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Hiram Corson - "Introduction to Robert Browning"

Frances E. W. Harper - "Poems, by Frances E. W. Harper"

Rainer Maria Rilke - "Die Aufzeichnungen des Malte Laurid Brigge"

Stanley Weyman - "The House of the Wolf"

[19th Century Actor]

G >> George Iles >> [19th Century Actor]






A MODEL FOR OTHELLO

[In 1871, Salvini organised a company for a tour in South America, On
his way thither he paused at Gibraltar, and gainfully.]

At Gibraltar I spent my time studying the Moors. I was much struck by
one very fine figure, majestic in walk, and Roman in face, except for
a slight projection of the lower lip. The man's colour was between
copper and coffee, not very dark, and he had a slender moustache, and
scanty curled hair on his chin. Up to that time I had always made up
Othello simply with my moustache, but after seeing that superb Moor I
added the hair on the chin, and sought to copy his gestures,
movements, and carriage. Had I been able I should have imitated his
voice also, so closely did that splendid Moor represent to me the true
type of the Shakespearian hero. Othello must have been a son of
Mauritania, if we can argue from Iago's words to Roderigo: "He goes
into Mauritania"; for what else could the author have intended to
imply but that the Moor was returning to his native land?



FIRST TRIP TO THE UNITED STATES

After a few months of rest [after the South American tour], I resolved
to get together a new company, selecting those actors and actresses
who were best suited to my repertory. The excellent Isolina Piamonti
was my leading lady; and my brother Alessandro, an experienced,
conscientious, and versatile artist, supported me. An Italian
theatrical speculator proposed to me a tour in North America, to
include the chief cities of the United States, and although I
hesitated not a little on account of the ignorance of the Italian
language prevailing in that country, I accepted, influenced somewhat
by my desire to visit a region which was wholly unknown to me.
Previous to crossing the ocean I had several months before me, and
these served me to get my company in training.

My first impressions of New York were most favourable. Whether it was
the benefit of a more vivifying atmosphere, or the comfort of the
national life, or whether it was admiration for that busy,
industrious, work-loving people, or the thousands of beautiful women
whom I saw in the streets, free and proud in carriage, and healthy and
lively in aspect, or whether it was the thought that these citizens
were the great-grandchildren of those high-souled men who had known
how to win with their blood the independence of their country, I felt
as if I had been born again to a new existence. My lungs swelled more
freely as I breathed the air impregnated with so much vigour and
movement, and so much liberty, and I could fancy that I had come back
to my life of a youth of twenty, and was treading the streets of
republican Rome. With a long breath of satisfaction I said to myself:
"Ah, here is life!" Within a few days my energy was redoubled. A
lively desire of movement, not a usual thing with me, had taken
possession of me in spite of myself. Without asking myself why, I
kept going here and there, up and down, to see everything, to gain
information; and when I returned to my rooms in the evening, I could
have set out again to walk still more. This taught me why Americans
are so unwearied and full of business. Unfortunately I have never
mastered English sufficiently to converse in that tongue; had I
possessed that privilege, perhaps my stay in North America would not
have been so short, and perhaps I might have figured on the English
stage. What an enjoyment it would have been to me to play Shakespeare
in English! But I have never had the privilege of the gift of
tongues, and I had to content myself with my own Italian, which is
understood by but few in America. This, however, mattered little;
they understood me all the same, or, to put it better, they caught by
intuition my ideas and my sentiments.

My first appearance was in "Othello." The public received a strong
impression, without discussing whether or not the means which I used
to cause it were acceptable, and without forming a clear conception of
my interpretation of that character, or pronouncing openly upon its
form. The same people who had heard it the first night returned on
the second, on the third, and even on the fourth, to make up their
minds whether the emotions they experienced resulted from the novelty
of my interpretation, or whether in fact it was the true sentiment of
Othello's passions which was transmitted to them--in short, whether it
was a mystification or a revelation. By degrees the public became
convinced that those excesses of jealousy and fury were appropriate to
the son of the desert, and that one of Southern blood must be much
better qualified to interpret them than a Northerner. The judgment
was discussed, criticised, disputed; but in the end the verdict was
overwhelmingly in my favour. When the American has once said "Yes,"
he never weakens; he will always preserve for you the same esteem,
sympathy, and affection. After New York I travelled through a number
of American cities--Philadelphia, Baltimore, Pittsburg, Washington,
and Boston, which is rightly styled the Athens of America, for there
artistic taste is most refined. In Boston I had the good fortune to
become intimately acquainted with the illustrious poet, Longfellow,
who talked to me in the pure Tuscan. I saw, too, other smaller
cities, and then I appeared again in New York, where the favour of the
public was confirmed, not only for me, but also for the artists of my
company, and especially for Isolina Piamonti, who received no
uncertain marks of esteem and consideration. We then proceeded to
Albany, Utica, Syracuse, Rochester, Buffalo, Toledo, and that pleasant
city, Detroit, continuing to Chicago, and finally to New Orleans.



