^257 ^^^^^^H A = Al in ^^m = ^ 1 ^^ ^ ^^^^H 4 m ^^ o ^^^^H 1 ^ = ^^■B '~ ^^^^^^H 9 = 5 = — i:- ^^^^^^H 1 ^ ^"^1 ^^H A THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES t* Lawrence Barrett. A PROFESSIONAL SKETCH By Elwyn a. Barron. CHICAGO : KNIGHT & LEONARD CO., PRINTERS, 1889. INTRODUCTORY. ONE of the Indian jxjets named the dignities and honors of well-won reputation "the mellowed fruits of virtu(jus actions." There is nice distinction here between notoriety, or sudden, perhaps questionable fame, and the wholesome, orderly development that only is reputation in mouths of wisest censure. In its highest, pure sense, reputation is the fruit of long tested good conduct and scrupulously examined merit, being as it is the aggregate result of many findings. Trials and adversities, the flaws of prejudice are its weather; a not over-generous encouragement is its sunshine. But its growth under these conditions is the more substantial, its perfection the richer and sweeter. As the choicest fruits are not those which ripen quickly through much nourishing, the most enduring reputations are not easily won, but crown lives of patient devotion to high aims and lofty purposes, — lives in which self-sacrifice is the instrument of ideal aspirations, and to which the " whips and scorns of outrageous fortune " have come only to strengthen resolution, dignify courage and for- -^ tify perseverance. Self-reliance battling its way through hostile environments, refusing to be dismayed by persistent opposition, presents a Z type of moral heroism that compels the sullen respect of the \-£ meanest and wins the applause of the best. When to this qual- ' ity of spirit is added the grace of genuine sensibility governed 5 570550 T HRAT RK ^BIS 6 INTRODUCTORY. by noble impulses and governing strong capabilities, we have elements of the power to which, lacking better terms, we give the mysterious name of genius. In whatever sphere of action, in whatever profession or calling, it is the master of for- tune, not fortune's favorite, who performs the larger service toward the adjustment of the world, — in ethics, and in esthetics, as well as in material things — to its noblest uses. Large ability calmly resolute is like a capped wave moving shoreward over a summer sea, the force of which we do not appreciate until it leaps to its goal among the crags and overwhelms us. We know not the storms and stress that give extra momentum to special character more than we know what gales gave irresisti- ble movement to a particular wave ; but when a man rises conspicuously eminent from the plane of the commonplace, we are interested in learning what were his early circumstances, and what were the means employed to promote his success. Apology there need be none for attempting, however imper- fectly, to answer biographically such tpiestions; and certainly if reputation is worth achieving we cannot do better than honor, while they live, the men who have done something to merit remembrance. LAWRENCE BARRETT. CHAPTER I. EARLY YOUTH. IN the picturesque town of Paterson, N. J., fifty-one years ago, April 4, 1838, amid humble surroundings, into con- ditions that ordinarily forbid the promise of future celebrity, Lawrence Barrett was born. His father, Thomas Barrett, was one of those free-souled Irishmen, large of frame, muscular, capable, in whom the ancient Celt revives to make the restraints of industrious life intolerable, and in whom is lack- ing that economic providence which is essential to the care of a family and the proper education of the young. His mother, on the contrary, was frugal, thrifty, patient, with the ambition to rear her children to usefulness and respectability. To this mother, who often quitted her laborious household duties to bear to school in her arms her feeble, sickly child, Lawrence Barrett owes the moral impulse that enabled him to master circumstances and rise superior to his natural environments. At an early age he was removed to Detroit, where his father hoped to succeed better with his trade, and there gained health and strength in a climate peculiarly suited to his development. The family necessities, however, compelled him to become a helper at an age when boys most need the nurture of home and the benefits of school, and it is not surprising that he looked to the theatre for employment. He became call boy 7 8 LAWRENCE BARRETT. and general apprentice to the then principal theatre of Detroit, and unwittingly laid the foundation of his fame. It was acci- dent rather than design that took him to the theatre, how- ever. His first and brief employment was in the linen department of a Detroit dry-goods establishment. His taste for the drama was already marked, and frequently, when business was dull, he would mount a box in the rear of the store and entertain his companions by declaiming passages from plays he had heard at the theatre. He was much of a mimic, and his proclivities gained him great popularity with the