Wife," Frohman saw that here was Miss Burke's opportunity for America.
He secured her release from the Gattis, who controlled her English
appearances, and made her John Drew's leading woman. She met his
confidence by adapting herself to the role with great brilliancy and
effect. Indeed, with Miss Burke, Frohman introduced a distinct and
piquant reddish-blond type of beauty to the American stage. It became
known as the "Billie Burke type." Realizing this, Frohman was very
careful to adapt her personal appearance, humor, and temperament to her
plays. He literally had plays written about her peculiar gifts.
Miss Burke's great success in "My Wife" projected her into the Frohman
stellar heaven. She was launched as a star in "Love Watches," an
adaptation from the French, securely established herself in the favor
of theater-goers, and from that time on her appearance in a _chic_,
smart play became one of the distinct features of the annual Frohman
season. Her most distinguished success was with Pinero's play "Mind the
Paint Girl," in which Frohman was greatly interested.
Few of Frohman's "discoveries" justified his confidence with lovelier
success than Julia Sanderson. Her first public appearance on the stage
had been in vaudeville. When Frohman sought a comedienne with a certain
dainty, lady-like quality for the English musical play called "The
Dairymaids," which he produced at the Criterion in 1907, his attention
was called to this charming girl, then doing musical numbers in a New
York vaudeville theater. Frohman went to see her, and was fascinated by
her beauty and charm. He noted, most of all, a certain gentle quality in
her personality, and with his peculiar genius in adapting plays to
people and people to plays, she fairly bloomed under his persuasive and
sympathetic sponsorship.
Frohman now obtained "The Arcadians," in which Miss Sanderson was
featured. Of all the musical plays that he produced, this was perhaps
his favorite. He liked it so much that he told Miss Sanderson one day
during rehearsal:
"If the public does not like 'The Arcadians,' then I am finished with
light opera."
"The Arcadians," however, proved to be a gratifying success, and
Frohman's confidence was vindicated. Frohman was undergoing his long and
almost fatal illness at the Knickerbocker Hotel when "The Arcadians" was
being rehearsed. He was so fond of the music that whenever possible the
rehearsals in which Miss Sanderson sang were conducted in his rooms at
the hotel. He always said that he could see the whole performance in
her singing. In rehearsing her he always seemed to well-nigh break her
heart, but it was his way, as he afterward admitted, of provoking her
emotional temperament.
[Illustration: _JULIA SANDERSON_]
He next gave her a strong part in "The Siren," and subsequently made her
a co-star with Donald Brian in "The Sunshine Girl," which brought out to
the fullest advantage, so far, her exquisite and alluring qualities.
* * *
The last star to twinkle into life under the Frohman wand was Ann
Murdock. Here is presented an extraordinary example of the way that
Charles literally "made" stars, for seldom, if ever, before has a young
actress been so quickly raised from obscurity to eminence. Almost
overnight he lifted her into fame.
Miss Murdock, who was born in New York, and had spent her childhood in
Port Washington, Long Island, was not a stage-struck girl. She went on
the stage because she made up her mind that she wanted more nice frocks
than she was having. She rode over to New York one day and went to Henry
B. Harris's office to get a position. As she sat waiting among a score
of applicants, Harris came out. He was so much taken with her striking
Titian beauty and unaffected girlish charm that he immediately asked her
to come in ahead of the rest, and gave her a small part in one of "The
Lion and the Mouse" road companies. When Harris saw her act he took her
out of the cast and put her in a new production that he was making in
New York.
At the end of the season she wanted to get under Charles Frohman's
management, so she went to the Empire Theater to try her luck. There she
met William Gillette, who was making one of his numerous revivals of
"Secret Service." The moment he saw this fresh, appealing young girl he
immediately cast her in his mind for the part of the young Southern
girl. After he had talked with her, however, he said:
"I think it would be best if I wrote a part for you. I am now working on
a play, and I think you had better go in that."
Miss Murdock now appeared in Gillette's new play, "Electricity," in
which Marie Doro was starred. Charles Frohman saw her at the opening
rehearsal for the first time.
