To this I attribute much of the beauty of our lighting.  I say “our” because this was a branch of Henry’s work in which I was always his chief helper.  Until electricity has been greatly improved and developed, it can never be to the stage what gas was.  The thick softness of gaslight, with the lovely specks and motes in it, so like natural light, gave illusion to many a scene which is now revealed in all its naked trashiness by electricity.

The artificial is always noticed and recognized as art by the superficial critic.  I think this is what made some people think Irving was at his best in such parts as Louis XI, Dubosc, and Richard III.  He could have played Louis XI three times a day “on his head,” as the saying is.  In “The Lyons Mail,” Dubosc the wicked man was easy enough—­strange that the unprofessional looker-on always admires the actor’s art when it is employed on easy things!—­but Lesurques, the good man in the same play ("The Lyons Mail"), was difficult.  Any actor, skillful in the tricks of the business, can play the drunkard; but to play a good man sincerely, as he did here, to show that double thing, the look of guilt which an innocent man wears when accused of crime, requires great acting, for “the look” is the outward and visible sign of the inward and spiritual emotion—­and this delicate emotion can only be perfectly expressed when the actor’s heart and mind and soul and skill are in absolute accord.

In dual parts Irving depended little on make-up.  Make-up was, indeed, always his servant, not his master.  He knew its uselessness when not informed by the spirit.  “The letter” (and in characterization grease-paint is the letter) “killeth—­the spirit giveth life.”  His Lesurques was different from his Dubosc because of the way he held his shoulders, because of his expression.  He always took a deep interest in crime (an interest which his sons have inherited), and often went to the police-court to study the faces of the accused.  He told me that the innocent man generally looked guilty and hesitated when asked a question, but that the round, wide-open eyes corrected the bad impression.  The result of this careful watching was seen in his expression as Lesurques.  He opened his eyes wide.  As Dubosc he kept them half closed.

Our plays from 1878 to 1887 were “Hamlet,” “The Lady of Lyons,” “Eugene Aram,” “Charles I.,” “The Merchant of Venice,” “Iolanthe,” “The Cup,” “The Belle’s Stratagem,” “Othello,” “Romeo and Juliet,” “Much Ado About Nothing,” “Twelfth Night,” “Olivia,” “Faust,” “Raising the Wind,” and “The Amber Heart.”  I give this list to keep myself straight.  My mental division of the years at the Lyceum is before “Macbeth,” and after.  I divide it up like this, perhaps, because “Macbeth” was the most important of all our productions, if I judge it by the amount of preparation and thought that it cost us and by the discussion which it provoked.