SECOND PROFESSIONAL TOUR IN GREAT BRITAIN, AND ITS
CONSEQUENCES.—THE MACREADY CONTROVERSY2 AND RIOT.
Few persons have any adequate idea of the prevalence, the force, the subtile windings3 of envy and jealousy4 among men, especially among those classes into whose life the principle of rivalry5 directly enters. The more patiently and profoundly any one studies the workings of these passions in his own soul, the larger will be his estimate of the part they play in society. And then, if his experience be such as to admit him to the secrets behind the scenes of social life, revealing to him the selfish collusions, plots, bribes8, and wire-pullings concealed9 beneath the conventional appearances of openness and fair-play, his allowance for the operation of sinister11 forms of self-love will receive another important enlargement. No other class is so keenly beset13 by these malign14 suspicions and grudges15, these base motives17 to depreciate18 and supplant19 one another, as those who are competitors for public admiration20 and applause. There are obvious reasons for this fact, and the fact itself is notorious and unquestionable. The annals of the stage in all its departments, tragic22, comic, operatic, teem23 and reek24 with the animosities and cabals25 of those who have seemed to dislike one another in even proportion as they were favorites of the public. Forrest, with all his faults, was remarkably26 free from this mean and odious27 vice28 of professional envy. He never sought by hidden means or dishonorable arts of any kind either to gain laurels29 for himself or to tarnish30 or tear off the laurels of others. He was always ready to applaud merit in another, and always rejoiced generously to have his fellow-actors generously praised when they deserved it. When on the stage, he did not strive to monopolize31 everything, and add greatness and lustre32 to his own part by belittling33 and darkening the parts of others. He was not that kind of man. He had too
[Pg 388]
strong a sense of justice, too much pride and too much sympathy, to be capable of such action. The form his self-love took when excited in hostility34 was an angry resentment35 of injustice36. The injustice might be fancied sometimes, but it was that which he identified with the offender37, and hated accordingly. And his wrath38 manifested itself not in secret or overt39 measures of injury, not in a silent malignity40 circulating poisonously in the heart and brain, but in frank and passionate41 expression on the spot, in hot gestures, flashes of face, and strokes of voice. He vented42 his indignation extravagantly44, like Boythorn, but elaborated no methods of doing harm, and was incapable45, in his haughty46 self-respect, of purchasing a critic or consciously slandering48 a rival.
Garrick had such a prurient49 vanity, so morbid50 a dread51 of censure52 and love of praise, that he not only persuaded hostile critics not to attack him and friendly ones to write him up, but also freely used his own skilful53 pen for the same purpose. He wrote anonymous54 feeble condemnations of his own acting56, and then replied to them anonymously57 with convincing force, thus inflaming58 the public interest. Voltaire is well known to have done the same thing. But these were both men of vanity, not of pride. Vanity hates rivals, and is monopolizing59 and revengeful, and a mother of all meannesses. Pride furiously resents attacks on itself, but does not spontaneously attack others. It asks but freedom and a fair field. Deny these, and it grows dangerous. When any one assailed60 or undertook to lower Daniel Webster, he was met with the most imperious repulse61 and transcendent scorn. The kindling62 wrath of the haughty giant was terrible. But the mere63 supposition that he could ever have stooped to offer a bribe7 to any one, or to curry64 favor of any one, is absurd. Forrest was a man of the same mould. The anger of such natures at any meddlesome65 attempt to disparage67 them has this moral ground, namely, it is their aroused instinct of spiritual self-preservation. The man of vulgar inferiority, in his coarse and complacent68 stolidity69, cares little for the estimates others put on him. But the man conscious of a great superiority—a Webster or a Forrest—is keenly alive to whatever threatens it. His sphere of mental life enormously surpasses his sphere of physical life. The elemental rhythm of his being, which marks the key-note of his
[Pg 389]
constitution and destiny, has a more massive and sensitive swing in him than in average persons, and his feelings are intensely quick to drive back every hostile or demeaning valuation ideally shrivelling and lowering his rank. The consciousness of such a man is so vital and intelligent that it intuitively reports to him every sneer71, derogatory judgment72, or insulting look, as something intended to compress and hamper73 his being of its full volume and freedom of function. Thus Forrest could not meekly74 submit to be undervalued or snubbed; but he had no natural impulse to undervalue or snub others, or to imagine that they stood in his way and must be thrust aside.
The distinguished75 English actor, William Charles Macready, with whom circumstances brought the American into a professional rivalry which deepened into bitter enmity, was a man in every respect of a very different type. All his life he had an extreme distaste and a moral aversion to his profession; yet, by dint76 of incessant77 intellectual and mechanical drill, he placed himself for a term of years at its head in Great Britain. He was of vanity and irritability78 and egotistic exactingness79 all compact, insanely sensitive to neglect and censure, greedily avid80 of notice and admiration. He seemed scarcely to live in the direct goals of life for their own sakes, but to be absorbed in their secondary reflections in his own self-consciousness and in his imaginations of the opinions of other people concerning him and his affairs. A man of a morbidly81 introspective habit, a discontented observer, a spiritual dyspeptic, he coveted82 social preferment and shrank from the plebeian83 crowd,—
"And 'twas known
He sickened at all triumphs not his own."
This severe estimate is unwillingly84 recorded, but it is amply justified85 by his own memoirs86 of himself, posthumously87 published under the editorship of his literary executor. His diary so abounds88 in confessions89 and instances of bad temper, vanity, arrogance90, angry jealousy, and rankling91 envy, that it serves as a pillory92 in which he exhibits himself as a candidate for contempt. In an article on "Macready's Reminiscences," the "Quarterly Review" (English) says, "Actors have an evil reputation for egotism and jealousy. No one ever lay more heavily under this
[Pg 390]
imputation than Mr. Macready while on the stage. We have heard the greatest comedian94 of his time say of him, 'Macready never could see any merit in any actor in his own line until he was either dead or off the stage.' The indictment95 was sweeping96, but this book almost bears it out. In his own words, the echo of applause, unless given to himself, fills him 'with envious97 and vindictive98 feelings.' He abhors99 and despises his own profession. While still on the stage he says, 'It is an unhappy life. We start at every shadow of an actor, living in constant dread of being ousted100 from popularity by some new favorite.' After leaving the stage he says, 'I can now look my fellow-men, whatever their station, in the face and assert my equality.' And these things he says in the face of the fact that he owed all his consequence to his success as an actor."
Macready had played a successful series of engagements in the United States in 1843. He was well received, much praised, and carried home a handsome sum, though the profit was mostly his own, since the managers generally made little, and many of them actually lost by him. He was not popular with the multitude, but was favored by the selecter portion of the public. His enjoyment101, too, of the eulogies102 written on his acting was a good deal dashed by the censure and detraction103 in which some of the writers for the press indulged. His social success, however, was unalloyed. He and Forrest up to this time were on good terms, terms of genuine kindness, though any strong friendship was out of the question between natures so incompatible104. Forrest had honorably refused urgent invitations from several managers of theatres in different cities to play for them at the time Macready was acting in rival houses. The two or three weeks of his engagement in New York Macready spent in the house of Forrest, who received a very cordial letter of thanks from Mrs. Macready, in London, in acknowledgment of his generous attentions and hospitality to her absent husband.
There were at that time many Englishmen connected with the leading newspapers in this country. They naturally felt that the cause of Macready was their own, and expatiated105 on the beauties of his performances, not a little to the disparagement106 of the American player. On the other hand, the national feeling of other writers affirmed the greater merits of their own tragedian.
[Pg 391]
By natural affinity108 the English party drew to themselves the dilettante110 portion of the upper stratum111 of society, the so-called fashionable and aristocratic, while the general mass of the people were the hearty113 admirers of Forrest. The cold and measured style of the foreigner, his rigid114 mannerism115 and studied artificiality, were frequently spoken of in unfavorable contrast with the free enthusiasm, the breathing sincerity117 and impassioned power, of the native player. Forrest was called a rough jewel of the first water, who scorned to heighten his apparent value by false accompaniments; Macready a paste gem12, polished and set off with every counterfeit118 gleam art could lend. The fire of the one was said to command honest throbs119 and tears; the icy glitter of the other, the dainty clappings of kid gloves. Such expressions plainly betray the spirit that was working. These comparisons—though there were enough of an opposite character, painting the Englishman as a king, Forrest as a boor—greatly irked and nettled121 Macready. And it was known that he went back to England with a good deal of soreness on this point.
When Forrest made his first appearance in London, at Covent Garden Theatre, a few months after the return of Macready from his American trip, the latter, as well as all his compeers, Charles Kemble, Charles Kean, and Vandenhoff, was without any London engagement. This circumstance of itself was calculated to quicken jealousy towards an intruding123 foreigner who threatened to attract much attention. However, as it is known that Forrest had nothing to do with the depreciating124 notices of Macready written in America, it is to be supposed that none of the English tragedians had any hand whatever in the scurrilous125 critiques of Forrest written in their country, or in the attempt made to break him down and drive him from the London stage. But such conspicuous126 personages always have in their train, among the meaner fry of dramatic critics and their hangers-on, plenty of henchmen who are eager to do anything in the fancied service of their lords, even to the discredit127 and against the will of those whose cause they affect to sustain.
On the evening of the 17th of February, 1845, as Forrest appeared in the character of Othello, he was saluted128 with a shower of hisses130, proceeding131 from three solid bodies of claqueurs, packed in three different parts of the house. So often as the legitimate132
[Pg 392]
audience attempted any expression of approval, it was overpowered by these organized emissaries. Beyond any doubt it was a systematic134 plan arranged in advance under the stimulus135 of national prejudice and personal interest, whoever its responsible authors were or were not. Forrest, though profoundly annoyed, gave no open recognition whatever of the outrage136, but went steadily137 on with his performance to the end. The next evening, when he played Macbeth, the disturbances138 were more determined139 than before; but the large majority of the crowded assembly upheld the actor by their applause, and again he gave no heed140 to the interruptions and insults. The force of the conspiracy141 was broken, and gave no further overt signal, and the engagement was played through triumphantly143. But Forrest left Covent Garden with a bitter and angry mind. He ruminated144 unforgivingly, as it was his nature to, on the injurious and unprovoked treatment he had received. For the hisses, suborned as they evidently were, did not constitute the worst abuse he had to bear. Three or four of the London newspapers, known as organs of special dramatic interests, most notably145 the organ of the bosom146 friend of Macready, noticed him and his performances in a tone of comment shamefully147 without warrant in truth. A few specimens149 will suffice to prove the justice of this statement:
"Mr. Forrest's Othello is a burlesque150 of the elder Kean's mannerisms, his air of depressed151 solemnity, prolonged pauses, and startling outbursts, with occasional imitations of Vandenhoff's deep-voiced utterance152, varied153 by the Yankee nasal twang. His presence is not commanding, nor his deportment dignified154; for the assumption of grandeur155 is not sustained by an imaginative feeling of nobleness. His passion is a violent effort of physical vehemence156. He bullies157 Iago, and treats Desdemona with brutal158 ferocity. Even his tenderness is affected159, and his smile is like the grin of a wolf showing his fangs160. The killing161 of Desdemona was cold-blooded butchery."
"Our old friend Mr. Forrest afforded great amusement to the public by his performance of Macbeth. Indeed, our best comic actors do not often excite so great a quantity of mirth. The change from an inaudible murmur162 to a thunder of sound was enormous. But the grand feature was the combat, in which he stood scraping his sword against that of Macduff. We were at a
[Pg 393]
loss to know what this gesture meant, till an enlightened critic in the gallery shouted out, 'That's right! sharpen it!'"
"Of Mr. Edwin Forrest's coarse caricature of Lear we caught a glimpse that more than sufficed to show that the actor had no conception of the part. His Lear is a roaring pantaloon, with a vigorous totter164, a head waving as indefatigably165 as a china image, and lungs of prodigious166 power. There only wanted the candlewick mustaches to complete the stage idea of a choleric167 despot in pantomime."
"Mr. Forrest's Richard the Third forms no exception to those murderous attacks upon Shakspeare which this gentleman has so ruthlessly made since his arrival amongst us. Since the time of that elder Forrest, who had such a hand in the murder of the princes in the Tower, we may not inappropriately take this last execution of Richard at Drury Lane to be
'The most arch deed of piteous massacre168
That ever yet this land was guilty of.'
"We have tried very hard, since witnessing the performance, to discover the principle or intention of it; but to no effect. We remember some expressions, however, in an old comedy of Greene's, which may possibly suggest something to the purpose. 'How,' says Bubble, on finding himself dressed out very flauntingly indeed,—'how apparel makes a man respected! The very children in the street do adore me!' In almost every scene Mr. Forrest blazed forth169 in a new and most oppressively-gilded dress, for which he received precisely170 the kind of adoration171 that the simple Bubble adverts172 to."
But while the hostile papers characterized the change in the acting of Forrest from what it was on his earlier visit as an unaccountable deterioration173, and censured174 him without reason, other journals took up his defence, praised his performances warmly, and affirmed that he had made great improvement. What the former stigmatized175 as a becoming dull, cold, and formal, the latter eulogized as an outgrowing176 of former extravagance and an acquiring of refinement177, measure, and repose178. As he went on playing, his opponents diminished in numbers and virulence179, while his supporters increased, and at last he had conquered a real triumph. It will be well to quote a few of the notices which appeared in
[Pg 394]
friendly and impartial180 quarters in contrast to those of an opposite character already cited.
The Athenæum, in speaking of his opening night in Macbeth, said, "Mr. Forrest's former manner has received considerable modification182 and become mellowed183 with experience. He has learned that repose is the final grace of art. In the startling crises of the play his voice and action, both without effort, spring forth with crushing effect, not because he is an actor who chooses thus to manifest strength, but because he is a strong man, who simply exerts his excited energies. Macbeth, as he now performs it, is a calm and stately, almost a sculpturesque, piece of acting."
The Sun called his Lear a decisive triumph, and used the following words:
"Those contrasts, in which he delights, all tell well in the character of Lear, and they were used with excellent discrimination and great effect. There was something appalling184 in the bursts of fury with which that weak-bodied but intensely-impassioned old man was occasionally convulsed. The tottering185 gait, the palsied head, the feeble footsteps of old age were admirably given; but the deep voice and the manly186 contour of the figure showed that it was the old age of one who had been, in the heyday187 of life, 'every inch a king.' It was the old oak tottering to its fall, but the monarch188 of the forest still. The passion, too, was most artistically189 worked up to a climax190, increasing in intensity191 from the scene in which he casts off Cordelia, through the scene in which he curses Goneril, until in the scene in which he becomes convinced of the treason of Goneril, when it became the desolating192 hurricane, destroying even reason itself. The scenes with Edgar were beautifully given. The different phases of the approach of madness were admirably marked. You could see, as it were, reason descending193 from her throne. The scene with Gloucester, too, was very fine; the biting apothegms which Shakspeare has in this scene put into the mouth of Lear were given with heartless, bitter, scornful, laughing sarcasm194, which is perhaps one of the most unfailing characteristics of madness. The recognition of Cordelia was beautifully touching195, and the lament196 over her dead body was given with an expression of heart-rending pathos198 of which we did not before imagine Mr. Forrest capable."
The praise given by the Times was still more emphatic199:
[Pg 395]
"Mr. Forrest's Lear is, from beginning to end, a very masterly, intelligent, and powerful performance, giving evidence of the most careful and attentive200 study of the author's meaning, steering201 clear, at the same time, of all fine-drawn subtleties202 and tricky203 point-making, and affording a well-grasped and evenly-sustained impersonation of that magnificent and soul stirring creation. He is certainly a better Lear than any our own stage has afforded for some time. Although, from Mr. Forrest's personal appearance, one would with difficulty imagine him capable of looking the old man, fourscore and upwards204, all the attributes of age and feebleness, the palsied head and tottering walk, are admirably assumed, and are never lost sight of throughout the performance. At his first appearance he was received with considerable applause, which was repeatedly renewed as he continued with the scene,—commencing in a tone of kingly dignity and paternal205 affection, and, after Cordelia's reply, gradually giving place to the suppressed workings of his rage, which at last burst forth, at Kent's interference, into an ungovernable storm, and lit up his features with the most withering207 expression of fury. The curse at the end of the second act, which was pronounced by Mr. Forrest in one scream of rage, his body tremulously agitated209 with the violence of his emotion, brought down burst after burst of applause, which lasted considerably210 after the fall of the drop; and indeed an attempt was made to introduce that very unusual compliment when the play is still unfinished, a call for the actor. Such displays of physical power, although in this instance perfectly211 called for and necessary, are not, however, the chief or the best points on which the merits of Mr. Forrest's performance rest. The scene where he discovers Kent in the stocks, and is subsequently confronted with his two daughters, whose insults finally drive him off distracted, was acted with great play and variety of expression,—Mr. Forrest passing from one emotion to the other with childish fitfulness, and displaying a keen and discriminate212 perception. The mad scenes also in no less degree evinced the higher qualities of the actor. The declamatory bursts of passionate satire213 on the vices214 and weaknesses of the world, chaotically215 mingled217 with the incoherences of madness, had evidently been a subject of minute study, and were shaded with admirable nicety, the features constantly expressing the alternate
[Pg 396]
return of light and darkness on the old man's brain. In the last act, the touching simplicity218 and tenderness of his manner, when too exhausted219 for violent emotion, and the last burst of feverish220 energy over the body of Cordelia, were equally well conceived. If there be any fault to find, it was with the death, which was, perhaps, too minutely true in its physical details.
"Mr. Forrest was called for at the conclusion, and received enthusiastic marks of approbation221."
The following extract is from a notice of his Othello by the John Bull:
"Mr. Forrest's former visit to this country must be fresh in the memory of theatrical222 amateurs. His talents were then generally admitted; but it was remarked that, though he possessed223 force, it was more of a physical than a moral kind, and that his action was more akin181 to melodrama224 than to tragedy. Since that time Mr. Forrest seems considerably changed, and for the better. His action has become more quiet, chaste225, and subdued226. It is now, perhaps, too careful and measured, and we rather missed something of his former rough and somewhat extravagant43 energy. We cannot help thinking that one or two of our contemporaries have relied rather on their remembrance of what Mr. Forrest was than their perception of what he is. On the whole, his representation of Othello well merited the immense applause it received."
Scores of notices like these in the best portion of the English press prove conclusively227 enough the malignity of writers who could denounce their American visitor as a theatrical impostor, worthy228 of nothing but contempt. The London Observer, for example, could find nothing better to say of the Metamora of Forrest than this: "His whole dramatic existence is a spasm229 of rage and hatred230, and his whole stage-life one continuous series of murder, arson231, and destruction to life and property in its most hideous232 form. What a pity he could not be let loose upon the drab-colored swindlers of Pennsylvania! Mr. Forrest did not indicate one of the characteristics of the American Indian except that wretched combination of sounds between a whine233, a howl, and a gobble, which is designated the war-whoop by those who think more of poetry than of truth. Besides this sin of omission234, he has to answer for those sins of commission which so sadly
[Pg 397]
deface his impersonation of every part he has appeared in, namely, that cool, nonchalant manner, that slow motion, and that ridiculous style of elocution, now whispering, now conversational235, ever and anon screaming, roaring, bellowing236, and raving237, but never sustained, truthful238, or dignified:
"'List to that voice! Did ever discord239 hear
Sounds so well fitted to her untuned ear?'"
The Age and Argus spoke116 of the most extraordinary contrast of the conduct of a part of the press towards Mr. Forrest to the treatment he received when he acted at Drury Lane in 1836, and said, "Many persons intimate that had he been now engaged there instead of appearing at the Princess's, the theatrical reporters would have been unable to discover a single fault in his performances,—managerial tact240 being competent to guide the honest opinions of most of these gentry241. The 'Observer' endeavors to depict242 Mr. Forrest as a fool, an idiot, whose performance is simply ludicrous; albeit243 we have reason to believe the writer is the self-same person who seven years ago tried to write him up as a first-rate tragedian."
Forrest thought, from some direct proofs and a mass of circumstantial evidence, he could trace the fierce hostility with which he was met to its chief source in Macready. He may have been mistaken; but such was his belief. Macready, returning from America irritated towards him as a more than formidable rival before the people, was now idle, and had repeatedly failed to draw a remunerative244 audience in London. In fact, such was the temper of the man that when manager Bunn was nightly losing money by him, and, in order to make him break his engagement, purposely vexed245 him by casts which he disliked, he one night rushed off the stage in a fury, and, without a word of provocation246, fell on Bunn, a much smaller and weaker man, and beat him so dreadfully that the poor manager lay in bed in frightful247 agony for two weeks. He was prosecuted248, convicted, and forced to pay a hundred and fifty pounds damages. Macready was the intimate friend of the theatrical critic who abused Forrest the most unrelentingly. He was the intimate friend of Bulwer Lytton, who refused the request of Forrest to be allowed to appear in his two plays of "Richelieu" and "The Lady of Lyons."
[Pg 398]
He was the intimate friend of Mitchel, the manager of the English theatrical company in Paris, who rudely refused to see Forrest when he applied249 to him for an interview. This last circumstance was especially mortifying250, as he had informed his friends before leaving home that he intended to perform in Paris, and flattering notices of him and of his purposed appearance among them had been published in the French press.[A] Macready himself had failed to make an impression in Paris, and the English company there was not pecuniarily251 successful. Forrest believed, whether correctly or not, that his rival had interfered252 to prevent his engagement there. Thus his antagonism253 was edged with a sharper hate.
[A]
"Forrest a reçu le surnom de Talma de l'Amérique, et ce surnom n'est point immérité. Forrest, de stature254 plus grande, plus athlétique que Talma, a avec lui une certaine ressemblance de tête. Il a étudié ce grand modèle auquel il a gardé une sorte de culte, et, dans son dernier voyage de Paris, en 1834, sa première visite fut à la tombe du grande artiste, sur laquelle il alla modestement et secrètement déposer une couronne. Il y a quelque choses de touchant et d'éloquent dans cet hommage apporté des rives lointaines du Nouveau-Monde à celui qui fut le roi du théâtre européen. Forrest a dans son répertoire certains rôles qui auront pour le public français un grand attrait de nouveauté. Tel est, par6 exemple, celui de l'Indien Metamora, qu'il rend197 avec tant d'énergie et de sauvage vérité. A son talent de premier255 ordre, Forrest a dû non-seulement une réputation sans rivale en ce pays, mais encore une très-belle fortune. Il est aussi haut placé comme homme que comme artiste. Il est l'un des tribuns les plus éloquents du parti démocrate, et il été un moment question de le nommer représentant du peuple au congrès. Il a donc tout256 espèce de titres à une réception brillante et digne de lui de la part du peuple parisien, si hospitalier à toutes les gloires. A sa titres nombreux à cette hospitalité, M. Forrest en a ajouté un encore, s'il est possible, par la manière honorable et cordiale dont il a parlé de la France dans le discours d'adieu qu'il a adressé l'autre jour aux habitans de Philadelphie. Voici la fin109 de ce speech: 'Pendant le voyage que je vais faire à l'étranger, je me propose de donner quelque représentations dans la capitale de la France, où je recevrai, je n'en doute pas, l'accueil le plus bienveillant et le plus cordial. Je crois que je ne hasarde rien en osant tant espérer. Je parle d'après ma connaissance personnelle du peuple français, au sein duquel je sais qu'un Américain est toujours bien venu. Un Américain se souvient avec gratitude257 que la France a été l'alliée, l'amie de son pays, dans la guerre de son indépendance, et la nation française n'a point oublié que c'est à l'exemple de l'Amérique qu'elle doit son initiation258 à la grande cause de la liberté humaine.'"
Meanwhile, the respective adherents259 of the rivals fanned the flames of the quarrel by their constant recriminations in the press, and kept the controversy spreading. Criticisms, accusations260, rejoinders, flew to and fro between the assailants and the cham
[Pg 399]
pions of each side. An extract from an article by one of the best-informed of the English friends of the American actor, though obviously written with a bias261, yet throws light in several directions. He says, "There are half a dozen writers for the press in London who are recipients263 of constant attentions from the clique264 with which Macready lives, a clique of wits, artists, authors, and men-about-town, who hover265 in the outskirts266 of high life and form a barrier stratum between the lesser267 aristocracy and the critics. The critics support upward, the clique transmit notice downward, and Macready controls this clique by the consequence he has as favored by the noblemen who play the patron to his profession. Forrest is a true republican, and cannot be a courtier,—
'He would not flatter Neptune268 for his trident.'
He neglects the finical rules and scorns to observe the demands of the courtly circles which arrogate269 all superiority to themselves." Under these circumstances a growing dislike and a final collision between the men were inevitable270 by the logic271 of human nature.
Thus the quarrel went on, nor was confined to the scene of combat. Its echoes rolled back to America, growing as they went, and adding, somewhat extravagantly, to their individual import a national significance. A long article appeared in the "Democratic Review," entitled "Mr. Forrest's Second Reception in England." A portion of it will be found still to possess interest and suggestiveness:
"It is the fortune of this country to send over the water from time to time men who are palpable and obvious embodiments of its spirit, and who do not fail, therefore, to stir the elements among which they are cast.
"Daniel Webster was one of these; and we all recollect273 how his motions were watched, his words chronicled, his looks at court, in Parliament, and at agricultural dinners taken down. They felt that he was a genuine piece of the country, and, in presence of his oak-ribbed strength of person and understanding, acknowledged that he belonged to the land he came from. Mr. Forrest is another of these; quite as good in his way; struck out of the very heart of the soil, and vindicating275 himself too clearly to be misunderstood, as a creature of its institutions, habits, and daily life. His biography is a chapter in the life of the country; and
[Pg 400]
taking him at the start, as he appears on the Bowery stage (a rugged276, heady, self-cultured mass of strength and energy thrown down in the most characteristic spot in the American metropolis), and running on with him through all his career, in the course of which it became necessary for him more than once to take society by the collar, down to the day when, in his brass-buttoned coat, he set out for this second expedition to Europe, we shall find him American every inch, the growth of the place, and well entitled to make a stir among the smooth proprieties277 of the Princess's Theatre. And he has done so. When, after an absence of something like seven years, he heaves up his sturdy bulk against the foot-lights on the English house, the audience know him at once to be genuine: but lurking278 in the edges of the place are certain sharp-eyed gentlemen, who in the very teeth of the unquestionable force before them, massive, irregular it may be, discover that Mr. Forrest has lapsed279 from his early manner, and has subsided280 into tameness and effeminacy!
"Mr. Forrest's English position at this moment is, in our view, just what his true friends would desire. He is carrying his audiences with him; and has from the press just the amount of resistance required to rouse him to new efforts, and to bring out the whole depth and force of New-Worldism in him, to play an engagement such as he has never played before, and to measure himself in assured strength by the side of the head of the English school.
