The Portland daily press. [volume] (Portland, Me.) 1862-1921, 1890-08-18

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TALLY dismantled, with a business like
table at one side strewn with play books
and roll call, where sat a slender, paie
faced young man busily writing. Inns
was the Palmer Boucicault School OF
Acting during one of its afternoon ses-
sions
The master had not yet arrived.
One extremely pretty girl who was
getting Juliet's garden scene "dead, let
ter perfect" from dog cared play book
on her lap, whispered over companions
shoulder:
"It's nearly o'clock. I'm afraid Mr..
Boucicault isn't coming Oh, here he
is"
There was burst of soft applause
from a score of gloved hands, and then
q good humored voice, rich with very
slight rolling Irish accent, exclaimed:
"Good afternoon, ladies and gentle
men. I'm a little late, but you'll excuse
me I know. / was having my picture
taken"
This was rewarded by gay exclama-
tions and laughter, not that the words
were so funny, but because they were
spoken in Boucicault's inimitable way
SO dry, self satisfied, half apologize and
half confiding. AS he stood on the stage
in the white glare of the bunch light
chatting in his inconsequent, witty fash
ion made a mental sketch of him.
He was a striking figure. A man
nearly 70 years of age, yet more grace
full and light Of foot than boy. From
crown to toe he looked the rover, the
artistic Bohemian, and not at all typi-
cal New Yorker.
His light, loose trousers, almost cream
white in color, fell, like a sailors, well
over his dainty CATERS, for his foot is as
small as a woman's A long, tightly
buttoned coat of the same color reached
to his knees. He never wears scarf of
any sort, and his high collar was re-
lieved only by a large, pure diamond.
He held soft felt hat, cafe au lait in
color, in his right hand. So much for
his attire.
White silky hair little longer than
the fashionable code allows falls from a
bald crown. His features are small and
delicate, his skin of remarkable smooth
ness and fairness. Only slight hollow
in the cheeks, the dimness of his eyes
and his snowy hair proclaim his age. In
his graceful gait, broad, straight Shout
ders and light colored clothes, there is
something positively spring like.
went ON the stage and told him I'd
come to have chat with him between
times.
''Sit down, my child" he said gra-
ciously; eff there's anything | hate it's
keeping still; if there's anything I'm
fond of it's the sound of my own voice. "
Like most brilliant, Irishmen who
have reduced fattery to a fine art, Mr..
Boucicault has a negligent, yet endear-
ing way of addressing women and chill
dren. Expressions like Eyes, my dear"
"Little one," "What is it, dear" "Of
course, my child" etc., fall gently and
glibly from his lips. This is only man.
ner of speaking and means nothing, but
women like it. Boucicault, who could
give points on gallantry to a Chester
field, knows that he can burlesque a
nervous girls faults, mimic her awk-
wardness and so improve her without
leaving any sting, if after sharp lecture
he throws in a mild, fatherly, caressing,
"Now don't you see, my dearY' or ''Have
made it plain to you, little girl?'
"What's first?" he asked of the secre-
tary after seating himself in steamer
chair and throwing a rug over his knees,
for govt is an enemy he has to retain a
defensive attitude against.
"Mr. j in Hamlet's first solilo-
guy"
"Oh, Lord" muttered the master un-
der his breath in comically helpless
tone, and then aloud: "Well, let hin
come on"
To me he added:
1--WE allow pupils choice of parts. 1
almost seems as if they choose just wha
they can't do to make me mad out o
pure cussedness. Now, here's boy
nice hoy, too-who's bound to pla,
Hamlet if he dies for it and kills all tn
rest of us as we'll. Unfeeling of him
isn't it? All, dear me, how rare a thint
is common sense"
Mr.. j, a tall, fair youth, came tim
idly from the wings to the center of tn
stage.
You think you can play Hamlet?
queried Boucicault, as he languidly fin
gered pair of eye glasses.
II think l might, after considerable
study, sir" answered the boy.
$50 on. Let's see what you'll max
of it,"
There was pause as Hamlet thrus
his hand into his breast. At that tim
honored gesture Bouclcault sighed ant
intense resignation stole into his gaze
A moment later the youth fastened hi
eyes on about the fourth seat in the ga
lery and exclaimed sadly:
oh, that this too too solid flesh would melt,
Thawer, and resolve itself into a doc
"Stopr' cried Boucicalt, inpatient.
rising; ''there is no r. in 'thaw'; neithe
is dew pronounced 'doo.' In the secon'
place, you have commenced one 0
Shakespeare's most impassioned passage
a cry of mad despair against the hope
lessness Of life, a hatred of the world
as if you were standing on cheese plat
informing any one who cared to listel
that your boots pinched."
Boucicault loves Shakespeare ardently
and of all his plays "Hamlet" the best
To hear those glorious lines murdere
reused such an impatient wrath in hin
that he went through the whole solilC
guy himself and in way that thrille
the listeners.
The words poured passionately frol
his lips, his face grew pale from actu
= feeling, sometimes he clasped his hand
sometimes his head, and when at las
after he had barred his heart in the var,
ing shades of grief and rage, he reache
the limit of despair in the hushed, hal
ing line, But break my heart-for
must hold my tongue" he was on h
knees sobbing The effect was electrical
When he rose, winking back the tear
his impotence was entirely gone. =
laid his hand on the youths shoulder
MY boy, Hamlet never gave voice
such agony with his hand thrust into b
breast. All, no! You can't play 'Har
let now. You can't even approach it
the smallest degree Years hence, VIII
you have suffered bit yourself, you
see what is needed, and you'll reall
how far below that inimitable create
the best of us must fall. But" he add
gayly, don't be discouraged-not b
not bit-oh, dear me, no! If thong
you'd ever make tragedian I'd let W
practice on Hamlet but you won
simply because it's not your line. Stic
to comedy, my boy, stick to comedy"
And 50 on through the afternoons pr
gram1ne he corrected and nodded with
,.,,e4n,. hon1