is indeed the Portia that Shakespeare drew. The bold innocence, the
lively wit and quick intelligence, the grace and elegance of manner,
and all the youth and freshness of this exquisite creation can rarely
have been depicted in such harmonious combination. Nor is this
delightful actress less successful in indicating the tenderness and
depth of passion which lie under that frolicsome exterior. Miss Terry’s
figure, at once graceful and commanding, and her singularly sweet and
expressive countenance, doubtless aid her much; but this performance is
essentially artistic, ... in the style of art which cannot be taught.”
[79] Clement Scott.
[80] Ellen Terry dismisses Ibsen’s women as “silly ladies,” “drawn
in straight lines,” and easy to play; a characteristic, if radically
unjustified view.
[81] “She has always been an indefatigable and charming letter-writer,
one of the greatest letter writers that ever lived,” says Mr. Shaw, the
happy recipient of many of her letters.
[82] On one of her last American tours Miss Terry attended in New York
the first night of a young playwright’s new work, and at the end of the
third act he was presented to her. She congratulated him warmly: “It is
very good,” she said, “your play is very good indeed, and I shall send
all my American friends to see it.”
“In that case,” said the playwright, with a very low and courtly bow,
“my little piece will sell ninety million tickets.”
[83] The dates of her most important impersonations since joining Henry
Irving: Ophelia in _Hamlet_, 1878; Pauline in _The Lady of Lyons_; Ruth
Meadows in _The Fate of Eugene Aram_, Queen Henrietta Maria in _Charles
I_, Portia in _The Merchant of Venice_, 1879; Iolanthe in _King
René’s Daughter_, Beatrice in _Much Ado about Nothing_, 1880; Camma
in _The Cup_, Letitia Hardy in _The Belle’s Stratagem_, Desdemona in
_Othello_, 1881; Juliet in _Romeo and Juliet_, Beatrice at the Lyceum
(her previous appearance had been at Leeds), 1882; Viola in _Twelfth
Night_, 1884; Olivia in _Olivia_ (revival), Margaret in _Faust_, 1885;
Ellaline in _The Amber Heart_, 1887; Lady Macbeth, in _Macbeth_,
1888; Catherine Duval in _The Dead Heart_, 1889; Lucy Ashton in
_Ravenswood_, 1890; Queen Katherine in _Henry VIII_, Cordelia in _King
Lear_, 1892; Rosamund in _Becket_, Nance Oldfield in _Nance Oldfield_,
1893; Queen Guinevere in _King Arthur_, 1895; Imogen in _Cymbeline_,
1896; Madame Sans-Gêne in the play of that name, 1897; Clarisse in
_Robespierre_, 1899; Volumnia in _Coriolanus_, 1901; she acted under
Irving’s management for the last time in 1902, playing Portia at his
final performance at the Lyceum; Mistress Page in _The Merry Wives of
Windsor_, 1903; _Alice-Sit-By-The-Fire_, 1905; Lady Cecily Waynflete
in _Captain Brassbound’s Conversion_, Hermione in _The Winter’s
Tale_, 1906. On April 28, 1906, the fiftieth anniversary of her first
appearance, she played Francisca in _Measure for Measure_ (once only)
at the Adelphi.
[84] Mr. Shaw’s article on Ellen Terry appeared, in German, in the
_Neue Freie Presse_ of Vienna. And there are several striking passages
concerning her in the _Dramatic Opinions and Essays_.
[85] Yet, characteristically, she was better satisfied than some of her
admirers: “I have sometimes wondered,” she wrote, “what I should have
accomplished without Henry Irving. I might have had ‘bigger’ parts but
it doesn’t follow that they would have been better ones, and if they
had been written by contemporary dramatists my success would have been
less durable. ‘No actor or actress who doesn’t play in the classics--in
Shakespeare or old comedy--will be heard of long,’ was one of Henry
Irving’s statements, and he was right.”
[86] Ellen Terry never played _The Man of Destiny_. Irving accepted it
and shelved it.
