gratify one of his favorite emotions with the production of "The
Conquerors." Like many of the Frohman achievements, it began in a
picturesque way.
During the summer of 1897, Frohman and Paul Potter, being in Paris,
dropped in at that chamber of horrors, the Grand Guignol, in the Rue
Chaptal. There they saw "Mademoiselle Fifi," a playlet lasting less than
half an hour, adapted by the late Oscar Metenier from Guy de
Maupassant's short story. It was the tale of a young Prussian officer
who gets into a French country house during the war of 1870, abuses the
aristocrats who live there, shoots out the eyes of the family
portraits, entertains at supper a number of loose French girls from
Rouen, and is shot by one of the girls for vilifying Frenchwomen.
Frohman was deeply impressed.
"Why can't you make it into a long play?" said Frohman.
"I can," said Potter.
"How?" queried Frohman.
"By showing what happened to the French aristocrats while the Prussian
officer was shooting up the place," answered the author.
"Do it," said Frohman, "and I'll open the season of the Empire Stock
Company in this drama, and get George Alexander interested for London."
As "The Conquerors" the play went into rehearsal about Christmas. Mrs.
Dazian, wife of Henry Dazian, the costumier, was watching a scene in
which William Faversham plans the ruin of Viola Allen, the leading
woman.
"Well," said Mrs. Dazian, "if New York will stand for that it will stand
for anything."
Frohman jumped up in excitement. "What is wrong with it?" he cried. "The
manuscript was shown to a dozen people of the cleanest minds. They found
nothing wrong. I've done the scene a dozen times. I have it up-stairs on
my shelves at this moment in 'The Sporting Duchess.'"
Mrs. Dazian was obdurate. "It is awful," she said.
The first night approached. Potter was to sail for Europe next day.
Frohman had provided him with sumptuous cabin quarters on the _New
York_. After the dress rehearsal, Potter appeared on the Empire stage,
where he found Frohman. The latter was worried.
"Paul," said he, "the first three acts are fine; the last is rotten.
You must stay and rewrite the last act."
Potter had to postpone his trip. At ten next morning the new act was
handed in; the company learned and rehearsed it by three in the
afternoon, and that night Frohman and the author stood in the box-office
watching the audience file in.
"How's the house, Tommy?" demanded Frohman of Thomas Shea, his house
manager.
"Over seventeen hundred dollars already," said Shea.
"You can go to Europe, Paul," said Frohman. "Your last act is all right.
We don't want you any more."
The American public agreed with Mrs. Dazian. They thought the play
excruciatingly wicked, but they were just as eager to see it on the
Fourth of July as they had been six months earlier.
A dozen details combined to make "The Conquerors" a storm-center. First
of all it was attacked because of its alleged immorality. In the second
place the author was charged with having appropriated some of Sardou's
"La Haine." In the third place, this play marked the first stage
appearance of Mrs. Clara Bloodgood, wife of "Jack" Bloodgood, one of the
best-known men about town in New York. Mr. Bloodgood became desperately
ill during rehearsals, and his wife divided her time between watching at
his bedside and going to the theater. Of course, the newspapers were
filled with the account of the event which was agitating all society,
and it added greatly to popular interest in the play.
[Illustration: _HENRY MILLER_]
"The Conquerors" not only brought Paul Potter and Frohman a great
success, but it sped William Faversham on to the time when he was to
become a star. The cast was one of the most distinguished that
Frohman had ever assembled, and it included among its women five
future stars--Viola Allen, Blanche Walsh, Ida Conquest, Clara Bloodgood,
and May Robson.
* * *
By this time Henry Miller had left the Empire Stock Company and had gone
on the road with a play called "Heartsease," by Charles Klein and J. I.
C. Clark. It failed in Cincinnati, and Miller wrote Frohman about it. A
week later the men met on Broadway. Miller still believed in
"Heartsease" and asked Frohman if he could read it to him.
"All right," replied Frohman; "come to-morrow and let me hear it."
Miller showed up the next morning and left Klein and Clark, who had
accompanied him, in a lower office. Frohman locked the door, as was his
custom, curled himself up on a settee, lighted a cigar, and asked for
the manuscript.
"I didn't bring it. I will act it out for you."
