Newspaper Page Text
18
A FAMOUS CRADLE.
It Ha* Rocked ttl.Ok’!* nahloi in Its
in en t> -\ ine Years.
New York, Dec. 3.—Just within (he door
way of a pile of stalely Nt \\ York build
ings that cover almost an entire block
stands a cosy little old-fashioned cradle
of wicker work, w ith snow white coverlet
and [dump little pillows, that would bring
peacefulness and rest to the most pugna
cious, sleep-defying yougster.
It is the famous crib of the New York
Foundling Asylum, in which every hapless !
infant brought there must be placed by
its unhappy mother, or some other person. |
ns a formal act of abandonment before ’
the institution will assume the responsl- i
bi tty of its future care and welfare.
It is now rather shaky and feeble, from
old age and constant use, and it would
have been consigned long ago to the lum
ber room of an ordinary louseh. .1. Itut
it has a record that makes ii. not only a
notable object of interest, but endears it
as well to the hearts of the self-sacritlc
hig women, whose lives hav* hoi devoted
to che helpless babes for whom this quaint
little basket of wicker-work lias stood
silent sponsor through so many years.
From the opening of the asylum on Oct,
•
of the 31,029 infants received an.l cared for
during that period has been temporarily
an occupant of the same identical crib.
It has been patched and repaired and re
painted to conceal the traces of time, and
stiil does duty at the same old stand, j
seemingly as chlpi* r and cheerful as when
it first started in the business.
The appearance of this crib marked an
era in the charitable work of the great
metropolis. A peculiarly heartless phase
of "man’s Inhumanity to man” ceased
when good Sister Irene, the foundress of
the asylum, stretched the broad mantle
of Christian charity until it also covered
these luckless innocents.
The first home of the foundlings was
in very limited quarters at No. 17 East
Twelfth street, and the opening day was
signalized by the installation of the now
famous crib. It was a gift from Mrs.
Pearl 1., Thebaud. a truly charitable wo- \
tpan of wealth and social position, who
lias ever since lieen a staunch friend of
the institution. The crib was brand new
then, of the latest fashionable design, and
would not have been out of place in the
most aristocratic nursery on Fifth avenue.
Hut circumstances and Sister Irene willed
dtherwise. Instead of an easy existence
ns a resting place for youngsters clad in
purple and fine linen, this costly crib,
daintily furnished as it was, stood for
many years Just outside the front door of
the asylum, ready to welcome In its warm
embrace the little castaways silently de
posited there by unknown hands.
This was a trying period in the career
of this erstwhile modish crib, posing as
the official receptacle of deserted mites
of humanity. The summer's sun and j
winter's storms played havoc with its clas
sic contour. It beciAne weather-beaten and
began to age rapidly, when fortunately
the asylum authorities deemed it advis
able, for certain reasons, to surround the
abandonment of infants with more formal
ity. The crib was brought within doors,
thus compelling the person who wished to
surrender a child to summon an attend
ant, who was always in waiting to receive
it. One benefit of the change was that
Hr
THE CRADLE AS IT LOOKS TO-DAY.
many a desi>erate mother, whose self-de
struction might otherwise have quickly
fol.owed the abandonment of her unfortu
nate infant, has been gently detained,
kindly reasoned with, and finding a sym
pathetic listener to her sad story, has al
lowed herself to be helped back to a life
of quiet resignation. If not happiness.
■* It set msVstrange how cheerful the old
cradle looks after listening, through so
many years, to countless tales of wo
man's woe; and the snowy coverlet and
the plump little pillows show no signs
of the myriad tears of anguish dropped
upon thtm from the eyes of heartbroken
mothers as they pressed passionate kisses
of farewell upon the innocent faces of the :
111-starred little ones from whom they were \
alxiut to part forever.
It is interesting to note, that the “found- I
liftK crib" <jf to-day had its prototype us
far back as 1198, when the great hospital
of Santo Spirito In Rome was rebuilt. At
that lime a turnlng-leix was lixed in r.n
opening of the wall in a retired pari of
the building, in which the abandoned
< hild could be placed secretly at night.
