player, his wealth, position and social standing. I put him in
comparison with the actors of other days carefully!
And I am convinced we have retrograded, so far as the serious and
tragic are concerned. Also we have materially advanced in comedy and
specialty work. The legitimate comedian of to-day I consider far in
advance of his elder brother. He is cleaner, more human, of lighter
touch and more subtle.
[Illustration: THOSE WERE THE HAPPY DAYS]
We have advanced more rapidly from even my time than we did from the
'30's to the '70's. From the days of William E. Burton and the Owens
and Jefferson era the advance has been most pronounced. Dialogue
and stage business which were in vogue even as late as 1880 would not
be tolerated now. They were not as particular regarding comedy as they
were in the serious drama. The licentious portions of Shakespeare's
plays were eliminated after (but long after!) the Elizabethan era.
No doubt the serious dramatist and actor took their cues from that
procedure and the result was clean and dignified performances. But
comedy suffered.
I am sure a play like "The Easiest Way" would never have gone beyond
the dress rehearsal, as much as they admired the serious drama.
The serious actor always held sway. He was the axle upon which the
wheels of the theatre were put in motion. Consequently the goal of
acting of the aspiring Alexanders was the realm of tragedy and the
market was overrun. The result--a Garrick, a George Frederick Cooke,
two Keans, a Macready, a Forrest, three Booths, a Gustavus Brooke,
an Edwin Adams, a Davenport, a McCullough, an Irving, a Possart, a
Salvini, a Phelps, a Rossi! And the words of William Shakespeare came
down the years until comedy, properly portrayed, came gaily alongside
the statelier craft and with laughter sank the ship of tears, leaving
only one survivor--ROBERT MANTELL!
(And, really, with all the respect that I have for Robert's miraculous
art I must give my youth the benefit of the doubt and award the victory
to those departed gentlemen who for one hundred and fifty years piloted
the works of the immortal bard towards the shores of prosperity!)
If they failed to receive the compensation that is now conferred upon
their comic (and comical) brothers they have at least the satisfaction
of knowing that they brought their art up to the standard of the
greatest.
Now this question arises: Has the comic (and comical) brother kept
faith with his dead sponsor while he has leaped over the form of his
serious predecessor? Has he maintained the dignity of the drama? He
will answer, "Of course! We are living in the era of progression.
Comedy is a success! All the world is laughing! Success! Success! We
are superior to those who have gone before! We make the world laugh!"
And the judicious grieve!
But Time looks sadly down upon the merry makers and the measured swing
of the pendulum of thought and argument questions, "How long will it
last?"
I wonder!
_Chapter XXII_
MAUDE ADAMS
How fitting that it should have been Maude Adams to create the title
rôle in "Peter Pan!" For, truly, here is the living personification
of the human who will never "grow up." Because this is so I have no
hesitancy in setting down here the fact that the first time I saw Miss
Adams play a part was in 1887!
It was previous to my production of "The Nominee" while I was looking
about for an adequate cast that I chanced to meet Charlie Hoyt one day.
He was then successfully producing a new line of farce comedies and
he asked me to witness the first production of one of his plays, "A
Midnight Bell." In the cast were Isabel Coe, who afterwards became Mrs.
Frank McKee, Paul Arthur and Maude Adams. With the exception of Paul
Arthur no one in the cast was particularly notable.
Those three players appealed to me and I endeavored to secure their
services, first ascertaining how long they were contracted for with
Hoyt. I succeeded in procuring contracts with Miss Coe and Arthur, but
failed in my endeavors to secure Miss Adams as she insisted upon her
mother accompanying her. As Estelle Mortimer was engaged for the rôles
of old women in my company I could not see my way clear and much to my
regret I was forced to resign Miss Adams to other managers.
Arthur and Miss Coe appeared with me in "The Gold Mine," a play of
which I had the splendid fortune to get control on the death of Johnny
Raymond, who produced it originally. Arthur is now spending his time
racing in England, playing bridge and now and then appearing in light
comedy rôles in London. I have always considered Paul a most agreeable
player. Miss Coe has long since retired, Maude Adams still continues
making history for herself and is to-day, as we all know, the most
conspicuous actress in America, drawing the largest receipts of any
actress in the world.
