beautiful episodes in Frohman's life. He was genuinely interested in
this girl's career, and in tribute to her confidence in him she made
him, in conjunction with Barrie, her father confessor. Here is an
episode that is tenderly appealing, and which shows another of the many
sides of his character:
Frohman and Barrie were both afraid that Miss Chase would marry without
telling them about it, so a compact was made by the three that the two
men should be her mentors. There were many applicants for the hand of
this lovely American girl. The successful suitor eventually was Alec
Drummond, member of a distinguished English family, who went to the
front when the war began.
One reason for Miss Chase's devotion to Charles lay in the fact that the
American manager had the body of her mother removed from its
resting-place in Washington to the dreamy little churchyard at
Marlow-on-the-Thames. It is near Marlow that Miss Chase lived through
all the years of the Frohman-Barrie comradeship. Her little cottage at
Tree Tops, Farnham Common, five miles from Marlow, was one of the places
he loved to visit. On the vine-embowered porch he liked to sit and
smoke. On the lawn he indulged in his only exercise, croquet, frequently
with Barrie or Captain Scott, who died in the Antarctic, and Haddon
Chambers, who lived near by. Often he went with his hostess to feed the
chickens.
But wherever he went he carried plays. No matter how late he retired to
his room, he read a manuscript before he went to bed. He probably read
more plays than any other manager in the world.
Frohman went to Marlow nearly every Saturday in summer. His custom was
to alight from the train at Slough, where Miss Chase would meet him in
her car and drive him over to Marlow, where they lunched at The Compleat
Angler, a charming inn on the river.
Miss Chase sometimes playfully performed the office of manicure for
Frohman. Once when she was in Paris he sent her this telegram:
_Nails._
Whereupon she wired back:
_I am afraid you will have to bite them._
Frohman then sent her the telegram by mail, and under it wrote:
_I have._
Of all spots in England, and for that matter in all the world, Charles
loved Marlow best. It is typical of the many contrasts in his crowded
life that he would seek peace and sanctuary in this drowsy English town
that nestled between green hills on the banks of the Thames. He always
said that it framed the loveliest memories of his life.
[Illustration: _PAUL POTTER_]
[Illustration: _HADDON CHAMBERS_]
When Miss Chase wrote Frohman that she was to be confirmed in the little
church in Marlow, she got the following reply from him, which showed how
dear the drowsy place was in his affection:
_Dear Pauline:--I am glad about Marlow. That little church is the
only one in the world I care for--that one across the river at
Marlow. Whenever I see it I want to die and stay there.
And Marlow with its long street and nobody on it is fine._
It was Haddon Chambers who first took Frohman to Marlow. It came about
in a natural way, because Maidenhead, which is a very popular resort in
England (much frequented by theatrical people) is only a short distance
away. One day Chambers, who was with Frohman at Maidenhead, said, "There
is a lovely, quiet village called Marlow not far away. Let's go over
there." So they went.
On this trip occurred one of the many humorous adventures that were
always happening when Frohman and Chambers were together. Chambers had
the tickets and went on ahead. When he reached the train he found that
Frohman was not there. On returning he found his friend held up by the
gateman, who demanded a ticket. Quick as a flash Chambers said to him:
"Why do you keep His Grace waiting?"
The gateman immediately became flurried and excited and made apologies.
In the mean time Frohman, who took in the situation with his usual
quickness, looked solemn and dignified and then passed in like a peer of
the realm.
Chambers rented a cottage at Marlow each summer, and one of the things
to which Frohman looked forward most eagerly was a visit with him there.
Frequent visits to Marlow made the manager known to the whole town. The
simplicity of his manner and his keen interest, humor, and sympathy won
him many friends. His arrival was always more or less of an event in the
little township.
It is a one-street place, with many fascinating old shops. Frohman loved
to prowl around, look in the shop windows, and talk to the tradesmen,
who came to know and love him and look forward to his advent with the
keenest interest. To them he was not the great American theatrical
magnate, but a simple, kindly, interested human being who inquired about
their babies and who had a big and generous nature.
Frohman once made this remark about the Marlow antique shops: "They're
great. When I buy things the proprietor always tells me whether they are
real or only fake stuff. That's because I'm one of his friends." It was
typical of the man that he was as proud of this friendship as with that
of a prince.
