Arthur
Cecil bought a splendid fur coat for his entrance as "Baron Stein," but
after the run of the piece nothing would ever induce him to wear his
fur coat, even in the coldest weather. He was obsessed with the idea
that should _Diplomacy_ ever be revived, his fur coat might grow
too shabby to be used for his first entrance, so it reposed
perpetually and uselessly in camphor. Arthur Cecil was cursed with the
Demon of Irresolution. I have never known so undecided a man; it
seemed quite impossible for him to make up his mind. Sir Squire
Bancroft has told us in his _Memoirs_ how Cecil, on the night of
the dress rehearsal of _Diplomacy_, was unable to decide on his
make-up. He used a totally different make-up in each of the three
acts, to the great bewilderment of the audience, who were quite unable
to identify the white-moustached gentleman of the First Act with the
bald-headed and grey-whiskered individual of the Second. This
irresolution pursued poor Cecil everywhere. Coming in for supper to
the "Grill-room" after his performance, he would order and
counter-order for ten minutes, absolutely unable to come to a
decision. He invariably ended by seizing a pencil, closing his eyes
tightly, and whirling his pencil round and round over the supper-list
until he brought it down at haphazard somewhere.
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