"Mr. Macready, an admirable performer, succeeds by subduing281 all of the man within him; because he ceases, in the fulfilment of his function as an actor, to have any fellowship with the beatings and turmoils282 and agitations283 of the heart. He is classical in spirit, in look, and action.
"It is because he is a man of large heart, and does not forget it in all the mazes284 of the stage, that Mr. Forrest has sway with the house. He never loses sight of the belief that it is he, a man, with men before him, who treads the boards, and asks for tears, and sobs285, and answers of troubled hearts. It is no painted shadow you see in Forrest; no piece of costume; no sword or buckler moving along the line of light as in a procession; but a man, there to do his four hours' work; it may be sturdily, and with great outlay286 of muscular power, but with a big heart;
[Pg 401]
and if you fail to be moved, you may reasonably doubt whether sophistication has not taken the soul out of you, and left you free to offer yourself for a show-case or a clothier's dummy287.
"We take an interest in Mr. Forrest because we see in him elemental qualities characteristic of the country, and we feel therefore any slight put upon him as, in its essence, a wound directed at the country itself. He carries with him into action, upon the stage, qualities that are true to the time and place of his origin. Whether rugged or refined, he is upon a large scale, expansive, bold, gothic in his style; and it is not, therefore, matter of wonder that he should have encountered, both at home and abroad, the hostility of simpering elegance288 and dainty imbecility."
Concluding his London engagement, Forrest proceeded to the principal cities of the United Kingdom and appeared in his leading rôles, and was uniformly greeted with full houses and unstinted applause. The tone of the press towards him was everywhere highly flattering. At Sheffield in particular his success was great. The dramatic company were as much pleased with him as the audiences were, and took occasion on his closing night to express their sentiment in a manner which gratified him deeply. After the tragedy of Othello, Mr. G. V. Brooke, who had sustained the part of Iago, invited Forrest to meet the theatrical company in the green-room, and, entirely290 to his surprise, addressed him thus:
"Sir,—A most pleasing duty has devolved upon me, in being deputed by my brother actors to express the gratification and delight we have experienced in witnessing your powerful talent as an actor, and your courteous291 and gentlemanly bearing to your brother professors of the sock and buskin. I am obliged to be very brief in my remarks, as some of the gentlemen around me will have, in a very short time, to be on duty at the post of honor. Allow me, then, sir, before you return to the land of your birth, of which you are a brilliant ornament292, to present you, in the name of myself and brother actors, with this small testimonial of our esteem293, and to wish that health and prosperity may attend you and Mrs. Forrest, whatever part of the globe it may be your lot to visit."
The following was the inscription295 on the testimonial, which was a very elegant silver snuff-box: "Presented to Edwin For
[Pg 402]
rest, Esq., by the members of the Sheffield Theatrical Company, as a mark of their esteem for him as an Actor and a Man. January 30, 1846."
Forrest replied in the following words:
"I accept this gratifying token of the kind feeling entertained towards me by the members of this company with mingled sentiments of pride and satisfaction. Believe me, there is no praise that could be awarded to my professional exertions296 so dear to me as that which is offered by my brother actors; for they who, through years of toil298, have labored299 up the steep and thorny300 pathway which leads to eminence301 in our laborious302 art, can alone appreciate the difficulties that must be encountered and overcome. I shall ever look back with sincerest pleasure to my intercourse303 with the Sheffield dramatic corps304, to whose uniform kindness I am greatly indebted for their prompt and cordial co-operation in all the professional duties which we have been called upon to perform together. Both here and at Manchester I have found you always ready and willing to second my views, and any request made to you at rehearsal305 in the morning you have never failed to perform with alacrity306 and promptitude at night.
"You have in the kindest terms alluded308 to the courtesy which you have been pleased to say has characterized my conduct towards all the members of the company. In reply, I can only say, you have, each and all, met me with an entirely correspondent feeling, and I thank you from my heart. These same courtesies shown to one another are productive of a vast amount of good. I cannot but remember that I, too, have gone through the 'rough brake,' that I, too, began the profession in its humblest walks; and I have not forgotten the pleasing and inspiring emotions that were awakened310 in my youthful breast when I have received a kind word, or an approving smile, from those who were 'older and better soldiers' than myself. And at the same time my experience has taught me that there is no one engaged in the art, be he ever so humble309, but some advantage may be gleaned311 from his observations. As I knew not until this moment of your kind intention to present me with this flattering testimonial, I am wholly unprepared to thank you as I ought. There are feelings too deep to be expressed in words; and such are my feelings now.
[Pg 403]
"Once more, I thank you: and permit me to add that, should any here, by life's changing scene, be 'discovered' in my country, I shall take sincerest pleasure in promoting his views to the best of my ability."
While at Sheffield, Forrest attended a banquet given in honor of the birthday of Robert Burns. In response to a toast proposed by the chairman, "The health of Mr. Edwin Forrest, and Success to the Drama in America," he said some of his earliest human and literary memories were linked together with the story of Scotland and the genius of Burns. His own father had left the Scottish hills to seek his fortune in an American city. His earliest tutor, who had taken a generous interest in him in his opening boyhood, and taught him to recite some of the finest of the poems of Burns, was another Scottish emigrant,—Wilson the ornithologist312. After a few other words, he closed by reciting the eloquent313 poem of his friend Fitz-Greene Halleck in memory of Burns, which was received with vociferous314 cheering:
"Praise to the Bard315! His words are driven,
Like flower-seeds by the far winds sown,
Where'er beneath the arch of heaven
The birds of fame have flown.
"Such graves as his are pilgrim-shrines316,
Shrines to no code or creed317 confined,—
The Delphian vales, the Palestines,
The Meccas of the mind."
The Manchester Guardian318 published a critique on the Spartacus of Forrest quite remarkable319 for its intelligent discrimination and choice diction. As a description it is very just, but utterly320 mistaken in its apparent implication that the spiritual should be made more distinctly superior to the physical in this part. The writer seems not to have remembered that Forrest was impersonating a semi-barbaric gladiator, in whom, when under supreme321 excitement, the animal must predominate over the intellectual. It would be false to nature to depict in such a man under such circumstances ideality governing sense, reason calmly curbing322 passion. It would be as absurd as to give a pugilist the mental splendor323 and majesty324 of a Pericles. The way in which the critic paints Forrest as representing Spartacus is exactly the way in
[Pg 404]
which alone the character could be represented without a gross violation325 of truth:
"This is, perhaps, of all others, the character in which Mr. Forrest most excels; nay326, stands alone. It implies and demands great physical strength, a man of herculean mould, and we doubt if ever we shall again look upon so fine a model of the lionhearted Thracian. That he is a barbarian327, too, is in favor of the actor; for what would be blemishes328 in the polished Greek or haughty Roman are in keeping with the rude, untutored nature of the Thracian mountaineer. Since his former visit, Mr. Forrest has certainly improved, especially in the less showy passages of the play; and we admire him most in the quiet asides, the quick and clear directions as to the disposition329 of his troops, and any other portions of the dialogue that do not demand great emotion. In these he is natural and truthful. As before, when he comes to the delineation330 of the deeper passions of our nature, it is by energetic muscular action, and by the fierce shoutings or hoarse331 raving of his voice, that he conveys the idea,—not by any of the nicer touches of mental discrimination and expression. This course—an original one, in which perhaps he stands supreme—is most effective, or rather least defective332, in this play, for the reason already given: in it his acting is of a high, but certainly not of the highest, order. It is the material seeking to usurp333 the throne of the ideal; physical force clutching at the sceptre of the intellectual; with what success the immutable334 laws of matter and mind will now, as ever, pronounce, in their irreversible decrees. Still, it is an extraordinary histrionic picture, which all lovers of the drama should contemplate335. It is not a thing to be laughed at or sneered336 down. Power there is; at times great mental, as well as physical, power; but in the thrilling situations of the piece, that which should be the slave becomes the master; and energy of body reigns337 supreme over subordinated intellectual expression and mental dignity. He is the Hercules, or the Polyphemus, not the high-souled hero; and, in his fury, the raging animal rather than the goaded338 and distracted man."
In Ireland, the acting of Forrest, the magnetic power of his personality, the patriotic339 sentiments and stirring invectives against tyranny with which his Spartacus and Cade abounded341, conspired342
[Pg 405]
to arouse a wild enthusiasm in his passionate and imaginative audiences, and his appearances at Cork343, Belfast, Dublin, were so many ovations344. The effect of his Jack345 Cade may be seen in this notice from the Cork Examiner:
"The object of the writer seems to be to rescue Cade from the defamation346 of courtly chroniclers and historians, who, either imbued347 with an aristocratic indifference348 to the wrongs of an oppressed people, or writing for their oppressors, misrepresented the motives and ridiculed349 the power of the Kentish rebel. In this the author has succeeded; for he flings round the shoulders of the rustic350 the garb351 of the patriot340, and fills his soul not only with a deep and thorough hatred of the oppressors who ground the people to the earth and held them down in bondage352, but breathes into his every thought a passionate and beautiful longing353 after liberty. The powerful representation of such a play must produce a corresponding impression upon any audience; how strong its appeal to the sympathies of an Irish audience, may be better imagined than described. It abounds with passionate appeals to liberty, withering denunciations of oppression, and stinging sarcasms354, unveiling at a glance the narrow foundation upon which class-tyranny bases its power and usurpation355. In fact, from beginning to end, it is an animated356 appeal to the best sympathies of MAN, stirring him to the depths of his nature, as with a trumpet357's blast.
"An objection might be made to some passages, that they are too declamatory; but this is rather praise to the discrimination and fidelity358 of the author to nature, than a reproach. When a leader has to stir men's blood, to make their strong hearts throb120, he uses not the 'set phrase of peace,'—he does not ratiocinate like a philosopher, insinuate359 like a pleader; he talks like a trumpet, with tongue of fire and with words of impassioned eloquence360. Sufferings, wrongs, indignities361, dishonor to gray hairs and outrage to tender virginhood, are not to be tamely told of, but painted with vivid imagination until the heart again feels its anguish362 and the brow burns at the wrong. This is the direct avenue to men's hearts,—the only way to rouse them to desperate action; and hence the justice of Cade's declamation363, when addressing the crushed bondmen of Kent.
"Mr. Forrest's Aylmere had nothing in it of the actor's trick,—it
[Pg 406]
was not acting. He seemed thoroughly364 and entirely to identify himself with the struggles of an enslaved people; and as every spirit-stirring sentence was dashed off with the energy of a man in earnest it seemed as if it had its birthplace in the heart rather than in the conceiving brain. One passage, in which he calls down fierce imprecations on the head of Lord Say, the torturer of his aged107 father and the coward murderer of his widowed mother, was magnificently pronounced by Mr. Forrest, amidst thunders of applause, as if the sympathy of the audience ratified289 and sanctified the curse of the avenging365 son. Such is the power of true genius!—such the force of passion, when legitimate and earnest!"
At Cork he received the compliments of a poet in the happy lines that follow:
"O'er the rough mass the Grecian sculptor366 bent367,
And, as his chisel368 shaped the yielding stone,
Rising, the world-enchanting Venus shone,
And stood in youth and grace and beauty blent.
Thus o'er each noble speaking lineament
Of thy fine face, thy genius, Forrest, shines,
And paints the picture in perfection's lines.
With plastic skill Prometheus formed the clay;
Yet soul was wanting in the image cold
Till through its frame was shed life's glorious ray
And fire immortal369 lit the mindless mould.
Thus, while thy lips the poet's words unfold,
With the rough ore of thought thy fancies play,
And, with a Midas power, turn all they touch to gold!"
On his farewell night he acted Macbeth to a brilliant house. As the drop-scene fell at the close of the last act, deafening370 shouts re-echoed through the house, with calls for Forrest, which, on his coming in front of the curtain to acknowledge them, were renewed and kept up for a considerable time, the people rising en masse, and paying the most marked tribute of their estimation. On silence being restored, he said,—
"Ladies and Gentlemen,—Exhausted as I must necessarily feel, owing to the character I have sustained, I cannot find language adequate to express the sentiments that fill my bosom, neither am I able to return suitable acknowledgments for the kindness which you are pleased to evince towards me. I beg
[Pg 407]
to thank you sincerely for the cordiality and courtesy which I have experienced from the hospitable371 citizens of Cork during my short sojourn372 in this 'beautiful city.' Long shall I remember it, and in returning to my native country I shall bear with me the grateful recollection of that courtesy and hospitality; and, when there, I shall often think with pleasure and pride on the flattering reception you were pleased to honor me with. I wish you all adieu, and hope that the dark cloud that overhangs this fair country will soon pass away; that a happier and brighter day will beam on her, and that Ireland and her people will long enjoy the prosperity and happiness they are so eminently373 entitled to, and which are so much to be desired."
He was quite as triumphant142 in Dublin as in Cork. The notice of his opening in Othello shows this:
"Mr. Forrest, the American tragedian, made his first appearance on Monday night, as Othello. The selection of the character was, for an actor of great power, most judicious375; for in all the glorious range of Shakspeare's immortal plays there is not one so powerful in its appeal to the sympathies of our nature, so masterly in its anatomy376 of the human heart, or so highly-wrought377 and yet so beautiful a picture of passion,—nor, for the actor, is there any character requiring more delicacy378 of perception and personation in its details, nor so much of terrible energy of the wrung379 heart and stormy soul in its bursts of frenzied380 passion. An actor without a heart to feel and an energy to express the fearful passion of the gallant381 Moor382, whose free and open nature was craftily383 abused to madness, could give no idea of the character, and must needs leave the audience as cold and unmoved as himself.
"But, to one glowing with the divine fire of genius, that wonderful electricity by which the inmost nature of man is moved, and masses are swayed as if by the wand of an enchanter, Othello is a noble character for the display of his power,—a resistless spell, by which the eye and ear and soul of the audience are held and moved and swayed. We must admit that such an actor is Mr. Forrest, and that such is the effect which his personation of the loving, tender, gentle, duped, abused, maddened Moor produced upon us, and seemed to produce upon his audience. From the rising to the falling of the curtain the house was hushed in
[Pg 408]
stilled, almost breathless, attention; and it was not until stirred by some electrifying384 burst of passion that the pent-up feeling of his listeners vented itself in such applause, such recognition of the justness and naturalness of the passion, as man gives to man in real life, and when, as it were, the interests of the actor and the spectators are one. This species of involuntary homage385 to the genius of his personation arose not only from the power which a consummate386 actor acquires over the feelings of others, but from the entire absence of all those contemptible387 tricks of the stage, those affectations of originality388, of individuality,—that is, stamping the counterfeit manner of the actor upon the sterling389 ore of the author,—those false readings and exaggerated declamations, which call down injudicious but degrading approbation. Mr. Forrest is free from all these defects. And yet his 'reading' is singularly telling. Not one passage—nay, not one word—of the vivid, picturesque390, nervous, wondrous391 eloquence of the poet is lost upon the audience. What might puzzle in the closet is transparent392 on the stage. The quaint393 form in which the divine philosophy of Shakspeare clothes itself seems, by his reading, its fit and apposite garb,—as if none other could so well indicate its keen and subtile meaning. And all this is done without aiming at 'points,' or striving after 'effects.' Then his tenderness is tenderness—his passion, passion. Possessing a noble voice, running from the richest base to the sweetest tenor394,—if we might so describe it,—full of flexibility395, and capable of every modulation396, from the hurricane of savage397 fury to the melting tenderness of love, Mr. Forrest can express all those varied and oftentimes opposite emotions which agitate208 our nature, and which Shakspeare, as its most masterly delineator, represents in all its phases in his immortal creations, and not least in Othello. We were much struck with the beautiful fidelity with which Mr. Forrest's look, gesture, tone, and manner painted the gradual growth of jealousy, from the first faint, vague doubt, to its full and terrible confirmation398, and the change of Othello's nature, from the frank soldier and the doting399 husband to the relentless400 fury of the avenger401. To our mind it was a noble picture,—bold, beautiful, and delicate."
An event illustrative of the spirit of Forrest occurred on his last evening in Dublin. The play was "Damon and Pythias."
[Pg 409]
The Lord-Lieutenant of Ireland entered the theatre with a noble party, escorted by a military company with martial402 music. The audience rose with the curtain, and joined the whole dramatic corps in singing "God save the Queen." Forrest never once during the play looked towards the vice-regal box; and in the bows with which he acknowledged an honorary call from the audience at the close, he studiously avoided seeing the group of titularly-illustrious visitors. He was a democrat272; he liked the Irish and disliked their English rulers, and he would not in his own eyes appear a snob403. His taste and delicacy in the act were questionable21,—his sturdy honesty unquestionable. It reminds one of Goethe and Beethoven standing274 together when the victorious404 Napoleon passed in his pomp on the way to Berlin. Both were men of genius and of nobleness; but the one was socially freed by cosmopolitan405 culture and health, the other socially enslaved by natural inheritance and morbidity406. They acted with equal honesty, but in a very different way, as Napoleon went by. Goethe made a low bow, and stood with inclined front; Beethoven crushed his hat over his brows, and thrust himself more stiffly up. Neither he nor Forrest could play the courtier. They could not in social relations abnegate self and react impersonally407 on others. They must assert that they were themselves, and were democratically willing to allow everybody else the same privilege.
The reception of Forrest in Scotland, notably at Glasgow and Edinburgh, was all that he could have asked. The first literary organ of Edinburgh pronounced its judgment thus: "The three leading characteristics of Mr. Forrest's acting appear to us to be, a bold intellectual grasp of the written soul of his author; a remarkably vigorous and striking execution, accompanied by an apparent contempt for mere conventional rules or customs; and a rare faculty408 of expressing by the face what neither pen can write nor tongue tell."
It was at Edinburgh that the actor performed what may perhaps be called the most unfortunate and ill-omened deed in his life. Attending the theatre to see Macready play Hamlet, he had applauded several good points made by his rival. But in the scene where the court are about assembling to witness the play within the play, and Hamlet says to Horatio,—
[Pg 410]
"They are coming to the play; I must be idle.
Get you to a place,"
Macready gallopaded two or three times across the stage, swinging his handkerchief in rapid flourishes above his head. As he was affecting to be mad, it does not seem that the action was in any extreme out of character. But it struck Forrest as inexcusably unworthy, and a desecration409 of the author. Accordingly, with his usual unpausing forthrightness410 and reckless disregard of appearances, he gave vent10 to his disgust in a loud hiss129. Macready glowered411 at him and waved his handkerchief towards him with an air of contemptuous defiance412, and repeated his movement. The right of a spectator to express his condemnation55 of an actor by hissing413 is unquestioned. Had not Forrest been himself a brother actor, and in unfriendly relations with the performer, his hiss would not have been much noticed or long remembered. But the special circumstances of the case gave it an indelicacy and a bad taste which aggravated414 its import and led to lasting415 consequences of hatred and violence. The following letter addressed by Forrest to the editor of the London Times explains the occasion which called it forth, and furnishes the reasons which in the mind of its writer justified his primary deed, though they will hardly be sufficient to justify416 it in the minds of impartial readers:
"Sir,—Having seen in your journal of the 12th inst. an article headed 'Professional Jealousy,' a part of which originally appeared in the 'Scotsman,' published in Edinburgh, I beg leave, through the medium of your columns, to state that at the time of its publication I addressed a letter to the editor of the 'Scotsman' upon the subject, which, as I then was in Dumfries, I sent to a friend in Edinburgh, requesting him to obtain its insertion; but, as I was informed, the 'Scotsman' refused to receive any communication upon the subject. I need say nothing of the injustice of this refusal. Here, then, I was disposed to let the matter rest, as upon more mature reflection I did not deem it worth further attention: but now, as the matter has assumed a 'questionable shape,' by the appearance of the article in your journal, I feel called upon, though reluctantly, to answer it.
"There are two legitimate modes of evincing approbation and
[Pg 411]
disapprobation in the theatre,—one expressive417 of approval by the clapping of hands, and the other by hisses to mark dissent418; and, as well-timed and hearty applause is the just meed of the actor who deserves well, so also is hissing a salutary and wholesome419 corrective of the abuses of the stage; and it was against one of these abuses that my dissent was expressed, and not, as was stated, 'with a view of expressing his (my) disapproval420 of the manner in which Mr. Macready gave effect to a particular passage.' The truth is, Mr. Macready thought fit to introduce a fancy dance into his performance of Hamlet, which I thought, and still think, a desecration of the scene, and at which I evinced that disapprobation for which the pseudo-critic is pleased to term me an 'offender'; and this was the only time during the performance that I did so, although the writer evidently seeks, in the article alluded to, to convey a different impression. It must be observed, also, that I was by no means 'solitary421' in this expression of opinion.
"That a man may manifest his pleasure or displeasure after the recognized mode, according to the best of his judgment, actuated by proper motives, and for justifiable422 ends, is a right which, until now, I have never once heard questioned; and I contend that that right extends equally to an actor, in his capacity as a spectator, as to any other man. Besides, from the nature of his studies, he is much more competent to judge of a theatrical performance than any soi-disant critic who has never himself been an actor.
"The writer of the article in the 'Scotsman,' who has most unwarrantably singled me out for public animadversion, has carefully omitted to notice the fact that I warmly applauded several points of Mr. Macready's performance, and more than once I regretted that the audience did not second me in so doing.
"As to the pitiful charge of 'professional jealousy' preferred against me, I dismiss it with the contempt it merits, confidently relying upon all those of the profession with whom I have been associated for a refutation of the slander47.
"Yours respectfully,
"Edwin Forrest."
March, 1846.
[Pg 412]
On the appearance in an Edinburgh paper of the severe letter alluded to in the foregoing, the indignation of Forrest was so intense that he resolved to inflict423 summary punishment on its cause. In the early evening he made an elaborate toilet, donning his best dress-suit, putting on an elegant pair of kid gloves, carefully sprinkling himself with cologne, and sought the dramatic critic, whom he supposed to be the offender, in his customary seat in the upper tier of boxes. Confronting the writer, he fixed424 his eyes on him, and through his set teeth, in the deadliest monotone of suppressed passion, this question glided425 like a serpent of speech: "Are you the author of the letter in the 'Scotsman' relative to my hissing Macready?" The man shrunk a little, and replied, "I am not." "It is fortunate for you that you are not; for had you been, by the living God I would have flung you over the balcony into the pit!" said Forrest, and left the box.
Besides this frightful instance of his angered state of mind, an amusing one occurred while he was at Edinburgh. He was rehearsing, when the proprietor426 and manager of the theatre, a diminutive427 and foppish428 man, with a mincing429 squeak430 of a voice, came into the front and disturbed the actors. Forrest did not recognize him, and cried out, "Stop that noise!" The intruder retorted, with injured dignity, "This is my theatre, sir; and I shall make as much noise in it as I please, and when I please!" The explosive tragedian towered down upon him and blazed out, in thunder-tones, "Damn you and your theatre! If you ever dare to interrupt me again in this way when I am rehearsing, I will knock your damned head off from your damned shoulders!" The terrified proprietor shrunk away, and did not show himself in the house again till the day after the tragedian's engagement had ended. Then Forrest was in the dressing-room, packing his things, when he saw the manager enter the adjoining room, where the treasurer431 was sitting. The dapper little man advanced with nimble step, rubbing his hands briskly, and asked, in his dapper little voice, "Has the great American pugilist left town?" Forrest broke into hearty laughter at the ludicrous contrast, and came forward with both hands extended, and they parted as very good friends.
On the Fourth of July, Forrest presided at the celebration of the anniversary of their national independence held by the
[Pg 413]
Americans in London, at the Lyceum Tavern432. The building was decorated with American flags, and the intellectual exercises after the dinner, introduced by the chairman with an effective speech in defence and eulogy433 of republican institutions, were sustained till a late hour with much enthusiasm.
While in London—it may possibly be that the adventure occurred during his previous visit—Forrest called, by invitation, on Jerome Bonaparte, who was then residing there, and who had seen several of his impersonations, and had expressed a high opinion of their merits. In the course of their conversation, Forrest asked Jerome if he had been personally acquainted with Talma. Smiles broke over the face of the ex-king like sunny couriers from a hive of sweet memories, as he replied, in an exquisitely435-modulated voice, "I had the honor of knowing that distinguished man well, and I esteemed436 him for his character as much as I admired him for his art. He was an honest patriot, who regarded not the fashions of the day. When Napoleon was a poor corporal, Talma was his friend, and gave him free passes to the theatre. He was equally the friend of the emperor, but asked no preferment or gift from him. He was a republican at the first, and he remained a republican to the last. His soul, sir, was as sublime437 off the stage as his acting was on it." As he spoke these words, Forrest says, a beam of reminiscent joy seemed at once to light up his countenance438 and brighten his voice.
It was the end of August that the player, sore and weary of his exile, ardently439 longing for home, sailed for his beloved America, where he well knew a welcome of no ordinary character would greet him. And so it proved. The current tone of the press breathed a hearty friendliness440. It assured him that his countrymen had followed his career from his boyhood to his present proud position with a growing interest, and that his recent experience abroad had deepened their attachment441 to him. Whatever bars had from time to time presented themselves, he had readily overpassed or brushed away, and he was congratulated on having always made good his position with the decisive energy characteristic of his country. He was told that he had secured the affections of the masses of the people to such a degree that his name was a proverb among them, and they would now spring to welcome him home as very few are welcomed.
[Pg 414]
He waited but four days before appearing as Lear at the Park Theatre. The New York Mirror says, "The house was crowded to excess. The pit rose in mass, and long and loud was the applause, clapping of hands, thumping442 of canes443, waving of hats and handkerchiefs, ending with nine cheers for Edwin Forrest, given with heart and soul. The recipient262 evidently felt it all. Long may this relation between actor and people be unbroken! It is for the good of both that it should exist. As a man, Mr. Forrest is worthy of this confidence; as the representative of Lear and the greatest nobleness of Shakspeare, and the loftiest minds of the drama, he is trebly worthy of it, for he stands the representative of an heroic truth and dignity. It is impossible that the people should witness such a performance as that of King Lear without elevation444 and purification of character. On Mr. Forrest's part such a reception must recall to him, more forcibly than the language of any critic, the responsibility that rests upon him as one of the chief representatives of the American stage, an institution which, being yet in its infancy445, has capacity for good or evil, the development of which rests upon the present generation. Those who look upon the stage now with any interest regard it with respect to the future, and demand in any actor or dramatic author a reverence446 for the theatre, and some services in its cause. If we thought the theatre would always remain in its present condition in this country, we should abandon it in despair. But it cannot so remain, any more than our literature can remain merely imitative, or our political life low and pestilent as it is. The stage must rise. No one can render more aid to the cause than Mr. Forrest."
