I accept an Engagement with Mr. Macaulay for Cincinnati as Leading
Lady--My Adieus to Cleveland--Mr. Ellsler Presents Me with a Watch.
After years of weary waiting, years of patient work, I had reached the
position of juvenile leads _de jure_, but of general lack _de facto_, and
then, lacking as my character was in the element of "push," even _I_
could see plainly that I was throwing away myself and my chances in life
by remaining in a position where I faced the sign of "No thoroughfare."
That Mrs. Ellsler would retain the leading business while her husband
retained a theatre was certain. I knew positively that some of
Cleveland's leading business men, sturdy supporters of the theatre,
finding that their mildly expressed dissatisfaction with the make-up of
the company was ignored, had written and plainly asked for a change, just
as Mr. Ellsler, every two years, changed the comedian, leading man, etc.,
etc. They declared that his business would double in consequence; and
this was submitted with the kindliest intentions and no wish to wound
anyone, etc., and they were, with great respect--various business men.
At all events, when the letter had produced embarrassed discomfort in one
quarter and fierce anger in another, it became inactive. I rightly judged
that the "No thoroughfare" sign was permanent--there was no further
advancement possible in that theatre; therefore I rejoiced greatly when I
had an engagement offered me, even though, for reasons touching the
reputation of the manager who wrote, I refused it--still an offer of
leading business heartened me, and I felt gratefully sure some star had
spoken a kind word in my behalf. There was so much hanging upon that
possible engagement, too; it meant more than advancement professionally,
more than gratified ambition. Never yet had I been able to go beyond the
taking care of myself and lending a helping hand in sickness to my
mother; while, to my unsleeping distress, my bitter mortification, she
had still to work. We were still apart, save for my regular weekly visit,
and such a small increase in salary would have made it possible for us to
live together, after a manner, in a very small way, but we would rather
have been half alive and together than have thrilled with superabundant
vitality while separated.
As my services had never seemed to be regarded seriously by anyone but
the star of the especial occasion, I was not utterly taken aback when I
found my intention of stepping bravely out into the big world received
with surprise and cold disapproval. Really, I was almost convinced that I
had still the very a-b-abs of my business yet to learn, that I was rash
and headstrong and all puffed up with strange, unseemly vanity; but just
as I was sinking back to that "old-slipper" state of mind desired, a
letter came from the well-known, thoroughly established actor-manager,
Mr. Barney Macaulay, who offered me the leading business at Wood's
Museum, Cincinnati, O.
The salary was very small, but I understood perfectly that any manager
would offer as small a salary to any actress whose _first_ season it was
as leading woman.
Oh, my! oh, my! but there followed a period of scant sunshine, of hot
argument, of cold and cautious advice, of terrifying hints of lacking
qualities. Want of dignity, of power, of authority! The managerial forces
were winning all along the line of argument, when, like many another
combatant who faces annihilation, I took a desperate chance; I called up
every dissatisfied speech of my absent mother, every complaint, regret,
reproach, every word of disappointment, of vexation, of urging, of
goading, of stern command, and arming these words with parental authority
I mounted them upon a mother's fierce wrath, and thus, as cavalry,
recklessly hurled them at full charge upon the enemy's line. I had no
infantry of proof to support my cavalry's move, it was sheer desperation;
but Fortune is a fickle jade, she sprang suddenly to my side. The
managerial lines broke before the mother's charge, and before he had them
reformed I had written Mr. Macaulay that I was ready to consider to
accept the offered engagement, if, etc., etc., and then put on my hat and
jacket and went forth and cleverly showed, first the offered engagement
to arouse my victimized parent's hopes, then descanted upon the
opposition offered to my acceptance of it, and when _she_ was warmed with
indignation I confessed to using her as my principal weapon--even
admitted making up some speeches, and being hot and pleased, indignant
and proud, she forgave me, and I bit my lips hard to keep silence about a
great hope that she might possibly go with me to that new engagement;
but, to spare her a possible disappointment, I held my peace.
Later, when everything was seemingly settled and only the contract left
to sign, came the amazing suggestion from Mr. Macaulay, that, because of
my youth, I would undoubtedly be perfectly willing to let him reserve a
few heavy _parts_ for his wife's acting. It is quite needless for me to
explain that the few _parts_ to be reserved were the choicest of the
legitimate drama. And then an amusing thing came to pass. I, who was so
lacking in self-confidence, so backward and retiring, so easily cast down
by a look of disapprobation, suddenly developed (on paper) an ability to
stand up for my rights that was startling. By return mail I informed Mr.