On the tramps through Marlow he was often accompanied by Miss Chase and
Haddon Chambers. He had three particular friends in the town. One was
Muriel Kilby, daughter of the keeper of The Compleat Angler. When
Frohman first went to Marlow she was a slip of a child. He watched her
grow up with an increasing pride. This great and busy man found time in
New York to write her notes full of friendly affection. A few days
before the _Lusitania_ went down she received a note from him saying
that he was soon to sail, and looked forward with eagerness to his usual
stay at Marlow.
Through Miss Kilby Frohman became more intimately a part of the local
life of Marlow. She was head of the Marlow Amateur Dramatic Society,
which gave an amateur play every year. Frohman became a member, paid the
five shillings annual dues, and whenever it was possible he went to
their performances. As a matter of fact, the Marlow Dramatic Society has
probably the most distinguished non-resident membership in the world,
for besides Frohman (and through him) it includes Barrie, Haddon
Chambers, Pauline Chase, Marie Lohr, William Gillette, and Marc Klaw.
Frohman always took his close American friends to Marlow. One of the
prices they paid was membership in the amateur dramatic society.
Like every really great man, Charles Frohman was tremendously simple, as
his friendship with W. R. Clark, the Marlow butcher, shows. Clark is a
big, ruddy, John Bull sort of man, whose shop is one of the main sights
of High Street in the village. Frohman regarded his day at Marlow
incomplete without a visit to Clark. One day he met Clark dressed up in
his best clothes. He asked Clark where he was going.
"I am going to visit my pigs," replied the butcher. Frohman thought this
a great joke, and never tired of telling it.
Once when Frohman gave out an interview about his friends in Marlow, he
sent the clipping to his friend Clark, who wrote him a letter, which
contained, among other things:
_I can assure you I quite appreciate your kindness in sending the
cutting to me. When the township of Marlow has obtained from His
Majesty King George the necessary charter to become a county
borough, and you offer yourself for the position of Mayor, I will
give you my whole-hearted support and influence to secure your
election._
Then, too, there was Jones, the Marlow barber, who shaved Frohman for a
penny because he was a regular customer.
"Jones is a great man," Frohman used to say. "He never charges me more
than a penny for a shave because I am one of his regular customers.
Otherwise it would be twopence. I always give his boy a sixpence,
however, but Jones doesn't know that."
Indeed, the people of Marlow looked upon Frohman as their very own. He
always said that he wanted to be buried in the churchyard by the river.
This churchyard had a curious interest for him. He used to wander around
in it and struck up quite an acquaintance with the wife of the sexton.
She was always depressed because times were so bad and no one was dying.
Then an artist died and was buried there, and the old woman cheered up
considerably. Frohman used to tell her that the only funeral that he
expected to attend was his own.
"And mark you," he said, for he could never resist a jest, "you must
take precious good care of my grave."
His wish to lie in Marlow was not attained, but in tribute to the love
he had for it the memorial that his friends in England have raised to
him--a fountain--stands to-day at the head of High Street in the little
town where he loved to roam, the place in which he felt, perhaps, more
at home than any other spot on earth. Had he made the choice himself he
would have preferred this simple, sincere tribute, in the midst of
simple, unaffected people who knew him and loved him, to stained glass
in the stateliest of cathedrals.
* * *
Charles cared absolutely nothing for honors. He was content to hide
behind the mask of his activities. He would never even appear before an
audience. Almost unwillingly he was the recipient of the greatest
compliment ever paid an American theatrical man in England. It happened
in this way:
One season when Frohman had lost an unusual amount of money, Sir John
Hare gathered together some of his colleagues.
"Frohman has done big things," Hare said to them. "He loses his money
like a gentleman. Let us make him feel that he is not just an American,
but one of us."
A dinner was planned in his honor at the Garrick Club. He is the only
American theatrical manager to be elected to membership in this
exclusive club. When Frohman was apprised of the dinner project he
shrank from it.
"I don't like that sort of thing," he said. "Besides, I can't make a
speech."
"But you won't have to make a speech," said Sir Arthur Pinero, who
headed the committee.
