B 424299
ARTEST
1837
SCIENTIA
VERITAS
LIBRARY
OF THE
UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN
PLURIBUS UNDIRS
TUEBOR
SI QUAERIS PENINSULAM AMOENAM
CIRCUMSPICE
8229
M29
W 7

1898

RICHARD MANSFIELD
THE MAN AND THE ACTOR
BY
PAUL WILSTACH
ILLUSTRATED
THURARY
WOICH UNIV
CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS
NEW YORK :::::::::::: 1908


PREFACE
THIS work was undertaken with the intention of
making a permanent record of the events and achieve-
ments of Richard Mansfield's life and of presenting
through them the personal side of his large and complex
character as he revealed it to his intimates. The only
real acquaintance the public had with him was through
the personality of the characters which he acted. No
attempt has been made to give a searching analysis
of these characterisations, for this is a record of facts
rather than of opinions. Wherever this purpose ap-
pears to have been departed from, it has been only with
the idea of offering side-lights which would illuminate
the facts.
The narrative is based first of all on the confidences of
his wife; on my own intimate acquaintance extending
over the last ten years of his life; and on unreserved
access to all his papers and letters. It has been elaborated
and verified by the generous coöperation of friends and
collectors in many parts of America and England, to
whom I beg to offer this word of thanks. As often as
possible he has been permitted to reveal himself in his
vii

viii
PREFACE
own words, either written or spoken, but his letters,
which would add to an acquaintance with him, were
not many, except to his wife and son. To others he
wrote in the main only brief notes of courtesy, for he
had an aversion to telling any one what he was going to
do or to referring to what he had done. As he has
said, his performance was his essay on his art.
P. W.


CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
(1857-1860)
Birth and parentage-Maurice Mansfield and Erminia Rudersdorff-Her
girlhood in Dublin-The Duchess Sophia of Baden-Studies in Italy
-Her début and career-Her imperious character
CHAPTER TWO
(1861-1872)
Maurice Mansfield moves his family to St. John's Wood-Richie "ap-
pears" at Crystal Palace-The children are sent to Jena-Richard's
recollection of his grand-uncle-At school in Switzerland and in
France-Boyish aspirations-Accomplishments-At Derby School
-Meets Henry Irving-Acts for the first time-Plans to go to India
CHAPTER THREE
(1872-1873)
Madame Rudersdorff comes to America-Richard follows--Early ac-
quaintances in Boston-First experiments in finding himself-Clerks
in Eben Jordan's office-Boyish pranks at home-Hunting the eggs
-The new prima donna-The country house at Lakeside-Teresa
Carreño's joke-He becomes a musical and dramatic critic-Leaves
home to avoid his mother's temper-Showing Von Bülow off
CHAPTER FOUR
(1873-1876)
PAGE
3
IO
•
.
27
He opens a studio-Teaches languages-Celebrates his success-The
Sock and Buskin Club-Acts Beau Farintosh in "School"-The Vin-
cent Crummels Entertainment-Improvising a rôle-A clash on new
"business"-The Buskins disband-He leaves for England.
CHAPTER FIVE
(1876-1878)
His apprenticeship in the theatre-Joins the German Reed Entertain-
ments-Faints on the first night-His mother cuts off his allowance-
Poverty and hunger-In provincial companies-Sings a duet for Gil-
bert and Sullivan-Plays Sir Joseph Porter in "H. M. S. Pinafore"
on tour-Denied sixpence increase in salary and returns to London
.
43
57
ix

X
CONTENTS
CHAPTER SIX
(1878-1880)
A dream and its realisation-Plays Sir Joseph again on tour-The first
performance of "The Pirates of Penzance"-Improvising patter
music-Plays John Wellington Wells in "The Sorcerer"-The spur
of discontent-Resigns-Back again in London
CHAPTER SEVEN
(1880-1882)
Joins the company at the Globe-His first parts in London-News of his
mother's death-Anecdotes of Madame Rudersdorff-Acts Brigard
in "Frou-Frou"-Woolstone in "Not Registered "-The Inn-Keeper
in "The Mascotte"-A call from Jordan-Sails for America
CHAPTER EIGHT
(1882)
The New York stage as Mansfield found it-His first American appear-
ance-Dromez in "Les Manteaux Noirs" at the Standard-Vedder
father and son in "Rip Van Winkle"-The Lord Chancellor in
"Iolanthe"-A sprained ankle causes him to return to New York-
Joins the Union Square Theatre Company-Rehearses Tirandel in
"A Parisian Romance"-The rôle of the Baron Chevrial is given
to him-His premonition of the result
CHAPTER NINE
(1883)
His first appearance as Chevrial-The criticism of old Maurice Stra-
kosch-Famous in a night-Sustenance substituted for stimulants-
On tour with the Union Square Company-Appears in Boston for
the first time as a professional artist
CHAPTER TEN
(1883-1885)
PAGE
75
79
90
. 105
With the Union Square Company in San Francisco and on tour east-
ward-Riflardini in "French Flats"-Purchases the rights to "A
Parisian Romance"-Begins his first starring tour-Struggles and
disaster-Joins the company at the Madison Square Theatre and acts
Von Dornfeld in "Alpine Roses"-In "La Vie Parisienne" at the
Bijou-To England and back-Baron de Marsac in "Victor Du-
rand" at Wallack's-Nasoni in "Gasparone" at the Standard-Sum-
mer in London-Experiments-Returns to America and creates
Kraft in "In Spite of All"
CHAPTER ELEVEN
(1886-1887)
115
The stellar temperament-Sings KoKo in Boston-Originality-Creates
Prince Karl at the Boston Museum-Acts Prince Karl in New York
-A summer run-Beatrice Cameron joins his company-"I Love
the Woods"-Touring in "Prince Karl"-Diffident about thanks 126

CONTENTS
CHAPTER TWELVE
(1887-1888)
Creates Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde at the Boston Museum-His own views
on the dual character-Creates De Jadot in his own "Monsieur" at
the Madison Square-Another summer run-On tour with a reper-
toire Mr. Hyde at a midnight supper-Henry Irving suggests a Lon-
don season at the Lyceum
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
(1888-1889)
In London-Rivals-Begins season at the Lyceum with "Dr. Jekyll and
Mr. Hyde"-Beatrice Cameron produces "Lesbia"-He acts Chev-
rial and Prince Karl-Attendance poor-Plans to retrieve-Leases
the Globe-A benefit at Derby School-Decides to act the Duke of
Gloster-In retirement at Bournemouth
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
(1889)
.
xi
PAGE
143
158
Produces "King Richard III"-Conquering a riotous pit-Smashing tra-
ditions-His note on King Richard-Making friends-A letter from
Robert Buchanan-A visit from his old master-Returns to America 173
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
(1889-1890)
Acts "King Richard III" in America-Public not ready for his Gloster
-"Master and Man"-Miss Cameron in "A Doll's House"-A
reputation for eccentricity-His apology for the conscientious artist 188
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
(1890-1891)
Searching for unhackneyed characters-Produces "Beau Brummell"-A
run of one hundred and fifty performances-Tour-Susceptibility
to kindness-A snuff-box from the Kendals-A note from Ellen
Terry-Auctions his treasures-An invitation performance in Wash-
ington-A concert of Mansfield compositions
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
(1891-1892)
Entering a period of failures and half-successes-"Don Juan"-Prepar-
ing productions-"Nero"-Associating the rôle with the actor-As
to criticism-A plea for poetry on the stage-Tittlebat Titmouse in
"Ten Thousand a Year"-A jump across the continent-Two pict-
ures of reading a play-Impressions from a car-window-A rose
matinée-The influence of light on the stage-The countenance-
"The Storm"-The voice-His physical limitations
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
(1892-1893)
Marriage to Beatrice Cameron-Acts Arthur Dimmesdale in "The
Scarlet Letter"-Benjamin Harrison-An open letter on Shakes-
pearian productions
199
216
238

xii
CONTENTS
CHAPTER NINETEEN
(1893-1894)
Acts Shylock-His performance of this rôle was a growth-Accent-Bold
strokes-He buys a New York home-Nicknames
CHAPTER TWENTY
(1894-1895)
Where the acted plays come from-"Arms and the Man"-"The Em-
peror Napoleon"-Letters from Bernard Shaw-English appreci-
ation of Mansfield-Impediments to his return to act in London
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
(1895)
Becomes the manager of a New York theatre-The Garrick-"The King
of Peru"-A chase in the park and its result-Mansfield "presents"
the Hollands-"Thrilby"-Ill with typhoid-An interview with
Joseph Jefferson and an afternoon on a Staten Island ferry-boat-
"The Story of Rodion, the Student"-Mansfield on his rôles-Gives
up the Garrick
PAGE
•
249
.
258
267
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
(1896-1898)
"Castle Sombras"-Extemporising comedy-A. M. Palmer-"The
Devil's Disciple"-Beatrice Cameron Mansfield retires from the stage
-A satire on press publicity-Fighting the Theatrical Syndicate-
Outwitting legal persecutors-In pursuit of play pirates
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
(1898)
Some of Mansfield's pen productions-"Blown Away"-"The Charge at
Dargai Gap"-"The Eagle's Song"-"The Sinner's Song"-"Bring
Me that Coat"-A dedication-On the platform-His first Chicago
address "The First Violin"-A curtain speech
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
(1898)
The arrival of "Cyrano de Bergerac "-To London to see Coquelin-
George Gibbs Mansfield-Rehearsals-"Cyrano de Bergerac" pro-
duced-Effect of his triumph-Threshold of the golden period
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
(1889-1900)
On tour as Cyrano-A twilight performance in Richmond and a "milk-
man's matinée" in Texas-The Gross suit-Letters to his wife-
"The Richard Mansfield Company as Pirates"-Mrs. Mansfield acts
280
294
.
311

CONTENTS
Raina for one night only-Anecdotes-Kidnapping a naval officer-
Feeding a gourmand-Monotony of excitement-Nervous collapse-
Off for a cruise-Audiences
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
(1900-1901)
"King Henry V"-His reasons for producing it-Rehearsals under diffi-
culties The production-Mansfield interprets the character-He
writes of the condition of the stage in America-Coquelin on Mans-
field's achievement with "King Henry V"-Amenities-Paraphras-
ing speeches
xiii
PAGE
327
348
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
(1901-1902)
"Beaucaire"-His benefit for the Actors' Home-Mansfield and benefits
-To England on a holiday and back again-He becomes a property
holder in New London and presents The Grange to his wife
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
(1902-1906)
Mansfield and his boy-Make-believe-His love of children-Letters to
Gibbs-An interview with Mr. Santa Claus-Dinner with Mr. and
Mrs. King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table-The cam-
paigns of Wienerschnitzel and Dinkelspiegel-Unloading a cargo of
love and kisses-Gibbs' Christmas box
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
(1902-1904)
. 365
373
Brutus in "Julius Cæsar"-Emancipation from tradition-The boys at
Fernbank-Lyman B. Glover-B. D. Stevens-"Old Heidelberg"
-Aversion to photographs in character-Temper-"Ivan the Ter-
rible"-Keeping in the atmosphere while off the scene-Acting Ivan
with his foot in a plaster cast-On tour-To California again . . 395
CHAPTER THIRTY
(1904-1905)
Campaigning begins to tell-Characters he planned to act-His attitude
toward certain rôles he did not act-Revives his repertoire-Shylock
to an audience of one-Changes in the "business" of Richard III
-Shylock's accent-Intuitions in characterisation-Preparations for
a performance-Distress as Hyde-A biblical repertoire "The Mis-
anthrope"-Superstitions-His thirteenth wedding anniversary
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
(1905-1906)
A summer of illness-"Don Carlos "-Poetical embellishments-More ad-
dresses-Discipline on the stage-As to productions-Creating a rôle
415

xiv
CONTENTS
-"Acting acting"-Acting in every-day life-A warning from his
physicians-San Francisco under difficulties-Triumph-Christmas
on the train-Bernhardt offers him her Paris theatre-Announces
his last years on the stage.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
(1906-1907)
On memorising-Chicago's affection-"Peer Gynt"-Life as a battle-
His last Christmas-A midnight rehearsal at New Year's-He con-
cludes his New York engagement by acting the Baron Chevrial-
His last words on the stage
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
PAGE
435
.
458
(1907)
His health breaks down-The company disbands-Off to England for re-
cuperation-Longings for home-The return-At home at "Seven
Acres"-His delight and his plans-Death-Tributes
Bibliography
Index
.
.
475
485
491

ILLUSTRATIONS
Richard Mansfield
·
From a photograph by Histed, 1898
Erminia Rudersdorff Mansfield
.
From an oil painting in the possession of Mrs. Mansfield
Richard Mansfield as a Young Boy
Richard Mansfield as a Student at the Derby School
Dr. Walter Clark, Head Master at Derby
The Derby School
.
.
Frontispiece
FACING PAGE
6
The Big School-room in which Mr. Mansfield First Acted
Before the Public
Erminia Rudersdorff Mansfield .
From a photograph in the collection of W. C. Bamburgh
Richard Mansfield as Beau Farintosh in Robertson's "School"
From a photograph in the collection of T. Henry Hooper
12
22
22
24
24
288
46
889
60
Richard Mansfield, in The German Reed Entertainments
Richard Mansfield as Sir Joseph Porter, K.C.B..
68
From a drawing by J. Dimsdale, 1879
Richard Mansfield as Baron Chevrial in "A Parisian Ro-
mance
106
Richard Mansfield as Baron Chevrial in "A Parisian Ro-
mance"
IIO
From a painting by Edgar Cameron
Richard Mansfield, in 1884
122
From a photograph taken in Boston
Richard Mansfield in "Prince Karl" ..
Miss Beatrice Cameron
Richard Mansfield in "Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde"
132
! 136
.
146
XV
xvi
ILLUSTRATIONS
Richard Mansfield in "King Richard III"
Richard Mansfield in "King Richard III"
Richard Mansfield in "Beau Brummell"
.
FACING PAGE
174
·
184
.
202
Richard Mansfield in "Beau Brummell"
206
.
Richard Mansfield in "Don Juan"
218
.
Richard Mansfield Reading His Own Play to His Company . 228
Beatrice Cameron as Hester Prynne
236
Richard Mansfield as Arthur Dimmesdale
244
Richard Mansfield as Shylock
252
Richard Mansfield as Captain Bluntschli in "Arms and the
Man" . .
260
264
Richard Mansfield as Napoleon Bonaparte
From a photograph by the Baker Art Gallery, Columbus, O.
Richard Mansfield as Dick Dudgeon in "The Devil's Disci-
ple"
Richard Mansfield as Eugen Courvoisier in "The First Vio-
lin"
284
•
Richard Mansfield and His Baby Boy, George Gibbs Mansfield
A Dress Rehearsal of Act I of "Cyrano de Bergerac"
Richard Mansfield in "Cyrano de Bergerac"
308
316
318
322
Richard Mansfield in "Cyrano de Bergerac"
A Drawing at the Head of One of Mr. Mansfield's Letters
Richard Mansfield as Captain Bluntschli in "Arms and the
Man"
From a photograph by the Baker Art Gallery, Columbus, O.
Richard Mansfield as King Henry V
.
.
"The Grange," New London, Conn.
"The Grange," New London, Conn.
"He and Gibbs were boon companions
in extravagant vagaries by the hour"
"The spirit of youth hung over The Grange Nothing
delighted him more than to have young people about him"
376
324
332
340
.
352
.
370

.
372
•
.
.
They indulged
374

ILLUSTRATIONS
George Gibbs Mansfield as Knight Golden Ebony
Mr. Mansfield on the Steps of "403"
"Amorita," Mr. Mansfield's yacht.
Richard Mansfield as Brutus
Richard Mansfield as Shylock
From an oil painting by Edgar Cameron
Richard Mansfield as Alceste
.
xvii
FACING PAGE
382
.
384
.
392
400
420
430
Richard Mansfield as Don Carlos
.
436
Richard Mansfield. One of His Latest Pictures
450
Richard Mansfield in "Peer Gynt"
464
Mr. Mansfield's House on Riverside Drive, New York-Bed-
room
·
476
Mr. Mansfield's House on Riverside Drive, New York-Music
Room
476



RICHARD MANSFIELD
THE MAN AND THE ACTOR

"Perhaps the saddest spot in the sad life of the
actor is to be forgotten. Great paintings live to com-
memorate great painters; the statues of sculptors are
their monuments; and books are the inscriptions of
authors. But who shall say when this generation has
passed away how Yorick played? . . . When the
curtain has fallen for the last time and only the un-
seen spirit hovers in the wings, what book will speak
of all the mummer did and suffered in his time?"
-RICHARD MANSFIELD.

RICHARD MANSFIELD
THE MAN AND THE ACTOR
CHAPTER ONE

(1857-1860)
Birth and parentage-Maurice Mansfield and Erminia Rudersdorff
-Her girlhood in Dublin-The Duchess Sophia of Baden-
Studies in Italy-Her Debut and Career-Her imperious
character.
RICHARD MANSFIELD was born on May 24, 1857, in
Berlin. His parents' home was in London, but his
mother, who was a celebrated prima donna, had a few
weeks before his birth reached Berlin in the course of
her professional engagements.
His father was Maurice Mansfield, a wine merchant,
in Lime Street, London. He was a short, portly little
man with a ruddy complexion. He died comparatively
young, when just past forty. He was long remembered
by his neighbours as being kindly and sprightly, shrewd
at business, genial in companionship, but in the cath-
olicity of his interests in no way limited to the commercial
purlieus of Lime Street.
He spoke French and German almost as fluently as he
did English. Little poems kept in the family for years
2
[1857
RICHARD MANSFIELD
after testified to a certain facility in the making of verses.
They were largely translations. It has been said that
he played the violin. This is true, but he was an amateur,
and when he played it was usually to the distress of his
family. He had two quite precious violins. One of
them was afterward purchased by Vieuxtemps, and was
used by him in his public performances.
He loved the companionship of men and women, but
he approached society through the gates of Bohemia, and
found his friends among men and women of gifts and
accomplishment. When the evening shadows signalled
the hour for the shutters to go up, he went forth for an
evening in the cafés, where he knew he would find the
musicians and singers and painters, Continental as well
as British, with whom his unaffected good humour and a
certain gay wit made him welcome.
On one of his visits to the Continent, in 1850, he met
Madame Erminia Rudersdorff, whose wonderful voice,
style, and dramatic temperament had raised her to a
position at the elbow of the greatest contemporary sing-
ers. He at once became a suitor for her hand. When
he returned to London his former haunts knew him no
more, except when he came to hear of her from the latest
arrival from the Continent. Letters of great ardour and
perseverance followed, and finally he was rewarded with
a message to come and get her. They were married in
the spring of 1851, at the conclusion of her season, and
came back to London to a comfortable little home in
Upper Barclay Street, Portman Square.
This was Erminia Rudersdorff's second marriage.
When quite a young girl she met and was married to Dr.
Küchenmeister, a professor of mathematics, astronomy
and philosophy in the University of Frankfort. Although


1857]
PARENTAGE
3
they studied together and she evinced wonderful grasp of
the science of the heavenly bodies, his pedantic habits
suited little to her dramatic temperament, and they soon
agreed to a separation. But from the day of her second
marriage she and the life-loving little Mansfield were
the happiest comrades. He loved her, petted her, and
humoured her in the elaborate fashion she demanded,
and she maintained a conspicuous position which flat-
tered and delighted him.
Erminia Rudersdorff inherited her great talent from
her father, Joseph Rudersdorff. He was born in the city
of Amsterdam, in the year 1799. From his earliest years
he manifested the musical genius which gave him after-
ward such a notable position. His instrument was the
violin. He appeared in public at the age of eight, playing
a concerto by Pleyel. In 1822 he entered the service of
the Prince Bariatinsky, for whom he became concert-
meister in Ivanowsky, in the Ukraine, Southern Russia.
He had married two years before, and here Erminia was
born, December 12, 1822. His two other daughters,
Agnese and Matilde, were born later in Homburg, where
he went in 1825 as concertmeister. From Homburg
he took his family to Dublin, and there they lived for
more than twenty years. In 1851 he moved to Berlin,
where he conducted the orchestra successively at Som-
mer's, the Kemper Hof, and at Kroll's. Joseph Ruders-
dorff died at Königsberg in 1866. It is of record that
during the period of the six years from 1851 to 1857 he
conducted thirteen hundred concerts and played six
hundred solos.
Agnese married and died when quite young. Matilde
remained a spinster. In her later years she became the
protégée of her nephew, Richard, and at the time of his

4
[1857
RICHARD MANSFIELD
death was living in the city of Jena, Saxe-Weimar, Ger-
many. Her letters were uniquely amusing, for though
she had known English as though it were her native
tongue during her girlhood in Dublin, she later lived so
long in Germany that she wrote English with astonishing
variations on the idiom.
The girls were all gifted, and their home was one of
the musical centres of the Irish capital. Erminia, how-
ever, displayed the most conspicuous talent. She longed
for a career, and her father would gladly have sent her
to the French and Italian masters had not his large family
and slender purse forbidden.
In this as in so many other fairy tales of real life there
was, however, a fairy godmother. When a little girl,
Erminia had attracted the attention of the Duchess
Sophia of Baden, at whose court she spent much of the
earlier period of her life and with whom she grew to be a
great favourite. She recounted many amusing anecdotes
of her visits then and in later years to the Baden court.
On one occasion the Prince Napoleon (Plon-Plon) was
sojourning in Baden-Baden and became much enamoured
of M'lle Rudersdorff. The duchess was a very severe
disciplinarienne, and when the Prince went so far as to
bring the regimental band to serenade her young guest,
she had him incarcerated for this breach of martial eti-
quette. The Prince and Madame Rudersdorff met many
years afterward in Paris during the reign of Napoleon III.
Ah," said the Prince, "I remember you very well, mad-
ame, for you had me locked up once."
Another of her anecdotes of the days at the Baden
court was thus recounted by her son, Richard, in The
Theatre, a London Magazine:
"The Duchess Sophia was a very good housekeeper-

1857]
THE KING OF WURTEMBERG
5
some said she practised economy to the extent of par-
simony. Certain it is that Miss Greville and M'lle
Rudersdorff used to beg the champagne from the major-
domo for the King of Wurtemberg on the occasion of his
visits to the Baden court. When her royal highness had
visitors her favourite refreshment, in the shape of a hard-
boiled egg in a tasse de bouillon, was invariably handed
round. Not to partake of it was to incur the displeasure
of the duchess. When the bluff old King of Wurtemberg
arrived the bouillon with the egg made its appearance. It
required practice to eat the egg with a spoon, it was so
very hard and so very slippery. The king could not
manage it; it was pitiable to see him driving the egg
round and round the bowl with his spoon. M'lle Ruders-
dorff, who was behind his chair, ventured to advise him.
'Your majesty must not do it like that,' she whispered;
‘your majesty should thrust your spoon suddenly into the
egg; it is no good shilly-shallying with it.' 'Danke
schön,' said his majesty, 'ach, es ist ja doch gar zu schreck-
lich!' Summoning all his courage the king made a drive
at the egg, the spoon slipped, and the egg flew out of the
cup and fell into the Duchess Sophia's lap. The king
roared with laughter and the duchess looked highly in-
censed."
But the stern, eccentric old duchess really had a kind
and generous heart. With great sacrifice Joseph Ruders-
dorff managed to send Erminia to Paris, where she studied
for a short while with Bordogni. Instead of returning to
Dublin when her slender means were exhausted, she ac-
cepted the Duchess Sophia's invitation to come again to
Baden. Her friend was so delighted with the develop-
ment of her voice that she declared there was a great
career before her if she would persevere. In those days


6
[1857
RICHARD MANSFIELD
the ambition of every aspirant to opera was a course under
the Chevalier de Micheroux, who perfected Clara No-
vello, Catherine Hayes, and Pasta; and the duchess's
patronage and generosity enabled Erminia to go to Milan
and study under the great maestro.
De Micheroux gave her his most interested attention,
and in a short time declared she was ready for the public.
He, himself, arranged her début at Coblentz in "Lucia di
Lammermoor." She was scarcely more than seventeen
at the time.
Mendelssohn came to hear the young singer, and so
great was his admiration for her that he engaged her to
sing the soprano music in the first public performance of
his "Lobgesang" at Leipzig, June 25, 1840. Out of this
performance sprang a friendship with the composer,
which was ended only by his death.
Operatic engagements were sung the next year at
Carlsruhe and Frankfort, and she made conspicuous
successes in the rôles of Agatha, Reiza, Valentine, Isa-
bella, and Elvira ("Puritani"), though she sang others. She
was much admired by King William II. of Holland, and
at his request sang every year at The Hague.
After the birth of her first child, Felix, she appeared,
throughout the winters of 1852, 1853, and 1854, prin-
cipally at the Friedrich Wilhelm Stadt Theatre, Berlin.
There was a vogue for the lighter French compositions at
the time, and she sang with great success the light operas
of Hérold, Thomas, Auber, Adam, and Boieldieu. She
was highly popular as the Juliette of Bellini and in Lort-
zig's "Undine." During these years she appeared also
at Aix-la-Chapelle, Cologne, Dantzig, and The Hague,
hurrying back to London whenever opportunity offered.
She was equally at home in London and Berlin at this

ERMINIA RUDERSDORFF MANSFIELD
From an oil painting in the possession of Mrs. Mansfield

1857] MME. RUDERSDORFF ON THE STAGE
time, with her husband in the former city and her father
and sisters now re-established in a home in the German
capital.
Her first operatic appearance in London was not made
until May 23, 1854, when she sang Donna Anna in Ger-
man at Drury Lane. In this, as well as in her subsequent
parts of Constance in Mozart's "Entführung," Margaret
of Valois, Fidelio, Agatha, and (in English) as Elvira in
"Masaniello," she was received with a success that made
her a fixture at the Royal Opera during the whole of the
next winter, and she reappeared there frequently there-
after. Her conspicuous successes were Donna Anna,
Elvira, Jemmy, Bertha, and Nathalia ("L'Etoile du
Nord"). She sang in English for a few nights at St.
James's Theatre in Loder's opera, "Raymond and
Agnes."
It was in oratorio, however, that Erminia Rudersdorff
was best appreciated and achieved her most conspicuous
triumphs. She had a powerful voice of considerable
range. This, coupled with remarkable certainty of
execution and thorough musicianship, enabled her to
take the position she held for thirty years as one of the
first oratorio singers of Europe. Her appearance was
during a long period the feature of the great triennial
festivals at Gloucester, Worcester, and Hereford. In
Cologne she sang under Ferdinand Hiller, at Leipzig in
the Gewandhaus concerts, and at the Birmingham fes-
tivals, where she created the soprano rôle in "The Woman
of Samaria," by Sir Julius Benedict. In London she was
always heard either at Exeter Hall under Sir Michael
Costa or at St. James's Hall under Joseph Barnby. She
was the soprano of that pre-eminent middle Victorian
quartette of which the other members were Mme. Patey,

8
[1857
RICHARD MANSFIELD
contralto; Sims Reeves, tenor; and Charles Santley,
basso.
It is to this day a tradition in England and in Germany
that her singing of the Inflammatus from "Stabat Mater,'
the part of the Widow in "Elijah," and "Rejoice Greatly"
and "I Know That my Redeemer Liveth," from "The
Messiah," has never been excelled. At the Handel Festi-
vals especially her voice would tell out with wonderful
effect against the powerful band and chorus.
When the ban against the secular performance of
sacred music was finally raised in Paris, she was invited
to sing the soprano rôle in the first oratorio, "The Mes-
siah," ever sung in the French capital.
Other notable achievements will confirm her place in
musical history. She first sang Signor Randegger's scena,
"Medea," at the Gewandhaus concerts in Leipzig in
1869, and composed the libretto to his cantata, "Fri-
dolin," founded on Schiller's "Gang nach dem Eisen-
hammer," which was performed first at the Birmingham
Festival in 1873. Her industry and her devotion to her
art were further proved by her revivals of Mozart's fine
scenas, “Ahi lo provido" and "Misera dove son," and of
Handel's air, "O Sleep," from "Semele;" by the intro-
duction of Danish melodies in their native tongue, and the
popularizing of the Spanish songs of Yradier. She read
or improvised at the piano with equal facility, for Thal-
berg had boasted her one of his most proficient pupils.
In giving encores at her own concerts or at the festivals
where she was the star, she often played her own accom-
paniments. Then she produced a unity between the
voice and the instrument which, once heard, was never
forgotten.
In stature Madame Rudersdorff was somewhat below

1860]
HIS MOTHER'S TEMPERAMENT
9
the average height, but she had a commanding presence
and easily dominated her environment. Her hair was
raven black, her eye brilliant and expressive, and her
countenance was extraordinarily mobile in the denotement
of the elemental passions. Her voice was a soprano of
great power, but of not always even sweetness. Highly
coloured music and markedly dramatic characters called
out her best resources.
She was charged with enthusiasm, energy, and deter-
mination at all times. When in later life she taught her
celebrated method, she was called "the musical whirl-
wind." Every one who met her received an impression,
but the impressions were manifold as her moods, and
they obeyed every fluctuation of a singularly mercurial
temperament. Her grand manner was never put aside.
Tender and sympathetic as she was, these qualities were
allowed to appear only as attributes of an otherwise
imperious character. She enjoyed the distinction of her
position, and enforced it when she felt it was necessary;
but below the high chin there was a warm heart and a
hand that did not know how to close except in the grasp
of another.


CHAPTER TWO
(1861-1872)
Maurice Mansfield moves his family to St. John's Wood-Richie
"appears" at Crystal Palace-The children are sent to Jena-
Richard's recollection of his grand-uncle-At school in Swit-
zerland and in France-Boyish aspirations-Accomplishments-
At Derby School-Meets Henry Irving-Acts for the first time
-Plans to go to India.
THE Mansfields' little house in Portman Square began
to pinch soon after they moved into it. The first child,
Felix, was born there in 1852. Two years later a daugh-
ter, Greta, arrived. Richard came upon the scene in
1857, and Harry was born after another interval of two
years.
The better to nest their brood, Maurice Mansfield and
his wife began looking about for a larger house. Her
position added its demands, But her income helped to
make the move possible. They wanted the children to
have a play-ground as well as a play-room, so they ex-
tended their search into the outskirts of the city. Their
friend, Therese Tietjens, another of the great singers of
the day, was cosily bestowed in St. John's Wood, and she
probably beckoned them into the northern district.
After a long and dispiriting hunt their objections capitu-
lated to a well-set dwelling of inviting space and quiet
dignity, with an ample garden, in Finchley Road.
ΙΟ

1861]
A MUSICAL RENDEZVOUS
II
The "Mansfield house," as it was known to the neigh-
bours-and the "Rudersdorff house," as it was remem-
bered by the musical world, for Maurice Mansfield's wife
always retained her maiden name in her public life-
became a rendezvous for the musical visitors in the
British capital.
Madame Schumann, the widow of Robert Schumann,
came and played pianoforte duets with Hiller. The fiery
Trebelli, her liege Bettini, "école d'orgue" Lemmens,
Randegger, Balshir, and Chatterton, harpist to the Queen,
were constant visitors. Madame Rudersdorff went on
Sunday evenings to her friend Mme. Tietjens, and they
played an old German game called "Glocke und Ham-
mer" (Bell and Hammer), which Erminia had probably
learned from the Duchess Sophia. They sang together
a great deal. Poor little Maurice tried pathetically to play
the violin, but his wife usually asked him to play it out
of the house.
It is a tradition among Madame Rudersdorff's children
that their mother was not always impartial. Richie—as
Richard was called when a lad-is said to have been her
pet. The reason given was his resemblance to his father.
But this was not less true of Greta. In fact, the Mans-
field children represented a curious distribution of the
family traits. Felix, the eldest, and Harry, the youngest,
resembled their mother, but had their father's meek,
amiable, placid disposition. Greta and Richard were the
image of their father, but seemed infused with the seething
temperament of their mother.
Richie's public life began in his fourth year. His
mother was dressing for a concert in which she was to
sing at Crystal Palace. He wanted to go along, and
neither refusal nor threats dried his tearful determination.

12
[1861
RICHARD MANSFIELD
The mother may have been just a wee bit proud of her
wilful boy. Anyway she consented. He was hurriedly
dressed in his best black velvet skirt and coat, with a wide,
embroidered collar falling over his shoulders, and rattled
away with her behind the horses for the long ride to the
south. He was taken into her dressing-room. The
experience was entirely new to the youngster. He was
much awed by the vastness of things, the lights, the strange
noises, the apparent confusion, and he clung close to his
mother.
When the stage manager came to the door to say that
Madame's turn had arrived and that the orchestra was
waiting, she strode majestically forth, as was her custom,
from her own room straight to the centre of the stage.
Her appearance was greeted by a roar of applause, which
she acknowledged with queenly bows. She did not observe
a subdued ripple of laughter, however, and signalled the
conductor to begin. The music quieted the applause,
but it did not hush the increasing titter of which she soon
became painfully conscious. Glancing about to see what
could be the occasion, she discovered Richie beside but
somewhat behind her, frightened to stone, but firmly
clutching the hem of her long train which his little hands
had seized as she swept away from him into the presence
of the audience. This was Richard Mansfield's first
appearance on the stage.
Though the mother's engagements took her continually
away from England, this disturbed the unity of the family
but little, for there was always the glowing anticipation
of her return to her children with vivid stories of triumphs
and adventures, and with wonderful souvenirs of the
great cities beyond the Channel.
The first break was made by the death of their father.

RICHARD MANSFIELD AS A YOUNG BOY

1861]
HIS FATHER'S DEATH
13
Maurice Mansfield died in his home in Finchley Road,
in 1861, and was buried in Kensal Green Cemetery, near
the entrance on the right, and a black marble shaft,
erected by his widow, marks his grave. In the same yard,
neighbours in death as in life, rests his old friend Tietjens.
He had occupied a small place in the world, but a large
place in the heart of the celebrated mother of his children.
Madame Rudersdorff never ceased to mourn her devoted
Maurice, and she did not marry again.
Richard was only four years old when his father died.
He was too young for his memory to have taken any
impressions, much less for his character to have received
influences.
On the mother's shoulders now fell the undivided duty
of home-maker and provider, and of educating her chil-
dren. Her position in the artistic world was assured.
Engagements in most of the first opera houses and at
most of the great festivals of Great Britain and Europe
were to be had for the acceptance. The entire winter
after her husband died, Mme. Rudersdorff sang in Berlin.
There were occasional visits home to the children, who
were in the care of Aunt Matilde and an English gover-
ness. The latter was unkind to Richard, she was not
sympathetic, and the child was checked in all his little
desires. It left a scar in his memory. But it was this,
probably, that bred his own deep and tender sympathy
for children and his desire to make them as happy as
possible.
The mother's arrangements met only half of the prob-
lem. It gave her family a mere home by proxy and made
an unsatisfactory provision for their education. Madame
Rudersdorff spoke English, German, French, Italian,
Spanish, Russian, and Danish. The first three were in-
14
11863
RICHARD MANSFIELD
dispensable to a Continental career, and she arranged a
little school campaign which would develop and polish
the Babel begun at home.
In Jena she had an uncle who was a judge. The city
occupied a central situation in relation to her tours; she
could reach her brood easily, her uncle would give them
a grandfatherly eye, and thither the children were sent,
the governess accompanying to give especial attention to
Master Richie and his little brother. At first they were
all bestowed in an apartment, but soon the boys were sent
as boarders to a private school, situated Am Graben, kept
by Professor Zenker, a famous master with children. His
school was built over the crypt of an ancient monastery,
and the building was occupied by Napoleon after the
battle of Jena. The Emperor had a meal with his gen-
erals in the very room which the youngsters used for a
study.
Professor Zenker was fond of the drama, and even
wrote a number of plays which, however, served no further
purpose than to release his impulse for this fascinating
work. Once a year a play was performed by his pupils
in the great hall of the school. Relatives and friends
were invited, and the occasion was decidedly the event of

the year.
The elder students acted in the plays, the little boys
looked on. While the Mansfields were in the school two
of Schiller's dramas were given, "Wallenstein's Lager"
and "Don Carlos." Felix Mansfield had a rôle in the lat-
ter, acting Don Carlos. Richie was too young to take part
or to do more than sit well up front and let the mystery
and wonder of it all play what pranks it could with his
budding imagination. It was not that he was without
artistic instinct. One day he found a bucket of colour

1863]
HIS GRANDUNCLE
15
and painted the classroom door a vivid green. He was
so proud of this achievement that he put his initials to it,
which led to his discovery and punishment.
These were happy times. One of the few definite
souvenirs of them that Richard afterward confessed to,
however, was the recollection of the fixed days when the
governess came and took him to visit the home of his
granduncle. There the old gentleman told him wonder
tales of the fairies and goblins in the mountains and fed
him goose drippings on brown bread, with an occasional
sip from his own brimming stein.
This uncle-Theophilus Beyer by name-was no unim-
portant man either in his profession or in his friends. He
met the Emperor Napoleon in Jena, he was the friend of
Schiller and Goethe, and the latter wrote of him as "my
dear Theophilus." How well the boy came to know the
old gentleman appears in a letter written by Richard
(March 11, 1894) to A. E. Dithmar, in which, after touch-
ing on the narrow Continental life and characters reflected
in Ibsen's plays, he continued:

I know the phase of life he deals with well-for I have
lived within the narrow circle of a small German town-
and I know, too, these petty men and women well-their
little vices, their little ambitions, their little struggles and
bickerings, and all the mighty fuss of their births and
funerals. I had a granduncle, on my mother's side, who
resided in Jena. He was a Justiz-Rath and a Doctor of
Law; he was an ancient, stiff, starched man, who wore
an antiquated choker, and the points of his collar touched
his ears; he was all dried up, and he was turned out stiff
and starched every morning by his Hochwohlgeborne
Frau, with the loop of his black frock coat sticking up
behind as far as the brim of his medieval tile-and which
gave him the appearance of being all prepared and ready

16
[1863
RICHARD MANSFIELD
to be hung up again to be dried when he got home. The
Justiz-Rath and his Hochwohl etc., etc., lived just the
life Ibsen describes, and it came to him (the Justiz-
Rath) late in life to fall in love with our governess-an
English girl, who was dying of inanition in Jena, whither
she had journeyed with the lot of us children. The
wretched man broke into poetry, which he wrote by the
hour (when he wasn't hanging up), and there was such
a pother over it all in Jena that the poor man died-
quite stiff and stark-of a broken heart and small glasses
of home-made wine and stale cakes and coffee and klat-
scherei. The poetry was all left to me after the Hoch-
wohlgeborne had joined the Justiz-Rath-somewhere or
other (wherever he is hanging up)-together with some
table damask and a case of ancient knives and forks and
spoons-but it is beyond the power of human cunning to
decipher the Justiz-Rath's effusions-poor old man! I
see him now as he came on a summer's evening across
the fields to meet the governess-with us at her heels-on
his return from a neighbouring village where he had
trudged to investigate the cottage of a hideous miser who
had been murdered in the night. And young as I was
then, I remember his description of the poor murdered
thing's abode; the dirt three inches thick on the floors,
mixed up with money; the oak rafter over the dead man's
bed clotted with blood, and a tuft of gray hair, and the
bed itself!-and a cracked cup on a chair with an ounce
of coffee in it-all this told and interspersed with bits
of Schiller and Goethe, by means of which he was wont
with sly innuendo to express his unutterable love for the
governess-
Ich liebe dich, mich reizt deine schöne gestalt;
and the next word was blood and murder.
The greatest event in Richard's Jena experience was
undoubtedly the night that his mother came and gave a
concert, supported by the symphony orchestra, and at-

1865]
IN JENA
17
tended by the nobility and élite of the city. A box was
reserved for the children, and they led in the applause
with frantic partial candour. For years after Madame
Rudersdorff wore a bracelet given her in commemoration
of this concert. She gave it to Richard, and it remains
one of the few souvenirs which escaped the fire which
later destroyed the mementoes of a great career.
It was at Jena in the river Saale that Richard took his
first swimming lessons, a sport he loved and in which he
was skilful all his life. German was the language of the
school, and there were French lessons. Of the latter
there were few, for the general proceeding was to lock
the instructor out of the classroom.
Two years in Jena in German atmosphere and with
none but German playmates had helped the Mansfield
children admirably in their ready grasp of the native
tongue, but decidedly at the expense of their English,
while their French had suffered from the boys' prankish
liberties with the master. So the next time they crossed
the Channel it was to go no farther than a little Swiss town
just beyond the French border.
At the western end of Lake Neuchâtel, in the canton of
Vaud, there is the little town of Yvredon. Madame
Rudersdorff had heard of Paul Vodos and the excellence
of his school here. French was his specialty, but his
students were almost all English. Here was just the
place for the children.
Richard here made his first American acquaintance.
One of the big boys of the school was a lean slip of an
American from Cincinnati. His name was "Larry" Pike.
Years afterward they met again when Richard played in
his father's theatre-Pike's Opera House. It was while
they were all together at Yvredon that this theatre burned


18
[1865
RICHARD MANSFIELD
down for the first time. Master Pike was the proud
possessor of a small pistol which made him the envy of
Richard and the other boys. Doubtless he boasted an
intimate acquaintance with Indian hunting in the Wild
West, for it was in some such game that he discharged
his pistol and nearly killed Richard's brother, Felix. A
silver watch saved his life.
The mother seems to have felt the separation from her
brood more and more, for each change of school drew
them nearer and nearer home. After a couple of years in
Switzerland they next went to Bourbourg, a small town
near Dunkirk in Pas-de-Calais, where France is nearest
England, and they studied under one Ferdinand Mon-
teuuis. All that Richard remembered of this experience
was "a canal where I went fishing." But when preparing
to act Cyrano de Bergerac, he recalled that the fourth act,
the battle-field at Arras," was near his French school.
Richard's character up to this time had not distinguished
him perceptibly from other boys. He was active, im-
pulsive, ready for a lark or an adventure, fond of stories,
especially tales of princes, kings, and mythological heroes.
He did not like to play games unless he was the leader;
and he led the other lads into countries where he was the
monarch and into battles in which he was the victorious
general. When the others rebelled he banished them
and retired to the banks of the canal to read or fish, or
perhaps, like Peer Gynt, to lie on his back and make
prophetic cloud pictures. Once the lad was missed and
a long search was made for him. He was found "on
his way to the sea." Nothing in nature made the same
appeal to him that water did. It reflected his own ca-
pricious spirit, now turbulent, now calm; full of moods
and mystery and ungovernable unrest.

1868]
POETRY AND MUSIC
19
Referring to these school-days on the Continent, he
once told a friend: "It was then I made my first ac-
quaintance with the poetry of Goethe, Schiller, and the
other masters. Under their spell I used to try my hand
at sonnets and epics on the most exalted, imaginative
plane. Surely, under the influence of such inspiration,
these could not have been wholly criminal in a small boy.
But they were taken from me and torn up in my presence,
and I was warned not to do it again.
Music was an early passion with me, and the works of
Schubert, Bach, Schumann, and Rubinstein were child-
hood acquaintances. I can remember sitting up in bed
at night and whistling long, extemporised passages on
the symphony and sonata pattern, for I knew no other.
But I was rebuked and chastised, and made to get under
the covers and hush myself in the darkness.
"I am glad that whatever talent I may have for acting
began to express itself later in life, for if my early mentors
had noted any such manifestations they would surely have
ridiculed and quenched it."
An American boy at Bourbourg had a sombre-hued
volume of which Richard had in some way spoiled him.
It was tuned precisely to his aspen imagination. While
the toy was new it eclipsed every other interest. The
name of this ingenuous volume was "The Pirate's Own
Book," and to his last days he never wearied of its glow-
ing pages. Often, when the monotony of his work fretted
him, he would exclaim with a sigh: "What a lot of fun
we're missing. Let's all go and be pirates." An echo
of the lure in the heart of the little boy who started off to
sea!
The family broke up after the Bourbourg days. Felix
was sent to Belfast, and articled to a business house there



20
[1868
RICHARD MANSFIELD
in pursuance of his mother's intention that he should be
a merchant. Greta's health had been failing for some
time, and she was now sent south to visit relatives in
Italy. The younger boys came home to England.
A close companionship now sprung up between Richard
and his mother. He began to manifest himself in a re-
markable taste in everything artistic, in a rare intuition
of her moods, and in tact in meeting her transitions. His
own temperament began to blow April weather, and she
offered him a silent, yielding sympathy bred of complete
understanding. She took him along, occasionally, to the
Continent on her concert trips. They were entertained
at palaces and châteaux, and he met royalty and the
nobility as well as men and women of æsthetic prominence.
His native musical ability flattered her, for all admitted
that his unique skill was inherited. He played with facility
and sang with style, although he had never taken a for-
mal lesson. His imitative grasp of what he saw and heard
when in the room with his mother and her pupils took
the place of lessons. She was too impatient to teach
him, perhaps a little because he was too impatient to
study. But the boy learned without study; things came
to him by intuition.
There is neither record nor tradition that he went to the
theatre. It would not have been for lack of opportunity.
He usually found a way to do what he wanted to do. It is
more probable that his inclination did not lead him that
way. The London theatres at that time were peculiarly
barren of tragic artists. Macready had settled down in
Cheltenham, the Kembles belonged to the heroic past,
Helen Faucit was living in virtual retirement, the Keans
were a part of history, and Samuel Phelps no longer
reigned at Sadler's Wells. Fechter was making some

1869]
AT THE THEATRE
21
effort with romantic plays, but Dutton Cook says that
on the first night "Monte Cristo" was "damned." A new
author dominated the stage, and London was fascinated
with the novelty of light modern comedies of fashionable
life. Though Charles Matthews was absent in Australia,
John Hare was playing Beau Farintosh in "School,"
from which the boy may have taken some impressions for
his own performance of this rôle a few years later. Alfred
Wigan played "languidly and flatly in 'Dreams,"" but
more successfully as Lord Foppington in "The Man of
Quality"; Miss Bateman was seen in Taylor's “Mary
Warner," and W. S. Gilbert's dramatisation of one of
"eighty-four-volume De Genlis's" stories, which he called
"The Palace of Truth," was materially assisted to its
success by the polished manners of William H. Kendal
and the graceful art of his bride, Madge Robertson. It
is unlikely that there was much in this list to attract
the interest or stimulate the imagination of a lusty grow-
ing boy. The public sipped very weak dramatic tea.
Seldom had there been an equal opportunity for a virile
artist of any genuine attainments.
On a trip to Germany with his mother, however, he
went to performances at several of the state theatres. The
acting he saw there, though on a more exalted level than
in London, seemed not to have impressed him, for one of
the favourite butts of his ridicule, then and later, was the
hard-pumped delivery of the old German actors with their
rasped guttural consonants and exaggerated emphasis.
Early in 1869 he entered on the experience which in
after years eclipsed all the rest of his boyhood and became
the object of his liveliest retrospection. He was entered
at Derby School, one of the famous English public
schools, situated in the borough of Derby, Derbyshire,


22
[1869
RICHARD MANSFIELD
in the lovely Midlands. He recurred to the days spent
there with unfailing delight. The mere mention of the
name turned on a flood of sunny memories.
He fell here under one of the permanent influences of
his life. The head master was the Rev. Walter Clark.
There was between them the beautiful miracle of that
immediate and spontaneous sympathy which kindles and
sustains friendship. It was not extraordinary that Mr.
Clark recognised the unusual character of his pupil. The
silent little fellow at Jena had roused the wonderment of
old Zenker; as an aloof yet sprightly youngster at Yvredon,
and at Bourbourg he had attracted the unsatisfied curi-
osity of his masters there.
Not before he came to Derby, however, had the boy
known the understanding that invites confidence. The
influence of his mother was passive. Mr. Clark's influ-
ence was active and direct, expressed in advice and demon-
stration. Richard afterward said of him: "He was a
good man; a rare character." It was whispered rever-
ence for a man of honourable obscurity in a crowded field.
In their talks the master made vivid the whole procession
of historical events and personages-from classical an-
tiquity to the stirring local lore of their own English
struggles-for he combined an extraordinary acquaintance
with history with a not less remarkable gift for graphic
narration. It was he who put into his pupil's hands the
Harrison Ainsworth romances of storied London, and
these ever afterward shared his affections with the yarns
of the deep.
From boyhood it was action that interested Richard.
Men of achievement, whether of attainment or not, be-
came the companion of his dreams: Alexander, Cæsar,
Napoleon, and the rugged pirates of the shambling seas.

RICHARD MANSFIELD AS A STUDENT AT THE
DERBY SCHOOL
DR. WALTER CLARK, HEAD MASTER AT DERBY
Copyright, by Fradelle & Young

1870]
THE DERBY SCHOOL
23
His Derby record shows no especial distinction in his
studies, but his record in the sporting lists was creditable
for a boy among competitors who were from two to four
years older than he. It was almost impossible to keep
the boy out of or off the river Derwent. He now swam
with endurance and further hardened his muscles every
day with hours at the oars./Football and cricket did not
attract him especially, and he had not the patience to sit
at whist or chess. Anything involving set rules vexed
and repelled him. The intervals of inaction in some
games fretted him. Whatever he did he not only wanted
to do with his whole heart and energy, but without inter-
ruption. He was keen for a contest, but not for team-work.
He never forgot a certain field-day when he was so in-
discreet as to enter two difficult races in succession. The
first was at rowing, which he won, the second was a running
race and, as he had not recovered himself, he lost. This
so worked on him that, in after-life, whenever he had a
bad dream and woke up, he said that he had been running
and losing that race over again.
Among his intimates he was known as "Cork" Mans-
field, probably because he could not be kept down. The
nickname was at least prophetic of his later life when, in
spite of adversity, failure, antagonism, and much else,
including himself, he persistently rose to the top.
On one of his holiday trips up to London he was taken
by his school-mate, Gerald Dixon, son of Hepworth Dixon,
the novelist, to see "The Bells," recently produced by
Henry Irving, who had thereby lifted himself out of com-
parative obscurity to a considerable celebrity. This was
the first time he ever saw Irving. The Dixons were
friends of the actor, and Richard was taken to the dressing-
room and presented by name. Irving gave a start, ex-

24
[1870
RICHARD MANSFIELD

tended his hand frigidly, and without looking up said:
"I have heard of you."
The explanation of this remark was not given until
thirty years after, in America, when Irving was supping at
Mansfield's Riverside house. He confessed that he had
been tricked by the similarity of sounds into mistaking
Richard Mansfield's name for that of another Richard
M, of a similar but not identical surname, a young
gentleman whose social position made him disagreeably
conspicuous for certain flagrant irregularities in his con-
duct.
Young Mansfield became the star performer among the
schoolboys in their entertainments on Speech-Day. His
first performance in public was at a Derby School concert,
March 26, 1869, when he sang the German song, "Das
Mühlenrad." According to the Derby Reporter, "He
was cordially cheered by his fellow-pupils and the audi-
ence at the close."
He acted his first rôle the Christmas Speech-Day fol-
lowing, December 23, 1869. It was Scapin in Molière's
"Les Fourberies de Scapin." The Derby Advertiser
the next day said: "Richard Mansfield played his part
in an artistic manner and would certainly bear com-
parison with some who make the stage their profession."
More gratifying still was an incident which happened at
the close of the entertainment. Dr. Selwyn, Bishop of
Lichfield, had presided, and when the play was over he
sent for young Mansfield and praised him for his charac-
terisation. "Heaven forbid that I should advise you to
become an actor," he said, "but if you do, and I am not
mistaken, you will be a very great one."
The next year, December 16, 1870, Sir Henry Wilmot,
Bart., V.C., presided at the Speech-Day, and Mansfield

THE DERBY SCHOOL
From a photograph, copyright, by Richard Keene, Ltd.

THE BIG SCHOOL-ROOM IN WHICH MR. MANSFIELD FIRST
ACTED BEFORE THE PUBLIC

1872]
WANDERLUST
25
acted Shylock in "The Merchant of Venice." His only
other performance at Derby School was at the Speech-Day
of December 21, 1871, when he distinguished himself by
acting in a German, a French, and three English scenes
the same evening and taking the leading part in each!
They were Mephistopheles in Goethe's "Faust"; M.
Jourdain in Molière's "Bourgeois Gentilhomme"; Fal-
staff in Shakespeare's "King Henry IV"; Bottom in
"Midsummer Night's Dream"; and Mrs. Betsey Cluppins
in the trial scene from Dickens's "Pickwick Papers."
In the spring of 1872 he left Derby. His mother wished
him to spend another year there and then enter Oxford or
Cambridge. But he had different ideas, and as was now
becoming his habit he imposed them on others. He had
been sent off to Germany at an age when his due was
several more years at home. For ten years he had been
shifted from one master to another. It was always
school, and it began to bore him.
His imagination had been fired by the tales he had
read, and he had the youthful longing for adventure.
He wanted a sea-voyage, a look-in on new people, change,
and experience. One of the longest voyages taken by the
English ships was to far-away and mysterious India.
This attracted him. He had not the means, and he knew
that his mother would not supply them. But he was
ingenious. He suddenly exhibited a tremendous interest
in a commercial career and disclosed a conviction that the
Indian Civil Service opened a magnificent future for just
such a lad as he. Though she nursed other plans and
later pressed them on him, his mother, at the time, fell in
with his scheme. She secured his appointment and he
began to cram for his examinations. Over his books,
however, he had his eye on a free trip to a far country.
26
[1872
RICHARD MANSFIELD
He ferreted the British Museum and feasted his eyes on
pictures of the East; he went down to the docks and
prowled about the ships; and he hunted up seafarers and
got their tales at first-hand. India loomed an immediate
reality.
Fate meantime had been busy and disclosed the star of
his destiny in quite a different quarter of the heavens.
His boyhood was now fairly behind him; and as he
entered upon the period of youth he entered upon an
interval of experiments in finding himself-five picturesque
years-through which our narrative will now follow him
to America and back again to England.

CHAPTER THREE
(1872-1875)
Madame Rudersdorff comes to America-Richard follows-Early
acquaintances in Boston-First experiments in finding himself—
Clerks in Eben Jordan's office-Boyish pranks at home-Hunt-
ing the eggs-The new prima donna-The country house at
Lakeside Teresa Carreño's joke-He becomes a musical and
dramatic critic-Leaves home to avoid his mother's temper-
Showing Von Bülow off.
THE World's Peace Jubilee in Boston, in 1872, was in
all respects as spectacular as its name, and was quite the
most imposing musical event that America had experienced
up to that time. Three years before Patrick Sarsfield
Gilmore, or "Pat" Gilmore, as the celebrated band-
master was known from one end of the country to the
other, had accomplished the National Peace Jubilee in a
highly satisfactory manner. Plans were at once begun
for a second monster festival, to be international in its
scope and on an even more extraordinary scale than the
first.
It consisted of daily concerts between June 17 and
July 4, by the first musical artists of the time, accom-
panied by a huge orchestra and chorus, a powerful organ,
chimes of bells, anvils and artillery, in the vast Coliseum
built for the occasion on the flats back of Huntington
Avenue. The international character of the jubilee was
expressed by devoting one day to each nation.

27

28
[1872
RICHARD MANSFIELD
Therese Tietjens was at that time as well known in
America as in Europe, and Gilmore sought first to secure
her as his prima donna soprano. It was not then possible
for her to come across the Atlantic. Gilmore afterward
told of her moody moment of regret broken by a sudden
burst of enthusiasm. "I cannot go. No," she exclaimed.
"But I will take you to a great artiste, the best voice in
the world for heroic singing to vast assemblages." With-
out waiting for permission or protest she tied on her
bonnet and took the American director to the Mansfield
house in neighbouring Finchley Road.
In a letter written some years later, Gilmore said: "I
am not surprised to hear of young Mansfield's triumphs.
I have known him since I first saw him as a boy at his
home in London, where I went to engage his mother for
the Jubilee of 1872. The son of such a mother could
scarcely be anything but a genius. She was a magnificent
woman and a great artiste, a dramatic singer of superb
power and skill. She fulfilled thoroughly my idea of
queenliness." Gilmore offered her a contract for $3,500
a week and all her expenses-terms which were at that
time unprecedented between any artist and a European im-
presario.
Madame Rudersdorff accepted, bade her little family
farewell, with promises of a speedy return, and sailed away
to America. Her success in Boston had in it the essence
of all her former triumphs. She roused the audiences
which packed the Coliseum to the wildest enthusiasm;
the papers teemed with praise; the most exclusive homes
in Boston were at once thrown open to her; and the most
desirable pupils were promised her if she would only
remain and make Boston her home.
The suggestion had a sweet enticement. She was now

ERMINIA RUDERSDORFF MANSFIELD
From a photograph in the collection of W. C. Bamburgh

1872]
IN BOSTON
29
fifty years old and she had grown weary of the tedious
life of travel and public work. The opportunities for her
children in busy America likewise appealed to her. Never
slow in making up her mind, her decision to stay came
quick upon the suggestion.
She established herself in the Hotel Boyleston, which
gave way later to the present Hotel Touraine, at the
corner of Tremont and Boyleston Streets, and for her
studio took an entire floor in a house a few doors away
on Boyleston Street, adjoining the library which faced the
Common on the site of the present Colonial Theatre.
She soon sent for the children, and Greta and Richard
arrived early in the winter. Greta grew into a handsome
and accomplished young woman, and a few years later
became the wife of M. Batonchon and returned to France.
Their home was in the city of Macon, where she died in
1905. M. Batonchon is a government expert on vine-
yards and grape-culture and was given the Cross of the
Legion of Honour a few years ago in recognition of his
services to practical science.
Richard's delight in coming to America may be im-
agined. It was his first sea-voyage. All his life tales of
the ocean had fed his imagination with its happiest dreams.
To come into the theatre of this romance, to dwell amid
the majestic proportions of unbroken sea and sky, to
witness the caprice of the elements in storm and calm,
and all for the first time, must have been, to a nature as
sensitive as his, an experience of vast emotion.
This influence may account in a measure for his sudden
new interest. The India Service was abandoned and
forgotten. His young mind now seized on the classics
and with the enthusiasm and singleness of purpose with
which he did everything, he read Shakespeare, Dante,

30
[1872
RICHARD MANSFIELD
Virgil, Homer, Schiller, Goethe, Molière, and Racine all
over again without the insistence of a master. His mother
wished him to take advantage of the excellent library next
door. But he would neither enter it nor touch a book
which came out of it, declaring that they were unclean
and full of germs. Perhaps he knew by what disinfectant
the stalls in Cornhill kept their tomes immaculate, for all
his savings after a proper cravat, a polish for his boots,
and a flower for his coat, went into these second-hand
shops.
His mother's acquaintance opened for him the most
attractive homes in Boston. Her friends at once became
Richard's, and one whom he allowed across the barrier
of formal courtesy and a somewhat affected cordiality
into the not cheaply given privilege of his friendship was
sealed there for all time.
Julia Ward Howe was one of the first visitors to the
Mansfield home. Henry Wadsworth Longfellow fol-
lowed for rare evenings of Italian conversation, of which
Madame Rudersdorff was so completely mistress that
when Tomasso Salvini made a third in their group, she
astonished the poet and delighted the tragedian with
anecdotes told in the patois of the Mediterranean penin-
sula.
Richard met these and others, and they all recognised
in the boy an intellectual adaptability which was often
made the topic of speculative prophecy. So long as Long-
fellow lived Mansfield never came to Boston without
making the pilgrimage to Cambridge, nor after those
early days did he visit her city without making a flower-
laden call at Mrs. Howe's home in Beacon Street. They
both saw their friend triumph later on several occasions.
His mother's entertainments were notable. Money

1872]
PUPILS OF MME. RUDERSDORFF
31
came easily, she spent it freely. Her house was always
open to her friends and Richard's. The new home was
at once the rendezvous of all the visiting artists; among
whom were Theodore Thomas, on from New York for
interpretative suggestions from Rudersdorff on the first
orchestrations of Richard Wagner's new operas which
came to America; Maurice Strakosch, brother-in-law of
Adelina Patti, the prophet of the musical elect in America
when the appreciation of operatic and symphonic music
was in its infancy here; Emile Sauret with his precious
violins; Madeline Schiller, whose beauty transported as
many as did her virtuosity at the piano; Clara Louise
Kellogg, Arabella Goddard, and a host of others. None,
however, received a welcome to compare with that given
their old friend, Therese Tietjens.
Daughters of distinguished families sought the privilege
of study under Rudersdorff, and her method soon became
famous. Her pupils in many cases took eminent positions
in the musical world. Among them were Ada Sinclair,
Anna Drasdil, Lillian Bailey (afterward Mrs. George
Henschel), Fannie Kellogg, Isabel Fassett, Anna Godwin,
daughter of Parke Godwin, Mary Turner (afterward
Mrs. Salter), Teresa Carreño, and Emma Thursby.
Of what he absorbed from the distinguished people who
came into his life in the early days in Boston, Richard did
not give specific indication. Even as a boy it was char-
acteristic of him to observe in silence the things that im-
pressed him, but little escaped. On the lighter side he
was less contained. Few came to their home that his
mimetic faculty did not instantly seize upon their salient
idiosyncrasies. No less an authority than Miss Jenny
Wren, the doll's dressmaker, would have admitted that
he "knew their tricks and their manners." When they

32
[1873
RICHARD MANSFIELD
went away he would delight his mother with a repetition
of the visit, imitating them to the slightest detail, broad-
ening the lines and heightening the colours with a mar-
vellous sense of burlesque.
At sixteen Richard had much of the maturity of a man
of age. He spoke English, French, and German, and
without any trace of accent. He had some decent smat-
tering of Latin and Greek, and he was equal to a crude
conversation or a letter in Italian, Spanish, or Russian./
He lived at a continual banquet of music and song,
and rich were the crumbs that he picked up. He learned
to play the piano and the violin, he sang from the operas,
and was equal to an imitation of most of the living artists
of note.
He absorbed what was said when he did not
talk, though he appeared not to listen, and busied himself
with a pencil, sketching nervously on any scrap of paper
under his hand.
He had likewise attained a kind of maturity in growth,
though he was never a tall man, and easily passed among
his immediate seniors as a youth their own age. Ambition
and his own restless activity were soon again whispering
the question of a career. It became a continual topic be-
tween him and his mother. The choice lay between the
employment of his budding talent for painting, his re-
markable though uncultivated voice, his genius for music,
and a certain practical leaning to a commercial career.
There was no suggestion of acting. Early in 1873 cir-
cumstances offered him an opportunity to make the first
of those experiments which later discovered to him his
real vocation.
Among the homes where he was welcome was that of
the merchant prince, Eben D. Jordan, whose children
were of about Richard's own age. Together they often

1875]
A MERCANTILE CAREER
33
visited the big store in Washington Street, and Richard
soon conceived the idea that a mercantile career bound up
every opportunity of his future. Mr. Jordan developed
a strong and lasting attachment for young Mansfield from
the first-a friendship that was genuinely reciprocated.
He gave the boy a desk in his office and employment in
connection with the foreign correspondence. It was
Mansfield's duty to translate letters destined for France,
Germany, and Italy, and, on the other hand, to render
English versions of the letters from these countries. At
times he varied this work with practice in writing ad-
vertisements, wherein his originality served him. He
took the burdens of his new situation in life seriously.
He felt himself now quite mature, and seemed deter-
mined, and indeed destined, to skip directly from boyhood
to manhood. It was an expression of his virile will. From
the earliest moment that down feathered his lip, he coaxed
it with a blade, and soon, to the astonishment of his
friends, displayed a mustache. His mother had a royal
temper of her own, and this assumption of his so enraged
her that his choice immediately narrowed to home or
his new ornament, and he wisely sacrificed the latter.
Mansfield remained in Mr. Jordan's employ for about
two years. The confinement and routine must have been
vexing to his erratic temperament. He inferred this
jokingly in a note to his friend, John L. Lincoln, Jr.: "I
cannot stand this place any longer. They have given me
a hard stool to sit on, which is wearing out my only pair
of trousers, and I cannot afford a new pair."
There was abundance of innocent fun at home. The
Mansfields dearly loved a "party," in the informal sense
of a gathering of their friends supported by an ingenious
idea. Richard was equal to the idea.

4


34
[1875
RICHARD MANSFIELD
One Easter Eve his friends were invited for an egg
hunt. His mother announced that she had hidden thirty-
six eggs about the house, and that no one would have any
supper until all the eggs had been found. After a romping
search in every hole and corner the young people had
found thirty-five eggs, and finally gave up their search
for the thirty-sixth. Their failure delighted Madame
Rudersdorff, and she triumphantly produced the missing
egg from her own pocket. She was an august personage
even at play, and no one would have dared to search her
even if he had thought to do so.
During a privileged afternoon with Julia Ward Howe,
in the twilight of her eighty-ninth year, from out the stores
of her golden memories she sifted this anecdote of her
friend:
"I remember a surprise-party Madame Rudersdorff
gave on Richie's birthday. They were nearly all young
people present excepting myself. It was not a surprise-
party in the ordinary sense, but you will understand when
I tell you.
"In those days we were continually invited to meet dis-
tinguished musical artists at Madame Rudersdorff's home.
She provided unsparingly as a hostess; she was really
queerly in her hospitality. Hence her invitations were
snapped up in every quarter.
"On this occasion we were invited to meet a newly
arrived prima donna-I forget the name. The hostess
and her distinguished guest received together. I remem-
ber her as if it were yesterday. She was youthful in ap-
pearance, uncommonly modest in demeanour. She wore
a red-and-white silk dress with a prodigiously long train,
and had many jewels, and an abundance of thick, wavy,
dark hair which was the admiration of every one. Some

1875]
LAKESIDE
35

of us were put to it to talk to her, for she spoke only the
European languages. Naturally there was a brave effort
in some quarters, in especially high tones, for you may
have noticed it that people who are unfamiliar with a
language always shout it.
"The announcement, finally, that the great prima
donna would sing produced an expectant silence. We
were all struck by the phenomenal range of her voice.
She seemed to be able to sing with equal facility a soft,
dark contralto or a silvery soprano, capping off with an
octave in falsetto.
“After responding to several encores, she at length
astounded us all by lifting off her towering coiffure and
announcing unaffectedly: 'I'm tired of this, mother.
Let's cut the birth-day cake.' It was Richie. He and
his mother had conspired in the surprise-party."
The summers were spent first in the country near
Wrentham, Massachusetts, and afterward at an estate
which Madame Rudersdorff bought and called "Lake-
side." It was situated near Berlin, about thirty miles
west of Boston. Here she lived in considerable state.
Her studio, in which she gave her lessons, was situated on
the first floor, with French windows leading out into the
gardens. It was not uncommon for this eccentric lady
to jump up in the middle of a lesson, exclaiming, "The
cows are in the corn!" and rush out to corral the in-
truders. She loved to work in her garden, and made it a
practice to get up at four o'clock in the morning in season,
put on her long rubber-boots, and recreate herself hoeing
and weeding among the vegetables.
The children had always had a failing for the broad
bean. She cultivated a large patch of them, and so fond
did Richard grow of this vegetable that no more tempting


36
[1875
RICHARD MANSFIELD
surprise could afterward be offered him than a dish of
these large, glossy brown beans.
Teresa Carreño was one of her most vivacious pupils.
She braved Madame's temper and was equal to any mis-
chief. One evening Madame Rudersdorff, Richard, and
the pupils went over to Swampscott and gave a concert in
the town-hall for the benefit of one of her pupils there.
These generous efforts were not uncommon.
A feature of the Rudersdorff method was the production
of tone through the nose with the mouth closed. Richard
learned this of her and afterward employed it in his
imitations of the violoncello in "Prince Karl." She pro-
vided her pupils a set theme to be used as an exercise.
On the evening of this concert she swept majestically
to the front of the platform. Carreño was at the piano
and for a prelude played the nose exercise! Every one
recognised it, but no one dared laugh. Rudersdorff
turned half about and exclaimed in a threatening whisper:
"Stop that, you little devil!" There was dread foreboding
of what would happen when she left the stage. By that
time, however, her sense of humour had overcome her
anger, and she joined in the belated laugh with the others.
Carreño's audacity made her a heroine from that time
forward.
Young Mansfield was not remembered in any sense as
a theatre-goer. It could not have been because actors
were few in the Puritan capital. The native conscience
which curled at the edges when a theatre was mentioned,
crowded to see John T. Raymond as Mulberry Sellers,
Barry Sullivan, Edwin Booth, Lotta in "Little Nell,"
Maggie Mitchell in "Fanchon," Sol Smith Russell and
the Berger Family, the various minstrel companies and
the stock company-when they appeared in such shrines

1875] DRAMATIC AND MUSICAL CRITIC 37
of culture as a Beethoven Hall, an Athenæum, or a
Museum devoted to indifferent sculpture, painting, his-
torical souvenirs, and good drama!
This smug begging of the question was not more char-
acteristic of Boston than of the conscience of the period.
There were few theatres, so-called, in America up to the
last quarter of the nineteenth century. The larger cities
all had their Lyceum, Athenæum, or Academy of Music,
and every hamlet in the land had a Grand Opera House,
where grand opera was never given by any chance. The
prejudice against seeing Edwin Booth, Edwin Forrest,
Charlotte Cushman, Salvini, and Bernhardt evaporated
when they appeared under the ægis of these alleged tem-
ples of some other kind of culture.
The best evidence that Mansfield did go to the theatre
was the familiarity with the heroes of the stage reflected
in his imitations, and the fact that toward the end of his
four years in Boston he was dramatic and musical critic
on a somewhat feeble daily paper called The News, which
ceased to be soon after he left it.
He afterward disclaimed any value for the views ex-
pressed in these criticisms. They were dashed off in a
hurry at the end of a day of hard work, the latter portion
of which was only too often uncongenial to the point of
antagonism. He was allowed no selection in the plays or
the actors he was obliged to witness-everything and
everybody had to be seen. When he resigned he told the
editor it was impossible to criticise for a man who was the
friend of so many bad actors.
These were but excuses. Mansfield would never have
made a good critic. He had not a sufficiently judicial
mind. His imagination, on the other hand, was so viva-
cious and his inherent, though as yet unmanifested,



38
[1875
RICHARD MANSFIELD
dramatic sense was so keen that he would have been too
impatient of the faults which would always strike him
first and hardest.
He often said in the light of his later experiences: “I
am sometimes inclined to think that criticism is no longer
written to exploit the artist or the work of art which is
supposed to be under discussion, but rather the personal-
ity or the cleverness of the writer." From this point of
view he would have been a huge success. He had a
brittle style, ready wit, unsparing satire, deep invective,
and an unquenchable personality which would have made
a journalistic star of the magnitude he afterward attained
in the theatre.
One of his reviews of a concert took the form of an essay
on "the functions of the drum in the orchestra." The
drummer had jarred on his musical sensitiveness. His
aspen nerves fell more and more under the dissonant
spell of the offender, until finally the offence eclipsed all the
other harmonies, and Mansfield rushed back to the office
and poured his outraged feelings into half a column of
information on how to play the drums.
It has been intimated that his mother had a spicy tem-
per. It was more than this. There were times when her
passions fairly broke into a storm. He understood her
nature well and had a deep sympathy with her suffering
when her nervous emotions reached and passed the break-
ing point, for in nothing was he more essentially his
mother's son than in his temperament. At such times
he never remonstrated. He simply left her presence in
silence. When he returned later the stormy incident was
ignored and her greeting was full of apologetic tenderness.
On occasions he packed up a few things and remained
away from home for days or weeks, according to the wel-

18751
AN INDEPENDENT MÉNAGE
39
Such enforced exile
With a stoic grace
come he dared promise his return.
brought no complaint to his lips.
he accepted it with its attendant poverty. Of course his
mother never sent his allowances after him. Until he
dared go back to her his wits were his only wealth, and
none but one or two of his most intimate chums knew
with what resources he managed to maintain the elegance
of his appearance and the gaiety of his spirits. He could
not economise. Even in these youthful days possession
was always the swift sequel of desire. Poverty may have
distressed him, but it never interfered with his patrician
instincts and their expression. He always kept his eye to
the windward quarter with a fatalistic confidence that
something would blow over the horizon.
The development of the virile fabric of his nature in-
tensified his personality and his will. One home became
too small for two such pyrotechnical temperaments as his
and his mother's. The boy could endure what the man
would not. When they came back from the country in
the autumn of 1875 it was agreed that he should set up
for himself, which he did in one modest room on the top
floor of Mrs. Rand's, at 23 Beacon Street, where the
Bellevue Hotel now stands. There was a refined and
exclusive atmosphere about Mrs. Rand's retreat, and it
was characteristic of Mansfield to seek quarters within
its fashionable doors, though his slender means drove
him to the top floor at the head of five flights of stairs,
and the first four ceilings in that house were extraordina-
rily high.
The first draught on his modest resources was a piano
-always and inevitably a piano. His remarkable taste
disposed the few pieces of furniture, the carefully selected
rugs and curtains, and unable to buy pictures for the



40
[1875
RICHARD MANSFIELD
walls he drew and painted a varied selection himself.
With the number engraved on his visiting card he was
domiciled. He began to give parties himself, delightful
evenings of music and song and clever fooling-himself
the chief performer-capped off with a supper of a quality
which not only astonished his guests, but drove him into
debt, and at the end of the month to his mother for a
supplement to the modest yielding of his salary. She
generally helped him out, but not always, and thereby
hung his accumulating distress. It never occurred to him
to cut down expenses.
It was while he was at Mrs. Rand's that Hans von
Bülow first came to Boston. The great pianist was at
the zenith of his career and his coming created a furore
for weeks before and after. He was the musical lion of
the period.
Von Bülow's first concert was announced for Monday,
October 18, at Music Hall, the older music hall down the
blind alley off Tremont Street. He was to introduce his
virtuosity to Boston by the performance of Beethoven's
Fifth Concerto for the pianoforte, in E flat, opus 73.
Mansfield was especially nervous at the prospect of
having to write a criticism of a master's performance of
a masterpiece. The day of the concert he discovered
that Von Bülow had taken quarters under the same roof
with him, at Mrs. Rand's. He instantly made up his
mind what he should do and presented himself at the
great pianist's room.
"Herr von Bülow," said Mansfield, "I'm a critic on
one of the daily papers here and it will be my duty to
attend your concert to-night and write a criticism of your
performance. Of course it is too absurd for me, who
knows nothing about music, to criticise a master-per-

1875]
AN HOUR WITH VON BÜLOW
41
former like yourself and a master-composer like Bee-
thoven. But I want to write something that will be
valuable to you and creditable to myself. Won't you
please tell me something of the concerto and of your in-
terpretation?"
Here was a new sort of critic. Von Bülow was much
affected. He sat down at the piano, played and explained
the fine points of each passage, and obligingly responded
to all questions. It must have been a memorable hour.
Mansfield himself warmed to the subject, which presently
embraced other works of Beethoven, and by degrees a
general survey of the musical horizon.
At last Von Bülow swung round on his stool and, eyeing
the young man keenly, said: "You know more about
music than you pretend."
"Oh, nothing more than I've picked up around home,"
protested Mansfield.

66
But that is a great deal," pursued the pianist. "Yours
must be a musical home, is it not?"
"I am the son of Madame Rudersdorff," replied his
visitor.
"Madame Rudersdorff!" exclaimed the great musician.
"Madame Rudersdorff your mother! She is here, here
in Boston? Take me to her instantly."
Whereupon he threw his greatcoat about him, seized
his hat and cane, and led his caller down-stairs.
Those who know the geography of Boston know per-
fectly well that there is a short cut from the head of Beacon
Street to the corner of Boyleston and Tremont Streets,
straight across the north end of Boston Common. But
it was not every day that Mansfield could walk abroad
with such a lion.
When he reached the corner of Beacon and Park

42
[1875
RICHARD MANSFIELD
Streets he did not turn to the left, but kept straight ahead
down Beacon Street along the west side of the Common,
past the State House, past the front windows of swelldom,
turned to the left as they reached Arlington Street, and
crossed to Boyleston. As they turned again to the left to
promenade the length of Boston's most fashionable shop-
ping street, Von Bülow stopped and faced about on his
guide.
"Young man," he exclaimed in thundering tones, "you
are showing me off! Take me to your mother's house
instantly!"
Mansfield never had patience with the long hair affected
by the actors and musical artists of the period. Von
Bülow was no exception. He had a leonine mane which
gave Mansfield an easy opening for a paraphrase of Gold-
smith's lines that at one and the same time hit off his pet
aversion and repaid Von Bülow for any resentment he
afterward showed the young man for his presuming
vanity in showing him off:
Man wants but little Herr Bülow,
Nor wants that little long.

CHAPTER FOUR
(1875-1876)
He opens a studio-Teaches languages-Celebrates his success-
The Sock and Buskin Club-Acts Beau Farintosh in "School"
-The Vincent Crummels entertainment-Improvising a rôle-
A clash on new "business"-The Buskins disband-He leaves
for England.
SOMETIME before this Mansfield gave up his position in
Mr. Jordan's office. It was inevitable that the hard-and-
fast routine and the unimaginative and unemotional
detail of commercial life would fret him beyond endurance.
One day he came home and announced to his mother
that he had resigned, and again a career loomed up as the
one big question.
He had already displayed skill in draughtsmanship.
When he got a box of paints his sense of colour mani-
fested itself. His sketches became much in evidence.
They displayed a delicate hand, a vivid fancy, and a
native talent of a pronounced type, even if it did not
amount to genius.
His efforts were submitted to his friends, the portrait
painters, George Munzig and Benjamin Porter. Their
opinion was vastly encouraging. Richard now decided
that painting was his métier. His mother concurred and
endowed his career to the extent of an allowance of one
hundred dollars a month.
Munzig and Porter were already established in the
43
44
[1875
RICHARD MANSFIELD
Studio Building, at the corner of Bromfield and Tre-
mont Streets. In the top floor, under the slanting man-
sard, was found a vacant room for Mansfield. He in-
stalled a piano, borrowed some furniture, used his mother's
old costumes to tapestry the wall, sketched unceasingly
for a few days to cover the balance of the hideous wall-
paper, added his own unerring taste in the bestowal of his
chattels, and found himself established as an artist.
He drew in charcoal and painted in water-colours. The
products were not sufficiently striking to make a fortune
or insure a career. His friends came generously forward
and bought the pictures. "But," he afterward explained,
"when I had sold pictures to all my friends, I discovered
I had no friends."
His journalistic connection was more or less casual, and
it yielded him scarcely more than flower-money. Out of
his mother's allowance he gave twenty dollars each month
for the rent; he dressed like a prince, though he declared
he lived like a beggar, and, as in Dick Swiveller's case, his
exhausted credit soon began to close up the neighbouring

streets.
There was an insistent laundress who made him es-
pecially unhappy. Once she had mounted the five flights
to his eerie she was not disposed to leave empty-handed.
He dreaded to open the door. A knock was too often
the foreboding of a dun. So he cut a hole in the door.
Thereafter he did not open until he had surveyed the
visitor.
Having supplied all his friends with pictures, his affairs
became precarious. Many years later a lady gave him an
opportunity, of which his wit availed itself, by remarking:
"They tell me you once lived by your paintings." "No,
my dear lady," he replied, "I lived in spite of them."

1875]
LESSONS IN LANGUAGES
45
One morning he went below to Munzig's studio.
"George," he exclaimed, "I must have money. What
shall I do?" Together they went over the situation, and
finally his friend suggested that his unusual gift of tongues
be converted into cash: "Give language lessons."
Almost any new idea was sure of acceptance. Rich-
ard prepared an announcement, in the most elegant
terms, which stated that in response to an insistent de-
mand he had consented to accept a few select pupils in
the study of French, German, and Italian, and that the
limited list was not yet quite full.
The class was diverted with music and fortified with
tea. His own abundant versatility and magnetic good
humour established him. Mansfield had decidedly made
himself fashionable, and the "limited list" was soon
filled with the smartest young ladies in Boston.
The language lessons did not last long. However,
they did endure beyond the end of the month, and then
the young ladies sent in their amounts promptly.
He was so elated with his new wealth that he went out
at once and bought a new silver chafing-dish, every deli-
cacy of the market, not omitting a comforting vintage of
wines, and invited his pupils and their friends to such a
spread as became the topic for months. Not a luxury was
missing. Those who were present smack their lips to this
day when speaking of it.
Two afternoons later he turned up again at Munzig's
door. "George," he confessed, "I haven't a penny,
and I am hungry." Together they went to a neighbour-
ing tavern and feasted on a sandwich and a mug of beer.
In the autumn of 1875 he and several other young
friends organised the Sock and Buskin Club. It was a
select group of young men of artistic and social instincts,


46
[1875
RICHARD MANSFIELD
and besides Mansfield included John L. Lincoln, Jr.,
George C. Munzig, S. Harry Hooper, Benjamin Porter,
Charles H. Jones, Dr. S. Q. Robinson, Robert Burnett,
H. Wainwright, E. C. Stanwood, Clarence Luce, Henry
F. Train, F. M. Betton, J. D. Perry, Albert Watson, M.
Masforrall, C. D. Wainwright, F. F. Downs, Fred Wright,
John Hooper, and several others.
The Buskin, as it came to be familiarly known, was
distinguished as perhaps no other club before or since, for
there were no dues. Assets were to come from public
entertainments in which the members would participate.
Every one was equal to some amusing contribution and
there was a general feeling that with Mansfield at the head
and front nothing could fail.
They first met in Mansfield's room in the Studio Build-
ing; then they grew more ambitious and took a whole
floor in a building in Boyleston Street near the Boyleston
Chambers. One of the rooms was quite large and had a
platform at one end where they rehearsed. The floor was
sanded. The furnishings were not elaborate, but they
were notably artistic. When the club was once com-
fortably settled the bills began to come in and the members
had an opportunity to vindicate their economic plan
of being.
To correct the void in the treasury it was decided
to give a performance of Tom Robertson's comedy,
"School," with "some variations rendered necessary by
the exigencies of the occasion." The long cast and the
crowd of school-girls gave an opportunity to every one.
Each part, male and female, was accepted by a Buskin.
Mansfield was elected stage-manager by acclaim. An
evening was reserved at Beethoven Hall, around the
corner in Washington Street, since known as the Park

RICHARD MANSFIELD AS BEAU FARINTOSH IN
ROBERTSON'S "SCHOOL"
From a photograph in the collection of T. Henry Hooper

1876] A PERFORMANCE OF "SCHOOL"
47
Theatre. Great were the preparations, great the enthu-
siasm, and high the expectations of the young gentlemen's
friends. George Munzig painted the scenery. J. D.
Perry helped him. Jack Lincoln prepared and directed
the musical programme. Tickets were sold only to
friends of the members, but the supply was readily ex-
hausted, and the life of the club was insured for some
months at least. Madame Rudersdorff entered heartily
into the spirit of the occasion and volunteered to costume
and coach the "girls."
The performance was given on the evening of January
14, 1876. There was a notable audience present, and,
according to an observing reporter, "every one, to the last
man in the gallery, came in evening dress." 1
The performance was a great success with every one in
the audience. There was prodigious applause and quan-
tities of flowers, especially for the "girls." Mansfield
always remembered the rather forceful stage whisper of
his mother, who had taken a proscenium box: "Dear,
dear, what a fool that boy of mine is making of himself."
As will be seen later, she was not reconciled to a stage
career for Richard.

1 The cast was as follows:
Jack Poyntz
Beau Farintosh
Mr. Krux
Dr. Sutcliffe
Lord Beaufoy
Vaughan.
Bella
Naomi Tighe
Mrs. Sutcliffe
.
Laura
Tilly
Milly
Hetty
Clara
Kitty
Mr. George C. Munzig.
Mr. Richard Mansfield.
Mr. Charles H. Jones.
Dr. S. Q. Robinson.
Mr. S. Harry Hooper.
Mr. H. Wainwright.
Mr. E. C. Stanwood.
Mr. Henry F. Train.
Mr. F. M. Betton.
Mr. C. D. Wainwright.
Mr. F. F. Downs.
Mr. John Hooper.
Mr. Fred Wright.
Mr. M. Masforrall.
Mr. Albert Watson.
School-girls, servants, etc., by the Company.

48
[1876
RICHARD MANSFIELD
It will be remembered that "School" is divided into
four acts: First, Recreation; Second, Flirtation; Third,
Examination; Fourth, Reconciliation. After the boys
read the papers the next day it was suggested that they
add a fifth act, "Damnation (by the press)."
The audience accepted the play in the spirit in which it
was offered, a lark by a group of amateurs. "The papers
were rather rough on the boys, especially the 'girls,"" Mans-
field wrote a friend. He had his own baptism of criticism
on this occasion. In a measure he invited anything they
chose to say, for he afterward confessed that he had taken
the affair very seriously and had gone himself to the
dramatic critics and "I asked them, please, to treat us
seriously not as amateurs, but as artists who are doing
their best."
The Post said: "Richard Mansfield as Beau Farintosh
carried off a generous share of the honours and his im-
personation indicated considerable dramatic talent and
careful study."
The Globe: "Mr. Richard Mansfield was the Beau
Farintosh and, excepting the usual amateurish tendency
to overact, did very well."
The Advertiser: "Richard Mansfield was quite success-
ful as Beau Farintosh."
It was the Traveller's reviewer, however, who took
seriously his invitation to criticism and Mansfield often
laughed over the duck simile. This paper said: "Mr.
Richard Mansfield showed the highest dramatic talent,
but a tendency to exaggerate was to be seen in the first
three acts, and a Dick Swiveller tendency to attitudinise
was discernible. We do not understand what standing
on one foot like a duck means in superannuated beaudom.
In the last act Mr. Mansfield was excellent and very

1876]
PLANNING A BENEFIT
49
judicious and was entitled to the very warm applause he
received."
Shortly after this, at a matinée on February 9, the
performance of "School" was repeated for the benefit of
the New England Hospital and St. Luke's Hospital.
Mrs. Arthur Cheney proved a most interested patron and
secured for the occasion Selwyn's Hall, afterward known
as the Globe Theatre, across the street from the scene of
the Buskins' first endeavour. The fame of the young
actors was abroad in the town and the citizens came in
such numbers that two thousand dollars was turned over
to the charities. Mansfield had established the Buskins,
but he had not established himself. When in response
to knocks at his studio door he applied his eye to the
peep-hole, he now opened fewer and fewer times.
One spring day he presented himself at the chambers
of his friend Jack Lincoln with a declaration of inde-
pendence. "Jack, those creditors are wearing me out,"
he protested. "It's hideously incongruous for a young
gentleman to associate every step on his stairs with
vulgar duns. I'm going to finish them off once for
all."
"What are you going to do?" inquired his friend, who
knew him well enough to believe absolutely in his resource-
fulness, but far too well to believe it had taken a practical
turn.
"I'm going to give myself a benefit," replied Mansfield.
"I have a hall promised on Boyleston Street. I have
scraped together enough to print the tickets and the pro-
grammes, and every detail of my performance is planned.
There is only one thing lacking. I have no accompanist.
You must do me that service."
Lincoln had no high idea of his own musical attainments,

50
[1876
RICHARD MANSFIELD
but he consented to play on the promise that his name
should not be mentioned in that connection.
"That's all right," rejoined Mansfield. "My name is
not to appear either."
In a few days the curiosity of the town was piqued by
the polite announcement of "An Entertainment to be
given at Union Hall, on Thursday evening, June 1, by Mr.
Vincent Crummels, on the Singers and Actors of the
Day." Seats were priced at half a dollar and tickets were
to be had at the Parker House.
Such secrets will leak out, and it was gradually whispered
about that the joker behind the incognito "Mr. Vincent
Crummels," was Madame Rudersdorff's son, Richard
Mansfield. He was a popular chap, and his friends took
hundreds of seats, leaving the balance to Curiosity, which
seized them readily enough. The hall was packed.
The entertainment took the form of
A SATIRICAL LECTURE
Embracing the following humorous Sketches and
Imitations.
PART I
An Imitation of a celebrated Prima Donna of the Royal
Italian Opera Company, in "La Favorita." Reci-
tative ed Aria.
The Response to an Encore.
A foreign Concert Singer of the Rubinstein Concert
Company in her favourite ballad.
A celebrated Tenor in the last act of Lucia. Recitative,
Scena ed Aria.
A well-known Contralto.
A duet by Mr. Vincent Crummels. "La ci darem," from
Don Giovanni.

1876] IMITATIONS AND CARICATURES
PART II
51
The Orthodox Shylock.
A great tragedian in the terrible tragedy, entitled "The
Red Pocket-book."
Mr. Hardenberg as Fagin, the Jew, in Oliver Twist.
Mr. Raymond as Mulberry Sellers.
Mr. Maccabe in a Tragedy written for one Dramatis
Persona. Mr. Maccabe as the Lady-Killer.
Sol Smith Russell as the Old Maid.
A few appropriate remarks by Mr. Vincent Crummels.
The "celebrated Prima Donna" of the first imitation
was Therese Tietjens. The Response revealed nothing less
than an imitation of his mother who sat in a box and en-
joyed the effect immensely. “Home, Sweet Home" was
frequently demanded of her at her concerts, and she pro-
duced an indescribably soft velvety tone with a slight
vibrato which seemed to break the word "Home" into
two syllables: "Ho-ome, Ho-ome, Sweet Ho-ome." It
was this that Richard seized on and exaggerated to the
point of caricature. The "well-known contralto" was
Madame Ormeni and the "celebrated tenor" was Brig-
noli. Liebhardt was the "favourite concert singer of the
Rubinstein Concert Company." Mr. Raymond and Sol
Smith Russell were known to several later generations.
Mr. Maccabe was an English platform entertainer who
at that time enjoyed a fashionable popularity. Harden-
berg was a well-known actor in the Boston Museum
Company. Everybody in the hall knew the originals of
Mansfield's programme and recognised his extraordinary
mimetic skill with flattering applause.
But the hits in the announced programme were in no-
wise comparable to the roars aroused by the encores.

He

52
[1876
RICHARD MANSFIELD
In
let himself go in the most irresponsible manner.
Madame Rudersdorff's box was her guest and her former
pupil, Anna Drasdil, widely known for her phenomenally
deep alto voice. Her charming singing of the old English
ballad, "Oh, Dear, What can the Matter be," made it one
of the most popular pieces in her repertoire. She was a
German by descent and never quite controlled her accent.
When Mansfield came forward to acknowledge the ap-
plause bestowed on "Ho-ome, Sweet Ho-ome," he sang
Miss Drasdil's favourite ballad in perfect imitation of her
manner and enunciation: "Oh, Tear, Vot can de Matter
pee." She led the applause herself, for he "brought
down the house." He took his cue from this little im-
promptu success, and every encore thereafter was devoted
to the eccentricities of well-known persons in the audience.
The next day he sealed up the hole in the studio door,
threw back the bolt, and the echo of a knock was once
more a lusty "Come in" from a distant corner of the
room.
He was fond of his own way and generally had it. The
wall of reserve that hedged about the little boy at school
and which so many of his casual acquaintances later
found an impossible barrier to a knowledge of his inten-
tions and purposes, was already in evidence. He was not
communicative, and there was something about his re-
serve that did not invite intrusion.
Whether or not he recognised this as one of the con-
spicuous points of an anecdote of himself he was long
afterward fond of telling, it illustrates it well and at the
same time it betrays a youthful relish for a practical joke.
Such was his fame as an amateur actor for one so young
that his services were often in demand for the parlour
plays. On one occasion when he had been invited to take

1876]
SUCCESS AS AN AMATEUR
53
the leading rôle in a comedy which was to be given a week
or two later, every one was afraid to ask him to come
to rehearsal, with the result that he forgot all about the
play and did not study his part. One day a note came
reminding him the play was to be given that evening.
After dinner he went early to the house on Beacon Street,
asked for a book of the play, read it for the first time,
caught the story and the character, and, with the supreme
impudence of which he was in those days capable, started
in to improvise. Of course the others could not speak
their lines; they didn't fit his. He gave none of the cues
they had studied for. He, however, improvised away
with brazen assurance, and made a great hit, while every
one else, with the correct lines of the play, was at sixes
and sevens!
Early in the winter friends in Portland invited the
Buskins to come to the Maine city and repeat their
successful performance of "School" for a local charity.
The lark appealed to them, and they appeared at Music
Hall in that city on the evening of Saturday, December
16, 1876.
No one who participated in or witnessed that perform-
ance will ever forget it. Wintry blasts swept along the
coast all day long, terminating late in the afternoon in a
tornado which lifted the roof of the Portland Music Hall
into the street! The thermometer registered fourteen
degrees below zero. Nevertheless every seat had been
sold and the players went through their parts in great-
coats, furs, gloves, and hats. It is perhaps needless to
say that "School" was given that evening with further
"variations rendered necessary by the exigencies of the
occasion." By their heroic work the young men saved
for the local charity the money advanced for the tickets,


54
[1876
RICHARD MANSFIELD
but the four acts of the comedy were given in one hour
and twenty minutes.
The "irresistible force" of his will on this occasion met
an "immovable body" with results which the recital will
indicate. In the second act of "School" Lord Beaufoy
(Hooper), Jack Poyntz (Munzig), and Beau Farintosh
(Mansfield) came to Dr. Sutcliffe's School for a visit,
and the stage business directed that they should sit at
stage right on three chairs extending up stage in the
order named. This put Farintosh the third or farthest
up stage.
Mansfield had always followed the letter of the prompt-
book till the rehearsals for Portland. Then he announced
that he had some excellent new business and was going
to sit on the chair nearest the footlights. The others
protested vigorously. They considered a variation on
the "business" as set down in the prompt-book a desecra-
tion and would not hear of it. Meantime Mansfield
declared that no matter how it was rehearsed he was
going to take the down-stage chair in Portland. This
attitude so angered the others that the whole club de-
clared a "silence" on him. This discipline seems to have
broken the force of his resolve. As the three stood in the
wings ready to make their entrance he whispered to
Munzig, "I'll take my old seat." Nevertheless none
relented from the silence.
The Buskins returned next day to Boston, and the fol-
lowing morning there was a rap on the door of Munzig's
studio. It was Mansfield with a bundle in his hand.
"George," he began, with his most winning smile, "here
are a couple of birds mother sent, and she wants us to
have lunch together." The birds were not doves, but
they were quite as adequate as a peace offering. The

1876]
END OF THE BUSKINS
55
young men lunched together; that night they dined with
Madame Rudersdorff at a sumptuous rate that indicated
something of preparation, and they were warm friends
thereafter as long as Mansfield lived.
The question of liquid refreshment was an embarrass-
ment to the members of the Buskin Club from the start.
The young men wanted their stimulants, but neither their
families nor their friends would have countenanced a club
bar. They avoided the point with an expedient which sug-
gested the Mansfield resourcefulness.
The compromise was "a wine closet," and the members
confessed to "a few bottles on the shelf." Sharers of
their hospitality found their modesty somewhat exag-
gerated. But there were none of the appurtenances
of a bar; no service, no pay. A member was supposed
to go to the closet, help himself, write the amount of
his indebtedness on a card and slip it into a box pro-
vided for that purpose. The sequel may be imagined.
The handsome proceeds of their entertainment a year
before were long since exhausted, and insolvency menaced
the dueless club. The last straw was laid on one night
when, as was discovered the next morning, one of the
members with more hospitality than scruple invited
several men in to sample the "few bottles on the shelf."
The first visitor the next day discovered no other occupants
of the club than the hospitable member and his guests,
and they were drowsily unconscious of the intrusion.
Every bottle was empty. So was the check box! This
bankrupted the Buskins and ended their brief but merry
and eventful existence.
Mansfield and the Buskins took their departure from
Boston at about the same time.
lessons in drawing or painting.

He had not had any
His talents were all

56
[1876
RICHARD MANSFIELD
native, and he drew and coloured with an instinctive,
untutored skill. He argued with his mother that he could
not continue in America with any hope of a distinguished
career.
"Very well," she replied, "go to England. I'll give
you a letter to Frith"-this was William Frith, the Royal
Academician-" and I'll send you a hundred dollars a
month."
This was, of course, a pittance to one of his extravagance,
but early in the new year of 1877 he packed up, closed his
studio, bade good-by to his friends, and sailed back to
England to study painting.

CHAPTER FIVE

(1877-1878)
His apprenticeship in the theatre-Joins the German Reed Enter-
tainments-Faints on the first night-His mother cuts off his
allowance-Poverty and hunger-In provincial companies-
Sings a duet for Gilbert and Sullivan-Plays Sir Joseph Porter
in "H. M. S. Pinafore" on tour-Denied sixpence increase in
salary and returns to London.
WHAT intention was in his heart when Mansfield left
America will never be known. The study of painting
was made the excuse. If his design to become a painter
was sincere, it was, nevertheless, soon abandoned.
He did present his mother's letter to Frith, who re-
ceived him with a formal kindness, and he studied casu-
ally at the South Kensington Museum, which he reached
from the Pall Mall district, where he had lodgings, only
after a weary tramp on foot. But there was lacking the
enthusiasm and determination which had already become
a characteristic of his genuine interest in an undertaking,
and it is not surprising that the brush and palette were
soon put aside and the canvases forgotten.
There was another call in his heart. Perhaps the per-
formance of "School" and his appearance as Mr. Vincent
Crummels, modest though his success was in each in-
stance, stimulated him with a hope in a new direction.
Behind him in Boston he left an unalloyed belief with his
mother and his friends that his future lay with painting,
57

58
[1877
RICHARD MANSFIELD
but from the time he reached London it is quite evident
that he was possessed with no other idea than to become an
actor, and the chronicle is now one of his apprenticeship
in the theatre.
His pocket-book was soon flat. It is certain, however,
that there was no more perfectly tailored and groomed
young gentleman on the parade than he. His acquaint-
ance quickly extended to the leading lights of the artistic
and Bohemian world. Old Derby school-mates looked
him up. Over a modest supper, fortified with ale and
Scotch, and afterward at the piano, he had a hundred re-
sources by which to make himself fascinating. His friends
brought their friends. Among a certain set of young swells
Dick Mansfield's chambers became one of the most
popular rallying-points in London. This hospitality soon
exhausted his credit all over the neighbourhood. Hunger
began to pinch.
Perhaps he confided his dilemma to one or two inti-
mates, for directly he had invitations to spend the week-
ends at certain great country houses, where he sang and
played for his friends and their guests after dinner. His
extravagance, however, consumed the few sovereigns he
could command. Nevertheless his talents were earning
him something, and he wrote of it to his mother in Amer-
ica with high spirits.
He was taken to the Savage Club, where his cleverness
was attested by the leading entertainers of London.
When Corney Grain was taken sick in the spring of 1877,
Mansfield was recommended as his substitute in the Ger-
man Reed Entertainments. He was to receive eight
pounds a week. This was a splendid salary for any young
man, as salaries went then, or as they stand now on the
London stage. To Mansfield it was a windfall.

