Ellen Terry: ‘All Divine Things Run on Light Feet’

Julia Margaret Cameron’s photograph of Ellen Terry at the age of 16

Ellen: I’ve never understood why ‘theatrical’ should be a term of abuse… Nobody says of music that it’s too musical, why then do they say of theatre that it’s too theatrical?

Recently, I very much enjoyed ‘Grace Pervades’, a new play by David Hare that reflects on the nature of theatre and the acting life. (The Theatre Royal, Bath. Now over, but there’ll be a London transfer to the Theatre Royal, Haymarket from April 2026.)

Irving: Did you know that in Shakespeare there are seventeen ‘no’s to every one ‘yes’?... All his power is in the negative.

We meet Henry Irving (Ralph Fiennes), the towering figure of the nineteenth century British stage. He is lofty, awkward and gloomy, has a leg that drags slightly, and a deep voice that pronounces ‘god’ as ‘gud.’  

Irving: My critics accuse me of being dour… An evening in my company can on occasions be very grim.

Irving has built his formidable reputation on Shakespearean tragedies and historical pageants. And he is rather dismissive of modern writers like Ibsen, Strindberg and Shaw.

Irving: Too small. Too petty. Not large enough… People arguing isn’t theatre. People making points. 

Irving, planning to establish a new theatre company at the Lyceum in London (‘A company of equals in which I am the boss.’), enlists Ellen Terry (Miranda Raison) to join his players. She, by contrast with the great actor-manager, is cheerful, spontaneous and talkative; and her performing style is light, airy and understated.

Ellen: People say, ‘Oh she’s so natural,’ as if I were making no effort. It infuriates me…They don’t seem to realise floating is a technique.

Terry refuses to be a slave to tradition. In preparation for playing Ophelia, she visits an asylum, and she proposes to break with convention by playing her mad scene in white. She also tries to persuade Irving to put on more of Shakespeare’s comedies.

Ellen: Nobody needs to be told that life is terrible. They know it already. Tragedy is for people who don’t understand life and need it explained to them. Comedy is for those who already know.

Though very different characters, with very different approaches to their craft, Irving and Terry strike up an enduring partnershipwhich makes the Lyceum venture a roaring success. Terry is even emboldened to offer Irving some advice.

Ellen: I have a feeling that your acting could be improved if from time to time you directed your gaze at the other actor.

I was taken with Terry’s description of her own naturalistic acting style. 

Ellen: I put in just as much effort as anyone else, but I aim to excel at not letting it show.

For Terry, ease, grace and spontaneity are fundamental to her technique. 

Ellen: Myself, I never leave the dressing room till the last possible moment. I put down the newspaper I am reading, or the light novel, I fly down the stairs, sometimes I confess I even take the banisters, and then at the last possible moment – I pass. I pass from one world to another. I cross the invisible line between the real world and the imagined. 

In the field of commerce, it’s quite common for executives to make very public displays of their effort and industry. Confronted with a crisis, they are overwrought, melodramatic, histrionic. Their stress is contagious, their pessimism infectious. And inevitably they have an adverse impact on morale.

Ellen: I don’t regard actors who sweat and spit as especially accomplished. Grunting and heaving. That kind of behaviour belongs more properly on a building site.

I have always admired those who display calm under pressure, who radiate positivity and poise; cool-headed confidence and serene unflappability. I worked for many years at BBH with the incomparable Jon Peppiatt. He made every problem seem soluble, every barrier passable, every goal possible. As AA Gill wrote of the work of PG Wodehouse:

‘Success is not achieved, it is underachieved.’

John Singer Sargent, Ellen Terry as Lady Macbeth, 1889, Tate Britain, London, UK.

Henry Irving is widely credited with making theatre respectable in Britain. A hard taskmaster, at the Lyceum he raised standards of both performance and staging, significantly increasing the numbers of actors, stagehands and designers. Motivating his staff with better pay and lavish parties, he was also a master of publicity, cultivating the press and royalty. In 1895 he became the first actor to be awarded a knighthood. He died in 1905, aged 67, having suffered a stroke at the end of a performance of Becket at the Theatre Royal, Bradford. Legend has it that his last lines on stage were ‘Into thy hands, O Lord, into thy hands.’ 

Ellen Terry was Irving’s leading lady for more than two decades. Touring extensively with him in Britain and America, she was much loved by the public, and was immortalised in a painting by Sargent. After Irving’s death, she performed the plays of Shaw and Ibsen, appeared in silent films and lectured on Shakespeare’s heroines. Her career lasted nearly seven decades. She is particularly remembered for her naturalistic style. In ‘Grace Pervades’ she quotes Friedrich Nietzsche:

‘All divine things run on light feet.’

'On the roller coaster ride
That my emotions have to take me on,
I heard a newborn baby cry
Through the night.
I heard a perfect echo die
Into an anonymous wall of digital sound,
Somewhere deep inside
Of my soul.
A natural beauty should be preserved like a monument to nature.
Don't judge yourself too harsh, my love.
Or someday you might find your soul endangered.
A natural beauty should be preserved like a monument to nature.’
Neil Young, 'Natural Beauty'

No. 530

Anatomy of a Rumour: How Do We Protect Truth in an Environment that Favours Falsehood?

