Life on the Stage Part 30

said Mr. Daly, "and here, you, take it yourself."

I went on alone, and the audience rose as one individual. I saw them, all blurred through happy tears. I held my hands out to them, with a very pa.s.sion of love. The house blossomed with white waving handkerchiefs in answer. The curtain fell and, before I moved, rose once more, and then, as I live by bread! I saw pa.s.s between me and those applauding people a little crying child carrying a single potato in her hand. Of course that was nerves; but I saw her, I tell you I saw her! and surely I should know myself!

In the fourth act, which was a triumph for all concerned in it--and that meant nearly everyone in the cast--I received a compliment that I prize still. There is a certain tone which should be reserved for short important speeches only in strong and exciting scenes, where, by force of contrast, it has a great effect; so, in tones low, level, clear and cold as ice, _Anne_ had scarcely taken her solemn oath: "I swear it, on my honor as a Christian woman, sir!" when from end to end of their railed-in semicircle the musicians broke into swift applause. Catching the effect, their foreign impetuosity made them respond more quickly than could the Americans who seconded their action, while mere recognition from these play-worn, _blase_ men was to me veritable incense. In the last act, Mrs.

Gilbert, as _Hester Detheridge_, the supposed dumb woman, proved herself an artist to the fingertips. Later I saw many _Hesters_, but never one to equal hers.

At last, and late, far too late, the play ended in a blaze of glory. The curtain was raised for final compliments. All the actors in the play had been summoned--we all stood in line, a bowing, smiling, happy line--facing a shouting, hat, handkerchief, or cane-waving crowd of pleased, excited people. As I saw how many eyes were turned my way, with a leap of the heart I repeated: "If you make a favorable impression I will--yes, I will double that salary."

Surely, I thought, no one can doubt that I have made a favorable impression, and, oh, mother, we will be so happy! Just then I caught the eye of a young girl--I could have touched her outstretched hand, she was so close--she gave me a lovely smile, and taking from her bosom a bunch of scarlet carnations she threw them herself. They fell on the stage.

One of the actors picked them up and, turning, handed them to _Blanche_.

I heard the disappointed "Oh!" and caught her eye again, when, regardless of all the rules and regulations forbidding communication with the audience, I smiled and kissed my hand to her. As the curtain fell, in an instant everyone was talking with everyone else. I had begun alone--well, I must end alone. I slipped down the staircase least used, and at its foot met Mr. George Brown, who was waiting for me. He took my hands in his and gave me both commendation and congratulation, though they were stayed and braced with unconscious profanity; and I squeezed his hands hard and said: "You are so good, oh! you are so good! but please take care, I'm afraid you'll get forfeited." When he cried: "D----n the forfeit, it's worth a few dollars to speak as you feel sometimes, so good-night!"

I scrambled into my street-clothes, caught up the inevitable bag, and fairly rushed from the theatre, and as I came up from that place of mouldy smell and burnt-out air, and lifted my face to the stupendous beauty of the heavens, sniffing delightedly at the cool, pure night air, suddenly I thought how delicious must have been the first long breath young Lazarus drew when, obeying the Divine command, he "came forth" from the tomb.

Tired, excited, I hurried to carry the news to the two who awaited me--my mother and my dog. At the corner of Twenty-third Street and Broadway I had to pa.s.s around a party of ladies and gentlemen who stood talking there, and a lady said as I pa.s.sed: "No, no! it's Morris, I tell you; see, here it is--Clara Morris." She held up a folded programme, pointing out the name to a gentleman beside her. I laughed happily. Odd bits of the evening's happenings kept appearing before me like pictures.