boys. The "store walker" was a pompous, exact- ing, disagreeable fellow, thoroughly detested by the lads over whom he exercised tyrannous sway. Young Barrett delighted to mimic the mannerisms of this individual, and never failed to set his fellows in a roar with his imitations. On one of these occasions, when Barrett was in excellent humor for the mischief and had the little circle about him in high glee, the subject of their ridicule suddenly pounced upon them. The boys were completely humiliated by the majestic rage of their tyrant, and young Barrett took his instant dis- charge as well-merited punishment. As he was turning away with downcast eyes, the store walker said to him sneeringly: "You have mistaken your vocation, young man; you should go on the stage." It was then and there that the boy, bright- ening at the hint, resolved that he would go on the stage, and in a few days he was engaged at the old Metropolitan at the bewildering salary of $2.50 a week. Though exceedingly timid, and easily abashed, the lad was shrewd, observing, nat- urally studious of men and things, and had a surprisingly analytical turn of mind. He therefore profited by his sur- roundings more than miglit a less diffident nature, and he gained a great deal from his elders who, to his admiring, though awe-struck fancy, were men apart from the common. It need hardly be said that the dramatic profession of that day was less circumspect tlian we now fintl it. Its members did not always prove to tiie highest moral average; and many A PROFESSIONAL SKETCH. 9 who figured as the gods of the call boy's idolatry were neither patterns of sobriety nor examples of reverence. Yet through the atmosphere of intemperance and profanity shone a clear, strange light that stole into the darkness of the boy's mind and filled him with wonderment. It perplexed him sorely for a time, this peculiar influence, and lying on his hard pallet in a dingy out-of-the-way room of the theatre he puzzled his brains to make out the difference between these men and him- self. In a vague, uncertain way the answer came to him at last, and he realized for the first time his ignorance and how great a barrier it raised between him and his dreams of the future. But the sturdy self-reliance so conspicuous in the character of the man was not wanting in the boy, and he straightway resolved to overcome the dangers that threatened him. It was a veritable battle with giants to which he pledged himself in the stillness of the night, for at the age of fourteen years Lawrence Barrett could barely read and write. He lost no time lamenting the fact that his resources were few. He determined to make the very best possible uses of the opportunities at hand. Standing in the wings or in any convenient corner of the stage, when there was no demand upon his services he listened with the ears of the soul to the dialogue of the play, absorbing what his intelligence could grasp, taking care to note the pronunciation of words, learning words, phrases and entire speeches. When the play was over he gathered up the rejected bits of candle from the dressing rooms and bore them, with expectantly beating heart, to his hole-in-the-wall lodging place where, the gift of a friendly actor, he had stored as a treasure of great price a worn and dog-eared copy of Johnson's Dictionary. The little room was without any conveniences, having neither chair nor table nor other furniture than the shake-down bed. For candlestick, therefore, young Barrett drove three nails into the floor and between the heads of these his scrap of candle was placed and lighted. Then, lying flat upon the floor, the precious book, — a wonderland of information, philosophy and literature it seemed lO LAWRENCE BARRETT. — spread open before him, eagerly, aglow with rapture, sought out for their meanings the words he had learned, and explored the pages for further knowledge. No boy ever read a novel by Scott with more enthusiasm, with greater delight, with more feverish expectancy than did Lawrence Barrett study the dic- tionary of the pompous, pedantic old Doctor. Sometimes the piece of candle would be barely enough for the supper of a mouse, and the boy who saw its expiring fiickerings shadowing his page until he could no longer discern the words in fine print went weeping to bed, only at such times bitter against his fate. Alert in mind, active in body, willing, even forward, Barrett was a general favorite among the actors of the company, and when his studious habit became marked encouraging contribu- tions to his library of one book served to broaden, though but slightly, his field of fruitful literature. He began to feel the joy of knowing. He found it easier to engage in conversation with his elders, and it delighted him that now and again one of them would discuss with him his plans, offering perhaps a hint for his guidance, or stimulating his mind with anecdotes of others who had struggled to success through adversity. In some