PROFESSIONAL TOUR IN GREAT BRITAIN.

Two weeks of rest in his Philadelphia home, in delightful reunion with his mother and sisters, and two weeks more devoted to the banquets and parties with which his rejoicing friends there and in New York celebrated his return, passed quickly. He had now to prepare to say good-bye again. For overtures of such a flattering character had been made to him while in England to return and give a series of performances in the principal British theatres, that he had accepted them, and was engaged to be there early in October. The desire, however, after his long absence, to see him on the stage was so general, and was urged so eagerly, that he determined to appear for a few nights. Accordingly, he played the parts of Damon, Othello, and Spartacus for five nights in the Chestnut Street Theatre, in Philadelphia, and the same parts, with the addition of Lear, in the Park Theatre, in New York. The crowd and the excitement on the opening night were almost unprecedented, all the passages to the house being blocked with applicants two hours before the rising of the curtain. At the first glimpse of the actor in his stately senatorial garb, the multitude that filled the entire auditorium with a packed mass of faces rose as by one impulse and hailed him with deafening applause, kept up until it seemed as if it was not to end. He had never played better, by general consent, than he did this night. And when the play closed, and the enthusiastic ovation which had saluted his entrance was repeated, he certainly had every reason to feel in truth what he expressed in words:

"Ladies and gentlemen, for this warm peal of hands and hearts I have only strength in my present exhausted state to say, I thank you. It convinces me that neither time nor distance has been able to alienate from me your kind regards. I am unable to speak what I wish; but I can sincerely say that you make me proud this evening. And the remembrance of the cordial greeting, after no common absence, given me here in this city of my birth and my affection, will go down with me to my latest hour as one of the happiest scenes of my professional life."

A similar reception, only, if possible, still more flattering in the vastness of the throng and the fervor of the tributes, awaited him in New York. Box tickets were sold at auction for twenty-five dollars each,—a fact to which there had not at that time been anything like a parallel known in this country. For his six performances he received three thousand dollars, and the profit of the manager was estimated at six thousand dollars. The public greeted his strong points with a warmth which seemed to show that their admiration had grown during his absence, and the critics spoke of an evident improvement in his acting,—that it was less boisterous and more thoughtful than formerly. Called out at the conclusion of the play, Othello, on the occasion of his farewell, he alluded with deep emotions to the night, some ten years before, when he had made his first appearance before a New York audience. Then, a mere youth, just emerging from severe hardships, and still oppressed by poverty and a dark prospect, with scarcely a friend, he had tremblingly ventured to enact the part of Othello for the benefit of a distressed brother-actor. The generous approbation then given him had lent a new zeal to his ambition and a new strength to his motives. From that hour his course had been one of unbroken prosperity, for which he desired to return his most heartfelt thanks to his countrymen, and to assure them that he would do his best not to dishonor them in the mother-country, to which he was then bound. "I shall carry with me," he added, "an indelible remembrance of your kindness; and I hope that the recollection will be mutual, so that I may say, with the divine Shakspeare,—

The audience responded to his speech with tempestuous huzzas, and he withdrew, carrying this flattering scene fresh in his memory as he set sail for his courageous enterprise on the other side of the sea.

It was a courageous and somewhat ominous adventure. For it is to be remembered that the relationships of England and the United States were very different in 1836 from what they are in our day. The memories of the Revolutionary war and of the war of 1812 were still keen and bitter; and the feelings of intellectual inferiority and literary vassalage to the mother-country among the Americans engendered a sense of wounded pride or irritable jealousy excessively sensitive to British criticism, which, on the other hand, was generally marked by a tone of complacent arrogance or condescending patronage. No American actor, at least none of any note, had yet appeared on the boards in England. All such international favors were on the other side,—and they had been most numerous and long-continued. The illustrious Cooper, an Englishman by birth and education, though so long domesticated in this country both as citizen and actor as to be almost considered an American, had been ignominiously hooted down on the most famous stage in London amidst opprobrious cries of "Away with the Yankee! Send him back!" What reception now would be vouchsafed to an American tragedian, fresh from nature and the woods of the West, and all untrained in the methods of the schools, who should dare essay to rival the glorious traditions of old Drury Lane within her own walls?—this was a question which caused many wise heads to shake with misgivings, and might well have deterred any less fearless spirit than that of Forrest from putting it to the test. But he believed, obvious as the antipathies and jealousies between the two countries were, that the fellow-feeling and the love of fair play were far stronger. In a speech delivered in his native city the evening before his departure, he expressed himself thus:

"The engagement which I am about to fulfil in London was not of my seeking. While I was in England I was repeatedly importuned with solicitations, and the most liberal offers were made to me. I finally consented, not for my own sake, for my ambition is satisfied with the applauses of my own countrymen, but partly in compliance with the wishes of a number of American friends, and partly to solve a doubt which is entertained by many of our citizens, whether Englishmen would receive an American actor with the same favor which is here extended to them. This doubt, so far as I have had an opportunity of judging, is, I think, without foundation. During my residence in England, I found among the English people the most unbounded hospitality, and the warmest affection for my beloved country and her institutions. With this impression, I have resolved to present to them an American tragedy, supported by the humble efforts of the individual who stands before you. If I fail—I fail. But, whatever may be the result, the approbation of that public which first stamped the native dramatist and actor will ever be my proudest recollection."

Of all the friends to whom Forrest bade adieu, not one beside was so dear to him as Leggett. The heart-ties between them had been multiplied, enriched, and tightened by unwearied mutual acts of kindness and service, and a thousand congenial interchanges of soul in intimate hours when the world was shut out and their bosoms were opened to each other without disguise or reserve. The letter here added speaks for itself:

"Office of the Evening Post,
"New York, Sept. 19th, 1836.

