“What a profound artist this tragedian is! The performance over, I was taken to see him in his dressing-room. I found him surrounded by portraits of Richelieu. He had before him the three studies of Philippe de Champaigne, one representing Richelieu in full face, and the others in profile. There was also a photograph of the same painter’s full-length portrait of the Cardinal. Before playing Louis XI. again, Mr. Irving studied Commines, Victor Hugo, Walter Scott, and all who have written of the _bourgeois_ and avaricious king, who wore out the elbows of his _pourpoint de ratine_ on the tables of his gossips, the skin-dressers and shoemakers. The actor is an adept in the art of face-painting, and attaches great importance to the slightest details of his costume. “I asked him what other historical personage he would like to represent, what face he, who excelled in what I call stage-resurrection, would wish to revive. He reflected a moment, his countenance assuming a thoughtful expression. ‘Français ou Anglais?’ he at length asked. ‘Français ou Anglais: peu importe,’ I replied. ‘Eh bien!’ he said, after another short pause, ‘je serais heureux de créer un Camille Desmoulins.’ “Mr. Irving’s literary and subtle mind leans to psychological plays—plays which, if I may so express myself, are more tragic than dramatic. He is the true Shakespearian actor. How great was the pleasure which the performance of ‘Hamlet’ afforded me! For a literary man it is a source of real enjoyment. Mr. Irving, as manager of the Lyceum, spends more than £3,000 a month to do things on an adequate scale. His theatre is the first in London. He would like to make it a sort of Comédie Française, as he would like to found a sort of Conservatoire to afford young English artists the instruction they stand so much in need of. “In Louis XI. Mr. Irving has been adjudged superior to Ligier. Dressed with historical accuracy, he is admirable in the comedy element of the piece and the chief scenes with the Monk and Nemours. The limelight projected like a ray of the moon on his contracted face as he pleads for his life excited nothing less than terror. The hands, lean and crooked as those of a Harpagon—the fine hands whose character is changed with each of his _rôles_—aid his words. And how striking in its realism is the last scene, representing the struggle between the dying king and his fate!” Another admirable French player, Got, once the glory of the French Comédie, and unquestionably the most powerful and varied performer of his day, used to come a good deal to London between the years 1870 and 1880.