Read Ebook: Life on the Stage: My Personal Experiences and Recollections by Morris Clara

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Ebook has 1255 lines and 129140 words, and 26 pages

and pecan-nuts, while the thickets furnished hazel-nuts and the frost brought sweetness to the persimmon, and consequently pleasure to our palates, but never could I acquire a taste for the "paw-paw," that inane custard-like fruit, often called the American banana.

I helped obtain the roots and barks and nut-shells from which the grown-ups made their dyes. I learned to use a bow and arrow; and on rainy days, having nothing new to read, I learned by heart the best chapters of my own birthday books, and often repeated them to the other children when we cuddled in the hayloft, above the horses.

One day I became too realistic, and in my "flight from my step-mother's home" I fell through the hole where the hay was tossed down to old Jerry's manger. He was a serious-minded and kindly old horse, and did nothing worse than snort a little over the change in his diet, from hay to small girl. My severe bruises would have been borne with fortitude, but when I arose--behold a wretched wandering hen had been in the manger before me, and if one judged from the state of my clothing, the egg she had left behind must have been the size of a melon at least! If that seems an exaggeration, just break an egg in your pocket, if you don't care to sit down on one, and see how far it will spread. Then, indeed, I lifted my voice and wept!

Yes, those were two precious years, in which I learned to love passionately the beauty of the world! The tender, mystic charm of dawn, the pomp and splendor of the setting of the sun! Finding in the tiny perfection of the velvety moss the minute repetition of the form and branching beauty of the stately tree at whose root it grew! Seeing all the beauty of the blue sky and its sailing clouds encompassed by a quivering drop of dew upon a mullein leaf I dimly felt some faint comprehension of the divine satisfaction when the Creator pronounced the work of His hands, "Good!"

From the first my mother had been greatly distressed by the absence of any school to which I might go, and also by her inability to earn money. She had been wise enough not to leave Cleveland without sufficient means to bring us back again--which proved most fortunate. For when quite suddenly we heard of the published death of my father, we immediately returned and she obtained employment, while I was sent to the public school. But, oh, what a poor, meagre course of study I entered on. Reading, writing, spelling, arithmetic, and geography--that was all! Only one class in the grammar-school studied history. However, improvements were being discussed, and I remember that three weeks before my final withdrawal from school my mother had to buy me a book on physiology, which was to be taught to the children, who had not even a bowing acquaintance with grammar. But I hungered and thirsted for knowledge--I craved it--longed for it. During the weary years of repression I had fallen back upon imagination for amusement and comfort, and when I was ten my "thinks," as I then called my waking dreams, almost surely took one of these two forms. Since I had abandoned "thinks" about fairies coming to grant my wishes, I always walked out , and saved either an old lady or an old gentleman--sometimes one, sometimes the other--from some imminent peril--a sort of impressionist peril--vague but very terrible! and the rescued one was always tremblingly grateful and offered to reward me, and I always sternly refused to be rewarded, but unbent sufficiently to see the saved one safely to his or her splendid home. There I revelled in furniture, pictures, musical instruments and an assortment of beautiful dogs. On leaving this palatial residence I consented to give my address, and next day the "saved" called on my mother and after some conversation it was settled that I was to go to the convent-school for four years, where I knew the education was generous and thorough, and that languages, music, and painting were all taught. As these "thinks" took place at night after the ill-smelling extinguishment of the candle, I generally fell asleep before, in white robe and a crown of flowers, I gathered up all the prizes and diplomas and things I had earned.

When my mother in the performance of her duties had to accept orders, she received them calmly and as a matter of course--whatever she may have felt in her heart--but I loved and reverenced her so! To me she was the one woman of the world; and when I saw her taking orders from another I flinched and shrank as I would have done beneath the sharp lash of a whip, and then for nights afterward , I settled down, with my mother's hand tight clasped in mine, to my other favorite "thinks" wherein I did some truly remarkable embroidery, of such precision of stitch, such perfection of coloring and shading, that when I offered it for sale I was much embarrassed by the numbers of would-be buyers. However, an old lady finally won me away from the store , and I had to be very firm with her to keep her from over-paying me for the work of my hands.

Then, as I had graciously promised the store-keeper any over-plus of embroidery not needed by the generous old person, I felt my income secure, and hastened to rent two rooms and furnish them, ready to take my astonished mother there--where she could do the ordering herself.

