MEMORIES' OF 
 ROSE EYTNGE 
 
Glass^EMMll 
 
 Book^ H ■ A 5 
 Copyright N? 
 
 COPYRIGHT DEPOSrr. 
 
THE MEMORIES 
 
 OF 
 
 ROSE EYTINGE 
 
ROSE EYTINGE 
 
The MEMORIES of 
 ROSE EYTINGE 
 
 Being Recollections & Ob- 
 servations of Men, Women, 
 and Events, during half a century 
 
 NEW YORK • FREDERICK A. 
 STOKES COMPANY • PUBLISHERS 
 
LIBRARY of CONGRESS 
 
 Two Copies Received 
 
 NOV 22 1905 
 
 s Copyright Entry . 
 CLASS <X XXc. No 
 
 / 36 n & 
 
 COPY B. 
 
 Copyright, 1905 
 By ROSE EYTINGE 
 
 All rights reserved 
 
 
 Published in November, 1905 
 
 Prbsswork by 
 The University Press, Cambridge, U. S. A. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 PAGE 
 
 The Stage and Its Influences— My First Engagement 
 —The Installment System — A Sabbatarian 
 Boarding-House — "Bread Eaten in Secret" — 
 My First "Heavy" Part, and My First Train.. 3 
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 The Green Street Theatre, Albany — The Dignity of 
 Leading Woman — Dressmaking — An Acrid but 
 Kindly Landlady ._ JL . . 12 
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 Old-Time Stars — Julia Dean — Charlotte Crampton — 
 
 Ada Clare — Bohemia 17 
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 Abraham Lincoln — The Prince of Wales — Fernando 
 Wood — Thurlow Weed — Hugh Hastings — Daniel 
 S. Dickinson and Mrs. Dickinson 23 
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 Edwin Booth — The Crime of John Wilkes Booth and 
 
 the Disposition of His Remains 28 
 
 v 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Glimpses of Royalty — The Prince of Wales — Chinese 
 Diplomats — The Boston Theatre — Old-Time 
 Theatrical Salaries 36 
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 My First " Row " with a Manager — E. L. Davenport 
 and J. W. Wallack — A Realistic Desdemona 41 
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 Mrs. Davenport — Edward House — Poetry at Short 
 Notice — "Enoch Arden" — "The Man in the 
 Iron Mask" 49 
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 Fanny Davenport — The Old House in Bulfinch Place, 
 
 Boston — An Assemblage of Notables 56 
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 The New England Circuit — A Put-Up Job — Misad- 
 ventures in New Bedford 61 
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 Washington in War-Time — "Contrabands" Defined 
 — Uncle Sam's Soldiers — Patriotic Songs — Tom 
 Placide — Wallack and Davenport — Distinguished 
 Guests 69 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Abraham Lincoln — William Henry Seward — Pla- 
 cide's Humour — "Still Waters Run Deep" — 
 Assassination of the President — A Night of 
 Terror 76 
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 
 New York — Wallack's Theatre — Nancy Sykes — Lead- 
 ing Woman with Lester Wallack — Perfect The- 
 atrical Management — Mary Gannon — Charles 
 Dickens — Love for the Stage 85 
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 My First Sea Voyage — Captain Judkins and the 
 " Scotia " — Sea-Sickness — Goodwood Races — The 
 Prince of Wales Again — In the Queen's Box 
 at the Opera — Smuggling — Rochester, N. Y. — 
 A Leading Woman in a Sad Predicament 94 
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 Toronto — "The Heart of Midlothian" — A Minister- 
 ing Angel — Jeanie Deans — A Converted Presby- 
 terian — "She Stoops to Conquer" — George Hol- 
 land as Tony Lumpkin 103 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 
 Augustin Daly and the New York Theatre— " Under " 
 the Gaslight"— Davenport in Mischief— "Caste" 
 — W. J. Florence— Mrs. Gilbert — Starring— 
 Newark, N. J.— Washington In 
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 
 London — Paris — Longchamps and the Grand Prix — 
 Napoleon III and the Empress Eugenie — Prin- 
 cess Metternich — Prince Pierre Napoleon — Dr. 
 Evans — Nubar Pasha — Auber and Verdi — 
 Americans in Paris — Cora Pearl 121 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 Royalty and Rank — Fontainebleau and "The Black 
 Eagle" — Across the Alps — Italy — Alexandria — 
 The American Traveller — Ramleh — Cleopatra — 
 The Bawaub — A Masculine Chambermaid 1 30 
 
 CHAPTER XIX 
 
 Love, the Great Leveller — The Servant Problem in 
 Egypt — How the Grocer Imported His Bride — 
 Women in the East — The Harems — An Oriental 
 Lady's Call Upon an American Woman — The 
 Man in the Case — Human Nature 140 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER XX 
 
 PAGE 
 
 American Patriotism — Woman's Status in America 
 and the East Contrasted — Eunuchs — European 
 Wives of Mohammedan Magnates 150 
 
 CHAPTER XXI 
 
 Egyptian Dancing-Girls — The Viceroy's Mother — 
 Oriental Splendour — A Nobleman with an' Hallu- 
 cination 156 
 
 CHAPTER XXII 
 
 Tragedies of the Harems — Sulyman Pasha — From a 
 French Cloister to an Egyptian Prison — Cherif 
 Pasha and His Unhappy Wife 163 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII 
 
 Verdi's "Aida" in the Cairo Opera House — A Blaze 
 of Jewels — A Cosmopolitan Audience 177 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV 
 
 Egyptian Antiquities — A Remarkable Coincidence — 
 A Greek Dog — A Present of Mutton "On the 
 Hoof" — A Berber Prince — The Restoration of a 
 
 Long-Lost Child 182 
 
 ix 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER XXV 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Sir Henry Bulwer — American Officers in the Khe- 
 dive's Service — Stone Pasha — Colonel Thomas W. 
 Rhett — General Sherman — Patriotism Mollified 
 by Old Associations — A Meeting of One-Time 
 Enemies 195 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI 
 
 The Fellaheen of Egypt — Taxation — "How the Other 
 Half Lives" in the East — A Bedouin Family at 
 Ramleh — An Arab Mother-in-Law — Marriage a la 
 Mode 206 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII 
 
 Back to the Stage — Shook & Palmer and the Union 
 Square Theatre, New York — Charles Thorne — 
 Dion Boucicault — "Led Astray" — "Blow for 
 Blow" — Marie Wilkins 214 
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII 
 
 "The Two Orphans" — "The Lady of Lyons" — 
 George Rignold — "Rose Michel" — Steele Mack- 
 aye — John Parselle and Charles Thorne — Tom 
 Taylor 230 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX 
 
 Starring — Buying Experience — The West — Ben De 
 Bar — "Bob" Miles — Mrs. John Drew — The Lith- 
 ograph Question — A Sandwich Man 241 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER XXX 
 
 PAGE 
 
 The California Theatre, San Francisco — John Mc- 
 Cullough — Julia — Lady Macbeth — Camille — 
 Mary Anderson — " East Lynne" 249 
 
 CHAPTER XXXI 
 
 Virginia City — An Audience of Miners — A Midnight 
 Ride with a Guard of Honour — Down in a Silver 
 Mine 255 
 
 CHAPTER XXXII 
 
 Reno — A Western Hotel — The Reno Theatre — Puri- 
 fication 263 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII 
 
 Seeking Rest and Finding None — "Why Don't You 
 go into Some Decent Business?" — New-Mown 
 Hay — The Properties of the Reno Theatre 270 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV 
 
 Salt Lake City — The Guest of Brigham Young — 
 The King of Utah — Polygamy 276 
 
 CHAPTER XXXV 
 
 Playing a Boy's Part for the Only Time — Cleopatra — 
 
 Henry Bergh's Eulogy 281 
 
 xi 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI 
 
 PAGE 
 
 London and Its Notables — Tom Taylor — The Olym- 
 pic Theatre — Beerbohm Tree — The Effect of 
 Too Realistic Acting — A Noble Lord's Criticism 
 — "Annie Thomas" 288 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVII 
 
 Wilkie Collins — Charles Reade — The Influence of 
 Charles Dickens — Nancy Sykes Converts a Bap- 
 tist 296 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVIII 
 
 Edmund Yates — Robert Buchanan — Mrs. W. E. 
 Gladstone — Professor Blackie — Palgrave Simp- 
 son 301 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIX 
 
 Changes in the Profession — Lucille Western — Louis 
 Aldrich — James A. Heme — Adah Isaacs Menken.. 307 
 
