She was found in Ellen Terry, and in some ways the engagement was the most eventful episode in her artistic career. April 17th was the night of the revival, and even those who had illimitable faith in the Bancrofts were amazed at the scenic treat that had been prepared for them. It seemed incredible that such perfect pictures of Venice, exact in every detail, and painted and modelled from drawings specially taken from the beautiful city of the sea, could be displayed on the small stage. They charmed the eye and satisfied the mind. Venice in all its beauty seemed to have transported some of its loveliest spots to dingy Tottenham Street, and a convincing colour was given to the performance such as had not hitherto been seen.
The costumes were equally artistic and appropriate,--the parts had been well and very carefully distributed, the success of the production seemed assured,--but in spite of its undeniable, and in many respects unequalled, excellences, it proved unattractive, and had to be speedily withdrawn.
The disappointment centred itself, where it had been least expected, in Charles Coghlan's Shylock, and "The Merchant of Venice," without a strongly appreciative and audience satisfying Jew of Venice is doomed to collapse. It was in this way that the beautifully painted and firmly built house of cards tumbled down. It was, and is, inexplicable. Charles Coghlan had over and over again proved himself to be the best of actors. Critics, aware of his latent power, had thought him thrown away on the comparatively trivial parts he had been called upon to play, and felt certain that when he could "let himself go," he would electrify. The power was there--in after years it made itself manifest; but, for some strange reason, it lay dormant in his Shylock--or at any rate in his Shylock of 1875. There was no lapse of memory on the actor's part--no physical breakdown. The character had evidently been most carefully studied, and the delivery of Shakespeare's lines left little or nothing to be desired. Apparently the actor had made the fatal mistake of thinking that Shylock was one of those strong parts that would--in theatrical parlance--"play itself." He was utterly wrong. If Shylock does not reveal himself in his distinctly true colours, not even the ideal Portia can prevent his fading from the picture, and leaving Shakespeare's canvas a blank.