Macaulay that my youth did not affect me in the manner he anticipated;
that I was not willing to resign all those important parts to another--no
matter whose wife that other happened to be.
A long, argumentative, soothing sort of letter came back to me, ending
with the positive conviction that I would yield two parts to his
wife--great pets of hers they were, too, and one of them being _Lady
Macbeth_, I would of course be grateful to have it taken off my hands,
while _Julia_, in "The Hunchback," had really come to be considered, in
Cincinnati, as Miss Johnson's special property--Miss Rachael Johnson
being the stage name of Mrs. Macaulay.
Had he asked two _parts_ in the first place I would have granted them,
but now my blood was up (on paper, mind you), and with swift decision I
boldly threw the engagement up, declaring I would be the leading woman or
nothing. For, you see, I had been in the frying-pan of one family theatre
all my dramatic life, and I was not willing to throw myself at once into
the fire of another one.
The next letter contained a great surprise: a couple of signed contracts
and a pleasant request for me too to sign both and return one
immediately. Then the writer quite gently regretted my inability to grant
his request, but closed by expressing his respect for my firmness in
demanding my rights; and straightway I signed my first contract; went out
and mailed one copy, and when I returned I had made up my mind to take
the great risk--I had decided that my mother should never again receive
commands from anyone. That my shoulders were strong enough to bear the
welcome burden, and so we would face the new life and its possible
sufferings together--_together_, that was the main thing.
As I stood before the glass, smoothing my hair, I gravely bowed to my
reflection, and said: "Accept my congratulations and best wishes, 'Wood's
leading lady,'" and then fell upon the bed and sobbed, as foolish
nerve-strained women will; because, you see, the way had been so long and
sometimes so hard, dear Lord! so hard, but by His mercy I had won one
goal--I was a leading woman!
And then began my good-by to the city that I loved. I had lived in so
many of its streets; I had attended so many of its schools, and still
more of its churches. There was the great lake, too. I had sailed on it,
had been wrecked on it, but against that I set the memory of those days
when, in night-gown bath-dress, I reveled in its blue waters on Fourth of
July family picnics.
One church--old Bethel on Water Street--I hated, because the
Sunday-school superintendent had been a hypocrite, and we knew it, and
because in every one of its library books the good child died at the end,
which was very discouraging to youthful minds.
Another church, on Prospect Street, I loved, because that Sunday-school
teacher had been so gentle and smiling and had worn such pretty pink
flowers in her bonnet.
Then there was the fountain in the square. I laughed as I said good-by to
that, recalling the morning when, because of a bad throat, I had
unobservedly, as I supposed, swallowed a powder (homoeopathic), and
next moment heard hurrying footsteps behind me and felt a heavy hand on
my shoulder, while a rough voice cried: "Where's the paper? what did you
do it for? what's your name? say, answer up, now, before it gets hold of
you--what's your name?"
Frightened and bewildered, 'twas with difficulty I convinced the
suspicious policeman that I was not attempting suicide by poison, but was
trying to cure a sore throat. A theatre bill-board was in fair view, and
my part in the _play_, which I luckily held rolled in my hand, induced
him to let me go to rehearsal instead of the station-house; and while the
policeman dispersed the crowd his own error had gathered, I resolved, as
I flew toward the theatre, to take no more powders in public parks--no
matter how empty they might seem to be.
And then there was the _jail_, and as I nodded a good-by at its blackened
walls I saw again that sunny morning when, in greatest haste, I passed
that way and observed, coming toward me, three men walking very closely,
who showed no intention of making way for me--which made me look at them
surprisedly. And then the astonishing beauty of the tail, white-clothed
central figure brought me to a halt. His ruddy features were as severely
perfect as those stamped on an ancient coin. His glittering hair and
mustache were of that pale and precious gold most often seen crowning a
baby's head. His figure was tall, broad-shouldered, small-waisted, and
his hands, good God! I whispered, and stopped there, for he wore the
hand-cuffs, and on either side of him a strong and grimy hand gripped his
arm. That was why they made no room for me; and as I swerved swiftly out
into the middle of the street to pass them by, there came a glitter of
bold blue eyes, a flash of white teeth, and a deep voice cried back to
me: "I'm awfully sorry; I beg your pardon," and then they wheeled inside
the iron gates, and five minutes later I knew the physically splendid
creature I had seen was that Dr. Hughes who had just been taken for the
murder of his victim (of a mock marriage), poor little sixteen-year-old
Tamsie Parsons--she of the curly head, but steel-firm mouth, who loved
passionately this God-like devil, yet had the moral courage to resist him
to the death.