mysterious manner his old gods became resolved into men among men, no longer occupying inaccessible heights, no longer creatures of marvelous character, and suddenly the belief that he too might become as one of these filled his young life with a new purpose and his soul with a noble ambition. With this intellectual awakening his moral sensibilities were aroused, and with the wish that he might achieve something as an actor went the resolve that he would be something as a man. The intemperate habits of the actors that before seemed noth- ing strange, now filled him with disgust. Their shiftlessness and careless dissipation taught him what to avoid, and the very surroundings that were fatal to less earnest natures rein- forced his character and fostered his hopes. The conviction that sober industry, zealous endeavors aiul persistent study would enable him to rise superior to those conditions was the A l'R(jrESSIONAL SKETCH. II guardian genius of his youth, the prophecy of his manhood. He plunged into books for safety against the temptations that encompass youth, especially a youth amid the unrealities of the theatre, and for recreation learned passages of Shakes- pearean plays to declaim in imitation of the leading actors whom it was his occasional privilege to see and hear. Spout- ing Shakespeare is a familiar weakness of youth, but this boy, with the remarkable voice, the deep, luminous eyes into which the soul cast the lights and shadows of feeling, of impetuous manner and intense earnestness, was something more than a spouter, despite his untutored elocution. His young friends about town esteemed it a pleasure to listen to him, the pas- sion and enthusiasm of an ardent, not unpoetic nature lend- ing to his recitals an eloquence that often impressed others than his familiars, and gained for him such words of appro- bation as, not misvalued, make the wholesome food of young ambition. His exceptionally studious habits, the rapidity with which he acquired knowledge and the evident intelligence with which he converted to his own profit the matter he got from books and sensible conversations, early attracted the favorable attention of the manager, and one morning the land of promise was suddenly opened to him and he was invited to enter into the glory thereof. He was to have a part in the next produc- tion. It mattered nothing to him that the part was only that of Murad in the " French Spy; " it was a world to conquer as great as any Alexander sighed for, and no one of the cast felt more the weight of responsibility. Barrett went as diligently to the work of mastering the few lines of Murad as if he were bent on plucking out the heart of Hamlet's mystery, and though there were many perturbations of nervous excitement before, when the night came he acquitted himself so creditably that he was entrusted with a great deal of minor work throughout the next year. This was in 1853. The following year the young actor went to Pittsburg as a member of the Grand Opera House Stock Company, then under the management of 12 LAWRENCE BARRETT. Joseph Foster. For two years Barrett played in the support of the leading actors and actresses of the day, among them Edmund Conner, C. W. Couldock, J. A. Neafie, Eliza Logan and Julia Dean, doing some traveling between St. Louis, Chi- cago and other western cities. It was while he was a member of Julia Dean's company that he played his first really important character, with a singular result. It was in a small Ohio town. The play was "The Hunchback." The leading man of the company suddenly was taken sick, leaving the only person available for the part of Sir Thomas Clifford the by no means confident Lawrence Barrett. The young man with much hestitation consented to undertake the part, and applied himself to the task so intelli- gently and faithfully that he acquitted himself respectably enough to win a complimentary speech from Miss Dean. Conscious that he had not distinguished himself, yet feeling that he had done as well as the circumstances permitted, he was up betimes the next morning, feverishly impatient to see what impression his acting had made on the critic of the one paper the town boasted. He bought a copy and withdrew to a secluded part of the hotel, where he might unobserved gladden over the generous words of forbearing criticism he properly felt were his due. With trembling fingers he unfolded the paper and with quick eye scanned its columns for its only important matter. He was not long in finding it, and as he read the notice the eager flush faded from his face, his heart throbbed with violent emotion, and despite his will, tears (jf resentment and uinncritcd humiliation sprang into his eyes. The article, mainly devoted to him, was most cruel and unrelieved ridicule of his performance, coupled with a scathing rebuke of the actress for presuming to foist such a wretched leading actor upon an intelligent community. IniUy conscious of the injustice done him, burning with