Walnut Street Theatre, Philadelphia, which was then in rather a fallen
state. Under her energetic rule, however, the establishment recovered
its popularity. "She displayed at that day," writes Mr. George
Vandenhoff--who "starred at the Walnut Street Theatre for six nights
to small audiences"--"a rude, strong, uncultivated talent. It was not
till after she had seen and acted with Mr. Macready--which she did the
next season--that she really brought artistic study and finish to her
performances." Macready arrived in New York in the autumn of 1843. He
notes: "The Miss Cushman, who acted Lady Macbeth, interested me much.
She has to learn her art, but she showed mind and sympathy with me--a
novelty so refreshing to me on the stage." She discerned the
opportunity for study and improvement presented by Macready's visit,
and underwent the fatigue of acting on alternate nights in
Philadelphia and New York during the term of his engagement at the
Park Theatre. Her own success was very great. She wrote to her mother
of her great reception: of her being called out after the play; of the
"hats and handkerchiefs waved to me; flowers sent to me," etc. In
October, 1844, she sailed for England in the packet-ship Garrick. She
had little money with her. A farewell benefit taken in Boston, her
native city, had not proved very productive, and she had been obliged
"to make arrangements for the maintenance of her family during her
absence." And with characteristic prudence she left behind her a
certain sum, to be in readiness for her, in case failure in England
should drive her promptly back to America.
No engagement in London had been offered her; but she received, upon
her arrival, a letter from Macready, proposing that she should join a
company then being formed to give representations in Paris. She
thought it prudent to decline this proposal, however, so as to avoid
entering into anything like rivalry with Miss Helen Faucit, the
leading actress of the troupe. She visited Paris for a few days, but
only to sit with the audience of the best French theatres. She
returned to her dull lodgings in Covent Garden, "awaiting her
destiny." She was fond, in after years, of referring to the struggles
and poverty, the hopes and the despair, of her first sojourn in
London. Her means were nearly exhausted. Sally, the dresser, used to
relate: "Miss Cushman lived on a mutton-chop a day, and I always
bought the baker's dozen of muffins for the sake of the extra one, and
we ate them all, no matter how stale they were, and we never suffered
from want of appetite in those days." She found herself reduced to her
last sovereign, when Mr. Maddox, the manager of the Princess's
Theatre, came to her with a proposal. The watchful Sally reported that
he had been walking up and down the street for some time early in the
morning, too early for a visit. "He is anxious," said Miss Cushman. "I
can make my own terms." He wished her to appear with Forrest, the
American tragedian, then visiting the London stage for the second and
last time. She stipulated that she should have her opportunity first,
and "alone." If successful, she was willing to appear in support of
Forrest. So it was agreed.
Her first appearance upon the English stage was made on February 14,
1845; she assumed the character of Bianca, in Dean Milman's rather
dull tragedy of "Fazio." Her triumph was indisputable. Her intensity
and vehemence completely carried away the house. As the pit rose at
Kean's Shylock, so it rose at Charlotte Cushman's Bianca. She wrote to
her mother in America: "All my success put together, since I have been
upon the stage, would not come near my success in London." The critics
described, as the crowning effort of her performance, the energy and
pathos and abandonment of her appeal to Aldabella, when the wife
sacrifices her pride, and sinks, "huddled into a heap," at the feet of
her rival, imploring her to save the life of Fazio. Miss Cushman,
speaking of her first performance in London, was wont to relate how
she was so completely overcome, not only by the excitement of the
scene, but by the nervous agitation of the occasion, that she lost for
the moment her self-command, and was especially grateful for the
long-continued applause which gave her time to recover herself. When
she slowly rose at last and faced the house again, the spectacle of
its enthusiasm thrilled and impressed her in a manner she could never
forget. The audience were standing; some had mounted on the benches;
there was wild waving of hats and handkerchiefs, a storm of cheering,
great showering of bouquets.
Her second character in London was Lady Macbeth, to the Macbeth of
Edwin Forrest; but the American actor failed to please, and the
audience gave free expression to their discontent. Greatly disgusted,
Forrest withdrew, deluding himself with the belief that he was the
victim of a conspiracy. Miss Cushman's success knew no abatement. She
played a round of parts, assisted by James Wallack, Leigh Murray, and
Mrs. Stirling, appearing now as Rosalind, now as Juliana in "The
Honeymoon," as Mrs. Haller, as Beatrice, as Julia in "The Hunchback."
