Stage Confidences | Page 8

play!" or "That could
only happen in a play!" and yet it's surprising how often actors receive
proof positive that their plays are reflecting happenings in real life.
When Mr. Daly had "L'Article 47" on, at the 5th Avenue Theatre, for
instance, the key-note of the play was the insanity of the heroine. In the
second, most important act, before her madness had been openly
proclaimed, it had to be indicated simply by manner, tone, and gesture;
and the one action of drawing the knee up into her clasping arms, and
then swaying the body mechanically from side to side, while muttering
rapidly to herself, thrilled the audience with the conviction of her
affliction more subtly than words could have done. One night, when
that act was on, I had just begun to sway from side to side, when from
the auditorium there arose one long, _long_, agonizing wail, and that
wail was followed by the heavy falling of a woman's body from her
chair into the centre aisle.
In an instant all was confusion, every one sprang to his feet; even the
musicians, who were playing some creepy, incidental music, as was the

fashion then, stopped and half rose from their places. It was a dreadful
moment! Somehow I kept a desperate hold upon my strained and
startled nerves and swayed on from side to side. Mr. Stoepel, the leader,
glanced at me. I caught his eye and said quick and low, "Play! play!"
[Illustration: _Clara Morris in "L'Article 47"_]
He understood; but instead of simply resuming where he had left off,
from force of habit he first gave the leader's usual three sharp taps upon
his music desk, and then--so queer a thing is an audience--those people,
brought to their feet in an agony of terror, of fire, panic, and sudden
death by a woman's cry, now at that familiar tap, tap, tap, broke here
and there into laughter. By sixes and sevens, then by tens and twenties,
they sheepishly seated themselves, only turning their heads with pitying
looks while the ushers removed the unconscious woman.
When the act was over, Mr. Daly--a man of few words on such
occasions--held my hands hard for a moment, and said, "Good girl,
good girl!" and I, pleased, deprecatingly remarked, "It was the music,
sir, that quieted them," to which he made answer, "And it was you who
ordered the music!"
Verily, no single word could be spoken on his stage without his
knowledge. Later that evening we learned that the lady who had cried
out had been brought to the theatre by friends who hoped to cheer her
up (Heaven save the mark!) and help her to forget her dreadful and
recent experience of placing her own mother in an insane asylum.
Learned, too, that her very first suspicion of that poor mother's
condition had come from finding her one morning sitting up in bed, her
arms embracing her knees, while she swayed from side to side
unceasingly, muttering low and fast all the time.
Poor lady! no wonder her worn nerves gave way when all unexpectedly
that dread scene was reproduced before her, and worse still before the
staring public.
Then Mr. Charles Matthews, the veteran English comedian, came over
to act at Mr. Daly's. His was a graceful, polished, volatile style of

acting, and he had a high opinion of his power as a maker of fun; so
that he was considerably annoyed one night when he discovered that
one of his auditors would not laugh. Laugh? would not even smile at
his efforts.
Mr. Matthews, who was past seventy, was nervous, excitable,--and,
well, just a wee bit _cranky_; and when the play was about half over,
he came "off," angrily talking to himself, and ran against Mr. Lewis
and me, as we were just about "going on." Instantly he exclaimed,
"Look here! look here!" taking from his vest pocket a broad English
gold piece and holding it out on his hand, then added, "And look there!
look there!" pointing out a gentleman sitting in the opposite box.
"Do you see that stupid dolt over there? Well, I've toiled over him till I
sweat like a harvest hand, and laugh--he won't; smile--he won't."
I remarked musingly, "He looks like a graven image"; while Lewis
suggested cheerfully, "Perhaps he is one."
"No, no!" groaned the unfortunate star, "I'm afraid not! I'm--I'm almost
certain I saw him move once. But look here now, you're a deucedly
funny pair; just turn yourselves loose in this scene. I'll protect you from
Daly,--do anything you like,--and the one who makes that wooden man
laugh, wins this gold piece."
It was not the gold piece that tempted us to our fall, but the hope of
succeeding where the star had failed. I seized one moment in