And then the post-office was quite full of memories. One made my brow
grow moist, even after years had passed since the damp autumn day when,
as a child, I had let fall upon the stone floor a good large bottle of
benzine. The crushed thing, wrapped nicely in blue paper, lay there,
innocent to behold, while its escaping volatile contents got in some
really fine work. First, two ladies held their noses, then a fierce old
be-whiskered man looked about suspiciously, working his offended member
just as a dog would. Then two men hurrying in opposite directions, but
with their eyes turned up inquiringly toward the gas-fixture overhead,
collided violently, and instead of apologizing, each abused the other as
a blundering idiot, and wrinkling up their noses disgustedly, unlocked
their boxes, and still grumbling went their ways, one declaring that the
gas being wasted there was sufficient to illuminate the whole building.
Then doors began to open violently, and pale men in office coats of
alpaca darted out and ran about, frantically trying to turn off gas that
was not turned on; and there I stood, shivering over the innocent blue
package, very wet by that time, with my fear of a whipping for breaking
the bottle losing itself in the greater terror of some swift public
expiation of my fault. The unknown is always terrifying, and I strove in
vain to imagine what the punishment would be for creating evil odors in a
public building that brought postal clerks from their work in pursuit of
them. But the sight of a policeman advancing toward the delivery window
suddenly set me in motion, and with a bound I was out of the door and
running like mad for a (then) Kinsman Street car. I wonder yet if that
gas leak was ever properly located.
Another day I had been sent for an advertised letter, and as several
grown-ups were ahead of me at the little window, I withdrew to lean
against the wall and rest a bit while waiting, for I had walked far and
was very tired. And then a very white-haired, white-whiskered, white-tied
old gentleman entered one of the many doors and looked nervously about
him; when, seeing me, he brightened up, and at once began to beckon me
toward him. Always respectfully obedient to the old, I at once approached
the pink and white chipper old man, who nodded, smiled, and patting my
head, asked, eagerly: "Er--er, do you--can you get letters from the
office-window yonder?"
His restless eyes wandered all over the place. "Oh, yes, sir," I
answered, "I often get them for my mother, and for other people, too!"
"Quite right, yes, yes, quite right, quite right!" responded the old
gentleman, then added, reflectively: "Yes, she's a female, but females
receive letters, though they don't vote, yes, yes! Well, my child, I want
you to help me in a great and good work. You know people are taught from
their earliest infancy the necessity of minding their P's and Q's, and
that they don't do it! Now you and I will mind the P's and Q's of this
great city, won't we, my dear? So, you just go to the window there and
get all the letters there are for Parker, Purley, Prentiss, and Porter,
and I'll come after you and get all the letters for Pixley, Pratt,
Prince, and Pettigrew, and to-morrow, my dear, we'll come down and get
all the Q's--the Quigley, Quinn, and Quiller crowd--and--and we'll take
all the letters over to the fountain and throw them in the basin of
water, and if they float we'll pitch bricks at 'em! Now, now's your time,
go ahead, and get all the P's you can--it's a great scheme, great!" and
then he stopped, for an almost breathless voice called out: "Here he is,
Hank! confound him!" And as two men hurried toward my chipper old
reformer, one said, reproachfully: "Now, look-a-here, Mr. Peiffer, if you
don't keep your word no better nor this, Hank and me'll have to keep hold
of you on your walks, and you won't like that!"
"No," meekly murmured the old man, "I--er--I won't like that, I'm sure."
Then Hank turned to me and asked, suspiciously: "Has he been filling you
full of P's and Q's?"
I nodded. "Then," said the other man, "we'd better get him back quick,
that's the way he begins. Come on, now, Mr. Peiffer, come on!" and
between them they led away the poor white-haired old madman, who looked
back as he passed me, and whispered: "Pitch 'em in the fountain, I'll get
the Q's to-morrow!"
There, too, was the old, old grave-yard that the city had crept up to,
cautiously at first, then finding them quite harmless--the quiet
dead--had stretched out brick and mortar arms and circled it about. A
network of streets had tangled about it, and turbulent life dashed
against its very gates on the outside, but inside there was a great green
silence.
