"MASHERS" AND "MASHING."
[Illustration: A BOWERY "MASHER."]
The masher is a remarkable creature. He hovers everywhere, from the
market-place to the meeting-house and from the promenade to the
theatre. He is many-phased and many-faced, and may come from the slums
or be the son of a first-class preacher of the Gospel. The class has
been termed gunaikophagists by some fellow reckless alike of the
feelings of philologists and of the jaws of the rising generation,
who says it means woman-eaters, but may be less poly-syllabically
styled corner loafers and miserable scoundrels, who live on the curbs
and in some instances hug the wall--have a pardonable affection,
considering that they part their hair in the middle, for malacca,
bamboo, and rubber sticks--and last, but not least, some indulge a
precocious vanity by planting eye-glasses across their noses. These
are, par excellence, the cane-and-eyeglass friends, and they remind
one of nothing else in the world than a sickly looking cross between
a saw-buck and a half-resuscitated dried herring. The masher's sole
ambition, is to win hearts, which he hopes to do by staring ladies
out of countenance, and which he often does in a most flagrant and
audacious manner. There are young and old of this class, and they
are of all grades, from the young man who negotiates with you over a
counter for a paper of pins or a dozen shoestrings, up to his employer,
and from that up the monetary scale to the man who wholesales the
employer the pins which the "mashing" salesman disposes of a nickle's
worth at a time. Sandwiched between these at proper, or rather
improper, intervals are the "What d'ye soy?" crowd, the "toughs"
wearing high felt hats turned up with care before and behind, and,
without exception, sporting the inevitable tight jeans breeches. Their
influence extends only to a certain class--to the concert and variety
dives--and it is unfortunate to the poor girls, outside of this class,
who fall a prey to these ruthless "mashers."
[Illustration: LADY MACBETH.
LADY MACBETH:--"Infirm of purpose!
Give me the daggers; the sleeping, and the dead
Are but as pictures: 'tis the eye of childhood
That fears a painted devil."
_Macbeth, Act II., Scene 2._
]
The theatre appears to possess loadstone qualities for the masher;
it is as attractive to them as the flame of the candle is for the
moth or the flower for the bee. I have already in a preceding chapter
said a great deal about the "mashing" that is done in the audience by
both male and female exponents of the disreputable art. I shall now
confine myself to the "mashers" in the profession and those who try
to "mash" the profession. Some young gentlemen with more money than
brains imagine that actresses have nothing else to do but receive
attentions from the opposite sex, and that there is no "wall of China"
around the virtue of any woman on the stage. They therefore not only
make bold to talk freely about actresses, but are valiant enough to
try to ensnare them by letters abounding in hyperbole and odorescent
of cologne-besprent idiocy. The variety actress is the ideal prize
of this class, and they are in their greatest glory when within the
frolicsome precincts of the wine-room. I have seen many a young man
whose hair was parted in the middle crow lustily over the successful
capture of a ballet girl, when he himself had been the capture. These
girls know what their charms are worth and hold them at that price,
when they see a victim well dressed and with an apparently healthy
pocket-book. They, in expressive but slangy language, lay for him.
They are not foolish enough to invite him to their side; they allow
him to make an apparent conquest which guarantees them all the greater
gain. The young gentleman of whom I speak was lured in this way; and
as she sat with well-rounded limbs pulsating through silken tights
and gracefully thrown upon an opposite chair, and he leant over her
whispering soft words and looking fondly upon her painted face, while
they clinked champagne glasses, she with downcast eyes was playing
innocence, but all the while congratulating herself upon the arch
manner in which she had won him.
Just as bad as the female "masher" on the stage is the female "masher"
who has no claims on the profession. The latter has studied her art
perfectly, that it may assist her in throwing her net about the
unsophisticated. Females of this class in the East make it their
business to frequent the matinees, where with the assistance of the
ushers, whom they remunerate handsomely for their co-operation, they
gather a granger in, and within twelve hours or so send him home
whining at his idiocy in not having resisted the temptation that left
him penniless. The gay sirens who are in this business generally go
in pairs. The usher locates them next to their victim, and once there
they've got him for all the cash he took out of the family sock
before leaving Jerusha and his eight little ones.
[Illustration: WORKING A "GREENY" AT A MATINEE.]