Frohman tried in every possible way to evade this dinner. Finally he
accepted on the condition that when the time came for him to respond he
was merely to get up, bow his acknowledgment, and say, "Thank you." This
he managed to do.
At this dinner, over which Sir John Hare presided, Frohman was presented
with a massive silver cigarette-box, on which was engraved the
facsimile signatures of every one present. These signatures comprise the
"Who's Who" of the British theater. These princes of the drama were
proud and glad to call themselves "A few of his friends," as the
inscription on the box read.
The signers were, among others, Sir Arthur Pinero, Sir Charles Wyndham,
Sir John Hare, Sir Herbert Beerbohm Tree, Sir James M. Barrie, Alfred
Sutro, Cyril Maude, H. B. Irving, Lawrence Irving, Louis N. Parker,
Anthony Hope, A. E. W. Mason, Seymour Hicks, Robert Marshall, W. Comyns
Carr, Weedon Grossmith, Gerald Du Maurier, Eric Lewis, Dion Boucicault,
A. E. Matthews, Arthur Bouchier, Cosmo Hamilton, Allan Aynesworth, R. C.
Carton, Sam Sothern, and C. Aubrey Smith.
* * *
Nothing gave Charles more satisfaction in England perhaps than his
encouragement of the British playwright. He inherited Pinero from his
brother Daniel, and remained his steadfast friend and producer until his
death. Pinero would not think of submitting a play to any other American
manager without giving Frohman the first call. In all the years of their
relations, during which Charles paid Pinero a large fortune, there was
not a sign of contract between them.
Frohman practically made Somerset Maugham in America. His first
association with this gifted young Englishman was typical of the man's
method of doing business. Maugham had written a play called "Mrs. Dot,"
in which Marie Tempest was to appear. Frederick Harrison, of the
Haymarket Theater, had an option on it, which had just expired. Another
manager wanted the play. Frohman heard of it, and asked to be allowed
to read it. Maugham then said:
"It must be decided to-night."
It was then dinner-time.
"Give me three hours," said Frohman.
At one o'clock in the morning he called up Maugham at his house and
accepted the play, which was probably the quickest reading and
acceptance on record in England.
Another experience with Maugham shows how Frohman really inspired plays.
He was riding on the train with the playwright when he suddenly said to
him:
"I want a new play from you."
"All right," said Maugham.
Frohman thought a moment, and suddenly flashed out:
"Why not rewrite 'The Taming of the Shrew' with a new background?"
"All right," said Maugham.
The result was Maugham's play "The Land of Promise," which was really
built around Frohman's idea.
Frohman produced all of Maugham's plays in America, and most of them
were great successes. He also did the great majority of them in England.
Maugham waxed so prosperous that he was able to buy a charming old
residence in Chesterfield Street which he remodeled in elaborate
fashion. On its completion his first dinner guest was Charles Frohman.
When Maugham sent him the invitation it read:
_Will you come and see the house that Frohman built?_
In the same way he developed men like Michael Morton. He would see a
French farce in the Paris theaters, and, although he could not
understand a word of French, he got the spirit and the meaning through
its action. He would buy the play, go to London with the manuscript, and
get Morton or Paul Potter to adapt it for American consumption.
* * *
Life in London to Charles Frohman was one series of adventures. Like
Harun-al-Rashid in the _Arabian Nights_, he delighted to wander about,
often with Barrie, sometimes with Lestocq, seeking out strange and
picturesque places in which to eat.
These adventures began in his earliest days in England. Here is a
characteristic experience:
One day Madeline Lucette Ryley, the playwright, came to see him in his
office in Henrietta Street. A battered old man was hanging around the
door.
"Did you see that man outside?" asked Frohman.
"Yes," said Mrs. Ryley. "Is he the bailiff?"
"Oh no," said Frohman, "he is a Maidenhead cabby." This is the story of
how he came there.
The day before Frohman had been down to Maidenhead alone for luncheon.
At the station he hailed a cabby who was driving a battered old fly.
"Where to, Governor?" asked the man.
"Number 5 Henrietta Street," said Frohman.
"No such place in Maidenhead," said the driver.
"Oh, I mean the place opposite Covent Garden in London."