I hung curtains, laid carpets, put dishes in the cupboard, gave one window to my mother and kept one for myself and my very exceptional embroidery; and, though I laugh now, I had then many an hour of genuine happiness, furnishing this imaginary home and refuge for the mother I loved!

I am Led into the Theatre--I Attend Rehearsals--I am Made Acquainted with the Vagaries of Tights.

I was approaching my thirteenth birthday when it came about that a certain ancient boarding-house keeper--far gone in years--required someone to assist her, someone she could trust entirely and leave in charge for a month at a time; and I, not being able to read the future, was greatly chagrined because my mother accepted the offered situation. I was always happiest when she found occupation in a house where there was a library, for people were generally kind to me in that respect and gave me the freedom of their shelves, seeing that I was reverently careful of all books; but in a boarding-house there would be no library, and my heart sank as we entered the gloomy old building.

No, there were no books, but among the boarders there were two or three actors and two actresses--a mother and a daughter. The mother played the "first old women"; the daughter, only a year or two older than I was, played, I was told, "walking-ladies," though what that meant I could not imagine.

The daughter liked me, while I looked upon her with awe, and wondered why she even noticed me. She was very wilful, she would not study anything on earth save her short parts. She had never read a book in her life. When I was home from school I told her stories by the hour, and she would say: "You ought to be in a theatre--you could act!"

And then I would be dumb for a long time, because I thought she was making fun of me. One day I was chewing some gum she gave me--I was not chewing it very nicely, either--and my mother boxed my ears, and Blanche said: "You ought to be in a theatre--you could chew all the gum you liked there!"

And just then my mother was so cruelly overworked, and the spring came in with furious heat, and I felt so big and yet so helpless--a great girl of thirteen to be worked for by another--and the humiliation seemed more than I could bear, and I locked myself in our dreary cupboard of a room, and flung myself upon my knees, and in a passion of tears tried to make a bargain with my God! I meant no irreverence--I was intensely religious. I did not see the enormity of the act--I only knew that I suffered, and that God could help me--so I asked His help! But, instead of stopping there, I cried out to Him this promise: "Dear God! just pity me and show me what to do! Please--please help me to help my mother--and if you will, I'll never say 'No!' to any woman who comes to me all my life long!"

My error in trying to barter with my Maker must have been forgiven, for my prayer was answered within a week, while there are many women scattered through the land who know that I have tried faithfully to keep my part of that bargain, and no woman who has sought my aid has ever been answered with a "No!"

One day Blanche greeted me with the news that extra ballet-girls were wanted, and told me that I must go at once and get engaged.

"But," I said, "maybe they won't take me!"

"Well," answered she, "I've coaxed your mother, and my mother says she'll look out for you--so at any rate go and see. I'll take you to-morrow."

And so dimly, vaguely, I seemed to see a way opening out before me, and again behind the locked door I knelt and said: "Dear God! dear God!" and got no further, because grief has many words and joy has so few.

The school term had closed on Friday, and on Saturday morning, with my heart beating almost to suffocation, I started out to walk to the theatre with Blanche, who had promised to ask Mr. Ellsler to take me on in the ballet. When we reached the sidewalk we saw the sky threatened rain and Blanche sent me back for an umbrella. I had none of my own, so I borrowed one from Mrs. Miller , and at sight of it my companion broke into laughter. It was a dreadful affair--with a knobby, unkind handle, a slovenly and corpulent body, and a circumference, when open, that suggested the idea that it had been built to shelter not only the landlady, but those wise ones of the boarders who had paid up before the winds rose and the rain fell. Then we proceeded to the old Academy of Music on Bank Street, and entering, went upstairs, and just as we reached the top step a small dark man hurried across the hall and Blanche called quickly: "Oh, Mr. Ellsler--Mr. Ellsler! wait a moment, please--I want to speak to you!"