1877]
HIS DÉBUT IN LONDON
59
German Reed had, a generation before, established in
Regent Street a polite entertainment known as "The
Gallery of Illustration." It was one of the sops shrewd
London managers offered to the British Puritan who
could not take theatrical entertainment from a theatre,
just as his American cousin sipped his sanctimoniously
through the straw of the Athenæums, Museums, Lyceums,
Academies, and Opera Houses. Other preeminently
proper places in the English capital at that time were
Madame Tussaud's Wax Works, Moore and Burgess's
Minstrels, and the Polytechnic. German Reed's Enter-
tainments consisted of two brief comedies with a musical
interlude by some clever parodist or mimic. When
Reed outgrew the quarters in Regent Street, he moved
a little ways above into St. George's Hall in Langham
Place. In this miniature theatre he made his entertain-
ments the most select and fashionable diversion in Lon-
don. From his little company he graduated ladies and
gentlemen who took their places among the distinguished
actors and actresses of the day. Reed and his wife ap-
peared in the comedies, and after themselves his strongest
card was Corney Grain, successor of the even more noted
John Parry, who filled the interlude with an amusing med-
ley of vocal and piano-forte humour.
As a member of this distinguished little coterie of
entertainers, Mansfield felt that his fortune was made.
His whole interest, attention, and hope now centred on
April 20, the night of his début. He was assigned the
small rôle of the Beadle in the comedietta, "Charity
Begins at Home," which opened the evening. After that
he was to change to evening dress and hold the stage alone
for half an hour, after the manner established by Corney
Grain. Every shilling he could scrape together went for


60
[1877
RICHARD MANSFIELD
a wardrobe-linen, boots, cravat, a boutonnière, and
other irreproachable appurtenances.
His friends crowded St. George's Hall for his first ap-
pearance. It was observed as he uttered the few lines of
the Beadle that he was excessively nervous. When,
later in the evening, he sat down at the piano and struck
a preliminary chord, he fainted dead away.
Mr. Reed relieved him of his position at once. In dis-
charging him, he said: "You are the most nervous man I
have ever seen." It was not all nervousness, however.
Mansfield had not eaten for three days. He had fainted
from hunger.
It was many a year before he again worked up to the
munificence of eight pounds a week, but this pathetic
incident was later made an asset as employed by him in
an attractive little comedy of his own writing.
The night of his disastrous début he dragged himself
home to his lodgings discouraged and disconsolate, alone,
ill, and penniless; but the cup of his bitterness overflowed
the next morning. The American mail brought him a
letter which was the sequel of a scene which must be
recited here.
One day Madame Rudersdorff stormed into George
Munzig's studio. In her outstretched hand she carried
the fluttering sheets of Richard's latest letter. She was
superbly dramatic in her wrath and paced the long room
with the air of a tragedy queen.
"George Munzig," she exclaimed in tones of trenchant
irony, "do you know what your friend is doing in London
--your friend Dick Mansfield? He is giving entertain-
ments; he's an entertainer! He accepts week-end in-
vitations from school-friends like Lady Cardigan's son
and others, and plays and sings for them, and takes five

RICHARD MANSFIELD, IN THE GERMAN REED
ENTERTAINMENTS

1877]
HIS REMITTANCE STOPPED
61
pounds for it! Your friend does this. He's no son of
mine! I'm going right down to State Street and cut off
every penny of his allowance!"
And she did, and wrote him punctually to that effect,
"beginning," as he afterward declared, "in very plain
English and emphasising her resentment in French, Ger-
man, and Italian, and ending up in Russian, with a
reserve of bitter denunciation, but no more languages to
express it in." She declared that he had "entered on a
slave's life" and her son was not fitted for it.
Mansfield was now on evil days indeed. He moved
into obscure quarters and fought the hard fight. It was
years before he would speak of these experiences. In
fact, he rarely ruminated on the past in the confidences
of either conversation or correspondence. Memory
troubled him little and by the universal equation it with-
held its pleasures. He dwelt in the present with his eyes
and hopes on the future. It was always the future with
him. No pleasure or attainment brought complete satis-
faction. He looked to the past only in relation to the
future, for experience, for example, for what to avoid.
Once when at the meridian of his fame,' he was asked
to lecture before the faculty and students of the University
of Chicago. For his subject he chose, "On Going on the
Stage." That he might exploit to those before him the
reality of the actor's struggle he lifted for the first time a
corner of that veil of mystery which hung between his
public and his past, and told of these early London days:
"For years I went home to my little room, if fortu-
nately I had one," he said, "and perhaps a tallow dip
was stuck in the neck of a bottle, and I was fortunate if I
had something to cook for myself over a fire, if I had a
1 February, 1898.

62
[1877
RICHARD MANSFIELD
fire. That was my life. When night came I wandered
about the streets of London, and if I had a penny I in-
vested it in a baked potato, from the baked-potato man
on the corner. I would put these hot potatoes in my
pockets, and after I had warmed my hands, I would
swallow the potato. That is the truth."
The tragedy of those days was not without its humour-
ous relief. "I can remember one evening in London,"
he recounted afterward at supper amid the luxury of his
Riverside Drive home, "when I reached the pleasant
condition of having had nothing to eat all day. I had
just one shilling my last-in my pocket. I was walking
along, looking somewhat covetously into the pastry shops
I passed, wondering how, on my pittance, I could dissipate
the carking hunger to the best advantage. Suddenly I
came upon a friend of mine, a vagabond like myself,
but apparently then in much better luck. He was gor-
geously arrayed in all the black-and-white splendour of
evening clothes. He had a dinner invitation, he ex-
plained, at Lord Cavendish's, or some such great house;
we'd go in somewhere and have something on the strength
of it.
“We went into one of those Bodega places that are
scattered over London, where you get a very decent
glass of champagne on draught for sixpence. They
always had a large cheese about, you know, from which
you may help yourself, which is about the nearest ap-
proach England makes to the American free-lunch.
"Well, we tucked into the cheese, at least I know I did,
and we had our glass of champagne each. Now I don't
know whether you know it or not, but there is probably
not a mixture in the world that is surer to create hunger
than cheese and champagne.

1877]
THE PINCH OF POVERTY
63
"I did not need an appetite, I had a huge one already,
but after that cheese and champagne I had a positive
gnawing. I was mentally gloating over the shilling's
worth of food I would go forth and feast on, when my
friend, shuffling his hands nervously from pocket to
pocket, turned to me and said:
“I say, old man, I'm awfully sorry, but I seem to have
left my pocket-book at home. If you happen to have a
shilling about you-' and I had the satisfaction of paying
out my last shilling for that hunger-raising cheese and
champagne!"
The true Mansfield, Mansfield the indomitable, came
out in the crucible of these trials. He wrote his mother,
but he scorned to ask again for money, well as he under-
stood the fiery temperament which is the expression of
impulse. They exchanged most affectionate letters. But
he was never to see her again.
The sale of an occasional picture, or the acceptance of
a story or poem by a magazine, gave him barely sufficient
to eke along. It was with difficulty he was able to put up
a respectable appearance when he was so fortunate as
to have an invitation to fashionable houses. But non-
nutritive as were the unsubstantials that were exploited
there in the form of cold collations, the truth is that had
he declined these invitations he would have gone hungry.
His discovery of Mrs. Hall, mother of a group of
charming girl friends in Boston, and of his old friends,
Mrs. Howe and her daughter Maude, afforded bright
spots in this otherwise cheerless period. The dinners to
which these ladies invited him were often providential
interpositions between him and starvation.
At length his wardrobe became so reduced that attend-
ance at any but the most informal entertainments became


64
[1877
RICHARD MANSFIELD
out of the question, and finally he had to give up these.
Soon he was inking the seams of his coat and wandered
about shunning friends for fear they would learn to what
a condition he was reduced.
"Often," he admitted, "I stayed in bed and slept be-
cause when I was awake I was hungry. Foot-sore I
would gaze into the windows of restaurants, bakeries,
and fruit-shops, thinking the food displayed in them the
most tempting and beautiful sight in the world. There
were times when I literally dined on sights and smells."
He did every species of dramatic and musical hack
work in drawing-rooms, in clubs, and in special perform-
ances in theatres. Sometimes he got into an obscure
provincial company, but he said that his very cleverness
was a kind of curse, since the harder he worked and the
better the audiences liked him the quicker he was dis-
charged. The established favourites of these little com-
panies always struck when a newcomer made a hit.
His humour did not forsake him, but it became some-
what cynical. The equal helplessness of success or
failure begot a kind of audacity which broke out in the
most unexpected caprices.
In one instance, when he foresaw immediate dismissal,
he executed a sweet revenge on a jealous comedian who,
with Mansfield and one other, sang a trio. As each
came forward for his verse the other two sat back on
either side of the stage, then rose, joined in the chorus,
danced a few steps, and fell back again into the chairs.
While the comedian was working hard down front Mans-
field ostentatiously took a large pin from the lapel of his
coat, with great pain bent it as every school-boy knows
how, and getting his cue suddenly to join in the chorus,
quickly put the bent pin in his own chair. At the con-

1878]
PRACTICAL JOKES
65
clusion of the dance he swung round before the chair and
assumed to sit down with violence. As he was just about
to touch the chair he reached for the pin, and the audi-
ence, which had all this time paid no attention to the
comedian, now roared with laughter.
On another occasion, in a little sketch called "A Special-
Delivery Letter," he was intrusted with the part of the
Squire who was to receive the letter-or rather, who was
to call for it and not get it because the villain had stolen it.
His only line was "I am surprised," and then he was to
go off the stage. The manager explained that they could
not pay much for one line, yet they couldn't get a super
who could look like a country gentleman. Mansfield's
pride was touched. He had to prove he was better than
a super, and took the part with the proviso that he be
allowed to work it up in his own manner, though he
warned the manager that he would not be able to give
satisfaction.
Once he got on the stage he bade fair never to leave it.
When he was assured that there was no letter he im-
provised a comic scene of anger, resentment, and bluster
which sent the audience into paroxysms of laughter. He
delivered a tirade on every one in sight. His brother,
who was a member of Parliament, would look into the
special delivery department, his wife's cousin was a peer
and the House of Lords would pass a measure abolishing
the whole post-office system! Every other sentence was
punctuated with "I am surprised!" The stage-manager
shouted to him to come off and threw himself into a sweat
threatening violence, but Mansfield finished his part as he
had written it. That night he was discharged.
But nothing else he did equalled Mansfield's recital
of his experience the night he condescended to the

66
[1878
RICHARD MANSFIELD
His
plebeian rôle of a waiter and wore an apron.
whole "business" was to draw a cork, but he took pains
to drive that cork home before coming on the stage.
When his cue came to draw the cork he tugged and tugged
in vain. His face grew scarlet and perspiration dropped
from his forehead. Then he handed the bottle to an-
other waiter who struggled with all his strength without
budging the cork. Mansfield turned a deaf ear to the
voices in the wings shouting for him to leave the stage.
He took the bottle back again and with renewed effort
finally dislodged the cork. The insignificant pop it gave
after those Titanic efforts again brought down the house.
His hit meant his dismissal as usual.
In 1878 Gilbert and Sullivan made their first great hit
with their delightful operatic satire on the British navy,
"H. M. S. Pinafore." Gilbert had for a decade been a
popular dramatist. They had been collaborating, too,
in several previous efforts, but this was their first tri-
umph. In the autumn D'Oyly Carte planned a second
and a third company to play “Pinafore" in the provinces.
Having succeeded in no other direction, Mansfield went to
his office and registered. One day, after much patience,
he was granted an interview with the mighty Gilbert.
He was asked to sing and, turning to the pianist—who
happened to be Alfred Cellier-Mansfield said, "Play
'La ci darem."
999
"You don't mean the duet from 'Don Giovanni'?"
exclaimed the astonished Cellier.
"Play, play," repeated Mansfield imperatively. He
was somewhat impatient, for instead of buying breakfast
that morning he had put a boutonnière in his lapel.
When he finished the duet, alternating his deep, full
barytone with his wonderful falsetto tones, he was given

1878]
ON TOUR IN COMIC OPERA
67
the rôle of Sir Joseph Porter, K.C.B., First Lord of the
Admiralty. It is a part requiring distinction of manner,
a good voice, perfect enunciation, and agility in dancing.
Mansfield had all of these, and his success in the part
was very considerable, although none but the second-
class towns were visited by the company of which he was
a member.
The tour included Scotland and Wales as well as Eng-
land. No town that had a hall was too small to be
visited. The musical accompaniment was played on
metallic pianos and asthmatic harmoniums. It would
appear that both were used in Darlington-as Darlington
was one of the larger towns visited this may have been the
occasion for an "enlarged orchestra"-for a local paper
said: "Mr. Horner, a gentleman well known for his
musical ability, manipulated both the piano and the
harmonium." Could the meaning have been that this
gifted operative played both at the same time? At Col-
chester "the band of the Royal Dragoons played the
overture." Then a piano accompaniment to the opera?
Anticlimax!
The only scrap-book that Mansfield ever kept covered
these years on tour in "Pinafore." Its yellowed pages
tell a story which must have warmed his heart. The
notices it contains are in no sense criticisms-mere bald,
crude reporting of the facts of the performance, but nearly
always with some honeyed word for "the irresistibly comic
interpretation of the young man, R. Mansfield, who
played Sir Joseph Porter." Pasted inside the cover is a
delicate pencil sketch of him in the character, drawn by
his friend, J. Dimsdale, "September 26, 1877," and on
the rough exterior he sketched with his own pen a merci-
less caricature of himself in the same rôle.


68
[1878
RICHARD MANSFIELD
Augustus van Biene, the actor and musician, whose
performance of "The Broken Melody" afterward in
England rivalled in length of days and popularity
"The Old Homestead" in America, was the musical
director for a time. When he heard of Mansfield's
later triumphs he exclaimed: "What dreams of suc-
cess we dreamed! What castles in the air we pro-
jected even then! Some day we would astonish the
world! And our joint salaries were just thirty-five dol-
lars a week!"
"Richard Barker was the stage manager and Mans-
field could never please him. After trying again and
again, he once cried: 'Please, Barker, do let me alone. I
shall be all right. I have acted the part.' 'Not you,'
declared Barker. 'Act? You act, man? You will
never act as long as you live!""
1
Mansfield, writing some years after ¹ for some young
people who were allured by their impressions of the actor's
life, referred to these first provincial experiences: "Have
you any idea of what a dressing-room is like? In what
places we sometimes have to dress? I have stood in
Wales in the act of making-up-the technical term for
painting your face-standing with one foot on a brick
and with the other foot on a brick, and the water running
all about me; with a little piece of cracked looking-glass
in my hand; and the stage was made out of a number of
boards laid across barrels, with the ladies dressing on one
side of the stage and the gentlemen on the other side, and
consequently the exits and the entrances had to be changed.
We had two exits, one on one side where the gentlemen
dressed, and one exit on the side where the ladies dressed,
but occasionally we forgot and once I 'exited,' if I may be
1 First Chicago address, February, 1898.

Sm Josaph Porter
J. Dinsdale
26: Sibly
RICHARD MANSFIELD AS SIR JOSEPH PORTER, K. C. B.
From a drawing by J. Dimsdale, 1879

1878]
RETURNS TO LONDON
69
permitted to use the term, on the side where the ladies
dressed, and there were shrieks which were not written
by the author of the play."
In America a comedian who could successfully carry
the leading rôle in a touring comic opera would command
and receive from one to two hundred dollars a week.
For upward of a year Mansfield's weekly salary for play-
ing Sir Joseph Porter was three pounds.
His own account of his revolt for an additional six
shillings a week in the fall of 1879 and of what followed,
written down in his own terms at the time of his telling,
lacks only the spirit and magnetism of his recital:
"The management of that company was most exacting.
For the slightest excuse, or none at all, salaries were cut,
fines were imposed, or the victim discharged with short
shrift. Before long I felt the halter draw, and, not yield-
ing promptly to unjust demands, coupled with a request
for a raise of six shillings in salary after a year's successful
service, I was promptly set adrift with scarcely a shilling
in my pocket. On the munificent salary of three pounds
a week it was impossible to lay by anything, and so I
journeyed to London with nothing in my pocket but a
little contribution which a kind woman of the company
forced on me just as I was leaving on my forlorn trip
back to the metropolis. Several years ago I found this
generous soul in destitute circumstances, over in London,
and had the inexpressible pleasure of adding a little to
her comfort.
"Reaching my poor lodgings in London, I soon fell
into desperate straits. Without money or friends, and
with no professional opening, I was soon forced to pawn
my few belongings to pay for food. I did not know
which way to turn, and was in such extremity that the

70
[1878
RICHARD MANSFIELD
most gloomy reflections overwhelmed me and I could see
no hope in life."
The recollection of the rebuffs, poverty, starvation, in-
ability to find sympathy, because possibly of the pride
which repelled it, the ill-fortune which snatched the
extended opportunity just as he was about to grasp it,
the jealousy of established favourites of the encroaching
popularity of newcomers, the hardships of provincial
travel and life in a part of the country and at a time when
the play-actor was still regarded as a kind of vagabond,
and was paid as such; the severity of the discipline he
encountered from the despots over him-all painted
pictures on his memory and fed a fire under the furnace
of his nature which tempered the steel in his composition
to inflexibility. The stern rod of discipline was held
over him every moment and often fell with unforgetable
severity. He was trained by autocrats in a school of
experience more autocratic than anything known to the
younger actors of this generation.

CHAPTER SIX
(1878-1880)
A dream and its realisation-Plays Sir Joseph again on tour-The
first performance of "The Pirates of Penzance"-Improvising
patter music-Plays John Wellington Wells in "The Sorcerer"
-The spur of discontent-Resigns-Back again in London.

WHAT befell Mansfield while in the distressed state
of mind and spirit before described cannot be better
conveyed than by resuming his own narrative last re-
ferred to:
"This was the condition of affairs when a strange hap-
pening befell me. Retiring for the night in a perfectly
hopeless frame of mind, I fell into a troubled sleep and
dreamed dreams. Finally toward morning this fantasy
came to me. I seemed in my disturbed sleep to hear a
cab drive up to the door as if in a great hurry. There was
a knock, and in my dream I opened the door and found
D'Oyly Carte's yellow-haired secretary standing outside.
He exclaimed:
"Can you pack up and catch the train in ten minutes
to rejoin the company?'
"I can,' was the dreamland reply. There seemed to
be a rushing about while I swept a few things into my bag,
then the cab door was slammed and we were off to the
station.
"This was all a dream, but here is the inexplicable
71

72
[1878
RICHARD MANSFIELD
dénouement. The dream was so vivid and startling that
I immediately awoke with a strange, uncanny sensation,
and sprang to my feet. It was six o'clock, and only bare
and gloomy surroundings met my eye. On a chair
rested my travelling bag, and through some impulse that
I could not explain at the time and cannot account for
now, I picked it up and hurriedly swept into it a few
articles that had escaped the pawn-shop. It did not take
long to complete my toilet, and then I sat down to
think.
"Presently, when I had reached the extreme point of
dejection, a cab rattled up, there was a knock, and there
stood D'Oyly Carte's secretary, just as I saw him in my
dreams. He seemed to be in a great flurry, and cried
out:
666 Can you pack up and reach the station in ten minutes
to rejoin the company?'
"I can,' said I calmly, pointing to my bag, 'for I was
expecting you.'
"The man was a little startled by this seemingly strange
remark, but bundled me into the cab without further ado,
and we hurried away to the station exactly in accord with
my dream. That was the beginning of a long engage-
ment, and, although I have known hard times since, it
was the turning point in my career.
"How do I account for the dream and its realisation?"
exclaimed Mansfield in answer to a rather incredulous
question. "I have already said that I have no theory
whatever in regard to the matter. I do not account for
it. It is enough for me to know that I dreamed certain
things which were presently realised in the exact order of
the dream. Having no superstitions, it is impossible to
philosophise over the occurrence. All I know is that

18791
AS SIR JOSEPH PORTER
73
everything happened in the exact order that I have
stated it."
One man's misfortune is another man's opportunity.
W. S. Penley-he who was to be "Charley's Aunt"
Penley-was playing Sir Joseph Porter in the first touring
company. He fell ill early in December, and it was to
take his place that Mansfield had been sent for. His
début in the more important company was made at
Bristol, December 10, 1879.
He now experienced the novelty and the delight of
playing long engagements in the larger provincial cities.
A fortnight at holiday time was spent at Torquay, and
some impression of Mansfield's successs among a better
class of artists may be gained from the Torquay Times's
review:
"The success of the piece is made by the First Lord...
and more elegantly embodied ludicrousness the stage has
never exhibited. It is impossible to imagine how an
actor could do more justice to an author's conception
than Mr. Mansfield does to this effort of Mr. Gilbert's
prolific brain. . . . We cannot but confess the success is
due, in a very eminent degree, to the faultless acting of
Mr. Mansfield as Sir Joseph Porter, K.C.B."
Two miles south of Torquay on the Devonshire coast
is the village of Paignton. This little town at the time
had a quaint bandbox, which boasted the imposing name
of The Royal Bijou Theatre. On Tuesday, December 30,
the posting boards before the Royal Bijou announced
to the world-or to such a proportion as meandered past
the theatre during the morning-that on that after-
noon, at two o'clock, would be performed an entirely
new and original opera, by Messrs. Gilbert and Sullivan,
entitled "The Pirates of Penzance, or Love and Duty."

74
[1879
RICHARD MANSFIELD
1
This was the first performance of this work on any
stage, and the last, too, for some time. It was in reality
a hurry-up copyright representation, demanded by Eng-
lish law for the protection of dramatic authors, and was
given in this obscure town purposely. The "Pirates" had
been produced in America, and this was an expedient to
prevent its being pirated in England.
The "Pinafore" company playing in Torquay drove
over for the afternoon and sang and acted the parts.
It was an amusing experience indeed. There could
scarcely have been a numerous audience; there never
is at these impromptu performances, but it included
Mrs. D'Oyly Carte, Mr. Gilbert, and not-yet-Sir Arthur
Sullivan.
Mr. Gilbert had completed the book, but Arthur Sullivan
had not yet written all the music to his own satisfaction.
The Major-General's patter song balked his most ingen-
ious effort. It was marked "to be recited" in the part
given Mansfield, but he was so amused at the ingenuity
of the rhyme and rhythm that he committed the song to
memory on the instant, and insisted on being allowed to
sing it.
"But there is no music," protested the director of the
orchestra.
"Just give me sixteenth notes in the key of G, two beats
The cast is interesting not merely as a record, but also on account of the
embryonic celebrities:
Major-General
The Pirate King
Frederick (a pirate).
Samuel pirates
James
Sergeant of Police
Mabel
Edith
Isabel
Kate
Ruth (Frederick's nurse).
Mr. Richard Mansfield.
Mr. Frederici.
Mr. Cadwallader.
Mr. Lackner
Mr. Lehay.
Mr. Billington.
Miss Petrelli.
Miss May.
Miss K. Neville.
Miss Monmouth.
Miss Fanny Harrison.

1880]
AN IMPROVISATION
75
to the measure, play soft and follow me," he replied, and
began the song:
I am the very pattern of a modern Major-General,
I have information vegetable, animal and mineral,
I know the Kings of England, I quote the fights historical,
From Marathon to Waterloo in order categorical.
I am very well acquainted, too, with matters mathe-
matical;
I understand equations both simple and quadratical;
About binominal theorems I'm teeming with a lot of news,
With many cheerful facts about the square of the hypoth-
enuse.
He chattered the words off at a furious rate, but with a
crisp, distinct enunciation that gave every syllable its
value-making the tune up as he went along. Every one
roared at the effect, and the composer was so amused
that he never attempted to write any other music for this
song.
Mansfield's effort attracted attention in London. The
World said he "scored decidedly," and "his impersonation
of the Major-General, though at present merely sketched,
displayed marked originality of conception and dramatic
talent."
From Devonshire the company went to Ireland, but
played only in Dublin and Belfast. In both cities there
were many points of intimate personal interest to Mans-
field, especially in the capital, the former home of his
grandfather and his mother. He crossed to England
again, and such was the success of himself and his asso-
ciates that almost the entire year of 1880 was spent in
Liverpool, Manchester, Birmingham, Edinburgh, and
Sunderland.
Mansfield had meantime added a new rôle and a pro-

76
[1880
RICHARD MANSFIELD
nounced success to his experience. "The Sorcerer," by
Messrs. Gilbert and Sullivan, had been presented at the
Royalty, London, in 1877, but D'Oyly Carte's trav-
elling company first played it in 1880. To Mansfield
was assigned the title rôle of John Wellington Wells, the
remarkable travelling salesman of a firm of family sor-
cerers. Love philtres are his stock in trade, and the
complications arise from his sale of them in a peaceful
village. The story was suggested first in a sort of prose
"Bab Ballad" which Mr. Gilbert wrote years before for
a Christmas number of the Graphic.
Mansfield's old scrap-book hints that he took a leaf
out of his experience in Boston, for in Wells the critics
found they had "a modern Yankee of the 'cutest de-
scription." He received most praise for his patter song,
"I am John Wellington Wells," and the dramatic de-
livery of the weird incantation scene.
During the engagement at the Theatre Royal, Edin-
burgh, late in June, he sprained his ankle while dancing,
but pluckily returned to the cast in a fortnight. This
ankle was always weak thereafter. The next time it
went back on him proved not to be an unmixed mis-
fortune, for indirectly it led him out into the white light
of his first real triumph.
"The Pirates of Penzance" had its metropolitan pre-
mier at the Opera Comique early in 1880, and captured
London. Its fame spread, and D'Oyly Carte's company
added it to their Gilbert and Sullivan repertoire in the
autumn. Mansfield resumed his original character, "the
very pattern of a modern Major-General." The smart-
ness with which he took off the mannerisms of military
swells, his irresistible linguistic fluency and affectation,
and his original manner of hesitating at the end of a line

1880]
THE NOTE OF DISSATISFACTION
77
to get a correct rhyme, were all noted by the appreciative
reviewers.
He had demonstrated his talents to his own satisfac-
tion in three markedly contrasted rôles at the head of an
important, if provincial, company. But he evidently felt
the fret of the routine. Gypsying in the northern cities
was ineffably wearying to one of his temperament. He
felt, too, the lure of London. He wrote to America: "I
am making a living, but I am not making progress."
That note of dissatisfaction never left him. It was the
whip of his ambitions. Already a career was coaxing
him. That he was making a living was not enough.
That he was doing admirably what he was doing was
not enough. The call was too strong, and shortly
after the holidays he handed in his resignation and
returned to London, determined to become a metropoli-
tan actor.
This was rather forcing the hand of Fate. That, how-
ever, seems to have been a game that he learned early,
and he played it all his life. He never waited for oppor-
tunity to hunt him up. It was his plan to create an occa-
sion and then realise on it. The boys at Derby had
already named him "Cork" Mansfield. London, how-
ever, appears not to have been waiting for him. Perhaps
he had counted on this.
The curiosity of ambitious young comedians was at
this time inevitably centred on the next product of the
fertile imagination of the authors of "The Sorcerer,"
"Pinafore," and "The Pirates." Gilbert had for thir-
teen years been producing at the rate of four plays a year.
Doubtless he wrote much also that was not acted. Here
was a pen to watch, and there had been nothing from the
miraculous nib for a twelve-month. Gossip in the clubs

78
[1881
RICHARD MANSFIELD
and in the coffee-rooms began to be busy with rumours
of an operatic satire on the reigning æsthetic fad.
Mansfield felt himself peculiarly adapted to play the
exquisite. He decided again to beard the lion in his den.
He was forth on this mission when he came face to face
with the great Gilbert in the Strand. Before Mansfield
could give greeting, Gilbert opened fire:
"Sir, they tell me you dared to change the business set
down in my book. You shall never be cast in any of my
operas again." And then he stalked majestically away,
leaving Mansfield with the wind all spilled out of his sails,
to drift as he could.
After a rudderless hour or two his friend George Gid-
dens sighted him and towed him into the cosey harbour
of the Savage Club. Under the sunny influence of his
good friends there Mansfield soon forgot the recent squall
and warmed to the spirit of the occasion. He sat down
at the piano and presently had the room fascinated with
his imitations, parodies, and instrumental absurdities.
After an hour or more of this a gentleman, who had
been sitting quietly in a corner throughout his perform-
ance, approached Mansfield and introduced himself:
"I'm Frank Fairleigh-
99
"And author of 'As in a Looking Glass,' are you not,
Captain?" interrupted Mansfield.
"Yes," resumed Captain Fairleigh, "but, what is more
to the point, I am one of the lessees of the Globe Theatre.
My partner, Mr. Henderson, has in rehearsal a new
opera comique by Offenbach. The company is com-
pleted, but I think we can make room for you. Come to
our offices to-morrow at noon."

CHAPTER SEVEN
(1881-1882)
Joins the company at the Globe-His first parts in London-News
of his mother's death-Anecdotes of Madame Rudersdorff-
Acts Brigard in "Frou-Frou "-Woolstone in "Not Registered"
-The Inn-keeper in "The Mascotte"-A call from Jordan-
Sails for America.

NEXT day Mansfield repaired to the Globe and was ad-
mitted to the company. The operetta in rehearsal was
Offenbach's "La Boulangère," the book being the work
of the equally celebrated Meilhac and Halévy. The gen-
tleman who was cast for Coquebert dropped out for some
reason, and the part was given to Mansfield for what
was practically his first appearance on the stage in Lon-
don, as the effort in St. George's Hall had terminated un-
fortunately before it had begun.
'La Boulangère" proved to be a Parisian Bakeress
who had made a fortune in John Law's Mississippi
scheme. To improve her deportment she engages as her
lackey, M. Coquebert, a gentleman in reduced circum-
stances. The fun of the lackey's part, as written, was
somewhat anæmic, and Mansfield was allowed to enlarge
his opportunity to amuse the audience. The piece was
produced April 16, 1881, and Mansfield succeeded in
making an impression. He rushed on, at one point, in
manifest distress, and improvised a scene he was sup-
79

80
[1881
RICHARD MANSFIELD
posed to have just witnessed between the soprano, the
tenor robusto, and the basso profundo of a stranded
Italian opera company. His Italian patter talk brought
down the house.
In the autumn he moved to the Royalty. Burlesque
had had for a long time been the form of entertainment
associated with this house, and the finest talent in Eng-
land had been in evidence here. The management now
changed its policy, however, and the stage of the Royalty
was for a time devoted to the light forms of comedy
drama.
The first offering was "Out of the Hunt," "a fairly
merry little play," founded on "Les Demoiselles de Mont-
fermeil" of Barrière and Bernard, and produced on the
eighth of October.¹
It met with little favour. As Monsieur Phillipe, the
proprietor of a hotel, Mansfield made an amusing sketch
of a business-like little old Frenchman.
After a few days the parts of a new play were dis-
tributed, and on November 12 the company acted for
1 The cast indicates who were Mr. Mansfield's associates at this theatre:
Jugertha Brown
Lord Waverly Battleaxe
Walton Weare.
Monsieur Phillipe
Mr. Ap-hazard
Marshley Bittern
Waiter
Chris Deverill
Sir Babbleton Deverill
Winsome Weare
Hazel Brown .
Gerty Milford.
Louise Ap-hazard
"Ma"
Josephine
Tipps
Orinthia Fitz-Ormond
Mr. G. W. Anson.
Mr. J. G. Taylor.
Mr. F. Everill.
Mr. R. Mansfield.
Mr. Lytton Grey.
Mr. E. Sothern.
Mr. C. Parry.
Mr. F. Rodney.
Mr. C. Glenny.
Miss Lydia Cowell.
Miss C. Arditi.
Miss Maud Branscombe.
Miss Edith Vancher.
Mrs. Bant.
Miss J. Gompertz.
Miss L. Comyns.
Miss Lottie Venne.
"E. Sothern" of this cast was Edward H. Sothern, and this was his first
London appearance. To be exact, he appeared first in a comedietta, "False
Colors," which opened the evening's bill.

1881]
DEATH OF HIS MOTHER
81
the first time on any stage Sydney Grundy's farcical
comedy, "Dust," from the French of "La Point de Mire,"
by Labiche and Delacour Mansfield played Herbert
Olwyn. But he did not play it long. Whatever fun
there was in the original play was dissipated in the adap-
tation, and "Dust" was retired after seven nights.
Comedy having failed, the Royalty returned to its old
love-burlesque-by degrees. "Geneviève de Brabant,"
an opera comique, was first revived, Mansfield playing the
Burgomaster, and then Henry Byron's "Pluto" was
taken off the shelf, dusted up, and presented to its old
friends on December 26. This was preceded by "The
Fisherman's Daughter," an original comedy drama in
two acts by Charles Garvice. Mansfield played Old
Sherman in the shorter piece, but did not appear in
Byron's burlesque.
Early in the new year he experienced his first great
sorrow. Returning home to his lodgings one night he
found a cable dispatch which told him that his best and
oldest friend, his confidante, his first audience, his severest
critic, the repository of his jealously given affections, the
one person in all the world who really understood the
jangling discords of his complex nature--his mother-
was dead.
The Destroyer never before or after stepped between
him and any one who was woven in the woof of his inner-
most affections. The poignancy of his suffering was
sharpened by the helplessness of distance, his isolation
from any one with whom he could relieve his overflowing
heart, and the unsparing brevity and literalness of the
message.
Letters, the preceding autumn, had told him of the fire
which had destroyed her country house at Lakeside. Noth-

82
[1882
RICHARD MANSFIELD
ing was saved. In an hour were swept away her entire
operatic wardrobe and the precious souvenirs of a remark-
able career. Fortunately, her celebrated laces-a collec-
tion based on the gifts of her friend, the Duchess Sophia
of Baden, and augmented during many years by her own
unsurpassed judgment-were on deposit in a vault in
the city. But the fire swept the other trophies of her
years of triumph-the gifts of Mendelssohn, Schumann,
Tietjens, Prince Napoleon, King William II of Holland,
Albert consort of Victoria, Emperor Ferdinand of Austria,
and many of the minor princes to whose courts she had
been welcomed.
She returned to Boston and took up her residence at the
Hotel La Grange. She wrote less and less frequently to
her son, and finally the letters stopped. Knowing her
disposition he suspected nothing. She was in truth
fatally ill, patient under terrible suffering, from which
she was relieved on February 22, 1882.
Madame Mansfield-Rudersdorff, as she called herself,
is buried in Mount Auburn Cemetery, Boston. Her
grave is marked by a large boulder half overgrown with
ivy. As long as Mansfield lived he kept a circle of scar-
let tulips in bloom about the base of the rock, and the
brown and green and scarlet made a striking harmony.
Nearby sleep Edwin Booth and Phillips Brooks, and her
own dear friend, Longfellow.
In her will Richard was made her sole heir, with the
capricious proviso that no portion of the inheritance
should pass into his hands so long as he remained un-
married.
Madame Rudersdorff's public life was crowned and
closed fittingly with her triumph as soloist of the Peace
Jubilee. She taught continually; at long intervals she

1882] ANECDOTES OF MME. RUDERSDORFF 83
sang in oratorio in Boston and, on rare occasions, as a
favour to her friends Strakosch and Mapleson, when ill-
ness embarrassed their plans, she sang her operatic rôles.
She appeared on the New York operatic stage but once.
In 1878 she was especially engaged with the Adams-
Pappenheim Company at the Academy of Music. On
September 13 she sang Ortrud, in "Lohengrin," a rôle in
which she is said to have been at the time without a peer.
As a boy Mansfield had been fascinated by the "his-
toirettes," endless as they were entertaining, which she
told with inimitable mimicry of the great personages she
had met, with graphic description of place and dress. In
later life he recalled many of them, and his mimicry could
have been no less amusing than hers. A few others of
these anecdotes, reproduced from his own narrative in
The Theatre, may not be out of place before this remark-
able woman passes finally out of this chronicle:

"I am afraid that Madame Rudersdorff was at times
more feared than beloved by her colleagues. In proof
of this a strange incident occurred on the stage of one of
the provincial towns. The opera for the evening was
'Lucretia Borgia,' with Madame Rudersdorff in the
title-rôle. It was a part in which she greatly excelled,
and in which her ability as an actress and her power as a
dramatic singer found full scope. If I remember rightly,
Signor was the conductor, and the cast included,
among others, another great prima donna of the day,
and Mr. P
Lucretia Borgia has to appear on the
scene in a towering rage. Madame Rudersdorff, as was
customary with her, worked herself up to the necessary
pitch behind the scenes, and when she flew on the stage
she was indeed terrible to behold.

84
[1882
RICHARD MANSFIELD
"So at least thought Mr. P, for in answer to
her burst of passion (which takes the form of recitative)
not a note could the thoroughly frightened tenor produce.
So lifelike was her representation that Mr. P—————, be-
lieving himself really in great peril, could remember
neither music nor words. In vain Madame Rudersdorff
repeated the last few bars of the recitative, the tenor could
neither cry out nor sing. In vain Madame Rudersdorff
and Madame
interpolated some recitative of their
own composition, and in Italian besought him to 'take
courage and go on.' In vain the orchestra repeated the
cue. Not a sound from the terror-stricken tenor. The
opera was at a standstill.
"Fortunately, the conductor (a celebrated composer,
now living) was equal to the occasion, and the orchestra
played what the tenor should have sung. After the
curtain had fallen, Signor made his way behind
the scenes: 'What on earth do you mean,' said he, 'by
making such a mess of it?' 'How the d- could I
tell,' replied the crestfallen tenor, 'that Madame Ruders-
dorff was going to be in such a towering rage?'
"Madame Rudersdorff was wont to be as good as her
word. Whilst on tour in Ireland the tenor fell ill, and
was replaced by a youthful aspirant to operatic honours
of exceedingly diminutive stature and of mean capacity,
whose birthplace was Dublin, and whose friends had
engaged the manager. But the little man could neither
sing nor act, and his conceit was, strange to say, as great
as his ignorance. Madame Rudersdorff soon lost patience
with him and determined to rid the company of this
incubus.
"The opportunity soon occurred and in Dublin. It
doesn't much signify what opera was being performed,

1882]
DISCIPLINING A TENOR
85
but Madame Rudersdorff wore a very long dress. The
unhappy tenor could in no way avoid this very long dress;
in whatever position he placed himself, somehow or other
he always found himself standing on her train. He would
no sooner disentangle himself and seize the opportunity
to strike a picturesque attitude, when lo! he beheld the
pale pink shimmer of Madame Rudersdorff's robe be-
neath his feet.
"Madame was exasperated beyond all endurance, her
finest effects were spoiled by the persistent awkwardness
of the youthful aspirant. 'If you step on my dress again,
I give you my word, I will trip you up!' The light tenor
fled in horror to another part of the stage. Again he was
compelled to approach in order to sing in a trio-a few
bars, and behold, he was firmly, but unconsciously,
planted on the dress once more. Madame Rudersdorff
seized her dress with both her hands and stepped swiftly
on one side. The youthful aspirant's legs were drawn
from under him and he measured his length on the stage.
"Only those who have played before an Irish audience
can form any idea of the effect this produced on the house.
In vain he gesticulated wildly, in vain he endeavoured to
sing, he actually attempted a protest—the result was only
shriek after shriek of laughter. It is not necessary to add
that the very light tenor never again appeared in Dublin.
"During the reign of the late and somewhat eccentric
Emperor of Austria, Madame Rudersdorff was for some
time at the court of Vienna; and if ever I had reason to
doubt the reported insanity of his majesty, it was on ac-
count of his decided partiality for the great prima donna.
Her tales of the Viennese court were many and amusing,
but I can only remember a very few likely to be of any
interest to the theatrical world.

86
[1882
RICHARD MANSFIELD
"The Esterhazy family had attached to their mansion
or palace a private theatre, in which it was the delight of
their friends and themselves to give representations of
plays then in favour before the Emperor, the Court, and
the élite of Vienna. Madame Rudersdorff was naturally
in great demand, and, besides being called upon to fill the
chief rôles, she spent no little time in instructing the
Princesses in the art of stage 'get-up.' Despite all her
exertions, however, the performances did not always run
as smoothly as might have been desired, and one in par-
ticular seems to have come to thorough grief.
"I cannot remember what particular play it was the
Esterhazys had announced, but, whatever it was, the
Emperor graced the performance with his presence, seated
in a delightfully comfortable fauteuil very near the stage;
and all the court was there in grand gala. The Emperor
having been coaxed to silence (for he was an imperial
chatterbox), the first act commenced, and everything went
well until the elder Esterhazy, stabbed to the heart, had
to fall dead on the stage, and chose to fall just beneath
the huge candelabrum. Now, most unfortunately, owing
to a draught in the upper regions, the waxlights of the
candelabrum were dripping, and one by one drops of hot
wax fell upon the upturned face of the prostrate count.
He bore it like a Spartan for some time, then he began to
wink violently (the Emperor leaning forward was eagerly
watching the situation), and at last, an extra hot drop
having stung him between the eyes, he sprang to his feet,
exclaiming: 'Der Teufel mag mir todt sein-ich aber
nicht!' (The devil may be dead here-but not I!), and
walked himself off amidst the laughter of the audience
and to the great delight of the Emperor.
"Silence, after a while, having been restored, the second

1882]
CHAMPAGNE AND THE EMPEROR
87
act commenced, but proved even more disastrous than
the first. The author had introduced a supper in the
first scene, and the Esterhazys, by no means content with
the shams which a regular stage supper affords, had pro-
vided a most gorgeous feast-real champagne, huge
pâtés de foies gras, and many other delicacies. To this the
dramatis persona sat down and proceeded to enjoy it.
Now the Emperor was particularly fond of champagne,
it amounted almost to a passion with him. He fidgeted
in his chair, he leant forward, he moved closer to the stage,
and it was very evident to all the court that the imperial
mouth watered. More champagne was brought on; his
Majesty could stand it no longer, he sprang on to the
stage, at the same time exclaiming: 'Na! wenn's Cham-
pagner giebt, da bin ich auch dabei!' (What, champagne!
Then I must join you!) It is needless to say that the
last act was not played that night.
"The eccentric Emperor's reception of poor Dreyshok
has become historical, although I think Madame Ruders-
dorff, who was an eye-witness, was the one to relate it first.
Music was very often the only means of keeping his Im-
perial Majesty quiet, and Madame Rudersdorff had com-
menced a small concert by singing 'The Last Rose of
Summer.' This so pleased the Emperor that he made her
repeat it six times, and it was only on venturing earnestly
to plead fatigue that his Majesty refrained from insisting
on a seventh performance.
"Dreyshok followed, and it being his first appearance
at court, he was naturally very anxious to please. The
weather was intensely warm, and the myriad lights of the
candelabra and the objection the Emperor entertained
for open windows, made the heat of the salons unbear-
able. Yet Dreyshok laboured bravely, and when he rose

88
[1882
RICHARD MANSFIELD
from the piano to make his bow, the perspiration was
literally streaming from his face; and to render the poor
pianist's situation still more painful, he dared not dry his
face with his pocket handkerchief before the Emperor,
for fear of offending against court etiquette. However,
it was evident that his Majesty was pleased; he advanced
smiling toward Dreyshok, and Dreyshok awaited with
bowed head the compliments which were doubtless forth-
coming. 'Lieber Herr Dreyshok,' said Ferdinand in the
broadest Austrian accent, 'I have heard Moschelles, I
have heard Thalberg-I have heard all the great players,
but I never, I never (and Dreyshok bowed very low)-I
never saw anybody perspire as you do.""
During the early months of 1882, Mansfield played in
two special matinée performances. His characters were
Ashley Merton in "Meg's Diversion" and Brigard in
"Frou-Frou." The latter play was presented at the
Globe Theatre for the purpose of introducing Miss Hilda
Hilton. Beerbohm Tree played the Baron de Cambri, and
Arthur Forrest, who later played leading rôles with Mans-
field in America for ten years, was the Henri de Sartoris.
The bill at the Royalty was changed on April 10 to
"Sindbad," the burlesque, preceded by a domestic drama,
in two acts, by Arthur Mathison, entitled "Not Regis-
tered." Mansfield appeared in the latter piece, support-
ing the rôle of Theophilus Woolstone. It was his last
work at this house. He soon afterward moved to the
Comedy Theatre, where "The Mascotte" was enjoying
a long run. An insignificant rôle was given to him, the
inn-keeper, and he was on the stage less than five minutes
in the last act. Yet he spent an hour and a half every
night making-up to play that five minutes.

1882]
OFF FOR AMERICA
89
Spring was at hand now and the season was waning.
Almost any other young actor of five and twenty years
would have felt some satisfaction with what he had ac-
complished. Not so Mansfield. He was disappointed
with himself. The struggle had been hard and he was
bitterly poor. One night, sick in body and depressed in
mind, he left the stage and threw himself upon the rickety
chair in his dank, noxious dressing-room. Too weary and
listless to even take off the shell of the character he had
been impersonating, he did not hear the door swing quietly
on its hinges or notice the figure in the doorway. But as
the sharp, hearty, familiar "Well?" broke the stillness,
the young man was on his feet in an instant and had the
warm hand of the other in his own iron grasp. It was
his good friend, Eben Jordan, and the old gentleman was
the first human being from that group of dear friends
across the water whom Mansfield had seen since his
mother died.
They supped together that night, and the story of
Mansfield's five years in England was rehearsed. The
sun was threatening St. Paul's when they separated, but
Mr. Jordan had persuaded Mansfield where his oppor-
tunity lay. The next day he resigned from the Comedy
Theatre company, and soon he was on the ocean bound
for America.

his
Photograph-
and Wintes
Book
CHAPTER EIGHT
(1882)
The New York stage as Mansfield found it-His first American
appearance-Dromez in "Les Manteaux Noirs" at the Stand-
ard-Vedder father and son in "Rip Van Winkle"-The Lord
Chancellor in "Iolanthe"-A sprained ankle causes him to re-
turn to New York-Joins the Union Square Theatre Company
-Rehearses Tirandel in "A Parisian Romance"-The rôle of
the Baron Chevrial is given to him-His premonition of the
result.
WHO can say what brave dreams were or were not in
Mansfield's heart when he decided to throw his gauge on
the American stage? There is much to support those
who contend that the early eighties furnished a period in
the American Theatre not surpassed by any other epoch
of any other stage in the world. The artists of other
countries found a welcome here, such as their own
stage did not offer the foreigner, and native talent was
questionably near its zenith.
A. M. Palmer was closing a memorable tenancy of the
Union Square Theatre with Charles R. Thorne, Jr.,
Frederick de Belleville, Owen Fawcett, Eleanor Carey,
J. H. Stoddart, John Parselle, Maud Harrison and Sara
Jewett.
Wallack's new theatre boasted John Gilbert, Rose
Coghlan, Osmond Tearle, Harry Edwards, William
90

1882]
THE CROWDED ARENA
91
Elton, Madame Ponisi, Effie Germon, Fannie Addison
Pitt, Arthur Forrest and Herbert Kelcey.
Augustin Daly's list was equally formidable, with Ada
Rehan, John Drew, Charles Leclerq, Mrs. Gilbert, Henry
Miller, Otis Skinner, James Lewis, Charles Fisher, Bijou
Heron, Digby Bell, W. J. Le Moyne, Harry M. Pitt, and
Isabelle Evesson.
Edwin Booth was at his best. Lawrence Barrett was
never in better form. Joseph Jefferson had accom-
plished, and was acting with his ripest comedy, the rôles
that were to give his name endurance. Clara Morris
enjoyed the fullest possession of her powers and popu-
larity, and Mary Anderson was her loveliest.
Bernhardt made her first appearance in New York in
1881. Tomaso Salvini, Henry Irving, and Ellen Terry
came in 1882. The great Ristori followed only two years
later. Modjeska and Janauschek had both entrenched
themselves in American positions of eminence. Mac-
ready, Forrest, and Cushman were not so remote but that
their attainments were in the personal experience of many
of the generation which was to judge the new aspirant.
It took courage and confidence of a stern mettle to enter
these lists. But Mansfield never did the easy thing, and
his belief in his own destiny was fixed, though he had as
yet done nothing by which to command others to accept
his own estimate of himself.
It cannot really be said that he preferred difficulties
but they had a subtle attraction for him. He met them
always fearlessly, firmly, struggled with them, and mas-
tered them. It was characteristic of him to scent afar the
smoke of the artistic battle waging in New York-by com-
parison with which London's theatrical atmosphere was
lethargic-and to rush into the arena.

92
[1882
RICHARD MANSFIELD
He came to believe afterward that he had made the one
mistake of his life in coming to America. Public opinion
here he believed to be provincial, and as such he believed
the other nations gauged us, in the sense that a career in
America meant nothing abroad; it gave no real position
to the artist who ventured before foreign audiences,
whereas a foreign artist who appeared in New York was
acclaimed before he spoke his first line and had the re-
sponsibility not so much of making as of breaking his
reputation. Mansfield felt that had he attained his posi-
tion in England, the conquest of America would have
been a hundredfold easier. In other words, in America
a foreign artist was assisted by his reputation at home,
whereas the judgment given an alien in Europe is hard
and fast on merits according to local standards and pre-
Icedents.
When he arrived in New York he found that his repu-
tation, such as it was, had preceded him—a drawing-room
entertainer and a provincial comic-opera comedian. Wal-
lack, Daly, and Palmer declined his services with thanks.
From theatre to theatre and from manager to manager he
went, full of self-assurance, declining to consider any
other than important parts, but his self-assurance was
lacking in conviction for men who did not want a pro-
vincial comic-opera comedian. Having exhausted the
dramatic field, he was forced by dwindling means to
forego his ambition and take what he could and not what
he would.
Among the many theatres he haunted was the Standard,
where an operatic company was organizing to play a
recent London success, and determined to be content
only with the best, he applied for the leading rôle. On
such visits he saw no reason for self-depreciation through

1882]
FIRST AMERICAN APPEARANCE
93
a false sense of modesty. He told what he believed to be
the truth about his capacity with the result, in most cases,
of a general impression of undisguised conceit.
D'Oyly Carte's interest in the company may have had
some effect here, for in this instance the door opened to
him and he was cast for Dromez, the miller, in Bucalossi's
"Les Manteaux Noirs," or "Three Black Cloaks," as it
was afterward Englished. The Standard Theatre stood
opposite Greely Square on Sixth Avenue, and was after-
ward known as the Manhattan Theatre. Entirely
unknown to the public, Mansfield here made his first
appearance on the professional stage in America, Sep-
tember 27, 1882.¹
His success that night with his audience, who, after his
first song and scene, greeted his every reappearance with
applause, was echoed in the critical chorus of the next day.
His fun was of ripe and mellow quality, though delight-
fully inconsequential and unforced. The appeal of his
performance was not the phenomenal fashion in which his
voice ranged in several registers, or his native fashion of
trailing his text through several languages, or the agility
of his toes at well nigh impossible angles, but in the fact
that he took the trouble to act Dromez as well as to make
him up and costume him. Mansfield understood an au-
dience's respect for sincerity, and he never found anything
1 The cast was as follows:
Don Luis de Rosamonte.
Don Jose.
Dromez, the miller
Nicolas
-
Manuel
Palomez
.
Don Philip of Aragon
Isabel, Queen of Castile
Clorinda .
Gomez
Lazarillo
Girola
.
W. T. Carleton.
A. Wilkinson.
R. Mansfield.
W. Gillow.
William White.
J. Furey.
J. H. Ryley.
Fanny Edwards.
Joan Rivers.
Billie Barlow.
Mina Rowley.
Mme. Selina Delaro.
94
[1882
RICHARD MANSFIELD
too difficult to do or too trifling to slight. In this instance
his performance of the old miller was as perfect as the
slender opportunities permitted. He was the success of the
opera, but it was as an actor that he made his hit.
In a night he established himself as a comedian, and he
might have played in comic opera successfully the rest of
his life had he been content.
Unfortunately, the enterprise, as a whole, had no en-
durance. Its life was forced over four weeks to enable
the company to perfect itself in a new piece. On October
28 almost the identical list of singers gave renewed energy
to the business of popularising the new Planquette oper-
etta based on Washington Irving's legend of "Rip Van
Winkle." The book of the opera was "written" by
Meilhac, "adapted" by H. B. Farnie, and "revised" by
Dion Bouccicault.
To Mansfield was given the rôle of the old Dutch inn-
keeper, Nick Vedder. But he also persuaded the manage-
ment to allow him to play Nick's son Jan in the last act.
The willingness of a leading artist to do double service
caused some amusement. Evidently this new arrival was
manifesting "eccentricities." But neither then nor later
was it his custom to take others into his confidence about
his intentions or hopes.
Invariably, before this production and again after, the
success of this fable on the stage has been the opportunity
of the actor playing Rip to appear first as a youth and
later as a grizzled old veteran. On this occasion, how-
ever, the attention of the audience was for two acts
riveted on an ingenious bit of senile characterisation by
Mansfield as old Vedder, and in the third act they were
further astonished by his reappearance as Nick's own
son, Jan, a round-faced, hearty, happy, lusty nimble-


1882]
MORE COMIC OPERA
95
heeled, dashing young Dutchman of about twenty. The
finish with which each character was played, the marked
contrast between the two, yet the trace of the old father in
the youthful son, were the values he depended upon for
his favour with his audience. And he won.
It cannot be said that he carried the piece to any suc-
cess. However happy he was in his work, it was but an
incident, though he devoted himself to it with prodigious
interest. One chronicle credited him with having written
the comedy scene in act two between Nick, Katrina, and
the Burgomaster. The Dramatic Mirror found that "the
little German volkslied, 'Gestern abend da,' introduced
and admirably sung by Mr. Mansfield, was in the sur-
rounding gloom like a ray of light in a shady place." The
management decided to retire Rip as soon as something
new could be made ready.
The choice fell on the new Gilbert and Sullivan opera
which these authors at first called "Perola." This title
was afterward changed to "Iolanthe, or the Peer and the
Peri," and in this they departed from the initial "P" for
the first time since success stamped their career of comic-
opera collaboration. They evidently had the alliterative
group-"Pinafore," "Pirates of Penzance," and "Pa-
tience"-in view when they had chosen "Perola, or the
Peer and the Peri." The superstitious may believe that
"Iolanthe" would have been more fortunate with its earl-
ier name. Other authors followed routine in naming their
plays. Tom Robertson's list is distinguished by titles of
a single short word-"Home," "School," "Caste,"
"Dreams," "Society," "Progress," "Ours," "Play";
Charles Hoyt's farces always began with the article "A"
-"A Tin Soldier," "A Hole in the Ground," "A Brass
Monkey," "A Trip to Chinatown," "A Temperance

96
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RICHARD MANSFIELD
Town," "A Texas Steer"; Augustus Thomas at one time
gave promise of naming each of his delightful plays after
one of the States of the Union.
Mansfield was under discussion for the leading comedy
rôle of the Lord Chancellor in the New York production
of "Iolanthe." He was sent instead to Philadelphia to
join the D'Oyly Carte company preparing to present the
same opera there, acting in "Rip" until he left New York
in the middle of November.
While in Philadelphia he lived at the Lafayette Hotel,
then situated on Broad Street near the corner of Chestnut,
where one evening he gave unexpected proof of his skill as
an actor off the stage as well as on. His slender means
and a desire to nurse his restless nerves as far as possible
from the noises of the street drove him into an inexpen-
sive room at the top of the house. Before the days of
fireproof buildings the danger in height played a large
part in the price of hotel rooms.
He never could sleep if he retired early, and it was two
o'clock one morning when his last pipe went gray and he
was making ready for bed. Just before putting out the
lights he rang the bell for the hall boy to bring some drink-
ing water. He made several trips to the button on the
wall, but no one answered. Bad service always an-
noyed him, and with mounting anger he drew on a
dressing gown and went to the elevator to inquire the
reason for such inefficiency. For five more minutes he
stood pressing the elevator bell-button, still no one came.
Manifestly the servants had chosen this small hour of the
morning for a lark, doubtless with cards and dice, below
in the porter's room. Thoroughly aroused, he started to
walk down to the office.
The long journey down nine flights of stairs gave him

1882]
FUN IN PHILADELPHIA
97
ample opportunity to decide on the terms of his com-
plaint. As he never cherished resentment, he was less
than half way down when his sense of fun asserted itself.
The scene he would act flashed upon him. Inevitably
there was a twinkle in his eye as he rushed down the last
steps and across to the desk, though his whole manner
was eloquent of terror, indignation, and helplessness.
"What is the matter with this house! Where are the
servants! Why are no bells answered!" he cried, burst-
ing suddenly upon the astonished clerk. "Fifteen min-
utes ago a maniac broke into my room. I was alone and
unarmed, for a small revolver with which I threatened
him [he never had a weapon in his life] was empty. Only
with the most consummate tact did I manage, without his
discovering my purpose, to creep around to the call but-
ton. There I stood with my back to the wall, my hand
behind me, pushing that button for fifteen minutes—
manœuvring for time, arguing, threatening, begging that
maniac for my life. Can you conceive of the situation,
your hope of everything hanging on idle, neglectful ser-
vants who do not come? Finally I took my life in my
hands, with a desperate ruse diverted his attention for a
second, sprang out of the door, and rushed down here!"
Mansfield's voice and manner left no emotion of the
situation unexpressed. The clerk stood petrified with
terror and apprehension. At last he found his voice and
asked in a chattering tremolo: "W-w-where is the man?"
"I don't know," replied Mansfield. "Roaming about
the house, I presume. He has frightened all the fear out
of me. Send the elevator boy. I'm going back to bed."
The night of his début as the Lord Chancellor was
almost at hand when he was obliged to abandon the rôle
to another. While rehearsing he became violently ill with

98
[1882
RICHARD MANSFIELD
acute indigestion. This distress harassed him all his life
and at times completely disorganised his nervous system,
which was in his art an invaluable asset but in his life a
treacherous enemy. When the distress became acute he
would, with the exercise of heroic will power, control his
nerves while acting, but the collapse afterward was as
complete as it was inevitable.
Even when a boy his stomach was his bête noir. So he
wrote in 1873, in an album of questions and answers which
belonged to his friend, Miss Abby Alger, daughter of the
Rev. William Alger, of Boston. The interest in these
confessions is decidedly heightened by the fact of their
having been written in his sixteenth year.
What is your favourite colour? Rouge.
What is your favourite flower? Cauliflower.
Your favourite painters? Rembrandt, Claude Lor-
raine and Turner.
Your favourite musicians? Bach (?).
Your favourite piece of sculpture? Laocoon.
Your favourite poets? Homer, Virgil, Shakespeare,
Schiller.
Your favourite poetesses? Browning.
Your favourite prose authors? Dickens and Thack-
eray.
Your favourite character in Romance? The character
in the last novel I read.
Your favourite character in History? Wallenstein.
Your favourite book to take up for an hour? "David
Copperfield” or “Pickwick Papers."
What book (not religious) would you part with last?
Horace (Odes).
What epoch would you choose to have lived in? The
eighteenth century.
Where would you like to live? On the Lac di Como.
What is your favourite amusement? Boating.

1882]
YOUTHFUL PREFERENCES
99
What traits of character do you most admire in man?
Energy and perseverance.
What traits of character do you most admire in women?
Grace, wit, and modesty.
What trait do you most detest in each? Humbug.
What is your idea of happiness? Renown and wealth.
What is your idea of misery? Lying in a swamp
amidst the mosquitoes.
What is your bête-noir? Dyspepsia.
What is your dream? (He altered this question to
"When do I dream ?" and wrote under "Dyspepsia" the
word) Ditto.
What do you most dread? A bore.
What do you believe to be your distinguishing charac-
teristics? All brass and no brass.
What is the sublimest passion of which human nature
is capable? Ambition.
What are the sweetest words in the world? Dinner!
What are the saddest? "My boy, the servants have
left us and you will be obliged to wash up the dishes,
clean your boots, cook your breakfast, make your bed and
stop at home."
"Iolanthe" was produced in Philadelphia, December
5, without Mansfield in the cast. Presently another com-
pany was organised to tour in this opera, and the D'Oyly
Carte management lent him to play the Lord Chancellor.
He was soon again in health, and appeared in this char-
acter first on Monday evening, December 18, in Balti-
more.
It is a rôle which requires remarkable agility in dancing.
The début was accomplished in a wholly gratifying
manner, and his success threatened him with a career on
tour in the lesser cities of America, a mere continuation
of the routine in England from which he had fled.
If ever a blessing came disguised as a calamity, it now

100
[1882
RICHARD MANSFIELD
befell Mansfield. On Wednesday night, on the occasion
of his third performance of the nimble Lord Chancellor,
that ankle which he had sprained two years before in
Edinburgh again betrayed him. In spite of the severity
of the sprain he finished the performance, but after the
opera he insisted on taking the midnight train for New
York. What impelled him, penniless, to resign and beset
again in the middle of a winter season the apparently
hopeless New York situation?
He may have had in mind a previous talk with A. M.
Palmer, when he applied for a place in the celebrated
Union Square Stock Company. Mr. Palmer was suavely
diplomatic and generously courteous at all times. He
had told Mansfield there was "no opening at present,"
but invited him to inquire again.
On his arrival in New York Mansfield had the cabman
put him down at the door of the Union Square Theatre.
For two hours he waited for Mr. Palmer to arrive at his
office. Finally the manager admitted him. Fearful
that a knowledge of his real condition would prevent
his engagement, Mansfield walked and stood before him
on the swollen foot in spite of the pain. When he left he
limped across the icy pavements into Union Square and
fell fainting on a park bench.
But he had not come in vain. Palmer had given him
a bit to act, the small part of Tirandel, a young swell,
excessively ennuyé, in a play then in rehearsal, "A Pa-
risian Romance," translated from the French of Octave
Feuillet, by A. R. Cazauran, attached to Mr. Palmer's
staff.
The rehearsals were easy, for Tirandel never stands
up except to sit down. The ankle mended rapidly.
Mansfield was delighted with the group of distinguished

1882]
THE SPUR OF DISCONTENT
ΙΟΙ
artists in which he found himself as a member of one of
the most celebrated companies the American theatre
boasted.
But contented he was not; he could not be. His am-
bition was always reaching out. Years afterward he said
to the writer, during a lull in a dress rehearsal: "This
responsibility and fatigue is overwhelming. See that
bright, care-free, contented young fiddler there. He only
plays a second violin, yet he is happy. I can't understand
it. If I played second fiddle I should want to play first.
Then I should want to lead. But I should next want a
bigger orchestra, and yet a bigger. One who conducts
must be able to compose, and I should want to write mag-
nificent music. If I attained success as a composer,
should not be satisfied if I were not able to take first
place."
"And then?"
I
He was silent, for he did not prefer always to admit
practical conclusions. In a moment he sighed and con-
fessed:
"Then I should not be content."
He entered with spirit into the interpretation of Tirandel,
an easy morsel for him, but he watched another rôle with
consuming avarice. In his heart he yearned to play the
Baron Chevrial, already assigned to J. H. Stoddart, one
of the most accomplished and popular artists in any New
York company.
The story of the memorable sequel is told by Mr. Stod-
dart himself in his published “Recollections of a Player":
The peculiar attributes of the part caused Mr. Palmer
some doubt, for a time, as to a correct and judicious cast
for it. Mr. Mansfield had been engaged, but as he was
comparatively untried in legitimate work, his position in

102
[1882
RICHARD MANSFIELD
the theatre was thought to be a minor one. After the
reading of the play the company were unanimous in their
opinion that "A Parisian Romance" was a one-part
piece, and that part the Baron, and all the principals had
their eye on him. After some delay and much expectancy
the rôle was given to me. I was playing a strong part in
"The Rantzaus," and my friends in the company con-
gratulated me upon the opportunity thus presented of
following it up with so powerful a successor. Miss Minnie
Conway, who was a member of the company and had
seen the play in Paris, said that she thought the Baron a
strange part to give to me. "It's a Lester Wallack kind
of part," she said.
This information rather disconcerted me, but I re-
hearsed the part for about a week, and then, being con-
vinced that it did not suit me, I went to Mr. Palmer and
told him I felt very doubtful as to whether I could do him
or myself justice in it. He would not hear of my giving
it up, saying that he knew me better than I did myself;
that I was always doubtful; but that he was willing to
take the risk. He also read a letter which he had received
from some one in Paris, giving advice regarding the pro-
duction, in which, among other things, it was said that
Baron Chevrial was the principal part, that everything
depended on him, and that "if you can get Stoddart to look
well in full dress, he is the man you must have to play it."
I left Mr. Palmer, resolved to try again, and do my
best. Mr. Mansfield was cast in the play for a small
part, and, I discovered, was watching me like a cat during
rehearsals. A lot of fashion-plates were sent to my
dressing-room, with instructions to select my costume.
As I had hitherto been, for some time, associated with
vagabonds, villains, etc., I think these fashion-plates had
a tendency to unnerve me more than anything else. So
I again went to Mr. Palmer and told him I could not
possibly play the Baron. "You must," said Mr. Palmer.
"I rather think Mr. Mansfield must have suspected some-
thing of the sort, for he has been to me asking, in the
event of your not playing it, that I give it to him. I have

1882]
A PROPHECY
103
never seen Mr. Mansfield act; he has not had much ex-
perience here, and might ruin the production."
At Mr. Palmer's earnest solicitation, I promised to try
it again. I had by this time worked myself into such a
state of nervousness that my wife interfered. "All the
theatres in the world," said she, "are not worth what you
are suffering. Go and tell Mr. Palmer you positively can-
not play the part." Fearing the outcome, I did not risk
another interview with my manager, but sought out Mr.
Cazauran, and returned the part to him, with a message
to Mr. Palmer that I positively declined to play it.
When the part of Chevrial was given to him, Mansfield
was fascinated with his opportunity, but he kept his
counsel. He applied every resource of his ability to the
composition of his performance of the decrepit old rake.
He sought specialists on the infirmities of roués, he studied
specimens in clubs, on the avenue, and in hospitals: and
in the privacy of his own room he practised make-ups for
the part every spare moment. The rehearsals themselves
were sufficiently uneventful. He gave evidence of a care-
ful, workmanlike performance, but promise of nothing
more.
While he was working out the part Mansfield scarcely
ate or slept. He had a habit of dining with a group of
young Bohemians at a table d'hôte in Sixth Avenue.
The means of none of them made regularity at these
forty-cent banquets possible, so his absence was meaning-
less. One evening, however, he dropped into his accus-
tomed chair, but tasted nothing.
"What's the matter, Mansfield?" asked one of the
others.
"To-morrow night I shall be famous," he said.
see the play."
"Come
His friends were accustomed to lofty talk from him.

104
[1882
RICHARD MANSFIELD
His prophecy was answered with a light laugh and it had
passed out of their memories as they drifted into the night.
This was one of those intuitions to which he often con-
fessed, and it told him that the years of apprenticeship
were behind him and the artist in him was on the eve of
acknowledgment.

CHAPTER NINE
(1883)
His first appearance as Chevrial-The criticism of old Maurice
Strakosch-Famous in a night-Sustenance substituted for
stimulants-On tour with the Union Square Company-Appears
in Boston for the first time as a professional artist.
A. M. PALMER'S tenancy of the Union Square Theatre
furnishes one of the bright chapters in the history of the
American theatre. It reflected in a notable degree the
sound intelligence, shrewd judgment, graceful character,
and irresistible personal charm of its director. Across
his stage passed a harmonious procession of distinguished
artists. For upward of a dozen years one successful
play followed another in a sequence that was extraor-
dinary. He rarely disappointed the high expectations
raised by his previous performances, and each time that
he opened his doors on the first night of a new work a
list of those present furnished a digest of all who were
most able, brilliant, and fashionable in the life of the
metropolis.
So on the night of January 11, 1883, the theatre was
radiant with an expectant audience-half convinced in
advance by the record of the Union Square's past, but by
the same token exacting to a merciless degree-to see
105

106
[1883
RICHARD MANSFIELD
their old friends in the first performance in America of
"A Parisian Romance." 1
Mansfield made his entrance as the Baron Chevrial
within a few moments after the rise of the curtain. It
was effected in an unconcerned silence on the part of the
audience.
There were, on the other hand, the deserved "receptions"
of old favourites by old friends, as Miss Jewett, Miss
Vernon, Miss Carey, Mr. DeBelleville, Mr. Parselle, and
Mr. Whiting came upon the scene.
When Chevrial, finding himself alone with Tirandel
and Laubanière, exposed his amusingly cynical views of
life and society, some attention was paid to a remarkable
portrait of a polished, but coarse, gay though ageing
voluptuary. The scene was short and he was soon off,
though not without a little impudent touch, in passing
the maid in the doorway, that did not slip unnoticed.
1 The cast was:
Henri de Targy
Signor Juliani.
Dr. Chesnel
The Baron Chevrial
M. Tirandel
M. Laubanière
M. Vaumartin.
M. Trevy
M. Falaise
M. Duchalet
Ambroise.
Pierre
Marcelle de Targy
Madame de Targy
•
Rosa Guerin
Baroness Chevrial
·
Mme. De Luce
Mme. De Valmery
•
Maris
Gillette No. I
•
Bertholdi.
•
Gillette No. 2
•
Lombardi
Bochsa
Adela
Mr. Frederick DeBelleville.
Mr. Joseph W. Whiting.
Mr. John Parselle.
Mr. Richard Mansfield.
Mr. Walden Ramsey.
Mr. G. S. Paxton.
Mr. Owen Fawcett.
Mr. A. Kaufman.
Mr. A. Becks.
Mr. W. Morse.
Mr. Charles Collins.
Mr. W. S. Quigley.
Miss Sarah Jewett.
Miss Ida Vernon.
Miss Maude Harrison.
Miss Eleanor Carey.
Miss Nettie Guion.
Miss Eloise Willis.
Miss Nellie Wetherill.
Miss Florence Levian.
Miss Annie Wakeman.
Miss Nellie Gordon.
Miss Flora Lee.
Miss Jennie Stuart.
Miss Estelle Clinton.

quieron
RICHARD MANSFIELD AS BARON CHEVRIAL IN "A PARISIAN
ROMANCE"
From an oil painting by Edgar Cameron
1883] DÉBUT AS THE BARON CHEVRIAL 107
The dramatic disclosures which followed brought the act
to a close with applause that augured well. Henri,
Marcelle, and Mme. De Targy were called forward en-
thusiastically.
The second act revealed the Baron's chambers. With
the exception of two minutes he was on the stage until the
curtain fell. The Baron's effort, so precisely detailed, to
reach and raise the dumb-bells, from the floor; the in-
veterate libertine's interview with shrewd Rosa the
danseuse, who took the tips he expected would impoverish
her and thus put her in his power, for the purpose of play-
ing them the other way; the biting deliberation of his
interview with his good Baroness and Henri who comes
to ruin himself to save his family's honour-all held the
audience with a new sensation. As he pushed his palsied
arms into his coat and pulled himself fairly off his feeble
feet in his effort to button it, turned up to his door hum-
ming like a preying bumble-bee, faced slowly about again,
his piercing little pink eyes darting with anticipation, and
off the trembling old lips droned the telling speech: "I
wonder how his pretty little wife will bear poverty? H'm!
We shall see"-the curtain fell to applause which was
for the newcomer alone. He had interested the audience
and was talked about between the acts.
Mr. Palmer rushed back to his dressing-room and found
him studiously adding new touches to his make-up for
the next act. "Young man," exclaimed the manager, "do
you know you're making a hit!" "That's what I'm paid
for," replied Mansfield without lowering the rabbit's-foot.
The third act was largely Marcelle's. The Baron was
on for an episodic interval, but succeeded in that he did
not destroy the impression already created.
The fourth act revealed a magnificent banquet hall with


108
[1883
RICHARD MANSFIELD
a huge table laden with crystal, silver, snowy linens,
flowers, and lights. At the top of a short stairway at the
back was a gallery and an arched window through which
one looked up the green aisle of the Champs-Elysée to the
Arc de Triomphe, dimly visible in the moonlight. The
Baron entered for one last glance over the preparations
for his petit souper for Rosa and her sisters of the ballet at
the Opéra.
The effectiveness of his entrance was helped by his
appearance behind a colonnade, and there he stood only
half revealed, swaying unsteadily while his palsied hand
adjusted his monocle to survey the scene. There was
a flutter of applause from the audience but, appre-
ciatively, it quickly hushed itself. He dragged himself
forward. The cosmetic could not hide the growing pallour
of the parchment drawn over the old reprobate's skull.
He crept around the table and, with a marvellous piece
of "business," by which he held his wobbly legs while he
slowly swung a chair under him, collapsed. The picture
was terrible but fascinating. People who would could
not turn their heads. His valet was quick with water and
held the glass in place on the salver while he directed it
to the groping arm. The crystal clinked on Chevrial's
teeth as he sucked the water.
Presently he found his legs again and tottered up to the
staircase. The picture of the black, shrivelled little man
dragging his lifeless legs up to the gallery step by step was
never forgotten by any one who saw it. At the top he
turned and said in thrillingly ominous tones: "I do not
wish to be disturbed in the morning. I shall need a long
sleep"; and dragged himself out of sight. He had been
on the stage five minutes and had said scarcely fifty words,
The picture and the effect were unmistakable. The

1883]
CHEVRIAL'S TOASTS
109
audience capitulated. There was a roar of applause
which lasted several minutes.
The whispered discussion of this scene was such that
scarcely any attention was paid to the stage until the
Baron returned. Almost immediately afterward the
ballet girls pirouetted into the hall in a flutter of gauze,
and the places at the table were filled. No one listened
to the lines, all eyes in the house were focussed on the
withered, shrunken, flaccid little old Baron who sat at
Rosa's right, ignored by every one about him as they
gorged on his food and drank his wines.
Soon he drew himself up on his feet and raising his glass
said, "Here's to the god from whom our pleasures come.
Here's to Plutus and a million!"
The gay throng about the table echoed the toast: "To
Plutus and a million!" and Chevrial continued:
"While I am up I will give a second toast. Here's to
Rosa! The most splendid incarnation that I know!"
Placing the glass to her lips for a first sip the lecherous
old pagan's own lips sought the spot, sipped, and he sank
back into his chair.
What else went on till he rose again no one knew or
minded. No eye in the house could wander from the
haggard, evil, smiling, but sinister old face. Presently he
was up once more and, with his raised goblet brimming
with champagne, he offered a third toast:
"Here's to material Nature, the prolific mother of all
we know, see, or hear. Here's to the matter that sparkles
in our glasses, and runs through our veins as a river of
youth; here's to the matter that our eyes caress as they
dwell on the bloom of those young cheeks. Here's to the
matter that here's to-here's the matter-the matter
that-here's-

وو

IIO
[1883
RICHARD MANSFIELD
The attack had seized him. Terrible and unforgetable
was the picture of the dissolution. The lips twitched,
the eyes rolled white, the raised hand trembled, the wine
sputtered like the broken syllables which the shattered
memory would not send and the swollen tongue suddenly
could not utter. For one moment of writhing agony he
held the trembling glass aloft, then his arm dropped with
a swiftness that shattered the crystal. Instinctively he
groped up to the stairs for air and light. He reeled as if
every step would be his last. Rosa helped him up to the
window, but recoiled from him with a shriek. Again his
hand flew up,
but there was neither glass, wine, nor words.
He rolled helplessly and fell to the floor, dead. The cur-
tain fell.
It was probably the most realistically detailed figure of
refined moral and physical depravity, searched to its in-
evitable end, the stage had ever seen. For a moment
after the curtain fell there was a hush of awe and surprise.
Then the audience found itself and called Mansfield to
the footlights a dozen times. But neither then nor there-
after would he appear until he had removed the wig and
make-up of the dead Baron. There was no occasion to
change his clothes; he wore the conventional evening suit.
The effect of shrivelled undersizedness was purely a
muscular effect of the actor. The contrast between the
figure that fell at the head of the stairs and the athletic
young gentleman who acknowledged the applause was no
anticlimax.
Mansfield had come into his own. The superb art of his
performance had dwarfed all about it; the play was
killed, but he was from that moment a figure to be reck-
oned with in the history of the theatre.
Next day the papers acclaimed him, but with the studied

RICHARD MANSFIELD AS BARON CHEVRIAL IN "A PARISIAN
ROMANCE"
1883]
STRAKOSCH'S APPRECIATION
III
conservatism which can scarce believe what it has seen;
with the understanding which is not sure of itself, and
hence fears to betray itself.
In the audience, however, was old Maurice Strakosch,
who knew the artists of both hemispheres. He fairly ran
across to Irving Place and up to a house full of musical
celebrities, several pupils and friends of Madame Ruders-
dorff, Bohemians who dared offer welcome to a midnight
caller. Emma Thursby was among them, and she tells
how the great man, crimson with enthusiasm, trembled
with his agitation as he called every one about him to give
his criticism of the event in the broad, sweeping, affection-
ate terms of one who knew whereof he spoke and really
knew that he knew:
"I have to-night witnessed a wonderful event. I have
been to see 'A Parisian Romance.' The actor who played
the Baron Chevrial was unknown till to-night. To-
morrow he will be famous. My friends, it is the birth of a
great career, the coming of a great artist! A GREAT
artist! And do you know who he is? He is Richie, our
Richie, Richie Mansfield!"
Next morning Mansfield woke up to find himself indeed
famous. Famous in his twenty-sixth year! Yet David
Garrick, as "a young gentleman who never before ap-
peared on any stage," electrified London, in "King Rich-
ard III," in his twenty-fifth year. Edwin Booth in his
twenty-fifth year made his first metropolitan triumph as
Hamlet. Henry Irving was somewhat older, in his
thirtieth year, when he made his first emphatic individual
success as Mathias in "The Bells." In other instances,
genius in great actors usually manifested itself later. On
the contrary, it is generally in evidence much earlier in
women.


112
[1883
RICHARD MANSFIELD
Mansfield soon suffered the bruises of the first step in
his long climb to greatness. His triumph was very sweet,
its obligations were exacting. A hearty recognition of his
powers at this time would undoubtedly have had a lasting
influence on his temperament and on his attitude toward
the world. Those who came in contact with him, how-
ever, were impatient, unyielding as he was unyielding,
and his progress was embittered by the envy of those whose
path lay parallel with his. His case was in some way anal-
ogous with that of Mozart, whose father wrote of his boy's
beginning: "Thus indeed have people to scuffle their way
through. If a man has no talent, his condition is unfortu-
nate enough; if he has talent, he is persecuted by envy,
and that in proportion to his skill.”
From a story related by an eyewitness of the incident,
it is quite evident that Mansfield was from his earliest
years on the stage as hypnotically transfused with the
character he was acting as he certainly was later. He
spent a couple of hours each evening "getting into his
character," just as he related that his mother worked her-
self into a terrible rage behind the scene before making
her appearance as Lucrezia Borgia, and he did not drop it
until he left it with its trappings in his dressing-room.
As the story goes, one evening during the first months
of Baron Chevrial at the Union Square Theatre, after the
death scene, some players broke the spell he had created,
and in which he still dwelt, by a coarse joke and a care-
less laugh. He turned on them instantly and they received
the sharp edge of his resentment. But he delivered the
rebuke wholly in the polished, cynical, staccato manner of
the Baron. It was Chevrial's censure, not Mansfield's,
He did not for an instant come out of the character.
When he began to play Chevrial he nursed the impres-

1883]
SUSTENANCE VS. STIMULANTS
113
sion that he was not equal to the vital energy of the per-
formance without stimulants. One night a friend, who
happened to be a doctor, saw him sip the pint of cham-
pagne, which was the allowance he felt the work de-
manded, and pointed out that he was making a false start,
for soon a pint would be impotent and his system would
demand a quart; champagne would soon be too weak,
so would whiskey, then brandy, and the way led straight
to drugs. Mansfield recognised his friend's logic, and
after that night determined not to touch stimulants from
the time he rose in the morning until he reached home
after the performance, when he allowed himself Irish or
Scotch, with soda, during a friendly hour of relaxation.
Sustenance was a different matter. During a long tax-
ing performance he often took a dish of broth, a sand-
wich of minced beef, or some such simple food.
"A Parisian Romance" was carried by Mansfield's
acting through to the termination of the season at the
Union Square Theatre on April 7. It was customary for
Mr. Palmer to take his company on tour, and the engage-
ments played that spring included a week in Newark; a
week at the Cosmopolitan Theatre, then at Broadway
and 41st Street, New York City; a week at Haverley's
Theatre, Brooklyn; a week in Philadelphia; and three
weeks at the Park Theatre, Boston.
The first week in Boston was devoted to an earlier play
of the Union Square Company, "The Rantzaus,” in which
Mr. Stoddart had achieved success. The public, how-
ever, would buy tickets for nothing but "A Parisian
Romance," and Mansfield, on May 14, made his first
professional appearance in Boston on the identical stage
where he had first acted Beau Farintosh in "School"
eight years before. It was a proud return for him. His


114
[1883
RICHARD MANSFIELD
performance of Chevrial made him the hero of the season
and after it was seen no other play was given.
His old friends gave him a welcome that he never forgot.
He could have devoted every wakeful moment to enter-
tainments in his honour but, even so early in his public
life, he insisted on denying himself diversion at the ex-
pense of the strength he felt he owed his art and his
public. With one other, a friend of them both, his first
visit when he reached Boston was to Mount Auburn to
the grave of his mother, a filial pilgrimage he repeated
afterward whenever he visited that city. When he could
tear himself away from other engagements he hunted up
the old haunts-the Studio Building, Mrs. Rand's, the
quarters of the short-lived Buskins, and the Boyleston
Apartments, which was the scene of the nearest approach
to home he was able to remember.
The season closed May 26, and he sailed at once for his
summer vacation in England, under contract with Mr.
Palmer to return in the autumn and continue with the
Union Square Company.

CHAPTER TEN
(1883-1885)
With the Union Square Company in San Francisco and on tour
Eastward-Rifflardini in "French Flats"-Purchases the rights to
"A Parisian Romance"-Begins his first starring tour-Strug-
gles and disaster-Joins the company at the Madison Square
Theatre and acts Von Dornfeld in "Alpine Roses"-In "La
Vie Parisienne" at the Bijou-To England and back-Baron
de Marsac in "Victor Durand" at Wallack's-Nasoni in "Gas-
parone" at the Standard-Summer in London-Experiments-
Returns to America and creates Kraft in "In Spite of All."
THE fall of 1883 disclosed Mansfield on the threshold
of the struggle upward which covered the next fifteen
years, and whose issue was a place near, though not yet
on, the heights. The figure disclosed along the way is
one of assurance, force, and courage, though for the
greater part of the climb he drags a mill-stone of debt.
There are bold, successful rushes. There are, too, many
reverses from which he does not fail to stagger again to
his feet and push along with new valour.
The autumn tour of the Union Square Company be-
gan in San Francisco, at the California Theatre, August
13. The first week was given to "The Banker's Daugh-
ter"; the second, to "The Rantzaus"; the third, to
"Daniel Rochat" and "The Lights o' London." "A
Parisian Romance" was not acted until the fifth week.

115

116
[1883
RICHARD MANSFIELD
Mansfield did not accompany the other players across
the continent. He arrived from England early in August
and remained in the East for several weeks.
With him he brought an Englishman, Philip Beck, who
was engaged as his business manager. "What," ex-
claimed one paragrapher, "does a stock actor with one
hit to his credit want with a manager ?" And this sneer
found a general echo.
It was characteristic of him to do things that others did
not understand and not to offer any explanation. Seem-
ingly born to the purple, he had starved elegantly a few
years before in London, and it was like him to invest his
first dividends in his self-confidence and a retinue-
though it was a retinue of only one.
His fellow-players could not understand this "eccen-
tricity," and "young Mansfield's manager" became a
joke. The glib whiffets of the press began that petty
persecution which never ended till he laid down to his
last rest. But he made no confidants in the face of
raillery, and "what need a stock actor with one hit had for
a business manager" was learned soon in the orderly
course of his own devices.
Mr. Palmer, the previous spring, had sold out all his
interest in the Union Square, including the plays, to
Sheridan Shook. Mansfield had his eye on "A Parisian
Romance" for himself, to be the corner-stone of the career
of which he was dreaming.
He joined the Union Square Company in San Fran-
cisco late in August, and he made his first appearance
there, September 10, as the Baron Chevrial. During the
latter half of the following and final week, "French
Flats" was put up for the four final performances. This
farce had been acted in New York several years before,

1883]
HIS FIRST STARRING TOUR
117
but it was not until this occasion that Mansfield acted in
it for the first time.
He quite walked away with the honours as Rifflardini,
a French tenor, who is beset with the fear that his precious
voice is going, and on every and all occasions bursts into
trials of his high notes. The piece itself was a trifle, and
Mansfield never considered Rifflardini as more than an
amusing bit of fooling.
On the way East he played at the Tabor Opera House,
Denver; the Olympic Theatre, St. Louis; Haverley's
Theatre, Chicago; the Arch Street Theatre, Philadelphia;
and the Park Theatre, Brooklyn. His appearance in
Denver, St. Louis, and Chicago was his first in these
cities. The entire Union Square repertoire was acted at
first, but the interest in Mansfield's Baron Chevrial
gradually brought "A Parisian Romance" forward as an
almost exclusive feature.
Offers now began to search him. The Directory of
the Madison Square was especially forward. Mansfield,
however, knew why he had engaged his own manager,
and made no alliance. In November he resigned from
the Union Square Company, with whom he appeared the
last time while they were in Brooklyn. They came di-
rectly across the river to their home theatre and produced
"Storm Beaten." He purchased the rights to "A Parisian
Romance," and announced a starring tour!
"All brass and no brass," as he had written in Miss
Alger's album, was his capital. A company was assem-
bled and a creditable group of players it was, with
Leonard Outram as Henri de Targy, May Brokyn as
Marcelle, Mrs. Charles Watson as the Baroness Chevrial,
Mrs. Sol Smith as Madame de Targy, and Isabel Evesson
as Rosa Guerin and he made his first appearance as a


118
[1884
RICHARD MANSFIELD
star at the Park Theatre, Newark, where he acted Decem-
ber 6, 7, and 8. The week following he made his stellar
début in New York City, at the Third Avenue Theatre,
then under the management of McKee Rankin.
Next he went to Montreal for a week at the Academy
of Music-the only house in which he acted thereafter in
that city—to Leland's Opera House, Albany, for a cheer-
less Christmas, across the State to Buffalo, and to Louis-
ville for a week beginning December 31, 1883. Business
was wretched. The savings from his recent salary were
exhausted before the opening of the tour, and from his
meagre share of the heart-breaking receipts there was
scarcely enough to pay the company. For himself he
took only enough for lodging in the most ordinary hotels.
The "jumps were made on the trunks"-a well-known
device in the old days of easy railroading before the Inter-
State Commerce Commission, when the railroad agent
would advance tickets to the next city on an order against
the company's to-be-hoped-for advance sale there, and took
the checks for their trunks and other baggage as a pledge.
As the stay in Louisville dragged its weary length along,
Friday gave no promise of more money on the week than
enough to pay hotel bills and half salaries. Advertising,
posting, and paper, and transfer accounts were all rolling
up on successfully manipulated credit. Beyond this
loomed the expenses of transportation to St. Louis. That
night the house was poor enough, though rather better
than before, and Mansfield in his gratitude planned a
surprise for his audience. The enthusiasm of those
present was very great all through the evening, but es-
pecially after the fourth act, when there were endless calls
and cries for a speech. His stage manager was sent
before the curtain to say that if they would remain after
1884]
HIS COMPANY DISBANDS
119
the next act, Mr. Mansfield would be glad to make his
acknowledgment of their compliment. When the last
curtain fell on "The Romance," ready hands were found
to roll a piano down to the footlights. Mansfield re-
appeared and said he would try to entertain them for a
few minutes with an improvisation, which they might call
"Our Concert Party." No one left. The musicians
remained in their places, the actors and the stage-hands
crowded the wings. His songs and anecdotes, imitations,
and musical whimsicalities kept the audience in a roar,
and they recalled him for more and more and more, until
a pianissimo passage was interrupted with the strokes of
twelve o'clock from a neighbouring clock tower.
Next morning the impromptu became the talk of the
town, and both Saturday audiences demanded the extra
measure, to which he good-naturedly acceded. The at-
tendance was somewhat larger than earlier, and with
these small additional receipts and by other means, he
was able to continue his tour, and reached St. Louis,
where he played at the People's Theatre. The following
Sunday he managed to raise money enough to make the
journey to Cincinnati, but he was unknown in that city and
the theatre remained empty all week. The struggle was
hopeless, and his first starring tour collapsed on Saturday
night.
Out of his own pocket he emptied his last dollar, and at
least had the satisfaction of buying tickets back to New
York for every member of his company. He waved them
off cheerily and stayed behind, without a penny, to shift
as best he could. While in Cincinnati he and his valet
lived at the Hotel Emery.
Smothering his pride, he confessed his dilemma to
Walter H. Maxwell, the cashier of the hotel, and asked



120
[1884
RICHARD MANSFIELD
the loan of one hundred dollars. He did not ask in vain
nor did he fail punctually on his arrival in New York to
remit the sum of the loan. They never again met, but ten
years later Mr. Maxwell ventured to recall this incident
in asking for seats, which he received with this note which
indicated the red blood in Mansfield's veins:
I do remember you, and I remember you with great
gratitude-you assisted me in the hour of need. I hope
I shall never forget your kindness. You are aware that
you may command my services at all times.
Very sincerely yours,
RICHARD MANSFIELD.
If I can be of more material service please let me know.
During the season of Mansfield's first disastrous inde-
pendent effort Henry Irving made his first tour of America
in a shower of gold.
1
When he reached New York Mansfield found an open-
ing awaiting him at the Madison Square Theatre, and on
Thursday evening, January 31, 1884, he appeared with the
stock company there in " Alpine Roses," a drama by Hjal-
mar Boyesen, based in part on several of his short stories.
The Evening Post of the following day contains an in-
forming account of Mansfield's relation to the enterprise:
"The Count von Dornfeld, who is constantly upon the
stage, has the slightest possible dramatic significance
1 The cast was not uninteresting:
Ilka.
Irma
Uberta
Hansel
Count Gerhard von Dornfeld
Countess von Dornfeld
Herr von Steinegg
Julius Hahn
Wimple
Rondel
•
Miss Georgia Cayvan.
Miss Marie Burroughs.
Mrs. Thomas Whiffen.
Mr. George Clarke.
Mr. Richard Mansfield.
Mme. Liska von Stamwitz.
Mr. Thomas Whiffen.
Mr. W. J. LeMoyne.
Mr. W. H. Pope.
Mr. Harry Hogan.

1884]
.
ANOTHER BARON
121
characters which are not sympathetic in them-
selves cannot excite sympathy, no matter how cleverly
they are drawn. . . . Mr. Richard Mansfield, to whom
was assigned the thankless part of the Count, sacrificed
himself to the exigencies of probability. He played the
character as written: a colourless lounger with nothing to
recommend him but courage and honourable instincts.
He is not likely to get much credit for the performance,
but his work was highly finished and artistic throughout.
His reading of Irma's pledge was especially clever. Mr.
Mansfield's conceit is always too obvious, but he is a
very bright young actor and will have a career when he has
learned to put a less extravagant estimate upon himself."
He remained with the company for upward of fifty
performances. He withdrew to come into Broadway to
the Bijou Theatre management, to which he was loaned
by the Madison Square Directory, and soon after his
retirement "Alpine Roses" ceased to bloom. The pro-
ject at the Bijou was a production of "La Vie Parisienne"
-one of Offenbach's lightest works, with an English
libretto by H. B. Farnie-which was accomplished on
Tuesday evening, March 18.¹

1 The principals in the cast were:
The Baron von Wiener Schnitzel
(By kind permission of the manage-
ment of the Madison Square Theatre.)
Joe Turrididdle
Delancey Splinderbarre
Lord Silverspoons
Snip.
Toby
Tanon Bisch
Flounce
Gabrielle.
Trixie
Christine von Schnitzel
Lady Katherine Wyverne
Mr. Richard Mansfield.
Mr. Jacques Kruger.
Mr. Nick Long.
Mr. Charles W. Dugan.
Mr. Samuel Reed.
Mr. George Schiller.
Mr. Alen M. Bell.
Miss Marie Bockel.
Miss Fannie Rice.
Miss Blanche Stone.
Miss Kate Davis.
Miss Alice Vincent.
Among those who had small parts were Henry Rolland, Arthur MacDonald,
Percy Sage (as Baby Green), Joseph Silver and Laura Burt. Gustave Kerker
directed the orchestra.

122
[1885
RICHARD MANSFIELD
The advertisements read rather quaintly to-day with
their boasts about the "unprecedented gas effects." Elec-
tric light was not used on the stage until several years
later.
Mansfield was the redeeming feature of a very sad
occasion. It was said that "whenever he came on the
stage a smile of relief appeared on every face." One
song, which he sang in English, French, German, and
Spanish tickled the people mightily, but on the whole
this Baron was one of whose acquaintance he was never
heard to boast.
On his return to New York he had taken chambers in
West Twenty-ninth Street, which his taste made notably
elegant. His midnight suppers soon began to be talked
about, for he was developing into an incomparable host,
as will appear later.
In May, 1884, he slipped away on the steamer Samaria
to England, and was lost to sight for upward of six months.
If he was negotiating a London engagement, it was evi-
dent that nothing agreeable presented itself, for he re-
turned to New York just before Christmas, and was
immediately announced at Wallack's Theatre.
The Wallack Company had produced Henry Guy
Carleton's "Victor Durand," a contemporary play of
French life, on December 18, 1884, with Lewis Morrison
as the Baron de Mersac, a polished French villain who
furnished the unsympathetic interest. On January 15,
1885, Mansfield succeeded Morrison as the Baron-he
seemed destined to play Barons as fast as the playwrights
could provide them; and he gave this specious villain an
air of refinement and a tone of plausibility which heightened
the effect of the play.
Foreseeing the early retirement of "Victor Durand,"

RICHARD MANSFIELD IN 1884
From a photograph taken in Boston
Mot!
1885]
AN OBSCURE LONDON INTERVAL 123
which, on February 16, succumbed to the inattention of
the public, Mansfield accepted another comic-opera en-
gagement, and moved up Broadway a few blocks to the
scene of his American début, the Standard Theatre.
Here, on February 21, he appeared for the first time with
the Duff Opera Company, singing the leading comedy
part in Millocker's comic opera, "Gasparone."
1
The critics commended him as "an exceedingly fertile
and graceful comedian, who lifts the Podesta far above
the other characters of the play," though "in fairness it
deserves not to be so"; his by-play was "extremely
subtle," and "he led the minuet with a delicious grace."
"Gasperone" lasted until April 4, and Mansfield was
cast for Sir Joseph Porter in "H. M. S. Pinafore," which
followed, but there was a disagreement, he resigned and
returned to England. It was an unprofitable winter in
every respect. There had been less than four months of
employment, and surely neither De Mersac or the Podesta
added anything to his artistic stature.
He naturally snapped at the first opportunity offered
in London. There was in preparation at Drury Lane a
drama by Elliott Galer, entitled "A True Story Told in
Two Cities," and he was cast for Lord Cholmondelay, but
it came to nothing. Mansfield next joined a cast which
was to present "Gringoire" at the Prince's Theatre, and
did there act Louis XI, to the Gringoire of Norman

It was produced with this cast:
Nasoni, Podesta of Syracuse
Sindulfo
Count Erminio
Luigi
Benozzo, innkeeper
Messaccio, smuggler
Carlotta
Lora
Zenobia
•
Marietta.
.
.
Richard Mansfield.
W. H. Fitzgerald.
Harry S. Hilliard.
John E. Nash.
Alfred Klein.
Charles Stanley.
Emma Seebold.
Mae St. John.
Hattie Nefflin.
Alice Vincent.

124
[1885
RICHARD MANSFIELD
Forbes and the Louise of Dorothy Dene, at a special
matinée June 22. Personal friends of the participants
were the only ones present, and a masterly embodiment
of the senile old French tyrant was projected without
attention or record.
Discouraged, and again on the verge of starvation, he
returned to America in August, and was engaged to sup-
port Minnie Maddern (afterward Mrs. Fiske) at the
Lyceum Theatre. The new play was "In Spite of All,"
of which the genesis is not without interest. A decade
earlier there had been a play called "Agnes," in which
Agnes Ethel made a wondrous fine effect. In some way
the story of this American success fell into the hands of
Victorien Sardou, who wrote his "Andrea" from it-
perhaps in the same way as it was later claimed that he
wrote "La Tosca" from Maurice Barrymore's "Nad-
jesda." Sardou's "Andrea" was Englished later and
became Charles Reade's "Jealousy." This fell under
the hand of Steele Mackaye, who waved his magic pen
and it was altered into "In Spite of All."
This play was presented first at the Lyceum Theatre
(the old Lyceum on Fourth Avenue, sometimes called
"The Snuggery") on September 15, 1885.¹
It is said that Herr Kraft was written in for Mansfield.
He provided an amusing and at times deeply touching
characterisation of the impresario, which assisted materi-
ally in the pleasant success of Miss Maddern and the play.
In a letter (September 23) to a friend he wrote: "I am
1 The cast was:
Alice Claudenning
Stella
Carol Claudenning
Mr. Hartman .
Jack Knickerbocker
Herr Antonius Kraft
.
Miss Minnie Maddern.
Mme. Selina Delaro.
Mr. Eben Plympton.
Mr. John A. Lane.
Mr. Joseph Frankau.
Mr. Richard Mansfield.