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 ROSE EYTINGE Frontispiece 
 
 FACING 
 PAGE 
 
 EDWIN BOOTH 28 
 
 EDGAR L. DAVENPORT 44 
 
 E A. SOTHERN 60 
 
 LESTER WALLACK 86 
 
 AUGUSTIN DALY 112 
 
 DION BOUCICAULT 2l8 
 
 ROSE EYTINGE ........... 250 
 
THE MEMORIES 
 
 OF 
 
 ROSE EYTINGE 
 
THE MEMORIES OF 
 
 ROSE EYTINGE 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 THE STAGE AND ITS INFLUENCES — MY FIRST ENGAGE- 
 MENT — THE INSTALLMENT SYSTEM — A SABBATARIAN 
 BOARDING-HOUSE — "BREAD EATEN IN SECRET" — 
 MY FIRST "HEAVY" PART, AND MY FIRST TRAIN 
 
 I wonder why it is that stage-folk, both men 
 and women, always think it a fine thing to decry 
 stage-life to the young man or woman who 
 thinks of entering that life. They must know 
 that their attempt at depreciation is not just; 
 that the life which they decry is a good one. 
 The stage brings pleasure and brightness to 
 many whose lives would be without any in- 
 fluences more elevating than workaday inter- 
 ests. It brings quick returns in recognition of 
 talent, and, in a thousand ways makes apparent 
 its superiority as a vocation. And for kindli- 
 
ROSE EYTINGE 
 
 ness, good-fellowship, a willing heart, and a 
 ready hand to help each other, where will 
 these virtues be found developed as they are 
 among the players ? 
 
 When I was a slip of a girl I went upon 
 the stage. 
 
 At that time (a happy time!) there was in 
 New York — and, I believe, in the whole United 
 States — but one dramatic agent. This was 
 Charles Parsloe (father of the late Charles Pars- 
 loe, better known as The Heathen Chinee), 
 who had an office in Chambers Street. To 
 him I went and asked for an engagement. 
 Evidently I impressed him favourably, for with- 
 out any difficulty and with very little delay he 
 found me a chance to go to Syracuse, N. Y., 
 there to join a dramatic stock company under 
 the management of Mr. Geary Hough. 
 
 On my arrival the question of wardrobe 
 promptly presented itself, and at first it seemed 
 a very serious and troublesome problem; but 
 Mr. Hough speedily found a solution of the diffi- 
 culty. He was a widower of recent date, and 
 his late wife had been his leading woman. As 
 
THE INSTALLMENT SYSTEM 
 
 he still had her stage wardrobe intact, and as 
 tailor-made gowns and wrinkleless robes were 
 not then the vogue, I had very little difficulty 
 in adapting this wardrobe to my needs. Ac- 
 cordingly I bought the garments and paid for 
 them "on the installment plan," Mr. Hough 
 deducting from my salary a small weekly sum. 
 I have often wondered since if Mr. Hough and 
 I were the pioneers of the installment system. 
 If so, may we be forgiven! 
 
 In this, my first engagement, I was drawing 
 a salary of seven dollars a week, and it might be 
 considered that my life was one of hardship and 
 privation. Not at all. Money was worth much 
 more then than it is now, and on this apparently 
 small salary I could live in modest comfort. I 
 lived in a boarding-house, in which also dwelt 
 Mr. and Mrs. Frank Humphreys, the leading 
 man and leading woman of the company, to- 
 gether with several others of its members. I had 
 a pleasant, comfortable little room, with board, 
 fire, and light, for which I paid three dollars 
 a week, and, while I do not pretend to say that 
 abundance in any form was within my means, 
 
ROSE EYTINGE 
 
 I suffered no privations. The table was fur- 
 nished with the ordinary boarding-house fare, 
 and naturally was neither so abundant nor so 
 luxurious as to make any of us fear gout. 
 
 Our only really hard experience was on Sun- 
 day. The landlady was a strict Sabbatarian 
 and would have no food cooked on that day, 
 and so, from Saturday night until Monday 
 morning, we, her helpless prisoners, virtuously 
 and virtually starved until, in a blessed hour, 
 I discovered that food galore was stored in the 
 cellar. I at once laid my discovery before Mr. 
 Humphreys, and hope dawned upon us. 
 
 The first Sunday after our discovery, Mr. 
 Humphreys, armed with a villainous-looking 
 scimitar (one with which I have no doubt, many 
 a stage murder had been committed), and I, 
 armed with a lighted candle (a juvenile Lady 
 Macbeth), stole at midnight in the stealthy 
 silence of stockinged feet, down to the cellar. 
 There, surrounded by the bodies of our des- 
 tined victims, which were suspended against 
 the walls upon huge hooks, by apples which 
 blushed a rosy red for our shame, by potatoes 
 with their eyes fixed upon us, and by butter 
 
 6 
 
BREAD EATEN IN SECRET 
 
 which was trying to smooth away our iniqui- 
 ties, we committed our burglary. 
 
 From a side of beef Mr. Humphreys cut a 
 nice, tender steak (not at all the sort we usually 
 got) and from the loins of an innocent sheep 
 some sweet, succulent chops, while I secured 
 the "trimmings," — bread and butter, condi- 
 ments, fruit; in fact any "unconsidered trifle" 
 I could lay hands upon. 
 
 Then, in fear and trembling, we crept up- 
 stairs, laden with our "loot," to find Mrs. 
 Humphreys paralysed with fear and filled with 
 reproaches and reprimands, — but also with a 
 nice, clear fire. 
 
 The reader may picture our delight, when, 
 after carefully securing the door, and taking 
 every precaution against surprise, we broiled 
 our booty upon a gridiron improvised from 
 two crossed swords. 
 
 Let me say here that I never suffered any of 
 those perils and temptations which, we are told, 
 beset the paths of girls who adopt the stage 
 as their profession. At this time I was little 
 more than a child, but the company of which 
 
ROSE EYTINGE 
 
 I found myself a member was made up of 
 good, kind, decent folk. Every man Jack and 
 woman Jill of it was good and kind, though 
 they did not fail to " pitch into" me when I 
 deserved such treatment, which doubtless was 
 pretty often. Yet never, either during work- 
 ing hours in the theatre, or in hours of rest and 
 relaxation at home, did I hear an unseemly 
 word or witness an unseemly act. 
 
 When I first joined the company an accident 
 fixed my position in it most agreeably. The 
 leading man wanted to play "The Old Guard," 
 and I was cast for Melanie, and from this cir- 
 cumstance my " hall-mark" of leading juvenile 
 woman was established. 
 
 With especial affection I remember Mrs. 
 Frank Humphreys, the leading woman of our 
 company. After her husband's death she mar- 
 ried William Jamieson, a son of William Jam- 
 ieson of "Consuelo" fame. 
 
 I played my first " heavy" part in this com- 
 pany. A lurid drama called "The Wandering 
 
BORROWED PLUMES 
 
 Boys" was put up. Susan Denim was the 
 star; some actors whom I cannot remember 
 played the boys; and I was cast for the blood- 
 thirsty Baroness who persecuted them. It must 
 be remembered that this Baroness was sup- 
 posed to be a person whose age might run 
 from fifty years up (and I was scarcely fifteen) 
 and that the part imperatively demanded a 
 black-velvet train. 
 
 It is needless to say I did not possess any 
 such splendid equipment. My limited salary did 
 not permit the possibility of its purchase, and 
 the wardrobe of the late Mrs. Hough did not 
 contain one. What was to be done? Mrs. 
 Humphreys came to my rescue. She offered 
 me hers, — a new one, purchased for this en- 
 gagement, the star of her stage wardrobe, the 
 apple of her eye, her fetich, — and she lent it 
 to me. Could friendship go further? 
 
 The fateful night of the first performance of 
 "The Wandering Boys" arrived — that is, so 
 far as the public was concerned. But the real 
 performance that night was making me up and 
 dressing me for the part of the Baroness. This 
 called for the full feminine force of the com- 
 
ROSE EYTINGE 
 
 pany, and they all filed promptly into my dress- 
 ing-room and the work began. 
 
 My hair was parted in a straight line over my 
 nose, plastered down over my ears, and spat- 
 tered down my cheeks, and then my face was 
 " lined. " Looking back upon my face as it 
 was then, I have no doubt that those same, 
 carefully drawn and shaded lines, instead of 
 producing the desired effect of giving me an 
 appearance of age, only served to accentuate 
 its youthfulness. 
 
 The ceremony of making-up being concluded, 
 my corps of attendants proceeded to put me 
 into the black- velvet train; but as fast as they 
 put me into it I slipped out of it, — there was 
 so much of the train, and so little of me! In 
 memory I can still see those dear, kindly folk, 
 as they stood around me; the various expres- 
 sions of hopelessness with which I was re- 
 garded in the matter of the waist, — such a 
 waste of waist and such a dearth of Baroness. 
 But, pinned in here and taken in there, and, 
 as a last resort, draped in black lace to cover 
 discrepancies, I was finally hustled on the stage. 
 
