inspired, seven years later, by Sarcey’s criticism of _La Tosca_:
“Sarcey, who knows nothing about painting, music, architecture or
sculpture, and to whom Nature has harshly denied all sense of the
artistic.”
[28] She was to have $1,000 per night, half the receipts over $3,000,
$200 a week for hotel bills, and a special car.
[29] Huret.
[30] She played on this tour: _La Dame aux Camélias_ (sixty-five
times); _Frou-Frou_ (forty-one times); _Adrienne Lecouvreur_
(seventeen); _Hernani_ (fourteen); _Le Sphinx_ (seven); _Phèdre_
(six); _La Princesse Georges_ (three); and _L’Etrangère_ (three),--one
hundred and fifty-six performances in all, with average receipts of
$2,820. She acted in half a hundred cities of the East, Middle West
and South, including New York, Boston, Montreal, Ottawa, Springfield,
Philadelphia, Baltimore, Chicago, St. Louis, New Orleans, Cincinnati,
Memphis, Louisville, Cleveland and Pittsburgh.
[31] In Chicago another bishop attacked Bernhardt and her plays. Mr.
Abbey, her manager, thereupon sent him this letter: “Whenever I visit
your city I am accustomed to spend four hundred dollars in advertising.
But as you have done the advertising for me, I send you $200 for your
poor.”
[32] Huret.
[33] A dispatch from Moscow represents the feeling there: “Sarah
Bernhardt is extremely hoarse and cannot appear this evening. General
consternation prevails.” She finally did act in Berlin, in 1902.
[34] Sarah Bernhardt’s son Maurice was born in 1865 and was, therefore,
seventeen at the time of his mother’s marriage.
[35] The Argentinos, in enthusiastic but ill-advised generosity,
presented Sarah with an estate of thirteen thousand acres. As if Sarah
could feel at home so far from Paris!
[36] Mme. Bernhardt’s more important productions, since she became a
manager in her own right, have been as follows: _Fédora_, 1882; _Nana
Sahib_, 1883; _Macbeth_, _Théodora_, 1884; _Marion Delorme_, 1885;
_Hamlet_ (Ophelia), _Le Maître des Forges_, 1886; _La Tosca_, 1887;
_Francillon_, 1888; _Lena_, 1889; _Jeanne d’Arc_, _Cléopâtre_, 1890;
_Pauline Blanchard_, _La Dame de Chalant_, 1891; _Les Rois_, 1893;
_Izeïl_, _Gismonda_, 1894; _Magda_, _La Princesse Lointaine_, 1895;
_Lorenzaccio_, 1896; _Spiritisme_, _La Samaritaine_, _Les Mauvais
Bergers_, 1897; _La Ville Morte_, _Lysiane_, _Médée_, 1898; _Hamlet_,
1899; _L’Aiglon_, 1900; _Francesca da Rimini_, 1902; _Andromache_,
1903; _La Sorcière_, 1904; _Tisbe_, _Angelo_, 1905; _La Vierge
d’Avila_, 1906; _Les Bouffons_, 1907; _La Belle au Bois Dormant_, _La
Courtisane de Corinthe_, 1908; _Le Proces de Jeanne d’Arc_, 1909; _La
Femme X_, _Judas_, _Le Coeur d’Homme_ (written by herself), _La Beffa_,
1910; _La Reine Élisabeth_, _Une Nuit de Noel_, 1912; _Jeanne Doré_,
1913.