At the close of the play he was honored with the same enthusiastic greeting as at his entrance, and he said, "Ladies and Gentlemen,—I have not words fitly to acknowledge a reception so kind, so cordial, so unexpected. It has so overpowered me that I cannot convey to you the grateful emotions of my heart. Yet, while a pulse beats here or memory continues, I shall ever remember the emotions of my soul at this reception. Ladies and gentlemen, I thank you."
The marked advance in the taste and finish of his performance was owned by all. The Albion said, "He is infinitely447 more subdued and quiet in his acting; his readings are more elaborated
[Pg 415]
and studied. His action and attitudes are more classic in their character; and a dignified repose, rendered majestic448 at times by his imposing449 figure, gives a tone to his performances wholly unlike the unrepressed energy and overwhelming physical power that formerly450 were the prominent characteristics of his style. As an instance of the beauty of his present subdued style we would instance the passage in Lear commencing at
'You see me here, you gods, a poor old man'—
"The whole of this passage was given in a strain of subdued, heart-broken pathos, exquisitely natural and effective. Similar touches of genuine feeling are now thrown into his Othello,—which are perfect triumphs of the art,—as are likewise those well-known bursts of intense passion, given with a force of physical power unapproachable perhaps by any living actor.
"Mr. Forrest occupies so prominent a position in his own country, as the greatest living American actor, as the founder451 of a school,—for he has literally452 founded a school, as may be seen from his numerous imitators,—and from the influence of his high name,—that we mark these changes in his style as especially worthy the attention of his younger and less experienced cotemporaries."
On his benefit night, in response to the call of the auditory, he made a brief speech, whose tenor showed that he fully148 felt the responsibility of his position and meant to be faithful to it. Returning his thanks, he added, "And, in the hope that you may continue to approve my efforts, they shall henceforth be employed, most strenuously453, to bring the American stage within the influence of a progressive movement, to call forth and encourage American dramatic letters, to advance the just claims of our own meritorious454 and deserving actors. Yet, while I shall endeavor to exert an influence favorable to American actors, you will do me the justice to believe that I am animated by no ungenerous motives towards the really deserving of any other country; for I should blush to imitate that narrow, exclusive, prejudiced, and, I may add, anti-American feeling which prescribes geographical455 limits to the growth of genius and talent. True worth is the birthright of no country, but is the common property of all. And, ladies and gentlemen, if it pleases you to applaud and
[Pg 416]
to second, in this endeavor, my humble efforts, I will say to you, in the language of the old Cardinal456 in the play,—
"'There's no such word as fail!'"
Amidst the cheers elicited457 by these words, as he made his bow, a garland, enclosing a copy of verses addressed to him, fell at his feet. He raised it and retired458, while the orchestra struck up "Home, Sweet Home!"
He then received another flattering compliment from many of the most prominent of his fellow-citizens:
"New York, Oct. 10th, 1846.
"Edwin Forrest, Esq.
"Dear Sir,—The undersigned, your friends and fellow-citizens, desirous of expressing to you personally the high estimation they entertain for your public and private character, avail themselves of the occasion of your return from Europe to invite you to a public dinner, and request that you will set apart one of the few days you are to remain with us, that may be most convenient to you, to accept of this slight tribute to your professional excellence459 and private worth.
"We are, with great respect,
"Your obedient servants,
"Wm. Cullen Bryant,
Andrew H. Mickle,
James Lawson,
E. K. Collins,
Saml. Ward122,
George Davis,
Cornelius Mathews,
Moses Taylor,
Wm. F. Havemeyer,
Evert Duyckinck,
Parke Godwin,
H. Weecks,
Fitz-Greene Halleck,
E. R. Hart,
B. F. Voorhis,
Isaac Townsend,
Prosper294 M. Wetmore,
A. Ingraham,
James F. Otis,
Jonathan Sturgis,
C. A. Clinton,
A. G. Stebbins,
Jas. T. Brady,
Theodore Sedgwick,
David Graham, Jr.,
George F. Thomson,
L. B. Wyman,
Charles Minturn,
Francis Griffin,
George Montgomery,
Dr. John F. Gray,
John P. Cisco,
John Britton,
[Pg 417]
J. M. Miller460,
Henry Wikoff,
Minthorne Tompkins,
D. P. Ingraham,
Charles P. Daly,
Jas. Phalen,
Robt. H. Morris,
W. M. Beckwith,
Edwd. Vincent,
Mortimer Livingston,
Charles M. Leupp."
To this letter he thus replied:
"New York, Oct. 12th, 1846.
"Gentlemen,—I have had the honor to receive your very kind letter of the 10th inst., in behalf of a number of my friends and fellow-citizens, inviting461 me to a public dinner, and requesting me to name a day most convenient to myself for its acceptance.
"It did not need this additional testimony462 to the many already conferred upon me by my fellow-citizens of New York, to assure me of their kind regard, and I feel for this, as well as for other tokens of esteem, that I am indebted more to their kindness than to any deserving upon my part.
"I accept, however, with pleasure, the invitation you have conveyed to me in such flattering terms, and, with permission, appoint Friday next, the 16th instant, as the day to meet my friends as they propose.
"I remain, gentlemen, yours, with sentiments of the highest respect and regard,
"Edwin Forrest.
"To Messrs. Wm. C. Bryant, C. A. Clinton, etc."
Accordingly, the committee of arrangements proceeded to prepare for the proposed welcome, and selected the New York Hotel as the place. A large and distinguished company sat down to the banquet. William Cullen Bryant presided, assisted by David Graham, Jr., James T. Brady, Charles M. Leupp, and Egbert Benson, as Vice-Presidents.
The first toast was "Our Country."
The next—"The American Stage. Its brilliant morning gives promise of a glorious day."
In introducing the third toast, Mr. Bryant said, "It is with great pleasure, gentlemen, that I proceed to fulfil a duty which your kindness has laid upon me, that of proposing the health of the distinguished man whom we are assembled to honor. A
[Pg 418]
great actor, gentlemen, is not merely an interpreter of the dramatic poet to the sense of mankind; he is something more and greater: he is, in his province, the creator of the character he represents. It is true that, from the hints given by the framer of the drama, he constructs the personage whom he would set before us; but he fills up an outline often faint, shadowy, and imperfect, and gives it distinctness, light and shade, and color; he clothes a skeleton with muscles, and infuses it in the blood and breath of life, and places it in our midst, a being of soul and thought and moved by the perpetual play of human passions. Those who have seen the restorations of ancient statues by Michael Angelo have admired the exquisite434 art, I should rather say the power above art, with which the great Florentine—a genius, if ever one lived—entered into the spirit of the old sculptors463, and with what faithful conformity464 to the manner of the original work, yet with what freedom of creative skill, he supplied those parts which were wanting, and animated modern marble with all the life of the antique. It is thus with the artist of the stage: he supplies what the dramatist does not give,—supplies it from the stores of his own genius, though always in harmony with the suggestions of his author. He often goes far beyond this: he sees in those suggestions features of character which the author failed to perceive, or perceived but imperfectly, and depths of passion of which he had no conception. With these he deals like a skilful landscape painter, who from a few outlines in pencil, which to the common eye appear confused and purposeless, brings out upon the canvas a glorious scene of valley and mountain and dark woods and glittering waters. Those who have read the Richelieu of Bulwer in the closet and seen the Richelieu of Forrest on the stage will easily comprehend what I mean; they have seen the sketch465 of the dramatist matured and enriched, and wrought into consistence and strength, and filled with power and passion, by the consummate art of the actor. How well our friend has acquitted466 himself in what is justly esteemed the highest effect of the histrionic art, that of personating the great characters of Shakspeare's dramas, it is hardly necessary for me to say, so ample and so universal is the testimony borne to his success by intent and crowded audiences. The style of that divine poet is so suggestive, the glimpses of character he casually467 but pro1
[Pg 419]
fusely gives, are of such deep significance that he tasks the powers of the stage more severely468 than any other author. To follow out all these suggestions, to combine all these delicate and sometimes perplexing traits of character into one consistent, natural, and impressive whole, requires scarcely less a philosopher than an actor. And well has Mr. F. sustained this difficult test. Never was the helpless and pathetic yet majestic old age of Lear more nobly given, or in a manner to draw forth deeper sympathies; never the struggle between love and suspicion in the breast of Othello, his jealousy in its highest frenzy469, and his fine agony of remorse470, more powerfully represented. After having placed himself at the summit of his art by the successful representation of these and other characters of Shakspeare in his own country, he has lately returned to us with honors gathered in another hemisphere. It is a source of satisfaction to the friends of Mr. Forrest that he has not fallen a prey471 to the follies472 which so strongly tempt66 men of his profession. He has given us another instance of the truth that a great actor may be an irreproachable473 man; his private life has been an example of those virtues475 which compel the respect even of that class least disposed to look with favor on the profession of an actor,—such an example as in the last century made Hannah More the personal friend of David Garrick. In the intense competitions of the stage, Mr. Forrest has obeyed a native instinct in treating his rivals with generosity476, and, when beset by calumny477 and intrigue478, has known how to preserve the magnanimous silence of conscious greatness. Genius may command our admiration; but when we see the man of genius occupied only in the endeavor to deserve renown479, and looking beyond the obstacles which envy or malevolence480 lays in his path to the final and impartial verdict of his fellow-men, our admiration rises to a higher feeling. Gentlemen, I will no longer withhold481 from you the toast,—I give a name, without a sentiment,—a name which suggests a volume of them,—I give you 'Our guest, Edwin Forrest.'"
The toast was drunk amidst a tempest of demonstrations482.
Mr. Forrest, manifestly agitated by the warmth of these tokens of good will, replied in a speech which was interrupted with frequent applause. He said, "Mr. President and gentlemen, I wish I could in adequate language express my acknowledg
[Pg 420]
ments for the distinguished favor you have conferred upon me this day. But the words which I endeavor to summon to my lips seem poor and empty offerings in return for those honors, deep and broad, with which your kindness loads me. The sounds and sights that meet me here to bid me welcome,—the old familiar voices that were raised in kind approval of my early efforts,—faces whose smiles of sweet encouragement gave vigor163 to my heart to mount the ladder of my young ambition,—this munificent483 banquet, spread with no party views, the generous offering of my fellow-citizens of each political faith,—the flattering sentiments so eloquently484 couched by the distinguished man selected to impart them,—all these have stirred my bosom with so many mingled feelings that, in the grateful tumult485 of my thoughts, I cannot choose words to speak my thanks. A scene like this is no fleeting486 pageant487 of the mimic488 art, to be forgotten with the hour; but it is to me one of those sweet realities of life that fill the heart and vibrate on the memory forever. Among the gratifying tributes, both professional and personal, which you have paid me, you have alluded in flattering terms to the silence I have ever observed when assaulted by calumny or circumvented489 by intrigue. You will pardon me, I am sure, if upon this occasion I break that silence for a moment by referring to the opposition490 I encountered during my late reappearance upon the London stage. An eminent374 English writer, in the 'North British Review,' makes these very just remarks: 'Our countrymen in general have treated the Americans unkindly and unfairly, and have been too much disposed to exaggerate their faults and to depreciate their excellencies.' Here, then, we have an honest and candid93 avowal491 of an indisputable fact. With regard to my own case, even before I had appeared I was threatened with critical castigation492, and some of the very journals which, upon my former appearance in London, applauded me to the echo, now assailed me with bitterest denunciations. Criticism was degraded from its high office,—degraded into mere cavilling493, accompanied by very pertinent494 allusions496 to Pennsylvania bonds, repudiation497, and democracy.
'All, all but truth falls still-born from the press.'
Relying implicitly498 upon the verity499 of this proposition, I quietly awaited the expression of the 'sober second thought of the peo
[Pg 421]
ple;' and I am happy to say I was not disappointed in the result. Their approving hands rebuked500 the malice501 of the hireling scribblers, and defeated the machinations of theatrical cliques502 by whom these scribblers were suborned. But enough of this. I now turn to contemplate with pride and satisfaction my reception elsewhere. In Edinburgh,—the most beautiful and picturesque city in Europe, where learning is a delight and not an ostentation,—my reception professionally was gratifying in the extreme, while nothing could exceed the friendly hospitalities of private life, presented, as they were, by those who to the highest intellectual culture unite the equally estimable qualities of the heart. And as for Ireland, I need scarcely tell you that in the land of the warm-hearted Irishman an American is always at home. There, from the humblest as from the most exalted503 man he finds a smile of welcome and a friendly grasp. How could it be otherwise among a people so full of sensibility and impulse, of unselfishness and magnanimity,—a people in whom misrule and tyranny have failed to quench504 one spark of generous spirit, or to curdle505 one drop of the milk of human kindness in their hearts? And now a word touching American dramatic letters. One of the wishes nearest my heart has ever been that our country should one day boast a Drama of her own,—a Drama that shall have for its object the improvement of the heart, the refinement of the mind,—a Drama whose lofty and ennobling sentiments shall be worthy a free people,—a Drama whose eloquent and impressive teaching shall promote the cause of virtue474 and justice, for on such foundations must we rely for the perpetuity of our institutions. And what is to prevent us from having such a Drama? Have we not in our country all the materials, have we not the capacity for invention and construction, and have we not pens (turning to Mr. Bryant) already skilled in the sweet harmonies of immortal verse? In connection with the cultivation506 and support of a National Drama, the friends of the stage will not be unmindful of the claims of our own deserving actors, among whom, I am proud to say, there are some may challenge successful comparison with any of the 'Stars' that twinkle on us from abroad, and, unlike most of those 'Stars,' they shine with their own and not with a borrowed lustre. One of those actors, to whom I allude307, is now seated among you,—one who, in the just delineation of the characters he
[Pg 422]
represents, has now no equal upon the stage." (At this allusion495 to Mr. Henry Placide, the applause was very enthusiastic.) "In conclusion, Mr. President and gentlemen, permit me to offer as my sentiment, 'The Citizens of New York, distinguished for a bounty507 in which is no winter,—an autumn 'tis that grows the more by reaping.'" (Drunk with all the honors.)
Mr. Forrest's toast was responded to by the following, by Mr. Mickle, the Mayor: "The Drama,—it teaches us to honor virtue and talent. We follow its dictates508 in rendering509 honor to our guest to-night."
Mr. Mathews proposed the next toast: "American Nationality. In the fusion510 of all its elements in a generous union under the influence of a noble National Literature lies the best (if not the only) hope of perpetuity for the American Confederacy."
General Wetmore rose and alluded to an eminent man who was present at the last public dinner given to Mr. Forrest in New York, one of his dearest friends, and who was now in his grave, and gave "The Memory of William Leggett," which was drunk standing, and in solemn silence.
Other toasts were proposed, letters were read, speeches made, songs sung, and every one seemed thoroughly to enjoy the occasion, which closed by the whole company joining hands and singing "Auld511 Lang Syne512."
Yet, amidst all these honoring and most enjoyable experiences at home, Forrest had brought back with him from abroad a burning grudge16. Shut up in his bones, it gnawed513 upon his comfort and peace. The different theatrical and social parties knew of his grievances514 through the press. Among his friends, of course, he conversed515 freely of them; and there was a multitude of his admirers among the populace who were as loyal to him as clansmen to their chief. Their passions exaggeratingly took up what their intelligence knew little about, and they were ripe for mischief516 whenever an opportunity and the slightest provocation should be afforded them. This, it should be understood, without any purposed stimulus or overt hint from him. Such was the state of things when Macready once more came to America. The ingredients were ready for a popular explosion if a spark should be blown on them. Had the English tragedian kept silent, the latent storm might not have burst; but, unhappily, he
[Pg 423]
began at once to make allusions to conspiracies517, to enemies, to a certain class in the community,—allusions which were but too quickly caught up and applied and resented. And so the virus worked.
Place must here be found for a tender and tragic passage in the life of Forrest, whose date remained thenceforth a sacred and solemn mark in his memory,—the death of his mother.
Dear Lawson,
My Mother is dead.
That little sentence speaks
all I can say, and more
—much more.
Yours truly
Edwin Forrest.
CONSEQUENCES.—THE MACREADY CONTROVERSY2 AND RIOT.
Few persons have any adequate idea of the prevalence, the force, the subtile windings3 of envy and jealousy4 among men, especially among those classes into whose life the principle of rivalry5 directly enters. The more patiently and profoundly any one studies the workings of these passions in his own soul, the larger will be his estimate of the part they play in society. And then, if his experience be such as to admit him to the secrets behind the scenes of social life, revealing to him the selfish collusions, plots, bribes8, and wire-pullings concealed9 beneath the conventional appearances of openness and fair-play, his allowance for the operation of sinister11 forms of self-love will receive another important enlargement. No other class is so keenly beset13 by these malign14 suspicions and grudges15, these base motives17 to depreciate18 and supplant19 one another, as those who are competitors for public admiration20 and applause. There are obvious reasons for this fact, and the fact itself is notorious and unquestionable. The annals of the stage in all its departments, tragic22, comic, operatic, teem23 and reek24 with the animosities and cabals25 of those who have seemed to dislike one another in even proportion as they were favorites of the public. Forrest, with all his faults, was remarkably26 free from this mean and odious27 vice28 of professional envy. He never sought by hidden means or dishonorable arts of any kind either to gain laurels29 for himself or to tarnish30 or tear off the laurels of others. He was always ready to applaud merit in another, and always rejoiced generously to have his fellow-actors generously praised when they deserved it. When on the stage, he did not strive to monopolize31 everything, and add greatness and lustre32 to his own part by belittling33 and darkening the parts of others. He was not that kind of man. He had too
[Pg 388]
strong a sense of justice, too much pride and too much sympathy, to be capable of such action. The form his self-love took when excited in hostility34 was an angry resentment35 of injustice36. The injustice might be fancied sometimes, but it was that which he identified with the offender37, and hated accordingly. And his wrath38 manifested itself not in secret or overt39 measures of injury, not in a silent malignity40 circulating poisonously in the heart and brain, but in frank and passionate41 expression on the spot, in hot gestures, flashes of face, and strokes of voice. He vented42 his indignation extravagantly44, like Boythorn, but elaborated no methods of doing harm, and was incapable45, in his haughty46 self-respect, of purchasing a critic or consciously slandering48 a rival.
Garrick had such a prurient49 vanity, so morbid50 a dread51 of censure52 and love of praise, that he not only persuaded hostile critics not to attack him and friendly ones to write him up, but also freely used his own skilful53 pen for the same purpose. He wrote anonymous54 feeble condemnations of his own acting56, and then replied to them anonymously57 with convincing force, thus inflaming58 the public interest. Voltaire is well known to have done the same thing. But these were both men of vanity, not of pride. Vanity hates rivals, and is monopolizing59 and revengeful, and a mother of all meannesses. Pride furiously resents attacks on itself, but does not spontaneously attack others. It asks but freedom and a fair field. Deny these, and it grows dangerous. When any one assailed60 or undertook to lower Daniel Webster, he was met with the most imperious repulse61 and transcendent scorn. The kindling62 wrath of the haughty giant was terrible. But the mere63 supposition that he could ever have stooped to offer a bribe7 to any one, or to curry64 favor of any one, is absurd. Forrest was a man of the same mould. The anger of such natures at any meddlesome65 attempt to disparage67 them has this moral ground, namely, it is their aroused instinct of spiritual self-preservation. The man of vulgar inferiority, in his coarse and complacent68 stolidity69, cares little for the estimates others put on him. But the man conscious of a great superiority—a Webster or a Forrest—is keenly alive to whatever threatens it. His sphere of mental life enormously surpasses his sphere of physical life. The elemental rhythm of his being, which marks the key-note of his
[Pg 389]
constitution and destiny, has a more massive and sensitive swing in him than in average persons, and his feelings are intensely quick to drive back every hostile or demeaning valuation ideally shrivelling and lowering his rank. The consciousness of such a man is so vital and intelligent that it intuitively reports to him every sneer71, derogatory judgment72, or insulting look, as something intended to compress and hamper73 his being of its full volume and freedom of function. Thus Forrest could not meekly74 submit to be undervalued or snubbed; but he had no natural impulse to undervalue or snub others, or to imagine that they stood in his way and must be thrust aside.
The distinguished75 English actor, William Charles Macready, with whom circumstances brought the American into a professional rivalry which deepened into bitter enmity, was a man in every respect of a very different type. All his life he had an extreme distaste and a moral aversion to his profession; yet, by dint76 of incessant77 intellectual and mechanical drill, he placed himself for a term of years at its head in Great Britain. He was of vanity and irritability78 and egotistic exactingness79 all compact, insanely sensitive to neglect and censure, greedily avid80 of notice and admiration. He seemed scarcely to live in the direct goals of life for their own sakes, but to be absorbed in their secondary reflections in his own self-consciousness and in his imaginations of the opinions of other people concerning him and his affairs. A man of a morbidly81 introspective habit, a discontented observer, a spiritual dyspeptic, he coveted82 social preferment and shrank from the plebeian83 crowd,—
"And 'twas known
He sickened at all triumphs not his own."
This severe estimate is unwillingly84 recorded, but it is amply justified85 by his own memoirs86 of himself, posthumously87 published under the editorship of his literary executor. His diary so abounds88 in confessions89 and instances of bad temper, vanity, arrogance90, angry jealousy, and rankling91 envy, that it serves as a pillory92 in which he exhibits himself as a candidate for contempt. In an article on "Macready's Reminiscences," the "Quarterly Review" (English) says, "Actors have an evil reputation for egotism and jealousy. No one ever lay more heavily under this
[Pg 390]
imputation than Mr. Macready while on the stage. We have heard the greatest comedian94 of his time say of him, 'Macready never could see any merit in any actor in his own line until he was either dead or off the stage.' The indictment95 was sweeping96, but this book almost bears it out. In his own words, the echo of applause, unless given to himself, fills him 'with envious97 and vindictive98 feelings.' He abhors99 and despises his own profession. While still on the stage he says, 'It is an unhappy life. We start at every shadow of an actor, living in constant dread of being ousted100 from popularity by some new favorite.' After leaving the stage he says, 'I can now look my fellow-men, whatever their station, in the face and assert my equality.' And these things he says in the face of the fact that he owed all his consequence to his success as an actor."
Macready had played a successful series of engagements in the United States in 1843. He was well received, much praised, and carried home a handsome sum, though the profit was mostly his own, since the managers generally made little, and many of them actually lost by him. He was not popular with the multitude, but was favored by the selecter portion of the public. His enjoyment101, too, of the eulogies102 written on his acting was a good deal dashed by the censure and detraction103 in which some of the writers for the press indulged. His social success, however, was unalloyed. He and Forrest up to this time were on good terms, terms of genuine kindness, though any strong friendship was out of the question between natures so incompatible104. Forrest had honorably refused urgent invitations from several managers of theatres in different cities to play for them at the time Macready was acting in rival houses. The two or three weeks of his engagement in New York Macready spent in the house of Forrest, who received a very cordial letter of thanks from Mrs. Macready, in London, in acknowledgment of his generous attentions and hospitality to her absent husband.
There were at that time many Englishmen connected with the leading newspapers in this country. They naturally felt that the cause of Macready was their own, and expatiated105 on the beauties of his performances, not a little to the disparagement106 of the American player. On the other hand, the national feeling of other writers affirmed the greater merits of their own tragedian.
[Pg 391]
By natural affinity108 the English party drew to themselves the dilettante110 portion of the upper stratum111 of society, the so-called fashionable and aristocratic, while the general mass of the people were the hearty113 admirers of Forrest. The cold and measured style of the foreigner, his rigid114 mannerism115 and studied artificiality, were frequently spoken of in unfavorable contrast with the free enthusiasm, the breathing sincerity117 and impassioned power, of the native player. Forrest was called a rough jewel of the first water, who scorned to heighten his apparent value by false accompaniments; Macready a paste gem12, polished and set off with every counterfeit118 gleam art could lend. The fire of the one was said to command honest throbs119 and tears; the icy glitter of the other, the dainty clappings of kid gloves. Such expressions plainly betray the spirit that was working. These comparisons—though there were enough of an opposite character, painting the Englishman as a king, Forrest as a boor—greatly irked and nettled121 Macready. And it was known that he went back to England with a good deal of soreness on this point.
When Forrest made his first appearance in London, at Covent Garden Theatre, a few months after the return of Macready from his American trip, the latter, as well as all his compeers, Charles Kemble, Charles Kean, and Vandenhoff, was without any London engagement. This circumstance of itself was calculated to quicken jealousy towards an intruding123 foreigner who threatened to attract much attention. However, as it is known that Forrest had nothing to do with the depreciating124 notices of Macready written in America, it is to be supposed that none of the English tragedians had any hand whatever in the scurrilous125 critiques of Forrest written in their country, or in the attempt made to break him down and drive him from the London stage. But such conspicuous126 personages always have in their train, among the meaner fry of dramatic critics and their hangers-on, plenty of henchmen who are eager to do anything in the fancied service of their lords, even to the discredit127 and against the will of those whose cause they affect to sustain.
On the evening of the 17th of February, 1845, as Forrest appeared in the character of Othello, he was saluted128 with a shower of hisses130, proceeding131 from three solid bodies of claqueurs, packed in three different parts of the house. So often as the legitimate132
[Pg 392]
audience attempted any expression of approval, it was overpowered by these organized emissaries. Beyond any doubt it was a systematic134 plan arranged in advance under the stimulus135 of national prejudice and personal interest, whoever its responsible authors were or were not. Forrest, though profoundly annoyed, gave no open recognition whatever of the outrage136, but went steadily137 on with his performance to the end. The next evening, when he played Macbeth, the disturbances138 were more determined139 than before; but the large majority of the crowded assembly upheld the actor by their applause, and again he gave no heed140 to the interruptions and insults. The force of the conspiracy141 was broken, and gave no further overt signal, and the engagement was played through triumphantly143. But Forrest left Covent Garden with a bitter and angry mind. He ruminated144 unforgivingly, as it was his nature to, on the injurious and unprovoked treatment he had received. For the hisses, suborned as they evidently were, did not constitute the worst abuse he had to bear. Three or four of the London newspapers, known as organs of special dramatic interests, most notably145 the organ of the bosom146 friend of Macready, noticed him and his performances in a tone of comment shamefully147 without warrant in truth. A few specimens149 will suffice to prove the justice of this statement:
"Mr. Forrest's Othello is a burlesque150 of the elder Kean's mannerisms, his air of depressed151 solemnity, prolonged pauses, and startling outbursts, with occasional imitations of Vandenhoff's deep-voiced utterance152, varied153 by the Yankee nasal twang. His presence is not commanding, nor his deportment dignified154; for the assumption of grandeur155 is not sustained by an imaginative feeling of nobleness. His passion is a violent effort of physical vehemence156. He bullies157 Iago, and treats Desdemona with brutal158 ferocity. Even his tenderness is affected159, and his smile is like the grin of a wolf showing his fangs160. The killing161 of Desdemona was cold-blooded butchery."