 Up to this moment I had been an interested 
 
MY FIRST TRAIN 
 
 spectator rather than an active participant in 
 the robing act, and was secretly feeling the 
 keenest delight at having attained the dignity 
 of this, my first train. But when I found myself 
 standing on the stage, and saw behind me that 
 long, black, trailing something that moved 
 whenever I moved, that insisted upon following 
 me, that would be dragged after me wherever 
 I went, I conceived a sort of horror of it. It 
 seemed to my overwrought mind that it was 
 some sort of a hideous dragon, and that I was 
 its victim, condemned to drag it after me for 
 the rest of my life. I dissolved in fears and 
 tears, tears which of course must have removed 
 from my face all those carefully traced lines 
 which were to have given it weight and age. 
 
 Oh! what a performance I must have given of 
 that blood-thirsty Baroness! 
 
CHAPTER II 
 
 THE GREEN STREET THEATRE, ALBANY — THE DIGNITY OF 
 LEADING WOMAN — DRESSMAKING — AN ACRID BUT 
 KINDLY LANDLADY 
 
 The second engagement in my career as an 
 actress (which I also obtained through the good 
 offices of Mr. Parsloe) was. at the Green Street 
 Theatre, Albany, and by this time my status 
 in the company was assured. I was now the 
 " leading woman," or perhaps I ought rather 
 to say that I played the leading business. Crude 
 no doubt, a good deal of my work was, for I 
 was not a woman at all, but just a saucy girl. 
 Everybody in and about the theatre conspired 
 to spoil me, and vied with each other in being 
 kind to me and helping me. 
 
 My opening part was that of Virginia, in sup- 
 port of J. A. Neafie's Virginius. I knew noth- 
 ing about Virginius, and still less about Vir- 
 ginia, and the more I learned about her the 
 more frightened I became. Besides, I had no 
 
 12 
 
DRESSMAKING 
 
 costumes for the part. All my surplus capital 
 was invested in unbleached muslin — that val- 
 uable fabric, cheese-cloth, was not then in- 
 vented — and I sat up all night for a couple of 
 nights engaged in the manufacture of Miss 
 Virginia's costumes. When the day of the last 
 rehearsal and the performance arrived, what 
 with loss of sleep, fatigue, and nervousness, I 
 was in rather a pitiful plight. I could not 
 even pull myself together and read Virginia's 
 lines, much less speak them. Management, 
 star and company were all in a panic. I after- 
 ward learned that a member of the company 
 was safe in a dressing-room at night, up in the 
 lines, and ready to go on and finish the per- 
 formance when I should, as seemed inevitable, 
 fail. 
 
 But I did not fail, and the lady did not go 
 on. 
 
 I boarded with a little old lady who made up 
 in temper what she lacked in proportions. She 
 certainly could not have weighed more than 
 eighty pounds, but it was enough! And she, 
 too, was good to me. To be sure, it was in 
 
 *3 
 
ROSE EYTINGE 
 
 rather a severe and disapproving way, espe- 
 cially at first, but she thawed in time. 
 
 She never would have taken me in at all if I 
 had not gone to her highly recommended, for 
 she, like most good folk who know nothing 
 about them, disapproved of actresses, and when 
 she first saw me she snipped acrimoniously, 
 and said: " Humph! you ought to be at home 
 and going to school." And when I replied, 
 with more tact than truth, that I hoped to be 
 at home with her, and added that I also hoped 
 to make the theatre my school, she did not 
 seem to be greatly impressed; but she said, 
 grudgingly, that I might come, and she would try 
 me. And she did, often and severely! 
 
 She gave me a little garret room, which con- 
 tained, among other comforts, a tiny wood 
 stove, and for this and my board I paid her 
 $3.50 a week, this being about the ordinary 
 price for board at that time. 
 
 At first she was very severe with me. If I did 
 not get down for breakfast by eight o'clock I 
 got it cold, or not at all. When I reached home 
 at night the house was dark, save for the dim 
 light from a tiny lamp of japanned tin — I can 
 
 14 
 
AN ACRID LANDLADY 
 
 see it now — which contained about a gill of 
 oil. My instructions were to bolt the front 
 door, and, with the aid of this lamp, light my- 
 self up to my room. If I lingered in my prep- 
 arations for bed my light went out. 
 
 But I soon changed that. I provided myself 
 with sperm candles, and, after carefully lock- 
 ing the door, I produced them from their hiding- 
 place and lighted up. If my old chatelaine had 
 ever discovered this, my tenure would have 
 been brief, for she would have expected to be 
 burned in her bed. 
 
 Many a night did I light my fire and candles, 
 draw my little table up beside my bed, and 
 ensconce myself therein and study, — and I was 
 never burned. 
 
 Slowly my tiny tyrant softened toward me. 
 Once, when I had a severe cold, she sent my 
 breakfast up to me. I could not have been 
 more astonished if it had rained larks! Grad- 
 ually this delightful innovation became a habit. 
 Then there began to appear a tiny tray con- 
 taining a little luncheon, flanking the little 
 japanned tin lamp. 
 
 Gradually I found myself admitted to the 
 15 
 
ROSE EYTINGE 
 
 kitchen on baking-days, and when Christmas 
 goodies were in course of preparation I was 
 permitted to help prepare the fruit and beat 
 the eggs. 
 
 Then there came a tremendous proposal. I 
 was to give up acting and come and live with 
 my old friend — indeed she had proved her- 
 self a true friend — and be her foster-daughter 
 and help her conduct the boarding-house, 
 and when she died it, and all else she was pos- 
 sessed of, should be mine. When I declined 
 this offer she did not resent my decision, but to 
 the last was my dear, kind, if somewhat sharp 
 and acrid friend. 
 
 16 
 
CHAPTER III 
 
 OLD-TIME STARS — JULIA DEAN — CHARLOTTE CRAMPTON 
 — ADA CLARE — BOHEMIA 
 
 Very hard I had to work to support the stars 
 that came in a steady procession to the Green 
 Street Theatre. Among them I remember 
 Julia Dean, surely one of "the sweetest women 
 e'er drew breath." It seemed to be a sort of 
 benediction when she leaned over and fixed 
 her soft, gentle eyes upon one. 
 
 Greater than all the rest was Mrs. Shaw. She 
 was very beautiful, with a grand, stately sort 
 of beauty, and a voice like the rich tones of an 
 organ. Never shall I forget her, as she stood 
 like an empress, her exquisitely moulded arm 
 extended, and exclaimed: "On your lives, I 
 charge ye, bring Huon back to me!" 
 
 Then there were old Peter Richings, pompous 
 and puffy, and his "daughter Caroline, " self- 
 contained and supercilious, but a sweet, highly- 
 cultivated woman, and, notwithstanding the 
 
 17 
 
ROSE EYTINGE 
 
 arduous nature of her profession, a most ac- 
 complished needlewoman. 
 
 Among others were William Goodall,who shone 
 upon the dramatic firmament like a meteor, 
 and died all too young ; Edward Eddy, so many 
 years "the darling of the gods"; J. J. Proctor; 
 Mr. and Mrs. Edmund Connor; Maggie Mit- 
 chell, and many others whose names I cannot 
 now recall. 
 
 I kept up with this procession of stars, sup- 
 porting them; and the study and preparation 
 of my costumes, all of which I made myself, 
 made the work very hard ; but I was very happy 
 in it, and everybody praised me, and surely the 
 strongest incentive to work is praise. 
 
 Of course I had my troubles. I remember one 
 — a fright anent Charlotte Crampton, a great 
 actress, and a brilliant, great-hearted woman, 
 but very excitable and apt to be carried to ex- 
 tremes in her acting by giving too full scope 
 to her emotions. In her repertory there was 
 a melodrama in which she played a wronged 
 and neglected wife, and I the siren who was the 
 occasion of her grief. The third act closed 
 with my death at her hands in a very realistic 
 
 18 
 
CHARLOTTE CRAMPTON 
 
 fashion. I, in white, was awaiting her hus- 
 band. Enter to me Charlotte, in black, and in 
 a rage. A stormy scene followed, which cul- 
 minated in her producing a carving-knife and 
 cutting my throat, the blood spurting over my 
 white gown, and she standing over me in tri- 
 umph. When, at rehearsal, Miss Crampton 
 demanded a real carving-knife, there was a very 
 vigorous demur on the part of the stage-man- 
 ager, but the star insisted. I was not afraid. 
 But when at night Charlotte entered, her eyes 
 afire, and her frame trembling with emotion, I 
 confess to some tremors, and when, after being 
 flung to the floor, I saw this woman with blaz- 
 ing eyes, standing over me brandishing that 
 dreadful knife, I uttered a shriek and knew 
 no more. 
 