1885]
A HOPEFUL OUTLOOK
125
getting such splendid notices all around. I do believe
the dark clouds have disappeared for a time at least.
And the play is quite a success. Mackaye says the next
play is to be written for me at the Lyceum-he is at work
on the scenario."
But this plan came to naught. Mansfield accompanied
Miss Maddern on tour, and very soon John Stetson, the
rough-and-ready Boston manager, was tempting him, and
he resigned just before Christmas and went to Boston.


CHAPTER ELEVEN
(1886-1887)
The stellar temperament-Sings Ko-Ko in Boston-Originality-
Creates Prince Karl at the Boston Museum-Acts Prince Karl
in New York-A summer run-Beatrice Cameron joins his
company-"I Love the Woods"-Touring in "Prince Karl"-
Diffident about thanks.
MANSFIELD was born to "star." This manifested it-
self in every aspect of his life. At the head of things he
had complete command of the situation and of himself.
Anywhere else he went to pieces, his strong personality
shattered proportions, and order was not restored until
he eliminated himself or took the lead. His personality
demanded complete self-assertion. He could not put
himself in conformity to extraneous conditions. But he
had a genius for putting environing persons and things
in harmony with himself. As a lad at school he could
lead the boys in studies or in a race, but he was not suc-
cessful in taking his place in a team. At the head of his
own table he was a miracle of hospitality, cordiality, and
deference, and spared no personal exertion to charm his
guests. But he was never a guest except at great personal
sacrifice to his preference and composure.
He lamented this, and often wished he had more of the
faculty of social blend. He once exclaimed to a friend:
"Come, let's have some fun. Others have fun, why can't
126
1886]
INDIVIDUALISM
127
we?" Extreme sensitiveness had much to do with this, and
in his later years his great fame gave him a painful aver-
sion to the attention which his appearance in public places
attracted. His inability to understand the second violin-
ist whose ambitions stopped short of a position at the
head of all composers was but an expression of a will
which fretted under any leash. He could not serve.
This made as well as dominated his career. In the early
days of "finding himself" in Boston his inconstancy was
due to lack of command of his resources. In the days of
struggling for bread and for position on the stage he lived
in an agony of unrest as a supporting player compelled
to interpret the point of view of another stage manager.
With the best intention, he gave a performance which
was unrepresentative of him because it was not complete
self-expression.
So even when his salary in these first years on the
American stage was large and occupation might have been
continuous, his unrest tossed him from company to com-
pany, from drama to opera, and back again, apparently
compassless. He designed to be an actor, never a singing
comedian, yet when he left "In Spite of All," it was to
revert again to comic opera. The work, experience, or
association was not what he wanted. It was the money
to enable him to liberate himself on to the plane to which
he firmly believed his destiny drew him. His head was
full of plans of a large nature, but his pocket jingled only
small change.
The winter of 1885-1886 saw a vogue for Gilbert and
Sullivan's "The Mikado" in America which had scarcely
been duplicated since the years of the first Dickens's
dramatisations, when three different companies in New
York played "David Copperfield" the same night.


128
[1886
RICHARD MANSFIELD
In Boston an old church in Hollis Street, an obscure
little alley-way running a distance of scarcely more than
a hundred yards, was converted into a theatre bearing
the street's name, and was opened early in November
with John Stetson's company in "The Mikado." 1
John Howson had not made a success of the leading
rôle, and the shrewd Stetson saw by the declining receipts
that his valuable property would be ruined if something
were not done to revive interest. He demanded new life
of Howson, but the comedian protested that he played
Ko-Ko as he had learned the part in London under Gil-
bert's tuition, and declined to change the "business" of
his performance in any respect. There were high words
and a resignation. F. A. Leon, the understudy, played
while Stetson hunted a new Ko-Ko. He wired Mans-
field, who was at the time playing with Minnie Maddern
in Liberty Hall, Pittsburg, and baited his telegram with a
large salary. Mansfield came within ten days.
His grasp of the situation was eminently characteristic.
He had never seen Howson, but inquiry discovered that
he had been loud, pompous, and boisterous. Mansfield's
friends all came in fear and trembling the night of his
first appearance as Ko-Ko. There was, of course, the
Mansfield surprise. The opera had been running for
months, and every line and every entrance and exit were
familiar to the public. The deepest anxiety seized his
friends when the cue came for Ko-Ko's entrance. In-
1 The cast was in part:
The Mikado
Nanki Poo
Ko-Ko
Pooh-Bah
Yum Yum
Pitti Sing
Katisha.
Mr. Arthur Wilkinson.
Mr. S. Cadwallader.
Mr. John Howson.
Mr. Brocolini.
Miss Laura Clement.
Miss Hattie Delaro.
Miss Rosa Cooke.

1886]
SINGS KO-KO
129
stead of the blustering, romping, pompous Jap the public
were accustomed to, they saw Mansfield tiptoe quietly
but with an unmistakable authority to the footlights,
throw up his head, open his mouth very wide and whisper
the lay of the Lord High Executioner who was "Taken
from the County Jail," in a wee, light voice quite pianis-
simo. But his tones were charming, his diction perfect,
his business original, and the whole effect so irresistibly
comic that he was a success on the instant. Had his pre-
decessor been a quiet man, Mansfield would undoubtedly
have made his Ko-Ko pompous and fortissimo, and none
the less successful.
Mansfield joined "The Mikado" on the seventy-sixth
night of its run and he carried it to its one hundredth and
sixty-first representation, sustaining the interest against
numerous rival Mikado companies in the city and in the
suburban towns.
Archibald Clavering Gunter had at this time given no
indication of the success he was later to make with "Mr.
Barnes of New York" and "Mr. Potter of Texas." He
came to Boston in January to introduce himself to Mans-
field, who was living at the Parker House, and to read
him the manuscript of a new play he had written. The
character with which he hoped to interest Mansfield was
that of a German Prince who acted as courier to a party
of Americans in Europe and fell in love with one of them.
The piece as Gunter had written it was a melodrama, but
Mansfield saw possibilities in it for a farce, and the author
remained with him and worked over his suggestions.
From the first Ko-Ko was galling to Mansfield. His
own success and the renewed life he had brought the
run at the Hollis Street Theatre failed to recompense him
for acting the clown. He was eager to do Mr. Gunter's



130
[1886
RICHARD MANSFIELD
comedy, and finally decided to resign from "The Mikado."
Stetson saw disaster ahead if he lost Mansfield. As he
owned the Globe, he offered Mansfield this theatre in
which to produce the new comedy if he would continue
with "The Mikado" until it had worn out its welcome.
Mansfield was delighted and entered with renewed interest
on the performance of the Lord High Executioner. He
soon discovered, however, that Stetson, plumed by the
renewed life he had given the "Mikado" craze, was actual-
ly preparing to present another company in this same opera
at the Globe during the time promised him.
He exuded his humours in every fibre. His friends
could tell his state of mind and temperament before he
entered a room by his knock on the door. The day he
learned of the second Mikado company there was a feeble
tap at George Munzig's door in the old Studio Building.
It was Mansfield, and he was disconsolate: "It's all up,
George. Stetson has betrayed me." But four days later
there was a firm triple knock on the same door panel with
the force and resonance of a hammer's blow. Again it
was Mansfield. "It's all right, George. Martinot has
deserted the Museum. They're up a stump. I've seen
Field and he has promised to produce my new comedy."
The exploit was rehearsed with a myriad of new details
and the friends went off to celebrate with venison which
Mansfield compounded in a chafing dish, with savoury
garnishments of olives, leeks, butter, sherry, mushrooms,
and jelly, and the friends drank the success of the new
comedy in champagne-and the sun shone once more in
his heart.
The Boston Museum for years possessed a stock
company which was in its day as much the pride of the
Massachusetts capital as Colonel Higginson's Symphony

1886]
AT THE BOSTON MUSEUM
131
Orchestra came to be later. To be admitted there as a
visiting star, to exploit an unproduced play, was one of the
most flattering concessions any young actor could have
asked.
Dion Boucicault had made this winter of 1885 and
1886 memorable with a long run of his play, "The Jilt."
When the popular Irish playwright-actor concluded his
stay, Sadie Martinot deserted with him. In this emer-
gency Sardou's "Diplomacy" was revived for a few weeks
-with John Mason as Julian Beauclerc, Charles Barron
as Henri, Charles Kent as Orloff, Alfred Hudson as Baron
Stein, and Annie Clarke as Countess Zicka-and Mans-
field's
's new comedy was put in rehearsal.
As "Diplomacy" showed no strength, Mansfield was
asked to act Baron Chevrial for a week, to which he con-
sented in spite of the study, responsibility, and rehearsals
of the other play. The branch of the Museum Company
which had no parts in the coming production took the
parts in "A Parisian Romance." It was a busy stage
during March-with performances of the current bill and
two plays in preparation-Mansfield the presiding genius
of both of them, and continuing his own performances in
"The Mikado" at another theatre!
When his former manager, A. M. Palmer, heard that
Mansfield was to act Ko-Ko for the last time on Saturday
night, March 27, and to appear the following Monday
night in "A Parisian Romance," he wired him: "For
God's sake, don't make a fool of yourself!"
Mansfield, on the contrary, saw a distinct value to him-
self in being able to present the marked contrasts between
the comic-singing Japanese, the decrepit French roué, and
the debonnaire young German he had up his sleeve. Not
only variety, but contrast, was the keynote of his choice



132
[1886
RICHARD MANSFIELD
1
of plays. A glance through the sequence of his later
creations, when he controlled the choice of characters
and plays will show that he delighted in pointing his
versatility by alternating tragedy, comedy, and farce,
youth with old age, the sinister with the sympathetic.
Even in arranging a week's repetition of the plays of his
repertoire, his unsparing purpose was to alternate "the
grave and gay," to shift from "lively to severe."
"A Parisian Romance" was acted at the Museum for
one week, beginning March 29, with John Mason as
Henri, Annie Clarke as Madame de Targy (a charming
performance which she repeated as a member of Mans-
field's company twelve years after); May Davenport,
daughter of E. L. Davenport and wife of William Sey-
mour, as Baroness Chevrial; and Maida Craigen as Rosa.
There was until a few days before production some
doubt as to what the new play might best be called, but
it was finally christened "Prince Karl," and as such was
acted for the first time on the stage of the Boston Museum,
April 5.¹
On the same evening, at the Boston Theatre, down in
Washington Street, Denman Thompson first presented
"The Old Homestead." He played nothing else the rest
of his life and became a very rich man. Mansfield might
have continued to play "Prince Karl" the rest of his life,
but he repudiated it and other like opportunities, and
died hundreds of thousands of dollars poorer than he
might have been.
1 With the following principals:
Karl von Ahrmien
Spartan Spotts.
J. Cool Dragon
Marky Davis
Mrs. Daphne Dabury Lowell
Mrs. Florence Lowell
Miss Alicia Euclid Lowell, of Vassar.
Mr. Richard Mansfield.
Mr. Charles Kent.
Mr. William Seymour.
Mr. James Nolan.
Mrs. Vincent.
Miss Maida Craigen.
Miss Helen Dayne.

Copy
RICHARD MANSFIELD IN
"PRINCE KARL"
From a photograph, copyright, 1897, by
J. M. Hart & Co.
Faith Jelly fours
Richard Mansfield
1897.

1886]
"PRINCE KARL"
133

"Prince Karl" was acted at the Museum for four weeks,
and was then transferred, with the identical cast, to the
stage of the Madison Square Theatre, New York City,
where it was played first on May 3.
Mansfield's own appreciation of the play, of its success,
of his own obligation, and of what he dared hope is ex-
pressed in a letter, written at the moment of leaving Bos-
ton, to a friend who had written his congratulations on the
New York opportunity:
I cannot express the pleasure I feel. This engagement,
like the first one at the Union Square Theatre and the
last one at the Boston Museum, came as a surprise to me.
Of course, I contemplated following up my success at the
Museum by a starring tour and it was to have been made
under the direction of Mr. Field, but I did not expect that
my season would begin so soon, and that I should be given
an opportunity to present my latest characterisation in
the Metropolis, and at such a theatre as the Madison
Square. These managers have paid me a great compli-
ment, and I thoroughly appreciate it. I could not make
my reappearance in New York under circumstances more
gratifying to me as an actor and a man. The audiences
at the Madison Square Theatre are composed of the very
best people in New York. I shall be surrounded by the
same capable actors and actresses of the Museum com-
pany who have contributed so much to my success here
in Boston, and with whom I am on the most friendly
terms, each of whom is, I believe, interested in my success,
and, best of all, I shall have on either side of me Manager
Palmer and Manager Field, who are closely associated
and identified with the two greatest successes of my pro-
fessional life. What more could I wish for? Mr. Field
has been very kind to me, and has done all in his power
to make my stay as his house pleasant, and Mr. Palmer
has ever treated me courteously, kindly, and generously.
He aided me by his advice when I most needed it, and



134
[1886
RICHARD MANSFIELD
gave me encouragement when adverse criticism and the
annoyances, which I am sorry to say are consequent on
success in theatrical life, had wellnigh caused me to lose
hope. The value of the friendship of two such men to a
young actor cannot be overestimated or too highly prized.
While I am pleased at the prospect which the immediate
future presents, I am, nevertheless, nervous and anxious
as to the result of the experiment. It is a question whether
New York will receive me with favour in "Prince Karl,"
which is so diametrically the opposite of the Baron
Chevrial, and I frankly confess that it would be a severe
blow to me, after my great success here in your city, not
to have Boston's favourable judgment endorsed by the
people and critics of the Metropolis. I am afraid even
that my success here may lead the New York people to
look for too much from me. They may expect to witness
a very great artistic triumph and they may judge the piece
and my performance by too high a standard. "Prince
Karl" is simply a fairy story, full of improbabilities and
intentional absurdities; it is farcical, melodramatic, and
romantic, and it is designed solely for a pleasant evening's
entertainment, and as such I hope it will be regarded.
Have I succeeded or have I failed is a question which
can only be answered by next Monday evening's audience.
Of one thing I am certain, and that is, that if I fail it
will be due to no lack of hard work and conscientious
effort on my part. I shall give the public the best there
is in me, and earnestly and honestly strive to hold its good
opinion.
Reticent in some respects in bestowing its appreciation
New York eventually took "Prince Karl" to its heart.
The farce was criticised severely, but the incomparable
light comedy performance of Mansfield as the Prince was
praisefully recognised as the antithesis at every point of
anything he had yet revealed. The humour was of
character rather than situation and incident, and his

1886]
A STAR IN NEW YORK
135
unfolding of the rôle of the young Prince was pervaded
with a distinction and manly heartiness, with an intensity
and nervous power, giving vigour alike to humour and
sentiment, that indicated a rare histrion. The stage had
been saturated with plebeian German dialect, and Mans-
field's well-bred accent of the patrician German had a
charm of novelty as well as of grace, melody, and humour.
George William Curtis called his performance "the per-
fection of fooling."
He worked incessantly on the play and on the character,
and in a few weeks they presented many new aspects. He
wrote an entirely new last act, and in the third act in-
troduced a musical monologue, which the Prince rehearsed
quite naturally for the benefit of his young bride. No
one who heard him can forget the cleverness with which
he imitated the great pianist who cannot be heard at the
musicale for the conversational hum about him, the musical
drollery of his violoncello solo-sans 'cello; and the bur-
lesque comic opera in which he sang tenor cantate, basso
profundo, colourature soprano, and even the irrelevant but
inevitable chorus which broke in on every possible and
impossible occasion with "Let us sheer ze bride, ze merry,
merry bride!"
Of these beginnings in New York he wrote a confidant
under date of May 16, 1886: “To-day we commenced
our third week at the Madison Square in 'Prince Karl.'
I am carrying it. Although the first week I only cleared
fifty dollars and last week one hundred dollars, if it
only goes on doubling like that we will be satisfied. This
week the Museum company is not with me and I have an
entirely new company, so Mr. Field does not share with
me, and I am entirely alone-boss of the show! I sup-
pose you will say, 'Ah, Dick will like that'-but I don't


136
[1886
RICHARD MANSFIELD
very much. It's terribly hard work, and the new com-
pany had to be gotten ready in three days, and I fear they
will give a terribly bad performance to-night; and then
the anxiety is great, for I cannot afford to lose money.
However, I think the play has caught on and we shall
make a success of it. Seems funny, doesn't it, my being
manager of the Madison Square Theatre? Supposing,
just supposing, it ran all summer! This is the turning
point in my career if I only succeed!"
There were no notable names in the new cast except
that of Clara Fisher Maeder who came to act Mrs. Daphne
Lowell. But to the appearance of one of the unknown
names, that of Beatrice Cameron, there attaches much
significance in this chronicle. Mrs. Maeder was in the
twilight of a distinguished career. Miss Cameron was at
the beginning.
She was a frail wisp of a golden-haired girl with a
countenance alive with sweetness and intelligence, and
bristling with a nervous force as compelling as her natural
grace and charm were winning. Her home was in Troy,
N. Y., where some success in amateur exhibitions directed
her attention to the professional stage. She came to New
York and soon after appeared, at a special matinée, at the
Madison Square Theatre in "A Midnight Marriage,"
which was produced by Mrs. James Brown Potter. Not
long after she secured an engagement with Mr. Robert
Mantell in "Called Back," in which she played a boy.
Next she acted with one of Charles Hoyt's companies,
then fell heir to the pretty part of Constance in Bron-
son Howard's "Young Mrs. Winthrop," and directly ap-
peared in "Arrah-na-Pogue," which Charles Stevenson
was acting. This tour having concluded, she sought a
part for the summer, hard enough to get, before the days

MISS BEATRICE CAMERON
From a photograph, copyright, by Elliott & Fry

1886]
BEATRICE CAMERON
137
of the summer stock company, and with delightful candour
called on Mr. Mansfield and said she wanted to act Flor-
ence. He searched her refined, sanguine face and capitu-
lated at once. Miss Cameron justified his judgment by
a fascinating performance of Florence, and the company
settled down like a happy family for a merry summer.
The weather was mercifully cool for this time of the
year, but every evening ices were served between the acts
in neat boxes from Maillard's on the corner under the
Fifth Avenue Hotel, with a little silver spoon engraved
"With Prince Karl's Compliments." Young ladies began
to wear Prince Karl finger rings, and the Prince's portrait
became a "photographic best-seller." Prince Karl won
his way into the crevices of every one's affection, even into
the correspondence of Americans abroad, as is witnessed
by an amusing letter which Nat Goodwin wrote home
from Nüremberg: /
"The only difference I can see between the ancient
gentlemen who built these castles and the successful men
about New York is that the former got broke building
them and the latter by going to see 'em. Their prices
are regulated in this innocent land by the extent of the
ruin and the baggage of the sight-seer. They know a
Yankee gripsack as far as they can see one. .. The
imitations of Dick Mansfield as Prince Karl are numerous
and excellent. At Cologne (what's in a name? by that
of Hunter's Point 'twould smell as rank) we met a perfect
type of the Prince, buttoned up in a very green second-
low comedy uniform. He conducted us to a very nice
hotel and undertook to speak English. As I am a superior
German scholar, after a contortionary half hour we en-
listed the services of a third, and during the afternoon I
made them understand that I was weary and wanted to



138
[1886
RICHARD MANSFIELD
lay down. My imitation of George L. Fox [the cele-
brated clown and pantomimist] accomplished this, and I
got a room."
Mansfield in those days had apartments in the Croisic,
at the corner of Fifth Avenue and Twenty-sixth Street.
Here he began his collection of furniture and china, art
objects, rugs, silver, and tapestry. Fortunately, the ap-
preciation of the antique had not then become general,
and he was able to accumulate a marvellous collection
without going into debt, at least without plunging himself
so irrevocably into bankruptcy as the same treasures
would have a decade later. He had in fact been genteely
in debt for years.
Whispers that floated out from his supper parties hinted
of his courtliness and grace, his abundant satire and
delicious wit, his vaporous moods of irresponsible teasing,
romping, and pretence, or how "when worthy minds wait-
ed upon his prismatic own he was impetuously eloquent
and decorous, full of lofty thought and superb expression."
Beau, wit, poet, painter, musician, and master of his
own and many kindred arts, he began to be talked about
as a personage as well as an artist. His study, his
professional occupation, and his aversion to personal
publicity sealed the crevices in the wall which always
hemmed him in. And who shall say it was not as much a
wall of seclusion as of exclusion? Once over the barrier
and inside the garden of his confidences, intimacies, and
affections, those whom he admitted found a blithe, gay,
unaffected friend.
Prince Karl's merry course soon brought up against a
stone wall in the person of William Gillette, the author
of "Held by the Enemy," who had a contract for time
at the Madison Square Theatre beginning August 16.
1886]
"I LOVE THE WOODS"
139
Mansfield offered a bonus of two thousand dollars for an
extension, but it was refused, and his New York run was
forced to a termination, Saturday night, August 14, after
117 performances.
At the end of the play, on his farewell night, he expressed
his gratitude to the public in an amusing speech, and
later gave a supper to a room full of good friends, who in-
cluded W. J. Florence, Ballard Smith, General George
A. Sheridan, Tom Ochiltree, and others. Colonel Ochil-
tree was a Texas Congressman who became a celebrated
figure in New York life as a story-teller, bon-vivant and
gallant. On this occasion Mansfield ventured some com-
pliments in introducing Ochiltree, to which the Texas wit
is said to have replied: "That's right, Mansfield, plenty
of taffy while I'm alive and less epitaphy when I'm dead!”
Next day Mansfield hurried off for a breath of the
Maine woods with Boston friends who were waiting him.
While there he wrote these verses, "I Love the Woods,"
which later were printed:
I love the woods.
Oh, give me but that crag of rock
On which to build my simple cot,
And I'll not ask for palaces,
Nor murmur at my lonely lot.
I do not need the silken garb
The cushioned couch or seasoned food;
I do not need the tongue of men
To voice the word that "Life is good."

I do not need the amber scent,
The honeyed smile and tutored song,
Or crowd of glittering sycophants
That in the walls of Croesus throng.

140
[1886
RICHARD MANSFIELD
I love the woods.
When o'er the distant line of hills
The rosy morning peeps its head,
And stars that through the night have watched,
Now quench their light and go to bed,
I rise from couch of perfumed pine
And seek the purling brook that flows
Between its fringe of velvet moss,
Where tiny turquoise blossom blows.
I need no marble fountain rare
To purify and lave and clean,
And when I say my grateful prayer
'Tis in His mighty dome of green.
I love the woods.
My silent friend, my faithful dog,
The horse that hastens to my call,
The birds that sing above my head-
They constitute my all in all.
I breathe the forest's filtered air,
The breeze that cools the mountain brow,
The snow-clad summit's atmosphere,
And praise the Lord I'm living now.
I love the woods.
Mansfield's tour the next season began at the Park
Theatre, Boston, August 30, and he played in Philadelphia
at the Walnut Street Theatre, in Baltimore, Washington,
Cincinnati, St. Louis, Pittsburg, Cleveland (where he cele-
brated the first Christmas at the head of his own company,
save the sad one in Albany during the disastrous first tour
in "A Parisian Romance," and had a tree, presents,
and supper on the stage for the members of his com-
pany and the employes of the Park Theatre), Chicago,
1887]
GENEROSITY
141
three engagements during the wnter of 1886-1887, Louis-
ville, Detroit, Omaha, St. Paul, Minneapolis, back to
Washington, Philadelphia, New York for three weeks at
the Union Square Theatre, Harlem, Williamsburg, Boston
at the Park Theatre, and the larger New England cities,
concluding and disbanding the company April 25.
"Prince Karl" was played exclusively, and those who
saw him were charmed, but the substance that follows a
reputation came slowly. In most cities he appeared for
the first time. What was made by large audiences one
week was lost through beggarly attendance the next. The
net result was broken ground and seed planted. He
refers to this tour in one of his letters: "We expected to
do a great deal better than we are doing, but I suppose it
was not to be expected. After all, I am comparatively
unknown to the masses, and I must plod on and bide my
time, and every year I shall do better and better." In
another he says: "I must work hard to lay the secure
foundations of my fortunes. I am very tired and weary of
it all, it's such a struggle, but I am determined to conquer!"
In the papers of this winter one reads: "Mr. Mansfield
has written a new first act for 'Prince Karl""; again, in
Boston, "Mansfield should act Shylock"; and, in the
Dramatic Mirror, "Five members of Mr. Mansfield's
company have been disabled by illness from two to four
weeks, but not one cent has been deducted from salaries."
This was his rule even in the days of hardest struggle.
Many an actor can testify to salary continued through
months of illness, hospital bills paid, many thoughtful at-
tentions, and a position held open on his return. Once
in Canada a stage mechanic fell ill and died. Mansfield
inquired of his manager what he was doing about the
funeral. When he heard that the members of the com-



142
[1887
RICHARD MANSFIELD
pany were subscribing to a fund, his indignation broke
out in no unmeasured terms: "No collections in my com-
pany. Never. Return every cent. Pay all the bills and
charge them to my account." In this and other ways
his hand went continually into his pocket. He had a
curious diffidence about being thanked, he was embar-
rassed to the point of a brusqueness that was not always
understood.
He never expected the return of a loan, and, knowing
this, his servants sometimes made the most of it. There
was, however, one old valet, John Metzger, who, having
borrowed five dollars, presented himself before his master
one morning with a broad grin on his face and a somewhat
worn bill in the palm of his hand. Mansfield glanced at the
extended hand: "Dear me, what on earth is that, John?"
"You did me the honour," began the valet.
"Do you expect me to take that filthy rag? Ugh! It's
a nest of germs. Do you want to poison me? Take it
away. Take it away! Burn it! Do anything you like
with it. But don't try to kill me with it."
To all appearances he was furious, but John under-
stood the little comedy, and he shuffled away with thanks
in his heart which he dared not utter for the unutterable
kindness in his master's.
The next Monday, after closing the "Prince Karl"
tour, Mansfield opened with the Boston Museum com-
pany as the Baron Chevrial. /Four of Boston's leading
physicians, accompanied by Dr. Compton of Liverpool,
came on April 30 to investigate the scientific features of
the celebrated death scene, and in a paper to their medical
society they reported it a remarkably faithful study. This
engagement at the Museum was a prelude to the new
play in preparation for some time and now quite ready.


CHAPTER TWELVE
(1887-1888)
Creates Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde at the Boston Museum-His own
views on the dual character-Creates De Jadot in his own
"Monsieur" at the Madison Square-Another summer run-
On tour with a repertoire-Mr. Hyde at a midnight supper-
Henry Irving suggests a London season at the Lyceum.
MANSFIELD was eminently catholic in his reading, his
devotion to the classic and standard authors in no way
precluding an interest in the latest novel. He dearly
loved a mystery tale, if of the sea so much the better.
Among the books he picked up the previous spring was
Robert Louis Stevenson's new story, "Dr. Jekyll and Mr.
Hyde," and it held him captive to the very end.
He foresaw an extraordinary triumph if his powers
could visualise to an audience, as his imagination pre-
sented to him, the contrast between Dr. Jekyll and Mr.
Hyde, the weird transformations of the man into the fiend
and back again, and the gradual absorption of the good
man by the evil man as expressed in the increasing diffi-
culty of controlling the reversion from Hyde to Jekyll.
He foresaw not only his opportunity to project a powerful
performance on the stage, but the ethical effect of the
noble moral which underlies this fable of the struggle
between good and evil in man and the inevitable control

143

144
[1887
RICHARD MANSFIELD
of the good by the evil if experimented with instead of
being firmly curbed in the beginning.
When he laid the book down it was to write to the
author for the privilege of making a dramatisation. Ste-
venson concurred heartily, and the English and Ameri-
can rights to any play from this source were soon con-
tracted.
Mansfield was playing in Boston at the time, and he
urged his friend, Thomas Russell Sullivan, to make the
play. Sullivan doubted the possibilities of a drama in
the little story which offered all the difficulty of duality
in the hero and no hint of the conventionally prescribed
love interest and lighter relief. Mansfield at once exposed
a scenario which his imagination had already conjured
up, repeated a few of the Hyde passages with ghastly
gutturals and in demoniac posture that frightened his
friend out of several nights' sleep, and urged him to
read the book again, with the gentle warning, "If
you don't dramatise it, some one else will." Sullivan
accepted the commission and delivered the play during
the winter.
It departed from the book only in the elaboration of
merely suggested detail, and in developing a love story
between Dr. Jekyll and a beautiful young creature, Agnes
Carew, the daughter of Sir Danvers Carew, who is mur-
dered by Hyde. In essence it reflected faithfully the
duality of the character, the transitions, and the tragic
moral of the final submersion of Jekyll in Hyde.
It was rehearsed barely two weeks while he played "A
Parisian Romance," but he brought to the first rehearsal,
as he did always when preparing a production before or
after, a perfectly composed characterisation. His re-
hearsals were largely to set up the environment of the com-
zm
TRS

1887] "DR. JEKYLL AND MR. HYDE" 145
pleted central figure. "Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde" was
first acted on any stage at the Boston Museum, May 9,
1887.¹
Mansfield approached the experiment with grave fore-
bodings. Could he in the presence of a vast audience
effect the transformation from Hyde to Jekyll in such a
manner as to strike absolute conviction? He afterward
confessed: "That night in the third act where as Hyde I
grasped the potion, swallowed it, writhed in the awful
agony of transformation and rose pale and erect, the
visualised embodiment of Jekyll-an ague of apprehen-
sion seized me and I suffered a lifetime in the silence in
which the curtain fell. In another instant I realised that
silence was the tribute of the awe and terror inspired by
the reality of the scene, for through the canvas screen
came a muffled roar which was the sweetest sound I ever
heard in my life, and I breathed again."
At this time he played "Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde" only
one week. It was far too emotional, tragic, and absorb-
ing either for himself or for his audiences during the
summer. He kept it in the background from May 14 to
September 12, that same year, 1887, when he acted it in
New York City, first at the Madison Square Theatre.
The praise his performance received from the press was
in most quarters unreserved, and his audiences did him

1 With this cast:
Sir Danvers Carew
Dr. Lanyon
Gabriel Utterson
Poole
Inspector Newcomer
Jarvis
Dr. Jekyll
Mr. Hyde S
Mrs. Lanyon
Agnes Carew
Rebecca Moore
Mr. Boyd Putnam.
Mr. Alfred Hudson.
Mr. Frazer Coulter.
Mr. James Burrows.
Mr. Arthur Falkland.
Mr. J. K. Applebee, Jr.
Mr. Richard Mansfield.
Miss Kate Ryan.
Miss Isabelle Evesson.
Miss Emma Sheridan.

146
[1887
RICHARD MANSFIELD
the compliment to pack the theatre and proclaim the un-
forgetable effect of his acting.
He was sometimes criticised for not making Jekyll
more normal, affable, companionable. But this would
not have been in harmony with his conception. He be-
lieved in simplicity and directness. His aim was to mark
the contrast between the two entities, but without losing
sight of the salient, dominant point of each character.
He conceived and exhibited Jekyll as a man haunted by
the most terrible loathsome fiend that the mind could
conceive in human form. He had to indicate yet restrain
the carking secret of his soul, the ceaseless terror of the
uncontrollable change which might come at any moment-
in the street, in the house of his friends, in his sweetheart's
presence. Jekyll was a haunted man. A man set apart.
Only an unimaginative actor would have played him for
ease, indifference, geniality.
One of Mansfield's purely theatric devices for horror
was to convey the suggestion that Hyde was coming.
This was effected with an empty stage, a gray, green-shot
gloom, and oppressive silence. The curiosity was fas-
cinating and whetted every nerve. At such a stage as
this (the audience having seen Hyde before) the anticipa-
tion and the prolonged anticipation, the searching of the
black corners for the first evidence of the demon all begot
an hypnotic effect on the hushed, breathless spectators
that held them in the fetters of invincible interest. Then
with a wolfish howl, a panther's leap, and the leer of a
fiend Hyde was miraculously in view. It was at such a
time as that that strong men shuddered and women
fainted and were carried out of the theatre.
People went away from "Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde"
afraid to enter their houses alone. They feared to sleep

RICHARD MANSFIELD IN "DR. JEKYLL AND MR. HYDE"

1887]
THE TRANSFORMATION
147
in darkened rooms. They were awakened by nightmare.
Yet it had the fascination of crime and mystery, and they
came again and again.
Such an effect as that described, while a testimony of
his stage management, he deprecated as no gauge of his
quality as actor. It was to the last act that he pointed
with all the pride which he took in this performance.
During twenty minutes he held the stage alone with only
one interruption. The scene represented Dr. Jekyll's
cabinet in broad daylight, and disclosed the harassed man
overwhelmed with the knowledge that the drugs with
which he had controlled the changes were accidental in
composition and not to be duplicated. The transitions
to Hyde were increasingly recurrent, in fact Hyde con-
trolled Jekyll and Jekyll no longer controlled Hyde. His
soul-sadness, his tender despair, his haunted anticipation
of the reversion to bestial Hyde as the convulsions seized
him, his pitiful, agonised attitude as he stood before the
mirror dreading to remove his hands for fear of the
demon's face they would reveal, his cry of joy as he dis-
covered that the change had not yet come and he was
still Henry Jekyll-these were all accomplished by Mans-
field with simple, lofty, and invincible art, and produced
effects on the spectator more profound and quite as thrill-
ing as the theatric scenes preceding.
Every one speculated on the secret of the transforma-
tions which they saw yet could not believe. He was
accused of using acids, phosphorus, and all manner of
chemicals. The mystery spread to London, where some
one declared it was "all perfectly simple. He uses a
rubber suit which he inflates and exhausts at pleasure!"
Mansfield told the simple facts and caused them to be
repeatedly published, that his only change was in the


148
[1887
RICHARD MANSFIELD
muscles of his face, the tones of his yielding voice, and the
posture of his body, which as Hyde he poised in a crouch-
ing position on his toes, swaying and bounding with an
agility which gave a weird, spectral quality in the half
lights of the night. Believe him? Of course not. Such
candour was too transparently suspicious and only further
stimulated the amateur theorist.
Mansfield found so little understanding of the charac-
ters of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde in the discussions of
his performance that he consented finally to write his
views at length. They appeared in the New York Sun
of December 31, 1887. The concluding paragraphs are
quoted:

To me the last act is immensely touching. Jekyll,
aroused to the full horror of the situation; Jekyll, the
loved, the admired, the wealthy; Jekyll, who had the
world at his feet, and all the pleasures and all the happi-
ness the world could afford, if he chose, in his grasp;
Jekyll, in his youth, in his strength, with the knowledge
that he is closeted with death-and such a death! It
seems to me that if there ever was a moral powerfully
taught, it is here. I wish I could act it as well as
feel it.
The gentlemen who say in the journals that there is
no necessity to make the play so strong, that there is no
use in displaying so horrible a character upon the stage
or of lingering over the agony of Jekyll, seem to forget
that as long as the actor acts, he will consider the highest
form of his art the display of the most powerful passions
of men, and that he will strive at all times to choose such
subjects as will best afford him opportunity to sway and
impress his audience. It is our aim and our end in view.
I do not delight to hear that just so many women have
fainted of an evening in the theatre, but I, my art, and my
nature, receive a fresh stimulus and inspiration from the

1887]
SOME OPINIONS
149
breathless silence and the rapt attention of my auditors.
As long as the dramatic art flourishes, despite all men may
say or write from private motives of their own, the world
will go to see that which stirs and moves it; and it will
ever support the actor who puts his whole heart and soul,
all his enthusiasm, his energy, his earnestness, his sin-
cerity into his work. In reply to the criticism that the
moral contained in this story of Jekyll and Hyde could
be taught equally persuasively by gentler and prettier
means, I have only to point to the great masters, and ask
why Shakespeare piled horror upon horror in "Richard
III” and “Macbeth," why Othello smothers the beautiful
Desdemona and then cuts his throat or stabs himself, why
everybody is killed in "Hamlet," and why even Romeo
and Juliet" carries us to the tomb? You may say, "the
thoughts and the language of Shakespeare," and I stop
you. Find me a Shakespeare to-day and I will certainly
engage him. In the meanwhile I am satisfied, for want of
better, with the thoughts of Stevenson and the dramatisa-
tion of a young American scholar, Sullivan. It is the best
I can find, and the best I can give you. For myself, I
give all I have. In time, if God spares me, I hope it will
be better. I shall try.

ness.
Meantime, the summer had not been passed in idle-
After accomplishing "Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde" in
Boston, he disappeared from the public eye for a fortnight,
but it was to gather together his family of players and
rehearse "Prince Karl," which was the bill when he
began a summer season in New York at the Madison
Square Theatre, on Monday evening, May 30. He
turned the little foyer and auditorium into a conservatory
of bloom and fragrance, and in June gave the 500th per-
formance of the courier Prince.
Besides acting and travelling continually the previous
winter, rewriting the first and last acts of "Prince Karl,"


150
[1887
RICHARD MANSFIELD
and supervising the dramatisation of "Dr. Jekyll and Mr.
Hyde," Mansfield, with the dash and energy and artistic
fecundity so characteristic of him, found time to write an
original comedy. It was a trifle, to be sure, and he did
not dignify it more pretentiously than as "a sketch." He
wrote it under pressure in three days.
One afternoon he read it to the ladies and gentlemen
of his company, and their appreciation led to its rehearsal.
Every one was sworn to secrecy on the point of author-
ship, and "Monsieur" was announced for July 11.¹ But,
as a celebrated Frenchwoman has said: "A secret known
to two is no longer a secret," and here was one known to
a score. Gossip ferreted the facts and Mansfield "owned
the soft impeachment."
The story was a slender trifle and followed the fortunes
of a young French gentleman of sensitive, noble nature
and an imperfect English accent, a singer and composer,
who came to New York, and in the attempt to earn his
living by his art almost starved. He succeeded, however, in
winning the love of Alice Golden, the spirited daughter of
a pair of nouveaux riches. At a musicale given by Alice's
parents, M. de Jadot, who had been invited that he might
entertain the company, fainted at the piano from lack of
food. When Alice restored him, they disclosed their
mutual affections. The result of this avowal was that
1 The cast of the first presentation of "Monsieur" was:
Andre Rossini Mario de Jadot
Alice Golden .
Mrs. Elisabeth Ann Golden
Mrs. Mary Pettigrew
Mrs. Morton
Sally
Tom Vanderhuysen
Edgar J. Golden
Morton Saunders
Popples.
•
The Hon. Charles Mt. Vernon
Mr. Richard Mansfield.
Miss Beatrice Cameron.
Miss Josephine Laurens.
Miss Annie O'Neill.
Miss Helen Glidden.
Miss Johnstone Bennett.
Mr. John T. Sullivan.
Mr. D. H. Harkins.
Mr. Joseph Frankau.
Mr. Harry Gwynnette,
Mr. John Parry.

1887]
"MONSIEUR"
151
the young couple married in defiance of the girl's parents,
and lived, loved, and suffered the pinches of poverty to-
gether in an attic, while M. de Jadot was trying to find a
manager to produce his opera or to give him an entrée on
the stage. Their friends did not desert them, but, on the
contrary, called much at their attic, and Alice's father
showed a disposition to make up, which was temporarily
checked by her mother. Finally, when Alice's parents
were on the point of being ruined by a swindler, it turned
out that M. de Jadot's uncle had died in France and left
him the title of Count and "an estate of millions." The
young Frenchman was as sweet in prosperity as he had
been brave in adversity, and the curtain fell upon smiling
peace and plenty.
Mansfield's acting of De Jadot would have redeemed a
slenderer trifle than "Monsieur." He imbued his hero
with a naïve interest that made him continually amusing,
without ever permitting the audience to forget that the
poor beggar before them was patrician to the finger
tips. His broken English came in delicate bits, and was
as artistic in indicating the little musician's French origin
as Prince Karl's English had been in betraying the Ger-
man influence. Because the public demanded his imita-
tions and musical parodies, and they helped draw the so-
much-needed receipts to the little house, he made a place
for them in the second act; but one of the tenderest and
yet most amusing incidents of the play was his prepara-
tion of "the sandwich of cheeken" for his poor starving
little wife, and his delicious fooling in serving it to her
with the air and manner of a grand garçon in a restaurant.
The scene in the first act, when he began bravely to
sing, his throat gradually dried, his voice choked and he
fainted, was a transcription from his own first experience


152
[1887
RICHARD MANSFIELD
on the stage in London in the German Reed Entertain-
ment. Some people affected to see in the little comedy
a palpable hit at Mapleson and at manners and musical
taste in New York society at the time. As for Mans-
field, he neither made claims nor entertained high hopes
for his sketch. Nevertheless its wit, delicacy, sprightliness
and human charm made it possible to continue the run
for eight weeks during the hottest season of the year.
He always contended that "Monsieur" would have
made more of a success with the public, if the public had
been able to make more of a success of the pronunciation
of the title. The name of a play should be striking to
the eye, easy to remember, and tripping on the tongue.
Monsieur is, as a matter of fact, one of the very hardest
words in the French language for an American to pro-
nounce. The public tried and failed, and covered their
failure with a burlesque of it, and so the little play was taken
less seriously than if it had been called "The French-
man," or some other simple name at first as it was later.
The run of "Monsieur" terminated on Saturday even-
ing, September 10, and the Monday evening following
"Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde" received its first performance
in New York with results already indicated. He was
deaf to all persuasions to continue beyond October 1, the
date originally fixed for leaving the Madison Square
Theatre, and, as always, gave the public less of "Dr.
Jekyll and Mr. Hyde" than was wanted, and so kept the
appetite stimulated.
He now had a repertoire of four popular characters-
the Baron Chevrial, Prince Karl, Monsieur de Jadot, and
Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde-a group admirably calculated
to disclose his versatile artistry in impressively contrasting
phases. They constituted his offering for a tour which

1888]
A LONG TOUR
153
began at the Chestnut Street Theatre in Philadelphia,
October 3, and included engagements in the following
sequence: at Hooley's Theatre, Chicago; John Ellsler's
Park Theatre, Cleveland; the Bijou, Pittsburgh; the
Holliday Street, Baltimore; Albaugh's, Washington; the
Grand Opera House, Cincinnati; Macauley's, Louisville;
the Olympic, St. Louis; and then, for the first time in his
career, and with some pride, no doubt, after his former
struggles and disappointment, he brought his company
by special train to New York for an engagement of four
weeks at the Fifth Avenue Theatre, his first on this stage.
The tour was resumed January 16 at the Globe Theatre,
Boston, whence it extended to Colonel Sinn's Park
Theatre, Brooklyn; the Grand Opera House, New York;
White's Grand Opera House, Detroit; the Chestnut Street
Theatre, Philadelphia; Albaugh's, Washington; the Acad-
emy of Music, Jersey City; the Park Theatre, Brooklyn;
the Museum, Boston, for four weeks beginning May 7,
and to the Madison Square Theatre, New York, for a
month, which terminated his season on June 25, 1888.
On his final Friday at the Madison Square Theatre, he
entertained his fellow-artists at a specially acted matinée
performance. Hundreds were unable to find seatings,
but the throng admitted gave him an ovation to which he
responded feelingly, with assurances that the praise of
his brother artists was more reassuring than any other he
had received.
Since he assumed the rôle of Ko-Ko on January 14, 1886,
he had acted over two years and a half consecutively,
summer and winter, with two respites of two weeks each,
which were devoted almost entirely to rehearsals and the
arduous labour of preparing productions. Of vacation
he had taken just exactly four days!


154
[1888
RICHARD MANSFIELD
Now, as always, he was an enigma to the contented and
the unimaginative. To so many of this type an actor's
life is a mellow career of gossip and good-fellowship.
From the first Mansfield realised his latent gifts. Others
may have sneered at his aspirations, but he believed
in destiny, and believed, though he never admitted it and
scorned it when suggested, that fame had its seal on him.
He did not know how he would reach the goal, but his
eyes were ever on the stars, and with his whole heart,
soul, talents, confidence, and strength he worked to fulfil
his obligations.
His perseverance, unflagging devotion to his art, his
deep sincerity allied to his native talents, now recognised
as of a high order, were winning him something of the
eminence of which he dreamed and in which he was
determined to force the public to place him. The winter
of 1887-1888 developed several incidents, some trifling,
but amusing, some illustrative of his character or progress,
and some significant of events to come.
It has been said that Mansfield repudiated any artificial
means in effecting his marvellous transformation from
Dr. Jekyll to Mr. Hyde. His friend, De Wolf Hopper-
for whose comic skill on the stage and irresistible personal
good-fellowship off the stage, Mansfield always enter-
tained sincere admiration-attests the facts in this anec-
dote:
"I was supping with Mansfield one night in his rooms
at the Continental Hotel, Philadelphia, after our respec-
tive performances, while his Jekyll and Hyde was in the
first bloom of its terror-spreading triumph. There was a
single heavily hooded green lamp over the table at an
angle which lighted our faces and threw the rest of the
spacious chambers into cavernous shadows. I remember

1888]
HYDE AT MIDNIGHT
155
there was even a bell in a neighbouring tower which broke
into the subsequent recital with weird opportuneness.
Mansfield seldom talked shop and never off the stage
exploited his professional achievements. He sang, played,
narrated with a witchery of expression and improvised
scenes with alluring fecundity. But the sock and buskin
was far away in his dressing-room. This night, however,
he yielded to my plea and told me of his sensations when
he appeared first as Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde in Boston;
of that critical make-or-ruin first change from Jekyll to
Hyde; of the ghastly silence of the audience for seconds
that seemed minutes and shrieked failure in his heart;
and then the whirlwind of applause; the exhilarating,
overwhelming sense of success. I was spellbound by his
graphic eloquence. The shadows tightened all about us,
and I saw nothing but his luminous countenance.
In a
burst of sympathetic enthusiasm I asked what he did and
how he did it. And then and there, only four feet away,
under the green light, as that booming clock struck the
hour-he did it—changed to Hyde before my very eyes—
and I remember that I, startled to pieces, jumped up and
cried that I'd ring the bell if he didn't stop!"
The final four weeks of the season were played in the
most oppressive heat. When, on Saturday, June 23, he
picked up his morning paper and read a list of the deaths
of man and beast from sunstroke the day before, he de-
clared he would not act or be so inhuman as to ask his
fellow-players to act in such heat, closed the theatre until
the following Monday, and gave his company congé.
The great popularity he established for "Dr. Jekyll and
Mr. Hyde" disclosed the fact early in the season that the
book was insufficiently protected under the copyright law.
Other versions of every type, from indifferent to unmen-


156
[1888
RICHARD MANSFIELD
tionable, sprung up like mushrooms all over the country.
One manager, touring in the remote sections of New Eng-
land, advertised that his Mr. Hyde was the most terrible
of all and had to be kept chained in a box car en route
and in the theatre. He had the town hall crowded every
night. The only one, of all those at this time playing
"Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde," who at all threatened
Mansfield's interests was a German-American actor named
Daniel Bandmann. Of the two performances, the
Lounger in the New York Dispatch, of July 18, 1888,
says: "Bandmann, whose prominence in this matter
is next to that of Mansfield, could not stand the test of
comparison with the young actor. New York saw both
of them essay the rôle, and while it shivered at Mansfield,
it only smiled at Bandmann. The former was weird, the
latter grotesque."
Henry Irving was again in America for the season of
1887-1888. On every hand he heard of the young genius
whose rise was meteoric. Firmly entrenched in his own
position at the head of the London stage, by a diplomacy
which drew every one to him and held them in bonds of
sweet fealty, Irving's wisdom foresaw a rival artist, if in any
one in America, in Mansfield, whose published programme
included Nero, Shylock, Richard III, and Cagliostro.
He saw the younger actor and invited him to come to
London and appear in his own Lyceum Theatre. Flat-
tered beyond measure, Mansfield paused to consider no
expediency, deferred readily to Irving's terms, and agreed
to begin his season in London on the third of September
next following. "Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde" was an-
nounced for the opening bill.
Mansfield wrote a characteristic note to a friend at this
time:

1888]
TO ENGLAND
157
"For the last three seasons I have spent the Fourth [of
July] within the walls of a theatre. How I shall pass the
coming Fourth I know not. Probably, however, hard at
work. I have much to do before the company sails and
before I leave. One day to me is much like another. It
is either a little more work or a little less. The glitter,
the glamour, the fêting, and petting that I have read
about, and which I imagined once upon a time to be part
and parcel of an actor's life, have never found me out.
I am a quiet, steady, plodding old war-horse, and I carry
my knight, in times of peace and in battle, and Sir Labour
is waxing stouter every day. Good-by, if I do not see
you before my departure. When I come back I trust
you will receive me none the less kindly for the fact that
I swam home."
But he was to leave earlier than he anticipated. His
rest was cut short, his work trebled, and his sweetest hopes
threatened with dire disaster by the announcement that
Bandmann had engaged the Opera Comique in London,
and would act "Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde" there, on
August 6-one month before Mansfield!
Mansfield had faith in himself, but he believed that
"faith without works is dead." He girded for the fight!
Hundreds of dollars were spent in spirited cables, the
date of his opening was advanced to August 4 (two days
before Bandmann), though the fact was not announced.
His company was scattered to the mountains and sea-
shore for their vacations, but he hurriedly gathered them
together, and they quietly slipped away for England, on
the steamer City of Rome, early in July!



CHAPTER THIRTEEN
(1888-1889)
In London-Rivals-Begins season at the Lyceum with "Dr. Jekyll
and Mr. Hyde"-Beatrice Cameron produces "Lesbia"-He
acts Chevrial and Prince Karl-Attendance poor-Plans to
retrieve-Leases the Globe-A benefit at Derby School-De-
cides to act the Duke of Gloster-In retirement at Bournemouth
On his arrival in London, Mansfield established him-
self at Long's Hotel in Bond Street, and visiting royalty
rarely surrounded themselves with more luxury. America
had recognised him first, and, coming to England as an
American, he assumed the obligation of sustaining Amer-
ican dignity.
The difference between the two countries in extending
welcomes was brought home to him with unforgetable di-
rectness. There was a total absence of the exuberant jour-
nalistic hysteria which in those years seized a visiting actor
at American quarantine and trumpeted him into a suc-
cess of curiosity days before his début. Mansfield found
London perfectly calm. His old friends called and there
were renewals of former friendships, cementing of new
ones, many merry parties and quiet pilgrimages to spots
hallowed by youthful memories. The truth is, however,
that his prevailing sentiment was one of anxiety not alone
about the impression he hoped to make, but lest Band-
mann succeed in getting his "Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde”
before the public first and remove the cream of novelty
158

1888]
STELLAR DÉBUT IN LONDON
159
from his presentation. He harassed himself, too, with an
alleged belief that Bandmann might walk off with the
honours in spite of the fact that New York had repudiated
the imitator and laughed with derision when it should
have been hushed with awe. It was ever his disposition
to magnify obstacles, however inconsequential, and fancy
them where they did not exist at all.
The first Jekyll-Hyde in the field appeared, however,
from a completely unexpected quarter. On Thursday, July
26, an actor-manager of several minor theatres and of some
provincial repute, named Howard Poole, produced a
dramatic version of the Stevenson story at the Theatre
Royal, Croydon, about ten miles out of London. He at-
tracted no attention and made no impression. He was
immediately enjoined, and Stevenson and his publishers,
the Messrs. Longmans, repudiated all versions of "Dr.
Jekyll and Mr. Hyde" other than Mansfield's, as un-
authorised.
Henry Irving concluded his performances at the Ly-
ceum Theatre on July 7. Sarah Bernhardt followed him
at once on July 9 in Sardou's newly produced “La Tosca"
and others of her great rôles. She held the stage until
Mansfield assumed his tenancy of the theatre with the
initial performance of "Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde," on
Saturday evening, August 4.¹
1 The cast of the play on this occasion was:

Dr. Jekyll
Mr. Hyde S
Dr. Lanyon
Gabriel Utterson
Genl. Sir Danvers Carew
Poole
Inspector Newcomer
Jarvis
Mrs. Lanyon
Rebecca Moore
Agnes Carew
2 Helen Glidden.
Mr. Richard Mansfield.
Mr. D. H. Harkins.
Mr. John T. Sullivan.
Mr. Holland.
Mr. J. C. Burrows.
Mr. W. H. Compton.
Mr. F. Vivian.
Mrs. D. H. Harkins.2
Miss Emma Sheridan.
Miss Beatrice Cameron.

160
[1888
RICHARD MANSFIELD
The London critics at once confessed that on the plane
of what is weird, sombre, saturnine, and mystical there
had been nothing in the experience of living theatre-goers
comparable to Mansfield's performance, excepting Henry
Irving's Mathias in "The Bells." Mansfield's triumph was
complete after Bandmann's effort the following Monday,
August 6, of which Clement Scott wrote in The Theatre:
"The version is bad. . . . Only in the first and last
acts is there any dramatic interest.
The adapter
has made Dr. Jekyll in love with Sybil Howell the daugh-
ter of a clergyman who is murdered by Hyde in presence
of the audience. The principal incidents of the story are
closely followed, but in doing so there are introduced
comic scenes, such as are witnessed only at pantomime
time. . . . Mr. Bandmann's Dr. Jekyll is a canting,
sanctimonious humbug of Pecksniffian appearance; his
Mr. Hyde a malevolent dwarf-like creature with large
teeth, that was ridiculous from its monkey-like tricks
which only prolonged laughter and derision where they
should have inspired terror."
The piece was withdrawn by Bandmann after the second
performance!
The most distinguished people in London acknowledged
the spell of Mansfield's performance, and among them
came United States Minister Phelps, who wrote him: "I
am proud of you, of the American company and of the
perfect taste of the whole production. It was an eminent
success." The public, however, remained away with
heart-breaking persistency. Vogue, based even on the
highest, soundest, and most vigorous achievements, is not
attained in a night in London. The English are slow to
yield either their interest or their affections; but once
they bestow either, they are constant as the stars.

1888]
ENGLISH APPRECIATION
161
There appeared to be a turn in the tide later and he
wrote to his friend, E. A. Dithmar.
I suppose you think I am unkind, unmindful, and un-
grateful not to have written to you once I have been over
here or perhaps you will understand how hard worked
I have been and how tired when I reached home and was
unable to sit still and write to my friends. It has been a
hard fight, with much against us, but I think we have
conquered. At all events, "Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde"
is in for a long run and will not be taken off during my
tenancy of the Lyceum Theatre. The audiences are
very enthusiastic, much more so than in America, and it
does seem as if the profession here had a desire to acclaim
me. Terris has been twice and wrote me a note saying:
"I thank you for the most artistic treat since Irving's
'Louis XI." Everybody writes and speaks in the same
vein. Frith, the painter, who is an old man and has seen
everybody, told me (I hope he meant it) I reminded him
much of Macready and that my voice was finer. . . . I
have just received a card from the Hon. Louis Wingfield
notifying me that at a special meeting of the Garrick Club
I was elected an honorary member. Toole, Beerbohm
Tree, and Wingfield were my sponsors. . . . I need
hardly tell you that the expenses here are enormous, and
I would warn any American actor to think twice before
he tackles the British lion-every hair of his tail costs
gold, and we are safely through it, thank God! I have
ventured, perhaps, where angels would have feared to
tread, and succeeded; but had I known exactly-well, I
might have been frightened away.
Miss Cameron's talents as an artist and her charm as a
woman had made a deep impression on Mansfield from
the first. With a desire to enlarge her reputation and
with a hope of strengthening the evening bill, he advanced
her as Lesbia, in a one-act classical comedy of that name,



162
[1888
RICHARD MANSFIELD
by Richard Davey, a London playwright and journalist
of some pretension and culture. "Lesbia" was made
the curtain-raiser from September 17, 1888, when it was
first produced on the Lyceum stage.¹
The little play had no inherent vitality, and the mild
interest with which it was received was due entirely to the
charm and talent of Miss Cameron and her associates.
Meantime "A Parisian Romance" was in preparation,
and afterward he told an incident of these rehearsals which
illustrated significantly the amateur's idea of the stage.
There came to him a beautiful and gifted young gentle-
woman, Lady Emily -, who wished to go on the
stage. He thought he saw in her an ornament who would
add to the patrician verisimilitude of his ensembles. Lady
Emily was given the part of a fluttering young society
woman, and she had little to do but to be at ease and
she had less to say. As rehearsals progressed it became
evident that on the stage she was neither graceful nor
natural. Mansfield took her in hand and tried in vain
to have her sit, stand, and walk properly. Finally, in
despair, he appealed to her: "My dear Lady Emily, why
do you sit in that position? Would you assume such a
pose in your own drawing-room?" With her attention
attracted to herself, she confessed she would not. "Then
why do you do it on the stage?" he asked. With naïve
candour, she replied: "I presume because I am acting."
He spent a deal of valuable time teaching people how
not to act.
In spite of his optimistic letter to Dithmar, "Dr.
1 With this cast:
Lesbia
Catullus
Sibilla
Affra
Claudia
•
Miss Beatrice Cameron.
Mr. John T. Sullivan.
Mrs. Sol Smith.
Miss Johnstone Bennett.
Miss Maude White.

1888]
A BENEFIT
163
Jekyll and Mr. Hyde" limped no further along than the
end of September, and "A Parisian Romance" received
its first London presentation at any hands on October 1.
The denotement of Mansfield's powers, as displayed in
the Baron Chevrial, were freely acknowledged. The
characterisation was written of glowingly as "a minute
and Denner-like piece of work" . . . and of possessing
"what the poet calls 'the mind breathing in the face.""
But sweet phrases, however much they may have moved
the actor, did not move the public. Peering out nightly
at the empty benches, Mansfield saw a crisis approach-
ing. Unwilling at any time to expose in the English capi-
tal so vaporous a trifle as "Monsieur"-for he had no
vanity about certain of his own accomplishments-he
played his last card on Friday evening, October 10. The
run of "A Parisian Romance" was interrupted for one
night, and "Prince Karl" received its first London per-
formance, preceded by Horace Wigan's one-act comedy,
"Always Intended."
The occasion was made the benefit for a Whitechapel
charity, and his patrons included: the Princess Christian
of Schleswig-Holstein, the Duchess of Teck (Princess
Mary), the Duke and Duchess of Westminster, the United
States Minister, and Mrs. Phelps, Sir Richard Taylor, Sir
Philip Cunliffe Owen, Sir Morell Mackenzie, Henry
Labouchere, M.P., Joseph Hatton, Edmund Yates, and
2 score of other prominent persons.
A cable to the New York Times gives an interesting and
exact account of the evening:

A benefit for the poor of the East End of London does
not possess much interest for the swells of the West End,
and the front of the house was not on the whole so brilliant
a night as on Mansfield's first appearance here. But the

164
[1888
RICHARD MANSFIELD
pit and galleries were jammed with people who howled
and stamped after every act till Mansfield came forward.
They gave him a double recall after the last act. In the
first place, the humour of the piece, which is American,
appealed mainly to people of the orchestra seats, who
had travelled on the Continent. It then caught the pit
and the galleries with but little delay. In London, what
with working men's holiday clubs and cheap excursions to
the Continent, it is hard to find an industrious and intel-
ligent English working man who does not know some-
thing about a trip on the Rhine, where the scene of the
play is laid. So Mansfield's amusing conception of the
duties of a courier, and the rôles of the other members of
the company as helpless American tourists in the merci-
less hands of Continental hotel-keepers, took much better
here than it did in New York. Then the puns, which
in New York are considered as veritable chestnuts kept
the Londoners, in the stalls, to whom they were new,
in convulsions of laughter. No one was more sur-
prised at their instantaneous success than Mansfield
himself.
Miss Beatrice Cameron, as the rich widow, looked
prettier, dressed better, and acted more effectively than
she has since she has been here. She received almost an
enthusiastic ovation. As to Mansfield and the rest of the
company, they were as good as usual in the piece and
much more at home in their parts than in the two previous
plays.
Prince Karl" was merely put on one night as a
feeler. There is scarcely any doubt that Mansfield will
continue it during the remainder of his engagement at the
Lyceum.
With some of the critics here he will get no praise,
whatever he does. But if the expression of opinion,
of the best of their number to him personally, and
among themselves in the foyer to-night, is any criterion,
then it may be taken for granted that Mansfield will
soon draw as big houses at the Lyceum as did Mary
Anderson.

1888]
THE LONDON MISTAKE
165
"Prince Karl" became the evening bill on the Monday
evening following, in spite of the somewhat severe blow
to his pride that his former more serious efforts as an
artist should be less popularly received than a light comedy
which he held far below the standard of his ambition.
The attendance was now larger, but not yet profitable.
The performances were still given at a loss. This, added
to the huge indebtedness which had piled up during the
preceding twelve weeks, presented an obligation and an
outlook to distress the stoutest heart. It was really all
along a struggle from hand to mouth. Every shilling went
to his company, and a weekly promissory note for $3,000,
bearing interest, was handed Mr. Irving for the rental of
the Lyceum. One week, Mansfield's manager, Mr. E.
D. Price, came to him with the news of a crowning catas-
trophe. Two hundred pounds, their share of the week's
receipts, had been stolen from the safe in the office of
the theatre. Too late he realised what he overlooked in
his spontaneous eagerness to do great things when Irving
offered him time at the Lyceum-that he had allowed
himself to be booked in London at the wrong time of the
year; that financial success there is a growth and not a
shower; and, finally, that, on the same boards with the
most popular actor England had doted on for generations,
and a man in the full flower of his important achievements,
and, preceded by the greatest living actress at the zenith
of her power and fame, he had challenged criticism with
three mediocre, unpretentious plays, displaying two char-
acters essentially repugnant to the sympathies, and a
third which defined only the superficial elegancies of his
art.
Impoverished and exhausted, his material depleted, and
nothing ahead, apparently, but to close his season and,


166
[1888
RICHARD MANSFIELD
as he had prophesied, "swim home," his mettle was chal-
lenged. He was ever a man for an emergency, never
more undaunted than in seeming defeat. He now mani-
fested his courageous spirit and his indomitable pluck. He
would not leave London defeated. The hoped for success
of Chevrial, Karl, and Hyde, even at the best, could not
have been comparable to the triumph he now determined
to wring from the intolerable situation. It is not drawing
the long bow to say that London was profoundly aston-
ished the morning it read Richard Mansfield's announce-
ment that he had leased the Globe Theatre and would,
before he left the British capital, act the Duke of Gloster
in Shakespeare's tragedy of "King Richard III." He
would measure himself at the shoulder of the greatest
English actors.
He had never seen this play performed, but its incom-
parable invitation to the artist of powers and resources
had long been beckoning him. For financial substance
he turned to his old friend, Eben D. Jordan, and his
staunch admirer responded handsomely.
He was not able to secure the Globe immediately on
the termination of his lease of the Lyceum, December 1.
One week he devoted to seven appearances at the Alex-
andra Theatre, Liverpool, and on his way back to London
indulged himself in an enterprise which had been near
to his heart ever since he arrived in England. One of
the first to rush to greet him on his arrival was his dear
old master, the Rev. Walter Clark, from whom he learned
that the Derby boys were struggling with a subscription
for a new racquet court. Mansfield at once promised to
come and play in Derby and devote the entire receipts to
the boys' subscription. This he accomplished, on his
way back from Liverpool to London, Monday, December

1888]
ACTS IN DERBY
167
10, 1888, at the Grand Theatre, where he gave not only
one performance, but two!-"Prince Karl" in the after-
noon and "Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde" in the evening. He
afterward spoke of this as one of the proudest occasions
of his life.
A Derby paper of the next day said: "At the close of
the evening performance Mr. Mansfield had quite an
ovation, being again and again recalled, and, a speech
being insisted on, he in a few well-chosen words expressed
the pleasure he felt in being in Derby once more, and the
pride he had always felt and should continue to feel in his
old school. He felt especial gratification at the enthusi-
astic reception he had received at their hands. The
audience included, of course, scores of Derby-School boys,
and some of them found a vent for their enthusiasm by
taking the horses from Mr. Mansfield's carriage and
dragging him in triumph up to the school." Once there
he did not fail to look up the platform of his boyish his-
trionic experiments.
Returning to London he opened his tenancy of the
Globe Theatre, "entirely refurnished during a possession
extending over thirty-six hours," Saturday evening, De-
cember 22. The play was "Prince Karl," with the identical
cast of its first presentation at the Lyceum, save for
Madame Carlotta Leclerq as Mrs. Daphne Lowell and
Weeden Grossmith as Howard Algernon Briggs. It was
preceded in the bill here by "Editha's Burglar," with Lionel
Brough. The music at the Globe now became a feature.
It was directed by Edward German.
The attendance during the holidays was encouraging,
and Mansfield applied himself with all the resources of
body and mind to the preparation of "King Richard III."
Ill luck, however, had another rap for him, and it fell the


168
[1889
RICHARD MANSFIELD
second week in January when his throat, which had been
affected by the climate from the moment winter set in,
gave him painful concern. Sir Morell Mackenzie attended
him, declared he was suffering from congestion of the
larynx, and must stop acting at once or he might suffer
permanent injury.
It was an emergency for quick action. Mansfield was
equal to it. He called his company together, advised
them of Sir Morell's diagnosis, but said he would act until
Saturday. Meantime he arranged for revivals of the old
comedies, leading with Goldsmith's "She Stoops to Con-
quer," in which he cast his own company, with the addi-
tion of Lionel Brough for Tony Lumpkin and beautiful
Kate Vaughan for Kate Hardcastle.
Once out of harness he redoubled his energy in pre-
paring his new rôle and his Shakesperian production.
He felt the need of single-mindedness, for the responsi-
bility of every detail fell on his shoulders. He gathered
about him experts on every aspect of the tragedy. Sey-
mour Lucas, A.R.A., F.S.A., designed the costumes and
armour; Egerton Castle, F.S.A., and J. G. Waller, F.S.A.,
advised on “military archæology," and Mr. Castle and
Walter Pollack assisted in mounting the fighting scenes;
William Telbin, Bruce Smith, and E. G. Banks designed
and painted the scenery; and Edward German composed
overture, entr'actes, and incidental music. Such
cohorts made it obvious that he was tremendously in
earnest.
Of these preparations he wrote later in Harper's Weekly:
"The man I remembered best of all in the studios was
Seymour Lucas, for cause that he had one day offered to
pledge his only table ornament, a silver cup, to relieve my
necessities; and I would have done the same by him,

1889]
AT BOURNEMOUTH
169
even to my evening boots built of fine patent leather, with
silk bows very near the toes to make the feet look small.
It was, then, to Seymour Lucas I applied for direction in
the matter of a historical production of 'King Richard
III.' . . . The supers were being drilled in the art of
ancient warfare by Captain Egerton Castle. . . . Ger-
man travelled down to me [he was in Bournemouth] to
talk about the music, and I hired a piano, and with locked
doors we strumped and hummed and whistled and sang
until that portion of the idea had taken form."
The article in Harper's Weekly (May 24, 1890), re-
ferred to, opens with a reference to his retirement to the
country, whither he had gone to study, and the first para-
graphs are repeated here for the sake of the ingratiating
sketch of English rural life and the denotement of the
writer's native geniality:
"Fagged out by a season of hard work, I had gone to
Bournemouth to regain my health and strength, and to
find vigour to commence a new attack upon the bulwarks
of popular favour. I took with me the half-formulated
plans and ideas of a regenerated 'Richard III.' . . . My
chief and only pleasure was found in the companionship
of an old Welsh mare; barring a corn on the off forefoot,
a sound and noble specimen of the good old English cob.
"Rain or shine I mounted this tawny-coloured steed
and trotted toward Christchurch. After all, there is no
road like an English road, and no lane like an English
lane; and if at the end of it there be a ruined abbey, a
quaint old hostelry, and the downs stretching across the
sea line as far as a keen eye can reach, there may be hope
for enjoyment.
"I never ask my way or inquire regarding sights—
sight-seeing itself is my abomination-so I came upon


170
[1889
RICHARD MANSFIELD
Christchurch one fine morning in a haphazard sort of
manner and rode into the old cobble street and passed
the ivy-grown abbey without a suspicion as to where I
might be. It was fine-that was all. I liked it; it was a
place for the painter. I saw an inn, and, as is usual, by
its side a stable, and I was back again with Mr. Pickwick
and Sam Weller in a moment. My crop was on my hip
as I rode through the gate and gave the call for the 'ostler;
and when he came limping out, he was the same old
'ostler, lame from a kick, with the same red hair, and the
same knowing eye, and the same touch of his forelock,
and the same old, very old, striped waistcoat. If any-
body else had come forward looking in any way different,
I should have awoke and fallen off my cob; it wasn't in
the nature of things to expect any one else, and nobody
else came. We had never met, but the man knew me
and I knew him. 'Oats!' I said; and he touched his
greasy cricket cap, threw the reins over his arm, and as I
moved up the steps to the side entrance to the house, the
broad hindquarters of the mare disappeared behind the
stable door-not, however, without one hind foot slipping
a little on a stone.
"I knew where the coffee-room was, and I knew I'd
find a good fire. I knew that if I pulled a rope by the
mantel-shelf I should hear the sound of a bell clanging
through the house. I knew that a more or less good-
looking girl would answer the summons. Here my first
doubt set in-she might be good-looking and she might
not. I did not desire to have my senses in any way
shocked by the sight of an ill-looking person. I was in
too soothed and comfortable a frame of mind. She
came; I knew it, although I was hanging over the fire
with one spurred boot on the fender. I waited a little

1889]
AN ENGLISH IDYL
171
while in order to nerve myself for the shock; then I turned.
I was very grateful. She was well-favoured. We, too,
had encountered each other before. It required no in-
troduction. I had chucked her under the chin in every
part of England, and she expected it just as much as she
expected the shilling, and I expected her to say, 'Lor', sir!'
Some bread and cheese and a pint of ale-old ale; there
is some old ale here, I know it, as mild as milk and as
powerful as Hennessy.
"It rained, it pattered on the window pane, and the
room became darker and the fire more cheerful. I lolled in
the shiny brown chair, threw my head far back, and there
was shortly a fragrance of tobacco smoke. I knew there
was a very old man in the house who had lived there for
generations, and in due time he entered. He was part
of it all, so was the rain, and the mare in the stable crunch-
ing her corn, and the 'ostler 'sh-shing' as he rubbed down
a horse by the door, and the yellow-white Scotch whiskey,
too, in the short, round tumbler, with a foot to it, by the
host's elbow. He droned about crops and visitors and
the curate (he knew I knew them all). 'Salmon was
coming in fine.' 'I'd better stay and have a slice crimped.'
I shook myself, went out and looked at the weather, got
on to my cob and rode home thinking; but I was away
back all the time in the forties and-how perfectly con-
tented! I rode out that way every day, and never sought
for anything different; it satisfied me, sometimes with a
wild gallop on the downs or a jump or two over a low
hedge.
"In the meantime I was making up my mind more and
more every day, either on the downs or in the coffee-room
at Christchurch, as to what sort of a man Richard o'
Gloster was; and now no one can make me think he was


172
[1889
RICHARD MANSFIELD
otherwise than as I am when I wear his coat and cap.
You may not like him, but he is a 'being,' which is more
than the ranting, raving, sulking monstrosity you have
been accustomed to was."/
For two months, so far as the public knew anything of
Mansfield, he was in complete retirement. They were
for him, however, months of strenuous labour, zealous
study and dire apprehension. The night he appeared
first as Chevrial he was unknown, there was no expecta-
tion. He had much to gain, but he had neither invest-
ment nor reputation to lose. Now he faced an epoch-
making crisis in his career. His increasing celebrity had
stimulated expectation; to realise an ambition he had
plunged into an indebtedness of upward of sixty thousand
dollars; and he was challenging fame in one of the most
exacting of Shakespeare's characters, a rôle hedged about
with hard and fast tradition, and indissolubly bound up
in the history of every great British actor, including Irving,
who was the only living exponent of Richard on the Eng-
lish stage.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN
(1889)
Produces "King Richard III"-Conquering a riotous pit-Smashing
traditions-His note on King Richard-Making friends-A
letter from Robert Buchanan-A visit from his old master-
Returns to America.
MANSFIELD first acted the Duke of Gloster in Shake-
speare's tragedy, "King Richard III," on Saturday even-
ing, March 16, 1889, at the Globe Theatre, London.¹
The first performance was very nearly ruined by the
occupants of the pit. The brutalities of the professional
wreckers in these cheap seats is traditional in London.
From the earliest days of the theatre they have dictated
to the managers, created babels which made it impos-
sible to hear plays, and driven actors from the stage.

1 The cast was:
King Henry VI
Prince of Wales
Duke of York.
Duke of Gloster, afterward King
Richard III
Duke of Buckingham
Duke of Norfolk
Earl of Richmond
Lord Stanley.
Sir Richard Ratcliffe
Earl of Oxford
Lord Mayor of London
Sir James Blount
Sir William Catesby
Earl of Surrey.
Sir Robert Brokenbury
Berkeley.
Lord Hastings.
Captain of the Guard
Tressel
Sir James Tyrrel
Mr. Allan Beaumont.
Miss Bessie Hatton.
Miss Isa Bowman.
Mr. Richard Mansfield.
Mr. James Fernandez.
Mr. W. R. Staveley.
Mr. Luigi Lablache.
Mr. D. H. Harkins.
Mr. Reginald Stockton.
Mr. J. Burrows.
Mr. Joseph Frankau.
Mr. Leonard Calvert.
Mr. Norman Forbes.
Mr. J. Parry.
Mr. Merwyn Dallas.
Mr. J. G. Slee.
Mr. W. H. Crompton.
Mr. H. Wyatt.
Mr. Arthur Gilmore.
Mr. C. Stewart.
173

174
[1889
RICHARD MANSFIELD
There were occasions when Garrick himself could not
withstand the pit.
During the weeks immediately preceding Mansfield's
appearance as Gloster the pitites had been particularly
active. A few evenings before they had broken up a first
night's performance at Mrs. John Wood's Theatre, keep-
ing up such a turmoil that the entire play was presented
practically in dumb show.
A friend brought Mansfield word that there would be a
hostile demonstration against his Richard, and on the
advice of a Londoner high in authority a dozen police
officers in plain clothes were to be sprinkled through the
pit. If any one made an outbreak, disapproval was to be
expressed, and if he did not subside he was to be taken
out and locked up.
The crowd at the pit entrance to the Globe before the
doors opened on the first night was so great that the
peace-officers could not get near it, and the mistake was
made of allowing them to enter by a private doorway.
The struggle for precedence in getting in was so frenzied
Sir Thomas Vaughan
Sir Walter Herbert
Sir William Brandon
Earl of Pembroke
Marquis of Dorset
Lord Lovell
Bishop of Ely
Garter King at Arms
Wyndham
Court Jester
Standard Bearer
Queen Elisabeth
Lady Attendants to the Queen
Duchess of Yorke
Lady Attendant to the Duchess
Margaret Plantagenet
Edward Plantagenet
Lady Anne
Mr. Edgar Norton.
Mr. F. Smiles.
Mr. Sydney Price.
Mr. H. Druce.
Mr. M. Buist.
Mr. L. Dubarri.
Mr. A. Sims.
Mr. F. Tipping.
Mr. F. Vivian.
Mr. F. W. Knight.
Mr. F. Broughton.
Miss Mary Rorke.
Miss Burton,
Miss Langton, and
Miss Olliffe.
Miss Carlotta Leclarcq.
Mrs. Whittier Chandos.
Miss E. Orford.
Miss N. Bowman.
Miss Beatrice Cameron.
Priests, Monks, Acolytes, Men-at-arms, Citizens, Merchants, Pages, Archers.
Aldermen, Children, &c., &c.

RICHARD MANSFIELD IN "KING RICHARD III"

18891
A RIOTOUS PIT
175
that the first dozen were bruised and battered and nearly
stripped of their clothing. When they saw that others
had been admitted before them, they passed the word to
those following and set up a demonstration which soon
took on the proportions of a riot.
Mansfield's own narrative in Harper's Weekly covers
this angry prologue:
The excitement of a first night is actual suffering; the
nervousness actual torture. Yet as I walk down the
Strand on my way to the theatre that night and note
the impassive, imperturbable faces of the passers-by, I must
confess to myself that I would not change places with
them-no, not for worlds. I have something that is filling
my life brimful of interest, every nerve is dancing, every
muscle quivering. It's like a battle. I shall win or die.
I'm in my dressing-room at last, and at last it's the
first night of tragedy. My first night of tragedy! I
begin to realise it all at once. It comes upon me with the
most stunning force. I do not believe I have thought of
it before. I'm afraid my servant, my devoted John
Metzger, will see my hands trembling as I draw the lines
under my eyes. I have donned my first dress. I am
ready. Lucas has been to see me. He says I look like
the pictures of Richard. That is well.
There is an uproar in the house. Hark! they are
shrieking and yelling. John is in a ferment of terror, and
says, in his broken accent, that "they vas wrecking the
house." I wonder what it is all about. Presently the
news comes. First one and then the other pale-faced
emissary. Somebody has blundered. Men have been
allowed to take places in the pit before the doors were
regularly and properly opened.
Augustus Harris comes panting and very red, “You
must go out and speak to them." Lucas, Castle, and
Walter Pollock stand friendly and anxious at the door.
I have become calm. I have drawn up another chair.



176
[1889
RICHARD MANSFIELD
I am resting my legs upon it. "Augustus," I said to
Harris, "you are very popular. Go, speak to them for
me." He went, but did not speak, and the uproar be-
came greater and greater, and still I sat quietly in my
room. Somehow all this did not seem to concern me.
It was not in any way part or parcel of my production of
'King Richard III." It was there all ready for them,
I reflected, and if they did not wish to see it, all well and
good. I was sure I should not raise the curtain or my
voice until they were silent and attentive. I think my
stage manager harangued them to little purpose, and the
curtain rose on the first scene.
66
I do not know how it came about. I think the demons
felt somehow or other that it was beautiful. I always
say it awed them into silence. At all events they were
very still. They could not hiss their own dear old Tower
of London, standing there so grim and majestic in the
twilight-the bells tolling, and the guards slowly patrolling
the court before the warden's gate. Elisabeth, attended
by her train, had passed across the drawbridge. The
moment had come.
I opened the little door in the tower and stepped out.
I was quite calm. A great storm of applause swept over
me, and I looked at the house. The storm came rushing
at me again and again, and still again. It seemed as if it
would never tire, and I wished so that it would, for it was
beating me down surer than cudgels and hard words
could have done; and I felt the fatal lump rising in my
throat, and the quiver of my underlip. (I have never
been able to overcome certain traits of my childhood. I
am as easily moved to laughter and to tears, to anger and
to sympathy, as I was then, and beyond a certain amount
of added knowledge, I feel just as I did then. I run,
jump, eat, sleep, and comport myself in most ways as I
did when I was a boy.) .
He had indeed conquered the malcontents. And at
the end of each succeeding scene the pit joined in the

1889]
"KING RICHARD III"
177
recalls with increasing enthusiasm. At the end of the
play the demand that he address them came from every
part of the house, and his words of modesty and sincerity
were listened to with respect. Reverting to his own
account: "The ship had been well and safely launched-
Would she float?"
Mansfield repeatedly declared that he could not act a
standard rôle to the psychology of which he was not able
to bring some fresh point of view. For the trivialities
merely of new "business" in reviving a character he had
little interest. It was scarcely surprising, therefore, that
his version and his performance of "King Richard III”
set tradition aside in almost every particular.
As he arranged the tragedy, it opened in a courtyard of
the Tower of London, with a prologue which was made
up from those passages in "King Henry VI" where the
orders come from the Duke of Gloster for the King's
closer confinement.
The first act was divided into two scenes. The earlier
was devoted to a superb historic pageant of Queen Eliza-
beth and her train entering the Tower, and concluded
with Gloster's first appearance and his soliloquy, "Now
is the winter of our discontent," which he gave intact as
far as the line, "And hate the idle pleasures of these days."
To this he added from Act III, scene 2, of the third part
of "King Henry VI":

PHOTO
Then, since this earth affords no joy to me
But to command, to check, to o'erbear such
As are of better person than myself,
I'll make my heaven to dream upon the crown;
And whiles I live to account this world but hell,
Until my misshaped trunk that bears this head
Be round impaled with a glorious crown-

178
[1889
RICHARD MANSFIELD
And from Act III, scene 1, the second part of "King
Henry VI":
My brain, more busy than the labouring spider,
Weaves tedious snares to trap mine enemies,
For Edward being dead, as he shall be,
And Henry put apart-the next for me!
The second scene disclosed King Henry's apartment in
the Tower, and here was acted his murder by Gloster,
from Act V, scene 6, the third part of "King Henry VI."
Acts II and III were Shakespeare's very own save for
necessary condensation, and for the transfer of the wooing
of Lady Anne from "a street in London" to a beautiful
spot on the road to Chertsey. Acts IV and V were largely
the Colley Cibber arrangement of Shakespeare's text.
Mansfield's version was published, and he prefaced it
with this "Nota," which set forth the new view he took of
the character:
NOTA
William Shakespeare, in writing the tragedy of King
Richard III, was either himself desirous of pleasing the
Tudor Court (Queen Elizabeth being the granddaughter
of Henry of Richmond), or he drew his history from such
corrupt authorities as Hall, Hollinshed, and the work
attributed to Sir Thomas More, but much more likely
from the pen of that notable enemy to Richard-Bishop
Morton.
Moreover, the great poet, in arranging the principal
events of Gloster's life for dramatic treatment, has so
distorted, confused and glomerated deeds and events that
it is most difficult to restore their sequence in the play or
to follow history while we follow Shakespeare. Yet we
surely may, while painting the life of Richard upon the

1889]
MANSFIELD ON HIS GLOSTER
179
stage, endeavour in some measure to make him appear
as he really was, permitting his character to form with the
march of events and his age to be somewhat measured by
the date of his acts. In dealing with his personal appear-
ance the actor has to regard the lines of the text:
I-that am rudely stamp'd
Cheated of feature by dissembling nature,
Deformed, unfinished-sent before my time
Into this breathing world, scarce half made up,
And that so lamely and unfashionable . .
But it would seem as if the suggestion of this would be
all-sufficient, the more so as it is well known that the
slightly deformed are highly sensitive and constantly and
grossly exaggerate their own defects. Such may have
been the case with Richard, for Rous alone of all the his-
torians (and he a prejudiced one at that) says that his
shoulders were uneven and his features small "curtam
habens faciem" . . . and Rous even contradicts him-
self in describing the deformity. On the other hand we
have many pictures, notably the one at Windsor Castle,
that in the possession of the Society of Antiquaries—the
painting at Eton (for a fac-simile of which the author is
indebted to the Provost of Eton), and the portrait in the
Bethnal Green Museum. All of these have been copied
for present use, and in all the general characteristics are
the same-the face mournful, almost to pathos, suggestive
of wonderful facility of expression and firmness. We also
have John Stow's authorities that Richard "was of
bodily shape comely enough," and the word of the
Countess of Desmond who danced with him in King Ed-
ward's Court and declared him "the handsomest man in
the room, his brother, the King, excepted." The actor
has preferred therefore to touch as lightly as is possible,
in view of the text, upon the deformity of Richard's body.
1 John Stow, the antiquary, born about 1525.



180
[1889
RICHARD MANSFIELD
The deformity of his mind, as drawn by Shakespeare, has
to be adhered to, although history fails to corroborate it.
Richard did not slay Edward, the son of Henry VI, he did
not kill King Henry, he did not murder his Queen, the
Lady Anne, and there are grave doubts as to his having
been implicated in the deaths of Edward V and his brother,
absolutely no evidence existing that Henry VII did not
find both Princes alive upon his accession. Regarding
Lady Anne, his affection for her was sincere. Legge
says: "She had inspired the dreams of Richard's boyhood,
had been the solace of his hours of care and danger." In
any case the actor may perhaps be allowed to suppose
that inclination and interest went hand in hand, or that,
at all events, Richard would be too clever a dissimulator
to jeopardise the result of his wooing by senseless buffoon-
ery, and that, supposing such a scene possible, it would
take great apparent sincerity to win even so frail and
gentle a creature as the Lady Anne by the body of her
dead husband's father and the memory of that dead hus-
band green in her heart.
When Richard fought at the battle of Tewkesbury and
then, according to popular tradition, hastened to London
to dispatch Henry, he was only nineteen years of age.
The actor has taken the liberty of seizing upon this fact
to contrast Richard in his earlier and more careless days
(his strength, his vast ambition, his imperial mind and
reckless courage all fresh in him) with the haggard, con-
science-stricken and careworn tyrant Shakespeare paints
him fourteen years later.
Shortly after the battle of Tewkesbury, Edward and
Richard came to London, Elizabeth Woodville, the wife
of Edward, taking up her residence in the Tower, while
Edward marched on toward Canterbury to crush Falcon-
bridge. It is after the entrance of Elizabeth and her
train, that we first see Richard, who, if he stayed behind
to slay Henry VI (in ward in prison in the Tower of Lon-
don) must have lost no time in the execution of that deed,
for Henry VI died on a Tuesday night, the 21st of May,
between eleven and twelve of the clock, and we hear of

1889]
SHAKESPEARE RESET
181
Gloster, on the 22d, as being on his way to Canterbury
with his brother. Warkworth's Chronicle has it that on
the morrow "the dead King was chested and brought to
Paul's," from thence he was taken to Chertsey and again
to Blackfriars, or, according to more correct authorities,
to Whitefriars. The actor has imagined it likely that
the body was conveyed on a bright May morning, by
the budding hedges of the Twickenham road, the blos-
soms of early spring all a-bloom and the roofs of Lon-
don town, the high walls of Westminster Palace and
the frowning towers of the fortress seen dimly through
the summer haze. It is here by the wayside that
Richard has chosen to await the coming of Lady
Anne. Reference is made to this scene on account of
its having been the custom to place it in a street in
London.
The last act of the tragedy has also been much changed,
notably Richard's evil dream and the fight of Bosworth
field, in which latter the actor has hoped to produce
greater realistic effect by following the tale of history.
The fight is taken up after Lord Stanley's defection, after
John Howard, first Duke of Norfolk, Richard's truest
friend, has been slain by a bow drawn by an unseen hand,
after the Earl of Surrey had been overpowered and taken
prisoner, when Richard, weak with wounds and dis-
mounted, knows that all is lost and that vanquished by
treachery he must die or yield. "He continued his
ferocity," says Mr. Hutton, "till his powers and his friends
failing for every one of his followers was either fallen or
fled he stood single in the centre of his enemies--he fell
fighting an army.
The actor in modelling his conception of the character
of King Richard III has borne in mind the words of Mr.
Legge: "The first thought suggested by a comprehensive
survey of Richard's life is the remarkable illustration it
affords of the triumph of pure intellect over the most
formidable obstacles. If we credit the stories of his phys-
ical deformity, the triumph of mind is proportionately
enhanced." And he has also remembered Napoleon's


182
[1889
RICHARD MANSFIELD
advice to Talma: "That the greatest kings do speak like
ordinary mortals."
In arranging the book and in curtailing what would be
an impossibly long play, he has somewhat followed the
scenario of that very clever dramatiser, Colley Cibber;
but he has endeavoured throughout to restore the language
of Shakespeare, and only where it has been absolutely
imperative to join events by the aid of foreign material,
has he made very slight use of Cibber
The actor acknowledges with sincere gratitude the in-
valuable advice and coöperation of Mr. Seymour Lucas,
Mr. Blomfield, Mr. Walter Herries Pollock, Captain
Egerton Castle, Mr. Waller and Mr. Weekes. For the
admirable music he is indebted to Mr. Edward German,
as he is most surely to all those who, upon the first occa-
sion of representation, worked with so much zeal and
generosity to crown with success a somewhat considerable
and hazardous undertaking.
RICHARD MANSFIELD.
Macklin's Shylock was scarcely more revolutionary
than Mansfield's Gloster. His predecessors in the rôle
of Richard indicated no lapse of years in the Prince, no
growth in crime, no interval to allow the development of
the reactionary effect of evil deeds on one who at first
was only a man of evil thoughts and will. What they
were at the end that were they at the beginning, and the
experiences between had only the value of incident.
Mansfield gave his characterisation moral and dramatic
value by denoting the progress and effect of crime.,
He wiped out three centuries of tradition with his first
entrance. Here was no halting, grizzled, lowering tyrant.
There bounded forth instead, a sleek, sinuous young
Prince of nineteen, beau enough to cover somewhat his
deformities, a creature of blithe villainy, "conquest writ in
every curl of his laughing lip or flash of his wonderful eyes."

1889]
AVENGING CONSCIENCE
183
There was in the killing of King Henry the sinister
humour of one who could easily say:
"Why, I can smile, and murder while I smile."
He was a mad-cap of such cheerful irony that Lady
Anne found him more irresistible than impossible, and,
when the funeral cortege passed on to Whitefriars, his
infatuation with his own mad deviltry pitched the speech
beginning: "Was ever woman in this humour woo'd?"
in light tones of boastful raillery which his sharp tongue
clipped off at a merry pace. From there on crime worked
its swift corrosion, but it was only when time had laid
some years upon him, as indicated in the Richard of the
throne-room scenes of Act III, that he disclosed con-
sciousness of the spiritual conflict.
It was ever in scenes displaying the force of avenging
conscience that Mansfield's imagination triumphed over
his material and over the spectator most completely. The
cry with which Richard started from his dream-haunted
couch: "Give me another horse! Bind up my wounds!"
was for him no climax. He carried the scene on, spilling
the words in a torrent of agonised emotion, sustaining the
delirium of fears to which the sudden approach of Catesby
in the darkness added a crowning terror, and releasing
the spell only when Richard realised that no haunting
spectre stood before him, and fell on his friend's neck
with a soul-delivering sigh. On the field of battle he was
defiant and terrible to the end. When his sword was
gone he fought on, with his outstretched hands as if alone
and unarmed he could command victory with his terrific
will.
The appeals made to the senses by the pictures and
the music, and to scholarship by every aspect of the his-
torical elaboration were not preceded or followed on the


184
[1889
RICHARD MANSFIELD
English stage by anything more detailed, accurate, com-
plete or beautiful. His strikingly imagined and forcefully
portrayed King Richard III at once established him as
one of the high intellectual and artistic forces with which
the stage would have to reckon, an actor no longer of
promise, but achievement. He was thereafter compared
only with the first artists.
Among his papers were preserved letters attesting his
triumph from the leading personages of London. Many
of these were or became his devoted friends. Among
them were the Baroness Burdett-Coutts, William Frith,
R.A., the Duke of Bedford, Henry Labouchere, Lillian
Nordica, Henry Irving, Beerbohm Tree, the Duchess of
Teck, David Anderson, of the Times, G. H. Broughton,
the painter, Oscar Wilde, Justin McCarthy, Lady Freake,
Clement Scott, Ellen Terry, Mr. and Mrs. Kendal and
Alfred Gilbert, the sculptor.
A letter he especially prized came from Robert Bu-
chanan, the poet and playwright:
LONDON, March 26.
MY DEAR SIR:-Outside praise is of little value to one
who works from his own point of insight, but knowing
from experience that a friendly wish may be pleasant, I
venture to tell you how much I was impressed by your
Richard III. Your Shakespearian work seems to be
about as fine as it could be. I do not understand those
critics who, while praising it, say it is not Richard: to me
it seems an absolute realisation of that demoniac creature.
You have one unusual gift in addition to your subtler
ones-that of music in the voice, which makes a poor
devil of a poet hunger to have his lines delivered by such
an organ. I went prepared to see an excellent piece of
acting; I found a masterpiece of characterisation. And
what a delight it is to find an actor at last who is thoroughly

RICHARD MANSFIELD IN "KING RICHARD III"
From a photograph, copyright, 1897, by J. M. Hart & Co.

1889]
GARRICK'S BUCKLES
185
alive, who is perfectly fearless in his intellectual agility,
and never falters one moment in his execution of a daring
conception. I just write you these few words of con-
gratulation. Later I may have an opportunity of writing
to the public also.
Yours truly,
ROBERT BUCHANAN.
Among the pleasant compliments paid him was that of
the Dowager Lady Freake. In May she gave a dinner
in his honour at her country house in Twickenham. On
this occasion she presented him with a splendid pair of
shoe buckles which had belonged to David Garrick and
later to Edmund Kean. Lady Harrington gave them to
Lady Freake. She loaned them to E. A. Sothern to
use in his first performance of "David Garrick" but
determined, she said, to allow them to pass from her
ownership only to the actor who would please her best
in a Shakespearian part. The card accompanying the
buckles said: "From Lady Freake to Richard Mans-
field for his fine performance of 'King Richard III.""
Later the widow of Lester Wallack presented Mansfield
with a pair of buckles which Charles Kean had given her
husband.
Another pleasant feature of this engagement was
devised by Edward German and the members of the
orchestra who, on Mansfield's birthday, presented him
with an escutcheon set in a wreath of laurel leaves and
surmounted with a bust of Shakespeare, the whole done
in silver. The inscription read: "To Richard Mans-
field, Esquire, from the Members of the Orchestra, at
the Globe Theatre, London, May 24, 1889."
On his own part, he did not forget old friends, and in
the midst of his labours and success he arranged, among

186
1889
RICHARD MANSFIELD
other courtesies, to have his old master, Rev. Walter
Clark and his sister, Miss Clark, come up to London as
his guests. Mr. Clark's acknowledgment is interesting:
MY DEAR MANSFIELD:
Accept our very sincere thanks for your kind and gen-
erous hospitality while we were in London. We enjoyed
our visit immensely. I was never so impressed in my
life as I was by your acting.
You have achieved
marvellous success. No one, I can assure you is prouder
of the honours you have gained than my sister and my-
self. . . . I am quite sure that the annals of the English
or any other stage cannot show at any period so rapid a rise
to fame as your own. Now on which Sunday may we
hope to have the pleasure of seeing you? . . You
shall have a most hearty welcome. I am quite sure that
the change, short one tho' it be, will do you some good.
Your kindness in bringing your company to Derby we
can never adequately repay-I can merely say that we
shall always remember it with gratitude.
Most faithfully yours,
WALTER CLARK.
He acted "King Richard III" uninterruptedly until
June 1, when his season concluded with the termination
of his lease of the Globe Theatre. London connoisseurs
had given him the highest praise, but the public did not
come in paying numbers. Not a week passed without
adding to the financial load which he was bearing. The
Globe was not a large theatre. The receipts, if all the
seats had been sold-and they never were-would have
been nearly a hundred pounds less each week than the
actual current expenses of the theatre and of the numerous
forces employed in "King Richard III."
After a few visits to old friends and new, he sailed
toward the end of June on the Adriatic, and he never


1889]
A DEBTRIDDEN OPTIMIST
187
acted in England again. He was bringing back a debt
of over one hundred thousand dollars, but his venture
had won him an asset, for the doors were slowly opening
to a position among the first living dramatic artists.


CHAPTER FIFTEEN
(1889-1890)
Acts "King Richard III" in America-Public not ready for his
Gloster-"Master and Man"-Miss Cameron in "A Doll's
House"-A reputation for eccentricity-His apology for the
conscientious artist.
He hoped now to abandon "Prince Karl" and "Mon-
sieur," and not again descend from the plane to which
he had raised himself. "I give up such plays," he wrote,
"just as I gave up the entertainment business to become
an actor. I believe I have grown out of dramatic knicker-
bockers into trousers, so to speak." He made a brave
effort to advance, but there was struggle enough ahead,
and he needed all the courage and hope in which he was
so strong. It was reasonable for him to expect that the
artistic success of his "King Richard III" in London
might be converted into something more substantial in
America. It has repeatedly been the experience of other
artists.
He began his season of 1889-1890 at the Globe Theatre,
Boston, on Wednesday evening October 21, and planned
to tour in no other rôle than Gloster for at least a year.
Then he played for three weeks at the Broad Street
Theatre, Philadelphia. Writing to Dithmar of the bad
business in the latter city, he said: "I am thinking of
inserting an advertisement here as follows: 'Mr. Richard
Mansfield is sorry to disturb the inhabitants of Philadel-
188

1890]
A DARK OUTLOOK
189
phia, but he begs to announce that he appears every
evening as King Richard III."" The balance of the tour
included his first appearance November 25, as a star at the
National Theatre, Washington and the following week at
the Academy of Music, Baltimore. Thence to New York
City, where, at Palmer's (previously and later Wallack's)
Theatre, he acted "King Richard III" first December 16.
It soon became pitifully plain that the public were not
ready to accept his authority. Elocution, declamation,
rant and fustian were expected by the public in Shakes-
peare and especially in Richard. "Give us more hump,"
read one complaining letter. The imaginative and dis-
criminating, the few who had their eyes raised, saw and
proclaimed the quality of the characterisation, but Mans-
field could not impose his originality on the masses.
Too
few possessed the kernel of Hans Sachs's philosophy:
"When you find that you have been trying to measure
by your own rules that which does not lie within the
compass of your rules, the thing to do is to forget your
rules and try and discover the rules of that which you
wish to measure!"
He acted "King Richard III" in New York City barely
four weeks. On the last night, January 18, 1890, he
concluded his speech of thanks to the only crowded house
of the engagement with the frank admission that lack of
patronage had terminated the run of the tragedy, but
with solicitation of future patronage and the promise that
"What I take from the public with one hand I will give
with the other."
Not in all his life before had the future presented itself
with less hope than now. His distress during the early
days in London was a private concern. When he dis-
banded his company six years before he was compara-


190
[1890
RICHARD MANSFIELD
tively unknown, and though penniless, was at least out
of debt. Now, however, he was an international figure
of some consequence. His increasing indebtedness had
carried his credit with Mr. Jordan to a point beyond which
he did not dare and did not think it fair to push it. His
misplaced confidence in the success of an American tour
in "King Richard III" had been so complete that he
had not provided himself with other material. The
issue of the first half of the season left no doubt that he
must not hope at this time to attract the public in paying
numbers to Shakespeare's tragedy. To disband his com-
pany, send his production to the auction room, seek for
himself any engagement that would bring him a living
until he could summon fresh energies-that was what he
foresaw when T. Henry French brought him the manu-
script of "Master and Man."
This was a melodrama by Messrs. Sims & Pettit. It
was frankly of the "thriller" type, but had achieved a
respectable popularity at the Princess's Theatre, London,
during a long run. Letters from friends in England
assured him that in the rôle of Humpy Logan he would
find expression for his powers, if not on their highest
plane, at least forcibly and effectively, and that the com-
bination of his secure and polished art and the popular
qualities of the play would induce a success that would
crowd the theatre and enable him to throw off some of
his indebtedness. Made desperate by circumstances,
and consoling his pride with the fact that actors of the
first rank had in all periods made distinguished success
in melodrama, he ignored his own taste and preference
and listened to the voice of expediency.
He could not afford to close the theatre while rehearsing,
so he made "Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde" the bill during

1890]
HUMPY LOGAN
191
the week of January 20, and "Prince Karl" the week
following. On Monday evening, February 5, 1890, he
and his company acted "Master and Man" for the first
time at Palmer's Theatre.¹
Logan was "the Man," Carlton was "the Master."
The former was deformed bodily and morally, and rep-
resented a conventional type of theatrical villain. Mans-
field found little support for his art either in the character
or the story as written. He imbued the part with some
interest, however, during the fervent avowal of the hideous
Logan's love in the first act and he swept the play to a
momentary success in a later scene of unbridled terror
when the wretch was threatened with death in the fur-
naces of his own firing. But the play made no genuine
appeal below the second balcony. Mansfield acted it for
less than two unprofitable weeks and it later found its
own audience for some years of life when played by
another actor in the cheap theatres.
To add to his discomfiture at this time a conspiracy
was formed among the supers who had been appearing in
1 The cast was:
Jack Walton
Robert Carlton
Humpy Logan.
Tom Honeywood
Jim Burleigh
Crispin St. Jones
Levano
Jim.
Ned Barton
·
John Willett
Joe Robins
•
Old Ben.
Landlord.
Postman
Hester Thornbury
Little Johnnie.
Kesiah Honeywood.
Katey and Janey
•
Letty Lightfoot
Mr. J. H. Gilmour.
Mr. E. B. Norman.
Mr. Richard Mansfield.
Mr. Russell Bassett.
Mr. L. Eddinger.
Mr. W. J. Ferguson.
Mr. Hubert Druce.
Mr. Frank Smiles.
Mr. Franklyn Roberts.
Mr. D. H. Harkins.
Mr. M. Buist.
Mr. A. Butler.
Mr. Edgar Norton.
Mr. F. Daley.
Miss Isabelle Evesson.
Master Wallie Eddinger.
Miss Katherine Rogers.
Misses Nelly and
Emmie Bowman.
Miss Beatrice Cameron.