"Our old friend Mr. Forrest afforded great amusement to the public by his performance of Macbeth. Indeed, our best comic actors do not often excite so great a quantity of mirth. The change from an inaudible murmur162 to a thunder of sound was enormous. But the grand feature was the combat, in which he stood scraping his sword against that of Macduff. We were at a
[Pg 393]
loss to know what this gesture meant, till an enlightened critic in the gallery shouted out, 'That's right! sharpen it!'"
"Of Mr. Edwin Forrest's coarse caricature of Lear we caught a glimpse that more than sufficed to show that the actor had no conception of the part. His Lear is a roaring pantaloon, with a vigorous totter164, a head waving as indefatigably165 as a china image, and lungs of prodigious166 power. There only wanted the candlewick mustaches to complete the stage idea of a choleric167 despot in pantomime."
"Mr. Forrest's Richard the Third forms no exception to those murderous attacks upon Shakspeare which this gentleman has so ruthlessly made since his arrival amongst us. Since the time of that elder Forrest, who had such a hand in the murder of the princes in the Tower, we may not inappropriately take this last execution of Richard at Drury Lane to be
'The most arch deed of piteous massacre168
That ever yet this land was guilty of.'
"We have tried very hard, since witnessing the performance, to discover the principle or intention of it; but to no effect. We remember some expressions, however, in an old comedy of Greene's, which may possibly suggest something to the purpose. 'How,' says Bubble, on finding himself dressed out very flauntingly indeed,—'how apparel makes a man respected! The very children in the street do adore me!' In almost every scene Mr. Forrest blazed forth169 in a new and most oppressively-gilded dress, for which he received precisely170 the kind of adoration171 that the simple Bubble adverts172 to."
But while the hostile papers characterized the change in the acting of Forrest from what it was on his earlier visit as an unaccountable deterioration173, and censured174 him without reason, other journals took up his defence, praised his performances warmly, and affirmed that he had made great improvement. What the former stigmatized175 as a becoming dull, cold, and formal, the latter eulogized as an outgrowing176 of former extravagance and an acquiring of refinement177, measure, and repose178. As he went on playing, his opponents diminished in numbers and virulence179, while his supporters increased, and at last he had conquered a real triumph. It will be well to quote a few of the notices which appeared in
[Pg 394]
friendly and impartial180 quarters in contrast to those of an opposite character already cited.
The Athenæum, in speaking of his opening night in Macbeth, said, "Mr. Forrest's former manner has received considerable modification182 and become mellowed183 with experience. He has learned that repose is the final grace of art. In the startling crises of the play his voice and action, both without effort, spring forth with crushing effect, not because he is an actor who chooses thus to manifest strength, but because he is a strong man, who simply exerts his excited energies. Macbeth, as he now performs it, is a calm and stately, almost a sculpturesque, piece of acting."
The Sun called his Lear a decisive triumph, and used the following words:
"Those contrasts, in which he delights, all tell well in the character of Lear, and they were used with excellent discrimination and great effect. There was something appalling184 in the bursts of fury with which that weak-bodied but intensely-impassioned old man was occasionally convulsed. The tottering185 gait, the palsied head, the feeble footsteps of old age were admirably given; but the deep voice and the manly186 contour of the figure showed that it was the old age of one who had been, in the heyday187 of life, 'every inch a king.' It was the old oak tottering to its fall, but the monarch188 of the forest still. The passion, too, was most artistically189 worked up to a climax190, increasing in intensity191 from the scene in which he casts off Cordelia, through the scene in which he curses Goneril, until in the scene in which he becomes convinced of the treason of Goneril, when it became the desolating192 hurricane, destroying even reason itself. The scenes with Edgar were beautifully given. The different phases of the approach of madness were admirably marked. You could see, as it were, reason descending193 from her throne. The scene with Gloucester, too, was very fine; the biting apothegms which Shakspeare has in this scene put into the mouth of Lear were given with heartless, bitter, scornful, laughing sarcasm194, which is perhaps one of the most unfailing characteristics of madness. The recognition of Cordelia was beautifully touching195, and the lament196 over her dead body was given with an expression of heart-rending pathos198 of which we did not before imagine Mr. Forrest capable."
The praise given by the Times was still more emphatic199:
[Pg 395]
"Mr. Forrest's Lear is, from beginning to end, a very masterly, intelligent, and powerful performance, giving evidence of the most careful and attentive200 study of the author's meaning, steering201 clear, at the same time, of all fine-drawn subtleties202 and tricky203 point-making, and affording a well-grasped and evenly-sustained impersonation of that magnificent and soul stirring creation. He is certainly a better Lear than any our own stage has afforded for some time. Although, from Mr. Forrest's personal appearance, one would with difficulty imagine him capable of looking the old man, fourscore and upwards204, all the attributes of age and feebleness, the palsied head and tottering walk, are admirably assumed, and are never lost sight of throughout the performance. At his first appearance he was received with considerable applause, which was repeatedly renewed as he continued with the scene,—commencing in a tone of kingly dignity and paternal205 affection, and, after Cordelia's reply, gradually giving place to the suppressed workings of his rage, which at last burst forth, at Kent's interference, into an ungovernable storm, and lit up his features with the most withering207 expression of fury. The curse at the end of the second act, which was pronounced by Mr. Forrest in one scream of rage, his body tremulously agitated209 with the violence of his emotion, brought down burst after burst of applause, which lasted considerably210 after the fall of the drop; and indeed an attempt was made to introduce that very unusual compliment when the play is still unfinished, a call for the actor. Such displays of physical power, although in this instance perfectly211 called for and necessary, are not, however, the chief or the best points on which the merits of Mr. Forrest's performance rest. The scene where he discovers Kent in the stocks, and is subsequently confronted with his two daughters, whose insults finally drive him off distracted, was acted with great play and variety of expression,—Mr. Forrest passing from one emotion to the other with childish fitfulness, and displaying a keen and discriminate212 perception. The mad scenes also in no less degree evinced the higher qualities of the actor. The declamatory bursts of passionate satire213 on the vices214 and weaknesses of the world, chaotically215 mingled217 with the incoherences of madness, had evidently been a subject of minute study, and were shaded with admirable nicety, the features constantly expressing the alternate
[Pg 396]
return of light and darkness on the old man's brain. In the last act, the touching simplicity218 and tenderness of his manner, when too exhausted219 for violent emotion, and the last burst of feverish220 energy over the body of Cordelia, were equally well conceived. If there be any fault to find, it was with the death, which was, perhaps, too minutely true in its physical details.
"Mr. Forrest was called for at the conclusion, and received enthusiastic marks of approbation221."
The following extract is from a notice of his Othello by the John Bull:
"Mr. Forrest's former visit to this country must be fresh in the memory of theatrical222 amateurs. His talents were then generally admitted; but it was remarked that, though he possessed223 force, it was more of a physical than a moral kind, and that his action was more akin181 to melodrama224 than to tragedy. Since that time Mr. Forrest seems considerably changed, and for the better. His action has become more quiet, chaste225, and subdued226. It is now, perhaps, too careful and measured, and we rather missed something of his former rough and somewhat extravagant43 energy. We cannot help thinking that one or two of our contemporaries have relied rather on their remembrance of what Mr. Forrest was than their perception of what he is. On the whole, his representation of Othello well merited the immense applause it received."
Scores of notices like these in the best portion of the English press prove conclusively227 enough the malignity of writers who could denounce their American visitor as a theatrical impostor, worthy228 of nothing but contempt. The London Observer, for example, could find nothing better to say of the Metamora of Forrest than this: "His whole dramatic existence is a spasm229 of rage and hatred230, and his whole stage-life one continuous series of murder, arson231, and destruction to life and property in its most hideous232 form. What a pity he could not be let loose upon the drab-colored swindlers of Pennsylvania! Mr. Forrest did not indicate one of the characteristics of the American Indian except that wretched combination of sounds between a whine233, a howl, and a gobble, which is designated the war-whoop by those who think more of poetry than of truth. Besides this sin of omission234, he has to answer for those sins of commission which so sadly
[Pg 397]
deface his impersonation of every part he has appeared in, namely, that cool, nonchalant manner, that slow motion, and that ridiculous style of elocution, now whispering, now conversational235, ever and anon screaming, roaring, bellowing236, and raving237, but never sustained, truthful238, or dignified:
"'List to that voice! Did ever discord239 hear
Sounds so well fitted to her untuned ear?'"
The Age and Argus spoke116 of the most extraordinary contrast of the conduct of a part of the press towards Mr. Forrest to the treatment he received when he acted at Drury Lane in 1836, and said, "Many persons intimate that had he been now engaged there instead of appearing at the Princess's, the theatrical reporters would have been unable to discover a single fault in his performances,—managerial tact240 being competent to guide the honest opinions of most of these gentry241. The 'Observer' endeavors to depict242 Mr. Forrest as a fool, an idiot, whose performance is simply ludicrous; albeit243 we have reason to believe the writer is the self-same person who seven years ago tried to write him up as a first-rate tragedian."
Forrest thought, from some direct proofs and a mass of circumstantial evidence, he could trace the fierce hostility with which he was met to its chief source in Macready. He may have been mistaken; but such was his belief. Macready, returning from America irritated towards him as a more than formidable rival before the people, was now idle, and had repeatedly failed to draw a remunerative244 audience in London. In fact, such was the temper of the man that when manager Bunn was nightly losing money by him, and, in order to make him break his engagement, purposely vexed245 him by casts which he disliked, he one night rushed off the stage in a fury, and, without a word of provocation246, fell on Bunn, a much smaller and weaker man, and beat him so dreadfully that the poor manager lay in bed in frightful247 agony for two weeks. He was prosecuted248, convicted, and forced to pay a hundred and fifty pounds damages. Macready was the intimate friend of the theatrical critic who abused Forrest the most unrelentingly. He was the intimate friend of Bulwer Lytton, who refused the request of Forrest to be allowed to appear in his two plays of "Richelieu" and "The Lady of Lyons."
[Pg 398]
He was the intimate friend of Mitchel, the manager of the English theatrical company in Paris, who rudely refused to see Forrest when he applied249 to him for an interview. This last circumstance was especially mortifying250, as he had informed his friends before leaving home that he intended to perform in Paris, and flattering notices of him and of his purposed appearance among them had been published in the French press.[A] Macready himself had failed to make an impression in Paris, and the English company there was not pecuniarily251 successful. Forrest believed, whether correctly or not, that his rival had interfered252 to prevent his engagement there. Thus his antagonism253 was edged with a sharper hate.
[A]
"Forrest a reçu le surnom de Talma de l'Amérique, et ce surnom n'est point immérité. Forrest, de stature254 plus grande, plus athlétique que Talma, a avec lui une certaine ressemblance de tête. Il a étudié ce grand modèle auquel il a gardé une sorte de culte, et, dans son dernier voyage de Paris, en 1834, sa première visite fut à la tombe du grande artiste, sur laquelle il alla modestement et secrètement déposer une couronne. Il y a quelque choses de touchant et d'éloquent dans cet hommage apporté des rives lointaines du Nouveau-Monde à celui qui fut le roi du théâtre européen. Forrest a dans son répertoire certains rôles qui auront pour le public français un grand attrait de nouveauté. Tel est, par6 exemple, celui de l'Indien Metamora, qu'il rend197 avec tant d'énergie et de sauvage vérité. A son talent de premier255 ordre, Forrest a dû non-seulement une réputation sans rivale en ce pays, mais encore une très-belle fortune. Il est aussi haut placé comme homme que comme artiste. Il est l'un des tribuns les plus éloquents du parti démocrate, et il été un moment question de le nommer représentant du peuple au congrès. Il a donc tout256 espèce de titres à une réception brillante et digne de lui de la part du peuple parisien, si hospitalier à toutes les gloires. A sa titres nombreux à cette hospitalité, M. Forrest en a ajouté un encore, s'il est possible, par la manière honorable et cordiale dont il a parlé de la France dans le discours d'adieu qu'il a adressé l'autre jour aux habitans de Philadelphie. Voici la fin109 de ce speech: 'Pendant le voyage que je vais faire à l'étranger, je me propose de donner quelque représentations dans la capitale de la France, où je recevrai, je n'en doute pas, l'accueil le plus bienveillant et le plus cordial. Je crois que je ne hasarde rien en osant tant espérer. Je parle d'après ma connaissance personnelle du peuple français, au sein duquel je sais qu'un Américain est toujours bien venu. Un Américain se souvient avec gratitude257 que la France a été l'alliée, l'amie de son pays, dans la guerre de son indépendance, et la nation française n'a point oublié que c'est à l'exemple de l'Amérique qu'elle doit son initiation258 à la grande cause de la liberté humaine.'"
Meanwhile, the respective adherents259 of the rivals fanned the flames of the quarrel by their constant recriminations in the press, and kept the controversy spreading. Criticisms, accusations260, rejoinders, flew to and fro between the assailants and the cham
[Pg 399]
pions of each side. An extract from an article by one of the best-informed of the English friends of the American actor, though obviously written with a bias261, yet throws light in several directions. He says, "There are half a dozen writers for the press in London who are recipients263 of constant attentions from the clique264 with which Macready lives, a clique of wits, artists, authors, and men-about-town, who hover265 in the outskirts266 of high life and form a barrier stratum between the lesser267 aristocracy and the critics. The critics support upward, the clique transmit notice downward, and Macready controls this clique by the consequence he has as favored by the noblemen who play the patron to his profession. Forrest is a true republican, and cannot be a courtier,—
'He would not flatter Neptune268 for his trident.'
He neglects the finical rules and scorns to observe the demands of the courtly circles which arrogate269 all superiority to themselves." Under these circumstances a growing dislike and a final collision between the men were inevitable270 by the logic271 of human nature.
Thus the quarrel went on, nor was confined to the scene of combat. Its echoes rolled back to America, growing as they went, and adding, somewhat extravagantly, to their individual import a national significance. A long article appeared in the "Democratic Review," entitled "Mr. Forrest's Second Reception in England." A portion of it will be found still to possess interest and suggestiveness:
"It is the fortune of this country to send over the water from time to time men who are palpable and obvious embodiments of its spirit, and who do not fail, therefore, to stir the elements among which they are cast.
"Daniel Webster was one of these; and we all recollect273 how his motions were watched, his words chronicled, his looks at court, in Parliament, and at agricultural dinners taken down. They felt that he was a genuine piece of the country, and, in presence of his oak-ribbed strength of person and understanding, acknowledged that he belonged to the land he came from. Mr. Forrest is another of these; quite as good in his way; struck out of the very heart of the soil, and vindicating275 himself too clearly to be misunderstood, as a creature of its institutions, habits, and daily life. His biography is a chapter in the life of the country; and
[Pg 400]
taking him at the start, as he appears on the Bowery stage (a rugged276, heady, self-cultured mass of strength and energy thrown down in the most characteristic spot in the American metropolis), and running on with him through all his career, in the course of which it became necessary for him more than once to take society by the collar, down to the day when, in his brass-buttoned coat, he set out for this second expedition to Europe, we shall find him American every inch, the growth of the place, and well entitled to make a stir among the smooth proprieties277 of the Princess's Theatre. And he has done so. When, after an absence of something like seven years, he heaves up his sturdy bulk against the foot-lights on the English house, the audience know him at once to be genuine: but lurking278 in the edges of the place are certain sharp-eyed gentlemen, who in the very teeth of the unquestionable force before them, massive, irregular it may be, discover that Mr. Forrest has lapsed279 from his early manner, and has subsided280 into tameness and effeminacy!
"Mr. Forrest's English position at this moment is, in our view, just what his true friends would desire. He is carrying his audiences with him; and has from the press just the amount of resistance required to rouse him to new efforts, and to bring out the whole depth and force of New-Worldism in him, to play an engagement such as he has never played before, and to measure himself in assured strength by the side of the head of the English school.
"Mr. Macready, an admirable performer, succeeds by subduing281 all of the man within him; because he ceases, in the fulfilment of his function as an actor, to have any fellowship with the beatings and turmoils282 and agitations283 of the heart. He is classical in spirit, in look, and action.
"It is because he is a man of large heart, and does not forget it in all the mazes284 of the stage, that Mr. Forrest has sway with the house. He never loses sight of the belief that it is he, a man, with men before him, who treads the boards, and asks for tears, and sobs285, and answers of troubled hearts. It is no painted shadow you see in Forrest; no piece of costume; no sword or buckler moving along the line of light as in a procession; but a man, there to do his four hours' work; it may be sturdily, and with great outlay286 of muscular power, but with a big heart;
[Pg 401]
and if you fail to be moved, you may reasonably doubt whether sophistication has not taken the soul out of you, and left you free to offer yourself for a show-case or a clothier's dummy287.
"We take an interest in Mr. Forrest because we see in him elemental qualities characteristic of the country, and we feel therefore any slight put upon him as, in its essence, a wound directed at the country itself. He carries with him into action, upon the stage, qualities that are true to the time and place of his origin. Whether rugged or refined, he is upon a large scale, expansive, bold, gothic in his style; and it is not, therefore, matter of wonder that he should have encountered, both at home and abroad, the hostility of simpering elegance288 and dainty imbecility."
Concluding his London engagement, Forrest proceeded to the principal cities of the United Kingdom and appeared in his leading rôles, and was uniformly greeted with full houses and unstinted applause. The tone of the press towards him was everywhere highly flattering. At Sheffield in particular his success was great. The dramatic company were as much pleased with him as the audiences were, and took occasion on his closing night to express their sentiment in a manner which gratified him deeply. After the tragedy of Othello, Mr. G. V. Brooke, who had sustained the part of Iago, invited Forrest to meet the theatrical company in the green-room, and, entirely290 to his surprise, addressed him thus:
"Sir,—A most pleasing duty has devolved upon me, in being deputed by my brother actors to express the gratification and delight we have experienced in witnessing your powerful talent as an actor, and your courteous291 and gentlemanly bearing to your brother professors of the sock and buskin. I am obliged to be very brief in my remarks, as some of the gentlemen around me will have, in a very short time, to be on duty at the post of honor. Allow me, then, sir, before you return to the land of your birth, of which you are a brilliant ornament292, to present you, in the name of myself and brother actors, with this small testimonial of our esteem293, and to wish that health and prosperity may attend you and Mrs. Forrest, whatever part of the globe it may be your lot to visit."
The following was the inscription295 on the testimonial, which was a very elegant silver snuff-box: "Presented to Edwin For
[Pg 402]
rest, Esq., by the members of the Sheffield Theatrical Company, as a mark of their esteem for him as an Actor and a Man. January 30, 1846."
Forrest replied in the following words:
"I accept this gratifying token of the kind feeling entertained towards me by the members of this company with mingled sentiments of pride and satisfaction. Believe me, there is no praise that could be awarded to my professional exertions296 so dear to me as that which is offered by my brother actors; for they who, through years of toil298, have labored299 up the steep and thorny300 pathway which leads to eminence301 in our laborious302 art, can alone appreciate the difficulties that must be encountered and overcome. I shall ever look back with sincerest pleasure to my intercourse303 with the Sheffield dramatic corps304, to whose uniform kindness I am greatly indebted for their prompt and cordial co-operation in all the professional duties which we have been called upon to perform together. Both here and at Manchester I have found you always ready and willing to second my views, and any request made to you at rehearsal305 in the morning you have never failed to perform with alacrity306 and promptitude at night.
"You have in the kindest terms alluded308 to the courtesy which you have been pleased to say has characterized my conduct towards all the members of the company. In reply, I can only say, you have, each and all, met me with an entirely correspondent feeling, and I thank you from my heart. These same courtesies shown to one another are productive of a vast amount of good. I cannot but remember that I, too, have gone through the 'rough brake,' that I, too, began the profession in its humblest walks; and I have not forgotten the pleasing and inspiring emotions that were awakened310 in my youthful breast when I have received a kind word, or an approving smile, from those who were 'older and better soldiers' than myself. And at the same time my experience has taught me that there is no one engaged in the art, be he ever so humble309, but some advantage may be gleaned311 from his observations. As I knew not until this moment of your kind intention to present me with this flattering testimonial, I am wholly unprepared to thank you as I ought. There are feelings too deep to be expressed in words; and such are my feelings now.
[Pg 403]
"Once more, I thank you: and permit me to add that, should any here, by life's changing scene, be 'discovered' in my country, I shall take sincerest pleasure in promoting his views to the best of my ability."
While at Sheffield, Forrest attended a banquet given in honor of the birthday of Robert Burns. In response to a toast proposed by the chairman, "The health of Mr. Edwin Forrest, and Success to the Drama in America," he said some of his earliest human and literary memories were linked together with the story of Scotland and the genius of Burns. His own father had left the Scottish hills to seek his fortune in an American city. His earliest tutor, who had taken a generous interest in him in his opening boyhood, and taught him to recite some of the finest of the poems of Burns, was another Scottish emigrant,—Wilson the ornithologist312. After a few other words, he closed by reciting the eloquent313 poem of his friend Fitz-Greene Halleck in memory of Burns, which was received with vociferous314 cheering:
"Praise to the Bard315! His words are driven,
Like flower-seeds by the far winds sown,
Where'er beneath the arch of heaven
The birds of fame have flown.
"Such graves as his are pilgrim-shrines316,
Shrines to no code or creed317 confined,—
The Delphian vales, the Palestines,
The Meccas of the mind."
The Manchester Guardian318 published a critique on the Spartacus of Forrest quite remarkable319 for its intelligent discrimination and choice diction. As a description it is very just, but utterly320 mistaken in its apparent implication that the spiritual should be made more distinctly superior to the physical in this part. The writer seems not to have remembered that Forrest was impersonating a semi-barbaric gladiator, in whom, when under supreme321 excitement, the animal must predominate over the intellectual. It would be false to nature to depict in such a man under such circumstances ideality governing sense, reason calmly curbing322 passion. It would be as absurd as to give a pugilist the mental splendor323 and majesty324 of a Pericles. The way in which the critic paints Forrest as representing Spartacus is exactly the way in
[Pg 404]
which alone the character could be represented without a gross violation325 of truth:
"This is, perhaps, of all others, the character in which Mr. Forrest most excels; nay326, stands alone. It implies and demands great physical strength, a man of herculean mould, and we doubt if ever we shall again look upon so fine a model of the lionhearted Thracian. That he is a barbarian327, too, is in favor of the actor; for what would be blemishes328 in the polished Greek or haughty Roman are in keeping with the rude, untutored nature of the Thracian mountaineer. Since his former visit, Mr. Forrest has certainly improved, especially in the less showy passages of the play; and we admire him most in the quiet asides, the quick and clear directions as to the disposition329 of his troops, and any other portions of the dialogue that do not demand great emotion. In these he is natural and truthful. As before, when he comes to the delineation330 of the deeper passions of our nature, it is by energetic muscular action, and by the fierce shoutings or hoarse331 raving of his voice, that he conveys the idea,—not by any of the nicer touches of mental discrimination and expression. This course—an original one, in which perhaps he stands supreme—is most effective, or rather least defective332, in this play, for the reason already given: in it his acting is of a high, but certainly not of the highest, order. It is the material seeking to usurp333 the throne of the ideal; physical force clutching at the sceptre of the intellectual; with what success the immutable334 laws of matter and mind will now, as ever, pronounce, in their irreversible decrees. Still, it is an extraordinary histrionic picture, which all lovers of the drama should contemplate335. It is not a thing to be laughed at or sneered336 down. Power there is; at times great mental, as well as physical, power; but in the thrilling situations of the piece, that which should be the slave becomes the master; and energy of body reigns337 supreme over subordinated intellectual expression and mental dignity. He is the Hercules, or the Polyphemus, not the high-souled hero; and, in his fury, the raging animal rather than the goaded338 and distracted man."
In Ireland, the acting of Forrest, the magnetic power of his personality, the patriotic339 sentiments and stirring invectives against tyranny with which his Spartacus and Cade abounded341, conspired342
[Pg 405]
to arouse a wild enthusiasm in his passionate and imaginative audiences, and his appearances at Cork343, Belfast, Dublin, were so many ovations344. The effect of his Jack345 Cade may be seen in this notice from the Cork Examiner:
"The object of the writer seems to be to rescue Cade from the defamation346 of courtly chroniclers and historians, who, either imbued347 with an aristocratic indifference348 to the wrongs of an oppressed people, or writing for their oppressors, misrepresented the motives and ridiculed349 the power of the Kentish rebel. In this the author has succeeded; for he flings round the shoulders of the rustic350 the garb351 of the patriot340, and fills his soul not only with a deep and thorough hatred of the oppressors who ground the people to the earth and held them down in bondage352, but breathes into his every thought a passionate and beautiful longing353 after liberty. The powerful representation of such a play must produce a corresponding impression upon any audience; how strong its appeal to the sympathies of an Irish audience, may be better imagined than described. It abounds with passionate appeals to liberty, withering denunciations of oppression, and stinging sarcasms354, unveiling at a glance the narrow foundation upon which class-tyranny bases its power and usurpation355. In fact, from beginning to end, it is an animated356 appeal to the best sympathies of MAN, stirring him to the depths of his nature, as with a trumpet357's blast.
"An objection might be made to some passages, that they are too declamatory; but this is rather praise to the discrimination and fidelity358 of the author to nature, than a reproach. When a leader has to stir men's blood, to make their strong hearts throb120, he uses not the 'set phrase of peace,'—he does not ratiocinate like a philosopher, insinuate359 like a pleader; he talks like a trumpet, with tongue of fire and with words of impassioned eloquence360. Sufferings, wrongs, indignities361, dishonor to gray hairs and outrage to tender virginhood, are not to be tamely told of, but painted with vivid imagination until the heart again feels its anguish362 and the brow burns at the wrong. This is the direct avenue to men's hearts,—the only way to rouse them to desperate action; and hence the justice of Cade's declamation363, when addressing the crushed bondmen of Kent.
"Mr. Forrest's Aylmere had nothing in it of the actor's trick,—it
[Pg 406]
was not acting. He seemed thoroughly364 and entirely to identify himself with the struggles of an enslaved people; and as every spirit-stirring sentence was dashed off with the energy of a man in earnest it seemed as if it had its birthplace in the heart rather than in the conceiving brain. One passage, in which he calls down fierce imprecations on the head of Lord Say, the torturer of his aged107 father and the coward murderer of his widowed mother, was magnificently pronounced by Mr. Forrest, amidst thunders of applause, as if the sympathy of the audience ratified289 and sanctified the curse of the avenging365 son. Such is the power of true genius!—such the force of passion, when legitimate and earnest!"
