Forrest, <a href='#Page_832'>832</a>.</li> - </ul> - </li> - <li class='c021'>Definition of the Drama, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_22'>22</a>, <a href='#Page_459'>459</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Delsarte, François, <a href='#Page_657'>657</a>-662.</li> - <li class='c021'>Democracy, ideal of, in Forrest, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_53'>53</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Democratic code of manners, <a href='#Page_669'>669</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Democratic Review on Forrest’s second reception in England, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_399'>399</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Dewey, Rev. Orville, his eloquence, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_339'>339</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Dougherty, Daniel, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_16'>16</a>, <a href='#Page_577'>577</a>, <a href='#Page_834'>834</a>, <a href='#Page_836'>836</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Drake, the theatrical manager, <a href='#Page_536'>536</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Drama, definition of, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_22'>22</a>, <a href='#Page_459'>459</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Dramatic Art, definition of, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_87'>87</a>. - <ul> - <li>illustrated in fables, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_84'>84</a>.</li> - <li>in animals, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_78'>78</a>-80.</li> - <li>in children, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_83'>83</a>, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_84'>84</a>.</li> - <li>in savages, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_80'>80</a>-82.</li> - </ul> - </li> - <li class='c021'>Dramatic Art, in society and in the theatre, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_90'>90</a>. - <ul> - <li>varieties and levels of the, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_95'>95</a>.</li> - </ul> - </li> - <li class='c021'>Dramatic literature, American, patronized by Forrest, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_167'>167</a>-170.</li> - <li class='c021'>Duane, William, first criticism on Forrest, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_66'>66</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Dunlap, William, letter of, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_336'>336</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Durang, Charles, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_149'>149</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Durivage, F. A., letter by, <a href='#Page_620'>620</a>. - <ul> - <li>poem by, <a href='#Page_833'>833</a>.</li> - </ul> - </li> - <li class='c002'>Elssler, Fanny, <a href='#Page_563'>563</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Emperor, the American, <a href='#Page_634'>634</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>England, Forrest’s first appearance in, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_298'>298</a>. - <ul> - <li>American actors in, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_296'>296</a>.</li> - </ul> - </li> - <li class='c021'>Envy, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_173'>173</a>. - <ul> - <li>vanity, and jealousy among actors, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_387'>387</a>.</li> - </ul> - </li> - <li class='c021'>Eshcol, grapes of, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_62'>62</a>, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_278'>278</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Evans, Platt, and the Distressed Tailor, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_109'>109</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Expression, laws of, <a href='#Page_463'>463</a>.</li> - <li class='c002'>Facial expression, the fifth dramatic language, <a href='#Page_465'>465</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Fame defined, <a href='#Page_583'>583</a>. - <ul> - <li>not to be despised, <a href='#Page_582'>582</a>.</li> - </ul> - </li> - <li class='c021'>Farragut, Admiral, funeral of, <a href='#Page_823'>823</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Feast of Asses, <a href='#Page_685'>685</a>. - <ul> - <li>of Fools, <a href='#Page_685'>685</a>.</li> - </ul> - </li> - <li class='c021'>Febro, Richelieu, and Lear, as represented by Forrest, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_354'>354</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Fennell, James, <a href='#Page_532'>532</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Five classes of censorious critics, <a href='#Page_436'>436</a>-439.</li> - <li class='c021'>Focal points in society where human nature is revealed, <a href='#Page_674'>674</a>-680.</li> - <li class='c021'>Fonthill Castle, <a href='#Page_484'>484</a>, <a href='#Page_485'>485</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Fools of Shakspeare, <a href='#Page_540'>540</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Forgiveness of enemies, beauty and wisdom of, <a href='#Page_605'>605</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Forms, the first dramatic language, <a href='#Page_464'>464</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Formula of central law of dramatic expression, <a href='#Page_793'>793</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Forney, John W., <a href='#Page_577'>577</a>, <a href='#Page_593'>593</a>, <a href='#Page_836'>836</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Forrest, Mrs. Catherine N., <a href='#Page_483'>483</a>. - <ul> - <li>letters by her, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_382'>382</a>, <a href='#Page_493'>493</a>, <a href='#Page_506'>506</a>.</li> - </ul> - </li> - <li class='c021'>Forrest, Edwin, the author’s first interview with, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_15'>15</a>. - <ul> - <li>misrepresentations of him, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_26'>26</a>, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_27'>27</a>.</li> - <li>his father, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_33'>33</a>.</li> - <li>his mother, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_35'>35</a>.