"Dear Madam,—I had the pleasure of accompanying your son Edwin yesterday as far as Sandy Hook, and seeing him safely on his way for Liverpool, with a fine breeze, in a fine ship, and with a fine set of fellow-passengers. He was accompanied down the bay by a large number of his friends, who, on the steamboat parting from the ship, expressed their warm feelings for him in many rounds of loud and hearty cheers. We kept in sight of the vessel till near sundown, by which time she had made a good offing. Andrew Allen had gone on board with his baggage the day previous, and everything was prepared for him in the most comfortable manner. While we were on board the vessel with him, we were invited by the captain to sit down to a collation prepared for the occasion, and had the satisfaction of drinking to his health and prosperous voyage, not only across the Atlantic Ocean, but across the ocean of life also, in a glass of sparkling champagne. It would have given me the most unbounded happiness to have been able to accompany him to Europe, as he desired; but circumstances rendered it impossible for me to gratify that wish. I am with him in heart, however, and shall look most eagerly for the tidings of his safe arrival and triumphant reception. Whatever news I get concerning him which I think may be of interest to you, I shall take pleasure in immediately communicating. Mrs. Leggett bade me remember her most affectionately to you and your daughters, and to say that, should you visit New York at any time during your son's absence, she shall expect you to make her house your home. In this wish I most fully concur. Allow me to assure you, madam, that

"With great respect,

"I am your obed't serv't,

"Wm. Leggett.

"Mrs. Rebecca Forrest."

James K. Paulding, a close and dear friend of Forrest, met him one sunshiny day in New York at the corner of Nassau and Ann Streets, and expostulated with him against going across the sea to play. "Washington," he said, "never went to Europe to gain an immortality. Jackson never went there to extend his fame. Many others of our greatest and most original men never visited the other hemisphere to add lustre to their names. And why should you? Stay here, and build yourself an enduring place in the mind of your own country alone. That is enough for any man!" He spoke with extreme eloquence, heedless of the busy throng who hurried by absorbed in so different a world from that whose prospects kindled the idealistic and ambitious friends. When Forrest was sailing out of the harbor, he recalled these words with strong emotion, and felt for a moment as if he were guilty of a sort of treachery to his own land in thus leaving it. Though the whole incident, as here set down, may appear overstrained, it is a true glimpse of life.

Forrest made his first professional appearance in England in Drury Lane Theatre, on the evening of the 17th of October, 1836, in the rÔle of Spartacus, before an audience which crowded the house in every part to its utmost capacity. His great American fame had preceded him, and there was an intense curiosity felt as to the result of his experiment. The solicitude was especially keen among the two or three hundred of his countrymen who were present, and who knew the extreme democratic quality of the play of the Gladiator. The tremendous bursts of applause which his entrance called out soon put an end to all doubt or anxiety. The favor in advance certified by the unanimous and long-continued cheers he confirmed at every step of the performance, and wrought to an extraordinary pitch at the close, when he was recalled before the curtain and greeted with overwhelming plaudits. He returned his thanks for the honor done him, and was loudly applauded when he said he was sure that England and America were joined by the closest good-will, and that the more enlightened portion of their population were superior to any feeling of national jealousy. But on attempting to include the author of the Gladiator in the approving verdict which the audience had given himself, he was interrupted by numerous protests and repeated cries, "Let us see you in some of Shakspeare's characters!"

The Courier of the next morning said,—

"America has at length vindicated her capability of producing a native dramatist of the highest order, whose claims should be unequivocally acknowledged by the Mother Country; and has rendered back some portion of the dramatic debt so long due to us in return for the Cookes, the Keans, the Macreadys, the Knowleses, and the Kembles, whom she has, through a long series of years, seduced, at various times, to her shores,—the so long doubted problem being happily solved by Mr. Edwin Forrest, the American tragedian, who made his first appearance last night on these boards, with a success as triumphant as could have been desired by his most enthusiastic admirers on the other side of the Atlantic. Of the numerous striking situations and touching passages in the play, Mr. Forrest availed himself with great tact, discrimination, and effect; now astounding all eyes and ears by the overwhelming energy of his physical powers, and now subduing all hearts by the pathos of his voice, manner, and expression. The whole weight of the piece rests upon him alone, and nobly does he sustain it. His action is easy, graceful, and varied; and his declamation is perfectly free from the usual stage chant, catchings, and points. Indeed, nature alone seems to have been his only model."

The "Sun" of the same date said,—

"Mr. Edwin Forrest, who has long held the first rank as a tragic actor in America, made his first appearance here last night in a new drama, also of American growth, entitled the Gladiator. The acting of Mr. Forrest as Spartacus was throughout admirable. His very figure and voice were in his favor, the one being strongly muscular, the other replete with a rough music befitting one who in his youth has dwelt, a free barbarian, among the mountains. He electrified his audience; indeed, we have not heard more enthusiastic bursts of applause shake the walls of an English theatre since Othello expired with poor Kean. The great recommendations of Mr. Forrest as a tragedian we take to be strong passion, and equally strong judgment. In the whirlwind of his emotions he never loses sight of self-control. He is the master, not the slave, of his feelings. He appeals to no fastidious coterie for applause; he is not remarkable for the delivery of this or that pretty tinkling poetic passage; still less is he burdened with refined sensibility, which none but the select few can understand; far otherwise; he gives free play to those rough natural passions which are intelligible all the world over. His pathos is equally sincere and unsophisticated. His delivery of the passage,—

was marked by the truest and tenderest sensibility. Equally successful was he in that pleasing pastoral idea,—

which, had it been written in Claude's days, that great painter would undoubtedly have made the subject of one of his best landscapes.

a striking image, which immediately follows the preceding one, was given by Mr. Forrest with an energy amounting almost to the sublime. Not less impressive was his delivery of

which bursts from him when he hears of the murder of his wife and child by the Roman cohorts. Mr. Forrest has made such a hit as has not been made since the memorable 1814, when Edmund Kean burst on England in Shylock. America may well feel proud of him; for though he is not, strictly speaking, what is called a classical actor, yet he has all the energy, all the indomitable love of freedom that characterizes the transatlantic world. We say this because there were many republican allusions in the play where the man spoke out quite as much as the actor, if not more. Having seen him in Spartacus, we no longer wonder at his having electrified the New World. A man better fitted by nature and art to sustain such a character, and a character better fitted to turn the heads of a nation which was the other day in arms against England, never appeared on the boards of a theatre. At the fall of the curtain he received such a tempest of approbation as we have not witnessed for years."