At Cork he received the compliments of a poet in the happy lines that follow:
"O'er the rough mass the Grecian sculptor366 bent367,
And, as his chisel368 shaped the yielding stone,
Rising, the world-enchanting Venus shone,
And stood in youth and grace and beauty blent.
Thus o'er each noble speaking lineament
Of thy fine face, thy genius, Forrest, shines,
And paints the picture in perfection's lines.
With plastic skill Prometheus formed the clay;
Yet soul was wanting in the image cold
Till through its frame was shed life's glorious ray
And fire immortal369 lit the mindless mould.
Thus, while thy lips the poet's words unfold,
With the rough ore of thought thy fancies play,
And, with a Midas power, turn all they touch to gold!"
On his farewell night he acted Macbeth to a brilliant house. As the drop-scene fell at the close of the last act, deafening370 shouts re-echoed through the house, with calls for Forrest, which, on his coming in front of the curtain to acknowledge them, were renewed and kept up for a considerable time, the people rising en masse, and paying the most marked tribute of their estimation. On silence being restored, he said,—
"Ladies and Gentlemen,—Exhausted as I must necessarily feel, owing to the character I have sustained, I cannot find language adequate to express the sentiments that fill my bosom, neither am I able to return suitable acknowledgments for the kindness which you are pleased to evince towards me. I beg
[Pg 407]
to thank you sincerely for the cordiality and courtesy which I have experienced from the hospitable371 citizens of Cork during my short sojourn372 in this 'beautiful city.' Long shall I remember it, and in returning to my native country I shall bear with me the grateful recollection of that courtesy and hospitality; and, when there, I shall often think with pleasure and pride on the flattering reception you were pleased to honor me with. I wish you all adieu, and hope that the dark cloud that overhangs this fair country will soon pass away; that a happier and brighter day will beam on her, and that Ireland and her people will long enjoy the prosperity and happiness they are so eminently373 entitled to, and which are so much to be desired."
He was quite as triumphant142 in Dublin as in Cork. The notice of his opening in Othello shows this:
"Mr. Forrest, the American tragedian, made his first appearance on Monday night, as Othello. The selection of the character was, for an actor of great power, most judicious375; for in all the glorious range of Shakspeare's immortal plays there is not one so powerful in its appeal to the sympathies of our nature, so masterly in its anatomy376 of the human heart, or so highly-wrought377 and yet so beautiful a picture of passion,—nor, for the actor, is there any character requiring more delicacy378 of perception and personation in its details, nor so much of terrible energy of the wrung379 heart and stormy soul in its bursts of frenzied380 passion. An actor without a heart to feel and an energy to express the fearful passion of the gallant381 Moor382, whose free and open nature was craftily383 abused to madness, could give no idea of the character, and must needs leave the audience as cold and unmoved as himself.
"But, to one glowing with the divine fire of genius, that wonderful electricity by which the inmost nature of man is moved, and masses are swayed as if by the wand of an enchanter, Othello is a noble character for the display of his power,—a resistless spell, by which the eye and ear and soul of the audience are held and moved and swayed. We must admit that such an actor is Mr. Forrest, and that such is the effect which his personation of the loving, tender, gentle, duped, abused, maddened Moor produced upon us, and seemed to produce upon his audience. From the rising to the falling of the curtain the house was hushed in
[Pg 408]
stilled, almost breathless, attention; and it was not until stirred by some electrifying384 burst of passion that the pent-up feeling of his listeners vented itself in such applause, such recognition of the justness and naturalness of the passion, as man gives to man in real life, and when, as it were, the interests of the actor and the spectators are one. This species of involuntary homage385 to the genius of his personation arose not only from the power which a consummate386 actor acquires over the feelings of others, but from the entire absence of all those contemptible387 tricks of the stage, those affectations of originality388, of individuality,—that is, stamping the counterfeit manner of the actor upon the sterling389 ore of the author,—those false readings and exaggerated declamations, which call down injudicious but degrading approbation. Mr. Forrest is free from all these defects. And yet his 'reading' is singularly telling. Not one passage—nay, not one word—of the vivid, picturesque390, nervous, wondrous391 eloquence of the poet is lost upon the audience. What might puzzle in the closet is transparent392 on the stage. The quaint393 form in which the divine philosophy of Shakspeare clothes itself seems, by his reading, its fit and apposite garb,—as if none other could so well indicate its keen and subtile meaning. And all this is done without aiming at 'points,' or striving after 'effects.' Then his tenderness is tenderness—his passion, passion. Possessing a noble voice, running from the richest base to the sweetest tenor394,—if we might so describe it,—full of flexibility395, and capable of every modulation396, from the hurricane of savage397 fury to the melting tenderness of love, Mr. Forrest can express all those varied and oftentimes opposite emotions which agitate208 our nature, and which Shakspeare, as its most masterly delineator, represents in all its phases in his immortal creations, and not least in Othello. We were much struck with the beautiful fidelity with which Mr. Forrest's look, gesture, tone, and manner painted the gradual growth of jealousy, from the first faint, vague doubt, to its full and terrible confirmation398, and the change of Othello's nature, from the frank soldier and the doting399 husband to the relentless400 fury of the avenger401. To our mind it was a noble picture,—bold, beautiful, and delicate."
An event illustrative of the spirit of Forrest occurred on his last evening in Dublin. The play was "Damon and Pythias."
[Pg 409]
The Lord-Lieutenant of Ireland entered the theatre with a noble party, escorted by a military company with martial402 music. The audience rose with the curtain, and joined the whole dramatic corps in singing "God save the Queen." Forrest never once during the play looked towards the vice-regal box; and in the bows with which he acknowledged an honorary call from the audience at the close, he studiously avoided seeing the group of titularly-illustrious visitors. He was a democrat272; he liked the Irish and disliked their English rulers, and he would not in his own eyes appear a snob403. His taste and delicacy in the act were questionable21,—his sturdy honesty unquestionable. It reminds one of Goethe and Beethoven standing274 together when the victorious404 Napoleon passed in his pomp on the way to Berlin. Both were men of genius and of nobleness; but the one was socially freed by cosmopolitan405 culture and health, the other socially enslaved by natural inheritance and morbidity406. They acted with equal honesty, but in a very different way, as Napoleon went by. Goethe made a low bow, and stood with inclined front; Beethoven crushed his hat over his brows, and thrust himself more stiffly up. Neither he nor Forrest could play the courtier. They could not in social relations abnegate self and react impersonally407 on others. They must assert that they were themselves, and were democratically willing to allow everybody else the same privilege.
The reception of Forrest in Scotland, notably at Glasgow and Edinburgh, was all that he could have asked. The first literary organ of Edinburgh pronounced its judgment thus: "The three leading characteristics of Mr. Forrest's acting appear to us to be, a bold intellectual grasp of the written soul of his author; a remarkably vigorous and striking execution, accompanied by an apparent contempt for mere conventional rules or customs; and a rare faculty408 of expressing by the face what neither pen can write nor tongue tell."
It was at Edinburgh that the actor performed what may perhaps be called the most unfortunate and ill-omened deed in his life. Attending the theatre to see Macready play Hamlet, he had applauded several good points made by his rival. But in the scene where the court are about assembling to witness the play within the play, and Hamlet says to Horatio,—
[Pg 410]
"They are coming to the play; I must be idle.
Get you to a place,"
Macready gallopaded two or three times across the stage, swinging his handkerchief in rapid flourishes above his head. As he was affecting to be mad, it does not seem that the action was in any extreme out of character. But it struck Forrest as inexcusably unworthy, and a desecration409 of the author. Accordingly, with his usual unpausing forthrightness410 and reckless disregard of appearances, he gave vent10 to his disgust in a loud hiss129. Macready glowered411 at him and waved his handkerchief towards him with an air of contemptuous defiance412, and repeated his movement. The right of a spectator to express his condemnation55 of an actor by hissing413 is unquestioned. Had not Forrest been himself a brother actor, and in unfriendly relations with the performer, his hiss would not have been much noticed or long remembered. But the special circumstances of the case gave it an indelicacy and a bad taste which aggravated414 its import and led to lasting415 consequences of hatred and violence. The following letter addressed by Forrest to the editor of the London Times explains the occasion which called it forth, and furnishes the reasons which in the mind of its writer justified his primary deed, though they will hardly be sufficient to justify416 it in the minds of impartial readers:
"Sir,—Having seen in your journal of the 12th inst. an article headed 'Professional Jealousy,' a part of which originally appeared in the 'Scotsman,' published in Edinburgh, I beg leave, through the medium of your columns, to state that at the time of its publication I addressed a letter to the editor of the 'Scotsman' upon the subject, which, as I then was in Dumfries, I sent to a friend in Edinburgh, requesting him to obtain its insertion; but, as I was informed, the 'Scotsman' refused to receive any communication upon the subject. I need say nothing of the injustice of this refusal. Here, then, I was disposed to let the matter rest, as upon more mature reflection I did not deem it worth further attention: but now, as the matter has assumed a 'questionable shape,' by the appearance of the article in your journal, I feel called upon, though reluctantly, to answer it.
"There are two legitimate modes of evincing approbation and
[Pg 411]
disapprobation in the theatre,—one expressive417 of approval by the clapping of hands, and the other by hisses to mark dissent418; and, as well-timed and hearty applause is the just meed of the actor who deserves well, so also is hissing a salutary and wholesome419 corrective of the abuses of the stage; and it was against one of these abuses that my dissent was expressed, and not, as was stated, 'with a view of expressing his (my) disapproval420 of the manner in which Mr. Macready gave effect to a particular passage.' The truth is, Mr. Macready thought fit to introduce a fancy dance into his performance of Hamlet, which I thought, and still think, a desecration of the scene, and at which I evinced that disapprobation for which the pseudo-critic is pleased to term me an 'offender'; and this was the only time during the performance that I did so, although the writer evidently seeks, in the article alluded to, to convey a different impression. It must be observed, also, that I was by no means 'solitary421' in this expression of opinion.
"That a man may manifest his pleasure or displeasure after the recognized mode, according to the best of his judgment, actuated by proper motives, and for justifiable422 ends, is a right which, until now, I have never once heard questioned; and I contend that that right extends equally to an actor, in his capacity as a spectator, as to any other man. Besides, from the nature of his studies, he is much more competent to judge of a theatrical performance than any soi-disant critic who has never himself been an actor.
"The writer of the article in the 'Scotsman,' who has most unwarrantably singled me out for public animadversion, has carefully omitted to notice the fact that I warmly applauded several points of Mr. Macready's performance, and more than once I regretted that the audience did not second me in so doing.
"As to the pitiful charge of 'professional jealousy' preferred against me, I dismiss it with the contempt it merits, confidently relying upon all those of the profession with whom I have been associated for a refutation of the slander47.
"Yours respectfully,
"Edwin Forrest."
March, 1846.
[Pg 412]
On the appearance in an Edinburgh paper of the severe letter alluded to in the foregoing, the indignation of Forrest was so intense that he resolved to inflict423 summary punishment on its cause. In the early evening he made an elaborate toilet, donning his best dress-suit, putting on an elegant pair of kid gloves, carefully sprinkling himself with cologne, and sought the dramatic critic, whom he supposed to be the offender, in his customary seat in the upper tier of boxes. Confronting the writer, he fixed424 his eyes on him, and through his set teeth, in the deadliest monotone of suppressed passion, this question glided425 like a serpent of speech: "Are you the author of the letter in the 'Scotsman' relative to my hissing Macready?" The man shrunk a little, and replied, "I am not." "It is fortunate for you that you are not; for had you been, by the living God I would have flung you over the balcony into the pit!" said Forrest, and left the box.
Besides this frightful instance of his angered state of mind, an amusing one occurred while he was at Edinburgh. He was rehearsing, when the proprietor426 and manager of the theatre, a diminutive427 and foppish428 man, with a mincing429 squeak430 of a voice, came into the front and disturbed the actors. Forrest did not recognize him, and cried out, "Stop that noise!" The intruder retorted, with injured dignity, "This is my theatre, sir; and I shall make as much noise in it as I please, and when I please!" The explosive tragedian towered down upon him and blazed out, in thunder-tones, "Damn you and your theatre! If you ever dare to interrupt me again in this way when I am rehearsing, I will knock your damned head off from your damned shoulders!" The terrified proprietor shrunk away, and did not show himself in the house again till the day after the tragedian's engagement had ended. Then Forrest was in the dressing-room, packing his things, when he saw the manager enter the adjoining room, where the treasurer431 was sitting. The dapper little man advanced with nimble step, rubbing his hands briskly, and asked, in his dapper little voice, "Has the great American pugilist left town?" Forrest broke into hearty laughter at the ludicrous contrast, and came forward with both hands extended, and they parted as very good friends.
On the Fourth of July, Forrest presided at the celebration of the anniversary of their national independence held by the
[Pg 413]
Americans in London, at the Lyceum Tavern432. The building was decorated with American flags, and the intellectual exercises after the dinner, introduced by the chairman with an effective speech in defence and eulogy433 of republican institutions, were sustained till a late hour with much enthusiasm.
While in London—it may possibly be that the adventure occurred during his previous visit—Forrest called, by invitation, on Jerome Bonaparte, who was then residing there, and who had seen several of his impersonations, and had expressed a high opinion of their merits. In the course of their conversation, Forrest asked Jerome if he had been personally acquainted with Talma. Smiles broke over the face of the ex-king like sunny couriers from a hive of sweet memories, as he replied, in an exquisitely435-modulated voice, "I had the honor of knowing that distinguished man well, and I esteemed436 him for his character as much as I admired him for his art. He was an honest patriot, who regarded not the fashions of the day. When Napoleon was a poor corporal, Talma was his friend, and gave him free passes to the theatre. He was equally the friend of the emperor, but asked no preferment or gift from him. He was a republican at the first, and he remained a republican to the last. His soul, sir, was as sublime437 off the stage as his acting was on it." As he spoke these words, Forrest says, a beam of reminiscent joy seemed at once to light up his countenance438 and brighten his voice.
It was the end of August that the player, sore and weary of his exile, ardently439 longing for home, sailed for his beloved America, where he well knew a welcome of no ordinary character would greet him. And so it proved. The current tone of the press breathed a hearty friendliness440. It assured him that his countrymen had followed his career from his boyhood to his present proud position with a growing interest, and that his recent experience abroad had deepened their attachment441 to him. Whatever bars had from time to time presented themselves, he had readily overpassed or brushed away, and he was congratulated on having always made good his position with the decisive energy characteristic of his country. He was told that he had secured the affections of the masses of the people to such a degree that his name was a proverb among them, and they would now spring to welcome him home as very few are welcomed.
[Pg 414]
He waited but four days before appearing as Lear at the Park Theatre. The New York Mirror says, "The house was crowded to excess. The pit rose in mass, and long and loud was the applause, clapping of hands, thumping442 of canes443, waving of hats and handkerchiefs, ending with nine cheers for Edwin Forrest, given with heart and soul. The recipient262 evidently felt it all. Long may this relation between actor and people be unbroken! It is for the good of both that it should exist. As a man, Mr. Forrest is worthy of this confidence; as the representative of Lear and the greatest nobleness of Shakspeare, and the loftiest minds of the drama, he is trebly worthy of it, for he stands the representative of an heroic truth and dignity. It is impossible that the people should witness such a performance as that of King Lear without elevation444 and purification of character. On Mr. Forrest's part such a reception must recall to him, more forcibly than the language of any critic, the responsibility that rests upon him as one of the chief representatives of the American stage, an institution which, being yet in its infancy445, has capacity for good or evil, the development of which rests upon the present generation. Those who look upon the stage now with any interest regard it with respect to the future, and demand in any actor or dramatic author a reverence446 for the theatre, and some services in its cause. If we thought the theatre would always remain in its present condition in this country, we should abandon it in despair. But it cannot so remain, any more than our literature can remain merely imitative, or our political life low and pestilent as it is. The stage must rise. No one can render more aid to the cause than Mr. Forrest."
At the close of the play he was honored with the same enthusiastic greeting as at his entrance, and he said, "Ladies and Gentlemen,—I have not words fitly to acknowledge a reception so kind, so cordial, so unexpected. It has so overpowered me that I cannot convey to you the grateful emotions of my heart. Yet, while a pulse beats here or memory continues, I shall ever remember the emotions of my soul at this reception. Ladies and gentlemen, I thank you."
The marked advance in the taste and finish of his performance was owned by all. The Albion said, "He is infinitely447 more subdued and quiet in his acting; his readings are more elaborated
[Pg 415]
and studied. His action and attitudes are more classic in their character; and a dignified repose, rendered majestic448 at times by his imposing449 figure, gives a tone to his performances wholly unlike the unrepressed energy and overwhelming physical power that formerly450 were the prominent characteristics of his style. As an instance of the beauty of his present subdued style we would instance the passage in Lear commencing at
'You see me here, you gods, a poor old man'—
"The whole of this passage was given in a strain of subdued, heart-broken pathos, exquisitely natural and effective. Similar touches of genuine feeling are now thrown into his Othello,—which are perfect triumphs of the art,—as are likewise those well-known bursts of intense passion, given with a force of physical power unapproachable perhaps by any living actor.
"Mr. Forrest occupies so prominent a position in his own country, as the greatest living American actor, as the founder451 of a school,—for he has literally452 founded a school, as may be seen from his numerous imitators,—and from the influence of his high name,—that we mark these changes in his style as especially worthy the attention of his younger and less experienced cotemporaries."
On his benefit night, in response to the call of the auditory, he made a brief speech, whose tenor showed that he fully148 felt the responsibility of his position and meant to be faithful to it. Returning his thanks, he added, "And, in the hope that you may continue to approve my efforts, they shall henceforth be employed, most strenuously453, to bring the American stage within the influence of a progressive movement, to call forth and encourage American dramatic letters, to advance the just claims of our own meritorious454 and deserving actors. Yet, while I shall endeavor to exert an influence favorable to American actors, you will do me the justice to believe that I am animated by no ungenerous motives towards the really deserving of any other country; for I should blush to imitate that narrow, exclusive, prejudiced, and, I may add, anti-American feeling which prescribes geographical455 limits to the growth of genius and talent. True worth is the birthright of no country, but is the common property of all. And, ladies and gentlemen, if it pleases you to applaud and
[Pg 416]
to second, in this endeavor, my humble efforts, I will say to you, in the language of the old Cardinal456 in the play,—
"'There's no such word as fail!'"
Amidst the cheers elicited457 by these words, as he made his bow, a garland, enclosing a copy of verses addressed to him, fell at his feet. He raised it and retired458, while the orchestra struck up "Home, Sweet Home!"
He then received another flattering compliment from many of the most prominent of his fellow-citizens:
"New York, Oct. 10th, 1846.
"Edwin Forrest, Esq.
"Dear Sir,—The undersigned, your friends and fellow-citizens, desirous of expressing to you personally the high estimation they entertain for your public and private character, avail themselves of the occasion of your return from Europe to invite you to a public dinner, and request that you will set apart one of the few days you are to remain with us, that may be most convenient to you, to accept of this slight tribute to your professional excellence459 and private worth.
"We are, with great respect,
"Your obedient servants,
"Wm. Cullen Bryant,
Andrew H. Mickle,
James Lawson,
E. K. Collins,
Saml. Ward122,
George Davis,
Cornelius Mathews,
Moses Taylor,
Wm. F. Havemeyer,
Evert Duyckinck,
Parke Godwin,
H. Weecks,
Fitz-Greene Halleck,
E. R. Hart,
B. F. Voorhis,
Isaac Townsend,
Prosper294 M. Wetmore,
A. Ingraham,
James F. Otis,
Jonathan Sturgis,
C. A. Clinton,
A. G. Stebbins,
Jas. T. Brady,
Theodore Sedgwick,
David Graham, Jr.,
George F. Thomson,
L. B. Wyman,
Charles Minturn,
Francis Griffin,
George Montgomery,
Dr. John F. Gray,
John P. Cisco,
John Britton,
[Pg 417]
J. M. Miller460,
Henry Wikoff,
Minthorne Tompkins,
D. P. Ingraham,
Charles P. Daly,
Jas. Phalen,
Robt. H. Morris,
W. M. Beckwith,
Edwd. Vincent,
Mortimer Livingston,
Charles M. Leupp."
To this letter he thus replied:
"New York, Oct. 12th, 1846.
"Gentlemen,—I have had the honor to receive your very kind letter of the 10th inst., in behalf of a number of my friends and fellow-citizens, inviting461 me to a public dinner, and requesting me to name a day most convenient to myself for its acceptance.
"It did not need this additional testimony462 to the many already conferred upon me by my fellow-citizens of New York, to assure me of their kind regard, and I feel for this, as well as for other tokens of esteem, that I am indebted more to their kindness than to any deserving upon my part.
"I accept, however, with pleasure, the invitation you have conveyed to me in such flattering terms, and, with permission, appoint Friday next, the 16th instant, as the day to meet my friends as they propose.
"I remain, gentlemen, yours, with sentiments of the highest respect and regard,
"Edwin Forrest.
"To Messrs. Wm. C. Bryant, C. A. Clinton, etc."
Accordingly, the committee of arrangements proceeded to prepare for the proposed welcome, and selected the New York Hotel as the place. A large and distinguished company sat down to the banquet. William Cullen Bryant presided, assisted by David Graham, Jr., James T. Brady, Charles M. Leupp, and Egbert Benson, as Vice-Presidents.
The first toast was "Our Country."
The next—"The American Stage. Its brilliant morning gives promise of a glorious day."
In introducing the third toast, Mr. Bryant said, "It is with great pleasure, gentlemen, that I proceed to fulfil a duty which your kindness has laid upon me, that of proposing the health of the distinguished man whom we are assembled to honor. A
[Pg 418]
great actor, gentlemen, is not merely an interpreter of the dramatic poet to the sense of mankind; he is something more and greater: he is, in his province, the creator of the character he represents. It is true that, from the hints given by the framer of the drama, he constructs the personage whom he would set before us; but he fills up an outline often faint, shadowy, and imperfect, and gives it distinctness, light and shade, and color; he clothes a skeleton with muscles, and infuses it in the blood and breath of life, and places it in our midst, a being of soul and thought and moved by the perpetual play of human passions. Those who have seen the restorations of ancient statues by Michael Angelo have admired the exquisite434 art, I should rather say the power above art, with which the great Florentine—a genius, if ever one lived—entered into the spirit of the old sculptors463, and with what faithful conformity464 to the manner of the original work, yet with what freedom of creative skill, he supplied those parts which were wanting, and animated modern marble with all the life of the antique. It is thus with the artist of the stage: he supplies what the dramatist does not give,—supplies it from the stores of his own genius, though always in harmony with the suggestions of his author. He often goes far beyond this: he sees in those suggestions features of character which the author failed to perceive, or perceived but imperfectly, and depths of passion of which he had no conception. With these he deals like a skilful landscape painter, who from a few outlines in pencil, which to the common eye appear confused and purposeless, brings out upon the canvas a glorious scene of valley and mountain and dark woods and glittering waters. Those who have read the Richelieu of Bulwer in the closet and seen the Richelieu of Forrest on the stage will easily comprehend what I mean; they have seen the sketch465 of the dramatist matured and enriched, and wrought into consistence and strength, and filled with power and passion, by the consummate art of the actor. How well our friend has acquitted466 himself in what is justly esteemed the highest effect of the histrionic art, that of personating the great characters of Shakspeare's dramas, it is hardly necessary for me to say, so ample and so universal is the testimony borne to his success by intent and crowded audiences. The style of that divine poet is so suggestive, the glimpses of character he casually467 but pro1
[Pg 419]
fusely gives, are of such deep significance that he tasks the powers of the stage more severely468 than any other author. To follow out all these suggestions, to combine all these delicate and sometimes perplexing traits of character into one consistent, natural, and impressive whole, requires scarcely less a philosopher than an actor. And well has Mr. F. sustained this difficult test. Never was the helpless and pathetic yet majestic old age of Lear more nobly given, or in a manner to draw forth deeper sympathies; never the struggle between love and suspicion in the breast of Othello, his jealousy in its highest frenzy469, and his fine agony of remorse470, more powerfully represented. After having placed himself at the summit of his art by the successful representation of these and other characters of Shakspeare in his own country, he has lately returned to us with honors gathered in another hemisphere. It is a source of satisfaction to the friends of Mr. Forrest that he has not fallen a prey471 to the follies472 which so strongly tempt66 men of his profession. He has given us another instance of the truth that a great actor may be an irreproachable473 man; his private life has been an example of those virtues475 which compel the respect even of that class least disposed to look with favor on the profession of an actor,—such an example as in the last century made Hannah More the personal friend of David Garrick. In the intense competitions of the stage, Mr. Forrest has obeyed a native instinct in treating his rivals with generosity476, and, when beset by calumny477 and intrigue478, has known how to preserve the magnanimous silence of conscious greatness. Genius may command our admiration; but when we see the man of genius occupied only in the endeavor to deserve renown479, and looking beyond the obstacles which envy or malevolence480 lays in his path to the final and impartial verdict of his fellow-men, our admiration rises to a higher feeling. Gentlemen, I will no longer withhold481 from you the toast,—I give a name, without a sentiment,—a name which suggests a volume of them,—I give you 'Our guest, Edwin Forrest.'"
The toast was drunk amidst a tempest of demonstrations482.
Mr. Forrest, manifestly agitated by the warmth of these tokens of good will, replied in a speech which was interrupted with frequent applause. He said, "Mr. President and gentlemen, I wish I could in adequate language express my acknowledg
[Pg 420]
ments for the distinguished favor you have conferred upon me this day. But the words which I endeavor to summon to my lips seem poor and empty offerings in return for those honors, deep and broad, with which your kindness loads me. The sounds and sights that meet me here to bid me welcome,—the old familiar voices that were raised in kind approval of my early efforts,—faces whose smiles of sweet encouragement gave vigor163 to my heart to mount the ladder of my young ambition,—this munificent483 banquet, spread with no party views, the generous offering of my fellow-citizens of each political faith,—the flattering sentiments so eloquently484 couched by the distinguished man selected to impart them,—all these have stirred my bosom with so many mingled feelings that, in the grateful tumult485 of my thoughts, I cannot choose words to speak my thanks. A scene like this is no fleeting486 pageant487 of the mimic488 art, to be forgotten with the hour; but it is to me one of those sweet realities of life that fill the heart and vibrate on the memory forever. Among the gratifying tributes, both professional and personal, which you have paid me, you have alluded in flattering terms to the silence I have ever observed when assaulted by calumny or circumvented489 by intrigue. You will pardon me, I am sure, if upon this occasion I break that silence for a moment by referring to the opposition490 I encountered during my late reappearance upon the London stage. An eminent374 English writer, in the 'North British Review,' makes these very just remarks: 'Our countrymen in general have treated the Americans unkindly and unfairly, and have been too much disposed to exaggerate their faults and to depreciate their excellencies.' Here, then, we have an honest and candid93 avowal491 of an indisputable fact. With regard to my own case, even before I had appeared I was threatened with critical castigation492, and some of the very journals which, upon my former appearance in London, applauded me to the echo, now assailed me with bitterest denunciations. Criticism was degraded from its high office,—degraded into mere cavilling493, accompanied by very pertinent494 allusions496 to Pennsylvania bonds, repudiation497, and democracy.
