parlour, in which we used a
harpsichord, and were accused of pedantry for our pains, did not look
so well at the Lyceum as at the Court. The stage was too big for it.
The critics said that I played Olivia better at the Lyceum, but I did
not feel this myself.
At first Henry did not rehearse the Vicar at all well. One day, when
he was stamping his foot very much as if he were Mathias in "The
Bells," my little Edy, who was a terrible child _and_ a wonderful
critic, said:
"Don't go on like that, Henry. Why don't you talk as you do to me and
Teddy? At home you _are_ the Vicar."
The child's frankness did not offend Henry, because it was
illuminating. A blind man had changed his Shylock; a little child
changed his Vicar. When the first night came, he gave a simple,
lovable performance. Many people now understood and liked him as they
had never done before. One of the things I most admired in it was his
sense of the period.
[Illustration: ELLEN TERRY AS "OLIVIA"
FROM A DRAWING BY ERIC PAPE]
[Illustration: _Copyrighted by Window & Grove_
ELLEN TERRY AS OLIVIA]
In this, as in other plays, he used to make his entrance in the _skin_
of the part. No need for him to rattle a ladder at the side to get up
excitement and illusion, as another actor is said to have done. He
walked on and was the simple-minded old clergyman, just as he had
walked on a prince in "Hamlet" and a king in "Charles I."
A very handsome woman, descended from Mrs. Siddons and looking exactly
like her, played the Gipsy in "Olivia." The likeness was of no use,
because the possessor of it had no talent. What a pity!
_"Olivia" a Family Play_
"Olivia" has always been a family play. Edy and Ted walked on the
stage for the first time in the Court "Olivia." In later years Ted
played Moses, and Edy made her first appearance in a speaking part as
Polly Flamborough, and has since played both Sophia and the Gipsy. My
brother Charlie's little girl, Beatrice, made her first appearance as
Bill, a part which her sister Minnie had already played; my sister
Floss played Olivia on a provincial tour, and my sister Marion played
it at the Lyceum when I was ill.
I saw Floss in the part, and took from her a lovely and sincere bit of
"business." In the third act, where the Vicar has found his erring
daughter and has come to take her away from the inn, I always
hesitated at my entrance, as if I were not quite sure what reception
my father would give me afte
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