Theodore Watts-Dunton Part 10

Chapter X THE ACTED DRAMA

IT was during the famous evenings in Dr. Marston's house at Chalk Farm that Mr. Watts-Dunton was for the first time brought into contact with the theatrical world. I do not know that he was ever closely connected with that world, but in the set in which he specially moved at this time he seems to have been almost the only one who was a regular playgoer and first-nighter, for Rossetti's playgoing days were nearly over, and Mr.

Swinburne never was a playgoer. Mr. Watts-Dunton still takes, as may be seen in his sonnet to Ellen Terry, which I shall quote, a deep interest in the acted drama and in the acting profession, although of late years he has not been much seen at the theatres. When, after a while, he and Minto were at work on the 'Examiner' Mr. Watts-Dunton occasionally, although I think rarely, wrote a theatrical critique for that paper. The only one I have had an opportunity of reading is upon Miss Neilson-not the Miss Julia Neilson who is so much admired in our day; but the powerful, dark-eyed creole-looking beauty, Lilian Adelaide Neilson, who, after being a mill-hand and a barmaid, became a famous tragedian, and made a great impression in Juliet, and in impa.s.sioned poetical parts of that kind. The play in which she appeared on that occasion was a play by Tom Taylor, called 'Anne Boleyn,' in which Miss Neilson took the part of the heroine. It was given at the Haymarket in February 1876. I do not remember reading any criticism in which so much admirable writing-acute, brilliant, and learned-was thrown away upon so mediocre a play. Mr.

Watts-Dunton's remarks upon Miss Neilson's acting were, however, not thrown away, for the subject seems to have been fully worthy of them; and I, who love the acted drama myself, regret that the actress's early death in 1880, robbed me of the pleasure of seeing her. She was one of the actresses whom Mr. Watts-Dunton used to meet on Sunday evenings at Marston's, and I have heard him say that her genius was as apparent in her conversation as in her acting. Miss Corkran has recently sketched one of these meetings, and has given us a graphic picture of Mr.

Watts-Dunton there, contrasting his personal appearance with that of Mr.

Swinburne. They must indeed have been delightful gatherings to a lover of the theatre, for there Miss Neilson, Miss Glyn, Miss Ada Cavendish, and others were to be met-met in the company of Irving, Sothern, Hermann Vezin, and many another famous actor.

That Mr. Watts-Dunton had a peculiar insight into histrionic art was shown by what occurred on his very first appearance at the Marston evenings, whither he was taken by his friend, Dr. Gordon Hake, who used to tell the following story with great humour; and Rossetti also used to repeat it with still greater gusto. I am here again indebted to his son, Mr. Hake-who was also a friend of Dr. Marston, Ada Cavendish, and others-for interesting reminiscences of these Marston evenings which have never been published. Mr. Watts-Dunton at that time was, of course, quite unknown, except in a very small circle of literary men and artists.

Three or four dramatic critics, several poets, and two actresses, one of whom was Ada Cavendish, were talking about Irving in 'The Bells,' which was a dramatization by a writer named Leopold Lewis of the 'Juif Polonais' of Erckmann-Chatrian. They were all enthusiastically extolling Irving's acting; and this is not surprising, as all will say who have seen him in the part. But while some were praising the play, others were running it down. "What I say," said one of the admirers, "is that the motif of 'The Bells,' the use of the idea of a sort of embodied conscience to tell the audience the story and bring about the catastrophe, is the newest that has appeared in drama or fiction-it is entirely original."

"Not entirely, I think," said a voice which, until that evening, was new in the circle. They turned round to listen to what the dark-eyed young stranger, tanned by the sun to a kind of gypsy colour, who looked like William Black, quietly smoking his cigarette, had to say.

"Not entirely new?" said one. "Who was the originator, then, of the idea?"

"I can't tell you that," said the interrupting voice, "for it occurs in a very old Persian story, and it was evidently old even then. But Erckmann-Chatrian took it from a much later story-teller. They adapted it from Chamisso."