</li> - <li>his brothers and sisters, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_36'>36</a>-39.</li> - <li>intended for Christian ministry, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_56'>56</a>.</li> - <li>first appearance on the stage, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_60'>60</a>, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_61'>61</a>.</li> - <li>takes nitrous oxide in the Tivoli Garden, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_63'>63</a>.</li> - <li>his spirit of revenge, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_64'>64</a>, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_65'>65</a>.</li> - <li>his early practice of gymnastics, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_96'>96</a>.</li> - <li><span class='pageno' id='Page_861'>861</span>sickness of, in New Orleans, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_130'>130</a>.</li> - <li>chased by a shark, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_139'>139</a>.</li> - <li>his gymnastics, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_141'>141</a>.</li> - <li>forswears gambling, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_147'>147</a>.</li> - <li>his débût in New York, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_150'>150</a>.</li> - <li>pays his father’s debts, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_167'>167</a>.</li> - <li>makes his mother and sisters independent, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_167'>167</a>.</li> - <li>attacks on, and enmity to, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_173'>173</a>-179.</li> - <li>public dinner to, in New York, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_181'>181</a>.</li> - <li>disliked to impersonate ignoble characters, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_259'>259</a>.</li> - <li>visits the grave of Talma, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_266'>266</a>.</li> - <li>public dinner to, in Philadelphia, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_325'>325</a>.</li> - <li>nominated for Congress, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_348'>348</a>.</li> - <li>his letter on the giving of benefits by actors, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_378'>378</a>.</li> - <li>hisses Macready, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_410'>410</a>.</li> - <li>anecdotes of, at Edinburgh, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_412'>412</a>.</li> - <li>his limitations as an actor, <a href='#Page_472'>472</a>.</li> - <li>flings off his wig on the stage, <a href='#Page_478'>478</a>.</li> - <li>tribute to, by James E. Murdoch, <a href='#Page_480'>480</a>.</li> - <li>his jealousy of his wife, <a href='#Page_488'>488</a>-490.</li> - <li>first appearance on the stage after divorce, <a href='#Page_502'>502</a>.</li> - <li>his tremendous strength, <a href='#Page_539'>539</a>.</li> - <li>portraits of, at different ages, <a href='#Page_586'>586</a>, <a href='#Page_587'>587</a>.</li> - <li>originality of, <a href='#Page_664'>664</a>.</li> - <li>thrice thought of leaving the stage, <a href='#Page_795'>795</a>.</li> - <li>his letter on Lear, <a href='#Page_797'>797</a>.</li> - <li>his last appearance in New York, <a href='#Page_801'>801</a>-810.</li> - <li>last appearance on the stage, <a href='#Page_811'>811</a>.</li> - <li>defects in character of, <a href='#Page_816'>816</a>.</li> - <li>his love of his mother, <a href='#Page_822'>822</a>.</li> - <li>estimates of, after his death, <a href='#Page_836'>836</a>-840.</li> - <li>his lasting memory, <a href='#Page_847'>847</a>, <a href='#Page_848'>848</a>.</li> - </ul> - </li> - <li class='c021'>Fourth-of-July celebration, oration by Forrest, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_339'>339</a>. - <ul> - <li>in London, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_413'>413</a>.</li> - </ul> - </li> - <li class='c021'>French notice of Forrest in Parisian journal, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_398'>398</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Friendship, its rarity, its nature, its meaning, <a href='#Page_606'>606</a>-609.</li> - <li class='c021'>Future of the Drama in America, <a href='#Page_547'>547</a>.</li> - <li class='c002'>Gallagher, William D., <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_101'>101</a>, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_105'>105</a>, <a href='#Page_614'>614</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Gambling, its fearful power, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_147'>147</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Garrick, <a href='#Page_455'>455</a>. - <ul> - <li>and Lekain in Paris, <a href='#Page_546'>546</a>.</li> - <li>his couplet on Nature and Art, <a href='#Page_667'>667</a>.</li> - <li>tomb of, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_189'>189</a>.</li> - </ul> - </li> - <li class='c021'>Garrick Club, banquet to Forrest by, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_316'>316</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Gaylord, Tom, <a href='#Page_841'>841</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Gazonac, the gambler and duellist, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_122'>122</a>-124.</li> - <li class='c021'>Genealogy, its interest and importance, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_32'>32</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Genius of the Drama in Shakspeare, <a href='#Page_524'>524</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Genoa, Forrest boards an American man-of-war at, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_277'>277</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Georges, Mademoiselle, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_264'>264</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Gestures, the fourth dramatic language, <a href='#Page_465'>465</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Gilfert, Charles, the manager, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_147'>147</a>, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_150'>150</a>, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_154'>154</a>, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_155'>155</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Gospel and Drama have the