and development--full of action, but the action of incident
rather than the action of stage situation. It had no "star" parts, but
every part was good, and the gloom of the story was made bearable by the
beauty of the atmosphere--of the _sea_, which played a bigger part in it
than any of the visible characters.

For the first time I played an old woman, a very homely old peasant
woman too. It was not a big part, but it was interesting, and in the
last act I had a little scene in which I was able to make the same kind
of effect that I had made years before in the last act of
"Ravenswood"--an effect of _quiet_ and stillness.

I flattered myself that I was able to assume a certain roughness and
solidity of the peasantry in "The Good Hope," but although I stumbled
about heavily in large sabots, I was told by the critics that I walked
like a fairy and was far too graceful for a Dutch fisherwoman! It is a
case of "Give a dog a bad name and hang him"--the bad name in my case
being "a womanly woman"! What this means I scarcely apprehend, but I
fancy it is intended to signify (in an actress) something sweet, pretty,
soft, appealing, gentle and _underdone_. Is it possible that I convey
that impression when I try to assume the character of a washerwoman or a
fisherwoman? If so I am a very bad actress!

My last Shakespearean part was Hermione in "A Winter's Tale." By some
strange coincidence it fell to me to play it exactly fifty years after I
had played the little boy Mamilius in the same play. I sometimes think
that Fate is the best of stage managers! Hermione is a gravely beautiful
part--well-balanced, difficult to act, but certain in its appeal. If
only it were possible to put on the play in a simple way and arrange the
scenes to knit up the raveled interest, I should hope to play Hermione
again.

MY STAGE JUBILEE

When I had celebrated my stage jubilee in 1906, I suddenly began to feel
exuberantly young again. It was very inappropriate, but I could not help
it.

The recognition of my fifty years of stage life by the public and by my
profession was quite unexpected. Henry Irving had said to me not long
before his death in 1905 that he believed that they (the theatrical
profession) "intended to celebrate our jubilee." (If he had lived he
would have completed his fifty years on the stage in the autumn of
1906.) He said that there would be a monster performance at Drury Lane,
and that already the profession were discussi