Scan 18
Musical Courier 1895-11-06: Vol 31 Iss 818, 1895
68 lines. Read by computer on 23 September 2026. Printed page 19. See the scan on archive.org.
1happy of fleshy caskets. Worse acting, considered purely from externals, I have never seen, yet the illuminating flashes—lightning on sea of sand—revealed an oasis of strong purpose and content. As it now stands, Irving's Macbeth is worthy of study despite its grotesque quality, its barren elocution, its lack of martial music, its badly flexed pose and movement. It is the result of the lamp, not the spontaneous expression of a natural born actor, and yet at times it touches a climax—a climax purely of the head—which startles. For the rest it savors strongly of melodrama, and it is a poorly executed figure in a picture of unexemplified brilliancy.
3As might be expected, Miss Terry's Lady Macbeth was an admirable foil. The true protagonist of this fugued tale of passion and bloody murder became a woman all graciousness, for Ellen Terry could turn hell itself to prettiness. She was an alluring wretch. She won Macbeth not by her speech but by her eyes. She was tender—oh, so divinely tender when she spoke of that suckling babe. You ne'er believed her awful threat. In the sleepwalking scene—where the dramatist gathers the skeins and, with masterful skill, brings before us the leading motifs of the play—here Miss Terry was charming. She was a lovely woman pretending sleep. The Orphic utterances, the heights and depths of the she-devil of the North, are beyond her powers. She was shrill and scolding in sustained legato work and lacked everything but winsomeness.
5The incidental music is by Arthur Sullivan, and when it is not Mendelssohn it is Lohengrin. The piece was fairly well cast. I enjoyed myself hugely, for was not my eye flooded with color and form?
7I saw him as I left the house after the fourth act of Macbeth Tuesday night of last week. He was muffled up, and sought to avoid my glance. Indeed, this was so marked that I grew nettled. I noticed that he evidently preferred Charlie McLellan's company, and fearing that a topic for the town would be inevitable, I resorted to strategy, bold and conscienceless.
9"The newest batch of pumpkin pies at the Owl wagon are supreme," I said, apparently addressing midair.
11The Veteran Actor paused, and I saw McLellan's brows darken.
13Feeling victory, I plunged into the murky midnight gloom and sped to the Owl lunch wagon. In five minutes I saw opposite the Delectable Pie of the Puritans and the Veteran Actor. I had not long to wait.
15"I'm be—" but I stopped him.
17"My dear V. A., remember it is, after all, the point of view—remember that, treasure it, assimilate it, ere you utter harsh criticisms."
19It is my most immemorial year, and rent day is at hand; yet believe me, dear boy, I felt elated. The V. A. had seen Macbeth, and with the true gourmet's joy in anticipation I endeavored to check his virgin remarks. It was a moment of epicurean delight.
21"I'm bewitched," he said, quite mildly, "if I am not agreeably disappointed!"
23"I saw E. L. Davenport's Macbeth, and I saw Salvini's, and really your Irving is not so awful. Say, what is the name of the young fellow who dances and does the imitations? Oh, yes, Dixey! Well, Dixey isn't so good after all. Why, me boy, Dixey didn't begin to touch Sir Irving when he spoke the dagger speech. I liked it. Yes, I did. Don't sniff and look superior. It was a new reading. When Macready did that business he went down stage so far that the leader of the band had the shivers at the end of the act. Ah, Mac could touch them! You think I am an old fogey and not progressive. There, don't apologize; I read what you wrote. Go ahead, and have fun with the old man all you like; but take my aged, perhaps senile tip, Irving knew what he was up to. If he had spoken his lines clearly he would not have caused the enormous sensation next day. Actor! Why, he's no actor; he's after the sensation every time. He can talk as clear as anyone when he wants to; but then any actor can do that. It's only a great man that fills the house simply by mumbling and gasping in the middle of a lot of all-fired fine scenery.
25"Ah, my son, you can't fool this old flam. Irving acts like a marionette, and he never speaks English; but what's the odds, the house is crowded. Art be blowed; he's after the ducats! It's fashionable to be mysterious, to give us the symbol and not the speech—it's the cymbal, that's what it is, and noise pays. Look at your new Johnnie in France—what d'ye call him? Metherlink—well, he just plays queer with the language, and you literary fellows fall in line and worship. I don't blame Irving. He's had all the success he wants. It's dough he's after now, and he plays the sand in the eye game. It's a new Macbeth, and next year he will play the part in the dark, and all you critics will rave about the symbolism. Why, if he had spoken louder that little speech of thanks, perhaps no one would have been killed——"
27I stopped the Veteran Actor right here. He was becoming cynical, and I despise cynicism. Then we ate more pie, and spake no more that night.
29Occasionally a solo pianist crops up in the world who is unquestionably of fine musical temperament, of scholarly attainments, of indisputable intellectual attainments, but alas! not gifted with the divine faculty of expression.
31What a scurvy trick is this played by nature upon suffering humanity!
33Why have some artists the vision and not the voice! Henry Irving is such a one. A fine nervous equipment, a man of poetic sensibilities, a fellow of fancy, of feeling, of lofty ideas, yet his hand falters in the execution, falters and fails.
35I watched him with unflagging interest in Macbeth at Abbey's Theatre—watched and wondered. He held my attention in a mental vise. There is no escaping his tense touch. He never once lost his hold on his theme, but the symbols of expression were painfully inadequate. It is a commonplace to speak of his elocution, his enunciation is a byword, his poses stilted, awkward; yet the man has magnetism, intellectual magnetism, and by its magnitude and his unrelenting will power he has achieved wonders.
37Just think of the actors you know who are dowered with a handsome figure, face, sonorous voice, mobility of expression and yet have fallen by the wayside—that wayside triumphantly trodden by Irving!
