He Failed to Earn a Livelihood as a
Painter, and Was Graduated from
Comic Opera to the Drama.
Although Richard Mansfield's mother was Mme. Rudersdorf, the prima donna,
he was in no sense cradled in the theater. His infant eyes first looked on
the light in Heligoland, an island in the North Sea that then belonged to
England. This was in the year 1857, and he was brought up with the idea
that one day he should become a painter. It was while he was a schoolboy
at Derby, England, that he received the first lift toward the career which
has placed him at the head of his fellows on the American boards.
The boys arranged to act "The Merchant of Venice" on a certain grand
occasion known as "Speech Day," and young Mansfield was cast for
_Shylock_. So well did he acquit himself then that no less exalted a
personage than a bishop shook him by the hand with the words that must
still ring in the now mighty Richard's ears: "Heaven forbid that I should
encourage you to become an actor; but should you, if I mistake not, you
will be a great one."
Preparatory schooling over, his art studies at South Kensington were
broken in upon by failing family fortunes, and the necessity of earning
money in the present rather than waiting to gather in perhaps greater
amounts in the future. So, through the agency of friends of his father, he
set sail for Boston, where an opening had been made for him in the big
dry-goods house of Jordan, Marsh & Co.
But business was not his forte. He spent all his leisure time in painting
pictures, which he found, moreover, he could sell very readily. He burned
for the more artistic atmosphere of the city by the Thames, and,
encouraged by his success in disposing of his paintings, he threw up his
mercantile job and departed for London.
And now began for him seven memorable years--years of keen disappointment,
of deep bitterness, of hope deferred, of actual suffering in body as well
as mind. The kind of pictures he had been able to sell with ease in Boston
found no buyers in England, and matters went speedily with him from bad to
worse.
The incident he had used in his play "Monsieur," of his hero's engagement
to play the piano and toppling from the stool through weakness induced by
hunger, is drawn from his own experience. The episode occurred at a
concert-hall, when he was possessed of only one suit of clothes and no
home.
Mansfield Meets W.S. Gilbert.
It was his ability to play and sing that really kept his body and soul
together in these awful days and nights, for once in a while, by a clutch
at the fringe of friendships left him from the old days, he could obtain
an engagement to entertain a company of literary or stage folk. He fell in
with W.S. Gilbert on one of these occasions. "Pinafore" had just taken the
public by storm, and the makers thereof were hastening to utilize the
wave of popular favor by thrusting all of their available wares to a ride
upon its crest.
"I think that young man will do for _Wellington Wells_ in 'The Sorcerer,'"
Gilbert remarked to his manager, R. D'Oyly Carte.
It was to be a company for the provinces, and as Mr. Carte thought that
the rather shabbily attired young person who officiated at the piano would
not be exorbitant in his demands for salary, he decided that he would do,
and offered Mansfield three pounds, or fifteen dollars, a week.
To the out-at-elbows, fate-buffeted artist, this seemed a princely sum,
and he accepted the position with an eagerness he hoped was not as
apparent as his necessities demanded it should be. But his spine stiffened
a little later on when, having made good with _Wellington Wells_ and one
or two other impersonations in the Gilbert and Sullivan repertoire, he
asked for a raise of salary amounting to two dollars a week. Mr. Carte
declined to grant it, and Mansfield quit.
But, on the strength of his first engagement, it was not a heaven and
earth raising matter to secure a second, and, like all the rest of his
ambitious British brother actors, he steered his course across the
Atlantic. He found a chance to appear as _Dromez_ in the comic opera "Les
Manteaux Noirs," which was done in New York at the Standard Theater, now
known as the Manhattan.
This was in the early eighties. His next venture was _Nick Vedder_ in a
musical setting of "Rip Van Winkle," after which he returned to the
Gilbert and Sullivan line and appeared as the _Lord Chancellor_ in
"Iolanthe."
A Lucky Misfortune.
And right here steps in one of the luckiest misfortunes that ever befell a
man. For had Mansfield not turned his ankle while dancing as the
_Chancellor_ in Baltimore he _might_ have remained in comic opera until he
disputed twentieth century honors in the field with De Wolf Hopper and
Jeff De Angelis.
