On December 19, 1886, the piece was produced. There was the now invariable excitement of a Lyceum _première_, and there were stories of frantic efforts, grovellings, implorings, etc., to obtain a seat. A peer had actually been seen in the gallery—and was more than content with his place. The Royal Family were in their box, and the Prince, then in mourning, watched the play from behind the scenes. Mephistopheles was destined for many a night to give the keenest enjoyment to vast audiences. It was, indeed, a most original conception. With successive performances he enriched it with innumerable telling and grotesque touches; for, as I have said, the adapter had “laid out” the character on rather conventional lines. In spite of all these defects, he suggested the notion of “uncanniness” and a supernatural _diablerie_. His antic scaring of the women at the church-door will be recalled by many. Miss Terry’s Marguerite was full of pathos and poetry, occasionally suggesting, as in the “Jewel” scene, the operatic heroine. But at the first performance it became plain that a serious mistake had been made in the choice of Conway for the hero, Faust. He seemed scarcely to feel or understand the part; there was a lack of passion and sympathy. It was, indeed, an overwhelming burden for a player whose gifts lay in the direction of light comedy. But on one Saturday night the audience was somewhat astonished to see before them a new Faust, one who, moreover, came on with a book in his hand, which he continued to read aloud even after Mephisto had paid him his visit through the steam clouds. It proved that Conway was suffering from gout, and Alexander, resigning his own character to Tyars, took the _rôle_ of Faust, which on the following night he assumed permanently, and “discharged” in the regular way. Considering the shortness of the notice, he performed this awkward duty _en vrai artiste_—as, indeed, might be expected.[40] However, the cast was further strengthened by the excellent Mrs. Stirling, whose part was scarcely worthy of her. Placing a strong performer in a part that is inferior in strength, instead of improving or fortifying, only further brings out the poverty of the character. In this piece numerous scientific devices were introduced to add to the effect, such as the clouds of steam which veiled the apparition of Mephistopheles, a device of French origin. This is scarcely illusive, as it is attended by an unmistakable “hissing” sound, as of a locomotive; it seems what it is—namely, steam. The blue electric light flashed with weird effect as the swords of Valentine and Faust crossed. But here again there was an electric wire and “contact,” and a current “switched on.” It may be paradoxical to say so, but these “advances” in scenic art are really retrograde steps.