"Is that the author of 'Peter Schlemihl'?" said one.

"Yes," replied Mr. Watts-Dunton, "but Chamisso was a poet before he was a prose writer, and he wrote a rhymed story in which the witness of a murder was the sunrise, and at dawn the criminal was affected in the same way that Matthias is affected by the sledge bells. The idea that the sensorium, in an otherwise perfectly sane brain, can translate sights and sound into accusations of a crime is, of course, perfectly true, and in the play it is wonderfully given by Irving."

"Well," said Dr. Marston, "that is the best account I have yet heard of the origin of 'The Bells.'"

Then the voice of one of the disparagers of the play said: "There you are! The very core of Erckmann-Chatrian's story and Lewis's play has been stolen and spoilt from another writer. The acting, as I say, is superb-the play is rot."

"Well, I do not think so," said Mr. Watts-Dunton. "I think it a new and a striking play."

"Will you give your reasons, sir?" said Dr. Marston, in that old-fashioned courtly way which was one of his many charms.

"Certainly," said Mr. Watts-Dunton, "if it will be of any interest. You recollect Coleridge's remarks upon expectation and surprise in drama. I think it a striking play because I cannot recall any play in which the entire source of interest is that of pure expectation unadulterated by surprise. From the opening dialogue, before ever the burgomaster appears, the audience knows that a murder has been committed, and that the murderer must be the burgomaster, and yet the audience is kept in breathless suspense through pure expectation as to whether or not the crime will be brought home to him, and if brought home to him, how."

"Well," said the voice of one of the admirers of the play, "that is the best criticism of 'The Bells' I have yet heard." After this the conversation turned upon Jefferson's acting of Rip Van Winkle, and many admirable remarks fell from a dozen lips. When there was a pause in these criticisms, Dr. Marston turned to Mr. Watts-Dunton and said, "Have you seen Jefferson in 'Rip van Winkle,' sir?"

"Yes, indeed," was the reply, "many times; and I hope to see it many more times. It is wonderful. I think it lucky that I have been able to see the great exemplar of what may be called the Garrick type of actor, and the great exemplar of what may be called the Edmund Kean type of actor."

On being asked what he meant by this cla.s.sification, Mr. Watts-Dunton launched out into one of those wide-sweeping but symmetrical monologues of criticism in which beginning, middle, and end, were as perfectly marked as though the improvization had been a well-considered essay-the subject being the style of acting typified by Garrick and the style of acting typified by Robson. As this same idea runs through Mr.

Watts-Dunton's criticism of Got in 'Le Roi s'Amuse' (which I shall quote later), there is no need to dwell upon it here.

"As an instance," he said, "of Jefferson's supreme power in this line of acting, one might refer to Act II. of the play, where Rip mounts the Catskill Mountains in the company of the goblins. Rip talks with the goblins one after the other, and there seems to be a dramatic dialogue going on. It is not till the curtain falls that the audience realizes that every word spoken during that act came from the lips of Rip, so entirely have Jefferson's facial expression and intonation dramatized each goblin."

Between Mr. Watts-Dunton and our great Shakespearean actress, Ellen Terry, there has been an affectionate friendship running over nearly a quarter of a century. This is not at all surprising to one who knows Miss Terry's high artistic taste and appreciation of poetry. Among the poems expressing that friendship, none is more pleasing than the sonnet that appeared in the 'Magazine of Art' to which Mr. Bernard Partridge contributed his superb drawing of Miss Terry in the part of Queen Katherine. It is ent.i.tled, 'Queen Katherine: on seeing Miss Ellen Terry as Katherine in King Henry VIII':-

Seeking a tongue for tongueless shadow-land, Has Katherine's soul come back with power to quell A sister-soul incarnate, and compel Its bodily voice to speak by Grief's command?

Or is it Katherine's self returns to stand As erst she stood defying Wolsey's spell- Returns with those vile wrongs she fain would tell Which memory bore to Eden's amaranth strand?

