In the summer of 1888 yellow fever appeared in Florida and raged with
peculiar violence in Jacksonville. Early in September I received a
letter inviting me to meet a number of ladies at rooms on Broadway
to organize a committee for the relief of the Jacksonville sufferers.
Mrs. Stedman (wife of the poet) was with me at the time I received the
letter, and she agreed with me that it would be a most beautiful thing
for the New York women to send substantial relief to their stricken
sisters in Florida. So, on the day and hour appointed, Mrs. Stedman
accompanied me to the place designated. We found ourselves in the
presence of a large roomful of ladies neither of us had ever before
seen. I was made chairman by acclamation, and a Mrs. Manton secretary.
I had never presided at a meeting, but I did my best. I invited an
expression of the views of those before me as to the wisest schemes for
the benevolent work. A great many suggestions were offered of a totally
unpractical nature, and I finally asked for an adjournment, to meet
two days from the present, and requested my "committee" to consider the
matter, confer with their friends, and give me the opportunity to seek
advice from mine. Mrs. Stedman seemed much discouraged, as we walked
home together. She felt sure nothing would result from this experiment;
and besides, as Mayor Hewitt was engaged in collecting funds for the
relief of Jacksonville, perhaps all good citizens should send their
offerings to him. I intended at the next meeting to follow up her
suggestions, but only half a dozen ladies appeared. I represented to
them that we must have money at once to pay for our service in future
and a small debt already incurred, and we then again adjourned. In the
vestibule an army of eager newspaper reporters awaited us, in whose
hands I left my friends, having nothing myself to communicate. Next
morning every paper in New York announced the interesting fact that
Mrs. Roger A. Pryor was president of "The Ladies' Jacksonville Relief
Society," that names well known in social and literary circles were
associated with hers, and donations of clothing, food, and money were
solicited! Of course the press sent me many reporters, and I found
myself suddenly invested with importance and armed with authority. I
went joyfully to meet my appointment for another meeting, and found
a room, full indeed—but of empty chairs! Not a soul came! I waited
throughout the hour alone. At the end of it a message was sent in to
me from the reporters without. What had we done? What should they say
in the next morning's issue of the _Herald_, the _World_, the _Sun_,
the _Tribune_? Sorely perplexed, I answered: "Tell the gentlemen we are
sitting with closed doors. I shall have nothing to report for several
days."
I suppose no woman in all New York was ever in a more embarrassing
situation. Here was I advertised as president of a society engaged in
a great benevolent enterprise, and the society had simply melted away,
disappeared, left no trace, not even a name and address! What would
New York think of me? I keenly felt the absurdity of my position, but
superior to every personal annoyance was my own disappointment. An
opportunity to work effectively for the stricken people of Florida had
been suddenly snatched from me. A friend in Jacksonville, having heard
of the movement, had written:—
"I have been prostrated by yellow fever, and am unable to
carry out the plans I had made with Bishop Weed for aid for
the sick and friendless children here, and the bishop's days
are filled with the most pressing duties. Along this pathway
through the valley of the shadow of death there are many
little children whose pathetic condition touches the chords
of our tenderest sympathies. But our hands hang limp and
helpless, and so we hold them out to you."
I found myself consumed with longing to help them. I felt then—as I felt
afterward for the orphans of Galveston—that I could almost consent to
give my own life if I could but save theirs.
These were the dreams of the night, and with the dawn I had resolved
to be "obedient to the heavenly vision." Before ten o'clock I sent
telegrams to Mrs. Vincenzo Botta, Mrs. Wm. C. Whitney, Miss Rose
Elizabeth Cleveland, Mrs. Frederic Coudert, Mrs. Judge Brady, Mrs.
Whitelaw Reid, Mrs. Levi P. Morton, Mrs. Don Dickinson, Mrs. William C.
Rives, Mrs. William Astor, and Mrs. Martha Lamb. Would they join me in
a gift from New York women to Jacksonville?
Every one responded, "Yes, gladly, if you will manage it." Mrs. Astor,
Mrs. Reid, and Mrs. Coudert sent money—a goodly sum—to start my work.
Here I was, then, with a splendid following—_le premier pas_? Where
could I commence? Surely not by begging money—that I would never do.
By some means we must earn it. Just then I saw that Mr. Frohman had
offered a matinée for the Mayor's Relief Fund. I communicated with Mr.
Frohman, asking him to beg the mayor to let my fine committee have this
matinée with which to inaugurate our work. His Honor evidently regarded
the proposition as indicative of nerve, needing repression. Mr. Frohman
quoted him as surprised, and quite decided: "Mr. Hewitt says he thought
everybody knew he needed all the money he could get."