The Morning Advertiser said,—

"When to the facts of a new play and a new actor is superadded the circumstance that both the author and the player of the new tragedy are Americans, and the first who ever tempted the intellectual taste of the British public by a representation on the English stage, the crowds which last night surrounded the doors long before they were thrown open are easily accounted for. The applause which Mr. Forrest received on his entrÉe must have been very cheering to that gentleman. He possesses a countenance well marked and classical; his figure, a model for stage effect, with 'thew and sinew' to boot. His enunciation, which we had anticipated to be characterized by some degree of that patois which distinguishes most Americans, even the best educated, was almost perfect 'to the last recorded syllable,' and fell like music on the ears. We here especially point to the less declamatory passages of the drama; in those portions of it where he threw his whole power of body and soul into the whirlwind, as it were, of his fury, his display of physical strength was prodigious, without 'o'erstepping the modesty of nature.' The inflections of his voice frequently reminded one of Kean in his healthiest days, yet there did not appear the manner of a copyist. He was crowned with loud and unanimous plaudits at least a dozen times during the representation."

The Court Journal gave its judgment thus:

"This chief of American performers is most liberally endowed by nature with all the finest qualities for an actor. With a most graceful and symmetrical person, of more than the ordinary stature, he has a face capable of the sternest as of the nicest delineations of passion, and a voice of deep and earnest power. We have never witnessed a presence more noble and commanding,—one that, at the first moment, challenged greater respect, we may write, admiration. As an actor, Mr. Forrest is fervent, passionate, and active: there is no child's play in whatever he does; but in the most serious, as in the slightest development of feeling, he puts his whole heart into the matter, and carries us away with him in either the subtlety or the strength of his emotion. With powers evidently enabling him to outroar a whirlwind, he is never extravagant,—he is never of 'Ercles' vein; his passion is always from the heart, and never from the lungs. His last two scenes were splendidly acted, from the strength, the self-abandonment of the performer; he looked and moved as if he could have cut down a whole cohort, and died like a Hercules. The reception of Mr. Forrest was most cordial; and the applause bestowed upon him throughout the play unbounded. At the conclusion of the tragedy he was called for, and most rapturously greeted."

The Times described the figure, face, and voice of the actor, gave a long abstract of the play, and said,—

"He played with his whole heart, and seemed to be so strongly imbued with the part that every tone and gesture were perfectly natural, and full of that fire and spirit which, engendered by true feeling, carry an audience along with the performer. He made a powerful impression on the audience, and must be regarded as an able performer who to very considerable skill in his profession adds the attraction of a somewhat novel and much more spirited style of playing than any other tragic actor now on our stage."

The following extract is from the Atlas:

"If we were to estimate Mr. Forrest's merits by his performance of the Gladiator, we should, probably, underrate, or, perhaps, mistake the true character of his genius. The very qualities which render him supreme in such a part would, if he possessed no other requisites, unfit him for those loftier conceptions that constitute the highest efforts of the stage. It would be impossible to produce a more powerful performance, or one in all respects more just and complete, than his representation of the moody savage Thracian. But nature has given him peculiar advantages which harmonize with the demands of the part, and which, in almost any other character in the range of tragedy, would either encumber the delineation or be of no avail. His figure is cast in the proportions of the Farnese Hercules. The development of the muscles, indeed, rather exceeds the ideal of strength, and, in its excess, the beauty of symmetrical power is in some degree sacrificed. His head and neck are perfect models of grandeur in the order to which they belong. His features are boldly marked, full of energy and expression, and, although not capable of much variety, they possess a remarkable tone of mental vigor. His voice is rich and deep, and susceptible of extraordinary transitions, which he employs somewhat too frequently as the transitions of feeling pass over his spirit. The best way, perhaps, of describing its varieties is to say that it reminded us occasionally of Kean, Vandenhoff, and Wallack, but not as they would be recalled by one who, in the dearth of his own resources, imitated them for convenience, but by one in whom such resemblances are natural and unpremeditated. Mr. Forrest's action is bold, unconscious, and diversified; and the predominant sentiment it inspires is that of athletic grace. In the part of Spartacus all these characteristics were brought out in the most favorable points of view; and the performance, exhausting from its length and its internal force, was sustained to the close with undiminished power. There is certainly no actor on the English stage who could have played it with a tithe of Mr. Forrest's ability."

In response to the invitation or challenge to appear in some of the great Shakspearean rÔles, Forrest appeared many nights successively in Othello, Macbeth, and Lear, and in them all was crowned with most decisive and flattering triumphs. The praise of him by the press was generous, and its chorus scarcely broken by the few dissenting voices, whose tone plainly betrayed an animus of personal hostility. A few examples of the newspaper notices may fitly be cited,—enough to give a fair idea of the general impression he made.

The Globe, of October 25th:

"Mr. Forrest selected as his second character the fiery Othello, 'who loved not wisely, but too well.' There was something nobly daring in this flight, so soon, too, after he whose voice still dwells in our ears had passed from among us. To essay before an English audience any character in which Edmund Kean was remembered was itself no trifling indication of that self-confidence which, when necessary, true genius can manifest. To make that attempt in Othello was indeed daring. And nobly, we feel proud to say, did the performance bear out the promise. In the Senate scene his colloquial voice told well in the celebrated address to the Seniors of Venice. He did not speak as if the future evils of his life had even then cast their shadows upon him. The calm equability of the triumphant general and successful lover pervaded his performance throughout the first two acts, with the exception of the scene of the drunken brawl in the second, where he first gave token of the fiery elements within him. The third act was a splendid presentment throughout. He had evidently studied the character with the judgment of a scholar, 'and a ripe and good one:' each shade of the jealous character of the easy Moor, from the first faint guessings at his tempter's meaning to the full conviction of his wife's dishonesty, was brought out with the touch of a master-hand, and embodied with a skill equalling that of any actor whom we have seen, and far, very far superior to the manner in which any other of our living performers could attempt it. This third act alone would have placed Mr. Forrest in the foremost rank of his profession had he never done anything else; and so his kindling audience seemed to feel, as much in the deep watching silence of their attention as in the tremendous plaudits which hailed what on the stage are technically called 'the points' he made.