"Electricity" was a failure. Instead of following up her connection with
the Frohman office, she went to the cast of "A Pair of Sixes," in which
she played for a whole season on Broadway, displaying qualities which
brought her conspicuously before the public and to the notice of the man
who was to do so much for her.
One night Charles stopped in to see this farce. He had never forgotten
the lovely young girl who had played in "Electricity." The next day he
sent for Miss Murdock, offered her an engagement, and made another of
those simple arrangements, for he said to her:
"You are with me for life."
This was Frohman's way of telling an actor or actress that, without the
formality of a contract, they were to look to him each season for
employment and that they need not worry about engagements.
From this time on Frohman took an earnest interest in Miss Murdock's
career. He saw in her, as he had seen in only a few of his women stars,
an immense opportunity to create a new and distinct type.
[Illustration: _ANN MURDOCK_]
Just about this time he became very much interested in the English
adaptation of a French play which he called "The Beautiful Adventure,"
which was, curiously enough, one of the plays uppermost in his mind on
the day he went to his death.
He now did a daring but characteristic Frohman thing. He believed
implicitly in Miss Murdock's talents; he felt that the part of the
ingenuous young girl in this play was ideally suited to her pleading
personality, so, in conjunction with Mrs. Thomas Whiffen and Charles
Cherry, he featured her in the cast. Miss Murdock's characterization
amply justified Frohman's confidence, but the play failed in New York
and on the road. He wrote to Miss Murdock:
_I am afraid our little play is too gentle for the West. Come back.
I have something else for you._
He now put Miss Murdock into Porter Emerson Browne's play "A Girl of
To-day," which had its first presentation in Washington. Frohman, Miss
Murdock, and her mother were riding from the station in Washington to
the Shoreham Hotel. As they passed the New National Theater, where the
young actress was to appear, Miss Murdock suddenly looked out of the cab
and saw the following inscription in big type on the bill:
_Charles Frohman presents Ann Murdock in "A Girl of To-day."_
It was the first intimation that she had been made a star, and she burst
into tears. In this episode Frohman had repeated what he had done in the
case of Ethel Barrymore ten years before.
Frohman had predicted great things for Miss Murdock, for at the time of
his death there was no doubt of the fact that she was destined, in his
mind, for a very remarkable career.
* * *
But those last years of Frohman's life were not confined exclusively to
the pleasant and grateful task of making lovely women stars. The men
also had a chance, as the case of Donald Brian shows. Frohman had been
much impressed with his success in "The Merry Widow," so he put him
under his management and starred him in "The Dollar Princess," which was
the first of a series of Brian successes.
Frohman saw that Brian had youth, charm, and pleasing appearance. He was
an unusually good singer and an expert dancer. He was equipped to give
distinction to the musical play Frohman wanted to present. He had
watched the interest of his audiences, and saw that young Brian was a
distinct favorite with women as well as men, and his success as star
justified all these plans.
While Frohman was making new stars, older ones came under his control in
swift succession, among them Madame Nazimova, William Courtnay, James K.
Hackett, Kyrle Bellew, Mrs. Fiske, Charles Cherry, John Mason, Martha
Hedman, Alexandra Carlisle, William Courtleigh, Nat Goodwin, Blanche
Bates, Hattie Williams, Gertrude Elliott, Constance Collier, Richard
Carle, and Cyril Maude.
Frohman now reached the very apex of his career. At one time he had
twenty-eight stars under his management; and in addition fully as many
more companies bore his name throughout the country. To be a Frohman
star was the acme of stage ambition, for it not only meant professional
distinction, but equitable and honorable treatment.
* * *
The year 1915 dawned with fateful significance for Charles Frohman. With
its advent began a chain of happenings that, in the light of later
events, seemed almost prophetic of the fatal hour which was now closing
in.
Perhaps the most picturesque and significant of these events was the
reconciliation with his old friend David Belasco. Twelve years before,
through an apparently trivial thing, a breach had developed between
these two men whose fortunes had been so intimately entwined. They had
launched their careers in New York together; the old Madison Square
Theater had housed their first theatrical ambition; they had kept pace
on the road to fame; their joint productions had been features of the
New York stage. Yet for twelve years they had not spoken.
