"Twinkle, twinkle, little star,
How I wonder what you are."
--NURSERY RHYMES.
Three weeks after "The Lady of Lyons" episode Handy was once more in
harness and equipped for the stage. He had captured what is technically
known as "an angel" and was fairly well provided for another brief
campaign. His friend Smith was engaged to accompany him and to officiate
as general utility man in the broadest sense of the term. Fogg, who had
been instrumental in lassoing the "angel," was engaged to be leading man
of the new organization. An "angel" is one of those peculiar individuals
who have stage aspirations, with money to burn; is ambitious to act, or
try to, then fret a brief season behind the footlights, in nine cases
out of ten fails and is never heard of more. The "angel" is generally a
woman with a "friend." Her stock in trade to embark in an arduous
profession requiring talent, industry, patience, intelligence,
perseverance, and self-reliance consists chiefly in a good wardrobe,
cheek, self-assurance, vanity, and ready cash.
It is a well-known fact that the capital stock of an "angel" melts,
thaws, and resolves itself into disappointment after she has had a short
practical experience on the boards. The exacting demands of the
theatrical calling dims the luster that lured the deluded one recklessly
to enter the seemingly attractive circle, to appear as the make-believe
heroines of romance on the stage. A few weeks--perhaps not so long--at
one of the theatrical factories to be found in nearly all of the large
cities where _Juliets_ are prepared at short notice, _Camilles_
manufactured for immediate use, and actors in every department of the
calling are turned out by some superfluous veteran of the stage at so
much per lesson, generally in advance, fits the aspirant for a debut on
a starring tour. How many enterprises of this character have started
out, with thousands of dollars to back them, too, and returned to the
city with rudely dispelled hopes and empty purses, it is difficult to
estimate. Every season brings forth a fresh crop. The industry has grown
with the times, and the appetite for theatric fame has not in the least
diminished. The number of fallen "angels" scattered throughout the
country would cut a respectable figure in a statistical report.
It is only a few short years ago, in one of the leading theatres of the
country, a playhouse which was subsequently trampled out of existence by
the march of trade, that five _Juliets_ to one _Romeo_ made an afternoon
pitiful by the incongruity of the representation of one of the sweetest
plays of the immortal bard. Every act introduced a fresh _Juliet_, as if
to demonstrate the unfitness of each aspirant to present adequately even
the slightest phase of a character which requires the art of a
consummate artist to interpret properly.
Much has been said and written about the unworthiness of traveling
companies in the country towns. While much of this may be true, even in
the large cities as absurd exhibitions of acting may be witnessed as
anywhere else. No one knew this better than Handy. To give him his due,
he was usually careful in the selection of his companies. He never went
half-way to work about it. When he desired to organize a troupe he
endeavored to gather about him the best from his point of view.
"Indifferent and bumptious actors," said Handy to a friend, "are always
looking for what they call big money. Their seasons, therefore, are
short. They learn nothing from experience. They know it all. Yet they
will hang on the ragged edge of starvation for weeks rather than come
down in what they are pleased to name as their figures. A really good
actor has little difficulty in securing an engagement at a reasonable
salary. I know them, and they can't fool your uncle."
It must be admitted that Handy's experience in this line was somewhat
extensive. To go into the detail of advance work and rehearsals is
unnecessary. They may be left to the reader's imagination. They are,
therefore, passed over in order to get more quickly to the opening night
and the birth and death of a star.
"Camille" was the drama in which the "angel" decided to make her debut.
The aspiring amateur, if a woman, generally makes choice of "La Dame aux
Camellias." Why she does so, if not to bring to her aid a display of
rich and elaborate costumes, it is difficult to say. In making such
selection she unconsciously contrasts the possession of rich silk and
satin frocks, together with valuable jewels, with the poverty of her
histrionic resources.
The little town of Weston was the place selected as the scene of
operations. The advance man, or press agent, had played his part well.
"Camille" met the eye on every fence and blank wall in the place.
Dodgers literally floated in the air and the town was so adorned with
snipes that the uninitiated might reasonably conclude that paper costs
nothing and printers worked for fun. To Handy's indefatigable exertions
this was in a great measure due. Three nights he devoted to the work,
and actually painted Weston red with "Camille."