"In the two succeeding acts he was equally great in the passages which called forth the burning passions of his fiery soul; but we shall not at present particularize; where all was good it would be difficult, and we have already nearly run through the dictionary of panegyric. In accordance with a burst of applause such as seldom follows the fall of the curtain, Othello was announced for repetition on Wednesday and Friday."

The commendation of the London Sun was still stronger:

"Mr. Forrest last night made his appearance here in the arduous character of Othello. The experiment was a bold one, but was completely successful. We entertain a vivid recollection of Kean in this part; we saw his Moor when the great actor was in the meridian vigor of his powers, and also when he was in his decline and could do justice only to the more subdued and pathetic parts of the character; and even with these recollections on our mind, we feel ourselves justified in saying that Mr. Forrest's Othello, if here and there inferior in execution to Kean's, was in conception far superior. There is an elevation of thought and sentiment,—a poetic grandeur,—a picturesqueness, if we may use such an expression, in Mr. Forrest's notion of the character, which Kean could never reach. The one could give electrical effect to all its more obvious points, turn to admirable account all that lay on its surface; the other sounds its depths,—turns it inside out,—apprehends it in a learned and imaginative spirit, and shows us not merely the fiery, generous warrior, the creature of impulse, but the high-toned, chivalrous Moor; lofty and dignified in his bearing, and intellectual in his nature,—such a Moor, in short, as we read of in the old Spanish chronicles of Granada,—and who perpetrates an act of murder not so much from the headstrong, animal promptings of revenge, as from an idea that he is offering up a solemn and inevitable sacrifice to justice. In the earlier portion of the character Mr. Forrest was rather too drawling and measured in his delivery; his address to the Senators was judicious, but not quite familiar enough; it should have been more colloquial. It was evident, however, that throughout this scene the actor was laboring under constraint; he had yet to establish himself with his audience, and was afraid of committing himself prematurely. Henceforth he may dismiss this apprehension; for he has proved that he is, beyond all question, the first tragedian of the age.... We have spoken of this gentleman's Othello in high terms of praise, but have not commended it beyond its deserts. In manly and unaffected vigor; in terrific force of passion, where such a display is requisite; but, above all, in heartfelt tenderness, it is fully equal to Kean's Othello; in sustained dignity, and in the absence of all stage-trick and undue gesticulation, it is superior. Perhaps here and there it was a little too elaborate; but this is a trivial blemish, which practice will soon remedy. On the whole, Mr. Forrest is the most promising tragedian that has appeared in our days. He has, evidently, rare intellectual endowments; a noble and commanding presence; a countenance full of varying expression; a voice mellow, flexible, and in its undertones exquisitely tender, and a discretion that never fails him. If any one can revive the half-extinct taste for the drama, he is the man."

The Carlton Chronicle said,—

"It is impossible that any actor could, in person, bearing, action, and utterance, better fulfil your fair-ideal of the noble Moor. All the passages of the part evincing Will and Power are delivered after a manner to leave the satisfied listener no faculty except that of admiration. His bursts of passion are terrifically grand. There is no grimace,—no exaggeration. They are terrible in their downright earnestness and apparent truth. Nothing could be more heart-thrilling than the noble rage with which he delivered the well-known passage,—

nothing more glorious than the burst in which he volleyed forth the following passage, suppressed by the barbarians of our theatres,—

Throughout the part, as he enacted it, there were several new readings, in the player's phrase. They were all good,—they all conveyed to us, who love Shakspeare, new ideas. Forrest, apart from his playing, is no common man. In many scenes of the play, in which it was the fashion to rant, Forrest contented himself with the appropriate display of dignified and quiet power. This was beyond praise."

The following extract is from the notice in the John Bull:

"It is where Iago first attempts to rouse the jealousy of Othello, and, having created the spark, succeeds in fanning it to a consuming fire, that Mr. Forrest may be said to have been truly great. Slowly he appeared to indulge the suspicion of his wife's infidelity; in silent agony the conviction seemed to be creeping upon him,—his iron sinews trembling with dreadful and conflicting emotions,—rapid as thought were his denunciations; and, with all the weakness of woman, he again relapsed into tenderness,—pain had a respite, and hope a prospect. Then came his fearful and startling challenge to Iago, ending,—

"The almost savage energy with which this passage was delivered produced an indescribable effect. Three long and distinct rounds of applause testified how highly the audience was delighted with this master-effort; and the most prejudiced must have been convinced that they were witnessing the acting of no ordinary man."

The critique in the Albion was a notable one:

"Mr. Forrest made his first appearance on our boards on Monday last, in the part of Othello. Mr. Forrest possesses a fine person, an excellent thing in either man or woman; but, though this has been much dwelt upon by the London critics, it is but a very minor affair when speaking of such a man as Mr. Forrest. He carries himself with exceeding grace and dignity, and his tread is easy and majestic: he dresses with taste and magnificence. The picture which he presented of the Moor was one of the most perfect which we have witnessed. He gave us to see, like Desdemona, 'Othello's visage in his mind,' of which he furnished us with a beautiful and highly-finished portrait. Not content with acting each scene well, he gave us a consistent transcript of the whole matter. Each succeeding scene was in strict keeping with those that had preceded it, showing that the actor had grasped the whole plot from beginning to end, and that, from commencement to catastrophe, he had embodied himself into strict identity with the person represented. His early scenes were distinguished by a quiet and calm dignity of demeanor, which, concomitant with the deepest tenderness of feeling, and a high tone of manliness, he seems to have conceived the basis of the Moor's character. In his address to the Senate, this dignified self-possession, and a sense of what was due to himself, he made particularly conspicuous. As the interest of the tragedy advanced, we saw, with exceeding pleasure, that Mr. Forrest was determined to depend for success upon the precept set forth by Shakspeare, 'To hold the mirror up to nature.' With proper confidence in his own powers, he disdained to overstep the prescribed bound for the sake of producing effects equally at variance with nature and heterodox to good taste. In the scene where he quells the drunken brawl, his acting throughout was strikingly impressive of reality. Some of his ideas were novel, and beautifully accordant with the tone of the character which he wished to develop. Such was his recitation of the passage,—