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‘A lie can be halfway round the world while truth is putting on its shoes.’
Attributed to Mark Twain and Winston Churchill among others…

In the splendid 1959 courtroom drama ‘Anatomy of a Murder’ James Stewart plays a lawyer defending an army lieutenant charged with murder. When cross-examining a medical expert, Stewart asks a question that impugns the integrity of the prosecuting officers. He knows this is improper, admits it and withdraws the remark.

The lieutenant is confused, and asks Stewart: ‘How can a jury disregard what it's already heard?’

Stewart shakes his head and replies: ‘They can't, lieutenant. They can’t.’

This is a relatively benign use of a tactic that is not uncommon in the fields of law, journalism and politics: alluding to something that may not be relevant, provable or even true, and trusting that people will remember.

In his 1972 magazine series, ‘Fear and Loathing on the Campaign Trail’, Hunter S Thompson related a sinister tale of Lyndon Johnson canvassing in Texas:

'The race was close and Johnson was getting worried. Finally he told his campaign manager to start a massive rumour campaign about his opponent’s life-long habit of enjoying carnal knowledge of his barnyard sows.

‘Christ, we can’t get away with calling him a pig-f****r,’ the campaign manager protested. ‘Nobody’s going to believe a thing like that.’

‘I know,’ Johnson replied. ‘But let’s make the sonofab****h deny it.’'

We can all recall stories, gossip and rumours that attach themselves to modern politicians and celebrities. Hearsay and innuendo, suggestions of scandal, tend to endure, despite their being unsubstantiated and unproven. We can’t un-hear what we have heard; un-see what we have seen; un-think what we have thought.

Of course, this is nothing new. We’re familiar with the cancerous effect of Iago’s lies in Shakespeare’s Othello.

‘I’ll pour this pestilence into his ear.’

In 1710 the essayist Jonathan Swift wrote:

‘If a Lie be believ’d only for an Hour, it has done its Work, and there is no farther occasion for it. Falsehood flies, and the Truth comes limping after it; so that when Men come to be undeceiv’d, it is too late; the Jest is over, and the Tale has had its Effect.’

The problem is that the more scurrilous, extraordinary and unlikely a story is, the more it lends itself to re-telling; the more we want to share it, regardless of whether we know it to be true. A lie is generally more compelling than the truth. It disperses by chain reaction, with incredible velocity. Indeed, as Vladimir Lenin said:
‘A lie told often enough becomes the truth.'

Sadly the social media age seems to have amplified and accelerated this phenomenon. The dice are increasingly loaded in favour of half-truths and misrepresentation. Lies are faster, more nimble, more addictive than ever before. And we are all complicit. We like to gossip, to spread the news, to pass on a story. We freely re-tweet, share and endorse. We may occasionally pause to question sources, or reflect on impacts. But we often unwittingly participate in the distribution of falsehood.

‘I can prove it’s rumour. I can’t prove it’s fact.’
Rudy Giuliani, former Mayor of New York and now President Donald Trump’s lawyer

And so inevitably we arrive at the era of fake news, alternative facts and ‘would’ meaning ‘wouldn’t’. And our heads are endlessly spinning because, as Rudy Giuliani recently observed, ‘Truth isn’t truth.’

The Ancient Cretan philosopher Epimenides once stated that all Cretans are liars. Was he lying or telling the truth? This is the Liar’s Paradox, and it feels sometimes that we all now inhabit one gigantic, all-consuming Liar’s Paradox. We’re trying to navigate a maze of untruth. Fiction and fabrication tie us in knots, confuse and confound us. They sow doubt and erode trust. They gnaw away at the ties that bind us. We become suspicious, paranoid. We don’t know who to believe.

'I'm not upset that you lied to me, I'm upset that from now on I can't believe you.'
Friedrich Nietzsche

So what can we do?

'Trust, but verify’
President Ronald Reagan

Of course, we need Governments and the digital titans to play their part and embrace this challenge of our times. We need a New Deal for Publishing, something that recognizes the realities of contemporary platforms and behaviours.

Brands too have a part to play. They need to rekindle their age-old association with trust and reliability; become once again a source of credible claims and dependable commitments.

But perhaps more broadly we need a new ethical code more suited to the modern age. We need to adapt our behaviour at work and in life: to place a greater premium on facts; to demand verification and substantiation; to support institutions and publications that stand up for truth. We should be subscribing to reputable news platforms. (Maybe we could even buy a newspaper!)

We should also consider moderating our natural propensity to spread rumours; curtailing our inclination to share and pass on. We can no longer excuse slander and defamation as idle chat or locker room banter. We can no longer defend falsehood in the name free speech. Gossip must become less socially acceptable.

Ultimately we may need to take a stand. As George Orwell is reputed to have said:

'In a time of universal deceit — telling the truth is a revolutionary act.’

No. 196