The old cabby wasn't a bit flustered, but he said, "I will have to get a
new horse."
He changed horses and they made the long way to London, arriving there
considerably after nightfall. When Frohman asked for his bill the old
man said, with some hesitation:
"I'm afraid it will cost you five pounds."
"That's all right," said Frohman, and paid the bill.
To his great surprise, the cabby showed up next morning, saying: "I like
London. I think I'll stay here." It was with the greatest difficulty
that Frohman got rid of him. When the cabby finally started to go he
said:
"Well, Governor, if you want to go back to Maidenhead I'll do it for
half-price."
A short time after this incident Frohman, whose purse was none too full
then, asked some people to dine with him at the Hotel Cecil. By some
mistake he and his party were shown into a room that had been arranged
for a very elaborate dinner. Before he realized it the waiter began to
serve the meal. He soon knew that it was not the menu he had ordered,
and was costing twenty times more. But he was game and stuck to it. It
was midwinter, and when the fresh peaches came on he said to the woman
on his right:
"This will break me, I know, but we might as well have a good time."
Frohman almost invariably took one of his American friends to England
with him. It was usually Charles Dillingham, Paul Potter, or William
Gillette.
On one of Gillette's many trips with him Frohman got up an elaborate
supper for Mark Twain at the Savoy and invited a brilliant group of
celebrities, including all three of the Irvings, Beerbohm Tree, Chauncey
M. Depew, Sir Charles Wyndham, Haddon Chambers, Nat Goodwin, and Arthur
Bouchier. In his inconspicuous way, however, he made it appear that
Gillette was giving the supper.
Midnight arrived, and Twain had not shown up. It was before the days of
taxis, so Dillingham was sent after him in a hansom. After going to the
wrong address, he finally located the humorist in Chelsea. He found Mark
Twain sitting in his dressing-gown, smoking a Pittsburg stogie and
reading a book.
"Did you forget all about the supper?" asked Dillingham.
"No," was the drawling reply, "but I didn't know where the blamed thing
was. I had a notion that some one of you would come for me."
Mark Twain and Frohman were great friends. They were often together in
London. Their favorite diversion was to play "hearts."
The great humorist once drew a picture of Charles, and under it wrote:
_N. B. I cannot make a good mouth. Therefore leave it out. There is
enough without it, anyway. Done with the best ink.
M. T._
Underneath this inscription he wrote:
_To Charles Frohman, Master of Hearts._
Few things in England pleased Frohman more than to play a joke on
Gillette, for the author of "Secret Service," like his great friend,
relaxed when he was on the other side. When Frohman produced "Sue" in
England an amusing incident happened.
[Illustration: _OTIS SKINNER_]
Frohman had brought over Annie Russell and Ida Conquest for his piece.
The actresses were very much excited before the first night, and went
without dinner. After the play they were very hungry. On going to the
Savoy they encountered the English prohibition against serving women at
night when unaccompanied by men. After trying at several places they
went to their lodging in Langham Place almost famished.
In desperation they telephoned to Dillingham, who was playing "hearts"
at the Savoy with Frohman and Gillette. He hurriedly got some food
together in a basket, and with his two friends drove to where the young
women were staying. The house was dark; fruitless pulls at the door-bell
showed that it was broken. It was impossible to raise any one.
Dillingham knew that the actresses were occupying rooms on the second
floor front. He had five large English copper pennies in his pocket, and
so he started to throw them up to the window to attract their attention.
He threw four, and each fell short.
"This is the last copper," he said to Frohman. "If we can't reach the
girls with this they will have to go hungry."
Whereupon Frohman said: "Let Gillette throw it. He can make a penny go
further than any man in the world."
* * *
Such was Charles Frohman's English life. It was joyous, almost
rollicking, and pervaded with the spirit of adventure. Yet behind all
the humor was something deep, searching, and significant, because in
England, as in America, this man was a vital and constructive force, and
where he went, whether in laughter or in seriousness, he left his
impress.
XIII
A GALAXY OF STARS
The last decade of Charles Frohman's life was one of continuous
star-making linked with far-flung enterprise. He now had a chain of
theaters that reached from Boston by way of Chicago to Seattle; his
productions at home kept on apace; his prestige abroad widened.