From the general group he turned to a single attendant who stood at his elbow, and delivered the command in a subdued tone, as though it were not intended for the ear of the multitude. This, though effective, was judicious, and not overstrained. His dismissal of Cassio was equally illustrative of the spirit to which we have alluded. The audience testified their approbation by a loud burst of applause. The final scene with Iago was beautifully played: the gradual workings of his mind from calmness to jealousy were displayed with striking effect. The transitions of emotion in the following splendid passage were finely marked:

The burst of mixed passions with which he uttered the first of these sentences was terrific. His voice then sank into tones the most touching, expressive of complaining regret. The conclusion seemed to have excited him to the most extreme pitch of loathing and disgust, and, as he sees Desdemona advancing, he, for a few moments, gazed upon her with horror. The feeling gave way, and all his former tenderness seemed to return as he exclaimed,—

The subsequent scene with Iago, a trial of physical as well as mental strength, was well sustained. It is here that Iago, by a series of artful manoeuvres, screws the Moor up to the sticking-place. To the conclusion of the scene the vehement passions are continually increasing, and the difficulty is for an actor so to manage his powers as to give full effect to the whole, without sinking into apparent tameness in the last imprecation. We will not attempt any description of the bedchamber scene. The reiterated and protracted plaudits of the audience showed how highly it was appreciated. The dying-scene was equally novel and excellent. At the fall of the curtain the audience testified their delight and approbation by the most marked and vehement applause, which continued for several minutes."

The London Journal gave a long account of Forrest's Lear, of which this extract contains the substance:

"We have been much amused by the conflict of opinion respecting this representation. Some describe it as one of the most magnificent triumphs of this or any age. Another denounces the performance as an idle and false imposition, and the actor as an ignorant empiric, who has crossed the Atlantic solely to practise on the gullibility of John Bull. We do not think John quite so gullible; we do not believe that in matters of intellectual recreation he is so apt to take

We consider it may be pretty safely taken as a general rule that the large popularity of any artist is here synonymous only with great talent. We had also seen quite enough of Mr. Forrest to convince us that he is a man of real talent, with very little, if any, mere trickery in his acting, so that to stigmatize him as a quack or an impostor was as great a violation of truth as of good feeling. At the same time, it is right we should remark that the estimate we had formed of his genius, from his previous representations, was not sufficiently high to induce a belief in all that his eulogists pronounced on his Lear. We, therefore, came to the conclusion that in this case, as in others where opinions are so remote from each other, the truth would, probably, be found midway between the two extremes; and, on seeing and judging for ourselves on Monday night, found our conclusion fully warranted. The general conception of the 'poor old king' is most accurately taken, and his general execution of it fervid, earnest, and harmonious. He has evidently grappled with the character manfully, and he never lets go his hold. The carefulness of his study is sometimes a little too obvious, giving an injurious hardness and over-precision. The awful malediction of Goneril—that fearful curse, which can scarcely be even read without trembling—was delivered by Mr. Forrest with a power and intensity we never saw surpassed by any actor of Lear. It was an exhibition likely to follow a young play-goer to his pillow and mix itself with his dreams. Shakspeare has here given us a wild burst of uncontrolled and uncontrollable rage, mixed with a deep pathos, which connects the very terms of the curse with the cause of the passion,—an awful prayer for a retribution as just as terrible. All this Mr. Forrest evidently understood and felt; and he therefore made his audience feel it with him. The almost supernatural energy with which Lear seems to be carried on to the very termination of the malediction, when the passion exhausts itself and him, was portrayed by Mr. Forrest with fearful reality and effect. He also greatly excelled in the passage,—

His delivery of these lines was marked with the same truth and power as the curse, and very finely displayed the energy of will and impotence of action which form so touching a combination in Lear's character. But perhaps the very best point in Mr. Forrest's Lear, because the most delicate and difficult passage for an actor to realize, was his manner of giving the lines,—

This beautiful passage is extremely touching, and Mr. Forrest fully felt and adequately illustrated its pathos and its beauty."

Another of the authorities in British journalism, whose title the writer cannot recover, wrote thus:

"If Mr. Forrest is great in Othello, we do not hesitate to say he is much greater in Lear. Here the verisimilitude is perfect. From the moment of his entrance to the finely-portrayed death, every passion which rages in that brain—the love, the madness, the ambition, the despair—is given the more forcibly that it flashes through the feebleness of age. In that powerful scene where the bereaved monarch laments over his dead daughter, Mr. Forrest acted pre-eminently well. He bears in her lifeless body and makes such a moan over it as would force tears from a Stoic. None, we think, who heard him put the plaintive but powerful interrogatory,—

followed by the bitter and melancholy reflection,—

will ever forget the anguish depicted on Mr. Forrest's features, or the heart-piercing melancholy of his tones. Mr. Forrest evinced, throughout, a fine conception of the character. He did not surprise us by a burst of genius now and then. His performance was equable,—it was distinguished in every part by deep and intense feeling. The curse levelled against Goneril (one of the most fearful passages ever penned by man) was given with awful force. The last member of the speech—

was poured forth with an unrestrained but natural energy that acted like an electric shock on the audience; a momentary silence succeeded it; but immediately afterwards a simultaneous burst of applause attested the great triumph of the actor. His mad-scenes, when, delighting in a crown and sceptre of straw, Lear proclaims himself 'every inch a king,' were admirably conceived, and no less admirably acted. There was no straining after effect,—there was no grimacery. We saw before us the 'poor, weak, and despised old man,'—the 'more sinned against than sinning,'—reduced to a state of second childhood, and paying the too severe penalty which his folly and his credulity, in listening to the hyperboles of his elder daughters and rejecting the true filial affection of his youngest and once his most beloved child, exacted from him."