indignation against what he conceived to be the wanton cruelty of iIk: writer, who surely was aware of the facts in [he case, young Barrett then formed a resolution to win from rebellious A PROFESSIONAL SKETCH. I3 fame and from unwilling critics a complete vindication of his abilities against the merely censorious. Years afterward, in 1867, when he had already achieved an enviable distinction and gained the praise of able critics as well as the applause of the public, Mr. Barrett visited England. At a little breakfast with Charles Dickens, Artemus Ward and one or two others, given m his honor in London, the conversation drifted into a discussion of criticism and Mr. Barrett, to illus- trate how great hurt to young ambition careless. or injudicious criticism might be, related this incident in his own experience, remarking that, though the strictures but strengthened his pur- pose, many another had been utterly discouraged by them. Mr. Barrett was surprised to note that Ward found the narra- tive highly amusing, and in his quiet way was laughing immoderately. When the story — told pleasantly enough now that its sting was gone — was ended. Ward said, in his stam- mering way, and yet unable to control his laughter: "Why, God bless you, old man, I wrote that article. It was my first dramatic criticism, and I felt that, for my own credit, I had to do some one up. 1 saw that you were making your first stagger at important work, and I felt perfectly safe in skinning you." There was a general laugh, and from that breakfast dated a very warm friendship between Lawrence Barrett and poor Charley Browne. CHAPTER II. IN NEW YORK AND BOSTON. AT the close of his season with Miss Dean, during which he l\. played a number of important parts and made admirable progress in the art of his profession, Mr. Barrett went to New York, with no definite prospects, and was only fortunate in securing an engagement to support a debutante, Mrs. McMa- hon, who played four weeks at the old Chambers Street theatre. The opening piece chanced to be " The Hunch- back," December, 1856, and he was the Sir Thomas Clifford. During this engagement Barrett played a variety of leading parts, and attracted so much favorable attention from man- agers that he was placed in the happy position of being able to make choice among the theatres of New York for his next season's engagement. At that time men of remarkable talent were the heads of the several leading play-houses, giving the ideal character of actor-manager to the conduct of the theatres. The elder Wallack was in the height of success at his own house; Blake was at the Broadway; Laura Keene had her own theatre, and Burton was then in control of the New Metropolitan, afterward known as the Winter Garden. The position he had accepted reluctantly as principal support to Mrs. McMahon proved to be a most lucky circumstance for the young actor, his enthusiastic, yet well governed and earn- est work in that engagement procuring him flattering offers from each of the famous managers named. Mr. Barrett found the proposition of Mr. Burton bast suitetl to him, as presenting larger advantages and better opportunities, and the offer of the eminent comedian was accepted. Mr. Barrett began his work at Burton's theatre in February, 1857, making his aj'jpcarance «4 A PROFESSIONAL SKETCH. 15 in Douglas Jerrold's three-act play, "Time Tries All." This was a propitious year in the formative period of the young actor's life. Among other helpful incidents, Edwin Forrest played his farewell engagement at the Broadway theatre, where Barrett first saw him in " King Lear," and perhaps nothing in his fanciful dream.s, his eager longings, or his encouraged hopes did so much to inspire him and give new purpose to his ambition as did the influence of this performance. Forrest had not yet come to that time of year " When yellow leaves, or none, or few do hang Upon those boughs which shake against the cold, — Bare, ruin'd choirs, where late the sweet birds sang." Indeed, though then fifty-one years of age and soured by disappointments and the pangs of disease, he was at the very zenith of his power, majestic, commanding, overwhelming in the poise or mad whirl of his genius, having at their full the very qualities calculated to arouse the enthusiastic admiration and compel the profound respect of an ardent, impulsive, courageous, aspiring youth. The soul of the tyro leaped out to the veteran, and though Forrest never in any sense served as a model to Barrett he certainly was an inspiring example. In this year also Matilda Heron, then in the glory of her ill-prized womanhood, made her first appearance in New York and played a brilliant engagement at Wallack's, which was not without its value to the studiously observant Barrett. But the event of most direct and practical service to him was the Metropolitan debut of Edwin Booth, the hereditary prince of theatric tradition, above whose brow the lustre of manly beauty shone