[87] The first to appear was an elderly woman who long before noon on
Monday placed herself and her campstool outside the entrance to the
theatre. The performance was not scheduled to begin until the next day
at half past one. During Monday afternoon and evening the gathering
outside the doors steadily increased in size, until, at midnight there
were many hundreds. Miss Terry, late Monday night, appeared to greet
the waiting enthusiasts, and Mr. Arthur Collins, the manager of Drury
Lane, furnished them a supper of hot coffee, rolls and cake. When
the doors were at last opened many of those who had thus patiently
waited failed to find room within the theatre. The proceeds of this
entertainment, together with those of a popular subscription in England
and America, went to Miss Terry and amounted to about forty thousand
dollars.
[88] It was during this tour that Miss Terry made her third marriage,
to James Carew, an actor of her company. Charles Wardell (Charles
Kelly) died in 1885.
[89] During this tour the honor and affection she had won in the minds
of Americans were attested by various testimonials. She was given at a
special ceremony the Founder’s Medal of the now extinct New Theatre in
New York, a “farewell banquet” was tendered her there, and in both New
York and Boston she received an elaborate “book of welcome,” signed by
many notable people and accompanied by poetic addresses, composed in
one case by Percy MacKaye and in the other by Josephine Preston Peabody.
[90] In January, 1914, she appeared at King’s Hall, London, as the
Abbess in two performances of _Paphnutius_, a play written in the tenth
century by Hroswitha, a Benedictine nun. It was on this old play that
Anatole France founded his romance _Thaïs_. Thus did Ellen Terry, at
nearly three score and ten, continue to furnish proof of her still
youthful spirit and readiness for work. Later in the year she went
to Australia to give there her Shakspearean lecture-readings. The
great European war broke out, and conditions in Australia became so
unfavorable that Miss Terry sailed for the United States, where she
again lectured in a few of the larger cities.
For some years she had had increasing trouble with her eyes. Frequently
she would spend the periods between the scenes in a darkened room. On
February 23, 1914, in New York, Miss Terry underwent an operation,
which proved successful, for the removal of a cataract from her right
eye. In June, 1915, she reappeared in London on the occasion of a
matinee given at the Haymarket in aid of one of the war charities.
The play--a ballet pantomime called _The Princess and the Pea_--was
the first musical piece in which Miss Terry ever took part. On this
occasion also her two grandchildren made their stage _début_.
[91] In “The Yellow Book,” Vol. II (1894).
[92] Further precedent for Gabrielle’s career was furnished by her
aunt, Mme. Naptal-Arnault, at one time a _pensionnaire_ of the _Comédie
Française_.
[93] For much of the information in the early part of this chapter the
author is indebted to _Loges et Coulisses_, by Jules Huret.
[94] Who, twenty-eight years later, with Pierre Berton, was to write
for her _Zaza_, one of her most successful plays.
[95] Mme. Réjane recalls that her costume on this occasion was the
object of much solicitude on the part of Regnier. On the day of the
contest he came to her house at nine in the morning to pass judgment on
her dress, which was made of white tarlatan at nine _sous_ per metre,
and cost in all about ten francs. Mme. Regnier loaned gloves for the
occasion.
[96] Aimée Olympe Desclée (1836–1874), of the _Gymnase_, who excelled
in modern French emotional plays. She acted with success in London, and
also appeared in Belgium and Russia.
[97] The students played also in the suburbs, at Versailles, Mantes,
and Chartres. It was at Chartres, where she had a part in _Les Paysans
Lorrains_, that the playbills first named her Réjane. Till now she had
gone by her own name of Réju. She played also, while still a student,
at _matinées-conférences_ at the _Porte-Saint-Martin_, in _Le Depit
Amoureux_ and _Les Ménechmes_.
[98] Her first appearance at the _Vaudeville_ was on March 25, 1875.