'All, all but truth falls still-born from the press.'
Relying implicitly498 upon the verity499 of this proposition, I quietly awaited the expression of the 'sober second thought of the peo
[Pg 421]
ple;' and I am happy to say I was not disappointed in the result. Their approving hands rebuked500 the malice501 of the hireling scribblers, and defeated the machinations of theatrical cliques502 by whom these scribblers were suborned. But enough of this. I now turn to contemplate with pride and satisfaction my reception elsewhere. In Edinburgh,—the most beautiful and picturesque city in Europe, where learning is a delight and not an ostentation,—my reception professionally was gratifying in the extreme, while nothing could exceed the friendly hospitalities of private life, presented, as they were, by those who to the highest intellectual culture unite the equally estimable qualities of the heart. And as for Ireland, I need scarcely tell you that in the land of the warm-hearted Irishman an American is always at home. There, from the humblest as from the most exalted503 man he finds a smile of welcome and a friendly grasp. How could it be otherwise among a people so full of sensibility and impulse, of unselfishness and magnanimity,—a people in whom misrule and tyranny have failed to quench504 one spark of generous spirit, or to curdle505 one drop of the milk of human kindness in their hearts? And now a word touching American dramatic letters. One of the wishes nearest my heart has ever been that our country should one day boast a Drama of her own,—a Drama that shall have for its object the improvement of the heart, the refinement of the mind,—a Drama whose lofty and ennobling sentiments shall be worthy a free people,—a Drama whose eloquent and impressive teaching shall promote the cause of virtue474 and justice, for on such foundations must we rely for the perpetuity of our institutions. And what is to prevent us from having such a Drama? Have we not in our country all the materials, have we not the capacity for invention and construction, and have we not pens (turning to Mr. Bryant) already skilled in the sweet harmonies of immortal verse? In connection with the cultivation506 and support of a National Drama, the friends of the stage will not be unmindful of the claims of our own deserving actors, among whom, I am proud to say, there are some may challenge successful comparison with any of the 'Stars' that twinkle on us from abroad, and, unlike most of those 'Stars,' they shine with their own and not with a borrowed lustre. One of those actors, to whom I allude307, is now seated among you,—one who, in the just delineation of the characters he
[Pg 422]
represents, has now no equal upon the stage." (At this allusion495 to Mr. Henry Placide, the applause was very enthusiastic.) "In conclusion, Mr. President and gentlemen, permit me to offer as my sentiment, 'The Citizens of New York, distinguished for a bounty507 in which is no winter,—an autumn 'tis that grows the more by reaping.'" (Drunk with all the honors.)
Mr. Forrest's toast was responded to by the following, by Mr. Mickle, the Mayor: "The Drama,—it teaches us to honor virtue and talent. We follow its dictates508 in rendering509 honor to our guest to-night."
Mr. Mathews proposed the next toast: "American Nationality. In the fusion510 of all its elements in a generous union under the influence of a noble National Literature lies the best (if not the only) hope of perpetuity for the American Confederacy."
General Wetmore rose and alluded to an eminent man who was present at the last public dinner given to Mr. Forrest in New York, one of his dearest friends, and who was now in his grave, and gave "The Memory of William Leggett," which was drunk standing, and in solemn silence.
Other toasts were proposed, letters were read, speeches made, songs sung, and every one seemed thoroughly to enjoy the occasion, which closed by the whole company joining hands and singing "Auld511 Lang Syne512."
Yet, amidst all these honoring and most enjoyable experiences at home, Forrest had brought back with him from abroad a burning grudge16. Shut up in his bones, it gnawed513 upon his comfort and peace. The different theatrical and social parties knew of his grievances514 through the press. Among his friends, of course, he conversed515 freely of them; and there was a multitude of his admirers among the populace who were as loyal to him as clansmen to their chief. Their passions exaggeratingly took up what their intelligence knew little about, and they were ripe for mischief516 whenever an opportunity and the slightest provocation should be afforded them. This, it should be understood, without any purposed stimulus or overt hint from him. Such was the state of things when Macready once more came to America. The ingredients were ready for a popular explosion if a spark should be blown on them. Had the English tragedian kept silent, the latent storm might not have burst; but, unhappily, he
[Pg 423]
began at once to make allusions to conspiracies517, to enemies, to a certain class in the community,—allusions which were but too quickly caught up and applied and resented. And so the virus worked.
Place must here be found for a tender and tragic passage in the life of Forrest, whose date remained thenceforth a sacred and solemn mark in his memory,—the death of his mother.
Dear Lawson,
My Mother is dead.
That little sentence speaks
all I can say, and more
—much more.
Yours truly
Edwin Forrest.
James Lawson.
June 25. 1847.
Philadelphia
[Pg 424]
This event occurred, after a brief and not painful illness, on the twenty fourth of June, 1847, in the seventy-third year of her age. The preceding fac-simile of the announcement of the sad event to one of his oldest and dearest friends is expressive in its Spartan518 brevity.
The day after the burial, one of the papers said, "The funeral of the mother of Edwin Forrest, the great American tragedian, took place yesterday. She was buried in St. Paul's churchyard. The emotions of the actor on taking his last look at the parent who had always loved and cherished him so tenderly were far more keen than any he had ever feigned519 on the stage. We regard the mother of a man of fame and genius with an involuntary feeling of reverence. We think of her care and tutoring of her child in his earliest years."
The grief of Forrest when the form of his mother sank from his sight into the grave was indeed sharp and profound. His friend Forney said to him afterwards, "I did not suppose you were so sensitive. I saw how hard you had to struggle to control your feelings; and I think all the more of you for it."
The loss of his mother was a great misfortune to Forrest, not only in the sorrow and the sense of impoverishment520 it gave his heart, but also in removing the strong restraint she had exerted upon his growing distaste for society, his deepening resentment at the insincerity and injustice around him, and his consequent tendency to shut himself up in himself. If few men ever had a better mother, it may truly be said few men ever were more faithful in repaying their filial indebtedness. The love which Forrest cherished for his mother was a charming quality in his character, and the generous devotedness521 of his conduct to her was one of the finest features of his life. He used often to say that he owed to the early lessons she had taught him everything that was good in him. "Many and many a time," he said, "when I was tempted133 to do wrong, thoughts of my mother, of her love for me, of her faith and character, of what she would wish me to do and to be, came and drove the offending temptation away."
We can see something, much, indeed, of her character, by reflection, in the following letter written to her by Edwin from New Orleans in 1834, on receipt of the tidings of the death of his brother William:
MOTHER OF EDWIN FORREST.
[Pg 425]
"My dear Mother,—We have experienced a deep and irreparable loss. You are deprived of a dutiful and affectionate son, my dear sisters of a most loving and devoted522 brother, and I have now none on earth to call by that tender and endearing name. The intelligence of William's death was a severe shock to me, so sudden, so unexpected. It seems but yesterday that I beheld523 him in the pride of his strength and manhood; and I can scarcely credit that his 'sensible warm motion has become a kneaded clod, doomed524 to lie in cold abstraction and to rot.' Yet is it a too sad reality, and we must try to bear our affliction as we ought. After the dreadful impression of the blow, my first thought was of you, my mother. I knew how truly and tenderly you loved him, and with great anxiety I have felt how deeply you must deplore525 the loss of him now. But for my sake, dear mother, for the sake of all your children, whose chief study in life is to make you happy, do not give way to grief, lest it impair526 your health and deprive you of the enjoyment of the many happy years through which it is our prayer that you may yet live to bless us. Whatever befalls any of your children, you must have the great consolation527 of knowing that in all your conduct towards them you have always been as faithful and kind and exemplary as any parent could possibly be.
"I have received letters from my friends Wetherill, Duffy, and Goodman. When you next see those kind gentlemen, thank them in my name for their grateful attention.
"I shall be with you in about three weeks, and I long for the time to come, that I may talk with you face to face about our dear William, and try, by my redoubled devotion, to make up to you for his departure. Give my love to Henrietta, Caroline, and Eleanora.
"My dear mother, that your years may be long and increase in comforts is the sincere prayer of your truly affectionate son,
"Edwin."
From Vienna, under date of December 10th, 1835, he wrote thus to her:
"My dear Mother,—You express a wish that it may not be long before I am restored to you. You cannot wish this more
[Pg 426]
sincerely than I do. For, to speak truth, I am weary with this wandering, and sigh for the sincere and tranquil528 joys of home. I hope, with the pleasure and instruction I have received from my journeyings, to entertain you during some long and friendly winter evenings, when we shall be cosily529 seated together in that snug530 little room of yours by a good coal-fire. How happy we shall be, dear mother! Then shall I see in those dark and expressive eyes of yours some occasional symptoms of doubt at my strange narrations531, which, of course, I shall render both clear and probable by an abundance of testimony. Thus shall our evenings pass with calm reflection on my 'travel's history,' and you shall banish532 all regrets that I have stayed away from you so long. It will be a melancholy533 pleasure to contemplate the relics534 of our poor Lorman. Time, time, how fleeting and momentary535 is man's existence when compared with thy eternal march!"
In another letter to her during this same absence, he says, "Mother, do you sometimes wish to see your wandering boy and take him to your arms again? Why do I ask such a question? I know you do. Though all the world should forget me, I shall still be cherished in your heart; and your love is worth to me all the admiration of the world besides."
At a later time he wrote, "Beloved mother, it has been so long since I have heard from you, that I grow anxious to know that you are well and in the tranquil enjoyment of the blessings536 of this life. If ever any one deserved life's peaceful evening,—do not think I flatter,—that person is yourself. When I reflect upon the trials of poverty you have endured, how, under the most trying afflictions, you have sustained yourself with such becoming dignity, I cannot withhold the unfeigned homage which prompts me to say that I am as proud of you, who gave me birth, as you can ever have been of me in the choicest hours of my existence."
And in the latest year of her life he wrote, "Dearly beloved mother, is there not something I can send you which will give you pleasure? Anything in the world which it is in my power to obtain you have only to ask for in order to receive. You know I cannot experience a keener happiness than in gratifying any desire of yours, to whom I owe everything."
In the diary he kept during his first visit to Europe, this quo
[Pg 427]
tation from Lavater was copied, with the appended verses: "'I require nothing of thee,' said a mother to her innocent son, when bidding him farewell, 'but that you bring me back your present countenance.'
"'What shall I bring thee, mother mine?
What shall I bring to thee?
Shall I bring thee jewels that shine
In the depths of the shadowy sea?'
"'Bring me that innocent brow, my boy!
Bring me that shadowless eye!
Bring me the tone of tender joy
That breathes in thy last good-bye!'"
His mother ever remained in his memory a hallowed image of authority and benignity537, a presence associated with everything dear and holy. In an hour of effusion, near the end of his own life, he said, "When I saw her great dark eyes fixed on me, beaming with satisfied affection, and listened to words of approval from her lips, O it was more to me than all the public plaudits in the world! My God, what a joy it would be to me now to kneel at her feet and worship her! And they say there are such meetings hereafter. I know not, I know not. I hope it is so." He had her portrait over the foot of his bed, that her face, as in his childhood, might be the last sight he saw ere falling asleep, and the first to greet him when he awoke. And among the papers left at his death the following lines were found in his handwriting, either composed by him or copied by him from some unnamed source:
"MY MOTHER'S GRAVE.
"Here is my mother's grave. Dear hallowed spot,
The flight of these long years has changed thee not,
Though all things else have changed; e'en this sad heart,
In all, save thoughts of thee, which will not start,
But, woven in my being, burn again
With fires the torch of memory kindles538 still.
Though I have wandered far in distant spheres,
And mixed in many scenes of joy and tears,
And found in all, perchance, some friends, and loved
One who was even more, I ne'er have roved
From thee, my mother, and thy sacred grave.
I could forget, albeit a task severe,
All forms, all faces, all that love e'er gave,
[Pg 428]
Save thine, my mother,—that no time can wear.
I have but one sad wish when life is o'er,—
Whatever fate is mine, on sea or shore,
Whoe'er may claim my ashes for a trust,
They still may come to mingle216 with thy dust.
'Tis fit this troubled heart, when spent with care,
Again should turn to that unfailing breast,
And find at last the home my childhood shared,—
The quiet chamber539 of my mother's rest."
The wish has been fulfilled, and the forms of mother and son sleep side by side where no pain, no harsh word, ever comes.
In the September of 1848 Macready had made his reappearance on the American stage. Some of the friends of Forrest, democrats540 who had potent541 influence with the Bowery Boys, or the muscular multitude of New York, called on him, and proposed to have the English tragedian driven from the theatre. Forrest felt that such a course would be unworthy of him, and, instead of giving him revenge, would dishonor his name, and make his enemy of increased importance. He refused to have anything to do with such an attempt, and urged his friends to drop the matter entirely. They did so. When, however, Macready, taking advantage of a call before the curtain to make a speech, told the public that he had been assured that he was to be met by an organized opposition, and thanked them for the flattering reception which had "defeated the plan," "baffled his unprovoked antagonists543, and rebuked his would-be-assailants," fresh indignation was stirred, and a great deal of bad blood kindled544. In Philadelphia he was saluted with some hissing amidst the great applause. He then took occasion to say of Forrest, directly, "He did towards me what I am sure no English actor would have done towards him,—he openly hissed545 me." This caused an intense excitement in the house, with several personal collisions. The next day Forrest published a letter in the "Pennsylvanian," replying to Macready's speech, and arraigning546 his conduct and his character in very severe terms. The statements in the letter may all have been true and just, but it was written in an angry temper, and had better not have been written. It was not in good taste, and, spreading the contagion547 of an inflamed548 individual quarrel among the community, was of bad influence. Where his passions were concerned, good taste was not the motto of Forrest. Downright honesty and justice, rather
[Pg 429]
than the delicate standards of politeness, were his aim. Macready retorted in a published card, to which Forrest responded indirectly549 in several long letters to a friend. Thus the controversy waxed hotter, and excited wider and angrier interest. And when the English actor was ready to begin his closing engagement in New York, in May, 1849, the elements for a storm were all ready.
We can see the straight hitting from the shoulder of Forrest in every sentence of his "Card." "I most solemnly aver70 and do believe that Mr. Macready, instigated550 by his narrow, envious mind and his selfish fears, did secretly suborn several writers for the English press to write me down." We can see the wounded colossal551 arrogance of Macready in the allusion to his antagonist542 entered in his diary at the time. "The Baltimore papers characterize the performances of Forrest as equal, if not superior, to mine, and speak of him as of an artist and a gentleman. And I am to dwell in this country!" In the quarrel Macready appears as a vain and fretful aristocrat112, observant of the fashionable code of courtesy, but capable of falsehood; Forrest as a proud and revengeful democrat, scornful of the exactions of squeamish society, and quite capable of bad taste. In both is visible the resentful and morbid egotism of their profession in a blameworthy and repulsive552 form. And the whole affair, on both sides, was undignified and ignoble553 in its character; and in its public result—though, of course, neither of them was directly responsible for this—it proved a murderous crime. It reflects deep and lasting discredit both on the Englishman and on the American. It may be of some use if it serves to illustrate554 the contemptible and wicked nature of the vice of professional jealousy, and to teach succeeding players whenever in their rivalry they meet malignant555 envy or opposition, magnanimously to overlook and forget it.
On the evening of May 7th, Macready was to appear in Macbeth at the Astor Place Opera House. The entire auditorium556 was crowded with an assembly of the most formidable character, resolved that the actor should not be suffered to play his part. There were comparatively few of the friends of Macready present, most of the seats being secured by the hard-handed multitude, who had made the strife557 an affair of classes and were bent on putting down the favorite of what they called the kid-gloved and silk-stockinged gentry. It is disagreeable thus to recall these
[Pg 430]
odious distinctions, but the truth of history necessitates558 it. Suffice it to say that the tragedian was overwhelmed with hisses, yells, derisive559 cries, followed by all kinds of missiles. Chairs were hurled560 from the gallery, smashing on the stage. When it was found that life was in danger, the curtain was lowered and the performance abandoned. Macready proposed to break his engagement and return to England. But the press condemned561 in the most scorching562 terms the outrage which had been done him, and insisted that he should appear again, and should be upheld at any cost. A letter was also sent him, signed by forty-eight gentlemen, including many of the most eminent and influential563 names in the city, urging him to continue his performances, and promising564 him the support of the community. He consented to repeat the trial.
In the mean time, the "Courier and Inquirer" had openly accused Forrest of being the author of the violent scenes on the evening of the seventh, but, convinced of its error, and threatened with a suit for libel, had immediately retracted565, and amply apologized for the slander. Forrest had no share of any kind in any of these proceedings566. The worst that can be said of him is that he refused to interfere206 to prevent the threatened violence. He sternly refused to interfere in the slightest degree with the strife which had now detached itself from him and fastened itself on the community and was raging between its top and bottom. The defiant567 and scornful tone of the press towards those whom it called rabble568 rowdies, lower classes, greatly incensed569 them, and called forth the counter-epithets,—lordlings, English clique, codfish-aristocracy. It was perfectly plain that a fearful tempest was brewing570. Both parties made preparations accordingly. The enemies of the Englishman placarded the city with inflammatory handbills; and, on the other hand, the civic571 authorities detailed572 three hundred policemen to the scene of trial, and ordered two regiments573 of soldiers to be under arms at their quarters.
On the evening of the 10th of May, Forrest was acting the Gladiator in the Broadway Theatre when Macready attempted to act Macbeth in the Astor Place Opera House. The latter house had been so well packed by its friends with stalwart men that the Bowery Boys who were able to get seats found themselves in a
[Pg 431]
most decided575 minority. Still, they were numerous enough to make a chaos576 of diabolical577 noises when the curtain rose, whereupon the most of them found themselves incontinently hustled578 out into the street. But their party was too strong and filled now with too terrible a temper to be thus easily circumvented. The mob instantly assailed the theatre in front and rear. The thundering plunges579 with which they rushed against the doors shook the building, and volleys of stones shattered the barricaded580 windows, while the shouts and yells of the crowd might be heard a half a mile away. Meanwhile, the Seventh Regiment574 and the National Guards were marching to the spot. They were received with scoffs581 and hoots582, clubs and paving-stones. The officers, both civil and military, used every exertion297 to quiet the rioters and avoid the final alternative of shooting upon them. All was vain. The more they harangued583, expostulated, entreated584, warned, threatened, the madder the mob seemed to grow. Already a large number of the soldiers were disabled by severe wounds, and it appeared as if soon their thronging585 assailants might wrench586 their weapons from them. At last the reluctant order was given by General Hall, "Fire!" A single musket587 replied. The mob laughed in derision, and pressed forward. General Sandford repeated, "Fire!" Only three shots followed the word. Colonel Duryea shouted, "Guards, fire!" The whole volley instantly flashed forth with that sharper and heavier report which distinguishes the service-charge from the mere powder and paper of field-day. The glare lit up a sea of angry faces. For an instant were clearly seen the human forms clustered on the steps and roofs of the adjacent buildings, the broken lamps and windows in front, the billowing multitude spread through the square and streets,—and then all was dark. The mob broke and fled, leaving thirty dead bodies on the ground, and as many severely wounded. The law by its armed force vindicated588 its authority at the cost of this frightful tragedy, and taught the passionate and thoughtless populace a lesson which it is to be hoped no similar circumstances will ever call for again.
The End
June 25. 1847.
Philadelphia
[Pg 424]
This event occurred, after a brief and not painful illness, on the twenty fourth of June, 1847, in the seventy-third year of her age. The preceding fac-simile of the announcement of the sad event to one of his oldest and dearest friends is expressive in its Spartan518 brevity.
The day after the burial, one of the papers said, "The funeral of the mother of Edwin Forrest, the great American tragedian, took place yesterday. She was buried in St. Paul's churchyard. The emotions of the actor on taking his last look at the parent who had always loved and cherished him so tenderly were far more keen than any he had ever feigned519 on the stage. We regard the mother of a man of fame and genius with an involuntary feeling of reverence. We think of her care and tutoring of her child in his earliest years."
The grief of Forrest when the form of his mother sank from his sight into the grave was indeed sharp and profound. His friend Forney said to him afterwards, "I did not suppose you were so sensitive. I saw how hard you had to struggle to control your feelings; and I think all the more of you for it."
The loss of his mother was a great misfortune to Forrest, not only in the sorrow and the sense of impoverishment520 it gave his heart, but also in removing the strong restraint she had exerted upon his growing distaste for society, his deepening resentment at the insincerity and injustice around him, and his consequent tendency to shut himself up in himself. If few men ever had a better mother, it may truly be said few men ever were more faithful in repaying their filial indebtedness. The love which Forrest cherished for his mother was a charming quality in his character, and the generous devotedness521 of his conduct to her was one of the finest features of his life. He used often to say that he owed to the early lessons she had taught him everything that was good in him. "Many and many a time," he said, "when I was tempted133 to do wrong, thoughts of my mother, of her love for me, of her faith and character, of what she would wish me to do and to be, came and drove the offending temptation away."
We can see something, much, indeed, of her character, by reflection, in the following letter written to her by Edwin from New Orleans in 1834, on receipt of the tidings of the death of his brother William:
MOTHER OF EDWIN FORREST.
[Pg 425]
"My dear Mother,—We have experienced a deep and irreparable loss. You are deprived of a dutiful and affectionate son, my dear sisters of a most loving and devoted522 brother, and I have now none on earth to call by that tender and endearing name. The intelligence of William's death was a severe shock to me, so sudden, so unexpected. It seems but yesterday that I beheld523 him in the pride of his strength and manhood; and I can scarcely credit that his 'sensible warm motion has become a kneaded clod, doomed524 to lie in cold abstraction and to rot.' Yet is it a too sad reality, and we must try to bear our affliction as we ought. After the dreadful impression of the blow, my first thought was of you, my mother. I knew how truly and tenderly you loved him, and with great anxiety I have felt how deeply you must deplore525 the loss of him now. But for my sake, dear mother, for the sake of all your children, whose chief study in life is to make you happy, do not give way to grief, lest it impair526 your health and deprive you of the enjoyment of the many happy years through which it is our prayer that you may yet live to bless us. Whatever befalls any of your children, you must have the great consolation527 of knowing that in all your conduct towards them you have always been as faithful and kind and exemplary as any parent could possibly be.
"I have received letters from my friends Wetherill, Duffy, and Goodman. When you next see those kind gentlemen, thank them in my name for their grateful attention.
"I shall be with you in about three weeks, and I long for the time to come, that I may talk with you face to face about our dear William, and try, by my redoubled devotion, to make up to you for his departure. Give my love to Henrietta, Caroline, and Eleanora.
"My dear mother, that your years may be long and increase in comforts is the sincere prayer of your truly affectionate son,
"Edwin."
From Vienna, under date of December 10th, 1835, he wrote thus to her:
"My dear Mother,—You express a wish that it may not be long before I am restored to you. You cannot wish this more
[Pg 426]
sincerely than I do. For, to speak truth, I am weary with this wandering, and sigh for the sincere and tranquil528 joys of home. I hope, with the pleasure and instruction I have received from my journeyings, to entertain you during some long and friendly winter evenings, when we shall be cosily529 seated together in that snug530 little room of yours by a good coal-fire. How happy we shall be, dear mother! Then shall I see in those dark and expressive eyes of yours some occasional symptoms of doubt at my strange narrations531, which, of course, I shall render both clear and probable by an abundance of testimony. Thus shall our evenings pass with calm reflection on my 'travel's history,' and you shall banish532 all regrets that I have stayed away from you so long. It will be a melancholy533 pleasure to contemplate the relics534 of our poor Lorman. Time, time, how fleeting and momentary535 is man's existence when compared with thy eternal march!"
In another letter to her during this same absence, he says, "Mother, do you sometimes wish to see your wandering boy and take him to your arms again? Why do I ask such a question? I know you do. Though all the world should forget me, I shall still be cherished in your heart; and your love is worth to me all the admiration of the world besides."
At a later time he wrote, "Beloved mother, it has been so long since I have heard from you, that I grow anxious to know that you are well and in the tranquil enjoyment of the blessings536 of this life. If ever any one deserved life's peaceful evening,—do not think I flatter,—that person is yourself. When I reflect upon the trials of poverty you have endured, how, under the most trying afflictions, you have sustained yourself with such becoming dignity, I cannot withhold the unfeigned homage which prompts me to say that I am as proud of you, who gave me birth, as you can ever have been of me in the choicest hours of my existence."
And in the latest year of her life he wrote, "Dearly beloved mother, is there not something I can send you which will give you pleasure? Anything in the world which it is in my power to obtain you have only to ask for in order to receive. You know I cannot experience a keener happiness than in gratifying any desire of yours, to whom I owe everything."
In the diary he kept during his first visit to Europe, this quo
[Pg 427]
tation from Lavater was copied, with the appended verses: "'I require nothing of thee,' said a mother to her innocent son, when bidding him farewell, 'but that you bring me back your present countenance.'
"'What shall I bring thee, mother mine?
What shall I bring to thee?
Shall I bring thee jewels that shine
In the depths of the shadowy sea?'
"'Bring me that innocent brow, my boy!
Bring me that shadowless eye!
Bring me the tone of tender joy
That breathes in thy last good-bye!'"
His mother ever remained in his memory a hallowed image of authority and benignity537, a presence associated with everything dear and holy. In an hour of effusion, near the end of his own life, he said, "When I saw her great dark eyes fixed on me, beaming with satisfied affection, and listened to words of approval from her lips, O it was more to me than all the public plaudits in the world! My God, what a joy it would be to me now to kneel at her feet and worship her! And they say there are such meetings hereafter. I know not, I know not. I hope it is so." He had her portrait over the foot of his bed, that her face, as in his childhood, might be the last sight he saw ere falling asleep, and the first to greet him when he awoke. And among the papers left at his death the following lines were found in his handwriting, either composed by him or copied by him from some unnamed source:
"MY MOTHER'S GRAVE.