It may be well, also, to quote what was said by the "London Times" of November 5th:

"The part of Lear is one which many otherwise eminent actors have found above, or at least unsuited to, their capacities. Mr. Forrest played it decidedly better than anything he has as yet essayed in this country. His conception of the character is accurate, and his execution was uncommonly powerful and effective. If it be, as it cannot be disputed that it is, a test of an actor's skill that he is able to rivet the attention of the audience, and so to engage their thoughts and sympathies that they have not leisure even to applaud on the instant, he may be said to have succeeded most completely last night. From the beginning of the play to the end, it was obvious that he exercised this power over the spectators. While he was speaking, the most profound silence prevailed, and it was not until he had concluded that the delight of the audience vented itself in loud applause. This was particularly remarkable in his delivery of Lear's curse upon his daughters, the effect of which was more powerful than anything that has lately been done on the stage. It is not, however, upon particular passages that the excellence of the performance depended; its great merit was that it was a whole, complete and finished. The spirit in which it began was equally sustained throughout, and, as a delineation of character and passion, it was natural, true, and vigorous, in a very remarkable degree. The mad-scenes were admirably played; and the last painful scene, so painful that it might well be dispensed with, was given with considerable power. The great accuracy and fidelity with which the decrepitude of the aged monarch was portrayed was not among the least meritorious parts of the performance. The palsied head and quivering limbs were so correctly given as to prove that the actor's attention has been sedulously devoted to the attempt to make the performance as perfect as possible. A striking proof of his sense of the propriety of keeping up the illusion he had created was manifested in his reappearance, in obedience to the loud and general call of the audience, at the end of the tragedy. He came on, preserving the same tottering gait which he had maintained throughout, and bowed his thanks as much in the guise of Lear as he had acted in the drama. This would have been almost ridiculous in any but a very skilful actor: in him it served to prevent too sudden a dissipation of the dramatic illusion."

The critical notices of the Macbeth of Forrest were of the same average as the foregoing estimates of his other parts, though the faults pointed out were generally of a description the exact opposite of those currently ascribed to his acting. He was considered too subdued and tame in the part:

"Mr. Forrest essayed the difficult character of Macbeth, for the first time in this country, on Wednesday evening. We are inclined to think that this highly-gifted actor has not often attempted this part; because, though his performance displayed many noble traits of genius, yet it could not, as a whole, boast of that equally-sustained excellence by which his personation of Lear and of Othello was distinguished. We were highly gratified by his exertions in that part of the second act which commences with the 'dagger soliloquy,' and ends with Macbeth's exit, overwhelmed with fear, horror, and remorse. There is no man on the stage at present who could, in this scene, produce so terrific an effect. Never did we see the bitterness of remorse, the pangs of guilt-condemning conscience, so powerfully portrayed. The storm of feeling by which the soul of Macbeth is assailed, spoke in the agitated limbs of Mr. Forrest, and in the wild, unearthly glare of his eye, ere he had uttered a word. On his entrance after his bloody mission to Duncan's chamber, Mr. Forrest introduced a new and a very striking point. Absorbed in the recollection of the crime which he has committed, he does not perceive Lady Macbeth till she seizes his arm. Then, acting under the impulse of a mind fraught with horror, he starts back, uttering an exclamation of fear, as if his way had been barred by some supernatural power. This fine touch, so true to the scene and to nature, drew down several rounds of applause. In the banquet scene, too, his acting was very fine; and the greater part of the fifth act was supported with extraordinary energy. That passage in which, having heard that 'a wood does come toward Dunsinane,' Macbeth exclaims to the messenger,—

was delivered with astonishing force. Mr. Forrest gave those melancholy reminiscences which occasionally float over the saddened mind of Macbeth with intense and searching feeling. There was, however, in many parts of his performance a lack of power. Mr. Forrest was too subdued,—too colloquial. The speech of Macbeth, after the discovery of the murder,—

was delivered with most inappropriate calmness. Macbeth would have here 'assumed a virtue though he had it not,' and poured forth his complainings in a louder tone. Again, Macbeth's answer to Macduff, who demands why he has slain the sleepy grooms,—

was wholly deficient in spirit, until Mr. Forrest came to the last member of the sentence, which was given with due and proper emphasis. In the rencounter with Macduff, where Macbeth declares that he 'bears a charmed life,' the passage ought to be uttered as the proud boast of one who was confident of supernatural protection, and not in a taunting, sneering manner. Mr. Forrest's error is on the right side, and is very easily corrected. Doubtless, in his future performance of the character he will assume a higher tone in those parts of the play to which we have alluded."

The Morning Chronicle said,—

"Mr. Forrest appeared last evening in the character of Macbeth, and in the performance of it fully sustained the reputation he has already obtained in the parts of Othello and Lear. Mr. Forrest brings to the performance of Shakspeare's heroes an energy and vigor, tempered with a taste and judgment, such as we rarely find combined in any who venture to tread the stage. There is, besides, a reality in his acting, an actual identification of himself with the character he impersonates, stronger than in any actor we have ever seen. If this was remarkable in his performance of Othello and Lear, it is not less so in the performance of Macbeth. From the first act to the last—from his first interview with the weird sisters, whose vague prophecy instills into the mind that feeling of 'vaulting ambition' which leads him to the commission of so many crimes, to the last scene, in which he finds his charms dissolved, and begins, too late, to doubt 'the equivocation of the fiend'—he carried the audience completely with him, and made them at times wholly unmindful of the skill of the actor, from the interest excited in the actions of Macbeth."

In addition to his renderings of Spartacus, Othello, Lear, and Macbeth, Forrest appeared also as Damon, and achieved a success similar to that he had won in the same part at home.