Miller knew the whole production of the play depended upon his
performance. He improvised whole scenes and speeches as he went along,
and he made a deep impression. When he finished, Frohman sat still for a
few moments. Then he rang a bell and Alf Hayman appeared. To him he
said, quietly:
"We are going to do 'Heartsease.'"
Miller rushed down-stairs to where Klein and Clark were waiting, and
told them to get to work revising the manuscript.
When the play went into rehearsal, Frohman, who sat in front, spoke to
Miller from time to time, asking, "Where is that line you spoke in my
office?"
This incident is cited to show Charles's amazing memory. Miller, of
course, had improvised constantly during his personal performance of the
play, and Frohman recognized that these improvisations were missing when
the piece came into rehearsal.
Charles now added a third star to his constellation in Henry Miller. He
first produced "Heartsease" in New Haven. Charles Dillingham sat with
him during the performance. When the curtain went down on a big scene,
and the audience was in a tumult, demanding star and author, Frohman
leaned over to speak to his friend. Dillingham thought he was about to
make a historic remark, inspired by the enormous success of the play
before him. Instead, Frohman whispered:
"Charley, I wonder if they have any more of that famous apple-pie over
at Hueblein's?"
He was referring to a famous article of food that had added almost as
much glory to New Haven as had its historic university, and for which
Frohman had an inordinate love.
Henry Miller now became an established Frohman star. After "Heartsease"
had had several successful road seasons, Frohman presented Miller in
"The Only Way," an impressive dramatization of Charles Dickens's great
story, "A Tale of Two Cities."
* * *
Charles Dillingham's friendship with Frohman had now become one of the
closest of his life. He always accompanied Frohman to England, and was
regarded as his right-hand man. Frohman had always urged his friend to
branch out for himself. The result was that Dillingham assumed the
managership of Julia Marlowe.
Dillingham presented Miss Marlowe at the Knickerbocker Theater in New
York in "The Countess Valeska." Frohman liked the play so much that he
became interested in the management of Miss Marlowe, and together they
produced "Colinette," adapted from the French by Henry Guy Carleton, at
this theater. "Colinette" inspired one of the many examples of Frohman's
quick retort.
The "try-out" was at Bridgeport, and Dillingham had engaged a private
chair car for the company. When Frohman tried to get on this car at
Grand Central Station the porter turned him down, saying:
"This is the Marlowe car."
Whereupon Frohman spoke up quickly and said: "I am Mr. Marlowe," and
stepped aboard.
The production of "Colinette" marked the beginning of another one of
Frohman's intimate associations. He engaged William Seymour to rehearse
and produce the play. Seymour later directed some of the greatest
Frohman undertakings and eventually became general stage-manager for his
chief. Frohman was now actively interested in Miss Marlowe's career.
Under the joint Frohman-Dillingham management she played in "As You Like
It" and "Ingomar."
By this time Clyde Fitch had steadily made his way to the point where
Frohman had ceased to regard him as a "pink tea" author, but as a really
big playwright. They became great friends. He gave Fitch every possible
encouragement. The time was at hand when Fitch was to reward that
encouragement, and in splendid fashion.
Once more the Civil War proved a Charles Frohman mascot, for Fitch now
wrote "Barbara Fritchie," founded on John G. Whittier's famous war poem.
He surrounded the star with a cast that included W. J. Lemoyne, Arnold
Daly, Dodson Mitchel, and J. H. Gilmour. The play opened at the Broad
Street Theater in Philadelphia. At the dress rehearsal began an incident
which showed Charles's ready resource.
In the second act the business of the play required that Miss Marlowe
take a gun and shoot a man. No gun was at hand. It was decided to send
the late Byron Ongley, assistant stage-manager of the company, to the
Stratford Hotel, where the star lived, with a gun and show her how to
use it there.
When Frohman, who came to see the rehearsal, heard of this he had an
inspiration for a fine piece of publicity.
"Why can't Ongley pretend to be a crank and appear to be making an
attempt on Miss Marlowe's life?"
He liked Ongley, and he really conceived the idea more to play one of
his numerous practical jokes than to capitalize the event.
Without saying a word to Ongley, Dillingham notified the Stratford
management that Miss Marlowe had received a threatening letter from a
crank who might possibly appear and make an attempt on her life. When
Ongley entered the hotel lobby innocently carrying the gun he was beset
by four huge porters and borne to the ground. The police were summoned
and he was hauled off to jail, where he spent twenty-four hours. The
newspapers made great capital of the event, and it stimulated interest
in the performance.