IN CUBA

From New Orleans we sailed to Havana, but found in Cuba civil war, and
a people that had but small appetite for serious things, and was
moreover alarmed by a light outbreak of yellow fever. One of my
company was taken down with the disease, but I had the pleasure of
seeing him recover, Luckily he had himself treated by Havanese
physicians, who are accustomed to combat that malady, which they know
only too well. Perhaps my comrade would have lost his life under the
ministrations of an Italian doctor. In the city of sugar and tobacco,
too, it was "Othello" which carried off the palm. Those good
manufacturers of cigars presented me on my benefit with boxes of their
wares, which were made expressly for me, and which I dispatched to
Italy for the enjoyment of my friends. In spite of the many
civilities which were tendered to me, in spite of considerable money
profit, and of the ovations of its kind-hearted people, I did not find
Cuba to my taste. Sloth and luxury reign there supreme.



APPEARANCE IN LONDON

In Paris I found a letter from the Impresario Mapleson, who proposed
that I should go to London with an Italian company, and play at Drury
Lane on the off-nights of the opera. I was in doubt for a
considerable time whether to challenge the verdict of the British
public; but in two weeks after reaching Italy, by dint of telegrams I
had got together the force of artists necessary, and I presented
myself with arms and baggage in London, in the spring of 1875.

Hardly had I arrived, when I noticed the posting, on the bill-boards
of the city, of the announcement of the seventy-second night of
"Hamlet" at the Lyceum Theatre, with Henry Irving in the title-role.
I had contracted with Mapleson to give only three plays in my season,
"Othello," "The Gladiator," and "Hamlet," the last having been
insisted upon by Mapleson himself, who, as a speculator, well knew
that curiosity as to a Comparison would draw the public to Drury Lane.



IMPRESSIONS OF IRVING'S "HAMLET"

I was very anxious to see the illustrious English artist in that part,
and I secured a box and went to the Lyceum. I was recognised by
nobody, and remaining as it were concealed in my box, I had a good
opportunity to satisfy my curiosity. I arrived at the theatre a
little too late, so that I missed the scene of Hamlet in presence of
the ghost of his father, the scene which in my judgment contains the
clue to that strange character, and from which all the synthetic ideas
of Hamlet are developed. I was in time to hear only the last words of
the oath of secrecy. I was struck by the perfection of the
stage-setting. There was a perfect imitation of the effect of
moonlight, which at the proper times flooded the stage with its rays
or left it in darkness. Every detail was excellently and exactly
reproduced. The scene was shifted, and Hamlet began his allusions,
his sallies of sarcasm, his sententious sayings, his points of satire
with the courtiers, who sought to study and to penetrate the
sentiments of the young prince. In this scene Irving was simply
sublime. His mobile face mirrored his thoughts. The subtle
penetration of his phrases, so perfect in shading and incisiveness,
showed him to be a master of art. I do not believe there is an actor
who can stand beside him in this respect, and I was so much impressed
by it, that at the end of the second act I said to myself, "I will not
play Hamlet! Mapleson can say what he likes, but I will not play it";
and I said it with the fullest resolution. In the monologue, "To be
or not to be," Irving was admirable; in the scene with Ophelia he was
deserving of the highest praise; in that of the Players he was moving,
and in all this part of the play he appeared to my eyes to be the most
perfect interpreter of that eccentric character. But further on it
was not so, and for the sake of art I regretted it. From the time
when the passion assumes a deeper hue, and reasoning moderates
impulses which are forcibly curbed, Irving seemed to me to show
mannerism, and to be lacking in power, and strained, and it is not in
him alone that I find this fault, but in nearly all foreign actors.
There seems to be a limit of passion within which they remain true in
their rendering of nature; but beyond that limit they become
transformed, and take on conventionality in their intonations,
exaggeration in their gestures, and mannerism in their bearing. I
left my box saying to myself: "I too can do Hamlet, and I will try
it!" In some characters Irving is exceptionally fine. I am convinced
that it would be difficult to interpret Shylock or Mephistopheles
better than he. He is most skilful in putting his productions on the
stage; and in addition to his intelligence he does not lack the power
to communicate his counsels or his teachings. Withal he is an
accomplished gentleman in society, and is loved and respected by his
fellow-citizens, who justly look upon him as a glory to their country.
He should, however, for his own sake, avoid playing such pants as
Romeo and Macbeth, which are not adapted to his somewhat scanty
physical and vocal power.