"The part of Damon is decidedly beneath Mr. Forrest's acknowledged talents. No man could, however, have made more of the character than he did, whether he appeared as the stern, uncompromising patriot, the deep-feeling husband and father, or the generous and devoted friend. His rebuke of the slavish senate, who crouch at the feet of the tyrant Dionysius, was delivered with calm and earnest dignity; but his two great scenes were that in which he learns that his freedman, Lucullus, has slain his horse to prevent the anxious Damon from arriving in time to rescue his beloved Pythias from the hands of the executioner; and that with which the piece concludes, where, breathless and exhausted, he rushes into the presence of his despairing friend.

"The burst of passionate fury with which he assailed the affrighted freedman, in the former scene, was awfully fearful; and his expression of wild, frantic, overwhelming joy when he beholds Pythias in safety, and can only manifest his feelings by hysteric laughter, was perfectly true to nature. Mr. Forrest's performance was most amply and justly applauded."

The actor had every reason to feel well pleased with the results of his bold undertaking. His emotions are expressed in a letter written to his mother under date of Liverpool, January 2d, 1837, in the course of which he says,—

"Before this you have doubtless heard of my great triumphs in Drury Lane Theatre; though I must confess I did not think they treated the Gladiator and my friend Dr. Bird fairly. Yet, as far as regards myself, I never have been more successful, even in my own dear land. In the characters of Shakspeare alone would they hear me; and night after night in overwhelming crowds they came, and showered their hearty applause on my efforts. This, my dear mother, is a triumphant refutation of those prejudiced opinions so often repeated of me in America by a few ignorant scribblers, who but for the actors would never have understood one line of the immortal bard."

But a fuller statement of his impressions in London, with interesting glimpses of his social life there, is contained in a letter to Leggett:

"... My success in England has been very great. While the people evinced no great admiration of the Gladiator, they came in crowds to witness my personation of Othello, Lear, and Macbeth. I commenced my engagement on the 17th of October at 'Old Drury,' and terminated it on the 19th of December, having acted in all thirty-two nights, and represented those three characters of Shakspeare twenty-four out of the thirty-two, namely, Othello nine times, Macbeth seven, and King Lear eight,—this last having been repeated oftener by me than by any other actor on the London boards in the same space of time, except Kean alone. This approbation of my Shakspeare parts gives me peculiar pleasure, as it refutes the opinions very confidently expressed by a certain clique at home that I would fail in those characters before a London audience.

"But it is not only from my reception within the walls of the theatre that I have reason to be pleased with my English friends. I have received many grateful kindnesses in their hospitable homes, and in their intellectual fireside circles have drunk both instruction and delight. I suppose you saw in the newspapers that a dinner was given to me by the Garrick Club. Serjeant Talfourd presided, and made a very happy and complimentary speech, to which I replied. Charles Kemble and Mr. Macready were there. The latter gentleman has behaved in the handsomest manner to me. Before I arrived in England, he had spoken of me in the most flattering terms, and on my arrival he embraced the earliest opportunity to call upon me, since which time he has extended to me many delicate courtesies and attentions, all showing the native kindness of his heart, and great refinement and good breeding. The dinner at the Garrick was attended by many of the most distinguished men.

"I feel under great obligations to Mr. Stephen Price, who has shown me not only the hospitalities which he knows so well how to perform, but many other attentions which have been of great service to me, and which, from his long experience in theatrical matters, he was more competent to render than any other person. He has done me the honor to present me with a copy of Shakspeare and a Richard's sword, which were the property of Kean. Would that he could bestow upon me his mantle instead of his weapon! Mr. Charles Kemble, too, has tendered me, in the kindest manner, two swords, one of which belonged to his truly eminent brother, and the other to the great Talma, the theatrical idol of the grande nation.

"The London press, as you probably have noticed, has been divided concerning my professional merits; though as a good republican I ought to be satisfied, seeing I had an overwhelming majority on my side. There is a degree of dignity and critical precision and force in their articles generally (I speak of those against me, as well as for me, and others, also, of which my acting was not the subject) that place them far above the newspaper criticisms of stage performances which we meet with in our country. Their comments always show one thing,—that they have read and appreciated the writings of their chief dramatists; while with us there are many who would hardly know, were it not for the actors, that Shakspeare had ever existed. The audiences, too, have a quick and keen perception of the beauties of the drama. They seem, from the timeliness and proportion of their applause, to possess a previous knowledge of the text. They applaud warmly, but seasonably. They do not interrupt a passion and oblige the actor to sustain it beyond the propriety of nature; but if he delineates it forcibly and truly, they reward him in the intervals of the dialogue. Variations from the accustomed modes, though not in any palpable new readings,—which, for the most part, are bad readings, for there is generally but one mode positively correct, and that has not been left for us to discover,—but slight changes in emphasis, tone, or action, delicate shadings and pencillings, are observed with singular and most gratifying quickness. You find that your study of Shakspeare has not been thrown away; that your attempt to grasp the character in its 'gross and scope,' as well as in its details, so as not merely to know how to speak what is written, but to preserve its truth and keeping in a new succession of incidents, could it be exposed to them,—you find that this is seen and appreciated by the audience; and the evidence that they see and feel is given with an emphasis and heartiness that make the theatre shake.

"Though my success in London, and now here, has been great beyond my fondest expectations; though the intoxicating cup of popular applause is pressed nightly, overflowing, to my lips; and though in private I receive all sorts of grateful kindnesses and courtesies,—yet—yet—to tell the truth—there are moments when a feeling of homesickness comes upon me, and I would give up all this harvest of profit and fame which I am gathering, to be once more in my 'ain hame' and under 'the bright skies of my own free land.'"