To the plays she had acted during the first American tour, 1880–81,
(see page 28, note) she added, on her subsequent visits: 1887,
_Fédora_, _Le Maître des Forges_, _Théodora_; 1891, _La Tosca_,
_Cléopatra_; 1891–92, _Jeanne d’Arc_, _La Dame de Chalant_, _Pauline
Blanchard Leah_; 1896, _Izeïl_, _Magda_, _Gismonda_, _La Femme de
Claude_; 1900–01, (with Coquelin) _L’Aiglon_, _Hamlet_, _Cyrano de
Bergerac_; 1905–06, _La Sorcière_, _Angelo_, _Sapho_, _Tisbé_. (During
the tour of 1905–06, while acting in Texas she was forced on two or
three occasions to appear in a circus tent in lieu of a theatre. The
“theatrical trust” had for some reason denied her the privilege of
acting in its theatres.) In 1910–11 she appeared, for the first time
in America, in _La Femme X_, _La Samaritaine_, _Jean-Marie_, _Sœur
Beatrice_, and _Judas_.
[37] It was really written, gossip said, by M. Paul Bonnetain. Sarah
replied with an equally abusive book about Mlle. Colombier, which was
entitled _La Vie de Marie Pigeonnier_, and which was probably written
by M. Richepin.
[38] It carries her story down to her return from the first American
tour, in 1881. A second volume was vaguely promised.
[39] But to Mr. Winter her Hamlet was a “dreadful desecration”! When
she produced the play in Paris, the late M. Catulle Mendes and another
journalist fought a duel, having disputed as to whether Hamlet was fat
or not.
[40] John Corbin in the _New York Sun_, Dec. 17, 1905. A quarter of
a century earlier, Matthew Arnold had written of Bernhardt, then in
the midst of her first visit to London: “One remark I will make,
a remark suggested by the inevitable comparison of Mlle. Sarah
Bernhardt with Rachel. One talks vaguely of genius, but I had never
till now comprehended how much of Rachel’s superiority was purely in
intellectual power, how eminently this power counts in the actor’s
art as in all art, how just is the instinct which led the Greeks to
mark with a high and severe stamp the Muses. Temperament and quick
intelligence, passion, nervous mobility, grace, smile, voice, charm,
poetry--Mlle. Sarah Bernhardt has them all; one watches her with
pleasure, with admiration, and yet not without a secret disquietude.
Something is wanting, or, at least, not present in sufficient force;
something which alone can secure and fix her administration of all the
charming gifts which she has, can alone keep them fresh, keep them
sincere, save them from perils by caprice, perils by mannerism; that
something is high intellectual power. It was here that Rachel was so
great; she began, one says to oneself, as one recalls her image and
dwells upon it--she began almost where Mlle. Sarah Bernhardt ends.”
[41] “Her fiery, voluble utterance of jealous rage when at last she
seemed to lose all control of herself (without ever losing it) ...
was as splendid, whether viewed as expression of human nature or
illustration of proficiency in acting, as any professional exploit of
hers in the whole of her long career.... It was in her showing of the
sweetly capricious quality of the character, however, that the actress
was supremely fine.” _The Wallet of Time, Vol. I._
[42] When the American _comédienne_, Elsie Janis, omitted from her
London program her imitation of Bernhardt, Sarah heard of it and cabled
to Miss Janis: “I am very well. Continue to charm the public with
imitations of me.”
[43] The Polish diminutive of Helena.
[44] “She went into the kitchen when she got home, in order to make
the experiment herself. She built a great pile of all the saucepans
and frying-pans, and then, climbing to the top, tried to stand
there upon one toe. Naturally this venture ended in disaster; and
Madame Opid vowed Helcia should go no more to the theatre, for it
excited her too much. Nor did she again enter a theatre until she was
fourteen.”--Collins, _Modjeska_.
[45] The masculine form. The feminine ends in -ska. Madame Modrzejewska
later simplified the name to Modjeska.
[46] “The picture of this first professional trip stands vividly before
my eyes. The weather was glorious!... We were young, full of spirit and
hope, and the country enchanting. The joy was so great that I sang. We
made plans for future work, we rode in the clouds, building Spanish
castles.”--_Memories and Impressions of Helena Modjeska._
[47] Marylka; she lived but two years.
[48] The capital of Galitzia.
[49] One of the circle of friends in the aristocratic and literary
world which Modjeska now began to acquire was the Countess Patocka.
