His subsequent training passed out of my
hands into those of our common friend, W. E. Henley. 'Henley and
I,' he wrote, 'have fairly good times wigging one another for not
doing better. I wig him because he won't try to write a real play,
and he wigs me because I can't try to write English.' When I next
saw him, he was full of his new acquisitions. 'And yet I have lost
something too,' he said regretfully. 'Up to now Scott seemed to me
quite perfect, he was all I wanted. Since I have been learning
this confounded thing, I took up one of the novels, and a great
deal of it is both careless and clumsy.'
V.
He spoke four languages with freedom, not even English with any
marked propriety. What he uttered was not so much well said, as
excellently acted: so we may hear every day the inexpressive
language of a poorly-written drama assume character and colour in
the hands of a good player. No man had more of the VIS COMICA in
private life; he played no character on the stage, as he could play
himself among his friends. It was one of his special charms; now
when the voice is silent and the face still, it makes it impossible
to do justice to his power in conversation.
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