same end, <a href='#Page_682'>682</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Government, the ideal of, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_51'>51</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Graham, Captain, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_126'>126</a>, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_131'>131</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Graham, John, <a href='#Page_618'>618</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Grant, General, <a href='#Page_610'>610</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Great men, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_23'>23</a>, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_24'>24</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Greek Drama, <a href='#Page_683'>683</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Greene, Charles Gordon, <a href='#Page_614'>614</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Gymnastic, æsthetic system, <a href='#Page_563'>563</a>-566. - <ul> - <li>ecclesiastic contempt for, <a href='#Page_561'>561</a>.</li> - <li>the Greek, <a href='#Page_560'>560</a>.</li> - <li>training of Forrest, <a href='#Page_564'>564</a>.</li> - </ul> - </li> - <li class='c002'>Hackett, James H., <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_191'>191</a>. - <ul> - <li>the American Falstaff, <a href='#Page_540'>540</a>.</li> - </ul> - </li> - <li class='c021'>Halleck, Fitz-Greene, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_192'>192</a>, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_403'>403</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Hamlet, as played by Forrest, <a href='#Page_751'>751</a>-762.</li> - <li class='c021'>Harlequin and Columbine, <a href='#Page_697'>697</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Harrison, Gabriel, <a href='#Page_542'>542</a>. - <ul> - <li>acknowledgments to, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_31'>31</a>.</li> - <li>speech by, <a href='#Page_845'>845</a>, <a href='#Page_846'>846</a>.</li> - </ul> - </li> - <li class='c021'>Harrison, William Henry, his kindness to Forrest, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_105'>105</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Heenan, John C., <a href='#Page_563'>563</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Henry Clay, burning of the steamer, <a href='#Page_554'>554</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Hereditary qualities in Forrest, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_45'>45</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Heredity, law of, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_44'>44</a>, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_45'>45</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Hernizer, George, teaches Forrest to spar, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_160'>160</a>, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_161'>161</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Heywood, Thomas, lines to, <a href='#Page_524'>524</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Hissing justified by Forrest, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_411'>411</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Holland, George, <a href='#Page_531'>531</a>. - <ul> - <li>subject of priestly bigotry, <a href='#Page_694'>694</a>.</li> - </ul> - </li> - <li class='c021'>Holley, President Horace, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_101'>101</a>, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_102'>102</a>, <a href='#Page_842'>842</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Home, the Edwin Forrest, for Decayed Actors, <a href='#Page_847'>847</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Hooper, Lucy H., poem by, <a href='#Page_825'>825</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Hospital, secrets of human nature discovered in, <a href='#Page_676'>676</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Humboldt, Forrest’s tribute to, <a href='#Page_820'>820</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Humor, a happy attribute, <a href='#Page_818'>818</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Humorous anecdotes of Forrest, <a href='#Page_819'>819</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Hunter, James, a valuable critic of Forrest, <a href='#Page_434'>434</a>.</li> - <li class='c002'>Iago, the canal-boatman on Forrest’s, <a href='#Page_477'>477</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Idea, the American, Asiatic, and European, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_54'>54</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Ideal of life, the ecclesiastic and the dramatic, <a href='#Page_689'>689</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Ideals expressed in acting, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_195'>195</a>, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_196'>196</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Immigration to America, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_40'>40</a>, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_41'>41</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Indian summer, <a href='#Page_575'>575</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'><span class='pageno' id='Page_862'>862</span>Ingersoll, Charles, his speech at the Forrest banquet in Philadelphia, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_336'>336</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Ingersoll, Joseph R., <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_327'>327</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Ingham, C. C., the artist, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_182'>182</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Ingraham, D. P., <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_166'>166</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Irving, Washington, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_338'>338</a>.</li> - <li class='c002'>Jackson, Andrew, Forrest’s visit to, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_384'>384</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Jamieson, George W., <a href='#Page_486'>486</a>, <a href='#Page_610'>610</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Japanese Drama, <a href='#Page_683'>683</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Jealousy, its different levels, <a href='#Page_513'>513</a>-522. - <ul> - <li>the, of Forrest, <a href='#Page_488'>488</a>-490.