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Charlotte Cushman (search for this): chapter 12
agements. The period of his courtship and marriage intervened, and a number of years elapsed between the completion of the play and his first reading of it. At last there came a time in which the production of the play seemed possible. Charlotte Cushman and Edwin Booth were both in Boston performing, as I remember, but not at the same theatre. They agreed to act in my play. E. L. Davenport, manager of the Howard Athenaeum, undertook to produce it, and my dream was very near becoming a rehe greatest let down that I ever experienced. It affected me seriously for some days, after which I determined to attempt nothing more for the stage. In truth, there appeared to be little reason for this action on the part of the manager. Miss Cushman, speaking of it, said to me, My dear, if Edwin Booth and I had done nothing more than to stand upon the stage and say good evening to each other, the house would have been filled. Mr. Booth, in the course of these years, experienced great
Maud Howe (search for this): chapter 12
which visited Charles Sumner never fell upon Dr. Howe. This may have been because the active life th her Mr. Eames entered the room, and said, Mrs. Howe, my wife has always had a menagerie here in e had planned a journey in South America, and Dr. Howe had promised to accompany him. The sudden faiHavana, he was able to go about somewhat with Dr. Howe. He had, however, a longer voyage before himou the Mrs. Hampton? She asked, Are you the Mrs. Howe? We became friends at once. The Hamptons wtanzas, where we passed a few pleasant days. Dr. Howe was very helpful to the beautiful invalid. Smean to fight for it, said Wade Hampton. But Dr. Howe afterwards said to me: They cannot be in earn now spoken of that I first saw Edwin Booth. Dr. Howe and I betook ourselves to the Boston Theatre ecame one of his victims. I say this because Dr. Howe made the purchase without much deliberation. ook which ran much out of its proper course. Dr. Howe converted it into a most charming outof-door [4 more...]
John Pierpont (search for this): chapter 12
m, and said, Mrs. Howe, my wife has always had a menagerie here in Washington, and now she has lost her faithful old grizzly. I was intrusted with some of the arrangements for the funeral. Mrs. Eames said to me that, as the count had been a man of no religious belief, she thought it would be best to invite a Unitarian minister to officiate at his funeral. I should add that her grief prevented her from perceiving the humor of the suggestion. I accordingly secured the services of the Rev. John Pierpont, who happened to be in Washington at the time. Charles Sumner came to the house before the funeral, and actually shed tears as he looked on the face of his former friend. He remarked upon the beauty of the countenance, saying in his rather oratorical way, There is a beauty of life, and there is a beauty of death. The count's good looks had been spoiled in early life by the loss of one eye, which had been destroyed, it was said, in a duel. After death, however, this blemish did n
Abraham Lincoln (search for this): chapter 12
ecretary Welles of the Navy, and Senator Grimes of Iowa. I had seen that morning a life-size painting representing President Lincoln surrounded by the members of his Cabinet. Mr. Chase, I think, asked what I thought of the picture. I replied that I thought Mr. Lincoln's attitude rather awkward, and his legs out of proportion in their length. Mr. Chase laughed, and said, Mr. Lincoln's legs are so long that it would be difficult to exaggerate them. I came to Washington soon after the concMr. Lincoln's legs are so long that it would be difficult to exaggerate them. I came to Washington soon after the conclusion of the war, and heard that Count Gurowski was seriously ill at the home of his good friend. I hastened thither to inquire concerning him, and learned that his life was almost despaired of. Mr. Eames told me this, and said that his wife and ar behind him walked a young man of remarkable beauty, to be sadly known at a later date as Wilkes Booth, the assassin of Lincoln and the victim of his own crime. Henry Ward Beecher, meeting Mary Booth one day at dinner at my house, was so much impr
Wilkes Booth (search for this): chapter 12
ll to me the scene of Mary Booth's funeral, which took place in wintry weather, the service being held at the chapel in Mount Auburn. Hers was a most pathetic figure as she lay, serene and lovely, surrounded with flowers. As Edwin Booth followed the casket, his eyes heavy with grief, I could not but remember how often I had seen him enact the part of Hamlet at the stage burial of Ophelia. Beside or behind him walked a young man of remarkable beauty, to be sadly known at a later date as Wilkes Booth, the assassin of Lincoln and the victim of his own crime. Henry Ward Beecher, meeting Mary Booth one day at dinner at my house, was so much impressed with her peculiar charm that, on the occasion of her death, he wrote a very sympathetic letter to Mr. Booth, and became thenceforth one of his most esteemed friends. The years between 1850 and 1857, eventful as they were, appear to me almost a period of play when compared with the time of trial which was to follow. It might have been li
