It seems to Edwin that the casting-out, which began on the night Mother first told him he’d be traveling with Father, is now complete. They will bury Father without him. They will live on the farm without him. He feels certain that under similar circumstances, Johnny would have been told to come straight home.

But maybe Johnny wouldn’t have failed the family so disastrously. Mostly what Edwin finds in this letter is more evidence of his despicable selfishness. His own mother can’t bear to look at him. Hamlet was less guilty.

—

A few months before Father’s departure, Edwin had promised him to play Hamlet someday. Father thought he looked the part and that, a few years further into his career, with work and diligence, he might creditably carry it. June is certain that Edwin isn’t ready.

But keeping that promise is now the only thing Edwin can still do for his father. He nags and begs and barters until June gives in. On April 25th, 1853, he plays for the first time the role that will come to define him. He wears the somber costume, the dark tights, the short, black cloak. The somber demeanor comes easy. Old Spudge is there to cheer him on in the role of Polonius.

Whenever Edwin remembers, he throws in a gesture. Don’t just mouth your lines. Do something! Mostly he forgets. June is unimpressed with his performance and won’t allow a repeat.

But a young critic, Ferdinand Cartwright Ewer, leaves the San Francisco theater in a fever of excitement and goes to his newspaper offices to write a long review. Edwin Booth, he writes, has made Hamlet “the easy, undulating, flexible thing” Shakespeare intended.

Tastes were changing. Edwin’s Hamlet, as it developed over the years, was subtle where his father had been theatrical, contained where his father had been expansive, and natural where his father had declaimed. As Edwin aged, his Hamlet would become less agonized and more stoic—the embodiment of a good man enduring. This was a Hamlet who knew how his story would end, but moved forward anyway with courage and dignity. June may not have liked it, but Ewer says, in that very first review of Edwin’s very first Hamlet, that, in concept if not in polish, Edwin has already surpassed his father.

Lincoln and Clay