FIRST VISIT TO EUROPE.
In the summer of 1879, was paid Mary Anderson's first visit to Europe. It
had long been eagerly anticipated. In the lands of the Old World was the
cradle of the Art she loved so well, and it was with feelings almost of
awe that she entered their portals. She had few if any introductions, and
spent a month in London wandering curiously through the conventional
scenes usually visited by a stranger. Westminster Abbey was among her
favorite haunts; its ancient aisles, its storied windows, its thousand
memories of a past which antedated by so many centuries the civilization
of her native land, appealed deeply to the ardent imagination of the
impassioned girl. Here was a world of which she had read and dreamed, but
whose over-mastering, living influence was now for the first time felt. It
seemed like the first glimpse of verdant forest, of enameled meadow, of
crystal stream, of pure sky to one who had been blind. It was another
atmosphere, another life. Brief as was her visit, it gave an impulse to
those germs which lie deep in every poetic soul. She saw there was an
illimitable world of Art, whose threshold as yet she had hardly
trodden--and she went home full of the inspiration caught at the ancient
fountains of Poetry and Art. From that time an intellectual change seems
to have passed over her. Her studies took new channels, and her
impersonations were mellowed and glorified from her personal contact with
the associations of a great past.
A visit to Stratford-on-Avon was one of the most delightful events of the
trip. It seemed to Mary Anderson the emblem of peace and contentment and
quiet; and though as a stranger she did not then enjoy so many of the
privileges which were willingly accorded her during the present visit to
this country, she still looks back to the day when she knelt by the grave
of Shakespeare as one of the most eventful and inspiring of her life.
Much of the time of Mary Anderson's European visit was spent in Paris.
Through the kindness of General Sherman she obtained introductions to
Ristori and other distinguished artists, and, to her delight, secured also
the _entree_ behind the scenes of the Theatre Francais. Its magnificent
green-room, the walls lined with portraits of departed celebrities of that
famous theater, amazed her by its splendor; and to her it was a strange
and curious sight to see the actors in "Hernani" come in and play cards in
their gorgeous stage costumes at intervals in the performance. On one of
these occasions she naively asked Sarah Bernhardt why her portrait did not
appear on the walls? The great artist replied that she hoped Mary Anderson
did not wish her dead, as only under such circumstances could an
appearance there be permitted to her. "Behind the scenes" of the Theatre
Francais was a source of never-wearying interest, and Mary Anderson
thought the effects of light attained there far surpassed anything she had
witnessed on the English or American stage.
The verdict of Ristori, before whom she recited, was highly favorable, and
the great _tragedienne_ predicted a brilliant career for the young
actress, and declared she would be a great success with an English company
in Paris, while the "divine Sarah" affirmed that she had never seen
greater originality. On the return journey from Paris a brief stay was
made at the quaint city of Rouen. Joan of Arc's stake, and the house
where, tradition has it, she resided, were sacred spots to Mary Anderson;
and the ancient towers, the curious old streets, overlooking the fertile
valley through which the Seine wanders like a silver thread, are memories
which have since remained to her ever green. During her first visit to
England Mary Anderson never dreamt of the possibility that she herself
might appear on the English stage. Indeed the effect of her first European
tour was depressing and disheartening. She saw only how much there was for
her to see, how much to learn in the world of Art. A feeling of
home-sickness came over her, and she longed to be back at her seaside home
where she could watch the wild restless Atlantic as it swept in upon the
New Jersey shore, and listen to the sad music of the weary waves. This was
the instinct of a true artist nature, which had depths capable of being
stirred by the touch of what is great and noble.
In the following year, however, there came an offer from the manager of
Drury Lane to appear upon its boards. Mary Anderson received it with a
pleased surprise. It told that her name had spread beyond her native land,
and that thus early had been earned a reputation which commended her as
worthy to appear on the stage of a great and famous London theater. But
her reply was a refusal. She thought herself hardly finished enough to
face such a test of her powers; and the natural ambition of a successful
actress to extend the area of her triumph seemed to have found no place in
her heart.