like a shadowy nimbus prophetic of immortal honors. They who believe in a guiding and ruling destiny must see something more than chance issue in the fact that Booth made his appearance at Burton's, where Lawrence Barrett was the leading support in youthful characters, and that these two young men, so opposite in temperament, so dif- ferent in method, and yet so much alike in purpose, were l6 LAWRENCE BARRETT. brought into professional relations in the very beginning of their respective careers, and were led into a friendship that has since been so fruitful to both of them. Booth was a remarkably handsome man in those days, picturesque in appearance, almost classic in feature, full of spirit, somewhat careless, but frank, genial and loyal, the very man to win the regard of the reserved, modest and book-loving Barrett. The two struck hearts as well as hands in that first season of their association. From that time to the present their relations have been cordially sustained, and the influence of one upon the other has been of a kind to benefit both to a degree few besides themselves appreciate. Unfortunately there is but a meagre record of those days, really among the most critical in the formative period of the actor's life. But were the details of that experience more abundant, it is hardly within the prov- ince of a generalizing sketch to recount them. The main facts are alone essential to mark the progressive steps of one whose early trials were not signalized by brilliant achieve- ments, who wrested by sheer force of mind and will from reluctant fortune what honorable triumphs were his to enjoy. It is perhaps enough to know that the particular season referred to was one to arouse the best energies of an ambi- tious nature, a time of emulation not alone in the sense that some of the noblest examples of the standard, or so-called legitimate school were inspiringly present, but because 1857 was in some respects a transition period with the American stage. Not only did the young Booth, with his easy, graceful and natural methods, his coUocpiial readings, give rise to a new idea that divided public sentiment as between it and devotion to the barbarian ruggedness and passionate vehe- mence of the Forrest school; but a new spirit had stolen into the form of the drama itself. At Wallack's old theatre, at the corner of Broome Street and Broadway, Dion iJoucicault ush- ered in with "Jessie Brown" the sensational and pictorial drama, with its startling mechanical effects and Ijroad sphishes of familiar character, the commonplace made romantic, and A PROFESSIONAL SKETCH. 1 7 this modernizing of melodrama was an element in the change that brought about in a comparatively few years the com- plete reformation of acting and the character of plays. Lawrence Barrett, however, was not entirely in sympathy with the new movement, notwithstanding his ardent admira- tion of the ini|)ulsive, unfettered Edwin Booth. He had a reverence of the old masters, whose names meant so much to him, in whom lie beheld the conservers of the best that had been handed down from generation to generation to the glory of the theatre, and so he came into a middle ground of thought that sought to differentiate the two conditions and select a golden mean. He made choice slowly, the analytical faculty that has ever been a distinguishing trait with him being exercised with caution, the more deliberately and repeatedly for the reason he yet doubted his own discretion. In this frame of mind he attended the performances of the elder Wallack, then in the foremost rank of actors. Barrett saw him in many of his most famous characterizations and discovered in them an instance of the degree of moderation he felt might best serve the end of interpreting classic character. Pleased thus to be confirmed in his judgment, the young actor laid down as the fundamental principle of his acting the rule "force when force is reasonable; never as a mere expedient." If he did not entirely succeed in subordinat- ing to this formula his excess of enthusiasm and natural impetuosity, the self-imposed discipline produced such good results that the attention of Charlotte Cushman was spe- cially attracted to the young actor, when she played at Burton's some months later. Miss Cushman was then in her prime, imperiously exacting, not easily pleased with the sup- port furnished her by the stock companies, rather disposed to criticise than commend, notwithstanding she was at heart a most kindly and sympathetic woman. With her art out- weighed sentiment, and she did not hesitate to administer reproof when an occasion warranted her in so doing. Com- pliments from her lips fell into grateful ears, having the value l8 LAWRENCE BARRETT. to her younger brother and sister actors of jewels to the society debutante. The great actress evinced more than passing interest in the diffident young man who gave her such intelligent and earnest support. She received him into her friendship with a