What a splendid little artist she is!
"You are missing the sweetest thing on earth--romance," said Maude
Adams in Barrie's play "What Every Woman Knows."
With what significance did those lines strike me while watching that
clever little woman one afternoon. The house was packed, women were
weeping and laughing with her. At the fall of every curtain it was
raised and raised again. The little artist would bow demurely, coyly
acknowledge the compliments bestowed upon her work and then shuffle to
her dressing-room. I found her there during one of the intermissions
and chatted a few moments with her.
Eight years before we had met in Switzerland. While her figure and
manner had changed but little I could not help but notice the sharpness
of feature which the eight years had chiseled upon her face. The
promissory note demanded by eight years of success must be liquidated
and the principal paid. The law of compensation must be obeyed. The
little furrows on her tiny face were accentuated by the lustre of her
large, blue-gray eyes that looked into yours as though they could
penetrate into the recesses of your very soul.
When she talked it was with a little jerky delivery that plainly showed
she had herself under perfect control and knew whereof she spoke. The
secluded life she leads, I am told, has given her much time to devote
to her art and study of the masters. One must do something besides act
when not appearing in repertoire. The intelligence expressed in her
work plainly indicates the thought she has bestowed upon it.
I consider Maude Adams one of the best English speaking actresses
on the stage to-day. She has an appealing, modulated voice, is easy
of carriage, graceful, has the power of expressing deep emotion
and any quantity of comic power, combined with nice repose. These
qualifications make an actress.
Miss Adams has enthralled the public of the United States; her name is
a household word; she stands for all that represents true and virtuous
womanhood; at the zenith of her fame she has woven her own mantle and
placed it about the pedestal upon which she stands, alone. And yet as
I looked into those fawn-like eyes I wondered! With all her powers,
envied by the many, rich in worldly goods--did those searching liquid
orbs denote complete happiness? I felt like taking those tiny little
artistic hands in mine and saying, "Little woman, I fear you are
unconsciously missing the sweetest thing in life--ROMANCE."
Would she exchange one for the other?
I wonder!
_January, 1911_
What a commentary on the existing commercialism of our stage is the
present performance of "Chantecler" at the Knickerbocker Theatre, New
York! What a farce is the selection of the dainty, clever Maude Adams
as the scapegoat for the anticipated failure that is certain to ensue!
There is no gainsaying the fact that after the novelty of the
production wore off "Chantecler" failed in Paris. London, after viewing
it, said "Not for mine!"
Coquelin spoke of the play to me twelve years ago. Think of it! The
play was in embryo then and Rostand selected Coquelin to create the
rôle later played by Maude Adams!
After Coquelin's death Guitry, that sterling French player, created
the character. Notwithstanding even his tremendous abilities, Rostand
and the critics discovered that he was not the man for the part. The
underlying meaning of the part was sacrificed. Bombastic display
usurped the subtle humor intended by the author. Cynical humor was
stifled by the declamatory Guitry.
But waiving all criticism of Guitry, by what power of monstrous
reasoning could any manager select Maude Adams to play a rôle acted by
Guitry and written for Coquelin?
When London put "Chantecler" in the discard our own astute Charles
Frohman--of whom I am very fond (and I assure my readers that I am not
censuring him for he is quite right from his point of view) and who had
an option on the play--realized he must produce it or incur the enmity
of the entire French family of authors. He was bound to produce that
play, submit to the exorbitant terms demanded by the author and make
a production equal to the one in Paris or the Parisian theatre doors
would be closed against him. He agreed to their demands, knowing that
he was up against it and sure to come out a big loser. He doubtless
ruminated, "I must produce it; but how?"
He was thoroughly assured that no man in America could play the part!
