Mr. E. L. Davenport, his Interference, his Lecture on Stage Business,
his Error of Memory or too Powerful Imagination--Why I Remain a
Dramatic Old Slipper--Contemptuous Words Arouse in Me a Dogged
Determination to Become a Leading Woman before Leaving Cleveland.
Just what was the occult power of the ballet over the manager's mind no
one ever explained to me. I found my companions very every-day,
good-natured, kind-hearted girls--pretty to look at, pleasant to be with,
but to Mr. Ellsler they must have been a rare and radiant lot, utterly
unmatchable in this world, or else he knew they had awful powers for evil
and dared not provoke their "hoodoo." Whatever the reason, the fact
remained, he was _afraid_ to advance me one little step in name, even to
utility woman; while, in fact, I was advanced to playing other people's
parts nearly half the time, and the reason for this continued holding
back was "fear of offending the other ballet-girls." Truly a novel
position for a manager. One feels at once there must have been something
unusually precious about such a ballet, and he feared to break the set.
Anyway, before I got out, clear out, this happened:
A number of stars had spoken to me about my folly in remaining in the
ballet, and when I told them Mr. Ellsler was afraid to advance me for
fear of offending the other girls, they answered variously, and many
advised me to break the "set" myself, saying if I left he would soon be
after me and glad to engage me for first walking lady. But my crushed
childhood had its effect, I shall always lack self-assertion--I stayed
on and this happened.
There was no regular heavy actress that season, and the old woman was a
tiny little rag of a creature, not bigger than a doll. Mr. E. L.
Davenport was to open in "Othello." Mrs. Effie Ellsler was to play the
young _Desdemona_ and I was to go on for _Emilia_. Mr. Davenport was a
man of most reckless speech, but he was, too, an old friend of the
Ellslers, calling them by their first names and meeting them with hearty
greetings and many jests. So, when in the middle of a story to Mrs.
Ellsler at rehearsal, the call came for _Othello_, _Desdemona_, and
_Iago_, she exclaimed: "Excuse me, Ned, they are calling us," but he held
her sleeve and answered, "Not you--it's me," and glancing hurriedly
about, his eye met mine, and he added pleasantly, "You, my dear; they're
calling _Desdemona_."
I stood still. Mrs. Ellsler's round, black eyes snapped, but this man who
blundered was a star and a friend. She tossed her head and petulantly
pushed him from her toward the stage. He went on, and at the end of his
speech:
"This only is the witchcraft I have used;
Here comes the lady, let her witness it."
he turned to face Mrs. Ellsler entering with _Iago_ and her attendants.
Looking utterly bewildered, he exclaimed: "Why, for God's sake, Effie,
you are not going on for _Desdemona_, are you?"
Perhaps his dissatisfaction may be better understood if I mention that a
young man twenty-three years old, who took tickets at the dress-circle
door, called Mrs. Ellsler mother, and that middle-aged prosperity
expressed itself in a startling number of inches about the waist of her
short little body. Though her feet and hands were small in the extreme,
they could not counteract the effect of that betraying stodginess of
figure. Mrs. Ellsler, in answer to that rude question, laughed, and said:
"Well, I believe the leading woman generally does play _Desdemona_?"
"But," cried Mr. Davenport, "where's--w-who's _Emilia_?"
Mr. Ellsler took him by the arm and led him a little to one side. Several
sharp exclamations escaped the star's lips, and at last, aloud and ending
the conference, he said: "Yes, yes, John, I know anyone may have to twist
about a bit now and then in a cast, but damn me if I can see why you
don't cast Effie for _Emilia_ and this girl for _Desdemona_--then they
would at least look something like the parts. As it is now, they are both
ridiculous!"
It was an awful speech, and the truth that was in it made it cut deep.
There were those on the stage who momentarily expected the building to
fall, so great was their awe of Mrs. Ellsler. The odd part of the
unpleasant affair was that everyone was sorry for Mr. Ellsler, rather
than for his wife.
Well, night came. I trailed about after _Desdemona_--picked up the fatal
handkerchief--spoke a line here and there as Shakespeare wills she
should, and bided my time as all _Emilias_ must. Now I had noticed that
many _Emilias_ when they gave the alarm--cried out their "Murder!
Murder!" against all the noise of the tolling bells, and came back upon
the stage spent, and without voice or breath to finish their big scene
with, and people thought them weak in consequence. A long hanging bar of
steel is generally used for the alarm, and blows struck upon it send
forth a vibrating clangor that completely fills a theatre. I made an
agreement with the prompter that he was not to strike the bar until I
held up my hand to him. Then he was to strike one blow each time I raised
my hand, and when I threw up both hands he was to raise Cain, until I was
on the stage again. So with throat trained by much shouting, when in the
last act I cried:
"I care not for thy sword; I'll make thee known,
Though I lost twenty lives."