192
[1890
RICHARD MANSFIELD
"King Richard III." They alleged that they had been
engaged until the first of the June following. A test suit
was instituted by the malcontents and welcomed by Mans-
field. When the facts were presented the judge imme-
diately threw the case out of court, but had Mansfield lost
it would have been the signal for the combined armies of
Richard and Richmond to storm the royal exchequer.
But to what end? It was empty.
Undaunted by the lack of popular interest in his
Richard or by the issue of "Master and Man," Mansfield
held his company together and secured the capital to
proceed to Chicago. He resumed his interrupted season
there at the Columbia Theatre with "King Richard III."
It was received with unalloyed enthusiasm. Then as
always Mansfield found in that great-hearted city the
support and inspiration which sustained him in many a
crisis. The second week of his stay was devoted to
"A Parisian Romance," the third to "Dr. Jekyll and Mr.
Hyde." These three plays with an occasional evening
of "Monsieur," now renamed "The Frenchman," were
the only ones in which he appeared during the tour.
From Chicago he went to the Olympic Theatre, St.
Louis, and while there news reached him of the cyclone
which had devastated the city of Louisville. Thus early
in the new tour did misfortune overtake him for he was
booked to play in the Kentucky city the week begin-
ning March 31. He tried to get a theatre in St. Louis in
order to devote the week to a series of performances for
the benefit of the sufferers, but failing in this project, he
took his company to Louisville and secured a rearrange-
ment of his booking by which he played at Macauley's
Theatre the week of April 7. He and his associates spent
the idle week doing what they could for the stricken

1889]
"A DOLL'S HOUSE"
193
people and the newspapers spoke appreciatively of their
efforts.
His only other appearances during this tour were at
the Euclid Avenue Opera House, Cleveland; the Lyceum
Theatre, Rochester, New York; and in Boston for a
fortnight at the Boston Theatre. He had rehearsed the
tragedy of "Kean" and announced it for his second week
in Boston, but he did not play it then or afterward. On
Monday, May 5, he reached the Madison Square Theatre
and played "A Parisian Romance" for two weeks.
A significant and felicitous incident of Mansfield's sea-
son of 1889-1890 was the opportunity he gave Miss
Cameron to act Henrik Ibsen's Nora in "A Doll's House."
The Norwegian was at that time in the maturity of his
accomplishment, but his popularity and influence were
as yet unfelt in the English-speaking theatre. Miss
Cameron seized each of the plays as the translations
appeared and her appreciation at once transformed her
into an admirer of the Norse dramatist. In putting
Nora on the stage she did a pioneer work." A Doll's
House" had not been seen before in the cities where Miss
Cameron acted it. The audiences were somewhat du-
bious in their understanding of the character and the
play, but they saw an illuminative performance of Nora.
Miss Cameron brought to it a rare intellectual grasp and
force; charming every one by the sweetness and impetu-
osity with which she portrayed the volatile and varying
emotions of the girl-wife. Mansfield wrote a friend:
"Miss Cameron's success was something extraordinary,
and she has suddenly blossomed into something very
close akin to greatness.” “A Doll's House" was played
first in Boston on Wednesday afternoon, October 30 and
in New York December 21. Other cities to see matinées


194
[1890
RICHARD MANSFIELD
of the Ibsen play were Philadelphia, Washington, Balti-
more, Chicago and St. Louis.¹
So little did the public know of the drama that in
Philadelphia, where it was played to the largest audience
of the series, the majority of those present were children
accompanied by their nurses and the sidewalk outside
the theatre was lined with perambulators.
For several years Mansfield by virtue of being himself,
had been building up a reputation for eccentricity. His
curtain speeches especially were regarded as abnormal.
The fact is he never appreciated the compliment in the
call for a speech. To him it savoured of a bargainer who
wanted yet more for his money. In any event, he felt
it was divested of distinction because at the time every
farceur who pleased, was expected to add five or ten
minutes of monologue before the curtain to his entertain-
ment. As a rule, he conformed with success to what he
regarded as humbuggery, but his practical sense and his
sense of humour did at times run away with him. Then
he abandoned the conventional mockery of deep emotion,
and under a transparent veil of irony, took liberties
with himself and the audience. There was no malice
in what he said and his auditors, in general, found
his satire refreshing. But the smug and literal-minded
made a great pretence of being offended and endowed
The cast of these first performances of "A Doll's House" included these
names:
Thorvald Helmer
Nils Krogstad.
Dr. Rank
Porter
Mrs. Linden
Ellen
Mary Ann
Little Bob
Emmie
Nora
Mr. Atkins Lawrence.
Mr. Merwyn Dallas.
Mr. Hubert Druce.
Mr. F. King.
Miss Helen Glidden.
Miss Russell.
Miss Muire.
Miss Nellie Bowman.
Miss Emma Bowman.
Miss Beatrice Cameron.

1890]
ECCENTRICITIES
195
him with a reputation he was many years in living
down.
He never succeeded in smashing the magnifying glass
which was held over the caprices of his temper. The
most extravagant exaggerations were published and
believed to the end. The impression prevailed in some
quarters that he indulged himself in this and other
so-called eccentricities, but his answer to the whole mis-
apprehension is found in these paragraphs in the North
American Review:
Do not be led away by men who tell you to be original
-in other words, to be odd, eccentric, and to attract at-
tention to yourself by these means. Do not strive to be
original, strive to be true! If you succeed in being true
you will be original. If you go forth to seek originality
you will never find truth. If you go to seek truth, you
may discover originality. Do not be dazzled by the suc-
cess of chicanery or charlatanism-you will not find it
satisfying, for, however much you may impress others,
you will never believe in yourself unless you are insane.
The mediocre actor generally enjoys popularity; he
offends no one, he arouses no jealousies and mediocrity
is easy of comprehension. The merchant will tell you
that the rarest products are unsalable.
The actor who plays to the groundlings, who has a good
word for every one, who has never racked his nerves or
tortured his soul, who has not earned his bread and salt
with Kummer und Noth, who has not realised the
utter impossibility of ever accomplishing his ideal, who is
not striving and searching for the better in art, who is con-
tent to amass wealth by playing one part only; the actor,
in short, who is not unsatisfied, is a poor fool of an actor.
It is impossible for an actor to attempt an arduous rôle,
and having done his full duty to be unruffled and calm and
benign as a May morning.
The very centre of his soul has been shaken, he has


196
[1890
RICHARD MANSFIELD
projected himself by force of his will into another being,
into another sphere-he has been living, acting, thinking
another man's life, and you cannot expect to find him
calm and smiling and tolerant of small troubles, dumped
back on a dung heap after a flight to the moon.
If when the curtain has fallen, you meet this clever,
calculating and diplomatic personage, know that you are
not in the presence of an actor. He is no doubt a thousand
times more pleasant to encounter, more charming in
society, gratissimus to the fatigued, harassed, often humili-
ated and misunderstood newspaper hack-but he is not an
actor.
The actor is sui generis, and in the theatre not to be
judged by the ordinary rules applied to ordinary men.
The actor is an extraordinary man who every evening
spends three hours or more in fairyland, and transforms
himself into all kinds of odd creatures for the benefit of
his fellow-men; when he returns from fairyland, where he
has been a king or a beggar, a criminal doomed to death,
a lover in despair, or a haunted man, do you fancy the
aspects of the world and its peoples is not tinged with
some clinging colour of his living dream?
He could not abide a dullard or a sloth. Aaron Hill's
stanzas were often on his lips:
Tender-handed stroke a nettle,
And it stings you for your pains;
Grasp it like a man of mettle,
And it soft as silk remains.
'Tis the same with common natures:
Use them kindly, they rebel;
But be rough as nutmeg-graters,
And the rogues obey you well.
When no response came to his repeated efforts to
show how a thing should be done, he gave up with a

1890]
LONG ASSOCIATIONS
197
despair which did not always consider the sensibilities
of others. On the other hand, sincerity, coupled
with whatever degree of ability, received his gentle
consideration.
He had remarkable intuition in his judgments of
character. Those who did not stimulate his admira-
tion he was quick to sweep out of his way, or if the
exigency of circumstances required their temporary re-
tention he had not the guile to dissemble. He had no
patience with incompetency and indifference. Any one
who exhibited native ability and those fibrous quali-
ties of a cogent character, whether in high or humble
offices, might depend on him during a tenure of their own
limitation.
Up to this time he had maintained the personnel of
his company with only minor modifications since he
began to make productions. The names of Miss Cam-
eron, Mr. and Mrs. Harkins (Helen Glidden), Miss Sit-
greaves, Miss Bennett, Mr. Sullivan, and others were con-
spicuous in nearly all his casts. Albert G. Andrews this
winter (1889-90) took his place among the leading artists
of the company and for seventeen years contributed an
important characterisation to every play that Mansfield
produced. Though the son of an American actor and
an American by birth, Andrews had developed on the
English stage. His delightful performance of Peter to
the Nurse of Mrs. Stirling, in the Irving-Terry produc-
tion of "Romeo and Juliet" at the Lyceum, London,
brought him an invitation to join the Comédie Française
in Paris. This was a distinction whose glamour some-
what faded, however, when it was disclosed that his
salary would be less each month than he was receiving
each week in London. This season, also, Mme. Simon
0


198
[1890
RICHARD MANSFIELD
joined Mansfield's forces in the inconspicuous but respon-
sible position of wardrobe mistress and she remained
with him as long as he acted.
Mansfield reached New York with a depleted treasury
and worn with the rigours of an uninterrupted series of
struggles, disappointments, discouragements, and losses.
But he did not despair. He was soon buoyed with hope
for another experiment, a new play and a new character
of which he had long been dreaming and which was to
prove in every sense, epochal in his career. It was to
give him more hearty acclaim than he had yet known as
an original, forceful artist of the first rank, and it advanced
him leagues in the climb to the heights from which he
never took his eyes.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN
(1890-1891)
Searching for unhackneyed characters-Produces "Beau Brummell"
-A run of one hundred and fifty performances-Tour-Sus-
ceptibility to kindness-A snuff-box from the Kendals-A note
from Ellen Terry-Auctions his treasures-An invitation per-
formance in Washington-A concert of Mansfield composi-
tions.
It was not Mansfield's policy to place himself in juxta-
position to the career of others. Generations of actors
had shown their quality by taking up a standard set of
traditional characters and inviting comparison with other
actors, dead or living, at whose elbow they coveted a
position. It was assumed that for a player of distinguished
merit there was always waiting a ready-made repertoire.
But it was true of Mansfield from the first, as it was noted
later that he epitomised himself when, as Brutus, he spoke
these lines of Cæsar:
He never will follow anything
That other men begin.
He chose not to stand in any reflected light or invite
any reflected shadow. His career was to be his very own.
Of the twenty-eight rôles which he interpreted in the

199

200
[1890
RICHARD MANSFIELD
course of his public life as his own manager, Mansfield
acted only six plays with which his contemporaries could
be said to be in any sense familiar, and of these only to
King Richard, Shylock, Brutus, King Harry, and Don
Carlos were there attached any traditions.
He was untiring in his search for new characters which
would exploit new phases of his art and coincidentally
inform or divert his public. Sometimes he found such a
personage in the unfamiliar but vital treasures of other
languages, sometimes in the current fiction, but his
preference was to lift out of the pages of history a figure
which had dominated its environment and embody it a
living, breathing, palpitating reality in the traditional
scenes of the man's career. This was one of the many
respects in which he became recognised as "one of the
most stalwart educators and intellectual forces in the
theatre.'
At this time his mind was haunted with a troop of such
figures. One appealed to him out of the poetry of Byron
and the music of Mozart and he was himself writing the
play which was to project the hero. Another he sug-
gested to Mr. Sullivan who had supplied him with an
earlier vehicle. While in London he had presented a
new. point of view on an American classic to his friend
Joseph Hatton, and invited a play on the subject. To
Miss Sheridan, formerly of his company, he gave a com-
mission for the dramatisation of a standard character in
English fiction in whose whimsical hero he hoped for a
contrast with the others of his projected gallery. These
all found their way to the stage and with what result will
appear presently.
The character which now concerned him most, how-
ever, was that of George Brummell, the celebrated English

1890]
"BEAU BRUMMELL"
201
Beau of the Regency, for this was to be his immediate
experiment. It was brought to his attention as service-
able for an acting rôle by William Winter. Together
they discussed the project and went over the available
material.
Mansfield's consideration of Brummell was so thorough
that before a play was begun he had resolved in his own
mind how he would embody the character. Blanchard
Jerold's two-act comedy on this same subject was ex-
amined, but wholly rejected. He had, moreover, decided
that, as the value of the subject lay in contrasts, the
earlier denotement of the ascendancy and fashionable
reign of the Beau, with a suggestion throughout of his
heedless extravagance, must be followed by scenes in-
dicating the imminence of the social and financial catas-
trophe which did actually overwhelm him, with a final
display of his pathetic physical and mental decrepitude
in the poverty of his French exile. With these inevitable
points in view, and the obvious necessity of a story on
which to hang the traditional incidents of Mr. Brummell's
life as narrated in the biography by Captain Jesse and
other characteristic incidents to be invented, he now
sought for some one of fertile imagination and graceful
wit, founded in firm, technical skill, to write the play. In
addition to the printed material which was at any one's
disposal, he placed his own suggestions in the hands of an
ambitious but then unknown young writer, Clyde Fitch,
whose only relation to the stage at the time was a one-act
play on the subject of and entitled "Frederick Lemaitre."
The choice was not more complimentary to the obscure
author than the result was flattering to Mansfield's in-
tuitions of men. The play was named "Beau Brum-
mell," after the central figure, and was first acted at the


202
[1890
RICHARD MANSFIELD
Madison Square Theatre, on Tuesday evening, May 17,
1890.¹
The play was a light, delicate fabric, but served ad-
mirably the purpose for which it was devised. It provided
an harmonious background for the Beau, and a slender
but sympathetic story through which he moved with
opportunities for the display of all the salient characteris-
tics Mansfield desired to express.
It opened in Mr. Brummell's apartments and presently
revealed the Beau himself in all the elegance of golden
negligee. His dainty affectations were displayed at his
dressing-table as he completed his toilet. An eyelash
awry was carefully removed. He raised his hands above
his head and waved them gently, that the blood might
run back and leave them white. When his valet brought
the letters, he knew each delicate missive, without open-
ing, by the perfume. There were bills a-plenty, but these
were to be put where he "would not see them" and he
would "think they were paid." A hundred pounds lost
at gaming, however, was excepted-"That, Mortimer,
that is a debt of honour and must be paid." An insistent
money-lender was overwhelmed by the following delicate
1 The cast was:
The Prince of Wales
Lord Manly
Richard Brinsley Sheridan
Mr. Brummell.
Reginald Courtney, his nephew
Mortimer, his valet.
Abrahams
Bailiffs
The Prince's footman
Oliver Vincent, a city merchant
Mariana Vincent, his daughter
Kathleen, her maid.
The Duchess of Leamington
Lady Farthingale
•
A French Lodging-House Keeper
Mrs. St. Aubyn
Mr. D. H. Harkins.
Mr. John C. Buckstone.
Mr. A. G. Andrews.
Mr. Richard Mansfield.
Mr. F. W. Lander.
Mr. W. J. Ferguson.
Mr. W. H. Compton.
Mr. Turner and Mr. Norton.
Mr. Thomas F. Graham.
Mr. Everham.
Miss Agnes Miller.
Miss Johnstone Bennett.
Mrs. Julia Brutone.
Miss Beverley Sitgreaves.
Miss Leigh.
Miss Adela Measor.

RICHARD MANSFIELD IN "BEAU BRUMMELL"

1890] THUNDERBOLTS AND THE BEAU
203
impudence to the Prince of Wales's footman who conveyed
an invitation for dinner:
Brummell: At what o'clock did you say, Bendon?
Footman: At four o'clock, sir.
Brummell: Say to his Royal Highness to make it half-
past four.
His young nephew rushed into the chamber with a
breezy impetuosity quite out of harmony with the deli-
cately tuned nature of the Beau, who could not bore him-
self even to remember the simplest facts:
Brummell: Reginald, my boy, you come in like a—a—.
Mortimer ?
The Valet: Yes, Mr. Brummell?
Brummell: What does Mr. Reginald come in like?
The Valet: Ahem! Like a thunderbolt, sir.
Brummell: Yes, like a thunderbolt. Mortimer?
The Valet: Yes, Mr. Brummell?
Brummell: Have I ever seen a thunderbolt?
The Valet: Once, sir.
Brummell: Yes, Reginald, I once saw a thunderbolt.
Very disagreeable things, thunderbolts. I wish you
wouldn't come in like a thunderbolt.
But nothing could convey the delicious imperturbability
of the Beau, the helpless superciliousness of his wan frown,
his quivering eyelids, his purring, soft voice. Delicate
as eider-down were the matter of other lines in this first
scene and his manner of delivery.
As Reginald extended his hand and the Beau turned
languidly to examine it through his quizzing glass: "Dear
me, what is that? Your hand to be sure. Men shake
hands much too often; a glance of the eye, Reginald, a
glance of the eye."


204
[1890
RICHARD MANSFIELD
When Reginald reported that he had been "busy," the
exquisite shrunk as from a chilling blast. "Busy? Never
employ that term with me. No gentleman is ever busy.
Only insects and City people are busy.”
Finally, his affection returning with his equilibrium, he
invited his nephew into the inner chamber "to see him
having his coat put on," and, when that delicate operation
was perfected and his toilet surveyed carefully for the last
time, he bestowed his most gracious favour: "Now,
Reginald, I'll make your fortune. I will walk down the
Mall with you to White's, and you may be seen talking to
me for a few moments at the club window. Could any
one possibly do more?"
Through this airy scene it was developed that the Beau
had bestowed his affection on Miss Mariana Vincent,
daughter of a City merchant of means. Though marriage
would repair his fortunes, his love was not wholly mer-
cenary. "I should not like," he confided to his valet,
"to make a loan for life and give myself as security."
Unbeknown to him, his nephew's heart was given in the
same quarter, and ignorant though good-natured Mr.
Vincent's eagerness to marry his daughter to the great Mr.
Brummell, in hopes of social advancement, completed the
simple complications of the story.
To give an adequate idea of what Mansfield accom-
plished with the character is impossible. He gave in-
numerable expressions of the Beau's conscious elegance
as he moved through the earlier scenes of the Prince's
call, the confusion of Mr. Vincent for his tailor, and the
dance at Carleton House where he graciously defended
the ignorant merchant from the wrath of the Prince,
even to the extent of ironically resenting the royal bad
manners by leaving with the alleged historic thrust: "I

1890]
CUTTING THE PRINCE
205
shall have to order my carriage. Wales, will you ring
the bell ?"
That marked his downfall. The next scene in the Mall
indicated the dénouement. The bailiffs were hounding
him, and he instructs his valet to hold them off. "Promise
them all they ask with added interest. (Going and turn-
ing.) Promise them anything. (Going and turning.)
Promise them everything. (Going and turning again.)
Mortimer, you must not go unrewarded. Promise your-
self something."
When the Prince passed and cut him, neither his wit
nor his imperturbability abandoned him. He surveyed the
retreating figure, not yet out of ear shot, and sealed his
social doom with a jest: "Sherry, who's your fat friend?"
(As Sheridan whispers: "The Prince Regent.") "I had
no idea he looked like that. Is it really? You don't
say so? Dear, dear, what a pity!"
Overhearing Mariana and Reginald exchange their
avowals he advanced and magnanimously withdrew his
suit. As the young couple ignored him in the confusion
of their own happiness, the Beau-unrequited in love, a
financial wreck, discredited at Court-wrung every heart
as he lifted his chin and set his face bravely in the other
direction, Nemesis pursuing him in the figures of the
loutish, greasy bailiffs.
The play indeed ended there. But graceful as it was,
it was not the play of itself which had interested up to
this point; it was the characterisation, and the imagina-
tion held the interest in leash for the final scenes at Brum-
mell's lodgings in the French seaport. The magnificence
of the Beau had fallen away, but not his manners.
He
was still the exquisite though tattered and torn, penniless
and starving. The last picture was a literal transcription


206
[1890
RICHARD MANSFIELD
from Brummell's life. His mind, weakened under ad-
versity, imagined again, in spite of every evidence of his
poverty, the gay companies in which he had reigned as
king. In the dim light of his single candle he greeted
phantom princes and duchesses and seated them at a
phantom banquet. A graceful touch was given at the last
moment by the arrival of the Regent-now King-and his
suite, which included all Mr. Brummell's old friends.
Mortimer, who had faithfully shared his master's exile
and penury, seated them silently in the places where the
shattered mind imagined them. Rousing himself from
his stupor, the astonishment of the Beau to see the real-
ities about him was too much for his enfeebled mind.
The King graciously invited him to dine once more.
Brummell, punctilious to the last, made sure the hour
was not less fashionable than eight o'clock, and instructed
Mortimer in quivering, failing tones to tell callers that
"he has a pressing engagement with His Majesty." But
it was manifest he kept his engagement with the King of
another world than that which knew him as the peerless
Beau.
Mansfield's creation of the Beau, the wit of the
comedy, the elegance of the environment, and the fidelity
of the sentiment to the scenes represented, carried the
enterprise to unqualified success. His performance added
an original, unique, and irresistibly charming figure to the
stage. His denotement of Brummell's fastidiousness in
dress, his warm heart beneath the artificial exterior,
his studied and formal courtesy, and the grace, ease,
and reality he gave every aspect of the Beau, was
at once the most delicate and perfect art. So harmo-
niously did the temperaments of the character and the
actor fuse that it was obvious then and always that

RICHARD MANSFIELD IN "BEAU BRUMMELL"

1890]
AMENITIES
207
only the genius of Mansfield could breathe the puppet
into life.
In later rôles he reached greater heights and sounded
deeper notes of tragedy, but for grace, charm, polish,
and all the qualities which touch the heart while they
satisfy the mind, no other rôle of his eclipsed the
Beau.
After one hundred and fifty performances of "Beau
Brummell," he left the Madison Square Theatre, October
25, and repeated this play on a tour which embraced
only the large cities north of the Ohio and east of the
Mississippi rivers, and ended May 4, 1891. There-
after it was the corner-stone of his repertoire as long as
he acted.
Mansfield was almost pathetically susceptible to a kind-
ness, no matter how trifling, as was witnessed by his
unswerving fidelity to Mine-host Frank Brobst, who
came to him one day, while he was in Cleveland,
at the Hollenden Hotel, with a dish of rosy Jonathans,
and this simple assurance of sincerity: "Mr. Mans-
field, I was in the steward's cellar just now while he
was opening a barrel of apples. They looked so
inviting, I thought you would enjoy having a few on
your table." Never afterward would Mansfield stop
at another's hotel in a city where Brobst had a
house.
Another courtesy which touched him deeply at this
time reveals one of the innumerable instances, known to
his friends, of his forethought and generosity. While in
England the year before he met and made friends with
Mr. and Mrs. William H. Kendal. Shortly after his
return to America he learned that they had arranged for
their first tour of the United States during the winter of

208
[1890
RICHARD MANSFIELD
1889-1890, and the tenor of his letter to them may be
inferred from Mrs. Kendal's reply:
DEAR MR. MANSFIELD:-It is more than kind of you
to write and say you will come to meet us on our landing
in America. We sail the 21st on the Servia. It will be
indeed nice to see your kind face on our arrival!! My
husband and I with all our children have been to Scotland
for our holidays. Excellent weather and good fishing!
.. I am getting terribly anxious about America and
cannot sleep for nervousness. With kindest regards and
many, many thanks for all your kindnesses.
Yours faithfully,
MADGE KENdal.
He was their host at one of the earliest of the series of
entertainments which distinguished their first stay. When
they returned to New York before sailing home they
found Mansfield in the flood tide of his success with
"Beau Brummell," and hastened to his theatre. A few
days later a superb gold snuff-box, set with jewels, reached
him with this note:
N. Y., May 23, 1890.
MY DEAR MR. MANSFIELD: Mr. Kendal and I hope
you will use this snuff-box whenever you play "Beau
Brummell" in remembrance of a delightful performance
we shall never forget and as a token of our esteem. Wish-
ing you all the health and happiness and prosperity you
desire and deserve, believe me,
Yours faithfully,
MADGE KENDAL.
An old portfolio in which this letter was found revealed
many others from varying sources, but curiously alike in
that nearly all were acknowledgments of some kindness

1890]
A NOTE FROM ELLEN TERRY
209
or courtesy from him. One of Ellen Terry's notes of a
year or two before radiates her joyous personality:
DEAR MR. MANSFIELD:
Thanks for the whole garden of flowers you sent me!
What a sweet welcome!! Thanks and thanks. Did you
-or did I dream it ?-send to me once before some mes-
sage, or flowers, or telegram, or note? Well, never heed,
I'll think you did, and give you my tardy thanks, the
which you will receive amiably and let me come and see
you some day as "Hyde and Seek"! . . . I'd like above
all things to go to-morrow
IF!-
I-The Doctor to-day says I may drive in the open.
IF!!
II-My little girl (she's only about six feet high) can
come too-
IF!!!
III-I can
can get
and
back in time.
And so I'll send you a line later on in the day and mean-
while artfully get the Doctor to say I may go!
Yours sincerely,
ELLEN TERRY.
Before leaving New York in the autumn of 1890 he
felt so encouraged by the outlook for beginning the reduc-
tion of his huge indebtedness that he decided to further
it with the sacrifice of his now considerably valuable col-
lection of art objects, paintings, and antiques. He
stripped his apartments at the Croisic, and had the satis-
faction of diminishing his obligations nearly twenty thou-
sand dollars.
His fantastic extravagance, however, made trifles of
thousands. He was the despair of his managers and his
creditors. The first work of art that caught his fancy


210
[1890
RICHARD MANSFIELD
.
became his property, even while the last of his former
accumulation was under the hammer. His visits were
god-sends to antique merchants in Boston, Philadelphia,
and New Orleans./In Washington a friend of his youth-
ful Boston days remarked that she was bored with flowers
and candy and kindred gifts, she wanted something that
no one else ever had. "I'll act a play for you," said
Mansfield, "and you shall invite only those you want to
be present." "Queen Victoria has that," she replied.
"But Victoria has to pay for it. You shall not," retorted
Mansfield, and he rented the theatre, hired the musicians
and all attendants; sent his friend engraved invitations
with tickets for every seat in the house, and acted "Prince
Karl" to an audience composed exclusively of her guests.
A careless sigh for an orchid brought another young
lady twenty-five next morning. When he invited friends
to be his guests in a box, they often found the rail banked
with flowers, boxes of bonbons, refreshments in the corner
on a tea-table for the elderly, and especially printed silken
programmes. The daughter of a British Ambassador in
Washington, guilelessly emphasising her fondness for
flowers, somewhat ingenuously exclaimed she would like
to dine on a table hidden under them. Mansfield straight-
way gave the orders, issued the invitation, and Miss
Sackville-West was his guest of honour at a dinner served
on a table hidden under a blanket of buds. During his
New York engagements he frequently sent his private car
to Boston, Albany, Philadelphia, Baltimore, or Washing-
ton to bring guests to dinner, supper, or the play.
On one of his visits to Washington at this time an
entertainment was given which revealed aspects of his
talents seldom in evidence except to his intimate friends.
This was nothing less than a concert given on the after-

1890]
A MANSFIELD CONCERT
211
noon of Friday, February 13, 1891, of "Songs, grave and
gay, burlesque and rhymes, written and composed by Mr.
Richard Mansfield." The programme in detail was:
NATIONAL ANTHEM,
PROGRAMME
HAIL TO THE FLAG
Words and Music by Richard Mansfield
Dedicated, by permission of the President, to the President
and the People of the United States
In the Twilight,
.
Lament, a Fragment,
Violoncello Solo,
CHOIR AND ORCHESTRA
•
Words and Music by Richard Mansfield
MR. JOHN BOLZE
Words and Music by Richard Mansfield
MISS ALICE J. M'PHERSON
MR. PAUL MIERSCH
I Miss Thee Each Lone Hour,
Music by Richard Mansfield
MR. J. H. M'KINLEY
A Good Little Girl,
Written by Lord Houghton
Music by Richard Mansfield
MISS MARGARET ELLIOTT
An English Opera-Rudolpho and Clarissa,
Written and composed by Richard Mansfield
SOLOS BY MISS MARGARET ELLIOTT,
MR. J. H. M'KINLEY, AND MR. JOHN BOLZE
Words by Heine
Music by Richard Mansfield
The Sea Hath Its Pearls,

MR. W. WEBSTER
Love Me Still,
Music by Richard Mansfield
MISS ALICE J. M'PHERSON
Children's Waltz, .
Composed by Richard Mansfield
ORCHESTRA
Recitation of two rhymes written by Mr. Mansfield,
"The Premature Fly" and "The Marmoset Monkey"
MISS BEATRICE CAMERON
The Poem by Wm. Winter
Music by Mr. Mansfield
Asleep, .
MR. J. H. M'KINLEY

212
[1891
RICHARD MANSFIELD
I Doubt It,
Words Anonymous
Music by Mr. Mansfield
MISS MARGARET ELLIOTT
The Broken Harp,
Poem by Wm. Winter
Music by Mr. Mansfield
MISS ALICE J. M'PHERSON
How I Came To Be a King. Words and Music by Mr. Mansfield
Solo and Chorus
SOLO BY MR. W. WEBSTER
In a letter written at the end of this week he said:
I have just returned from luncheon at the White House,
and the President did me the high honour to take me in
to luncheon and placed me upon his right hand. I found
him delightful and full of information and not averse to a
joke and quite up to the comprehension of everything
good. The luncheon was simple but excellent and very
tastefully served; a large basket of orchids (my favourite
flower) in the centre of the table. Mrs. Harrison and all
the ladies of the White House were present. The White
House party comes to us six times this week!
When he reached Boston in April he tried an experi-
ment of playing several afternoons each week instead of
in the evening, and at the request of many old friends he
acted "Beau Brummell" one afternoon for the benefit of
the Kindergarten for the Blind. The former venture was
not encouraged, but, with the assistance of Mrs. Louis
Agassiz, Mrs. William Appleton, Mrs. Maude Howe
Elliott, Mrs. John L. Gardner and other friends, the
charity profited handsomely by the benefit performance.
Another of his courtesies at this time is recorded by
George William Curtis in the Easy Chair (Harper's,
March, 1891):
It was this kindliness of nature, a certain generous
catholicity of feeling, which recently drew Mr. Richard

1891] A STATEN ISLAND PILGRIMAGE
213
Mansfield and his company for an evening to Staten
Island. That pleasant municipal frontier... has many
charms. . . . Its inhabitants, with a simplicity not un-
known in other rural suburbs, and traditional with
islanders, fondly believe their island to be the most at-
tractive spot in the neighbourhood of the city. But the
most daring islander never alleged that its theatre was
superior to all other theatres. In fact, though the heroic
Staten Islander recoils from no arduous assertion, this
would surely tax his courage, for the reason that there is
no theatre. All the more gracious, therefore, was the
bounty of Mr. Mansfield, who, to aid the Winter Library,
founded by Mr. William Winter in memory of his son, a
noble child too early lost, crossed the bay with all that
makes a theatre except the building, and gave the most
complete and delightful performance in the history of the
island.
The play of "Prince Karl" is one of the dramas of high
spirits, like the chapters of Dickens's stories where the
impression is simply of rollicking fun. The dramatic
unities and probabilities are very properly shown the door
in such plays as having no part in the business in hand.
The effect depends wholly on the promptness, intelligence,
and sympathy of the players, and all these conditions were
never more fully satisfied than in this performance of
"Prince Karl." The readiness and precision with which
every situation was seized, and every opportunity de-
veloped with the utmost vivacity, were delightful. The
illusion was complete. The company played as if in
their own theatre with every resource, and never, even
under those circumstances, could they have played with
more spirit.
Mr. Mansfield, who as Beau Brummell and Dr. Jekyll
and Mr. Hyde, is the dramatic hero of the hour, displayed
his remarkable versatility with the naturalness of action
and freedom from exaggeration which are among his
excellent qualities. His mimicry of private musical
artists was irresistibly ludicrous, and proceeded amid
peals of laughter. The effect of the droll play, which


214
[1891
RICHARD MANSFIELD
extends to four acts with unabated humour, and the live-
liness of the acting throughout, showed how entirely the
prosperity of the play is in the actor, because the test of his
acting is the ability to command the sympathy of his audi-
ence. The modern theatre is so fully upholstered that the
scenery and setting seem almost to dispute the eye with the
players. But although the setting of "Prince Karl" was
of extreme economy, the most sumptuous appointments
would not have added to the enjoyment of the merry
scene. Scenery and setting may please the eye, but the
art of the player does not require them, and without that
art scenery is a pointless pageant. The Easy Chair saw
the elder Booth literally in a barn, but the terrible im-
pression of his Sir Edward Mortimer and Sir Giles Over-
reach does not fade. The most sumptuous and care-
fully historical settings could not have made Garrick's
great effects greater than they were. "What we want,"
said Mr. Mansfield, "is silence, not scenery."
99
It was a bright evening that he gave to Staten Island,
and its purpose was another illustration of the quality of
the fraternity to which he belongs-the generosity of the
player. Of the artificial comedy Lamb said that
modern times could not bear it. But of Mr. Mansfield
and his company-how much Staten Island could bear!
Having acted in New York City, at the Garden Theatre,
for the first time, throughout the month of January, he
returned in May with the fruition of a winter's work,
prosecuted in connection with his other labours, in the
shape of a new play of which he was the author.
It was like him not to be content with any success, but
boldly and resolutely to push forward with other ambitious
projects. He was in fact at the threshold of a new epoch
in his public life. If the last eight years had yielded their
disappointments, they were insignificant in comparison
with the achievements. After Chevrial, Hyde, Monsieur
de Jadot, Prince Karl, King Richard III, and Beau

1891]
BREAKER'S AHEAD
215
Brummell, nothing from Mansfield could have surprised
the confident public-nothing except the persistence of
fortune in withholding good plays from him during the
next eight years.
He now enters upon a period of struggle and disap-
pointment, but of perseverance and slow, bruising ground-
gains. It illustrates the necessity of great plays and great
rôles to exploit dramatic genius, and it illustrates, too, the
uncertainty of the actor's career even when formulated
and prosecuted by an artist of unremitting zeal and ex-
tended personal popularity.


CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
(1891-1892)
Entering a period of failures and half-successes-"Don Juan"-
Preparing productions-"Nero"-Associating the rôle with the
actor-As to criticism-A plea for poetry on the stage-Tittlebat
Titmouse in "Ten Thousand a Year"-A jump across the con-
tinent-Two pictures of reading a play-Impressions from a car
window-A rose matinee-The influence of light on the stage-
The countenance-"The Storm"-The voice-His physical
limitations.
ON his return to New York in the spring of 1891, he
found the city refreshing itself in the sunshine. It seemed
an auspicious season to introduce his "Don Juan," with its
Spanish background of crimson and yellow, its rout of
laces and ribbons and curls, its smiles and pouts, its
flirtations and philandering, all so gay, debonair, incon-
sequential.
He wrote this "whimsical tale in four scenes" at odd
moments, the preceding winter, on the trail of a score of
cities, during the rare intervals when leisure was in a
yielding mood.
From Boston, late in April, he wrote Dithmar: "If
you care about hearing from me, forgive me for not having
written-if you don't-forgive me for writing. I have been
overworked-writing Don Juan-rehearsing Don Juan
(what a task that is!-and the oldest actors are the most
difficile)—costuming Don Juan-framing Don Juan—
216

1891]
"DON JUAN"
217
lying awake, worrying, fretting, fuming, full of doubts,
anxiety and misgivings-about Don Juan. Yesterday
(April 21) I completed the work-I sat at it from early
until late-but it is finished! I shall never, I think, un-
dertake such another task."
"Don Juan, or, The Sad Adventures of a Youth," as the
comedy was sub-titled, followed a fortnight of his reper-
toire at the Garden Theatre, where it was seen first on
May 18, 1891.¹ The occasion was given piquancy by
the fact that it presented, as in the case of "Monsieur,"
an instance of author, manager, and actor embodied in
one person.
A first night of a new play presented and acted by
Mansfield now claimed attention as one of the events of
the year. Without resorting to artificial devices his
audiences represented every distinguished element in the
life of the metropolis. The gathering that greeted “Don
Juan" that May evening deluged him with applause and
sent him home in an ecstasy of confidence.
In the preparation of his fable Mansfield drew on the
familiar legends of the Spanish Lothario and his servant,
Leporello. But he refined the character and drew its
sting by making Don Juan the embodiment of untamed
1 The cast of characters was:
Don Alonzo, Duke de Navarro
Don Luis, Count de Maraña
Don Juan, his son
Guzman, Preceptor to Don Juan
Leperello, servant to Don Juan
Sebastien, an actor of Saragossa
An aged Innkeeper.
An Attendant
Another Attendant

Donna Julia, Duchess de Navarro
Donna Emilia, Countess de Maraña
Donna Elvira, sister of the Duke
Zerlina, betrothed to Sebastien
Geralda, maid to Donna Julia
Anna
Lucia, a ward of Maraña
.
•
Mr. D. H. Harkins.
Mr. W. H. Compton.
Mr. Richard Mansfield.
Mr. A. G. Andrews.
Mr. W. J. Ferguson.
Mr. Vincent Sternroyd.
Mr. Harry Gwynette.
Mr. Ivan Perronet.
Mr. T. Finch Smiles.
Miss Ada Dwyer.
Miss Hazel Selden.
Miss Maggie Holloway.
Miss Minnie Dupree.
Miss Maud Monroe.
Miss Rolinda Bainbridge.

Miss Beatrice Cameron.
.
218
[1891
RICHARD MANSFIELD
youth rather than an example of matured licentiousness.
The incidents were in the main of his own devising, the
closing scene was entirely so. Here self-sacrifice ennobled
the character and further attached it to the sympathies.
The language was poetic and epigrammatic by turns,
the action swift and vivacious, the humour sprightly, and
the whole fabric lent itself to the expression of a large
range
of versatile artistry, from surface flippancy to the
deep emotions of the soul.
The last act revealed Don Juan in prison, wounded
and at the point of death. There were skilfully marked
transitions, from lucidity to delirium and back again, while
the representation of each mental phase was brilliantly
executed. Here the finer nature of the youth came out
from its life-long eclipse, and charm and beauty overlaid
the spectacle of a tottering mind.
Mansfield sustained the impersonation on a plane of
high comedy during the earlier scenes. At the close he
informed the rôle with tragic significance, which was
accomplished in a manner described in dependable records
as worthy of a place at the elbow of his loftiest previous
achievement.
The attitude and expressions of the audience on the
first night seemed to leave no doubt of a complete and
permanent triumph. This view, however, was not
echoed in all the reviews thereafter. Only fine and subtle
natures yielded to the charm of this performance. It
flourished for a time sustained by the other figures in
Mansfield's gallery, but after that inexplicable first night
of unstinted applause there was gradual awakening on
his part to the necessity of basing hopes of another perma-
nent portrait in the répertoire on one of the unacted
plays. Mansfield could not yet lead the public. They


RICHARD MANSFIELD IN "DON JUAN"

1891]
"NERO"
219
still followed the critics. Later, however, they followed
him.
As the hot June nights made acting an agony he longed
for his old haunts on the Sound coast. But the "Beau
Brummell" earnings were all sunk in "Don Juan" and,
as another new production was imminent, he gave himself
and his company a mere fortnight's rest, abandoned all
further thought of a summer in cool retreats, and returned
to the theatre to grind out the ammunition for a new
attack. "Don Juan" had lingered until the end of June,
when it was placed in the répertoire, which was acted
throughout the summer. He acted by night and studied
day times on his new character. This was Nero which
was written on his suggestion by T. Russell Sullivan.
Mood dominated Mansfield's processes to such a
degree that, until a character and a play were crystallised
in their performance, after which he rarely changed by
a hair's breadth, it was a difficult study to get his wishes
about a production. Sometimes he was entirely frank in
discussion. He would outline every scene, denote the
colour and light scheme, define the dimensions, indicate
the exact entrances, sketch each of the settings in its
details, and send his manager happy to his task of trans-
lating his ideas into canvas and paint. This was the case
with "Nero." But he was in town and in the stride of
his work. When he was recreating in the country it was
quite different. Then it was next to impossible to get a
word out of him. Perhaps he would be cruising up the
Sound and would send for his manager to come and talk
over the preparation of a new production. But all the time
of the visit would be spent in agreeable discussion of any
topic but the imminent one. No amount of leading ques-
tions would draw him back to the production about to be


220
[1891
RICHARD MANSFIELD
made. Two and three of these trips would be made
without an inkling of his intention. Finally, he would
brush the whole matter aside with: "You know per-
fectly well what is wanted. Go ahead. The colours?
Get a good artist and he'll know. The entrances?
Don't you bother about that. I hope I'm artist enough
to adapt myself to conditions as I find them. Don't
worry, I'll find the door."
Under these vague instructions the scenery was built,
and sometimes it was with much difficulty that he was
induced to view it at the studio. Now nothing drew his
ideas so quickly and so directly as something antagonistic
to them. If he had no directions to give before a scene
was built, he had a score immediately he saw it. So in
many cases he made his productions doubly expensive,
because they were not merely built and painted, but
rebuilt and repainted.
He started on a production with a brave resolution to
be economical. He would impress it on his manager in
every talk and in every letter. Then, when he came to
consider the costumes and properties and furniture, he
would in fifteen minutes add thousands of dollars to the
cost. He simply could not be economical. Something
"just as good" was not good enough for him. He liked
the reality of luxury, pomp, and elegance. Often, when
the production was made, there remained as many fur-
nishings unused as used. He did not merely spend on
"Nero,” he squandered. The public was invited to see
the new play on September 21.¹
1 It was acted with this cast:
Nero
Menacrates, favorite to Nero
Phaon, the freed man of Nero
Babilus, an astrologer
Lysias, an Athenian
Mr. Richard Mansfield.
Mr. D. H. Harkins.
Mr. Frank Lander.
Mr. W. J. Ferguson.
Mr. William Haworth.

1891]
"NERO"
221
The first three acts were original, the last two were a
free translation of Cossa's Italian play. His own char-
acterisation was a new study in wickedness. He displayed
Nero as essentially an artist, his depravities all emanating
from the perversion of his inherent artistic sense. The
expression he gave the imperial pervert's cruelty, cun-
ning, cowardice, treachery, and sensuality cemented him,
in the judgment of discerning minds, as a supreme ex-
pression of a sinister nature. But neither character nor
play was on a plane with the popular appetite, and
"Nero" was dead before the flowers in the tyrant's
hair.
Mr. Palmer afterward said: "Don Juan' and 'Nero'
were each remarkable achievements. Mansfield had not
yet found his public. To-day," he spoke in 1899, "both
characterisations would have achieved the popularity their
artistic excellence deserved." Mansfield himself often re-
gretted that he had squandered so excellent a play as
"Nero" on a period when his fame was not sufficient to
attract the public up to his level, and at times he con-
templated its revival. "Don Juan" was afterwards printed
by the De Vinne Press and survives to witness the credit-
able performance of the author at least.
Although, even at this time, Mansfield had demonstrated
that his versatility was equal to almost any note in the
human gamut, his Baron Chevrial, Dr. Jekyll and Mr.
Hyde, King Richard III, and Nero threatened to estab-
lish him as the pre-eminent and exclusive exponent of the


Sylvanus, Centurion Guard
Novalis
Messala
.
Grembo, a publican
Dutus, an actor
Mr. W. H. Compton.
Mr. A. G. Andrews.
Mr. Finch Smiles.
Mr. Henry Gwynette.
Mr. T. F. Graham.
Charis, a Greek dancing girl
Miss Emma V. Sheridan.
·
Acte
Miss Beatrice Cameron.


222
[1891
RICHARD MANSFIELD
black passions in spite of his sunnier Prince Karl, Mon-
sieur Jadot, Don Juan, and Beau Brummell. Indeed, so
real and powerful was his projection of these tragic rôles
that the public began to identify the character with the
actor and attribute to him, in fact, the mimic disposition
of his mere pretense. The history of the stage is rich
in similar instances. An actor once went to a physician
and begged for relief from melancholy. "Go see Gri-
maldi," said the leech. "Alas," replied the clown, "I
am Grimaldi."
Though Mansfield repeated all his rôles at intervals as
long as he acted, from now on he made it his purpose
as far as possible to present characters in which the cruel,
depraved, and antagonistic aspects of human nature were
absent, even if sympathy were not always present.
Nevertheless the indifference to Don Juan and Nero
galled him. He believed that they were not less admirable
than his other work, and he could not understand why
praise bestowed on trifles like Prince Karl and Mon-
sieur Jadot were withheld from subtler, finer, and im-
measurably loftier endeavours.
In the reiterated criticism of the last two plays he
suspected a personal malevolence. As it was extended
he attributed it to collusion. Believing himself the vic-
tim of injustice he struck back. In several instances this
winter he wrote letters to the papers protesting in sharp
terms against the criticism he was receiving.
What he thought and felt crystallised the next year in
the North American Review:
Let not the youthful critic, from whose responsible pen
depends the weighty power of a mighty journal, clip off
the head of every bud that thrusts its head above the
rotting leaves. Who knows how beautiful and radiant it

1891]
ON CRITICISM
223
might grow to be? A word written lasts longer than a
word spoken, and what is printed is sometimes read, and
what is read cannot be blotted out always. Separate the
man from his art. If you dislike the man, you have no
right to condemn his art. Your sense of honour must
make you just. Personal abuse is not criticism. Never.
It is unworthy of any great journal, and it degrades the
country in which the journal is published. Criticise with
dignity, if you criticise at all. What is worthy of criticism
is worthy of respect. If it is absolutely unworthy, treat
it as you treat the silliness of a strange child, with silence.
Reflect when you say bitter and biting things how you
would bear these words addressed to you. Think, be-
fore you tear down, how long it took to build up-what
work, what suffering, what expenditure of hard-earned
means. Remember, you are not writing to show the
world how clever you are, but how just you can be.
Recollect that your lightest word weighs heavy with the
object of your praise or censure.
Do not fail to consider that the actor who works with
his nerves, who has travelled much and suffered much, is
an irritable being, dyspeptic, perchance, and that bitter
and hostile criticism is a cruel dose after a dish of enervat-
ing toil. Know that the actor is a child in his relations
with the world and lives in a cloudland of his own. His
one desire is to please; when he fails he is angry with him-
self, angry with all the world about him. He has striven,
and he generally knows in his heart, much better than you
can tell him, that he has failed. Take the object of his
attainment into consideration. If his art has in it the
germ of goodness, or of greatness, pray foster and cherish
it, and be kind, and gracious, and gentle, always. If
you are harsh with him and unduly bitter and per-
sonal, do not blame him if he retaliates-he is probably
only human, and be man enough not to bear rancour
if he gives you a Roland for your Oliver, since you
brought it upon yourself, and the "Freedom of the
press" does not mean the privilege, with immunity, of
abuse.


224
[1891
RICHARD MANSFIELD
Many disagreed with him, but on the whole just as
many respected the young enthusiast. Nevertheless, such
scolding of the critics effected little beyond alienating the
interests of valuable journals which he was years in win-
ning back. His impulsive resentment broke out in this
manner only one other time, in the late spring of 1898.
Thereafter he held his peace, but his growth with the
public and with the abler critics was such that his dignity
could not afford nor did the inconsiderable effect warrant
any notice of the dissenters. It will be seen later with
what imperturbability he was able to consider an isolated
but persistent attack made in San Francisco on his last
visit to that city.
In the same paper quoted above, he published one of
the articles of his artistic credo:
The stage is for Poetry! It is not for merchants and
mechanics and penny-a-liners. It is for Poetry! I could
stand upon this summit and cry out that this is a stupid
business day, from the rising of the sun to the setting of it;
that young men in short hose talk money, that middle-
aged and old, and girls and women [talk it], and that we are
dying of it and suffocating, that books are full of it, and
that the air is laden with it, and that we go about with
itching palms and hooked fingers; that all the world would
be better for Poetry; that the heart would beat more gently,
and the mind be more sweetly oiled, and the soul soar
higher for the contemplation of Poetry.
And that is what the stage is for. Neither for rot, nor
for drivel, nor for filth, nor for tanks of water, nor for
ancient dames in tights, nor for cheap sentiment, nor for
catchpennies, but for Poetry. And not incomprehen-
sible either, for the "Morte d'Arthur" and all the "Tales
of the Round Table" are Poetry, and "Hiawatha" and a
thousand Indian legends there are that are Poetry; and
so is "Lucile" of poor dead Meredith; all are the things

1891]
POETRY ON THE STAGE
225
some of us, lying in the grass with our faces to the sky-
lark, dream of on a summer day or on a moonlit evening-
those things that come to us with a whiff of the balsam-
pine or the break of the sea on the beach, or the touch of
a soft hand or the discovery of a withered flower. It is in
us always, and it will crop out in the most hardened of
us, and where we should always see it, and where it should
forever awaken all that was born good and beautiful in us
is upon the stage.
The stage should not be for temptation, from the de-
liverance of which we pray in the morning and which we
court in the evening; it should not be for the idiotic laugh
and the imbecile applause; it is not for the drunkard and
the wanton; it is not to be shrieked at to-day and to be
ashamed of to-morrow; it is not for gymnastics; it is for
the gracious, the graceful, the thoughtful, the gentle; it
is to send us home with better thoughts and better feelings;
with a lesson learned by example and with food for pleasant
reflection. It is for wholesome mirth or for such stirring
tragedy as will fire us to nobler deeds, or for such potent
example as will sicken us of evil-doing. That is the stage
as I understand it and as I will strive for it.
When he struck the anvil rang. He lived and acted as
he wrote from the shoulder. It was inevitable that such
a positive character would make enemies. He multiplied
them right and left, and they pursued him through the
press. All his life he was annoyed by the exaggerations
and fictions of flippant journalism. "Anything about
Mansfield short of libel" is said to have been the license
allowed the romancers in one paper. They finally died
of their own poison. Fewer and fewer believed them.
Interviews with Mansfield at this time became a vogue.
He had a trenchant wit, an ironic humour. His observa-
tions were bold, direct, incisive. "Mansfield is always
good copy," was a common editorial adage. But the



226
[1892
RICHARD MANSFIELD
demand for interviews became so general and insistent
at times, and the interviewers put such peppery turns
to his phrases that, for long intervals during the last
fifteen years of his life, he refused interviews to even the
powerful journals. The leading periodicals now sought
his essays for his views and the authority of his opinion,
but especially the vital personality he put into them. He
was not a prolific writer, however. All his thought and
energy was devoted to the stage. He even wrote few
letters of significance, and in all, his published articles
were only five:
"The Story of a Production," which was an account of
his production of "King Richard III" in London, for
Harper's Weekly, May 24, 1890; "A Plain Talk on the
Drama," in the North American Review for September,
1892; "Concerning Acting," in the same magazine Sep-
tember, 1894; on "Audiences,
Audiences," in Collier's Weekly for
October 6, 1900; and on "Man and the Actor," in the
Atlantic Monthly for May, 1906. At other times he
entertained flattering commissions and sometimes wrote
his articles, but he was his own severest critic and tore
up his copy.
Following the production of "Nero" he made a brief
tour to the larger eastern cities to play "Nero" and "Don
Juan" with his other familiar rôles, and was back again
at the Garden Theatre in February, 1892, bristling with
the final preparations of another new play.
This was Emma Sheridan's dramatisation of Samuel
Warren's novel, "Ten Thousand a Year." Tittlebat Tit-
mouse fascinated him because though a dandy, he was
the antithesis in all points to Beau Brummell. Titmouse
was a dandy by affectation, Brummell by nature. Mans-
field's confidence in contrasts betrayed him.

1892]
"TEN THOUSAND A YEAR"
227
"Ten Thousand a Year" was acted first at the Garden
Theatre, February 23.'
There was no success for the enterprise. It was worked
over day by day without result and was withdrawn
March 15. The season at the Garden Theatre ended
Saturday evening April 9, when, for the first time, he
tried the experiment so successful afterward of acting
detached scenes from various plays. The programme
included Act III of "Prince Karl," containing the satirical
musical sketch; Act III of "Beau Brummell," the Mall
scene; Act IV of "A Parisian Romance," the banquet
scene; the tipsy scene from "Ten Thousand a Year";
and Act II from "Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde."
Whatever disappointment he felt about Titmouse was
engulfed by a new project of large appeal. Like all
imaginative temperaments Mansfield loved travel. New
scenes, new faces, movement, and variety all stimulated
him, whereas a run in one theatre, however successful,
fretted him to desperation. With the eagerness of a lad
on a holiday he started on April 10, with his company of
thirty and the productions of the seven plays of his

1 The cast was:
The Earl of Dreadlingcourt
Lord Yazoo
.
Mr. Oily Gammon
·
Mr. Tagrag
Mr. Brew
Tittlebat Titmouse
Huckabuck
Tweedles, a footman
A Hair-dresser.
Another Footman
Dowager Lady Holdard
Mr. W. N. Griffith.
Mr. Cecil Butler.
Mr. D. H. Harkins.
Mr. W. J. Ferguson.
Mr. Henry Gwynette.
Mr. Richard Mansfield.
Mr. A. G. Andrews.
Mr. F. Finch-Smiles.
Mr. T. F. Graham.
Mr. Henry DeVere.
Miss Annie Allison.
Miss Rolinda Bainbridge.
Lady Arabella.
Lady Cecelia Dreadlingcourt
Miss Adela Measor.
•
Miss Marie Stewart.
Lady Maud
Miss Brew
Miss Aubrey
Mrs. Squallop
Tessy Tagrag.
Miss Eleanor Markillie.
Miss Perdita Hudspeth.
Miss Hazel Seldon.
Miss Beatrice Cameron.

228
[1892
RICHARD MANSFIELD
répertoire, in his first special train for his first tour to
the Pacific Coast as a star; his first visit since his début
in San Francisco with the Union Square Company nine
years before.
He was the life of the trip. He gave dinners and sup-
pers in his car to which the members of his company
were invited, and they acted charades, arranged im-
promptu concerts, mock trials, and various games,
including "hunt-the-eggs," remembered from the boy-
hood days in Boston. One day in the Rocky Mountains,
when every one was tired, hot, and dusty from the four
days and nights of travel, he had the train stopped while
he and others took a stroll up an inviting canyon. The
incident infuriated the railroad people and it was made
much of as an evidence of his eccentricity.
He was received in San Francisco with distinction.
Reporters were sent to Sacramento to meet his train; his
performances were applauded by crowds, and he made
many warm personal friendships which lasted through
life.
While in San Francisco the company was one day sum-
moned to a photographer's studio. No one guessed the
reason. After waiting an hour Mansfield finally arrived.
Arranging all in a group, he seated himself in the centre
reading a manuscript. "Will every one look as pleased
as possible?" he asked, as the photographer exposed
the negative. The instruction for the next exposure was:
"Now let every one be vexed and bored and close his
eyes as if sound asleep." He continued to read, but,
whereas in the first pose he had shown no interest,
in this one his face was beaming. Of course his direc-
tions were to be obeyed, but no one understood, and
gradually the members of the company drifted out of

RICHARD MANSFIELD READING HIS OWN PLAY TO HIS COMPANY

1892]
IMPRESSIONS ON TOUR
229
the studio quite confirmed in their belief in his madness.
His old friend, Dan Harkins, however, unable to curb
his curiosity, remained behind and begged an explanation.
"Simply two pictures of my company listening to me read-
ing plays," replied Mansfield. "The first was a popular
author's, the second was one of my own." These pic-
torial jokes on his attempts as a dramatist amused him
and they hung in his home the remainder of his life.
The return trip eastward, made via Los Angeles,
Portland, Tacoma, Seattle, Salt Lake City, and Denver,
was a continuation of San Francisco's cordiality.
These cities are long journeys removed from each other
through a wonderland whose barren ruggedness fas-
cinated him. He wrote many of his impressions, but
destroyed what he had written. From a mass of old
papers there fluttered this single leaf, the text without
beginning or end, but richly suggestive of the trend of his
thoughts in the hours alone by the car window:
sharp turns. On this side there is naught but
sand and sage-brush, upon the opposite bank rise sterile
mountains. We see here and there a cow which wears
upon its countenance an expression of complacent wonder
as to why it is there, a wonder which is fully shared by the
traveller, with an added percentage of inquiry as to what
the cow lives on. Salmon fisheries of curious construc-
tion are seen here and there on river shores, and now and
then wigwams of Indians. But the traveller has little
inclination to regard the scenery if he travel in summer
time, since he will be mainly occupied by a vain and
futile endeavour to inhale some pure air. Through every
crevice a horrible fine dust penetrates and threatens suf-
focation. . . . On the right bank of the river we pres-
ently came upon curious natural fortifications, ramparts,
outworks, bastions, etc.-all Nature's handiwork, although


230
[1892
RICHARD MANSFIELD
it was hard to believe man had not assisted. Isolated
monuments or tumuli were also discovered, and the
imagination might easily work out the history of some
vast city lying behind those impregnable ramparts and
distinguish the tombs of great chiefs erected beyond the
outer walls. In brief, Nature has fortified all the land on
the eastern shore of the Columbia River, and any enemy
advancing from the westward could be easily and effec-
tively.
Sometimes the call of the wilderness was too strong to
be resisted and he made digressions into the mountains to
hunt and fish. When other occupations yielded the
leisure, he wrote fantastic nonsense for his guests, and
these sketches were afterward embodied in his little
volume, "Blown Away." He was in a perfectly aban-
doned mood of sprightly gayety throughout the trip. The
reason will become apparent later on.
A comedy characteristic of Mansfield's methodic
promptitude, courtliness, and generosity was improvised
when he reached Tacoma. He was to give the first of
his three performances there on Monday, May 30. Every
ticket was sold and the house was crowded when the
local manager received this message: "Delayed by wash-
out. Hold audience. Curtain at 9.30." He had had
other experiences of this pattern and at 8.20 he de-
cided to dismiss the audience. It was, however, his
first experience with Mansfield whom he forthwith dis-
covered to be a miracle of promptitude. At 8.40 the
actor walked into the front door to find the last of his
magnificent audience straggling out of the theatre. His
opinion of this procedure was given with unsparing
candour and emphasis.
He was gradually losing control of himself and suc-


1892]
CALMING A STORM
231
cumbing to his nerves, when a young lady detached her-
self from one of the parties late in leaving the theatre and
interrupted him. "Mr. Mansfield," she said, "however
you feel about the abandonment of this performance, the
disappointment is really ours. We Tacoma people have
been looking forward to seeing you for years. We have
tickets for 'Beau Brummell' and 'Dr. Jekyll and Mr.
Hyde,' but that does not outweigh our disappointment in
not seeing 'Prince Karl' to-night. You may not come
back again for years, so you cannot feel as badly about
to-night's misfortune as we do, for we shall probably
never see 'Prince Karl.""
He was always susceptible to a compliment, especially
when so evidently sincere. The storm was over in an
instant. He thanked her and replied, "I am to give that
play in Seattle on Thursday evening. If you and the
members of your party will be my guests, I will gladly
take you over on my car and place a box at your dis-
posal with my compliments."
The invitation was accepted. On the way to Seattle
on Thursday a sudden friendship developed between
Mansfield and his Tacoma acquaintances. They were
Mr. Post, his daughter, whose pretty speech had won
the actor, and several girl companions. Again and again
they impressed on him the loss and disappointment of
their Tacoma friends and their regret that the others
also could not come to see "Prince Karl" in Seattle. His
chivalry was roused. "We'll fix that," he said. "I will
put my company and my scenery on the train and return
to Tacoma to-morrow afternoon and give a special
matinee of 'Prince Karl,' if you will accept the tickets
and distribute them among your friends."
Mansfield's manner never left any doubt of his sin-

232
[1892
RICHARD MANSFIELD
cerity and to decline was to offend. Next morning a
special train took the whole party back to Tacoma. The
theatre was packed in the afternoon with the most beau-
tiful audience imaginable, and Mansfield was received in
a manner he never forgot.
There probably are nowhere else such lovers of roses
as the people of the Pacific northwest, and this was the
month of roses. Every one invited by Miss Post sent
flowers to Mansfield. It is unlikely so many roses were
ever before seen in a theatre at one time. According to
a local newspaper, "they were piled eight feet high all over
the stage. The climax of the floral bombardment was
reached when four men passed over the footlights a basket
which was said to contain one thousand roses!"
Mr. Slocum, his manager, had been successful in secur-
ing cash guarantees for Mansfield's appearances this sea-
son. It eliminated the element of risk and for a time he
approved the policy. One night, however, he was humili-
ated to discover that he had received more for his perform-
ance than the manager of the theatre had taken in by the
sale of tickets. From that time he refused to play on these
terms, for he did not believe it wholly just that he should
be paid more than he could draw. This rule was observed
for a while, but gradually his managers accepted an
occasional guarantee. Nor was this without Mansfield's
knowledge. However, he always asked for the statement
of receipts. On only two occasions did he fail to make
a profit for the speculative resident manager, and in each
instance he sent for the man and insisted on sharing the
receipts such as they were.
On his return to New York at the conclusion of this
tour, several interviews with him were printed, and in
one of them he gave this significant answer as to what


1892]
LIGHT
233
made the great essential difference between the art of the
older school of acting and the new:
"Light. The older stage was practically in darkness.
Consequently the actor who made the most noise invoked
the greatest amount of applause. When we note the
difference between the methods of to-day and those of
Forrest's time, for instance, we at first conclude that the
former methods are the more natural, because they sub-
stitute milder vocalisation for the older vociferation. But
it all resolves itself to a question of light. The older
lighted stages gave no scope to facial play and details of
movement. Hence more loudness was necessary. Per-
haps, Forrest, if he were to appear to-day in the style of
his time, would be laughed off the stage; but at the
same time Forrest, if he really should appear, would fit
his fine intelligence to the changed conditions, and
employ the vast advantage which light alone gives the
modern actor."
The countenance was one of his most expressive agents.
He could "frame his face to all occasions" and he con-
tinually impressed his players with the necessity of feeling
deeply the emotions of a rôle and reflecting them in their
faces. To illustrate the mute eloquence of facial expres-
sion, he urged them to practise a pantomimic exercise of
his own devising which he called "The Storm." He
represented a child who had been detained indoors on
account of an approaching storm. The child stands
before the window pouting. At first he sees no storm.
But presently his features resolve themselves into mingled
surprise and unwilling consciousness that the clouds are
gathering. His eyes search the heavens and his face
reflects the dread inspired by the massing clouds. A
snapping of the eyelids and quick contraction of the


234
[1892
RICHARD MANSFIELD
muscles about the eyes and forehead repeatedly attest
the flashes of lightning. One could hear the thunders as
the jaws clinch and the whole face contracted as if to repel
the crashes. The recession of the storm is noted by less
frequent flashes and crashes. Finally, only the
Finally, only the eyes dance
to an occasional illumination. The whole countenance
becomes calm with the promise of the breaking clouds,
and then wistful and hopeful as the storm recedes. In an-
other moment the eyes begin to dance and sparkle, a thou-
sand smiles wreathe the face, and there, as in a mirror, the
sunshine is reflected from the now radiant heavens.
He gave a painter's attention to his make-up, which he
described as "painting a portrait on the canvas of the
face." This portrait he illuminated with all the emotions
of the rôle he was playing. In spite of the elaborate care
he gave to the variety and detail of his make-up, he always
subordinated it to the expression which he projected from
within. Because the countenance is hidden and its plas-
ticity is hindered by hair, he rarely used it on the face.
There were a few wisps of hair on Ivan's chin, but Shylock
was the only rôle in which he used a beard, and in later
years he made it short and thin. In Chevrial, Prince
Karl, Beaucaire, Captain Bluntschli, and Cyrano de
Bergerac, he employed the moustache, but only in the
last two was it more than a hair line. He wanted a full,
free, unencumbered countenance in which to mirror the
emotions with his art, not with a rabbit's foot.
His voice he used, not alone to read, but rather to con-
vey feeling. John Corbin once, years after this period,
conveyed the effect of this magnificent organ in the
metaphor of colours: "The touchstone of histrionic
genius is . . . in the power of giving vibrant force and
varied colour to the verbal utterances of emotion.
•

1892]
THE VOICE
235
Some excellent voices suggest silver. They do very well
for the mind or movements of the heart, the palely re-
flected moonlight of the spirit. Mansfield's voice is pure
gold. Even in its most delicate and colloquial shadings
it has the fresh colour, the unmistakable authenticity of
sunlight. Its anger is torrid, its rage scarlet; and when
the shadow of defeat, despair, and even death, passes over
and into it, it glows with the crimson and the purple of
the sunset."
This is curiously interesting as well as expressive, for
Mansfield himself, addressing the graduates of the Amer-
ican Academy of Dramatic Arts, March 28, 1901, had
employed a similar figure:
"When you are enacting a part, think of your voice as
a colour, and, as you paint your picture (the character
you are painting, the scene you are portraying), mix your
colours. You have on your palate (pallet) a white voice,
la voix blanche; a heavenly, ethereal or blue voice, the
voice of prayer; a disagreeable, jealous, or yellow voice;
a steel-gray voice for quiet sarcasm; a brown voice of
hopelessness; a lurid voice of hot rage; a deep, thunder-
ous voice of black; a cheery voice, the colour of the green
sea that a brisk breeze is crisping, and then there is a
pretty little pink voice, and shades of violet. but
the subject is endless."
His voice grew in strength, depth, flexibility, and en-
durance the longer he lived. He had such control over
it that he was able to finish an evening of Cyrano, Richard,
Peer Gynt, or any lengthy rôle stronger vocally than when
he began, though he was all but prostrated physically. He
said that he owed this control to his mother's method.
He sang with equal facility and enjoyed introducing a
snatch of song into a part.

236
[1892
RICHARD MANSFIELD
Nature had been kind to him only in giving certain raw
material and the art to perfect it. Stature and comeliness
he had not. Like Garrick, he was below an imposing
height, measuring about five feet eight inches. He was
original and skilful in making certain characters appear
tall, however, notably Prince Karl, Brutus, Beau Brum-
mell, Dick Dudgeon, Beaucaire, and the youthful Peer
Gynt. He carried himself erect, dressed his legs in dark
colours and tight clothing, held his heels together, as often
as possible presented a three-quarter front, rarely dropped
the hands to arm's length, and defined a long leg by
placing his hand on an imaginary waistline several inches
above the real one. Again, like Garrick, he had a regular,
almost negative, countenance when not illuminated by
expression. His face was a departure from the "classic
front of Jove" of the old-time actor. Distinction, force,
and power were discernible in his features, but they sug-
gested any profession, least of all acting. He would not
wear a frock-coat and abominated long hair. In the con-
tour of his compact head might be seen the long firm chin,
which indicates that all the intellectuality of the broad
brow was translated into action. He typified his genera-
tion—an active, imaginative, nervous man in an active,
imaginative, nervous age.
He accomplished the masks and manners of his gal-
lery—especially the comely youths by sheer force of
an art which could summon youth and beauty into the
countenance as if they were simple emotions. Amy Leslie
once asked him how he managed the face of guileless Karl,
and for her temerity received one of Mansfield's charac-
teristic responses which left her credulity dangling be-
tween merriment and a miracle: "The simplest thing in
the world. It is all a matter of self-imposed mental in-


BEATRICE CAMERON AS HESTER PRYNNE

1892]
MENTALITY IN MAKE-UP
237
fluence. One thinks one is young and frank and engaging,
and immediately one is young and frank and engaging:
behold Karl!"
Mentality was indubitably the governing pigment in
his "making up." He strove with all the hypnotic force
of his imposing intellect to transform himself-mind,
heart, and body-into the rôle he was acting. If one
could be, it was not difficult to do. Being and acting
fused. He became a character and allowed the character
to act.


CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
(1892-1893)
Marriage to Beatrice Cameron-Acts Arthur Dimmesdale in "The
Scarlet Letter"-Benjamin Harrison-An open letter on Shake-
spearean productions.
FROM the first day that Miss Cameron came into his
company, Mansfield was her suitor. Unconsciously, per-
haps, he at first beguiled himself as well as others with
the belief that it was art and not heart that fascinated
him. But this illusion fell away. The companionship
he craved and found in her swift perception and in her
intelligent sympathy with all his hopes and plans and
efforts, coupled with the confidence he felt on the stage
with so disinterestedly devoted an artist at his elbow, begot
a complete but sweet dependence with which he never
honoured any other person.
Miss Cameron spent the summer of 1892 with her
friends Mr. and Mrs. Edward N. Gibbs and Miss George
Gibbs, at their country place near Norwich, Connecticut.
Mansfield bestowed himself at the Fort Griswold House,
on the Thames opposite New London, and rode or drove
the fifteen miles every day of their vacation.
On the fifteenth of September, that autumn, they were
married by the Reverend Dr. Johnson at the Church of
the Redeemer, in Eighty-second Street, New York City.
The wedding was private and was attended only by Mr.
238

1892]
"THE SCARLET LETTER"
239
and Mrs. Gibbs, Miss Gibbs, Mrs. E. A. Buck and Mr.
John Slocum. A merry breakfast followed at the
Plaza Hotel, where they took up their residence, and here
their friends came with their congratulations.
As a bachelor, Mansfield had made his apartments
down-town at the Croisic famous. They were now given
up, and with them, for a time, passed those suppers sea-
soned with the sprightliest wit of the day. One time or
another nearly every one of distinction came to Mans-
field's table. Among those who were found there with
some degree of regularity were General Horace Porter,
John A. Cockerill, W. J. Florence, George Munzig, Tom
Ochiltree, John Stowe, John A. McCaull, Ballard Smith,
and Colonel E. A. Buck. His old friend, Mr. Jordan, oc-
casionally surprised him, as he had in London, by appear-
ing without notice late at night at the close of the play.
Three evenings before Mansfield's marriage he acted
the Reverend Arthur Dimmesdale in a dramatisation of
Nathaniel Hawthorne's romance, "The Scarlet Letter,"
at Daly's Theatre.' This was the opening night of his
season. The desire to act Dimmesdale was in kind with
his effort to emancipate the theatre from the old list of
heroic yet artificial, emotional but theatric, rôles, which had
for generations been the measure of an actor's greatness,
Joseph Hatton's name appeared on the bill as the


The play was acted with this cast:
Rev. Arthur Dimmesdale
Governor Bellingham
Rev. John Wilson
Roger Chillingworth
Captain Hiram Weeks
Master Brackett, jailer
Dame Hartley
Mistress Barlow
Mary Willis
Little Pearl
Hester Prynne.
Mr. Richard Mansfield.
Mr. A. G. Andrews.
Mr. D. H. Harkins.
Mr. W. J. Ferguson.
Mr. Chas. J. Burbridge.
Mr. W. N. Griffith.
Mrs. Julia Brutone.
Miss Helen Glidden.
Miss Eleanor Markillie.
Miss de Grigea.
Miss Beatrice Cameron.

240
[1892
RICHARD MANSFIELD
author, but before the play was produced it was so mate-
rially changed from the form in which he had delivered
it, that he would have been the first to relinquish claim
to it. What happened was this. Mansfield's interest in
"The Scarlet Letter" attached as firmly to Hawthorne's
noble language as to the character and story, and
he determined to have all of Hawthorne possible. Send-
ing for two copies of the book, he ripped them to pieces,
and following the general structure of Mr. Hatton's
scenario, which was itself faithful to the novel and gave
the only and inevitable sequence of the scenes, he made a
play of Hawthorne's own text, cutting away superfluous
diction to accelerate the action and increase the dramatic
vitality of the speeches. This is the play as it was pro-
duced. If it was any one's it was Nathaniel Hawthorne's.
But though Mansfield did as well as could be done with
the gray, cold, sad story, he did not succeed in making a
strong play. But he framed an opportunity for a finer
display of his art than any new rôle had given him since
"Beau Brummell."
"The Scarlet Letter," as interpreted by Mansfield,
denoted the axiom that a sin concealed sears its own
severest punishment in the soul, and a crime revealed is
in a measure expiated. The interest in Hester was thus
at once put to one side except as she is the complement
of Dimmesdale's in his suffering. For, with her sin pro-
claimed by the scarlet letter, her repentance is unclogged
by hypocrisy. The mockery of Dimmesdale's preachments,
the living lie of his silence in the presence of the woman
branded for the sin he shared, became forces, in the
heart of a man of such depths and sensitiveness as Mans-
field gave him, which rocked his soul asunder. Again
and anew he transported the spectator with his expression

1892]
AN OFFER FROM DALY
241
of the power of avenging conscience. It is not the
privilege of the actor to teach a lesson more potent for
good.
It was a singularly difficult rôle, for the emotional effects
were produced by unaided artistry. The story was drab
and unsympathetic, and the play was almost without
intrigue or cumulative incidents. Yet Dimmesdale's
suffering awakened echoes in every spectator's heart.
Of the more powerful passages, the one that will dwell
longest in the memory of those who witnessed this per-
formance, was that final picture of the young minister's
reparation. Into the midst of Hester's revilers and his
parishioners he came and dragged himself up on to the
pillory of her shame and his silence. Retributive justice
had eaten his vitality until it was the gaunt shadow of
their minister who swayed above the crowd. While the
last spark of life yet flickered, his wavering energy to the
uttermost was devoted to the final expiation. He tore
away the minister's band before his breast, disclosed what
appeared to be the miracle of the scarlet letter seared in
his own flesh and cried aloud his sin. As the crowd re-
coiled, he stood alone exalted. His eyes danced as if
dazzled with the light of a vision, the lips which had curled
in bitterness now curled in an ecstatic smile, his arms
reached up, his hands fluttered as if he were about to take
wing and a deep soft sigh breathed out his soul to heaven.
He acted Dimmesdale twenty-one times at Daly's, and
these were the only appearances he ever made on this
stage, though Mr. Daly had negotiated with him for a
contemplated annual season at his house, and further
tempted him with an offer to star him as Shylock at
Daly's Theatre in London, with Ada Rehan as Portia.
When he left this theatre "The Scarlet Letter" fell into


242
[1892
RICHARD MANSFIELD
his répertoire. The tour was punctuated with pleasant
incidents indicative of his growth in popular esteem, and
his pecuniary profits were greater than he had hitherto
enjoyed. Though he was not able to pay any part of his
indebtedness, he met the interest, paid all current obli-
gations punctually, and put aside something in anticipa-
tion of his next production.
During his autumn engagement in Chicago he appeared
for the first time on the stage of the Grand Opera House,
and in that city he never after acted in any other theatre.
The Columbus Exposition buildings were dedicated dur-
ing his second week, the city was entertaining distinguished
visitors from every land, and he was nightly applauded by
foreigners of nearly every nationality.
Before reaching Washington in November, he received
from President Harrison a note saying: "Mrs. Harrison
and I are looking forward to your return. Our winter in
the theatre is now divided into A.M. and P.M., ante-Mans-
field and post-Mansfield." From their first meeting there
sprang up between these men a friendship which flourished
until the general's death. They were alike in an aloofness
from casual approach which frequently gave unintentional
offense and visited on them much hard criticism. They
were two much misunderstood men who understood each
other. Often, when Mr. Harrison came to New York,
the evaded reporters might have found him in his friend's
library. Mansfield was equal to a refreshing and inform-
ing discussion on a wide variety of topics. The catho-
licity of his taste, perceptions, and schemes was not more
comprehensive of æsthetics than of topics political, legis-
lative, and judicial. Nearly everything his mind touched
yielded.
This winter of 1892-1893, Mansfield acted in the South

1893]
THE ASCENDING SCALE
243
for the first time, and under conditions which told of his
increasing popularity. Mr. Greenwall, a Southern man-
ager, offered him a guarantee of $48,000 for forty-eight
appearances in the South! This was at the time the
largest sum ever guaranteed an artist in this territory
for a proportionate number of appearances. The re-
ceipts bettered the bargain. At that time the standard
price of seats for first-class attractions was one dollar and
fifty cents. Two dollars was charged for Mansfield, a price
not previously paid except for Booth and Irving. The
public gave him a memorable welcome, and the trip added
the fealty of the only unconquered strip of territory in
the United States.
When he returned to Chicago early in April 1893, his
abstinence from Shakespearian efforts became the sub-
ject of a spirited newspaper controversy. To an open
letter from a Mr. G. McBride, he addressed this reply
through the columns of the Inter-Ocean-it contains his
first call for an endowed theatre which he often repeated
after, and is also interesting for its revelation of his whim-
sical nature which gives the reasons why he should not
act Shakespeare at a time when he was preparing an im-
mediate incursion into that field, and flouts the scenic
splendour which was one of his valued assets:
MY DEAR SIR:-You have done me the honour to
address to me in noble and stirring language an exhorta-
tion which might be briefly summarised by quoting the
opening lines of Pope's Essay:

Awake, my
St. John, leave meaner things
To low ambition and the pride of kings.
You urge me, sir, to put aside such stage work as
appeals to that public which asks for entertainment, and

244
[1893
RICHARD MANSFIELD
entertainment only. You urge me to delve in the Shake-
spearian drama, the classic, the poetic. You urge me to
assume those Titanic and heroic characters which Shake-
speare has created and with which the names of all the
great actors of the past have been associated. You urge
me to put upon one side the mere idea of gain and to
devote myself to the higher realms only of dramatic art,
and you finally assure me that in all this I shall have the
support and approval of the people.
But
Presuming that I felt myself able to cope successfully
with what you graciously urge upon me, presuming I were
by nature and by acquirement fitted to present in any
degree satisfactorily the heroes of Shakespeare and the
poetic and classical drama, I should, sir, need little
urging to walk in a path overgrown as it is with the
sweetest flowers and the fairest trophies of our art.
it has been decided by those who are set up upon the seats
of judgment that this path is not for me. I have en-
deavoured to present both the heroic and the tragic, and
I have been led to believe that I am suited to neither. I
am forced to accept the verdict of the critic and the public.
The condemnation of my presentation of Nero, of Richard
III, of Don Juan, of Dimmesdale, was upon the part of
the New York critics almost unanimous, and since "no
power (to paraphrase) can the giftie gie us to see our-
selves as others see us," I am obliged to look into that
mirror of words which is furnished me by the reviewers
of dramatic art, and judge accordingly whether the picture
I present be faithful and pleasing.
So much then in reply to that wish, sir, of yours that I
should assume the sock and buskin of the tragedian.
Were I more conceited than I am (and I have been
allowed no small amount of conceit by my censors), I
should not speak as I do, but I have more inward quaver-
ings and doubtings and more horrible fears and misgiv-
ings and nervous spasms than occur to most men after
fourteen years of campaigning, and I even now never
face the footlights and the public without suffering an
agony of fright. Forgive me for dwelling upon my per-

RICHARD MANSFIELD AS ARTHUR DIMMESDALE

1893]
AN OPEN LETTER
245
sonal sufferings concerning which your open letter made
no mention. And with regard to that letter, I may say
here that it has proved a snowball started "in summis
montibus," and which has generated a very avalanche of
letters, reading which I am very grateful and very proud,
and it is partly upon account of them that I go to the
length of trespassing upon the columns of The Inter-Ocean.
It would appear from them that there may be a place for
me in the hearts of the people-I know no prouder place-
and that place, were it mine, I would not relinquish for a
sceptre and a crown. Now I fancy this very place in the
hearts of the people and in their minds and their mem-
ories may be well held by other means than the presenta-
tion upon the part of my associates and myself of the
Shakespearian and classic drama only. Were it not well,
since most of us labour. long and late and have many
thoughts of care and sorrow, were it not well to present
such plays and create such characters as will divert and
entertain? You will tell me that Shakespeare does so,
and I will tell you and millions will tell you that it requires
in these late days (and think how far away we are from
Shakespeare and his cronies!) much erudition to apprehend
Shakespeare swiftly; and that is why he is better read and
conned and studied and digested in the quiet hours of our
home-life than in the tumultuous moments of an evening's
gayety. This is of the many, of the people-and without
the patronage and approval of the people what enterprise
can prosper?
It has been recently a fashion, not by any means in-
augurated by living actors, to dress up and bedizen the
works of Shakespeare and to make alluring by show and
pageantry what would otherwise have no attraction for
the ordinary playgoer. This has resulted beneficially in
one direction, as it has tempted people to hear the words
of Shakespeare; but how much do they hear and how
much do they remember, and would they go to see him
were he stripped of his brave attire?
And the harm it has done to art is incalculable. What
master actor, the designer and creator of all this mimic

246
[1893
RICHARD MANSFIELD
pomp, can steep his mind and soul in the poetry of the
author, when his very life depends upon a calcium, when col-
oured fires are flashing and whizzing, and vast machines are
heaving scenes and toppling towers and vampire traps, and
crowds of supers are crashing and crushing and blustering?
Concerning all this, I find a long-forgotten letter written
by Hans Christian Andersen, in 1871. He had been to
the Lyceum Theatre in London, and had seen Charles
Kean in "The Tempest," and this is what he says:
"The presentation lasted from 7 to 12.30 o'clock.
Everything had been done that scenery and mise en scène
could effect; and yet after seeing all we felt overwhelmed,
weary, and empty. Shakespeare himself was sacrificed
to the lust of the eye. Bold poetry became petrified into
prosaic illustration. The living word evaporated and
the nectarian food was forgotten in the golden dish in
which it was served up. None of the actors appeared to
me remarkable as dramatic artists. Kean declaimed in the
style of a preacher, and his organ was not fine. I should
more enjoy a representation of Shakespeare's in a wooden
theatre than here, where the play was lost in the properties."
Thus spake Hans Christian Andersen-and I thoroughly
agree with him. I should like the people to come and
see acting for acting's sake-acting pure and simple, and
to judge an actor by his acting only—that is what an actor
is for. If I would, I could not, sir, present Shakespeare,
for I have not $30,000 to spend upon a production, and
nothing would satisfy you or me than to dress him up as
well as other actors of our time have dressed him; and I
am not sufficiently egotistical to suppose that you would
come to see me merely act him-or if, perchance, you did,
how many of you, please, would there be? You remem-
ber Austin Dobson's tribute to Burbage:

"When Burbage played, the stage was bare
Of fount and temple, tower and stair;
Two backswords eked a battle out,
Two supers made a rabble rout,
The throne of Denmark was a chair."

1893]
AN ENDOWED THEATRE
247
Will you be satisfied with this? Or if you, sir, and the
likes of you, have confidence in me, will you furnish me
with the means to present the Shakespearian and the
classical drama? Did you offer me these means, I should
decline them.
I am for the people and the time, and I am out hunting
for the new and the original. Like Sir Ashley Merton,
"I desire to create for myself!" I love, too, perhaps as
much as you do, sir, Shakespeare's poetry, and there are
hours when I love, too, to open the old oak chest and
gather up the faded flowers of the past, and perhaps their
faint perfume may awaken in my breast as many tender
emotions and sacred memories. I, too, may laugh at
the old-fashioned jest or shed a tear over the sorrows
of some heart-blighted damozel-but who cares-at 8
o'clock ?
Let us compromise. All these kind letters, all these
words of encouragement and praise, let them have a
practical tread. You wealthy men who lose a million at
the turn of a hand, who build palatial clubs, vast hotels,
and what not else for the glory of the Nation, erect, too, a
theatre and endow it nobly, and if you think me in any
small way worthy, let us establish a National theatre to-
gether, and when men come to us from abroad prating of
their superior schools of art and their great artists, let the
sign-boards point hitherward in triumph. Let us en-
courage men here at home to write, let us have some
Shakespeare of the nineteenth century. Is it impossible;
is it beyond belief that genius can burn to-day? Can
no man write? Let us no longer be traditional, but orig-
inal; it is easier to copy than to create, and the tiniest
original painting from Nature is by far greater than any
imitation of another man's work. I am for wholesome,
healthy, virile plays of character; I care not whether
they be sombre, eccentric, quaint, or humorous, so that
they be true and strong; and I am, too, for that
which entertains and diverts and points a moral, and
I should, moreover, desire to present, occasionally, plays
that will please children, and I believe that in pleasing


248
[1893
RICHARD MANSFIELD
them I shall be able to please their parents; and in all
this and a great deal more I remain, sir, your and the
public's obedient servant,
RICHARD MANSFIELD.

CHAPTER NINETEEN
(1893-1894)
Acts Shylock-His performance of this rôle was a growth-Accent-
Bold strokes-He buys a New York home-Nicknames.
MANSFIELD's ambition included everything except any
other actor's mantle. He was determined to carve a
niche of his very own. When it was a question of busi-
ness policy, he would say: "What are the others doing?
Well, that we will not do." In the choice of a vehicle he
had a positive aversion to trading on the popularity or
success achieved for a play or a character by another.
He sought the new paths, fresh types, original expression.
Of the ten rôles which he had created up to his time as
master of his own choice, all represented pioneer delving
and advanced dramatic interpretation, and all were new
to the stage, excepting only King Richard III. His
originality often confused the critics and confounded con-
servatism, but his perseverance was telling. No one who
wrote of Mansfield in 1893 but acknowledged the potent
force of his personality, the lofty sincerity of his experi-
ments, and his wide versatility. The belief was that he
awaited only a rôle to mount the last interval between
the high position which ten years on the American stage
had won him and a position of preeminence.
But no new rôle of essential greatness appeared. Per-
haps the Chicago controversy, his own reply to the con-
trary, indicated to him that public appreciation could not


249

250
[1893
RICHARD MANSFIELD
measure except by comparisons, and that it did not recog-
nise the quality of something just as good when different.
In any case, choice for his next excursion fell on Shylock
in Shakespeare's "The Merchant of Venice." It was an
admirable selection. He was fully equipped for a com-
plete embodiment of the character. The inevitable com-
parisons with Booth and Irving rose up before him. He
would have preferred fresh material, but he accepted the
alternative.
He produced "The Merchant of Venice," October 23,
1893,¹ at Hermann's (afterward the Princess) Theatre, on
the tiniest stage in New York. This was a mistake.
Shylock is not a miniature. It is a rôle of grand passions
and needs space and distance. Largeness was lacking in
the picture and breadth was impossible in the action.
So at once he had placed a barrier between his assump-
tion and its effect. He made every effort to overcome
these limitations. Every detail that would delight a
chaste taste and charm the senses was in evidence. The
furniture and draperies were selected from the Borgia and
other palaces in Venice. Gustave Dannreuther's quar-
tette, quite peerless in New York at the time, was aug-
1 The comedy was acted with this cast:
The Duke of Venice
The Prince of Morocco
The Prince of Aragon
Antonio, the merchant of Venice
Bassanio.
Gratiano.
Salanio
Salarino
Lorenzo
Shylock
Tubal
•
.
Launcelot Gobbo
Old Gobbo
Balthasar
Stephano.
Jessica
Nerissa
Portia
Mr. W. N. Griffith.
Mr. David Torrence.
Mr. Lorimer Stoddard.
Mr. D. H. Harkins.
Mr. Arthur Forrest.
Mr. Norman Forbes.
Mr. Wm. Bonney.
Mr. J. W. Weaver.
Mr. Aubrey Boucicault.
Mr. Richard Mansfield.
Mr. Cecil Butler.
Mr. A. G. Andrews.
Mr. Griffith.
Miss Rolinda Bainbridge.
Miss Maude Venner.
Miss Sydney Worth.
Miss Alberta Gallatin.
Miss Beatrice Cameron.

1893]
SHYLOCK
251
mented by string soloists, and played the Venetian obli-
gatos composed by Arthur Mees. The scene was viewed
through a frame of flowers and foliage which reproduced
the effect of the miniature improvised theatre at court
performances at Windsor Castle. The programme con-
tained this note:
"The song in the second act was first rendered at
Derby School, Speech Day, 1869, when 'The Merchant
of Venice' was presented in the presence of Dr. Selwyn,
Bishop of Lichfield, and under the direction of the late
beloved Head-Master, Walter Clark, B.D." He re-
peatedly referred to his regret that his old master had not
lived to see his second appearance as the Jew.
The only important Shylock which Mansfield ever saw
was that of the venerable Samuel Phelps, who acted it at
Derby while he was a scholar there and on the same stage
where twenty years afterward he acted twice for the
benefit of the Racquet Court Fund. It left no deep im-
pression, but in any event he would not have followed any
other model than his own inspiration./ One never knew
Mansfield's performances by heart before seeing them.
From the first Shylock was accredited one of his most
celebrated rôles, though it did not at once receive the
recognition which would advance him as he hoped. It
left a stretch ahead in his climb.
Of all his characters Shylock was more essentially a
growth than any other. It was received from the first
night with recognition of the poetic tenderness of his
domestic passages and the resonant vitality of his por-
trayal of the patriarchal money-lender, but he developed
¹ Mr. Mansfield's memory betrayed him on the point of the performances at
Derby twenty-four years before. The Bishop of Litchfield presided in 1869.
The performance of "The Merchant of Venice" in 1870 was presided over by
Sir Henry Wilmot.

252
[1893
RICHARD MANSFIELD
the character year after year until it became in its latest
performances very nearly the finest expression of his
artistic potentiality.
Beau Brummell, King Richard, Arthur Dimmesdale,
Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde and other rôles he never changed.
It was remarkable what spontaneity he gave to perform-
ances which never varied by a hair's breadth. Mr.
Palmer, watching the Baron Chevrial, just nineteen years
after his own production of "A Parisian Romance," ex-
claimed: "He plays it as if it were the first night. There
is the same freshness and intensity. Yet he has not
changed by a syllable, an inflection, or a glance."/
He acted Shylock from every conceivable point of view,
but the final expression was the conception of the new
civilisation which looked upon the Jew with Christian
catholicity, a fellow-creature, no longer fair game for bait-
ing and bigotry. Mansfield left his analysis of the play,
in which he said:

Shylock is really the only natural person in most un-
natural surroundings. The play itself, if written to-day,
would be either instantly condemned or put down as a
farcical comedy. The noble Antonio-the good Antonio
-the esteemed merchant Prince, cannot find anybody to
lend him three thousand ducats, but the man he ever-
lastingly abused, kicked, and spat upon. Bassanio is
confessedly a fortune-hunter, Gratiano a lick-spittle and
time server, Lorenzo is a thief or particeps criminis,
Jessica is unspeakable, and the Duke condemns Shylock
in open court before the trial. It is difficult for a sincere
actor to play Shylock according to modern requirements
with sincerity. I should like some day, just for fun, to put
Shylock and the whole interpretation of the play back where
it belongs in the realm of poetic farce.... However,
when all is said, to-day Shylock must either be a monu-


RICHARD MANSFIELD AS SHYLOCK
From a photograph, copyright, 1897, by J. M. Hart & Co.

1893] ACCENT IN CHARACTERISATION
253
mental type of the hating and revengeful and much-
abused Jew-or a joke. Anything else is begging the
question. This does not preclude his loving his daughter
and his home-his being a fanatic, almost, in his religion
and in his faith in the justice of his cause-or of his winning
some sympathy by departing from the court-room, when
everything is taken from him, with his last and only hope
-i. e., to place his grievance at the feet of his Creator.
This is what he made his Shylock-the embodiment of
malignant, implacable hatred based on the endurance of
a lifetime of contempt and revilement and on the outrages
finally done a deeply religious nature by the procuring of
his daughter's apostasy. No Christian ever hated Jew
as this Jew hated Christian. The paternity behind his
religious fanaticism gave him a gentle patriarchal dignity,
for tenderness marked every encounter with the faithless
Jessica, but it did not conceal a superior contempt for
Antonio and his friends.
In appearance he was venerable, his head of heavy hair
and his full long beard were slightly shot with gray.
Though his gait was sometimes feeble he disclosed the
hardy vitality of body and mind which bless the maturity
of frugal, orderly, temperate living. The racial dis-
tinction between Shylock and all about him was marked
by a slight accent, scarcely perceptible except in broaden-
ing the "i" into "ee," as "preenceeple" for principle,
"Chreestian" for Christian, and similar words.
The quiet passages of Shylock's endurance, both early
in the acceptance of the bond and later in the cold con-
sciousness of his advantage, were vitalised with excep-
tional physical and nervous force.
Three times he loosed his passions-At first in a sigh of
heart-bleeding agony as he rushed from his ravished house,

254
[1893
RICHARD MANSFIELD
after the discovery of his daughter's flight, and fell over-
whelmed with misery, among the fantastics as they rol-
licked away in the pitiless gloom-again, in the vengeance
scene, when with the snug-fitting bonnet snatched away,
he disclosed a lion-maned, lion-mettled figure of exalted
revenge and his noble organ spilled his hatred and wrath
with chaotic volubility,-for a last time in the trial scene
when Portia culminates her interpretation of the bond with:
"You must cut this flesh from off his breast."
And Shylock, his lust for revenge stimulated to the utter-
most, breaks forth in a mad rush to plunge his knife in
Antonio's breast but is stayed, amazed, and transfixed,
by the doctor's clarion call "Tarry awhile; there is some-
thing else!" All else was graphic illumination by diver-
sified detail.
James O'Donnell Bennett noted these the last time he
saw Mansfield act this rôle and wrote: "One result of
this detailed examination of the rôle of Shylock by Mr.
Mansfield is a display of minute, but in their aggregate,
very eloquent and illuminating differentiation in the act-
ing of it. It is this phase of his art that makes that art
so stimulating and suggestive. He seems to comment, to
explain, and to criticise by means of beautiful sidelights
while he acts and it seems to one who has followed his
work attentively for more than a dozen years that he does
all these things more authoritatively and with more of a
scholar's as well as an artist's love with the passing of every
year. The marvel is that he can achieve this infinity of
detail without becoming finicky. He will act no part in
one key yet he is not distracting. There is always the
dominant note, but a multitude of delicate minors, now
soft and sensuous, now thin and piercing, accompany it."


1893]
ORIGINAL STROKES
255
One of the bold and imaginative touches, with which he
embroidered the part, marked his answer, in the trial
scene, to Portia's mocking plea.
Portia: Have by some surgeon, Shylock, on your charge
To stop his wounds, lest he do bleed to death.
Shylock: Is it so nominated in the bond?
Portia: It is not so expressed; but what of that?
'Twere good you do so much for charity.
Most interpreters of the part there glanced over the
paper and flung it back contemptuously before replying:
"I cannot find it, 'tis not in the bond." Not so Mans-
field's Shylock. There was no dram of pity, no under-
standing of pity in his inflexible revenge, and he did not
understand it in the young doctor before him. His alert
perception suspected the trick that was being played
upon him. Advancing to the desk he seized the bond,
but there was no question of its terms in his heart. By
long conning he knew every word. The man before him
was the enigma. His hand tremblingly searched the
crackling parchment but his gaze never faltered in its
piercing search of the depths behind the soft eyes of the
young doctor. The slow, heavy, resentful, affirmative tone
of his reply-"It is not in the bond,"-in no way con-
tradicted the eloquent attitude and action of baffled uncer-
titude and pitiable inquiry.
Every appearance this last fortnight in New York was
devoted to Shylock. The tour during the winter of
1893-1894 covered the familiar Northern and Eastern
cities with a dip to quaint old New Orleans in February.
He acted Shylock, Dimmesdale, Chevrial, Dr. Jekyll
and Mr. Hyde, and Brummell. With the profits he now
realised two of his life-long dreams.

