Fortune's Fool: The Life of John Wilkes Booth

by Alford, Terry

  The Richmond stage had able advocates, and few attacks on it went unanswered. Prominent in support was William Ritchie, editor of the influential Richmond Enquirer and a strong supporter of drama. Married to Anna Cora Mowatt, a former actress, Ritchie defended the stage from personal as well as philosophical motives.91 Robert Ridgway of the Richmond Whig was also friendly. He permitted the publication of a witty reply to the complaint of several young ladies on their way to church that they had been gawked at by rude boys lounging in front of the Marshall. One of the loungers replied that in this case a church was little different from a theater, since the young ladies went to church expressly to be stared at in the first place.92 High spirits like the “boys,” together with the large number of young professionals in the city, theater-friendly European immigrants, sophisticates like the Wise brothers and the Beale family, and that portion of the city’s residents who had never shunned the theater, were always a source of encouragement for actors like Booth.

  The young actor found no shortage of friends in these groups. Among that crowd of young bucks like himself he was highly regarded.93 Harry Watkins, a fellow actor, claimed that “Booth’s leisure hours were devoted to sporting with young men about town, with whom his athletic prowess and exuberant spirit made him a natural leader.” He was the pet of the city, thought Edwin Hunter Brink, a standabout at the Marshall. “He led a very wild life, being allowed to do almost as he pleased,” and became well acquainted with the leading citizens of Richmond.94

  Booth’s expanding social circle included the sculptor Edward V. Valentine. Moxley had introduced Edwin Booth to Valentine early in October 1858, when Edwin was filling a star engagement in the city. Edwin sat for a bust for eight sessions in Valentine’s studio. Valentine lived only two blocks along Broad Street from the theater and met John during a Saturday evening stroll toward the end of the month. They had a long talk about the theater, John telling the sculptor that Kunkel and Moxley were about to send the company to Lynchburg. He later visited the sculptor at his studio. “Booth looked the part of neither the lunatic or villain, but seemed to be a most likeable fellow,” said Valentine. Departing for study in Europe the following year, the sculptor never saw Booth again. But since he had known John in the springtime of his life, Valentine was one of the people with whom Edwin would speak, in later years, about his brother. When he visited Edwin in New York in 1891, Valentine wrote in his diary that the older brother talked among other things about John’s great physical strength.95

  Another new friend was Edward M. Alfriend, a young Richmonder who was, like Valentine, the same age as Booth. Ned was an insurance underwriter in the family business. He mixed business with the study of law, but the theater was his true love. He sought out the companionship of actors and over the ensuing decades came to know most of the principal players in the nation. Booth, he believed, was an actor with unlimited gifts and potential—a genius—and “his future assured.”96 Ned watched Booth become “a great social favorite, knowing all the best men and many of the finest women.” As Alfriend explained: “With men John Wilkes was most dignified in demeanor, bearing himself with insouciant care and grace, and was a brilliant talker. With women he was a man of irresistible fascination by reason of his superbly handsome face, conversational brilliancy and a peculiar halo of romance with which he invested himself, and which the ardent imagination of women amplified.”

  The trip to Lynchburg occurred in November 1858, one of several out-of-town tours undertaken by the company to that city, Petersburg, and Norfolk. Hosts to circuses, balls, concerts, and lectures, these smaller cities had no full-time theater and were usually eager to see Kunkel and his “masters of the histrionic profession,” as the Marshall stock actors were described by one Lynchburg editor, presumably without sarcasm.97 Since traveling stars of Murdoch’s stature rarely came along, these trips gave “masters” like Booth an opportunity for better parts. At Dudley Hall in Lynchburg he took the roles of Paris in Romeo and Juliet and of Count Florio in The Wife. In both plays his character loves and loses the leading lady. Buckingham, the wily and faithless ally of Richard III, was another substantial role. These were good parts, as was Traddles in a dramatization of Charles Dickens’s David Copperfield. A hapless student, Traddles drew laughs with his custom of brushing his hair up on end, giving him a look of perpetual surprise.98

