H. Howe:
(The “agricultural” actor, as Henry called him.)
“Boys, take my advice,
the stage is not the question,
But whether at three score
you’ll all have my digestion.
Why yearn for plays, to pose
as Brutuses or Catos in,
When you may get a garden
to grow the best potatoes in?
You see that at my age by
Nature’s shocks unharmed I am!
Tho’ if I sneeze but
thrice, good heavens, how alarmed I am!
But act your parts like men,
and tho’ you all great sinners are,
You’re sure to act like
men wherever Irving’s dinners are!”
J.H. Allen (our prompter):
“Whatever be the play, I must have a hand in it, For won’t I teach the supers how to stalk and stand in it? Tho’ that blessed Shakespeare never gives a ray to them, I explain the text, and then it’s clear as day to them![1] Plain as A B C is a plot historical, When I overhaul allusions allegorical! Shakespeare’s not so bad; he’d have more pounds and pence in him, If actors stood aside, and let me show the sense in him!”
[Footnote 1: Once when Allen was rehearsing the supers in the Church Scene in “Much Ado about Nothing,” we overheard him show the sense in Shakespeare like this:
“This ’Ero let me tell you is a perfect lady, a nice, innercent young thing, and when the feller she’s engaged to calls ’er an ’approved wanton,’ you naturally claps yer ’ands to yer swords. A wanton is a kind of—well, you know she ain’t what she ought to be!”
Allen would then proceed to read the part of Claudio:
“... not to knit my soul to an approved wanton.”
Seven or eight times the supers clapped their “’ands to their swords” without giving Allen satisfaction.
“No, no, no, that’s not a bit like it, not a bit! If any of your sisters was ’ere and you ’eard me call ‘er a ——, would yer stand gapin’ at me as if this was a bloomin’ tea party!”]
Louis Austin’s little “Lyceum Play” was presented to me with a silver water-jug, a souvenir from the company, and ended up with the following pretty lines spoken by Katie Brown, a clever little girl who played all the small pages’ parts at this time:
“Although I’m
but a little page,
Who waits for
Portia’s kind behest,
Mine is the part upon this
stage
To tell the plot
you have not guessed.
“Dear lady, oft in Belmont’s
hall,
Whose mistress
is so sweet and fair,
Your humble slaves would gladly
fall
Upon their knees,
and praise you there.
“To offer you this little
gift,
Dear Portia, now
we crave your leave,
And let it have the grace
to lift
Our hearts to
yours this Christmas eve.
“And so we pray that
you may live
Thro’ many,
many, happy years,
And feel what you so often
give—
The joy that is
akin to tears!”