[Illustration: COQUELIN
_Would he have gone in vaudeville? I wonder_]
Then it was that this manager, after being drugged with the artistic
incense of the Parisian stage, became suddenly inspired to Grape-Nut
his property before the American public, Pear's Soap his Chantecler
upon the cleanly critics, Mellin's Food the baby managers and put
his one best bet down on Maude Adams, whose name is as familiar as
any of these articles! Was this fair to her? Was this fair to the
public, to the author, to anyone? Of course not? Why be fair with
anything or anybody? If you do, you're sure to be found out and the
world will write you down an ass! No! Go on with the good work; don't
stop, nor even hesitate! Everybody's rich! The dramatic merchants own
all the moving picture shows, musical comedies, burlesques. They are
spending their profits in automobiles! They are bedecked in sables!
Commercialism is running amuck while the artistic foreigner cynically
observes and stands amazed!
But fear not, gentle censors, the worst is yet to come! Maggie Cline
is contemplating an appearance in "Hamlet" and Elsie Janis may yet be
permitted to show us the humor of Dogberry!
Why not?
If the commercial gentlemen who wield the sceptre do but command
submission what does it signify who pays the price of admission?
_Chapter XXIII_
TYRONE POWER
Gee! What a bully actor Tyrone Power is!
_Chapter XXIV_
AN ARTISTIC SUCCESS!
Just before producing "The Nominee" and "The Gold Mine" I made the
acquaintance of a very fine fellow, James Piggott, a member of
Mrs. Langtry's travelling company, who had adopted the stage as a
livelihood, after having lost a fortune through the failure of a bank
in Manchester, England.
Jimmie, as his friends were pleased to call him, was the
personification of an English gentleman, always faultlessly dressed,
gloved and caned at all hours. He would appear at the breakfast table
in an immaculate get-up, including gloves, even in the dim recesses
of one-night stands. He always gave the impression that he had slept
in them. He had always a kind word and a smile even under such trying
conditions as travelling in support of "The Jersey Lily" through the
one-night stands of the country.
It was at this time we met. He was most unhappy. He had written a play
which the managers to whom he had submitted it had failed to pass upon
favorably. He read it to me and it appealed to me very much. I agreed
to produce it and put it on for one week at Hooley's Theatre, Chicago,
where it met with some degree of success. It had vivid local color,
the story being English, the scene laid in England. It was called "The
Bookmaker."
I produced it the following year at the Gaiety Theatre, London. This
was in 1890, following "The Gold Mine." Both plays failed, but,
personally, I made what they were pleased to call "an artistic success."
Judging from the receipts I would not enjoy an artistic failure!
Poor Piggott was much distressed at the reception of his play but was
more than courteous to me--perhaps because of what he considered my
unquestionable hit. The play was afterwards revived by Edward Terry and
Arthur Williams, but "Sacred to its Memory" is inscribed over the tomb
of the departed "The Bookmaker."
While acting in "The Gold Mine" and "The Nominee" I became thoroughly
convinced that farce comedy was doomed, that frivolity was losing
ground and that the public wanted comedies combining pathos with
laughter. I found it was becoming easier for me to handle pathetic
scenes and deliver serious passages. I had solved the problem. It was
simply a change of method.
If I were compelled to make a sudden transition from gay to grave or
vice versa the secret lay in assuming another tone, the discarding
of a familiar gesture and allowing a certain time to elapse before
expressing the emotion, if only for the infinitesimal part of a second.
Thought travels quickly and the eyes work in unison. This must be
studied, rehearsed and exemplified before any comedian can hope for a
successful interpretation of rôles combining humor and pathos.
There are a few comedians of to-day who know the art. Were it not that
I have no desire to be personal I could name names and make it clear to
the public those who don't know how. Among the few who do (and there
are only a few) I might mention David Warfield, William Thompson, John
Mason, George Nash and Eddy Ables.
I was privileged to be one of a box party some years ago witnessing
the performance of a play which I very much desired. I had seen it
perfectly performed in Paris by a man who knew everything pertaining to
our art, whose pictures were painted with all the delightful lights and
shadows that form a background for those capable of portraying comedy
and pathos.
