The sun. [volume] (New York [N.Y.]) 1833-1916, 1905-04-30
JEFFERSON, ACTOR AND NAN
APOSTLE or POETIC HUMANITY
IN PERFECTED ART.

The various yodort9 which are MAKING
10 cabin, crib and oonhns our praise OF
Joseph Jefferson, In seoordanco with the
square and line Of what a great actor should
b. strike q little haruhly On the spirit Of
the hour. They may be just They GER
tainly are anstsrs TO severity. But they
seem soulless and grudging. Whatever
Jederson may appear when projected
against the stariit inhnitudes Of time and
space, he was a very dear and personal
possession to most Of US th6atergoers.
sWhat needs my shakespeare, &c. wrote
A poet Of the age Of ~, when the great dra-
matist was only fourteen Year, dead.
Through the perspective Of the centuries
the possesSive pronoun, 20 lightly used by
the then inRlorious Milton, scans somewhat
preemptive; but Il II not rather the supreme
acknowledgement Of ShakespeAre's great
nessi Let abstract reason ssy what II viii,
we say more in acknowledging Jeneuon
our Jefferson.
To most Of us the earliest theatrical
memory Il Of the Rnomelike ghosts Of Hem
dirk Hudsons crew encountered by an
amiable vaRabond a. they lAborOd up the
mountain dehle with their kegs on their
shouldsrs-of the Ehostlike crew, be IL
noted, for the memory daths from period
Of the childish imagination In which they
we're by all odds the most marvellous
feature Of the play. A few yoaI Later
comes the remembrance perhaps Of q
small boy returning home alone from q
matinee at which his father had LETT him
on the way from lunch to the Office boy
whose heart was swelling With happy
pathos and whose eyes were trimming
with the tears which only perfect humanity
and perfect beauty can evoke. To that
small boy the one wholly lovely thing In Life
was Rip Van Wrinkle. Then came the years
when amid all the shiftings Of theatrical
seasons Jefferson and Rip appeared as fresh
and perennial as the spring. 1t did not
seem possible that the well beloved could
cease TO be. In my heart I always looked
forward with confidence TO q time when,
a child again In mortal years, should still
20 10 the play, with eyes perhaps for a
second time insensible to the impersonation
Of the great comedian, but doting as Of
old on the ghostly crew Of the Catsdlls
Wise men there always were who delighted
TO tell you how much less the actor was
than he ought TO have be0n and who were
wont to hint that It was even possible for
him to lag superhuous on the stage. But
who would accept even the wisdom OF
Solomon in exchange for the glad Illusion
that the new year Is always newt
Two things Jefferson the artist aimed at
and achieved-on the one hand that truth
which Is utter beauty, and on the other
the technical apt1ess which places above
everything else AItistio perfection His was
the vanity Of art, perhaps, but never It's
vexation Of spirit
In time came to know him on the stage,
and found that what the artist was the
man was also. Once happened on him
standing with Frederic Remington before
the bar In the billiard room Of the Players
where one Of his paintings, bis latest gift
TO the club, was being hung. With uncon-
scious incongruity to the place II repre-
scented a waterfall. Jefferson beAmed with
the vanity which he delighted to assume
on the stage, but which in his own per-
son, 50 far as knew, he never revealed
exc ut in regard 10 his painting He asked
his friend what he thought Of the pict Ire
Remington stepped toward the canvas
and putting his finger on certain formless
white daubs asked what they we're. With
unru Ted temper Jefferson said that they
were spurts, Of water dashing among the
rocks, to which Remington replied that he
never saw any water or any rocks like that.
Still patiently, Jefferson caught his friend
by the sleeve, backed him across the room
and UP on the marble stairs. Now tell
me what they're like. he said. Remington
put his head on one side and chuckled. L
admit be said, that the further you get
away from them the better they are II
Jefferson was pique1 he was even more
amused, and linking arms with his critic
led him back 70 their glasses at the bar.
Then. in the ear Of the illustrator 10 whom
truth - only truth and beauty an imperti-
nance Jefferson eKpounded the theory Of
What he called idealism. With that picture
before him Remington may be pardoned
II he was unDonverted. But for my part,
I saw only Rip, with his dear. mellow and
suavs counienanee and his cup tilted to-
ward friend. This picture doen't count,
said 10 myself.
Tboee who wish 70 know what he said
can find Il In the siTteeath chapter Of the
autobiography. Many times, no doubt,
before putting his ideas in print and after
ward, the actor has repeated them In al
rnost the same words Even in black
and white they are a. full Of shrewd humor
and kindhness az they are OF acute in
tellectual analysis Already what Jeger-
son wrote about his art has taken place
among the few masterpieces on the sub
ieot beside the apology Of OOlley Gbber
and Lsueg's Actors a9d TIRE Art Of Acting
But Jsferson's eloqusacs of voice and
counteaanos are gone No one who does
not now know can ever learn how deep, how
warm. how Intelligent and personal was his
hslief in that truth Of art which IL also
beauty Of spirit.
True craftsman that he was, he had
little respect for those who, on the stage
or on Il, rely on the hit or miss methods
which they call inspiration. The depth
and peaetration Of his sincerity no one
can doubt and. a. he himself tells Us, be
wen knew the power even Of mere physical
vitality In the theater. But 10 use his own
phrase. the cool head h no less neces-
say 70 the actor than the warm heart.
Once having conceived an effect, though
Il wa an eject Of the most fluent and
unconscious Hfehkeness, he was not salts
fied until he had mastered the means by
which he could At need reproduce 1t mechan-
ically. Many eloquSnt passages in the
autobiography attest the vigilance by