Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1892-03-12

SIM% chooses not to speak it,
(R~ aye or no. There never
has been . stranger,
| more secretive. gloomier personality than
Edwin Thomas Booths in his sixtieth year.
The great actor absolutely refuses to tell his
plans for next year or for any other year. He
| is disinclined, indeed to talk Of next week Il
has been said Of him truly that he lives in the
past, and surely he lives not for the day that in
| to come. Probably 500 managers in a. MANY
cities await with eagerness his signal that
| he 10 ready to resume work upon the
| stage which he has graced SO long. The larger
world OF playgoers, loyal as ever to his great
gifts needs the official sign that Booth il him
self again to fill the theaters OF yore. But
he may not give the sign. There are good rea-
sons for belief that Booth intends never again
| to walk behind footlights.
The manager of an ambitious young actress
who once was his leading lady was hopeful
few months ago, that Booth would consent to
reappear next season with this actress COM
pany in his support and would play at least
four months. few weeks later the length OF
Booths probable engagement lad dwindled
to ten weeks for the big cities only. And now
from all the signs it is not at all certain that
the engagement will be effected. The reason
| for all this is simply that Edwin Booth has not
| yet reused himself from the lethargy into which
| he fell when Lawrence Barrett passed away
with startling swiftness, leaving his old friend
and partner more desolate than he had ever
been since 1866.
TIE BOOTH OF TODAY.
Booth is today in Ill health. The fact cannot
be totally disguised. His ashen face his feeble
| gait his lack-luster expression, his aimless
| ideness are more noticeable now than they
have been at any previous time in the past de-
cade His habits are as devoid Of importance
| or of significance as those Of the veriest idler
| IN this town. He affects no social distinction;
| declines all invitations for gatherings where he
might be lionized; is rarely seen in a theater
| box; has scarcely half . dozen intimatss and
absolutely NO confidant. His days are passed
at the Players Club which he founded and
| where he has Moor reserved for his living
apartments. His nights are passed there, too.
He is not often in the general rooms OF the
| club, SO the attendants say, preferring the
privacy OF his own suite. where few callers dis
| turb him and none ever intrude.
! Access to him is invariably denied by Nc
| don1gle, who is general manager Of the club
and is relative Of Booths by the latter's first
marriage. 1t Is not disclosure, probably, to
| tell that Booth is now less inclined to business
methods than ever before. It has often been
| declared that he has lacked ambition for arts
sake during the past quarter of u century, but
be has certainly evinced far less aptitude for
reckoning ON the dollars and cents basis and
bis popularity in that respect is more marked
| than ever. Members of the Players Club point
with unconcealed amaZement to the rapidly
accommodating piles Of letters on Booths library
| table. 1t is probable that many Of these mis-
sives have remained unopened for months The
actor Is content, apparently that they shall not
be answered. He employs no secretary. His
legal advisers consult him personally at the club
when 1t Is absolutely necessary Even then the
interviews are brief and not specially valuable
| to the lawyers. who are oftenest recommended
| to use their best judgment in the matter under
| discussion. man who for several wears had
an important share in the management Of the
Booth-Barrett tours wrote to Booth
six months ago. asking question which called
| answered this letter. The letter is deep down
in the pile which litters his desk, and probably
its seal will never be broken. An autograph
from Booth Ia prize among collectors in these
days; letter with some trace OF sentiment in
| its pages would compete with Shakespeare
| signature in an autograph auction.
IN VOLUNTARY BANIsHMENr.
Thus in voluntary Punishment it 10 scarcely
to be wondered at that Booth makes no sign of
a willingness to face the public once more. He
| surely has no need to work for gain. His pres
ent fortune ID large and it il singularly well in
| vested. He holds enough first mortRages. paw
ing from AZ to per cent to suffice him
| through his life time. He has been prompt to
| foreclose when the interest was unpaid and
thus he has also become the holder of many
pieces OF valuable realty in this city and in
| Brooklyn. But this discretion may doubtless
| DO credited to his legal advisers, who are emf
nently conservative in all their dealings. A
! few old actors-men who knew Booth in the
| ''palmy days"-arc able to interest him now
| on occasions not frequent That smooth faced
| and brighteyed veteran, Harry Watkins; the
taclturn and even savage "heavy man. Charles
Webster; the venerable Charles Wheatleigh
| and Chippendale, are some OF the rapidly thin-
ming number who may approach him with some
degree of confidence. For Webster Booth has
| expressed his friendship in the most emphatic
| manner. He is Websters bondsman. That
actor year ago shot and killed man who had
had an intrigue with Mrs. Webster. He
was arrested, Jailed for months and finally
| tried. The jury disagreed and on appeal to
the judges bail was allowed in IS, 000 To the
intense surprise of all who had followed the
| trial Webster procured the necessary bond
within an hour, and Edwin Booth was the
surety for double the amount 1t was an act
| which possessed considerable significance. vet
| it was quietly performed. and for many weeks
| it was kept secret Webster has resumed work
on the stage. 1t u not likely that he will ever
be tried again.
| Booths habit Of smoking to excess has been
moderated somewhat, but he is still fond of
his pipe and of the strongest brands of cigars,
He is also inclined to be more careful in other
respects, wherein he was once prone to offense.
But his increasing feebleness 10 apparent TO
those who know him we'll, and il perhaps the
| buEoot tokeu buht no EclihuO0 may De attached
to the promise that he will act next season. His
life work. said a friend, sis really complete.
He long ago passed out Of debt into condi.
ton Of aniuence. No high aims spur him now.
The friends Of his youth are nearly ell gone,
The wisest partner Of his later years is al rest
His daughter, on whom he had lsvished his
affections since 1888, II married, Q happv
mother, o beloved wife. Her home is distent
and in its little family circle the actor doubtless
passes the best hours Of his declining dayaL
Why should the glory Of the stage tempt him
| mors7'
TIE STAGE DANCE.
The stage dance 10 svoluting with great
rapidity. Probably no art has changed 90 i'm.
portantly within the past few years as the
terpsichorsan. The latest exponent of the most
advanced form OF dancing was chatting the
other day on the subject ''The critics. aid
she, accept what and my contemporaries do
o. an artistic exhibition. The thou9htful ones
OF them know. however, that the modern dane
ing il fast becoming the language of sensual.
ity. l say modern dancing. The fact IL, the
most ancient dancing was svowedly the visual
representation of physical passion, and In
southern Europe and Asia Il has never bees
| OtherWle0, Rut ont of nnrita s,ical ru.<os,.a