This play gave an actor every opportunity of portraying all the
emotions--comedy, tragedy, farce and sentiment. The character ran the
dramatic gamut, but it required most deft handling, the dividing lines
being as fine as silken threads, the transitions requiring the art of
a master. It was a great success in Paris, but failed both in London
and New York. The Englishman and American to whom this character was
entrusted were direct opposites in their respective qualifications,
one being a pronounced low comedian, the other a character actor with
little, if any idea of humor. The Frenchman combined all the gifts
of these two men together with the versatility which this character
required. His success was as pronounced as these gentlemen's failures.
As I sat in the box with the star's wife at my right I waited with
some anxiety and fear the result of the performance. My forebodings
became realized as the character assumed its first serious aspect. The
audience failed to differentiate and a slight titter passed through the
house as he arrived at his first dramatic, sentimental climax. As the
play progressed I could see the audience manifest its displeasure and
move uneasily as the plot developed. When the crucial moment came--the
grand, tragic, culminating scene of the play in which the Frenchman
held his audience as in a vise the American audience simply smiled,
looked bored and relaxed. Instead of applause coming as it should have
come at the end of the act, the curtain was raised only through the
appreciation of the ushers at the back!
The star's wife turned to me and asked, "What is the matter? Why can't
---- do this?"
"It is very simple, my dear friend," I replied. "He hasn't solved the
problem. He has failed to change his method."
_Chapter XXV_
THE SKATING RINK
It was some time after, I forget the exact date, that I became
associated with the late Frank Sanger in the production of a farcical
comedy, called "The Skating Rink." We surrounded ourselves with a
capable company, including Henry Donnelly, Fanny Rice, James Ratcliff,
the Fletchers, a trio of trick skaters, Major Newall and others.
We opened in Buffalo (where I had the misfortune to meet the second
lady who bore my name).
We opened to a packed house and when the curtain rang down I credited
myself with another failure. I was amazed to ascertain the next morning
that I had made another "artistic success." But this time the house
sold out for that evening--also. I was far from being satisfied, but I
was convinced that if the public fancied the material offered at our
opening I could improve the entertainment very much. I so informed
Sanger, suggesting that he book us for four weeks at Hooley's. I
guaranteed to give him an entirely new and better interpretation of
"The Skating Rink" for Chicago. He acquiesced and started the next day
for New York.
I called the company together the following evening after the play
for a rehearsal. My idea was to ascertain if any of the company had a
specialty that could be interjected into this porous play. It permitted
all sorts of pioneering. The plot stopped at eight thirty!
One gentleman proved capable of swallowing the butt of a lighted cigar
during the rendering of the verse of a song, allowing it to reappear
before finishing, and repeating the operation until his stomach
rebelled. This appealed to me and was introduced the following evening
with marked favor!
I resuscitated my imitations of famous actors which had been lying
dormant for years.
Two or three of the young ladies interpolated some of the latest New
York ditties, Fanny Rice and I cribbing the See-Saw duet. I also
introduced an entire act of a play called "The Marionettes," assisted
by one of the skating trio, an Irish song written by a Jew, "Since
Maggie Learned to Skate," and a burlesque on "Camille." I appeared as
the coughing heroine!
By the time we reached Chicago I had discarded all of the old
manuscript. The plot stopped a few minutes earlier. But I kept my
promise to Sanger!
I worked like a galley slave in this polyglot entertainment, making
no less than fifteen changes. When not on the stage, which was but
seldom, I was busy making my wardrobe shifts between scenes, my most
trying effort being a very quick change from the ball gown (with all
the female accessories, including corsets) of Camille to the apparel of
an Irish hod-carrier. I made the latter change in less than a minute,
disappearing as the dying lady on one side of the stage to return from
the opposite as the Irishman in search of his daughter, Maggie. The
company, I am pleased to say, made distinct successes and received
great praise for their individual efforts.
A most amusing incident occurred during a performance of this play
in Louisville. One of my staunchest admirers, named Eli Marks, who
always regretted my turning aside from serious drama to embark upon
the sands of farce, came one night much against his will to witness
the performance. I met him afterwards. While he was pleased with the
efforts of the company he failed to bestow any particular praise upon
my playing. In fact nothing I had done seemed to meet with his favor.
Of course he liked my imitations, but he had seen them before.