A bell was rung at the same nnje, and a
watchman on duty within the building,
turned the box and took out the infant,
which was cared for and educated and
afterwards apprenticed to some trade cr
profession.
—lt has been reserved for enterprising
lovers ol' chess in Hungary to evolve the
most novel variant ol i—e garni. This
game was played upon a bliliard table, and
was tailed a drinking" game. Ji ap
pears that a billiard table was marked
oft into sixty-four equates, and that the
pieces Wert: bottles ot wine. The game
was played by four young men, two on
each sale, and whenever a piece was taken
too mover had to empty the bottle of wine
thus removed. The game did i.ot
very long; ip faci, by ihe time Oi.it ihe
pawns had been ad van id ( |„- .
were lying under the table. The town of
1 bper Hungary, in which It was played.
proud of the four players.
BEAUTIFYING HATS.
TORIES \YI> Poll I'ADOt R imVIiETS
A UEI.It.HT TO WOMANKIND.
sjcnrt Holiday Hall Gonna Worn by
Well-Known lew York. Women.
'I lie Young Girls Wear I-nee Sashes
und Garlands of Coral Honey.
suckle—The Ven Sleev e Is a Double
trm Hug unit the Latest Collar ( lit
to Hold the Face In a Fair Imita
tion ol u Hose Calyx—Long Corsets
Have Come in Along With the
Princes* Dress anil Polonaise.
New York. Dec. 2.— Every woman Is
supposed, even by flinty hearted Mrs.
Fashion, to seek out and wear that shape
of hat and color of decoration that most
nearly harmonizes with her individual
complexion and features. Would that this
were so, because only a select coterie
would (hen presume to wear the pretty,
but most exacting little marquise cha
|iUeU.
Hut milliners propose and the ruck of
womankind dispose. Just now they dis
pose to muke the marquise the reigning
headgear and it outclasses all other hats
at the rate of fifteen to five. In itself the
marquise is a charming toque invariably
showing a tier of wings rising in front
a 1 jove the hair, and women love to wear
it in a very accentuated tone of blue vel
vet. The wings, whether white, grey, or
black, are always picked out in bright
spangled dots of jet, and In the rear there
is apt to show a spattering of flowers.
An adaptation of the marquise shape for
I evening use is the pompadour bonnet, a
i tangled web of lace or tulle, rolled well
back from (he face, bristling with spikes
of jet and seemingly so airy that it might
float off its owner’s head at any moment.
One great charm of these little bonnets
is the possibilities of almost exact imita
tion by the amateur hand they suggest,
and they can be worn to the theater with
an easy conscience.
Thenter Muff*.
What a number of pretty trifles women
do wear, anyway, at the theater. Their
muffs are not usually fur ones, but sort
of baggy things of Liberty silk, wearing
broad belts of flowers about their fat mid
dl< s. That is to say, a grey chiffon muff,
perhaps .dged with a narrow line of chin
chilla, will wear a wide girdle of violets,
while a lilac silk affair will be belted with
pink velvet roses set on quite flat and
close together. Such muffs are made and
sold by the milliners, who have showed
their customers the trick of wearing these
muffs slung about the neck by a chain of
small crystal beads.
For some reason or other, women cling
to and wear chains of gold, or gun met
al, silver or heads, and now that the nov
elty value of locket—hearts, lorgnons,
etc., have been exhausted, the wily Jew
elers have kept up the traffic In neck
chains by introducing tiny smelling bot
tles of precious metals. These bear no
relation to the familiar vlnagrette. They
are no larger and scarcely thicker than
50-cent pieces; they are round and have
short necks with perforated silver stop
pers. Attached to ones chain, such a
smelling bottle can lie thrust Into the
belt or front of a bodice or left to hang
free, and Us exterior can be as simple or
as richly ornate as one's taste and purse
command. Neither salts nor liquid per
fume are used Inside, but deliciously per
fumed little seeds that come by way of
Russia from the East. By turning the
stopper of her bottle, a theater-goer can
cither shut off or let flow the delicate fra
grance from the contents of her toy, and
only twice or thrice n season does sho
need to have the botile refilled.
