could not speak his, approached His Majesty timidly. The latter
stepped forward, slapped the actor heartily on the back and said:
"Booth, this is as fine a performance as I saw your father give
twenty years ago."

The question as to whether an actor should feel his part or control
his emotions, has been an argument which has interested the dramatic
profession for many years, since it was first promulgated by the
French writer Diderot, and afterwards ably discussed by Henry Irving
and Coquelin. Of course, we all feel that no matter how violent
the actor's stress of emotion is, he must control his resources
with absolute restraint and poise. Sometimes, however, an actor
feels he is under the sway of his part in an unusual degree and
comes to the conviction, through his excitement, that he has given
a greater performance than usual. So Booth, one night at his own
theater, seeing his beloved daughter in a box, and desiring to
impress her with his work, played with, as he felt, a degree of
emotion that made him realize that he had given an unusually powerful
interpretation. At the end of the play, his daughter ran back to
him and said: "Why, dad, what is the matter with you?" And Booth,
awaiting her approval, said: "Matter?" "Why you gave the worst
performance I ever witnessed," she said. This control of one's
resources and the check upon one's feelings was indicated at another
time during a performance of Booth, of "Richelieu," as told to me
by the actor's friend, the late Laurence Hutton, the writer. Mr.
Hutton and Mr. Booth were sitting in the latter's dressing room at
Booth's Theater. Booth was, as usual, smoking his beloved pipe.
When he heard his cue, he arose, and walked with Hutton to the
prompter's entrance, where, giving his pipe to his friend, said:
"Larry, will you keep the pipe going until I come off?" Booth