"Miss Multon" Put in Rehearsal--Our Squabble over the Manner of her
Death--Great Success of the Play--Mr. Palmer's Pride in it--My _Au
Revoir_.
The other day, in recalling to Mr. Palmer a long list of such successful
productions of his as "Led Astray," "The Two Orphans," "Camille," "Miss
Multon," "The Danicheffs," "The Celebrated Case," etc., he surprised me
by emphatically declaring that the performance of "Miss Multon" came
nearer to absolute perfection than had any other play he had ever
produced; and to convince me of that, he simply brought forward the cast
of the play to help prove the truth of his assertion. As we went over the
characters one by one, I was compelled to admit that from the leading
part to the smallest servant, I had never seen one of them quite equaled
since. Mr. Palmer's pride in this production seemed the more odd at
first, because of its slight demands upon the scenic-artist, the
carpenter, and upholsterer. It needs just two interior scenes--a busy
doctor's study in London and a morning-room in a French
country-house--that's all. "But," he will enthusiastically cry, "think of
that performance, recall those people," and so, presently, I will obey
him and recall them every one.
The play had twice failed in Paris, which was, to say the least,
discouraging. When it was read to me I thought the tremendous passion of
maternity ought to touch the public heart--others there were, who said
no, that sexual love alone could interest the public. Mr. Palmer thought
the French play had needed a little brightening; then, too, he declared
the people wanted to see the actual end of the heroine (one of Mr. Daly's
fixed beliefs, by the way), therefore he had Mr. Cazauran write two
additional short acts--a first, to introduce some brightness in the
children's Christmas-tree party and some amusement in the old bachelor
doctor and his old maid sister; and a last for the death of _Miss
Multon_.
After brief reflection I concluded I would risk it, and then, just by way
of encouragement, Mr. Cazauran, who had always been at pains to speak as
kindly of my work as that work would allow, when he was critic on the
different papers, declared that all my acquired skill and natural power
of expressing emotion united would prove useless to me--that _Miss
Multon_ was to be my Waterloo, and to all anxious or surprised "whys?"
sapiently made answer: "No children." His argument was, that not being a
mother in reality, I could not be one in imagination.
Always lacking in self-confidence, those words made my heart sink
physically, it seemed to me, as well as figuratively; but the ever-ready
jest came bravely to the fore to hide my hurt from the public eye, and at
next rehearsal I shook my head mournfully and remarked to the little man:
"Bad--bad! Miss Cushman must be a very bad _Lady Macbeth_--I don't want
to see her!"
"What?" he exclaimed, "Cushman not play _Lady Macbeth_--for heaven's
sake, why not?"
"No murderess!" I declared, with an air of authority recognized by those
about me as a fair copy of his own. "If Miss Cushman is not a murderess,
pray how can she act _Lady Macbeth_--who is?" And the laugh that followed
helped a little to scare away the bugaboo his words had raised in my
mind.
Then, ridiculous as it may seem to an outsider, the question of dress
proved to be a snag, and there was any amount of backing and filling
before we could get safely round it.
"What are you going to wear, Miss Morris?" asked Mr. Cazauran one day
after rehearsal--and soon we were at it, and the air was thick with
black, brown, gray, purple, red, and blue! I starting out with a gray
traveling-dress, for a reason, and Mr. Cazauran instantly and without
reason condemned it. He thought a rich purple would be about the thing.
Mr. Palmer gave a small contemptuous "Humph"! and I cried out, aghast:
"Purple? the color of royalty, of pomp, of power? A governess in a rich
purple? Your head would twist clear round, hind side to, with amazement,
if you saw a woman crossing from Calais to Dover attired in a royal
purple traveling-suit."
Mr. Palmer said: "Nonsense, Cazauran; purple is not appropriate;" and
then, "How would blue--dark blue or brown do?" he asked.
"For just a traveling-dress either one would answer perfectly," I
answered; "but think of the character I am trying to build up. Why not
let me have all the help my gown can give me? My hair is to be
gray--white at temples; I have to wear a dress that requires no change in
going at once to cars and boat. Now gray or drab is a perfect
traveling-gown, but think, too, what it can express--gray hair, white
face, gray dress without relief of trimming, does it not suggest the
utterly flat, hopeless monotony of the life of a governess in London? Not
hunger, not cold, but the very dust and ashes of life? Then, when the
woman arrives at the home of her rival and tragedy is looming big on the
horizon, I want to wear red."
"Good God!" exclaimed Cazauran; and really red was so utterly unworn at
that time that I was forced to buy furniture covering, reps, in order to
get the desired color, a few days later.
"Yes, red," I persisted. "Not too bright, not impudent scarlet, but a
dull, rich shade that will give out a gleam when the light strikes it;
that will have the force of a threat--a menacing color, that white
collar, cuffs and black lace shoulder wrap will restrict to
governess-like primness, until, with mantle torn aside, she stands a
pillar of fire and fury. And at the last I want a night-dress and a
loose robe over it of a hard light blue, that will throw up the ghastly
pallor of the face. There--that's what I want to wear, and why I want to
wear it."
Mr. Palmer decided that purple was impossible and black too conventional,
while the proposed color-scheme of gray, red, and blue seemed reasonable
and characteristic. And suddenly that little wretch, Cazauran, laughed as
good-naturedly as possible and said he thought so, too, but it did no
harm to talk things over, and so we got around that snag, only to see a
second one looming up before us in the question of what was to kill _Miss
Multon_.