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in Tickets and their Enormous Profits—Middlemen, the Star Theatre, and the Play-going Public.

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      “It is not like my original idea of it, so far,” said Irving, the next morning—“this city of New York. The hotel, the Fifth avenue, the people—everything is a little different to one’s anticipations; and yet it seems to me that I have seen it all before. It is London and Paris combined. I have been ’round to call on Miss Terry. She is at what she calls ‘The Hotel—ahem!’—the Hotel Dam, in Union square. Dam is the proprietor. It is a handsome house. A fine square. The buildings are very tall. The cars, running along the streets, their many bells, the curious wire-drawn look of the wheels of private carriages—all a little odd. Fifth avenue is splendid! And what a glorious sky!”

      He rattled on, amused and interested, as he stood in the back room of his suite of three on the ground floor at the Brevoort.

      “Several interviewers in there,” he said, pointing to the folding-doors that shut us out from the other apartment. “One reporter wanted to attend regularly, and chronicle all I did—where I went to, and how; what I ate, and when; he wished to have a record of everybody who called, what they said, and what I said to them.”

      “An enterprising chronicler; probably a ‘liner,’ as we should call him on the other side—a liner unattached.”

      “He was very civil. I thanked him, and made him understand that I am modest, and do not like so much attention as he suggests. But these other gentlemen, let us see them together.”

      It was very interesting to hear Irving talk to his visitors, one after the other, about his art and his work. I had never seen him in such good conversational form before. So far from resisting his interrogators, he enjoyed their questions, and, at the same time, often puzzled them with his answers. Some of his visitors came with minds free and unprejudiced to receive his impressions; with pens ready to record them. Others had evidently read up for the interview; they had turned over the pages of Hazlitt, Lamb, and Shakespeare with a purpose. Others had clearly studied the ingenious pamphlet of Mr. Archer; these had odd questions to ask, and were amazed at the quickness of Irving’s repartee. As a rule they reported the new-comer correctly. The mistakes they made were trivial, though some of them might have seemed important in prejudiced eyes. I propose, presently, to give an example of this journalistic work.

      After dinner Mr. Irving went to a quiet little reception at the house of a friend, and at night he visited the Lambs Club. The members are principally actors, and Sunday night is their only holiday. Once a month they dine together. On this night they held their first meeting of the season. The rooms were crowded. Irving was welcomed with three cheers. Mr. William Florence, Mr. Raymond, Mr. Henry Edwards, Mr. Howson, and other well-known actors introduced him to their brother members, and a committee was at once formed to arrange a date when the club could honor itself and its guest with a special dinner.

      “It is very delightful to be so cordially received,” said Irving, “by my brother actors. I shall be proud to accept your hospitality on any evening that is convenient to you. It must be on a Sunday, of course. I am told New York is strict in its observance of Sunday. Well, I am glad of it—it is the actor’s only day of rest.”

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      On Monday morning the newspapers, from one end of the United States to the other, chronicled the arrival of Mr. Irving and Miss Terry. The New York journals rivalled each other in columns of bright descriptive matter, with headings in more than customary detail. The “Herald” commenced its announcement in this way:—

      IRVING—TERRY.

      Arrival of the Famous English Actor and the Leading Lady of the Lyceum.

      A Hearty Welcome Down the Bay by Old Friends.

      AN INTERVIEW WITH MR. IRVING.

      His Views on the Drama and Stage of To-day.

      PLANS FOR THE FUTURE.

      The “Sun” greeted its readers with—

      UP EARLY TO MEET IRVING!

      A BUSINESS-LIKE HAMLET AND A JOLLY OPHELIA ARRIVE.

      What the Famous English Actor Looks Like, and How He Talks—A Stentorian Greeting Down at Quarantine before Breakfast.

      The “Morning Journal” (the latest success in cheap newspaper enterprise) proclaimed:—

      ENGLAND’S GREAT ACTOR.

      Henry Irving Cordially Welcomed in the Lower Bay.

      He Tells of His Hopes and Fears, and Expresses Delight over Dreaded Newspaper Interviewers—Miss Terry Joyful.

      A leading Western journal pays a large salary to a clever member of its staff, whose duty is confined to the work of giving to the varied news of the day attractive titles. The New York press is less exuberant in this direction than formerly.

      The sketches of the arrival of the “Britannic’s” passengers are bright and personal. They describe the appearance of Mr. Irving and Miss Terry. The vivacity of Miss Terry charmed the reporters. The quiet dignity of Irving surprised and impressed them. The “interviews” generally referred to Mr. Irving’s trip across the Atlantic; his programme for New York; his hopes of a successful tour; his ideas of the differences between American and English theatres; what he thought of Booth, and other points which I have myself set forth, perhaps more in detail than was possible for the journals, and, what is more important, from the platform of an interested English spectator. The following conversation is, in the main, a revised edition of an interview that appeared in the “Herald.”

      “And now to speak to you of yourself as an actor, and also of your theatre—let me ask you, to what mainly do you attribute your success?”

      “The success I have made, such as it is, has been made by acting—by acting alone, whether good or bad.”[4]

      “There is a notion in America, Mr. Irving, that your extraordinary success is due to your mise en scène and the research you have given to the proper mounting of your pieces.”

      “Indeed, is that so? And yet ‘The Cup’ and ‘Romeo and Juliet’ were the only two pieces I have done in which the mise en scène has been really remarkable. During my early association with the Lyceum nothing of that kind was attempted. For instance, the church-yard scene in ‘Hamlet’ was a scene painted for ‘Eugene Aram,’ as the then manager of the Lyceum (my old friend, Mr. Bateman), did not believe in the success of ‘Hamlet.’ The run of the play was two hundred nights. I have been associated with the Lyceum since 1871, eleven years, and, until the production of ‘The Corsican Brothers’ and ‘The Cup,’ in 1880–1881, no play in which I acted had ever been elaborately mounted. Before the time of these plays I had acted in ‘The Bells,’ ‘Charles I.,’ ‘Eugene Aram,’ ‘Philip,’ ‘Richelieu,’ ‘Hamlet,’ ‘Macbeth,’ ‘Louis XI.,’ ‘Othello,’ ‘Richard III.,’ ‘The Merchant of Venice,’ ‘The Iron Chest,’ and others; and this, I think, is sufficient answer to the statement that my success has, in any way, depended upon the mounting of plays. When I played ‘Hamlet,’ under my own management, which commenced in December, 1878, I produced it with great care; and many things, in the way of costume and decoration, which had been before neglected, I endeavored to amend. But take, for instance, ‘The Merchant of Venice,’—it was put upon the stage in twenty-three days.”

      “It will be impossible for managers to go back to the bad system of mounting formerly in vogue, will it not?”

      “I

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