McVicker's Theatre in Chicago

If you like history, you might enjoy these links about McVicker's Theatre, which only exists in historical documents and in Bryony and Before The Blood: Henry Matthews.

I tried to keep descriptions in both scenes true to the 1884 version of the theater.

Dion Boucicault's ‘Robert Emmet’ really did open at McVicker's in 1884, and the reviews to which Henry and Brumfeldt refer in both books came from real reviews.

For anyone curious, here are some links to the history. One piece of trivia not in my books is that John Wilkes Boothe once performed there.

My goal this year is to take a tour of all the places (and sites, for those places that no longer exist) in Chicago that I featured in Before The Blood.

https://interactive.wttw.com/timemachine/mcvicker%E2%80%99s-theater

http://cinematreasures.org/theaters/1798

https://archive.org/stream/mcvickersobserva00chic/mcvickersobserva00chic#page/n5/mode/1up

http://cinematreasures.org/photos?page=1&theater_id=1798

https://www.newspapers.com/clip/7427054/mcvickers_theatre_closing/

Illustration by Kathleen Rose Van Pelt for Bryony.

BryonySeries Throwback Thursday "Easter Week" by Joyce Kilmer

Saturday, April 23, 2011

Easter Week by Joyce Kilmer

Not only is this poem Victorian, it references Ireland and Robert Emmet, both part of the Bryony theme.


"Romantic Ireland's dead and gone,

It's with O'Leary in the grave."

Then, Yeats, what gave that Easter dawn

A hue so radiantly brave?


There was a rain of blood that day,

Red rain in gay blue April weather.

It blessed the earth till it gave birth

To valour thick as blooms of heather.


Romantic Ireland never dies!

O'Leary lies in fertile ground,

And songs and spears throughout the years

Rise up where patriot graves are found.


Immortal patriots newly dead

And ye that bled in bygone years,

What banners rise before your eyes?

What is the tune that greets your ears?


The young Republic's banners smile

For many a mile where troops convene.

O'Connell street is loudly sweet

With strains of Wearing of the Green.


The soil of Ireland throbs and glows

With life that knows the hour is here

To strike again like Irishmen

For that which Irishmen hold dear.


Lord Edward leaves his resting place

And Sarsfield's face is glad and fierce.

See Emmet leap from troubled sleep

To grasp the hand of Padraic Pearse!


There is no rope can strangle song

And not for long death takes his toll.

No prison bars can dim the stars

Nor quicklime eat the living soul.


Romantic Ireland is not old.

For years untold her youth shall shine.

Her heart is fed on Heavenly bread,

The blood of martyrs is her wine. 

Giving Canines Their Due

At first glance, this appears an odd theme for day reserved for the Steward of Tara and all things Irish, but needed to balance out all the recent cat posts.

In reality, this post is nothing about dogs in general, less about my covering a dog shelter's grand opening today for The Herald-News and more about the "Fido" fact I quite by chance discovered today while searching the origins of another idiom.

It seems that the aged line of "seeing a man about a dog," was in the 1866 play Flying Scud by Dion Boucicault. This Irish playwright, you may recall, is the author of Robert Emmet, an actual play that was actually performed at the actual (and former) McVickers theater in Chicago, and which is featured in Bryony.

“So,” Melissa said, hoping to sidetrack him. “What are we seeing tonight?”

“Dion Boucicault’s ‘Robert Emmet.’”

Melissa looked blank.

“The play revolves around the leader of an Irish rebellion against the British in 1803,” Henry said.

“Oh,” Melissa said. “Does he win?”

“No, he is convicted and hung.”

Melissa fell silent. It didn’t sound very interesting, but she wouldn’t tell him. After all, Henry arranged this night for her at her request. Again, he read her mind.

“I am rather in the mood for Boucicault tonight,” Henry said. “Perhaps you would prefer, ‘The Vampire, A Phantasm in Three Dramas’? Say the word, Melissa. It’s your night.”

She looked up at Henry. The corner of his eyes barely crinkled. Vampires, again! Was he making fun of her?

He leaned close to Melissa’s ear. “Robert Emmett has quite a nice love story to it, which you might find poetic. He was so passionately in love with Sarah Curran that, although he was in jail and at the expense of her safety, he wrote onefinal letter to her. The authorities intercepted it.”

Henry grinned and raised an eyebrow. Melissa relaxed into her seat and decided whatever else happened this evening, it would not be boring.

Easter Week by Joyce Kilmer

Not only is this poem Victorian, it references Ireland and Robert Emmet, both part of the Bryony theme.


"Romantic Ireland's dead and gone,

It's with O'Leary in the grave."

Then, Yeats, what gave that Easter dawn

A hue so radiantly brave?


There was a rain of blood that day,

Red rain in gay blue April weather.

It blessed the earth till it gave birth

To valour thick as blooms of heather.


Romantic Ireland never dies!

O'Leary lies in fertile ground,

And songs and spears throughout the years

Rise up where patriot graves are found.


Immortal patriots newly dead

And ye that bled in bygone years,

What banners rise before your eyes?

What is the tune that greets your ears?


The young Republic's banners smile

For many a mile where troops convene.

O'Connell street is loudly sweet

With strains of Wearing of the Green.


The soil of Ireland throbs and glows

With life that knows the hour is here

To strike again like Irishmen

For that which Irishmen hold dear.


Lord Edward leaves his resting place

And Sarsfield's face is glad and fierce.

See Emmet leap from troubled sleep

To grasp the hand of Padraic Pearse!


There is no rope can strangle song

And not for long death takes his toll.

No prison bars can dim the stars

Nor quicklime eat the living soul.


Romantic Ireland is not old.

For years untold her youth shall shine.

Her heart is fed on Heavenly bread,

The blood of martyrs is her wine.

Bold Robert Robert Emmet.