"By the way, Nat," he said, "don't lose that Irishman! I think he is
the best thing in the whole show. Nothing you did can compare with
him!" I agreed and gravely assured him that it had caused me a lot of
trouble to coach that man. "Well," he concluded, "you are rewarded and
don't lose him!" I promised to keep him as long as he lived.
Marks was afterwards told that he was unconsciously paying me that
compliment, but he refused to believe it! He made a wager with the
friends who contradicted him and would not assume the responsibility of
the debt until he had come behind the scenes and witnessed my change.
As I got into the overalls and hurriedly grabbed the dinner pail, he
ejaculated, "Well, by golly, you fooled me, old man, but I am glad of
it! Come and sup with us to-night at the club. If you take my advice
you will have a play written around the plot of that song. You are the
best hod-carrier I ever saw!"
_Chapter XXVI_
NUMBER TWO
About this time I began to weary of the solitude of single life. Living
with dear old John Mason in our flat in Twenty-eighth Street did not
appeal to me. We were very respectable persons at the time and led a
most exemplary life, irrespective of the opinions in vogue concerning
our little Haven of Unrest.
It was while enduring those disconsolate hours that I became interested
in Mrs. Nella Baker Pease, wife of a dilettante, living in Buffalo. She
made her appearance nightly at the playhouse where we were performing
and made herself particularly conspicuous by effusive applause,
generally bestowed when the other portions of the audience had finished
theirs. It was evident that she was discovering hidden beauties in
my artistic efforts. We were finally introduced and became steadfast
friends.
It took me but a little while to discover that she was a gifted woman,
possessed of many talents, her most conspicuous one being music. She
was the best amateur piano player to whom I have ever listened.
During my week's sojourn in Buffalo I was presented to her mother,
sister, brother and husband. Her sister was charming. I wish I could
say the same of the rest of her family. The brother must have emanated
from the same pod in which the husband, Pease, was conceived, or on
some coral reef where sponges predominate. He proved a most absorbing
person.
[Illustration: NELLA BAKER PEASE
_The best amateur piano player I ever heard_]
I invited him once to spend a few days with us in New York. He wired
that he was coming for "a cup of tea"--and stopped for two years!
With my inherent divinatory gift it required but a short time for me
to satisfy myself that the little home of sunshine occupied by the
row of Pease was in reality a whitened sepulchre. I discovered that
Nella loathed her husband, but with the other members of her proud
family was content to live with him and upon the bounty supplied by the
dilettante's father (her hubby's papa).
She bestowed no love, not even respect, upon that dilettante hubby.
During one of our interviews the husband was sent down town, her family
was called in to meet me and at the earnest solicitations of them all
I promised to endeavor to aid her in severing her matrimonial bonds. I
also promised to fit her for the stage and to enlist the assistance of
Steele Mackaye who was then preparing pupils for artistic careers and
sunning himself upon the porch of Delsarte. After binding myself with
these obligations I took my departure.
In a few days I was besieged with letters from Mrs. Pease and the
family, earnestly entreating me not to forget my promises. Finally
an epistle came from the husband endeavoring to persuade me to do
something for him!
I did, all right!
To gratify his wife's ambition would I secure her an opening on the
stage or put her with some good tutor? He would pay all the expenses,
etc. Unfortunately for me I assumed this responsibility and succeeded
in interesting my mother in Mrs. Pease's behalf, informing her of the
harrowing details. So interested did my mother become at the recital of
the unhappiness of this young lady that she invited her to spend a few
days at our Boston home. Mrs. Pease was also fond of tea! She accepted
the invitation--and remained for several months. In fact during her
visit at my mother's house I had resumed my tour on the road and even
made a trip to Europe!
Upon my return I met her in our Boston domicile where we were thrown a
great deal into each other's society. She proved very attractive, being
well educated, a fine conversationist, with a most lovable disposition.
Her compositions and execution upon the piano were remarkable for an
amateur.
In the meantime I had succeeded in interesting Mackaye and was about
to place her in his charge, when, one day, I was served with papers
from the husband who charged me with alienating his wife's affections!
This dropped like a bomb-shell into our little circle, as nothing was
further from my thoughts than marriage.