He had only that one matinée. Before night I had telegraphed every
reputable theatre and concert-hall in the city, and secured _nine_!
Thoroughly upon my mettle, I went to work. My support was all out of
town except Mrs. Botta and Mrs. Fanny Barrow. We were a committee of
three for several weeks, but we diligently increased our strength by
letters and telegrams. Mr. Aronson, of the Casino, fixed upon September
27 for his votive matinée, and Mr. John McCaull, who had Wallack's
Theatre, selected the same day. "Never mind, madam," said Mr. Aronson;
"I'll turn away enough people from my doors to fill Wallack's." "Rest
assured, madam," said Mr. McCaull, "I'll turn away enough people
from Wallack's to fill the Casino." So I had two great matinées on my
hands—fixed for the same day, the same hour.
I knew it would be vital to my interests to have these initial
entertainments successful. I busied my brain with schemes which I
cunningly revealed to my friends among the merchants. I wanted satin
banners painted with palms and orange-blossoms for Mr. Aronson and Mr.
McCaull. I wanted beautiful satin programmes for every man, woman,
and child who played for me, and for all my patronesses. I craved
flowers galore. I longed for fine stationery, white wax, and a seal. I
obtained all these things. So many flowers were sent that baskets and
bouquets were presented to everybody on the stage. The actors caught
the enthusiasm. Mr. Solomon, who sang the topical song at the Casino,
introduced happy, appropriate lines. "Aunt Louisa Eldridge" opened a
flower sale in the foyer, and made a large sum for the charity. Satin
souvenirs were given to everybody with the "Compliments of the Ladies'
Jacksonville Relief Society." Every note (a personal one written to
each performer) was sealed with white wax and a seal made expressly for
me. Little Fanny Rice was bewitching in Nadjy—singing the pretty Mignon
song which is borrowed in the play. At Wallack's there was a splendid
programme, in which many stars participated—Kyrle Bellew, and others,
and a wonderfully funny balcony scene from "Romeo and Juliet"—De Wolf
Hopper the Juliet, Jefferson De Angelis the nurse, and Marshall Wilder,
Romeo!
When it was all over, there was one very tired woman on 33d Street. But
next day the papers announced "brilliant audience, beautiful mounting,
grand success." Everybody was thanked, by name, through the papers.
Mr. Aronson sent me $904.50. Early next morning I was summoned to my
parlor, and before reaching it, I heard a masculine voice: "Don't be
afraid—speak up now!" Entering, I was confronted by a wee, winsome
lassie with long curls, great eyes, a lovely little face from which a
big hat was pushed, while a chubby hand was thrust into mine and a sweet
little voice said, "I'se dot sumsin for you!"
It was the baby girl of Mr. Stevens, the manager of Wallack's, and the
"sumsin" was a big roll of bank-notes—$1620—while an honest little hand
presented the silver fraction, 85 cents.
This money, $2525, was immediately forwarded to Governor Perry, who
sent it where it was sorely needed,—to the little town of Fernandina
and other small towns in Florida afflicted by the scourge,—Gainsville,
Manatee, McClenny, Crawfordsville, and Enterprise. From all these towns,
as well as from Governor Perry, I received (fumigated) letters of thanks
and assurance that every dollar was used to relieve distress!
From that time onward I thought of nothing, worked for nothing—except
the relief of Jacksonville. I was nothing but a theatrical manager.
It was the custom of the theatres to present me with the building and
play—also with a plan of the house and all the tickets. I had to sell
the seats and boxes, do all the advertising, and meet sundry outside
expenses—ushers, orchestra, etc. I did all this with little help until
my friends returned to town, and then Mrs. Egbert Guernsey, Mrs. Barrow,
Mrs. Stedman, and Mrs. Botta became my pillars of strength. Each matinée
was honored as were the first two, with satin programmes, banners, and
flowers, personal notes sealed with white wax, etc. I sat from morning
until night at my desk, and my diary, kept at the time, records two
thousand letters written by my own hand. Every theatre gave us a play,
and the Eden Musée a varied entertainment, and Mrs. Sherwood came from
Rome to give us two readings.
When Mr. Daly's turn came, I had some difficulty in selling seats. The
public had endured a good deal of Jacksonville, and began to say, "The
Relief Society is still with us," or, "The Jacksonville Relief Society,
like Banquo's ghost, 'will not down.'"
My dear friend, Mr. Cyrus Field, found me in some anxiety, and sent me
his clerk every morning to ask how I was "getting along," taking entire
blocks of seats and filling them with his friends.
Mrs. Jeanette Thurber also came in (when I was flagging) with her large
heart and full hands; so our old friends—Mrs. Gilbert, James Lewis, John
Drew, George Clark, Kitty Cheatham, and Ada Rehan—played, as the Jenkins
of the day announced, "to a large, brilliant, and fashionable house."