Frohman became ill, and lay stricken at the Knickerbocker Hotel. That he
had thought much of his old comrade, so long estranged, was evident. A
remarkable coincidence resulted. It was like an act in any one of the
many plays they had produced.
One afternoon Belasco, who had heard of the serious plight of Frohman,
sat in his studio on the top floor of the Belasco Theater. There, amid
his Old World curios, he pondered over the past.
"'C. F.' is lying ill at the Knickerbocker," he said to himself. "He may
die. I must see him. This quarrel of ours is a great mistake."
He started to write a note to his old friend, when the telephone-bell
rang. It was his business manager, Benjamin Roeder, who said:
"I have just had a telephone message from Charles Frohman. He wants to
see you."
When Belasco told Roeder that he was just in the act of writing to
Frohman to tell him that he wanted to see him, both men were amazed at
the coincidence.
That night, when the few friends who gathered each evening at Frohman's
bedside had gone, Belasco entered the sick-room at the Knickerbocker.
Frohman was so weak that he could hardly raise his hand. Belasco went to
him, took his right hand in both of his, and the old comrades put
together again the thread of their friendship just where it had been
broken twelve years before.
They talked over the old days. Frohman, whose mind was always on the
theater, suddenly said:
"Let's do a play together, David."
"All right," said Belasco.
"You name the play. I will get the cast, and we will rehearse it
together," added Frohman.
Out of this reconciliation came the magnificent revival of "A Celebrated
Case," by D'Ennery and Cormon. The cast included Nat Goodwin, Otis
Skinner, Ann Murdock, Helen Ware, Florence Reed, and Robert Warwick. On
Frohman's recovery he undertook the rehearsals. Belasco came in at the
end, but he had little to do.
[Illustration: COPYRIGHT BY UNDERWOOD & UNDERWOOD
_CHARLES FROHMAN and DAVID BELASCO_
_A photograph taken in Boston April 3, 1915, just after the two had
renewed their partnership, ending a separation of twenty years._]
Frohman and Belasco not only resumed their joint production of plays,
but they resumed part of their old life together. Now began again their
favorite diet of pumpkin and meringue pie and tea after the day's work
was done. Night after night they met after the theater, just as they had
done in the old Madison Square days when they went to O'Neil's, on Sixth
Avenue, for their frugal repast, dreaming and planning their futures.
Now each man had become a great personage. Frohman was the amusement
dictator of two worlds; Belasco, the acknowledged stage wizard of his
time.
After a week in Boston the all-star cast in "A Celebrated Case" opened
at the Empire Theater in New York. History repeated itself. Frohman and
Belasco sat in the same place in the wings where they sat twenty-two
years before at the launching of "The Girl I Left Behind Me," which
dedicated the Empire. Now, as then, there were tumultuous calls for the
producers. Again David tried to induce Charles to go out, but he said:
"No, you go, David, and speak for me. Stand where you did twenty-two
years ago."
In 1915, as in 1893, Belasco went out and spoke Frohman's thanks and his
own.
The revival of "A Celebrated Case" not only brought Frohman and Belasco
together, but led to an agreement between them to do a production
together every year.
* * *
There was a tragic hint of the fate which was shaping Charles Frohman's
end in his last production on any stage. It was a war play called "The
Hyphen," by Justus Miles Forman, the novelist. The scenes were laid in
Pennsylvania, and the story dealt with the various attempts to unsettle
the loyalty of German-Americans through secret agencies. The whole
problem of the hyphenated citizen, which had complicated the American
position in the great war, was set forth.
Even in his unconscious stage farewell, Charles was the pioneer, because
the acceptance of "The Hyphen" and the prompt organization of the
company established a new record in play-producing. Up to a certain
Saturday morning Charles Frohman had never heard of the play. That
afternoon the manuscript was put into his hands and he read it. A
messenger was sent off post-haste to find the author. In the mean time,
Frohman engaged W. H. Thompson, Gail Kane, and a notable group of
players for the cast, and gave orders for the construction of the
scenery. Late that afternoon Mr. Forman called on Charles, whom he had
never met. Without any further ado the manager said to the
playwright-author:
"I am going to produce your play. We have nothing to discuss. A manager
often discusses at great length the play that he does not intend to
produce. Therefore all that I have to tell you is that your play is
accepted. I have already engaged the chief actors needed, and the
scenery was ordered two hours ago. I am glad to produce a play on this
timely subject, but I am especially glad that it is an American who
wrote it."
