My Promiscuous Reading wins me a Glass of Soda--The Stage takes up my
Education and Leads me through Many Pleasant Places.
I suppose it sounds absurd to say that during those first seasons, with
choruses, dances, and small parts to learn, with rehearsals every day and
appearances every night, I was getting an education.
But that depends upon your definition of the word. If it means to you
schooling, special instruction, and formal training, then my claim is
absurd; but if it means information, cultivation of the intellectual
powers, enlightenment, why then my claim holds good, my statement stands,
I was getting an education. And let me say the stage is a delightful
teacher; she never wearies you with sameness or drives you to frenzy with
iteration. No deadly-dull text-book stupefies you with lists of bare,
bald dates, dryly informing you that someone was born in 1208, mounted
the throne in 1220, died in 1258, and was succeeded by someone or other
who reigned awhile--really you can't remember how long, and don't much
care. There's nothing in figures for the memory to cling to. But no one
can forget that Edward V. was born in 1470, because he is such a tragic
little figure, only thirteen years old and of scant two months reign,
because there was the Tower and there the crafty, usurping Duke of
Gloster eager for his crown.
Perhaps people would remember that Edward III. was born in 1312 and was
succeeded by his grandson, Richard, if they were told at the same moment
that he was father to that superb Black Prince, beloved alike of poet,
painter, and historian.
Now, to be a good actress and do intelligent work, one should thoroughly
understand the play and its period in history, as the mainspring of its
action is often political. To be able to do that requires a large fund of
general information. That I had from my very babyhood been a reckless
reader, came about from necessity--I had no choice, I simply read every
single thing in print that my greedy hands closed upon; the results of
this promiscuous reading, ranging from dime novels to Cowper, were
sometimes amusing. One day, I remember, an actress was giving a very
excited account of a street accident she had witnessed. Her colors were
lurid, and some of her hearers received her tale coldly. "Oh!" she cried,
"such an awful crowd--a mob, you know--a perfect mob!"
"Oh, nonsense!" contradicted another, "there couldn't have been a mob,
there are not people enough in that street to make a mob!"
Then I mildly but firmly remarked: "Oh, yes, there are, for you know that
legally three's a mob and two's a crowd."
A shout of laughter followed this bit of information. "How utterly
absurd!" cried one. "Well, of all the ridiculous ideas I ever heard!"
laughed another. And then, suddenly, dear old Uncle Dick (Mr. Richard
Stevens and player of old men, to be correct) came to my support, and,
with the authority of a one-time barrister, declared my statement to be
perfectly correct.
"But where, in the name of Heaven, did you get your information?"
"Oh," I vaguely replied, "I just read it somewhere."
"That's a rather broad statement," remarked Uncle Dick; "you don't give
your authority, page and line, I observe. Well, see here, now, Clara
_mia_, in whatever field you found that one odd fact, you certainly
gleaned others there, so if you can produce, at once, three other legal
statements, I will treat you to soda-water after rehearsal."
Oh, the delicious word was scarcely over his lips when I was wildly
searching my memory, and presently, very doubtfully, offered the
statement: "It is a fraud to conceal a fraud."
But Uncle Dick gravely and readily accepted it. Another search, and then
joyfully I announced: "Contracts made with minors, lunatics, or drunkards
are void."
A shout of laughter broke from the kind old man's lips, but he accepted
that, too. Oh, almost I could hear the cool hiss of the soda--but now not
another thing could I find. My face fell, my heart sank. Hitherto I had
been thinking of papers, now I frantically ran through stories. Suddenly
I cried: "A lead-pencil signature stands in law."
But, alas! Uncle Dick hesitated--my authority was worthless. Oh, dear!
oh, dear! was I to lose my treat, just for lack of a little legal
knowledge? Sadly I remarked, "I guess I'll have to give it up,
unless--unless you'll take: 'Principals are responsible for their
agents,'" and, with pleasure beaming in his kind old eyes, he accepted
it.
Ah, I can taste that vanilla soda yet--and, what is more, the old
gentleman took the trouble to find out about the legality of the
lead-pencil signature; and, as my statement had been correct, he took
great pains to make the fact known to all who had heard him question it,
and he added to my little store of knowledge, "that a contract made on
Sunday would not stand," which, by the way, later on, saved me from a
probably painful experience.
I mention this to show that even my unadvised reading had not been
absolutely useless, I had learned a little about a variety of things; but
now, plays continually presented new subjects to me to think and read
about; thus "Venice Preserved" set me wild to find out what a _Doge_ was,
and why Venice was so adored by her sons, and I straightway obtained a
book about the wonderful city--whose commerce, power of mart and
merchant may have departed, but whose mournful beauty is but hallowed by
her weakness.
So many plays were produced, representing so many periods, so many
countries, I don't know how I should have satisfied my craving for the
books they led me to had not the Public Library opened just then. I was
so proud and happy the day my mother surprised me with half the price of
a membership, and happier yet when I had the right to enter there and
browse right and left, up and down, nibbling here, feeding long and
contentedly there. Oh, the delight of reading one book, with two or three
others in my lap; 'twas the pleasure of plenty, new to one who could have
spelled "economy" in her sleep.
Then, again, if it is the Stage that is making you read, you have to keep
your eyes wide open and take note of many things. Some girls read just
for the sake of the story, they heed nothing but that, they are even
guilty of the impertinence of "skipping," "to get to the story more
quickly, you know." But if you are on the stage you understand, for
instance, that different kinds of furniture are used for different
periods and for different countries; so even the beginner knows, when she
sees the heavy old Flemish pieces of furniture standing on the stage in
the morning, that no modern play is on that night, and is equally sure
that the bringing out of the high tile-stove means a German interior is
in preparation. Therefore, if you read for the stage, you watch
carefully, not only Sir Thomas's doings, but his surroundings. If his
chair or desk or sideboard is described, you make a note of the "heavily
carved wood," or the "inlaid wood," or the "boule," or whatever it may
be, and then you note the date of the story, and you say to yourself:
"Ah, such and such furniture belongs to such a date and country."
