even the actors were moved. Then he spoke rapidly to his son, who
translated to me thus: "How have I missed this 'business' all these
years? It is good--we will keep it always--tell madame that." And so,
courteously and without offence, this greatest of actors accepted a
suggestion from a newcomer in his play.

A certain English actor, who had been with him two or three seasons,
made a curious little mistake night after night, season after season,
and no one seemed to heed it. Of course Salvini, not speaking English,
could not be expected to detect the error. Where the venomous priest
should humbly bow himself out with the veiled threat, "This may yet end
in a trial--and--conviction!" the actor invariably said, "This may yet
end in a trial of convictions!" Barely three nights had passed when
Signor Salvini said to his son, "Why does Miss Morris smile at that
man's exit? It is not funny. Ask why she smiles." And he was greatly put
out with his actor when he learned the cause of my amusement. A very
observant man, you see.

He is a thinking actor; he knows _why_ he does a thing, and he used to
be very intolerant of some of the old-school "tricks of the trade."
Mind, when I was acting with him, he had come to understand fairly well
the English of our ordinary, everyday vocabulary, and if he was quite
calm and not on exhibition in any way, he could speak it a little and
quite to the point, as you will see. He particularly disliked the old,
old trick called "taking the stage," that is, when a good speech has
been made, the actor at its end crosses the stage, changing his position
for no reason on earth save to add to his own importance. It seemed
Salvini had tried through his stage manager to break up the wretched
habit; but one morning he saw an actor end his speech at the centre of
the stage, and march in front of every one to the extreme right-hand