[Illustration: _WILLIAM H. CRANE_]
When "Barbara Fritchie" opened at the Criterion Theater in New York,
which had passed under the Frohman control, it scored an immediate
success. It ran for four months. Not only was Miss Marlowe put into the
front rank of paying stars, but the success of the play gave Clyde
Fitch an enormous prestige, for it was his first big triumph as an
original playwright. From this time on his interest was closely linked
with that of Charles Frohman, who became his sponsor.
In connection with Julia Marlowe is a characteristic Frohman story. The
manager always refused to accept the new relation when one of his women
stars married. This incident grew out of Julia Marlowe's marriage to
Robert Taber.
One day his office-boy brought in word that Mrs. Taber would like to see
him.
"I don't know her."
After an interval of a few moments a dulcet voice came through the door,
saying, "Won't you see me?"
"Who are you?"
"Mrs. Taber."
"I don't know Mrs. Taber, but Julia Marlowe can come in."
* * *
Charles was now in a whirlwind of activities. He was not only making
stars, but also, as the case of Clyde Fitch proved, developing
playwrights. In the latter connection he had a peculiar distinction.
One day some years before, Madeline Lucette Ryley came to see him. She
was a charming English _ingenue_ who had been a singing soubrette in
musical comedies at the famous old Casino, the home of musical comedies,
where Francis Wilson, De Wolf Hopper, Jefferson De Angelis, and Pauline
Hall had achieved fame as comic-opera stars. She had also appeared in a
number of serious plays.
Mrs. Ryley made application for a position. Frohman said to her:
"I don't need actresses, but I need plays. Go home and write me one."
Mrs. Ryley up to that time had written plays only as an amateur. She
went home and wrote "Christopher Jr." and it started her on a notably
successful career as a playwright. In fact, she was perhaps the first of
the really successful women playwrights.
* * *
Charles Frohman celebrated the opening theatrical season of the new
twentieth century by annexing a new star and a fortune at the same time.
It was William H. Crane in "David Harum" who accomplished this.
Again history repeated itself in a picturesque approach to a Frohman
success. One morning, at the time when both had apartments at Sherry's,
Frohman and Charles Dillingham emerged from the building after
breakfast. On the sidewalk they met Denman Thompson, the old actor.
Frohman engaged him in conversation. Suddenly Thompson began to chuckle.
"What are you laughing at?" asked Frohman.
"I was thinking of a book I read last night, called 'David Harum,'"
replied Thompson.
"Was it interesting?"
"The best American story I ever read," said the actor.
Frohman's eyes suddenly sparkled. He winked at Dillingham, who hailed a
cab and made off. Frohman engaged Thompson in conversation until he
returned. In his pocket he carried a copy of "David Harum."
Frohman read the book that day, made a contract for its dramatization,
and from the venture he cleared nearly half a million dollars.
Frohman considered four men for the part of _David Harum_. They were
Denman Thompson, James A. Hearne, Sol Smith Russell, and Crane. Thompson
was too old, Hearne had been associated too long with the "Shore Acres"
type to adapt himself to the Westcott hero, and Sol Smith Russell did
not meet the requirements. Frohman regarded Crane as ideal.
His negotiations with Crane for this part were typical of his business
arrangements. It took exactly five minutes to discuss them. When the
terms had been agreed upon, Frohman said to Crane:
"Are you sure this is perfectly satisfactory to you?"
"Perfectly," replied Crane.
Frohman reached over from his desk and shook his new star by the hand.
It was his way of ratifying a contract that was never put on paper, and
over which no word of disagreement ever arose. Crane's connection with
Charles Frohman lasted for nine years.
Frohman personally rehearsed "David Harum." Much of its extraordinary
success was due to his marvelous energy. It was Frohman, and not the
dramatist, who introduced the rain-storm scene at the close of the
second act which made one of the biggest hits of the performance.
Throughout the play there were many evidences of Frohman's skill and
craftsmanship.
* * *
It was just about this time that the real kinship with Augustus Thomas
began. Frohman, after his first meeting with Thomas years before in the
box-office of a St. Louis theater, had produced his play "Surrender,"
and had engaged him to remodel "Sue." Now he committed the first of the
amazing quartet of errors of judgment with regard to the Thomas plays
that forms one of the curious chapters in his friendship with this
distinguished American playwright.