Her first three parts were small rôles in _La Revue des Deux-Mondes_,
_Fanny Lear_, and _Vaudeville’s Hotel_. There followed: _Madame Lili_,
_Midi à Quatorze Heures_, _Renaudin de Caen_, _La Corde_, 1875; _Le
Verglas_, _Le Premier Tapis_, _Les Dominos Roses_, _Perfide comme
L’Onde_, _Le Passe_, 1876; _Pierre_, _Les Vivacités du Capitaine Tic_,
_Le Club_, 1877; _Le Mari d’Ida_, 1878; _Les Memoires du Diable_, _Les
Faux Bonshommes_, _Les Tapageurs_, _Les Lionnes Pauvres_, 1879; _La Vie
de Bohème_, _Le Père Prodigue_, 1880; _La Petite Sœur_, _Odette_, 1881;
_L’Auréole_, _Un Mariage de Paris_, 1882; all at the _Vaudeville_.
At various theatres: _Les Demoiselles Clochart_, _La Princess_, _Les
Variétés de Paris_, _La Nuit de Noces de P. L. M._, _La Glu_, 1882;
_Ma Camarade_, 1883; _Les Femmes Terribles_, 1884; _Clara Soleil_,
1885; _Allo! Allo!_, _Monsieur de Morat_, 1886–87; _Décoré_, _Germinie
Lacerteux_, _Shylock_, 1888; _Marquise_, 1889; _La Famille Benoîton_,
_Le Mariage de Figaro_, _La Vie à Deux_, 1889–90; _Ma Cousine_,
1890; _Amoreuse_, _Fantasio_, _La Cigale_, _Brevet Supérieur_, 1891;
_Lysistrata_, _Sapho_, 1892; _Madame Sans-Gêne_, 1893; _Villégiature_,
_Les Lionnes Pauvres_, _Maison de Poupée_, 1894; _Viveurs_, 1895;
_Lolotte_, _La Bonne Hélène_, _Le Partage_, _Divorçons_, 1896; _La
Douloureuse_, 1897; _Paméla_, _Le Roi Candaule_, _Zaza_, _Le Calice_,
_Georgette Lemeunier_, 1898; _Le Lys Rouge_, _Mme. de Lavalette_,
1899; _Le Faubourg_, _Le Béguin_, _La Robe Rouge_, _Sylvie ou la
Curieuse d’Amour_, 1900; _La Pente Douce_, _La Course du Flambeau_,
1901; _La Passerelle_, _Le Masque_, _Le Joug_, 1902; _Heureuse_,
_Antoinette Sabrier_, 1903; _La Montansier_, _La Parisienne_, 1904;
_L’Age D’Aimer_, 1905; _La Piste_, 1906. At the _Théâtre Réjane_:
_La Savelli_, 1906; _Paris-New York_, _Suzeraine_, _Les Deux Madame
Delauze_, 1907; _Qui Perd Gagne_, _Israël_, 1908; _Trains de luxe_,
_L’Impératrice_, _Le Refuge_, 1909; _Madame Margot_, _La Flamme_,
_M’Amour_, 1910; _L’Enfant de l’Amour_ (at the _Porte St. Martin_), _La
Revue Sans-Gêne_, 1911; _L’Aigrette_, _Un Coup de Téléphone_, _Aglaïs_
(at _Comédie Royale_), 1912; _Alsace_, _L’Irrégulière_, 1913; _Le
Concert_, 1914.
[99] “Her queer little face catches hold of you, by both the good and
bad elements in your nature. All the intelligence, the devotion, the
pity of a woman are to be read in her wonderful eyes, but below there
is the nose and mouth of a sensual little creature, a vicious, almost
vulgar, smile, lips pouted for a kiss, but with a lingering, or a
dawning, suggestion of irony. Moreover, she is exactly the reigning
type, the type that one meets constantly on the Paris pavements when
the shop girls are going to lunch. If you happen to be born _marquise_
or _duchesse_ you copy the type, and the result is all the more
piquant.”--Augustin Filon, “The Modern French Drama.”
[100] The Boston _Courier_, May 19, 1895.
[101] Her second American season began in New York, Nov. 7, 1904.
During this tour she appeared for the first time in America in
_Amoureuse_, _La Passerelle_, _Zaza_, _La Petite Marquise_, and _La
Hirondelle_.