"Here is my mother's grave. Dear hallowed spot,
The flight of these long years has changed thee not,
Though all things else have changed; e'en this sad heart,
In all, save thoughts of thee, which will not start,
But, woven in my being, burn again
With fires the torch of memory kindles538 still.
Though I have wandered far in distant spheres,
And mixed in many scenes of joy and tears,
And found in all, perchance, some friends, and loved
One who was even more, I ne'er have roved
From thee, my mother, and thy sacred grave.
I could forget, albeit a task severe,
All forms, all faces, all that love e'er gave,
[Pg 428]
Save thine, my mother,—that no time can wear.
I have but one sad wish when life is o'er,—
Whatever fate is mine, on sea or shore,
Whoe'er may claim my ashes for a trust,
They still may come to mingle216 with thy dust.
'Tis fit this troubled heart, when spent with care,
Again should turn to that unfailing breast,
And find at last the home my childhood shared,—
The quiet chamber539 of my mother's rest."
The wish has been fulfilled, and the forms of mother and son sleep side by side where no pain, no harsh word, ever comes.
In the September of 1848 Macready had made his reappearance on the American stage. Some of the friends of Forrest, democrats540 who had potent541 influence with the Bowery Boys, or the muscular multitude of New York, called on him, and proposed to have the English tragedian driven from the theatre. Forrest felt that such a course would be unworthy of him, and, instead of giving him revenge, would dishonor his name, and make his enemy of increased importance. He refused to have anything to do with such an attempt, and urged his friends to drop the matter entirely. They did so. When, however, Macready, taking advantage of a call before the curtain to make a speech, told the public that he had been assured that he was to be met by an organized opposition, and thanked them for the flattering reception which had "defeated the plan," "baffled his unprovoked antagonists543, and rebuked his would-be-assailants," fresh indignation was stirred, and a great deal of bad blood kindled544. In Philadelphia he was saluted with some hissing amidst the great applause. He then took occasion to say of Forrest, directly, "He did towards me what I am sure no English actor would have done towards him,—he openly hissed545 me." This caused an intense excitement in the house, with several personal collisions. The next day Forrest published a letter in the "Pennsylvanian," replying to Macready's speech, and arraigning546 his conduct and his character in very severe terms. The statements in the letter may all have been true and just, but it was written in an angry temper, and had better not have been written. It was not in good taste, and, spreading the contagion547 of an inflamed548 individual quarrel among the community, was of bad influence. Where his passions were concerned, good taste was not the motto of Forrest. Downright honesty and justice, rather
[Pg 429]
than the delicate standards of politeness, were his aim. Macready retorted in a published card, to which Forrest responded indirectly549 in several long letters to a friend. Thus the controversy waxed hotter, and excited wider and angrier interest. And when the English actor was ready to begin his closing engagement in New York, in May, 1849, the elements for a storm were all ready.
We can see the straight hitting from the shoulder of Forrest in every sentence of his "Card." "I most solemnly aver70 and do believe that Mr. Macready, instigated550 by his narrow, envious mind and his selfish fears, did secretly suborn several writers for the English press to write me down." We can see the wounded colossal551 arrogance of Macready in the allusion to his antagonist542 entered in his diary at the time. "The Baltimore papers characterize the performances of Forrest as equal, if not superior, to mine, and speak of him as of an artist and a gentleman. And I am to dwell in this country!" In the quarrel Macready appears as a vain and fretful aristocrat112, observant of the fashionable code of courtesy, but capable of falsehood; Forrest as a proud and revengeful democrat, scornful of the exactions of squeamish society, and quite capable of bad taste. In both is visible the resentful and morbid egotism of their profession in a blameworthy and repulsive552 form. And the whole affair, on both sides, was undignified and ignoble553 in its character; and in its public result—though, of course, neither of them was directly responsible for this—it proved a murderous crime. It reflects deep and lasting discredit both on the Englishman and on the American. It may be of some use if it serves to illustrate554 the contemptible and wicked nature of the vice of professional jealousy, and to teach succeeding players whenever in their rivalry they meet malignant555 envy or opposition, magnanimously to overlook and forget it.
On the evening of May 7th, Macready was to appear in Macbeth at the Astor Place Opera House. The entire auditorium556 was crowded with an assembly of the most formidable character, resolved that the actor should not be suffered to play his part. There were comparatively few of the friends of Macready present, most of the seats being secured by the hard-handed multitude, who had made the strife557 an affair of classes and were bent on putting down the favorite of what they called the kid-gloved and silk-stockinged gentry. It is disagreeable thus to recall these
[Pg 430]
odious distinctions, but the truth of history necessitates558 it. Suffice it to say that the tragedian was overwhelmed with hisses, yells, derisive559 cries, followed by all kinds of missiles. Chairs were hurled560 from the gallery, smashing on the stage. When it was found that life was in danger, the curtain was lowered and the performance abandoned. Macready proposed to break his engagement and return to England. But the press condemned561 in the most scorching562 terms the outrage which had been done him, and insisted that he should appear again, and should be upheld at any cost. A letter was also sent him, signed by forty-eight gentlemen, including many of the most eminent and influential563 names in the city, urging him to continue his performances, and promising564 him the support of the community. He consented to repeat the trial.
In the mean time, the "Courier and Inquirer" had openly accused Forrest of being the author of the violent scenes on the evening of the seventh, but, convinced of its error, and threatened with a suit for libel, had immediately retracted565, and amply apologized for the slander. Forrest had no share of any kind in any of these proceedings566. The worst that can be said of him is that he refused to interfere206 to prevent the threatened violence. He sternly refused to interfere in the slightest degree with the strife which had now detached itself from him and fastened itself on the community and was raging between its top and bottom. The defiant567 and scornful tone of the press towards those whom it called rabble568 rowdies, lower classes, greatly incensed569 them, and called forth the counter-epithets,—lordlings, English clique, codfish-aristocracy. It was perfectly plain that a fearful tempest was brewing570. Both parties made preparations accordingly. The enemies of the Englishman placarded the city with inflammatory handbills; and, on the other hand, the civic571 authorities detailed572 three hundred policemen to the scene of trial, and ordered two regiments573 of soldiers to be under arms at their quarters.
On the evening of the 10th of May, Forrest was acting the Gladiator in the Broadway Theatre when Macready attempted to act Macbeth in the Astor Place Opera House. The latter house had been so well packed by its friends with stalwart men that the Bowery Boys who were able to get seats found themselves in a
[Pg 431]
most decided575 minority. Still, they were numerous enough to make a chaos576 of diabolical577 noises when the curtain rose, whereupon the most of them found themselves incontinently hustled578 out into the street. But their party was too strong and filled now with too terrible a temper to be thus easily circumvented. The mob instantly assailed the theatre in front and rear. The thundering plunges579 with which they rushed against the doors shook the building, and volleys of stones shattered the barricaded580 windows, while the shouts and yells of the crowd might be heard a half a mile away. Meanwhile, the Seventh Regiment574 and the National Guards were marching to the spot. They were received with scoffs581 and hoots582, clubs and paving-stones. The officers, both civil and military, used every exertion297 to quiet the rioters and avoid the final alternative of shooting upon them. All was vain. The more they harangued583, expostulated, entreated584, warned, threatened, the madder the mob seemed to grow. Already a large number of the soldiers were disabled by severe wounds, and it appeared as if soon their thronging585 assailants might wrench586 their weapons from them. At last the reluctant order was given by General Hall, "Fire!" A single musket587 replied. The mob laughed in derision, and pressed forward. General Sandford repeated, "Fire!" Only three shots followed the word. Colonel Duryea shouted, "Guards, fire!" The whole volley instantly flashed forth with that sharper and heavier report which distinguishes the service-charge from the mere powder and paper of field-day. The glare lit up a sea of angry faces. For an instant were clearly seen the human forms clustered on the steps and roofs of the adjacent buildings, the broken lamps and windows in front, the billowing multitude spread through the square and streets,—and then all was dark. The mob broke and fled, leaving thirty dead bodies on the ground, and as many severely wounded. The law by its armed force vindicated588 its authority at the cost of this frightful tragedy, and taught the passionate and thoughtless populace a lesson which it is to be hoped no similar circumstances will ever call for again.
The End
点击收听单词发音
1 pro | |
n.赞成,赞成的意见,赞成者 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
2 controversy | |
n.争论,辩论,争吵 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
3 windings | |
(道路、河流等)蜿蜒的,弯曲的( winding的名词复数 ); 缠绕( wind的现在分词 ); 卷绕; 转动(把手) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
4 jealousy | |
n.妒忌,嫉妒,猜忌 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
5 rivalry | |
n.竞争,竞赛,对抗 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
6 par | |
n.标准,票面价值,平均数量;adj.票面的,平常的,标准的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
7 bribe | |
n.贿赂;v.向…行贿,买通 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
8 bribes | |
n.贿赂( bribe的名词复数 );向(某人)行贿,贿赂v.贿赂( bribe的第三人称单数 );向(某人)行贿,贿赂 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
9 concealed | |
a.隐藏的,隐蔽的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
10 vent | |
n.通风口,排放口;开衩;vt.表达,发泄 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
11 sinister | |
adj.不吉利的,凶恶的,左边的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
12 gem | |
n.宝石,珠宝;受爱戴的人 [同]jewel | |
参考例句: |
|
|
13 beset | |
v.镶嵌;困扰,包围 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
14 malign | |
adj.有害的;恶性的;恶意的;v.诽谤,诬蔑 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
15 grudges | |
不满,怨恨,妒忌( grudge的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
16 grudge | |
n.不满,怨恨,妒嫉;vt.勉强给,不情愿做 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
17 motives | |
n.动机,目的( motive的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
18 depreciate | |
v.降价,贬值,折旧 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
19 supplant | |
vt.排挤;取代 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
20 admiration | |
n.钦佩,赞美,羡慕 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
21 questionable | |
adj.可疑的,有问题的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
22 tragic | |
adj.悲剧的,悲剧性的,悲惨的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
23 teem | |
vi.(with)充满,多产 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
24 reek | |
v.发出臭气;n.恶臭 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
25 cabals | |
n.(政治)阴谋小集团,(尤指政治上的)阴谋( cabal的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
26 remarkably | |
ad.不同寻常地,相当地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
27 odious | |
adj.可憎的,讨厌的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
28 vice | |
n.坏事;恶习;[pl.]台钳,老虎钳;adj.副的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
29 laurels | |
n.桂冠,荣誉 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
30 tarnish | |
n.晦暗,污点;vt.使失去光泽;玷污 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
31 monopolize | |
v.垄断,独占,专营 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
32 lustre | |
n.光亮,光泽;荣誉 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
33 belittling | |
使显得微小,轻视,贬低( belittle的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
34 hostility | |
n.敌对,敌意;抵制[pl.]交战,战争 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
35 resentment | |
n.怨愤,忿恨 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
36 injustice | |
n.非正义,不公正,不公平,侵犯(别人的)权利 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
37 offender | |
n.冒犯者,违反者,犯罪者 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
38 wrath | |
n.愤怒,愤慨,暴怒 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
39 overt | |
adj.公开的,明显的,公然的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
40 malignity | |
n.极度的恶意,恶毒;(病的)恶性 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
41 passionate | |
adj.热情的,热烈的,激昂的,易动情的,易怒的,性情暴躁的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
42 vented | |
表达,发泄(感情,尤指愤怒)( vent的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
43 extravagant | |
adj.奢侈的;过分的;(言行等)放肆的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
44 extravagantly | |
adv.挥霍无度地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
45 incapable | |
adj.无能力的,不能做某事的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
46 haughty | |
adj.傲慢的,高傲的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
47 slander | |
n./v.诽谤,污蔑 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
48 slandering | |
[法]口头诽谤行为 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
49 prurient | |
adj.好色的,淫乱的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
50 morbid | |
adj.病的;致病的;病态的;可怕的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
51 dread | |
vt.担忧,忧虑;惧怕,不敢;n.担忧,畏惧 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
52 censure | |
v./n.责备;非难;责难 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
53 skilful | |
(=skillful)adj.灵巧的,熟练的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
54 anonymous | |
adj.无名的;匿名的;无特色的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
55 condemnation | |
n.谴责; 定罪 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
56 acting | |
n.演戏,行为,假装;adj.代理的,临时的,演出用的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
57 anonymously | |
ad.用匿名的方式 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
58 inflaming | |
v.(使)变红,发怒,过热( inflame的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
59 monopolizing | |
v.垄断( monopolize的现在分词 );独占;专卖;专营 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
60 assailed | |
v.攻击( assail的过去式和过去分词 );困扰;质问;毅然应对 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
61 repulse | |
n.击退,拒绝;vt.逐退,击退,拒绝 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
62 kindling | |
n. 点火, 可燃物 动词kindle的现在分词形式 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
63 mere | |
adj.纯粹的;仅仅,只不过 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
64 curry | |
n.咖哩粉,咖哩饭菜;v.用咖哩粉调味,用马栉梳,制革 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
65 meddlesome | |
adj.爱管闲事的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
66 tempt | |
vt.引诱,勾引,吸引,引起…的兴趣 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
67 disparage | |
v.贬抑,轻蔑 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
68 complacent | |
adj.自满的;自鸣得意的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
69 stolidity | |
n.迟钝,感觉麻木 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
70 aver | |
v.极力声明;断言;确证 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
71 sneer | |
v.轻蔑;嘲笑;n.嘲笑,讥讽的言语 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
72 judgment | |
n.审判;判断力,识别力,看法,意见 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
73 hamper | |
vt.妨碍,束缚,限制;n.(有盖的)大篮子 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
74 meekly | |
adv.温顺地,逆来顺受地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
75 distinguished | |
adj.卓越的,杰出的,著名的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
76 dint | |
n.由于,靠;凹坑 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
77 incessant | |
adj.不停的,连续的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
78 irritability | |
n.易怒 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
79 exactingness | |
正确,精确 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
80 avid | |
adj.热心的;贪婪的;渴望的;劲头十足的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
81 morbidly | |
adv.病态地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
82 coveted | |
adj.令人垂涎的;垂涎的,梦寐以求的v.贪求,觊觎(covet的过去分词);垂涎;贪图 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
83 plebeian | |
adj.粗俗的;平民的;n.平民;庶民 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
84 unwillingly | |
adv.不情愿地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
85 justified | |
a.正当的,有理的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
86 memoirs | |
n.回忆录;回忆录传( mem,自oir的名词复数) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
87 posthumously | |
adv.于死后,于身后;于著作者死后出版地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
88 abounds | |
v.大量存在,充满,富于( abound的第三人称单数 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
89 confessions | |
n.承认( confession的名词复数 );自首;声明;(向神父的)忏悔 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
90 arrogance | |
n.傲慢,自大 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
91 rankling | |
v.(使)痛苦不已,(使)怨恨不已( rankle的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
92 pillory | |
n.嘲弄;v.使受公众嘲笑;将…示众 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
93 candid | |
adj.公正的,正直的;坦率的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
94 comedian | |
n.喜剧演员;滑稽演员 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
95 indictment | |
n.起诉;诉状 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
96 sweeping | |
adj.范围广大的,一扫无遗的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
97 envious | |
adj.嫉妒的,羡慕的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
98 vindictive | |
adj.有报仇心的,怀恨的,惩罚的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
99 abhors | |
v.憎恶( abhor的第三人称单数 );(厌恶地)回避;拒绝;淘汰 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
100 ousted | |
驱逐( oust的过去式和过去分词 ); 革职; 罢黜; 剥夺 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
101 enjoyment | |
n.乐趣;享有;享用 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
102 eulogies | |
n.颂词,颂文( eulogy的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
103 detraction | |
n.减损;诽谤 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
104 incompatible | |
adj.不相容的,不协调的,不相配的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
105 expatiated | |
v.详述,细说( expatiate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
106 disparagement | |
n.轻视,轻蔑 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
107 aged | |
adj.年老的,陈年的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
108 affinity | |
n.亲和力,密切关系 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
109 fin | |
n.鳍;(飞机的)安定翼 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
110 dilettante | |
n.半瓶醋,业余爱好者 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
111 stratum | |
n.地层,社会阶层 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
112 aristocrat | |
n.贵族,有贵族气派的人,上层人物 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
113 hearty | |
adj.热情友好的;衷心的;尽情的,纵情的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
114 rigid | |
adj.严格的,死板的;刚硬的,僵硬的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
115 mannerism | |
n.特殊习惯,怪癖 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
116 spoke | |
n.(车轮的)辐条;轮辐;破坏某人的计划;阻挠某人的行动 v.讲,谈(speak的过去式);说;演说;从某种观点来说 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
117 sincerity | |
n.真诚,诚意;真实 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
118 counterfeit | |
vt.伪造,仿造;adj.伪造的,假冒的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
119 throbs | |
体内的跳动( throb的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
120 throb | |
v.震颤,颤动;(急速强烈地)跳动,搏动 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
121 nettled | |
v.拿荨麻打,拿荨麻刺(nettle的过去式与过去分词形式) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
122 ward | |
n.守卫,监护,病房,行政区,由监护人或法院保护的人(尤指儿童);vt.守护,躲开 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
123 intruding | |
v.侵入,侵扰,打扰( intrude的现在分词);把…强加于 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
124 depreciating | |
v.贬值,跌价,减价( depreciate的现在分词 );贬低,蔑视,轻视 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
125 scurrilous | |
adj.下流的,恶意诽谤的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
126 conspicuous | |
adj.明眼的,惹人注目的;炫耀的,摆阔气的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
127 discredit | |
vt.使不可置信;n.丧失信义;不信,怀疑 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
128 saluted | |
v.欢迎,致敬( salute的过去式和过去分词 );赞扬,赞颂 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
129 hiss | |
v.发出嘶嘶声;发嘘声表示不满 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
130 hisses | |
嘶嘶声( hiss的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
131 proceeding | |
n.行动,进行,(pl.)会议录,学报 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
132 legitimate | |
adj.合法的,合理的,合乎逻辑的;v.使合法 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
133 tempted | |
v.怂恿(某人)干不正当的事;冒…的险(tempt的过去分词) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
134 systematic | |
adj.有系统的,有计划的,有方法的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
135 stimulus | |
n.刺激,刺激物,促进因素,引起兴奋的事物 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
136 outrage | |
n.暴行,侮辱,愤怒;vt.凌辱,激怒 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
137 steadily | |
adv.稳定地;不变地;持续地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
138 disturbances | |
n.骚乱( disturbance的名词复数 );打扰;困扰;障碍 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
139 determined | |
adj.坚定的;有决心的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
140 heed | |
v.注意,留意;n.注意,留心 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
141 conspiracy | |
n.阴谋,密谋,共谋 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
142 triumphant | |
adj.胜利的,成功的;狂欢的,喜悦的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
143 triumphantly | |
ad.得意洋洋地;得胜地;成功地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
144 ruminated | |
v.沉思( ruminate的过去式和过去分词 );反复考虑;反刍;倒嚼 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
145 notably | |
adv.值得注意地,显著地,尤其地,特别地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
146 bosom | |
n.胸,胸部;胸怀;内心;adj.亲密的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
147 shamefully | |
可耻地; 丢脸地; 不体面地; 羞耻地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
148 fully | |
adv.完全地,全部地,彻底地;充分地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
149 specimens | |
n.样品( specimen的名词复数 );范例;(化验的)抽样;某种类型的人 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
150 burlesque | |
v.嘲弄,戏仿;n.嘲弄,取笑,滑稽模仿 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
151 depressed | |
adj.沮丧的,抑郁的,不景气的,萧条的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
152 utterance | |
n.用言语表达,话语,言语 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
153 varied | |
adj.多样的,多变化的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
154 dignified | |
a.可敬的,高贵的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
155 grandeur | |
n.伟大,崇高,宏伟,庄严,豪华 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
156 vehemence | |
n.热切;激烈;愤怒 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
157 bullies | |
n.欺凌弱小者, 开球 vt.恐吓, 威胁, 欺负 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
158 brutal | |
adj.残忍的,野蛮的,不讲理的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
159 affected | |
adj.不自然的,假装的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
160 fangs | |
n.(尤指狗和狼的)长而尖的牙( fang的名词复数 );(蛇的)毒牙;罐座 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
161 killing | |
n.巨额利润;突然赚大钱,发大财 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
162 murmur | |
n.低语,低声的怨言;v.低语,低声而言 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
163 vigor | |
n.活力,精力,元气 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
164 totter | |
v.蹒跚, 摇摇欲坠;n.蹒跚的步子 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
165 indefatigably | |
adv.不厌倦地,不屈不挠地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
166 prodigious | |
adj.惊人的,奇妙的;异常的;巨大的;庞大的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
167 choleric | |
adj.易怒的,性情暴躁的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
168 massacre | |
n.残杀,大屠杀;v.残杀,集体屠杀 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
169 forth | |
adv.向前;向外,往外 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
170 precisely | |
adv.恰好,正好,精确地,细致地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
171 adoration | |
n.爱慕,崇拜 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
172 adverts | |
advertisements 广告,做广告 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
173 deterioration | |
n.退化;恶化;变坏 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
174 censured | |
v.指责,非难,谴责( censure的过去式 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
175 stigmatized | |
v.使受耻辱,指责,污辱( stigmatize的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
176 outgrowing | |
长[发展] 得超过(某物)的范围( outgrow的现在分词 ); 长[发展]得不能再要(某物); 长得比…快; 生长速度超过 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
177 refinement | |
n.文雅;高尚;精美;精制;精炼 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
178 repose | |
v.(使)休息;n.安息 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
179 virulence | |
n.毒力,毒性;病毒性;致病力 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
180 impartial | |
adj.(in,to)公正的,无偏见的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
181 akin | |
adj.同族的,类似的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
182 modification | |
n.修改,改进,缓和,减轻 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
183 mellowed | |
(使)成熟( mellow的过去式和过去分词 ); 使色彩更加柔和,使酒更加醇香 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
184 appalling | |
adj.骇人听闻的,令人震惊的,可怕的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
185 tottering | |
adj.蹒跚的,动摇的v.走得或动得不稳( totter的现在分词 );踉跄;蹒跚;摇摇欲坠 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
186 manly | |
adj.有男子气概的;adv.男子般地,果断地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
187 heyday | |
n.全盛时期,青春期 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
188 monarch | |
n.帝王,君主,最高统治者 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
189 artistically | |
adv.艺术性地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
190 climax | |
n.顶点;高潮;v.(使)达到顶点 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
191 intensity | |
n.强烈,剧烈;强度;烈度 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
192 desolating | |
毁坏( desolate的现在分词 ); 极大地破坏; 使沮丧; 使痛苦 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
193 descending | |
n. 下行 adj. 下降的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
194 sarcasm | |
n.讥讽,讽刺,嘲弄,反话 (adj.sarcastic) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
195 touching | |
adj.动人的,使人感伤的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
196 lament | |
n.悲叹,悔恨,恸哭;v.哀悼,悔恨,悲叹 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
197 rend | |
vt.把…撕开,割裂;把…揪下来,强行夺取 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
198 pathos | |
n.哀婉,悲怆 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
199 emphatic | |
adj.强调的,着重的;无可置疑的,明显的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
200 attentive | |
adj.注意的,专心的;关心(别人)的,殷勤的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
201 steering | |
n.操舵装置 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
202 subtleties | |
细微( subtlety的名词复数 ); 精细; 巧妙; 细微的差别等 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
203 tricky | |
adj.狡猾的,奸诈的;(工作等)棘手的,微妙的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
204 upwards | |
adv.向上,在更高处...以上 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
205 paternal | |
adj.父亲的,像父亲的,父系的,父方的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
206 interfere | |
v.(in)干涉,干预;(with)妨碍,打扰 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
207 withering | |
使人畏缩的,使人害羞的,使人难堪的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
208 agitate | |
vi.(for,against)煽动,鼓动;vt.搅动 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
209 agitated | |
adj.被鼓动的,不安的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
210 considerably | |
adv.极大地;相当大地;在很大程度上 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
211 perfectly | |
adv.完美地,无可非议地,彻底地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
212 discriminate | |
v.区别,辨别,区分;有区别地对待 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
213 satire | |
n.讽刺,讽刺文学,讽刺作品 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
214 vices | |
缺陷( vice的名词复数 ); 恶习; 不道德行为; 台钳 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
215 chaotically | |
参考例句: |
|
|
216 mingle | |
vt.使混合,使相混;vi.混合起来;相交往 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
217 mingled | |
混合,混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 ); 混进,与…交往[联系] | |
参考例句: |
|
|
218 simplicity | |
n.简单,简易;朴素;直率,单纯 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
219 exhausted | |
adj.极其疲惫的,精疲力尽的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
220 feverish | |
adj.发烧的,狂热的,兴奋的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
221 approbation | |
n.称赞;认可 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
222 theatrical | |
adj.剧场的,演戏的;做戏似的,做作的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
223 possessed | |
adj.疯狂的;拥有的,占有的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
224 melodrama | |
n.音乐剧;情节剧 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
225 chaste | |
adj.贞洁的;有道德的;善良的;简朴的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
226 subdued | |
adj. 屈服的,柔和的,减弱的 动词subdue的过去式和过去分词 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
227 conclusively | |
adv.令人信服地,确凿地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
228 worthy | |
adj.(of)值得的,配得上的;有价值的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
229 spasm | |
n.痉挛,抽搐;一阵发作 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
230 hatred | |
n.憎恶,憎恨,仇恨 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
231 arson | |
n.纵火,放火 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
232 hideous | |
adj.丑陋的,可憎的,可怕的,恐怖的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
233 whine | |
v.哀号,号哭;n.哀鸣 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
234 omission | |
n.省略,删节;遗漏或省略的事物,冗长 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
235 conversational | |
adj.对话的,会话的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
236 bellowing | |
v.发出吼叫声,咆哮(尤指因痛苦)( bellow的现在分词 );(愤怒地)说出(某事),大叫 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
237 raving | |
adj.说胡话的;疯狂的,怒吼的;非常漂亮的;令人醉心[痴心]的v.胡言乱语(rave的现在分词)n.胡话;疯话adv.胡言乱语地;疯狂地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
238 truthful | |
adj.真实的,说实话的,诚实的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
239 discord | |
n.不和,意见不合,争论,(音乐)不和谐 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
240 tact | |
n.机敏,圆滑,得体 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
241 gentry | |
n.绅士阶级,上层阶级 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
242 depict | |
vt.描画,描绘;描写,描述 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