Thomas had conceived the idea of a cycle of American plays, based on the
attitude toward women in certain sections of the country. The first of
these plays had been "Alabama," the second "In Mizzoura." Thomas now
wrote "Arizona" in this series. When he offered the play to Frohman, the
manager said:
"I like this play, Gus, but I have one serious objection to it. I don't
see any big situation to use the American flag. Perhaps I am
superstitious about it. I have had such immense luck with the flag in
'Shenandoah' and 'Held by the Enemy' that I have an instinct that I
ought not to do this play, much as I would like to."
As everybody knows, the play went elsewhere and was one of the great
successes of the American stage.
Frohman now realized his mistake. He sent for Thomas and said: "I want
you to write me another one of those rough plays."
The result was "Colorado," which Frohman put on at the Grand Opera House
in New York with Wilton Lackaye in the leading role, but it was not a
success.
A few years later Frohman made another of the now famous mistakes with
Thomas. Thomas had seen Lawrence D'Orsay doing his usual "silly ass"
part in a play. He also observed that the play lagged unless D'Orsay was
on the stage. He therefore wrote a play called "The Earl of Pawtucket,"
with D'Orsay in mind, and Frohman accepted it. When the time came to
select the cast, Thomas suggested D'Orsay for the leading part.
"Impossible!" said Frohman. "He can't do it."
[Illustration: _AUGUSTUS THOMAS_]
[Illustration: _SIR ARTHUR WING PINERO_]
Thomas was so convinced that D'Orsay was the ideal man that Frohman made
this characteristic concession:
"I think well of your play, and it will probably be a success," he
said, "but I do not believe that D'Orsay is the man for it. If you can
get another manager to do it I will turn back the play to you, and if
you insist upon having D'Orsay I will release him from his contract with
me."
Kirk La Shelle took the play and it was another "Arizona."
Frohman produced a whole series of Thomas successes, notably "The Other
Girl," "Mrs. Leffingwell's Boots," and "De Lancey." To the end of his
days the warmest and most intimate friendship existed between the men.
It was marked by the usual humor that characterized Frohman's relations.
Here is an example:
Thomas conducted the rehearsals of "The Other Girl" alone. Frohman, who
was up-stairs in his offices at the Empire, sent him a note on a yellow
pad, written with the blue pencil that he always used:
"How are you getting along at rehearsals without me?"
"Great!" scribbled Thomas.
The next day when he went up-stairs to Frohman's office, he found the
note pinned on the wall.
Such was the mood of the man who had risen from obscurity to one of
commanding authority in the whole English-speaking theater.
X
THE RISE OF ETHEL BARRYMORE
While the star of Maude Adams rose high in the theatrical heaven,
another lovely luminary was about to appear over the horizon. The moment
was at hand when Charles Frohman was to reveal another one of his
proteges, this time the young and beautiful Ethel Barrymore. It is an
instance of progressive and sympathetic Frohman sponsorship that gave
the American stage one of its most fascinating favorites. Some stars are
destined for the stage; others are born in the theater. Ethel Barrymore
is one of the latter. Two generations of eminent theatrical achievement
heralded her advent, for she is the granddaughter of Mrs. John Drew,
mistress of the famous Arch Street Theater Company of Philadelphia, and
herself, in later years, the greatest _Mrs. Malaprop_ of her day. Miss
Barrymore's father was the brilliant and gifted Maurice Barrymore; her
mother the no less witty and talented Georgia Drew, while, among other
family distinctions, she came into the world as the niece of John Drew.
Despite the royalty of her theatrical birth, no star in America had to
labor harder or win her way by more persistent and conscientious effort.
At fourteen she was playing child's parts with her grandmother. A few
years later she came to New York to get a start. Though she bore one of
the most distinguished and honored names in the profession, she sat
around in agents' offices for six months, beating vainly at the door of
opportunity. Finally she got a chance to understudy Elsie De Wolfe, who
was playing with John Drew, in "The Bauble Shop," at the Empire. One day
when that actress became ill this seventeen-year-old child played the
part of a thirty-two-year-old woman with great success. Understudies
then became her fate for several years. While playing a part on the road
with her uncle in "The Squire of Dames," Charles Frohman saw her for the
first time. He looked at her sharply, but said nothing. Later, during
this engagement, she met the man who was to shape her career.
