In another letter to his mother, Lewis says: "The papers will have already informed you that the monodrama has failed. It proved much too terrible for representation, and two people went into hysterics during the performance, and two more after the curtain dropped. It was given out again with a mixture of applause and disapprobation, but I immediately withdrew the piece. In fact, the subject (which was merely a picture of madness) was so uniformly distressing to the feelings that at last I felt my own a little painfully, and as to Mrs. Litchfield she almost fainted away. I did not expect that it would succeed, and of course am not disappointed at its failure. The only chance was whether pity would make the audience weep, but instead of that terror threw them into fits, and of course there was an end of my monodrama."
At the Lyceum Ellen Terry brought about no such scene as that created by Mrs. Litchfield at Covent Garden. It is true that she harrowed as well as held her audience, and that the memory of her acting must haunt all who witnessed this bold venture; but her art was delicate as well as intense, and she was able to draw those tears so desired by the author. It is a pity that he could not see his "monodrama" at the Lyceum in 1880.
On April 16, 1881, "The Cup" was preceded by Mrs. Cowley's comedy, "The Belle's Stratagem," with Ellen Terry as Letitia Hardy. She played the part with invincible vivacity and perfect grace, and in the picturesque costumes of a bygone period, looked like a portrait by an old master come to life. But what a thing to do! Camma and Letitia Hardy--tragedy and comedy--in one evening! It was a proof alike of her marvellous versatility and her great power of physical endurance. To the delight of his admirers, Henry Irving resumed his old part of Doricourt, and played it brilliantly. By the way, in connection with this impersonation, there is another instance of an actor thinking he has failed where he has really succeeded.
Of his first appearance at the St. James' Theatre in the character, he has said:--"I was cast for Doricourt, a part which I had never played before, and which I thought did not suit me. I felt that this was the opinion of the audience soon after the play began. The house appeared to be indifferent, and I believed that failure was conclusively stamped upon my work, when suddenly, upon my exit after the mad scene, I was startled by a burst of applause, and so great was the enthusiasm of the audience that I was compelled to reappear upon the scene, a somewhat unusual thing except upon the operatic stage." Despite his doubts the part has remained one of the best and one of the most popular of his comedy incarnations. Of the new Letitia Hardy, Clement Scott truly said:--"She is as Georgian in her comedy graces as before she was Pagan in her rites as the priestess Camma. Entering heart and soul into the spirit of the play, she attacks it with a wilfulness and an abandon that are indescribable. She trips and floats through the scenes. There is no effort in anything that she does; and when she assumes the character of the hoyden it is in the finest spirit of refined and disciplined fun. With every chance for exaggeration, the rein is never relaxed, and so captivating is the spirit of the artiste that she makes the audience hold its breath to the point of tension, and is rewarded with the quick response of unrestrained applause. Equally charming is the temptation scene at the minuet; and when Miss Terry, mask in hand, floats, glides, and coquets around the bewildered Doricourt, one's mind recalls the records of fascination in varied romance, and understands, possibly for the first time, what Circe might have done to Ulysses--how the fair-haired German nymphs of the Lorelei turned the heads of dreamy knights--how Undine weaved her spells--and how old Merlin collapsed under the influence of the wily Vivien. Unknowingly, Miss Ellen Terry is a poem."