[102] Originally _Madame Sans-Gêne_ was to have been produced at the
_Grand-Théâtre_, of which M. Porel, Réjane’s husband, was manager.
He gave up the house, however, before the play could be given. Other
managers begged for it, but of each in turn M. Sardou demanded:
“Have you Réjane in your company?” and as the answer was always in
the negative, he added: “Then there is no use of our talking about
it.” Soon M. Carré admitted M. Porel to a co-directorship of the
_Vaudeville_, and there the play was produced, with immediately great
success. M. Sardou was not the sole author. He had considerable help
from M. Moreau.
[103] Correspondence of Frederick Roy Martin in the _Boston
Transcript_, November 9, 1904.
[104] Dec. 29, 1906.
[105] In 1906, she attempted, with M. Gaston Mayer, to found a French
repertoire theatre in London, but the experiment was not successful and
lasted only one season.
[106] It is probably for this comedian that the street _Calle Duse_ in
Chioggio, near Venice, is named.
[107] “A curious circumstance attended her baptism at Vigevano. In
accordance with the custom of the country the child was carried to the
church in a shrine gilded and ornamented with jewels. A detachment of
Austrian soldiery marched past the baptismal procession, and mistaking
the shrine for the relics of some saint, halted and saluted. When he
returned to his wife the father said to her: ‘Forgive me, dear, that
I am unable to bring me a present for giving me a daughter, but I can
give you a happy omen. Our daughter will be something great some day;
already they have shown her military honors.’”
[108] In after years, when she had won fame and name, she used to carry
about a little antique coffer in which as a babe she used to lie while
her mother was upon the stage.
[109] According to Jean Dornis (_Le Théâtre Italien Contemporaine_) her
father said that she contracted a disease known as _Salmara_--or “The
Spleen of Venice.” The victim of this ailment is “enveloped, as in a
fantastic mist, with the sadness of the past, the bitterness of the
present, and the uncertainty of the future.”
[110] Years after the time of which we are speaking, the two met at
the home of Dumas, at Marly. When she found herself in the room with
the man she had long venerated, she was speechless with emotion, and,
the accounts say, burst into tears. When she finally acted in Paris,
in 1897, Dumas was dead. She acted there on the occasion of the great
testimonial to his memory. See page 188.
[111] In the last edition of his plays Dumas appends a footnote to _La
Princesse de Bagdad_: “There is in the last scene a stage direction
that is not found in other editions. After having said to her husband:
‘I am innocent, I swear it to you, I swear it to you,’ Leonetta, seeing
him incredulous, places her hand on the head of her son and says a
third time, ‘I swear it to you!’ This gesture, so noble and convincing,
was not used in Paris. Neither Mlle. Croizette nor I thought of it;
none the less, it was irrefutable and irresistible. Inflection alone,
however powerful, was not enough.” As a matter of fact, until Duse
introduced this bit of “business” no one had ever been able to make the
scene convincing, and as the success of the whole play hangs on this
scene, _La Princesse de Bagdad_ had always been a comparative failure.
Dumas goes on to pay tribute to Duse for introducing his work into
Italy, and in conclusion says: “It is to be regretted for our art that
this extraordinary actress is not French.”
[112] 1885.
[113] Though her first night audience was described as “large and
brilliant,” Duse’s audiences during her first American tour were
generally not large in numbers. They were, however, drawn from a
discriminating part of the public, the part that regards the drama
as an art and goes to the theatre only when its own high standards
are likely to be met. During the 1896 tour she attracted the same
discerning public, but also, this time, that other public which runs to
fads. “La Duse” became something of a fad, but happily at no sacrifice
of the quality of her acting.
[114] _The Critic_, for January 28, 1893. The story has often been told
of Mme. Bartet, the distinguished actress of the _Comèdie Française_,
and Duse’s swoon in _La Dame aux Camélias_. So powerful and so natural
was Duse at the point where Marguérite swoons, that Bartet, perhaps
sensible of Duse’s own bodily weakness, cried out: “Great Heavens! She
has really fainted.”