  In late December 1858, Booth and the company played Petersburg’s Phoenix Hall, a theater where his father had performed shortly after immigrating to the United States. Since that time the present structure, owned by one of the Alfriends, had been largely rebuilt following a fire, hence its name.99 Theatrical tradition attached to a large slab of granite at the foot of the steps near the stage door. “On that stone all the great actors before us had stepped,” wrote Booth’s friend John M. Barron, “and we poor players held it in great reverence.” The interior of the Phoenix produced less reverential emotions. The stage was dimly lighted. Scenery was limited. There was no gallery or parquet, simply a gloomy auditorium where hard chairs were the only seats. It was indeed just a plain room, and Booth felt challenged by its bare environment.100

  Nevertheless he won applause as an actor and welcome as a visitor in the city. James Read Branch, member of a prominent Old Street merchant family, and his wife, Martha, saw dramatic genius in him.101 Martha treasured a small, sweepingly inscribed photograph of Booth showing him “with more than ambrosial curls, a horn-handled cane, and a wholly implausible amount of watch chain” festooned about his waistcoat, as the author James Branch Cabell, her grandson, described it. Booth thought fondly of the Branches, and the couple in turn reared their descendants to think of him charitably. When the Civil War commenced, Booth sent to Branch, then a lieutenant colonel in the Confederate army, a pack of English-made playing cards. The backs of the paper cards bore the national flag, the battle flag, and the seal of the Confederacy. Booth sent the cards through the blockade that had been proclaimed by the federal government around the rebellious states. The deck of cards was inherited by Cabell, who always grew reflective when handling the time-yellowed artifacts. He published a letter to Booth in his book Ladies and Gentlemen (1934) in which he declared that the tangibility of the playing cards was reassuring proof that such a fantastic character as Booth had actually existed and walked the same Southern streets as himself.102

  The new year of 1859 brought more stars to Richmond, and none was more appealing than Maggie Mitchell. Actress, singer, and dancer, the diminutive Maggie had worked her way assiduously up the ladder from children’s parts to the ballet corps to stardom. “She is young, pretty, has a good bust, good arms, and ‘a knee round as a period,’ ” declared one admirer. “A cunning wee thing,” said another, “she was so handsome and exquisitely formed as to remind one of a fairy.”103 Seen around town, little Maggie did not look like a tireless and disciplined professional, but that she was, “and with talent and courage, not to say audacity, enough for a giant.”104 “I was startled when that little elf came on the stage,” Barron recalled of her debut. She gave directions with an exactness that startled the old-timers, while the utes stood with their mouths agape. Maggie demanded much, “but she never required more of the ladies and gentlemen than she herself was willing to do. Accordingly, she was the inspiration that infected the entire company.”105

  Booth was fascinated by her. Petite and animated, Maggie embodied characteristics observable in most women who bewitched Booth over the years. He spoke admiringly of her to Jimmy Wells, with whom he passed time in the theater dressing room. The two were discussing the relative attractiveness of certain women. Booth agreed that all the women were beautiful, said Wells, but “he always laughingly exclaimed that not one compared with Miss Mitchell.”106

  Booth supported Maggie in her February appearances. She needed no help in The French Spy, in which the star stripped down like a pugilist, shaking the house in the process, but Booth drew positive notice in another play.107 He took the role of Uncas in a stage adapt
ation of James Fenimore Cooper’s novel The Wept of Wish-ton-Wish. Maggie starred as Narra-Mattah, a beautiful white girl who had been abducted and raised by Indians, eventually marrying the noble Conanchet. After various plot twists, Conanchet is betrayed and delivered to his enemy Uncas, who executes him. Narra-Mattah dies of shock. Leonard Grover, later an important manager, went to the show and read in the evening bill that the role of Uncas had been undertaken by one John Wilkes. “Later I learned that he was John Wilkes Booth,” Grover wrote in 1909. “He seemed the most talented actor in the company.”108

  John S. Clarke took the first two weeks in March, playing Our American Cousin with Wheatley. Barron was unimpressed with Clarke, writing that “to see him in one part was to see him in everything,” but the comedian was popular.109 Our American Cousin was performed for eleven of Clarke’s twelve nights in Richmond, the longest run of any single play that year in the city.110 Playing the insufferable Lord Dundreary, Booth proved himself adept at light comedy.111 It was the first time Booth performed in the play to which his name would soon be forever linked.