THE DECLINE OF TRAGEDY

The traditions of the English drama are imposing and glorious!
Shakespeare alone has gained the highest pinnacle of fame in dramatic
art. He has had to interpret him such great artists as Garrick,
Kemble, Kean, Macready, Siddons, and Irving; and the literary and
dramatic critics of the whole world have studied and analysed both
author and actor. At present, however, tragedy is abandoned on almost
all the stages of Europe. Actors who devote themselves to tragedy,
whether classical romantic, or historical, no longer exist.
Society-comedy has overflowed the stage, and the inundation causes the
seed to rot which more conscientious and prudent planters had sown in
the fields of art. It is desirable that the feeling and taste for the
works of the great dramatists should be revived in Europe, and that
England, which is for special reasons, and with justice, proud of
enjoying the primacy in dramatic composition, should have also worthy
and famous actors. I do not understand why the renown and prestige of
the great name of Garrick do not attract modern actors to follow in
his footsteps. Do not tell me that the works of Shakespeare are out
of fashion, and that the public no longer wants them. Shakespeare is
always new--so new that not even yet is he understood by everybody,
and if, as they say, the public is no longer attracted by his plays,
it is because they are superficially presented. To win the approval
of the audience, a dazzling and conspicuous _mise-en-scene_ does not
suffice, as some seem to imagine, to make up deficiency in
interpretation; a more profound study of the characters represented is
indispensable. If in art you can join the beautiful and the good, so
much the better for you; but if you give the public the alternative,
it will always prefer the good to the beautiful.



TRAGEDY IN TWO LANGUAGES

In 1880 the agent of an impresario and theatre-owner of Boston came to
Florence to make me the proposal that I should go to North America for
the second time, to play in Italian supported by an American company.
I thought the man had lost his senses. But after a time I became
convinced that he was in his right mind, and that no one would
undertake a long and costly journey simply to play a joke, and I took
his extraordinary proposition into serious consideration and asked him
for explanations.

"The idea is this," the agent made answer; "it is very simple. You
found favour the last time with the American public with your Italian
company, when not a word that was said was understood, and the
proprietor of the Globe Theatre of Boston thinks that if he puts with
you English-speaking actors, you will yourself be better understood,
since all the dialogues of your supporters will be plain. The
audience will concern itself only with following you with the aid of
the play-books in both languages, and will not have to pay attention
to the others, whose words it will understand."

"But how shall I take my cue, since I do not understand English? And
how will your American actors know when to speak, since they do not
know Italian?"

"Have no anxiety about that," said the agent. "Our American actors
are mathematicians, and can memorise perfectly the last words of your
speeches, and they will work with the precision of machines."

"I am ready to admit that," said I, "although I do not think it will
be so easy; but it will in any case be much easier for them, who will
have to deal with me alone, and will divide the difficulty among
twenty or twenty-four, than for me, who must take care of all."

The persevering agent, however, closed my mouth with the words, "You
do not sign yourself 'Salvini' for nothing!" He had an answer for
everything, he was prepared to convince me at all points, to persuade
me about everything, and to smooth over every difficulty, and he won a
consent which, though almost involuntary on my part, was legalised by
a contract in due form, by which I undertook to be at New York not
later than November 05, 1880, and to be ready to open at Philadelphia
with "Othello" on the 29th of the same month.