Sometimes I saw the unknown young girl's smiling face--and the scarlet flowers I failed to receive. Sometimes 'twas Mr. Daly's angry one as he pitched me on to the stage to acknowledge a compliment I did not want, great as it was. Most often I saw the faces of the lovely women of the company. What a galaxy of beauty they made! The stately Newton, the already full-blown, buxom Davenport, the tall, slender, deer-eyed Dietz, the oriental Volmer, the auburn-haired Claxton, the blond Norwood! There were just two women in that company who were not beauties--Mrs. Gilbert and Miss Morris; even they were wholesome, pleasant women, who did not frighten horses by any means, but still if you speak of beauty--why, next! please!

At last I saw the lighted windows that told me home was near. Then up the stairs, where there bounded upon my breast the little black-and-tan bundle of love and devotion, called Bertie the loyal, whose fervid greetings made the removal of my hat so difficult a job that it was through the tangle of hat, veil, and wriggling dog I cried at last: "It's all right, Mumsey--a success! Lots and lots of 'calls,' dear! and, oh! is there anything to eat--_I am so hungry!_"

So, while the new actress's name was floating over many a dainty restaurant supper, its owner sat beneath one gas-jet, between mother and pet, eating a large piece of bread and a small piece of cheese; and, thankful for both, she talked to her small circle of admirers, telling them all about it, and winding up supper and talk with the declaration: "Mother, I believe the hearts are just the same, whether they beat against Western ribs or Eastern ribs!"

Then, supper over, I stumbled through my old-time "Now I lay me," and adding some blurred words of grat.i.tude (G.o.d must be so well used to sleep thanks, but very wide-awake entreaties!) I fell asleep, knowing that through G.o.d's mercy and my own hard work I was the first Western actress who had ever been accepted by a New York audience, and as I drowsed off, I murmured to myself: "And I'll leave the door open, now that I have opened it--I'll leave it open for all others."

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIFTH

I Am Accepted by the Company--I am Warned against Mr. Fisk--I Have an Odd Encounter with Mr. Gould.

The following morning we were called to the theatre at eleven o'clock to have the play cut "judiciously," as old actors used to say. It was very loosely constructed, and, besides cutting, the entire drama required a tightening-up, as it were.

Mr. Daly was the first to greet me and offer hearty and genial congratulations. Everyone followed his example, and that morning I was admitted into the family circle and came into my just inheritance of equality and fraternity.

A little surprised, but very happy, I gave back smile for smile, hand-pressure for hand-pressure; for being held off at arm's length by them all had hurt worse I'm sure than they knew, therefore when they offered me kindly greeting I did not stop to study out the _cause_ of this _effect_, but shut my eyes and opened my mouth, and took what luck had sent me, and thankfully became so much one of them that I never had a clashing word with a member of the company--never saw the faintest cloud darken our good-fellowship.

That morning, as the cutting was going on, I advanced and offered my part, but Mr. Daly waved me away. "No," he said, "there's plenty of useless matter to take out, but the public won't want _Anne_ cut, they have none too much of her now."

He gave but few compliments, even to those he liked, and he did not like me yet, therefore that gracious speech created a sensation among the other hearers and was carefully treasured up by me.

Another of his sayings of that morning I recall. In conversation with one of the ladies, I remarked: "As a Western woman, I suppose I have various expressions to unlearn?" when Mr. Daly turned quickly from the prompt-table, saying, sharply: "Miss Morris, don't say that again. You are a New York woman now--please remember that. You ceased to be a Westerner last night when you received the New York stamp."

I thought him jesting, and was about to make some flippant reply, when one of the ladies squeezed my arm and said: "Don't, he will be angry; he is in earnest."

And he was, just as he was in earnest later on when we had become good friends, and I heard him for the first time swear like a trooper because I had been born in Canada. And when I laughed at his anger, he was not far from boxing my ears.

"It's a d.a.m.n shame!" he declared; "in the first place you are an American to the very marrow of your bones. In the next place you are the only woman I know who has a living, pulsing love of country and flag! Oh, the devil! I won't believe it--you born in a tu'penny ha'penny little Canadian town under that infernal British flag! See here, if you ever tell anyone that--I'll--I'll never forgive you! Have you been telling that to people?"

