well acquainted (through literal translations) not
only with the text, but also with the notes and comments
of our leading critics. In speaking of the part
in which he is altogether unrivaled he said, “I
am of opinion that Shakespeare intended Othello to
be a Moor of Barbary or some other part of Northern
Africa, of whom there were many in Italy during the
sixteenth century. I have met several, and think
I imitate their ways and manners pretty well.
You are aware, however, that the historical Othello
was not a black at all. He was a white man, and
a Venetian general named Mora. His history resembles
that of Shakespeare’s hero in many particulars.
Giraldo Cinthio, probably for better effect, made
out of the name Mora, moro, a blackamoor; and
Shakespeare, unacquainted with the true story, followed
this old novelist’s lead; and it was well he
did so, for have we not in consequence the most perfect
delineation of the peculiarities of Moorish temperament
ever conceived?” The costumes worn by Salvini
in this play are copied from those depicted in certain
Venetian pictures of the fifteenth century in which
several Moorish officers appear. It took him
many years to master this role, and he assured
me he could not play it more than three times in succession
without experiencing terrible fatigue. “It
is a matter of wonder to me,” he observed, “that
English actors can play a great character like this
so many nights in succession; and, above all, that
they retain self-possession whilst the fidgety noise
of scene-shifting is going on behind them. To
avoid this, I have been obliged to cut Othello
into six acts, and to make many changes in Hamlet.”
The intensity of feeling with which he throws himself
into the part he is representing was especially evident
on the occasion of his playing Saul. After the
performance I was invited to go behind the scenes
to speak with him, and was surprised as well as pained
to find him utterly exhausted. I could not help
saying, “How can you exert yourself thus to please
so few people?” There were scarcely four hundred
persons assembled to see this sublime performance.
He answered with honest simplicity, “They have
paid their money, and are entitled to the best I can
do for them; besides that, when I am on the stage
I forget the world and all that is in it, and live
the character I represent.” “You will,”
said I, “make a grand Lear.” “Yes,”
he replied, “I think I shall be able to make
something out of the old king. I have been reading
the tragedy for some time, but it will still take
me two years to study it thoroughly.”
Salvini related to me several anecdotes which show how quick he is to master any difficulties accident throws in his way. “Once I bought,” he said, “a play of a poor young writer which I thought I could make something of; but when we came to rehearse it for the last time before representation, it seemed to me utterly flat and unprofitable. The piece was called La Suonatrice d’Arpa