</li> - </ul> - </li> - <li class='c021'>Jefferson, Joseph, his letter to Forrest, <a href='#Page_544'>544</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Jefferson, Joseph, the elder, <a href='#Page_456'>456</a>, <a href='#Page_534'>534</a>-536. - <ul> - <li>Forrest’s tribute to, <a href='#Page_827'>827</a>.</li> - </ul> - </li> - <li class='c021'>Jefferson, Thomas, tribute to, by Forrest, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_343'>343</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Johnson, Dr. Samuel, on Garrick, <a href='#Page_585'>585</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Jones, the theatrical manager, <a href='#Page_537'>537</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Juliet, actress in, first awakened love in Forrest, <a href='#Page_532'>532</a>.</li> - <li class='c002'>Kean, Edmund, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_141'>141</a>-146. - <ul> - <li>belittling and insulting critiques on, <a href='#Page_456'>456</a>.</li> - </ul> - </li> - <li class='c021'>Kellogg, Miss Gertrude, <a href='#Page_537'>537</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Kemble, Charles, presents two swords to Forrest, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_317'>317</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Kemble, John Philip, <a href='#Page_456'>456</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Kennedy, John P., <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_338'>338</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>King, Starr, tree in Mammoth Grove, <a href='#Page_571'>571</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Kingship and priesthood of man, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_53'>53</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Kneller, Sir Godfrey, on Addison, <a href='#Page_678'>678</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Knowles, James Sheridan, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_275'>275</a>. - <ul> - <li>his anecdote of Siddons, <a href='#Page_545'>545</a>.</li> - </ul> - </li> - <li class='c002'>Lablache, his facial picture of a thunder-storm, <a href='#Page_657'>657</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Labor and Cost, <a href='#Page_682'>682</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>La Fayette, Forrest sees him, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_133'>133</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Lafitte, the pirate, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_125'>125</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Landor, Walter Savage, <a href='#Page_577'>577</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Languages, the nine dramatic, <a href='#Page_464'>464</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Laughter, abuse of, <a href='#Page_702'>702</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Laws of dramatic expression, <a href='#Page_793'>793</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Lawson, James, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_152'>152</a>, <a href='#Page_491'>491</a>, <a href='#Page_506'>506</a>, <a href='#Page_836'>836</a>. - <ul> - <li>a great friend of Forrest, <a href='#Page_613'>613</a>, <a href='#Page_645'>645</a>.</li> - </ul> - </li> - <li class='c021'>Lawyer, a New York, taught love of nature by Forrest, <a href='#Page_576'>576</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Lear, as played by Forrest, <a href='#Page_781'>781</a>-792. - <ul> - <li>Forrest’s letter on, <a href='#Page_797'>797</a>.</li> - </ul> - </li> - <li class='c021'>Leggett, William, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_152'>152</a>, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_192'>192</a>. - <ul> - <li>anecdotes of, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_373'>373</a>.</li> - <li>desires to write a play on Jack Cade, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_325'>325</a>.</li> - <li>his death in 1838, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_372'>372</a>.</li> - <li>letter of Forrest to, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_316'>316</a>.</li> - <li>letter of, to mother of Forrest, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_297'>297</a>.</li> - <li>speech in Philadelphia, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_337'>337</a>.</li> - <li>toast in memory of, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_422'>422</a>.</li> - </ul> - </li> - <li class='c021'>Leggett, William, tributes to, by Bryant and Whittier, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_374'>374</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Lekain, the French actor, <a href='#Page_643'>643</a>. - <ul> - <li>and Garrick in the Champs Elysées, <a href='#Page_546'>546</a>.</li> - </ul> - </li> - <li class='c021'>Lesson of Coriolanus, <a href='#Page_791'>791</a>. - <ul> - <li>of Rip Van Winkle, <a href='#Page_792'>792</a>.</li> - </ul> - </li> - <li class='c021'>Lessons in the acting of Forrest, <a href='#Page_792'>792</a>, <a href='#Page_793'>793</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Library, the, of Forrest, <a href='#Page_578'>578</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Lillie, Miss, <a href='#Page_537'>537</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Limitations of Forrest as an actor, <a href='#Page_472'>472</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Love, in human life and in dramatic art, <a href='#Page_508'>508</a>-510. - <ul> - <li>the six tragedies of, <a href='#Page_510'>510</a>-513.</li> - </ul> - </li> - <li class='c002'>Macbeth, as played by Forrest, <a href='#Page_737'>737</a>-746.</li> - <li class='c021'>Mackaye, James Steele, <a href='#Page_567'>567</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Mackenzie, Dr. R. Shelton, <a href='#Page_448'>448</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Macklin, Charles, <a href='#Page_455'>455</a>. - <ul> - <li>on Garrick, <a href='#Page_844'>844</a>.</li> - </ul> - </li> - <li class='c021'>Macready, William Charles, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_389'>389</a>-391.