I answered him: "I have not--but I have permitted the a.s.sertion that I was born in Cleveland to go uncorrected," and, with the sweet frankness of friendship, he answered that I had more sense than he had given me credit for. But, small matter that it was, it annoyed him greatly, and I still have notes of his, sent on my birthdays, in which he petulantly refers to my unfortunate birth-place, and warns me to keep silent about it.

Like many other great men--and Mr. Daly was a great man--he often made mountains out of mole-hills, devoting to some trifle an amount of consideration out of all proportion to the thing considered.

On the first night of the season Mr. Daly had said to me: "One word, Miss Morris, that I had forgotten before--Mr. James Fisk, unfortunately, as landlord, has the right of entrance into the green-room. He doesn't often appear there, but should he come in, if you are present I desire you should instantly withdraw. I do not wish you to be introduced to him under any circ.u.mstances."

I felt my face flushing red as I answered: "I have no desire to meet either Mr. Fisk or any other gentleman in the green-room!" But Mr. Daly said, hurriedly: "Don't misunderstand me, there's no time for explanations now, only do as I ask you. You will recognize him when I tell you he is very blond and very like his pictures," and away flew Mr.

Daly to attend to things enough to drive most men crazy.

Now, that speech did not mean that Mr. Fisk was a monster of ill-breeding or of immorality, but it did mean that that was Mr. Daly's "tat" to Mr.

Fisk's "t.i.t" in a very pretty little "t.i.t-for-tat" quarrel between them.

Mr. Daly very seldom tasted defeat--very, very seldom came out second best in an encounter; but there had been a struggle anent the renting of the theatre: Mr. Fisk, as landlord, refusing to renounce his right of entrance by the stage-door to any theatre he owned--nothing could move him, no argument, no entreaty, no threat; not even an offer of more rent than he himself asked. To Mr. Daly the right of entrance of an outsider back of the stage was almost unbearable, even though the privilege was seldom used and never abused. He declared he would not sign any agreement holding such a clause. He gave up the theatre rather than yield, and then, with a large company already engaged, he sought in vain for a house to shelter it. Now, the city is broken out all over, close and fine, with theatres, like a case of well-developed measles; but then 'twas different. Mr. Daly could find no other theatre, and he was compelled to accept the Fifth Avenue with the hated clause compromised thus: Mr. Fisk was to have the right of entrance to the green-room, but was never to go upon the stage or behind the scenes; an ending to the struggle that pleased the company mightily, for they were all very fond of Jimmy Fisk, or "The Prince," as he was called.

He never forgot them on benefit nights; whether the beneficiary was man or woman there was always a gift ready from the "Railroad Prince."

He looked like a man well acquainted with his tub. His yellow hair crisped itself into small waves right from its very roots. His blue eyes danced with fun, for he was one of nature's comedians. His manner was what he himself would describe as "chipper." No one could talk five minutes with him without being moved to laughter.

His own box was the right upper one, and as I first had him pointed out to me, yellow-haired, laughing, flashing now and then a splendid ring, I wondered if he really was the stalking-horse of the dark little man with the piercing eyes who sat for one act well back of the redundant and diffuse Mr. James Fisk. Wishing to make sure of the dark man's ident.i.ty, I asked who he was. "Oh," was the answer, "he's gone now, but I suppose it was Gould, rooting out the 'Prince' to talk shop to him!" then, thrusting out a contemptuous under-lip, my informant added: "He's no good--he has nothing to do with the theatre! Scarcely ever comes to a performance, and doesn't see anything when he does. He couldn't tell any one of us apart from the others if he tried--and he's not likely to try.

You want to keep your eye on Jimmie. If he likes you, you're in for flowers and a present, too, on your benefit!"