 I also met Ada Clare. How beautiful she was ! 
 When she came I knew nothing of the circum- 
 stances, but I afterward learned that it was the 
 result of a proposition from her to join the com- 
 pany on trial. She selected for her appearance 
 a farce,— " The Pet of the Petticoats," I think, 
 — she playing Virginie. I believe she made this 
 selection because it was a French dialect part. 
 
 19 
 
ROSE EYTINGE 
 
 She went to the theatre directly on the morning 
 of her arrival in the town, but as I did not 
 reach the theatre until after she had left it, I 
 missed seeing her for the present. However, 
 I found the company entire there, and they 
 amused themselves by proceeding to "take a 
 rise" out of me. They told me, among many 
 other things of like sort, which I cannot now re- 
 member, that I had better go at once and ob- 
 tain a willow wreath to wear in place of the 
 crown which I had just lost. My reign was 
 over. The girl who had just arrived was a 
 much prettier girl than I ; was fair, with golden 
 hair; clever — far more clever than I was; and 
 so amiable; not a bit saucy, — etc. 
 
 I remember that I held my own fairly well 
 during this fusillade, and though in my heart 
 I felt many a qualm, I opposed a bold front to 
 their attacks. I perched upon a table that hap- 
 pened to have been left on the stage, and there 
 I sat and swung my legs, and, with a saucy 
 assumption of indifference, flung defiance at 
 them. But I am afraid it was very poor coun- 
 terfeiting. In my heart I was sadly frightened 
 and cast down. I loved those folk, and I be- 
 
 20 
 
ADA CLARE 
 
 lieve that they loved me. I would have been 
 very sorry to have found myself supplanted in 
 their admiration or good will. 
 
 At night I saw Ada Clare, who was all and 
 more than they had said, and then, as through- 
 out my life, I have always done, I prostrated 
 myself before the altar of beauty. So far from 
 feeling envious of her, I gave her my warmest 
 admiration, my love and allegiance. 
 
 Not very long after this Ada Clare and I were 
 both living in New York. Ada had installed 
 herself in a dainty little house on West Forty- 
 second Street, and there, of a Sunday evening, 
 could be found a group of men and women, all 
 of whom had distinguished themselves in va- 
 rious avenues, — in literature, art, music, drama, 
 war, philanthropy. The women were beau- 
 tiful and brilliant, the men clever and dis- 
 tinguished. I cannot remember more than a 
 few of these people, but of those who live in 
 my memory are John Clancey, owner and editor 
 of the "Leader," then a popular weekly paper; 
 Stephen Fiske; William Winter and his wife, 
 Lizzie Campbell, — then boy and girl, bride- 
 
 21 
 
ROSE EYTINGE 
 
 groom and bride; Peter B. Sweeney; Mary 
 Freeman Goldbeck; Fanny Brown; Walt 
 Whitman; Henry Clapp; William Stuart; Ed- 
 ward H. House; and many others. 
 
 This was Bohemia, and our fairy-like, beautiful 
 young hostess was its queen. A veritable queen 
 she was, receiving from her subjects their love 
 and loyalty, which she won by her quiet sincer- 
 ity and unpretentious, unconscious dignity, and 
 drawing from each member of her court, by 
 her gracious presence, all that was best in them 
 of brilliancy, kindliness, courtesy, and wit. 
 
 22 
 
CHAPTER IV 
 
 ABRAHAM LINCOLN — THE PRINCE OF WALES — FERNANDO 
 WOOD — THURLOW WEED — HUGH HASTINGS — DANIEL 
 S. DICKINSON AND MRS. DICKINSON 
 
 It was in Albany that I was a witness to, and a 
 participant in, two occasions, both memorable, 
 and one of them marking an epoch in this 
 country's history. This latter was the passage 
 of Abraham Lincoln through the old Dutch 
 city, as he journeyed from his Western home 
 to Washington, there to be installed as an im- 
 mortal President of these United States. 
 
 We all know how Abraham Lincoln looked. 
 His face is enshrined in our memories, as his 
 virtues are in our hearts; but certainly my first 
 sight of that extraordinary man was a startling 
 experience. He sat in an open carriage; and 
 as, from time to time, he rose to bow to the solid- 
 ly massed people who made the air resonant 
 with their welcoming cheers, the impression 
 that he gave was that his length was endless. 
 
 23 
 
ROSE EYTINGE 
 
 And his hands! Was there ever, before or 
 since, such a pair of hands? There did not 
 appear to be any wrist in the scheme of his 
 anatomy: his great gnarled hand seemed to run 
 straight up to reach his long, gaunt arm. 
 
 His face! It was rugged and rough; but from 
 his dark, deep-set eyes there shone, and about 
 the lines of his mouth there played, such a 
 tender kindliness, such a soft influence, that 
 one was led to forget his personal peculiarities 
 and to feel that to find shelter beneath that 
 benignant gaze would be to find safety. 
 
 The other memorable day in Albany was that 
 on which the Prince of Wales visited that city. 
 
 Of course we are all good republicans, but 
 there is no denying that Americans "dearly love 
 a lord," — and the mere sight of a prince! 
 Well, — that quiet, staid, Dutchly, phlegmatic 
 little town went fairly wild at the sight of the 
 slender, fair-haired boy. The neighbouring 
 towns for miles around had, apparently, poured 
 their entire populations into the streets, which 
 were black with people. The air was rent with 
 5houts; the wildest enthusiasm prevailed. 
 
 24 
 
TWO HISTORICAL FIGURES 
 
 And the enthusiasm which was shown that 
 day in Albany to the Prince of Wales was repeat- 
 ed wherever he went, throughout the length and 
 breadth of the land. It was a testimony of 
 respect to his mother; a greeting of love and 
 amity from the American republic to the mother 
 country : a cry of brotherhood ; a clasp of hands 
 across the sea, the destruction of revolutionary 
 prejudice, and the awakening of the present 
 spirit of alliance. 
 
 As I write, the figures of several people whom 
 I met in Albany, emerge from the mists of my 
 memory. Of these, two were men who, each 
 in his opposite sphere, left a deep mark on the 
 pages of contemporaneous history. One was a 
 power in New York city politics; the other 
 wielded a great influence in national as well 
 as in State and city affairs, besides reaching 
 across the Atlantic. 
 
 The first of these two distinguished men was 
 Fernando Wood, at that time mayor of New 
 York, and to know whom was to understand 
 the secret of his power. He had every quality 
 and personal attribute to make him a leader 
 
 2 5 
 
ROSE EYTINGE 
 
 of men. Strikingly handsome, though at this 
 time an old man, his was the straight, slender 
 figure and the elastic springy walk of a boy 
 of twenty ; a elear-cut face, aquiline nose, 
 piercing dark eyes, with heavy well-marked 
 brows, silver- white hair, and heavy white mous- 
 tache. 
 
 The other figure of this notable pair is the 
 towering person of Thurlow Weed, the Warwick 
 of American politics; wielding his baton of 
 power from his sanctum in the office of the 
 Albany " Evening Journal," of which powerful 
 newspaper he was editor and proprietor. He 
 also was a man of singular and Impressive ap- 
 pearance. He was very tall, — so tall, indeed, 
 and so slender, that in standing or walking he 
 leaned forward, not actually stooping, but bend- 
 ing, as we sometimes see a slender tree bending 
 before a light breeze. His complexion was 
 dark, and his face"was long and deeply marked, 
 with deep-set, dark eyes that looked out in a 
 searching way from under heavy, pent-house 
 brows. His arms and hands were unusually 
 long, giving him a powerful reach; indeed he 
 enjoyed the reputation of having a great reach 
 
 26 
 

 THE DICKINSONS 
 
 to strike an enemy, but it was also said of him 
 that he had an equally long reach and a firm 
 hold with which to help a friend. 
 
 Another man who was a power in the politics 
 of the State of New York, and whom I met in 
 Albany, was Hugh Hastings, editor and pro- 
 prietor of the Albany " Knickerbocker " ; and I 
 cannot take leave of this quaint old city without 
 recording my loving recollection of two dear 
 friends whom I met there, whom I knew after- 
 ward in their beautiful, hospitable home in 
 Binghamton, and whose love and friendship I 
 was privileged to enjoy until, after lives spent 
 in good deeds, they each in turn lay down to 
 rest in the beauty of holiness. The world is 
 brightened and bettered by the presence of such 
 persons as Daniel S. Dickinson and his wife. 
 