Holiday ( lollies.
With the near approach of the holiday
season and all its attendant gaieties, the
mid-winter crop of ball gown garnitures
has suddenly blossomed out. Asa rule
only very youthful dames will wear the
long, exquisite wreaths of fuchsias and
coral honeysuckle that the dressmakers
are draping on tulle not and Liberty silk
costumes. Older women evince a "great
liking for the most marvelous decoration
done in climatis ferns and leaves. A gray
satin gown done in Paris for Mrs. Wilson
had fringes of maidenhair fern falling like
Mile lace 111 a bertha about the shoulders
and edging the flounces on her Louis XV
skirt.
Another admirable toilette, but made in
New York for Mrs. Herman Oelriehs wis
of the richest dahlia velours antique and
no other drapery was used than gr,t..e
leaves, some green and many warm with
autumnal coloring. The texture of the
true grape leaf was faultlessly imitated
by h e use of the thinnest kid, painted to
catch tlie proper timings. Lovely cius
•'•rs of climatis arc made by using ostrich
plumage, and among the artificial vines
Japanese ivy, Virginia creeper and the
I* .tubful poison oak are copied.
Tan- was a hiatus of many w.-ek* in
tin n Ign of tbe sash, but now that sweet
frippery is come up to time with anew
method in its wearing. Ever s<* many love
ly girlish gowns show two broad bauds ef
THE MORNING NEWS: SUNDAY. DECEMBER 4. 1898.
WOMAN’S PAGE
! the heaviest Russian lace or spangle*! rib
i bon edged with tii.J muslin flounces, which
I in turn are edged with narrow dark vel
vei ribbon. The two broad bands are
caught in at the shoulder seam, run down
to meet at the waist line and then flow out
to the hem of the skirt. This is done usu
ally at ihe rear of the gown, and on even
ing ami house toilets independently. It is
a very good suggestion to follow in the
renovation of an old black silk dress, for
instance. The charms of the invention is,
however, that the arrangement is just as
effectively applied In front if you are dim
enough to stand it.
Lovely, Itat I'ncainfortnblc FuNliiotut.
The latest prank in sleeve decoration
—and this Is a regular find for the woman
whose best dress sleeve is giving away
at the elbow—is to make the arm bag in
two pieces of diametrically different goods
and colors. To be more explicit, if the in
side of the arm is covered, we will r.ay
with black silk, the outside half is cloth
ed in grey renaissance lace, or rucked moss
green velours antique, or very full-gather
ed geranium red chiffon. The edges of the
outside half always overlap the inner por
tion, which is. usually kept quite Fmoo h.
t * f io?’
and in plain dark color. Frequently a
silk or velvet sleeve in any solid tint will
be thickly sewed with jets or sequins over
its outer half or striped with narrow, per
pendicular bands of steel beads, or lace;
or ribbon, if the sleeve is a light-weight
goods.
The acme of smartness in a collar these
days is to have it grip the neck close
and high, and the hight of ii to be cut in
,ai series of points or scallops, so that (he
face is held in a fair imitation of a rose
calyx. Flowering out under your chin you
can have a big tulle bow r , a wide brooch
of lace or an eighteenth century cravat
falling to the bust, but the foundation of
tho collar is hardly more comfortable
DRIVING SUIT.
than a seat in the stocks or the hangman's
noose.
The Question of Corsets.
There is a deal of pother just now over
the ever-llvely question of a proper corset.
Two seasons ago French dressmakers flat
j ly refused to tit any customer save over
a corset that was short, low at the bust,
high on the hip ami boasting only three
hooks in front. It is a well-known fact
that as the body is corseted, so will it
grow, but having introduced the princess
and polonaise the flat has gone forth
against the short corset, and a deal of suf
fering for the martyred feminine figure is
entailed by the present demand (hat noth
ing but long corsets are lit to use.