I could not know that his almost repellent sternness of face concealed a kindness of heart that approached weakness, so when he turned a frowning, impatient face toward us, hope left me utterly, and for a moment I seemed to stand in a great darkness. I think I can do no better than to give Mr. Ellsler's own account of that, our first meeting, as he has given it often since. He says: "I was much put out by a business matter and was hastily crossing the corridor when Blanche called me, and I saw she had another girl in tow; a girl whose appearance in a theatre was so droll I must have laughed, had I not been more than a little cross. Her dress was quite short--she wore a pale-blue apron buttoned up the back, long braids tied at the ends with ribbon, and a brown straw hat, while she clutched desperately at the handle of the biggest umbrella I ever saw. Her eyes were distinctly blue and were plainly big with fright. Blanche gave her name and said she wanted to go on in the ballet, and I instantly answered she would not do, she was too small--I wanted women, not children, and started to return to my office. Blanche was voluble, but the girl herself never spoke a single word. I glanced toward her and stopped. The hands that clutched the umbrella trembled--she raised her eyes and looked at me. I had noticed their blueness a moment before--now they were almost black, so swiftly had the pupils dilated, and slowly the tears rose in them. All the father in me shrank under the child's bitter disappointment; all the actor in me thrilled at the power of expression in the girl's face, and I hastily added: 'Oh, well! You may come back in a day or two, and if anyone appears meantime who is short enough to march with you I'll take you on,' and after I got to my office I remembered the girl had not spoken a single word, but had won an engagement--for I knew I should engage her--with a pair of tear-filled eyes."

In the daytime I found the stage a thing dead--at night, with the blazing of the gas, it lived! for light is its life, music is its soul, and the play its brain.

Silently and cautiously I walked about, gazing curiously at the "scenes," so fine on one side, so bare and cheap on the other; at the tarlatan "glass windows"; at the green "calico sea," lying flat and waveless on the floor. Everything there pretended to be something else, and at last I said solemnly to Blanche: "Is everything only make-believe in a theatre?"

And she turned her gum to the other side and answered: "Yes, everything's make-believe--except salary day!"

Then came the rehearsal--everything was military just then--and there was a Zouave drill to learn, as well as a couple of dances. The women and girls who had been engaged were not the very nicest people in the world, though they were the best to be found at such short notice; and Mrs. Bradshaw told me not to stand about with them, but to come to her as soon as my share in the work was over. "But," said this wise woman, "don't fail in politeness to them; for nothing can hold a person so far off as extreme politeness."

To me the manual of arms was mere child's play, and the drill a veritable delight. The second day I scribbled down the movements in the order that they had been made, and learned them by heart, with the result that on the third day I sat aside chewing gum, while the stage-manager raved over the rest. Then the star--Mr. McDonough--came along and furiously demanded to know why I was not drilling. "The gentleman sent me out of the ranks, sir," I answered, "because he said I knew the manual and drill!"

"Oh, indeed! well, there's not one of you that knows it--and you never will know it! You're a set of numbskulls! Here!" he cried, catching up a rifle, "take hold of this--get up here--and let's see how much you know! Now, then, shoulder arms!"

He held out his fat white hand to me, and as I took it he added: "You ought to stay in this business--you've got your head with you!"

It was a small matter, of course, but there was a faint hint of triumph in it, and the savor was very pleasant to me.

But we, this untrained ballet, were not Bonfantis nor Morlachis, and we wore our dancing clothes with a difference. In one dance we were supposed to be fairies. We wore flesh-colored slippers and tights. It took one full week of our two weeks' engagement to learn how to secure these treacherous articles, so that they would remain smooth and not wrinkle down somewhere or twist about. One girl never learned, and to the last added to the happiness of the public by ambling about on a pair of legs that looked as if they had been done up in curl papers the night before.

We each had seven white tarlatan skirts, as full as they could be gathered--long enough to come a little below the knee. Our waists were also flesh-colored, and were cut fully two or three inches below our collar-bones, so you see there was plenty of cloth at our backs to hook our very immature wings to. We had wreaths of white roses on our heads--Blanche, who was very frank, said they looked like wreaths of turnips--and garlands of white roses to wave in the dance. I remember the girl with the curled legs was loathed by all because she lassoed everyone she came near with her garland--so you see we were very decorous fairies, whether we were decorative or not.

Of course we were rather substantial, and our wings did seem too thin and small to sustain us satisfactorily. One girl took hers off in the dressing-room and remarked contemptuously that "they couldn't lift her cat even!"

But another, who was dictatorial and also of a suspicious nature, answered savagely: "You don't know nothing about wings--and you haven't got no cat, nohow, and you know it--so shut up!" and the conversation closed.

In our second costume we were frankly human. We still wore dancing skirts, but we were in colors, and we had, of course, shed our wings--nasty, scratchy things they were, I remember. Then for the drill and march we wore the regular Fire Zouave uniform.