The blonde beauties of the leg drama, or the fair burlesquers, as some
people call them, are considered legitimate prey by the "mashing"
fraternity. Indeed it is often a case of diamond cut diamond, for the
burlesquers are themselves notoriously liberal in making acquaintances,
and the majority of them will accept a midnight drive or a morning
supper as readily as they do the friendship of the gentleman who
tenders them. The bewildering array of limbs and shapely forms, the
golden hair and apparently fresh and handsome faces set the young
swells wild, and the rush for orchestra chairs down front where a quiet
flirtation can be carried on shows the great extent of rivalry that
exists among their number. Any number of scented notes on rose-tinted
paper find their way through the stage-door into the hands of the giddy
throng behind the scenes, and as they glance through it they laugh
at the foolishness of the writer but agree to "work him" to the full
extent of his wealth. The comedian who knows that the girls have got
"another sucker on a string" comes up and wants to see the last "letter
from home." He gives the girls a funny bit of advice about retaining
their innocence if they would be happy, but adds that if there is
anything in the fellow, to "catch on" at once--which of course the
girls have already made up their minds to do.
[Illustration: FROM ONE OF THE "MASHED."]
A veteran in the business says: "Actresses have the most marked talents
for wheedling the gilded youth out of money. Such 'guys' and 'gillies'
fancy that if they are known as the patrons and friends of stage
stars all the world is staring at them and envying their conquests.
Poor idiots, their entire conquest consists in that they make over
their own common sense! The silly ninny rejoicing in the showy and
artful woman's favors counts himself a privileged mortal, but his
chief privilege in regard to a cunning, scheming stage siren is the
privilege of paying her bills. Of the men with money she makes fools.
When she scents a full pocket-book she runs it low. Her affection, so
far as she has any to bestow, is probably lavished on a big animal of
a loafer from whom she gets no money, and who, perhaps, beats her and
makes her support him. It is a paradox of feminine nature that the
women who are unscrupulous and heartless in wheedling men of money seem
so lavishly free in bestowing favors and bounty on loaferish lovers,
from whom they can make nothing. An actress is psychically a study,
always curious and unaccountable, however talented."
Some comic opera choruses, particularly those of the limb-exhibiting
kind, have attained to almost equal notoriety with the burlesquers in
the "mashing" line. The fact of the matter is that in the branches
of the profession where women are employed, not for their artistic
qualities, but on account of the plumpness of their limbs and the
agreeableness of their entire figure to the male eye, there is so much
laxness and so much that is altogether bad, that the ladies of the
higher walks of the profession do not always escape, and the "masher,"
who is always going around seeking what fair females he may devour,
frequently dares to approach some of the best women in the profession.
Here is a specimen of the work of one of this class; it is a letter
received by one of the best and handsomest little ladies the stage ever
saw, and whose retirement from the boards was really a great loss to
the dramatic art:--
EXCHANGE HOTEL,
MONTGOMERY, ALA., ----, 187-.
I know I am violating the cold conventionalities of life by
addressing you, but if it angers you, the friendly fire which
blazes before you will prove a suitable altar upon which you can
sacrifice my homage. I never saw you before to-night, but to see
you is to be dazed--glamoured with a glare. May I dare to hope that
I shall ever stand abashed in your presence, waiting your sweet
will to raise my eyes to your dear face in adoration? Tell me that
I may follow you through all the world upon my bended knees, to
find at last your favor, that I may live in hope upon the memory of
your smile, and know that at the last you will be content to let me
kneel at your feet and find reward in that alone. Oh, dear heart,
let me dream of you until you awaken.
Yours, devoted,
F. H. M.
Can anybody imagine a more glowing and positive piece of idiocy? This
would-be "masher" should be taken out in the woods and brained with a
five-syllable adjective that he would not be able to identify in the
next world. Many actresses refuse to receive letters that are sent to
them from strange admirers. Mary Anderson never sees such a letter,
although bushels of them are sent to her. And she is only one of
hundreds who adopt the policy of rejecting strange letters at sight.
Frequently married ladies in the profession are made targets of by the
letter-writing brigade of mashers, and more than one head has been
artistically mutilated as a return for the "masher's" impertinent pains.