[115] There is much in Mrs. Fiske’s acting to remind one of Duse,
different as the two are in many ways. There is in each, in the first
place, the same service to an art of an exceptional intellect, the
same high minded devotion to ideals. Each has been a mistress of the
subtleties, both of conceptions of characters and of means to set
those conceptions forth. Each depends on the significant repression
of emotion, rather than on expansive exposition of emotion. Each is,
in spite of a fundamental seriousness, expert in comedy. Coming to
details, each depends largely on rapidity of utterance, with occasional
arbitrary pauses. Of the former--in a possible excess--Mrs. Fiske has
been sufficiently charged; the latter Duse has been sometimes accused
of carrying to undue lengths. Finally each has her wholesome distaste
for eccentricities and meritricious publicity. Mrs. Fiske is Duse
translated into American.
[116] _The Critic_, February 11, 1893.
[117] During her tour in America in 1893, Duse’s parts were: Marguérite
Gauthier in _La Dame aux Camélias_; _Fédora_; Clotilde in _Fernande_;
Santuzza in _Cavalleria Rusticana_; Mirandolina in _La Locandiera_;
Cyprienne in _Divorçons_; Francine in _Francillon_, and Césarine in _La
Femme de Claude_. During her second American tour in 1896, Duse played
_Magda_ for the first time in this country, and also some plays from
her former repertoire, _La Dame aux Camélias_, _Cavalleria Rusticana_
and _La Locandiera_. On her next visit, in 1902, which was during the
d’Annunzio period, she played _La Gioconda_, _La Citta Morta_, and
_Francesca da Rimini_, all by d’Annunzio.
[118] She played for London _A Doll’s House_ and _Antony and
Cleopatra_, as well as _Camille_, _Fédora_, _Cavalleria Rusticana_ and
_La Locandiera_.
[119] When Duse was in the United States for the second time, in 1896,
she withstood, as before, all attempts to interview her. This fact did
not prevent some enterprising persons from publishing to the world that
she had confessed a dislike of America. The report was widely spread,
but the fact was that Duse did not make the statement.
Her Magda gave a new revelation of her skill. “In suggesting the
social standing of the returned prodigal, Mme. Duse takes a middle
course between the frank Bohemianism of Bernhardt and the loftier
aristocratic air adopted by Modjeska. It is interesting to note how
she emphasizes the theatrical nature of Magda’s past life, by just
those little exaggerations of pose and gesture common to nearly all
stage performers, but from which she herself, in ordinary conditions
is almost ideally free. These manifestations of self-consciousness are
confined to the second act, and vanish when the inner self of the woman
is brought to the surface by the influence of powerful emotions.”--_The
Critic_, March 7, 1896. An instance, this, of Duse’s remarkable
subtlety in acting. At the point where Magda drives her former lover
from her presence, she “easily reached and maintained herself at a
height of emotion which can only be described as tragic, and she
wrought the effect without exposing herself, even for an instant, to
the charge of exaggeration or rant.” Of this scene William Archer, a
little later, said that until he saw it he did not fully realize the
dynamic potentialities of human utterance.
[120] Unlike many of her sister actresses, Duse made a practice of
reading the criticisms of her acting.
[121] From Victor Mapes’ _Duse and The French_, to which the author is
indebted for his account of Duse’s Paris _début_.
[122] In 1898 Mme. Vivanti Chartres, one of Duse’s few intimate
friends, said (in the New York _Dramatic Mirror_): “Duse’s hatred of
publicity and newspaper interviews has assumed the proportions of
a mania.... When we were alone together, talking of the play I was
writing for her, or discussing modern art, her youthful struggles
with poverty, or the world weariness that came to her finally with
her splendid success, Duse was herself--impulsive, eager, passionate,
tender, sad. But the mere announcement of a visitor would freeze her
into silent hauteur.