cordiality that made her long engagement of the highest practical value to Barrett, and often proved a comfort and stay to him in after years of struggles with adver- sity. This friendship continued during the life of Miss Cush- man, and no one more sincerely mourned the death of that gifted woman than the actor who was then well along toward the fulfilment of her predictions as to his success. In the fall of 1858, yielding to very flattering inducements, Mr. Barrett went to Boston and became leading actor in the Museum stock company. He at once became associated with a society of notable players, among them rare William Warren, then at his best. Mr. Barrett began his engagement by appearing as Frederick Bramble in the old comedy of "The Poor Gentleman," in which Mr. Warren was the Dr. OUapod and Mr. W. H. Smith was the Sir Robert, with corre- sponding excellence throughout the cast. During his two years stay at this theatre Mr. Barrett played a great variety of leading characters, established himself firmly in popular favor, and made very considerable progress. Recognition of his ability is contained in a criticism of a play, " Mesalliance," in which Miss Davenport (Mrs. Lander) appeared as the heroine, giving "a performance that will for- ever be remembered as among the most brilliant of her efforts." The critic, not disregarding his manifest duty to condemn the moral tone of jilays derived from the French source, hastens to note "the credit universally awarded to Mr. Lawrence Barrett, — not only for his e.Kcellent performance on this occasion, but for his invariable faithfulness to the arduous duties of his position. He is one of those in the dramatic profession who are going up, — steadily antl slowly, perha|)s, but surely — and we hope he may succeed in reaching the highest honors to which his ambition can point." MR. BARRE'rr AS HAREBELL. A l'ROI'"ESSIOXAL SKliTCH. 21 Mr. Barrett remained at the Museum two years, during which period he did the most varied and trying work with which good fortune had favored him. He came to Boston somewhat apprehensively, having, perhaps, extravagant ideas of the critical exactitude of that city, impressed with the importance to himself of making at least a creditable record. Among the first performances that gave him opportunity to court especial notice was his appearance in " King of the Commons." He succeeded well enough to be assured that " his personation clearly shows his undeniable talent, has many fine points, and as a whole reflects great credit on him." The critic also discovered "two desirable qualities in Mr. Barrett, ambition and energy." He had plenty of both, indeed, but he had also a higher virtue not so generously rec- ognized, an intelligence in the direction of his energies. Presently we learn that " Mr. Barrett, the new comer at the Boston Museum, will have his ability as a juvenile tragedian fairly tested this evening, as 'Romeo and Juliet' is to be produced, in which he will sustain the character of Romeo to the Juliet of Miss Cunningham." This unintentional prophecy was satisfactorily verified. Mr. Barrett did sustain the char- acter of Romeo, and that too in a manner so entirely credit- able to him that it was the real basis of his Boston popularity, and opened to him the privilege of appearing in other import- ant parts. "Ingomar" was soon after brought out, Miss Cunningham having an enviable local reputation as Parthenia. Mr. Barrett made his first appearance as Ingomar and "made a fine hit. His rendition reminded one continually of good scraps of acting from able actors, and could not fail to be agreeable for just that reason." Possibly Mr. Barrett was reminded by this agreeable experi- ence of an evening three years before at Burton's, when Charles Matthews produced for the first time in New York the drama entitled "A Day of Reckoning." Mr. Barrett played the part of the young workman, his acting being "the most marked feature of the performance. It was a most conclusive 22 LAWRENCE BARRETT. corroboration of the axiom, ' You never know what you can do till you try.' We do not think it would be possible for any one to play his part much better than he did it." He was so enthusiasticall}^ recalled at the end of one scene that Mr. Matthews himself led him before the curtain as a compliment to "a young actor likely to make his mark." Mr. Barrett played all the youthful heroic parts during his stay at the Museum in support of one or another of the stars of magni- tude until he had secured that share of appreciation from the frequenters of that theatre which was evinced in the " liberal applause bestowed upon him whenever he makes his first appearance for the evening." From the Museum Mr. Barrett went to the Howard Athe- naeum, then under the management of E. L. Davenport. Here he remained one sea.son, playing with the great tragedians and comedians of the day, including Charlotte Cushman, Barry Sullivan, Hackett, Davenport and Couldock, adding