Or is it thou, dear friend-this Queen, whose face The salt of many tears hath scarred and stung?- Can it be thou, whose genius, ever young, Lighting the body with the spirit's grace, Is loved by England-loved by all the race Round all the world enlinked by Shakespeare's tongue!

With one exception I do not find any dramatic criticisms by Mr.

Watts-Dunton in the 'Athenaeum.' Indeed, I should not expect to find him trenching upon the domain of the greatest dramatic critic of our time, Mr. Joseph Knight. No one speaks with greater admiration of Mr. Knight than his friend of thirty years' standing, Mr. Watts-Dunton himself; and when an essay on 'King John' was required for the series of Shakespeare essays to accompany Mr. Edwin Abbey's famous ill.u.s.trations in 'Harper's Magazine,' it was Mr. Knight whom Mr. Watts-Dunton invited to discuss this important play. The exception I allude to is the criticism of Victor Hugo's 'Le Roi s'Amuse,' which appeared in the 'Athenaeum' of December 2, 1882.

The way in which it came about that Mr. Watts-Dunton undertook for the 'Athenaeum' so important a piece of dramatic criticism is interesting. In 1882 M. Vacquerie, the editor of 'Le Rappel,' a relative of Hugo's, and a great friend of Mr. Swinburne and Mr. Watts-Dunton, together with other important members of the Hugo cenacle, determined to get up a representation of 'Le Roi s'Amuse' on the jubilee of its first representation, since when it had never been acted. Vacquerie sent two fauteuils, one for Mr. Swinburne and one for Mr. Watts-Dunton; and the two poets were present at that memorable representation. Long before the appointed day there was on the Continent, from Paris to St. Petersburg, an unprecedented demand for seats; for it was felt that this was the most interesting dramatic event that had occurred for fifty years.

Consequently the editor of the 'Athenaeum' for once invited his chief literary contributor to fill the post which the dramatic editor of the paper, Mr. Joseph Knight, generously yielded to him for the occasion, and the following article appeared:-

"Paris, November 23, 1882.

"I felt that the revival, at the Theatre Francais, of 'Le Roi s'Amuse,' on the fiftieth anniversary of its original production, must be one of the most interesting literary events of our time, and so I found it to be. Victor Hugo was there, sitting with his arms folded across his breast, calm but happy, in a stage box. He expressed himself satisfied and even delighted with the acting. The poet's appearance was fuller of vitality and more Olympian than ever.

Between the acts he left the theatre and walked about in the square, leaning on the arm of his ill.u.s.trious poet friend and family connection, Auguste Vacquerie, to whose kindness I was indebted for a seat in the fauteuils d'orchestre, which otherwise I should have found to be quite unattainable, so unprecedented was the demand for places. It is said that a thousand francs were given for a seat.

Never before was seen, even in a French theatre, an audience so brilliant and so ill.u.s.trious. I did not, however, see any English face I knew save that of Mr. Swinburne, who at the end of the third act might have been seen talking to Hugo in his box. Among the most appreciative and enthusiastic of those who a.s.sisted at the representation was the French poet, who perhaps in the nineteenth century stands next to Hugo for intellectual ma.s.siveness, M. Leconte de Lisle. And I should say that every French poet and indeed every man of eminence was there.

Considering the extraordinary nature of the piece, the cast was perhaps as satisfactory as could have been hoped for. Fond as is M.

Hugo of spectacular effects, and even of coups de theatre, no other dramatist gives so little attention as he to the idiosyncrasies of actors. It is easy to imagine that Shakespeare in writing his lines was not always unmindful of an actor like Burbage. But in depicting Triboulet, Hugo must have thought as little about the specialities of Ligier, who took the part on the first night in 1832, as of the future Got, who was to take it on the second night in 1882. And the same may be said of Blanche in relation to the two actresses who successively took that part. This is, I think, exactly the way in which a dramatist should work. The contrary method is not more ruinous to drama as a literary form than to the actor's art. To write up to an actor's style destroys all true character-drawing; also it ends by writing up to the actor's mere manner, who from that moment is, as an artist, doomed. On the whole, the performance wanted more glow and animal spirits. The Francois I of M.