A New York correspondent writes as follows about a pretty little
actress and singer, who while fulfilling an engagement at the Bijou
Opera House, New York, last summer, broke the hearts of all the
"swells" and "bloods" of the metropolis, and had the house filled
nightly with rival admirers, among whom was the melancholy son of a
Washington, D. C., judge: "Miss Lillian Russell is a beauty without
a shadow of doubt. She is about twenty-six, I believe. It is by no
means generally known that she is married, and that her husband is
an honest, hard-working, and thorough orchestra leader, to whom she
owes her present proficiency in vocal culture. He was very fond of
her, and always believed in her success. No man could have worked more
faithfully. Finally he found an opening for her on the variety stage
as a serio-comic--as the phrase goes--singer. She attracted attention
at once, and he labored vigilantly until he found a legitimate opening
in English comic opera. I believe it was 'The Snake Charmer.' She was
very glad to get out of the variety rut so soon, and expressed delight
at the admiration she excited. Then came the club-men with their swell
slang, gaudy carts and flowing money. Now she is suing her husband
for divorce. Such is life. The husband, I hear, harassed by care, and
perhaps something else, had become so nervous or inattentive that he
lost his position in the orchestra, and so the shades of prosperity
and adversity are more clearly defined than ever. Miss Russell seems
to have been under the especial care of a theatrical goddess of
sensationalism. Everything has conspired to make her name familiar. Her
escapade with one of the young men was inevitable. The only question
was which one she would select. It happened to be Howard Osborne, the
son of the wealthy banker. One night when it was time for the curtain
to rise, and the audience was getting into a white heat, the manager
came forward displaying a decided desire to swear like a pirate, and
announced that Miss Russell had suddenly and unwarrantedly run away.
The next morning Mr. Osborne, Sr., wondered where in thunder his son
was. He received a letter later, and immediately fell into a howling
rage. Shortly afterwards Mr. Howard Osborne was heard of in Chicago,
whence it was blandly stated Miss R. had gone to visit an aunt. The
young man was sent spinning over the sea to Europe, and the steamer had
just arrived when his fond parent had the exquisite pleasure of reading
at breakfast a cable in the morning papers relating a little excursion
of a certain Mr. Howard Osborne, Esq., said to be of New York, with
Miss Alice Burville, the burlesque actress, at the Ascot races. Heigho!
'Which the ways of the world is peculiar, Mrs. 'Arris, sez I.'"
A Californian, who reached the Pacific slope in '49 as a peddler, but
is now a bachelor millionaire, has been sued for breach of promise
by the walking lady of a San Francisco theatre, who seems to have
effectually succeeded in "mashing" the old man. The defendant it is
said first saw the plaintiff at a performance at the theatre where
she was engaged. He became impressed with her charms and sought an
introduction. He gained it and became an assiduous attendant upon her.
Their intimacy, the lady alleges, ended in a promise of marriage,
and she claims to possess letters in which she is addressed by those
endearing epithets good husbands apply to the spouses they love.
However that may be, the defendant showered bounties on her, both in
jewels and money, for upwards of a year. Then business called him to
his mines in Amador County. He was to be away some weeks, but returned
sooner than he had anticipated. He drove directly to the theatre
where the plaintiff was performing at the time of his arrival in
San Francisco, and got there just in time to see her walk away with
another man. That other man, moreover, was an actor with whom rumor
had associated her name more than once, though she had succeeding in
arguing suspicion in the matter away from the mind of her senile lover.
This time, however, argument failed to do the work required of it.
Detectives employed by the defendant resulted in the discovery that
his gifts and favors had only served to benefit a younger and more
fascinating man, and he literally as well as metaphorically shook the
dust of his false one's door-mat off his feet forever. Then followed
the suit, which he calls blackmail, and she, a demand for justice.
[Illustration: ADELINA PATTI'S "MASH."]
Adelina Patti is credited with a strange fascination, while in New
York, the diva having succumbed to the blandishments of a midget.
The story is that she saw a picture of the midget Dudley Foster on
exhibition at Bunnell's museum, and driving down Broadway, stopped at
Bunnell's establishment and asked George Starr, the wily and polite
manager, for the loan of the diminutive specimen of humanity. Starr
agreed and the midget was handed into her carriage. "Here is a pretty
toy," gushed the prima donna, covering the little creature with kisses.
She took him to her hotel and passed an entire afternoon singing to him
and chatting. How Nicolini took to the new crank of his singing bird
is not stated. Mr. Foster plumes himself considerably on the fact that
he has done what princes have tried in vain--cut out Nicolini--and he
boasts, too, that the prima donna before she would let him go made him
promise to call on her the following week.
[Illustration: J. H. HAVERLY.]