  Clarke liked Booth, but the young actor did not reciprocate his feeling. This was clear when Booth took a brief leave the following month to attend the comedian’s wedding to Asia at St. Paul’s Episcopal Church in Baltimore.112 Edwin had pushed hard for the match between his sister and his longtime friend, and she wrote frankly to Jean Anderson that she married to please him.113 John feared that Clarke, who was exceptionally ambitious, was using her. When Asia fretted over how little she brought into the marriage, John reassured her. “Our father’s name is a power—theatrical—in the land,” he responded proudly. “It is dower enough for any struggling actor [like Clarke].”114

  Back in Richmond, Barry Sullivan followed in April 1859 to play Shakespeare and melodrama. Born in England of Irish parents, “the English-Irish tragedian” was making his first American tour. Despite stilted mannerisms and a harsh voice, Sullivan was an energetic and original performer. A stage historian of the following generation wrote that he was “regarded with esteem by intelligent playgoers,” a cautiously worded compliment.115 Contemporaries were more enthusiastic. Barron loved him, Richmond praised him, and the Clipper pronounced him one of the world’s greatest actors. Sullivan was hot-tempered, jealous, and difficult. His business agent quit him, unable to endure Sullivan’s “insulting, arrogant, oppressive, and otherwise generally objectionable [behavior] to the numerous dramatic artists in the United States (of both sexes and every grade).”116 The obnoxious tragedian mitigated the problem by altogether avoiding stock actors like Booth and hiring a stand-in to rehearse in his place.

  This martinet earned forbearance from Booth by the respect he showed for the memory of the young man’s father. During a Baltimore engagement he made a special pilgrimage to Bel Air, then on to Tudor Hall. There he walked the grounds, soaking up inspiration. “It was a source of great interest to Barry Sullivan to roam through the old farmstead where for nearly thirty years Booth had constantly resorted,” wrote a friend.117 The plays Sullivan performed—Richard III, Hamlet, The Merchant of Venice, King Lear, A New Way to Pay Old Debts—were key pieces of the elder Booth’s repertoire. In Richard III Sullivan (as Richard) made rapid thrusts with an empty hand after being disarmed by his rival Richmond, a piece of business identified with the elder Booth.118 One newspaper connected the two directly during Sullivan’s visit by stating that he was “the best Shakespearean actor that ever visited Richmond since the illustrious Junius Brutus Booth first trod their stage thirty-eight years previously.”119 Since John never witnessed his father perform, the opportunity of seeing his plays acted by a mature admirer to full and appreciative houses was eye-opening.

  Edwin Booth followed directly on Sullivan’s week. Praised as “Richmond’s favorite,” Edwin was popular and his performances well attended. He played a number of his father’s pieces, several just done by Sullivan, plus Macbeth and melodrama. The engagement reunited the brothers onstage for the first time since the preceding fall. Edwin’s visits meant better roles in support, and John was billed as “Wilkes Booth” for these occasions. Edwin was favorably impressed. “I don’t think he will startle the world,” he wrote June, “but he is improving fast and looks beautiful on the platform.”120 He had talent, Edwin continued, although he did not like to be corrected.121

  Before Barry Sullivan departed for an engagement in Philadelphia, the tragedian took a private box at the Marshall to study Edwin and size him up as a competitor. “No actor in England can play against those eyes,” he worried. His presence, however motivated, was a gratifying mark of respect for the Booths. As the play progressed, John was upset to see that Edwin had been drinking.122 He looked anxiously at Sullivan and “saw, or thought he saw, a sneer on the face of the Englishman.” When the curtain fell, John flew at Edwin and demanded “how he dared disgrace his position and his country by appearing before the English actor in his condition.” “Is it not enough,” shouted John, “that our father’s reputation should follow us without such an exhibition as you have given tonight? When I saw the Englishman look at you, I could have killed you where you stood. Have you no shame, no pride in your profession, no thought of the disgrace you bring upon your country?”