</li> - <li class='c021'>Magnetism, human, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_26'>26</a>, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_118'>118</a>. - <ul> - <li>personal, its power, its grades and law, <a href='#Page_721'>721</a>-726.</li> - </ul> - </li> - <li class='c021'>Magoon, Rev. E. L., <a href='#Page_556'>556</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Man, his inherent kingship and priesthood, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_53'>53</a>. - <ul> - <li>his nine dramatic languages, <a href='#Page_464'>464</a>.</li> - </ul> - </li> - <li class='c021'>Manliness of Forrest as an actor, <a href='#Page_664'>664</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Manners, index of souls, <a href='#Page_667'>667</a>. - <ul> - <li>the art of, seen on the stage, <a href='#Page_706'>706</a>.</li> - <li>the four codes of, <a href='#Page_668'>668</a>.</li> - </ul> - </li> - <li class='c021'>Marionette-play, or a puppet-show, <a href='#Page_699'>699</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Marriage of Forrest and Miss Sinclair, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_321'>321</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Mars, Mademoiselle, Forrest’s introduction to, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_270'>270</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Marshall, Chief-Justice, Forrest sees him, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_132'>132</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Mazurier, the famous Punchinello, <a href='#Page_699'>699</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>McArdle, Joseph, <a href='#Page_819'>819</a>, <a href='#Page_840'>840</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>McCoun, Chancellor, his speech at the Forrest Banquet, 1855, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_185'>185</a>-187.</li> - <li class='c021'>McCullough, John, <a href='#Page_527'>527</a>, <a href='#Page_542'>542</a>, <a href='#Page_840'>840</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>McMichael, Morton, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_331'>331</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Melnotte, Claude, by Lord Lytton, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_356'>356</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Melodrama, defined, <a href='#Page_696'>696</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Melodramatic acting, <a href='#Page_543'>543</a>, <a href='#Page_643'>643</a>. - <ul> - <li>justified, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_250'>250</a>.</li> - </ul> - </li> - <li class='c021'>Memory, the, of Forrest, <a href='#Page_847'>847</a>, <a href='#Page_848'>848</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Metamora, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_237'>237</a>. - <ul> - <li>London Times on, <a href='#Page_476'>476</a>.</li> - </ul> - </li> - <li class='c021'>Miles, George H., <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_169'>169</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Millennial state, how to be secured, <a href='#Page_682'>682</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Mills, John F., his report of Forrest’s talk at Cohasset, <a href='#Page_579'>579</a>, <a href='#Page_580'>580</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Milman, Henry Hart, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_321'>321</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Mob, the Forrest-Macready, dispersed by military, <a href='#Page_433'>433</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Mohammed, <a href='#Page_697'>697</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'><span class='pageno' id='Page_863'>863</span>Money, evils of the intense struggle for, <a href='#Page_682'>682</a>. - <ul> - <li>Forrest’s alleged love of, <a href='#Page_552'>552</a>, <a href='#Page_553'>553</a>.</li> - <li>ingratitude of borrowers of, <a href='#Page_530'>530</a>.</li> - </ul> - </li> - <li class='c021'>Moralities and Mysteries, <a href='#Page_686'>686</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Moray, John S., <a href='#Page_802'>802</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Morrell, T. H., a friend of Forrest, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_31'>31</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Mossop, <a href='#Page_455'>455</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Mother, Forrest’s love for his, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_423'>423</a>-428, <a href='#Page_822'>822</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Motions, tend to produce the emotions they express, <a href='#Page_568'>568</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Movements, automatic, the third dramatic language, <a href='#Page_464'>464</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Murdoch, James E., his tribute to Forrest, <a href='#Page_480'>480</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Music, revelation of characters by, <a href='#Page_695'>695</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Mysteries and Moralities, <a href='#Page_686'>686</a>.</li> - <li class='c002'>Napoleon, Louis, <a href='#Page_698'>698</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Natural School of Acting, <a href='#Page_643'>643</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Nature and art in acting, <a href='#Page_648'>648</a>, <a href='#Page_663'>663</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Negro, Forrest the earliest impersonator of, on the stage, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_108'>108</a>, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_109'>109</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>New Orleans, characteristics of, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_113'>113</a>, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_114'>114</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Newspapers, their good and evil, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_431'>432</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Nine dramatic languages of man, the, <a href='#Page_464'>464</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Noises, inarticulate, the sixth dramatic language, <a href='#Page_466'>466</a>.</li> - <li class='c002'>Oakes, James, at the bier of Forrest, <a href='#Page_833'>833</a>. - <ul> - <li>causes this biography to be written, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_14'>14</a>-16.