Mounet-Sully was full of verve, but this actor's voice is so exceedingly rich and emotional that the king seemed more poetic, and hence more sympathetic to the audience, than was consistent with a character who in a sense is held up as the villain of the piece. The true villain, here, however, as in 'Torquemada,' 'Notre Dame de Paris,' 'Les Miserables,' and, indeed, in all Hugo's characteristic works, is not an individual at all, but Circ.u.mstance. Circ.u.mstance placed Francis, a young and pleasure-loving king, over a licentious court. Circ.u.mstance gave him a court jester with a temper which, to say the least of it, was peculiar for such times as those.

Circ.u.mstance, acting through the agency of certain dissolute courtiers, thrust into the king's very bedroom the girl whom he loved and who belonged to a cla.s.s from whom he had been taught to expect subservience of every kind. The tragic mischief of the rape follows almost as a necessary consequence. Add to this the fact that Circ.u.mstance contrives that the girl Maguelonne, instead of aiding her more conscientious brother in killing the disguised king at the bidding of 'the client who pays,' falls unexpectedly in love with him; while Circ.u.mstance also contrives that Blanche shall be there ready at the very spot at the very moment where and when she is imperatively wanted as a subst.i.tuted victim;-and you get the entire motif of 'Le Roi s'Amuse'-man enmeshed in a web of circ.u.mstance, the motif of 'Notre Dame de Paris,' the motif of 'Torquemada,' and, in a certain deep sense, perhaps the proper motif in romantic drama. For when the vis matrix of cla.s.sic drama, the supernatural interference of conscious Destiny, was no longer available to the artist, something akin to it-something n.o.bler and more powerful than the stage villain-was found to be necessary to save tragedy from sinking into melodrama. And this explains so many of the complexities of Shakespeare.

In the dramas of Victor Hugo, however, the romantic temper has advanced quite as far as it ought to advance not only in the use of Circ.u.mstance as the final cause of the tragic mischief, but in the use of the grotesque in alliance with the terrible. The greatest masters of the terrible-grotesque till we get to the German romanticists were the English dramatists of the sixteenth and the early portion of the seventeenth century, and of course by far the greatest among these was Shakespeare. For the production of the effect in question there is nothing comparable to the scenes in 'Lear' between the king and the fool-scenes which seem very early in his life to have struck Hugo more than anything else in literature.

Outside the Elizabethan dramatists, however, there can be no doubt that (leaving out of the discussion the great German masters in this line) Hugo is the greatest worker in the terrible-grotesque that has appeared since Burns. I need only point to Quasimodo and Triboulet and compare them not merely with such attempts in this line as those of writers like Beddoes, but even with the magnificent work of Mr.

Browning, who though far more subtle than Hugo is without his sublimity and amazing power over chiaroscuro. Now, the most remarkable feature of the revival of 'Le Roi s'Amuse,' and that which made me above all other reasons desirous to see it, was that the character of Triboulet was to be rendered by an actor of rare and splendid genius, but who, educated in the genteel comedy of modern France and also in the social subtleties of Moliere, seemed the last man in Paris to give that peculiar expression of the romantic temper which I have called the terrible-grotesque.

That M. Got's success in a part so absolutely unsuited to him should have been as great as it was is, in my judgment, the crowning success of his life. It is as though Thackeray, after completing 'Philip,'

had set himself to write a romance in the style of 'Notre Dame de Paris,' and succeeded in the attempt. Yet the success of M. Got was relative only, I think. The Triboulet was not the Triboulet of the reader's own imaginings, but an admirable Triboulet of the Comedie Francaise. Perhaps, however, the truth is that there is not an actor in Europe who could adequately render such a character as Triboulet.