The above estimate of British dramatic criticism is a little rose-colored, from the imperfect experience of the writer at the time. It was not long before he knew more of it in its less attractive aspect. For he found that the same unhappy influences of personal prejudice and spite, of ignorance and spleen, of cabal interest and corruption, which betrayed themselves in the American press, were conspicuously shown also in the English. Only a few months before the arrival of Forrest, a company of French players from Paris had attempted to perform in London, and had been subjected to treatment, through the instigation of the rival theatres, which had caused their failure and deeply disgraced and mortified the public. The intense self-interest and notorious jealousy of prominent players, as a class, produced in London, as elsewhere, cliques who set up as champions each of its favorite performer, and strove to advance him, not only by rightful means, but likewise by the illegitimate method of putting his competitors down. The chosen literary tool of a great tragedian, the newspaper critic who arrogates to represent his interests, very often volunteers services with which his principal has nothing to do. It was so in London while Forrest played in Drury Lane. Macready, Vandenhoff, Charles Kemble, Charles Kean, and Booth all had rival engagements. Three different newspapers were the respective organs of three of these actors. All three agreed in depreciating and abusing the stranger, while each one at the same time spoke with detraction and sneers of the favorites of the other two. While the general press spoke fairly of each performer, and gave Forrest such notices as more than satisfied him and his friends, these special papers indulged in fulsome eulogy of their chosen idol and assailed the others with satire and insult. For example, one writer says of Kean, "He stars in country theatres, where his power of exaggerating the faults of his father's acting gives delight to the unwashed of the gallery, who like handsome dresses, noise, stamping, bustle, and splutter." A second says of Booth, "Bunn, in his drowning desperation, catches at straws. He has put forward Booth, the shadow and foil of Kean in bygone days. His Richard seems to have been a wretched failure." A third says of Macready in Othello, in the scene with Iago and Brabantio, "He comes on the stage with the air of a sentimental negro rehearsing the part of Hamlet." And a fourth characterizes the voice of Macready "as a combination of grunt, guttural, and spasm." After such specimens of "criticism" on their own countrymen, one need not feel surprised to read notices of a foreigner, inspired by the same spirit, like the following from the "Examiner": "Mr. Forrest has appeared in Mr. Howard Payne's foolish compilation called Brutus. This is an American tragedy, and not ill-suited, on the whole, to Mr. Forrest's style. The result was amazingly disagreeable." The animus of such writing is so obvious to every person of insight that it falls short of its mark, and does no injury to the artist ridiculed. The writer shows himself, as one of his contemporaries said, not a critic, but a caviller,—a gad-fly of the drama.

Among the squibs that flew on all sides among the partisans, abounding in phrases like "the icy stilts and bombastic pomposity of Vandenhoff," "the stiff and disagreeable mannerism of Macready," "the affected, half-convulsive croaking of Charles Kean," "the awkward ignorance and brutality of Forrest," the American actor was treated, on the whole, as well as the English ones. A gentleman who had a private box in Drury Lane lent it to a friend to see Forrest in Othello. But it was one of his off-nights, in which Booth was substituted as Richard. The next morning these lines appeared in a public print, as full of injustice as such things usually are:

The impression he made, however, his great and unquestionable success, are best shown by certain salient facts with which the dramatic critics, prejudiced or unprejudiced, had nothing to do: the brilliant public banquet given in his honor by the Garrick Club, with Thomas Noon Talfourd in the chair; the exhibition, at the Somerset House, of his full-length portrait as Macbeth in the dagger-scene; and the numerous valuable presents made to him by various eminent men, including a superb original oil-portrait of Garrick;—these tell their own story. At the close of his first engagement a testimonial was given him by his fellow-actors, every one of them spontaneously joining in the contribution. It was, as the "Morning Herald" described it, "a splendid snuff-box of tortoise-shell, lined and mounted with gold, with a mosaic lid, and the inscription,—

"To Edwin Forrest, Esq., the American tragedian, from the performers of the Theatre Royal, Drury Lane, in testimony of their admiration of his talent as an actor, and their respect for him as a man. 'His worth is warrant for his welcome hither.'—Shakspeare."

The prolonged stay of Forrest in England was ostensibly to continue for another season the brilliant professional life there opened to him. But, in reality, a tenderer attraction constituted his principal motive. He had met in the fashionable circles of the art life of London a young lady of extreme beauty and of accomplished manners, thoroughly imbued with musical and dramatic tastes, who had quite won his heart. This was Catherine Norton Sinclair, daughter of a very distinguished English vocalist. Miss Sinclair, with much force of character and grace and vivacity of demeanor, had a personal loveliness which gave her distinction wherever she appeared, and an ingenuous sympathetic expression which made her a general favorite. She was the first and only woman whom Forrest, with all his earnest but not absorbing amours, had ever seriously thought of marrying. Her image, fixed in his bewitched imagination wherever he went, made him impatient to be with her again in fact. This was the magnet that drew him, after every departure, so quickly back to London. The maiden, on the other hand, was as much enamored as the man. More than thirty-six years afterwards, when he was lying cold in his coffin, and so much of joy and hope and pain and tragic grief lay buried between their separated souls, she said, "The first time I saw him—I recall it now as clearly as though it were but yesterday—the impression he made was so instantaneous and so strong, that I remember I whispered to myself, while a thrill ran through me, 'This is the handsomest man on whom my eyes have ever fallen.'" On meeting they were mutually smitten, and the passion grew, and no obstacles intervened, and they were betrothed. The intervals between his starring engagements in the chief cities of the United Kingdom he spent in courtship. It was a period of divine intoxication, which they alone who have had a kindred experience can understand, when life was all a current of bliss in a world sparkling with enchantment. A favorite poet has said,—

and it was in 1837, on one of the fairest days of an English June,—a day which, no doubt, they fondly supposed would stand thenceforth as the most golden in all the calendar of their lives,—that the happy pair were married, in the grand old cathedral of Saint Paul, in London. The officiating clergyman was the Rev. Henry Hart Milman, a man equally renowned as preacher, scholar, historian, and poet. The service was performed in an imposing manner, before a brilliant assemblage, with every propitious omen and the loving wishes of the multitude of friends whose sympathies were there from both sides of the sea. Then followed the long, delicious honeymoon, in which newly-wed lovers withdraw from the world to be all the world to each other. Every benediction hovered over them,—love, youth, health, beauty, fortune, the blessing of parents, the pride of friends, the gilded vision of popularity. Nor was the entrancement of their dream broken when they found themselves, in the autumn, at home in the Republic of the West, welcomed with outstretched hands by the friendly throng, who, as they came in sight, stood shouting on the shore.