On the occasion of Modjeska’s first visit to her, “her judgment was
just and most kind. She said she thought I was unsuited to certain
parts, but she was much pleased with my romantic impersonations and
also with some of the characters in high comedy. She had seen Rachel
and Ristori, and told me I had neither their strong ringing voice nor
their tragic statuesque poses. ‘You see,’ said she, ‘they were born
with those gifts, and God created you differently. You have, instead
of those grand qualities, sensitiveness, intuition, grace’; and then
she added, laughingly, ‘You are as clever as a snake. You played the
other evening the Countess in _The White Camelia_ as if you were born
among us. Where did you meet countesses?’ I answered that she was the
only great lady I had ever laid eyes on. ‘You see,’ said she, ‘that was
intuition.’”--_Memories and Impressions._
[50] Some of her characters at this time were Princess Eboli in _Don
Carlos_, by Schiller; Louise Miller in _Kabale und Liebe_, by Schiller;
Barbara in the tragedy of that name by Felinski; Ophelia in _Hamlet_;
Doña Sol in _Ernani_, by Victor Hugo; the wife in _Nos Intimes_, by
Sardou; and Adrienne Lecouvreur in the play of that name by Scribe and
Legouvé.
[51] “I do not recollect going to parties, save to those given twice
a year by the manager, Count Skorupka; one dancing party during the
Carnival and another at Easter time, and then I danced! Oh, how I
danced! with all my soul in it, for I never did anything by halves.
Still I preferred the few receptions at my brother’s house.”--_Memories
and Impressions._
[52] Gustave Modrzejewski had died some time before.
[53] Ten thousand dollars.
[54] Over two thousand dollars.
[55] On one occasion Modjeska acted as an impromptu reporter for her
husband’s paper, proving the reliability of her stage-trained memory.
Liebelt, the scientist, delivered a lecture on Spectrum Analysis,
and as no stenographic reporter was to be had, Modjeska went to the
hall, listened intently to the lecturer and although the subject was
absolutely new to her, went home and wrote a complete résumé of the
lecture, technical and Latin words included. Her report was printed,
while that of a reporter was used merely as an introduction.
[56] “Mrs. Helena.”
[57] Her repertoire at Warsaw had been wide-ranged and long, embracing
translations of Shakespeare, and of many French and German plays
as well as the numerous Polish parts. She introduced the obvious
but hitherto neglected method of playing Shakespeare in a Polish
translation directly from the English, instead of through a French
version.
[58] In 1877 Edwin Booth had, rightly enough, declined to play with
Modjeska. In 1889, however, it was another story. Lawrence Barrett,
at that time Booth’s manager, proposed her appearance as a “co-star.”
Modjeska gladly availed herself of the opportunity to act with Mr.
Booth, and played with him in _Hamlet_, _Macbeth_, _The Merchant of
Venice_, _Much Ado about Nothing_, and _Richelieu_. The tour took them
throughout the East and the Middle West.
[59] The entire party would leave their farm and go on short vacation
trips. Of one of these, Modjeska says: “I listened and looked at
everything, but I grew quite sad when I turned my eyes toward the
ocean. The blue waters of the great Pacific reminded me of our first
sea-voyage when we left our country. The recollections of the happy
past, spent among beloved people,--Cracow, with its churches and
monuments, the kind friends waiting for our return, the stage, and the
dear public I left behind,--all came back to my mind, and I felt a
great acute pang of homesickness. I stepped away from the rest, threw
myself on the sand and sobbed and sobbed, mingling my moans with those
of the ocean, until, exhausted, I had not one drop of tears left in my
eyes. A sort of torpor took the place of despair, and the world became
a vast emptiness, sad and without any charm.”
[60] Of the Imperial Theatre in Warsaw.
[61] He became an American citizen and dropped his title of nobility.
Because of the difficulty in pronouncing Chlapowski, he was known in
America by his second name, and was called Mr. Bozenta.