</li> - <li>his description of Forrest in Virginius, <a href='#Page_650'>650</a>.</li> - <li>his first meeting with Forrest, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_164'>164</a>.</li> - <li>his friendship with Forrest, <a href='#Page_624'>624</a>-638.</li> - <li>his impression of Mrs. Wheatley, <a href='#Page_533'>533</a>.</li> - <li>letters of Forrest to, <a href='#Page_571'>571</a>, <a href='#Page_573'>573</a>, <a href='#Page_813'>813</a>, <a href='#Page_814'>814</a>.</li> - <li>nurses Forrest, <a href='#Page_812'>812</a>, <a href='#Page_826'>826</a>, <a href='#Page_830'>830</a>.</li> - <li>sketch of him, <a href='#Page_619'>619</a>-624.</li> - </ul> - </li> - <li class='c021'>Oblivion speedily overtakes most men, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_34'>34</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>O’Conor, Charles, his attack on Forrest, <a href='#Page_486'>486</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Originality has to buffet detraction, <a href='#Page_475'>475</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Othello, as played by Forrest, <a href='#Page_769'>769</a>-781.</li> - <li class='c002'>Padishah, Forrest’s adventure with, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_288'>288</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Page, William, his portrait of Forrest as Spartacus, <a href='#Page_586'>586</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Paine, Thomas, letter of, to Washington, <a href='#Page_574'>574</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Palace of king, secrets of human nature discovered in, <a href='#Page_675'>675</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Paralysis, Forrest attacked by, <a href='#Page_569'>569</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Parasites, <a href='#Page_595'>595</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Passions, the great dramatic, <a href='#Page_463'>463</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Paulding, James K., his advice to Forrest, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_238'>238</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Penalties of fame, <a href='#Page_594'>594</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Personal criticism, two evils of, <a href='#Page_672'>672</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Physical training, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_158'>158</a>, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_159'>159</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Pike, Albert, <a href='#Page_623'>623</a>, <a href='#Page_624'>624</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Pilmore, Dr. Joseph, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_56'>56</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Placide, Henry, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_282'>282</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Placide, Miss Jane, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_137'>137</a>, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_291'>291</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Player, the perfect, his requirements, <a href='#Page_472'>472</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Plebeian code of manners, <a href='#Page_669'>669</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Politeness, principle of, <a href='#Page_667'>667</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Popularity, formerly and now, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_172'>172</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Porter, Charles S., the manager, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_59'>59</a>, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_147'>147</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Prentiss, Sargent S., <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_24'>24</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Press, its abuses in America, <a href='#Page_433'>433</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Pride and vanity, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_388'>388</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Priest and player, their hostility, <a href='#Page_689'>689</a>-695.</li> - <li class='c021'>Priesthood and kingship of man, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_53'>53</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Prison, secrets of human nature discovered in, <a href='#Page_676'>676</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Prizes and penalties of fame, <a href='#Page_594'>594</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Profanity a safety-valve sometimes, <a href='#Page_580'>580</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Professional habits, <a href='#Page_523'>523</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Professions, the, <a href='#Page_674'>674</a>-682. - <ul> - <li>the academic, <a href='#Page_681'>681</a>.</li> - <li>the artistic, <a href='#Page_678'>678</a>.</li> - <li>the dramatic, <a href='#Page_679'>679</a>.</li> - <li>the imperial, <a href='#Page_675'>675</a>.</li> - <li>the legal, <a href='#Page_676'>676</a>.</li> - <li>the medical, <a href='#Page_676'>676</a>.</li> - <li>the military, <a href='#Page_675'>675</a>.</li> - <li>the priestly, <a href='#Page_667'>667</a>.</li> - </ul> - </li> - <li class='c021'>Puppet-show, <a href='#Page_699'>699</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Push-ma-ta-ha, the young Choctaw chief, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_125'>125</a>, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_128'>128</a>, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_138'>138</a>.</li> - <li class='c002'>Quaker, cruelty of, to young Forrest, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_65'>65</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Quarrel, the Macready and Forrest, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_422'>422</a>, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_428'>428</a>-431.</li> - <li class='c021'>Quin, <a href='#Page_455'>455</a>.</li> - <li class='c002'>Rachel, Forrest’s early prophecy of her greatness, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_266'>266</a>. - <ul> - <li>her astonishing power, <a href='#Page_707'>707</a>.