Actors have their "mashes" too, the same as actresses, and the
gentlemen who own flexible voices, and flourish them through all the
glorious variations of operatic music, seem to be most successful in
captivating the fair and susceptible sex. "It is hard to understand why
it is," says a Chicago newspaper, "but somehow, while girls recognize
the powder and paint, the blonde wigs and penciled brows of a prima
donna as so much make-up, they refuse to analyze the charms of a tenor,
and his grease, paint, luxuriant locks, and graceful moustache are
admired as his very own. A case in point was that of a young lady whose
father is well known on the Chicago Stock Exchange. She was violently
smitten with Campanini, and used to send him no end of beautifully
written missives, and every night a bouquet of red roses. The letters
especially attracted the attention of the tenor because they were
written in smoothly flowing Italian, and evidently by some one who was
more romantic than fast or wild. There was little trouble in finding
out the fair correspondent, and Mme. Campanini, who has a good and
lovely soul, sent a note to the young lady and asked her to call. It
is needless to say the latter's delightful delusions were quickly
dispelled before the domestic life of the silver-toned tenor and the
kindly advice of his good wife.
The extent to which these serio-comic love affairs are carried on is
enormous, and sometimes the parties show an amusing ingenuity in their
correspondence. Del Puente once went nearly wild with ungratified
curiosity through the pranks of a mischievous school girl, who was
perpetually sending him love letters, in which she declared she never
missed a single night when he sung, and that when he left New York
on his tour with Her Majesty's Company she should follow him and be
present at every performance. Sure enough, in every city where he
sang he received a pretty note of congratulation, with the usual
information that the writer--dressed, as usual, in black--was present.
Of course, there were always a number of young and pretty women in this
sombre hue, but which was his correspondent Del Puente never could
decide. The letters were always post-marked with the name of the city
he happened to be in, and finally he became really nervous with the
idea of an unknown woman following him in this shadowy fashion. His
curiosity was not destined to be satisfied until long afterward, when
he found that the fair unknown, cleverly following the published route,
would send a stamped but undirected letter to the postmaster of the
city he happened to be in, with a request that he would ascertain the
singer's address and forward it. As long as the letter was stamped this
was sure to be done, and the tenor never failed to receive the missive.
A case of basso-infatuation was that of a daughter of an ex-Senator,
still prominent in Washington circles, who used to spend all her
pin-money in buying presents and baskets of flowers, which she sent
to Conley. In some mysterious way her father received a hint of it,
and the young lady was sent to the Georgetown convent, where she was
educated for a couple of years by way of punishment. She probably did
not know that Conley was married. Poor fellow, he was drowned last
summer.
Castle, though neither so young nor so charming as he once was, still
receives loads of gushing epistles, which Mrs. Castle demurely twists
into cigar lighters; and Brignoli says, "I haf teached misself ze
Inglis language with these liddle letters."
In Chicago there resides a wealthy and charming young married lady who
entertains handsomely, and is well known in society, but who distracts
her elderly husband by a mania for making the acquaintance of every
new male singer of note, and entertaining him with the greatest
elegance and expense. Of course a majority of these affairs are entered
into either in the spirit of romance or mischief, but in either
case it is apt to result disastrously, and the world has a cruelly
uncomfortably way of stamping them with another and harsher name.
Having noticed that there was a stain on the lips of the portrait of
Campanini the tenor, hanging in the lobby of the Academy of Music, New
York, a visitor called an attendant's attention to it and advised him
to wipe it off. "Why, bless you," said the attendant, "we do so every
day. That's where the girls kiss it. That picture makes as many mashes
as Campy himself, and if he was kissed half as often his lips would be
quite worn away. Lord what fools women are, to be sure!" The visitor
waited long enough to see a well-dressed and handsome young lady
approach and kiss the picture. At least he says he saw it.
[Illustration: A MONKEY SPOILING A "MASH."]
There is also a humorous side to this "mashing" business. Men and
boys who run after actresses generally get themselves into trouble,
particularly is this the case with old men--men old enough to be
thinking of the designs for their tombstones instead of running
around variety theatres hugging girls and lavishing champagne and
beer upon them. An old sinner of this stamp got into trouble in a New
York theatre one day. He made himself conspicuous and obnoxious at a
rehearsal by stumbling over the stage and getting in everybody's way.