256
[1894
RICHARD MANSFIELD
The last home he had known was the house in Finchley
Road, London, to which he came on occasional visits
from school. In spite of an inborn home-lust and a
genius for hospitality his life for twenty years had been
spent amid the artificial comforts of apartments and
hotels.
One spring day in the year 1894 he took Mrs. Mansfield
to the house at 104 West Eightieth Street. When he had
led her from room to room, exquisitely furnished with his
winnowings from shops all over the land, and feasted on
her exclamations of pleasure, he slipped into her hand a
folded paper which was her title to their first home.
Here they remained until 1898 when he succumbed to a
haunting desire to see the water from his windows.
Moreover his family and his position demanded a larger
residence. They bought and moved to 316 Riverside
Drive and this was his town house the remainder of his life.
His other indulgence this spring of 1894 was the
possession of a yacht. When the humid days of July
drove them from the city, he sailed from Groton under
his own pennant. Ferguson had built the boat for him
and after his beloved consort he named it "Her Royal
Highness," in playful allusion to "His Royal," the nick-
name by which his associates in his company called him.
This was his first nickname since the days of "Cork"
Mansfield at Derby. In later years he was often called
"The Chief," but first and last his most popular nick-
name was "Father." This, presumably, originated in
his habit of referring to his company as "My little family
of players."
He once delivered himself on his attitude toward his
company in a brief lecture to an intruder loitering on the
stage during a rehearsal. “Do you not know," he


1894]
DISCIPLINE
257
exclaimed "that a rehearsal is sacred and private as the
home? We are a huge family. These are my brothers
and sisters, and my children. There are many trying
moments in family life not intended for the public eye.
Discipline is necessary, it promotes good. It is often as
painful for him who administers it as for him who receives
it. A parent heaps reproaches and punishment on his
children in private and without malice, which he would
not dream of visiting on them in public, and would be
the first to resent when coming from another."
When the later productions expanded his company,
often beyond the hundred mark, the necessity for disci-
pline sent the family spirit into eclipse, and his nervous
impatience touched the match to that train of gossip
about his autocratic bearing in the theatre. He was born
with as delicate a set of nerves as was ever put under
human skin, and when, after every effort and expense on
his own part, carelessness or stupidity marred and often
ruined his undertaking, he met the situation in no soft
mood. His passions fairly rode the gale and the tempest
was memorable while it lasted.
These tempers were an illness and left him quite
dispirited. One night, the last time he ever acted in
Pittsburg, he broke down after the long monologue which
constitutes the last act of "Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde,"
because he fancied everything had been spoiled by care-
less stage management, but after his temper he crept to
his dressing-room and sat in silent distress until 2 o'clock
in the morning, before he summoned his dresser. Anger
came from sore nerves, not from the heart. It was from
the lips out. He cherished no animosity.

CHAPTER TWENTY
(1894-1895)
Where the acted plays come from-"Arms and the Man"-"The
Emperor Napoleon"-Letters from Bernard Shaw-English
appreciation of Mansfield-Impediments to his return to act in
London.
MR. PALMER said that during his experience as a man-
ager, which extended over a period of more than thirty
years, never had an unknown author sent him a play
which he could produce. He retained a literary and
dramatic technician to read the manuscripts which
poured in at the rate of three and four a day. This
reader then passed up promising plays for Mr. Palmer's
judgment, but not one of them ever appealed to him with
conviction. In rare instances, however, they led to an
acquaintance with the writer who later gave forth a play
which could be acted. The rule in Mr. Palmer's experi-
ence was, however, invariable. No actable play came
from an unknown source but always from a subject sug-
gested and talked over in advance and nursed in its prog-
ress, or else from an established dramatist.
This has been the experience of nearly every manager
and actor-manager. There doubtless have been excep-
tions down the list of plays written, but if there are they
would seem to prove the rule. It certainly had been
Mansfield's experience up to this time. He and his asso-

258

1894]
"ARMS AND THE MAN"
259
ciates had read hundreds of plays. None were actable.
He wrote, suggested, or assisted in the development of
every new play which he produced.
His life long, he rarely knew in the spring, or admitted
that he knew, what he would act in the fall. He some-
times announced plays in his possession to feel the public
pulse but he rarely committed himself to an immu-
table decision. He spent his summers with a hopeful
eye open for a new play, bigger and better than anything
in hand, and his sails spread to avail himself of any
breath of good fortune from an unsuspected quarter.
He was adrift on a sea of doubts this spring of 1894
when there came to him the manuscript of "Arms and
the Man," a comedy in three acts by George Bernard
Shaw. The author's name conveyed nothing to him.
One reading, however, convinced him that here was the
exception to the rule of Mr. Palmer's experience. The
mail-tide had washed in a treasure. He passed the
manuscript to those at his elbow. They winced. He
had better not trifle with his public, they urged, with this
dangerous satire on sacred conventions and holy emotions.
Mrs. Mansfield alone exhibited the liberated spirit, but
she had bathed her perceptions in the refreshing waters
of Ibsen. She was fascinated with the new comedy.
Mansfield enjoyed waving the red rag before the pub-
lic and accepted the others' criticism as an endorsement.
Being somewhat of an iconoclast, he relished the prospect
of exposing humbug and denuding sham. The simple
production occasioned no embarrassment to him after
the fortunes spent on the pictorial intricacies of preceding
plays, and any actor above mediocrity could have played
Captain Bluntschli. Mansfield always preferred and
sought the character which challenges his resources.


260
[1894
RICHARD MANSFIELD
But he decided that here was a light, facile comedy with
an exhilarating new point of view which should tickle the
public while it provided a marked contrast to any other
play in his repertoire.
He began to inquire about George Bernard Shaw and
his play. At that time the Irishman was a small speck
on the horizon. He was known in London socialistic
circles as a cart-end haranguer and the writer of several
inconsequential novels which filled space in an obscure
socialistic paper. He had written some criticisms on art,
music, and drama-not yet the brilliant series for the
Saturday Review. The New Theatre-a "movement"
not architecturally concrete-had in 1892 acted a play of
his, "Widowers' Houses." It did not achieve a success
but it provoked some local discussion.
Shaw had sent "Arms and the Man" to Mansfield
because he was encouraged by the action of the new or
Independent Theatre in putting this comedy in re-
hearsal. It was acted later in London on the 21st of
April, and by discontinuing the performances on July 7,
the management spared themselves a loss of more than
$25,000.
These facts did not discourage Mansfield. He expected
his rewards in the satisfaction of presenting an intellectual
comedy essentially unique and in the gratitude of that por-
tion of his clientèle, which thought and applauded origi-
nality. He produced "Arms and the Man" first Sep-
tember 17, 1894. This was the opening night of the
1 The cast was:
Major Paul Petkoff.
Nicola
Major Sergius Saranoff
Captain Bluntschli
Catherine Petkoff
Louka
Raina
.
Mr. Harry Pitt.
Mr. Walden Ramsey.
Mr. Henry Jewett.
Mr. Richard Mansfield.
Mrs. McKee Rankin.
Miss Amy Busby.
Miss Beatrice Cameron.

RICHARD MANSFIELD AS CAPTAIN BLUNTSCHLI IN "ARMS
AND THE MAN"
From a photograph by the Baker Art Gallery, Columbus, O.
noww

1894]
GENERALSHIP
261
Herald Square Theatre, which was the Park Theatre
renovated and renamed.
The result presented another of those anomalies which
continually punctuate experience and harass judgment in
the theatre. There was a storm of critical praise for the
comedy and the acting. The audiences roared at Shaw's
waggery and applauded the players. Here was unanimity
for once. The result? Discussion, praise, and a repeti-
tion of London losses whenever the play was acted. The
losses were not quite so heavy, perhaps, because in the
British capital the comedy attracted-or rather did not
attract on its own merits, in New York a large percentage
of the larger audiences came to see Mansfield.
He tried "Arms and the Man" for three weeks and to
forestall financial collapse revived his repertoire and began
rehearsals of Lorimer Stoddard's play on Napoleon
Bonaparte.
Napoleon had possessed a fascination for him from his
boyhood. He believed in his own destiny. Generalship
was his attitude toward his career. Absolutism marked
his bearing always in the theatre. There was an echo of
"There is your throne, I am the empire," all through his
life.
His own personality was in many aspects feudal, he was
in complete sympathy with the monarchical system which
he once advocated for America in reply to an inquiry
from the New York Herald, thereby arousing much less
denunciation than discussion, and he had the faculty and
exercised it when he chose of transforming his environ-
ment into a court of which he was "His Royal." It
was the Kingship of the stage that he kept always before
him. Preeminence was the only prize. He had shrewd
notions of the effect on the public mind of presenting him-

262
[1894
RICHARD MANSFIELD
self as often as possible in royal guise. "The American
people dearly love a King," he said. "They haven't real
royalty here, and as only a minority can go King-seeing
abroad, they love to watch mimic Kings in the theatre."
But, above all other impulses to act Napoleon, was his
rare genius for acting men of distinction and power
with absolute identification. It was the enigma of
all who saw him. Where did he learn it? Acting
ceased when he put on the crown. A King stood on the
throne.
This was the stamp on his Napoleon. For three hours
the audience saw the little Corsican himself. They not
only saw him, they felt his tremendous power. The
soul set against itself vibrated before them. But the
audience cried "Here is the Emperor, where is the
play?"
There was none. His friend, Lormier Stoddard, the
gifted son of Richard Henry and Elisabeth Drew Stod-
dard, in this instance simply rose to the failure of every
other dramatist who has attempted to make Napoleon
the central figure in a drama.
Though Mansfield had the warmest appreciation of the
historical value of the work and its literary charm and
advised Stoddard to publish it, they both recognised the
piece's limitations while they believed that it disclosed a
series of detached historical pictures which would be of
vast interest. The enterprise was put forward modestly
on the last night of Mansfield's stay at the Herald Square
Theatre, October 27, 1894 in these terms:
'An entertainment consisting of a Full-Dress Rehearsal
or Reading of 'Napoleon Bonaparte,' a play in five acts
by Lorimer Stoddard, Esquire."
This was set out on pieces of brown paper distributed


1894]
"NAPOLEON"
263
to the audience in lieu of formal programmes' and a
digest of the acts followed:
The First Act describes half an hour in the tent of the
Emperor Napoleon at Tilsit.
The Second Act, after the Emperor's return from Mos-
cow, deals with the treachery of his followers and his fall
from power, and the incidents are made to occur in the
throne-room at Fontainebleau.
The Third Act relates certain events on the Island of Elba.
The Fourth Act is divided into two scenes: The first
scene is at night before Waterloo, and the second scene,
which, owing to the length of the play, is this evening
omitted, consists of a dialogue between peasants recount-
ing the loss of the battle of Waterloo, and reveals Napoleon
and his generals on their horses.
The Fifth Act is placed at Longwood on the Island of
St. Helena.
Whenever he acted Napoleon thereafter the play was
called "Scenes and Incidents from the Life of the
1 No cast was published the first night but the characters and actors were dis-
tributed thus:
Napoleon Bonaparte
Marchaud, his valet
The King of Rome.
Emperor Alexander of Russia
Frederick, King of Prussia
Prince Talleyrand
.
Gobain, a corporal
•
General Le Fèbre
•
General Ney
General Bethier
General Oudinot
•
Sir Hudson Lowe
Fourney
Queen Louisa of Prussia.
Countess Marie Valenska
Josephine, first wife of Napoleon
Marie Louise, Empress of France
Queen Hortense
Mme. Montesquiou.
Mme. de Bonballe
Mme. Berthier
Mme. Oudinot
Mme. Ney
Richard Mansfield.
A. G. Andrews.
Dot Clarendon.
J. V. Serrano.
William Harcourt.
D. H. Harkins.
W. N. Griffith.
J. W. T. Weaver.
Addison Pitt.
F. F. Smiles.
T. F. Graham.
C. J. Burbridge.
F. Finch.
Beatrice Cameron.
Katherine Grey.
Helen Glidden.
Norah Lamison.
Ethel Chase Sprague.
Alice Leigh.
Mrs. McKee Rankin.
Angela McCaull.
Rolinda Bainbridge.
Winifred McCaull.



264
[1894
RICHARD MANSFIELD
Emperor Napoleon." But his personal triumph was
great and the characterisation was recognized as one
which would advance him leagues in universal estimation.
Produced ten years later, when he was in the full enjoy-
ment of his authority with the public, Napoleon would
have commanded crowded houses for a long period.
This is what Bernard Shaw said of the Napoleon of his
own play in a letter (September 8, 1897) to Mansfield:
I was much hurt by your contemptuous refusal of "A
Man of Destiny," not because I think it one of my master-
pieces, but because Napoleon is nobody else but Richard
Mansfield himself. I studied the character from you, and
then read up Napoleon and found that I had got him
exactly right.
The subsequent tour was highly prosperous. "Arms
and the Man" was the weak night of every week, but
Mansfield continued it because he believed its perform-
ance would awaken intelligence and advance taste.
When reserved for a limited number of performances,
"The Emperor Napoleon" packed the theatre as surely
as the other plays in the repertoire.
Shaw wrote him characteristically at this time:
Of course it ["Arms and the Man"] doesn't draw;
whoever supposed it would? It has produced reputation,
discussion, advertisement; it has brought me enough
money to live for six months, during which I will write
two more plays. So take it off in the peaceful conviction
that you have treated it very handsomely and that the
author is more than satisfied. .. Judging by the
reception of "Arms and the Man," I cannot doubt that
if you were to play "The Philanderer," you would be
lynched at the end of the first act. It exudes brimstone
at every pore.
I should like very much to see you

RICHARD MANSFIELD AS NAPOLEON BONAPARTE
From a photograph by the Baker Art Gallery, Columbus, O.

1894]
LONDON'S APPRECIATION
265
as Bluntschli. If you will come to London I will even
go so far as to sit out "Arms and the Man" to see you.
There were, indeed, constant inquiries why he did not
return to act in London, but Mansfield replied that he
had not been successful there. A truer indication of the
London sentiment is conveyed in this passage from a
letter from Norman Forbes, written to him at this time:
I have just received your long and interesting letter
that you have so poor an opinion of the way London
treated you when you produced, so beautifully, "King
Richard III" at the Globe Theatre. I must, however,
differ from you somewhat on this point. It is impossible
for any man who has achieved the success you have in
your art to do so without making enemies. Believe me,
you are as much admired in England as in America. I
don't mean, of course, that you have so large a following,
but the best people in London, those whose opinions carry
weight and influence, and are therefore worth listening to,
have over and over again proclaimed your great ability.
I was dining with Alfred Gilbert, R.A., the other day.
His praise of you could not have been more enthusiastic.
Surely his opinion bears out what I say, coming as it does
from one of England's greatest living sculptors.
This was true, and when Mansfield died, the British
press acknowledged the "loss to the whole English-speak-
ing stage" in the same terms as the American press.
Perhaps a truer indication of Mansfield's sentiment
about remaining away from London is found among his
papers in his own endorsement on a letter from Sir Francis
Knollys, Secretary to the Prince of Wales, at whose sug-
gestion the manuscript of "Beau Brummell" was sub-
mitted to the English Examiner of Plays when Mansfield
thought of returning to London to act.


266
[1895
RICHARD MANSFIELD
Mansfield's endorsement reads: "H. R. H. finally
decided that he would prefer that I did not present 'Beau
Brummell' in England and I returned to America-espe-
cially that during my absence Henry Irving had secured
all acting rights to 'Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde' with
which I might have hoped for renewed success. R. M."
How and when and where the tour terminated this
winter of 1894-1895 must be reserved for a separate
chapter which will disclose the unsuspected culmination
of years of aspiration, with renewed evidence of the
quality of his energy and ambition.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
(1895)
Becomes the manager of a New York theatre, The Garrick-"The
King of Peru"-A chase in the park and its result-Mansfield
"presents" the Hollands-"Thrilby"-Ill with typhoid fever-
An interview with Joseph Jefferson and an afternoon on a
Staten Island ferry-boat-"The Story of Rodion, the Student"
-Mansfield on his rôles-Gives up the Garrick.
EVERY great actor has counted among his aspirations
the burning desire to own and direct his own theatre. It
is one of the diseases to which actor-flesh is heir. There
is only one cure. That is the experience. Mansfield
was no exception.
From the time he first set out on his climb he did not
distinguish between the safety lights which indicated
secure footing, and this will-o'-the-wisp, and it wooed
him through the bogs of direst distress before he again
felt solid ground under his feet. Being the rare combina-
tion of a dreamer and a man of tremendous activity, the
experiment of directing his own theatre was inevitable
and he insisted on an independent opportunity to realise
his ideals.
He could have better spared any year in his career than
this one.
He had accomplished much with Shylock,
Bluntschli, and Napoleon. With temperate progress he
could have retained his health. With tempered enthu-
267

268
[1895
RICHARD MANSFIELD
siasm for a plan, for which he was ill prepared, he would
not have added to the mill-stone of debt which for five
years had been hanging about his neck. But where
artistic profit was to be gained, health and wealth were
the last consideration. The year 1895 was ever after a
nightmare.
In March he secured the lease of Harrigan's Theatre.
The negotiations were conducted by his manager, Mr.
Slocum, and to him Mansfield confided the execution of
his plans for remodelling the house. He continued his
tour to find grist for the mill, availing himself of engage-
ments in the neighbourhood of New York to slip into
town, and oversee the progress of his plans. He had
little money and expressed his situation in the postscript
of a letter to his manager: "Keep a tight hand on the
tiller, this is stormy weather."
Whatever else may remain unchanged about a theatre
it always takes on a new identity with a new name.
Scores were suggested. Dozens were considered. His
friends, led by William Winter and E. A. Dithmar, in-
sisted that it be called "The Mansfield." But that name
he would not hear to either then or later when capitalists
made it a condition of theatres they wished to build for
him. In the end he decided, as he inevitably did, by
his own instincts.
Among all the actors who ever lived, David Garrick
was his delight, pride, and ideal. He represented all
that Mansfield desired to attain. He had been a social
success, he wrote charmingly, he managed his own
theatre, he acted farce and tragedy with equal facility,
he was bound to no traditions, he rose from obscurity
to preeminence by force of his own versatile genius and
in spite of the detraction of enemies. It pleased Mans-


18951
THE GARRICK THEATRE
269
field whenever he was, as he was often later, called "the
modern Garrick." He believed good fortune would come
to a house named after the Georgian actor, and it was
natural that the only theatre he ever owned was dedicated
to little Davy.
Mansfield had brave plans for the Garrick. It was his
intention to act there every autumn until Christmas.
Then a pantomime would be put on for the holidays and
Mate in the winter the Garrick Theatre Company would
take the stage to present new comedies and old for the
balance of the season.
It is vain for any man to plan the routine of a theatre.
There is only one dictator in these matters. It is the
expediency of the moment.
However, Mansfield attacked the situation with his
customary earnestness and force. The Garrick yielded
to his impeccable taste and became a veritable little tem-
ple of beauty. His idea of a theatre was that it should
be a gallery in which are hung two pictures-one made
by the actors through the proscenium, the other by the
audience. These are displayed at alternating intervals.
While the curtain is up the audience becomes invisible in
darkness. When the stage is invisible behind the curtain
discreet lighting displays the picture of the audience.
There should be nothing to distract the eye from these.
He had a rare sense of colours that helped or killed the
dressing and features of fair women. All should be back-
ground. The walls, ceilings, carpets, chairs were cóm-
posed in negative colours-Pompeian red, bronze, and
black. The stairways were lined with his collection of
Hogarth prints. Ices and tea were served in a fernery
where a fountain rose in a marble basin. Patrons of the
gallery found chairs upholstered identically as in the
270
[1895
RICHARD MANSFIELD
orchestra below. The actors were not forgotten. Their
dressing-rooms had superior fittings and they rested,
between scenes, in a charming green-room. An invisible
orchestra of strings played chamber classics.
The Garrick Theatre was thrown open to the public
under Richard Mansfield's management on April 23, 1895.
It was dedicated "To the young people of New York."
The inaugural commanded the intelligence and fashion of
the town. His reception was very warm.
As an expres-
sion of what a play-house should be the Garrick was a
triumph, but as an institution only its future could
define it.
The dedicating play was "Arms and The Man." He
played Napoleon, Beau Brummell, Dr. Jekyll and Mr.
Hyde, Baron Chevrial, Prince Karl, and Arthur Dimmes-
dale until May 7, when he acted Don Pedro XIV in
Louis N. Parker's comedy, "The King of Peru" for the
first time.1
This was the story of a scheming Queen-mother and her
sycophants to restore her deposed son to the throne of
Peru. The action took place in and near London. The
boy learned, however, that the price of his throne was the
fortune of his unsuspicious non-royal wife and he would
not pay it. Moreover he learned that there were other

1 The cast was:
Don Pedro XIV, King of Peru
Pandolfo, ex-King of Sardinia.
Don Miguel de Santa Rosa y Paruro
Marchese di Castelverano
Chevalier Moffat
One-Eyed Sammy
Benito
Footman
.
Donna Pia, Queen-Dowager of Peru
Clara Desmond
Princess Zea of Santorin
Mrs. Wallis
Mary
Mr. Mansfield.
Mr. Andrews.
Mr. Harkins.
Mr. Lyons.
Mr. Jewett.
Mr. Griffith.
Mr. Weaver.
Mr. Chandler.
Miss Eustace.
Miss Cameron.
Miss Grey.
Mrs. McKee Rankin.
Miss Lamison.

1895]
THE KING OF PERU"
271
more alluring occupations in life than "Kinging" and
abandoned the whole group of adventurers and their
schemes, for a more congenial, if less royal career. The
story was not bad. But it was overlaid with rusty irony
and tedious didactics which cloyed the action to a stand-
still. No action, no play. It was in fact the most com-
plete failure Mansfield ever experienced. He accepted
the verdict of the first night and acted "The King of
Peru" only seven times, but he entertained his own
reason for his inability to swing the play to some kind
of success, and the story he told many years after
was this:
"I have always made it a custom not to go to the
theatre before evening on the day I am to act a new rôle
for the first time. I try to forget the play, the character,
the theatre. I walk and drive, but naturally I refrain
from any physical intemperance. In this way I go to
the theatre refreshed.
"The day I was to act Don Pedro, I took my usual
afternoon stroll in Central Park. I took along a little
dog which belonged to Mrs. Mansfield, a pet to which
both of us were devoted. Suddenly I discovered the dog
had slipped his leash and was running away. I ran in
pursuit. I do not know how far I ran but I was soon
exhausted and in a perspiration. A cab took me home
but on the way I had a chill. My nerves gave way and I
was a wreck.
"I should not have acted that night, but my promise was
given and an audience was waiting. After all, nervous-
ness passes off. My performance must have been
wretched, for I did not know what I was doing. Every
moment I feared collapse. Somehow I got through and
they took me home. I felt that nothing the critics could

272
[1895
RICHARD MANSFIELD
say could make me more wretched than I was as we
rolled away in the night."
He acted for three weeks, closing his season June 1,
meantime taxing himself with the rehearsals of a new
musical burlesque; but it would have been wiser if he
had not forced himself to keep his engagement. The col-
lapse after thé chase in the Park was in reality the warn-
ing of a resentful constitution, the harbinger of an illness
which upset his plans, cost him another fortune, and
nearly took his life.
The town was at this time aglow with enthusiasm over
Paul Potter's dramatisation of George Du Maurier's
"Trilby." It was acted first at the Garden Theatre on
April 15. The novel had attained phenomenal success.
Mansfield believed a burlesque of "Trilby" would make
an alluring musical evening and had one prepared. It
was the devising of Joseph Herbert and Charles Puerner,
and was produced June 3, and appeared to be good
enough warm-weather nonsense. The characters were
all nicknamed; Trilby yielding to the thrill of an "h," the
title becoming "Thrilby." Profitable it was not. A
new version was presented with no acceleration in public

interest.
The first season of the Garrick closed July 13, a heavy
loss to date. Mansfield went to Newport in hopes of
shaking off the physical and nervous depression under
which he struggled, but came back to New York in the
middle of the summer in complete collapse. Typhoid
fever had seized him. For nearly three months he
hovered between life and death.
While he was still on his feet, the June previous, he
had arranged to star E. M. and Joseph Holland in light
comedies. He had two plays for them, and from his sick
1895]
MANSFIELD "PRESENTS"
273
bed he directed the organisation of their company. The
name Richard Mansfield had its commercial value and he
was disposed to have the new venture profit by his asso-
ciation with it. With this in view he hit upon the phrase,
"Richard Mansfield presents E. M. and Joseph Holland
in" etc.
This was the first managerial use of the later
familiar term, "Presents."
The Messrs. Holland opened the new season at the
Garrick, September 2, in "The Man with a Past," a
comedy by Harry and Edward Paulton. It ran for a
fortnight, and on September 24 they were presented in
"A Social Highwayman," a delightful melodramatic
comedy which Mary A. Stone had made from Elisabeth
Phipps Train's novelette. The performance was admi-
rable. The hearing was respectful and there were hopes
for the tour, but these hopes were never realised. The
venture only piled up debts for Mansfield.
In the early fall his fever receded and he got on his
feet again to face the problem of the Garrick.
"Trilby" still crowded the Garden Theatre and gave
promise of an idefinite run. Mansfield learned that
Joseph Jefferson had the winter before contracted for an
autumn engagement at this theatre. He knew Mr.
Palmer would prefer not to disturb the run of a successful
play and he hoped to persuade Mr. Jefferson to transfer
his engagement to the Garrick and thus give him a longer
time for recuperation. With this errand in view he went,
the first time he was permitted to leave the house, to the
Fifth Avenue Hotel, and with his native nervousness,
intensified no doubt by weakness and anxiety, he proposed
to Mr. Jefferson to move his New York engagement from
the Garden to the Garrick.
The comedian had an anecdote for every occasion, and

274
[1895
RICHARD MANSFIELD
putting his hand on Mansfield's knee, he began in a
kindly voice:
"My young friend, let me tell you a funny story."
But he never did. Mansfield seized his hat and rushed
from the room. He hailed the first cab and jumped in.
"Where?" asked cabby. "Straight ahead," shrieked
Mansfield. The horse's nose was pointed south and he
did not stop until he reached the Battery. The rest of
that afternoon Mansfield spent on the deck of a Staten
Island ferry-boat. Twice the boat made the length of the
bay before he left it.
A young man, then a mere child, recalls playing on the
deck of a Staten Island boat, and noticing a sad pale
man who stood by the forward gates. His father told him
it was Mansfield. The lad had a cap with three feathers
which he was swinging carelessly. The feathers fell out
and the wind caught them, but the gentleman by the gate
gathered them and returned them to the youngster.
"When you are a little older, my boy," he said, "you will
be more careful of the feathers in your cap." May it not
have been this same long afternoon on the water?
He recovered rapidly and was soon busy with rehearsals
again. His season opened in Philadelphia on November
25 at the Chestnut Street Opera House when he played
"Beau Brummell."/As he entered and came forward to
the Beau's dressing-table the house rose to him with cheers
which lasted minutes. He began some improvised "busi-
ness" of the toilet-it being an artistic scruple with him
not to drop the character-but he could not withstand
the welcome and after a few moments sank back in the
chair and was quite overcome.
He had since leaving his sick bed rehearsed five other
plays for this single week in Philadelphia, in addition to


1895]
'RODION THE STUDENT"
275
studying a new play and preparing its production for the
following Monday evening in New York. Such prodigies
kept him in wretched health most of his life and hastened
his death. His nature knew no mean. He expended his
resources without stint or limit-in devotion to his art, at
play as at work, in tenderness or generosity, or in nervous
hysteria when he lost control of himself. His idea of his
obligation, as well as his instinct, was nothing short of
superlative. Yet, he sadly admitted a decade later, "One
cannot strike twelve all the time." When he felt his
vitality failing, it will be seen that he announced that the
end was in sight and that he would stop and get out.
But he did strike twelve to his last hour on the stage.
The new play which he had in hand was Charles Henry
Meltzer's dramatisation of Dostoyevski's “Crime and
Punishment." It was called "The Story of Rodion, the
Student," and was acted first on Tuesday evening, De-
cember 3, at the Garrick Theatre.¹
The play divided criticism on its own merits, but in one
scene it offered the artist an opportunity to reach any
1 The cast was:
Pophyrius Petrowitch, a magistrate.
Rodion Romanytch, a Russian law
student
Vladimir Warschawsky, an official
Isaak Ivanoff, a usurer..
Serge Seroff, a student
Paul Poloff, a student
Ivan Rimsky, a student
Mikola, a mason
Dimitry, a house painter.
Boroff, a bargee
Policeman
Sonia, an outcast
Pulcheria Alexandrovna
Mr. Harkins.
Mr. Mansfield.

•
Mr. Lyons.
Mr. Lee.
Mr. Andrews.
Mr. Dutton.
Mr. Passmore.
Mr. Griffith.
Mr. Weaver.
Mr. Cochrane.
Mr. Shaw.
Miss Cameron.
Miss Carey.
Catherine Michaelovna
Vera, sister to Sonia
Boy, brother to Sonia
Hostess
.
Nastasia.
Miss Eustace.
•
Miss Lavine.
Miss Muir.

Miss Alliston.
Miss Bennett.
Janitor, Secretary, Soldiers, Police Agents, Priests, Gypsies,
Citizens and others.
276
[1895
RICHARD MANSFIELD
heights. It occurred in the fourth scene of acts there
were none in the play, of scenes there were six. Mansfield
seized it and swung himself triumphantly above the plane
of apparent failure on which he and his fellow-players
trudged up to that moment. Crazed by hard study,
sorrow, and starvation, Rodion Romanytch, a young
anarchist, deliberately kills a filthy usurer and procurer
because in his philosophy one does good by the suppres-
sion of evil. He is suspected of the murder and he
knows his safety depends on his own wit. Avenging con-
science-in the denotement of which Mansfield always rose
to his highest-pursues Rodion; he becomes the embodi-
ment of fear and dread, and is driven to a delirium in
which he seeks his victim's house.
The face of the wild, tortured, hopeless fanatic is ala-
baster, his eyes blaze deep, black and purposeful. He
waits for the unspoken horror which his eyes and twisting
hands announce. He reaches out and seizes this ghastly
intangible nothing. He wrestles with it, while that which
he chokes, wrenches and combats, rises above him. It
oozes out of his grasp. It presses with unearthly force
against him. With brutal bravery he brings the awful
phantom to the ground and slinks away with stealthy
terror. It was a painful silent moment after the curtain
fell before the audience was released from the hypnotic
spell of the artist's imagination, and broke into bravos.
No such applause had been heard before in the Garrick,
and seldom anywhere else had Mansfield been so heartily
acclaimed.
An actor's performance is judged as strong as its strong-
est moment. Though Mansfield believed Rodion in no
sense superior to his Richard, the majority of the critics
proclaimed it the most imaginative and powerful expres-


1895]
INTROSPECTIVE
277
sion of his genius. It brought him into direct and favor-
able comparison with his only rival on the English-speak-
ing stage. But his Rodion was art, pure and simple, and
he could not thrill the public out of its abhorrence of the
unrelieved sorrow, misery, and crime of the play.
He was neither photographed nor painted as Rodion.
Though the phantom murder is unforgetably engraved
in the memory of those who saw it, neither brush nor pen
could have conveyed the effect he produced. In an article
in Collier's Weekly for October 6, 1900, Mansfield referred
to the transiency of the actor's achievement, and here is
further found his only recorded expression on fever-born
Rodion:
Perhaps the saddest spot in the sad life of the actor is
to be forgotten. Great paintings live to commemorate
great painters; the statues of sculptors are their monu-
ments, and books are the inscriptions of authors. But
who shall say when this generation has passed how
Yorick played? If ever contemporary criticism can ex-
tract one spark to annoy the artist's finger, it should be by
this thought alone. When the curtain has fallen for the
last time and only the unseen spirit hovers in the wings,
what book will speak of all the mummer did and suffered
in his little time? Every character he creates is a child
he bears. There is labour and there is pain. He has
bestowed upon it his love and incessant thought, and
sleeping and waking it is with him as with a mother.
When it is born, it is born like the children of the King-
in public. It is either a beautiful and perfect child, or he
drags himself home in misery to weep away his sorrow
unpitied. Sometimes when the people have acclaimed it,
those whose business it is to sit in judgment on the child
condemn it at first sight, and it is buried in its little coffin,
and only its mother weeps over it.
I do not wish to become reminiscent or to fall into too

278
[1895
RICHARD MANSFIELD
early an anecdotage, but I have had so many children,
and a number of them are dead and forgotten by every-
body. Only I, their paternal mother, think of them at
night over my pipe when all the world is still. Then they
come out of their corners and perch upon my knee. No-
they are not all beautiful. Very few of them are. But
the mother always cherishes most dearly the ugly
one.
There was Nero. How I worked over him! With what
infinite pains I created him! How I prepared his beautiful
robes! And he was buried on the first night. There was
Don Juan. How he was wreathed in flowers upon the
night he was born! How the people applauded him!
How proudly his father and his godmothers and god-
fathers toasted him! And the next day he was dead and
buried and the flowers and the tinsel stuffed into his
coffin. Then poor, wretched, fever-wrought Rodion
stands before me. He was born to me after a great trial,
a long and severe illness, the loss of all my means and
some of my best hopes. He was the child of sorrow. It
was during the period of convalescence that I bore him,
and I was shaking with ague and weakness. I stood up
that night quite careless of life or death. After the scene
of delirium in which Rodion kills his imagined victim I
broke down. The curtain had fallen; the audience sat
perfectly still; there was not a breath of applause. I
had failed. I was carried to my room. Then there came
to me the thunder of approval. It woke me-it revivified
me. I went before the curtain again and again. My
child had triumphed! All my troubles, my sickness, my
losses were forgotten. But there is no mercy in these
matters. The next day my child was killed. The next
night he was dead of neglect, and there was no one at his
funeral.

Rodion fell into the repertoire as an occasional piece
for the balance of the season. Mansfield acted on the
stage of the Garrick for the last time on December 14. In

1895]
ABANDONING THE GARRICK
279
announcing the abandonment of his theatre to the audi-
ence of December 7, he said with an attempt at humour:
"It occurred to me and it was suggested to me by my
entourage that we needed something to eat, and I didn't
see that it was possible to obtain the wherewithal to get it
so long as I remained in New York. I assure you there
is no place where it is so difficult to win pecuniary success
as in New York, and for that reason I am compelled to
go to what you are pleased to call the provinces."
The namesake of this very theatre conveyed the same
idea in his own verses from his own stage in London, just
one hundred and forty-five years earlier:
For though we actors one and all agree
Boldly to struggle for our vanity-
If want comes on, importance must retreat;
Our first great ruling passion is-to eat!
And here the curtain falls on the saddest year of Mans-
field's life at the end of the most trying period of his
The balm of Philadelphia's cheer of welcome
when he first rose from his sick bed and the individual
triumph of his Rodion were swallowed up in fatigue,
failure, disappointment, and new debts.
The neglect of his King Richard, Don Juan, Nero,
Shylock, and Napoleon and the failure of Tittlebat Tit-
mouse, Don Pedro of Peru, and the Garrick Theatre
were not without their effect. In his affection, he was
unalterably warm and constant.
But in the face he pre-
sented to the world might be discovered a grimace of
chagrin, and cynicism tinged his humour. Nothing how-
ever turned the edge of his bold resolution. He marched
on with torn banners and bleeding feet, determined to

conquer.


CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
(1896-1898)
"Castle Sombras"-Extemporising comedy-A. M. Palmer-"The
Devil's Disciple"-Beatrice Cameron Mansfield retires from
the stage-A satire on press publicity-Fighting the Theatrical
Syndicate-Outwitting legal persecutors-In pursuit of play
pirates.
THE next two years were all a part of the routine of
holding his position while waiting, watching, and working
for the great rôle. He produced three plays, two of them
with considerable acclaim, and it began to look as if he
had passed through the worst.
Since the experiments with "Prince Karl" and "Dr.
Jekyll and Mr. Hyde" at the Boston Museum he presented
every play first in New York. In the fall of 1896 he
departed from this rule and gave Chicago a genuine first
night, when at the Grand Opera House, on November 13
he appeared first as Sir John Sombras in "Castle Som-
bras,"
a dramatisation by Greenough Smith, Esq., editor
of the Strand Magazine, London, of his own novel of the
same name.
1 The cast was:
Sir John Sombras
Hilary Dare
Philip Vane
Father Florian.
Munroe
.
Host
Matilda
Lady Thyrza
Mr. Richard Mansfield.
Mr. Henry Jewett.
Mr. Francis Kingdon.
Mr. Joseph Weaver.
Mr. Wilkes Steward.
Mr. Henry Allen.
Mrs. Alice Butler.
Miss Beatrice Cameron.
280

1896]
"CASTLE SOMBRAS"
281
A romantic comedy it was called. The author's intent
was to indicate the awakening of a noble nature from the
lethargy imposed by the heritage of centuries of cruelties
and base deeds. Sir John Sombras was that paradox, a
villain who outheroed both hero and heroine and ran off
in the end with all the sympathy.
The story followed the novel closely, but in the midst
of complications, intricate as calculus, there was one huge
surprise which neither author nor actors anticipated and
Mansfield turned to account.
He recounted the unique experience in an interview
some time after:
"I can now match unexpected failures with an unex-
pected hit. I produced 'Nero' on a lavish scale. I shall
always be willing to stake my reputation on my characteri-
sation of that monarch, but the play drew practically no
audience-even on the first night. The public simply
would not come near it. Somehow or other even the sub-
ject did not attract, and upon those few who were there
the grim humour of the character made no impression
at all.
"On the other hand I made a hit in the most unex-
pected way in 'Castle Sombras.' We rehearsed the play
as a melodrama. I played the part of a deep, dark
villain. My first remark as I came on the stage, intended
to be taken seriously, was greeted with a laugh. Fancy
my astonishment. For a moment I was dumfounded. I
could scarcely believe my ears. But there was no mistake,
the audience had laughed. Then in my heart I thanked
them for their friendly candour, and I at once adapted
myself to the situation. I knew it would be fatal to
attempt to act that play seriously, and taking my cue
from the audience, I instantly changed my whole concep-



282
[1897
RICHARD MANSFIELD
tion of the character and played it on the lines of comedy.
A glance of the eye and a tremor of the mouth directed
the points, and diabolically villainous speeches were given
in modern colloquial tones. Extravagant melodramatic
situations were carried off with the polished manner of
the society play. In the blindfolded duel scene, in which
the heroine lures one of the duelists out of one door and
the second duelist out of another, we rehearsed what we
supposed would be a finely impressive situation. The
audience greeted it with roars of laughter. Mrs. Mans-
field was in tears, supposing the whole production was a
failure. But I whispered to her-'It's all right. A silent
audience is fatal. So long as they laugh we're a success.
999
Such is the narrow margin of uncertainty. A play con-
ceived, written, and rehearsed as a superior example of
romantic drama was accepted as an uproarious satire on
that very type. Whom was the joke on? The author, the
actor, the play, or the audience?
"Castle Sombras" was acted only occasionally and was
dropped in the spring. By that time Shaw had another
play ready for Mansfield. The latter referred to it in a
letter written during the summer to Amy Leslie:
All fine and intelligent people are sure to like the play,
for which reason we don't expect it to run-the number of
fine and intelligent people being limited. "The Devil's
Disciple" it was baptised-Revolutionary period, with
political conundrums uppermost. I play Dick Dudgeon,
the Devil's own, who stands on the gallows the English
have erected to hang rebels somewhere (Shaw calls it
Webster Bridge) in New Hampshire, and says calmly,
"Amen, and God damn the King!" I have explained to
H. R. H. the Prince of Wales, that I am not responsible
for this, and have urged him to have Shaw executed on
Tower Hill, and to leave me alone. . . . We are re-
to
Amy

1897]
A. M. PALMER
283
hearsing; whenever were we not? For after the Shaw
play we produce (beastly word, "produce"!) "King
Frederick William I." Person who wrote it, albeit a
literary swell, doesn't want to be known, being persona
grata at the German Imperial Court and fearful of losing
his convenient head. Of course, I play the old King of
Prussia, Frederick William. If we have a cent of money
left after these two ventures 'tis proposed to present
Shakespeare's "Henry V," with me-me-me in a blonde
wig and blue eyes and pretty, pretty dresses. We are
looking for a French lady to play the Princess Katherine,
but they are all at Trouville or Aix les Bains. Beatrice
has a beautiful part in "The Devil's Disciple"-quite to
her heart-of a sort of Ibsen young lady, the which
Beatrice loveth.
A. M. Palmer this summer of 1897 accepted Mans-
field's invitation to take the helm, and so long as his
health permitted, the association of artist and manager
continued. There was a flavour of poetic justice in the
move. Palmer had given Mansfield his first real oppor-
tunity fifteen years before when he promoted him from
Tirandel to the Baron Chevrial. The interval had
worked its changes. By sheer force of a luminous, vibrant
personality shining through everything he acted, Mans-
field had, in spite of a long line of indifferent plays, emerged
into a position of sound eminence.
Palmer had passed from the Union Square Theatre to
the Madison Square Theatre. Thence he went further
up Broadway to Wallack's, which for a time bore the
name Palmer's, then retreated a few blocks downtown
again to the Garden Theatre, but gave up the failing fight
in both houses to seek new fortunes with his once success-
ful stock methods at the Great Northern Theatre, Chicago.
To other adversities was added a nearly fatal illness, from

284
[1897
RICHARD MANSFIELD
which he never wholly recovered. He struggled along
patiently and bravely but he declared sadly that "the
machine is running down."
When he was sufficiently restored to assume activities
again, he accepted Mansfield's offer of an alliance. It
was the most dignified and important salaried position in
the American theatre. Mansfield seems to have been
rewarded for his graceful act. Good fortune attended
him from now on, for he never had another failure.
"The Devil's Disciple" was acted for the first time on
any stage at the Hermanus Bleecker Hall, Albany, Octo-
ber 1, 1897, and the following Monday, it was acted at the
Fifth Avenue Theatre.¹
Mansfield acted the protagonist of common-sense with
a bold, dashing freedom which provoked general surprise.
The influence of personal dignity was ignored. He quite
"let himself go." Heretofore, moreover, he had sounded
the introspective note, the note of inner conflict. Except
for one moment there was no conflict in Dudgeon's mind.
He was frank, free, and resolute. Mansfield supplemented
the native mettle of the fine fellow with the little drifts
of sentiment, unmistakable refinements under a cowl of
ruffianly carelessness, and the hypnotic influence of his
earnest, forceful personality. The last-named he could

1 The cast was:
Anthony Anderson
Judith Anderson
Mrs. Anne Dudgeon
Richard Dudgeon
Christopher Dudgeon
Uncle William Dudgeon
Uncle Titus Dudgeon
Essie
Lawyer Hawkins
General Burgoyne
Major Swindon
Rev. Mr. Brudenell.
A Sergeant
•
Mr. Benjamin Johnson.
Miss Beatrice Cameron.
Miss Minna Monk.
Mr. Richard Mansfield.
Mr. A. G. Andrews.
Mr. W. H. Griffith.
Mr. Le Fevre.
Miss Lottie Briscoe.
Mr. Hunter.
Mr. Arthur Forrest.
Mr. Joseph Weaver.
Mr. William Courtenay.
Mr. Francis Kingdon.
Officers, Soldiers, Townspeople.

RICHARD MANSFIELD AS DICK DUDGEON IN "THE
DEVIL'S DISCIPLE"

1897]
"THE DEVIL'S DISCIPLE"
285
flaunt in this part, so intimately akin to his own truth-
loving, fact-telling, humbug-hating nature. Though he
dressed Dudgeon in the wig and shorts of the Colonial
period, he here made the single exception of his career
in using no make-up. Those who saw him as Dudgeon
saw his undisguised self.
The play was given with literal fidelity except in one
instance. Shaw suggested the note of theatrical conven-
tionality, by writing the despised and rejected cousin of the
devil's disciple, Essie by name, in close harmony with
Dick's variable heart. But Mansfield knew sympathy was
a more dramatic value than love in a wholly unconventional
satire. He shortened her frock, moved her years back
from seventeen to ten, robbed her of her maidenly charms,
and transformed her into a timid browbeaten little girl
with a child's gratitude for the one sympathetic heart
in her little world. Dick's attitude toward Essie, with-
out changing a line of text, preached a whole sermon on
the heart of the devil's disciple. The character as acted
was Mansfield's own. Shaw shrieked across the Atlantic
for "heart interest." Mansfield courteously replied "Heart
interest be damned." Not to be outdone in courtly
extravagance the Irishman cabled "Same to you."
The public began to catch the drift of Shaw, but "The
Devil's Disciple" was a more difficult play for the con-
ventional mind than "Arms and the Man."
The confusion of Judith Anderson represented the con-
fusion of the audience. Shaw flattered their intelligence
as did none of the less subtle dramatists. "The Devil's
Disciple" was played during eight weeks at the Fifth
Avenue. This was the longest run which Mansfield had
accomplished in New York with one play since the first
season of "Beau Brummell."

286
[1898
RICHARD MANSFIELD
The January of 1898 Mrs. Mansfield retired from the
stage and the theatre was poorer. She was one of its
most intellectual, spirited, sincere, and sympathetic fig-
ures. Her best characterisations were Raina in "Arms
and the Man," Hester Prynne in "The Scarlet Letter,"
and Judith Anderson in "The Devil's Disciple." Her
husband always boldly paid her the compliment of his
belief that her Portia was the best of her generation. The
influence she possessed over him, yet never exercised
except in his yielding confidence, cannot be overestimated.
She was an ideal artistic helpmate, because while she sus-
tained him with sympathy which was unreserved, her
judgment was independent as it was sound, and unper-
suaded, she never subordinated it to his compelling. He
had an instinct for the flexible points in another's character
and possessed an ungoverned tendency to take advantage
of them. But he never influenced Beatrice Cameron
against her judgment. As her perceptions were founded
in a singularly fine intelligence, her integrity became his
stoutest support. They disagreed, but always with respect.
When his confidence in all other opinions failed him he
turned with childish confidence to her.
Mrs. Mansfield bade the stage farewell at the conclu-
sion of the Chicago engagement which extended over a
part of January and February. The third week was
devoted to the two Shaw plays, and though Mansfield
rarely played any other afternoon than Saturday, a
Wednesday matinée was announced. This was dili-
gently paragraphed in the papers as given "owing to the
extraordinary demand of the public" etc.
Mansfield knew better. Much as he valued publicity
as the breath in the sails of his endeavour, the hollow pre-
tence of much that had to be written did not escape his

1898]
SATIRE ON PUBLICITY
287
sense of humour. At supper the night after the papers
had boomed with the "public's demand," publicity and its
absurdities were discussed and he began at once to have
fun with them. Presently calling for pen and paper he
jotted down the following paragraphs which satirise a
whole hatful of obvious vanities:
Owing to the ardent desire upon the part of the man-
agement and the star to make as much money as possible
in a given time, there will be a special matinée on Wednes-
day next at the Micawber.
On Monday evening when the new play was produced
at the Bungle Theatre, so many thousands were turned
away that there was no one in the house.
During the entire week the Pecksniff has been enjoying
the full blast of success. Owing to the great actor's ob-
jections to playing to empty benches, the house has been
crowded-by the management.
The royalties to the author of "The Literal Pug" are
so enormous that the management has been obliged to
change the box-office statements.
After witnessing the performance of "The Subsequent
Man," the author left at once for New York.
Owing to the great personal popularity of the great
tragedian in this city with the press and the public, he has
decided to produce his new play here, as he desires to
obtain an unbiassed opinion.
The great tragedian's well-known disregard of monetary
considerations and his devotion to his art influence him
to produce only such plays as the public dislikes or cannot
comprehend.
Owing to the superb scenery in the new play at the
Nickleby, the actors will be withdrawn after next Satur-
day.
Owing to the profound impression made by the great
tragedian he has determined to devote the remainder of
his career to comedy.

288
[1898
RICHARD MANSFIELD
Notices concerning the fresh exponent of the part of
Shylock should be taken cum grano salis.
The great tragedian will appear this week in eight con-
trasted rôles-there will be no difference made, however,
in his legs.
The great tragedian has finally decided to refuse money
at the door.
Owing to the great success of the new melodrama it
will be withdrawn after to-morrow evening in order to
give the public of this city time to rest.
Owing to the precarious condition of Mr. Jim Spratt's
business and the doubtful result of his new venture he
has invited the bar of this city to a banquet.
Owing to the great fatigue of acting, Mr. Rudge, the
great comedian, has decided to rest for the remainder of
the season.
This winter saw the last of the first organised opposition
to the Theatrical Syndicate. No one who did not pass
through this struggle can imagine the panic among actors
produced by the merger of the leading theatres of the
country into the hands of a small well-centred group of
men. The movement was not best for the theatre as an
institution, for it eliminated the individual manager and
managing actor as an operating factor. But it was the
normal expression of this age of centralisation, and was
inevitable.
With unity and capital the actors could have defeated
the managers. But they had neither. A group of brave
spirits began a campaign. Mrs. Fiske, Mansfield, Jeffer-
son, Francis Wilson, James A. Herne, and Nat. Goodwin
were in the front rank, and there was no second rank.
The Dramatic Mirror became a flaming organ of the little
band. Individually they made a lusty showing in inter-
views and curtain speeches. The opposition they pre-
18971
ANTI-SYNDICATE
289
sented was however, largely vociferous and wholly emo-
tional.
Mansfield made anti-syndicate curtain speeches nearly
every night during 1896 and 1897. He defied the mem-
bers on their own stages. In Philadelphia he castigated
them in the Chestnut Street Opera House-a syndicate
stronghold belonging to Messrs. Nixon and Zimmermann
--and one evening his utterances were cut in two by the
descending curtain. He never after appeared in that city
in a theatre managed by this firm.
When it was proposed to weld together the group of the
opposition in 1897, the difficulty of harmonising star-
natures became apparent. Joseph Jefferson withdrew on
the persuasion of his son Charles, who was a partner with
Messrs. Klaw and Erlanger in several enterprises. Good-
win followed. Several influential stars, not hitherto
aggressive, but depended on for concerted action at this
moment, accepted enticing contracts from syndicate man-
agers. Mansfield saw only futility in the fight and his
ardour cooled perceptibly. But in the fullest sense of
the word he was an Independent to the end of his career.
He was fighting for an independence which opened the
desirable syndicate houses to him, yet left him free to play
anywhere else he wished. This he achieved. The exclu-
siveness of a syndicate was ignored in booking his routes.
He played wherever it seemed most advantageous-in the
the Grand Opera House, Chicago; the Grand Opera
House, San Francisco; the Columbia Theatre, Washing-
ton, before its surrender; in the Walnut Street Theatre, and
the Garrick Theatre, Philadelphia; in the Herald Square
Theatre, when it became the corner-stone of a new opposi-
tion to the Syndicate; and he dedicated the Lyric Theatre
when this same little group grew strong enough to build.

290
[1897
RICHARD MANSFIELD
During this middle period of working to live-like a
prince to be sure-some of his creditors were far from in-
active. The anxiety at the time was distressing, but he
lived to look back on some of the incidents with enjoyment.
He was the last to admit his own extravagance, for he
maintained that the style in which he lived and travelled
was not more than his health demanded and his health
was the best asset of the crowd of people depending on him
for salary and support, as well as of the creditors who would
have to be patient for their pay until fortune was kind to
him as he believed she was bound to be in time.
His autocratic bearing plunged him continually into
trouble of a kindred kind. No one not of the theatre can
understand the sacredness of the two kitchen chairs flank-
ing the old kitchen table down by the footlights at re-
hearsal. One is reserved for the stage manager, the other
for the manager or star. They are the thrones of grace,
sacred and inviolable-and Mansfield held inflexibly to
the traditions of these seats of the mighty.
A few years before this, his sense of decorum was
offended proportionately one day when he came upon
the stage to direct a rehearsal and found one of the
actresses seated in treasonable ease at the prompt-table.
His anger was tinder and here was a spark. She was dis-
charged on the spot. A suit was the result and it threat-
ened to become an American Jarndyce case. As the inci-
dent happened in Washington the suit was brought there,
and each of his visits to the capital thereafter was a signal
for activity on the part of the opposition.
On his next return to Washington in January, 1897, he
expected and desired service as early in the week as pos-
sible in order to get an early judgment. But as the action
was prompted by pique, the desire was to embarrass him


[1897
AVOIDING SERVICE
291
as much as possible. He was playing at the La Fayette
Square Theatre, which was then managed by his friend
John W. Albaugh, Sr. To their surprise Saturday night
arrived without the expected and desired move by the
opposition. The play was "Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde,"
in which Mansfield was on the scene throughout the last
act. This was the moment chosen for service in order to
detain him in the city and break up his tour.
The court officers came to Mr. Albaugh for permission
to go on the stage and serve papers on Mansfield. He
agreed courteously to escort them to the actor's dressing-
room immediately the last curtain fell and meantime en-
tertained them with his best cigars and most engaging
anecdotes. When the party moved back on the stage
after the play they found the star's dressing-room door
bolted from within and no amount of knocking induced
the occupant to open it. For an hour and a half the
siege was maintained. At twelve o'clock and one minute,
Sunday morning, the door was thrown open and Brown,
Mansfield's faithful dresser, inquired their pleasure.
"Mr. Mansfield? He left the theatre an hour and a
half ago. You probably passed him as you came in."
They had indeed. In some way (perhaps Mr. Albaugh
could throw light on the matter) the officers' arrival and
intention became known on the stage. When the last
curtain fell in darkness on the death of Hyde, Mansfield
drew a cloak over his shoulders pulled his hat over his
eyes, seized a fiddle-box from a convenient musician, and
linking arms with him, slipped out of the front door of
the theatre, in the midst of a well-affected argument in
sputtering German. The "old fiddler" rubbed elbows
with Mr. Albaugh and his party as they passed in the aisle.
A certain Massachusetts debtor's law since modified was

292
[1897
RICHARD MANSFIELD
the scourge of visits to Boston. It permitted arrest and
imprisonment in that State, pending trial, for debt how-
ever insignificant contracted anywhere in the world. This
embarrassment was evaded by an ingenious device which
was suggested to Mansfield by a Boston friend who was
one of his heaviest creditors. As soon as he reached
Massachusetts he submitted, by prior arrangement, to the
formality of arrest on the complaint of his friend. Great
was the surprise of the other deputies when they attempted
serivce to be intercepted by an official who politely begged
their pardon, but Mr. Mansfield was his prisoner! The
Boston friend, of course, did not sue, but waited till the
tide in Mansfield's career changed and he paid all his
obligations.
It was his boast that he never sued an actor. But, if
a story which has had currency be not apochryphal, the
theft of his plays, the exclusive rights to which were his
most valued asset, brought him as near to breaking his
rule this winter, however, as he ever came.
The dread and the despair of owners of successful plays
is the play pirate. He flourishes in the West. He is
venturesome and unprincipled as was his cousin of the
Spanish Main, and his trade is made easy by a firm in
Chicago which will, for a slight consideration, furnish the
manuscript of any piece acted.
Mansfield's special train, it is said, was one day easing
its pace in conformity to the speed law of the town it was
passing through, when from the car window his eye was
attracted by a poster announcing: "The Lyceum Comedy
Company in 'Prince Karl' to-night."
Here was a chance for evidence and action. He reached
for the bell rope and the engine stopped. Mr. Palmer
appeared to inquire the reason.


[1897
66
PURSUING PIRATES
293
Mansfield pointed to a duplicate of the first poster con-
veniently opposite his car where the train had halted.
'Cancel to-night's performance, but send the company
ahead on their schedule," he said. "You and I will put
an end to this thieving here and to-night."
There was no appeal from his verdict. That night they
two found seats in the dingy little "Opera House," and
awaited developments. After a racy quickstep on a piano
and two other asthmatic instruments the curtain rose on
"Prince Karl."
It was not what Mansfield expected. His anger gradu-
ally changed to astonishment and then thawed into
laughter. The performance of the four men and two
women was a revelation to him, especially the man play-
ing the Prince. He gave it entirely new aspects. He
dressed it like a German emigrant, and when he came to
the scene where Mansfield gave his exquisite operatic
drolleries, this Karl broke into tumultuous song and dance,
making his exit with a cart-wheel, and the company rushed
in and brought the curtain down with a cakewalk.
All resentment ceased and there was no further concern
about pirates. He rejoined his company by the next
train and the performance of the pirate Prince remained
one of the treasured evenings of his experience.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
(1898)
Some of Mansfield's pen productions-"Blown Away"-"The
Charge at Dargai Gap"-"The Eagle's Song"-"The Sinner's
Song"-"Bring Me That Coat"-A dedication-On the plat-
form-His first Chicago address-"The First Violin"-A cur-
tain speech.
66
THIS winter of 1897-1898 Mansfield's nonsense book,
Blown Away" was published; two of his poems appeared
in print; a collection of his music was put into book form,
and he made his first appearance on the platform, deliver-
ing an address before the students and faculty of the Uni-
versity of Chicago.
The variety of these productions illustrate his prismatic
moods. He did not polish what he wrote. It came from
his pen with nervous energy and bubbling imagination
to humour a mood or to amuse those about him. Once
the ink was dry the things he wrote became Dead Sea fruit
to him.
The manuscript of the nonsense sketches, which he had
written to amuse Miss Cameron and another friend, on
the Pacific tour of the spring 1892, had tossed about in
his trunks ever since. He was spending a few weeks on
the Massachusetts coast during the summer of 1897, and
to amuse some young folks he hunted up and read to them

294
1897]
"BLOWN AWAY"
295
the pages intended for "Beatrice and Jessie." In the
party was Mr. L. C. Page, and a young lady who was also
a listener on that summer day later became his wife.
When on their wedding trip they dined with Mr. and Mrs.
Mansfield, the fairy story was mentioned, and Mr. Page,
who had become a member of the publishing firm of L. C.
Page & Co., asked to be allowed to publish it. The idea
had not occurred to Mansfield before and he was inclined
to laugh at the suggestion as a joke. Mr. Page was in
earnest, however, and pleaded so eloquently that he con-
sented, saying: "You may publish the book and we will
call it a wedding present; but it's the most utter rot, the
merest drivel."
"Blown Away" takes its title from the first adventure of
Beatrice and Jessie. They start out to find a prince who
is held captive by a boarding-house fairy, encounter a
storm and are blown away, hither and thither, encounter-
ing the most surprising adventures, seeing the strangest
sights, and meeting the queerest people. A child would
listen to it wide-eyed and a mature understanding chuckles
over the half-veiled satire on manners, fashions, and
politics; on anything, in fact, from Noah to Victoria,
Mother Goose to the Poet Laureate.
The preface is vividly indicative of the pretty mockeries
of the book:

Should any person labour under the impression that
any beast or thing described in this book is intended for
a caricature of him, he is in error. This book contains
no sarcasm, satire, or cynicism. It was written as a
purely childish and innocent pastime. It hides no sting.
It was never intended for publication. There exists no
adequate reason why it should have been published. It
relates no story. If the author harboured any design, it
296
[1898
RICHARD MANSFIELD
was to entertain some young people during a lengthy
journey. It was then tossed aside and forgotten. It
should not have been disturbed. Alas! it cropped up one
day at the seashore-a rainy day. The author read these
pages to a number of small boys who could not escape.
The smallest and least intelligent boy was amused. He
bore out the promise of his childhood by becoming a
publisher. He trailed the man who had corralled him
that day. His object was to wreak a long-delayed ven-
geance by publishing this book. He accomplished his
fell purpose by bribing the author. Nothing remains
but to pity the author and to execrate the publishers. The
author's affection for his wife is his reason for not dedicat-
ing these pages to HER.
Natively Mansfield was British. The tenderest recol-
lections of his life clustered about the school-days at
Derby. He loved the ease and elegance of life in Eng-
land, her centuries of glory were a favourite study, he
delighted in the pomp and majesty of a monarchy. But
it was not for this that the news of the Gordon High-
lander's charge at Dargai Gap set his blood tingling.
Nationality and citizenship really never mattered to him.
The appeal was in the incomparable heroism of the inci-
dent. When he read the cables, he tore open several
envelopes and on them jotted these inspiring verses:

THE CHARGE AT DARGAI GAP
Bulldogs, hark! Did your courage fail?
Bulldogs, hark! Did your glory pale?
What of the slander that says "Decayed!"
'Gone to the dogs since the Light Brigade!"
For the blood and bone that humbled Nap,
'Twas there again, boys, in the Dargai Gap!
Did you hear the swish of the flying shot?
The roll of the drum and the rattle pot?

1898]
"THE EAGLE'S SONG"
297
The music that rose clear o'er that yell
And thrilled thro' the ranks and stirred up Hell!
Come, Highland laddie, head up, step forth!
A crown of glory! "Cock of the North!"
You "Cock of the North," aye, pipe away!
With both stumps gone, and you won the day!
You may lean your backs against comrades now,
They'll moisten your lips and they'll kiss your
brow,
For they fought like men, and a man may weep
When he lays a man to his last long sleep.
Bulldogs who sleep on the Dargai ridge,
Fall in! Quick, march! and over the bridge!
The piper's ahead, and the same old air
To pipe you to Heaven and vet'rans there!
And you'll tell the bullies who humbled Nap
The glorious story of Dargai Gap.
He did not become an American citizen, but the country
of his adoption and of his home was dearer to him than he
admitted even to himself. Conditions as he found them
here fell, as did everything else in one mood or another,
under the rod of his criticism, but for years his voice was
raised in thundering protest against the depreciation of the
American stage by Americans, and against the patronage of
foreign criticism. Dewey's victory in Manila Bay, when,
for the first time since the Civil War, Northern and South-
ern men fought side by side, inspired this fine burst from
Mansfield's muse:
THE EAGLE'S SONG

The Lioness whelped, and the sturdy cub
Was seized by an Eagle and carried up
And homed for a while in an Eagle's breast,
And the Eagle taught it the Eagle's song:
"To be staunch and valiant and free and strong!"
298
[1898
RICHARD MANSFIELD
The Lion whelp sprang from the eerie nest,
From the lofty crag where the queen birds rest;
He fought the King on the spreading plain,
And drove him back o'er the foaming main.
He held the land as a thrifty chief,
And reared his cattle and reaped his sheaf,
Nor sought the help of a foreign hand,
Yet welcomed all to his own free land!
Two were the sons that the country bore
To the Northern lakes and the Southern shore,
And Chivalry dwelt with the Southern son,
And Industry lived with the Northern one.
Tears for the time when they broke and fought!
Tears were the price of the union wrought!
And the land was red in a sea of blood,
Where brother for brother had swelled the flood!

And now that the two are one again,
Behold on their shield the word "Refrain!"
And the Lion cubs twain sing the Eagle's song,
"To be staunch and valiant and free and strong!"
For the Eagle's beak and the Lion's paw,
And the Lion's fangs and the Eagle's claw,
And the Eagle's swoop and the Lion's might,
And the Lion's leap and the Eagle's sight,
Shall guard the flag with the word "Refrain,"
Now that the two are one again!
Here's to a cheer for the Yankee ships!
And "Well done, Sam," from British lips!
"The Sinner's Song" was written about this time.
There is a rich cast of Tom Hood in the scattered rhymes
and pungent irony, but the writer's own muscular
1898]
"THE SINNER'S SONG"
299
intellectuality gradually works up from the gentle apolo-
getic beginning to the withering sarcasm of the last two
lines which fall like four blows on a smitten anvil. It was
printed later.
THE SINNER'S SONG
If once at bay I touched a crime
In boyhood-hot-head, heedless time-
And all my neighbours rang the chime,
Wherever I might wander-
Do you believe I could outlive
Or that my neighbours could forgive
That stretching stain of slander?
Do you believe that I could rise
And, by my doughty deeds and wise,
Wash out that blot, I wonder?
Or, if I strived in doing good,
And saving all the souls I could
Wherever I might wander,
Would that one stain upon my name
Outweigh my labour and my fame?
Alas, you know it would!
Would all my struggles, all my tears,
For days and nights, for months, for years,
Be ever understood?
My sorrow and my piteous prayer
Might reach Almighty's gracious ear,
But would my neighbour hear?
O gentle kind! O kind mankind!
O thieves and liars, deaf and blind,
But never, never dumb-
O beasts that drabble in your pen,
And beasts that wear the garb of men,
What honour to be one!

300
[1898
RICHARD MANSFIELD
Could I have hid that early crime
And tuned my sycophantine chime
To key with pleasing lies,
And stuffed beast's loathsome belly full
And pat his elephantine hull,
Ör please his
How good were I!
How well I'd live!
amorous eyes:
How wise were I!
How damned I'd die!
Is there not a personal note in these verses? The sinner
was Mansfield. The sin of his "boyhood, hot-head,
heedless time" were those indiscreet, though honest, re-
taliations upon the critics and those ill-advised curtain
speeches when poverty, failure, and debt held him "at
bay." He tried by "doughty deeds and wise" to wash
out their memory and to quiet gossip, but the press was
"never, never dumb" about his discipline, his temper, and
his egoism. But he would not dissemble, or "tune his
sychophantine chime to key with pleasing lies." He pre-
ferred to live damned and die well!
Place must be given here to verses found by the writer
among Mansfield's dusty and forgotten papers. They
have before this been read by but one other eye, but
tender and intimate as is their sentiment, they are so elo-
quent of one side of his nature-a side his sensitiveness
hid with too much success in life-that they contribute
invaluably to an understanding of the man. They are
addressed
TO BEATRICE
Bring me that coat!
I wore it when I wooed her first!
Her mittened hand was on that sleeve
And stayed me when I feigned to read
Her silence a command to leave.

1898]
"BRING ME THAT COAT"
Some fragrance still may linger there
Where once her perfumed tresses lay,
When she had sunk her golden head
Upon my breast, that hallowed day!
Or yet, perchance, some silken thread
Of her dear locks may still remain,
There, where they floated o'er my heart!
O search ye well-and search again!
No? Then perhaps may linger now
The fragrance of the purple flower
That with her own dear hand she pinned
Upon my coat, that happy hour?
Bring me that coat!
Is there a mark upon the breast
Of tears, that were not sorrow shed?
Of tears, that her dear
eyes
had wept,
And they were tears of joy, she said?
Search well the pockets, will you find
A tiny, useless bit of lace?
I stole it from the hand that hid
The smile that dawned upon her face.
Seek, is the glove no longer there
That she unclasped to smooth my hair,
As I had knelt and bowed my head
Upon her knee, in mute despair?
Bring me that coat!
Be there no vestige of these now,
Of amber-scented lock no trace?
There is a silent witness still
More precious far than glove or lace:
'Tis here where you may scarcely see
The little rent a blackthorn tore;
301

302
[1898
RICHARD MANSFIELD
That's where her loving fingers delved,
That's where her loving glances bore!
Look at the stitches close and neat,
You'll barely find the rent I tore;-
She mended all my life like that!
Bring me that coat, that coat once more!
His facility in making casual inscriptions is illustrated
by the following lines, written in the fly-leaf of a book
which he gave Miss Cameron while they were playing in
London:
This book I give thee, and the pages here-
Save where the natural ink is blackly lined
(Even as creatures see the first light marked),
Save this-all white and spotless as an angel's garb.
This book I give thee! And herein thou speak and say
thy say,
With none 'twixt thee and it, but God:
Writing thy thoughts and deeds,
Writing thy griefs and cares,
Writing thy lights and joys,
Writing thy hopes and prayers.
Writing thy love and likes,
Writing thy secret mind,
Writing thy lost and sought,
Writing the good thou'lt find!
This book I give thee!
Keep thou thyself as it, spotless and pure and white,
Even thy thoughts as it. And God guide what thou write!
This book I give thee!

Nov. 27, 1888.
RICHARD MANSFIELD.
Professor, later President, Judson of the University of
Chicago, by some subtle persuasion induced Mansfield to
1898]
ON THE PLATFORM
303
address the faculty and student body during his visit to
Chicago in January and February, 1898. This was his
first appearance on the public platform, unless we except
a brief and unprepared address he made years before to
the cloistered nuns of the Visitation and the young ladies
in their Washington convent, when he said so many beauti-
ful and witty things that his dozen minutes are still referred
to as one of the golden events of their experience. That
was in the days of easy assurance which abandoned him
as his sense of responsibility grew.
Only half a dozen times did Mansfield appear on the
platform. In the autumn of 1905 he opened a notable
course on "Poetry and the Drama," in Music Hall,
Chicago; and spoke at the University of California and
the Friday Morning Club of Los Angeles; in the spring fol-
lowing he accepted the invitation of the Woman's Club of
Buffalo and Provost Harrison's invitation to address the
faculty and students of the University of Pennsylvania.
These engagements cost him much effort. His work on
the stage was his mistress, and he grudged time taken from
his work or his preparation for work. A New York edi-
tor-preparing a symposium as to the vacation diversions
of public men-asked him how he was spending his
summer. To which he replied: "Worrying how I shall
spend my winter." It was considered witty or flippant
or something besides the literal fact, which it was.
Appearance in public, whether on the platform or on
the stage in character, was an unbelievable task for him.
The performance of a rôle he had acted a hundred times
was as eventful to him as a first night. It entailed restful
preparation for hours before he went to the theatre. So
much of his vitality and so much physical and emotional
concentration went into a performance, so completely did


304
[1898
RICHARD MANSFIELD
he absorb himself in the sufferings and passions of the
character he portrayed, that he left the stage as debilitated
as if he had passed through the actual crisis.
This complete absorption produced the inevitable reac-
tion. He sought diversion in the simplest forms, and the
daytime was spent in such rest as he could snatch from
the routine responsibilities of his busy life. Both Jeffer-
son and Irving had an inestimable advantage over him in
this respect. To them, as to Bernhardt and Coquelin,
the night's work was play. They could devote their days
to giving and receiving visits, to entertaining and lecturing,
with the complete success which is the result of abandon-
ment as well as of resources, and they exacted no price
from their performance at night.
Mansfield was a nervous wreck when he reached the
lecture platform. He dared not trust to improvisation or
memory, but wrote his discourse out carefully and read it
word for word. His style in such compositions had at
times an oratorical swing and yielded periods of power.
For the most part, however, he was more impressed with
the responsibility of telling truths than setting off rhetorical
fireworks. He was crisp, literal, and matter of fact.
Once he got possession of himself, and that subtle sixth
sense, by which the artist feels the responsiveness and
sympathy of his audience, told him he had control of his
hearers, his ease returned and he read with moving persua-
sive authority, and his hands, eyes, and countenance
became graphic interpreters of his theme. He seldom
digressed.
The first Chicago address was delivered at the Uni-
versity, in Kent Theatre. Though the novelty of Mans-
field's first public utterance made it of national interest
he approached the occasion only as an afternoon chat
1898]
THE ACTOR'S EQUIPMENT
305
to a group of young people interested in the stage. He
took the opportunity to point out the serious purpose
which should animate the stage aspirant, the hardships to
be encountered, the accomplishments demanded but neg-
lected, and followed with some comment on those who
ignore the educational value of the theatre, a plea for play-
wrights with lofty ideals, a rejoinder to the personal criti-
cism which had pestered him all his life, and his favourite
insistence on the supremacy of the American stage.
The full first half of his paper was devoted to the
necessity of vocal culture, painting, deportment, and
languages in the equipment of an actor. Urging the
necessity of control of voice he instanced the various quali-
ties of voice required in different rôles:
If I am playing a great rôle of Shakespeare, then I need
a large body of voice. If I am playing Richard III, as
we play it, then I have to begin as a young man of char-
acter, gradually developing until he becomes old and
steeped in sin; and yet through long hours of talking I
must have that same immense power of voice at the end
of the play that I had at the commencement, and yet I
must have an entirely different quality of voice. Do you
stop to realise that matter? Do you stop to think that
in the old days it was a well-known fact that Edmund
Kean, Mr. Kemble, or even Edwin Forrest, when he
came to the last of the act, and he cried: "A horse! A
horse! My kingdom for a horse!" was very hoarse.
Nobody heard it; he didn't have any voice left; but to-
day we have studied so to guard ourselves as to gradually
develop the voice, so that at the end of the play we are as
fresh and as voiceful as when we started.

If the mission of the actor is only to amuse, then I do
not want to be an actor. I say, and I think there are
some who hold with me, that the mission of the actor is
306
[1898
RICHARD MANSFIELD
not only to amuse but to instruct. . . . It would be a piti-
ful thing, indeed, if we were only to be Punchinello.
When he pleaded for a great play he spoke from his own
experience of the last eight years, little dreaming of his
morrow's mail with its treasure from France:
The dearth of playwrights is to-day our great trouble.
We wear out the weary hours, toiling and fretting, willing
to do, but we have nothing to do it with. We would like
to act, but there is little to act. You want to go to see
Shakespeare, but only in spots; only now and then; only
spasmodically. You won't go to see a great play of
Shakespeare unless I spend the earnings of a lifetime on
its presentation. If you do not get such attractions as my
friend Henry Irving has to give, if you do not get mag-
nificent scenery, superb costumes, music, and little addi-
tions in the shape of ballet, you won't go to see Shake-
speare. Consequently we can only now and then play
Shakespeare. What can we therefore do? We have to
do the best we can find, and what is that? Who writes
for the stage? Who is there of all the brilliant men in
this country to devote their minds to the stage? I have
some friends who write plays, and I should be sorry to say
that they were not good plays, but I cannot say that they
are great plays; and yet there must be great minds in
this country. What is there left for us to do?—and I
think right here I may be permitted to make through you
that appeal to the rising generation, to devote their minds
to the writing of great plays. I think it is a worthy task.
We get plays from England and France, with the result,
as the authors know, that the plays are thrown not into
the hands of the actor, but into the hands of the specu-
lator.
The stage is waiting for the great drama, and for the
great dramatist as he was in days gone by; not the enemy
of the actor, but his friend; not the business speculating

1898]
STAGE MORALITY
307
author, who says: "I will give my play where it will give
the largest return," but for him who says, "I will give my
play where it will be played the best and will live the
longest." These authors, when they give their plays to
the speculator, find that play played for one season only,
and then thrown into the waste-paper basket; but it is
the actor who creates a great character which will make
the play live, and it will not live only one season, but it
will live for the lifetime of that actor, and then, perchance,
be taken up by other actors and played unto all time.
Clement Scott of the London Daily Telegraph had a
few weeks before created a diversion by attacking the
morality of the men and women of the stage, which
inspired this paragraph:
Fierce the light that beats upon the throne, and this,
perhaps, has caused so many people to believe that the
stage is immoral. There is no more—perhaps less—im-
morality on the stage than there is in society. The people
of the stage are too busy, too occupied, and too tired to
go in for the immorality that occurs in almost every walk
of life. There is just the same temptation for you, ladies
and gentlemen here present, in the University of Chicago.
There is no more and no less temptation for you than
there is for us. We have to work together. You have
to work together. You travel together. We travel to-
gether. It rests with every man and woman of an age
to be what they wish, and I have still to find out, on the
serious stage, that there is that immorality which the
dramatic critic of the Daily Telegraph has stated there is.
When he returned East in the spring "The First Violin"
was ready for the stage. By Dion Boucicault's gauge that
"plays are not written, they are rewritten," "The First
Violin" should have been a masterpiece. It was written
and rewritten four times before Mansfield ventured its


308
[1898
RICHARD MANSFIELD
production. He and Mrs. Mansfield had long believed in
the play-possibilities of Jessie Fothergill's charming, if
conventional romance of musical student life in Germany.
He had played so many forbidding rôles that they felt
just for once he might allow himself the diversion of a
wholly sympathetic hero. If it was a step down from his
sustained intellectual plane it was at least effected with
elegance and charm.
The version he accepted was by J. I. C. Clarke, but he
rewrote it to such an extent that Mr. Clarke scarcely
recognised it. His share in the work was credited to a
nom de plume, Meridan Phelps. "The First Violin" was
put on the stage first at the Hollis Street Theatre in Bos-
ton, on April 18, 1898.¹
The following Monday the
Garden Theatre in New York.
play was acted at the
At the end of the even-
ing of enthusiasm he responded to calls and addressed
the audience: "Ladies and gentlemen, it is very near
1 The cast on this occasion was:
The Grand Duke
Count von Rothenfels
The Countess Hildegarde
Herr von Francius
Eugen Courvoisier
Sigmund, his son
Friedhelm Helfen
Karl Linders
Herr von Papenheim
Jager zu Rothenfels
Professor Sebastian.
A Railway Official .
Herr Boudelweiss
Herr Singfest .
Herr Krausgrieg.
Miss Hallam
Merrick, her maid
.
Mr. Kingdon.
Mr. Johnson.
Miss Glidden.
Mr. Weaver.
Mr. Mansfield.
Miss Morrison.
Mr. Forrest.
Mr. Andrews.
Mr. Courtenay.
Mr. Hunter.
Mr. Griffith.
Mr. Graham.
Mr. Butler.
Mr. Dwyer.
Mr. Bonchard.
Miss Alliston.
Miss Cummins.
Fraulein Anna Sartorius
Miss May Wedderburn
Fraulein Schultz
Frau Schmidt
Clara
Miss Oliver.
.
Miss Fairfax.
Miss Marsh.
Miss Clarke.
Miss Blanchard.
Musicians, Citizens, Railway Officials.

RICHARD MANSFIELD AS EUGEN COURVOISIER IN "THE
FIRST VIOLIN"
1898]
"THE FIRST VIOLIN"
309
the end of the season and both my clever company
and myself are thoroughly tired out playing heroics.
So the other day we got together and with the assistance
of Mr. Clarke and my splendid corps of scenic artists,
we thought, like Grosvenor in 'Patience,' we would
treat ourselves to the customary half-holiday. The
result, as you see, is 'The First Violin,' a play in which
we all have parts which please and rest us, even if they
don't succeed in pleasing and resting you. I know per-
fectly well that the critics are going to condemn this play
to-morrow. I don't blame them. And I feel equally sure
they are going to condemn me. Last week we were con-
demned in Boston, yet, ladies and gentlemen, I had the
pleasure of playing to the largest box office receipts of my
entire career in Boston during the week in which I
appeared there in 'The First Violin.' If I can only suc-
ceed in making my New York friends condemn and visit
it to the same extent, I shall feel even more rested than I
do at present. You have no idea how tiring it is to play
rôles in which you have either to grovel or be heroic all the
time. My company feel exactly as I do about this matter,
and my only hope is that they will escape the condemna-
tion which is sure to be heaped upon myself and the play-
wright."
"The First Violin" was not sizeable to the standards
Mansfield had invited by his other exploits, but the pub-
lic found so much to enjoy in his Eugen Courvoisier-a
facile rôle without heights or depths-that it was acted
at the Garden Theatre, for many weeks beyond the orig-
inal term. At this moment war was declared with Spain
and the country thrilled with military preparations and
anticipations. The public was diverted from its accus-
tomed diversions. The theatres in general were empty.

310
[1898
RICHARD MANSFIELD
The Garden, however, was crowded these warm spring
nights as Mansfield had not filled any theatre in New
York since the run of "Beau Brummell." But he had
critically important plans ahead and was obliged to ter-
minate his season June 14.
And here closed that middle period of his public life-
a period of some triumphs and many defeats, of costly
experiments, of disappointments that would have broken
a weaker spirit, and of ceaseless struggle for the supremacy
of which he not for one hour relinquished his determined
hope.
When the curtain went up again it was on the golden
period of authority with the public, of an opulent pros-
perity which enabled him to throw off the last penny of his
indebtedness, during which he reached and maintained
himself in preëminence. The record from now on is one
of triumph.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
(1898)
The arrival of "Cyrano de Bergerac"-To London to see Coquelin-
George Gibbs Mansfield-Rehearsals-"Cyrano de Bergerac"
produced-Effect of his triumph-Threshold of the golden
period.
An
THE arrival of a new play was scarcely an event.
average of three a day made the emotions somewhat
callous. All were read, most of them were discussed with
Mansfield, the winnowings were given him for final judg-
ment.
When he reached his hotel after the visit to the Univer-
sity of Chicago the previous winter, he found in his mail
the published book of a French play sent by a friend in
Paris. "This was acted three weeks ago at the Porte
St. Martin," ran the accompanying note. "Paris is wild
about it. Here is the rôle for which you have been wait-
ing." That promise had a familiar ring. He put the
book aside until a more convenient hour.
There were two meals which Mansfield always ate
alone; breakfast and the light repast of broth and oysters
late in the afternoon. An empty stomach attacked his
nerves and set his temper on edge. In the morning he
was in no convenient mood until he had the invariable
coffee and bacon. After a somewhat rigid abstinence
during the rest of the day and evening the fatigue of a
311

312
[1898
RICHARD MANSFIELD
performance edged his nerves, till his midnight supper,
with a troop of friends about him, warmed him into the
sunniest humour of the day. A book or play was the
companion of his solitary meals.
The Sunday morning after the French play arrived he
opened it over his coffee. After the first page he did not
lift his eyes. Breakfast grew cold, untasted. Minutes
piled into hours, yet of everything was he oblivious except
the pages before him. At three o'clock he presented him-
self at Mr. Palmer's room.
"I have found the character and the play for which I've
searched these fifteen years," he exclaimed. Then, dis-
daining a chair, he paced the floor, telling the story of
"Cyrano de Bergerac," acting passages as he read along,
declaiming the longer speeches with much the same
definite characterisation which distinguished his perform-
ance on the first night. He composed his performance
of the rôle practically on the instant. It seemed little
different or more detailed after weeks of rehearsal.
That day a cable message opened negotiations with
Paris. The answer was a surprise: "Cannot give you
American rights. Copyright neglected." Mansfield had
a chivalrous belief that if he acknowledged the poet's rights
others would respect his, so he signed a contract to pay
M. Rostand five per cent. of his gross receipts whenever
"Cyrano de Bergerac" was acted by him. In return
what did he get? That's another story and will appear
later.

Very soon letters came from Paris by the score-from
friends and from strangers alike-telling him of the
mounting success of "Cyrano de Bergerac" and assuring
him he was the one artist on the English-speaking stage to
play the Gascon. Twenty copies of the Edition Charpen-
1898]
"CYRANO DE BERGERAC"
313
tier had fluttered to him across the Atlantic from various
sources when the count was abandoned. Then the trans-
lations began to pour in from Paris, from London, from
many Americans. All were hopeless. He commissioned
his friend, Miss Gertrude Hall-she of Verlaine in English
and the Wagner dramas in story-to translate the poem.
Her version was inevitably accurate and exquisite. When
published it discounted every other in popularity. But
her phrasing wanted dramatic vigour. It was not suffi-
ciently masculine for the mouth of this vanquisher of
one hundred at the Porte de Nesle. Mansfield was con-
fident, however. He believed his destiny was at work.
Finally from among another score he triumphantly selected
a translation that uttered with the directness of prose, the
cadence of poetry, and the vibration of energy. It was
the work of Howard Thayer Kingsbury, then recently
graduated from Harvard's school of Law.
The popularity of "The First Violin" was providential.
It defrayed the domestic expenses of an unusually expen-
sive summer and yielded a portion of the forty thousand
dollars which were spent on the production of "Cyrano
de Bergerac." The balance? It was borrowed on
mortgages which covered his home, his private car, his
theatrical productions, and every chattel he possessed.
Everything was sacrificed.
The praise of Coquelin became a pan, and by summer
it raised a great doubt in Mansfield's mind. Dared he
challenge the French actor in his greatest rôle? Was he
not inviting a comparison which would ruin him? With
every detail of the costumes and scenery determined and
in the hands of the artisans, he slipped quietly aboard
ship and went to see for himself if this were artistic suicide
he was planning.


314
[1898
RICHARD MANSFIELD
"Cyrano de Bergerac" had been acted for six months
in Paris and Mansfield found Coquelin playing it in Lon-
don. Without a word of his presence to any one but his
brother Felix, who resided in the British capital as his
foreign agent, he entered the Lyceum Theatre to deter-
mine his own fate. He declared afterward that his ordeal
that night when he subjected his own conception to com-
parison with Coquelin's was far more severe on him than
when he offered it on the first night to the thumbs of his
public in America. "After the first act I was in despair,"
he said. "Coquelin did not act Cyrano, he seemed the
embodiment of the Gascon. No one but a Frenchman,
and no Frenchman but Coquelin, could banter with that
inimitable Gasconade. And in what tongue but Cyrano's
own could one hope to toss such badinage? Plainly, per-
severance invited martyrdom. I could have abandoned
my plans, my hopes, everything on the instant, but I
waited for the second act. When he introduced the cadets
I felt a breath of courage, for I believed my own introduc-
tion had its own quality. As Christian's insults, the
wooing under the balcony, the fantastic detention of
De Guiche and the siege of Arras passed before me my
spirits mounted, until the repetition of the gazette and
the death-then hope, confidence, and determination all
came back. Coquelin in his way was inimitable. But
my Cyrano, equally of Rostand and of Bergerac, was on
its pedestal again. When I left the theatre my fears had
vanished. In spite of all he achieved with the rôle his
performance appealed to me as the Cyrano of a comedian."
There remained an interval of two days before he was
to sail, and he devoted one of them to a trip down to a
small country town to see the D'Oyly Carte Touring
Opera Company. He found it practically the same as
1898]
HIS SON BORN
315
when he had been identified with it twenty years before.
"The personnel had changed" he said, "but it had lost
none of its identity. It had been giving Gilbert and Sulli-
van operas during all that time, and the people would talk
over their rôles with as much interest and enthusiasm as
if they were entirely new." Three weeks after he had
quitted his wife he was again at her side in the cottage
at Rye where he had bestowed her in the spring. In a
few days-August 3-their first and only child was born.
He was christened George Gibbs Mansfield.
Interest in Cyrano de Bergerac soon became a fad in
America. Three translations of Rostand's play were pub-
lished and multiplied in editions. The demand for the
French text bespoke the imported books before they
arrived. An American reprint proved a golden invest-
ment. It was discovered that Louis Gallet's story, "Cap-
tain Satan," was a tale of Cyrano and this was translated
quickly and advertised boldly as "The Adventures of
Cyrano de Bergerac." An acquaintance with Cyrano's
own writings was ferreted, and his "Histoire Comique
des États et Empires de la Lune" was put into English
and printed. Amateur poets tried their skill in English
renderings of the Ballad of the Duel, the Kiss Speech,
and the Recipe for Almond Cream Tarts, and news-
papers reproduced them. Finally vendors appeared on
the sidewalks with Cyrano heads in gutta-percha, and did
a rushing business.
Such advance interest in a play had never before been
known. It stimulated high expectations. There was
small margin for surprise. Worse, the cupidity of other
managers was tempted. Translations which Mansfield
refused were abbreviated in cast and sold to dramatic
stock companies. There threatened soon to be a hundred

316
[1898
RICHARD MANSFIELD
Cyranos in the field. The only production, however,
which was associated with a name which gave promise of
artistic rivalry was that announced by Augustin Daly.
This manager was not at the time at the zenith of his
success, but his distinguished career still made him a
factor to be reckoned with. He altered the play to in-
crease the interest in Roxane, and announced Miss Ada
Rehan for the précieuse and Mr. Charles Richman for
Cyrano. Mansfield's first appearance in Cyrano was
fixed for October 3 at the Garden Theatre. Daly se-
lected the same night to present his version for the first
time, at the Chestnut Street Theatre, Philadelphia, and it
was one of the most complete failures he ever experienced.
Unforgetable were those August and September re-
hearsals. No one who was confined in the city during
those seething months will ever believe the summer of
1898 was not the hottest of their lifetime.
Mansfield was unsparing of himself and he was unspar-
ing of others. Everything he had and everything he hoped
for was at stake. Struggle and desperation were in the
air. Nearly every one in the cast resigned or was dis-
charged over and over again. Mr. Palmer's days and
nights were devoted to diplomacy, and thanks to his
suavity the heady heat of the day before was forgotten in
the cool of the next morning.
An actress of international reputation and experience
was engaged for Roxane. Rehearsals were under way
when she resigned by cable. The Orange Girl's single
line in the first act was being rehearsed by a young
Canadian girl, Margaret Anglin. Mansfield had not seen
her act but he remarked the wondrous loveliness of her
voice and his intuition told him she had temperament.
"Can you make yourself look beautiful enough for


Richen Zerausfeld
This 9.9.M.
RICHARD MANSFIELD AND HIS BABY BOY, GEORGE GIBBS
MANSFIELD
1898]
MARGARET ANGLIN
317
Roxane?" he asked. "I think I might, if you can make
yourself look ugly enough for Cyrano," she answered.
The part was hers on the instant. He coached her
relentlessly. Again and again she cried that she could
not do it. He reassured her, but not with soft persuasions.
"You can, my dear, and you must. Now, again!" After
rehearsals she went regularly in tears to Mr. Palmer to
resign. He appealed to Mansfield to be more lenient.
"I am only kind," was his reply. "Roxane is a great
part. Only one who has suffered can play such a rôle.
This girl has the temperament and the emotions, but she
is young and inexperienced. I cannot persuade her
spirit, I must rouse it." And every day she reached new
depths and new heights.
Rehearsals, for all the brittle tension, were not without
their humour. Details introduced suddenly into a play
distressed Mansfield and drove the words of his part
helter-skelter. It was his custom to use any important
accessory to the appearance of a character at rehearsal
for a week or more. Cyrano's huge sword, his feathered
hat, and his projecting nose promised difficulties. The
effect may be imagined when Mansfield appeared dressed
in all points like a contemporary exquisite but wearing the
sword, bonnet, and nose of Cyrano.
As was his method always, he came on the orchestra
floor to direct the colouring, lighting, and grouping of
scenes. When a cue was given for him to speak he replied
from his position in the auditorium while the other
players addressed the vacant spot he was supposed to
occupy on the stage.
The first time the musicians came to play their entr'acts
he stood down stage watching a change in the scenery.
The tempo caught his ear. He took the orchestra in hand


318
[1898
RICHARD MANSFIELD
at once. Too tired to stand he sat on a stump from
Roxane's garden. An amusing figure he presented, half
Mansfield, half Cyrano, beating time, singing the air,
halting, admonishing, repeating, all with his native.
energy entirely oblivious of the humorous effect. The
musicians responded with telling effects, and after half an
hour he returned to the direction of the scenes, lights, and
acting. He was in every sense the presiding genius of his
enterprises and conceived and perfected every detail which
contributed to a performance and a production.
At last, the night of his great hazard! Noon had been
August in its heat. Night brought no perceptible relief.
It was summer's last stand. All day the stage was
empty, dark. He was in his dressing-room before six
o'clock. Before the overture he came out for a moment
to view the setting and lighting of the theatre of the
Hôtel de Bourgogne. He was made up but not yet
costumed the head of Cyrano on the body of Mans-
field. He moved as one in abstraction, his eye was dull
and sad, his lips loose and curled, as in distress; he spoke
to no one, saw no one, glanced once at the picture and
turned back to his cell. At the door his servant handed
him a folded bit of paper. On it were the good wishes of
his friend Benjamin Harrison who had timed a trip from
his Indiana home to be present.
The play was announced for 7.45 o'clock, but at that
1 The cast was:
Comte de Guiche
Comte de Valvert
Christian.
Cyrano de Bergerac
Le Bret
•
Captain Carbon de Castel-Jeloux
Ragueneau
Lignière
First Marquis
Second Marquis
Mr. Arthur Forrest.
Mr. F. A. Thomson.
Mr. William Courtenay.
Mr. Richard Mansfield.
Mr. J. W. Weaver.
Mr. Francis Kingdon.
Mr. A. G. Andrews.
Mr. Fred. Backus.
Mr. Damon Lyon.
Mr. Edwin Belden.


A DRESS REHEARSAL OF ACT I OF "CYRANO DE BERGERAC"
1898]
A NERVOUS START
319
hour half the audience was in the procession of carriages
extending for blocks up Madison Avenue. The streets
about the theatre were crowded. Speculators received
as high as thirty dollars for a pair of seats.
At a quarter after eight o'clock the curtain rose and the
spectators strolled simultaneously into the two theatres-
the real and the mimic. The first act was played in the
midst of confusion. Mansfield was nervous and over-
anxious, and he acted with studied deliberateness. He
was never again so little representative of what he intended.
The delightful improvisation punctuated by sword play in
the Ballad of the Duel went for little. He had not much
skill with the foils and screened his shortcomings behind
a complete circle of spectators. The vivid pantomime of
this swaying mass as it followed the combatants did not
atone for the loss of the Ballad. His art responded, how-
ever, to the score of moods in the long speech describing
his nose, and he swept the end of the act to a spirited con-
clusion.
Ragueneau opened the second act briskly with his
cooks and poets. Andrews was delightful as the senti-
mental baker. The airy lightness of the Recipe for
Almond Cream Tarts could not have been surpassed. It
was in the Cook-shop that the soul of Cyrano first spoke,
in those vibrant sighs with which he accompanied Roxane's
declaration of love-for Christian. A different emotion

•
Third Marquis
Montfleury
Belrose
Jodelot
Cuigy
Brissaille
Busybody
Light Guardsman
Doorkeeper
Tradesman
His Son
Mr. Clement Toole.
Mr. William H. Griffith.
Mr. Douglas Stanfield.
Mr. Gage Bennett.
Mr. Woodward Barrett.
Mr. Douglas Jeffreys Wood.
Mr. Kingdon.
Mr. Charles Quinn.
Mr. Dwight Smith.
Mr. Cecil Butler.
Mr. Edgar J. Hart.


320
[1898
RICHARD MANSFIELD
coloured each wordless breath. A moment later he
masked his heart again under the ferocity of his Gascon
pride. Fluent transition from mood to mood was one of
Mansfield's finest gifts. The return of the cadets, the
arrival of the Comte de Guiche and his suite, the crowd-
ing, curious mob that packed the shop, composed a superb
picture. The verses of the presentation of the cadets was
his own translation. He packed it with consonants and
bristling syllables, especially in the terminals, so that the
words crackled like the splutter of musketry:/
These are the Cadets of Gascoigne,
Of Carbon de Castel-Jaloux,
Brawlers and liars the throng,
These are the Cadets of Gascoigne!
Brag halbert and rapier and thong,
With blood that is bluest of blue,
These are the Cadets of Gascoigne,
Of Carbon de Castel-Jaloux.
Pickpocket
Musketeer
First Guardsman of the Royal House-
hold.
Second Guardsman
.
Sentinel
Capuchin Monk
First Poet
Second Poet
Third Poet
Fourth Poet
Fifth Poet
First Pastry Cook
Second Pastry Cook
Third Pastry Cook.
Fourth Pastry Cook
Fifth Pastry Cook
•
Second Gambler
Drunkard
First Gambler.
First Cadet
Second Cadet
Third Cadet
Fourth Cadet
Fifth Cadet
Mr. Augustin McHugh.
Mr. A. Stryker.
Mr. Harry Lewis.
Mr. Wm. Sorelle.
Mr. Alfred Hollingsworth.
Mr. Griffith.
Mr. Hart.
Mr. Lewis.
Mr. E. Ordway.
Mr. Robert Schable.
Mr. Smith.
Mr. Maxwell Blake.
Mr. Nevil.
Mr. Claggett.
Mr. Robert Milton.
Mr. J. F. Hussey.
Mr. R. De Cordova.
Mr. Joseph Maylon.
Mr. J. Westly.
Mr. Butler.
Mr. Thomson.
Mr. Lyon.
Mr. Sorelle.
Mr. Stryker.

1898]
THE CADETS OF GASCOIGNE
321
Eagle-eyed, spindle-shanked all,
Cat-whiskered, teeth of the rat,
Happiest only in brawl,
Eagle-eyed, spindle-shanked all!
Striding with gay feathers tall,
Hiding the holes in the hat,
Eagle-eyed, spindle-shanked all,
Cat-whiskered, teeth of the rat!
Dub them pierce-paunch and punch-pate!
Ha! that is their gentlest renown!
Sodden with glory and hate,
Dub them pierce-paunch and punch-pate!
Where there's a fight in the town,
You'll find the lot early or late.
Dub them pierce-paunch and punch-pate!
Ha! that is their gentlest renown!
I present the Cadets of Gascoigne,
An amorous, chivalrous crew;
Ye virgins, so priceless in song,
Beware the Cadets of Gascoigne,
Sixth Cadet
Roxane
The Duenna
Lise
Orange Girl
Child
Flanquin.
Champagne
.
Mother Margaret de Jésus
Sister Martha
Sister Claire
First Actress
Second Actress
Third Actress
Fourth Actress
Soubrette.
First Page
Second Page
Third Page
Fourth Page
Flower Girl
.
.
Mr. C. Short.
Miss Margaret Anglin.
Miss Ellen Cummens.
Miss Helen Glidden.
Miss Bertha Blanchard.
Miss Bessie Harris.
Miss Van Arold.
Miss Methot.
Miss Blanche Weaver.
Miss Mary Emerson.
Miss Helen Ford.
Miss Mabel Howard.
Miss Claire Kulp.
Miss Lucy Harris.
Miss Alice Chandler.
Miss Nora Dunblane.
Miss Angela McCaull.
Miss Mary Blythe.
Miss Clara Emory..
Miss Fernanda Eliscu.
Miss Grace Heyer.
Nuns, Ladies of Quality, Gentlewomen, Actresses, Scullery
Maids, Cadets, Noblemen, Pickpockets, Apprentices, Towns-
people, Spanish Soldiers and Lackeys.

322
[1898
RICHARD MANSFIELD
Champions for right or for wrong;
Sound clarions, coo-too, cuc-koo!
Cheer lustily! Ring bells, dong, dong!
I present the Cadets of Gascoigne!
The well-rehearsed enthusiasm of the players was antici-
pated and drowned by a volley of applause from the audi-
ence. It was as if a thousand hands reached across the
footlights to grasp Cyrano's. The No-thank-you speech
was answered with another fusillade. His tortured self-
possession in the face of Christian's insults to his nose drew
every one to his chair's edge and the sacrificial bargain
of the homely wit and the fair numskull dimmed every
eye. The curtain fell amid cheers. Supporting himself
against the arch Mansfield bowed again and again.
For half an hour the audience had forgotten the heat
which beaded their foreheads. In the midst of that
sputtering gossip that betokens the aliveness, the interest
and pleasure of an assembly, they now flowed out under
the Moorish arcade to catch a whiff of air. The sense of
the humid, breathless night returned to them. Mans-
field closeted himself for his change of costume.
great experiment was to come.
His
The third act is played in a square before Roxane's
house. It was an exquisite blending of soft light and long
shadows. Miss Anglin during her short scene on the
balcony was a revelation. Her feeling intelligence illu-
minated every line. Her voice caressed and lulled the
No one who heard it forgot the ecstasy of
ear.
I tremble, I weep, I love thee, I am thine-
Aye, drunk with love!
From that moment she was known.