</li> - </ul> - </li> - <li class='c021'>Readings, dramatic, by Forrest, <a href='#Page_829'>829</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Rees, James, <a href='#Page_577'>577</a>, <a href='#Page_813'>813</a>. - <ul> - <li>anecdote by, <a href='#Page_478'>478</a>.</li> - </ul> - </li> - <li class='c021'>Richard, as played by Forrest, <a href='#Page_746'>746</a>-751.</li> - <li class='c021'>Richelieu, as played by Forrest, <a href='#Page_728'>728</a>-737.</li> - <li class='c021'>Riddle, Mrs., <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_99'>99</a>, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_106'>106</a>, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_110'>110</a>, <a href='#Page_537'>537</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Riot, Astor Place Opera-House, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_430'>430</a>-432.</li> - <li class='c021'>Robson, William, his “Old Play-Goer,” 456.</li> - <li class='c021'>Rolla, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_199'>199</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Roman Drama, <a href='#Page_684'>684</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Romantic School of Acting, <a href='#Page_641'>641</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Royal code of manners, <a href='#Page_668'>668</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Russian Bath, Forrest’s, at Hamburg, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_283'>283</a>.</li> - <li class='c002'>Salvini, his La Civile Morte, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_354'>354</a>. - <ul> - <li><span class='pageno' id='Page_864'>864</span>his Othello compared with Forrest’s, <a href='#Page_769'>769</a>.</li> - <li>inconsistent judgments on, <a href='#Page_458'>458</a>.</li> - </ul> - </li> - <li class='c021'>San Francisco, Forrest’s first appearance there, <a href='#Page_570'>570</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Sarcasm, contradiction of tone and word, <a href='#Page_470'>470</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Satire of priests by players, <a href='#Page_692'>692</a>, <a href='#Page_693'>693</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Saul, representation of, by Salvini, <a href='#Page_712'>712</a>-718.</li> - <li class='c021'>Sayers, Thomas, the pugilist, his funeral, <a href='#Page_583'>583</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Schools of Acting, <a href='#Page_630'>630</a>-670.</li> - <li class='c021'>Scoggan, the fool, <a href='#Page_698'>698</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Sedley, Henry, <a href='#Page_439'>439</a>, <a href='#Page_802'>802</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Servility to the newspaper press an American vice, <a href='#Page_600'>600</a>, <a href='#Page_601'>601</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Shakspeare, <a href='#Page_524'>524</a>. - <ul> - <li>Forrest’s tribute to, <a href='#Page_820'>820</a>.</li> - <li>remarkable tribute to, <a href='#Page_578'>578</a>.</li> - </ul> - </li> - <li class='c021'>Shakspearean characters, interest of Forrest in, <a href='#Page_737'>737</a>-739.</li> - <li class='c021'>Shark, a, chases Forrest, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_139'>139</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Siddons, Mrs. Sarah, <a href='#Page_456'>456</a>, <a href='#Page_523'>523</a>, <a href='#Page_525'>525</a>. - <ul> - <li>verses by, <a href='#Page_596'>596</a>.</li> - </ul> - </li> - <li class='c021'>Sinclair, Catherine Norton, Forrest first meets, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_320'>320</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Sinclair, Mrs. C. N., <a href='#Page_650'>650</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Sinister and benign aspects of the four codes of manners, <a href='#Page_668'>668</a>-670.</li> - <li class='c021'>Smith, Sol, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_104'>104</a>, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_112'>112</a>, <a href='#Page_618'>618</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Sonnet to Forrest, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_406'>406</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Spartacus, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_249'>249</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Spinoza, Benedict, his Ethics, <a href='#Page_578'>578</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Standard, true, of criticism, <a href='#Page_459'>459</a>, <a href='#Page_469'>469</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Standards for judging men, primary and secondary, <a href='#Page_672'>672</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Steevens, George, satirizes Mrs. Siddons, <a href='#Page_456'>456</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Stone, John A., <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_169'>169</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Stratford-upon-Avon, Forrest’s visit there, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_291'>291</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Stuart, Gilbert, his last portrait one of Forrest, <a href='#Page_586'>586</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Studio, secrets of human nature discovered in, <a href='#Page_676'>676</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Sunshine, Forrest’s love of, <a href='#Page_564'>564</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Swift, Colonel John, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_63'>63</a>, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_333'>333</a>.</li> - <li class='c002'>Talfourd, Thomas Noon, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_316'>316</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Talma, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_189'>189</a>, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_266'>266</a>, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_317'>317</a>, <a href='#Page_455'>455</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Tartuffe, <a href='#Page_692'>692</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Tasistro, Louis F., acrostic on Forrest by, <a href='#Page_845'>845</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Taylor, James, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_101'>101</a>, <a href='#Page_616'>616</a>-618. - <ul> - <li>letter by, <a href='#Page_841'>841</a>-844.