CHAPTER V 
 
 EDWIN BOOTH — THE CRIME OF JOHN WILKES BOOTH AND 
 THE DISPOSITION OF HIS REMAINS 
 
 The finest monument that any man could wish 
 to have erected to his memory is that which 
 is felt and voiced by every one who ever met 
 Edwin Booth, bearing testimony to his gentle- 
 ness, his sweet temper, his unvarying, simple 
 kindliness. 
 
 When I first met Edwin Booth I was at Niblo's 
 Garden, New York, playing under the man- 
 agement of William Wheatley. I took the part 
 of Blanche de Nevers in "The Duke's Motto," 
 in which Mr. Wheatley himself played Lagar- 
 dere, with his catch-phrase, "I am here," that 
 obtained such a widespread popularity. 
 
 Mr. Booth was about to produce at that thea- 
 tre Tom Taylor's "A Fool's Revenge," and 
 he offered me the part of Fiordilisa. I do not 
 know if the piece was then printed. At all 
 events I did not see a printed book, but studied 
 
 28 
 
EDWIN BOOTH 
 
A PICTURESQUE COSTUME 
 
 my lines from a written part; and either there 
 was nothing in the lines that indicated the ob- 
 scurity and poverty of Bertuccio, or I overlooked 
 them. So, in dressing Fiordilisa, I let my love 
 for the beautiful and the picturesque run riot. 
 I designed a costume for her which was strictly 
 correct in that it was mediaeval Italian. But 
 it was composed of satin and rare silver em- 
 broidery and diaphanous draperies. As I was 
 dressed I might more readily have been taken 
 for the daughter and heiress of the reigning 
 duke than for the child of the court fool. 
 
 Being dressed (and, truth to tell, feeling very 
 well satisfied with my appearance), I went to 
 the greenroom. Thither, shortly after, came 
 Mr. Booth. When he saw me he fell back 
 aghast. In great surprise I inquired the cause 
 of his amazement. He told me I was far too 
 richly dressed for the daughter of a man of his 
 rank, and he explained to me that my dress 
 should have been quiet and unobtrusive and 
 of cheap material. 
 
 I was overwhelmed with shame, — in fact was 
 on the verge of tears, — when the dear, gracious 
 fellow took me by both hands and turned me 
 
 29 
 
ROSE EYTINGE 
 
 round about, and, with an amused glint in his 
 eye, said: "Well! By jingo, the result of our 
 blunder is so fine I think we'll have to let it 
 stand!" 
 And it "stood" during the run of the piece. 
 
 Some time after this engagement — I think it 
 may have been a year or two after — I again 
 played with Mr. Booth, this time at the Winter 
 Garden, New York, and my roles embracing 
 such characters as Julie de Mauprat, Maritana, 
 the Princess in "Ruy Bias," and very possibly 
 others. 
 
 This engagement does not seem to be 
 marked in my memory by any striking events, 
 but to have covered a placid period of duty 
 done and salary drawn,— a usually satisfactory 
 state of things, but possessing no hooks upon 
 which to hang a narrative. I may, however, 
 mention one incident that occurred while we 
 were rehearsing "Richelieu." Up to that time 
 it had been the custom for Francois to be 
 dressed as a courtier. But as Bulwer does not 
 introduce in his drama that element of courtier 
 and soldier that history tells us existed in the 
 
 3° 
 
A CHANGED COSTUME 
 
 Cardinal's anteroom, but represents him as be- 
 ing attended by Joseph and Francois only, I al- 
 ways felt that the dramatist's intention was that 
 Francois should be an acolyte and dedicated 
 to the priesthood, and therefore his costume 
 should be in accord with that idea. 
 
 One morning at rehearsal I mentioned this 
 thought of mine to Mr. Booth. His usually 
 languid manner quickened; he threw back his 
 head ; looked sharply at me for a moment ; then 
 went to the wing and sent the call-boy to Mrs. 
 Bohanan, who had charge of the wardrobe. 
 On her appearance Mr. Booth held a brief 
 colloquy with her, and, when " Richelieu" was 
 produced, Francois was dressed as an acolyte. 
 
 Another tiny little incident, but one showing 
 the kindliness of Booth's nature and his some- 
 times quaint sense of humour, occurred during 
 the last act of "Richelieu," when the Cardinal 
 is to all appearance dying, and Julie, in a par- 
 oxysm of grief, has flung herself upon his breast. 
 Booth, patting my head with paternal tender- 
 ness, whispered to me: "There's a smudge 
 of black on the end of your nose: be still while 
 
 3 1 
 
ROSE EYTINGE 
 
 I take it off." And while Julie, convulsed 
 with anguish, lay sobbing on the Cardinal's 
 breast, he, with a corner of his Eminence's 
 ermine, removed the offending smudge. 
 
 Some years afterward, Edwin Booth again 
 made overtures to me to join his forces, and his 
 offer was a very liberal one. It was to support 
 him in his own repertory at the evening perform- 
 ances, I to have the matinees to play my own 
 pieces. But at the time this offer was made, I 
 was starring myself, and so declined it. As 
 with many of the things which I have done 
 or omitted to do, I have since regretted my 
 decision. 
 
 I have no doubt, that, if I cared to do so, 
 I could string together innumerable anecdotes 
 about Edwin Booth. But he was so sensitive 
 and he so shrank from general public notice, 
 that it seems that to discuss him or his pe- 
 culiarities would be to take a liberty with his 
 memory. 
 
 It was not long after the close of that Winter 
 Garden engagement, I think, that the awful 
 
 32 
 
A NATIONAL HORROR 
 
 crime of John Wilkes Booth shocked the world 
 and fell upon the country like a pall. We 
 all remember how Edwin Booth, shrinking 
 and cowering under the weight of that great 
 sin and shame, for which he was in no way 
 responsible, but the consequences of which he 
 suffered deeply and bitterly, withdrew himself 
 from the world and avowed his determination 
 never to appear in public again, and how it 
 was only after a long time, and after not only 
 his friends and admirers but the whole country 
 clamoured for him, that he reconsidered that 
 determination and consented to appear again 
 upon the stage. 
 
 There is one detail of that great horror about 
 which I can speak with certainty, — the dispo- 
 sition which was eventually made of the body 
 of John Wilkes Booth. Some months after 
 the close of the terrible tragedy, when public 
 excitement was somewhat allayed and public 
 feeling had become calmer, the body of John 
 Wilkes Booth was secretly exhumed, con- 
 veyed to Baltimore, and given to his mother, 
 who — poor broken - hearted woman ! — had 
 never ceased to beg for it. 
 
 33 
 
ROSE EYTINGE 
 
 This favour was granted to Mrs. Booth by the 
 Government, not so much out of sympathy for 
 her, but as an expression of respect for her 
 son Edwin, and of the faith which the nation 
 had in him. . 
 
 It is not possible to think of Edwin Booth 
 without chastened sorrow and sympathy. His 
 childhood and early boyhood, spent largely in 
 wandering about the country with his father, — 
 a man of violent temper and bad habits, with a 
 morose and gloomy disposition, and whose 
 moods ran sometimes almost into madness, — 
 could not have been very happy. The death 
 of the girl- wife whom he adored, while he was 
 yet little more than a boy, left Edwin Booth 
 heart-broken. Then came crashing down upon 
 his devoted head the awful crime of his brother, 
 — a crime which held up to public execration all 
 who were kin to the wretched, misguided man. 
 The domestic clouds which shadowed Edwin 
 Booth's later years, I feel that I, in common 
 with the rest of the world, have no right to 
 discuss. 
 
 We who loved him can comfort ourselves only 
 
 34 
 
EDWIN BOOTH 
 
 with the thought that he had his compensation. 
 Art, his mistress, always greeted him with 
 smiles; the tragic muse, Melpomene, never 
 turned away from him. She walked with him 
 hand in hand through fields where lesser mor- 
 tals could not follow, and with the wreath of 
 willow that a sorrowful nation laid upon his 
 grave there were also mingled the leaves of the 
 laurel. 
 
 35 
 
CHAPTER VI 
 
 GLIMPSES OF ROYALTY — THE PRINCE OF WALES — CHI- 
 NESE DIPLOMATS — THE BOSTON THEATRE — OLD-TIME 
 THEATRICAL SALARIES 
 
 It has been my fortune on more than one oc- 
 casion to come into pretty close social relations 
 with royalty and other "high and mighty- 
 nesses," and I am afraid I must be sadly de- 
 ficient in reverence; for, so far as I can recollect, 
 I do not seem to have found myself in the least 
 abashed or overcome by these experiences. 
 
 My first sight of royalty was when royalty 
 dashed into my presence. I think it was when 
 I was playing at Niblo's Garden that I attended 
 a ball given in honour of the Prince of Wales, 
 and possibly I am the only feminine survivor 
 of that function who would, without torture, 
 confess that she did not dance with his Royal 
 Highness. 
 
 But I did eat sandwiches and drink wine with 
 him, or, to be correct, he did so eat and drink 
 with me. 
 
 36 
 
GLIMPSES OF ROYALTY 
 
 It happened this way. The friends whose guest 
 I was had provided these refreshments in their 
 box, and, being also friends of Colonel San- 
 derson, an American who conducted his Royal 
 Highness' s American tour, that gentleman 
 brought the Prince to our box, more, I think, to 
 get a "bite and sup" than for any other purpose. 
 
 Introductions followed in course, and as, on the 
 entrance of the royal guest, I had been hastily 
 installed as hostess, we hobnobbed a bit. On 
 taking his departure the Prince very gracefully 
 said that if I ever visited his "town" he would 
 be pleased to take advantage of the opportu- 
 nity thus afforded him to return my hospitality. 
 And his Royal Highness kept his word. 
 
 When I 
 
 But all in good time. When I arrive in Lon- 
 don, which will not be for a while yet, I will 
 tell the whole story. 
 
 About this time I attended another great ball 
 given by the city government to some "high 
 and mighty-nesses " from China, and held, I 
 think, at the Academy of Music. 
 
 Mr. Burlingame, whom I numbered among 
 
 37 
 
ROSE EYTINGE 
 
 my friends, had been sent by the United States 
 Government to China on some mission, — I 
 think it was some sort of "open door" to per- 
 mit "John" to come to this country whenever 
 he felt so disposed. Parenthetically I might 
 here remark that when one sees to what an 
 extent "John" has availed himself of that 
 privilege, one might be forgiven for wishing 
 that Mr. Burlingame had stayed at home. 
 
 However, our envoy met with such distin- 
 guished success in the accomplishment of his 
 mission, that he brought home with him, as 
 proof of it, a choice selection of "Great Pan- 
 jandrums, with little round buttons on top," 
 to be our guests, and the ball which is now 
 whirling in my memory was given in their 
 honour. 
 
 I did not dance with any of these fine speci- 
 mens of porcelain, though perhaps the fact that 
 I failed to enjoy the privilege was because these 
 notables did not want to dance. They would 
 never have dreamed of doing anything so un- 
 dignified. Clad in robes of gorgeous satin, 
 which were ablaze with gold and silver em- 
 broideries and sparkling with gems, they sat 
 
 38 
 
THEATRICAL SALARIES 
 
 in stately magnificence on a dais at the head 
 of the ballroom, and in impassive indolence 
 watched us dance and enjoy ourselves. I was 
 afterward told that, on being asked their opin- 
 ion of this great function, they had expressed 
 warm admiration for the affair, but they were 
 somewhat surprised to observe that we had 
 exerted ourselves to dance for their amuse- 
 ment, instead of having our slaves perform that 
 arduous duty. 
 
 At the time of which I write, being a leading 
 woman, I received a salary of twenty-five dollars 
 a week, and a very good salary it was, with 
 which I could then get more than I can now 
 with five times that amount. So I was greatly 
 pleased to receive from the Boston Theatre, 
 which at that time was under the management 
 of Orlando Tompkins (father of the present 
 manager, Eugene Tompkins), "Ben" Thayer, 
 and Henry C. Jarrett, an offer to play leading 
 business at a salary of forty dollars a week. 
 
 In those days every theatre had its own stock 
 company, and "stars" were the exception rather 
 than the rule. 
 
 39 
 
ROSE EYTINGE 
 
 The Boston Theatre offer was a very liberal 
 one, only the most important and well-known 
 people commanding fifty or sixty dollars a week. 
 The highest salary ever received by Mrs. John 
 Hoey, who for several seasons was the leading 
 woman of Wallack's Theatre, New York, was 
 sixty dollars a week. Madeline Henriques, 
 who followed Mrs. Hoey in that position, got 
 a "rise" to seventy-five dollars. I made a still 
 higher jump, my salary reaching three figures, 
 and I was the first leading woman in this coun- 
 try, and, I think, on the English-speaking stage, 
 who had ever commanded a three-figure salary. 
 And we may be quite sure that the Continental 
 stage never attained the Anglo-Saxon standard 
 of liberality. 
 
 I gladly accepted the Boston Theatre engage- 
 ment which also marked my first " row " with my 
 managers. I have had many since. 
 
 40 
 
CHAPTER VII 
 
 MY FIRST "ROW" WITH A MANAGER — E. L. DAVENPORT AND 
 J. W. WALLACK — A REALISTIC DESDEMONA 
 
 That first "row" with my manager led to very 
 good fortune and I can now revert to it with 
 pleasure, though at the time it gave me great 
 pain. 
 
 One clause of the offer made me by the Boston 
 Theatre management was that I should not 
 be called upon to support feminine stars, but 
 it fell out that in the opening week of my en- 
 gagement the management presented a woman 
 star. She was a pretty woman and an excel- 
 lent and popular actress; but she did not be- 
 have well to me. She is dead, however, and I 
 therefore refrain from naming her. 
 
 She opened her engagement with Sheridan 
 Knowles's play, "The Hunchback," she, of 
 course, playing Julia, and the management 
 asked me, as a favour, to waive the clause in 
 my contract to which I have referred, and to 
 play Helen, I consented. 
 
 4 1 
 
ROSE EYTINGE 
 
 Late in the day of performance the star sent 
 to me, in great distress of mind, to say that the 
 trunk which contained her costumes for Julia 
 could not be found: could I lend her some 
 gowns? I at once placed my entire wardrobe 
 at her disposal. It was not a very munificent 
 offer at that. Its limitations were soon reached, 
 and I settled with myself that I would wear 
 whatever she did not select. 
 
 At the last moment the trunk was found, and 
 I was left free to wear my own gowns, which 
 were all quite new and fresh and very pretty. 
 Quite early in the performance it became un- 
 mistakably apparent that both my gowns and 
 myself were very well liked by my audience. 
 As a consequence the star conceived a violent 
 dislike for me and proceeded to take prompt 
 measures to make me feel it. 
 
 "The Hunchback' ' was so well received that 
 it would have run for quite a while, yet, despite 
 the protests of the management and the wishes 
 of the public, another play in the repertory of 
 the star was put into immediate rehearsal, and 
 in this play, in which, by the terms of my con- 
 tract, there was no justification for demanding 
 
 42 
 
TROUBLE WITH A STAR 
 
 my appearance, I was cast for an unimportant 
 part, which part I promptly refused to play. 
 The lady insisted that I should play it; I was 
 equally firm in refusing to do so ; and the result 
 was a formal note from the management, stat- 
 ing that a continued refusal to play the part 
 assigned me would compel them to ask for my 
 resignation. 
 
 Perhaps it is only fair to say here, in extenua- 
 tion of this action on the part of the manage- 
 ment (if it be any) that afterward they individ- 
 ually told me that they had been forced into the 
 position they had taken against me by the fixed 
 determination of the star: she having threat- 
 ened to bring her engagement with them to an 
 abrupt and immediate close if I were not forced 
 into submission. 
 
 Never having been addicted to submission, I 
 chose resignation, the tender of which, being 
 promptly offered, was as promptly accepted. 
 The day of my departure arrived. I went to 
 the treasurer's office to request payment of the 
 salary I had earned. I was offered a portion 
 of my due ; and on my protesting, the treasurer 
 told me that he was only obeying instructions. 
 
 43 
 
ROSE EYTINGE 
 
 It now became necessary to look for a settle- 
 ment of my claim from the management. I 
 found the partners on the stage, talking to two 
 men whom I did not know. As they declined 
 in any way to reconsider the position they had 
 taken, or to make any more equitable arrange- 
 ment, I told them with more impetuosity than 
 courtesy, that their action indicated that their 
 pecuniary condition must indeed be desperate, 
 since, in order to replenish their treasury, they 
 found themselves forced to take possession of 
 so small a sum as a portion of my salary. I 
 therefore begged them to accept the whole 
 amount, and, putting the envelope containing 
 the money on the "prompt" table, I marched off, 
 leaving the managers embarrassed and the visit- 
 ing men astonished, and returned to my hotel. 
 I had been there only a short time when I 
 received two cards: "Mr. E. L. Davenport" 
 and "Mr. J. W. Wallace:." On going to the 
 parlour to receive these distinguished men, 
 neither of whom I had ever met, I found await- 
 ing me the two gentlemen whom I had aston- 
 ished so short a time before on the stage of the 
 Boston Theatre. 
 