[62] “Hill was a worthy man and a good actor ... but there will
always be something ludicrous in the thought of Barton Hill sitting
in judgment on Helena Modjeska. ‘He was very kind--Meester Hill,’
said the actress; ‘but he was ne-ervous and fussy, and he patronized
me as though I were a leetle child. “Now,” he said, “I shall be very
critical--ve-ery _severe_.” I could be patient no longer: “Be as
critical and severe as you like,” I burst out, “only do, please, _be
quiet_, and let us begin!” He was so surprised he could not speak, and
I began at once a scene from _Adrienne_. I played it through and then
turned to him. He had his handkerchief in his hand and was crying. He
came and shook hands with me and tried to seem quite calm. “Well,” I
asked, “may I have the evening that I want?” “I’ll give you a week, and
more, if I can,” he answered.’”--William Winter, _The Wallet of Time_.
[63] It was John McCullough who at this time suggested the modification
of her name. Her professional name in Poland had always remained
Modrzejewska. When confronted with this, McCullough said: “Who on earth
could read that, I wonder? I fear you will be compelled to change
your name, Madame.” She suggested Modgeska, which he smilingly said
would remind people of Madagascar. The “g” was changed to “j.” “Now,”
McCullough said, “it is quite easy to read, and sounds pretty, I think.”
[64] Her first appearance in New York was in _Adrienne Lecouvreur_.
The other plays of that season and the one following were _Romeo
and Juliet_; _Camille_; _Frou-Frou_; _Peg Woffington_ (in which she
failed); and _East Lynne_ (which she heartily disliked).
_Adrienne Lecouvreur_, _Romeo and Juliet_ and _Camille_ were for many
years retained in her repertoire. Her appearances in other plays
were as follows: _Heartsease_ (adaptation of _Camille_), London,
1880; _Marie Stuart_, London, 1880; _Juana_, (a failure, by W. G.
Wills), London, 1881; _A Doll’s House_, Warsaw, 1882; _Odette_,
London, 1882; _As You Like It_ and _Twelfth Night_, New York, 1882;
_Nadjezda_ (by Maurice Barrymore), 1884; _Two Gentlemen of Verona_,
_Cymbeline_, and _Prince Zillah_, season of 1885–6; _Les Chouans_,
_Measure for Measure_, _Dona Diana_, and _Daniela_, 1886; with Edwin
Booth, _Hamlet_, _Much Ado about Nothing_, _Macbeth_, _Merchant of
Venice_, and _Richelieu_, 1889; _Countess Roudine_ (by Paul Kester
and Minnie Maddern Fiske), and _Henry VIII_, 1892; _The Tragic Mask_,
1893; _Magda_, 1894; _Mistress Betty Singleton_ (by Clyde Fitch),
1895; _Antony and Cleopatra_, 1898; _The Ladies’ Battle_, 1900; _Marie
Antoinette_ (by Clinton Stuart) and _King John_, 1900. In a letter
furnishing some of the above dates, Modjeska’s husband, who died in
Cracow, in March, 1914, wrote from Rzegocin, Posen, July 10, 1913:
“_The Tragic Mask_ was written by Mr. E. Reynolds. It was an original
play, somewhat deficient in construction; but the dialogue was very
clever. _Daniela_ was a translation from a German play by Phillippi.
The translators were Hamilton Bell and Moritz von Sachs. As to _Les
Chouans_: This was an adaptation of Balzac’s novel of the same title,
made in French by the well-known actor and dramatist, Pierre Berton,
and translated by Paul Potter.
“In addition to the abovesaid repertoire it must be mentioned that
Madame Modjeska played _A Doll’s House_ not only in Poland, but also
in America, in Louisville, in the season of 1883–1884. This was, to my
knowledge, the first production of Ibsen on an English-speaking stage.
Though the part of Nora was considered in Poland, I think rightly, one
of Modjeska’s best ones, _A Doll’s House_ did not appeal then to the
American public. According to local critics, and especially to Henry
Watterson, the audiences were not yet ripe for Ibsen.