Her second season was even more successful than her first. After a
long provincial tour she appeared in December, 1845, as Romeo at the
Haymarket Theatre, then under the management of Mr. Webster, her
sister Susan assuming the character of Juliet. She had sent for her
family to share her prosperity, and had established them in a
furnished house at Bayswater.
Her success as Romeo was very great. The tragedy was played for eighty
nights. Her performance won applause even from those most opposed to
the representation of Shakespeare's hero by a woman. For a time her
intense earnestness of speech and manner, the passion of her
interviews with Juliet, the fury of her combat with Tybalt, the
despair of her closing scenes, bore down all opposition, silenced
criticism, and excited her audience to an extraordinary degree. She
appeared afterward, but not in London, as Hamlet, following an
unfortunate example set by Mrs. Siddons; and as Ion in Talfourd's
tragedy of that name.
In America, toward the close of her career, she even ventured to
appear as Cardinal Wolsey, obtaining great applause by her exertions
in the character, and the skill and force of her impersonation. But
histrionic feats of this kind trespass against good taste, do violence
to the intentions of the dramatists, and are, in truth, departures
from the purpose of playing. Miss Cushman had for excuse--in the first
instance, at any rate--her anxiety to forward the professional
interests of her sister, who, in truth, had little qualification for
the stage, apart from her good looks and her graces of manner. The
sisters had played together in Philadelphia in "The Genoese"--a drama
written by a young American--when, to give support and encouragement
to Susan in her personation of the heroine, Charlotte undertook the
part of her lover. Their success prompted them to appear in "Romeo and
Juliet." Other plays, in which both could appear, were afterward
selected--such, for instance, as "Twelfth Night," in which Charlotte
played Viola to the Olivia of Susan--so that the engagement of one
might compel the engagement of the other. Susan, however, quitted the
stage in 1847, to become the wife of Dr. Sheridan Muspratt, of
Liverpool.
[Illustration: Charlotte Cushman as Mrs. Haller.]
Charlotte Cushman called few new plays into being. Dramas, entitled
"Infatuation," by James Kenny, in 1845, and "Duchess Elinour," by the
late H. F. Chorley, in 1854, were produced for her, but were summarily
condemned by the audience, being scarcely permitted indeed a second
performance in either case. Otherwise, she did not add to her
repertory. For many years she led the life of a "star," fulfilling
brief engagements here and there, appearing now for a term in London,
and now travelling through the provinces, playing some half a dozen
characters over and over again. Of these Lady Macbeth, Queen Katherine
and Meg Merrilies were perhaps the most frequently demanded. Her fame
and fortune she always dated from the immediate recognition she
obtained upon her first performance in London. But she made frequent
visits to America; indeed, she crossed the Atlantic "upward of sixteen
times," says her biographer. In 1854 she took a house in Bolton Row,
Mayfair, "where for some years she dispensed the most charming and
genial hospitality," and, notably, entertained Ristori on her first
visit to England in 1856. Several winters she passed in Rome,
occupying apartments in the Via Gregoriana, where she cordially
received a host of friends and visitors of all nations. In 1859 she
was called to England by her sister's fatal illness; in 1866 she was
again summoned to England to attend the death-bed of her mother. In
1860 she was playing in all the chief cities of America. Three years
later she again visited America, her chief object being to act for the
benefit of the Sanitary Commission, and aid the sick and wounded
victims of the civil war. During the late years of her life she
appeared before the public more as a dramatic reader than as an
actress. There were long intervals between her theatrical engagements;
she seemed to quit her profession only to return to it after an
interval with renewed appetite, and she incurred reproaches because of
the frequency of her farewells, and the doubt that prevailed as to
whether her "last appearances" were really to be the "very last." It
was not until 1874, however, that she took final leave of the New York
stage, amid extraordinary enthusiasm, with many poetic and other
ceremonies. She was the subject of addresses in prose and verse. Mr.