I was still dominated by my bereavement, and the thought was pleasant
to me of going away from places which constantly brought it back to my
mind. Another sky, other customs, another language, grave
responsibilities, a novel and difficult undertaking of uncertain
outcome--I was willing to risk all simply to distract my attention and
to forget. I have never in my life been a gambler, but that time I
staked my artistic reputation upon a single card. Failure would have
been a new emotion, severe and grievous, it is true, but still
different from that which filled my mind. I played, and I won! The
friends whom I had made in the United States in 1873, and with whom I
had kept up my acquaintance, when they learned of the confusion of
tongues, wrote me discouraging letters. In Italy the thing was not
believed, so eccentric did it seem. I arrived in New York nervous and
feverish, but not discouraged or depressed.

When the day of the first rehearsal came, all the theatres were
occupied, and I had to make the best of a rather large concert-hall to
try to get into touch with the actors who were to support me. An
Italian who was employed in a newspaper office served me as
interpreter in cooperation with the agent of my Boston impresario.
The American artists began the rehearsal without a prompter, and with
a sureness to be envied especially by our Italian actors, who usually
must have every word suggested to them. My turn came, and the few
words which Othello pronounces in the first scene came in smoothly and
without difficulty. When the scene with the Council of Ten came, of a
sudden I could not recall the first line of a paragraph, and I
hesitated; I began a line, but it was not that; I tried another with
no better success; a third, but the interpreter told me that I had
gone wrong. We began again, but the English was of no assistance to
me in recognising which of my speeches corresponded to that addressed
to me, which I did not understand. I was all at sea, and I told the
interpreter to beg the actors to overlook my momentary confusion, and
to say to them that I should be all right in five minutes. I went off
to a corner of the hall and bowed my head between my hands, saying to
myself, "I have come for this, and I must carry it through." I set
out to number mentally all the paragraphs of my part, and in a short
time I said. "Let us begin again."

During the remainder of the rehearsal one might have thought that I
understood English, and that the American actors understood Italian,
No further mistake was made by either side; there was not even the
smallest hesitation, and when I finished the final scene of the third
act between Othello and Iago, the actors applauded, filled with joy
and pleasure. The exactitude with which the subsequent rehearsals of
"Othello," and those of "Hamlet," proceeded was due to the memory, the
application, and the scrupulous attention to their work of the
American actors, as well as to my own force of will and practical
acquaintance with all the parts of the play, and to the natural
intuition which helped me to know without understanding what was
addressed to me, divining it from a motion, a look, or a light
inflection of the voice. Gradually a few words, a few short phrases,
remained in my ear, and in course of time I came to understand
perfectly every word of all the characters; I became so sure of myself
that if an actor substituted one word for another I perceived it. I
understood the words of Shakespeare, but not those of the spoken
language.

In a few days we went to Philadelphia to begin our representations.
My old acquaintances were in despair. To those who had sought to
discourage me by their letters others on the spot joined their
influence, and tried everything to overthrow my courage. I must admit
that the nearer came the hour of the great experiment, the more my
anxiety grew and inclined me to deplore the moment when I had put
myself in that dilemma. I owe it in a great degree to my cool head
that my discouraging forebodings did not unman me so much as to make
me abandon myself wholly to despair. Just as I was going on the
stage, I said to myself: "After all, what can happen to me? They
will not murder me. I shall have tried, and I shall have failed; that
is all there will be to it, I will pack up my baggage and go back to
Italy, convinced that oil and wine will not mix. A certain contempt
of danger, a firm resolution to succeed, and, I am bound to add,
considerable confidence in myself, enabled me to go before the public
calm, bold, and secure.

The first scene before the palace of Brabantio was received with
sepulchral silence. When that of the Council of Ten came, and the
narration of the vicissitudes of Othello was ended, the public broke
forth in prolonged applause. Then I said to myself, "A good beginning
is half the work." At the close of the first act, my adversaries, who
were such solely on account of their love of art, and their belief
that the two languages could not be amalgamated, came on the stage to
embrace and congratulate me, surprised, enchanted, enthusiastic,
happy, that they had been mistaken, and throughout the play I was the
object of constant demonstrations of sympathy.