</li> - </ul> - </li> - <li class='c021'>Tell, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_204'>204</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Temperaments, the chief varieties enumerated, <a href='#Page_461'>461</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Temple, secrets of human nature discovered in, <a href='#Page_667'>667</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Tent of general, secrets of human nature discovered in, <a href='#Page_675'>675</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Terrible fall from a balustrade, <a href='#Page_796'>796</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Theatre, alleged decline of, <a href='#Page_828'>828</a>. - <ul> - <li>a nation in itself, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_19'>19</a>.</li> - <li>fourteen-fold charm of, <a href='#Page_688'>688</a>.</li> - <li>its future, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_19'>19</a>.</li> - <li>its relation to church and state, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_52'>52</a>.</li> - <li>secrets of human nature discovered in, <a href='#Page_679'>679</a>.</li> - <li>the whole universe a divine one, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_77'>77</a>.</li> - </ul> - </li> - <li class='c021'>Theatres of Greece and Rome, <a href='#Page_639'>639</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Theatricality, Forrest’s freedom from, off the stage, <a href='#Page_821'>821</a>, <a href='#Page_822'>822</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Timon and parasitic friendship, <a href='#Page_611'>611</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Tivoli Garden, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_329'>329</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Tones, inflected, the seventh dramatic language, <a href='#Page_466'>466</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Tragedy, melodrama, and comedy compared, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_91'>91</a>-93.</li> - <li class='c021'>Training, physical, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_158'>158</a>, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_159'>159</a>, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_161'>161</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Tree, Ellen, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_324'>324</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Trowbridge, J. T., his “Darius Green,” 629.</li> - <li class='c002'>Union, the American, Forrest on, <a href='#Page_573'>573</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Uses, social, of the dramatic art, <a href='#Page_695'>695</a>.</li> - <li class='c002'>Verses written by Forrest, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_134'>134</a>-136.</li> - <li class='c021'>Vincent, Mount Saint, Catholic sisterhood, <a href='#Page_554'>554</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Virginius, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_230'>230</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Voice of Braham, <a href='#Page_655'>655</a>. - <ul> - <li>of Henry Russell, <a href='#Page_653'>653</a>.</li> - </ul> - </li> - <li class='c021'>Voice, the perfection of, <a href='#Page_653'>653</a>-656.</li> - <li class='c021'>Voyage to Europe, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_263'>263</a>.</li> - <li class='c002'>Wagner, James V., <a href='#Page_614'>614</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Wallace, William Ross, poem on Forrest, <a href='#Page_558'>558</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Walpole, Horace, <a href='#Page_455'>455</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Walsh, Mike, his attack on Forrest, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_375'>375</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Webster, Daniel, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_25'>25</a>, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_388'>388</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Wetmore, Prosper M., verses by, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_156'>156</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Wheatley, Mrs. Sarah, <a href='#Page_538'>538</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Wheatley, William, <a href='#Page_538'>538</a>, <a href='#Page_545'>545</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Willis, N. P., <a href='#Page_498'>498</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Wilson, Alexander, the ornithologist, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_57'>57</a>, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_58'>58</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Winter, William, <a href='#Page_712'>712</a>, <a href='#Page_651'>651</a>, <a href='#Page_802'>802</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Woffington, Peg, <a href='#Page_459'>459</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Woodhull, the actor, Forrest plays for his benefit, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_149'>149</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Words, articulated, the eighth dramatic language, <a href='#Page_467'>467</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Wright, C. C., the artist, <a href='https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61348/61348-h/61348-h.htm#Page_182'>182</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Wright, Silas, and Daniel Webster, <a href='#Page_610'>610</a>.</li> - <li class='c021'>Wyman, Col. Powell T., <a href='#Page_574'>574</a>, <a href='#Page_622'>622</a>.</li> - <li class='c002'>Zoroaster, <a href='#Page_564'>564</a>.</li> -</ul> - -<div class='pbb'> - <hr class='pb c003' /> -</div> -<div class='tnotes'> - -<div class='section ph2'> - -<div class='nf-center-c0'> -<div class='nf-center c004'> - <div>TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES</div> - </div> -</div> - -</div> - - <ol class='ol_1 c002'> - <li>Silently corrected typographical errors and variations in spelling. - - </li> - <li>Anachronistic, non-standard, and uncertain spellings retained as printed. - </li> - </ol> - -</div> - - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Life of Edwin Forrest, the American -Tragedian. 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