Charles was greatly interested in "The Hyphen." It was American to the
core; it flouted treachery to the country of adoption; it appealed to
his big sense of patriotism. He felt, with all the large enthusiasm of
his nature, that he was doing a distinct national service in producing
the piece. He personally supervised every rehearsal. He talked glowingly
to his friends about it. At fifty-five he displayed the same bubbling
optimism with regard to it that he had shown about his first independent
venture.
Now began the last of the chain of dramatic events which ended in death.
As soon as "The Hyphen" was announced, Frohman began to get threatening
letters warning him that it would be a mistake to produce so sensational
a play in the midst of such an acute international situation.
Pro-Germans of incendiary tendency especially resented it. To all these
intimations Frohman merely shrugged his shoulders and smiled. It made
him all the more determined.
"The Hyphen" was produced April 19th at the Knickerbocker Theater before
a hostile audience. Unpatriotic pro-Germans had packed the theater.
During the progress of the play the dynamite explosions in the Broadway
subway construction outside were misinterpreted for bombs, and there was
suppressed excitement throughout the whole performance.
The play was a failure. Yet Frohman's confidence in it was unimpaired.
He went to see it nearly every night of its short life in New York. He
even sent it to Boston for a second verdict, but Boston agreed with New
York. Like every production that bore the Charles Frohman stamp, he gave
it every chance. Reluctantly he ordered up the notice to close.
Frohman became greatly attached to Forman. With his usual generosity he
invited the author to accompany him on his approaching trip to England.
"I want you to come with me and meet Barrie and know some of my other
English friends," Charles said, little dreaming that the invitation to a
holiday was the beckoning hand of death to both.
XIV
STAR-MAKING AND AUDIENCES
During all these busy years Frohman had reigned supreme as king of
star-makers. Under his persuasive sponsorship more men and women rose to
stellar eminence than with all his fellow-managers combined. It was the
very instinct of his life to develop talent, and it gave him an
extraordinary satisfaction to see the artist emerge from the background
into fame.
His attitude in the matter of star-making was never better expressed
than in one of his many playful moods with the pencil. Like Caruso, he
was a caricaturist. Few things gave him more delight than to make a
hasty sketch of one of his friends on any scrap of paper that lay near
at hand. He usually made these sketches just as he wrote most of his
personal letters, with a heavy blue pencil.
On one occasion he was talking with Pauline Chase about making stars. A
smile suddenly burst over his face; he seized pencil and paper and made
a sketch of himself walking along at night and pointing to the moon with
his stick. Under the picture he wrote, as if addressing the moon:
_Watch out, or I'll make a star out of you._
Once he said to Billie Burke, in discussing this familiar star
subject:
"A star has a unique value in a play. It concentrates interest. In some
respects a play is like a dinner. To be a success, no matter how
splendidly served, the menu should always have one unique and striking
dish that, despite its elaborate gastronomic surroundings, must long be
remembered. This is one reason why you need a star in a play."
[Illustration: _MARIE TEMPEST_]
[Illustration: _MME. NAZIMOVA_]
Despite the fact, as the case of Ann Murdock shows, that Charles could
literally lift a girl from the ranks almost overnight, he generally
regarded the approach to stardom as a difficult and hard-won path. Just
before the great European war, he made this comment to a well-known
English journalist, who asked him how he made stars:
"Each of my stars has earned his or her position through honest
advancement. If the President of the United States wants to reward a
soldier he says to him, 'I will make you a general.' By the same process
I say to an actor, 'I will make you a star.'
"All the stars under my management owe their eminence to their own
ability and industry, and also to the fact that the American is an
individual-loving public. In America we regard the workman first and the
work second. Our imaginations are fired not nearly so much by great
deeds as by great doers. There are stars in every walk of American life.
It has always been so with democracies. Caesar, Cicero, and the rest were
public stars when Rome was at her best, just as in our day Roosevelt and
others shine.