Hippolytus (search for this): chapter 12
ucing something that should deserve entire approbation. It was therefore with a good hope of success that I undertook to write the play. Mr. Booth himself called upon me, in pursuance of his request. The favorable impression which he had made upon me was not lessened by a nearer view. I found him modest, intelligent, and above all genuine,—the man as worthy of admiration as the artist. Although I had seen Mr. Booth in a variety of characters, I could only think of representing him as Hippolytus, a beautiful youth, of heroic type, enamored of a high ideal. This was the part which I desired to create for him. I undertook the composition without much delay, and devoted to it the months of one summer's sojourn at Lawton's Valley. This lovely little estate had come to us almost fortuitously. George William Curtis, writing of the Newport of forty years ago, gives a character sketch of one Alfred Smith, a well-known real estate agent, who managed to entrap strangers in his gig, and
William M. Thackeray (search for this): chapter 12
Havana came, one day, a lovely lady, with pathetic dark eyes and a look of ill health. She was accompanied by her husband and little son. This was Mrs. Frank Hampton, formerly Miss Sally Baxter, a great belle in her time, and much admired by Mr. Thackeray. When we were introduced to each other, I asked, Are you the Mrs. Hampton? She asked, Are you the Mrs. Howe? We became friends at once. The Hamptons went with us to Matanzas, where we passed a few pleasant days. Dr. Howe was very helpful to the beautiful invalid. Something in the expression of her face reminded him of a relative known to him in early life, and on inquiry he found that Mrs. Hampton's father was a distant cousin of his own. Mrs. Hampton talked much of Thackeray, who had been, while in this country, a familiar visitor at her father's house. She told me that she recognized bits of her own conversation in some of the sayings of Ethel Newcome, and I have little doubt that in depicting the beautiful and noble thou
James T. Fields (search for this): chapter 12
f Spain from the school or convent in which she was pursuing her education. This adventure made much noise at the time. Mrs. Eames once read me part of a letter from this lady, in which she spoke of the fatal Gurowski beauty. It was in the early years of this decade (1850– 1860) that I definitively came before the world as an author. My first volume of poems, entitled Passion Flowers, was published by Ticknor and Fields, without my name. In the choice and arrangement of the poems James T. Fields had been very helpful to me. My lack of experience had led me to suppose that my incognito might easily be maintained, but in this my expectations were disappointed. The authorship of the book was at once traced to me. It was much praised, much blamed, and much called in question. From the highest literary authorities of the time it received encouraging commendation. Mr. Emerson acknowledged the copy sent him, in a very kind letter. Mr. Whittier did likewise. He wrote, I dare say t
Frank Hampton (search for this): chapter 12
ady, with pathetic dark eyes and a look of ill health. She was accompanied by her husband and little son. This was Mrs. Frank Hampton, formerly Miss Sally Baxter, a great belle in her time, and much admired by Mr. Thackeray. When we were introduced to each other, I asked, Are you the Mrs. Hampton? She asked, Are you the Mrs. Howe? We became friends at once. The Hamptons went with us to Matanzas, where we passed a few pleasant days. Dr. Howe was very helpful to the beautiful invalid. Something in the expression of her face reminded him of a relative known to him in early life, and on inquiry he found that Mrs. Hampton's father was a distant cousin of his own. Mrs. Hampton talked much of Thackeray, who had been, while in this country,Mrs. Hampton talked much of Thackeray, who had been, while in this country, a familiar visitor at her father's house. She told me that she recognized bits of her own conversation in some of the sayings of Ethel Newcome, and I have little doubt that in depicting the beautiful and noble though wayward girl he had in mind som
Sally Baxter (search for this): chapter 12
y, a lovely lady, with pathetic dark eyes and a look of ill health. She was accompanied by her husband and little son. This was Mrs. Frank Hampton, formerly Miss Sally Baxter, a great belle in her time, and much admired by Mr. Thackeray. When we were introduced to each other, I asked, Are you the Mrs. Hampton? She asked, Are youme, and I have little doubt that in depicting the beautiful and noble though wayward girl he had in mind something of the aspect and character of the lovely Sally Baxter. In his correspondence with the family he was sometimes very playful, as when he wrote to Mrs. Baxter thanking her for the wickled palnuts and pandy breaches, whMrs. Baxter thanking her for the wickled palnuts and pandy breaches, which she had lately sent him. When we left Havana our new friends went with us to Charleston, and invited us to visit them at their home in Columbia, S. C. This we were glad to do. The house at which the Hamptons received us belonged to an elder brother, Wade Hampton, whose family were at this time traveling in Europe. Wade Hamp
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