RICHARD MANSFIELD IN "CYRANO
DE BERGERAC"
From a photograph, copyright, 1899, by the Celebrity
Photo. & Art Co.
1898]
AN EFFECT IN FALSETTO
323
Mansfield revealed new phases of his art in this love
trio. He was better in this than in any other love scene
he had ever acted. He had no belief in himself as an
amorous figure. Passionate sentiment embarrassed him,
but on this tangent of self-sacrifice he dared pour out
his unrestrained soul. Though the passage was operatic
in the blending of the voices, it was less so than the suc-
ceeding scene in which Cyrano stays De Guiche from
interrupting the wedding with his fantastic pretence of
having dropped from the moon.
Rostand indicates that Cyrano should mark the differ-
entiation in his accent by speaking like a Gascon. This
was plainly meaningless if not impossible in English.
Mansfield chose to denote the unearthy character of this
visitor from the moon by chanting the verses in a wierd
silvery falsetto. It gave an indescribable poetic signifi-
cance to the scene. The audience was transported. He
took a barytone register in later performances as some
people complained they missed the lines. It was a mis-
take to do it. No words could conjure the phantasy of
that limpid falsetto.
Except for the balcony scene the play until the fourth
act is largely an interrupted monologue. The camp
scene drew out the quality of the ensemble. Every one
responded nobly. Forrest made De Guiche a courtier of
elegance and a warrior of mettle. Courtenay's frank
charm won sympathy for Christian in spite of the dullard.
Mansfield blended Cyrano into the vivid panorama. The
act was spirited and moving, and culminated in a graphic
spectacle of the battle on the ramparts. All the principals
came before the curtain and the applause had not quieted
when it rose on the last act.
It was past midnight. After the martial scenes the


324
[1898
RICHARD MANSFIELD
autumn loveliness of the convent garden fell like a quiet
benediction. The entrance of Cyrano was marked by
one of Mansfield's imaginative touches. His dress was
black. Two nuns in white supported the injured man.
His bowed face was shadowed by his plumed hat. As
he rested back in the huge red chair he raised his head.
The first view of that visage, wan yet kind, sorrowful, but
smiling, the mask of one unmistakably marked for death!
-gave the note of final tragedy. During the scenes of
gossip and disclosure the sun tones softened and moon-
light bathed the garden. The intensity of Mansfield's
own restraint was not less here than the tension of the
audience. In moments of great emotion Mansfield some-
times lost control of the muscles of his eyes. Uncon-
sciously they became slightly crossed. The effect was
hypnotic. This often happened when he felt the delirium
of Cyrano's death rising within. Shaken with a great
tremor he struggled to his feet, brushed aside the friendly
arms and threw himself for support against an oak. Erect,
rigid, the wild stare in his eye, his trembling fingers at
arm's length straight before him pointing at the vision, his
voice icy with the breath of Death, he greeted the con-
queror:
He comes! I feel already shod with marble,
Gloved with lead.
Then restraint flew asunder. His long sword fought the
phantoms with unleashed frenzy and he released his
soul with the sigh of an unsullied conscience.
As the curtain fell the house rose and cheered. The
ovation lasted nearly a quarter of an hour. Having
removed the make-up of Cyrano he appeared again and
again, and finally spoke his thanks. When he returned

RICHARD MANSFIELD IN "CYRANO DE
BERGERAC"
From a photograph, copyright, 1899, by the
Celebrity Photo. & Art Co.
1898]
EFFECTS OF SUCCESS
325
from the footlights the last time he found the way to his
dressing-room blocked with friends. Others followed
them and the stage was soon alive with people eager to
congratulate him.
Was Cyrano his greatest acting? At least this per-
formance was the most significant of his career.
he scaled the summit at last.
But it was not in his nature to be content.
With it
So when he
Failure fur-
But he had
finished one thing he turned to another.
nished its own reason for renewed effort.
mercifully few failures, now he had come into the plenitude
of his authority and the maturity of his powers.
He would not heed to the sweet caresses of praise. He
coveted them but felt he dared not indulge himself in
the luxury. With the exception of those of one or two
writers he seldom read a criticism except when it was
brought to his attention. The day after a triumphant
first night he would ask with the humility of a school-
boy who has sent in his modest thesis to the board, "Well,
how goes it?" Glowing reports may have stimulated
him, but he met enthusiasm and satisfaction with, "Yes,
this is all very well, but-what are we going to do next?"
It was not that he was a pessimist. He believed in
unlimited potentiality. He had his head erect, his eyes
hopefully on the future, his mind confidently fixed on new
achievement. Nothing but the most extraordinary self-
confidence would have permitted him to indulge in the
prodigious undertakings which were the commonplace of
his career.
But he never allowed contentment to set its seal upon
him. So when he realised what he had accomplished
with "Cyrano de Bergerac" his new fear was that he
should not be able to maintain himself on the heights.


326
[1898
RICHARD MANSFIELD
It was now no longer so much to achieve as to maintain.
"Where is the successor to Cyrano to come from?"
If he but knew, none was needed. Authority was now
his. The public henceforth accepted him in everything
he offered.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
(1899-1900)
On tour as Cyrano-A twilight performance in Richmond and a
"milkman's matinée" in Texas-The Gross suit-Letters to
his wife-"The Richard Mansfield Company as Pirates"-Mrs.
Mansfield acts Raina for one night only-Anecdotes-Kidnap-
ping a naval officer-Feeding a gourmand-Monotony of excite-
ment-Nervous collapse-Off for a cruise-Audiences.
MANSFIELD might have remained at the Garden
Theatre indefinitely. Nearly as many people paid to
stand up during his engagement there as had bought seats
when he presented "King Richard III" at Palmer's Theatre
a decade before. But the monotony of a run fretted him.
His nerves demanded the variety of travel, new faces, new
audiences, the exhilaration of conquering more cities. He
would not even listen to the offers of capitalists who wished
to build him theatres because they entailed long seasons
in New York.
He left the Garden Theatre after eight weeks and he
played "Cyrano de Bergerac" exclusively throughout the
season of 1898-1899, and only a few evenings did he act
any other rôle until the autumn of 1900.
His Cyrano tours were like the progress of royalty.
His special train was made up of eight cars and was
bulletined as it advanced toward each new city. The
327


328
[1899
RICHARD MANSFIELD
newspapers sent reporters and photographers out hundreds
of miles to meet him, interview him, and picture him.
Speculators travelled weeks ahead on their own itiner-
ary. They posted pickets in the line before the box office
who held their position two and three days in order to get
first choice of seats. These tickets later yielded them as
high as ten times their face value. People now not only
paid any price to see him, but seemed willing to endure
any inconvenience. The last night in Philadelphia three
men presented themselves at the box office for seats. They
had come some distance and had means only for cheap
tickets. None was to be had at the theatre at any price.
A speculator had one seat left. He asked ten dollars for
it. The trio had just four dollars and a half among
them. They offered this and after some bickering it was
accepted. The problem of how three men were to see the
play on one ticket was met in this way. One went in for
the first act. His pass check was handed number two
who saw the second act. The remaining man saw the
third act. They matched coins for the remaining two
acts.
On the trip through the South only the largest cities
were visited. This necessitated some long jumps. Rich-
mond was scheduled for one night, Atlanta, over five
hundred miles away, for the next. Here was a problem.
It required many hours to mount the Cyrano settings.
The special train could make the distance in fifteen
hours. The only way to keep both engagements was to
begin early in Richmond and late in Atlanta. The night
the Virginia capital saw Cyrano it dined at five o'clock
and the curtain rose at half after six. Atlanta was not
invited until nine o'clock.
A Texas storm, however, resulted in the most novel ex-
1899]
"A MILKMAN'S MATINÉE"
329
perience of the tour. Axle-deep mud in San Antonio
delayed the special train from a scheduled departure,
from two in the morning until six. The next city was
Fort Worth, where Greenwall's Theatre was packed at
the curtain hour, 7.45 o'clock, when Mansfield's train
was just drawing into town.
His manager went to the theatre with the message that
it would be impossible to play for it would probably be
midnight before the scenery and baggage could be
unloaded, hauled to the theatre, and bestowed for use.
Mr. Greenwall called several influential townsmen in the
audience about him for conference. The orchestra played
lustily while the improvised committee dashed away in a
carriage to argue with Mansfield. The mayor of the city
was the spokesman:
"Mr. Mansfield your visit to-night has been anticipated
for months, to us it is the event of years. The theatre is
packed at record prices. People have come great dis-
tances to see you to-night. There is an audience awaiting
you that represents the highest compliment this city can
pay an artist. That audience will wait all night if need
be to see you act. Don't disappoint us."
"Your compliment leaves me no alternative," replied
Mansfield. "The performance will of course be given."
Work began at once. The explanation of what had
happened was received by the house with cheers. When
the return of money was offered to any who preferred not
to make a night of it, three people accepted. They lived
at a distance and their train left before twelve o'clock.
The mechanics worked like trojans. The costume
trunks, were placed first and the players dressed. As
quickly as a scene was hauled to the theatre it was set up
and the act was played. The first curtain rose shortly

330
[1899
RICHARD MANSFIELD
after half-past ten! Cyrano died at twenty minutes before
three in the morning!
Dawn grayed the east as reloading began. Mike, a
bibulous, watery-eyed gas-man whom Mansfield retained
for years in recognition of an early sacrifice, was overheard
in the midst of the confusion to remark oathsomely:
"Well, this company has done nearly everything in its
day, but this is the first time I ever knew the Chief to play
a milkman's matinée."
The effect on Mansfield of the new adulation was curi-
Instead of exalting his pride and hardening his
reserve, he thawed and mellowed. For years, though
fighting aggressively, personally he had been on the
defensive. Cordial acknowledgment of his position now
dissolved the necessity of his defence.
His spirits rose as his debts lightened, for as soon as the
immediate obligations for the production of "Cyrano" were
paid, eight hundred dollars were applied each week to the
balance of one hundred and sixty-five thousand dollars he
owed for his experiments in London and with the Garrick
Theatre. This weekly instalment was paid for seven
years, and in 1905 he had the supreme satisfaction of hav-
ing paid every dollar he owed.
There was little growth in Mansfield's art or his per-
sonality. Both seemed mature in their early expression.
The Baron Chevrial of the young man of twenty-five was
as well imagined and as finished as any later creation.
The King Richard which was acclaimed when Mansfield
was forty-eight he declared was no better than the neg-
lected Gloster of sixteen years before. He would probably
have given the same performance of Cyrano, Ivan, or Gynt
at thirty that he did later, for his genius seemed to have
sprung full-flowered into being. Has it not been said
1899]
THE CYRANO SUIT
331
that a great artist moves in a cycle of masterpieces of
which the last is no more perfect than the first? Mans-
field's consciousness of this in the first years of his public
life embittered him somewhat toward a neglectful public.
He was frank in his resentment and hence, in the middle
period, those curtain speeches he was later grateful to
have forgotten. His career was less his own develop-
ment than the awakening of the public to an appreciation
of him. The change was less in him than in them.
The “Cyrano” triumph was not, however, without its
alloy. The first move from the Garden Theatre was to
Chicago, and Mansfield woke up there an early January
morning in 1899 to find himself a co-defendant with
Rostand in a suit demanding accrued royalties and enjoin-
ing further performances of the play! A Mr. Charles E.
Gross claimed that "Cyrano de Bergerac" was a theft
from a play which he had written.
Was it a joke? Rostand would not accept it in any
other light. Mansfield soon found that apart from the
merits of a case it was somewhat expensive to parry a
rich and aggressive plaintiff, but he could not impress
Rostand with this serious view. So after he had sent the
French author ninety thousand francs in royalty and he
still refused to come forward and assist in relieving the
embarrassment which was wholly Mansfield's on a charge
against himself, Mansfield decided to deposit future
royalties pending a settlement. He fought Rostand's case
for five years without assistance or thanks. In the end
Judge C. C. Kohlsaat, of the United States Circuit Court
for Illinois, ratified a consent decree" that Mansfield
could not act "Cyrano de Bergerac" without paying Gross
one hundred dollars royalty on each performance!
66
When the Gross suit was first brought Mrs. Mansfield
332
[1899
RICHARD MANSFIELD
was ill at their Riverside home and her husband cheered
her with daily letters which related in whimsical fashion
the adventures of "The Richard Mansfield Company as
Pirates" after they had been enjoined from playing
"Cyrano."
At the top of the first letter he drew a picturesque villa
on a cliff by the sea, with a yacht at anchor, and this
he refers to in the following:
66
MY DEAREST:-This is our home by the sea. How do
you like it? I have just bought it for forty dollars, and the
yacht you see at anchor, for five dollars more! I think she
would do for a "pirate," and I suppose I shall want some
occupation, if only you won't worry when I am away
pirating." There are about forty acres of land charm-
ingly cultivated with oranges, olives, etc., and a spring
runs through the grounds. There is a large cave at the
foot of the cliff where we can hide treasure. We are
having some barrels made for the gold, and the pearls and
other jewels I think I shall sew up in strong canvas bags.
.. If only the baby likes it. . . . How grand it is
to come home with all this money and jewels acquired by
strict dishonesty! What a spice and flavour it gives to
our happiness! When I think of all the people I've
killed and the ships I've sunk-the shrieks of the women
and the gurgling cries of the drowning men-I can't help
laughing. What tales we shall be able to tell of an even-
ing when the lights burn low. . . . You will have to
light the signals when I'm expected home. I couldn't
trust any one else to do it. As it is, you will have to be
very careful. The entrance to the cove is very narrow
and I shall have to steer entirely by your beacon fires.
Then, darling, when everything is stowed away in the
cave and I have washed away the blood, we will sit down
to our evening meal with grateful hearts. . . . I'm so
impatient for this tour to be over, it is so awfully monot-
onous and I am so tired of prancing about the stage



ST. NICHOLAS HOTEL,
EUROPEAN PLAN.
EDWARD N. ROTH.
Cincinnati,

devient
лу
près is
Des
home
the tea
How do gm
бодж
like it??
2
have just
A DRAWING AT THE HEAD OF ONE OF MR. MANSFIELD'S LETTERS
1899]
THE PIRATE BUSINESS
333
dressed up as Cyrano de Bergerac. I'd rather be a
pirate. I got tired of being shot at in the fourth act—and
now I take a gun myself, and I've already shot four men.
It's the only fun I've had.
The second letter explains how they came to go into the
pirate business:
In order to have you understand, dearest one,
how we fell into the sad plight of being pirates and the
wickedest and most sanguinary criminals the world has
ever beheld, it is necessary to go back a few weeks. It is
futile at this late date, when we are so far in blood "that
sin will pluck on sin," to load the burden of our wickedness
upon Gross of Chicago-yet there is no doubt that had
he not brought forward his preposterous claim to the
authorship of "Cyrano de Bergerac," and actually secured
an injunction restraining me and my "Company of 104
men and women" from pursuing our peaceful calling we
should never have become the terror of the sea, the
scourges of the world. When the injunction fell upon us
like a stroke of lightning out of a clear sky . . . I could
see nothing before me but utter and complete ruin. Law
it might be that accomplished this, but it certainly was
not equity. How could I be responsible for a play written
by Rostand and the coincidental similarity of one scene
to a play written twenty years ago by Gross of Chicago?
With a child five months old to provide for and a sweet
wife lying ill at home, was I to sacrifice, without a blow,
the work of a lifetime? I was mad, insane with the in-
justice of it. I wandered along the wharf, and it was
then that the inspiration (from the devil, no doubt) came
to me of breaking all the laws of man, once and forever.
(Is it not the Law that has driven so many men to be-
come lawless?) My eyes roving over the forest of masts
were attracted to a sign, "Schooner for Sale"-fastened
to the rigging of what I could even then discern to be a
remarkably fine model of a two-masted schooner.
I hardly know whether the thought which had crossed my


334
[1899
RICHARD MANSFIELD
mind had framed itself into a resolution before I was
crossing the gang-plank and in conversation with a short,
thick-set man, who wore corduroy breeches and a pea-
jacket, with his neck closely muffled in a red scarf. I
went all over the schooner. She had been built by an
eccentric man who had made her his home, living on her,
and trading from port to port. The shipmaster told me
that this person had died the foregoing week, that he had
been immensely rich and had spared neither money nor
pains to perfect the schooner in every possible way. I
have ever been hasty in action (with much cause for re-
gret), and when I crossed the gang-plank for the shore I was
the owner of The Priscilla and a matter of twelve thousand
dollars the poorer.
... My first care now was to gather the company to-
gether in order to place my scheme clearly before them.
I therefore dispatched my secretary in search of Tommy
Yore, the call-boy, and he, being found seated discon-
solately upon a pile of baggage containing costumes, which
were now of no use, received orders to bring the company
at once to my hotel. It was about four o'clock in the after-
noon when this was accomplished. Of course, every one
in the assemblage had heard of the injunction, and al-
though actors do not, as a rule, sympathise with one an-
other's troubles, I could read much anger and a great
deal of anxiety (for the apprehended loss of salary) on
every face. The company was therefore in a proper mood
to receive my proposition. My speech was about as fol-
lows: "My friends, owing to the action of a certain Gross
of Chicago and the miscarriage of the law we are without
any ostensible means of support. The season is well
advanced; it is impossible for any of you to secure other
engagements, and it would be futile for me to attempt to
produce another play even if I had another. I have
decided, therefore, in the face of the gross injustice
of which we are the victims, to cut loose from all law
and to plunder humanity as humanity has plundered
us. I have secured a beautiful vessel, now at anchor in
this harbour. Upon this I design to raise the blood-red

1899]
IMAGINARY ADVENTURES
335
flag of a pirate, and those of you who wish to join me,
raise your hands." I had expected opposition-con-
sternation-but I was little prepared for the yell of delight
that burst from every throat. The women especially
seemed delighted with the prospect. After the enthusiasm
had somewhat abated, at least in its vocal expression, I
continued: "Of course, the most profound secrecy is
necessary. Should any one of you, even in his sleep, mur-
mur one word of our purpose, the gallows awaits us all.
Remain quietly at your lodgings until I have made every
preparation for our departure. I have to collect arms and
ammunition, provisions and stores for a long cruise-and
our first care will be to find some island in the South Seas
which is not inhabited, where we may leave the ladies
whilst we are away on our business. This island we shall
use as a depot, a rendezvous, and a home. It will, of
course, have every appearance of a peaceable settlement.
Therefore we will sail in search of this spot at once, and
having built our houses and having set our affairs in order
we can then begin in downright earnest to treat the world
as it has treated us. Let all the men who have been to
sea and know anything about handling a ship, step out!"
To my astonishment nearly every one of the men came
forward. This delighted me beyond measure. For, as I
had studied navigation very thoroughly, there was now no
difficulty whatever in the way of the successful operation
of my scheme. Telling my stage manager, Mr. Graham
(who is an excellent sailor) to take the men in hand and
show them the schooner, the location of which I explained
to him, I dismissed all hands in order to see about the
arming and victualling of the vessel. . . .
A letter describing one of their imaginary adventures,
the capture and sinking of a steamer, is headed by a sketch
of the schooner sailing away from the sinking vessel with
a warship looming on the horizon and begins:
There is a warship showing her masts and funnels
over the sea-line, and we must fill our sails and be off-

336
[1899
RICHARD MANSFIELD
although it is a very serious question whether we shall be
able to avoid her. It's unfortunate we had to sink the
steam yacht after taking everything of value out of her-
but there was no other course. As soon as we sighted the
man-of-war we knew that she would speak the yacht and
be after us. It's horrible to have to sacrifice so many
lives, but, after all, charity begins at home. Now we can
just swear that we were trying to help the yacht and that
she blew up before we could come to her assistance. One
old lady, who seemed to be a very strong swimmer, swam
right up under our counter and begged to be taken on
board-poor thing, she had evidently worn a wig, for her
head was quite bald. I was about to throw her a rope
when a shark swallowed half of her and the other half was
no good. Don't worry, she is happy now, and so is the
shark, and it's an ill wind, etc. You don't mind my tell-
ing you everything? It won't excite you, will it?
The steam yacht was a very handsome one, fully 150 feet
long-they had one gun, but it wouldn't go off, and they
were so surprised to see a pirate in these days that we did
just as we liked with them. As soon as they hauled down
their flag and lay to-I manned the cutter and went on
board. I was very handsomely dressed and made up. I
wore a black velvet bicycle-no, bicycle-oh, damn!-
suit, with a scarlet sash and a large black sombrero with a
peacock feather, long black hair, and a small black
moustache. All the pirates said it was very becoming,
and they cheered me as I rowed off. I had eight men in the
boat besides the coxwain. The men were dressed in
white velvet and green sashes, and were very proud. The
coxwain (Tommy Yore) had on the Catesby suit of ar-
mour, and all of them had on the Richard III wigs. .
But the force of habit is very strong, and Tommy was
stupid enough to call the quarter of an hour (and you
know how loudly he calls it) just as we fetched the star-
board gangway. For a moment I thought all was lost.
I corrected him by yelling "way enough," and two of the
men caught crabs, which was amazing. The passengers
even began to laugh, but they soon stopped when they saw
1899]
MORE ADVENTURES
337
how heavily we were armed. I shall not take Tommy
again. He yelled "Beginners for the first act" and
"Overture" and "all up" just as we were swarming over
the side, and it made me feel so ridiculous. However, I
stood quite still as the owner of the yacht advanced and
really very politely inquired as to what he was indebted for
the honour of the visit. I replied that necessity knew no
law. That, owing to an injunction obtained by a person
named Gross of Chicago, we had become pirates in order
to live-that I had "104 people" and "four cars of scen-
nery" (the last slipped out before I could stop myself,
but he didn't seem to notice it). He asked whether he
could ransom the yacht. I told him that I should be
happy to oblige him, but it was necessary for our future
safety and success that they should all die and that we
scuttle the yacht. He asked for a few minutes to consult
his crew. I granted his request, and he then told me that
they had determined to die fighting rather than go down
in cold blood. He began at once by making a dig at me
with an ugly looking pen-knife with three blades and a
corkscrew, but Graham threw himself before me and
received all the corkscrew full in the breast. Poor
Graham, he went down without speaking a word. I
instantly knocked the captain down, and after that the
crew and the guests surrenderrrrrrrrred! I ordered them
into the large saloon, and Dillon went through their
pockets and made up the house. We've got a lot of
jewelerrrrry and about $2,500 in money. Somebody
shrieked out that a man-of-war was in sight. You ought
to have seen us get off that yacht. Bogey,' however, had
the forethought to make holes in the sides of the ship with
a skewer, and we barely had time to leave her before she
keeled over and disappeared. Poor things! But it's
Gross's fault. . . . So don't worry, darling, we are all
right, and I dare say I shall make as much money as if
we had kept on playing Cyrano. I shall now keep along
the coast of Algiers, and I hope to take some rich prizes.
1 A. G. Andrews.


338
[1899
RICHARD MANSFIELD
It is now time to turn in. We are divided into watches,
but Forrest refuses to watch. I don't know what to do-
of course we must have discipline. I think I shall have
to murder him. I don't like it-but one has to do these
things when one is a pirate!
The great number of performances of "Cyrano de
Bergerac" by the stock companies in the cities he was to
visit worried him for fear they would prejudice or satisfy
the interest in the play, and he could see only the lack of
ethical sense in the situation and he talked often and long
at supper of the injustice put upon him. But Francis
Wilson's announcement of a "Cyrano de Comic Opera"
found him in a lighter vein.
In the first act of the play Cyrano enters the theatre
of the Hôtel de Bourgogne unobserved and when Mont-
fleury, the chief actor, appears he discloses himself and
drives him from the scene. Thus Mansfield, one night
at supper: "So Wilson is going to play Cyrano? Well,
this is what I shall do. I will buy a box for the opening
night. I will conceal myself behind the curtains, but I
will wear my costume and make-up as Cyrano, nose and
all. When Wilson appears on the stage I will step for-
ward, shake my stick at him and call out as Cyrano does
to Montfleury, 'Rascal, have I not forbidden you to
appear?"" and he burlesqued the rest of the scene from
the play in a deliciously comic vein.
When he returned during his second season for a mid-
winter engagement at the Garden Theatre, he revived a
half dozen of the lighter plays of his repertoire. At this
time he acted "Prince Karl" once and for the last time.
But he omitted the musical parodies, judging them infra
dig., though he often repeated them at home when friends
pressed him.
1900]
A REVIVAL BY REQUEST
339
The diversion that delighted him most during this
engagement grew out of a question at one of his supper
parties. "Why doesn't Mrs. Mansfield act any more?"
asked some conspirator.
"Dick won't let me," bantered his wife.
"What a fib," retorted the host. "My stage, my
scenery, and my company are at your disposal any time
you choose to make your rentrée, and I will be your lead-
ing man."
His offer was accepted on the spot and it was decided
she should repeat her delightful performance of Raina in
"Arms and the Man." He restudied Captain Bluntschli
after four years for this occasion. To the echo of the
loving enthusiasm of the audience which assembled in
the Garden Theatre, January 8, 1900, Beatrice Cameron
Mansfield gracefully bowed herself from the stage for
the last time, and her husband never acted Bluntschli
again.
The cast was much the same as previously, except for a
delightful young Irishman, Prince Lloyd, who was to act
Sergius Saranoff. Lloyd did not at first catch the Shaw
spirit.
At the end of the comedy Captain Bluntschli having
confounded every one by his assurance marches out of
the room. Sergius is the only one who can find his voice
and before the curtain falls he exclaims: "What a man!
What a man!" Lloyd gave the speech in tones of genuine
enthusiasm.
Mansfield turned suddenly beyond the two chairs which
at a sceneless rehearsal define a doorway: "Try to say it
hopelessly, helplessly, contemptuously."
"I thought it was admiration," pleaded Lloyd.
"My dear fellow," rejoined Mansfield, "don't let your

340
[1900
RICHARD MANSFIELD
personal feeling for me influence your judgment of a
character!"
He seldom resisted an opening for a retort. At these
rehearsals an actress was one day nervously fumbling
her lines and he taxed her. She grew quite serious:
“Mr. Mansfield, I know this part backward." and
"Yes, my dear lady, I can quite believe it," he answered,
"but that is not the way I wish you to repeat it."
When he left New York this spring it was to go almost
directly to New Orleans where the levee was his first
haunt. He never lost the boy's love for the water.
Wherever he went his first walk took him to the water-
front where he wandered for hours among the shipping,
quizzing the seamen and picking up many a good yarn at
first hand. The writer accompanied him on the tramp
up and down the New Orleans water this first afternoon
in the Creole city.
"I'm tired to death of this Gascon with his long snout
and interminable speeches, I must have some fun or I'll
go mad," he declared as a prelude to a scheme which was
blossoming as he stepped along. "We must find a boat,
a jolly roomy two-master with a small engine, and hire
her for the week here. Thomas' will transfer the silver
and linen from the car, and we can set up as pirates right
out in the middle of the river. The Parkers are here."
To-morrow night we'll have them aboard for supper.
About two in the morning they'll start to go. We'll urge
them to stay. They'll insist, go on deck, and discover
that we have quietly weighed anchor and slipped down
river toward the Gulf. Now wouldn't that be sport,
kidnapping a naval officer, eh? And what a sensation for

1 His steward.
Captain John F. Parker, U. S. N., a brother-in-law of Benjamin Harrison.

RICHARD MANSFIELD AS CAPTAIN BLUNTSCHLI IN "ARMS
AND THE MAN"
From a photograph by the Baker Art Gallery, Columbus, O.
1900]
FEEDING A GOURMET
341
sleepy old New Orleans! 'Mysterious disappearance of
the Commandant of the United States Navy Yard!
Richard Mansfield missing too! No trace! No clew!'
Eh? Then toward dusk the next afternoon we'll sail up
to the city again and present ourselves as mysteriously
as we disappeared."
During a three-hour search he worked himself into
quite a fret of disappointment because no sailing master
would turn himself out and lease his craft for a week, but
he had the full measure of enjoyment out of the kid-
napping lark in the mere consideration of it. Presently
it will be discovered, in his frolics with his boy, how well
developed he had that agreeable faculty of being able to
amuse himself by sheer romancing. For this reason,
though he was continually conceiving practical jokes he did
not feel the necessity of carrying them out. There is, how-
ever, one amusing instance when he went to that length.
It came about in this way. Mansfield was famous for
his hospitality. Even when he was away from his own
home or from his private car he secured miracles from
hotel chefs. On one occasion in Boston he invited a Mr.
X to dine with him in his apartment at the Somer-
set Hotel.
"You'll have a hard time pleasing X- -," said an
acquaintance, "he prides himself on his judgment of
food, he loves it with the passion of a Falstaff."
"I feel the responsibility of dining so celebrated a
gourmet as you," said Mansfield as they sat down to
table. "I hope my modest menu will disclose something
you will enjoy. The steward assures me the Cherry-
stones are only an hour off the express. Then what do
you say to a bit of smoked Sigui de la Néva? It's delicious,
done properly."
342
[1900
RICHARD MANSFIELD
"Very nice," replied his guest.
"A pot au feu?"
"Excellent."
"A fillet of French sole? Veronique ?"
"Splendid!"
"The chef has promised me a Russian Entrée, Scha-
schlicks Tartarski, which few experts give the final touch.
Eh?"
"Superb!"
"A Canvasback, fonds d'Artichants a l'Italienne,
salade barbe de Capucin, a morsel of cheese, black coffee,
and anything else you wish."
"Magnificent!" exclaimed X- with emotion.
Then the comedy began. At sight of the oysters Mans-
field ordered them off the table at once. "I was dis-
tinctly promised fresh oysters. Bring the relish." The
Sigui was served with much flourish. X-

got not so
far as a first mouthful. Mansfield swept it away with
further protests: "Don't touch it, my friend, don't touch
it. It will poison you. Bring the soup." The steaming
pot au feu filled X's nostrils with delight, but not
his stomach. "This is too terrible," exclaimed Mansfield
to the servant. "How dare you serve such food? It's
simply warm water and salt. Take it away."
"It smells delicious," protested the hungry X-
"My dear fellow," retorted his host, "I couldn't think
of having you eat such food at my table. No, I insist,
take it away." Off went the soup. In like manner came
the entrée, duck, vegetable, and salad. The Boston
Falstaff was allowed to feast his eye and tease his nostrils
when, in spite of his despairing, Mansfield would order
each dish away as an offence he could not possibly endure.
From first to last he kept up a flow of good humour,
1900]
MONOTONY
343
anecdotes, and snatches of song as if to cover the embar-
rassment of the situation. Finally the last dish had been
served, but neither had had a bite to eat, and fervent in
apology, Mansfield led the gourmet away from the table a
crushed and famished man.
Repeatedly, during the winter and the spring of 1900,
he complained of sleeplessness, and, when he did fall
asleep, of awakening suddenly to find himself bathed in
perspiration. His nervousness increased and his voice at
times dried up and was controlled only with the greatest
effort. He saw many specialists and though none gave
him relief one made an impression by his diagnosis.
"You are dying of monotony," said this man.
"Monotony?" exclaimed Mansfield, "but there is
everything in my life except monotony. It is all excite-
ment. I live on excitement and enthusiasms. The
excitement of new characters, new cities, every night new
audiences to please, new friends and old friends to meet
and greet every day. There's no monotony in this."
"On the contrary," replied the physician, "that is the
most insidious of all monotony-the monotony of excite-
ment. It's the monotony that is the curse of American life."
Mansfield was impressed, but he gave no heed until it
was too late. He succumbed temporarily, however, in
March when his throat failed him as a result of nervous
exhaustion. Though he waited from day to day in the
hope that he could play, the doctors ordered a complete
rest and the tour closed prematurely. The last perform-
ance of "Cyrano de Bergerac" he ever gave was seen at
the Grand Opera House in Cincinnati, the first week in
April. He tells of his immediate plans in a letter written
from New London, May 9, to John L. Lincoln:
"I am starting on a cruise from here to Maine, etc., on

344
[1900
RICHARD MANSFIELD
the 26th of this month and I am wondering whether it
would be possible for you to come along? Ned Appleton,
a brother of my friend Robert whom you met, is coming
with me, and he, like myself is suffering from nervous
exhaustion and the results of overwork and overworry.
Now if you could join us we should be three of a kind
and we could sit on deck and glower at one another-
anyway it would be delightful. I've got a schooner,
91 feet long and proportionately wide and strong and a
good crew, and I am inviting an old sea-dog of a captain
from Blue Hill, Maine, to come along, and as he can eat
more than five ordinary men and lie better than twice
that number, I am looking forward to some fun. More-
over since he left the sea he has gone into the patent-
medicine business and I've told him to bring a goodly
supply of pills and other nostrums, liquid and solid. I
am still very shakey and any severe work gives me a
headache. However, I expect to be all right next sea-
son."
He was resolved on what his next production should be
and devoted most of the summer to planning the details.
In the midst of his preparations he was induced to write
his impressions of audiences for Collier's Weekly. The
article is unique in more senses than one. He was not
accustomed to express himself as to what related to
himself. The frequent question: "Which is your fa-
vourite rôle ?" was parried with "Is not a father's favour-
ite child the last one on his knee?" When his ideas
of one of his rôles was asked, he replied, "My perform-
ance is my essay on a character. I am an actor, not a
writer."
He was much sought after by editors for his views,
however, and a schedule found among his papers doubt-

1900]
AUDIENCES
345
less indicates the headings of a series of essays he would
have written had he had the time:
The Two Roads. The Easy Road.
The Man who Plays Character Parts.
The Strain on the Nerves.
The Actor and Actress in Private Life.
The Advance Agent and His Methods.
The Long Road to Success. The Hardships.
The Dream and the Awakening.
Misconceptions and Misrepresentations.
The Dignity of Silence.
The Popularity of the Foreign.
The Difficulty of English.
But, in spite of this reserve about his emotions and ex-
periences he did in the opening paragraph of the article
in Collier's (October 6, 1900), give an intimate description
of his attitude toward audiences:
Audiences? Audiences? You ask me about audi-
ences? Some years ago, I don't know how many years
ago-about the time that I made my first independent
(or shall I say very dependent?) ventures and audiences
were scarce-I should have answered you glibly enough.
Indeed, I thought I knew all about audiences, just as
once upon a time I thought I knew all about lots of things,
including the art of acting. But now- Let me see-
Audiences?
Eh?
Yes, to be sure, those are the things we play to.
The sombre shadow on the other side of the footlights.
You ask me what it is like-what it seems to me. I tell
you it is a black mass, a monster outside there on the
other side of my little world. It seems to me to be waiting
there to devour me. I suppose some day it will kill me
because I have nothing more to give it. That monster
waiting there every night has to be fed. Sometimes I
think it is insatiable. I give and I give and I give, and it

346
[1900
RICHARD MANSFIELD
sits there intent, waiting for more. How punctually
comes for its food now! A long time ago I desired it
very much for a pet. What infinite pains I took to teach
it to come to me! How shy it was! Its shadow fell only
in mottled spots here and there in the great house, and I
would have the lights turned low that I might not see the
great white or red splashes of seats that the welcome dark-
ness still failed to hide.
I fed it and fed it and fed it, and I fretted and fumed
when it was not there, and I gave it my best tidbits every
night, every night, all I had. And I was as pleased as a
child when it stamped and barked and growled for more.
So now it has grown plethoric during the last two years
and fills the walls beyond the footlights with its fat shadow
and laps over into the lobbies and stairways. There it is
always at eight, or earlier. And I must be there. I wonder
as I drive down to face it if I can feed it still. My heart
beats and my breath comes short. Ah, I wonder if that
monster has a heart. Is there a great heart in that great
audience? Does it love me? Or is it only there to be
fed? And when I am worn out and drop down, and it
goes out hungry to drag itself elsewhere for its nightly food,
I wonder whether it will bestow a passing thought upon
the little man in the limelight that threw his life to it every
night, every night, across the footlights, to be shredded and
torn and chewed, swallowed, and digested?
Does it know what I am suffering as I stand there be-
fore the first few words find their way through the dry and
choking passage of my throat? Do you know what it is
to me to face that monster? I wonder is it kind to-night,
and in a good humour, or will it quarrel with what I can
give it? It is always the best I have. I go marketing for
it, and then cook it into some new and fanciful dish, and
make it appetising, and season it and serve it daintily.
What an Epicurean monster! So many heads, with so
many ways of thinking.
How differently do different monsters affect me! The
instant I step into the limelight I know, by some faculty
of perception which is my own, whether the monster is
1900]
CONFIDENCES
347
friendly. I can tell. I could put my finger here and
there across its dusky back upon the spots of disaffection.
And I see no face, no feature clearly. It is all that great
dark mass, inert, breathing heavily, waiting for its food.
If it only knew! Knew what? How shall I tell it?
Will it ever wake up? Can I make it feel? Will it weep
with me? Will it laugh? Will it get drunk with me?
Drunk with champagne! Shall we have a revel together
-or will it crouch there, slow and heavy, and just feed?
Must I drag it to its feet by main force and give my all,
my all to-night, and lie afterward exhausted and awake?
or will it inspire me and give me strength? Will it exude
magnetism and the thrill of genius? Will it make me live
and delight in living, happy and proud that I have made
it happy, at once my child and my God? Can I make it
my confidant, my friend? Will it know what is in my
heart? May I tell it? It is my sweetheart when I love it,
and that is when it lets me love it, and my cold and freezing
enemy when its face is stone. Think, think what all this
is to me, to us, to all of us-shall I say?

66
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
(1900-1901)
'King Henry V"-His reasons for producing it-Rehearsals under
difficulties-The production-Mansfield interprets the char-
acter-He writes of the condition of the stage in America-
Coquelin on Mansfield's achievement with "King Henry V"-
Amenities-Paraphrasing speeches.
MANSFIELD manifested little sympathy with the prob-
lem plays which were now beginning to receive some
attention on the stage. He did not depreciate the pro-
fundity, the sincerity of purpose, or the technical skill of
Ibsen and his disciples, but in their works which came to
his attention at this time they seemed not to be for him.
The poetic plays of Ibsen were quite another matter. Of
these he was an unqualified admirer. He lamented their
eclipse by the sociological dramas and he made it part of
his plans one day to act either "The Pretenders," "The
Vikings," or "Peer Gynt" and call attention to this neg-
lected and, to him, most admirable phase of Ibsen as a
literary artist. In another direction the stage was inun-
dated with the tinsel and jingle of musical comedy.
Shakespeare's "King Henry V" was his own next essay,
and in the preface to his acting version he referred paren-
thetically to the new type of drama in giving his reasons
for reviving this poetical history:
The inducements that led me to produce "Henry V"
were a consideration of its healthy and virile tone (so dia-
348
1900]
"KING HENRY V"
349
metrically in contrast to many of the performances now
current); the nobility of its language, the breadth and
power of which is not equalled by any living poet; the
lesson it teaches of godliness, honour, loyalty, courage,
cheerfulness, and perseverance; its beneficial influence on
young and old; the opportunity it affords for a pictorial
representation of the costumes and armour, manners and
customs of that interesting period, and perhaps a desire to
prove that the American stage is, even under difficulties,
quite able to hold its own artistically with the European.
The ambition of my stage career has been to prove the
superiority of the American stage and the American actor;
and I maintain that to-day against all those who pretend
the contrary. But perhaps I was influenced beyond any
other reason by the desire to drag Henry V out of a slough
of false impressions that had materially affected his im-
personation on the stage.
Another fortune went into "King Henry V." Few
expected to see it come out again. If he was not sanguine
then he did not mind, for not once did he falter, though
unforeseen circumstances enhanced the difficulty and
expense of realising this martial panorama.
The production was first announced to open his season
and that of the Garden Theatre on Monday evening,
October 1. This, by the theatrical etiquette usually ob-
served in such instances, placed this stage at his conveni-
ence for rehearsal during the months preceding, without
which it is doubtful if he would have undertaken so vast
an enterprise.
With the preparation well under way it was learned,
however, that another play would be acted in the Garden
Theatre beginning September 17. Thus was he left with-
out a stage on which to gather and mount the nineteen
stage settings, or to rehearse the two hundred and fifty
players, choristers, and dancers who were to appear.

350
[1900
RICHARD MANSFIELD
The situation was a critical and embarrassing one, for
August and September are months which find every stage
in demand for rehearsals. Mansfield did not make any
further contracts for the Garden.
Under the circumstances every one displayed the kind-
liest forbearance. Madison Square Garden was rented.
The choristers were drilled in the concert room in the
south-west corner. Lines indicating the dimensions of the
theatre's stage were chalked off at each end of the floor
of the Garden proper. At the Fourth Avenue end the
ballet were taught the rhythm of their dance. At the
Madison Avenue end the players with lines were rehearsed
in the text of the play.
In course of time it became imperative to bring the
scenery from the studios and set it upon a practical stage
so that the perspective might be observed, details might be
corrected, the schedule of the swift mounting, breaking,
and stacking of the hundreds of curious pieces into which
the pictures dissolved might be perfected and lighting
effects studied under practical conditions. After an almost
fruitless search a theatre was rented in Williamsburg, and
as fast as Marston finished his beautiful pictures they were
hauled across East River. The players next were called
to Williamsburg to adjust their "business" to the settings,
and eventually the choristers, dancers, and supernumer-
aries made the daily pilgrimage to fit themselves in the
pictorial mosaic.
The opening night was advanced to Wednesday, Octo-
ber 3. The mechanics got possession of the Garden
stage Sunday and the first dress rehearsal began at seven
o'clock Monday evening. The confusion was indescrib-
able. The facilities of the Metropolitan Opera House
would not have seemed more than were required for so

1900] REHEARSALS UNDER DIFFICULTIES
351
many people and so much scenery and paraphernalia.
Mansfield's autocratic discipline held the forces together,
but at two in the morning every one was worn out and on
the verge of collapse. At that hour he dismissed the
rehearsal in the middle of the third act.
The play was taken up at this point again at seven
o'clock on Tuesday night and carried to a conclusion a
little before one in the morning. "Henry V" was never
rehearsed through in one day. No one dared ask at what
hour the audience might expect to be sent home! There
was universal despair.
On Wednesday night it was acted for the public. Here-
after it will not be necessary to refer to the quality or size
of Mansfield's audiences. His appearances at all times
henceforth were the most elegant and distinguished events
of the season, and his first nights assembled the critics of
most of the important papers east of the Mississippi
River. The curtain rose at 7.45 o'clock, and by virtue of
his discipline and the intelligent response of the humblest
contributor to the vast undertaking, the performance
moved spiritedly to a final curtain shortly after midnight!¹

1 The programme read:
King Henry V
The Duke of Gloster, brother of Henry V
The Duke of Bedford, brother of Henry V
The Duke of Clarence, brother of Henry V
The Duke of Exeter, uncle of Henry V
The Duke of York, cousin of Henry V
The Earl of Westmoreland
The Earl of Suffolk
The Earl of Warwick
The Earl of Salisbury.
The Earl of March
·
The Earl of Cambridge
Lord Scroop of Masham
Sir Thomas Grey
Archbishop of Canterbury
Bishop of Ely
conspirators
against
Henry V
Lord Fanhope
Sir John Blount.
Sir John Asheton
Mr. Richard Mansfield.
Mr. Ernest Warde.
Mr. Malcolm Duncan.
Mr. B. W. Winter.
Mr. John Malone.
Mr. Arthur Stanford.
Mr. C. C. Quimby.
Mr. E. H. Sheilds.
Mr. William Sorelle.
Mr. G. H. Davis.
Mr. J. H. Lee.
Mr. C. H. Geldart.
Mr. Woodward Barrett.
Mr. F. C. Butler.
Mr. John C. Dixon.
Mr. Salesbury Cash.
Mr. J. F. Hussey.
Mr. W. J. Green.
Mr. M. Hutchinson.

352
[1900
RICHARD MANSFIELD
It was another triumph. Audiences caught the infec-
tion of Henry's exhortations to his army, they responded to
the waving banners, flashing armour, and jubilant crowds,
and vied with the mimic throngs in cheering the handsome
young King. Mansfield's Harry of Monmouth was set
like a gem in what was described on all sides as the most
ornate environment the English-speaking stage ever saw
in a theatre. But superb as was the spectacle of the
Courts of England and France with their pages, retainers,
nobles, and royalty; the slum backgrounds for the wag-
geries of Nym, Bardolph, Pistol, and the Boy; the quay
at Southampton with the English fleet fretting its anchors;
the tumultuous siege of battlemented Harfleur; the
changing views of Agincourt field culminating in the vast
hillside of fighters and horses in the tableau of the
battle; the welcome which the London throngs gave the
returning hosts and their victorious King; and finally the
espousals of Harry and Kate before the French and
English Courts in the Cathedral at Troyes, its magnifi-
cence was all effected without sacrifice to the dramatic
movement.
The fourth act was an interpolation-after the pre-
Sir John Mowbray
Stanley
Sir Thomas Erpingham
Gower
Fluellen
Macmorris
Jamey.
officers in
Henry V's
army
Williams, soldier in Henry V's army
Bates, soldier in Henry V's army
Pistol
Nym
Bardolph
soldiers in Henry V's
army, formerly servants
to Falstaff
Boy, servant to above.
English Herald
Charles VI, King of France
Louis, the Dauphin of France
The Duke of Burgundy
The Duke of Orleans.
Mr. Wm. Robbins.
Mr. W. E. Peters.
Mr. James L. Carhart.
Mr. J. Palmer Collins.
Mr. A. G. Andrews.
Mr. Chas. J. Edmonds.
Mr. Augustine Duncan.
Mr. Joseph Whiting.
Mr. J. A. Wilkes.
Mr. W. N. Griffith.
Mr. Wallace Jackson.
Mr. B. W. Turner.
Miss Dorothy Chester.
Mr. P. J. Rollow.
Mr. Sheridan Block.
Mr. A. Berthelet.
Mr. Mervyn Dallas.
Mr. Richard Sterling.

RICHARD MANSFIELD AS KING HENRY V
From a photograph, copyright, 1900, by Rose & Sands

1900]
AN ACT WITHOUT WORDS
353
cedent of Charles Kean-representing in pantomime the
return of the English hosts from the Battle of Agincourt.
The scene disclosed an open place at the Middlesex end
of old London Bridge. Banners, flags, and garlands
floated in the air. The streets, the bridge, windows, and
house-tops were thronged with holiday makers. Against
a background of pulsing music broke the cry of vendors,
the mischievous shouts of boys, the buzz and laughter of
the people, the blare of trumpets and the bells of West-
minster and St. Paul's; and the Lord Mayor, and his
scarlet and ermined suite, attended by the civic guard,
passed on to the bridge to meet the King on the Surrey
side and present the freedom of the City. The Guard
returned and crushed back the crowd to make way for the
procession. The Lord Mayor and his party returned from
their errand of courtesy and occupied a booth to one side.
Expectation sat in the air as a flourish of trumpets
announced the head of the column. Company after com-
pany of bowmen, archers, pikemen, miners, sappers, and
other soldiers swept through the cheering multitude.
Their clothes were ragged and stained by the hardships

The Duke of Bourbon
The Constable of France
The Duke of Alençon.
Lord Rambures .
Lord Granpré
Archbishop of Sens
Bishop of Bourges
Governor of Harfleur.
·
Montjoy, French Herald
French Soldier
French Messenger
Chorus
Isabel, Queen of France
·
Princess Katherine, daughter of Charles
and Isabel
Alice, lady attending Princess Katherine
Mr. Clement Toole.
Mr. Prince Lloyd.
Mr. P. W. Thompson.
Mr. E. H. Vincent.
Mr. W. H. Brown.
Mr. J. E. Gordon.
Mr. Bouic Clark.
Mr. Stanley Jessup.
Mr. Edwin Brewster.
Mr. F. Gaillard.
Mr. Edwin L. Belden.
Miss Florence Kahn.
Miss Georgine Brandon.
Mlle. Ida Brassey.
Mlle. Susanne Santjé.
Dame Quickly, a hostess, and Pistol's wife Miss Estelle Mortimer.
Civic and Ecclesiastical Dignitaries, Knights, Nobles, Pages,
Ladies of the Court and other Attendants, Soldiers,
Citizens, etc.

354
[1900
RICHARD MANSFIELD
of the campaign, but their grizzled faces grinned the joy of
home-coming. The ranks were broken and their files
depleted in sad evidence of the price of the victory. At
the head of each company marched its knight with a page
bearing his shield and a standard bearer with his colours.
There were cheers for every one, but the crowds signified
their favourites and pelted them with flowers. Soldiers
recognised familiar faces in the house-tops. A mother
rushed out and kissed her son as he marched past. A
young wife pushed through the lines to the embrace of
her wounded husband and marched away with him.
From the first a girl might have been seen scanning the
features of the passing troopers, but her face showed that
she did not find the one she sought. When half the army
had passed, unable to restrain herself longer, she rushed
out to an officer. He shook his head and whispered to
her. With a cry lost in the pandemonium she fainted, was
The scenes were as follows:
Act I.-Scene 1-A corridor in the Palace at Westminster.
Scene 2-The throne-room in the Palace at Westminster.
Scene 3-Exterior of the Boar's Head, Eastcheap, London.
Scene 4-The quay at Southampton.
Scene 5-Exterior of the Boar's Head, Eastcheap, London.
Act II.-Scene 1-A room in the Palace of Charles VI.
Scene 2-The English intrenchments, Harfleur.
Scene 3-The Duke of Gloster's quarters.
Scene 4-Same as Scene 2.
Scene 5-The French Palace at Rouen.
Scene 6-A view in Picardy.
Act III.-Scene 1-The Dauphin's tent, near Agincourt. Night.
Scene 2-The English lines, near Agincourt. Night.
Scene 3-The English position at Agincourt.
Scene 4-Part of the field of battle.
TABLEAU-THE BATTLE OF AGINCOURT.
Scene 6-Part of the field of battle.
Scene 7-The plains of Agincourt. After the victory.
Act IV.-HISTORICAL EPISODE-THE RETURN OF KING HENRY V TO
LONDON AFTER THE BATTLE OF AGINCOURT.
Act V.-Scene 1-Interior of the Palace at Troyes.
Scene 2-Troyes from the bridge.
Scene 3-Interior of the Cathedral at Troyes.
THE CEREMONY OF THE ESPOUSAL OF HENRY V TO THE
PRINCESS KATHERINE OF VALOIS.
1900]
HIS INTERPRETATION
355
borne along in the crowd, her little tragedy scarcely
noticed in the festivities.
Following the troops came other knights and their
suites. Every moment the crowd expected the King to
appear but each break in the procession deferred his
coming with some new diversion. The Dukes and
Princes approached and lined the way for the King to
pass between. Another flourish of brass promised his
arrival. Instead a troop of maidens in flowing white
danced forth from the bridge, waving palm branches as
they floated through their figures. Another pause, and
then a chanting choir of scarlet-vested cathedral boys
preceded two groups of allegorical figures of English
prophets and English Kings, the Bishop of Ely, the Arch-
bishop of Canterbury and their attendants, the Court,
and finally-amid the huzzahs of the multitude, the
chiming of bells, the blast of trumpets, the roll of drums,
the roar of cannon, and the flutter of a thousand extended
hands-King Henry on his white war horse rode into his
welcome.
Mansfield's interpretation of this so little appreciated
character which he so graphically portrayed on the stage,
he set out in his preface to the play:
.
.
·
This rôle has for a long time been supposed not
to make any claims upon the intelligence or the heart of
the artist. He (as an acting part) was supposed to be
devoid of sentiment, finesse, variety, and feeling. Let us
see how far this is the case.
The student who approaches the character of Henry
with a view to impersonation, will consider him, in look-
ing with my eyes, something in this fashion: In the first
act, in order not to disconnect the chain that still binds him
to the Prince Hal of the preceding play, we must find him
youthful, debonair, gracious, and yet with a new-born



356
[1900
RICHARD MANSFIELD
kingliness and tact and state-craft, which, even after the
utterances of the archbishop, surprise and interest.
In the subsequent scene on the quay at Southampton,
in the unmasking of the three traitors, Cambridge, Scroop,
and Grey, especially in his address to his former bosom
friend, Scroop, we at once strike a note of profound melan-
choly and pathos: "Thou that didst bear the key of all my
counsels." Henry in his roistering days had come upon
deceit and villainy and venality, but this was where he
might naturally expect it; here, for the first time and in
the very beginning of his reign, he stumbles upon treachery
so hideous and lying so near his heart, as may well have
shaken his very soul. This awakening, his horror and his
grief, cannot be expressed by mere noise.
We next find him exhorting his soldiers in clarion tones,
or depicting to the city-fathers of Harfleur in lurid colours
(worthy of an actor, a poet, or a painter) the horrors that
would attend the pillage of their city.
You will note that Henry is beginning to exhibit the
many sides of a very versatile character. In the first act
he was not all what he was in the second, and now in the
third we have him in two different rôles: first as the bril-
liant captain and magnetic leader of men, and then as a
very wily and eloquent pleader, for he infuses such terror
into the minds of the citizens that they are moved to sur-
render the town then and there, instead of protracting the
siege a course which might have been fatal to Henry.
Indeed, throughout this work we find Henry constantly
swaying men by his reasoning and his powers of eloquence.
He very rarely throws aside the mantle of the King and
the manner of the good fellow and comrade, until-alone
at night by the camp-fire-he and his bosom debate
awhile, and he is led to speak of the emptiness of royalty
and ceremony. This speech, which ranks with the finest
of Shakespeare's, is one which to-day is almost beyond
the comprehension of the average man. Indeed, it is in-
teresting to observe that it is not much applauded for the
reason that it is spoken entirely from the point of view of
a king-and Kings happen to be in a minority as the
1900]
HOW TO WOO
357
world is constituted to-day. In this soliloquy Henry
refers to the fact that Kings do not sleep as well as the
wretched slave (the working man) "who with a body fill'd
and vacant mind gets him to rest, cramm'd with distressful
bread"-and furthermore says-that "such a wretch,
winding up days with toil and nights with sleep, had the
forehand and vantage of a King." As ninety-nine men
out of a hundred sweat in the eye of Phoebus all day and
wind up days of toil with nights of sleep, we cannot expect
much sympathy from them for the lamentations of
Henry.
Again, the student, unless he is very careful in his in-
terpretation, will run upon a rock in Henry's beautiful
prayer, "O God of Battles." My favourite stage motto
is "Il faut excuser l'auteur"-by this I mean that, no mat-
ter how great the author, the actor must often disguise
him and in a manner excuse him to his audience. If we
come to consider this prayer of Henry's calmly, we find
him reminding God of what he, Henry, has done to de-
serve His favour and promising to do something more if
God will favour him upon that day. He tells God that
he has five hundred poor in yearly pay and that he has
built two chantries, and he will do still more if God will
help him to thrash the French. This was all then the
custom of those times. It was child-like faith and sim-
plicity. But the actor's fervour, intensity, and simple
treatment of this prayer must go far to helping out the
author to-day.
The most popular speech is the "St. Crispin," because
it is easily understood by everybody. There are no pit-
falls here. It needs only a breezy, wholesome, and whole-
hearted delivery. In the last act I recommend an earnest,
manly wooing of Princess Katherine, as I recommend to
everybody an earnest, manly wooing of anybody that any-
body wants to woo. If the actor has a slight appreciation
of humour, "tant mieux."
This was the character as he vitalised it in his perform-
ance. It was to the interest he stimulated in royal Harry


358
[1900
RICHARD MANSFIELD
that the pantomimic fourth act owed its very human
climax. The audience shared with the mimic crowd its
knowledge and love of the hero and entered enthusiasti-
cally into the spirit of the ovation.
Henry's appearances during the play were episodic and
did not tax Mansfield as Cyrano and other rôles had.
During the course of the play, however, he wore seven
different costumes and one evening in his dressing-room
as Brown adjusted the wedding garments for his last
scene, he turned a weary eye on the writer and said: "If
this part kills me, you must inscribe on my tombstone, 'He
died of buttoning and unbuttoning.""
The Princess Katherine of this cast was the daughter
of Mansfield's sister Greta, for Ida Brassey was only the
nom de theatre of Mlle. Ida Batonchon. She had studied
in Paris with M. Paul Mounet and M. Got. Her appear-
ance in the one scene of "King Henry V"-the delightful
wooing of French Kate by English Harry-added a note
of especial charm to the performance. After her one sea-
son in America she resumed her professional career in
France.
Mansfield acted “King Henry V” for eight weeks in
New York and then on the largest stages of the eastern
third of the continent throughout this season which
embraced the last days of the old century and the first
months of the new one. The passing of the nineteenth
century was made the occasion of a symposium on the
conditions prevailing, contributed to by the leading minds
of the country, and published in the New York Herald.
Mansfield was asked to write of the stage at the close of
the nineteenth century. What he had to say was like
him, more truthful than diplomatic because he did not
believe that facts should be smothered by tact. From
1900]
THE AMERICAN STAGE
359
the time he could make his voice heard on public ques-
tions he had called attention to the provincial attitude of
America toward foreign art. Happily he lived to see
an independent judgment supplant it. An endowed
theatre as already indicated in this narrative, had for
years been his panacea for many of the ills of the stage.
He reverts to both of these in his views of conditions as
he saw them December 31, 1900:
I am asked by the New York Herald to name the one
thing, above all others, that should be eradicated from
the stage of to-day to make it better, nobler, more ele-
vated in its accomplishments in entering upon a new
century. Presumably the New York Herald refers to
the stage of America, or does it mean the stage of the
world?
We have no stage in America. The American stage is
the stage for all stages.
for all stages. Everybody comes here and every-
body is made welcome. Herein lies the difference be-
tween New York and Paris and London and other foreign
capitals. Foreign actors and foreign authors make a
great deal of money in America. It would be difficult
for an American actor to make any money in Paris or
London or Berlin or Vienna or St. Petersburg. American
stage-craft is not honoured abroad. It should be.
Concerning art, the American is neither patriotic nor
exclusive. The foreigner is. As a matter of fact, Amer-
ican art is as good as any art exhibited abroad. A great
many Americans are not aware of this. They are in the
habit of exalting the foreign to the prejudice of the domes-
tic article. The average of good acting in the United
States is greater than in any other country of the world.
In short, the material is here. The future of the drama
is here. What remains to be done? Cease to seek and
import plays from Europe. Encourage the American
author. There are many men who would soon write
admirably for the stage.



360
[1900
RICHARD MANSFIELD
The ablest refuse to work for the stage at present be-
cause they are well aware that they will be roughly handled
by their contemporaries. Here we touch one of the most
wretched phases of art life in America. The difference
in the criticism of the foreign and home product may be
briefly summed up thus: The foreign-the critic searches
arduously for the merits of play and performer. The
domestic-the critic searches arduously for the defects of
play and performer. We can never have a stage here until
we have a drama. We have actors who can play anything.
Now we need authors who can write something.
Rich men who give so generously to all philanthropic
schemes, to universities, to schools, to hospitals, to na-
tional monuments, to cup defenders and race tracks can
immortalise their names by founding a national theatre.
Here should be enrolled the best actors of America, or one
of the best in his line, at the head of each department.
Thereafter it should become a much-coveted honour to
be elected a member of the National Theatre of America.
This theatre should have its typical green room, contain-
ing the pictures and marble busts of great American
actors and playwrights, its stage library, its gymnasium.
In this theatre only the classic tragedies and comedies and
modern plays of undoubted literary merit should be pro-
duced. This theatre should set the example to all other
theatres in the United States in the production of its plays
and the work of its players. The future of the American
stage does not depend so much upon the eradication of
evil, which is slight, as upon the need for the creation and
utilisation of good, which is great.
Bernhardt and Coquelin came to America in the fall of
1900. Mansfield had met Coquelin when he went to
London three summers before. He had then fancied that
the French comedian was somewhat patronising and that
he was made to feel the disadvantage of an almost exclu-
sively American career.

1900]
COQUELIN
361
The French artists, on their arrival, found Mansfield
packing the Garden Theatre with Shakespeare's historical
spectacle, "King Henry V." Coquelin came at once to see
him. Although "King Henry" was in no sense a gauge
of Mansfield's dramatic power, there were many in-
dicative moments, and the authority of his performance,
the magnificence of the panorama, and the adulation of
the crowded theatre produced their effect on Coquelin.
After the play he pressed back on the stage and into Mans-
field's dressing-room, this time saluting him as "Mon
confrère!" with exclamations of admiration and wonder.
Coquelin having occasion to write him next day, said in
his letter: “Again my compliments on your very beautiful
production of 'Henry V. Happy great artist who can
attract his public to these serious works. Happy public
which comes when its friend Mansfield calls it. We have
not this happiness at home. Truly with all my heart I
envy you. This envy augments my friendship. A vous,
C. COQUELIN."
Mansfield invited the leading artists in New York at
the time to a supper at The Players to meet Coquelin.
Later in the season they played at the same time in
Chicago and he was then Coquelin's guest.
over.
As always, Mansfield was much distressed at the pros-
pect of being entertained. If he sometimes made things
difficult for others he was equally and unnecessarily hard
on himself. He suffered every day until that supper was
He had no desire to offend M. Coquelin or Mme.
Bernhardt by refusing, but how could he go? Would
not the meal be late and he would be in an ill humour
while hungry; the dishes were sure to be elaborate, just
what he could not eat; he would insult them if he brought
his own cigars, but how could he smoke others; he would

362
[1901
RICHARD MANSFIELD
be expected to drink champagne which he loathed and
there would be none of the "Irish" which he loved;
there would be draughts; perhaps they would humiliate
him in placing him at table; his attempts at pleasantry
were sure to be misunderstood, some one would be
offended, etc., etc., etc.
And it ended? As always. He has his days of dread
and his night of delight. His own little supper of things
he could eat was served him immediately after the play.
He arrived in a radiant mood, charmed every one, was
pleased with the interest others took in him, enjoyed a
remarkable evening-but, next day he declared "I will
never do it again."
The American guests this evening listened with awe
and deference to every word which fell from French lips.
When Coquelin advantaged himself of this to assure them
that there was one point in each of his performances which
he selected for a nap, a nap before the very eyes of his
audience-"Oui, je dors, vraiment je dors. Je ferme
mes yeux, et je dors."-Mansfield saw the opening and
put his foot in it. "Non," he replied, "non, mon Coque-
lin, ce n'est pas vous qui dormez, c'est l'audience!"
There was present a pretty, fluffy, chirping little Paris-
ienne residing in Chicago-and her husband whose dress,
manner, face, and speech were the essence of all things
boulevardier. They were friends of the French players
and that night their pride in their nationality knew no
bounds. Repeatedly she slipped in, parenthetically to be
sure, the wholly superfluous assurance that she was
French, she loved her France, she longed for Paris, she
lived in exile, etc., etc., etc. When the dear little patriot
recurred to this for the thirteenth time, Mansfield inquired
across the table with roguish solemnity: "And your hus-
1901]
SLIPS OF THE TONGUE
363
band, Madame, is he German?" Next day he expressed
the fear that he had not made himself entirely popular
with Coquelin's compatriots.
This spring Mansfield lost one of his old guard. Wil-
liam N. Griffith took sick suddenly in Washington and
did not recover. He had been a valued exponent of the
mature comedy characters in Mansfield's casts for ten
years, and he had acted Romeo to Mary Anderson's Juliet
the night of her first appearance on the stage.
His successor in the rôle of Pistol, was another ripe
comedian, M. A. Kennedy, who furnished Mansfield one
of his most amusing anecdotes. Kennedy had to assume
the rôle on short notice, but he was full of assurances that
the lines should not suffer as he had a quick study. The
last spoken scene in Mansfield's version of "King
Henry V" was that amusing passage between Fluellen and
Pistol in which the Welshman literally makes the braggart
eat his words about the Welsh national emblem-the leek.
Poor Kennedy floundered unmercifully. The way he
paraphrased Shakespeare's lines might have passed unob-
served in less deliberate French farce, but he reserved the
crowning absurdity for the final scene. Swaggering
boastfully, he should have flaunted Fluellen with:
"Hence! I am qualmish at the smell of leek!" instead
of which he screwed his fat purple face into a comical
grimace and shouted in a piping voice: "Go away! Go
away! I never could stand the smell of onions!" It was
not Shakespeare, but the original line never got such a
laugh as this one.
In illustrating the effects produced by altered lines
Mansfield often paired this incident with Daniel H. Har-
kins's amusing slip. In "A Parisian Romance" Harkins,
from the time he and his wife entered the company in


364
[1901
RICHARD MANSFIELD
1887 to the day of his death had always acted Dr. Chesnel.
After the great scene at the end of the fourth act he rushed
into the supper room and knelt over the prostrate body
of the Baron to listen to his heart. Then raising his hand
he called solemnly: "Stop that music. The Baron is
dead!" The music hushed instantly and the curtain fell
slowly in an awesome silence. The music in some towns
was pretty bad. One night Harkins raised his hand and
called solemnly: "Stop that music. You have killed the
Baron!" And that night the curtain did not fall in silence.
In the spring of 1901, Mansfield wrote Lincoln: "I am
doing an awful lot of hard praying these days, for Beatrice
and my boy are on the sea." For the first and last time
since their marriage, Mrs. Mansfield had crossed the
ocean without him. She spent the winter on the Mediter-
but returned in the early summer and during the
vacation the little family was together in the Mead cottage
at Southampton, Long Island.
ranean,

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
(1901-1902)
"Beaucaire"-His benefit for the Actors' Home-Mansfield and
benefits-To England on a holiday and back again-He becomes
a property-holder in New London and presents The Grange to
his wife.
WHEN Booth Tarkington's novelette, "Monsieur Beau-
caire," flitted gracefully through McClure's it was imme-
diately obvious that the stage would entertain this hero.
At the time the eye of every theatrical manager was fixed
on the cracks in publisher's doors and the dramatists
kept at least one finger on the pulse of the book trade.
The novels of this week were the plays of next.
In due time the author of "Monsieur Beaucaire," with
the collaboration of Mrs. Evelyn Greenleaf Sutherland,
expanded his little story into a play of four acts and it
was sent to Mansfield. After Cyrano and Henry V he
welcomed a character so witty and distinguished, yet as
facile and restful as this Duc d'Orléans, cousin of
Louis XV, masquerading incognito in Bath.
Philadelphia was anticipating its first new theatre in a
score of years. While playing there the previous winter of
1900-1901 Mansfield laid the corner-stone and named the
house after his favourite actor, David Garrick, and ac-
cepted Mr. Howe's invitation to open it in October, 1901.
Thus it came to pass that Monday, October 7, of this
365

366
[1901
RICHARD MANSFIELD
His
year, witnessed the dedication of the Garrick Theatre by
Mansfield and the beginning of his own season.
dedicatory lines inscribed on the corner-stone are:
Gently to hear, kindly to judge our play.
-Prologue to Henry V.
We'll strive to please you every day.
-Twelfth Night.
In the foyer on Sansom Street Mr. Howe placed two full-
length portraits in stained glass-one of David Garrick
and one of Richard Mansfield, each in the character of
King Richard III.
On this occasion Mansfield acted "Beaucaire" for the
first time-he dropped "Monsieur" from the title for he
had years before sacrificed one comedy to the difficulty
which that word gives the American tongue.
1 The cast was:
The Duke of Winterset
The Marquis de Mirepois
Lord Townbrake
Sir Hugh Guilford
Beau Nash
Monsieur Beaucaire
Mr. Molyneux.
Mr. Bantison
Mr. Rakell
Mr. Bicksett
.
Captain Badger
Joliffe
François
A footman
.
Mr. Joseph Weaver.
Mr. Charles James.
Mr. Arthur Berthelet.
Mr. R. A. Geldart.
Mr. Alexander Frank.
Mr. Richard Mansfield.
Mr. A. G. Andrews.
Mr. M. A. Kennedy.
Mr. Ernest Warde.
Mr. James L. Carhart.
Mr. Joseph Whiting.
Mr. J. Palmer Collins.
Mr. Henri Laurent.
Mr. Milano Tilden.
Servants, Linkmen, Pages, etc.
Lady Mary Carlisle
Miss Lettice Fairfax.
Countess of Greenbury
Mrs. Mabsley.
Lucy Rellerton
Mrs. Llewellyn
Miss Sydney Cowell.
Miss Ethel Knight Mollison
Miss Dorothy Chester.
Miss Myra Brooks.
Lady Betsy Carmichael
•
Miss Irene Prahar.
Miss Markham
Miss Kathleen Chambers.
Hon. Ida Fairleigh
Mrs. Purlit
Miss Paitelot
Miss Presby
An old Lady
·
Miss Chalis Winter.
Miss Margaret Dills.
Miss Margaret Kenmore.
Miss Adele Claire.
Mrs. Preston.

1901]
"BEAUCAIRE"
367
The spectacle of a popular and often distinguished
player exhibiting his own personality in new dresses and
in new situations is a familiar one. It was the last mark
of a Mansfield performance. He appeared to be a differ-
ent actor in each rôle. Variety was the spice of Mansfield.
He went behind the externals in search of the soul of a
character. If he did not find a soul there he tried to
create one, and the essentials of the play became the mere
trappings of something else much more real and vital in
the central personage.
It was this artistry which distinguished his Beaucaire.
The dainty fiction presented no difficulties. It was sim-
ple and direct, as obvious as it was charming. The actor
in the title rôle might have presented the not unusual
spectacle of a graceful figure who is elegant by the grace
of elegant costumes, witty as his lines are witty, ennobled
by the distinction of a title and interesting by virtue of
the fable's ingenuity. He defined his characters by less
ingenuous means. Make-up, costume, and speech he
recognised as valuable assets in characterisation, but
valueless except as illuminated by manner and bearing,
and his cousin of the King of France was denoted by a
bearing of high distinction and a manner of courtly polish.
He emphasised with personality not with "props."
Mansfield's Beaucaire was keyed to the amused sur-
prise of a French Prince who discovers that English
society does not always distinguish between a Prince and a
barber, when the titles are mixed. This was easy enough
satire for American audiences, but his own surprise was
great when English audiences later fell victims to the charm
of Mr. Tarkington's comedy entirely oblivious of its criti-
cism of English discernment, which was the kernel of
the whole affair.


368
[1902
RICHARD MANSFIELD
After Prince Karl and Beau Brummell there was less
height and depth, but more charm in Beaucaire than in
any other of Mansfield's light-comedy characters. The
other two were diversified by the shadow of apprehension
or distress. Beaucaire met his crises with the blithe
superiority of a magician reaching into space and pro-
ducing nosegays. Mansfield acted the rôle for a season
and enjoyed it, for he was universally admired as Beau-
caire and it rested him after the fatigues of "Cyrano de
Bergerac" and the confusion of the ponderous production
of "King Henry V."
In Boston he played for the first time at the Colonial
Theatre, built on the site of his mother's studio, and he
resided in the Hotel Touraine which had replaced the
building which was his first home in America.
When the Actors' Home was founded Mansfield made
a generous contribution, but not until this winter did he
realise a plan which he had cherished for this beneficent
institution. The plan was to give a benefit entirely on
the part of himself and his company. He was continually
asked to lend his powerful name to benefits, but he con-
sistently refused, not through lack of sympathy or of dis-
position to be helpful, but because he did not feel that he
could do his best or even well in the confusion of these
occasions. He would not act on a stage that he could
not control, for even there, such was his nervous condition
while in the theatre, the most casual distraction upset
him. Nevertheless he was unfailingly generous in his
contribution to the funds.
His benefit for the Actors' Home was given on the after-
noon of January 21, 1902, the Tuesday of the last week of
his New York engagement. He played five characters in
entire acts from "Beau Brummell," "A Parisian Ro-

1902]
FOR THE ACTORS' HOME
369
mance,” “Beaucaire," and "Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.”
Mr. Harkins and Mr. Forrest volunteered to play Dr.
Lanyon in "Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde," and Henri de
Targy in "A Parisian Romance." Every one connected
with the theatre and the company seconded Mansfield's
efforts with hearty generosity.
The occasion attracted national attention. The price
of every seat was ten dollars from the orchestra rail to the
top of the gallery, and boxes were held at one hundred
dollars each. Friends in Boston, Philadelphia, Chicago,
and other cities, even in remote San Francisco, sent checks
for three and four times the price asked, in many in-
stances following long distances to be present. Thanks
to these and other generous people, to the unstinted
interest of the press, and the enthusiastic support of the
fellow-members of his profession Mansfield was able
on this occasion to enrich the Actors' Home fund by
$8,800.
The only exception to his rule not to appear in a promis-
cuous bill off his own stage, was brought about by Miss
Alice Fischer. She conspired with Mrs. Mansfield and
met his objections with concessions which left him no
ground for refusal. The occasion was the benefit for the
Twelfth Night Club which took place at the Empire
Theatre, October 11, 1894.
He was told that his nervous anxiety should not be fed
by long waiting, but within five minutes after he arrived
at the theatre he should have the stage. When he
reached the theatre Joseph Jefferson was entertaining the
audience. Mansfield listened from the wings, and Jeffer-
son, as he came off, shook his young friend's hand cor-
dially. "I'm glad they captured you," he said, "for I
have never seen you act. I am going to stay." The


370
[1902
RICHARD MANSFIELD
comedian sat in a proscenium box and was one of the
most interested and enthusiastic spectators.
On another occasion Mansfield was invited to be the
guest of the Twelfth Night Club. It is the custom of
this society of actresses to entertain, once a month, some
distinguished actor who is the only man present. No one
believed he would come until the president, Miss Fischer,
really appeared with him and proudly escorted him to the
platform.
A learned discourse and nothing less was expected from
the intellectual and ambitious Mansfield. When the
greeting subsided he rose, glanced over the assemblage
and said: "This is my idea of heaven-the only man.'
Then instead of a dissertation on art he astonished every
one by chatting for half an hour on "Cooks."
He took advantage of his light work in "Beaucaire" to
make a long tour and play late into the summer of 1902.
It was July 4, when he acted this rôle for the last time.
He drove from the stage of the Academy of Music in
Montreal to the steamer, and early next morning sailed
down the St. Lawrence and across the Atlantic to Eng-
land. Mrs. Mansfield and his son Gibbs accompanied
him and they settled for the summer in a rose-covered
cottage near Waybridge. There he studied the Shakes-
pearian rôle he was to act during the coming season, a
rôle in which his originality was to set tradition farther
aside than he ever ventured before.
In the midst of his study an unsuspected condition
developed in his business affairs at home and he was in
America within six weeks after he departed. As quickly
as he could he fled the heat of the city and sought the
breezes of Pequod Point, New London. But he was lonely
without his little family and cabled them to come at once.

"THE GRANGE," NEW LONDON, CONN.
From a
photograph, copyright, 1902, by Byron, New York

1902]
A COUNTRY HOME
371
When he brought them to New London he indulged
himself in one of those surprises which were his delight.
No satisfaction would he give Mrs. Mansfield as to where
they were to be bestowed until they drove up before
a colonial farmhouse overlooking Pequod Point, the
Thames, and the Sound for miles, and led her in.
"Do you like it, Beattie ?" he asked with the beaming
enthusiasm of a boy who asks if you like his kite.
"It's beautiful!"
"It's yours."
Then there were a thousand questions to ask and to
answer, details to admire, improvements to observe, while
he told how he had bought the old place just two weeks
before, but there was no need to tell who had directed
the transformation. His generous and distinguished taste
was everywhere in evidence.
Presently a scream from above. It was little Gibbs's
voice. There was the glint of anxious inquiry in his
mother's eye for a moment.
His father smiled signifi-
cantly:
"He has found his room."
Then they ran upstairs together and discovered the boy
in the midst of a nursery full of toys, animals, cannon,
wagons, soldiers, railroads, steam-boats, forts-running
excitedly from one thing to another in an ecstasy over
his father's forethought.
The Grange-that was the name he gave the house-
became their permanent country house. While away on
tour he would design new effects, new decorations and
additions and send them to Mrs. Mansfield who took the
greatest delight in directing their realisation by architects
and contractors and in anticipating his pleasure in them
when he would return. In this way he altered and en-


372
[1902
RICHARD MANSFIELD
larged the house until it lost the last vestige of its original
identity in a handsome modern country seat. Thereafter
he spent a fortune in the various cities he visited picking
up paintings, furniture, and rare art objects for this house
until it became a veritable museum. He improved the
little farm with lawns, drives, hedges, trees, arbours, gar-
dens, and flowers, into a park of real beauty. Everything
that he touched was stamped with his identity. At first
his Wayfarer and later his racing schooner Amorita was
anchored off the Point. His stables sheltered a half
dozen fine horses. After boating and swimming, riding
was his favourite sport. He did not fancy motoring.
There was a car for Mrs. Mansfield but he got into it
seldom, and then with instructions to the chauffeur that it
must not be driven faster than a safe horse would trot.
The entertainments at The Grange became as famous
as those at his town house or in his car or apartments
when on tour. In all points he lived the life of a country
gentleman, with an elegance and distinction probably sur-
passed not even by his beloved Garrick at Hampton.

"THE GRANGE," NEW LONDON, CONN.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
(1902-1906.)
Mansfield and his boy-Make-believe-His love of children-Letters
to Gibbs-An interview with Mr. Santa Claus-Dinner with
Mr. and Mrs. King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table
-The campaigns of Wienerschnitzel and Dinkelspiegel-Un-
loading a cargo of love and kisses-Gibbs's Christmas box.
THE Companionship between Mansfield and his boy
was unusual and wonderful. The child's imagination
developed from the time he could talk. It was elfish
and fantastic, and it astonished those not quite in accord.
The father understood it and it was through this faculty
that he reached the boy.
He and Gibbs were boon companions. So youthful
was the father in his disclosure of himself to the boy and
so profound were the assumptions of the youngster that
Mansfield sometimes seemed to present the younger heart
of the two. So happily did their imaginations complement
each other that they indulged in extravagant vagaries by
the hour without need to explain.
"Gibbs," said his father out walking one day, "why
are you sliding your feet?"
"I'm a steam-engine," replied the little fellow.
"Then you need coal," and his father shovelled imagin-
ary coal into the boy's pockets with an imaginary shovel
until they were make-believe full.
373

374
[1902
RICHARD MANSFIELD
The engine went full steam ahead but soon Mansfield
came upon him at a dead stand-still. "What's this,
something broken?"
With perfect seriousness: "Yes, sir."
After a careful examination of fingers, neck, and elbows:
"Of course, this engine needs oiling." Forthwith his
cane became a long-spouted oil-can and poked all over
the engine which directly flew off at lightning speed as, of
course, any well-lubricated engine would. Next day this
conversation would take place:
"Good-morning, Gibbs."
"Good-morning, sir."
"What are you this morning?"
"I'm a sea captain and my boat has two million head of
cattle in the hold which my million of sailors"-after an
earnest pause "no, I'm a green grocer this morning,
father."
"Oh, well, in that case I want to complain of the cab-
bages and artichokes which your man sent me yesterday."
"The one with the red hair?"
"Yes, sir. I think he nibbled the cabbages and I'm
sure he choked the artichokes."
After a concentrated moment to grasp this subtlety:
"I'm glad you spoke about it. I felt he was a bad man.
I've discharged him already. You know I want to keep
your patronage, Mr. Mansfield. You're the best cus-
tomer I have."
"In that case send me a bushel of turnips and a few of
your nicest grapefruit."
"New ones in this morning." Hands imaginary fruit.
Making pretence of examining imaginary grapefruit:
"Much better than the last. Two, if you please. How
much?"

"HE AND GIBBS WERE BOON COMPANIONS.
THEY INDULGED IN
EXTRAVAGANT VAGARIES BY THE HOUR"
From a photograph, copyright, 1902, by Byron, New York

1902]
WITH THE CHILDREN
"Two hundred and fifty dollars."
375
Without so much as a glimmer of a smile, he passes out
"There you are."
make-believe payment.
"Thank you. Here's your change." Thus make-be-
lieve entertained them for hours.
The fine occasions were when Gibbs invited his little
friends to tea and a sail with the pirate chief on board the
Amorita. Thomas, the steward, was instructed to pre-
pare his best dishes, and for long periods the conversation
was carried on in fierce and fiery pirate jargon.
The spirit of youth hung over The Grange, for Mansfield
had the heart of a child. Nothing delighted him more
than to have young people about him. "They do not
prattle of yesterdays," he said. "Their interest is all in
to-day and to-morrow. So is mine." The great hall
was added to provide a place for his young friends to
dance and he was as light on his feet as any.
One of the events of his summer came to be "his tennis
tournament." He did not boast of his own playing, but
this did not matter for he was only the host and umpire.
His tournament originated one day in his discovery of a
group of little girls on the shore in deep distress. They
wanted to have a contest on the club courts at the Casino,
but the club directors judged them too young to monopo-
lise the privilege of their elders. "Come along with me,"
said Mansfield. He took them up to The Grange, turned
his court over to them, umpired the games, gave the winner
a silver cup and the losers each a box of Maillard's. That
established an annual custom with him and with these
same girls. They later gave him a moment of rare sweet-
ness which repaid him in full.
From the time Gibbs was five years old he and his
father corresponded. The boy dictated his letters either


376
[1902
RICHARD MANSFIELD
to his mother or to his governess, Miss Hunter. Mans-
field's letters reveal a heart unguessed by those who fed
themselves on the gossip about his vanity and unkind-
liness. They will be read with no surprise by those who
knew his boyish, whimsical nature.
In 1902 on the way to the North Pacific Coast his train
was held up near Pueblo, Colorado, by the spring rains
and he was obliged to return to Colorado Springs. While
there he wrote to his four-year-old son the first of the
letters which have been preserved:
MY DEAR, DEAR BOY:
PRIVATE CAR 80,
COLORADO SPRINGS, May 27.
I received your beautiful letter, and I was proud to
think that you could dictate it yourself. Of course you
want to go fishing, so does your Dada, and also to go
rowing, but he is sorry you do not want to play Indian.
Playing Indian is great fun, for you carry a gun or a bow
and arrow, and you lope all day long after somebody with-
out stopping to eat or drink and, when at last you find
this somebody that you have been looking for, you get
down on your stomach and wriggle like a snake without
making any noise until you reach him. Then you give a
dreadful whoop and cut off his hair, if he has any, and
hang it up in your wigwam, and are pleased.
There are lots of other things you can do, but it is time
for me to talk of something else now. I am sitting in my
car and the lamps are lighted and are covered with pink
shades, and outside it is raining (it wouldn't be pleasant
if it were raining inside, would it?), and the drip, drip,
drip of the rain on the roof makes me feel very cosey and
sleepy. If you were here I would give you some beautiful
marbles to play with, and you could sit on the rug and
roll them.
To-day it rained so hard that all the little streams drank
so much water that they grew and grew and grew until

NOTHING
"THE SPIRIT OF YOUTH HUNG OVER THE GRANGE.'
DELIGHTED HIM MORE THAN TO HAVE YOUNG PEOPLE ABOUT HIM"

1903]
LETTERS TO GIBBS
377
they became giants, and then they were proud and naughty,
and took the bridges and the rails in their quivering hands
and tore them away, so that your Dada's train could not
go any farther. When you are a grown-up Engineer you
will build bridges and rails that the giant streams can't tear
away, won't you?
On Sunday I went for a drive with Mr. Dillon, and we
went to a spring where real soda water bubbles out of the
ground, and then drove home through a place called the
Garden of the Gods, where there are rocks formed by
nature to look like eagles and frogs and little old men
and all kinds of people and things, and we saw a little
baby donkey, a real one, and your Dada bought it for his
little boy, and if he is as good as he always is (not the
donkey, but the boy), then Dada's boy can ride and drive
it next year, please God.
And now Dada kisses his boy just one hundred and one
times and fifty and a half are for mudder. Jefferson is
bringing Dada's supper, and Dada is going to eat it and
thank the Lord he has such a good boy and such a dear
mudder.
DADA.
From the time Gibbs was five years old his favourite
toys were soldiers and cannon and fortresses.
He was a
general-when he was not an admiral, or a policeman, or
an explorer, or a king or any of the hundreds of fictitious
rôles he assumed. Here is a letter written before Christ-
mas in 1903 referring to the military fiction,
MY DEAR, DEAR BOY:
December 14, 1903.
Last night I heard a tremendous row in the chimney,
and I was afraid the cook had fallen into the fire, so I
rushed to the fireplace, and I can tell you I was startled
when first one reindeer and then another made its appear-
ance, followed by a beautiful sleigh made of white candy,
in which sat Mr. Santa Claus all wrapped up in white



378
[1903
RICHARD MANSFIELD
fur. The fur was so white and the sleigh was so white,
and Mr. Santa Claus' beard and hair were so white you
could not tell where the sleigh began and Mr. Santa Claus
ended. Of course I saluted Mr. Santa Claus, who used
to be in the army once upon a time and always likes to be
treated like an officer.
Mr. Santa Claus saluted me, and then said very politely:
"I believe I am not mistaken, do I not see before me the
father of the distinguished General Gibbs Mansfield?"
I blushed and bowed, because I was very much flattered
to think that Mr. Santa Claus should have heard of my
General. "Well," said Mr. Santa Claus, stepping out of
his sleigh, "let us sit down if you don't mind and have
something hot to drink." I replied that I should be de-
lighted, but, unfortunately, the servants had all gone to
bed, and the housekeeper had taken the whiskey bottle
away with her. Mr. Santa Claus winked his eye and
laughed and said it didn't matter, whereupon he waved
his right hand and a little boy, about the same size as the
great General Gibbs made his appearance. “This is my
son," explained Mr. Santa Claus, "Lieutenant Santadiddy
Clauschen!" We shook hands warmly, and Mr. Santa
Claus continued: "Santadiddy," he said, "get some hot
grog, quickly, I'm nearly frozen." Well, in a jiffy there
stood Santadiddy with a bowl of steaming grog and two
beautiful red crystal glasses. "Ah," said Mr. Santa
Claus, "that's better," and he pulls a fine meerschaum
pipe out of his pocket and lights it with a match, which I
am sorry to say he ignited by rubbing it gently on a part
of his trousers which I must refrain from mentioning.
"That's a black mark for you, Dada," said Santadiddy.
"I'll have it brushed when I get home," said Mr. Santa
Claus, "and you can go to bed now." "I don't want to
go to bed," said Santadiddy. “It's bed or a spanking,"
remarked Mr. Santa Claus, and Santadiddy vanished
before I could say Jack Robinson.
Well, Mr. Santa Claus sat back and took a whiff or two
from his meerschaum and a sip or so of the grog. "Now,"
says he, "by your leave, we'll get to business! Pleasure

1903]
A CHRISTMAS INTERVIEW
379
first and business afterward!" I agreed with him and
started a game of solitaire. "Put those cards away,
please," said Mr. Santa Claus, "I didn't come all this
distance to watch you playing solitaire. It's night," he
continued, looking out of the window and throwing his
fur cloak over his left shoulder, "it's night and we are
alone-alone!" I shuddered. "Would you mind," I
interrupted, "if I went to my closet to get-to get a re-
volver and my sword and a dagger-I don't quite like the
way you look-and I'm quite unprotected-the house-
keeper has gone to bed and I'm afraid she wouldn't hear
me if I called her, and the policeman doesn't pass here
very often, and even when he does he has to be engaged
days in advance." "Silence," said Mr. Claus. Si-
lence!" and he said it so loud that the neighbours on both
sides knocked on the walls and wanted to know if I'd been
killed. I said, "No, not yet!" and then I could hear
them getting into bed again.
"For the last thirty years," commenced Mr. Santa
Claus, in a deep voice which seemed to come out of his
boots-"for the last thirty years I have watched your son.'
"I beg your pardon," I said. . . . "How dare you
interrupt me? For the last thirty years," continued
Santa Claus "My son is only six," I said in a small voice.

such
39
"Only six? Only six?" and Mr. Santa Claus fell
back in his chair and closed his eyes-"only six-do you
mean to say you have six sons?" "No! Only one!" I
yelled, "One!" "Don't talk so loud," said Mr. Santa
Claus, "I was nearly asleep and you woke me up-you
should be more considerate; what is that you said about
'one'?" . . . "I have one son-one, but such a one.
I mean an one! Oh, such an one
"That'll do," said Mr. Santa Claus, "I know all about it,
is it a girl?" "No. No-a boy-a son."
said Mr. Santa Claus, "I'll put it down in
once does he-she-I mean it-oh, dear, this grog is
certainly very strong!-does it go to work-do anything?"
"Oh, lots, lots," I said. "Real estate?" inquired Mr.
Santa Claus. "Oh, no," I said, "not real estate-civil

99
"Oh, yes,'
my book at
380
[1903
RICHARD MANSFIELD
engineer—fireman-engine-driver-general-naval
officer
." "I
.
commander-in-chief-Scotch bugler-Knight.
think you had better go to bed and let me pour some cold
water over your head!"-"Oh, but I assure you he is," I
said. "Really?" asked Mr. Santa Claus. "How can he
do it all!" "Well, you see," I said, "he lives with his
dear mother at New London, and as they are quite alone
he has to be a lot of men in order to make things lively
and have plenty of people about all the time." "So then,
said Mr. Santa Claus, "it's a question of providing not
only for General Gibbs this Christmas, but for the engi-
neer, and the General, and the naval officer and the bugler
and the Knight Golden Ebony? Dear, dear, dear
I'll have to think about it; times are very hard, you know,
sir, and money is scarce, and there are so many, many
children-is he good-is he?" "Oh, so good," I said,
"so good-he has guinea-pigs and dogs and rabbits and
hens and pheasants and his Mamie' and his mother, and he
takes care of them all-he protects them with his army
and guards them with his sword-he's very brave and
good!" "Well, well," said Mr. Santa Claus, "dry your
eyes and don't cry. I'll do my best-but it's a long way
to New London, and I'll have to make haste-gi-up!"-
and with that he got into his sleigh and drawing a blunder-
buss out of his pocket he shot off my head, and that is the
last thing I knew until I woke up this morning-and Mr.
Santa Claus and the sleigh and the reindeer, even the
punch-bowl and the glasses were all gone-only my head
ached a little where Mr. Santa Claus had blown me off.
So, dear boy, I send you this account of my wonderful
adventures, and I hope Mr. Santa Claus won't forget you!
I did my best. Your
DADA.
Golden Ebony was Gibbs's own choice of his name
when he played at being a knight. His mother and father
repeated to him the stories of the Round Table and he
Miss Hunter, Gibbs's governess.
1903] GOLDEN EBONY AND KING ARTHUR 381
understood the fun in the following skit which his father
wrote and sent him on Christmas night of 1903:
Now when Golden Ebony rescued Sir Pelleas, who
should be passing but King Arthur; he was out for an
afternoon walk with Mrs. Arthur and the little Arthurs.
King Arthur was so pleased with the bravery and adroit-
ness of Golden Ebony that he went right up to him with-
out any formal introduction, and said in his nice, frank
way:
'My boy, I know you, you are Golden Ebony; already
have your deeds of prowess, your wonderful adventures,
and hair-breadth escapes reached the ears of the occupants
of the Round Table. Come, I prithee, with us, and you,
too," he said, "Sir Pelleas, and honour our poor board
with your presence. I am King Arthur."
But Golden Ebony had already recognised the famous
monarch, so he bent low his knee and made answer:
"Great King, I shall be overwhelmed with happiness if I
may be a guest in your castle and see with mine own eyes
those sterling knights whose deeds have startled the
world."
Then King Arthur introduced Golden Ebony to his
wife and children, but Sir Pelleas was an old friend and to
him he spoke not, but frowned, thinking it ill befitted a
Knight of the Round Table to be rescued by so young a
soldier as Golden Ebony. After some hesitation, caused
by his great modesty, Golden Ebony addressed the King
again. "If it please your Majesty," said he, "I would
fain bring with me my staunch hound, Fleet Foot, for
without him nowhere do I venture." The King smiled
and made answer: "I like it well, Golden Ebony, that
you show such fidelity to your dog, for if we are not faith-
ful to our friends, how can we expect fidelity from them?
Bring Fleet Foot by all means, and he shall fare well."
They now approached the drawbridge of the great
castle. King Arthur took from his trousers pocket a
large golden horn and blew on it sixteen times, and be-
hold, the drawbridge was lowered and all passed across.

382
[1903
RICHARD MANSFIELD

The portcullis was raised, and at last Golden Ebony
found himself in that famed castle, the walls of which have
echoed with the songs of the minstrels, the voices of
chivalry, and the clash of arms. Golden Ebony was con-
ducted by a beautiful girl whose name was Millie Hunter,
to a fine large bedroom which adjoined a bath-room all
built of white crystal. Golden Ebony soon had his
clothes off and was swimming and splashing about in the
large tank from the centre of which a graceful fountain
spouted water twelve feet in the air. Six small page boys
now approached carrying an exquisite costume of velvet
and silk, in scarlet and pink, and with very deft fingers
had soon arranged Golden Ebony, had brushed out his
golden locks and buckled his shoes. After that they con-
ducted him to the banqueting hall.
The banqueting hall was a thousand feet in length and
a hundred feet high, and all the walls were covered with
sparkling stones. Along the middle ran the Round Table,
and at the end of the Table, on a raised dais, sat King
Arthur and Mrs. King Arthur. 'Round the Round Table
all the Knights were seated, but as Golden Ebony was a
guest he was placed on the right hand of Mrs. King
Arthur.
It is impossible to name all the good things there were
on the Table. There were flowers, of course, in great
profusion; roasted pigs, boars' heads-large pasties and
raised pies containing blackbirds and live guinea-pigs who,
as soon as the pie was opened, ran out and played about
the table; then there was ice-cream of every variety, and
delicious jellies that could talk, and said: "Eat me, eat me
quick before I fall over, I am trembling so"; and jam and
honey and such cakes!-cakes built to look like castles,
with soldiers of sugar watching on the turrets and the
walls.
You can just fancy how Golden Ebony was enjoying
himself when suddenly he put his hand to his side and
said: "Oh, gracious me!" "Why, what's the matter?"
asked Mrs. King Arthur, "I hope you haven't swallowed
a bone?" "No," said Golden Ebony. "You should say,



GEORGE GIBBS MANSFIELD AS KNIGHT
GOLDEN EBONY
VerM

1903]
AT THE ROUND TABLE
383
'No, thank you,"" said King Arthur. "You didn't give
me time," said Golden Ebony. "Don't contradict," said
the King. “I've forgotten my sword," said Golden Ebony.
"You've forgotten your manners," said the King, "per-
haps you've left them upstairs. You'd better go and look."
"It's my beautiful sword, True-as-Steel," said Golden
Ebony. "I remember now, I must have left it on the
battle-field, and oh, your Majesty, I must go and find it."
"You can't leave the table before dinner is over," said
Mrs. King Arthur, "you'd upset everybody and we'd have
to send for the doctor."
29
Thereupon Golden Ebony began to cry bitterly. "Don't
cry," said the King, "and I'll give you another one."
But Golden Ebony cried more and more. "Well," said
the King, "this is a nuisance. I dislike to have people cry
at dinner, and this is a Christmas dinner; suppose you
laugh instead, it will sound much jollier, and it won't
make any difference to you. You'll be making a noise,
you know, just the same. And as Golden Ebony was
very obliging he commenced to laugh, and he laughed very
loudly. 'Please don't make such a row," said Mrs. King
Arthur, "you'll wake the baby!" "I think," said the
King, rubbing his nose with his spoon, "I think perhaps
he had better go out and look for his sword; he doesn't
seem to be very good company." "Oh, thank you, thank
you," Golden Ebony exclaimed, "I really couldn't eat
without my sword!" "You should learn to eat with a
knife and fork!" the King remarked.
Golden Ebony whistled to his dog and Fleet Foot
hastily swallowed a turkey and a piece of plum pudding
and joined his master. Golden Ebony had already
reached the end of the hall, when Mrs. King Arthur said
in a voice of thunder, "Lock the door! He has forgotten
to say Good-Night!" Golden Ebony apologised and
bowed and said good-night, and turned about to go.
"He has forgotten to kiss us!" roared the Queen. Golden
Ebony apologised again and went up the hall and kissed
the King and Mrs. King Arthur. "Kiss us all," shouted
the Knights of the Round Table, and Golden Ebony had



384
[1904
RICHARD MANSFIELD
to go about the table and kiss the Knights. "He hasn't
kissed us!" squeaked the guinea-pigs, and goor Golden
Ebony had to turn round once more and kiss all the guinea-
pigs. "Now you can go," said Mrs. King Arthur, "but
be sure to put on your woollen muffler and your rubber
overshoes! Open the door!" and the door flew open and
Golden Ebony found himself outside in the beautiful white
snow, and who should be waiting outside but Santa Claus
in his sleigh with eight reindeer.
"Jump in!" said Santa Claus, "I know where your
sword is. Hurry up!" Golden Ebony jumped in, Santa
Claus wrapped him up snugly in the warm white furs, and
in a jiffy Golden Ebony was fast asleep and dreaming.
Good-night!
"General" Gibbs's campaigns were the subject of
numerous letters from his father who reported to him
under various noms-de-guerre. One of the first was
dated April 8, 1904. At this time Mansfield was playing
in Cincinnati, but lived in his private car near Fernbank,
a charming village on the banks of the Ohio River, twelve
miles west of the city. At the top of the page he wrote
"I am sitting up a tree near the field of battle." Here is
the letter:
DEAR GENERAL:
I have the honour to report that poor General Wiener-
schnitzel is again in hot water, up a tree and in a tight
place. As you are aware, we rescued General Wiener-
schnitzel and his men from the jaws of death, and saw
him safely on his way home to his wife, Mrs. Bratwurst-
Wienerschnitzel and all his little schnitzels. But-
hardly had we disappeared than the General remem-
bered all at once, and quite suddenly, that he had left his
frying-pans and his knives and forks in the cave. He
drew up his men and made a fine speech to them, calling
upon volunteers to step out of the ranks and to go back
and rescue the frying-pans and knives and forks that had

MR. MANSFIELD ON THE STEPS OF "403"

1904]
"WIENERSCHNITZEL"
385
been so long in the family of the Wienerschnitzels. The
only one who volunteered was a small boy who had been
in the habit of cleaning the knives and forks, and it was
finally decided to let him go back while Wienerschnitzel
and his company encamped where they then were, await-
ing the return of the small boy. Before leaving, the little
boy was carefully disguised as a red Indian. About mid-
night, when everybody was fast asleep, a most dreadful
noise was heard, which sounded like the rattling of ar-
tillery and the clatter of a thousand sabres. The men
all rushed to arms and were just about to fire when the
moon suddenly came out from behind a cloud and the
small boy was seen coming into camp with all the frying-
pans and knives and forks which he had tied together with
a long string, dragging for nearly a mile behind him.
Hardly had the small boy reached the camp than the
Indians, who had also been aroused by the rattling of the
cooking utensils, came down 200,000,000,000,000 strong
upon poor Wienerschnitzel. It was in vain that he and
his heroes fought like lions, in vain that they performed
wonders of valour, in vain that Wienerschnitzel alone
slew 100,000,000 men. Numbers prevailed, and at
last poor Wienerschnitzel and his men were all tied
tightly and bound to stakes. At this moment the Indians
are collecting brushwood and fagots, and it looks as if
they intended burning poor Wienerschnitzel and all his men.
I beg, General, that you will collect your soldiers without
a moment's delay and under the command of Dick and
Linsley¹ start at once for the scene of the disaster.
Your obedient servant,
DINKELSPIEGEL.
The next letter was written the following Monday and
contains another report from "Dinkelspiegel."
MY DEAR GENERAL:
When I last wrote you I was up a tree and poor Wiener-
schnitzel was on the point of being fried by the Indians.
1 Dick and Linsley Quaintance.

386
[1904
RICHARD MANSFIELD
I had not at that moment discovered a way of communicat-
ing with you, but as I looked about for some means of
furthering my object, I descried a bird perched upon a
neighbouring branch. To my astonishment the bird
spoke to me: "Pretty Polly wants a bit of sugar." On
closely examining this feathered messenger I discovered
that she was no other than a favourite parrot belonging
to an elderly lady residing near your palace. Fortunately,
I had in my pocket some chocolate, and as soon as I
showed a piece of it to Polly she hopped over to my side,
and I was thus enabled to send you my letter by tying it
around her neck. Being an intelligent bird, she at once
flew away home.
Having accomplished this, my attention was redirected
to the unfortunate General Wienerschnitzel and his peril-
ous position. The Indians were advancing with fire-
brands to light the pile of timber massed about the poor
man's legs! Gazing about me for some way to assist him,
I perceived for the first time that the immense oak tree up
which I had climbed was completely hollow. Now I had
with me my powerful air-gun, and quickly shooting the
two Indians who held in their hands the lighted torches, I
dropped down into the interior of the tree and soon found
a small hole through which I could observe the further
proceedings of the savages. They appeared to be com-
pletely stupefied by the sudden attack which came from,
apparently, the very sky. They looked about them in
wonder and awe, and it was some time before they came
to their senses. The air-gun of course had made no
noise, and they were therefore still more surprised to
find the leaden bullets which had struck their men.
One of the Chiefs, who was evidently more intelligent
than the rest, pointed to my tree, and immediately three
of the wretches started toward it with the intention of
climbing up.
I had already given myself up for lost when I noticed
that a large white stone under my feet gave out a hollow
sound. I quickly lifted it up and discovered to my intense
satisfaction that there was a passage under the oak. I

1904]
"DINKELSPIEGEL'S" HEROISM
387
carefully entered this, dropping the stone back over my
head. I could hear the Indians climbing up the tree and
searching the branches in vain. As soon as they had
rejoined their comrades I once more emerged into the
hollow of the bark. Again the Indians advanced to burn
poor Wienerschnitzel, and this time I shot two more.
The
savages were entirely nonplussed and scattered about in
search of their enemy. Some again climbed the tree, but
I had already taken pains to disappear into the passage.
It now became a question among the fiends who should
fire the wood pile, and it was finally decided that three
Indians should advance abreast and close together, and
at one and the same time set it on fire. Fortunately, they
came forward obliquely and, so to speak, on the bias, and
my shot went through all three of them! This was too much
for the Indians, who in the space of a few minutes had lost
seven men and who realised that they might all be killed.
I left them very little time for thought, however, for as
they stood there massed together, talking and gesticulating
like mad men, I fired seven shots with great rapidity and
seven more men fell dead. With dreadful cries the Indians
fled pell-mell.
I listened until their shouts and their footsteps had com-
pletely died away, when I rapidly made my way out of
the tree and hastened to cut the General's hemp chains-
threw him over my shoulder and lowered him into the
tree, where I swiftly followed. I then lifted the white
stone and showed him the way into the passage. We
followed this passage, crawling on our stomachs in inky
darkness for probably a mile, when it became lighter, and
we finally emerged on the banks of the Hudson. After
reaching under the overhanging boughs of the brushwood
which grew down to the river's brink, we found a large
canoe, and as evening was falling we paddled rapidly
under the shadow of the foliage down the river. At about
eight o'clock we perceived fires burning, and as the General
was still very weak and suffering, I left the canoe to recon-
noitre. I cannot describe my joy when I found the
General's own men peacefully encamped around their



388
[1904
RICHARD MANSFIELD
fires, eating with very sad faces their evening meal. They
had given up all hope of beholding their beloved General
again, and you can imagine their joy when I marched into
camp leading Wienerschnitzel by the hand! Your
DINKELSPIEGEL.
While in San Francisco, in the spring of 1904, Mans-
field sent home a case of Chinese embroideries. Gibbs
was much disappointed, for there was nothing for him,
and so "wrote" his father. The reply was posted from
Fargo, North Dakota, on June 10:
MY DEAR, DEAR BOY:
You must not be disappointed because you did not get
a present from me the other day; if you had looked very
carefully you would have found a whole lot of kisses and
beautiful thoughts for you in the parcel. But, dear me, I
suppose you quite forgot to look for them and so catch
them as they flew out, and now I don't know who has got
them, perhaps some other boy, and I'm afraid we'll never
get them back. I'll have to save up from now on and
bring them with me, as well as the Chinese coat and the
Chinese trousers and the Chinese cap and the Chinese
shoes I have for my boy-so all he will want will be a pig-
tail. Be sure to grow one before I arrive so that I can
have lots of fun in my holidays by pulling it. I know my
boy is brave and won't scream. I hope you will come and
knock at my bath-room door every morning, and if you
are very good I will let you come in and swim in my bath-
tub, while I shave my face. Do you shave your face now?
I suppose you have a moustache and an imperial? I wish
school were over! I am longing to come home, but my
schoolmaster says I must be good and remain until the
end of the term. I am very glad to hear that you are
taking riding lessons and are brave. If you are very
gentle and good to your pony he will soon learn to love
and obey you, and you will soon be able to go off for long
rides in the country on his back-like a bonny knight of
1905]
A PRECIOUS CARGO
389
ye olden days. Wouldn't it be nice for you to put on
your armour and take your lance and ride away to seek
Guinevere?
Your fond
DADA.
Gibbs had not yet learned to write, but he drew with
coloured pencils and explained to his mother what he had
drawn, and she sent the pictures and the explanations to
his father. Here is his acknowledgment of one of these
drawings:
May 24, 1905.
MY DEAR GENERAL AND MY DEAR BOY:
Your full-rigged ship, laden with your love and your
kisses and good wishes, arrived safely in the port of Kan-
sas City, and the work of unloading her is now progressing.
The first thing she did when she sighted land was to load
all her guns-I counted 22-with kisses and fire them
off, and nearly every one hit me straight on the lips, on my
nose, and one struck me right in the middle of my stomach
and knocked me down. Some of the kisses, however,
went astray. For instance, the nigger-no, I mean the
coloured gentleman, who was waiting on me at dinner,
and whose name is Jim, got one in the eye, and he was so
astonished that he fell down with a dish of peas in his
hand, and the peas rolled all over the floor and he was
two hours picking them up. Another kiss struck a school-
marm, who was walking by the hotel, and she went to
the police station and complained that she had received a
kiss and wanted to have somebody prosecuted. The
police are now looking all over the city for some one who
has lost a kiss. But I got most of them. Then your
full-rigged ship furled her sails and was hauled alongside
the wharf and commenced to unload her love. My, but
there is a lot of it! Huge wagons full of love are rolling
up the street, and all the people are out trying to steal
some of it, for there are many here who have never had
any or seen any. It is such a beautiful rosy colour, and


390
[1905
RICHARD MANSFIELD
altho' it is a dark day it lights up the whole street as it
comes along. I am going to let everybody have a little of
it-it would be too selfish to keep it all to myself, and I
know that you have so much that you will easily load
another ship full and send it to me.-And then came the
good wishes! We couldn't pack them fast enough on
wagons, so we got a million pigeons and tied them to
their tails and they are flying all over the city distributing
them and everybody is so happy! I think your sailors
are the finest set of men I ever saw-but of course they
would be since they have been living on kisses and love
and good wishes all the way here. And, oh, the sails! so
white and all made of silk-and the flags!-the most
brilliant I have ever seen! Thank you, my own dear boy.
Please God, I may be soon with you and we'll have a tre-
mendous battle!
From your fond
DADA.
It was the brave "Dinkelspiegel" who got into trouble
in the summer of 1905. Mansfield was cruising off Mat-
tapoissett, Mass., on the Amorita, and sent this message
from "Wienerschnitzel":
MY DEAR GENERAL:
OFF MATTAPOISSETT,
SATURDAY, July 1.
If you wish to save Dinkelspiegel it must be done at
once, altho' the predicament he is in at present is probably
fatal. And even if you send your war vessels to rescue
him, how are you going to find him? That is the ques-
tion. If I knew where he was, you may be quite sure,
General, that I should inform you. I will, however, no
longer keep from you such facts as upon my arrival in
this place I was able to gather. To go back:-Three days
ago we intercepted a carrier pigeon which bore this mes-
sage, written on a small piece of bunting, evidently a
portion of the American ensign: "Detachment sent by

1905]
MORE "WAR"
391
General G. G. R. J. A. Mansfield, under command of
General Windbeatel Dinkelspiegel, defeated with terrible
loss. Dinkelspiegel, with a small remnant, escaped on a
submarine. Inform G. G. R. J. A. M. immediately!
Rescue!" I immediately took 20,000,000,000,000, men
and started for Mattapoissett. We embarked on a bil-
lion men-of-war, and as soon as we sighted the Hen and
Chicken Light-ship we opened fire upon the enemy. The
cannon-balls from our twenty billion guns were fired so
rapidly that the sky was obscured by them, and when,
after an hour's bombardment, I gave the order to cease
firing, the greater portion of Mattapoissett, including the
houses, rocks, wharfs, people, hens, cows, dogs, etc., had
been completely destroyed. Thereupon I landed, and
after a prolonged search found a man hiding in a hole in
the ground. From him, after torturing him for an hour,
I gathered the following facts: The enemy had allowed
General Windbeatel Dinkelspiegel to occupy Mattapoissett
without the slightest opposition, and the General, after
dining copiously on hard-shell crabs, liver sausage,
gruyère cheese, and beer, had retired to rest. In the
middle of the night, however, the enemy surrounded Mat-
tapoissett, and nearly our entire force was killed. The
General and about twenty officers, however, were incar-
cerated in an outbuilding which contained a number of
empty barrels, and were guarded by two young soldiers.
It appears that General Windbeatel Dinkelspiegel con-
ceived the admirable idea of singing "Way Down on the
Suwanee River" to them, and having thus freed himself
of their presence he and his officers each occupied an
empty barrel and rolled themselves down to the beach
without arousing the suspicions of the foe. Once arrived
there, they at once took possession of a submarine vessel
and, diving immediately out of sight, disappeared. Altho'
numerous other submarines were dispatched in search of
them they were not found. I will await your orders,
General, as Mattapoissett, and I have the honour to be


Your obedient servant,
WIENERSCHNITZEL.

392
[1905
RICHARD MANSFIELD
The sequel was never told, at least not in the letters.
The rescue of Dinkelspiegel was probably the subject of
a story when the Amorita brought "Wienerschnitzel" back
to New London.
Here is a note about a kiss that was forgotten. It was
mailed from the first port touched by the Amorita on a
study-cruise while Mansfield was composing his perform-
ance of "Don Carlos" in the summer of 1905.
SCHOONER AMORITA, IN THE GUT,
SATURDAY.
MY OWN DEAR BOY:
When I got to the foot of the hill I remembered suddenly
that I hadn't given you a nice long kiss. I think it was
because I didn't believe I'd really get away at all, or I
should have come back again, before sailing, to hug you.
It quite spoiled my pleasure on the water, and now I must
put a lot of kisses for you in this letter and ask Tother to
give them to you for me. I always forget that boys like to
be kissed, but I won't forget it again. The sea is beautiful,
so olive and bright, and there is a splendid breeze, and we
have just passed a big schooner yacht, the Iroquois, that is
twenty feet longer than we are, and that started from New
London half an hour before we did, and now we are
actually leaving her hull down. We are just entering the
Gut, a dangerous place, where the tide runs like a mill
stream, and where it is impossible to get thro' unless the
tide and wind are propitious. But we have the tide with
us, altho' we have had to beat so far on account of the
wind being ahead. When you are a bigger boy you shall
learn how to sail the Amorita all by yourself-won't that
be fine? You were such a good boy this morning, and I
really thought I kissed you until I got to the foot of the
hill, and then I felt that I missed something, and I found out
it was your kiss. Now you can kiss Tother for me and tell
her she is a good girl, too, and she is to have lots of fun and a
"high old time"-I don't know what that is, do you? Here
are a lot of kisses for you both from
Dada.

"AMORITA," MR. MANSFIELD'S YACHT
1906]
A REBUKE
393
Here is a little note of rebuke sent back to the Riverside
home the day of leaving for a tour:
MY DEAR DARLING BOY:
PRIVATE CAR 403.
If you knew how hard it is for me to punish you, you
would never, never hurt anybody again-but perhaps you
will know that, and know that I have suffered a great deal
more than you. . . . You must realise and understand
that the first duty of a brave knight is to be gentle and
kind, and that to hurt and wound is cowardly and cruel.
Your dear mother never hurt any one, and you know how
good she is! I am sure you did not mean to be cruel-
but you see you have to learn the lesson to watch your
hands and your feet-for you would be a silly idiot not to
control your own legs and arms and restrain them when
you wanted to-wouldn't you? So now I hope you'll
never have to go to bed again excepting at your regular
bed hour, and here are a lot of love and kisses from
Your loving
D. A.
The boy understood his father's own struggles with his
temperament. One day Mansfield said to me: "My boy
will go far, he grasps what many of his elders do not. If
he comes into the room and sees that I am angry he never
answers a word, but turns on his heel and goes out. In
a little while he comes back with a cheery 'Well, Dada?'
just as if nothing had happened."
From Cincinnati he wrote this letter with its amusing
conceit, to thank Gibbs for a Christmas box:
DEAREST Boy:
December 31, 1906.

The box you sent me is just beautiful, beautiful! and I
keep a lot of lovely thoughts in it, and when I am sad or
tired I open the box for a little while and the happy

394
[1906
RICHARD MANSFIELD
thoughts come hopping out one by one, or sometimes
they tumble out in a bunch, and they are so merry-some
of them, and others so cheerful and encouraging, it makes
me quite gay. There is one fellow, however (I really
don't know how he ever got in), who jumps out on one
leg and instantly stands on his head and sticks out his
tongue and pulls a long nose at me. He is very rude, of
course, but still I can't help laughing at him. I have
tried to catch him, but he refuses to be caught, and is so
quick and deft in eluding me I get quite exhausted running
after him. None of the other boys and girls in the box
will have anything to do with him, and I don't see how he
manages to live. The others all get candy and cake and
ice-cream, but Handy Andy (that's his name) won't touch
anything sweet, and the other day I caught him drinking
the ink and eating the pen-wiper. So this morning I
asked him to give an account of himself, and who do you
think he says he is? He says: "All the other children are
Gibbs's good deeds and good days and nice ways and
polite manners and his kindness and gentleness and
sweetness!"-and then he said: "I'm his badness.
him (his grammar is bad) when he's horrid and cross and
rude, or disobeys his mother or dada-whew!" and he
jumped onto his head and made a snook and swallowed
the blotting paper. The other day, Christmas Day, he
disappeared. I wonder where he was? You must have
been very good! Well, I'm glad there are so many good of
you in the box and only one bad. Here are such a lot of
kisses and hugs from your loving
I'm
D. A.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
(1902-1904)
Brutus in "Julius Cæsar"-Emancipation from tradition-The boys
at Fernbank-Lyman B. Glover-B. D. Stevens-" Old Heidel-
berg"-Aversion to photographs in character-Temper-"Ivan
the Terrible"-Keeping in the atmosphere while off the scene-
Acting Ivan with his foot in a plaster cast-On tour-To Cali-
fornia again.
ADMIRED as Mansfield was in "Beaucaire," he fretted
to feel his art constrained to charm alone. He longed for
sterner stuff. "The Public has honoured me with its
support, they have raised me to a high place, and they
expect me to meet my responsibility," he said.
There were no new plays at hand which tempted him.
When it came to a selection of a part which he would next
present, a long-standing desire to act Marcus Brutus in
Shakespeare's "Julius Cæsar" became a decision, and he
produced this play at the Grand Opera House, in Chicago,
for the first time October 3, 1902.¹


1 The cast was:
Julius Cæsar
Octavius Cæsar
Marcus Antonius
Caius Cassius .
Marcus Brutus
Casca
Trebonius
Metellus Cimber
Decimus Brutus
Legarius.
Popilius Lena.
Mr. Arthur Greenaway.
Mr. Alfred Mansfield.
Mr. Arthur Forrest.
Mr. Barry Johnstone.
Mr. Mansfield.
Mr. W. H. Denny.
Mr. A. G. Andrews.
Mr. Henry Wenman.
Mr. Ernest C. Warde.
Mr. Edwin Fitzgerald.
Mr. Edwin Holland.
395

396
[1902
RICHARD MANSFIELD
Here was imperial Rome called back into light and life
again. Sir Alma Tadema designed the pictures. Wil-
liam Telbin, Hawes Craven, Richard Marston, and John
Young painted them. Mansfield lighted and furnished
them with a poet's imagination and the eye of a painter.
With an enthusiasm not always patient he would sit in
the darkened auditorium of the theatre by the hour for
weeks before a production, experimenting with a grouping,
with a piece of furniture, with a touch of colour from a
scarf, a rug, a curtain, or a torch, and with unnumbered
softened, tinted, shifting lights. He sought to denote
more than visual loveliness or historical accuracy in a
pictured scene. In the harmony of its details he strove to,
and did, express the mood of the acted scene. Thus his
pictures appealed to the emotions as well as to taste, and
he led the way in this newly developing branch of stage art.
His last production was apt to be pronounced his best.
So the sombre grandeur of "King Richard III," the sen-
Publius
Cinna
.
Artimidorus
Cicero
Servius
.
Lucilius
Titinius
Messala
.
Volumnius
Lucius
Varro
•
Clitus
Claudius.
.
Strato
Dardanius
Pindarus.
First Citizen
Second Citizen
Third Citizen .
Fourth Citizen
Calpurnia
Portia
Mr. W. T. Simpson.
Mr. W. J. Sorelle.
Mr. Grant Mitchell.
Mr. Henri Laurent.
Mr. B. L. Clark.
Mr. M. C. Tilden.
Mr. A. G. Anson.
Mr. Clarence Cochran.
Mr. Hamilton Coleman.
Miss Mona Harrison.
Mr. Philip Stokes.
Mr. S. M. Hendricks.
Mr. J. E. Delmar.
Mr. Octave Lozon.
Mr. Frazer Smith.
Mr. Clarence White.
Mr. Paul Wiggins.
Mr. Carl Ahrendt.
Mr. Frank Mason.
Mr. F. X. Baron.
Miss Maude Hoffman.
Miss Dorothy Hammond.
Senators, Citizens, Soldiers, Runners, Standard Bearers, Guards,
Attendants and others.

1902]
"JULIUS CÆSAR"
397
sual opulence of "Nero," the chromatic loveliness of
"The Merchant of Venice" and "Cyrano de Bergerac,"
and the massive splendour of "King Henry V" appeared
to be surpassed even by his "Julius Cæsar."
The imperial progress of Cæsar to the Lupercal games,
past the orange temples, attended by a populace that
seemed to have stepped individually from Tadema can-
vas; Brutus's garden, mysterious and mournful, the moon
in sullen retirement, a soft note of color from the eternal
fires of an altar near by, fit place for conspiracies; the curved
marble tiers of the Senate rising under an arcade that
panelled the deep, hard turquoise of the Italian sky, the
prophetic crimson of a scarf trailing down from the feet
of Cæsar enthroned in golden light; the plastic passion of
the soldiers, lictors, patricians, and rabble swarming the
stones and steps of the pillared forest of the place before
the Forum; the tragic austerity of the Philippi scenes-
this was the background against which in high relief stood
the problem of Brutus, a soul set against itself, a spiritual
nature made fanatical by imagination and conscience.
Brutus was Mansfield's nearest approach to Hamlet.
But it was no frozen classic symbol. His mission was to
humanise the classics that he acted. His interpretation
of this character left tradition leagues behind. Here, as
when he first acted Richard III, the interpretation shot
over the heads of those who had not Hans Sachs's
philosophy and would not condescend to consider Brutus
from the actor's viewpoint instead of their own.
Perhaps he was thinking of the generations of actors who
had been painting statuesque, declaiming Brutuses on
the public mind, when he replied to a question of mine as
to the kind of auditor he preferred: "Give me a man
with a white mind and let me paint my portrait there. A


398
[1902
RICHARD MANSFIELD
white mind makes the artist's work easy. The painter
begins with a white canvas, but the actor may not always.
In an audience are always some minds black with ignor-
ance, yellow with prejudice, green with envy, gray with
indifference. But a white, open, unclouded, generous,
kindly, intelligent, receptive mind is the artist's opportu-
nity, and that there are so many white minds is his salva-
tion."
He took his courage in both hands, and his Brutus was
as new as Whistler or Wagner would have interpreted
him. Because for three acts during the observation of
Cæsar's menace to the commonweal, the consideration of
Cassius's subtle persuasions, and the restraint before the
murder-the struggle was all subjective, the action slug-
gish, and the suggestion all in the artist's mood-this
part of his performance was obviously difficult to the un-
imaginative.
Few caught the poetic tenderness of Brutus's part in the
assassination. At Casca's call the conspirators rushed in
a crowd upon the tribune and, when one after another
they fleshed their knives in Cæsar's bosom, they fell away,
revealing him face to face with Brutus, whose arm was
raised to strike. "Et tu, Brute!" sighed the dying man.
A shadow of infinite sorrow mantled his friend's face. A
tremor shook his frame. The murder was already con-
summated, but his pledge had been given and the issue
was met with a poet's touch. Tenderly, sorrowfully,
sacrificially the patriot laid his blade on the bleeding
breast of his friend, the point directed to his own heart.
In contrast with all that precedes, the quarrel scene is
objective, hence vastly easier to appreciate, and it gave
the actor his greatest triumph with the multitude. Here
Mansfield unleashed the full reserve of his mighty voice.

1902]
DEATH OF BRUTUS
399
He was adamantine. Against this Brutus Cassius broke
like spray against a cliff. How poetically imagined was
the ghost of Cæsar. It was suggested by a vaporous
shadow in a lurid light, out of which the voice floated.
The reality of the wraith was appallingly manifest in
Brutus's face.
The death of Brutus was another bold departure from
convention. Instead of melodramatic writhing, all was
whispered awe, majesty, and silence. The hour imagined
was evening, after the day of battle, the hour when twilight
beckons night. At the foot of a shattered pine on a mass
of rock sat Brutus, full armoured, helmet on head, shield
and sword in hand, spent and brooding, a warrior figure
Michael Angelo might have carved. As one retainer after
another heard his whispered appeal for death, they fled
from the spot, leaving him alone. Over the sad face and
dreamy eye there passed the memory of the whole tragedy
in one moment of immovable silence. Then drawing his
shield before his breast and face, his sword slowly searched
his heart. There was the fortitude of a general in the
convulsion of the whole frame as he withdrew the blade.
He slowly lowered the shield, and the sword fell from his
fingers as they groped straight before him, and he ad-
dressed a second vision of the friend he came to meet:

Cæsar, now be still;

I killed not thee with half so good a will.
The head dropped upon his breast, and here Octavius
and Antony found him dead. "The death of a despairing
hero," said the Commercial Advertiser, "stricken for the
ideals that have possessed him, could hardly be more finely
imagined or more in consonance with the mood of trag-
edy."

400
[1903
RICHARD MANSFIELD
"Julius Cæsar" was acted throughout every week of the
season of 1902-1903, except during one of the weeks of a
return engagement in Chicago. In New York Mansfield
played at the Herald Square Theatre during December
and January. He did not go west of the Missouri River
this season. It should perhaps be made a part of this
record that, in spite of the extraordinary expenses under
which the production of "Julius Cæsar" was prepared,
maintained, and "travelled," the audiences came in such
numbers that Mansfield's profits were greater than on
any other single year.
He believed in the proverb about the wisdom that cometh
out of the mouth of babes and said he often preferred a
boy's idea of his performance to his senior's. He was
fond of his gallery and believed in its judgment except for
a few of his rôles. One of the best criticisms he got from
youngsters was about Brutus. He did not say what it
was, but the circumstance was interesting.
As already hinted, he lived on his car at Fernbank
during his later visits to Cincinnati. In a meadow near by
the neighbourhood boys played ball. Mansfield at once
ingratiated himself with the youngsters with gifts and
stories, umpiring their games, so that his returns were the
signal for a welcome from the boys.
This year of "Julius Cæsar" he invited the Fernbank
boys into the city to see him act. An order for a box was
scribbled on a card, and he thought no more of it. A few
nights afterward the boys, much scrubbed and much
dressed, presented themselves at the door of the theatre.
The tickets were nearly all taken and only one box re-
mained unsold. The boys were told that there was no
box to be had.
Retiring to the sidewalk, they decided to press their

RICHARD MANSFIELD AS BRUTUS
1903]
THE FERNBANK BOYS
401
claims with their friend. By some miracle-nothing less,
for by no chance was a stranger allowed on Mansfield's
stage without an invitation, and that was rare-they got
past the stage doorkeeper and rapped at the door of the
star dressing-room. "Come in," called Mansfield, and
they revealed themselves and explained their grievance.
When he understood, he took the card and wrote on the
back, "No box, no performance, R. M."
Need it be said that there was a performance? Next
day, under the big tree near the car, he talked his char-
acter over with the boys, and from such talks he declared
he learned much.
Mr. Palmer's health had been failing for some time,
and this winter he retired from Mr. Mansfield's manage-
ment. He was succeeded by Lyman B. Glover. Mr.
Glover had, during two decades as a critic in Chicago,
raised himself to a secure position among the leaders of
thought and opinion on the English-speaking drama. His
encouragement for all that was best in the theatre included
invaluable support of Mansfield during his recurrent
visits to Chicago. The same motive of gratitude, coupled
with respect for his knowledge and judgment, inspired
Mansfield to offer him the management as when he in-
vited Mr. Palmer five years before. The association con-
tinued three years, when Mr. Glover returned to his home
city to assume the management of a group of theatres
there. Mr. B. D. Stevens then took the managerial reins,
which he held until the end.
The German stage this winter attracted foreign atten-
tion to it for the first time in a long while by the appear-
ance of a tenderly sentimental play called "Old Heidel-
berg." While Mansfield was on tour in the West the play
reached New York, was acted at the Irving Place Theatre,

402
[1903
RICHARD MANSFIELD
and a translation into English was performed at the Prin-
cess Theatre. The latter was soon retired on account of
lack of support. Word of these enterprises drifted out to
him, and he sent for the play.
Karl Heinrich struck a responsive chord in his heart at
once. As he grew older Mansfield did not become less
youthful. His severity in the early period, when the future
stretched out before him a long precipitous climb, became
mellow with success. It was not that he was free from
care or that he relaxed his energies. The change was in
his relation to life, not to his art. That was always the
same, almost religious in its purpose. In the theatre he
was ever the hard worker, the severe disciplinarian of him-
self and of those near him. It was not the actor, but the
man who now craved the companionship of young people.
By "young people" is meant those younger than one's
self at any age. That is the vanity which clings to youth
always as if it had recently departed.
There were tears in his eyes when he read "Old Heidel-
berg." "This is real comedy," he said, "I want to play
this. It is truth, it is a poem. It will make people young
again, and it will teach the lesson of the priceless days of
youth. It may soften hearts of parents and induce them
to help make youth a more precious memory for their
children." Was he thinking of his unsympathetic gover-
ness or of his beloved master and the delectable days at
Derby?
The choice for his next experiment narrowed to Prince
Karl Heinrich or Tzar Ivan the Terrible. He grew more
and more absorbed with the latter character. It possessed
his mind, but the German boy captured his heart. Be-
sides, after a tragedy he wanted to appear in comedy. So
preparations were begun for "Old Heidelberg."
1903]
"OLD HEIDELBERG"
403
The Messrs. Shubert of the anti-syndicate forces had
grown strong enough to build the Lyric Theatre, in
New York, and Mansfield was invited to open it. His
consent was made much of in an effort to represent that
he would no longer act in the houses of the stronger or-
ganisation. His action was not more, however, than as
an expression of his independence of any faction whatever,
which he always maintained.
The Lyric Theatre was opened to the public October
12, 1903, and on that evening Mansfield produced Meyer-
Forster's "Old Heidelberg.'
99
There had been only one concern in relation to this
characterisation of Prince Karl Heinrich.
The cast was:
Karl Heinrich (Hereditary Prince of Sachsen-
Karlsburg)
Staatsminister Von Haugk
Hofmarschall Freiherr Von Passarge
Kammerherr Von Breitenberg
Kammerherr Baron Von Metzing
Doctor Juttner (Tutor to Karl Heinrich)
Chaplain of the Court
Lutz (Valet to Karl Heinrich)
Graf Von Asterberg (Student of the
"Saxonia")
Von Wedell (Student of the Corps
Borussia")
The play itself,

Mr. Mansfield.
Mr. A. E. Greenaway.
Mr. Henry Wenman.
Mr. Wm. J. Sorelle.
Mr. Ernest C. Warde.
Mr. A. G. Andrews.
Mr. H. S. Hadfield.
Mr. Leslie Kenyon.
Corps
Mr. Francis McGinn.
"Saxo-
Mr. H. Coleman.
Kellermann (Steward of the Corps "Saxonia") Mr. Edward Fitzgerald.
Ruder (Innkeeper at Heidelberg)
Frau Ruder (his wife)
Frau Dorffel (her aunt)
Kathie
Karl Bilz (Student of the Corps "Saxonia")
Kurt Engelbrecht (Student of the Corps "Sax-
onia")
Mr. W. J. Constantine.
Miss Annie Woods.
Miss Vivian Bernard.
Miss Grace Elliston.
Mr. H. Neuman.
Mr. Clement Toole.
Von Bauzin (Student of the Corps "Saxonia") Mr. F. W. Thompson.
Von Reinecke (Student of the Corps "Sax-
onia")
Steiner (Student of the Corps "Suabia")
Naumann (Student of the Corps "Vandalia")
Eckardt (Student of the Corps "Rhenania")
Scholermann
Glanz
(Lackeys)
Reuter
Conductor of the Band.
{
Mr. Wendell Thompson.
Mr. Charles Quinn.
Mr. J. Hafey.
Mr. P. A. McCarthy.
Mr. Henri Laurent.
Mr. A. McHugh.
Mr. M. C. Tilden.
Mr. Chas. Caroly.
Officers at the Court of Karlsburg:-Messrs. Hevia, Brunswick, Sachs,
Faust, Newton, Patron and Pindar.

404
[1903
RICHARD MANSFIELD
while somewhat attenuated, was so rich in charm-vividly
realised by Mansfield in picturing and rehearsing every
other element of the production-and the rôle of the
Prince was so easily within his secure grasp, that it re-
mained simply a question of whether he could repeat other
miracles of make-up and transform himself into a boy of
nineteen. Mansfield was now in his forty-sixth year. It
is far more difficult to conceal age than youth on the stage.
So all was success when he came down the curved
stairway from the cabinet chamber into the group of
ministers, officials, and flunkies. The customary ovation
welcoming his first entrance was in this instance rather
more than half for the surprising youth of the Prince.
Few could believe at first it was really Mansfield-that was
merely the triumph of make-up, the triumph of youthful
simulation developed from speech to speech. When,
later, the young automaton of Karlsburg Palace began to
breathe the intoxication of Heidelberg, he not only looked,
but was, young. His voice was a bland treble, his blood
seemed to boil, and his heels never touched the floor.
It was especially with his light-footedness that he in-
dicated youth. His early skill in dancing showed in his
agility and grace, and dancing was one of the arts he ad-
vised stage aspirants to cultivate.
Students of the Corps "Saxonia":-Messrs. Deery, Delmar, Walter,
O'Brien, Lyman, Rensaeler, Gross, Osborne, Scrace, Osborn,
Harmon, Lieblee, Silverman and Conway.
Students of the Corps "Suabia":-Messrs. Foster, Berkess, Hadfield,
MacDonald, Parry, Miller, Bradford, Dimond, Foster, O'Brien,
Berkes and Le Voisier.
Students of the Corps "Saxo-Borussia":-Messrs. Waterbury, Clinton,
Paterson, Stevens, MacCallam, Primrose, Hope, Jones, Gordon,
Taylor and Chase.
Students of the Corps "Vandalia":-Messrs. Whitehouse, Wagner,
Bordley, Prescott, Marsile, Thackera, Vest, Carrol, Brosseau and
Myers.
Students of the Corps "Rhenania":-Messrs. Casey, Steiner, Neumann,
Koch, Harvey, Taylor, Eekelhardt and Foster.
Students of other Corps, Officers, Guards, Lackeys, etc.

1903]
ON BEING PHOTOGRAPHED
405
As often with him, Karl Heinrich was not one character
but, in a way, a series. The shy, awkward boy under the
constraint of military discipline, became a pulsing, natural
youth at the university, and responsibility aged him per-
ceptibly, soul as well as body, when he had ruled a while
in his hard old uncle's place.
Mansfield would not be photographed as Karl Heinrich.
Indeed it was extremely difficult to persuade him to be
photographed in any character. The value of photo-
graphs as a medium of publicity had no influence with
him. Sometimes at the end of a season he would be per-
suaded that he owed it to his wife and his boy to per-
petuate the characterisation to the extent of a portrait.
This was the only argument that had any effect with him.
"Photographs of characters are inartistic and dis-
illusionising," he repeated when persuasion was offered.
They convey only the shell of the character. An audi-
ence does not really see what is before it, but what I make
it think it sees." For that reason he would not pose in
character for a portrait painter. "You must get your
impression across the footlights. The stage is for illusion.
Paint the character as it appears to you. You would find
it quite different at close range frozen in a pose."
Waves of genuine affection came across to him when he
played Prince Karl Heinrich, and those letters full of
admiration and praise, which had poured in for nearly
every rôle, were for this one glowing with affection. This
was especially gratifying to him, for, having won the con-
fidence and the esteem of the people, he wanted their love.
In spite of the nagging disposition of an irresponsible sec-
tion of the press, the old fiction of his identity with his
darker, instead of his lighter, rôles was falling away. The
sterner fibres of Courvoisier, Cyrano, King Harry, Beau-
V


406
[1904
RICHARD MANSFIELD
caire, Brutus, and Karl Heinrich had been so exquisitely
tempered with tenderness that the actor's silence in the
face of personal detraction was justified by the answer he
made for the past five years through the spirit of his acting.
He felt sufficiently firm in public affection now to give
rein to his versatility and present himself in an unsympa-
thetic rôle once more. For nearly seven years he had
been composing his Tzar Ivan. As he was to reappear
for a brief engagement in New York City in the spring
of 1904 he decided to make a production of the Tolstoy
historical tragedy.
"Ivan the Terrible" was written in the Russian lan-
guage, about 1867, by Count Alexis Tolstoy, a cousin of
Count Lyof Tolstoy, and was the first of an historical
trilogy of which the other two dramas were "Tzar Feo-
dor" and "Tzar Boris." The censorship against plays
dealing with the person and character of the Tzar was
very strict in Russia, and it was not until 1901 that
"Ivan the Terrible" was acted before the public at the
Theatre Alexandre in St. Petersburg, whereupon it at-
tained enormous popularity.
Before this time, however, it had been produced in
"private theatricals" at court, a near relative of the reign-
ing Tzar having acted Tzar Ivan. In the audience was
Madame Sophie de Meissner, daughter of Admiral Rad-
ford of the United States Navy and widow of Vladimir de
Meissner, at the time of their marriage secretary of the
Russian legation in Washington and afterward attached to
the Imperial Court in St. Petersburg. Immediately she
saw the play she made up her mind that she would trans-
slate it into English for Mansfield, who alone, as she later
wrote gracefully, she believed was capable of its complete
realisation. He hungered to act the celebrated tyrant

1904]
A CHARACTERISTIC REHEARSAL
407
from the first reading, but for a long time listened to the
advice of those near him and to his own fears which sug-
gested that, superb as were the acting opportunities of the
central character, the unrelieved gloom and the sketchy,
disconnected nature of the play would defeat him. As
usual, he listened to every one but did as he pleased, and
he now pleased to stake his embodiment of this great rôle
against the absence of sympathy or even of play.
Preparations were forwarded during the winter under
trying circumstances. He was on tour until two days
before the play was produced, in a different city nearly
every week, playing nightly and travelling on Sunday.
The scenery and accessories were prepared in New York
under long-distance directions. They were reproduced
from drawings which Madame de Meissner went to Russia
to secure, and she brought over most of the costumes.
Rehearsals were held wherever Mansfield happened to be.
He memorised his long rôle over his coffee in the morn-
ing, or late at night after a day's rehearsal and an evening's
performance. For months he had no waking thought
but of ingenuous, charming young Karl Heinrich while the
curtain was up and of vicious, senile Tzar Ivan while the
curtain was down.
In spite of the difficulties under which he worked he
never showed more patience than during these rehearsals
of "Ivan the Terrible." That is saying much, for he in-
sisted on carrying the burden of every detail, whereas
merely the learning of his own lines and the formulation of
his own rôle was many times the burden of any one of his
associates. Back of it all was other anxiety. Not only
was his reputation, his prestige put up each time for opinion
to bowl over if it cared to or could, but in each production
he invested as much as the average rich man pays for a


408
[1904
RICHARD MANSFIELD
country home which he expects to occupy for life. All
these considerations reacted on his nerves, and his nerves
reacted on his temper. But those who knew him, knew
that it was a tempest of the nerves and not of the heart.
To say to a workman "You're discharged!" meant nothing
more than a reproof. It was the habit of exaggerated words.
A carpenter for many years with Mansfield had the correct
focus on his temper. Mr. Glover approached him with
some question as to Mr. Mansfield's wishes about a new
setting. "Really, Mr. Glover, I don't know," replied the
workman, with ingenuousness. "Mr. Mansfield has only
discharged me four times on this production and I haven't
quite got his idea yet." Most often the outbursts were
the effect of nervous despair. At times before acting a
new rôle, there were moments when his confidence in him-
self appeared to desert him, and he broke down com-
pletely. Then in a nervous burst he would toss away his
part and pace the stage in a voluble agony, declaring it
would be impossible to give the production, everything
and everybody, including the play and himself, were
beyond hope, the opening must be postponed, etc., etc.
At such moments no one had influence with him but his
gentle wife. With soft words of agreement, the tender
terms with which a mother would propitiate a child, she
would calm the spirit of this mighty child, and in five min-
utes have him quieted, comforted, and back at work again.
Hence his unfailing patience and gentleness during the
rehearsals of Ivan were a matter of ominous comment
among the company. He seemed to be holding himself
under a strain which would break him. This endured
until the dress rehearsal, which passed swimmingly up to
the fourth act. There in the passionate confession scene
the tricky lines slipped, and with them slipped his self-
1904]
"IVAN THE TERRIBLE"
409
possession. There were five minutes of realistically im-
provised Tzar Ivan before he settled down, but the burst
was welcomed by every one.
An old timer of some four-
teen years in the company said: "I was afraid for him.
And I was afraid for this piece. It seemed as if he hadn't
blown in the trade-mark. But it's all right now. Be-
sides, he is all the better for it."
When he returned to play in New York, it was to the
New Amsterdam Theatre where he had not before ap-
peared. He did not afterward act on any other stage in
New York. As usual, he brought the house good luck.
Here on Tuesday evening, March 1, 1904, he presented
"Ivan the Terrible" for the first time.¹
1 The cast was:
Ivan Vassilyevich (the Terrible), Tzar of
Russia
The Tzaritza Marie Feodorovna
Tzarevitch Fyodor Ivanovitch.
Tzarevna Irina
Marie Grigorevna, wife of Boris God-
unoff
Prince Msteslavsky
Prince Nikita Romanovitch Zaharin.
Prince Shuisky
Prince Belsky
Prince Galitzin
Prince Troubetskoy
Prince Tatistcheff
Prince Saltikoff
Michael Nagoy
Boris Fyodorvich Godunoff, brother-in-
law of the Tzarevich
Gregory Nagoy
Pan Garabourda
Proskof Keekin
Michael Bitagofsky, an adventurer.
First Magician
Second Magician
Doctor Yakoby
A Jester .
Flour Dealer
Attendant on Prince Shuisky
A Nurse
Ladies in Attendance
Mr. Mansfield.
Miss Ida Conquest.
Miss Mona Harrison.
Miss Adelaide Nowak.

Miss Olive Oliver.
Mr. William Sorelle.
Mr. Ernest Warde.
Mr. Henry Wenman.
Mr. Francis McGinn.
Mr. Francis Kingdon.
Mr. Leslie Kenyon.
Mr. Edward Fitzgerald.
Mr. W. T. Patron.
Mr. Henri Laurent.
Mr. Arthur Forrest.
Mr. Hamilton Coleman.
Mr. Kenyon.
Mr. H. Hadfield.
Mr. A. G. Andrews.

Mr. Laurent.
Mr. M. C. Tilden.
Mr. Kingdon.
Mr. Marcel Scrace.
Mr. McGinn.
Mr. Ludwig Brunswick,
Miss Vivian Bernard.
(Miss Alma Hathaway.
Miss Laura Eyre.
Nobles, State Officials, Guards, Buffoons, Serfs and People of
Moscow.

410
[1904
RICHARD MANSFIELD
His Tzar Ivan disappointed no one. Here were no
harassing traditions and conventions. He did not have to
create as many Ivans as there were conceptions in the
audience. Every one came without an Ivan. Each one
brought a "white mind." On it he painted a portrait
which was his very own from the first stroke to the last.
As for the play, no one expected it to succeed. It could
not. There was no play. It was practically an inter-
rupted monologue. In spite of the lack of any extraneous
interest Mansfield stalked straight ahead to a triumph
such as only the greatest artists attain. "Ivan the Ter-
rible," either as play or character, was not designed to
become popular. It was grim gloom, shot by red flames of
passion and yellow bursts of sardonic humour, but it was
mighty, irresistible, overwhelming. It swept away any
lurking doubts of Mansfield's greatness.
He found himself acting Ivan during the first few even-
ings at the New Amsterdam with peculiar difficulty. At
first he could not define it. Presently it came to him.
"It's the dressing-room," he said. "I cannot act if I
continue to dress up here."
The dressing-rooms in this theatre are designed for the
safety of the actors in case of fire and to give them the
benefit of all possible daylight and fresh air. They are
reached from the stage by going into an outside hall and
ascending on an elevator.
Mansfield's trouble was that he felt every time he went
to his room as if he had left the theatre and the atmos-
phere of the play behind. This made it unbelievably
difficult to keep in character from act to act. Besides,
like a general, he liked to be within earshot of the din of
things. He missed the faint echo of the entr'acte music,
the applause, the bustle of shifting scenes, the indistinct

1904]
THE DIN OF BATTLE
411
hum of the voices of the actors who were on the stage while
he was not. The normal noises of the theatre did not
disturb him, they stimulated him. While the curtain was
up his dressing-room door was open, and through the
light hanging which draped the opening he was sub-
conscious of the progress of the comedy or the tragedy of
which he was a part. This was what he missed in the
New Amsterdam, and after the remoteness of the first few
nights up the elevator shaft he insisted on a dressing-room
being built on the stage. This was done, and in this big
canvas room, kept year after year for his use, he passed all
of the evening of a play when he was not on the stage.
This demand, however, for a dressing-room on the stage-
even a temporary canvas structure-while so handsome
and well-equipped a room was provided for him upstairs
-was accounted one of Mansfield's eccentricities.
Campbell, in his life of Mrs. Siddons, quotes a letter of
the great actress in which she writes: "If the representa-
tive of Constance (in Shakespeare's 'King John') shall
ever forget, even behind the scenes, those disastrous events
which impel her to break forth into the overwhelming
effusions of wounded friendship, disappointed ambition,
and maternal tenderness, upon the moment of her appear-
ance in the third act-she must inevitably fall short of that
high and glorious colouring which is indispensable to the
painting of this magnificent portrait. . . . Whenever I
was called upon to impersonate the character of Con-
stance, I never, from the beginning of the play to the end
of my part in it, once suffered my dressing-room door to
be closed, in order that my mind might constantly be
fixed on those distressing events, which, by this means,
could plainly hear going on upon the stage, the terrible
effects of which progress were to be represented to me.


I

412
[1904
RICHARD MANSFIELD
.
In short, the spirit of the whole drama took pos-
session of my mind and frame, by my attention being in-
cessantly riveted on the passing scenes."
"Ivan the Terrible" was acted for two weeks and
thereafter in repertoire for two years. The third week at
the New Amsterdam began with "Old Heidelberg" under
circumstances which displayed Mansfield's wilfulness and
fortitude. On the Sunday after his first seven appear-
ances as Ivan he slipped and fell in his home on Riverside
Drive, and the pain soon told him that he had sprained
his ankle. It was the same treacherous ankle which had
turned on him in Edinburgh twenty-four years before and
in Baltimore two and a half years later, when he returned
to New York-little thinking-to play the Baron Chevrial.
The foot was put in a plaster cast, and it was assumed, of
course, that he would not act for several weeks.
To this he made emphatic objections, and during the
week following he went through the performance of "Ivan
the Terrible" seven times. Fortunately, the Tzar's robes
reached the floor. Moreover, he was on his feet very
little in this play except to enter and leave the stage. But
in the last act, in the delirium of the death scene, where the
infuriated old Tzar summons his failing energies to reach
Godunoff, falls, and rises to fall again and again, and is
finally dragged back to his chair to breathe out his spirit
in a final burst of choler, Mansfield's absorption in the
rôle cost him suffering, of which he said nothing till months
after. One night when he was dragged back to his chair
there was a pause not in the "business" of the part.
Whether or not he had fainted was not at once apparent.
It lasted but a moment, then his eyes opened, and he
stared about and completed the mimic tragedy. When
the curtain fell that night the audience stood in their
1904]
TRIBUTE TO IRVING
413
places and called for him in vain. He was carried to his
dressing-room and did not appear.
It was one thing to act Ivan with a foot in a plaster cast,
to act Karl Heinrich was quite another. In this char-
acter his feet were not only in evidence in trim boots,
but the spirit of youth seemed to spring from his dancing
heels. The doctor removed the cast on Sunday, but for-
bade him using his feet for several days.
listened to the advice and did as he pleased.
Mansfield
The next evening he acted the young Prince in "Old
Heidelberg," and those present saw an altogether remark-
able evidence of his reserved powers. His feet were prac-
tically leaden so far as agility was concerned, yet, such
resources of gesture and posture and litheness of the body
above the knees did he possess, that it was quite a new
Prince he acted for a few nights, though as apparently
youthful and buoyant and agile as ever.
During his last week at the New Amsterdam Sir Henry
Irving acted at the Harlem Opera House. On Friday
evening they had supper together in the company of other
friends, at the Plaza Hotel. They parted without reserva-
tion better friends than they had ever been. The next
day Irving sailed for England. They exchanged greet-
ings at Christmas, and the message of Irving's death came
the next autumn while Mansfield was studying "Don
Carlos." When representatives of the press asked for
some expression on the character of the English actor, he
looked up from the pages of Schiller's tragedy and re-
peated one line:
An atom of his soul had made a god of thee.
In the spring he went to San Francisco and appeared
fourteen times at the Columbia Theatre. He had not


414
[1904
RICHARD MANSFIELD
acted in California since 1893. For some reason he
carried unhappy recollections of that visit and prophesied
disaster on his return. He did not mind being a bad
prophet under such agreeable circumstances. Prices for
his engagement were advanced to a figure commanded
only by foreign artists of the first rank who discreetly kept
the bloom of novelty on their appearances by long inter-
vals between. Every seat for his fourteen appearances
was sold before he entered the city, and holders of tickets
caring to speculate received six, eight, and ten times the
original price. Every one was most kind, and until his
next visit, two years later, this fortnight in San Francisco
remained a treasured remembrance.


CHAPTER THIRTY
(1904-1905)
Campaigning begins to tell-Characters he planned to act-His
attitude toward certain rôles he did not act-Revives his reper-
toire-Shylock to an audience of one-Changes in the "busi-
ness" of "Richard III"-Shylock's accent-Intuitions in char-
acterisation-Preparations for a performance-Distress as Hyde
-A biblical repertoire-"The Misanthrope"-Superstitions-
His thirteenth wedding anniversary.
MANSFIELD was now famous and rich, but thirty years
of campaigning were telling on him. When he returned to
the city for rehearsals in the fall of 1904 he talked con-
tinually of his weariness. His spirit of unrest and dis-
content had made this attitude familiar during many
years, so that it was not so significant as his confession
that he began to feel unequal to the strain. He had great
difficulty getting into harness, "getting the stride" as he
expressed it. There often came to his lips the lament of
weary King Richard the night before Bosworth: "I have
not that alacrity of spirit I was wont to have."
This weariness did not manifest itself while he was on
the stage, however, but once. Before an audience he
showed no diminution of his energy and fire or of that
hypnotic faculty of commanding the concentrated interest
of those before him. Personality radiated from him. It
made little matter whether one liked him, or liked the play,
415
416
[1904
RICHARD MANSFIELD
or liked the character, while he was in sight he commanded
every eye.
His position now permitted him to do much as he liked
in the choice of plays. The vehicle was of secondary
consequence. Whenever and wherever he appeared the
theatre was packed with people who came to see Richard
Mansfield. It was like him to use his accumulated power
and profit to the advantage of the public. From now on
he presented such characters as he felt the public should
be made acquainted with in spite of prevailing taste. His
immediate plan was to revive his repertoire, in abeyance
since his success in such elaborate productions as "Cyrano
de Bergerac," "King Henry V," "Julius Cæsar," and
"Ivan the Terrible" had made it as impractical as it was
unnecessary to "travel" more than one play at a time.
With this accomplished he proposed to acquaint the pub-
lic with performances of Molière, Schiller, the poetic plays
of Ibsen, and other masters
This decision was arrived at after winnowing through
the accumulated manuscripts and plans of years. There
were many great characters which he strove continually to
have embodied in adequate plays. Among these were
Cagliostro, Rembrandt, Dean Swift, Frederick the Great,
Omar Khayyam, Grimaldi, Molière, Cardinal Mazarin,
John Paul Jones, Voltaire, and Emperor Frederick Wil-
liam. Those were the characters he would have loved to
embody. Hundreds of others were suggested by the
daily influx of manuscripts.
Aaron Burr, Benedict Arnold, and Alexander the Great
appeared to be the most thought-of characters for Mans-
field in the amateur mind. The number of plays on each
of these men received each year reduced them to some-
what of a joke. And so, as he looked over the weekly
1904]
PLAYS UNACTED
417
accumulation, he would exclaim: "Ah, here's our old
friend Benedict Arnold this morning," or "Some soul in
Michigan has Burritis again," or "Alexander once more,
eh? His ambition won't rest beyond the Styx. He has
heard of America and wants to conquer it with me as his
humble weapon. The scalp of my reputation would be
the only trophy of such a campaign. Send it back."
Of all the remote corners from which plays were sent
him, perhaps the strangest was Iceland. In 1903 an ex-
plorer, William Napier of Pittsburg, returned from an
expedition in the frozen North, and brought with him the
manuscript of a drama by Professor Einarsson of that
arctic country. It was called "Sword and Crozier." The
author wrote in his letter to Mansfield: "Your great repu-
tation has reached Iceland, and in committing my precious
verses to you I am sure they will be crowned as no other
artist could. It is said you speak many languages. Since
German is among them and Icelandic is not, it is into
German that I have translated the play that you may
understand it. I could make an English paraphrase, but
fearful English it would surely be."
In the search for new characters the Shakespearian
gallery was continually under scrutiny. Timon of Athens,
Falstaff, and King John were often on the verge of pro-
duction. He was not disposed, however, to revive a
classic rôle to which he could bring nothing new-not
merely new "business," for which when advanced for its
own sake he had contempt, but a new interpretation of
character-and this precluded his acting Hamlet or Othello,
for he often expressed his belief that Edwin Booth's acting
of the Dane and Tomasso Salvini's acting of the Moor
left no hope of any other artist re-creating them.
His reason for not appearing as Macbeth was quite apart


418
[1904
RICHARD MANSFIELD
from such considerations as these. He had this rôle com-
pletely composed during years of study, and he longed to
add the Scotch King to his repertoire. He refrained from
lack of a youthful, beautiful, bewitching Lady Macbeth.
In acting the royal murderer he would have accented the
native probity of a soul besieged by an ambitious enchant-
ress who softly, stealthily, ingeniously, and intrepidly
stole away his heart, his conscience, and his will. He
repeatedly said that he knew of but one woman in his life-
time endowed physically, mentally, and temperamentally
to embody the irresistible excuse of Macbeth's fall, and
she was Ellen Terry in her youth. To his mind no
amount of tragic fire or subtlety in this rôle made up for
the lack of physical allurements and of the complete un-
derstanding and mastery of their power over the will of a
man.
He made up his mind very early in his career that "King
Lear" was not for him, but it was repeatedly suggested to
him until he was driven to a state of mind expressed in a
letter to his friend, George Seibel: "My bête noir is 'King
Lear' because some one is always worrying me about that
old lunatic. Like Uncle Dick's King Charles, I fear he
will soon crop up in everything I say or do or write."
He debated a long time on Byron's "Sardanapalus,"
but his final reason for discarding it was that he disliked
to build up the interest throughout a play to a mechanical
climax-like the death of the King in the flames of his
burning city in this play-which his instincts told him
would be sure to go wrong and destroy the illusion his
acting had created./Goethe's "Egmont" was often in
mind. Stephen Phillips's "Herod" was written for him,
but when the play was finished he had changed his mind
and the character repelled him. In a letter to the writer

1904]
AN AUDIENCE OF ONE
419
he epitomised it in these characteristic terms: "Herod
for reasons of policy murders his handsome brother-in-
law and thereby loses the love of his beautiful wife Mari-
anne. Failing to regain her love he has her murdered
and then has a fit because he discovers she is dead. This
is the tragedy of Herod."
For his previous spring engagement in New York he
had revived "Beau Brummell," "A Parisian Romance,"
and "Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde." He retained "Ivan the
Terrible" in repertoire, and for the season of 1904-1905
he reappeared as Shylock and King Richard III for the
first time since the spring of 1898.
His Shylock this season revealed a new make-up of
the Jew, quite distinct from his earlier expressions. The
hair was thin and wispish. The beard was no longer long,
broad, and matted, but short, spare, and grizzled. The
cheeks were yellowishly pale, the eyes deep, the whole
aspect of the countenance was aged and ascetic. This was
the Shylock which Edgar Cameron painted a few months
later.
In Boston, one morning, he acted Shylock to an audience
of one. He was playing at the Colonial and Ada Rehan
was playing at the Majestic. The two theatres faced on
different streets, but their stage doors were approached by
the same passage. The morning after Mansfield's re-
appearance as Shylock they met here on their way to
rehearsal.
In her hand Miss Rehan held a newspaper with an
account of Mansfield's performance the night before.
"How I wish I could have been there!" she exclaimed.
"I have never seen your Shylock, and I so wish I might."
"Then, if you can spare the time, you shall now," he
replied.


4.20
[1904
RICHARD MANSFIELD
They turned together into the Colonial stage door and to
Miss Rehan was given the seat of honour at the prompter's
table. The rehearsal of "King Richard III" was aban-
doned, and instead Mansfield and his company acted the
Shylock scenes from "The Merchant of Venice," though
without scenery or costumes, to their distinguished audi-
ence of one.
The Monday of the second week was devoted to his
reappearance as Richard III, and that night his nerves
betrayed him as they never did before or after. After the
two performances, Saturday, he had rehearsed Richard III
all day and night Sunday and all day Monday. When it
came time for his entrance as Gloster, Monday evening, he
appeared and began his scene, but presently, after a
pause, he looked up at the audience and said, with pa-
thetic weariness: "It's no use. I can't do it. I'm too tired.
The words won't come." Then he crept off the stage.
The effect on both players and audience was electric.
No one said a word, but the suspicion in every one's mind
was conveyed by silent glances. In a moment the curtain
fell.
He went to his dressing-room and threw himself on a
chair. He was a man to whom, at such times, it was im-
possible to offer either sympathy or assistance. Every-
body and everything was at an ominous stand-still for ten
interminable minutes. No one knew what to do or what
to say. Finally he raised his head, drew himself up, and
returned silently to the stage with a signal to the stage
manager to raise the curtain. He finished the scene
securely, and rose as the evening progressed to his accus-
tomed heights in this character. It was the only time in his
life that his memory succumbed to the tax he put on his
vital energies.

RICHARD MANSFIELD AS SHYLOCK
From an oil painting by Edgar Cameron
1904]
SHAKESPEARE UNCUT
421
He altered the "business" of Richard in two instances
in this revival. One was to omit the opening soliloquy
"Now is the winter of our discontent." Up to this time
he had a significant effect with the prayer-book when he
enters between two monks on the gallery at the head of
the stairs before the crown is offered him in Crosby
Palace. The Lord Mayor calls attention to him in this
line: "See, where he stands between two clergymen!"
and Buckingham continues:
Two props of virtue for a Christian prince,
To stay him from the fall of vanity:
And, see, a book of prayer in his hand,
True ornaments to know a holy man.
Gloster's attention appears to be piously riveted on the
prayer-book, but the moment the others shift their glance
he turns the prayer-book around. It pointed the Duke's
hypocrisy neatly.
At supper, one evening, after the play, some one re-
marked on the cleverness of the point. "Mere business,"
replied Mansfield. "Any one could make that point.
There is no acting required." The next time he played
the part he put all the hypocrisy in his manner, he acted
it, and omitted the "business" of the upside-down prayer-
book, nor did he ever restore it.
His Richard performance lasted from eight o'clock until
half-past eleven. "Yet," he wrote me, "papers complain
that my version is a merciless 'cut' from the original text.
I am thinking of adding this note to my advertisements:
'On Saturday evening, the 28th, the entire tragedy of
"Richard III," by William Shakespeare, will be presented
by Richard Mansfield and his company. The parts will
be read. The performance will commence at 7.45 sharp


422
[1904
RICHARD MANSFIELD
and will terminate Sunday morning approximately at
5 A.M.'"
These two Shakespearian rôles revealed the authority
he had at last acquired with the public. When first
acted, both were treated with consideration by thought-
ful people, but neither drew large audiences. Now they
were towers of strength in his repertoire, and neither
was henceforth played to fewer people than the theatre
would hold. Critical praise of them was unreserved, yet
he insisted that the quality of his performance of each rôle
was essentially what it had been when he played it years
before. He planned to act "The Merchant of Venice"
at least once without scenery, before dark draperies and
in dialect as he believed it should be played. But it came
to naught. When he disclosed this plan one evening in
Chicago, James O'Donnell Bennett called his attention to
a passage from Schlegel:
"Shylock is everything but a common Jew, he possesses
a strongly marked and original individuality, and yet we
perceive a slight touch of Judaism in everything he says
or does. We almost fancy we can hear a light whisper of
the Jewish accent in the written words, such as we still
find sometimes in the higher classes, notwithstanding their
social refinement. In tranquil moments all that is foreign
to the European blood and Christian sentiments is less
perceptible, but in passion the national stamp comes out
more strongly marked. All these inimitable niceties the
finished art of a great actor can alone properly express."
"That's precisely the whole substance of the matter,"
exclaimed Mansfield, "I am often tempted to broaden and
deepen the slight touch of accent I give certain words in
Shylock's mouth into a pronounced dialect. That would
be appropriate. It would enrich the colouring of the rôle,


1904]
he
SHYLOCK'S ACCENT
423
and it would intensify what is most important in defining
the man-his utter aloofness from the social code under
which his life is lived. He is an alien in his mental atti-
tude, in his speech, and in his conduct. Therein lies the
pathos of the situation, and the more firmly you accentuate
his forlorn aloofness the more truly you present a tragic
embodiment. Shylock's fourth word upon his first en-
trance suggests a foreign accent. 'Three thousand ducats,'
says, and adds Well.' Some actors have said 'Well?'
in the manner of an interrogatory exclamation. I think
it is a very positive declaration, as though he said 'Very
good' or 'It is well.' Shakespeare probably had in mind
the Italian 'bene,' and so I choose to come down heavily
upon the word, and utter it as if denoting complacent
satisfaction with the proposition of the Merchant. This
single word may be spoken in a manner to indicate at
once the money-lender's alien accent. When I played
Shylock as a boy at Derby I gave him the full measure of
the accent, I now only suggest."
99
Mr. Bennett in recounting this wrote: "Mr. Mansfield
then ran through Shylock's first long speech in the manner
in which it might be spoken to intensify this idea of its
complete foreignness. The utterances were amazingly
rapid, the tone nasal, the shrugs and bendings frequent.
All the vowels were lengthened and the 'd's' became 't's,'
as, for example, 'My meaning in saying he ees a goot man
ees to have you understand me that he ees suffeecient.'
'Tripolis' became 'Treepolis,' and the accounting of the
perils of the deep fairly tumbled from his lips in a rush of
cadenced syllables, crackling consonants, and rotund,
melodious vowels-'There be land ratz and vatter ratz,
vatter tieves and land tieves; I mean pirates; and then
there is the peril of vatters, vinds, and rocks. The man ees


424
[1904
RICHARD MANSFIELD
notvithstanding, suffeecient?' Before the listener was the
embodiment of a fluent, emphatic, obsequious Jewish
money-lender, who, though he was obsequious, was deeply
intent upon driving his bargain, and who set forth its
various phases of possible loss with all the positiveness
that sharp downright accent here and a stern rolling em-
phasis there could bestow. And not the least wonderful
feature of the reading was that, though it was in dialect,
it was not grotesque."
Then Mansfield referred to his suggestions of alien birth
and speech in other rôles: "I tried in my embodiment of
Napoleon to differentiate the Corsican from the French-
men about him by throwing into my speech the hint of a
foreign accent. Afterward I learned that Napoleon did
actually speak French with a pronounced accent. Now,
what could have impelled me to employ the suggestion of
an accent in the first place? Sometimes these impulses
to do a certain thing in portraying an historical character
turn out to be almost uncannily accurate.
"The first evening I played 'Ivan the Terrible' I sat
down at my dressing-table to make up with a full, flowing
beard. But I put aside the material at the last moment
and indicated the Tzar's beard and the locks on his head
with a few straggling hairs-as though his beard had been
eaten away by moths. Among those who came on the
stage after the play was a traveller who had seen the por-
trait of Ivan that is in the Kremlin at Moscow. The
traveller said: 'Your make-up is an amazingly accurate
duplicate of the Kremlin portrait of Ivan I saw last sum-
mer, and it is a likeness said to have been painted in the
Tzar's lifetime.'
"In the last act of 'Ivan the Terrible' there is a moment
in which for no reason except that it seems a perfectly

1904] INSTINCTIVE CHARACTERISATIONS 425
natural thing to do, I make the monarch's progress across
the stage break into a little, swift, pattering run, almost
like a child's. Since that bit of acting was introduced
into this rôle a famous American physician has told me
that that eccentricity of locomotion is a phase of the ner-
vous and physical decay of which Ivan IV is supposed to
have died. 'There are more things in heaven and earth,
Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.' In
Hamlet's dictum, it seems to me, is some sort of explana-
tion of these little instinctive returns to the actual in a
player's treatment of an historical figure."
Mansfield's communicativeness about his characters on
this occasion was unusual. He rarely explained himself.
He was now studying Molière's "The Misanthrope," yet
no one dared mention it to him. In good time he would
say when he expected to act it, and the production would
be made ready but without one word from him about his
interpretation of Alceste. The evolution of a character in
Mansfield's mind remained unexplained. He retired
into what Pater called "mystic isolation." Like Rossetti,
he became "A racked and tortured medium." But when
he came to rehearsal, even to the first, it was with full
possession of the new character, just as later, when he
went on the stage to give the character to the audience, it
had full possession of him.
His performance of a rôle-even of those which he
retained in his repertoire from his early successes-whether
in comedy or tragedy, was to him a sacred work, almost
sacramental. He was first in the theatre, never less than
two and sometimes three hours before his first entrance.
This time he spent in the seclusion of his dressing-room.
But the preparation did not begin there. In the after-
noon he took a long walk. When he returned he would

426
[1904
RICHARD MANSFIELD
see no visitors, none of his household, and his servants
attended him in silence. He ate a light repast at five
o'clock with a book for company at table. Then he re-
tired to his own apartment for a short nap and a bath, and
rode away in his unbroken silence to the theatre. At this
hour he wore an old great-coat with cape, a slouch hat well
down over his eyes, and a muffler over the lower half of
his face. He made it imperative that the carriage be
draughtless.
And so into the dressing-room. When the call came
for his entrance and he emerged from his room a metamor-
phosis had taken place. It was not the actor who went
upon the scene, it was the character. By some process,
and it has been called self-hypnotism, he became the
person he was playing.
He carried the manner to and from and into his dressing-
room. He acted the rôle all the evening on and off the
scene, and it fell away from him only as he put aside the
trappings and emerged from the dressing-room his own self
bound for home. He preferred not to see any one during
a performance. The nights he played certain characters
it was inviting trouble to attempt to bring him out of the
character with disassociated topics, however important in
themselves.
When he played Brummell he was courtesy itself, but
disorder, untidiness, or any offences to the five senses
were met with the high-bred resentment of the Beau.
Nothing disturbed him on Baron Chevrial night, his mind
was on Rosa and Marcelle and the effect he was to pro-
duce on them; nothing else mattered. He was equally
independent of extraneous conditions when he acted
Bluntschli and Dudgeon. There was always a cloud over
the stage on Richard, Ivan, and Hyde nights. Undis-
1904]
THE EFFECT OF HYDE
427
tracted, all went well, but disorder, inattention, wrong
lights were met in the spirit of the imperious characters
who had possession of him.
No critics knew half so well as he how much the effects
produced in the early acts of "Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde"
depended on the lights. He never went on the stage for
the transformations that he was not in an agony
of appre-
hension lest the effect be spoiled. This apprehension
stimulated his imagination and he grew to suspecting
always that the lights were wrong, so that "Dr. Jekyll and
Mr. Hyde " nights became the same terror to him and all
about him on the stage, though for a different reason,
that they were to audiences. He often said that on these
nights he suffered actual martyrdom. The part was not
long. Yet such was his distress that repeatedly he de-
clared that he could not live through Hyde another night.
In these last years he acted it only when the other pieces
of the repertoire were overplayed. This performance had
a remarkable hold on the public, and it held the record
for attendance and receipts in nearly every theatre in
which it was acted. It drew to the Walnut Street Theatre,
Philadelphia, the oldest theatre in America, the record
audience since it was opened in 1806.
After a night of Jekyll and Hyde he usually saw no one
and supped alone. His friend, "Jack" Lincoln, had this
in mind on the last night of Mansfield's Chicago run this
winter of 1904-1905, when he was invited to come to have
a farewell supper, and pleaded an indisposition, adding
that he was coming to see him play, however. Mansfield
gave finality to the invitation with this note: "Caro mio
Jacko: I think if you are well enough to see Jekyll and
Hyde you are well enough to see me and if I can endure
playing Jekyll and Hyde I can stand seeing you."


428
[1904
RICHARD MANSFIELD
When he reached Philadelphia in November of this
season he found an acute situation between the theatres
and the newspapers. Each group had combined against
the other. The editors finally placed the whole matter of
theatrical mention on the basis of advertising, and the
manager who spent the most money on advertising
received the longest criticism (not necessarily the most
favourable), and it was given precedence over the others.
Mr. Wright Lorimer was acting David in "The Shepherd
King" at the time and as he began his Philadelphia en-
gagement the same evening as Mansfield, his manager
multiplied the customary advertising space many times
and had the satisfaction of seeing his star lead the column
in two papers with Mansfield tagging on.
Mansfield understood the commercialised situation, but,
in an amusing letter to Mrs. Mansfield that day, pre-
tended that "biblical drama" had captured the country,
and if he expected to maintain his position of preeminence
he would at once have to provide himself with a biblical
repertoire. He submitted the following as likely to
"draw":
MR. MANSFIELD
next week will appear in a series of
GREAT BIBLICAL CHARACTERS.
Monday and Saturday evenings-Mr. Mansfield as
Solomon.
On this occasion all King Solomon's wives and con-
cubines will appear (by arrangement with E. E. Rice).
Tuesday Evening-Mr. Mansfield as Absalom.
Mr. Mansfield will hang by his hair from a tree during
an entire act. One performance only. (Mr. Mans-
field will use his own hair.) Note: As this per-
formance cannot be repeated, there will be a slight
increase in the price of seats.

1905]
A BIBLICAL REPERTOIRE
429
Wednesday Evening Mr. Mansfield as Nebuchadnezzar.
Mr. Mansfield in this extraordinary impersonation
will, at the close of the play, crawl on all fours and eat
grass and other vegetables.
Thursday evening and Saturday Matinée-Mr. Mansfield
as Moses.
This play opens with the bull-rushing episode and
concludes happily with the advent of the Golden Calf.
Friday Evening-Jonah and the Whale.
Mr. Mansfield's first appearance as Jonah. This
play finally removes all doubt as to why the whale
objected to Jonah.
The custom of playing his New York engagements when
the opera season had waned, which was established in
1904, was followed thereafter without exception. This
spring of 1905 he reappeared at the New Amsterdam
Theatre on Monday evening, March 20, and changed the
bill nightly for the first three weeks.
The acclaim with which he was received was beyond
words. The neglected Richard III and Shylock were now
the inspiration of the greatest enthusiasm. One evening,
after he had been called before the curtain for the tenth
time, he turned wearily toward his dressing-room to find
Emma Thursby and her sister at the door. The light of
a peculiar pleasure shone through the mask of King
Richard. As he grasped the hand of this pet of his mother,
he thought of her whom he would have liked best of all
to have witness these triumphs, in spite of her declara-
tion, "see that boy of mine making a fool of himself," or
her withdrawal of his allowance when she heard he was
"an entertainer in London."
"What do you suppose my mother would think of me
now? Do you think she'd be pleased?" But before
Miss Thursby could answer, his eye twinkled and he con-

430
[1905
RICHARD MANSFIELD
tinued: "But she would spend all my money for bric-a-
bracs!"
"The Misanthrope" was now ready, and it was acted
the fourth Monday evening, April 10, and throughout
that week. Mansfield had no illusion about the possible
popularity of the Molière classic. He presented it for the
pure joy of acting Alceste, for the satisfaction of adding
Molière's name to his repertoire, and as a gratuitous
thank-offering to his public. This was the first time that
a comedy by Molière had been acted on an American
stage in English by professional artists. A comedy
founded on "Le Malade Imaginaire" and called "The
Hypochondriac" had been acted occasionally in an early
period of the American theatre. The translation of "Le
Misanthrope" by Katharine Prescott Wormeley was used.
The performance in every character and every detail
provided an intellectual and artistic occasion of pure joy.
How he did work on everybody and on everything with
the pains of Fragonard on a panel! What intelligent
response from the artists! What a delightful ripple of
appreciative merriment all the evening long from the audi-
ence! And the critics responded with praise that crowned
his high intention and execution. It was even more popu-
lar than he had anticipated, though it was designed essen-
tially for the few.
1 The cast was:
Alceste
Philinte
Oronte
Célimène
•
Eliante
Arsinoé
Acastë
Clitandre
Basque
Dubois
An officer
A Maid
Mr. Richard Mansfield.
Mr. A. G. Andrews.
Mr. Leslie Kenyon.
Miss Eleanor Barry.
Miss Irene Prahar:
Miss Gertrude Gheen.
Mr. Morton Selton.
Mr. Arthur Berthelet.
Mr. Hamilton Coleman.
Mr. Henry Wenman.
Mr. Francis D. McGinn.
Miss Mildred Morris.

RICHARD MANSFIELD AS ALCESTE

1905]
"THE MISANTHROPE"
431
Célimène's salon was an exquisite white and gold re-
production of an architectural print of a Louis XIII salon
by Meissonier. Mansfield found it when a boy in Tot-
tenham Court Road, London, and had kept it all these
years in sheer admiration of its delicate formal beauties.
It hung in his bedroom for many years before he died.
As Molière had himself acted Alceste, Mansfield made up
after the familiar portraits of the French dramatist and
comedian.
The character of Alceste had made a profound appeal
to Mansfield's sense both of humour and of life. It has
been called the mental autobiography of Molière, and
those who knew Mansfield had no difficulty in reading
him into the character. The misapprehension of the
world made both men cynical. Both drove their relent-
less way regardless of cost, believing in their own point of
view so implicitly they could not conceive of any other.
Alceste was a man of radical temperament, extreme
earnestness, delicate sensibilities, rugged honesty, and a
mental focus so direct as to bring him under the indict-
ment of eccentricity. Mansfield was all these. Uncon-
sciously, perhaps, this analogy begot a sympathy which
gave remarkable verisimilitude to Mansfield's character-
isation, and he added grace, distinction, courtliness, a
piquant charm, and an appealing humanity in his per-
formance of the rôle. From all quarters there were
hearty acknowledgments, not less of the fresh evidence of
his scholarly penetration and facile technique, than of the
happy issue of his renewed effort to elevate the standards
of the stage of which he was now the acknowledged
leader.
The approach of his thirteenth wedding anniversary
showed again that signs, omens, and dreams all had their

432
[1905
RICHARD MANSFIELD
influence on Mansfield. He allowed his "intuitions" to
guide him in most important crises. "Something tells
me," was frequently on his lips. He was especially sus-
ceptible to the traditional superstitions of the theatre.
The appearance of a black cat on the stage gave him
comfort. He would not allow an umbrella to be raised in
the theatre, and a quotation from Macbeth quite upset
him. The "tag," or last line, of a play was never spoken
at rehearsal. If it was his speech, he would read to the
last line and conclude quite seriously with his finger to his
lips: "And the rest is a secret.
He often cited coincidences in his experience like the
dream years before in London in which he saw D'Oyly
Carte's secretary coming for him; and here is another
strange experience as written by his own hand, but with-
out date:
"The strain of two performances had left me in a state
of almost intolerable mental excitement. I returned to
my room in this nervous condition and threw myself on a
sofa in order to relax. Try as I would, however, I could
not shake off the obsession of a character I was studying
at the time-that of an educated, intelligent man who was
goaded by a train of almost fatal circumstances to com-
mit a series of brutal murders. While I was revolving
the psychological problem of how far this man was re-
sponsible for his deeds and to what extent he was the
victim of circumstances, the door which I had locked
suddenly opened, and the most hideous man I had ever
seen boldly entered. He was ghastly pale, with a long,
black beard, and wore a heavy fur coat.
"Before I could spring to my feet this phantom had
vanished, and upon examining the door I found it securely
fastened. For days I could not shake off the effects of

1905]
A WEDDING ANNIVERSARY
433
this uncanny visitation, although I had attributed it to a
nightmare.
"A few evenings later I visited the slums in search of
local colour for the part, and upon returning to the busi-
ness district of the city I was attracted to a wax figure
museum. Almost involuntarily I was seized with a desire
to enter. The proprietor told me it was about closing time
and he could not admit me, but by feeing him I was per-
mitted to go in. I visited the various exhibitions, and
finally entered the chamber of horrors. To my consterna-
tion the first wax figure that struck my eye was that of my
uncanny visitor. Feature for feature it was the same.
There were the repulsive ugliness, the ghastly pallor, the
long, black beard, and even the heavy fur coat.
"That,' said the proprietor, 'is the effigy of a well-
known murderer. Some people thought he was the
victim of circumstances, but his crimes were so nu-
merous and so cold-blooded that he suffered the death
penalty.'
66
'As he proceeded to enumerate the crimes I experienced
a cold perspiration. They were almost identical with
those committed by the hero of the drama I had been
studying at the time of the ghostly visitation.
"To this day I cannot decide whether the case was an
odd mixture of nightmare and coincidence or whether it
was a psychological example of thought producing spiritual
manifestation."
As the day of the anniversary approached, Mrs. Mans-
field filled the house with young guests and a dinner and
party were arranged. To console him, everyone hunted
up good omens and charms, and after dinner he submitted
cheerfully to the most absurd incantations and devices for
driving off bad luck.


434
[1905
RICHARD MANSFIELD
The health of the "bride and groom" were proposed by
Augustus Tyler, with a Southerner's gallantry to his own
lady in the reservation of the first line:
Here's to the sweetest woman in the world,
Bar one;
And here's to the greatest actor in the world;
Bar none.
Mansfield found much pleasure in the letters and tele-
grams and verses of good wishes, but his especial comfort
was a sonnet, written for the occasion by Vivian Burnett,
and entitled "Recompense":
To scorn eternal from his natal day
Poor luckless Thirteen seemed by fate consigned,
In every breath denied by Humankind,
By brother numbers shunned at work or play.
I never saw him, but his cheeks, ash gray,
And tears that did his dumb eyes nearly blind,
And furrowed brow and quivering lip combined
The pinch of his heart's anguish to betray-
But once.
This morn I found him radiant-faced
(His dimpling mouth did Pleasure's self possess),
Enthroned 'midst flattering brothers crowded thick,
"Full recompense," cried he to me, "I taste,
'Tis mine to mark a year of happiness
That Hymen grants to Beatrice and Dick.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
(1905-1906)
A summer of illness-"Don Carlos"-Poetical embellishments-
More addresses-Discipline on the stage-As to productions-
Creating a rôle "Acting acting"-Acting in every-day life-A
warning from his physicians-San Francisco under difficulties-
Triumph-Christmas on the train-Bernhardt offers him her
Paris theatre-Announces his last years on the stage.
AFTER Molière, Schiller. And at this time with peculiar
appositeness, for 1905 was the centenary of the poet's
death. The choice narrowed to Wallenstein and Don
Carlos. Mansfield would have preferred to act the stout
warrior, but he believed there would be no interest in the
epic. It was well enough to do the fine thing occasion-
ally, as in "The Misanthrope," in disregard of all con-
siderations but art, but such experiments are not only
expensive in themselves, but in their reaction. He be-
lieved vastly more people would be interested in "Don
Carlos." On this play his final decision fell, and it was
announced for the autumn.
This was one of the productions in the preparation of
which his wishes could have reached his manager by no
less subtle means than telepathy. Up to a month before
the first night Mr. Stevens could get nothing from him
either by letter or by going to New London beyond an
indefinite: "Go ahead, you know what's wanted." Added

435

436
[1905
RICHARD MANSFIELD
to this was his own indecision about doing the play at all.
One day a letter would come directing his manager to
rush everything, only to be followed twenty-four hours
later by a telegram to stop work till further instructions.
Three different times the preparations were started and
stopped. The final decision to present the play was
reached so late that the order for the scenery was parcelled
out to five studios in order to have it finished in time.
Like fever-born Rodion this Spanish Prince was the
child of distress. Mansfield was ill all through the sum-
mer and resisted an operation to the end. He had to sub-
mit, however, and the opening of his season was postponed
a fortnight. After ten days he came to New York and
began rehearsals, but with much suffering. Again the
opening of the season was postponed, and for the second
time he submitted himself to the surgeon. His vitality
was remarkable, and in a few days more he was back at
work with his accustomed vigour. But from that time
on he suffered a distress which gradually laid him low.
His fortitude was such, however, that his audiences never
suspected the effort which those brilliant, unsparing perform-
ances cost; nor did even the players at his elbow know at
what a price he performed those emotional and physical
prodigies, possible only to one of his dynamic personality.
The season was finally announced to open October 30,
in Chicago, but a preliminary performance of "Don
Carlos" was given at the Valentine Theatre in To-
ledo, Ohio, on Friday evening, October 27.¹ Mansfield
1 The cast was:
Philip II, King of Spain.
Don Carlos, Son of Philip
Alexander Farnese
Marquis de Posa
Duke of Alva.
Count Lerma
Duke of Feria.
Mr. Fuller Mellish.
Mr. Richard Mansfield.
Mr. Thomas Mills.
Mr. A. G. Andrews.
Mr. Leslie Kenyon.
Mr. Sheridan Block.
Mr. Henry Wenman.

RICHARD MANSFIELD AS DON CARLOS

1905]
"DON CARLOS"
437
constructed his acting version from R. D. Boylan's
translation.
He acted "Don Carlos" exclusively in Chicago, and it
held a conspicuous position in his repertoire throughout
the season. It is a play that invites respect without
enthusiasm except in Carlos's torrent of "passionate
avowal, apostrophe, eulogy, lament, defiance, and de-
spairing anguish" over the body of his murdered friend,
Posa. Mansfield's ample and diversified dramatic pow-
ers were only partially elicited up to this point, for until
then the character is presented in moments of restraint.
At this moment of tragic crisis, however, his youthful
features were illumined, "the choler of the eternal cosmic
passions" swept through his voice, and he manifested a
dignity, depth, power, and diversity of feeling which never
failed to stir the deepest emotions and highest enthusiasms
of an audience. Here he exemplified the saying of the
French philosopher: "Genius is a question of a quarter
of an hour." But this refers to expression only. The art
in the performance of that one scene crystallised the
study, training, experience, and suffering of a lifetime.
In the last moment of the play, as the hooded Inquisitors
pushed the young Prince to his death, Mansfield's mask
of terror and his impassioned constraint stimulated the
imagination to a haunting sense of the agony awaiting
him. With this tragic note suggested, but not denoted,


Duke of Medina Sidonia.
Don Raymond de Taxis.
Domingo, Confessor to the King
The Grand Inquisitor
Page to the Queen.
Mr. Sydney Mather.
Mr. Ernest Warde.
Mr. Clarence Handyside.
Mr. Walter Howe.
Miss Margaret Kilroy.
Miss Florence Rockwell.
Elisabeth de Valois .
Duchess d'Olivarez.
Marchioness de Mondecai
Princess Eboli.
Miss Vivian Bernard.
Miss Nora Dunblane.
Countess Fuentes
Miss Eleanor Barry.
Miss Adelaide Nowak.
Ladies of the Court, Pages, Officers, Soldiers, etc.

438
[1905
RICHARD MANSFIELD
by Schiller, the play ended. Mansfield had conceived a
further poetic addition which was not even rehearsed.
He had opened the first act in the flowery gardens of Aran-
juez with a game of racquets among a number of the
Queen's pages, who are driven away by the approach of
Elizabeth and her suite. It was a spirited picture of
youth, beauty, and gayety. Mansfield's intention for the
end of the play, defeated by the great length of the per-
formance without further embellishments, was that, after
the procession of Inquisitors had disappeared with the
doomed Prince, into the shadows of the night, the music
of the dead march should gradually lighten as night dis-
appears before dawn, the birds should break into song,
the sun beam its golden radiance over the scene, and the
laughing pages rush out of the palace and resume their
romp--the tragedy of life eclipsed by the eternal youth of
the world.
He had many dreams of this sort which he did not
materialise. But how he felt when he did embroider a
play, he tells in his own words: 1 "I am wondering all the
while whether any one else feels all this-perceives it and
likes it or only imagines the suggestion is there when it
is not. I know very well that I often wonder why people
do not comprehend what I wish to convey to them without
long explanations, and perhaps it's the same with my
stage pictures. I generally understand what people are
going to say when they commence speaking, and in most
cases I find listening exceedingly tedious; but I always
do listen, if I can afford the time, because I have learned
how much pleasure they derive from talking."
For this winter an ambitious course of lectures on the
drama had been arranged by the University of Chicago,
Harper's Weekly.
1905]
"TALKING VS. ACTING"
439
and Mansfield was invited to open the series during
his visit. On November 2, he addressed a vast audience
in Orchestra Hall, on "The Art of Talking versus the Art'
of Acting." This address he made the foundation of his
talk before the faculty and students of the University of
California a fortnight later. On the invitation of Provost
Harrison he addressed the faculty and student body of
the University of Pennsylvania on "Man and the Actor,"
while playing in Philadelphia the January following.
Certain points in these addresses were digested in the
article, "Man and the Actor," which appeared in the
Atlantic Monthly, May, 1906. In these talks he gave
expressions to characteristic views on his art, and to some
comments on life which are literally autobiographic, or
may easily be construed as such. He rarely spoke to or
wrote for the public that he did not refer to his life-long
desire to see in America a theatre independent of financial
considerations:
At this moment, it cannot be denied that the stage is
drifting somewhat hither and thither. Every breath of
air and every current of public opinion impels it first in
one direction and then in another. At one moment we
may be in the doldrums of the English society drama or
we are sluggishly rolling along in a heavy ground swell
propelled by a passing cat's paw of revivals of old melo-
dramas. Again we catch a very faint northerly breeze
from Ibsen or a southeaster from Maeterlinck and Haupt-
mann. Sometimes we set our sails to woo that ever-clear-
ing breeze of Shakespeare only to be forced out of our
course by a sputter of rain, an Irish mist, and a half squall
from George Bernard Shaw, but the greater part of the
time the ship of the stage is careering wildly under bare
poles with a man lashed to the helm (and let us hope that,
like Ulysses, he has cotton wool in his ears) before a
hurricane of comic opera!

440
[1905
RICHARD MANSFIELD
рного
But while the Press, which is the voice of the public,
is finding fault with the condition of the stage, it is per-
haps forgotten that the public itself is largely responsible
for this condition. There has, ever since I have had the
honour and privilege of appearing before American audi-
ences, been this same outcry against the American stage,
and there has always been sufficient interest at work to
make this outcry, but never sufficient interest to do any-
thing about it, and here is a case of talk versus acting.
Yet here are some ninety millions of people possessed of
the greatest wealth of any nation in the world. It is just
as easy to have a national theatre in this country as it is
in France or Germany. It is now some seven years since
I attended a very delightful function in this very city
[Chicago], and being called upon to make some remarks
and being totally unprepared, it occurred to me to suggest
the establishment of a national theatre. This suggestion
was widely discussed at that time by the Press and imme-
diately after forgotten. Since then various eminent per-
sons have stolen my thunder; but neither my thunder nor
their echo of it has cleared the air, and to-day the stage of
this country-as indeed of England-is in the same un-
satisfactory condition. And so we talk and don't act.
We need a recognised stage and a recognised school.
America has become too great and its influence abroad
too large for us to afford to have recourse to that ancient
and easy method of criticism which decries the American
and extols the foreign. That is one of those last rem-
nants of colonialism and provincialism which must de-
part forever.

Reviewing the benefits accruing from an endowed
theatre, especially in the training of actors, he declared
himself on discipline, which had caused him so much
criticism:
The training of the Actor! To-day there is practically
Actors and actresses are not to be taught by pat-
none.
1905]
THE EASY ROAD
441
ting them on the shoulders and saying "Fine! Splendid!"
It is a hard, hard school, on the contrary, of unmerciful
criticism. And he is a poor master who seeks cheap
popularity among his associates by glossing over and
praising what he knows to be condemnable. No good
result is to be obtained by this method, but it is this
method that has caused a great many actors to be be-
loved, and the public to be very much distressed. The
great past masters in any art are, and ever have been,
severe critics, not only of others but of themselves, and
they spare neither themselves nor others in the betterment
of their art. Of course the easiest way to lead an easy
life is not to find fault, and an idiot or an oaf is content
with things as he finds them. At that rate we should
still be in the dark ages. It is he who changes and im-
proves, corrects and creates, who benefits mankind! And
my ideal theatre should have the most severe and inde-
fatigable of stage managers.
He felt the inequality of conditions under which Gar-
rick and Siddons, the Keans and Kembles had builded
their careers and those which confronted him-the dis-
position to judge achievements under new conditions by
old standards:
Garrick was surrounded by a coterie of delightful spirits,
among whom were Samuel Johnson and Goldsmith and
Richard Brinsley Sheridan, and a dozen others known to
you all. The Prince Regent was there every night with a
galaxy of art and beauty, and he was glad to give Mr.
Garrick his arm or to be tooled down to Twickenham or
Richmond on the box seat of Mr. Garrick's coach. To-
day the actor may be said to weep his heart out in solitude.
Where and from whom can he draw inspiration? In the
days of Garrick those men who wrote plays came with
bended knee and bated breath and whispering humble-
ness to beg Mr. Garrick to accept their work. To-day!
We look around a vast plain of emptiness, and if upon the


442
[1905
RICHARD MANSFIELD
horizon we descry the nebulous figure of a nascient dra-
matic author pressing to his puling lips a sucking bottle of
dramatic buttermilk, we crawl to his feet and implore him
to bestow upon us, regardless of cost, one drop of the
precious fluid. Can the actor to-day, remaining in one
city, produce with any hopes of success one play after the
other? Let me tell you that the standard to-day is
so much higher, the demand of the public so much greater
than in the days of Garrick or Edmund Kean, that a hasty
or superficial representation of any one of these men's
masterpieces would not be endured. Sir Henry Irving
has, alas, just passed away, and the wreath of everlasting
fame has been placed upon his tomb in Westminster
Abbey by a grateful king and queen and people; but he
was not able to produce more than one, or at the outside
two, plays in his theatre each season, and even that effort
bankrupted him and he died, to all intents and purposes,
penniless! The costly productions inaugurated by Charles
Kean, Kemble, and Macready, and faithfully improved
upon by Irving and Calvert and others, have spoiled the
public for anything but the costliest mise en scène, and it
is not enough for the actor to study his rôle, but he must
be prepared to devise and superintend the construction of
a mass of scenery and costumes, of effects of lighting, of
the movements of a mob of figurants, and he must have
the practical and financial mind to meet the dreadful
question of expense! . . . The real work of the stage—
of the actor, does not lie there. It is easy for us to busy
ourselves, to pass pleasantly our time designing lovely
scenes, charming costumes, and all the paraphernalia and
pomp of mimic grandeur, whether of landscape or of
architecture, the panoply of war, or the luxury of royal
courts. That is fun, pleasure, and amusement. That,
again, comes under the head of "Talking versus acting."
No, the real work of the stage lies in the creation of a
character. A great character will live forever, when
paint and canvas and silks and satins and gold foil and
tinsel shall have gone the way of all rags.
But the long, lone hours with our heads in our hands,
1905]
"ACTING ACTING"
443
the toil, the patient study, the rough carving of the out-
lines, the dainty, delicate, finishing touches, the growing
into the soul of the being we delineate, the picture of his
outward semblance, his voice, his gait, his speech, all
amount to a labour of such stress and strain, of such
loving anxiety and care, that they can be compared only
in my mind to a mother's pains. And when the child is
born it must grow in a few hours to completion and be
exhibited and coldly criticised. How often, how often
have those long months of infinite toil been in vain! How
often has the actor led the child of his imagination to the
footlights only to realise that he has brought into the
world a weakling or a deformity which may not live. And
how often he has sat through the long nights brooding
over the corpse of this dear figment of his fancy! It has
become lately customary with many actor managers to
avoid these pangs of childbirth. They have determinedly
declined the responsibility they owe to the poet and the
public, and instead dazzled the eye with a succession of
such splendid pictures that the beholder forgot in the
surfeit of the eye that feast that should have fed the soul.
It is what I am pleased to term "talk versus acting."
He had no belief that acting could be taught. "You
can teach people how to act acting,"" he said, "but you
can't teach them 'to act.' Acting is as much an inspira-
tion as the making of great poetry and great pictures.
What is commonly called acting, is acting acting. This is
what is generally accepted as acting. A man speaks lines,
moves his arms, wags his head, and does various other
things he may even shout and rant; some pull down
their cuffs and inspect their finger nails; they work hard
and perspire, and their skin acts. This is all easily com-
prehended by the masses and passes for acting, and is
applauded; but the man who is actually the embodiment
of the character he is creating will often be misunderstood,
PHOTO



444
[1905
RICHARD MANSFIELD
be disliked, and fail to attract. Mediocrity rouses no
opposition, but strong individualities and forcible opinions
make enemies. It is here that danger lies. Many an
actor has set out with an ideal, but, failing to gain general
favour, has abandoned it for the easier method of winning
popular acclaim. . . ."
In telling how inspiration reflects itself in acting he
exposed his own method on the stage: "Inspiration only
comes to those who permit themselves to be inspired. It
is a form of hypnotism. Allow yourself to be convinced
by the character you are portraying that you are the char-
acter. If you are to play Napoleon, and you are sincere
and determined to be Napoleon, Napoleon will not per-
mit you to be any one but Napoleon; or Richard III,
Richard III; or Nero, Nero, etc. He would be a poor,
miserable pretence of an actor who, in the representation
of any historical personage were otherwise than firmly
convinced, after getting into a man's skin (which means
the exhaustive study of all that was ever known about him),
that he is living that very man for a few brief hours. And
so it is, in another form, with the creation or realisation
of the author's—the poet's fancy. In this latter case the
actor, the poet-actor, sees and creates in the air before him
the being he delineates; he makes him, he builds him
during the day, in the long hours of the night he gradually
takes being; he is the actor's genius, his slave of the ring,
who comes when he calls him; he stands beside him, he
envelops him in his ghostly arms; the actor's personality
disappears; he is the character. You, you, and you and
all of you have the right to object to the actor's creation.
You may say this is not your conception of Hamlet or
Macbeth or Iago or Richard or Nero or Shylock-but
respect his, and who can tell whether he is right or you
1905]
DISSATISFACTION OF THE ARTIST
445
are right; he has created them with much loving care;
therefore don't sneer at them-don't jeer at them-it
hurts! If you have reared a rosebush in your garden
and have seen it bud and bloom, are you pleased to have
some ruthless vandal tear the flowers from their stem and
trample them in the mud? And it is not always our most
beautiful children we love the best. The parent's heart
will surely warm toward its feeblest child."
The poet, the sculptor and the painter, he declared,
might withhold his work till he saw that it expressed the
fullest and truest measure of his art. But in acting "the
execution must be immediate and spontaneous. The
word is delivered, the action is done, and the picture is
painted! Can I pause and say: 'Ladies and gentlemen,
that is not the way I wanted to do this or to say that. If
you will allow me to try again, I think I can improve it'?
The most severe critic can never tell me more or scold me
more than I scold myself. I have never left the stage
satisfied with myself. And I am convinced that every
artist feels as I do.

•
"The race for wealth is so strenuous and all-entrancing,
that imagination is dying out, and imagination is necessary
to make a poet or an actor! The art of acting is the crys-
tallisation of all arts. It is a diamond in the facets of
which is mirrored every art. It is therefore the most
difficult of all arts. The education of a king is barely
sufficient for the education of a comprehending and com-
prehensive actor. If he is to satisfy every one, he should
possess the commanding power of a Cæsar, the wisdom of
Solomon, the eloquence of Demosthenes, the patience of
Job, the face and form of Antinous, and the strength and
endurance of Hercules."
Turning, in another vein, from the contemplation of

446
[1905
RICHARD MANSFIELD
acting on the stage to the contemplation of acting off the
stage, he said: "Mr. Ibsen, in one of his letters, wrote,
'Garb yourself in dignity.' Here we are again. 'Garb
yourself in dignity.' Assume dignity. Act the part of
dignity. I think Mr. Ibsen is wrong. I would rather he
had said: 'Be a child; remain a child!' But, no, we are
to appear dignified. We must impress our fellow-men.
But we are not likely to impress the Divine Being by our
assumption of dignity, and therefore it is to all intents and
purposes futile. I think I'd rather play the part of a
little child!—what I am in my soul and in spirit and what
I shall have to be hereafter in the face of that Terrific
Power before which we are all very small children. I
think perhaps the professional actor enjoys this advan-
tage that, when he has acted fifty parts or more, and acted
and acted and acted out all that is in him and given it
every form of expression, the desire to act in his private
life is not strong in him, and he is happy to be permitted
to be himself and to indulge in being himself without the
mask and the buskin and the toga. But so fond are the
people of this world of seeing a man act that I have noted,
and it would be impossible not to note, the grave disap-
pointment if any personage behaves as an ordinary every-
day child at any public function, where he is not called
upon for the exercise of his profession. This fact is well
known probably to all men in public life, and that is why
they dare not indulge in the unveilment of themselves. I
have no doubt that if I had appeared before you to-day
with a thick, black curl over my brow and the rest of my
hair floating over my collar, with a long, pale face and
brooding eyes, with an absent-minded air as if I were com-
muning with the spirits of all the departed poets, I should
have made a much greater impression upon you than I
1905]
AN AUDIENCE OF CHILDREN
447
do in these clothes which convention compels me to wear,
and with the expression on my face of a child that is badly
scared. Which I am. Dignity! If I had my way I
would ask you to come with me into the country-into
some green field, and be allowed to sit on a fence and
dangle my legs while I whittled a stick or pared an apple,
and discussed these matters with you. And as you would,
as you probably now are, be soon very tired of this-some-
body might pipe a tune and we could dance and sing and
be children. Instead of which I shall walk home with
terrific dignity and grow old in my bones and stiff in my
joints, and condemn myself to an early grave by dint of
acting not only on the stage but off."
From Chicago, in this autumn of 1905, Mansfield went
almost direct to San Francisco, and his engagement there
was accomplished under circumstances that gave him a
triumph in proportion to his anxiety. En route westward
he played the first four evenings of the last week in Den-
ver, and on Friday afternoon he acted Shylock. The
audience expressed an unusual compliment. On that
afternoon the high schools and some of the upper grades
of the grammar schools were dismissed so that the pu-
pils might see Mansfield's performance. The Broadway
Theatre was packed up and down with merry, eager, and
demonstrative school-boys and girls. Mansfield was
touched and played with all his heart and soul. He had
rarely spoken before the curtain during the ten years
passed, but after the trial scene, he removed the make-up
of Shylock, appeared in propria persona, and addressed
the pupils in feeling terms. When he left the theatre he
found nearly the whole audience in the street about the
stage door, and they cheered him as he was driven to his


car.

448
[1905
RICHARD MANSFIELD
The special train departed at seven o'clock and was
scheduled to arrive in San Francisco Sunday evening at
the same hour. He left Denver in high spirits, and nearly
every meal en route was the occasion of a party in his car,
to which members of the company were invited.
From the time his return to San Francisco was an-
nounced, inquiries and bookings poured in so fast that it
became apparent that a theatre twice the size of the
Columbia would be none too large. The Grand Opera
House stood on a street next east from Market, around
the corner from the Call Building-this was the November
before the earthquake and fire. It was one of the noblest
theatres in America and held about 4,000 people. Mans-
field was independent of any party lines in theatrical
interest, so that, although the Grand Opera House was
not associated as the Columbia Theatre was, with a
syndicate, his engagement was transferred to this larger
house.
His special train was five hours late, and it was nearly
one o'clock Monday morning when the ferry carried him
across the Bay. He found himself preceded by one of
those unfounded slanders which were not new to his
experience. The newspapers on Sunday blazed with the
report telegraphed from Denver that he had discharged
all his principal artists and left half the company in the
Colorado capital. Denials are never of avail once the seed
is sown. His answer to canards was silence.
When he reached his apartments his secretary brought
his telegrams and letters. His first interest was that
never-failing message of love and assurance which came
to him on electric wings from his wife and boy; and his
answer. Then he cut the envelopes, one after another,-
notes of welcome from old friends, invitations, requests
1905]
A PROPHETIC LETTER
449
for autographs and photographs and charity, and the
other miscellanies of his varied mail. He stood by the
table talking the while. Presently a letter caught his
attention. He read it through carefully, and the colour
appeared to leave his face as he tossed it on the table, and
turned to a window at the other end of the room. "There,
read that," he said, and stepped between the parted cur-
tains and affected to be watching the night.
The letter was from the chief of the consulting special-
ists he had summoned in Chicago for an expert opinion
on the illness which distressed him. It was the conscien-
tious report of a surgeon who uses his pen like a scalpel,
cruelly, to be kind. The letter can be repeated only from
memory, but its contents were practically this: "The
years you have suffered from indigestion have weakened
your constitution to a critical point. You have worked
immoderately all your life on your nerves until these, too,
from sickness are rebellious. Unless you give up your
work and rest absolutely, we cannot promise that your con-
dition will not immediately become acute, and perhaps
with results that will be fatal."
If the canard from Denver had any effect on the people
of San Francisco, they graciously concealed it. The
audience on Monday night packed every corner of the
huge opera house and cheered him at every opportunity.
On his part he concealed the chagrin he felt at the heedless
printing of such reports as well as he did the effect of the
doctor's message with its alternative of sacrificing his
career or himself. Not so two of the writers on dramatic
subjects. Hushed in their pursuit of the lie about the
discharged players by the appearance of every member
of the original cast as in Chicago, the feeling of bitter-
ness aroused by the story in the first instance or of dis-


450
[1905
RICHARD MANSFIELD
appointment that another of the sensational stories about
Mansfield had disproved itself without rousing him to a
reply, evidently caused them to attack his acting, his
company (for discharging which they had before attacked
him!), his choice of play, his production-everything. On
Tuesday night Mansfield acted Shylock, on Wednesday
Brummell, on Thursday King Richard-they flayed them
all.
On Tuesday afternoon, by previous invitation from
President Wheeler and the Faculty, Mansfield crossed the
bay to Berkeley, and addressed the students of the Uni-
versity of California. The demonstration was extraordi-
nary, and perhaps it was significant. As the attacks con-
tinued, however, the reaction began to manifest itself.
Letters came by the hundred, and people called personally
to repudiate the attacks, assuring him that the citizens of
San Francisco felt humiliated that a great artist should
honour them with such expressions of his genius and
suffer the libels which had been put upon him. On
Thursday a committee from the Bohemian Club called
and invited him to be a guest of the club at a banquet
the following Monday night, that they might give expres-
sion to their appreciation of him. The same day the
Faculty of the University of California sent representatives
to say that the humiliation was not his but theirs, and if
he would be their guest at a supper they would not ask him
again to cross to Berkeley, but would come in a body to
San Francisco. There were other invitations for public
entertainments in his honour, but he accepted only these
two: the Bohemian Club for the following Monday night,
and the Facutly of the University of California for his last
night in San Francisco, Saturday, December 2.
By Thursday night of the first week the public seemed

RICHARD MANSFIELD
One of his latest pictures

1905]
A WINNING FIGHT
451
thoroughly aroused, and the thousands who crowded the
Grand Opera House interrupted the play on his first en-
trance and rose and cheered him with a heartiness which
moved him so that he could not begin for some minutes.
These demonstrations continued through the evening and
were repeated every night during his engagement. It is
rare that a succession of such vast audiences and a con-
tinuation of such enthusiasm greet an artist.
On the second Monday he played "The Misanthrope"
for the first time in San Francisco. He offered it only
once, and it had been counted on as the weak night of the
season, but he gave it as a gratuitous offering to the few
who might care to see a Molière comedy. Again the
theatre was filled. Next day the two recalcitrant writers
capitulated. There was unqualified and unanimous
praise for Alceste, which was declared to be the most re-
markable characterisation he had given. The day was
won. There was only eulogy in the papers from then
until he left the city, after playing to larger receipts than
he ever played to, before or after, in his entire career.
After the management of the theatre received its per-
centage and after all salaries and current expenses were
paid, Mansfield's individual remuneration averaged $2,000
for each of his fourteen appearances in San Francisco.
It had, nevertheless, been a most anxious and fatiguing
fortnight for all concerned. The first week Mansfield
gave three revivals for the first time that season. On the
second Monday he played “The Misanthrope" for the
first time in eight months. Recovery was difficult to him
in a rôle which, like conversational Alceste, depends on
words and words and words. He wrote me next day:
"The Misanthrope' was an immense success! Unex-
pectedly so-but I had to lie on my back all day with a


452
[1905
RICHARD MANSFIELD
book in my hand to accomplish it!" The artists had
rehearsed faithfully, and every one about the theatre had
contributed without a murmur his fullest energy. Mans-
field's thanks were not given cheaply, probably because
he felt that others should, as he did, get their greatest
satisfaction in work well done from their own conscious-
ness. But it was not that appreciation was lacking.
Often he permitted himself a demonstration. This was
especially true of holidays which carried all their senti-
ment to him. Thursday of the second week in San Fran-
cisco was Thanksgiving. After the play the stage was
transformed into a banquet room and his guests were
every one connected with the theatre or his company.
He thanked them all by name for their contribution to
the success of the engagement and "ruled the kingdom
of the revel."
The remainder of the tour, with the New York engage-
ment at the close of the opera season, was one continuous
triumph. In every city the theatre might have been filled
twice over. The cordiality of the press was unreserved.
Public deference to the man, apart from the actor, as one
of the leading figures of the Republic, was shown him in
nearly every city.
Mansfield always made much of Christmas, but this
year the celebration was somewhat unusual. December
25 began the week in New Orleans, and the week preced-
ing was spent on the special train en route east from Los
Angeles. He did not need the long days of travel over
the desert to remind him of his heart sickness for the wife
and boy in the home on the Sound.
He had sent a wonder-box from San Francisco "to be
opened on Christmas morning." But his big family of
travelling companions was not forgotten, for the private
1905]
CHRISTMAS ON THE TRAIN
453
car was littered with mysterious packages. A party was
his own affair and he allowed no one to help him. All this
week as the train bowled along he sorted the gifts and
wrote the inscriptions and verses. In Houston, Thomas,
the steward, was commissioned to smuggle a tree aboard
with all the candles and silver angels and gold strands and
coloured balls and pop-corn strings he could find.
The last leg of the trip was made into New Orleans on
Christmas Eve. Early in the day an order was sent for-
ward: "Mr. Mansfield wishes every one to vacate the car
next his." There was, of course, much grumbling at this
fresh evidence of eccentricity.
As the train crossed into Louisiana another order was
carried forward: "Mr. Mansfield wishes to meet every one
in the car next his." He came himself for Ory Dimond,
the little girl who acted the Duke of York in "King Rich-
ard III" and little Pearl in "The Scarlet Letter." The
car was darkened and at one end was Thomas lighting the
last candle on a gala Christmas tree. When Ory and the
others had their presents, the chef and his boy brought in
a bowl of hot Christmas grog, and tray after tray of sand-
wiches, pastries, and cakes; and as the engine pounded
out its fifty miles an hour, there was a right merry party,
till the ominous silence outside announced that the train
was on the ferry crossing the waters of the Mississippi
into New Orleans.
Madame Bernhardt was touring in America this winter
of 1905-1906. Many agreeable messages passed between
her and Mansfield, but their paths did not cross until they
reached Pittsburg in January. The rival engagements of
"The Divine Sarah" and "Richard the Magnificent"
were made much of by the press of the entire country,
with the usual silly fictions. In Pittsburg, each dined the

454
[1906
RICHARD MANSFIELD
other with gracious amenities, and the French actress
attempted to persuade Mansfield that a triumph awaited
him in Paris. She offered him the courtesy of her theatre
with its resources if he would come. Shortly afterward
an invitation was extended to him to play a London season
of his long repertoire during 1907-1908. Had he accepted
this proposition he would undoubtedly have made it a
part of his plan to cross the Channel and appear at the
Théâtre Sarah Bernhardt.
On one occasion, later this winter, he even indulged in
political prophecy. While he was in Detroit the Chamber
of Commerce entertained the Secretary of War, William
H. Taft. Up to this time Mr. Taft had been spoken of for
the Supreme Bench, but not for the Presidency. A place
was held for Mansfield next the guest of honour. He was
playing "Don Carlos" that night and was somewhat late
in reaching the banquet room. Congressman Bede was
speaking as he entered, but graciously discontinued while
the assembly cheered the actor, nor would he resume
until Mansfield had responded to the calls for a speech.
He was nervous and hesitating, as always when caught
off his guard, but after a moment he regained his self-
possession and concluded with the hope that Mr. Taft
would soon be in the White House. The sentiment was
and applauded with an energy that was signifi-
taken up
cant.
If the reception of "The Misanthrope" in San Fran-
cisco was a surprise, so, too, was its reception in Boston.
Elsewhere he did not allow himself to hope for popularity
for either Moilère's comedy or the character of Alceste
except from the discerning few. Boston was really in
his heart when he prepared the little classic for the stage.
Continually he repeated "Wait till we play 'The Misan-
1906]
SIGNIFICANT FAREWELLS
455
thrope' in Boston." He played it on his second night in
the Colonial Theatre, and anticipated such a response
from his appeal to culture and learning that he would be
obliged to repeat it several times the second week instead
of other offerings of less æsthetic quality. The sequel was
anything but what he had planned. The theatre was not
more than half full to see Molière's play, the apathy of
the audience was marked, and the reviews next day did
not reflect a different attitude. It stung him first to dis-
appointment and then to resentment. He made up his
mind, and so announced, that he would never play in
Boston again. How long he would have abided by this
decision cannot, of course, be known, but he was firm in
his refusal of offers for him to return the next year which
were better than he had ever had, and he gave no reason
except that he would not again play there. His per-
sistence in this determination had the ring of finality to
those who knew him best. It was not uncommon for him
to declare, after some untoward incident, "Have we a
contract to return to this city next season? Cancel it. I
shall never come back here again." But in most instances
he soon relented.
Meantime nothing had been said about the letter of the
Chicago physician which reached him in San Francisco.
His deductions, his emotions, his intentions were for the
time locked up in silence. He kept stoutly at work, in no
way sparing himself while in the theatre. But each per-
formance wore him more and more, and cost him more
and more of his vital resources. His innermost heart
spoke in his farewells in California, and later in the East.
Up to this time the future seemed to appear limitless to
him. However, in concluding his address at the Uni-
versity of California the day after the letter came, he

456
[1906
RICHARD MANSFIELD
said: "Please remember that we have here no King or
Queen or Kaiser to confer honours upon the deserving
artist or the great author. Remember that to the writer
and the artist your praise and appreciation is his sunlight,
and that the only place in this land in which he may hope
to dwell after he is dead is in your hearts."
In another address before leaving the Pacific Coast, he
said: "I would I could lay aside my strenuous occupa-
tion and dwell amidst your orange groves and balmy
valleys. But, like the Wandering Jew, I am forced on-
ward, never resting, from one place to another, with my
pack on my back and my wander staff in my hand."
In returning his thanks to the public for their apprecia-
tion he sounded the note of farewell throughout this win-
ter. "I shall act for you only a little longer," he said.
"I hope I have earned a rest."
The words of his physicians evidently preyed upon his
mind, and in February he placed a definite limit on his
public life with the announcement that after three more
years he would retire from the stage. Few knew the
motive for this determination, but it was founded on that
letter, and it was his compromise between immediate
surrender and inevitable martyrdom.
"I have never until this moment made known my pur-
pose to abandon my profession, at least active campaign-
ing in it," he said. "For many years I have expended
all my physical and intellectual energies on my stage
work. My endurance is gradually weakening under the
strain. There is no prospect of anything resembling
rest unless I drop the work entirely. This I shall do
after completing three more tours. This will leave me
to begin the year 1910 in my own way.
"I have no fault to find with the public. Far from

1906]
PLANS TO RETIRE
457
that, I have met with such encouragement as few men of
any age could boast in this calling. Fortune has held out
a cordial hand to me and plenty sits smiling at my board.
Applause has followed me in flattering volume from the
onset of my stage career. That I have been appreciative
of it I most earnestly wish the public to know, and that I
shall not abate my industry during the closing years of my
stage life. I am wearied beyond measure. There comes
a time in every busy man's life when a lull in the hot race
seems imperative. That is my conviction, and I shall
act upon it."
When he had once fixed his mind on the rest which was
to come to him his spirits rose perceptibly. His imagina-
tion found a new toy in planning his last three years on
the stage and the long, irresponsible vacation that was to
come after.


CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
(1906-1907)
On memorising-Chicago's affection-"Peer Gynt"-Life as a battle
-His last Christmas-A midnight rehearsal at New Year's-
He concludes his New York engagement by acting the Baron
Chevrial-His last words on the stage.
THE surprise occasioned by Mansfield's announcement
in the summer of 1906 that his next production would be
Henrik Ibsen's "Peer Gynt" showed how little he was
understood. When it was hinted that he would make an
excursion into Ibsen, the speculation all ran to "Ghosts,"
"The Master Builder," and "Rosmersholm." The Ibsen
that lived for him died when "The Pillars of Society"
was written;-Ibsen the poet; Ibsen of "The Vikings of
Helgeland," "The Pretenders," "Brand," "Peer Gynt,"
and "Emperor and Galilean." These were his delights,
and it was only after intimate study of these-especially
"The Vikings" and "The Pretenders," in the latter he
found a strong appeal in both the Archbishop and Haakon
-that he resolved on "Peer Gynt."
Ibsen wrote "Peer Gynt" while living in Italy. It was
published in Norway, November 14, 1867, and was first
acted February 24, 1876, in Christiania. Occasional per-
formances were thereafter given by endowed theatres and
societies in Germany, and it was acted once, without
scenery, at the Théatre de l'Euvre, Paris, November 12,
1896. At this time it had never been acted in English.
458
1906]
"PEER GYNT"
459
Mansfield wrote James O'Donnell Bennett: "I have
long wanted to present 'Peer Gynt,' because it is one
of the world's greatest dramatic poems. Like Goethe's
'Faust,' the character and story of its hero transcend mere
nationality. Peer Gynt is every man. As with all su-
preme works of genius every man can read into it or out
of it the story of his own ambitions and the secrets of his
own heart. I have found innumerable incentives, ethical
and artistic, to present this great play. My interest was
especially engaged by the comprehensive character of the
theme, which practically embraces the seven ages of man.
Keen also was my delight in the varied rôle of Peer with
its marked contrasts and shifting impulses. The play is
also to be considered from the churchman's point of view,
and in respect to the wonderful manner in which Peer
Gynt, at first knowing no one but self, grows in cynicism
with growing opulence-even remarking that his Creator
was not economical-but is at last brought to his knees
and to a knowledge and recognition of God by a pure
woman.
"In our arrangement of the drama there will be eleven
scenes, and they will incorporate, among others, Peer
Gynt's fantastical first scene with his mother; the wedding
festival where he meets Solveig and steals the bride and
carries her into the mountains; his meeting with the
green-clad woman; his visit to the troll King; his combat
with the troll imps; the declaration of his love for Solveig
and her renunciation of the world for Peer; his mother's
death; his adventures in foreign lands; his shipwreck;
his cross-roads search; his home coming; his final meet-
ing with Solveig and his discovery that the empire that he
sought lay in her heart."
Mansfield studied his performance of Peer Gynt on the

460
[1906
RICHARD MANSFIELD
water. He found freedom from distraction and the
stimulus for his imagination out at sea. Frequently,
when he began to compose a character, he would slip out
to his yacht in the morning and wing out into the watery
solitude. There, all day long with his back to the deck, his
face to the sky, alone, he would make himself over into
the new personage. It was in this inspiring isolation that
he resolved most of his later rôles: King Henry, Beau-
caire, Brutus, Karl Heinrich, and Don Carlos, as well as
Peer Gynt.
William and Charles Archer's translation of the poem
was made the basis of his acting version. In their preface
they modestly disclaim literary value for their translation
for repetition on the stage. Mansfield realised this too
late to secure a new translation. It came to him only in
the long days of cramming his head with the intermin-
able lines of the part.
"I know no test of the style of a writer like committing
his words," he said. "If my mind takes them readily,
then I am sure they are well chosen and there is fluency
and power. If, on the contrary, it rejects them, it is be-
cause the right words are not in the right place. Memor-
ising is exceedingly difficult to me. My imagination and
judgment are always in the way. Indeed, I believe only
a mediocre intellect has a quick study, for a keen intelli-
gence and an alert imagination will not accept words for
their face value but will go behind them, play with them,
invent readings and 'business' and in a thousand vivacious
ways refuse to be subdued to the slavery of memorising.
I never find this difficulty with lines which are unalloyedly
fine; Shakespeare for instance. He finished what he
wrote. No mind since could improve on him."
When at last he had made a conquest of his new rôle of
1906]
CHICAGO'S LOYALTY
461
Peer Gynt, the shifting panorama was all painted, Grieg's
music was lovingly adjusted to the movement of the
drama, the artists had yielded their best endeavour to his
months of rehearsal, the dancers had accomplished the
hilarity of the wedding romp, the grotesque careering in
the troll cavern and the sinuous mazes of Anitra's seduc-
tive scene when the intricacies of the scene of the wild
boar, the mountain visions, the prismatic northern lights,
and the sea-storm and wreck on that wild night of home-
coming had all been accomplished—he put off with his
little army
of artists and artisans for the great experiment,
and Chicago was the destination.
This city worshipped Mansfield with a constancy which
touched him profoundly. The whole continent, from
ocean to ocean, he brought to his feet, but Chicago he
took to his heart. The adulation of every other city gave
him grateful pride, but here the early recognition of his
genius and the unabated loyalty humbled him. He was
their servant. That was the man. He met antagonism
and reservation with reservation and contempt: kindness
melted him. Underneath all he was a sentimentalist.
From his earliest venturesome visits and throughout that
dark middle period of struggle and disappointment he
had the unfailing support of Lyman Glover. This sound
and graceful writer led the younger enthusiasts in their
recognition of Mansfield. When he put down his pen
Leslie, Bennett, Nixon, Eastman, Halbert and Hammond
closed up the breach with their judicious enthusiasm.
These writers understood that the artist works through the
emotions as well as through the intellect, that an ounce of
loyalty and encouragement is worth a ton of analysis; for
art, as Mansfield said, "is like a flower and must be
watered and sunned, and cannot be argued into bloom."

462
[1906
RICHARD MANSFIELD
The kindness of every one affected him in such a way
that he could not endure his car or a hotel in Chicago,
for they gave him a transient sense he did not feel. In
1904 he rented a house, and the next year took a lease on
a charming suite of rooms designed by George Wein-
hoeber in Elm Street, and they were kept throughout the
year especially for his return. These rooms he stored
with beautiful pictures, rare furniture, and art objects,
and here more than in any other spot where his little family
was not, the gathering of his friends made the cosey senti-
ment of home. Whenever he returned he found his rooms
packed with the flowers he loved, a hundred messages of
welcome hidden in the blossoms. The "garb of dignity"
fell away and he rushed with the eagerness of a boy to a
score of homes where glad greetings awaited him. But
he went first to those houses where children were, and
planned the box parties of boys and girls which he
loved to see in the proscenium corner on Saturday after-

noons.
Mansfield reached Chicago only two days before his first
appearance in "Peer Gynt," which took place at the
Grand Opera House, October 29, 1906. The preceding
evening was devoted to a final dress rehearsal, though
artists, ballet, and musicians had given five complete
scenic performances in New York, without audiences,
before going West. There were not more than thirty
people in the orchestra stalls for the last rehearsal. Scene
followed scene, but from half-past seven in the evening
until one o'clock in the morning the handful of auditors
sat without response to anything they saw. The rehearsal
began with much spirit, but the lethargy of the thirty
reached up to the stage and soon the spirit of boredom
raised its heavy head on both sides of the footlights.
1906]
SUPERSTITIONS
463
There were tightening of lips and wagging of heads as the
lights went out.
"I suppose we will have to act this to-morrow night,"
said Mansfield, out of his muffler, to Mr. Stevens as he
crossed the dark stage to his carriage, "but Tuesday we
must rehearse the repertoire. This will be my worst
failure." Encouragement was offered, but his frame of
mind was not significant of the probability of successs.
Overconfidence was not one of his weaknesses. He was a
pessimist about his undertakings, but he did not back his
pessimism to the extent of backing down. Had the re-
hearsal gone well, he would have still said fearfully: "Yes,
but wait till to-morrow night." Moreover, there is a
superstition in the theatre that dress rehearsals and first
nights go by contraries, and Mansfield was superstitious.
So after a long Monday spent in the theatre correcting
light effects and the movements of the crowds, his return
to his dressing-room at six o'clock found the spirit of
doubt invigorating every nerve.¹
The cast of this first performance of "Peer Gynt" follows, and it was not
afterward altered in any material instance:
Peer Gynt
Ase, his mother
Aslak, the blacksmith
Mads Moen, the bridegroom
His father
His mother
Solveig
Helga, her sister
Their father
Their mother
The Hegstad farmer
Ingrid, the bride
First peasant lad
Second peasant lad.
Third peasant lad
Fourth peasant lad .
The Master Cook
First peasant girl
Second peasant girl.
Third peasant girl
Fourth peasant girl.
.
.
Mr. Richard Mansfield.
Miss Emma Dunn.
Mr. Damon Lyon.
Mr. Cecil Magnus.
Mr. Edwin Caldwell.
Miss Sydney Cowell.
Miss Adelaide Nowak.
Miss Ory Diamond.
Mr. James L. Carhart.
Miss Myra Brooke.
Mr. Walter Howe.
Miss Adelaide Alexander.
Mr. Gordon Mendelssohn.
Mr. Lawrence C. Toole.
Mr. Louis Thomas.
Mr. Allan Fawcett.
Mr. Frank Reynolds.
Miss Evelyn Loomis.
Miss Marguerite Lindsay.
Miss Isabel Howell.
Miss Ruby Craven.



464
[1906
RICHARD MANSFIELD
The curtain rose to the strains of Grieg's "Morning,"
and almost immediately Peer and his mother came down
the mountain side. There was a roar of welcome lasting
minutes. He loved these welcomes, but he dreaded them;
"I should rather conquer an audience of enemies," he
said, speaking of the applause which greeted his entrances,
"than please an audience of friends. The welcome is
sweet, but it leaves no margin for surprise. It is kind to
be told: 'Through years of acquaintance you have not
disappointed. Nothing you can do will astonish us!'
But, as I stand there bowing, my heart stops beating.
Will I disappoint to-night? Will this be my failure?"
It was thus he began "Peer Gynt," warmed with grati-
tude, chilled with fear.
When the house settled into attentive silence the scene
began. On one side sat a theatre party of one hundred
Fifth peasant girl
First elderly peasant
Second elderly peasant
Miss Olive Temple.
Mr. J. S. Hafey.
Mr. David T. Arrel.
Miss Alice Warren.
An elderly woman
Another elderly woman
·
The Green-clad Woman.
The Dovre King
First Troll Imp
Miss Lettie Ford.
Miss Gertrude Gheen.
Mr. Henry Wenman.
Second Troll Imp
Third Troll Imp
The Ugly Brat
Kari, the cotter's wife
Mr. Cotton
Monsieur Ballon
Herr von Eberkopf.
Herr Trumpeterstrale
Anitra
Captain of the Ship.
The Lookout
The Mate
The Boatswain
.
The Ship's Cook
The Cabin Boy
The Strange Passenger
The Button Moulder
The Lean Person
Mr. Thomas.
Mr. J. B. Prescott..
Mr. Arthur Rowe.
Mr. George MacDonald.
Miss Cowell.
Mr. Frank Kingdon.
Mr. Marc McDermott.
Mr. Mendelssohn.
Mr. Magnus.
Miss Irene Prahar.
Mr. Caldwell.
Mr. Thomas.
Mr. Toole.
Mr. Reynolds.
Mr. McDermott.
Mr. MacDonald.
Mr. Arthur Forrest.
Mr. Kingdon.
Wedding Guests, Peasants, Lads, Girls, Troll Courtiers and
Troll Maidens, Dancing Girls, the Ship's Crew and
others.

Acts I, II, III
Act IV
Act V
RICHARD MANSFIELD IN "PEER GYNT"

1906]
ANOTHER TRIUMPH
465
and twenty Norwegians. It is said that there are more
Norwegians in Chicago than in any other city in the
world, except Christiania. They have their own schools,
churches, banks, newspapers, magazines, society. This
party, led by Consul Gade, represented the culture of the
local Norse group. It was expected that their applause
or their silence would be significant. Curiously and
happily it was not. Peer's repetition of the reindeer lie
two minutes after the curtain rose brought mild but
spontaneous recognition from the entire house. From
that moment the human character of the fable fused the
cosmopolitan audience in a common interest. It was
gratifying to please the Norwegians; it was better to
please every one.
The evening wore along through repeated bursts of
applause to a triumphant issue. Not every point in the
fantastic poem went for its full worth, but in a work of
such overladen richness much less than everything was
sufficient. Mansfield and Ibsen had held the audience
beyond all expectations.
The entire first part, closing with Peer's fantasy of the
drive to the gates of heaven while his mother died at his
elbow, was enjoyed with scarcely any reserve. Mans-
field's assumption of youth gave little surprise after Karl
Heinrich and Don Carlos. But his interpretative art
was the marvel of every one who had groped through the
poem. Reading a poem without imagination is like look-
ing at a stained-glass window from the outside. It needs
to be seen with the sun behind it. How wonderfully Ibsen
had constructed and coloured his poetic window Mans-
field's art made luminous.
The second part was more difficult to the auditor. It
must be said that until much irrelevant and confusing

466
[1906
RICHARD MANSFIELD
material had been eliminated the appeal was to the eye
more than to the understanding. The scene between
Peer and Anitra at the door of his tent in the desert, the
argument with the cook in the waves after the ship sank,
and the fable for critics were omitted after the first
night, but thereafter not a line was altered. This gave
"Peer Gynt" all possible cohesion and the effect was
thereafter in relation to the auditor. That was as Mans-
field had anticipated. There was a fairy story for chil-
dren, philosophy for the contemplative, a veritable pano-
rama for the eye, and for those who enjoyed acting for its
own sake, Peer disclosed Mansfield in the most varied and
comprehensive rôle he ever essayed.
What he expressed was what he found in the poem, and
that he embodied in one sentence: "This phantasmagoria,
or comedy of human life, embraces all the elements of the
serious, the pathetic, the tragic, the grotesque, the real
and the unreal, the actualities and the dreams, the facts
and consequences, the ambitions and the disappointments,
the hopes and the disillusions, and the dread and terror
and the resurrection in love of the human soul."
It was a triumph for Mansfield as actor, as an imagina-
tive and interpretative artist. No one who saw his "Peer
Gynt" said less. He did a generous and notable service
in placing this poem on the stage so that the admirers and
detractors of Ibsen might each point their varied conclu-
sions. The appeal of the supreme artistry of all phases
of the interpretation was obvious to every one. The ap-
peal of the play was entirely in the measure or bias of the
mind opened to it.
"Peer Gynt" was played throughout his winter tour
except for an occasional change of bill to a lighter rôle in
order to rest him. It was a performance which held him
1906]
THE LONG FIGHT
467
at high tension every moment and left him after three
hours and a half in a state of almost complete collapse.
How often that winter he rebelled and cried: "I can't do
it. I cannot act Peer Gynt one other time. It takes
one's life blood, this Peer Gynt. I dig a spadeful of
earth for my grave every time I play the part." But
when those near him urged him to stop and rest, he would
not give up. He did not miss a performance and he
played always with all his accustomed force and power.
It was a hard fight to keep up, but he fought on with
grim resistance. His whole life had been a battle. That
was the aspect in which life presented itself to him. His
inherent strength, pugnacity, will power, and ambition
sought it, found it, and, when they did not find it, fancied
it. His life was radiant with triumph, but there was a
vast gray lining of distress. All the way along he fought
realities and spectres.
No one associated with him but knew those sharp stac-
cato retorts which came with the frequency that indicated
how much they were a part of his doctrine. "Cannot?
If others can, we can. We can whether others can or not.
A general never says he cannot. He compels it. The
general who wins is the general who never knows he is
whipped. You cannot whip him."
And so no one can say that his preeminence was an
accident of a capricious public or of endowed genius. He
was never the idle steward. No steward ever took more
seriously the obligation of his ten talents.
He fought and fought and fought. The memory of the
aloofness and aloneness of the contained little boy at
school was always with him. So, too, the bitter, starving
days in London. When he had his foot once firmly
planted on the ladder he fancied there were envious hands



468
[1906
RICHARD MANSFIELD
clutching at his skirts. In every one in his path he fancied
an enemy, believing firmly in the intrigue of others.
Not least of all he fought himself. He disciplined the
physical every day of his life like a Spartan. His talents
he cultivated and his obligation he acknowledged with the
religious fidelity of a perpetual prayer. And one day
sitting with a friend in the gray half-light of the cavern-
ous stage at rehearsal, whence every one else had departed,
he said with almost boyish simplicity and apology, "Do
you know, I spend half my life keeping my temper?"
The last fights were the biggest of all. The stage has
rarely seen more consummate generalship of all the varied
resources of a remarkably gifted artist than in the all-
embracing, all-demanding Peer Gynt. He undertook it
against the advice of his most trusted friends, against an
overwhelming public sentiment based on an overwhelming
public ignorance, and he carried it on in spite of a critical
chorus who stormed, with only luminously rare exceptions,
against the aloofness in which they could see only am-
biguity and a mad poet's hallucinations and a mad actor's
overweening ambitions-and in spite of the warning of an
overtaxed, rebellious constitution.
The acclaim with which he was greeted-after Chicago,
in St. Paul, Minneapolis, Des Moines, Omaha, Kansas
City and St. Louis; then for six days in Paducah, Mem-
phis, Birmingham, Atlanta, Nashville, and Louisville
(travelling twelve hundred and fifty miles in six days,
playing nightly); in Cincinnati, Pittsburg, Buffalo, De-
troit, Cleveland, Philadelphia, and Washington-did not
exceed that of the past eight years only because it could
not. It was remarkable that in a land where foreign
prestige counts for so much, Mansfield was able to remain
1906]
A CHRISTMAS LETTER
469
continuously in America, and to play year after year to
crowded houses at advanced prices. This is much more
to be wondered at than the large attendance vouchsafed
the two or three European artists of the same rank who
came only at four or five year intervals.
As the holidays approached he warmed as usual with
the Christmas spirit. The twenty-fifth of December was
played in Memphis, and the next morning he wrote his wife:
DEAREST:-I was disappointed not to have any letter
from you yesterday, but there was a very sweet little one
from the boy for which hug him. I didn't open "the
Box" until last night after the play. (Wasn't I good?)
And, oh, I was delighted. I jumped about like a kid.
Everything is lovely, lovely! The beautiful scarf! And
the beautiful pillow! I shall never dare to put my old,
old ugly head upon it at all. I'll have a linen slip made
for it. And those sleeve links, they are divine! Where
did you get them? And when I come forth with those
buttons on my waistcoat! And well-and-and-And
baby's box! The dear thing. How did he do it? And
thank Milly a thousand times for the pincushion; it's
great! Thank you ever so much! The company gave
me another beautiful punch-bowl in hammered copper,
with a lid to it, and a cigar-lighter of the same material.
I will send it to you, it's bully! I had intended giving
them a Christmas supper on a dining-car-but the car
got mixed up in a wreck, and never arrived. So I did the
best I could for them on my car; they went in relays, and
I had a little X-mas tree and a tiny something for each
one. They seemed so pleased and happy, it was a real
joy to see them, and the girls gave me three cheers. The
working staff decorated my room most beautifully last
night (at the theatre) and when I arrived I found it one
mass of holly and pine-branches and mistletoe! Mrs.
Stevens insisted on kissing me (I tell you so that you may
know that she did it) before the whole company, and



470
[1907
RICHARD MANSFIELD
little Ory flung her arms about me in a paroxysm of joy
because she got a little squirrel muff and boa. [After
recounting his own presents, he resumed]: So you see, I
was not forgotten. I got a lot of telegrams from all our
friends. The sun is shining and the country we have
just passed through was most lovely and enticing-the
pines and the purling brooks-and warm as spring.
I'm so full of your lovely presents I have to go look at
them every five minutes. Thank you again and again.
Kiss the boy and a thousand more hugs to you both!
DICK.
While he was writing in his car, the dining-car, which
had come all the way from Chicago, caught up with the
train. The company's Christmas supper was served for
breakfast, all the more welcome as the train was late, and
Birmingham, where they had expected to eat breakfast,
was not reached until four hours later.
/The week following was spent in Cincinnati. Tuesday
was New Year's Day, and the plays were "Beau Brum-
mell" in the afternoon and "A Parisian Romance" at
night. Neither play employed more than a third of the
actors, but in accordance with the discipline of the com-
pany every one reported on the stage one hour before the
rise of the curtain in case of change of bill, of need of an
understudy, or of other emergency./The opening play
the night before was "Peer Gynt," the performance was
given without an error, and the house had been crowded
with a demonstrative audience. Why then, asked the
players as they strolled in to report on Tuesday evening,
this extraordinary "call" which was posted on the bul-
letin board:
The entire company, including the working staff, will
report at the theatre immediately after the fall of the cur-
tain, Tuesday evening, in order fully to rehearse ensembles,
1907]
A MIDNIGHT REHEARSAL
471
dances, and lights. Mr. Mansfield deeply regrets calling
the company so late, but it is absolutely impossible to hold
a rehearsal at any other hour, this being the only time
available. No excuses accepted unless accompanied by
a physician's certificate.
B. D. STEVENS, Manager.
After the play the curtain was held down, all stage lights
were turned off except a gas "bunch" down front, and the
company assembled drowsily. Presently Mansfield
emerged from his dressing-room and directed that the
rehearsal begin. At that signal music floated in from the
orchestra, which had been detained in their places.
Long tables laid for supper were brought from their hiding-
places. The lights were turned on, and the joke was out.
Mansfield made a speech full of good wishes for the New
Year, and after the supper there was dancing.
The itinerary called for continuous playing until after
the New York season during February and March, when
there was to be a week of rest before beginning a sup-
plementary spring tour of five weeks. While in Phila-
delphia, in January, however, he was so exhausted that
he yielded to persuasion and agreed to rest a week before
appearing in New York. "Transfer the booking to the
first week after we close at the New Amsterdam," he said;
"I will rest before instead of after my stay in New York."
Mrs. Mansfield was with him, but Gibbs was with Miss
Hunter at The Grange, and he now wrote his last letter to
his boy in anticipation of seeing him soon in New York:
HEAD-QUARTERS, QUAKER CITY,
January 20, 1907.
MY DEAR GENERAL SOLDIER BOY:
You will have to pack up your artillery, your swords,
your rifles and your uniforms, your tomahawks and bows



472
[1907
RICHARD
MANSFIELD
and arrows, your railroads and their equipment, and take
the road at once to besiege New York City. After you
have battered down the walls and taken the General of
the enemy and his staff prisoner and paroled the garrison,
you will leave a strong body of men at each important
post, and then fortify yourself in your castle on the River-
shore. You must, as you march, gather provisions every-
where, loading them on wagons which you will hire from
the farmers, paying for everything at the time, but in any
case you will enforce the delivery of corn and cattle. You
will hold your castle and the city of New York until my
arrival with reinforcements, and America is Ours!
YOUR GENERAL.
He began his New York engagement at the New Am-
sterdam Theatre, February 25, in "Peer Gynt." The
rest had been markedly helpful. If ever there was a
difference in one of his performances and another it must
be said that, in his acting of "Peer Gynt" in New York,
eighteen nights and three Saturday afternoons during
three consecutive weeks, he surpassed himself.
For his farewell week he passed in review several of
the less strenuous rôles of his repertoire: On Monday,
March 18, he acted Arthur Dimmesdale in "The Scarlet
Letter"; on Tuesday, "Beau Brummell"; on Wednesday,
the Baron Chevrial in "A Parisian Romance"; on Thurs-
day, "Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde"; on Friday, "Beau
Brummell"; on Saturday afternoon, "Peer Gynt"; and
on Saturday night, the Baron Chevrial.
Though he had acted the Baron a few times almost
every season for twenty-four years, his art was so sure and
so spontaneous, the personality so enlivening, that he
astonished and captured his last audience as completely
as he had his first. The accord between auditors and
actor was singularly strong. After the second and third
1907]
HIS LAST APPEARANCE
473
acts he was called to the footlights again and again.
After the banquet scene of the fourth act the applause
retained its volume for five full minutes while he removed
the mask of the dead Chevrial and appeared according
to his custom in propria persona. Then the house rose to
its feet and broke into cheers. He appeared and retired,
time and again. The people seemed loath to let him go.
In the midst of the hand-clapping came cries of "Speech!"
"Speak to us!" They were taken up and swelled into a
roar. He only bowed, again and again, supporting him-
self with one hand against the arch. Twelve times he
bowed in silence, but there was no resisting the ovation,
and the last time the curtain was drawn back he paused
only a moment at the arch, raised his eyes and advanced
some paces toward the centre. The audience recognised
his intent, and for a moment the crowd and the actor faced
each other in silence.
His first words were made indistinct by his nervousness
and emotion, but he recovered himself almost directly,
and said: "I thank you heartily and sincerely for this
unforgetable demonstration of your approval. If you
will permit me to, I should like to break a long silence
and finally set at rest the rumours with which thoughtless
as well as malicious gossip has entertained the public
from the time I became known to you. Will you not
believe me when I tell you that these silly stories are un-
true?" He then reviewed some of the fictions in an
amusing vein, and concluded with deep feeling: "I am
possibly a hard taskmaster, but all my efforts are directed
toward a higher ideal of dramatic art. My efforts are all
bent toward giving the public the best acting and the best
plays it is possible to produce. I cherish this evening's
appreciation of my art most highly. I shall not, I regret to


474
[1907
RICHARD MANSFIELD
say, be before you much longer. I have worked hard and
long, and I must lay down the burden for younger shoul-
ders to carry. You have my warmest and heartiest
thanks. Good-night and good-by.”
There was an answering volley of applause, but he was
too completely overcome to return again. The golden
voice had spoken to the public for the last time, and it
was fitting that the words were not the trolling of the
actor's memory, but came with love and appeal from the
heart of the man.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
(1907)
His health breaks down-The company disbands-Off to England
for recuperation-Longings for home-The return-At home at
"Seven Acres"-His delight and his plans-Death-Tributes.
THE next day, Sunday, March 24, he bade his family
farewell, and departed with his company shortly after
noon for Scranton, Pennsy vania, where, on Monday
evening, he was to begin the first of six appearances in
six different cities en route to Baltimore. These bookings
were made to fill the week he had originally planned for
the rest which he was forced to take before beginning the
New York engagement.
The trip to Scranton might easily have been made on
Monday, but it would have been unlike Mansfield to
tarry. Invariably he left any city at the earliest moment
and settled himself in the city of his next appearance. He
did not make those flying visits from Boston, Philadelphia,
or Washington into New York for Sunday, as other actors
did. He did not linger at home till the last train that
would deliver him at his destination in time for his per-
formance. His interest centred on the scene of his next
appearance, and he left any domestic or social allurements
behind him to travel thither.
By nightfall the special train had reached Scranton,
and his private car was switched to the end of a track


475

476
[1907
RICHARD MANSFIELD
beyond the platforms of the Jersey Central station and
some twenty feet below the level of the street. Arthur
Forrest took supper with him, and they chatted through
the evening together.
During the night he had an acute distress of the stomach
which resembled peritonitis. The attack was sudden and
sharp, and its severity sent his temperature up and his
vitality down to a point that gave immediate alarm.
When Mr. Stevens called in the morning he found Mans-
field prostrated and suffering. He smiled at his man-
ager's appeal to cancel the night's performance, and said
he would surely be himself in a few hours. Instead, the
fever burned on. Only at half-past six did he surrender-
but then only for that one night. "I'll be all right to-
morrow night," he said. In vain Mr. Stevens begged him
to cancel the season, or at least the week, and return
home. Tuesday morning brought no change, and he
consented to abandon the one week's bookings and go
to New York to rest for Baltimore the following
Monday.
As soon as he reached the Riverside house a consulta-
tion of physicians was held, and they issued this statement:
Mr. Mansfield is suffering from a very severe attack of
nervous exhaustion, and we consider it absolutely impera-
tive that he stop all work and that he take a prolonged
and complete rest. It is only by pursuing this course that
Mr. Mansfield can expect an ultimate recovery.
The company was waiting on the stage of the New
Amsterdam Theatre, the scene three days before of one
of his greatest triumphs. Mr. Stevens read them the
physicians' report and, when he announced the disbanding
of the Richard Mansfield Company, the players and

Bedroom

Music Room
MR. MANSFIELD'S HOUSE ON RIVERSIDE DRIVE, NEW YORK

1907]
HUNTING HEALTH
477
artisans sorrowfully, many with tears, dispersed. The
old association was broken-for some it had been their
whole professional span, for most of the leading artists it
extended from five to ten years. Madame Simon had
supervised the wardrobe for seventeen years. Fred
Brown, his faithful dresser, had been with him before any
one else could remember-and he remained while there
was a service to be performed.
Mansfield had anticipated settling with his family in
England for the summer. He and Mrs. Mansfield had
amused themselves all through the winter selecting the
ideal house and neighbourhood. Sometimes he wanted
to be near the sea. Again the hawthorne hedges of the
midlands or the grassy banks of the Thames country
attracted him. The choice finally fell on "Moonhill," a
beautiful house and park near Cuckfield in Sussex. The
lease of this for the three summer months was taken in
March. It was a convenient arrangement and included
every item of domestic furnishing, the horses and car-
riages, and all the servants on the place.
on the place. Passage
had been engaged on a steamer leaving May 4. From
the time illness caused him to cancel his season and re-
turn home, his thoughts fixed themselves on the refresh-
ing ocean voyage and the delights of the summer in old
England.
In a fortnight he was able to sit in his window and watch
the carriages and motor-cars on Riverside Drive and the
busy craft on the Hudson. From day to day he had his
ups and downs. The spring was backward and he longed
for the sun's invigorating warmth.
His mind and will were fixed on England, and no one
could shake him from that purpose. He had a boyish
confidence in the panacea of the old country. The phy-
478
[1907
RICHARD
MANSFIELD
sicians made significantly little opposition. On his poorer
days he reclined feebly on his bed. On his best day he
crept down to the pavement and strolled a few yards back
and forth in front of his door.
Strength did not return as quickly as he hoped. The
sailing was postponed till May 12. As the day approached
he was seized with a strange notion that he wished to be
alone at sea. Mrs. Mansfield had been unsparing of her-
self; for seven weeks she had scarcely interrupetd her
ministrations even to sleep, and he insisted that she rest
after he left, close the house leisurely, and follow with the
boy a week later. Nothing would move him from his de-
termination. Accordingly, with the indispensable Brown
and a trained nurse, he sailed on the appointed day on
the steamer Minneapolis. In mid-ocean there was a re-
lapse, and when his brother Felix greeted him at Tilbury
he was more feeble than he had been at any time since
his first attack.
After a few days in London he was taken south to
Brighton. Here Mrs. Mansfield and Gibbs joined him
almost immediately, and they all went at once to Moon-
hill. He retained a stout hope. "I need a long rest,
perhaps a year," he wrote. "I should have taken it be-
fore. . . . Where is the sun? Here it is bleak and cold,
damp and gray. I suppose this is a beautiful place, but
it stands so high, with the Sussex down all about, that the
wind cuts straight across from the sea and is pretty
strong. I wish we were in Kent, which is more sheltered.
I long for the warm, warm sunshine."
The inactivity of invalidism fretted him sorely. He
was rarely on his feet. Only half a dozen times during
twelve weeks did he drive. Finding no change in his
condition where he was, his imagination quickly reached
1907]
HOME AGAIN
479
out, and he fixed his hopes on a return to the warm
American summer.
This presented difficulties, as both his houses in New
London were leased for the hot season. Across the road
from The Grange and a few hundred yards to the north
he owned a plot of seven acres on which stood a farmer's
cottage. He had amused himself before his illness in
drawing plans for the rebuilding of this house, and these
were in the hands of his architect in New London. A
message was cabled him to begin at once and rebuild
"Seven Acres," furnish it, lay out the grounds, and have
all ready for his return in August. Such lordly, sweeping
orders were after Mansfield's own grand manner. It was
not to reason why, it was but to do and be paid. The
house rose almost miraculously. His friend, Miss Ger-
trude Hall, graciously undertook the task of decorating
and furnishing the interior.
By the middle of July his patience had spent itself.
Justifying himself with the thought that it would be un-
safe to subject his weakened constitution to the sudden
change from the chill of England and the ocean to the
torrid vigour of an American August, he planned an
immediate departure, via Montreal, to acclimatise him-
self gradually in the Adirondacks.
Accompanied by his family and attendants he arrived
at Montreal on the steamer Virginia, July 26, and went by
special train to a cottage on Saranac Lake. After four
long weeks word came that Seven Acres was ready for
him, and the last stage of the trip home was accomplished
August 22.
His good neighbours thoughtfully spared him the excite-
ment of immediate greeting, but he found their welcome
the moment he entered the house. They had filled it with


480
[1907
RICHARD MANSFIELD
bloom, the colour and fragrance of which hailed him on
every side.
The eagerness to see his new house, to be at home again,
had buoyed him to an artificial strength. He ignored
his weakness and walked from room to room. His de-
light was unrestrained. "Isn't it bully? Isn't it bully?"
he repeated over and over again. When he reached the
dining-room, with its panelled rafters and big fireplace
built of the unfinished rocks from his own pasture down
the hill, he threw his arms around his wife and cried:
"What a Christmas lark we'll have here, Beattie! Eh?
We'll spend this Christmas at home together. Eh? You
and the boy and me?" Then he turned and crossed a
little hall into the wing which he had planned for his
library. In the centre was his desk. He settled before
it in his familiar chair and took it all in. "It's perfectly
bully, isn't it? It's just as I thought it would be."
Then his eye rested on a silver cup on the desk before
him, and he reached a trembling hand for it and read the
inscription: "Welcome home to Mr. Mansfield," over
the names of the five little girls for whom he had ar-
ranged the tennis tournaments. The cup was a copy of
the ones he had given the victors. As he replaced it on
the desk he said it should always stay there. Next day
servant in dusting had moved the cup to another
table. He missed it, and in spite of his depleted strength
would not be comforted until it was back in its place
again.
a
When he had visited all the rooms he insisted on seeing
the exterior. He was wheeled in a chair around the house,
and his eye twinkled as he caught sight of the antlers over
the front door: "Yes, I wanted that, that means good
luck!"
1907]
THE LAST DAYS
481
This was Thursday. Every day he was brought into
the den or sat among the flowers in the connecting
sun parlour, watching the cloud shadows on the val-
ley, receiving his friends, planning the festivities they
should have together as soon as his strength re-
turned.
On Tuesday morning he did not leave his bed. His
room occupied the entire wing over his den. It was fur-
nished simply with heavy green curtains at the windows,
rugs on the floor, the mahogany from his sleeping
room in Riverside Drive, the print of the Meissonier
salon, two landscapes of his own doing in crayon, his
mother's portrait, several old French prints; on the
mantel the travel-worn crimson leather case containing
photographs of his wife and boy, and over his bed a
crucifix.
During the next few days he suffered less and less and
slept more and more. Though weakness made his body
a prisoner, his mind was restless every wakeful moment.
He could not bear to be alone, but sent for one neighbour
after another and chatted with an unfailing cheerfulness.
Thursday night-this was August 29-it was manifest
that the end was near. His wife, his brother Felix who
had accompanied him from England, Gibbs's governess,
and Brown gathered at his bedside shortly after mid-
night.
His wife held both his hands in hers firmly and repeated
in a clear, not loud, tone, over and over again: "God is
life." At one time he awoke and recognised her, and
when she repeated "God is life" he pressed her hand and
answered "God is love." Presently he opened his eyes
again. Again she repeated "God is life," but his only
answer was to raise his hand with the familiar gesture he


482
[1907
RICHARD MANSFIELD
made when his mind was fixed, and he drew her to him
and kissed her. As he released her he lay smiling peace-
fully, his eyes open for a moment with a look of joy and
delight, and the smile remained as he fell asleep. "It
was as though he knew God was love," said Mrs. Mans-
field, "and there was not for him the life I wanted, for I
meant here."
He did not speak again. The vigil was long. No one
knew how long until the rising sun broke across the foot
of his bed and disappeared. The sudden burst of light
caught every eye. When they turned again to him he was
no longer there.
That evening in a dingy little theatre in Grand Street,
where he gathers the poor of the Yiddish quarter, the
venerable Jacob Adler offered the simplest tribute that
one artist could pay another. Before he began the play
he came before the curtain, waited for the hush to spread
over the audience, and then said in that language without
a country: "Stand up." Every one rose. "Men, take
off your hats." They obeyed. "And now do you know
why it is that I ask you to stand? It is because to-day
the world has lost the greatest actor who speaks the Eng-
lish language. In all the history of the stage there have
been few greater." Then he told them of Mansfield's
memorable achievements. "It is for this great man that
I ask you to stand uncovered and I myself stand un-
covered here to-night."
When the word of their loss reached Mansfield's own
people, a wave of sorrow swept over the heart of the na-
tion. The eulogy of the American and English press was
spontaneous, unreserved. One moment of such apprecia-
tion in his lifetime would have compensated for all the
1907]
REST
483
struggles and distress and disappointments on his journey
up to preeminence.
Across the road from Seven Acres is a quaint old
burying-ground, known from its founder and the patri-
archal family of the neighbourhood as Gardner's Yard.
He had often visited the spot and admired its simplicity.
Here, in the seclusion of a hedged and shaded corner of
his own choice, his friends laid him to sleep his last
sleep.



BIBLIOGRAPHY
"King Richard III," as arranged for production at the
Globe Theatre, London, March 16, 1889. Mr.
Richard Mansfield as the Duke of Gloster. Printed
by Partridge & Cooper, Fleet Street, London, E. C.
"King Richard III," as produced at the Globe Theatre,
London, March 16, 1889, and at Palmer's Theatre,
New York, December 16, 1889. Under the manage-
ment of Mr. Richard Mansfield. With a preface by
J. C. Waller, F.S.A., Nota by Richard Mansfield,
and the casts of characters.


Beau Brummell," a play in four acts, written for Richard
Mansfield by Clyde Fitch. John Lane Company,
New York, 1908.
"Don Juan," a play in four acts, by Richard Mansfield.
Printed privately on the De Vinne Press, 1891.
"Cyrano de Bergerac," a heroic comedy, from the French
of Edmond Rostand, done into English verse by
Howard Thayer Kingsbury, accepted and played by
Richard Mansfield. Lamson, Wolffe & Co., New
York, Boston, and London, 1898.
"The Richard Mansfield Acting Version of 'King Henry
V,' a History in Five Acts, by William Shakespeare."
With portrait of Mr. Mansfield as King Henry V.
McClure, Phillips & Co., New York, 1901.
485

486
BIBLIOGRAPHY
"The Richard Mansfield Acting Version of 'Peer Gynt,
by Henrik Ibsen."" With portrait. The Reilly &
Britton Co., Chicago, 1906.
"Blown Away," a nonsensical narrative without rhyme
or reason, related by Richard Mansfield. Illus-
trated by Margaret Jones and the author. L. C.
Page & Co., Boston, 1897.
"One Evening," being an entertainment of songs grave
and gay, by Richard Mansfield. Novello, Ewer &
Co., London and New York, 1892.
"As You Find It," a play in one act, by Richard Mans-
field. Printed privately, 1904. Reprinted in The
Reader, January, 1905.
"Sketches Out of the Life of a Great Singer," by Richard
Mansfield. The Theatre (London), November, 1878.
"More Sketches Out of the Life of a Great Singer," by
Richard Mansfield. The Theatre (London), Febru-
ary, 1879.
"The Story of a Production," by Richard Mansfield.
Drawing of Richard Mansfield as King Richard III, by
Frederic Remington. Harper's Weekly, May 24, 1890.
"A Plain Talk on the Drama," by Richard Mansfield.
North American Review, September, 1892.
66
"Concerning Acting," by Richard Mansfield. North
American Review, September, 1894.
"My Audiences and Myself," by Richard Mansfield.
With portrait. Collier's, October 6, 1900.
"Man and the Actor," by Richard Mansfield. Atlantic
Monthly, May, 1906.
BIBLIOGRAPHY
487
"The Charge at Dargai Gap" and "The Eagle's Song,"
two poems by Richard Mansfield. Printed at the
Appleton Press, 1898.
"Metropolitan Audiences," by Mrs. Richard Mansfield.
The Cosmopolitan, April, 1904.
"Richard Mansfield as Richard III," in Shadows of the
Stage, by William Winter. Volume I. Macmillan
& Co., New York and London, 1893.
"Mansfield in Several Characters," in Shadows of the
Stage, by William Winter. Volume II. Macmillan
& Co., New York and London, 1893.
"Mansfield as Shylock"; "Mansfield's Dandies"; in
Shadows of the Stage, by William Winter. Volume
III. Macmillan & Co., New York and London,
1895.
"Some Players: Personal Sketches," by Amy Leslie.
Portrait and Autograph. Herbert S. Stone & Co.,
Chicago and New York, 1899.

"Recollections of a Player," by J. H. Stoddard. The
Century Co., New York, 1902.
"Famous Actors of the Day in America," by Lewis C.
Strang. Portrait. L. C. Page & Co., Boston,
1900.
"Famous American Actors of To-day," edited by C. E. L.
Wingate and F. E. McKay. Chapter on Richard
Mansfield by William Henry Frost. Portrait as
Richard III. Thomas Y. Crowell & Co., New York,
1896.
"The Stage in America, 1897-1900," by Norman Hap-
good. The Macmillan Co., New York, 1901.

488
BIBLIOGRAPHY
"Famous Actors and Actresses and Their Homes," by
Gustave Kobbé. Illustrated. Little, Brown & Co.,
Boston, 1903.
"Players of the Present," by John Bouvé Clapp and Ed-
win Francis Edgett. The Dunlop Society, New
York, 1899.
"Shakespeare in New York," by William Winter.
Sketches of Characters in "Richard III," by Albert
Steiner. Harper's Weekly, January 11, 1890.
"Richard III' at the Globe," Saturday Review (London),
March 23, 1899.
"The Personal Side of Richard Mansfield," by George
Henry Paine. Saturday Evening Post, January 14, 1899.
"Mansfield and King Henry V," by N. D. Hanna.
Gunton's Magazine, October, 1900.
"On the Acting of Richard Mansfield," by William Win-
ter. Frontispiece in colours of Mansfield as Beau-
caire, by John Cecil Clay. Frank Leslie's Popular
Monthly, November, 1902.
"Richard Mansfield, Actor," by N. D. Hanna. Ten
illustrations from photographs. Munsey's Maga-
zine, September, 1899.
"Richard Mansfield and His Little Boy," by Gustave
Kobbé. Ladies' Home Journal, January, 1903.
"Richard Mansfield," by L. A. Faett. Two illustrations
from photographs. Dixie, December, 1899.
"Richard Mansfield," by Kenyon West.
Frontispiece
and ten illustrations from photographs. The Arena,
January, 1906.
BIBLIOGRAPHY
489
"Players Past and Present: Richard Mansfield," by
William Winter. Portrait from photograph and
drawings. The Saturday Evening Post, August II,
1906.
"Henry Irving's Successor," by Clay M. Greene. Mun-
sey's Magazine, May, 1906.
"Mansfield and Ibsen," by F. I. Vassault. Four illustra-
tions from photographs. The Bellman, December
15, 1906.
"Peer Gynt," by William Morton Payne. The Dial,
November 16, 1906.
"Richard Mansfield," by Montrose J. Moses. Five illus-
trations from photographs. Pearson's, November,
1905.

"The Greatest English Actor," by John Corbin. Five
illustrations from photographs. Appleton's, March,
1907.
"Richard Mansfield," by James O'Donnell Bennett.
Full-page portrait. Munsey's Magazine, March,
1907.
"Richard Mansfield and 'Peer Gynt,"" by Montrose J.
Moses. Six illustrations from photographs. The
Times Magazine, February, 1907.
"Richard Mansfield," by Lyman B. Glover. Three il-
lustrations from photographs. The World To-day,
October, 1907.
"What Was the Influence of Richard Mansfield on the
American Drama?" by Franklin Fyles. The Amer-
ican Review of Reviews, October, 1907.
490
BIBLIOGRAPHY
"Richard Mansfield, a Review of His Work," by Arthur
Ruhl. Portrait. Collier's, September 14, 1907.
"Richard Mansfield." Portrait. The Literary Digest,
September 7, 1907.
"Richard Mansfield-the Man," by Clayton Hamilton.
North American Review, January, 1908.
"Richard Mansfield, an Old Darbeian," by B. Tacchella.
The Derby (England) School Magazine, April, 1908.
Reprinted in pamphlet form by the author for pri-
vate circulation, 1908.
INDEX
"ACTING, CONCERNING," 226, 486.
Actor's Home, 368-9.
Adams-Pappenheim Company, 83.
Adler, Jacob, 482.
Agassiz, Mrs. Louis, 212.
"Agnes," 124.
Albany, N. Y., 118, 140, 284.
Albaugh, John W., Sr., 291.
Albaugh's Theatre (Washington), 153.
Alceste, 425, 430, 431, 451. See "The
Misanthrope.
Alexander, 22, 416-7.
Alger, Miss Abbie, 98, 117.
Alger, Rev. William, 98.
"Alpine Roses," 120.
"Always Intended," 163.
Amorita, The, 390, 392, 460.
Anderson, David, 184.
Anderson, Hans Christian, quoted, 246.
Anderson, Mary, 91, 164, 363.
'Andrea," 124.
Andrews, Albert G., 197, 319, 337-
Anglin, Margaret, 316-7, 322.
Appleton, "Ned," 344-
Appleton, Mrs. William, 212.
Appleton, Robert, 344.
Archer, William and Charles, 460.
"Arms and the Man," 259, 260, 261,
264, 265, 270, 285, 286, 339. See
Bluntschli.
Arnold, Benedict, 416-7.
Ashley, Merton, 88, 247.
"A Special Delivery Letter," 65.
"As You Find It," 486.
"Audiences and Myself, My," 226,
345-7, 486.
"Audiences, Metropolitan," 487.
BACH, 98.
Bailey, Lillian (Mrs. George Hen-
schel), 31.
Balshir, 11.
Baltimore, 99, 140, 153, 189, 194, 210,
412, 476.
Bandmann, Daniel, 156, 157, 158, 159,
160.
Banks, E. G., 168.
Bariatinsky, Prince, 3.
Barker, Richard, 68.
Barnby, Joseph, 7.
Barrett, Lawrence, 91.
Barron, Charles, 131.
Barrymore, Maurice, 124.
Bateman, Miss, 21.
Batonchon, M., 29.
See Greta Mans-
field and Ida Brassey.
"Beau Brummell," 200, 201, 202, 203,
204, 205, 206, 207, 208, 212, 213,
214, 219, 222, 226, 227, 231, 236,
240, 252, 255, 265, 266, 270, 274,
285, 310, 368, 419, 426, 450, 470,
472, 485.
"Beaucaire," 234, 236, 365-70, 395,
405, 460, 488.
Beau Farintosh, 21, 47, 48, 54, 113.
Beck, Philip, 116.
Bede, Congressman, 454.
Bedford, Duke of, 184.
Bell, Digby, 91.


Belleville, Frederick de, 90, 106.
"Bells, The," III, 160.
Benedict, Sir Julius, 7.
Bennett, James O'Donnell, 254, 422,
423, 459, 461, 489.
Bennett, Johnstone, 197.
Berger Family, The, 36.
Bernhardt, Sarah, 37, 91, 159, 304,
360, 361, 453, 454.
Bettini, II.
Betton, F. M., 46.
Beyer, Theophilus, 15.
Biblical Repertoire, 428-9.
Biene, Augustus van, 68.
Blomfield, Mr., 182.
"Blown Away," 230, 294, 295, 296, 486.
Bluntschli, Captain, 234, 259, 265,
267, 339. See "Arms and the
Man."
Bohemian Club of San Francisco, 450.
Bolze, John, 211.
Booth, Edwin, 36, 37, 82, 91, III, 243,
417.
491
492
INDEX
Booth, the Elder, 214.
Bordogni, 5.
Borgia, Lucretia, 83, 112.
Boston, 27-56, 60-1, 82, 83, 113, 114,
125, 128-134, 140, 141, 142, 143-45,
153, 155, 188, 193, 210, 212, 216,
292, 308, 309, 341, 368, 369, 419,
420, 454-5.
Boston Museum, 130-1, 132, 133, 135,
142, 145, 153, 280.
Bottom, 25.
Boucicault, Dion, 94, 131, 307.
"Bourgeois Gentilhomme," 25.
Bournemouth, 169.
Boyesen, Hjalmar, 120.
Boylan, R. D., 437-
"Brand," 458.
Brassey, M'lle Ida, 358.
Brigard, 88.
Brignoli, 51.
Brobst, Frank, 207.
Brokyn, May, 117.
Brooks, Phillips, 82.
Brough, Lionel, 167, 168.
Broughton, G. H., 184.
Brown, Fred, 358, 477, 481.
Browning, 98.
Brutus, 199, 200, 236, 395, 397, 398,
399, 406, 460. See "Julius Cæsar."
Buchanan, Robert, 184-185.
Buck, Mrs. E. A., 239.
Buck, Colonel E. A., 239.
Bülow, Hans von, 40-2.
Burbage, Richard, 246.
Burdett-Coutts, Baroness, 184.
Burgomaster, The, 81.
Burnett, Robert, 46.
Burnett, Vivian, 434.
Burr, Aaron, 416-7.
Buskin, Sock and-Club, 45, 46, 49,
53, 54, 55, 114.
Byron, Henry, 81.
Byron, Lord, 200, 418.
CÆSAR, 22.
Cagliostro, 156, 416.
California, University of, 303, 439,
450, 455-
Calvert, Charles, 442.
Cameron, Beatrice.
Cameron Mansfield.
Cameron, Edgar, 419.
"Captain Satan," 315.
Carey, Eleanor, 90, 106.
See Beatrice
Carleton, Henry Guy, 122.
Carreno, Teresa, 31, 36.
Carte, D'Oyly, 66, 71, 72, 76, 93, 96,
99, 314, 432.
Carte, Mrs. D'Oyly, 74.
Castle, Egerton, 168, 169, 175, 182.
"Castle Sombras," 280, 281-2.
Cazauran, A. R., 100, 103.
Cellier, Alfred, 66.
"Charity Begins at Home," 59.
Chatterton, II.
Cheney, Mrs. Arthur, 49.
Chevrial, The Baron, 101, 102, 106,
107, 108, 109, 110, III, 112, 114,
116, 117, 131, 132, 134, 142, 152,
163, 166, 172, 214, 221, 234, 252,
255, 270, 283, 330, 412, 426, 472,
473. See "A Parisian Romance."
Chicago, 117, 153, 192, 194, 242, 243,
280, 283, 286, 289, 303, 304, 311,
331, 333, 361, 362, 369, 395, 400,
401, 422, 427, 436, 437, 439, 449,
455, 461-2, 470.
Chicago, University of, 61, 302, 304,
307, 311, 438.
Cholmondelay, Lord, 123.
Christchurch, 169.
Christian of Schleswig-Holstein, Prin-
cess, 163.
Christmas, 118, 140, 377-80, 452, 453,

469-70, 480.
Cibber, Colley, 178, 182.
Cincinnati, 119, 153, 343, 384, 400,
468, 470. See Fernbank.
Clapp, John Bouvé, 488.
Clark, Miss, 186.
Clark, Rev. Walter, 22, 166, 186 251.
Clarke, Annie, 131, 132.
Clarke, J. I. C., 308, 309.
Cluppins, Mrs. Betsey, 25.
Cockerill, John A., 239.
Colonial Theatre (Boston), 29, 368,
419-20.
Compton, Dr., 142.
Cook, Dutton, 21.
"Cooks," 370.
Coquebert, 79.
Coquelin, 304, 313, 314, 360, 361, 362,
363.
Corbin, John, quoted, 234, 489.
Cossa's "Nero," 221.
Costa, Sir Michael, 7.
Coughlan, Rose, 90.
Courtenay, William, 323.
Courvoisier, Eugen, 309, 405. See
"The First Violin."
Craigen, Maida, 132.
Craven, Hawes, 396.
"Crime and Punishment," 275-
Criticism, On, 223.
Crummels, Mr. Vincent, 50, 51, 57-
Curtis, George William, 135, 212.
INDEX
Cushman, Charlotte, 37, 91.
"Cyrano de Bergerac," 18, 234, 235,
311, 312, 313, 314, 315, 316, 317
318 (cast), 319, 320, 321, 322, 323,
324, 325, 326, 327, 328, 329, 330,
331, 332, 333, 334, 337, 338, 343,
358, 365, 368, 397, 405, 416, 485.
DALY, AUGUSTIN, 91, 92, 241, 316.
Daly's Theatre, 239, 241.
Dannreuther's quartette, 251.
Dante, 29.
"Dargai Gap, The Charge at," 296-7,
487.
Darlington, 67.
Davenport, May, 132.
Davey, Richard, 162.
"David Copperfield," 98, 127.
De Genlis, 21.
Dene, Dorothy, 124.
Denver, 117, 229, 447, 448, 449.
Derby School, 21-5, 58, 77, 166, 167,
251, 296, 402, 423, 490.
Desmond, Countess of, 179.
Detroit, 454-
"Devil's Disciple, The," 282, 283, 284
(cast), 285, 286.
DeVinne Press, 221.
Dickens, 98.
Dickens's Dramatisations, 127.
Dillon, Joseph H., 337, 377-
Dimmesdale, Rev. Arthur. See "The
Scarlet Letter."
Dimond, Ory, 453-
Dimsdale, J., 67.
"Diplomacy," 131.
Dithmar, A. E., 15, 161, 162, 188, 216,
268.
Dixon, Gerald, 23.
Dobson, Austin, quoted, 246.
"Doll's House, A," 193, 194 (cast).
"Don Carlos," 200, 392, 413, 435, 436
(cast), 437, 438, 454, 460, 465.
"Don Juan," 216, 217 (cast), 218, 219,
221, 222, 226, 244, 278, 279, 485.
Dornfeld, Count von, 120-1.
Dostoyevski, 275-
Downs, F. F., 46.
Drasdil, Anna, 31, 52.
Drew, John, 91.
Dreyshok, 87, 88.
"Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde," 143, 144,
145 (cast), 146, 147, 148, 149, 150,
152, 154, 155, 156, 157, 158, 159
(cast), 160, 161, 163, 166, 167, 190,
209, 213, 214, 221, 227, 231, 252,
255, 257, 266, 270, 280, 369, 419,
426, 427, 472.
Dromez, 93.
493
Drums, An Essay on the, 38.
Dudgeon, Dick, 236, 282, 284, 285,
426. See "The Devil's Disciple."
Duff Opera Company, 123.
Du Maurier, George, 272.
"Dust," 81.

"EAGLE'S SONG, THE," 297, 487.
Eastman, Barrett, 461.
Edgett, Edwin Francis, 488.
"Editha's Burglar," 167.
Edward, King, 179.
Edwards, Harry, 90.
"Egmont," 418.
Einarsson, Professor, 417.
Elliott, Margaret, 211, 212.
Elliott, Maude Howe, 63, 212.
Elton, William, 91.
"Emperor and Galilean," 458.
Ethel, Agnes, 124.
Evesson, Isabelle, 91, 117.
FAETT, L. A., 488.
Fairleigh, Frank, 78.
Falstaff, 25, 417.
"Famous Actors and Actresses and
Their Homes," 488.
"Famous Actors of the Day in Amer-
ica," 487.
"Famous American Actors of To-
day," 487.
Farnie, H. B., 94, 121.
Fassett, Isabel, 31.
Faucit, Helen, 20.
"Faust," 25, 459.
Fawcett, Owen, 90.
Fechter, 20.
Ferdinand, Emperor of Austria, 82,
85, 86, 87, 88.
Fernbank, Ohio, 384, 400.
Feuillet, Octave, 100.
Field, R. N., 130, 133.
Fifth Avenue Theatre, 153, 284, 285.
Fischer, Miss Alice, 369-70.
Fisher, Charles, 91.
Fiske, Mrs. See Minnie Maddern.
Fitch, Clyde, 201, 485.
Florence, W. J., 139, 239.
Forbes, Norman, 124, 265.
Forrest, Arthur, 88, 91, 323, 338, 369,
476.
Forrest, Edwin, 37, 91, 233, 305.
Fort Worth, Texas, Midnight Per-
formance at, 329.
Fothergill, Jessie, 308.
Fragonard, 430.
Freake, Lady, 184, 185.

494
INDEX
"Frederick Lemaitre," 201.
Frederick the Great, 416.
Frederick William, Emperor, 416.
"French Flats," 116.
French, T. Henry, 190.
Frith, William, R. A., 56, 57, 161, 184.
Frost, William Henry, 487.
"Frou Frou," 88.
Fyles, Franklin, 489.
GADE, CONSUL, 465.
Galer, Elliot, 123.
Gallet, Louis, 315.
Garden Theatre, 214, 217, 226, 227,
272, 273, 283, 308, 309, 310, 316,
327, 331, 338, 339, 349, 350.
Gardner, Mrs. John L., 212.
Gardner's Yard, 483.
Garrick, David, 111, 174, 185, 214,
236, 268, 269, 279, 365, 366, 372,
441, 442.
Garrick Theatre, The (New York),
269, 270, 272, 273, 275, 276, 278,
279, 330.
Garrick Theatre (Philadelphia), 289,
365-6.
Garvice, Charles, 81.
"Gasparone," 123.
German, Edward, 167, 168, 169, 182,
185.
German Theatre, 21.
Germon, Effie, 91.
"Geneviève de Brabant," 81.
"Ghosts," 458.
Gibbs, Mr. and Mrs. and Miss, 238-9.
Giddens, George, 78.
Gilbert, Alfred, 184, 265.
Gilbert, John, 90.
Gilbert, Mrs., 91.
Gilbert, W. S., 21, 66, 73, 74, 76, 77,
78, 95, 127, 128, 315.
Gillette, William, 138.
Gilmore, "Pat.," 27, 28.
Glidden, Helen, 197. See Harkins.
Globe Theatre (Boston), 49, 130, 153,
188.
Globe Theatre (London), 166, 167,
173, 174, 185, 186, 265.
Gloster, Duke of. See King Richard
III.
Glover, Lyman B., 401, 408, 461, 489.
Goddard, Arabella, 31.
Godwin, Anna, 31.
Goethe, 15, 16, 19, 25, 30, 418, 459.
"Golden Ebony," 380-4.
Goldsmith, Oliver, 441.
Goodwin, Nat, 137, 288.
Graham, Thomas F., 335, 337-
Grain, Corney, 58, 59.
Grange, The, 371-2, 375, 471, 479.
Great Northern Theatre (Chicago),
283.
"Greatest English Actor, The," 489.
Greene, Clay M., 489.
Greenwall, Manager, 243, 329.
Greig, 464.
Greville, Miss, 5.
Griffith, William N., 363.
Grimaldi, 222, 416.
"Gringoire," 123.
Gross, Charles E., 331, 333, 334, 337-
Grossmith, Weedon, 167.
Grundy, Sydney, 81.
Guarantees, 232.
Gunter, Archibald Clavering, 129.
HALBERT, DELANCY, 461.
Hall, 178.
Hall, Gertrude, 313, 479.
Hall, Mrs., 63.
Hamilton, Clayton, 490.
"Hamlet," 149, 397, 417, 444-
Hammond, Percy, 461.
Hanna, N. D., 488.
Hans Sachs, 189, 397.
Hapgood, Norman, 487.
Hardenberg, Mr., 51.
Hare, John, 21.
Harkins, Mr. and Mrs., 197, 229, 363-
4, 369. See Glidden.
Harrigan's Theatre, 268.
Harrington, Lady, 185.
Harris, Augustus, 175-6.
Harrison, Benjamin, 211, 212, 242,
318.
Harrison, Maud, 90.
Harrison, Provost, 303, 439.
Hatton, Joseph, 163, 200, 239, 240.
Hauptmann, 439.
Hawthorne, Nathaniel, 239, 240.
Hayes, Catherine, 6.
Heine, 211.
Henderson, Mr., 78.
Henschel, Mrs. George. See Bailey.
Herald Square Theatre, 261, 262, 289,
400.
Herbert, Joseph, 272.
Herman's Theatre, 250.
Herne, James A., 288.
"Herod," 418.
Heron, Bijou, 91.
"Her Royal Highness," 256.
Higginson, Colonel, 130.
Hill, Aaron, quoted, 196.
Hiller, Ferdinand, 7, 11.
Hilton, Hilda, 88.

INDEX
495
Holland, E. M. and Joseph, 272, 273.
Hollinshed, 178.
Hollis Street Theatre (Boston), 128,
129, 308.
Homer, 30, 98.
Hooper, John, 46.
Hooper, S. Harry, 46, 54.
Hopper, De Wolf, 154.
Horace, 98.
Hospital, St. Luke's, 49.
Hospital, the New England, 49.
Hotel Boyleston, 29, 46.
Hotel Touraine, 29.
Houghton, Lord, 211.
Howe, Jr., Frank, 365, 366.
Howe, Julia Ward, 30, 63.
Howson, John, 128.
Hoyt, Charles, 95, 136.
Hudson, Alfred, 131.
Hunter, Miss, 376, 380, 382, 469, 471,
481.
Hutton, quoted, 181.
IAGO, 444-
Ibsen, 15, 16, 193, 259, 283, 348, 416,
439, 446, 458, 465, 466, 486, 489.
"I Love the Woods," 139.
"Influence of Richard Mansfield on
the American Drama? What was
the," 489.
"In Spite of All," 124, 127.
Irving, Henry, 23-4, 91, III, 120, 156,
159, 160, 161, 165, 172, 184, 197,
243, 266, 304, 306, 413, 442.
"Irving's Successor," 489.
"Ivan the Terrible, Tzar," 330, 402,
406-13 (cast), 416, 419, 424, 425,
426.
JADOT, MONSIEUR DE, 152, 214, 222.
See "Monsieur."
Janauschek, 91.
"Jealousy," 124.
Jefferson, Joseph, 91, 273-4, 288,
289, 304, 369.
Jerold, Blanchard, 201.
Jesse, Captain, 201.
Johnson, Rev. Dr., 238.
Jewett, Sara, 90, 106.
Johnson, Samuel, 441.
Jones, Charles H., 46.
Jones, John Paul, 416.
Jones, Margaret, 486.
Jordan, Eben D., 32, 33, 43, 89, 166,
190, 239.
Jubilee, National Peace, 27.
Jubilee, World's Peace, 27, 82.
Judson, President, 302.
"Julius Cæsar," 395-400 (cast), 416.
See Brutus.

KARL HEINRICH, 402, 403, 404, 405,
406, 407, 413, 460, 465. See "Old
"Heidelberg."
"Kean," 193.
Kean, Charles, 185, 353, 442.
Kean, Edmund, 185, 305, 442.
Keans, The, 20, 441.
Kelcey, Herbert, 91.
Kellogg, Clara Louise, 31.
Kellogg, Fannie, 31.
Kemble, Charles, 305, 442.
Kembles, The, 20, 441.
Kendal, Madge Robertson, 21, 184,

207, 208.
Kendal, William H., 21, 184, 207, 208.
Kennedy, M. A., 363.
Kent, Charles, 131.
Kindergarten for the Blind (Boston),
Benefit for, 212.
"King Frederick William I," 283.
"King Henry IV," 25.
"King Henry V," 200, 283, 348-58
(cast), 365, 368, 397, 405, 416, 460,
485, 488.
"King Henry VI," 177, 178.
"King John," 411, 417.
"King Lear," 418.
"King of Peru, The," 270 (cast), 271,
279.
"King Richard III," 111, 149, 156,
166, 167, 168, 169, 171, 172, 173
(cast), 174, 175, 176, 177, 178, 179,
180, 181, 182, 183, 184, 185, 186,
188, 189, 190, 192, 200, 214, 221,
226, 235, 244, 249, 252, 265, 279,
305, 327, 330, 366, 396, 397, 415,
419, 420, 421, 426, 429, 444, 450,
453, 485, 486, 487, 488.
Kingsbury, Howard Thayer, 313.
Klaw and Erlanger, 289.
Knollys, Sir Francis, 265.
Kobbé, Gustave, 488.
Kohisaat, Judge C. C., 331.
Ko-Ko, 128, 129, 130, 131, 153.
Kraft, Herr, 124.
Küchenmeister, Dr., 2.
LABOUCHERE, HENRY, 163, 184.
"La Boulangere," 79.
Lamb, Charles, quoted, 214.
Leclerq, Carlotta, 167.
Leclerq, Charles, 91.
Legge, quoted, 181.
Lemmons, II.
Le Moyne, W. J., 91.

496
INDEX
Leon, F. A., 128.
"Lesbia," 161, 162 (cast).
"Les Fourberies de Scapin," 24.
Leslie, Amy, 236, 282, 461, 487.
Lewis, James, 91.
Liebhardt, 51.
Light, Value of, on the Stage, 233.
Lincoln, John Larkin, Jr., 33, 46, 47,
49, 343, 364, 427.
Liverpool, 166.
Lloyd, Prince, 339.
"Lohengrin," 83.
Longfellow, Henry Wadsworth, 30,
82.
Longmans, Messrs., 159
Lord Chancellor, 96, 97, 99, 100.
Lorimer, Wright, 428.
Lorraine, Claude, 98.
Lotta, 36.
Louis XI, 123.
Louisville, 153, 192, 468.
Lucas, Seymour, 168, 169, 175, 182.
Luce, Clarence, 46.
Lyceum Theatre (London), 156, 159,
161, 162, 164, 165, 166, 197, 314.
Lyric Theatre (New York), 289, 403.
"MACBETH," 149, 417, 418, 444.
Maccabe, Mr., 51.
Mackaye, Steele, 124, 125.
Mackenzie, Sir Morell, 163, 168.
Macklin, 182.
Macready, 20, 91, 161, 442.
Maddern, Minnie, 124, 125, 128, 288.
Madison Square Theatre, 133, 134,
135, 136, 138, 145, 149, 152, 153,
193, 202, 207, 283.
Maeder, Clara Fisher, 136.
Maeterlinck, 439.
"Malade Imaginaire, Le," 430.
"Man and the Actor," 226, 439, 486.
Manhattan Theatre, 93.
"Man of Destiny, The," 264.
Mapleson, 83, 152.
"Mansfield, Actor, Richard," 488.
"Mansfierd and His Little Boy," 488.
"Mansfield and Ibsen," 489.
"Mansfield as Shylock," 477.
Mansfield Batonchon, Greta, 10, II,
20, 29, 358.
Mansfield, Beatrice Cameron, 136,
137, 161, 162, 164, 193, 197, 211,
238, 256, 259, 282, 283, 286, 294,
295, 300-2, 308, 331, 339, 364, 370,
371, 372, 377, 380, 389, 392, 393,
433, 434, 469, 470, 471, 477, 478,
481, 482, 487.
Mansfield Concert, A, 211.
Mansfield, Felix, 6, 10, 11, 14, 18, 19,
314, 478, 481.
Mansfield, George Gibbs, 315, 364,
370, 371, 373-94, 469, 470, 471, 472,
478, 488.
Mansfield, Harry, 10, 11, 14, 20.
"Mansfield in Several Characters,"
487.
Mansfield, Maurice, 1, 2, 3, 7, 10, 11,
12, 13.
Mansfield, Mrs. Richard. See Bea-
trice Cameron.
"Mansfield, On the Acting of Rich-
ard," 488.
"Mansfield, Richard" (two articles),
488 (three articles), 489 (three
other articles), 490.
"Mansfield's Dandies," 487.
Mantell, Robert, 136.
"Man With a Past, The," 273.
Marston, Richard, 396.
Martinot, Sadie, 130, 131.
"Mascotte, The," 88.
Masforrall, M., 46.
Mason, John, 131, 132.
"Master and Man," 190, 191 (cast),
192.
Matthews, Charles, 21.
Maxwell, Walter H., 119-20.
Mazarin, Cardinal, 416.
McBride, G., 243.
McCarthy, Justin, 184.
McCaull, John A., 239.
McKinley, J. H., 211.
M'Pherson, Alice J., 211, 212.
Mees, Arthur, 251.
"Meg's Diversion," 88.
Meltzer, Charles Henry, 275-
Meilhac, 94.
Meilhac and Halévy, 79.
Meissner, Mme. Sophie de, 406, 407.
Meissonier, 431, 481.
Mendelssohn, 6, 82.
Mephistopheles, 25.
Mersac, Baron de, 122, 123.
Metzger, John, 142, 175.
Micheronx, Chevalier de, 6.
"Midsummer Night's Dream," 25.
Miersch, Paul, 211.
Miller, Henry, 91.
Millocker, 123.
Mitchell, Maggie, 36.
Modjeska, 91.
وو
Molière, 24, 25, 30, 416, 425, 430, 431,
435, 451, 454.
See "The Misan-
thrope.'
"Monsieur," 150 (cast), 151, 152, 163,
188, 192, 217. See Jadot.

INDEX
"Monsieur Beaucaire." See "Beau-
caire."
Monsieur Phillipe, 80.
Monteuuis, Ferdinand, 18.
"Moonhill," 477, 478.
Morality on the Stage, 307.
More, Sir Thomas, 178.
Morris, Clara, 91.
Morrison, Lewis, 122.
Morton, Bishop, 178.
Moses, Montrose J., 489.
Mozart, 112, 200.
Munzig, George, 43, 45, 46, 47, 54, 60,
130, 239.
"NADJESDA," 124.
Napier, William, 417.
Napoleon Bonaparte, 14, 15, 22, 261,
264, 181-2, 424, 444.
"Napoleon Bonaparte, Scenes and
Incidents from the Life of," 261,
262, 263 (cast), 264, 267, 270, 279.
Napoleon, Prince (Plon-Plon), 4, 82.
Nasoni, Podesta of Syracuse, 123.
"Nero," 156, 219, 220 (cast), 221,
222, 226, 244, 278, 279, 281, 397,
444.
New Amsterdam Theatre, 409, 410,
411, 412, 413, 429, 471, 472, 476.
New London, Conn., 238, 370-1, 392,
435, 479.
News, The Boston, 37.
Nicknames, 256.
Nixon and Zimmermann, 289.
Nixon, Charles, 461,
Nordica, Lillian, 184.
"Not Registered," 88.
Novello, Clara, 6.
OCHILTREE, TOM, 139, 239.
Offenbach, 78, 79, 121.
"Old Heidelberg," 401-7 (cast), 412,
413. See Karl Heinrich.
"Old Homestead, The," 132.
Olwyn, Herbert, 81.
Omar Khayyam, 416.
"One Evening," 486.
Ormeni, Mme., 51.
Ortrud, 83.
"Othello," 149, 417.
"Our Concert Party," 119.
"Out of the Hunt," 80 (cast).
Outram, Leonard, 117.
Owen, Sir Philip Cunliffe, 163.
PAGE, L. C., 295.
Paignton, 73.
Paine, George Henry, 488.
497
Palmer, A. M., 90, 92, 100, 102, 103,
105, 106, 113, 114, 116, 131, 133,
221, 252, 258, 259, 273, 283, 284,
292, 312, 316, 317, 401.
Palmer's Theatre, 189, 191, 283, 485.
"Parisian Romance, A," 100, 102,
106 (cast), 107, 108, 109, 110, III,
113, 115, 116, 117, 119, 131, 132,
140, 144, 162, 163, 192, 193, 227,
252, 270, 283, 363-4, 368, 419, 470,
472. See The Baron Chevrial.
Park Theatre (Boston), 140.
Parker, Captain John F., U. S. N.,
340.

Parry, John, 59.
Parselle, John, 90, 106.
Pasta, 6.
Pater, Walter, quoted, 425.
Patey, Mme., 7.
"Patience," 95.
Patti, Adelina, 31.
Paulton, Harry and Edward, 273.
Payne, William Morton, 489.
Pedro XIV, Don. See "The King of
Peru."
"Peer Gynt," 18, 235, 236, 330, 348,
458, 459, 462, 463 (cast), 464, 465,
466, 467, 468, 470, 472, 486, 489.
Penley, W. S., 73.
Pennsylvania, University of, 303, 439.
"Perola," 95.
Perry, J. D., 46, 47.
"Personal Side of Richard Mansfield,
The," 488.
Phelps, Meridan, 308.
Phelps, Samuel, 20, 251.
Phelps, U. S. Minister, 160, 163.
Philadelphia, 96, 99, 113, 117, 140,
141, 153, 154, 188, 194, 210, 274,
279, 289, 316, 328, 365-6, 369, 427,
428, 468, 471. See University of
Pennsylvania.
"Philanderer, The," 264.
Phillips, Stephen, 418.
Photographs, 405.
"Pickwick Papers," 25, 98.
"Pinafore, H. M. S.," 66, 67, 77, 95,

123.
Pike, "Larry," 17, 18.
"Pirate's Own Book, The," 19.
"Pirates of Penzance, The," 73, 74,
75, 76, 77, 95.
Pit, Riot in the, 175-6.
Pitt, Fannie Addison, 91.
Pitt, H. M., 91.
Pittsburg, 153, 417, 453, 468.
"Plain Talk on the Drama, A," 226,
486.

498
INDEX
Planquette, 94.
"Players of the Present," 488.
Players, The, 361.
Pleyel, 3.
Plon-Plon.
"Pluto," 81.
See Prince Napoleon.
"Poetry and the Drama," 303.
Poetry on the Stage, Plea for, 224.
Pollack, Walter, 168, 175, 182.
Ponisi, Madame, 91.
Poole, Howard, 159.
Porter, Benjamin, 43, 46.
Porter, General Horace, 239.
Porter, Sir Joseph, 67, 69, 73, 123. See
"Pinafore."
Portland, Maine, 53.
Post, Mr. and Miss, 231, 232.
Potter, Mrs. James Brown, 136.
Potter, Paul, 272.
"Pretenders, The," 348.
Price, E. D., 165.
"Prince Karl," 36, 129, 131, 132 (cast),
133, 134, 135, 136, 137, 138, 141,
142, 149, 151, 152, 163, 164, 165,
166, 167, 188, 191, 210, 213, 214,
222, 227, 231, 234, 236, 237, 270,
280, 292, 293, 338, 368.
Princess Theatre, 250, 402.
Publicity, a Satire on, 287-8.
Puerner, Charles, 272.
QUAINTANCE, DICK AND LINSLEY
385.
RACINE, 30.
Radford, U. S. N., Admiral, 406. See
de Meissner.
Randegger, Signor, 8, 11.
Rand, Mrs., 39, 40, 114.
Rankin, McKee, 118.
"Rantzaus, The," 102, 113, 115.
Raymond, John T., 36, 51.
Reade, Charles, 124.
"Recollections of a Player," 101, 487.
Reed, German, 58, 59, 60.
Reeves, Sims, 8.
Rehan, Ada, 91, 241, 316, 419, 420.
Rembrandt, 98, 416.
Richman, Charles, 316.
Richmond, Va., Early Performance at,
328.
Rifflardini, 117.
"Rip Van Winkle," 94, 96.
Ristori, 91.
Riverside Drive (N. Y.) Home, 256,
412, 476, 477, 481.
Robertson, Tom, 95.
Robinson, Dr. S. Q., 46.
See "School."
Rodion the Student, The Story of, 275
(cast), 276, 277, 278, 279, 436.
"Romeo and Juliet," 197.
Rose Matinée, A, 232.
"Rosmersholm," 458.
Rossetti, Dante Gabriel, quoted, 425.
Rostand, Edmond, 312, 314, 315, 331,
333-
Rous, 179.
Rudersdorff, Agnese, 3.
Rudersdorff, Erminia, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7,
8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 16, 17, 18, 20,
28, 29, 30, 31, 32, 33, 38, 39, 47, 50,
51, 52, 55, 56, 60, 75, 81, 82, 83, 84,
85, 86, 87, 111, 112, 429, 486.
Rudersdorff, Joseph, 3, 5, 75-
Rudersdorff, Matilde, 3, 4, 13.
Ruhl, Arthur, 490.
Russell, Sol Smith, 36, 51.
SACKVILLE-WEST, MISS, 210.
Salter, Mrs. See Turner.
Salvini, Tomasso, 30, 37, 91, 417.
San Francisco, 115, 116, 228, 229, 289,
369, 388, 413, 447, 448-52, 454.
Santley, Charles, 8.
Saranac Lake, 479.
"Sardanapolus," 418.
Sardou, Victorien, 124, 131.
Sauret, Emile, 31.
Savage Club, 58.
"Scarlet Letter, The," 239 (cast), 240,
241, 244, 252, 255, 270, 286, 453, 472.
Schiller, 15, 16, 19, 30, 98, 416, 435,
438.
Schiller, Madame, 31.
"School," 46, 47 (cast), 48, 49, 53,
54, 57, 113.
Schumann, Robert, 82.
Schumann, Madame, 11.
Scott Clement, 160, 184, 307.
Scranton, 475.
Seattle, 231-2.
Seibel, George, 418.
Selwyn, Dr., Bishop of Lichfield, 24,
251.
Selwyn's Hall, 49.
"Seven Acres," 479, 483.
Seymour, William, 132.
Shakespeare, 25, 29, 98, 149, 178, 180,
185, 243, 244, 245, 246, 247, 250,
305, 356, 370, 417, 421, 422, 423,
439, 460, 485, 488.
Shaw, George Bernard, 259, 260, 261,
264, 282, 283, 285, 286, 439.
Sheridan, Emma, 200, 226.
Sheridan, General George A., 139.
Sherman, Old, 81.
"She Stoops To Conquer," 168.
Shook, Sheridan, 116.
Shubert, Messrs., 403.
INDEX
Shylock, 25, 51, 141, 156, 182, 200,
241, 250, 251, 252, 253, 254, 255,
267, 279, 419, 422, 423, 424, 429,
See "The Merchant
444, 447, 450.
of Venice."
Siddons, Mrs., quoted, 411.
Simon, Mme., 197, 477.
Sims and Pettit, 190.
Sinclair, Ada, 31.
"Sinner's Song, The," 299.
Sitgreaves, Beverley, 197.
Skinner, Otis, 91.
Slocum, John, 232, 239, 268.
Smith, Ballard, 139, 239.
Smith, Bruce, 168.
Smith, Greenough, 280.
Smith, Mrs. Sol, 117.
"Social Highwayman, A," 273.
"Some Players," 487.
Sophia of Baden, Duchess, Patron of
Erminia Rudersdorff, 4, 5, 82.
Sothern, E. A., 185.
Sothern, E. H., 80 (note).
"Stage in America, 1897-1900, The,"
487.
"Stage, On Going on the," 61.
Standard Theatre, 93, 123.
Stanwood, E. C., 46.
Staten Island, Performance on, 213.
Stellar Temperament, The, 126.
Stetson, John, 125, 128, 130.
Stevens, B. D., 401, 435, 463, 471, 476.
Stevenson, Charles, 136.
Stevenson, Robert Louis, 143 See
"Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.'
Stimulants, 113.
Stirling, Mrs., 197.
Stoddard, Lorimer, 261, 262.
Stoddard, Richard Henry and Eliza-
beth Drew, 262.
Stoddart, J. H., 90, 101-3, 113, 487.
Stone, Mary A., 273.
"Storm, The," 233-
"Story of a Production, The," 226.
Stow, John, 179.
Stowe, John, 239.
Strakosch, Maurice, 31, 83, III.
Strang, Lewis C., 487.
Sullivan, Arthur, 66, 73, 74, 76, 95.
Sullivan, Barry, 36.
Sullivan, John, 197.
Sullivan, Thomas Russell, 144, 149,
200, 219.
Sutherland, Mrs. Evelyn Greenleaf,
365.
Swift, Dean, 416.
499
"Sword and Crozier," 417.
Syndicate, the Theatrical, 288, 289.
TACHELLA, B., 490.
Tacoma, 230-2.
Tadema, Sir Alma, 396.
Taft, William H., 454.
"Talking vs. Acting," 439.
Talma, 182.
Tarkington, Booth, 365, 367.
Taylor, Sir Richard, 163.
Tearle, Osmond, 90.
Teck, Duchess of, 163, 184.
Telbin, William, 168, 396.
"Ten Thousand a Year," 226, 227
(cast), 279.
Teriss, William, 161.
Terry, Ellen, 91, 184, 209, 418.
Thackeray, 98.

Thalberg, 8.
"The Bells," 23.
"The First Violin," 307, 308 (cast),
309, 313. See Courvoisier.
"The Fisherman's Daughter," 81.
"The Frenchman," 152, 192.
"The Hypochondriac," 430.
"The Jilt," 131.
"The Master Builder," 458.
"The Merchant of Venice," 25, 250
(cast), 251, 397, 422. See Shylock.
"The Mikado," 127, 128, 129, 130,
131.
"The Misanthrope," 425, 430 (cast),
431, 435, 451, 454, 455. See Alceste.
"The Pretenders," 458.
"The Shepherd King," 428.
"The Sorcerer," 76, 77.
"The Vikings of Helgeland," 458.
Thomas, Augustus, 96.
Thomas, Theodore, 31.
Thompson, Denman, 132.
Thorne, Charles R., Jr., 90.
"Three Black Cloaks," 93.
Thursby, Emma, 31, III, 429.
Tietjens, Therese, 10, 11, 13, 28, 31,
51, 82.
"Timon of Athens," 417.
Tirandel, 100, 102, 283.
Tittlebat Titmouse.
sand a Year."
Toledo, Ohio, 436.
See "Ten Thou-
Tolstoy, Count Alexis, 406.
Tolstoy, Count Lyof, 406.
Toole, 161.
Torquay, 73, 74.
"Tosca, La," 124, 159.
Touraine Hotel (Boston), 368.

500
INDEX
Train, Elisabeth Phipps, 273.
Train, Henry F., 46.
Trebelli, 11.
Tree, Beerbohm, 88, 161, 184.
"Trilby," 272, 273.
"True Story Told in Two Cities, A,"
123.
Turner, Mary, 31.
Turner, 98.
Twelfth Night Club, 369-70.
Tyler, Augustus, 434.
"Tzar Boris," 406.
"Tzar Feodor," 406.
UNION HALL, 50.
Union Square Company, 100, 105,
112, 113, 114, 115, 116, 117, 131,
228, 283.
VASSAULT, F. I., 489.
Vaughan, Kate, 168.
Vedder, Nick, 94.
Vedder, Jan, 94.
Vernon, Miss Ida, 106.
"Victor Durand," 122.
"Vie Parisienne, La," 121.
"Vikings, The," 348.
Virgil, 30, 98.
Vieuxtemps, 2.
Vodos, Paul, 17.
Voice, The, 234, 235.
Voltaire, 416.
WAGNER, RICHARD, 31, 398.
Wainwright, C. D., 46.
Wainwright, H., 46.
Wallack, 92, 102, 185.
Wallack's Theatre, 90, 122, 189, 283.
Wallenstein, 98.
Waller, J. G., 168, 182, 485.
Walnut Street Theatre (Philadelphia),
289, 427.
Warkworth's Chronicle, 181.
Warren, Samuel, 226.
Washington, D. C., 140, 141, 153, 189,
194, 210, 242, 289, 290, 303, 406,
468.
Watson, Albert, 46.
Watson, Mrs. Charles, 117.
Webster, W., 211, 212.
Weeks, Mr., 182.
Weinhoeber, George, 462.
West, Kenyon, 488.
Wells, John Wellington, 76.
Westminster, Duke and Duchess of,
163.
Whistler, 398.
Whiting, Joseph, 106.
"Widower's Houses," 260.
Wigan, Alfred, 21.
Wigan, Horace, 163.
Wilde, Oscar, 184.
William II of Holland, King, 6, 82.
Wilmot, Sir Henry, 24.
Wilson, Francis, 288, 338.
Wingfield, The Hon. Louis, 161.
Winter, William, 201, 211, 212, 213
268, 487, 488, 489.
Woolstone, Theophilus, 88.
Wormeley, Katherine Prescott, 430.
Wright, Fred, 46.
Wurtemberg, King of, 5.
YATES, EDMUND, 163.
Yore, Thomas, 334, 336, 337.
Young, John, 396.
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