"Far from fostering it, the star system as such has simply meant for me
that when one of my stars finishes with a play, that play goes
permanently on the shelf, no one ever hoping to muster together an
audience for it without the original actor or actress in the star part.
"Vital acting in plays of consequence is the foundation of theatrical
success. You have only to enumerate the plays to realize the drain even
one management can make upon what is, after all, a limited supply of
capable leading actors. This is because the American stage is short of
leaders. There is a world of actors, but too few leading actors."
"What do you mean by leading actor?" he was asked.
"I mean that if in casting a play you can find an actor who looks the
part you have in mind for him, be thankful; if you can find an actor who
can act the part, be very thankful; and if you can find an actor who can
look and act the part, _get down on your knees and thank God!_"
Frohman had a very definite idea about star material. He was once
talking with a well-known American publisher who mentioned that a
certain very rich woman had announced her determination to go on the
stage. The manager made one of his quick and impatient gestures, and
said:
"She will never do."
"Why?" asked his friend.
"Because," replied Frohman, "in all my experience with the making of
stars I have seldom known of a very rich girl who made a finished
success on the stage. The reason is that the daughters of the rich are
taught to repress their emotions. In other words, they don't seem to be
able to let go their feelings. Give me the common clay, the kind that
has suffered and even hungered. It makes the best star material."
There is no doubt that Frohman liked to "make" careers. He wanted to
see people develop under his direction. To indulge in this diversion was
often a very costly thing, as this incident shows:
Chauncey Olcott, who had been associated with him in his minstrel days,
and become one of the most profitable stars in the country, once sent a
message to Frohman saying that he would like to come under his
management. To the intermediary Olcott said:
"Tell Mr. Frohman that I make one hundred thousand dollars a year. He
can name his own percentage of this income."
Frohman sent back this message:
"I greatly appreciate the offer, but I don't care to manage Olcott. He
is _made_. I like to _make_ stars."
One reason that lay behind Frohman's success as star-maker was the fact
that he wove a great deal of himself into the character of the stars. In
other words, the personal element counted a great deal. When somebody
once remonstrated with him about giving up so much of his valuable time
to what seemed to be inconsequential talks with his women stars, he
said:
"It is not a waste of time. I have often helped those young women to
take a brighter view of things, and it makes me feel that I am not just
their manager, but their friend."
Indeed, as Barrie so well put it, he regarded his women stars as his
children. If they were playing in New York they were expected to call on
him and talk personalities three or four times a week. On the road they
sent him daily telegrams; these were placed on his desk every morning,
and were dealt with in person before any other business of the day. He
had the names of his stars printed in large type on his business
envelopes. These were so placed on his table that as he sat and wrote
or talked he could see their names ranked before him.
When his women stars played in New York he always tried to visit them at
night at the theater before the curtain went up. He always said of this
that it was like seeing his birds tucked safely in their nests. Then he
would go back to his office or his rooms and read manuscripts until
late.
One phase of Charles's great success in life was revealed in this
attitude toward his women stars. He succeeded because he mixed sentiment
with business. He was not all sentiment and he was not all business, but
he was an extraordinarily happy blend of each of these qualities, and
they endeared him to the people who worked for him.
The attitude of the great star toward Frohman is best explained perhaps
by Sir Henry Irving. Once, when the time came for his usual American
tour, he said to his long-time manager, Bram Stoker, who was about to
start for New York:
"When you get to America just tell Frohman--you need not bother to write
him--that I want to come under his management. He always understands. He
is always so fair."
One detail will illustrate Frohman's feeling about stars, and it is
this: He never wanted them, male or female, to make themselves
conspicuous or to do commonplace things. He was sensitive about what
they said or did. For example, he did not like to see John Drew walk up
and down Broadway. He spent a fortune sheltering Maude Adams from all
kinds of intrusion. With her especially he exhausted every resource to
keep her aloof and secluded. He preferred that she be known through her
work and not through her personal self. It was so with himself.
Frohman was one of the most generous-minded of men in his feeling about
his co-workers. On one occasion when he was rehearsing "The Dictator,"
William Collier suggested a whole new scene. The next night Frohman took
a friend to see it. Afterward, accompanied by his guest, he went back on
the stage to congratulate his star. He slapped Collier on the back and,
turning to his companion, said: