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Copyright, 1313. by the Star Company. Great Britain Rights Reserved.
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‘There is an expressive verb ‘to pan’—its meaning is ‘to roast.’ ‘to criti
cize.’ ‘They’ve always handed it to me,’ says Nat. ‘But even an ex-
husband will turn. It’s quite a “pan” for his ex-wives, this book of Nat’s.
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M r. NATHANIEL GOODWIN, one of the great
est and best beloved (except by his wives)
of American actors, has long been promising
to write a book which would set forth his rich store
of stage and matrimonial experiences.
He has written his book, and in it, if he has
not rrrade perfectly clear just why beautiful women
marry him, he has made perfectly clear why he has
separated from so many of them.
The book is brilliant, full of fascinating anecdotes
upon the great and lesser folk of the stage with
whom Nat has come in contact with in his decades
of acting. It will be published during the Fall, and
will no doubt take first rank among stage memoirs.
He might still have been a happy and deserving
once-turned husband, according to his book, had not
one wife died and three divorced him. To the
sixth wife, who appears in his horoscope, according
to grcft/e astrologers, he gives no present thought.
He is living, three months after his fifth marriage,
on a little island of content.
The following article, taken from the manuscript
sheets of the book, is printed by the courtesy of
Mr. Goodwin himself. Here is how the five-wived
fascinator bares his soul and airs the troubles of a
five-ply husband in the book “I Wonder.”
I HAVE been censured, sometimes
harshly, for my versatility in
the choice of wives, and many
have marvelled at my fortunate—or
unfortunate—selections. I have al
ways been long on the market of
home and wives.
, I truly believe that no home is
complete without a wife, providing
she is of the kind that enjoys the
company of honest and intelligent
people. Some men only lease their
mates and then prate about respect
ability. If I have decided at differ
ent times to tear down any of the
Ephesian domes which I have
erected, is the fact of my destroy
ing them enough to warrant my
By Nat Goodwin
In His Forthcoming Book of Memoirs.
being known, as was Alexander, as
the fool that razed (or was it raised)
them?
The three saddest events in my
life were the burial of my son, the
child of myself and the former Mrs.
Nellie Baker Pease; the death of
my wife, Eliza Weathersby, and in
specting Her Majesty’s Theatre, Lon
don, with Sir Henry Irving, under
the guidance of Beerbohm Tree,
then the lessee and manager.
The three happiest events were
the birth of my son, the presentation
of a loving cup to me by the Lambs
Club, and my first night’s perform
ance of Shylock in ‘The Merchant of
Venice.’ ”
Eliza Weathersby was one of the
No. / “Like a Mother,” No. 2 an “Obligation,”
Maxine Elliott a “Roman Senator,” Edna.
Goodrich an “Error,” No. 5 His “Life
Preserver,” Says Americas
Champion Husband
loveliest women I ever saw, and
without doubt the most amiable and
capable of the deepest devotion. A
superb artist she entered burlesque
to the surprise of all who knew her
and to the deep regret of many.
The reasons for her entry into the
burlesque field was that the salary
offered enabled her to support her
widowed mother and five sisters,
who were left in want by the death
of their father. Every week, after
our marriage, a certain sum was
sent across the ocean out of our
joint salaries to the widow and or
phans left in London, and, -one by
one, each succeeding year one of
the five sisters would come over to
join our happy family.
I was only a stripling when
married this beautiful creature.
Moreover, I was unreliu.-le and, I
confess, unappreciative of what the
fates had been so kind
as to bestow upon me.
pod as the husband, Pease, or per
haps on some coral reef where
sponges predominate. He proved
a most absorbing person. 1 wired
him once to spend a few days in
New York. He wired me that he
was coming for a cup of tea—and
stopped two years.
I noticed during my visits to her
house that she bestowed no love
nor even respect upon that dilettante
husband. I promised her to assist
her to meet Mackaye. arid after bind
ing myself with this obligation I
took my departure.
I met her afterwards in Boston,
where she told me she was suing for
a divorce, and in a few days I was
served with papers from the hus
band, w-ho charged me with alienat
ing his wife’s affections. When the
summons came she took it as a joke,
saying. "What a great relief from a
little incu’bus.” I failed to see the
joke and suggested that she furnish
some solution for escape from this
me. It was I who began the suit.
I was very much embarrassed dur
ing the trial when the judge asked
me to give him the name of my wife
before 1 married her. I told him I
thought it was Hall. He said:
“Think? Don’t you know?" I said.
‘That’s the name of her brother,
who had previously played under
my management.’ When the papers
were returned from her attorneys
she gave her maiden name as Mc
Dermott. I said. “That’s the name
of her ex-husband.” We afterwards
discovered that her name was Mc
Dermott apd that she had married a
man of the same name. Hence
arose the awkward situation.”
(He gives to Edna Goodrich but a
few lines. Indeed Number Four
narrowly escapes the oblivion of si
lent contempt so far as her former
husband is concerned.)
My marriage to her was one of
the great errors of my career. I
realized we were mismated. I had
'OTTO
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Maxine Elliott, Wife No. 3, Whom Nat Call*
“The Roman Senator.”
most embarrassing situation. I
realized the publicity and scandal
that must surely come. She had met
my mother and father in the mean
time and they were greatly upset
about the matter. I realized the
publicity and scandal that must
surely come. 1 put the question di
rectly to her: “What shall I do?”
She said: ‘It is very simple. Go to
Buffalo. Buy them off. Come back
to Boston and marry me. Your
mother has become quite fond of me,
likewise your dad. I am passion
ately fond of art. I think you are
the most charming of men, -and I
know I can make you superlatively
happy.” I fell for this. What else
could a true born American do?
It was at a banquet given by Mr.
Tim Frawley, in San Francisco, 1
first met the Juno-like Maxine
Elliott, one of the most beautiful
women then I had ever seen. Her
raven-black hair and eyes in delight
ful contrast to the red hues that
formed an aureole, as it were, above
her head were wonderful. There
she sat, totally unconscious of the
appetites she was destroying, ab
sorbing the delicate little compli
ments paid her by that prince of
good fellows, John Drew. Serene
and superior she reminded me then,
as many times she has since, of a
Roman Senator and upon her I after
ward bestowed that sobriquet.
During my marriage to Maxine
Elliott she purchased a house on
Duke street, London, without my
knowledge. I had previously placed
my furniture in a storehouse to
gether with the contents of my wine
cellar, which she quietly confiscated.
I did not mind the furniture so
much, but to tickle the palates of
her English friends with my expen
sive St. Emilions and Veuve Cliquot
was rude, to say the least. Besides
I was never invited to her Duke
street house. After 1 had tried so
hard to entertain her at Jackwood,
my English home, I think her con
duct was most discourteous.
A great many people have the
idea ^hat Maxine Elliott divorced
fallen in love with her while trying
to save her from a scoundrel. My
zeal outran my discretion. Her
mother was a jarring chord. In
short the avenues of our lives did
not run parallel and the milieu she
created in our home became one of
trying ordeals rather than domestic
felicity. She was marvelously beau
tiful—so they tell me. But, to quote
from James Whitcomb Riley, "Pretty
is what pretty does.’ ”
(After his third divorce drama, in
which she played the heroine, Miss
Goodrich had little to say of him,
only: "When a man is fat and past
fifty he would better stop his pur
suit of romance,’’ and, when in softer
mood: “It is a great pity. He was
once such a fine actor. What a
waste of life!”)
In May, 1913, I again startled the
world by marrying Margaret MorS
land, and set the buzzards and the
gossips to wagging their ears
[Nature query: Does a buzzard wag
its ears?] and lashing their tongues
in spasms of spleen. Irrespective
of my love for the lady, her devo
tion to me during my late illness
was worUiy a crown of rubies. I
only wish I possessed one to place
upon her brow. She saved my life
and I owe it to her. The trouble
has been that I have always admired
beauties and they have handed it
to me.
I have constantly referred to fato
while writing my book, taking my
cue from Homer, but had I known
he simply used the word fate to
save time, and since my course
through life was directed by “fates”
rather than fate, I should not have
marvelled at my many disappoint
ments in the matrimonial field.
With those "Three Little Maids from
School"—Clotho, Luchesig and Atro-
pos—leading me through life with
their silken threads through my
nose, allowing me to go and then
reeling me back again, as one toys
with a game fish, I have felt like
giving up the. game long ago.
Young ladies, you certainly have
made it very warm for me.
Edna Goodrich, Wife No. 4, Whom He Calls His “Error,”
and Who Cost Him Half a Million.
I
Margaret Moreland, Wife No. 5, the Latest Mrs. Goodwin.
Nat in the Pacific Surf
Cooling Off.
Many have accused me of wan
ton neglect. I may have neg
lected her, but only for the com
panionship of men. She never com
plained, and during the ten years of
our happy married life there was
never one discordant note. She was
ten years my senior and treated me
more like a son than a husband, but,
like the truant boy who runs away
from school now and then, I was al
ways glad to return and seek the
forgiveness that an indulgent mother
always gives a wayward child. Our
own house near Boston was a little
paradise. A loving sister, a dutiful
daughter, a loving wife, she is rest
ing in Woodlawn and the daisies
grow over her grave.
[There was a brief matrimonial
hiatus. Of the resumption of his
marriages he says: ]
About this time I began to weary
of the solitude of single life. Liv
ing with dear old John Mason, in
our flat on Twenty-eighth street, life
became to me a burden. We were
very respectable persons, John and
I, at that time and led a most
exemplary life.
It was during these disconsolate
hours that I became interested in a
Mrs. Nellie Baker Pease, wife of a
dilettante living in Buffalo. She
was desirous of entering my pro
fession, and asked me if I would in
troduce her to Mr. Steele Mackaye,
who was teaching the Delsarte sys
tem in New York. During my
week’s sojurn in Buffalo I was in
troduced to her mother, sister,
brother and husband. The brother
must have emanated from the same