The short corset has been always a gay i
and very frou-frou article, garnished at
top and bottom with frills of lace, ehoux
of ribbon and laced with wide ribbons.
The new corset gives one a shuddering
suggestion of a straight jacket. It is whol
ly Utiornamcpp.-J, fiercely boned, very long
on hip and abdomen, high at the back
and laced with flat, narrow linen strings
but the dressmakers say that without it
no polonaise or redingote will set decently
Evidently (here Is not even promise,! yet
a relaxation from this severity of lacing
for the most attractive new lounging robes
utie their titles ami are as close-fitting
is calling dresses.
London Coats.
Equally smart and uncomfortable ere
the breakfast coats that hail from Eng
land, and that femin.n* visitors at coun
try houses wear to the lining room In
the morning. An elaborate black or color
ed taffeta skirt, that smacks very much
of the elegant und* r-p ttlcoai, *s worn
with the coat that is cut like a short-skirl
ed iMflonaiee, fim clos* laliind flares, open
in front and shows a gorgeous lace and rib
bon waist coat. In any pretty color that
suits your morning looks the. coat is chos
en, and it is usually modi of a satin faced
cloth, in spite of Hu seeming elabora
tion, It Is on the whole a gay but inform
al costume, the neck of the waist coat
<an be a flat pierrot frill and there are
roomy pockets both for use and abuse in
the front of the skirts. The taffeta skirt
is sufflcictly short to show off smart .dip
pers, and the costume is worn to luncheon
as well.
Ermine an nature! Is less worn this year
than ever and thrifty women have had
their ermine capes, collars and muffs dyed
a rich seal brown. It takes this color
gloriously, and now with the new flat
shawl-shaped shoulder pieces, the head of
SOME HOLIDAY HATS.
an animal when used is ararnged to He flat
on the back between the shoulders. A
head and pair of forepaws is the prop r
trimming for the shawl-shaped points, and
women seem to have tacitly agreed to use
only special colors with their favorite furs.
Mink is lined, and combined with yelloiv,
chinchilla with pale blue, and sable with
automobile red. The black furs are allied
most often with rosy purples and the pop
ular, emphatic blue.
Decadence has truly laid its blighting
hand on the body fashionable, and one
expression of great smartness this season
is to appear in some perfectly new and
eccentric color. More daring than auto
mobile red is wasp red and Merrim.ic,
which is no color at all, but a wild dis
cord of greens, blues and yellows; an im
pression in color of the explosion in San
tiago harbor. Still another oddity are bed
room slippers made of mole skin with the
velvety fur of the little beast turned out
ward and tiny diamond Iw.vknots on the
toe.
A dress all of chiffon and depending for
decoration on painted patterns is one of
the costly glories of a w 11 setup debu
tante this winter. Painted Liberty iilk
is another subject for exquisite dress
making and the cost of such gowns is truly
fabulous, for both chiffon and Liberty sill;
are most difficult fabrics to work with.
Not least among the typically decadent
ideas in dress is that of wearing a con-
RIDING CLOTHES.
spicuous bracelet with one's theater, call
ing or reception gown. On Ihe right wrist,
clasped over the sleeve, will appear a cir
cle of gold studded at Intervals with large
sapphires, a broad bar of diamonds or a
band of velvet drawn through a heavily
Jeweled buckle. Used against the wrist
of a dark sleeve, this flashing bracelet
shows off with great splendor every time
Uiest are as heavy as the huge napkin
I ring like manacles that old-style English
j women still cling to, with the exception
that her American sister demands a tot
ting of many jewels, otherwise the brace
let would show to slight effect.
Illustrations of Fashions.
A glance at the advanced mid-winter
styles in headgear is afforded this week,
showing how plumes, wings and birds are
most effectively employed. The large hat
is comparatively anew thing in the mil
linery way, for the felt is a pure turquoise
blue in color, and its only decoration is
ostrich plumage in powder blue. One of
j the smaiier hats is a marquise toque. Its
modest foundation is wasp-red velvet, and
j its wings are clear automobile Vermillion
picked out in black spots and spangles
j A toque in clear green velvet is the third
j stu(ly, and ali of its ornamentation is done
jin white. The shell-shaped side piece of
velvet has its fluted edges trimmed with
narrow bands of white fox fur, and a
carefully mounted dove rests partly against
this and partly against the wearer's nair.
Mary. Dean.
j LOST ORIGIN OF AX' EXPRESSION.
j A Modern Phi-cue of WhJeb It Is
Hard to Aeeonnt.
Prom the Washington Star.
'I have reeently spent some days in the
National Library hunting for the origin
of the phrase ‘Georgia crackers,’ ” ob
served a prominent Southern literary man,
"and was surprised at the small amount of
reliable information that I found thereon
the subject. What struck me more >han
any other one fact 1 learned was that the
term cracker seems to have originated in
New England, and is not a Southern coin
ing at all. In 1700 the term is used several
EVENING COSTUME.
times in newspaper articles printed in Bos
ton, though the articles may have been
written by a Southern man, who may have
gone there from Georgia, which was set
tled twenty years before that.
"The general impression in Georgia Is
that the term cracker applies to any South
ern white person of a low grade, an ig
norant mountaineer or country i>erson,
but as far as I have been able to learn
it has no more relt-rqnce to Georgia than
any other of the liouthern states. Some
writers have gone into the subject \ory
thoroughly, but thy admit that they had to
draw their own conclusions in the absence
of positive information. Originally, before
railroads, or, indeed, any other roads, were
constructed, there was a great deal of
hauling cross the country to the seaport-. i
principally to Savannah. The drivers of i
these teams used very large and long whips
and they were heard by the cracking of
the whips long before they came In sight.
It is reasonable to suppose that this may
have had something to do with the origin
of the term cracker. Some verv careful
Southern writers iliink tle,t< rm arose from
the cracking of the rlflres of the Geor;i,t
hunters, while others are of the opinion
that the cracking of the w.hipsor rifli ■ had
nothing to do with its origin; that the
word cracker was simply a name given
to poor white Euud-hillvrs.”
BRAINS OR BEAUTY.
POSSIBILITIES OF A FEMININE CY
-I*lXO HE BERGERAE.
.Miss Annie Russell and Mrs. .John
Gilbert Say That No Author, Mana
ger or Actress Would Be Brave
Enough to Present • the Public
With a Hideous Heroine—Miss Ju
lia Arthur and .Mine. Jauiiasclieck
Predict an Early Appearance,
and Great Success for tlie t'barne
ter That Depends lp on Psychic
Fascinations Alone.
New York, Dec. 2.—Ail inquiring person
recently undertook to And out by the ob
vious method of asking stage beauties and
stage geniuses themselves which is most
potent on the stage, beauty or brains.
They were women, of course, some in the
heyday of successful charm, others look
ing backward down long triumphant vis
tas, young women and women not so
young, yet all well known to the whole
world of English-speaking play-goers.
First the inquiring person talked with
Miss Annio Russell, a notable and gra
cious stage beauty, whose physical love
liness is yet subordinate to her art. Look
ing at her, it is easy to comprehend how
she took London’s collective heart by
storm.
Peering star-wise from beneath her cloud
of silken hair, she smiled and said: "That
is a hard question—very hard. I think no
one can say exactly which is the greater
help in a stage career, beauty or brains."
“Speaking numerically, would you say
‘the beauties have it?’ ” the inquiring per
son murmured.
Miss Russell shook her head, but said
meditatively: "That is another thing
about which no one can dogmatize. Of
course, a much-vaunied beauty will draw’
the crowd—all the more certainly if the
beauty be bac'ked with a degree of piq
uant notoriety. But the genius—the wo
man to whom the multitude is a great
harp, strung with its own heart strings,
she too can pack the playhouse, and keep
on packing it when the beauty is dead or
forgotten."
"Still—for immediate results, don’t you
think beauty wins hands down?” asked
the ir.auirer.
Miss Russell nodded. "Hands down,”
she repeated. "But only in a certain way.
Stage people, you understand, are chosen
first of all to look the part. Managers oft
en iearn painfully that nature makes
dreadful misfits—who are still worse mls
flts on the stage. Right here lies beau
ty’s greatest hold. Heroines are all sup
posed to be beautiful—otherwise they could
not be heroines. “No,” shaking her head,
"I do not blame managers for that.”
"Since beauty is so nearly the trump
card of entry, it is likely we shall ever
see a hideous heroine?” was the next
query.
Miss Russell smiled. "A feminine Cyr
ano? No;" this most decidedly. "Sex
makes a world’s difference in the matter
of faces. Ugliness in a man is chafacter
—in a woman it is—simply ugliness."
"I have been heart sick when my stage
career was beginning, to find myself spok
en of as ’one of the stage beauties.’ per
haps It is the memory of it which gives
me so great a sympathy with Mary An
derson. It stings to have people say, as
some of them do, ‘O! she can’t possibly
act—she is too handsome.’ A player is
quick to feel such a mental attitude—there
is a subtle rapport between the two sides
of the footlights. I love to recall Peg
Woffington—l think she would be even
greater in our own time, for in her, beau
ty and genius were allied ‘Like perfect
music unto noble words.’ ”
Beauties Plenty, Geniuses Few.
After Miss Russell, hear Julia Ar
thur, young, very beautiful, reckoned a
genius, and enormously successful. For
a person so gifted she is singuarly judi
cial. Asked to choose between beauty and
genius, she said: “I must qualify what
I have to say. Talent, skill even, are so
often paraded as genius, the term which
so few merit, has almost lost its uistine
tlon. Happy the woman to whom nature
gives two such great gifts! If forced to
choose only one of them. I would unhesi
tatingly declare for genius. There are
many reasons for such a choice—one alone
would suffice. Beauty does not last.”
“Still, as always, much might, be said
on the other side,” the querist interposed.
Miss: Arthur would not have it so. "The
geniuses are so few,” she persisted. “Beau
ties are plenty."
“You must admit, though, that beauty,
or even singularly, seems to draw audi
ences equally as well as genius. Re
member Yvette Guilbert, who had only sin.
gularity; Otero. Anna Held and the rest—”
“Of course, they coined money!” Miss
Arthur broke in. “There will always be
audiences easily charmed by beauty, or
swayed by curiosity as to the latest sen
sation on the boards. In many cases,
too, the spell of beauty has disarmed the
critics. Still, I contend that the increment
of genius both in fame and money is
greater and better worth having. I am
rot willing to believe—indeed my own ob
servation contradicts it—that the public
of our time is ready to reward beauty,
and It* genius starve in a garret. In
the main I think the public cannot bo
charged with neglecting anybody whose
art has _ roved its worthiness. Its ear
is quickly attentive to the riug of true
metal; once that is heard there is a quick
and growing echo of applause.”
“Now about Cushman and Mary Ander
son.” the querist began. Miss Arthur cut
it short. "Beauty may embellish a wo
man; art makes an actress,” she said.
"Yes, we might have a feminine Cyrano!
The dramatist brave enough to create her
will find, certainly, an artiste brave
enough to realize her. Remember Char,
iotte Cushman; she is most vividly remem
bered as Meg Merrilles. She made fame
and money by it; yet few actresses ever
disfigured themselves more than she did
to fulfill her own conception of the Scotch
svbil. And Mary Anderson, despite the
full splendor of her youthful beauty, was
willing to be, for the sake of art, the dis
heveled hag of Dcrncleugh. Both were in
•heir own way great; I had rather have
been Cushman, because hers was the tru
e’s! greatness.
Notoriety the Great Thing.
It was a somewhat singular echoing
when Janauschek, the only Janauschek
sitting in her cramped dressing room with
the patter of the vaudeville feet corning
ta the ear, said unhesitatingly: “I would
rather have been Charlotte Cushman. As
to success on the stage, though, neither
beauty nor brains is needed. A woman
has only to make herself sufficiently no
torious and she will find a manager to ex
ploit her, a paying pttb.ic clamorous to
see the exploitation. No,” with a little
nod and a half shrug. "I do not say that
cynically. Things theatric are in a state
of transition. The old order has passed
The new’ is not yet fixed."
"You know Miss Cushman, perhaps ’’
suggested tjie querist. Janauschek nodded.
D" she was a groat woman—much
greater than Mary Anderson. This I sa>
in all kindness to Mine. Navarro, wnu
would, I fancy, lie among the first to
agree with me. Mme, Navarro Is a very
beautiful uud a very lovely woman, as
well as a good actress. Cushman was
great. We played together onoe—or, rath.
er, on the same stage. Il was at tire
Walnut Street, In Philadelphia. Miss
Cushman had In hand a benefit for on Old
actor—a Mr. Fredericks. Sh. sent to know
if I would help her—of course, I waa
glad to do it. She played Meg Merrilles ’■
She paused and sat silent until the ques
tion came: "Did you play a Shakespem
ean parr at the benefit?”
‘Oh. no—Deborah—which your etasre has
rechristened ’Leah the Forsaken ’ .h*
said. "I met Miss Cushman after
play we had the same hotel. She waa
more than agreeable. Though she was tt
big woman, square and angular, she gave
the impression of grace. Hers was a dis
tinguished plainness, utterly removed from
commonplace ugliness. In fact, had she
J* en a man, she might have been called
handsome. You know she made up as an
ideal Romeo.”
"How of Cyrano—could she have play
ed that part? And shall we ever have a
hideous heroine?” the inquirer propound
ed. Madame laughed and lifted her
shoulders. “I don’t know—Cushman might
have played Cyrano,” she said. “it is
quite possible, too, that we shall have be
fore long the hideous heroine, who de
pends wholly on psychic fascinations. Fas
cination she must have, or be no heroine
Certainly she will be, when she arrives
a more erediable figure than the heroine
W’ho depends on her dressing, or even her
whose reliance is her undressing ’•
Neither Beauty Nor Brains Necessary
_”For stage success,” said Mrs. Jessie
Bartlett-Davis, "beauty and brains are
both excellent things. But not the only
things—take my word for that. I even
incline to say not the main things. There
is something yet more essential—what I
do not know, neither does anybody else
It anybody could find out, a big fortune
lies ready to his hand.”
t W here?" asked the inquirer.
"All over the theatrical world," said
Mrs. Bartlett-Davis. "For example, our
company, the Bostonians, has to mv
knowledge several operas, staged and
mounted at enormous cost, resting serene-
V' depths of storage warehouses
all because nobody but the public can tell
beforehand what the public means to
have. Once tte public has come in, tho
telling is painfully easy. More than once
when every soul of us had been certain
we would score a big bit, the curtain fall
has found us staring at each other too
dazed to more than draw breath."
“What did those performances fall to
satisfy?—the public pride, or prejudice
or pocket?" the inquiring person asked
apologetically.
Mrs. Bartlett-Davis laughed and an
swered: "Candidly, I suspect all three.
A cynical friend of mine says the the
atrical conscience is located in the box of
fice. I say, if that be true, the conscience
keeper is the man behind the dollars which
come into the box office. That man knows
what he wants, what he likes, and is go
ing to have it, or know the reason why.
Sometimes I wish he didn’t know it quite
so emphatically. First and last, I have
sung ’O’ Promise Me,’ just 7,000 times—
enough one would think to wear any
song’s vogue to tatters.