About this time Miss Barrymore went to London. Charles had accepted
Haddon Chambers's play "The Tyranny of Tears," in which John Drew was to
star in America. She got the impression that she would be cast for one
of the two female parts in this play, and she studied the costuming and
other details. With eager expectancy she called on Frohman in London.
Much to her surprise Frohman said:
"Well, Ethel, what can I do for you?"
"Won't I play with Uncle John?" she said.
"No, I am sorry to say you will not," replied Frohman.
This was a tragic blow. It was in London that Miss Barrymore received
this first great disappointment, and it was in London that she made her
first success. Charles Frohman, who from this time on became much
impressed with her appealing charm and beauty, gave her a small role
with the company he sent over with Gillette to play "Secret Service" in
the British capital. Odette Tyler played the leading comedy part. One
night when Miss Barrymore was standing in the wings the stage-manager
rushed up to her and said, excitedly:
"You will have to play Miss Tyler's part."
"But I don't know her lines," said Miss Barrymore.
"That makes no difference; you will have to play. She's gone home sick."
"How about her costume?" said Miss Barrymore.
"Miss Tyler was so ill that we could not ask her to change her costume.
She wore it away with her," was the reply.
Dressed as she was, Miss Barrymore, who had watched the play carefully,
and who has an extremely good memory, walked on, played the part, and
made a hit.
When the "Secret Service" company returned to America, Miss Barrymore
remained in London. She lived in a small room alone. Her funds were low
and she had only one evening gown. But she had the Barrymore wit and
charm, her own beauty, and was in much social demand. By the time she
prepared to quit England the one gown had seen its best days. She had
arranged to sail for home on a certain Saturday. The night before
sailing she was invited to a supper at the home of Anthony Hope. Just as
she was about to dress she received a telegram from Ellen Terry, who was
playing at the Lyceum Theater, saying:
_Do come and say good-by before you go._
When she arrived at the Lyceum, the first thing that Miss Terry said
was, "Sir Henry wants to say good-by to you."
On going into the adjoining dressing-room the great actor said to her:
"Wouldn't you like to stay in England?"
"Of course," said Miss Barrymore.
"Would you like to play with me?" he asked.
Coining at her hour of discouragement and despair, it was like manna
from heaven. Her knees quaked, but she managed to say, "Y-e-s."
"All right," said Sir Henry. "Go down-stairs. Loveday has a contract
that is ready for you to sign."
With this precious contract stuffed into her bosom, Miss Barrymore now
rode in triumph to the Hope supper-party.
"What a pity that you have got to leave England," said Sir Herbert
Beerbohm Tree.
"But I am going to stay," said Miss Barrymore.
A gasp ran around the table.
"And with whom?" asked Tree.
"With Sir Henry and Miss Terry," was the proud response.
Miss Barrymore played that whole season most acceptably with Irving and
Terry in "The Bells" and "Waterloo," and afterward with Henry B. Irving
in "Peter the Great."
When she returned to America in 1898 she had a new interest for Charles
Frohman. Yet the Nemesis of the Understudy, which had pursued her in
America, still held her in its grip, for she was immediately cast as
understudy for Ida Conquest in a play called "Catherine" that Frohman
was about to produce at the Garrick Theater. She had several
opportunities, however, to play the leading part, and at her every
appearance she was greeted most enthusiastically. Her youth and
appealing beauty never failed to get over the footlights.
Frohman was always impressed by this sort of thing. It was about this
time that he said to a friend of his.
"There is going to be a big development in one of my companies before
long. There's a daughter of 'Barry' [meaning Maurice Barrymore] who gets
a big reception wherever she goes. She has got the real stuff in her."
Miss Barrymore's first genuine opportunity came when Charles cast her
for the part of _Stella De Gex_ in Marshall's delightful comedy "His
Excellency the Governor," which was first put on at the Empire in May,
1899. The grace and sprightliness that were later to bloom so
delightfully in Miss Barrymore now found their first real expression.
Both in New York and on the road she made a big success.
While rehearsing "His Excellency the Governor," Charles sat in the
darkened auditorium of the Empire one day. When the performance was over
he walked back on the stage and, patting Miss Barrymore on the shoulder,
said:
"You're so much like your mother, Ethel. You're all right."
Frohman was not the type of man to lag in interest. He realized what the
girl's possibilities were, so early in 1901 he sent for Miss Barrymore
and said to her: