EDNA MAY
A pretty face and a gentle, winning personality brought Edna May into
prominence in the most dramatic fashion. Edna May Petty, the daughter of
E. C. Petty, a letter-carrier in Syracuse, New York, lovely to look upon
and demure in manner, had some talent for singing, but more for dancing,
when her parents yielded to her entreaties and said that she might go to
New York to study for the stage. She was only sixteen years old. Hardly
had she settled down to her singing and dancing lessons, however, when
along came Fred Titus, at that time the holder of the hour bicycle
record and one of the most prominent racing men in the country. They
were married, but Edna May remained just as determined as ever to go on
the stage. Her ambitions were forced for a time to be satisfied with
occasional opportunities to substitute in church choirs. Her name first
appeared on a playbill when "Santa Maria" was produced at Hammerstein's
in New York, but the part was so small as to be practically
non-existent. Then she was engaged for White's Farcical Comedy Company
and appeared in Charles H. Hoyt's "A Contented Woman."
At this point there is a dispute as regards Miss May's next move, or at
least there was a dispute until manager and star patched up their
difficulties. George W. Lederer was wont to claim that Edna May joined
the chorus of his prospective "The Belle of New York" company. At the
last moment, the woman whom he had engaged for leading part disappointed
him. He had to do something quickly, and he cast about in his own chorus
for a girl who might fill the part for a night or two until he could
find someone to take it permanently. His discerning eye fell on the
plaintive prettiness of Edna May. "She'll look the part, anyhow," he
declared. So in this haphazard fashion, Violet Grey, the Salvation Army
lassie, was passed over to her, and, presto! her fortune was made.
"But it was not that way at all," pouted the gentle Miss May, after she
had signed a contract to leave Mr. Lederer and return to London under
some one else's care. "I never was in Mr. Lederer's chorus. I went to
Mr. Lederer after I had been playing a small part in the 'Contented
Woman' company. I begged him to put my name down for something even if
it were ever and ever so little, and he gave me the part of Violet Grey
in 'The Belle.'"
At this time, also,--this period devoted by Miss May to the signing of
the contracts, which never amounted to anything, after all,--a second
dispute arose regarding Miss May's indebtedness to Mr. Lederer for her
success in "The Belle." Mr. Lederer announced to a deeply impressed
public that he had trained Miss May with the most extraordinary
attention to detail. He had made her walk chalk-lines on the stage, and
had written on the music-score minute directions regarding gestures,
even indicating the exact point where she was captivatingly to cast down
her eyes.
"No, no, no," declared Miss May. "All that is very unkind and very
untrue. He did not teach me all or nearly all I know about my art, and
he did not have to write out gestures and full directions for my conduct
on the stage. Not one word of this sort of thing was written in the
score. Mr. Lederer rehearsed me, it is true, but not as if he were
rehearsing a performing seal. He gave me an opportunity, and for that I
am very grateful. But that is all he did. I am not such a fool as Mr.
Lederer is always pretending to think me."
However, regarding Miss May's extraordinary popular success in "The
Belle of New York" in this country, and more especially in London, there
can be no dispute. That is a fact discernible without opera glasses. It
was, however, almost wholly a triumph of personality. Violet Grey is
what actors call a "fat" part. The Salvation Army lassie, a quaint,
subdued, almost pathetic figure, thrown in the midst of the contrasting
hurly-burly and theatrical exaggerations of a typical musical farce,
appeals irresistibly to the spectator's sympathy. She touches deftly the
sentiments, for in her modest way she is a bit of real life, a touch of
human nature, in surroundings where the men and women of every-day life
are complete strangers.
But Violet Grey is not a role to be acted. It is not, in the strictest
sense, a dramatic character at all, merely a picture from life, set
forth without comment and without exposition. One sees all that there is
to see, the instant Violet Grey appears on the scene; he recognizes at
once her reality and her fidelity to nature, and he falls a victim to
her charm without further ado. The actress cast for this part must in a
sense live it. She must, as Mr. Lederer said, "look the part;" she must
suggest at a glance, modesty, demureness, quaintness, spirituality, and
idealism. Coquetry, any notion of archness or frivolity, must be
rigorously banished. There her responsibility practically ends, for
folded hands, cast-down eyes, and the ability to sing a little do the
rest.
Success in such a part as Violet Grey affords not the slightest test of
artistic ability, and Edna May's artistic future is still a matter of
doubt. She has appeared in only one operetta aside from "The
Belle,"--"An American Beauty," brought out in London by an American
company in April, 1900.
The remarkable feature of Miss May's career was the furore that she
created in London, where, due as much to her personal popularity as to
any other one thing, "The Belle of New York" ran for eighty-five weeks.
It was wonderful, when one thinks of it, that sweet simplicity could do
so much. Of course, when Miss May returned to this country in January,
1900, she had many pleasant remarks to make about the Londoners.
Speaking of the opening night, she said:
"I played the part during the long run in the United States, so I was
very used to it, and there was nothing out of the ordinary about the
first night in London, until the sensation caused by their tremendous
applause came to me. There is nothing like it, nothing that approaches
it. It is quite the most delicious sensation on earth. I don't expect
ever to feel it again quite as I did that night. It's like the first
kiss, you know, or the first anything. After that it's only repetition.
"Success was particularly sweet to me at that time, but it was something
of a shock. I wasn't looking for such a reception. They not only
applauded, they shouted and deluged me with flowers. The next day I
found myself talked about everywhere. I had done nothing but be natural,
and do my best, yet they praised my talent. They kept my rooms
flower-laden; they sent me rich gifts, and what was more,--oh, a great
deal more,--they held out to me the hand of friendship, men and women
alike, and made me one of them.
"There is one of the most marked differences between London and New
York. Here a girl who enters the profession is ostracized; there it is
considered an added charm. Here if a girl of any social position chooses
a stage career, it must be at a great personal sacrifice. There,
whatever social prestige she may have will be an aid to her in her
professional ambitions. One of the greatest helps to me in London was
the way the genuine people of the aristocracy opened their doors to me,
and made me welcome in their lives and homes. For my own part, I did not
know that it was possible for so much happiness to come to a single life
as I have realized during the past two years abroad."