"Cushman or Anderson?” Mrs. Bart
lett-Davis repeated slowly. *‘l would rath
er have been Cushman, because genius
as she had lasts and lives. But don’t
think I undervalue Mary Anderson. She
deserved all she got—more than she got,
indeed. She is a sweet creature, kind and
warm-hearted, just the opposite of what
she is thought to be. She had to hold
herself hard or her heart would have run
away with her. And how she did crave
love! I remember once in Cincinnati sh
said to me, with tears running down her
face, that her success did not bring her
happiness, she was so cruelly misunder
stood. People applaud me and flock to
see me,’ she said, ‘but it is as to a spec
tacle, not because they love me or my
work. That is why I mean to leave it
all—to go away and marry the man I love.
He loves me for myself; with him I shall
be, what I have never been here, truly
and honestly happy! You cannot know
how sorry I felt for her, the woman half
the world envied. I hope she is as happy
as she thought, as harffiy as she deserves
to be. Beauty was the main factor in her
success, because the public chose to re
gard it more than her art. She was a
clever actress and a hard student. I think
it ought not to be remembered against
her that her face was her fortune.”
A Feminine Cyrano? Never!
Among the stage veterans, none is better
known, and few so well beloved as Mrs.
John Gilbert—“ Mrs. G. H. Gilbert” sha
prefers to style herself.. Especially Is she
a favorite with the Lonidon audiences who
flock to the Daly productions quite as
though they were Americans. Often upon
first nights Mrs. Gilbert sits in front, but
a first night she never misses. When
the curtain call comes she goes on with
the company, in bonnet and street frock,
and is cheered to the echo. All London
knows her, and loves her well. She was
loth to talk. “I think somehow It Is
undignified and just a bit presumptuous,”
she said, "to rush into print with opinions
that may not be Worth a rap. Stiil, I
even question if a repulsively ugly wo
man could succeed on the stage. It is hu
man to feel that a heroine to be normal
must be beautiful, and audiences are very
human. This is, of course, aside from
character parts. For them really eccen
tric features may be turned to good ac
count. As to Mary Anderson and Char
lotte Cushman, choice between them would
be invidious. Each was great in her own
way, after her own fashion. Mary An
derson’s face and voice undoubtedly se
cured a hearing for her very considerable
talents. Miss Cushman’s plainness was,
in my judgment, no handicap.
“Could she, could any one make a hide
ous heroine acceptable?” was asked. Like
a flash came the answer; "No! No hight
nor depth of genius could make a truly
hideous heroine go down with the public.
Nor a hideous hero, either, of a certain
sort. Fancy Romeo with a Cyrano nose!
He would turn the play into a scream
ing farce, even though it had an all-star
cast. Briefly, my judgment is this: Abso
lute deformity aside, a woman’s face need
not bar her from stage success, yet tho
success will be earlier and more easily
won if her face happens to be a caress to
the gazing eye.”
XVorii, Soap and Sleep.
It is a liberal education in the fine art
of laughter to see Miss May Irwin on the
stage. Off it she is even more delight
ful. Between the acts of "Kate Kip.
Buyer,” she took time to say, “Brains,
brains, always and forever. Brains can
put you at the top and keep you there.
Beauty! Well, it is a good thing, yet the
woman who has nothing else is apt to go
up like a rocket and come down like a
stick.”
"Can you, who are so successful, give
the secret of—" tho inquirer began.
"The secret of success, if there is one,
is—well, several things. Let me see. Hard
work, soap and water, sound sleep and
plenty of it. There may lie people who
do their best upon all-night rackets. I
am not of them. Then I should say, go
ing with the grain. lam not the least
bit an actress, you know. If I tried to be
the pub.ic would not have me. Once I
was very ambitious—wanted lo give the
world the highest of high comedy. Now.
1 have learned better. I give it instead
what it likes lest in me—ami we get on ad
mirably. My. plays are written so as to
bring out the things people are glad to
lay to ,-eo and hear. Since I gave over
trying lo educate the public into liking
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