The accident put him out of the cast and sent him back to New York, right
in the path of A.M. Palmer, who happened to be looking for somebody to do
_Tirandel_ in "A Parisian Romance." This was a small part, but, being in
straight drama rather than comic opera, was regarded by Mansfield as a
step upward, and he did not hesitate about accepting the engagement.
What followed has been told so often from the Mansfield side that the
reader may be glad to get the story in the words of the man who made it
possible for a fellow actor to lift himself in a night from obscurity to
fame. I quote from "Recollections of a Player," by James H. Stoddart,
whose last creation on the boards was _Lachlan_, in "The Bonnie Brier
Bush," and who is now living in retirement at his home in Sewaren, New
Jersey.
From the Memoirs of James H. Stoddart.
"After the reading of the play the company were unanimous in their opinion
that 'A Parisian Romance' was a _one-part piece_, and that part the
_Baron_, and all the principals had their eye on him. After some delay and
much expectancy, the role was given to me. Miss Minnie Conway, who was a
member of the company and had seen the play in Paris, said that she
thought the _Baron_ a strange part to give me.
"'It's a Lester Wallack part,' she said.
"This information rather disconcerted me, but I rehearsed the part for
about a week, and then, being convinced that it did not suit me, I went to
Mr. Palmer and told him I felt very doubtful as to whether I could do him
or myself justice in it.
"He would not hear of my giving it up, saying that he knew me better than
I did myself; that I was always doubtful; but that he was willing to take
the risk. He also read a letter which he had received from some one in
Paris giving advice regarding the production, in which, among other
things, it was said that _Baron Chevrial_ was the principal part, that
everything depended on him, and that 'if you can get Stoddart to look well
in full dress he is the man you must have to play it.'
"I left Mr. Palmer, resolved to try again, and do my best. Mr. Mansfield
was in the play for a small part, and, I discovered, was watching me like
a cat during rehearsals.
"A lot of fashion-plates were sent to my dressing-room, with instructions
to select my costume. As I had hitherto been, for some time, associated
with vagabonds, villains, etc., I think these fashion-plates had a
tendency to unnerve me more than anything else. So I again went to Mr.
Palmer and told him I could not play the _Baron_.
Young Mansfield's Triumph.
"'You must,' said Mr. Palmer. 'I rather think Mr. Mansfield must have
suspected something of the sort, for he has been to me, asking, in the
event of your not playing it, that I give it to him. I have never seen Mr.
Mansfield act; he has not had much experience, and might ruin the
production.'
"At Mr. Palmer's earnest solicitation I promised to try it again. I had by
this time worked myself into such a state of nervousness that my wife
interfered.
"'All the theaters in the world,' said she, 'are not worth what you are
suffering. Go and tell Mr. Palmer you positively cannot play the part.'
"Fearing the outcome, I did not risk another interview with my manager,
but sought out Mr. Cazauran, and returned the part to him with a message
to Mr. Palmer that I positively declined to play it.
"The result was that Mr. Mansfield was put in my place. The result is well
known.
"Mr. Palmer was delighted, and _I_ consoled myself with the thought that
my refusal of the part had proved not only far better for the interests of
the production, but was also the immediate cause of giving an early
opportunity to one who has since done much for the stage."
Back To Comic Opera.
Oddly enough, in spite of his sensational success as the senile _Baron_,
Mansfield's next engagement after "A Parisian Romance" had run its course
at the Union Square Theater, was as _Koko_ in Gilbert and Sullivan's
"Mikado." But the halt of this company in Boston brought the young actor a
chance to connect himself with the famous Museum stock there, and he bade
good-by to comic opera for good when he first trod the Museum boards as
_Chevrial_, following this up with the title role in "Prince Karl."
A dramatization of Robert Louis Stevenson's powerful story, "Dr. Jekyll
and Mr. Hyde," followed, also at the Museum. It was in New York, in the
summer of 1886, twenty years ago, that saw Mansfield's practical start as
a star, with "Prince Karl," at the Madison Square Theater, where he
submitted "Beau Brummel" four years later.
Meanwhile he had been invited by Henry Irving to play in London, where he
made his first Shakespeare production in the shape of "King Richard III."