I added to each of my satin souvenirs for "the cast" a quotation from
Shakespeare. Ada Rehan played "The Wife of Socrates" as an afterpiece.
On her souvenir was printed in gold:—
"Be she as shrewd
... As Socrates' Xantippe,"
"She hath a tear for Pity, and a hand
Open as day for melting charity."
When the time arrived for Mr. Chickering to give me his hall for a
concert, I was beginning to feel a little weary, and was glad to enlist
the interest of Professor Ogden Doremus, formerly president of the
Philharmonic Society. I wrote letters which brought many offers. "How
many?" asked Dr. Doremus. "A hatful," I answered. We poured them out on
a table and made a selection. "These," said the doctor, "are fine, fine!
But we must have a star! I'll go out to-morrow and sweep the skies for
comets. The great planets will not work for nothing."
At night he wrote me: "No hope for a star! Everybody wants money! We
must manage with our amateurs."
The next day I drove up boldly to the Metropolitan Opera House and asked
for Mr. Stanton. I told him my story, and begged him to "help _me_, to
help my poor countrymen."
"I'll give you Alvary!" he exclaimed. "Nothing is too good for your
cause!" "Oh," I faltered,—for I was astounded,—"I'm sure Alvary will not
condescend to sing with a company of amateurs, to the accompaniment of
one piano." "Will not?" said Mr. Stanton; "it is my impression Alvary
will do what I order him to do." He continued, however, as Colonel
Mapleson had done with Patti, to say that, although this was all
true, it would be wise for me to _request_ Alvary to sing. This I did,
receiving a gracious, acquiescent reply.
Mrs. Shaw, the famous _siffleuse_, had just returned from England,
where she had whistled for the Prince of Wales, and I was delighted at
her offer to contribute to the concert. The programme was arranged, Mr.
Chickering notified, and twelve hundred tickets sent me to be sold. We
set the stage magnificently, borrowing rugs, choice furniture, pictures,
hangings. We furnished a greenroom with refreshments, cigars, and
flowers,—and a remoter private room for the great tenor,—had the banners
extraordinarily handsome, and advertised our programme for Friday night,
October 12.
Early Monday morning I received the following note:—
"Herr Max Alvary supposed when he consented to sing for Madame
Pryor that she would arrange a programme in accordance with
his social and artistic position.
"Madame Pryor has not done this. Herr Alvary will not sing
for Madame Pryor."
Before I recovered my senses after reading this astounding missive, I
received the following:—
"Madam; When Mrs. Shaw consented to whistle for you, she
forgot she was under contract with Mr. Pond. She cannot appear
on any occasion outside Mr. Pond's series of entertainments."
Light broke upon my clouded vision. _This_—the _siffleuse_, was the
offending one! I wrote at once to Herr Alvary that the number to which
he had objected was withdrawn. I told the telegraph messenger to wait
for an answer. He returned after an absence of several hours, and
reported: "I asked the gentleman for an answer, and he slammed the door
in my face. Then I waited outside till dinner-time!"
Tuesday, Wednesday, passed. I forbore to annoy Mr. Stanton. It was not
my will to accept anything against another's will. Herr Alvary might
go to—France for me! I should certainly not humble myself to him. In
the meantime, Dr. Doremus tried again and again in vain. Thursday! No
Alvary, no whistler! A pretty way indeed to treat a confiding public
buying tickets to hear both of them!
Finally I broke down. I wrote to the naughty boy, and wrote to _his
heart_. I said in conclusion, "While you hesitate, my countrymen are
dying." He had a heart and I found it. I received a prompt answer:—
"MADAME PRYOR:—
"I will sing for you Friday, and I will sing as often as
the audience wishes. I am sorry for the sorrow I gave you,
but—Madame Pryor, _you_ know the human voice was never meant
for whistling!
"Your humble,
"MAX ALVARY."
The concert was fine. He sang as never before, returning again and
again in response to the enthusiastic recalls of the large audience.
Mrs. Sylvanus Reed, who was one of my patronesses on all my programmes,
brought with her twenty or more of the young ladies of her school. I had
not required evening dress, but from my lofty seat in the sky gallery I
looked down upon hundreds of the flower-decked heads of my dear American
fellow-women.
After Alvary's last number, he appeared in a side aisle, sweeping the
galleries with his opera-glass. "Mamma," said my daughter Fanny, "that
man is looking for you!" "He'll not find me," I assured her; "he never
saw me." "But a man who has seen you is with him and is helping him!"