39He has the brains, the fervor, the love of his art; above all, he respects himself. Let us admire him for his many admirable qualities, and sorrow that nature has been so chary of benefits that she showers incontinently upon the meanest of men.
41There is little I need say further about Macbeth. I would surprise you if I told you the number of actors I have seen in this tragic rôle, beginning with the late E. L. Davenport. We remember Salvini and all the other foreigners, German and French, who have struggled with the part. And then McKee Rankin I saw in the classic city of Brooklyn—saw his production, and liked best of all Edgar Kelley's original incidental music.
43When you remember Booth and consider Irving, sadness seizes your vitals. But despite the very natural if somewhat boastful spirit on our part regarding the various settings we have seen in this country, Irving's easily leads in artistic quality and feeling.
45What prodigality was lavished upon that very short scene—the reception of Duncan by Lady Macbeth. It reminded me of some Scandinavian episode—some pictorial anecdote in the Götterdämmerung. The murky atmosphere, the dull torches, and Lady Macbeth—a vision—a lovely Gaelic spider, welcomes the royal fly to her snare! It is a wonderful picture.
47I have no opportunity—being hard pressed for time—of speaking of Mr. Irving's support. I have seen better Macduffs and Banquos. The ensemble alone is worthy of praise.
49Miss Terry deserves the credit of carrying out with consummate art the only conception of her rôle nature allowed her. There was no other alternative. Miss Terry is not Charlotte Cushman. She has not the massive, passionate touch of a Rubinstein; rather the graceful, subtle charm of an Essipoff. Her note is pure, and she played Lady Macbeth in a light, soprano key. She allured her lord with her eyes—burning beacons, false signals of ambition. Once she flamed into ferocity and I sat aghast, expecting the very heavens to topple, but it was but heat lightning in the sweet, clear sky of this sweet artist.
51What hath she with darkling fate, with the problems that rend the soul, that wither and kill? For her the gracile figures of Shakespeare, the delicious irony, the smiles that shimmer through tears. I would not see her again in Macbeth, or for that matter Mr. Irving; but let us nevertheless be grateful for the production. It was beautiful and interesting.
53The Boston Symphony Orchestra will give its usual series of six concerts in this city this season. Mr. Ellis, the manager, sends me an elaborate retrospect of the work of the organization. No mention is made, however, of Mrs. Thurber, who was instrumental in bringing the orchestra to this city in 1887. Steinway Hall was the scene of operation and Gericke conducted. That marked the initial success of this unique band. Then Arthur Nikisch followed Gericke, and America enjoyed the presence of one of the greatest conductors alive. Emil Paur? This is not the place to consider Mr. Paur's claims. He is a sound, sane, solid, sober, sensible—let me see, can I rake up any more s's; ah, yes—stolid conductor. But the band is the band. It is the best drilled in the land. Let us rejoice that it will play here in another fortnight.
55I note with approval that Gertrude May Stein has been engaged by the Händel and Haydn Society, of Boston, to sing in Bach's Passion. This young woman is in the very foremost line of our concert and oratorio singers. She is a contralto with an admirable vocal equipment, and, best of all, in her veins courses dramatic blood. Dio Mio! How I suffer at song recital and oratorio because of the sleepiness and lack-lustre style of most singers. Temperament is ever my critical slogan, and its presence atones for a multitude of sins. But Miss Stein, who is a handsome creature, has few musical sins. She sings remarkably well, as those who heard her with Seidl, Damrosch and Van der Stucken can testify. Her proper place is the operatic platform, her special forte the Wagner music drama.
57I spoke a few words to E. W. Townsend in the lobby about the staging of Chimmie Fadden. Rehearsals are in progress, the play, dramatized by Augustus Thomas and the author, ready. Charles Hopper will originate the title rôle. Mr. Townsend sailed for Europe last Wednesday, consequently he will not be present at the production. His new book is in its sixth edition already, and the star of this brilliant, original young man is in the ascendant. I withdraw the last phrase after due consideration. It is banal and patronizing, besides not being strictly truthful. Mr. Townsend's star has been a fixed one in the literary heavens for some time.
59I wonder if being armed cap-a-pie, with critical lance at rest for the first night foray, does not unduly excite a man's desire for slaughter. What Senator Beck says of editors might be truthfully said of critics:
61"A dramatic critic on a first night is like a boy in a frog pond with a bean shooter. He may have no ill feeling for any particular frog—but he has a bean shooter."
63I beg Mr. Carleton's pardon for the misquotation. This weighty idea happened in upon my play-sodden imagination last Wednesday evening at the Fifth Avenue Theatre.
65I missed the initial performance of Henry Guy Carleton's Ambition, and I am glad I did. Mr. Goodwin, it was reported, had not played into the part of Senator Obadiah Beck, and there were remarks made about his misfit wig. With the waistcoat of my critical equipment very much unbuttoned and suffused by a heavenly feeling that no "copy" had to be ground out, I sat through the new play, and—mirabile dictu!—I forgot to find fault. Really dramatic critics should see a new play on its tenth, not its first night.
67Mr. Carleton was in a happy vein when he made Ambition. Steering a midway course between the broad, biting humor of Mr. Hoyt in A Texas Steer—a play, by the way, not to be sneered at as a slightly overdrawn picture of political life—and the more serious study of Mr. Thomas—I won't refer to The Senator or The Nominee for patent reasons—Mr. Carleton has contrived a fairly individual character study for Mr. Goodwin. This actor is said to like the part. I can't blame him. As he played it a few nights ago I saw Nat Goodwin at his best. Versatile fellow, he hardly seems to realize how much nature has done for him. He has humor, half a dozen different sorts, at his beck, and he can be the tough, cyni-
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