to his stock of characters as well as to his store of practical information, not of the theatre alone, but of men and books. Not a systematic reader at that time, perhaps not always care- ful to make choice of the best, he mentally devoured whatever came to hand, keeping up well with current literature, poetry especially attracting him. He favored the writings of Bayard Taylor and G. P. R. James, but he was not averse to certain sentimental verses by one W. D. Howells, then a youthful con- tributor to the New York Saturday Press. Ambition hindered of its desires sometimes takes gloomy views of the common- place, and Barrett, no doul^t feeling peculiarly afflicted because his struggles were greater than he thought his rewards should be, found a s(jrt of morbid satisfaction in collecting and jire- serving poems that dealt with the hollowness, the miseries, the disappointments of life. 'I'here is no worse ])essimist than a young man of two and twenty who has begun to moralize. CHAPTER III. AS STAR AND MANAGER. ONE wlio remembers says of Mr. Barrett's first appearance on the stage, as Murad in "The French Spy," "the y(Hithful asi)irant was tongue-tied and limb-smitten." He was, indeed, laughed at by the more froward youths in the audi- ence, and for a moment felt an almost irresistible inclination to dash from the stage and abjure the theatre forever. This moment of irresolution was in a measure disconcerting and gave a cue to the juvenile roisterers for a volley of bantering noises. Instantly the proud spirit of the sensitive youth rose in rebellion; an honest rage routing his fears, restoring his self-confidence, converted threatened failure into fair success. The trait thus early manifested has ever been characteristic of Mr. Barrett. Antagonism has been to him always a helpful spur, putting him to his mettle, arousing in him new energies, strengthening him to over- ride or beat down obstacles, devel- oping him as the smiles of ready favor never could have done. He began his New York season raw and rudely disciplined, road travel in those days being no better than now for the positive art of the actor. He had, therefore, to encounter and master ridicule in his first appearance at Burton's. But, as we have seen already, his admirable management of him- self matle that New York season the substantial basis of respectable reputation, and he went to Boston with much to his credit in the way of valuable recognition. There his experience was in all respects beneficial, and it is uncertain how long he might have clung to surroundings so entirely congenial had not the breaking out of the war of the Rebellion affected him. 23 24 LAWREN'CE BARRETT. This event naturally disturbed theatrical plans and arrange- ments as it interfered with every kind of business carried on between the North and South. There was a general change and shifting about of engagements made when there was but an uncertain prospect of war, and among the professional transitions Mr. Barrett found it to his advantage to accept an offer to unite with the stock company of the old Walnut Street Theatre, then under the management of Mrs. Garretson. This was coming into an atmosphere of memories and tradi- tions always helpful to a poetic temperament. The oldest theatre in Philadelphia, the natural resort of the ablest actors of the time past and present, this then true temple of Thespis was in the nature of a rallying post to the young actor sturdil}' pushing along the rugged and evil beset way that only leads to enduring success. Mr. Barrett made his first appearance there in the character of Cassius in "Julius Caesar." This was the second occasion of his having to do with a part in which he was destined to become famous. He was but seventeen years of age when he first put on the toga of the sour-visaged Roman, playing the part in the old Metropolitan Theatre, Detroit, to the Antony of the now venerable Joseph Proctor and the Brutus of George Jamison. Little did he dream then there would be a time when the popular Edwin Booth should approach him after the glory of a splendid revival and say, with cordial deference, in highest compliment to the achieve- ment of the 3'ounger actor, " I shall never play Cassius again." Indeed, since 187 1 there has been but one Cassius. Mr. Barrett remained at the Walnut Street Theatre only three months, going from there to Washington under the man- agement of Mr. Grover. The professional gain to him here did not equal the social privileges he enjoyed. The season was not fruitless of theatric honors, but its chief value con- sisted in the opportunities for making desirable and influential acquaintances. It was in this winter that Mr. Ikirrett came to know the late martyred President, James .\. (iarfield, then a young congressman from Ohio. Between the two grew up a A l'Ki?ARY UNIVERSI i . ALFFORmiL LOS ANGELES . ,. ;'. n', 1.1. ■,<<■;<, . , i ^>-i'-,;'/' t UC SOUTHtHN Hf GIONAL LlBKAH/ FACILITY AA 000 410 951 8 I