“I stayed with her in Turin for some time. We used to go out driving
in the _Valentino_ every morning, for Duse said she needed to
begin the day by looking at ‘green things.’ She was crowding the
_Teatro Carignano_, the receipts averaging 10,000 francs for each
performance--a stupendous sum for Italy. Yes, Duse certainly makes
a great deal of money, but she spends all that she makes. She is
exceedingly generous. One day she gave a magnificent diamond ring to
a dressmaker whom Worth had sent to her from Paris with her _Dame aux
Camélias_ dresses. And she pays her entire company all the year round,
although during the last eighteen months she has given only twenty-two
performances.
“At Monte Carlo we stayed at the Victoria, the dullest if most
aristocratic hotel in the place. But Duse has a taste for the dismal
and the melancholy. She is very sad--the saddest woman I have ever
known. She cannot even bear people’s voices. After the strain of her
performance she drives home quite alone, and sits down to her supper in
solitude and silence. During the days that I was with her we used to
sit at opposite ends of the large table, sometimes without exchanging
half a dozen words, and she used to laugh her approval across to me
when I absolutely refused to answer her if she made any attempts at
polite conversation.
“Duse _chez elle_ dresses almost always in white satin. Her gowns are
loose and limp, and folded carelessly around her.... She is a charming
woman, highly cultured, sincere, brave and good. Her conversation, when
she chooses to speak, is startlingly brilliant.”
[123] It was her rule not to play more than four performances a week.
When she was in her thirties, the world was told that she was a
sufferer from “pulmonary phthisis,” and that her impending doom was
one of the causes of her seclusion and sadness. All through her career
there were periodic reports of her illness, of canceled engagements and
interrupted tours.
[124] “She spends enormous sums on books and photographs, on bonbons
and _scissors_--a curious hobby of hers, as she buys pair after pair,
which she afterwards loses.... Another of her fads, which in Italy is
a decided novelty, is hygiene; for to the average Italian mind, the
simplest rules of health and sanitation, even the combination of warmth
and good ventilation, are mysteries, to inquire into which would be
useless and ridiculous. That Duse should like to have a fire and to sit
with the window open at the same time, quite passes their powers of
comprehension.” Helen Zimmern in _Fortnightly Review_, 1900.
[125] Her d’Annunzio parts, extending from 1897 to 1902, were: Isabella
in _Sogno di Mattino di Primavera_, Anna in _La Citta Morta_, Silvia in
_La Gioconda_, Helena in _La Gloria_, and Francesca in _Francesca da
Rimini_.
[126] “In _La Gioconda_, the scene in the studio, when the wife,
burdened with a sense of intolerable worry, finds herself face to face
with the woman who has supplanted her--would to a second rate actress
prove an irresistible temptation to frenzied rant; but Duse plays
it with a sustained intensity of controlled detestation and scorn
which was infinitely more impressive, more artistic and more true. In
the horrible climax she leaves details of her destroyed hand to the
imagination.” _The Critic._
[127] “Her method does not admit even the possibility of pose. In the
quietest and most delicate of her scenes Bernhardt always bears traces
of her school and its traditions of _autorité_. Duse on the other hand,
goes to the most daring lengths in self-effacement. Her stillness is
absolute.
“Even what is exaggerated in Italian gesture has in her a sort of
anomalous grace, and preserves the richness and geniality of nature.”
_The Athenæum_, 1885.
[128] William Archer.
[129] The name was really Crehan. Why was it changed? Perhaps because
in its original form it was too baldly Irish. Yet Ada’s two elder
sisters had taken to the stage and both appeared with the name O’Neill.
Her mother was Harriet O’Neill, her father William Crehan. There were
six children, three boys and three girls. The story used to be current
that “Crehan” became “Rehan” through an error of printing; that when
Ada first appeared in Philadelphia, with Mrs. Drew, she was named on a
playbill “Ada C. Rehan”; and that, in view of the favorable newspaper
notices given the new actress, Mrs. Drew advised her to retain the name
inadvertently given her,--all interesting surely, and perhaps true.
Playbills of the Arch Street Theatre (Philadelphia) of 1874, however,
give “Ada Crehan.”