 44 
 
EDGAR L. DAVENPORT 
 
DAVENPORT AND WALLACK 
 
 Their object in calling was to make me an offer 
 to join them. They named a generous salary, 
 one far in advance of that for which I had con- 
 tracted at the Boston Theatre, but no details 
 were discussed. 
 
 They only said, almost in so many words: 
 "We are pleased with your work as an actress; 
 we feel quite sure we will like you ; we hope you 
 will like us; we will do all in our power to ad- 
 vance your interests as an actress, and we will re- 
 spect and protect you as a woman. Come to us." 
 
 I said, "I will." And I did. That day on 
 which I joined Davenport and Wallack was 
 the best day's work I ever did for myself. They 
 more than redeemed all their promises. 
 
 To say that they were good to me is to say 
 too little; to try to express the friendship and 
 the affection that existed between us is not possi- 
 ble; and this friendship grew and strengthened 
 with years until it was snapped asunder by their 
 deaths. 
 
 There is no denying that they both treated 
 me like a spoiled child. They fostered my wil- 
 fulness by yielding to it; they acceded to my 
 wishes, often to my whims, in business and 
 
 45 
 
ROSE EYTINGE 
 
 out. If one of them attempted to call me to 
 account for some neglect of duty, which I have 
 no doubt richly deserved rebuke, the other was 
 sure to interfere and put a stop to the well- 
 deserved scolding. 
 
 Scenes of this sort were by no means uncom- 
 mon. Mr. Wallack would set out to take me 
 to task for some flagrant offence. Mr. Daven- 
 port would step up and say: "There, there, 
 Jim, don't fret the child. I'll talk to her." Or, 
 Mr. Davenport would make a like attempt when 
 Mr. Wallack, after listening for a moment in pa- 
 tient silence, would break out something like 
 this: "Ned, can't you see that you are upset- 
 ting that child's nerves and breaking her spirits ?" 
 
 So, between them, I was thoroughly spoiled. 
 
 The result of this treatment was that I loved 
 them both dearly, and I worked hard not 
 nearly so much that I might win praise from 
 press and public, as to please them. 
 
 To hear Davenport, after a scene, say, " Good 
 girl!" or to have Wallack pat me tenderly on 
 the shoulder and say, "She 's head and shoul- 
 ders over 'em all, now!" was to my mind my 
 highest reward. 
 
 46 
 
MRS. WALLACK 
 
 What a comfortable, jolly life was mine, 
 with these kindly men! 
 
 My first week, playing opposite parts to them, 
 was a very hard-working one. I opened with 
 them at the Boston Theatre. Mrs. Wallack 
 was with the company. She did not travel 
 continuously with her husband, but joined him 
 only at such times as her services were required 
 to play some important part. Otherwise she 
 stopped at their home in Long Branch. At 
 this time her presence was required for Emilia, 
 as it was intended to present " Othello," a very 
 fortunate circumstance for me, as it afterward 
 proved. She was a great actress, had a strong, 
 noble face, a fine physique, and a stately car- 
 riage, and one of the loveliest voices I ever 
 listened to. 
 
 In that first week the bill was changed night- 
 ly, and from night to night I studied six lead- 
 ing parts, necessitating my sitting up till three 
 or four o'clock every morning, with my head 
 tied up in wet towels and drinking strong tea. 
 
 Wallack and Davenport knew nothing of this 
 until the week's work was over, and then — 
 
 47 
 
ROSE EYTINGE 
 
 how they did scold me! But, I argued with 
 myself, I had engaged with them to play their 
 leading business. I ought to have been "up" 
 in all these parts, and I was afraid, if I con- 
 fessed that I was not, that I might lose the en- 
 gagement. So, keeping my own counsel, and 
 taking nobody into my confidence, I did the 
 work. As a consequence, by Saturday night 
 I was thoroughly exhausted, physically and 
 mentally; and but for the kindness of Mrs. 
 Wallack I would have gone to pieces. 
 
 The play was " Othello. " Mrs. Wallack said, 
 early in the evening, that I was ill, and in all 
 our scenes together she was most thoughtful 
 and helpful. When I forgot my lines she 
 prompted me, and when, as often happened, 
 I was too dazed and brain-weary to "take the 
 word," she covered up my shortcomings with 
 her own rare work. In short, she "pulled me 
 through." 
 
 But I fell with the curtain. When that came 
 down upon the last scene, Desdemona evinced 
 no inclination to rise from the bed in which 
 Othello had smothered her, and it began to look 
 as if the Moor had really finished her. 
 
CHAPTER VIII 
 
 mrs. davenport — edward house — poetry at short 
 notice — "enoch arden" — "the man in the iron 
 mask" 
 
 I do not remember the order of work done by 
 the Wallack and Davenport combination, of 
 which I was the third member, but I do recol- 
 lect that we played a number of engagements 
 in Boston. Mr. Davenport's house was in Rox- 
 bury, where his family, consisting of his wife 
 and six daughters, lived. His sons had not 
 yet appeared upon this mortal stage. Mrs. 
 Davenport was a member of the stock company 
 at the Boston Museum, whose performance 
 was usually shorter than ours. Thus she was 
 enabled to come to our theatre at the close of 
 her evening's work, and would often be in time 
 to witness our last act. 
 
 Davenport and Wallack frequently alternated 
 the principal roles, thus Wallack would play 
 Othello and Davenport I ago, and vice versa. 
 The same was the case with " Macbeth" and 
 
 49 
 
ROSE EYTINGE 
 
 other pieces. On one occasion — " Othello' ' 
 being the bill, with Davenport as the Moor — 
 Mrs. Davenport, when the curtain fell, rushed 
 upon the stage, flung herself into her husband's 
 arms, and overwhelmed him with caresses and 
 praises. I, on rising from the bed on which a 
 short time before I had been smothered, caught 
 sight of my face in a near-by mirror. Between 
 my nose and my chin I discovered that my face 
 had taken on the complexion of Othello, but 
 this discovery did not greatly surprise me. 
 Nevertheless, as I passed the Davenport group 
 I drew Mrs. Davenport's attention to the cir- 
 cumstance and said: "Look what your hus- 
 band did." Davenport, in no whit embar- 
 rassed, replied: "Yes, I set my mark upon 
 her." 
 
 It was at the Boston Theatre that we pro- 
 duced a dramatic version of " The Lady of the 
 Lake." Scott's text was carefully preserved, 
 the only change made being the dividing of 
 the poem into acts and scenes, but at the end of 
 the piece a difficulty arose. 
 
 After the duel in which James FitzJames kills 
 
 5° 
 
EDWARD H. HOUSE 
 
 Roderick Dhu, it was felt that the curtain could 
 not be brought down happily while the van- 
 quished chieftain's dead body lay at our feet. 
 Nor could it be removed without a motive, 
 which at that point the poem did not offer. 
 Just then Edward H. House (better known as 
 "Ned" House) sent in his card. His presence 
 offered a solution of our difficulty. He was 
 admitted, and was welcomed with enthusiasm. 
 Greetings over, we explained our dilemma, and 
 suggested his writing a few lines in strict Scott 
 metre, which should furnish a pretext for Roder- 
 ick's followers to bear him off to honoured but 
 unseen burial. House, taken completely by 
 surprise, very naturally demurred, pleading 
 utter lack of preparation, and unfavourable con- 
 ditions for wooing the Muse. 
 
 But he was reminded that he had intruded on 
 a Highland stronghold where might was right. 
 In short, he was besought and bullied and 
 urged, and finally was hustled into a little room 
 on the stage, half dressing-room, half office, 
 where, after having been provided with paper 
 and pencil, the door was locked upon him. 
 Warning was conveyed to him through a broken 
 
 5 1 
 
ROSE EYTINGE 
 
 window that his release depended upon his pro- 
 duction of the required lines. Persuasion, 
 entreaty, pleading of important engagements, 
 were alike in vain; and at last he complied with 
 the rigorous demands of his captors. 
 
 I forget the entire stanza, but it ended with the 
 following lines, spoken by the victorious Fitz- 
 James: 
 
 "Now hard by Coilantogle Ford 
 The chieftain's corse lies on the sward; 
 It is not meet so great a foe 
 Untended by his clan should go. 
 Summon his henchmen tried and true, 
 To bear away brave Roderick Dhu." 
 
 Then the triumphant king, the vanquished 
 chief, timely bard, and — I beg to add — Ellen, 
 the Lady of the Lake, all adjourned to luncheon. 
 
 It was at the Boston Theatre also that we pro- 
 duced a dramatic version of Tennyson's "Enoch 
 Arden." Here again the lines of the original 
 poem were retained. Wallack played Enoch, 
 Davenport Philip Ray, and I Annie Lee. Both 
 were delightful in their respective roles. Dav- 
 enport, in the soft grey tints of the miller's garb 
 
 52 
 
WALLACK IN "ENOCH ARDEN" 
 
 and the large soft grey hat, which made such 
 a fine background for his handsome face and 
 his kindly blue eyes, was a picture. 
 