"If you want to have a thing done well," he exclaimed, "you must do it
yourself or see personally that it is done. There is no use in having
printing unless you get it up where the public can see it. Billposters
are peculiar people. They are in certain respects economical, and they
have their own peculiar ideas of saving. That perhaps is the reason why
you see so few posters stuck up for public edification and so many of
them stowed away somewhere on out-of-the-way shelves in bill-posters'
studios. They are queer fellows, these bill-posters. I've never been
able to understand them. I've been, in various capacities, with many
theatrical companies that were amply supplied with all kinds of printing
to start out with, but when I went about town where we played looking
for it I had to search pretty closely to find where it was pasted up. I
therefore, in this case, determined to pay personal attention to that
part of the business myself." This information or explanation was
imparted to _Camille_ through Fogg, by the way of a preliminary
endorsement of Handy's remarkable energy.
Fogg was enthusiastic in praise of the manager's clever publicity
display.
"I never saw a town so well billed in my life," said he, "and as you
know, Mr. Handy, I have had some experience in such matters. Don't you
agree with me, Miss De la Rue?" The last inquiry was addressed to the
"angel" star, who was standing by his side, apparently as nervous and
fidgety as if she was about to undergo an examination in a law court.
"Yes, indeed; I think the place is awfully well done," she replied,
rather timidly, "but I didn't notice as many of my lithos around as I
expected."
"What!" replied the manager in surprise. "Why, there ain't a saloon or
cigar shop that ain't got them up. I know, for I've been in all of 'em."
Handy spoke the truth. It is a fact that cigar shops and liquor stores
are the principal galleries in which the pictorial printing of
theatrical celebrities and theatrical combinations are placed on
exhibition. There is more money thrown away uselessly in such places, in
the way of expensive printing and lithographs, than managers seem to
realize. Even some of the shrewdest men in the business are not
altogether free from the weakness of adorning these establishments with
high-priced pictorial work. The practice at one time had at least the
merit of novelty, but since it has become a regular thing it has lost
much of its efficacy and ceased to be remunerative. But what is the use
of objecting? Stars would be nothing more than mere rushlights if the
highly colored lithos did not proclaim their prominence in the
theatrical firmament to those who are ever ready to pledge women in song
or story in the flowing bowl. Of course, in the interest of art.
"Do you think, Mr. Handy, that we shall have a good house?" inquired the
"angel," as she stood on the stage before the performance, in a highly
nervous, hesitating manner. "I should dislike to appear before a small
audience; it is so discouraging, you know, to an artist."
"A good house?" echoed the optimistic manager. "We'll turn 'em away, and
you can bank on it," he replied, with an air of confidence that
reassured the bird of paradise and brought a smile to her face.
"I'm so glad to hear you say so! But I'm ashamed to admit it. But to
you, of course, as my manager, I may confide and confess I feel awfully
nervous."
"Happy to hear you tell me so, miss. Remember one thing, that all them
as amounts to anything are taken that way on a first night. For
instance, take Sarah Bernhardt. Well, she's a holy terror on a first
night. There's Francis Wilson--well, it isn't safe to be near him when
he comes off the stage of a first night. Then there's Joe Murphy, the
great Irish comedian; when he plays a part, it is said, he becomes so
nervous that he goes about giving every member of his company a
ten-dollar bill. Sir Henry Irving was another of those so affected that
he wanted to make a speech to the audience after every act, and only for
the restraining influence of Bram Stoker, he would. Charley Wyndham, now
Sir Charles, makes himself believe he is an incarnation of David
Garrick. Nat Goodwin is that nervous of a first night that he wants to
play 'Macbeth' with Maude Adams as _Lady Macbeth_ the next time he
produces a new piece. All the result of nervousness, I assure you. I am
affected that way myself on every first performance I appear in. It is,
strange to say, the greatest evidence we have of the possession of that
gift of what is regarded as genius. That's what's the matter!"
"You really think so? Oh, it is so consoling to hear you say so! I feel
easier in my mind after you telling me and placing me on the same
footing with the great ones of our profession. I'll go and dress now."
The "angel" star hurried off to her dressing-room. Smith, from among the
manifold duties he was called upon to perform, had just returned from
the front of the house, where he had been looking after things, as he
himself put it. He approached Handy and in an enthusiastic manner
informed him he thought the capacity of the house would be tested.
"Oh, that won't surprise me," replied Handy. "Give me 'Camille' every
time for a country audience, providing the billing is all right.
'Camille' is old enough to be young."
"Do you think we're going to give a good show?"
"As to that, I'll speak to you later on. That's another proposition.
Now, then, get a move on you. Hurry up and dress, and above all things,
see that your props are all right."
Smith was property man as well as prompter--two important offices which
in any well-regulated theatrical company would require the services of
two men. In addition to these, he undertook to double a couple of the
minor parts. He was an old hand at the work, and doubling and trebling
did not in the slightest disturb him. He was not always as careful as he
should be in the matter of detail, and in several instances his attempts
at faking did not pan out as he originally planned them.