Bryant, after an eloquent speech, tendered her a laurel wreath bound
with white ribbon resting upon a purple velvet cushion, with a
suitable inscription embroidered in golden letters; a torchbearers'
procession escorted her from the theatre to her hotel; she was
serenaded at midnight, and in her honor Fifth Avenue blazed with
fireworks. After this came farewells to Philadelphia, Boston and other
cities, and to these succeeded readings all over the country. It is to
be said, however, that incessant work had become a necessity with her,
not because of its pecuniary results, but as a means of obtaining
mental relief or comparative forgetfulness for a season. During the
last five or six years of her life she was afflicted with an incurable
and agonizing malady. Under most painful conditions she toiled
unceasingly, moving rapidly from place to place, and passing days and
nights in railway journeys. In a letter to a friend, she writes: "I do
get so dreadfully depressed about myself, and all things seem so
hopeless to me at those times, that I pray God to take me quickly at
any moment, so that I may not torture those I love by letting them see
my pain. But when the dark hour passes, and I try to forget by
constant occupation that I have such a load near my heart, then it is
not so bad." She died almost painlessly at last on February 18, 1876.
Charlotte Cushman may assuredly be accounted an actress of genius in
right of her originality, her vivid power of depicting emotion, the
vehemence and intensity of her histrionic manner. Her best successes
were obtained in tragedy, although she possessed a keen sense of
humor, and could deliver the witty speeches of Rosalind or of Beatrice
with excellent point and effect. Her Meg Merrilies will probably be
remembered as her most impressive achievement. It was really, as she
played it, a character of her own invention; but, in truth, it taxed
her intellectual resources far less than her Bianca, her Queen
Katherine, or her Lady Macbeth. Her physical peculiarities no doubt
limited the range of her efforts, hindered her advance as an actress,
or urged her toward exceptional impersonations. Her performances
lacked femininity, to use Coleridge's word; but in power to stir an
audience, to touch their sympathies, to kindle their enthusiasm, and
to compel their applause, she takes rank among the finest players. It
only remains to add that Miss Stebbins' fervid and affecting biography
of her friend admirably demonstrates that the woman was not less
estimable than the actress; that Charlotte Cushman was of noble
character, intellectual, large and tenderhearted, of exemplary conduct
in every respect. The simple, direct earnestness of her manner upon
the mimic scene, characterized her proceedings in real life. She was
at once the slave and the benefactress of her family; she was
devotedly fond of children; she was of liberal and generous nature;
she was happiest when conferring kindness upon others; her career
abounded in self-sacrifice. She pretended to few accomplishments, to
little cultivation of a literary sort; but she could write, as Miss
Stebbins proves, excellent letters, now grave, now gay, now
reflective, now descriptive, always interesting, and altogether
remarkable for sound sense and for force and skill of expression. Her
death was regarded in America almost as a national catastrophe. As
Miss Stebbins writes, "The press of the entire country bore witness to
her greatness, and laid their tributes upon her tomb."
* * * * *
The following letter of good counsel from Miss Cushman to young Mr.
Barton is reprinted, by permission of Messrs. Houghton, Mifflin & Co.,
from the "Life and Letters of Charlotte Cushman."
"I think if you have to wait for a while it will do you no harm. You
seem to me quite frantic for immediate work; but teach yourself quiet
and repose in the time you are waiting. With half your strength I
could bear to wait and labor with myself to conquer _fretting_. The
greatest power in the world is shown in conquest over self. More life
will be worked out of you by fretting than all the stage-playing in
the world. God bless you, my poor child. You have indeed trouble
enough; but you have a strong and earnest spirit, and you have the
true religion of labor in your heart. Therefore I have no fears for
you let what will come. Let me hear from you at your leisure, and be
sure you have no warmer friend than I am and wish to be."
RACHEL
By DUTTON COOK
(1821-1858)
[Illustration: Rachel.]