The supes cursed him and the stage carpenter called down anathemas on
his aged head, but the old fellow was indifferent, for he was basking
in the smiles of a well-known soubrette and was happy. Finally he
posed in the centre of the stage just as an "interior" was to be
set. The scene shifters saw he was in a good position to be squeezed,
and they quietly shoved the scenes together. The lover, intent on his
inamorata, discovered his predicament only when caught, but the scene
shifters were deaf to his cries, and he was held a prisoner. He was
only released on swearing never again to poke his nose inside the
stage-door, and furnishing enough to treat the boys. When at last he
was free, he made hasty tracks for the exit, and was heard to mutter as
he went out, he'd be d--d if he wanted to be squeezed again, even by
his charming soubrette.
The bald-headed men, though, get it worse than anybody else, and
particularly so when their bald heads are hidden under wigs. A monkey
had a part to play in a piece running at one of the metropolitan
variety theatres. There was a pretty burlesque actress playing there
at the same time and she had a host of admirers with more money than
brains. Among the number was an addle-pated old rascal, who preferred
the society of the "artiste" to that of his aged wife, who had lost
the charms which enraptured his fancy when he led her years ago as
a blushing bride to the altar. One evening the fellow bribed the
door-keeper at the stage entrance to admit him to that realm of dirt,
paint, and faded tinsel "behind the scenes," and he stationed himself
in the wings in order to welcome his charmer when she retired amid the
plaudits of the audience. But alas, the "best laid plans of mice and
men gang aft aglee." The monkey espied him, and at once fell in love
with the glossy wig which covered the bald head. Swinging itself down
from the flies the monkey made a swoop with its long arm and the masher
was scalped. He cried lustily, but the monkey made off with its trophy
and the masher sloped with a handkerchief tied over his head.
[Illustration: AMBLELEG.
_See_ p. 296.]
Almost similar was the fate of a bewigged Parisian who was loafing and
"mashing" behind the scenes of the Grand Opera. A dancer stood in the
wings listening to the prattle of a silly old man. He was protesting
heartily his love for the young lady, and was on the point of kissing
her hand, when, as he stooped down, she snatched his wig from his head.
At that moment she had to appear on the stage, and did so amid laughter
and applause; for she carried with her the old fellow's scalp as if by
way of trophy. The applause was less loud, but much more humorous on
the stage; for the gay old lover and his bald head had to stand a deal
of quizzing from those who, like himself, were in the wings waiting for
their "little dears" to return.
Since the establishment of garden theatres for the summer months, in
nearly all the large cities of the Union, the "masher" finds ample
field for the kind of sport he indulges in. A girl in red tights
created a great commotion among the swell mashers who frequented
Uhrig's Cave, St. Louis, during the summer of 1881, and in that
connection there could have been revelations that would carry grief
into a few homes and bring disgrace upon not young and irresponsible
men, but upon prominent citizens who were foolish enough to be
fascinated by the crimson symmetricals. The fraternity have a peculiar
way of working a summer garden. The phalanx of mashers begin operations
early in the evening. They get to the garden before the lamps are lit,
and dust some of the chairs with their coat-tails and pantaloons. They
watch the singers as they enter and endeavor to catch some suggestion
from them that a mash has been effected. Now and then a soft,
gazelle-like glance or a sweet, girlish simper, like the smile on a
sick monkey's under lip, gives a token of slight recognition, and then
the masher's heart and eye are full of gladness. When the curtain is
rung up and the glare turned on, the "mashers" move in a body towards
the front of the stage and dust some more of the chairs. Then they fix
their eyes like so many lances upon the girls and again attempt to
impale hearts. After the performance they move in a double line to the
side aisle of the garden, and, opening ranks, wait for the actresses
to come out. When the actresses do come out they are obliged to run a
gauntlet that would put any but a cast-iron woman with a heavy veil
on to the reddest blush. Sometimes a "masher" accomplishes his aim in
life and captures a girl, but it is seldom. The professional poser
has too wide a reputation and his figure is as clear a "give-away"
as the cigar-sign Indian's, so that a reputable young lady who cares
anything about continuing to be respected and esteemed by her friends
is obdurate to the glances, the moustache, the smiles, the white hat,
light pantaloons, bamboo canes, and cheap button-hole bouquets--
The Saturday matinee young man,
The five-cent-cigar young man,
The sweetly susceptible, somewhat disrep'table,
Gaze-and-admire-me young man.
And so it goes on every night. Music and "mashing" so charmingly
dovetail themselves to the entertainment that there is as much
amusement in looking up one as in listening to the other.