It was all great fun for me--you remember I was not stage-struck. Dramatically speaking, I was not yet born--I had neither ambition nor fear--I was simply happy because I was going to earn that, to me, great sum of money, and was going to give it to my mother, and planned only what I should say to her, and had no thought at all of the theatre or anything or any person in it.

The donning of fleshings for the first time is an occasion of anxiety to anyone, man or woman. I, however, approached the subject of tights with an open mind, and Blanche freely gave me both information and advice. She chilled my blood by describing the mortifying mishaps, the dread disasters these garments had brought to those who failed to understand them. She declared them to be tricky, unreliable, and malicious in the extreme.

"There's just one way to succeed with 'em," she said, "and that's by bullying 'em. Show you're afraid and they will slip and twist and wrinkle down and make you a perfect laughing-stock. You must take your time, you know, at first, and fit 'em on very carefully and smoothly over your feet and ankles and up over your knees. See that they are nice and straight or you'll look as if you were walking on corkscrews, but after that bully 'em--yank and pull and drag 'em, and when you have 'em drawn up as tight as you can draw 'em, go at 'em and pull 'em up another inch at least. They'll creak and snap and pretend they're going to tear, but don't you ever leave your dressing-room satisfied, unless you feel you can't possibly get down-stairs without going sideways."

"But," I remonstrated, "they'll break and let my knees through!"

"Oh, no they won't!" she cheerfully answered. "They'll make believe they're going to split at the knee, of course, but instead they'll just keep as safe and smooth as the skin on your arm. But, for Heaven's sake, don't be afraid of 'em!"

And I gravely promised to be as bold as I possibly could in my first encounter with the flesh-colored terrors.

I Receive my First Salary--I am Engaged for the Coming Season.

At last the night came. Hot? Oh, my, hot it was! and we were so crowded in our tiny dressing-room that some of us had to stand on the one chair while we put our skirts on. The confusion was great, and I was glad to get out of the room, down-stairs, where I went to show myself to Mrs. Bradshaw or Blanche, to see if I was all right. They looked at me, and after a hopeless struggle with their quivering faces they burst into shrieks of laughter. With trembling hands I clutched my tarlatan skirts and peering down at my tights, I groaned: "Are they twisted, or run down, or what?"

But it was not the tights, it was my face. I knew you had to put on powder because the gas made you yellow, and red because powder made you ghastly, but it had not occurred to me that skill was required in applying the same, and I was a sight to make any kindly disposed angel weep! I had not even sense enough to free my eyelashes from the powder clinging to them. My face was chalk white and low down on my cheeks were nice round bright red spots.

Mrs. Bradshaw said: "With your round blue eyes and your round white-and-red face, you look like a cheap china doll! Come here, my dear!"

I felt the soft touch of the hare's foot on my burning cheeks; then she gave me a tooth-brush, which had black on it, and bade me draw it across my lashes. I did so and was surprised at the amount of powder it removed. She touched her little finger to some red pomade, and said: "Thrust out your under lip--no, not like a kiss--that makes creases--make a sulky lip--so!"

She touched my lip with her finger, then she drew back and laughed again, in a different way. She drew me to the glass, and said, "Look!"

I looked and cried: "Oh--oh! Mrs. Bradshaw, that girl doesn't look a bit like me--she's ever so much nicer!"

In that lesson on making-up was the beginning and the ending of my theatrical instruction. What I have learned since then has been by observation, study, and direct inquiry--but never by instruction, either free or paid for.

Now, while I was engaged to go on with the crowd, fate willed after all that I should have an independent entrance for my first appearance on the stage. The matter would be too trivial to mention were it not for the influence it had upon my future. One act of the play represented the back of a stage during a performance. The scenes were turned around with their unpainted sides to the public. The scene-shifters and gas-men were standing about--everything was going wrong. The manager was giving orders wildly, and then a dancer was late. She was called frantically and finally when she appeared on the run, the manager caught her by the shoulders, rushed her across the stage and fairly pitched her on the imaginary stage--to the great amusement of the audience.

The tallest and prettiest girl in the ballet had been picked out to do this bit of work, and she had been rehearsed and rehearsed as if she were preparing for the balcony scene of "Romeo and Juliet"; and day after day the stage-manager would groan: "Can't you run? Did you never run? Imagine the house a-fire and that you are running for your life!"

At last, on that opening night, we were all gathered ready for our first entrance and dance, which followed a few moments after the incident I have described. The tall girl had a queer look on her face as she stood in her place--her cue came, but she never moved.

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