It is told that Rachel Felix was born on March 24, 1821, at Munf, near
the town of Aarau, in the Canton of Aargau, Switzerland; the
burgomaster of the district simply noting in his books that upon the
day stated, at the little village inn, the wife of a poor pedler had
given birth to a female child. The entry included no mention of
family, name, or religion, and otherwise the event was not registered
in any civil or religious record. The father and mother were Abraham
Felix, a Jew, born in Metz, but of German origin, and Esther Haya, his
wife. They had wandered about the continent during many years, seeking
a living and scarcely finding it. Several children were born to them
by the wayside, as it were, on their journeyings hither and thither:
Sarah in Germany, Rebecca in Lyons, Dinah in Paris, Rachel in
Switzerland; and there were other infants who did not long survive
their birth, succumbing to the austerities of the state of life to
which they had been called. For a time, perhaps because of their
numerous progeny, M. and Madame Felix settled in Lyons. Madame Felix
opened a small shop and dealt in second-hand clothes; M. Felix gave
lessons in German to the very few pupils he could obtain. About 1830
the family moved to Paris. They were still miserably poor. The
children Sarah and Rachel, usually carrying a smaller child in their
arms or wheeling it with them in a wooden cart, were sent into the
streets to earn money by singing at the doors of cafes and estaminets.
A musical amateur, one M. Morin, noticed the girls, questioned them,
interested himself about them, and finally obtained their admission
into the Government School of Sacred Music in the Rue Vaugirard.
Rachel's voice did not promise much, however; as she confessed, she
could not sing--she could only recite. She had received but the
scantiest and meanest education; she read with difficulty; she was
teaching herself writing by copying the manuscript of others.
Presently she was studying elocution under M. St. Aulaire, an old
actor retired from the Francais, who took pains with the child,
instructing her gratuitously and calling her "ma petite diablesse."
The performances of M. St. Aulaire's pupil were occasionally witnessed
by the established players, among them Monval of the Gymnase and
Samson of the Comedie. Monval approved and encouraged the young
actress, and upon the recommendation of Samson she entered the classes
of the Conservatoire, over which he presided, with Michelot and
Provost as his co-professors.
At the Conservatoire Rachel made little progress. All her efforts
failed to win the good opinion of her preceptors. In despair she
resolved to abandon altogether the institution, its classes and
performances. She felt herself neglected, aggrieved, insulted.
"Tartuffe" had been announced for representation by the pupils; she
had been assigned the mute part of Flipote, the serving-maid, who
simply appears upon the scene in the first act that her ears may be
soundly boxed by Madame Pernelle. To this humiliation she would not
submit. She hurried to her old friend, St. Aulaire, who consulted
Monval, who commended her to his manager, M. Poirson. She entered into
an engagement to serve the Gymnase for a term of three years upon a
salary of 3,000 francs. M. Poirson was quick to perceive that she was
not as so many other beginners were; that there was something new and
startling about the young actress. He obtained for her first
appearance, from M. Paul Duport, a little melodrama in two acts. It
was called "La Vendeenne," and owed its more striking scenes to "The
Heart of Midlothian." After the manner of Jeanie Deans, Genevieve, the
heroine of the play, footsore and travel-stained, seeks the presence
of the Empress Josephine to implore the pardon of a Vendean peasant
condemned to death for following George Cadoudal. "La Vendeenne,"
produced on April 24, 1837, and received with great applause, was
played on sixty successive nights, but not to very crowded audiences.
The press scarcely noticed the new actress. The critic of the _Journal
des Debats_, however, while rashly affirming that Rachel was not a
phenomenon and would never be extolled as a wonder, carefully noted
certain of the merits and characteristics of her performance. "She was
an unskilled child, but she possessed heart, soul, intellect. There
was something bold, abrupt, uncouth about her aspect, gait, and
manner. She was dressed simply and truthfully in the coarse woollen
gown of a peasant-girl; her hands were red; her voice was harsh and
untrained, but powerful; she acted without effort or exaggeration; she
did not scream or gesticulate unduly; she seemed to perceive
intuitively the feeling she was required to express, and could
interest the audience greatly, moving them to tears. She was not
pretty, but she pleased," etc. Bouffe, who witnessed this
representation, observed: "What an odd little girl! Assuredly there is
something in her. But her place is not here." So judged Samson also,
becoming more and more aware of the merits of his former pupil. She
was transferred to the Francais to play the leading characters in
tragedy, at a salary of 4,000 francs a year. M. Poirson did not
hesitate to cancel her agreement with him. Indeed, he had been
troubled with thinking how he could employ his new actress. She was
not an _ingenue_ of the ordinary type; she could not be classed among
soubrettes. There were no parts suited to her in the light comedies of
Scribe and his compeers, which constituted the chief repertory of the
Gymnase.