AMERICAN CRITICAL TASTE

From Philadelphia we went to New York where our success was confirmed.
It remained for me to win the suffrages of Boston, and I secured them,
first having made stops in Brooklyn, New Haven, and Hartford. When in
the American Athens I became convinced that that city possesses the
most refined artistic taste. Its theatrical audiences are serious,
attentive to details, analytical--I might almost say scientific--and
one might fancy that such careful critics had never in their lives
done anything but occupy themselves with scenic art. With reference
to a presentation of Shakespeare, they are profound, acute, subtle,
and they know so well how to clothe some traditional principle in
close logic, that if faith in the opposite is not quite unshakable in
an artist, he must feel himself tempted to renounce his own tenets.
It is surprising that in a land where industry and commerce seem to
absorb all the intelligence of the people, there should be in every
city and district, indeed in every village, people who are competent
to discuss the arts with such high authority. The American nation
counts only a century of freedom, yet it has produced a remarkable
number of men of high competence in dramatic art. Those who think of
tempting fortune by displaying their untried artistic gifts on the
American stage, counting on the ignorance or inexperience of their
audience, make a very unsafe calculation. The taste and critical
faculty of that public are in their fulness of vigour. Old Europe is
more bound by traditions, more weary, more blase, in her judgment, not
always sincere or disinterested. In America the national pride is
warmly felt, and the national artists enjoy high honour. The
Americans know how to offer an exquisite hospitality, but woe to the
man who seeks to impose on them! They profess a cult, a veneration,
for those who practise our art, whether of their own nation or
foreign, and their behaviour in the theatre is dignified. I recall
one night when upon invitation I went to see a new play in which
appeared an actor of reputation. The play was not liked, and from act
to act I noticed that the house grew more and more scanty, like a
faded rose which loses its petals one by one, until at the last scene
my box was the only one which remained occupied. I was more impressed
by this silent demonstration of hostility than I should have been if
the audience had made a tumultuous expression of its disapproval. The
actors were humiliated and confounded, and as the curtain fell an
instinctive sentiment of compassion induced me to applaud.



IMPRESSIONS OF EDWIN BOOTH

The celebrated actor Edwin Booth was at this time in Baltimore, a city
distant two hours from the capital. I had heard so much about this
superior artist that I was anxious to see him, and on one of my off
nights I went to Baltimore with my impresario's agent. A box had been
reserved for me without my knowledge, and was draped with the Italian
colours. I regretted to be made so conspicuous, but I could not fail
to appreciate the courteous and complimentary desire to do me honour
shown by the American artist. It was only natural that I should be
most kindly influenced toward him, but without the courtesy which
predisposed me in his favour he would equally have won my sympathy by
his attractive and artistic lineaments, and his graceful and
well-proportioned figure. The play was "Hamlet." This part brought
him great fame, and justly; for in addition to the high artistic worth
with which he adorned it, his elegant personality was admirably
adapted to it, His long and wavy hair, his large and expressive eye,
his youthful and flexible movements, accorded perfectly with the ideal
of the young prince of Denmark which now obtains everywhere. His
splendid delivery, and the penetrating philosophy with which he
informed his phrases, were his most remarkable qualities. I was so
fortunate as to see him also as Richelieu and Iago, and in all three
of these parts, so diverse in their character I found him absolutely
admirable. I cannot say so much for his Macbeth, which I saw one
night when passing through Philadelphia. The part seemed to me not
adapted to his nature. Macbeth was an ambitious man, and Booth was
not. Macbeth had barbarous and ferocious instincts, and Booth was
agreeable, urbane, and courteous. Macbeth destroyed his enemies
traitorously--did this even to gain possession of their goods--while
Booth was noble, lofty-minded, and generous of his wealth. It is thus
plain that however much art he might expend, his nature rebelled
against his portrayal of that personage, and he could never hope to
transform himself into the ambitious, venal, and sanguinary Scottish
king.

I should say, from what I heard in America, that Edwin Forrest was the
Modena of America. The memory of that actor still lives, for no one
has possessed equally the power to give expression to the passions,
and to fruitful and burning imagery, in addition to which he possessed
astonishing power of voice. Almost contemporaneously a number of most
estimable actors have laid claim to his mantle; but above them all
Edwin Booth soared as an eagle.

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