I once heard the company expressing their shocked amazement over the
velvet robes of some _Macbeth_. I could not venture to ask them why it
was so dreadful, but later I found some paper stating that velvet was
first known in the fifteenth century, and was confined to the use of the
priests or high ecclesiastical authorities--and my mind instantly grasped
the horror of the older actors at seeing _Macbeth_ swathed in velvet in
the grim, almost barbaric Scotland of about 1012; for surely it was a
dreadful thing for an actor to wear velvet four hundred years ahead of
its invention.
You never know just where the Stage is going to lead you in your search
for an education; only one thing you may be sure of, it will not keep you
very long to any one straight road, but will branch off in this direction
or in that, taking up some side issue, as it seems, like this matter of
furniture, and lo, you presently find it is becoming a most important and
interesting subject, well worth careful study. You come to believe you
could recognize the workmanship of the great cabinet-makers at sight. You
learn to shrink from misapplied ornament, you learn what gave rise to the
"veneering reign-of-terror," you bow at the name of Chippendale, and are
filled with wonder by the _cinque-cento_ extravagance of beauty. You find
yourself tracing the rise and fall of dynasties through the chaste beauty
or the over-ornamentation of their cabinet work. If all that Sir Henry
Irving knows on this subject could be crowded into a single volume, the
book would have at least one fault--'twould be of most unwieldy size.
Then holding you by the hand the Stage may next lead you through the
green and bosky places that the poets loved, and, having had your eyes
opened to natural beauties, lo! you go down another lane, and you are
learning about costumes, and suddenly you discover that "sumptuary laws"
once existed, confining the use of furs, velvets, laces, etc., to the
nobility. Fine woollens and linens, and gold and silver ornaments being
also reserved for the privileged orders. That the extravagant young maids
and beaux of the lower class who indulged in yellow starched-ruff, furred
mantle, or silver chain were made to pay a cruel price for their folly
in aping their betters. So it was well for me to make a note of the date
of the "sumptuary law," that I might not some day outrageously overdress
a character.
It is a delightful study, that of costume--to learn how to drape the
toga, how to hang the peplum; to understand the meaning of a bit of
ribbon in the hair, whether as arranged in the three-banded fillet of the
Grecian girl or as the snood of the Scottish lassie; to know enough of
the cestus and the law governing its wearing, not to humiliate yourself
in adopting it on improper occasions; to have at least a bowing
acquaintance with all foot-gear, from sandals down to an Oxford tie; to
be able to scatter your puffed, slashed, or hanging sleeves over the
centuries, with their correct accompanying, small-close, large-round, or
square-upstanding ruffs. Why the mere detail of girdles and hanging
pouches, from distant queens down to "Faust's" _Gretchen_, was a joy in
itself.
Then a girl who played pages, and other young boys, was naturally anxious
to know all about doublets, trunks, and hose, as well as Scottish
"philibeg and sporran." And wigs? I used to wonder if anyone could ever
learn all about wigs--and I'm wondering yet.
But as one studies the coming and going of past fashions in garments, it
is amusing to note their influence upon the cabinet-makers, as it is
expressed in the changing shape of their chairs. For instance: when
panniers developed into farthingale and monstrous hoop, chairs, high and
narrow, widened, lowered their arms--dropped them entirely, making indeed
a fair start toward our own great easy-chair of to-day.
I remember well what a jump my heart gave when in rooting about among
materials--their weaves and dyes--I came upon the term "samite." It's a
word that always thrills me, "samite, mystic, wonderful." Almost I was
afraid to read what might follow; but I need not have hesitated, since
the statement was that "samite" was supposed to have been a delicate web
of silk and gold or silver thread. How beautiful such a combination must
have been--white silk woven with threads of silver might well become
"mystic, wonderful," when wrapped about the chill, high beauty of an
Arthur's face.
But hie and away, to armor and arms! for she would be but a poorly
equipped actress who had no knowledge of sword and buckler, of solid
armor, chain-mail, rings of metal on velvet, or of plain leather
jerkin--of scimitar, sword, broadsword, foil, dagger, dirk, stiletto,
creese.
Oh, no! don't pull your hand away if the Stage wants to lead you among
arms and armor for a little while; be patient, for by and by it will take
you up, up into the high, clear place where Shakespeare dwells, and there
you may try your wings and marvel at the pleasure of each short upward
flight, for the loving student of Shakespeare always rises--never sinks.
Your power of insight grows clearer, stronger, and as you are lifted
higher and higher on the wings of imagination, more and more widely opens
the wonderful land beneath, more and more clearly the voices of its
people reach you. You catch their words and you treasure them, and by and
by, through much loving thought, you comprehend them, after which you can
no longer be an uneducated woman, since no man's wisdom is superior to
Shakespeare's, and no one gives of his wisdom more lavishly than he.
Therefore, while a regular school-education is a thing to be thankful
for, the actress who has been denied it need not despair. If she be
willing to work, the Stage will educate her--nor will it curtly turn her
away at the end of a few years, telling her her "term" is ended. I clung
tightly to its hand for many a year, and was taken a little way through
music's halls, loitered for a time before the easel, and even made a
little rush at a foreign language to help me to the proper pronunciation
of names upon the stage; and no man, no woman all that time rose up to
call me ignorant. So I give all thanks and all honor to the profession
that not only fed and clothed me, but educated me too!