Chapter XII: Appendix: The First English Actresses, and the Change in the Actor’s Social Status (2)

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.”

[78] Of her first night as Portia the _London Daily News_ said: “This 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.”

[130] The date of her birth has always been given as April 22, 1860. There are reasons for thinking it must have been earlier. It would not be the only instance in which an actress’ age has been reduced by a retroactive manipulation of dates. Her first appearances on the stage were in 1873 and 1874, and by the time she went to Daly, in 1879, she had had an extended experience that would be simply marvelous for a girl of nineteen. Her hair began to turn gray about 1894. Mr. Winter says the streaks of gray came prematurely. Of course, they did, in any event, but thirty-four is an extraordinarily early age for such a phenomenon in an actress. An anecdote, not worth repeating, in the _Boston Record_ for November 24, 1888, is introduced in this way: “Ada Rehan is forty years old and over. She makes up fairly for girlish rôles ... but at close sight in the cold light of day she shows her age.” If worthy of any consideration, this paragraph would place the birthdate before 1850, obviously going to the other extreme. The correct date is undoubtedly 1855, or thereabout. Thus she was about eighteen when, in 1873, she made her first appearance.

[131] The eldest, Kate, “had been a choir singer in Limerick, and while singing at a concert one day in New York was heard by Harvey Dodworth and invited to join the chorus for Lester Wallack’s production of the opera of _Don Cæsar de Bazan_. She accepted, and was also joined by her younger sister Hattie, that being the début of the Crehan family upon the stage.”

[132] Arthur Byron, the actor, is their son. Harriet, the second sister, had a long and comparatively inconspicuous career on the stage as Hattie Russell. Two brothers, William Crehan and Arthur Rehan, were more or less definitely identified, after Ada’s success, with the business side of the theatre.

[133] While in his employ she appeared also in Baltimore.

[134] Garrick’s version of _The Taming of the Shrew_.

[135] In these pre-Daly days Miss Rehan played, besides the Shakespearean parts named, a host of others that it would be tedious and useless to name. Most of them would suggest nothing to a present-day theatregoer. A few that may have some significance are: Esther Eccles in _Caste_, Hebe in _Pinafore_, Lady Florence in _Rosedale_, Lady Sarah in _Queen Elizabeth_, Little Em’ly in _David Copperfield_, Louise in _Frou-Frou_, Marie de Comines in _Louis XI_, Mary Netley in _Ours_, Pauline in _The Lady of Lyons_, Queen of France in _Henry V_, Ursula in _Much Ado About Nothing_, and Virginia in _Virginius_. There were about ninety in all.

[136] On the southwest corner of Thirtieth Street and Broadway.

[137] Arthur Lynch, in _Human Documents_.

[138] Still, in 1888, when the Daly company was playing in Paris, several of its members were interviewed, (seemingly about particularly trivial matters) and Miss Rehan was one of the talkers. She was said to have been pessimistic about the wisdom of marriages among actresses, particularly to actors. This is an ever fresh subject for debate. A writer in the New York _Dramatic Mirror_, September 15, 1888, wrote a column to refute Miss Rehan’s remarks.

[139] “I would go to the theatre any night if only to see him run his fingers over the invisible keys of the sofa cushion.”--“Brunswick” in the _Boston Transcript_.

[140] Mary Young, herself a member of Daly’s Company, in a talk to the Drama League of Boston in 1914, said: “Mr. Daly was a most polite gentleman, with extraordinary eyes of green, as clear and sharp as they were kind and laughing; wonderful, all-seeing eyes!... The strictest discipline reigned everywhere. Every member, with the exception of Miss Rehan, seemed to be in a state of complete terror. Mr. Daly was supreme and held his company of distinguished players with a grip of iron. Rules and regulations were posted everywhere. One or two that I recall were: ‘The way to succeed--mind your own business,’ and ‘How to be happy--keep your mouth shut.’ I was amazed to see some of the extra girls hide behind pieces of scenery rather than face those remarkable eyes that might be cast their way as Mr. Daly was casually passing from one part of the stage to another.... However, to my mind he was a just man, although his temper often caused him to seem to do unjust things.... His heart was kind and he could not treasure up a wrong against any one who had once gained his confidence and respect.”