“Besides the plays you enumerated, Mme. Modjeska appeared yet in a few
others on special occasions. Thus, in the spring of 1884, in Cincinnati
at a dramatic festival, she played Desdemona to Tom Keene’s Othello.
In 1905 in Los Angeles, she took part in a charitable performance and
played Hermione in _The Winter’s Tale_, and in the summer of 1907
appeared equally for charity in a little French comedy entitled _The
Spark_. To be complete, I must yet mention a short proverb by Hamilton
Aide, produced in London in a reception for the Prince of Wales in
1883, the name of which has escaped my memory.
“But Mme. Modjeska did not play only in English in America. She gave
two consecutive performances in Chicago in Polish for charitable
purposes, supported by a company of amateur workingmen. One was a
comic part in a popular peasant comedy, the other a tragic queen in
a historical drama. Twice also she played in French: once in 1884 in
London in a graceful proverb of Augier entitled _The Post-scriptum_;
she was supported by the above-named Pierre Berton. The second time
she acted in French in Los Angeles in 1907 for the ‘French Alliance’
in that beautiful one-act drama _Le Pater_. As I mentioned her several
charity performances, I may be allowed to remark that Mme. Modjeska
rarely omitted an occasion to appear for charitable objects. In
January, 1909, about ten weeks before her end, already then very weak
and ill, she took part in a great benefit performance for the victims
of the Messina earthquake, in Los Angeles, giving the sleepwalking
scene of _Macbeth_.
“I will add that outside of the twelve Shakespearean plays mentioned by
you, and the two named above by me, Madame Modjeska acted in Poland in
two more--_Richard III_ and _The Taming of the Shrew_. Her repertoire
on the Polish stage known to me consisted of more than one hundred and
ten parts.”
[65] William Winter in the New York _Tribune_.
[66] _Memories and Impressions._
[67] The others being Clara Morris, Georgia Cayvan, and Julia Marlowe.
[68] This prohibition did not apply to Austrian or Prussian Poland, of
course, and she afterwards acted more than once in Cracow, Lemberg, and
Posen.
[69] “During her long professional career, though Modjeska was
‘presented’ by various managers, her personal representative was her
husband, Bozenta,--one of the kindest, most intellectual, and most
drolly eccentric men it has been my fortune to know. Neither he nor
his wife was judicious in worldly matters, while--as is not unusual in
such cases--both thought themselves exceptionally shrewd and capable.
Their professional labors were abundantly remunerative, but, being
improvident and generous, they did not accumulate wealth. The close
of Modjeska’s life, contrasted with the brilliancy of her career, was
pathetic and forlorn. I called on her, a few months before her death,
in the refuge, a little cottage, she had found, at East Newport. The
great actress greeted me with gentle kindness and presently, as though
my coming had reminded her of other days and scenes, she looked about
the small narrow room in which we were. ‘Ah, it ees small,’ she said,
‘very small, this place of ours. But, what of that? It ees large enough
for two old people to sit in--and _wait_.’ As I came away her lovely
eyes were suffused with tears. She looked at me long and fixedly.
‘Good-by, my good friend,’ was all she said. She seemed to foresee that
it was our last parting.”--(William Winter, _The Wallet of Time_.) It
is not to be thought from this that Modjeska died poor. Of the vast sum
(said to be $800,000) that she earned on the American stage, she left
at her death something over $100,000, in California real estate, stocks
and bonds, and jewelry. It is true, however, that she was lavishly
generous, and that her bounty was bestowed in many places, private
and public. She was the founder of an industrial school for girls in
Cracow, for which she gave $100,000.
[70] A reference to Sembrich and Paderewski.
[71] April 8, 1909, on Bay Island, East Newport, California, whither
she had moved from “Arden” but a few months before. Her final
appearance on the stage was in the spring of 1907.