Imagine, then, my amazement on the third night of the season when this occurred: In one act I made my exit before the curtain fell--all the other characters being still upon the stage. Having a change of dress there, I always hurried down-stairs as quickly as possible, and pa.s.sing in one door and out of the other, crossed the green-room to reach my dressing-room. That evening as I ran in I saw a gentleman standing near the opposite door. I turned instantly to retreat, when a voice called: "If you please." I paused, I turned. The gentleman removed his hat, and coming to the centre of the room held out his hand, saying: "Miss Morris--you _are_ Miss Morris?"

I smiled a.s.sent and gave him my hand. His small, smooth fingers closed upon mine firmly. We stood and looked at each other. He was small, and dark of hair and of beard, and his piercing eyes seemed to be reading me through and through. He spoke presently, in a voice low and gentle--almost to sadness.

"I wanted to speak to you," he said; "I'm not going to waste time telling you you are a wonderful actress, because the papers have already done that, and all New York _will_ do it, but I see you are an honest girl and alone here----"

"No--oh, no!" I broke in, "my mother, too, is here!"

A faint smile seemed to creep about his bearded lips, there was a distinct touch of amus.e.m.e.nt in his voice as he said: "I-n-d-e-e-d! a valiant pair, no doubt--a truly valiant pair! but," his small fingers closed with surprising strength about mine in emphasis of his words, "but, oh, my honest little woman, you are going to see trouble here!" He glanced down at the hateful cheap dress I wore, he touched it with the brim of his hat: "Yes, you will have sore trouble on this score, to say nothing of other things; but don't let them beat you! When your back is to the wall, don't give up! but at a last pinch turn to me, Clara Morris, and if I don't know how to help you out, I know somebody who will!

She----"

Steps, running steps, were coming down the pa.s.sageway, then tall, dead-white with anger, Mr. Daly stood in the doorway. He almost gasped the words: "What does this mean, sir?" then angrily to me: "Leave the room at once!"

Flushing at the tone, I bent my head and moved toward the door, when, calm and clear, came the words: "Good-night, Miss Morris, please remember!"

Mr. Daly seemed beside himself with anger. "Mr. Gould," he cried (my heart gave a jump at the name; to save my life I could not help glancing back at them), "how dare you pa.s.s the stage-door? You have no more right here than has any other stranger! Your conduct, sir----"

The gray, blazing eyes of the speaker were met by Mr. Gould's, calm, cold, hard as steel, and his voice, low and level, was saying: "We will not discuss my conduct here, if you please--your office perhaps," as I fled down the entry to my own room.

Mr. Daly sent for me at the end of the play to demand my story of the unexpected meeting. Had I received any note, any message beforehand? Had we any common acquaintance? What had he said to me--word for word, what had he said?

I thought of the gentle voice, the piercing eyes that had grown so kind, the friendly promise, and somehow I felt it would be scoffed at--I rebelled. I would only generalize. He had called me an honest girl, had said the city praised me; but when I got home I told my mother all, who was greatly surprised, since she had had only the newspaper Gould in her mind--a sort of human spider, who wove webs--strong webs--that caught and held his fellow-men.

His words came true. I saw trouble of many kinds and colors. More than once I thought of his promise, but I had learned much ill of human nature in a limited time, and I was afraid of everyone. Knowing much of poor human nature now, and looking back to that evening, recalling every tone, every shade of expression, I am forced to believe Mr. Jay Gould was perfectly honest and sincere in his offer of a.s.sistance.

If this incident seems utterly incredible at first, it is because you are thinking of Mr. Gould wholly in his character of "The Wizard of Wall Street;" but turn to the domestic side of the man, think of his undying love for, his unbroken loyalty and devotion to, the wife of his choice, who, as mother of his little flock, never ceased to be his sweetheart.

Is it so improbable, then, that his heart, made tender by love for one dear woman, sheltered and protected, might feel a throb of pity for another woman, unsheltered and alone, whose poverty he saw would be a cruel stumbling-block in her narrow path? I think not.