Sure enough, the double barrels were soon focussed upon me in my eyrie,
and Alvary, in an impressive manner, waved his hand, laid it upon his
heart, and thrice bowed low.
But this was not the last time I saw my naughty, bonny boy Alvary. I was
bidden once to spend my day as pleased me best, as it was my birthday,
and I elected to see "Siegfried." I tied my card to some violets and
threw them at the feet of the then greatest tenor in the world, and he
recognized the tribute. Many were the lovely letters I received after
this delightful concert, one most charming from my dear old friend,
William C. Rives.
But the blessed frost soon came to do more for the stricken city than
I could do. I reopened, cleansed, and refurnished St. Luke's Hospital,
sent nearly a thousand dollars to Sister Mary Ann to rehabilitate the
Catholic Hospital, and a similar sum to the Jacksonville Orphanage.
Governor Perry sent a committee all the way from Florida to thank me,
letters poured in from distant friends, the papers said lovely things
about my effort. "Who is the best theatrical manager in New York?" was
asked of A. M. Palmer. "Well," he replied, "if you wish a true answer,
I should say Mrs. Pryor!"
In a time of national disaster no other city in the world responds
as does New York. Witness the Galveston flood, when one bazaar I had
the pleasure of managing yielded $51,000—witness the San Francisco
earthquake! Every heart is warmed with sympathy—every hand open, when
real trouble, real disaster, overtakes any part of our country. And
nowhere do we find a quicker response than among actors, who are rarely,
if ever, rich, and never lead, as others do, a life of ease.
The letters I received from the New York women who had so nobly stood
by me and helped me were, for a long time, delightful reading. They
are still cherished as a reward second only to the crowning reward—the
relief of suffering—which has comforted me all along the subsequent
years of my life. They are noble, generous letters, and I wish I could
give them here, every one, as models of beautiful letters as well. One,
from the gifted Mrs. Vincenzo Botta, is an example of the rest:—
"25 EAST 37TH STREET, December 13.
"DEAR MRS. PRYOR:—
I congratulate you most warmly on the success of your movement
in the relief of our Jacksonville citizens, for it is you
alone who have been the moving and animating force of it
all. It will be a pleasant thing for you to remember always,
and for us, too, who have followed your lead, though so far
behind. It will not be possible for me to take the place on
the committee to which you appoint me. Do take it yourself,
dear Mrs. Pryor! You _ought_ to do so. Now the burden of this
work is over, you should not give it into other hands. So I
beg you earnestly to take my place.
"Ever cordially yours,
"ANNIE C. L. BOTTA."
It had been suggested that the committee which had exhibited so much
ability should not disband, but remain as a permanent organization for
the relief of sudden national disaster. I had wished to see Mrs. Botta
at the head of this committee.
We finally, to our regret ever since, elected to disband. When I
rendered my report and bade my dear co-workers adieu, I told them
some pleasant truths. Every banner and every blossom had been given
us. The American District Telegraph Company had made no charge for
service—messengers sent me daily to await orders.
The press had been very generous to us. For advertising our
entertainments, all charges were remitted by the _Tribune_, _Herald_,
_Sun_, and other papers. The editors of sixteen New York papers gave
us unstinted praise and encouragement. If they perceived cause for
criticism, they withheld it. They helped us in every way, and rejoiced
our hearts by the sweet reward of approbation. They said that we were
"a band of self-denying and gifted women, who add another to the roll
of gracious achievements which do honor to piety and womanhood."
We could not follow our work in the little towns of Florida, by the cot
of the poor negro or the home of the widow and orphan and destitute. It
should be enough for us to know that through us some cooling influence
reached their fevered brows, that suitable food and clothing was found
for them, that their hearts were cheered in a dark hour by perceiving
that they were not forgotten or friendless. We were told that our
alms for the orphans were in response to the dying prayers of mothers
(a little band of New York children elected to become the guardian
angels of one of these hapless orphans), and we learned that our gift
to the Catholic sisters was larger than any they received from any
other source. We were assured that comfort was restored, pure conduits
for water constructed, and good food and clothing provided for the
Protestant orphans. We reopened the hospital, needed more than ever in
Jacksonville, and about to be closed for want of money. All this was
much reward, and we could add to it our own grateful consciousness of
having done a noble and worthy deed.
I shall ever feel the deepest gratitude for my support in this charity;
for the gift of beloved and honored names,—names never withheld from a
noble cause,—for generous forbearance towards myself, and for many words
of approbation and encouragement. My heart is full of gratitude, and
full also of all "good wishes, praise, and prayers" for the noble band
of players who made the great work possible.
"The little band" of children who elected to become the guardians of one
orphan was the Morning-side Club, their president a very lovely little
girl—Renée Coudert.