243 albeit | |
conj.即使;纵使;虽然 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
244 remunerative | |
adj.有报酬的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
245 vexed | |
adj.争论不休的;(指问题等)棘手的;争论不休的问题;烦恼的v.使烦恼( vex的过去式和过去分词 );使苦恼;使生气;详细讨论 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
246 provocation | |
n.激怒,刺激,挑拨,挑衅的事物,激怒的原因 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
247 frightful | |
adj.可怕的;讨厌的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
248 prosecuted | |
a.被起诉的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
249 applied | |
adj.应用的;v.应用,适用 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
250 mortifying | |
adj.抑制的,苦修的v.使受辱( mortify的现在分词 );伤害(人的感情);克制;抑制(肉体、情感等) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
251 pecuniarily | |
adv.在金钱上,在金钱方面 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
252 interfered | |
v.干预( interfere的过去式和过去分词 );调停;妨碍;干涉 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
253 antagonism | |
n.对抗,敌对,对立 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
254 stature | |
n.(高度)水平,(高度)境界,身高,身材 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
255 premier | |
adj.首要的;n.总理,首相 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
256 tout | |
v.推销,招徕;兜售;吹捧,劝诱 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
257 gratitude | |
adj.感激,感谢 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
258 initiation | |
n.开始 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
259 adherents | |
n.支持者,拥护者( adherent的名词复数 );党羽;徒子徒孙 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
260 accusations | |
n.指责( accusation的名词复数 );指控;控告;(被告发、控告的)罪名 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
261 bias | |
n.偏见,偏心,偏袒;vt.使有偏见 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
262 recipient | |
a.接受的,感受性强的 n.接受者,感受者,容器 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
263 recipients | |
adj.接受的;受领的;容纳的;愿意接受的n.收件人;接受者;受领者;接受器 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
264 clique | |
n.朋党派系,小集团 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
265 hover | |
vi.翱翔,盘旋;徘徊;彷徨,犹豫 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
266 outskirts | |
n.郊外,郊区 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
267 lesser | |
adj.次要的,较小的;adv.较小地,较少地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
268 Neptune | |
n.海王星 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
269 arrogate | |
v.冒称具有...权利,霸占 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
270 inevitable | |
adj.不可避免的,必然发生的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
271 logic | |
n.逻辑(学);逻辑性 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
272 democrat | |
n.民主主义者,民主人士;民主党党员 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
273 recollect | |
v.回忆,想起,记起,忆起,记得 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
274 standing | |
n.持续,地位;adj.永久的,不动的,直立的,不流动的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
275 vindicating | |
v.澄清(某人/某事物)受到的责难或嫌疑( vindicate的现在分词 );表明或证明(所争辩的事物)属实、正当、有效等;维护 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
276 rugged | |
adj.高低不平的,粗糙的,粗壮的,强健的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
277 proprieties | |
n.礼仪,礼节;礼貌( propriety的名词复数 );规矩;正当;合适 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
278 lurking | |
潜在 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
279 lapsed | |
adj.流失的,堕落的v.退步( lapse的过去式和过去分词 );陷入;倒退;丧失 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
280 subsided | |
v.(土地)下陷(因在地下采矿)( subside的过去式和过去分词 );减弱;下降至较低或正常水平;一下子坐在椅子等上 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
281 subduing | |
征服( subdue的现在分词 ); 克制; 制服; 色变暗 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
282 turmoils | |
n.混乱( turmoil的名词复数 );焦虑 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
283 agitations | |
(液体等的)摇动( agitation的名词复数 ); 鼓动; 激烈争论; (情绪等的)纷乱 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
284 mazes | |
迷宫( maze的名词复数 ); 纷繁复杂的规则; 复杂难懂的细节; 迷宫图 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
285 sobs | |
啜泣(声),呜咽(声)( sob的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
286 outlay | |
n.费用,经费,支出;v.花费 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
287 dummy | |
n.假的东西;(哄婴儿的)橡皮奶头 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
288 elegance | |
n.优雅;优美,雅致;精致,巧妙 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
289 ratified | |
v.批准,签认(合约等)( ratify的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
290 entirely | |
ad.全部地,完整地;完全地,彻底地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
291 courteous | |
adj.彬彬有礼的,客气的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
292 ornament | |
v.装饰,美化;n.装饰,装饰物 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
293 esteem | |
n.尊敬,尊重;vt.尊重,敬重;把…看作 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
294 prosper | |
v.成功,兴隆,昌盛;使成功,使昌隆,繁荣 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
295 inscription | |
n.(尤指石块上的)刻印文字,铭文,碑文 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
296 exertions | |
n.努力( exertion的名词复数 );费力;(能力、权力等的)运用;行使 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
297 exertion | |
n.尽力,努力 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
298 toil | |
vi.辛劳工作,艰难地行动;n.苦工,难事 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
299 labored | |
adj.吃力的,谨慎的v.努力争取(for)( labor的过去式和过去分词 );苦干;详细分析;(指引擎)缓慢而困难地运转 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
300 thorny | |
adj.多刺的,棘手的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
301 eminence | |
n.卓越,显赫;高地,高处;名家 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
302 laborious | |
adj.吃力的,努力的,不流畅 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
303 intercourse | |
n.性交;交流,交往,交际 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
304 corps | |
n.(通信等兵种的)部队;(同类作的)一组 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
305 rehearsal | |
n.排练,排演;练习 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
306 alacrity | |
n.敏捷,轻快,乐意 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
307 allude | |
v.提及,暗指 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
308 alluded | |
提及,暗指( allude的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
309 humble | |
adj.谦卑的,恭顺的;地位低下的;v.降低,贬低 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
310 awakened | |
v.(使)醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 );(使)觉醒;弄醒;(使)意识到 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
311 gleaned | |
v.一点点地收集(资料、事实)( glean的过去式和过去分词 );(收割后)拾穗 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
312 ornithologist | |
n.鸟类学家 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
313 eloquent | |
adj.雄辩的,口才流利的;明白显示出的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
314 vociferous | |
adj.喧哗的,大叫大嚷的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
315 bard | |
n.吟游诗人 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
316 shrines | |
圣地,圣坛,神圣场所( shrine的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
317 creed | |
n.信条;信念,纲领 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
318 guardian | |
n.监护人;守卫者,保护者 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
319 remarkable | |
adj.显著的,异常的,非凡的,值得注意的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
320 utterly | |
adv.完全地,绝对地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
321 supreme | |
adj.极度的,最重要的;至高的,最高的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
322 curbing | |
n.边石,边石的材料v.限制,克制,抑制( curb的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
323 splendor | |
n.光彩;壮丽,华丽;显赫,辉煌 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
324 majesty | |
n.雄伟,壮丽,庄严,威严;最高权威,王权 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
325 violation | |
n.违反(行为),违背(行为),侵犯 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
326 nay | |
adv.不;n.反对票,投反对票者 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
327 barbarian | |
n.野蛮人;adj.野蛮(人)的;未开化的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
328 blemishes | |
n.(身体的)瘢点( blemish的名词复数 );伤疤;瑕疵;污点 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
329 disposition | |
n.性情,性格;意向,倾向;排列,部署 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
330 delineation | |
n.记述;描写 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
331 hoarse | |
adj.嘶哑的,沙哑的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
332 defective | |
adj.有毛病的,有问题的,有瑕疵的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
333 usurp | |
vt.篡夺,霸占;vi.篡位 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
334 immutable | |
adj.不可改变的,永恒的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
335 contemplate | |
vt.盘算,计议;周密考虑;注视,凝视 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
336 sneered | |
讥笑,冷笑( sneer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
337 reigns | |
n.君主的统治( reign的名词复数 );君主统治时期;任期;当政期 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
338 goaded | |
v.刺激( goad的过去式和过去分词 );激励;(用尖棒)驱赶;驱使(或怂恿、刺激)某人 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
339 patriotic | |
adj.爱国的,有爱国心的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
340 patriot | |
n.爱国者,爱国主义者 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
341 abounded | |
v.大量存在,充满,富于( abound的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
342 conspired | |
密谋( conspire的过去式和过去分词 ); 搞阴谋; (事件等)巧合; 共同导致 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
343 cork | |
n.软木,软木塞 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
344 ovations | |
n.热烈欢迎( ovation的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
345 jack | |
n.插座,千斤顶,男人;v.抬起,提醒,扛举;n.(Jake)杰克 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
346 defamation | |
n.诽谤;中伤 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
347 imbued | |
v.使(某人/某事)充满或激起(感情等)( imbue的过去式和过去分词 );使充满;灌输;激发(强烈感情或品质等) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
348 indifference | |
n.不感兴趣,不关心,冷淡,不在乎 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
349 ridiculed | |
v.嘲笑,嘲弄,奚落( ridicule的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
350 rustic | |
adj.乡村的,有乡村特色的;n.乡下人,乡巴佬 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
351 garb | |
n.服装,装束 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
352 bondage | |
n.奴役,束缚 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
353 longing | |
n.(for)渴望 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
354 sarcasms | |
n.讥讽,讽刺,挖苦( sarcasm的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
355 usurpation | |
n.篡位;霸占 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
356 animated | |
adj.生气勃勃的,活跃的,愉快的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
357 trumpet | |
n.喇叭,喇叭声;v.吹喇叭,吹嘘 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
358 fidelity | |
n.忠诚,忠实;精确 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
359 insinuate | |
vt.含沙射影地说,暗示 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
360 eloquence | |
n.雄辩;口才,修辞 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
361 indignities | |
n.侮辱,轻蔑( indignity的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
362 anguish | |
n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦,烦恼 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
363 declamation | |
n. 雄辩,高调 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
364 thoroughly | |
adv.完全地,彻底地,十足地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
365 avenging | |
adj.报仇的,复仇的v.为…复仇,报…之仇( avenge的现在分词 );为…报复 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
366 sculptor | |
n.雕刻家,雕刻家 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
367 bent | |
n.爱好,癖好;adj.弯的;决心的,一心的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
368 chisel | |
n.凿子;v.用凿子刻,雕,凿 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
369 immortal | |
adj.不朽的;永生的,不死的;神的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
370 deafening | |
adj. 振耳欲聋的, 极喧闹的 动词deafen的现在分词形式 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
371 hospitable | |
adj.好客的;宽容的;有利的,适宜的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
372 sojourn | |
v./n.旅居,寄居;逗留 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
373 eminently | |
adv.突出地;显著地;不寻常地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
374 eminent | |
adj.显赫的,杰出的,有名的,优良的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
375 judicious | |
adj.明智的,明断的,能作出明智决定的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
376 anatomy | |
n.解剖学,解剖;功能,结构,组织 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
377 wrought | |
v.引起;以…原料制作;运转;adj.制造的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
378 delicacy | |
n.精致,细微,微妙,精良;美味,佳肴 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
379 wrung | |
绞( wring的过去式和过去分词 ); 握紧(尤指别人的手); 把(湿衣服)拧干; 绞掉(水) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
380 frenzied | |
a.激怒的;疯狂的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
381 gallant | |
adj.英勇的,豪侠的;(向女人)献殷勤的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
382 moor | |
n.荒野,沼泽;vt.(使)停泊;vi.停泊 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
383 craftily | |
狡猾地,狡诈地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
384 electrifying | |
v.使电气化( electrify的现在分词 );使兴奋 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
385 homage | |
n.尊敬,敬意,崇敬 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
386 consummate | |
adj.完美的;v.成婚;使完美 [反]baffle | |
参考例句: |
|
|
387 contemptible | |
adj.可鄙的,可轻视的,卑劣的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
388 originality | |
n.创造力,独创性;新颖 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
389 sterling | |
adj.英币的(纯粹的,货真价实的);n.英国货币(英镑) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
390 picturesque | |
adj.美丽如画的,(语言)生动的,绘声绘色的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
391 wondrous | |
adj.令人惊奇的,奇妙的;adv.惊人地;异乎寻常地;令人惊叹地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
392 transparent | |
adj.明显的,无疑的;透明的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
393 quaint | |
adj.古雅的,离奇有趣的,奇怪的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
394 tenor | |
n.男高音(歌手),次中音(乐器),要旨,大意 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
395 flexibility | |
n.柔韧性,弹性,(光的)折射性,灵活性 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
396 modulation | |
n.调制 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
397 savage | |
adj.野蛮的;凶恶的,残暴的;n.未开化的人 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
398 confirmation | |
n.证实,确认,批准 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
399 doting | |
adj.溺爱的,宠爱的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
400 relentless | |
adj.残酷的,不留情的,无怜悯心的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
401 avenger | |
n. 复仇者 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
402 martial | |
adj.战争的,军事的,尚武的,威武的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
403 snob | |
n.势利小人,自以为高雅、有学问的人 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
404 victorious | |
adj.胜利的,得胜的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
405 cosmopolitan | |
adj.世界性的,全世界的,四海为家的,全球的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
406 morbidity | |
n.病态;不健全;发病;发病率 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
407 impersonally | |
ad.非人称地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
408 faculty | |
n.才能;学院,系;(学院或系的)全体教学人员 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
409 desecration | |
n. 亵渎神圣, 污辱 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
410 forthrightness | |
正直 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
411 glowered | |
v.怒视( glower的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
412 defiance | |
n.挑战,挑衅,蔑视,违抗 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
413 hissing | |
n. 发嘶嘶声, 蔑视 动词hiss的现在分词形式 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
414 aggravated | |
使恶化( aggravate的过去式和过去分词 ); 使更严重; 激怒; 使恼火 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
415 lasting | |
adj.永久的,永恒的;vbl.持续,维持 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
416 justify | |
vt.证明…正当(或有理),为…辩护 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
417 expressive | |
adj.表现的,表达…的,富于表情的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
418 dissent | |
n./v.不同意,持异议 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
419 wholesome | |
adj.适合;卫生的;有益健康的;显示身心健康的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
420 disapproval | |
n.反对,不赞成 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
421 solitary | |
adj.孤独的,独立的,荒凉的;n.隐士 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
422 justifiable | |
adj.有理由的,无可非议的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
423 inflict | |
vt.(on)把…强加给,使遭受,使承担 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
424 fixed | |
adj.固定的,不变的,准备好的;(计算机)固定的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
425 glided | |
v.滑动( glide的过去式和过去分词 );掠过;(鸟或飞机 ) 滑翔 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
426 proprietor | |
n.所有人;业主;经营者 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
427 diminutive | |
adj.小巧可爱的,小的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
428 foppish | |
adj.矫饰的,浮华的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
429 mincing | |
adj.矫饰的;v.切碎;切碎 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
430 squeak | |
n.吱吱声,逃脱;v.(发出)吱吱叫,侥幸通过;(俚)告密 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
431 treasurer | |
n.司库,财务主管 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
432 tavern | |
n.小旅馆,客栈;小酒店 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
433 eulogy | |
n.颂词;颂扬 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
434 exquisite | |
adj.精美的;敏锐的;剧烈的,感觉强烈的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
435 exquisitely | |
adv.精致地;强烈地;剧烈地;异常地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
436 esteemed | |
adj.受人尊敬的v.尊敬( esteem的过去式和过去分词 );敬重;认为;以为 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
437 sublime | |
adj.崇高的,伟大的;极度的,不顾后果的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
438 countenance | |
n.脸色,面容;面部表情;vt.支持,赞同 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
439 ardently | |
adv.热心地,热烈地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
440 friendliness | |
n.友谊,亲切,亲密 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
441 attachment | |
n.附属物,附件;依恋;依附 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
442 thumping | |
adj.重大的,巨大的;重击的;尺码大的;极好的adv.极端地;非常地v.重击(thump的现在分词);狠打;怦怦地跳;全力支持 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
443 canes | |
n.(某些植物,如竹或甘蔗的)茎( cane的名词复数 );(用于制作家具等的)竹竿;竹杖 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
444 elevation | |
n.高度;海拔;高地;上升;提高 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
445 infancy | |
n.婴儿期;幼年期;初期 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
446 reverence | |
n.敬畏,尊敬,尊严;Reverence:对某些基督教神职人员的尊称;v.尊敬,敬畏,崇敬 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
447 infinitely | |
adv.无限地,无穷地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
448 majestic | |
adj.雄伟的,壮丽的,庄严的,威严的,崇高的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
449 imposing | |
adj.使人难忘的,壮丽的,堂皇的,雄伟的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
450 formerly | |
adv.从前,以前 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
451 Founder | |
n.创始者,缔造者 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
452 literally | |
adv.照字面意义,逐字地;确实 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
453 strenuously | |
adv.奋发地,费力地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
454 meritorious | |
adj.值得赞赏的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
455 geographical | |
adj.地理的;地区(性)的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
456 cardinal | |
n.(天主教的)红衣主教;adj.首要的,基本的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
457 elicited | |
引出,探出( elicit的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
458 retired | |
adj.隐退的,退休的,退役的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
459 excellence | |
n.优秀,杰出,(pl.)优点,美德 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
460 miller | |
n.磨坊主 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
461 inviting | |
adj.诱人的,引人注目的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
462 testimony | |
n.证词;见证,证明 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
463 sculptors | |
雕刻家,雕塑家( sculptor的名词复数 ); [天]玉夫座 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
464 conformity | |
n.一致,遵从,顺从 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
465 sketch | |
n.草图;梗概;素描;v.素描;概述 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
466 acquitted | |
宣判…无罪( acquit的过去式和过去分词 ); 使(自己)作出某种表现 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
467 casually | |
adv.漠不关心地,无动于衷地,不负责任地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
468 severely | |
adv.严格地;严厉地;非常恶劣地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
469 frenzy | |
n.疯狂,狂热,极度的激动 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
470 remorse | |
n.痛恨,悔恨,自责 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
471 prey | |
n.被掠食者,牺牲者,掠食;v.捕食,掠夺,折磨 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
472 follies | |
罪恶,时事讽刺剧; 愚蠢,蠢笨,愚蠢的行为、思想或做法( folly的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
473 irreproachable | |
adj.不可指责的,无过失的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
474 virtue | |
n.德行,美德;贞操;优点;功效,效力 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
475 virtues | |
美德( virtue的名词复数 ); 德行; 优点; 长处 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
476 generosity | |
n.大度,慷慨,慷慨的行为 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
477 calumny | |
n.诽谤,污蔑,中伤 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
478 intrigue | |
vt.激起兴趣,迷住;vi.耍阴谋;n.阴谋,密谋 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
479 renown | |
n.声誉,名望 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
480 malevolence | |
n.恶意,狠毒 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
481 withhold | |
v.拒绝,不给;使停止,阻挡 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
482 demonstrations | |
证明( demonstration的名词复数 ); 表明; 表达; 游行示威 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
483 munificent | |
adj.慷慨的,大方的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
484 eloquently | |
adv. 雄辩地(有口才地, 富于表情地) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
485 tumult | |
n.喧哗;激动,混乱;吵闹 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
486 fleeting | |
adj.短暂的,飞逝的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
487 pageant | |
n.壮观的游行;露天历史剧 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
488 mimic | |
v.模仿,戏弄;n.模仿他人言行的人 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
489 circumvented | |
v.设法克服或避免(某事物),回避( circumvent的过去式和过去分词 );绕过,绕行,绕道旅行 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
490 opposition | |
n.反对,敌对 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
491 avowal | |
n.公开宣称,坦白承认 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
492 castigation | |
n.申斥,强烈反对 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
493 cavilling | |
n.(矿工的)工作地点抽签法v.挑剔,吹毛求疵( cavil的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
494 pertinent | |
adj.恰当的;贴切的;中肯的;有关的;相干的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
495 allusion | |
n.暗示,间接提示 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
496 allusions | |
暗指,间接提到( allusion的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
497 repudiation | |
n.拒绝;否认;断绝关系;抛弃 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
498 implicitly | |
adv. 含蓄地, 暗中地, 毫不保留地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
499 verity | |
n.真实性 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
500 rebuked | |
责难或指责( rebuke的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
501 malice | |
n.恶意,怨恨,蓄意;[律]预谋 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
502 cliques | |
n.小集团,小圈子,派系( clique的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
503 exalted | |
adj.(地位等)高的,崇高的;尊贵的,高尚的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
504 quench | |
vt.熄灭,扑灭;压制 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
505 curdle | |
v.使凝结,变稠 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
506 cultivation | |
n.耕作,培养,栽培(法),养成 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
507 bounty | |
n.慷慨的赠予物,奖金;慷慨,大方;施与 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
508 dictates | |
n.命令,规定,要求( dictate的名词复数 )v.大声讲或读( dictate的第三人称单数 );口授;支配;摆布 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
509 rendering | |
n.表现,描写 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
510 fusion | |
n.溶化;熔解;熔化状态,熔和;熔接 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
511 auld | |
adj.老的,旧的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
512 syne | |
adv.自彼时至此时,曾经 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
513 gnawed | |
咬( gnaw的过去式和过去分词 ); (长时间) 折磨某人; (使)苦恼; (长时间)危害某事物 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
514 grievances | |
n.委屈( grievance的名词复数 );苦衷;不满;牢骚 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
515 conversed | |
v.交谈,谈话( converse的过去式 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
516 mischief | |
n.损害,伤害,危害;恶作剧,捣蛋,胡闹 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
517 conspiracies | |
n.阴谋,密谋( conspiracy的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
518 spartan | |
adj.简朴的,刻苦的;n.斯巴达;斯巴达式的人 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
519 feigned | |
a.假装的,不真诚的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
520 impoverishment | |
n.贫穷,穷困;贫化 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
521 devotedness | |
参考例句: |
|
|
522 devoted | |
adj.忠诚的,忠实的,热心的,献身于...的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
523 beheld | |
v.看,注视( behold的过去式和过去分词 );瞧;看呀;(叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现)哎哟 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
524 doomed | |
命定的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
525 deplore | |
vt.哀叹,对...深感遗憾 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
526 impair | |
v.损害,损伤;削弱,减少 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
527 consolation | |
n.安慰,慰问 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
528 tranquil | |
adj. 安静的, 宁静的, 稳定的, 不变的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
529 cosily | |
adv.舒适地,惬意地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
530 snug | |
adj.温暖舒适的,合身的,安全的;v.使整洁干净,舒适地依靠,紧贴;n.(英)酒吧里的私房 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
531 narrations | |
叙述事情的经过,故事( narration的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
532 banish | |
vt.放逐,驱逐;消除,排除 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
533 melancholy | |
n.忧郁,愁思;adj.令人感伤(沮丧)的,忧郁的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
534 relics | |
[pl.]n.遗物,遗迹,遗产;遗体,尸骸 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
535 momentary | |
adj.片刻的,瞬息的;短暂的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
536 blessings | |
n.(上帝的)祝福( blessing的名词复数 );好事;福分;因祸得福 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
537 benignity | |
n.仁慈 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
538 kindles | |
(使某物)燃烧,着火( kindle的第三人称单数 ); 激起(感情等); 发亮,放光 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
539 chamber | |
n.房间,寝室;会议厅;议院;会所 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
540 democrats | |
n.民主主义者,民主人士( democrat的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
541 potent | |
adj.强有力的,有权势的;有效力的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
542 antagonist | |
n.敌人,对抗者,对手 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
543 antagonists | |
对立[对抗] 者,对手,敌手( antagonist的名词复数 ); 对抗肌; 对抗药 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
544 kindled | |
(使某物)燃烧,着火( kindle的过去式和过去分词 ); 激起(感情等); 发亮,放光 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
545 hissed | |
发嘶嘶声( hiss的过去式和过去分词 ); 发嘘声表示反对 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
546 arraigning | |
v.告发( arraign的现在分词 );控告;传讯;指责 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
547 contagion | |
n.(通过接触的疾病)传染;蔓延 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
548 inflamed | |
adj.发炎的,红肿的v.(使)变红,发怒,过热( inflame的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
549 indirectly | |
adv.间接地,不直接了当地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
550 instigated | |
v.使(某事物)开始或发生,鼓动( instigate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
551 colossal | |
adj.异常的,庞大的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
552 repulsive | |
adj.排斥的,使人反感的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
553 ignoble | |
adj.不光彩的,卑鄙的;可耻的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
554 illustrate | |
v.举例说明,阐明;图解,加插图 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
555 malignant | |
adj.恶性的,致命的;恶意的,恶毒的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
556 auditorium | |
n.观众席,听众席;会堂,礼堂 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
557 strife | |
n.争吵,冲突,倾轧,竞争 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
558 necessitates | |
使…成为必要,需要( necessitate的第三人称单数 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
559 derisive | |
adj.嘲弄的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
560 hurled | |
v.猛投,用力掷( hurl的过去式和过去分词 );大声叫骂 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
561 condemned | |
adj. 被责难的, 被宣告有罪的 动词condemn的过去式和过去分词 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
562 scorching | |
adj. 灼热的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
563 influential | |
adj.有影响的,有权势的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
564 promising | |
adj.有希望的,有前途的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
565 retracted | |
v.撤回或撤消( retract的过去式和过去分词 );拒绝执行或遵守;缩回;拉回 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
566 proceedings | |
n.进程,过程,议程;诉讼(程序);公报 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
567 defiant | |
adj.无礼的,挑战的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
568 rabble | |
n.乌合之众,暴民;下等人 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
569 incensed | |
盛怒的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
570 brewing | |
n. 酿造, 一次酿造的量 动词brew的现在分词形式 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
571 civic | |
adj.城市的,都市的,市民的,公民的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
572 detailed | |
adj.详细的,详尽的,极注意细节的,完全的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
573 regiments | |
(军队的)团( regiment的名词复数 ); 大量的人或物 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
574 regiment | |
n.团,多数,管理;v.组织,编成团,统制 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
575 decided | |
adj.决定了的,坚决的;明显的,明确的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
576 chaos | |
n.混乱,无秩序 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
577 diabolical | |
adj.恶魔似的,凶暴的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
578 hustled | |
催促(hustle的过去式与过去分词形式) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
579 plunges | |
n.跳进,投入vt.使投入,使插入,使陷入vi.投入,跳进,陷入v.颠簸( plunge的第三人称单数 );暴跌;骤降;突降 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
580 barricaded | |
设路障于,以障碍物阻塞( barricade的过去式和过去分词 ); 设路障[防御工事]保卫或固守 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
581 scoffs | |
嘲笑,嘲弄( scoff的第三人称单数 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
582 hoots | |
咄,啐 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
583 harangued | |
v.高谈阔论( harangue的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
584 entreated | |
恳求,乞求( entreat的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
585 thronging | |
v.成群,挤满( throng的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
586 wrench | |
v.猛拧;挣脱;使扭伤;n.扳手;痛苦,难受 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
587 musket | |
n.滑膛枪 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
588 vindicated | |
v.澄清(某人/某事物)受到的责难或嫌疑( vindicate的过去式和过去分词 );表明或证明(所争辩的事物)属实、正当、有效等;维护 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
欢迎访问英文小说网 |