It was on June 12, 1838, that Rachel, as Camille, in "Horace," made
her first appearance upon the stage of the Theatre Francais. The
receipts were but seven hundred and fifty francs; it was an
unfashionable period of the year; Paris was out of town; the weather
was most sultry. There were many Jews in the house, it was said,
resolute to support the daughter of Israel, and her success was
unequivocal; nevertheless, a large share of the applause of the night
was confessedly carried off by the veteran Joanny, who played Horace.
On June 16th Rachel made her second appearance, personating Emilie in
the "Cinna," of Corneille. The receipts fell to five hundred and fifty
francs. She repeated her performance of Camille on the 23d; the
receipts were only three hundred francs! the poorest house, perhaps,
she ever played to in Paris. She afterward appeared as Hermione in
"Andromaque," Amenaide in "Tancrede," Eriphile in "Iphigenie," Monime
in "Mithridate," and Roxane in "Bajazet," the receipts now gradually
rising, until, in October, when she played Hermione for the tenth
time, six thousand francs were taken at the doors, an equal amount
being received in November, when, for the sixth time, she appeared as
Camille. Paris was now at her feet. In 1839, called upon to play two
or three times per week, she essayed but one new part, Esther, in
Racine's tragedy of that name. The public was quite content that she
should assume again and again the characters in which she had already
triumphed. In 1840 she added to her list of impersonations Laodie and
Pauline in Corneille's "Nicomede" and "Polyeucte," and Marie Stuart in
Lebrun's tragedy. In 1841 she played no new parts. In 1842 she first
appeared as Chimene in "Le Cid," as Ariane, and as Fredegonde in a
wretched tragedy by Le Mercier.
Rachel had saved the Theatre Francais, had given back to the stage the
masterpieces of the French classical drama. It was very well for
Thackeray to write from Paris in 1839 that the actress had "only
galvanized the corpse, not revivified.... Racine will never come to
life again and cause audiences to weep as of yore." He predicted:
"Ancient French tragedy, red-heeled, patched, and beperiwigged, lies
in the grave, and it is only the ghost of it that the fair Jewess has
raised." But it was something more than a galvanized animation that
Rachel had imparted to the old drama of France. During her career of
twenty years, her performances of Racine and Corneille filled the
coffers of the Francais, and it may be traced to her influence and
example that the classic plays still keep their place upon the stage
and stir the ambition of the players. But now the committee of the
Francais had to reckon with their leading actress, and pay the price
of the prosperity she had brought them. They cancelled her engagement
and offered her terms such as seemed to them liberal beyond all
precedent. But the more they offered, so much the more was demanded.
In the first instance, the actress being a minor, negotiations were
carried on with her father, the committee denouncing in the bitterest
terms the avarice and rapacity of M. Felix. But when Rachel became
competent to deal on her own behalf, she proved herself every whit as
exacting as her sire. She became a _societaire_ in 1843, entitled to
one of the twenty-four shares into which the profits of the
institution were divided. She was rewarded, moreover, with a salary of
forty-two thousand francs per annum; and it was estimated that by her
performances during her _conge_ of three or four months every year she
earned a further annual income of thirty thousand francs. She met with
extraordinary success upon her provincial tours; enormous profits
resulted from her repeated visits to Holland and Belgium, Germany,
Russia, and England. But, from first to last, Rachel's connection with
the Francais was an incessant quarrel. She was capricious, ungrateful,
unscrupulous, extortionate. She struggled to evade her duties, to do
as little as she possibly could in return for the large sums she
received from the committee. She pretended to be too ill to play in
Paris, the while she was always well enough to hurry away and obtain
great rewards by her performances in the provinces. She wore herself
out by her endless wanderings hither and thither, her continuous
efforts upon the scene. She denied herself all rest, or slept in a
travelling carriage to save time in her passage from one country
theatre to another. Her company complained that they fell asleep as
they acted, her engagements denying them proper opportunities of
repose. The newspapers at one time set forth the acrimonious letters
she had interchanged with the committee of the Francais. Finally she
tended her resignation of the position she occupied as _societaire_;
the committee took legal proceedings to compel her to return to her
duties; some concessions were made on either side, however, and a
reconciliation was patched up.