  Edwin was in no mood for a lecture. Less than five years John’s senior, he had seen much more of the world. He had often been near the bottom. To a drunken actor who apologized to him for marring a play, Edwin replied knowingly, “I’ve been there.” Edwin, who threw up during a Cincinnati performance of Richelieu, made a sarcastic reply to John’s outburst. When he did, the younger brother exploded. “John seized the first weapon that came to hand and dashed at his brother.” Edwin wisely sought safety in his dressing room.123

  John had finally put on display his sensitivity to the mixed legacy of his father’s life. His words showed that he understood, even early in his career, the dignity of his vocation and the necessity of performing its demands credibly. It was also clear that in his mind the father’s alcoholism was a formidable obstacle with which the sons had to struggle. No less striking was John’s intense nationalism. To be embarrassed before a foreign actor offended his pride of country. The incident stirred that mixture of personal and patriotic elements so potent in the young man. Those who witnessed the scene between the brothers did not forget it. For one evening, at least, the action at the theater was as exciting behind the curtain as onstage.

  Amiably, Edwin was forgiving. John continued in his support and on Edwin’s final night played Horatio to Edwin’s Hamlet. When the play concluded, the audience called Edwin out to take a bow. Alfriend recalled that when the curtain went up, Edwin came downstage leading John by the hand. Pointing to him, the older brother said generously, “I think he has done well. Don’t you?” Cries of “Yes!” “Yes!” and thunderous applause came from the audience.124

  The season was closing, and John prepared to take his benefit night. On this highly important occasion, Booth was given the opportunity to star. He also got the proceeds of the evening (after minimal expenses) to supplement his salary. John was announced to play on Monday, May 2, 1859. His mother noted in a letter to June that Edwin remained in the city over the weekend to perform with him.125 This ensured a bigger take and was another kindness by Edwin, who received nothing from Kunkel for the performance. John was billed as “J. Wilkes Booth,” the form of his name under which he would become widely known as a star. He decided to attempt Othello for the first time with Edwin as Iago.126 A good idea, the Clipper dryly observed, if the younger brother could sustain his part.127 It is amusing to imagine the twenty-year-old, whose stage nervousness still drew comment, playing the formidable and self-confident Moorish general. Edwin’s friend William Winter, a noted critic, believed that the role called for a master actor of large physique who conveyed at a glance a rugged warrior.128 Nevertheless the performance was well received by a full house.129 After the other actors took their benefits, the Marshall ended its theatrical year on May 16, 185
9, with a brass band, song, dance, a patriotic tableau representing George Washington, and comedy by the company.

  The theater closed until September, the actors taking vacations or heading home to rest, study, and pinch pennies over three long summer months. It meant farewells to some of the company who would seek greener pastures. Ben Ringgold would not return to Richmond, but he carried away impressions of Booth as a youngster with wonderful dramatic genius to develop.130 Ike Mortimer, also departing, thought him a person of great promise, more spirited than Edwin and ultimately much finer.131 Harry Langdon said his good-byes as well and advised Booth to make money by assuming his family name.

  “Now, John, you go off into the farther south and take your father’s name,” Langdon counseled. “You are as much entitled to the use of your father’s name as your brother. If you play in the far south as John Wilkes Booth, the son of the old tragedian, they will come to hear you, and you can make a good stake.”132

  Booth listened politely but declined. He would make it, all right, and, when he did, no one would carry him. He would be great on his own.

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  Lions and Foxes

  “when john wilkes booth was in the Richmond Stock Company, he was very young,” wrote his friend Ned Alfriend. “In his early twenties he weighed about one hundred and seventy-five pounds, was a little taller than his brother Edwin, possessed marvelously intellectual and beautiful eyes, with great symmetry of feature, an especially fine forehead, and curly black hair. He was as handsome as a Greek god. It is saying a great deal, but he was a much handsomer man than his brother Edwin. He possessed a voice very like his brother’s, melodious, sweet, full and strong, and was like him, a consummate elocutionist.”1 Thus Booth appeared as the young actor returned to Richmond in the late summer of 1859 to commence his second year at the Marshall Theatre.