[72] These brothers and sisters were all actors or actresses except
Charles, who was a stage manager, and the father of the actresses
Minnie and Beatrice Terry. Mr. Scott does not mention another
brother--George--who was identified with the business side of the
theatre. Fred Terry married the actress Julia Neilson, and their
daughter, Phyllis Neilson-Terry, is today among the most promising
young women on England’s stage. There were two other brothers, Ben and
Thomas, and three children died--twelve in all.
[73] No. 5 Market Street makes out the best case.
[74] Her own memory is perhaps not an infallible guide, but in a
characteristic letter (September 26, 1887) to Clement Scott she was
emphatic enough: “Mr. Dutton Cook’s statement was inaccurate, that’s
all! I didn’t contradict it, although asked to do so by my father at
the time, for I thought it of little, if of any interest. The very
first time I ever appeared on any stage was on the first night of
_The Winter’s Tale_, at the Princess’s Theatre, with dear Charles
Kean. As for the young princes,--them unfortunate little men, I never
played--not neither of them--there. What a cry about a little wool!
It’s flattering to be fussed about, but ‘Fax is Fax!’”
[75] Another childish blunder marks Miss Terry’s only meeting with the
great actor Macready. She accidentally jostled him while running to her
dressing-room. He smiled at her apology, and said: “Never mind, you are
a very polite little girl, and you act very earnestly and speak very
nicely.”
[76] Miss Terry relates the rise and fall of her childish vanity at
this time: “The parts we play influence our characters to some extent,
and Puck made me a bit of a romp. I grew vain and rather ‘cocky,’
and it was just as well that during the rehearsals for the Christmas
pantomime in 1857, I was tried for the part of the fairy Dragonetta and
rejected. [The children’s parts at the Princess’s were assigned after
competitive trials. For Mamillius “Nelly” had been chosen out of half
a dozen aspirants.] I believe that my failure was principally due to
the fact that I hadn’t flashing eyes and raven hair--without which,
as every one knows, no bad fairy can hold up her head and respect
herself.... Only the extreme beauty of my dress as the maudlin ‘good
fairy’ Golden-star, consoled me. I used to think I looked beautiful in
it. I wore a trembling star in my forehead, too, which was enough to
upset any girl.” A little later: “I think my part in _Pizarro_ saw the
last of my vanity. I was a worshiper of the sun and, in a pink feather,
pink swathings of muslin, and black arms, I was again struck by my own
beauty. I grew quite attached to the looking glass which reflected that
feather! Then suddenly there came a change. _I began to see the whole
thing._ My attentive watching of other people began to bear fruit, and
the labor and perseverance, care and intelligence, which had gone to
make these enormous productions dawned on my young mind. Up to this
time I had loved acting because it was great fun, but I had not loved
the grind. After I began to rehearse Prince Arthur in _King John_, I
understood that if I did not work I could not act! And I wanted to
work. I used to get up in the middle of the night and watch my gestures
in the glass. I used to try my voice and bring it up and down in the
right places. And all my vanity fell away from me.”
[77] “It was a chicken! Now, as all the chickens had names--Sultan,
Sultan, Duke, Lord Tom Noddy, Lady Teazle, and so forth--and as I was
very proud of them as living birds, it was a great wrench to kill one
at all, to start with. It was the murder of Sultan, not the killing of
a chicken. However, at last it was done, and Sultan deprived of his
feathers, floured, and trussed. I had no idea _how_ this was all done,
but I tried to make him ‘sit up’ nicely like the chickens in the shops.
“He came up to the table looking magnificent--almost turkey-like in his
proportions.
“‘Hasn’t this chicken rather an odd smell?’ said our visitor.
“‘How can you!’ I answered. ‘It must be quite fresh--it’s Sultan!’
“However, when we began to carve, the smell grew more and more potent.
“_I had cooked Sultan without taking out his in’ards!_
“There was no dinner that day except bread-sauce, beautifully made,
well-cooked vegetables, and pastry like the foam of the sea. I had a
wonderful hand for pastry.”