Frohman had watched the development of Otis Skinner with great interest.
That fine and representative American actor had thrived under his own
management. Early in the season of 1905 he revived his first starring
vehicle, a costume play by Clyde Fitch, called "His Grace de Grammont."
It failed, however, and Skinner looked about for another piece. He heard
that Frohman, who had a corner on French plays for America, owned the
rights to Lavedan's play "The Duel," which had scored a big success in
Paris. He knew that the leading role ideally fitted his talent and
temperament.
Skinner went to Frohman and asked him if he could produce "The Duel" in
America.
"Why don't you do it under my management?" asked the manager.
"All right," replied the actor, "I will."
With these few remarks began the connection between Charles Frohman and
Otis Skinner.
It was during the closing years of Frohman's life that his genius for
singling out gifted young women for eminence found its largest
expression. Typical of them was Marie Doro, a Dresden-doll type of girl
who made her first stage appearance, as did Billie Burke and Elsie
Ferguson, in musical comedy.
Charles Frohman saw her in a play called "The Billionaire" at Daly's
Theater in New York, in which she sang and danced. He had an unerring
eye for beauty and talent. With her, as with others that he transported
from musical pieces to straight drama, he had an uncanny perception. He
engaged her and featured her in a slender little play called
"Friquette."
Miss Doro made such an impression on her first appearance that Frohman
now put her in "Clarice," written by William Gillette, in which he also
appeared. Her success swept her nearer to stardom, for she next appeared
in a Frohman production which, curiously enough, reflected one of
Frohman's sentimental moods.
For many years Mrs. G. H. Gilbert was a famous figure on the American
stage. She had been one of the "Big Four" of Augustin Daly's company for
many years, and remained with Daly until his death. She was the beloved
first old woman of the dramatic profession. When the Daly company
disbanded Mrs. Gilbert did not prepare to retire. She was hearty and
active.
Frohman realized what a warm place this grand old woman had in the
affection of theater-goers after all the years of faithful labor, so he
said to himself:
"Here is a wonderful old woman who has never been a star. She must have
this great experience before she dies."
He engaged Clyde Fitch to write a play called "Granny," in which Mrs.
Gilbert was starred. It made her very happy, and she literally died in
the part.
In the cast of "Granny" Miss Doro's youthful and exquisite beauty shone
anew. Her success with the press and the public was little short of
phenomenal. Charles now saw Miss Doro as star. He held youth, beauty,
and talent to be the great assets, and he seldom made a mistake. It was
no vanity that made him feel that if an artist pleased him she would
likewise please the public.
Frohman now starred Miss Doro in the stage adaptation of William J.
Locke's charming story, "The Morals of Marcus." She became one of his
pet protegees. With her, as with the other young women, he delighted to
nurse talent. He conducted their rehearsals with a view of developing
all their resources, and to show every facet of their temperaments.
Failure never daunted him so long as he had confidence in his ward. This
was especially the case with Miss Doro, who was unfortunate in a long
string of unsuccessful plays. Frohman's faith in her, however, was at
last justified, when she played _Dora_ in Sardou's great play,
"Diplomacy," with brilliant success a year in London and later in New
York.
* * *
With the exception of Maude Adams and Ann Murdock, no Frohman star had
so swift or spectacular a rise as Billie Burke. Her story is one of the
real romances of the Frohman star-making.
[Illustration: _MARIE DORO_]
Billie Burke was the daughter of a humble circus clown in America. From
him she probably inherited her mimetic gifts. At the beginning of her
career she had obscure parts in American musical pieces.
It was in London, however, that she first came under the observation of
Charles. She had graduated from the chorus to a part in Edna May's great
success, "The School Girl." She had a song called "Put Me in My Little
Canoe," which made a great hit. Frohman became so much interested that
he thought of sending Miss Burke to America in the piece. He transferred
the song to Miss May, which left Miss Burke with scarcely any
opportunity. Subsequently she was put in "The Belle of Mayfair," and
afterward replaced Miss May when she retired.
Louis N. Parker saw her in this piece and agreed with Frohman that the
girl had possibilities as a serious actress. She was cast for her first
dramatic part in "The Honorable George," the play he was then producing
in London.