at the Lyceum Theatre. As a production, Irving's Macbeth was the last word in stage effects. I reminded Gene of the sensation caused in Chicago by the red velvet draw curtain which Irving had brought from London. Up to that time Chicago had only known paper or canvas curtains, variously painted.
"Look at the scenery," Gene kept on saying at the Lyceum. "It's all solid, vast, monumental. Chicago would go crazy about that set piece."
In the lobby we met several critics, among them the critic of the Standard. The Standard man repeated his published charge, namely, that Irving was sinning against tradition, that Macready and Kemble alone had understood how to present Macbeth. Irving, this critic insisted, ought to know "that his Macbeth was unacceptable to the best judgment."
"Best judgment—fiddlesticks! You merely state your personal opinion. We all do so. For my part I like Irving's reading with its poetry and romanticism," said Field hotly. "The King of Scots was full of irresolution, but was often dejected in spirits—Irving's portrait of a shrinking, faltering King is what it ought to be, since it holds the mirror up to history. As to tradition—that be damned—it is largely in the critic's mind and nowhere else, except perhaps with some dotard, gabbing about old times."
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