This is what I mean: all great actors are divisible into two groups, which are by temperament and endowment the exact opposites of each other. There are those who, like Garrick, producing their effects by means of a self-dominance and a conservation of energy akin to that of Goethe in poetry, are able to render a character, coldly indeed, but with matchless verisimilitude in its every nuance. And there are those who, like Edmund Kean and Robson, 'live' in the character so entirely that self-dominance and conservation of energy are not possible, and who, whensoever the situation becomes very intense, work miracles of representation by sheer imaginative abandon, but do so at the expense of that delicacy of light and shade in the entire conception which is the great quest of the actor as an artist. And if it should be found that in order to render Triboulet there is requisite for the more intense crises of the piece the abandon of Kean and Robson, and at the same time, for the carrying on of the play, the calm, self-conscious staying power of Garrick, the conclusion will be obvious that Triboulet is essentially an unactable character. I will ill.u.s.trate this by an instance. The reader will remember that in the third act of 'Le Roi s'Amuse,' Triboulet's daughter Blanche, after having been violated by the king at the Louvre, rushes into the antechamber, where stands her father surrounded by the group of sneering courtiers who, unknown both to the king and to Triboulet, have abducted her during the night and set her in the king's way. When the girl tells her father of the terrible wrong that has been done to her, he pa.s.ses at once from the mood of sardonic defiance which was natural to him into a state of pa.s.sion so terrible that a sudden and magical effect is produced: the conventional walls between him, the poor despised court jester, and the courtiers, are suddenly overthrown by the unexpected operation of one of those great human instincts which make the whole world kin:-

TRIBOULET (faisant trois pas, et balayant du geste tous les seigneurs inter dits).

Allez-vous-en d'ici!

Et, si le roi Francois par malheur se hasarde A pa.s.ser pres d'ici, (a Monsieur de Vermandois) vous etes de sa garde, Dites-lui de ne pas entrer,-que je suis la.

M. DE PIENNE. On n'a jamais rien vu de fou comme cela.

M. DE GORDES (lui faisant signe de se retirer). Aux fous comme aux enfants on cede quelque chose.

Veillons pourtant, de peur d'accident.

[Ils sortent.

TRIBOULET (s'a.s.seyant sur le fauteuil du roi et relevant sa fille.) Allons, cause.

Dis-moi tout. (Il se retourne, et, apercevant Monsieur de Cosse, qui est reste, il se leve a demi en lui montrant la porte). M'avez-vous en tendu, monseigneur?

M. DE COSSe (tout en se retirant comme subjugue par l'ascendant du bouffon). Ces fous, cela se croit tout permis, en honneur!

[Il sort.

Now in reading 'Le Roi s'Amuse,' startling as is the situation, it does not seem exaggerated, for Victor Hugo's lines are adequate in simple pa.s.sion to effect the dramatic work, and the reader feels that Triboulet was wrought up to the state of exaltation to which the lines give expression, that nothing could resist him, and that the proud courtiers must in truth have cowered before him in the manner here indicated by the dramatist. In literature the artist does not actualize; he suggests, and leaves the reader's imagination free.

But an actor has to actualize this state of exaltation-he has to bring the physical condition answering to the emotional condition before the eyes of the spectator; and if he fails to display as much of the 'fine frenzy' of pa.s.sion as is requisite to cow and overawe a group of cynical worldlings, the situation becomes forced and unnatural, inasmuch as they are overawed without a sufficient cause.

That an actor like Robson could and would have risen to such an occasion no one will doubt who ever saw him (for he was the very incarnation of the romantic temper), but then the exhaustion would have been so great that it would have been impossible for him to go on bearing the entire weight of this long play as M. Got does. The actor requires, as I say, the abandon characteristic of one kind of histrionic art together with the staying power characteristic of another. Now, admirable as is M. Got in this and in all scenes of 'Le Roi s'Amuse,' he does not pa.s.s into such a condition of exalted pa.s.sion as makes the retirement of the courtiers seem probable. For artistic perfection there was nothing in the entire representation that surpa.s.sed the scenes between Saltabadil and Maguelonne in the hovel on the banks of the Seine. It would be difficult, indeed, to decide which was the more admirable, the Saltabadil of M. Febvre or the Maguelonne of Jeanne Samary.