How well I knew the quiet place--the far, damp corner where, in lifting
bodies for removal to a new cemetery, one had been found petrified; the
giant sycamore-tree that guarded the grave of a mighty Indian chief, the
lonely hemlock blackened nook where a grave had been cruelly robbed, the
most expensive tomb, the most beautiful tomb, the oldest tomb, I knew
them all. But the special attraction for me was a plain white headstone
that happened to bear my own name. Whenever my mother boxed my ears, or
was too hasty in her judgment to be quite just, I went over to my silent
city and sat down and looked at the tombstone, and thought if it were
really mine how sorry my mother would feel for what she had done. And
when I had, in imagination, seen her tears and remorse, I would begin to
feel sorry for her and to think she was punished enough, especially if it
was rather late, and the shadows of tombstones and trees all fell long
upon the sunny walks, all pointing like warning black fingers toward the
gate. Then, indeed, I was apt to forgive my mother and flee to her--and
supper.
And so, up and down, smiling and sighing, I went, taking _conge_ of the
city that had been home to me all my life, save just two years. I even
paused at the little old cottage whose gate was the only one I had ever
swung on, and I had hated the swinging, but I was six and was
passionately enamoured of a small person named Johnnie, who lived there
and who wore blue aprons; so I swung on the gate with him and to please
him, and then, being like most of his sex, fickle of fancy, he deserted
me for a new red dress worn by another. And when he spilled milk on it
(his mother sold milk) and spoiled its glory, she scratched his face, and
he wanted to return to me; but my love was dead, so dead I wouldn't even
accept sips of milk out of the little pails he had to carry around to
customers. And, so cruel is life, there I stood and laughed as I took
leave of the small gate.
At last all was done, my trunks were gone, I sat in my empty room waiting
for the carriage. I had to make my journey quite alone, since my mother
was to join me only when I had found a place to settle in. I was very
sad. Mr. Ellsler was ill, for the first time since I had known him, and I
had been over to his home, three or four blocks away, and bade good-by
to Mrs. Ellsler and gentle little Annie--the other children were out. And
finding I had no fear of contagion from a bad throat, she showed me into
Mr. Ellsler's room. I was shocked to see him so wasted and so weak, and
not being used to sickness I was frightened about him. Judge, then, my
amazement, when, hearing a knock on my door and calling, "Come in,"
instead of a bell-boy, there entered, pale and almost staggering, Mr.
Ellsler. A rim of red above his white muffler betrayed the bandaged
throat, and his poor voice was but a husky whisper.
"I could not help it," he said; "you were placed under my care once by
your mother. You were a child then, and though you are pleased to
consider yourself a woman now, I could not bear to think of your leaving
the city, at this saddest hour of the day, to begin a lonely journey,
without some old friend being by for a parting God-speed."
I was inexpressibly grateful, even through all my fright at his rashness;
but he had yet another surprise for me. He said: "I wanted, too, Clara,
to make you a little present, to give you a keepsake that would last long
and would remind you daily of--of--er the years you have passed in my
theatre."
He drew a small box from his pocket. "A good girl and a good actress," he
said, "needs and ought to own a--" he touched a spring, the box flew
open--"a good watch," he finished.
I gave a cry, I could not realize it was for me--I _could_ not! I clasped
my hands in admiration instead of taking it, so, with his thin, sick
man's fingers, he took it from its case and dropped it in my lap. I
caught it then, and "Oh!" and again "Oh!" was all that I could cry, while
I pressed it to my cheek and gloated over it.
Literally, I could not speak, such an agony of delight in its beauty, of
pride in its possession, of satisfaction in a need supplied, of gratitude
tremendous and surprise immeasurable were more than I could find words
for. If you are inclined to think this exaggeration, remember how poor I
was--had always been; remember, too, there were no cheap watches then;
this was of the best make and had a chain attached as well; then think
how great was my need of it for the theatre, day and night, and for
traveling. By my utter inability to earn such a thing measure my joyful
surprise at receiving it, a gift.
It was one of the red-letter days of my life, the day I owned a watch. My
thanks must have been sadly jumbled and broken, but my pride and pleasure
made Mr. Ellsler laugh, and then the carriage was there, and laughter
stilled into a silent, close hand-clasp. As I opened the door of the
dusty old hack, I glanced up and saw the first star prick brightly
through the evening sky. Then the hoarse voice said, "God bless you!" and
I had left my first manager.
As I stepped out of the carriage at the depot, glancing up again I saw
the sky sown thick with stars, like a field of heavenly daisies. I smiled
a little at the thought, then suddenly _drew my watch_ to see the time,
and hurried to my train. Thus grateful for a kindly send-off, made happy
by a gift, I turned my back upon the old, safe life and brightly,
hopefully faced the new. For I was young, and therefore confident; and it
is surely for the old world's need that God has made youth so.