 It is not possible to imagine anything more 
 pathetic than Wallack's picture of Enoch Arden 
 upon the lonely island, or the desolate cadence 
 of his voice as he said: 
 
 "The blaze upon the waters to the east; 
 The blaze upon the waters overhead; 
 The blaze upon the waters to the west; 
 
 The scarlet shafts of sunrise — but no sail." 
 
 Another scene was inexpressibly sad, — that 
 in which Enoch returns to his native village, to 
 find Annie — his wife — "his wife no more," 
 but married to Philip, living with his children 
 and Philip's child in peace and plenty. 
 
 The stage was divided down centre : one side 
 representing Philip's home, — a cosy interior, 
 ruddy with firelight and bright with happy 
 faces, the daughter singing, and everything 
 typical of comfort and happiness; the other 
 showing the road, bleak, cold, and dark, and 
 Enoch peering in at the window; then, flinging 
 
 53 
 
ROSE EYTINGE 
 
 himself upon the ground, crying to God in 
 heartbroken accents for strength — 
 
 "Not to tell her, never to let her know." 
 
 It was here, too, that I first played Hortense 
 in "The Man in the Iron Mask." Mr. Wal- 
 lack, who played The Man, was most explicit 
 and emphatic in his instructions as to my work 
 in Hortense, particularly concerning the fourth 
 act, in which I was to get my first glimpse of 
 the unfortunate prisoner. He told me to make 
 my entrance from left, looking off left, as if 
 continuing my farewell to some unseen person, 
 and carefully to avoid seeing him — The Man 
 in the Iron Mask — until I reached the centre 
 of the stage and actually bumped against him. 
 I was then to turn, see him, throw my hands up, 
 and, with a wild shriek of terror, fly from him 
 down to the extreme left corner. 
 
 At night I carefully obeyed these instructions. 
 When I turned and saw before me a ghastly 
 figure, clad from throat to feet in dull, rusty, 
 close-fitting black; his hands, bloodless and 
 fleshless, hanging supinely at his sides; his 
 head, and neck and shoulders completely cov- 
 
 54 
 
OBEYING INSTRUCTIONS 
 
 ered by an iron casque, I for the first, and I 
 believe the only time in my life, gave way to 
 terror. 
 
 I forgot that it was Mr. Wallack, forgot where 
 I was, forgot everything. Uttering a shriek, I 
 fled, I knew not where, anywhere to escape that 
 dreadful Thing! I was stopped in my wild 
 progress only by bringing up against the stage 
 box, and then I was recalled to a realisation of 
 the situation by the applause. Never, either 
 before or since, have I received such recognition 
 and its long continuance saved me. It gave 
 me time to recover myself, to take up the scene, 
 and to play it to an end. Again and again the 
 curtain was taken up, that we might acknowl- 
 edge the applause which was showered upon 
 Mr. Wallack and myself; and after the curtain 
 fell I was overwhelmed by praise from Wal- 
 lack, Davenport, — everybody. 
 
 For me, I just held my tongue. 
 
 55 
 
CHAPTER IX 
 
 FANNY DAVENPORT — THE OLD HOUSE IN BULFINCH PLACE, 
 BOSTON — AN ASSEMBLAGE OF NOTABLES 
 
 It was while I was playing in Boston with 
 Wallack and Davenport that Fanny Daven- 
 port made her appearance as a grown-up actress. 
 We were playing at the Tremont Temple, that 
 being the only place in the way of a theatre 
 that we could secure at the time. 
 
 Fanny, in common with her younger sisters, 
 had often played children's parts with her 
 parents, but, at the time I speak of, the nearest 
 approach that she could make to the stage was 
 through her mother's dressing-room at the 
 Boston Museum. We were playing Dion Bou- 
 cicault's comedy, "How She Loves Him." 
 The actress that played Mrs. Vacil was sud- 
 denly called away by illness in her family, and 
 there was nobody to play the part; the local 
 management objected to any change of bill, 
 and we were in a quandary. 
 
 In this dilemma Fanny saw her opportunity 
 56 
 
THE ACTORS' MECCA 
 
 and eagerly seized upon it. She besought her 
 father to allow her to play Mrs. Vacil, and he 
 promptly pooh-poohed the idea. Fanny came 
 to me and entreated my influence. I said she 
 should not play Mrs. Vacil, that I would play 
 that part, and she should play Atlanta Cruiser. 
 And she did. 
 
 It was with Davenport and Wallack that I 
 first went to stop at 2 Bulfinch Place, Boston. 
 This house was the actors' Mecca. Only the 
 elect were admitted there, and it would have 
 been a serious mistake to have referred to it as 
 a boarding-house. 
 
 One was the "guest" of Amelia Fisher, the 
 quaint little hostess, but at the end of each 
 week a mysterious little memorandum found 
 its way into one's morning paper, showing in- 
 debtedness to Amelia about equal to the charges 
 of a first-class hotel, 
 
 But no amount of money would have been too 
 much to pay for the privilege of meeting the 
 company which from time to time came there. 
 
 First, there was that old Boston favourite, Wil- 
 liam Warren. He had lived at Bulfinch Place, 
 
 57 
 
ROSE EYTINGE 
 
 as he had acted at the Boston Museum, fifty 
 years. He was the only man ever permitted 
 to carry a latch-key. It was a quaint old house 
 in a quaint old no-thoroughfare street, with a 
 great beam padlocked across one end, by means 
 of which the dwellers in the street lived secure 
 from the fear of intrusion of the vulgar dray 
 or the iconoclastic express wagon upon their 
 exclusive cobblestones. 
 
 It was a broad-fronted, shallow house, and, 
 no doubt, when originally built, it stood in a 
 pretty garden, but this had long since disap- 
 peared. At the time of which I speak it was 
 crowded on all sides by more modern and more 
 pretentious houses, while the garden had shrunk 
 to a damp, narrow, flagged space in which were 
 a few dejected, postponed-dying, lingering, 
 hopeless prisoners in a melancholy wire stand. 
 
 The house seemed to have taken warning 
 from Lot's wife, and refrained from looking back. 
 Every "window in the rear had been blinded by 
 various ingenious contrivances. I remember 
 one room in particular. It contained two win- 
 dows, each of about thirty small panes of glass. 
 The original panes had been removed, looking- 
 
 58 
 
BULFINCH PLACE 
 
 glass being substituted, and when the occupant 
 moved about this room in a dim light — the 
 light was always dim in Bulfmch Place — it 
 produced a curious effect. It was as though 
 one were trying to escape from a company of 
 one's own ghosts. The house was old-fash- 
 ioned, and in many details lacked the appli- 
 ances for warmth and comfort to be found in 
 modern houses, but the cleanliness, cosiness, 
 good cheer, and, above all, the people to be 
 met, and the talk to be heard in two rooms in 
 that house, made it a most desirable place. 
 
 One of these rooms was the long front room 
 on the ground floor, with two windows which 
 looked out on Bulfinch Place. It had a high- 
 shouldered, narrow, Colonial chimney-piece at 
 one end, and a "kit-kat" portrait of William 
 Warren in a sky-blue cravat at the other. The 
 intervening spaces on the walls at either side 
 were filled with representations and autographed 
 pictures of actors and actresses of the past and 
 the (then) present. This room served the 
 double purpose of sitting-room and dining-room. 
 But the real point of delight, of rest, of cheer 
 and mirth, was the kitchen. This was directly 
 
 59 
 
ROSE EYTINGE 
 
 in the rear of the sitting-room, and in the day- 
 time, with its one window looking out on the 
 melancholy little paved courtyard, was not a 
 cheerful room. But at night, with the curtain 
 drawn close over the lower sash, the high, old 
 chimney-piece set out with old Delft mugs and 
 jugs, a clear fire in the brightly polished stove, 
 the flour-barrel very much in evidence, dressed 
 in a gaily flowered chintz gown, and with its 
 cleanly swept hearth, it was an ideal room. 
 
 How well I remember how the bright dish- 
 covers, hanging from the wall, reflected our 
 faces upside down. And here, when, of a 
 night, we wayfarers came in from our sev- 
 eral "shops,'' and met there for supper, there 
 was talk, — that sort of talk where every one 
 who talked had something to say, a condition 
 to which there are unfortunately many excep- 
 tions. There could be met Edwin Booth, 
 Charles Fechter, Tom Placide, Barney Williams, 
 William J. Florence, John McCullough, Annie 
 Pixley, Carlotta Leclercq, James W. Wallack, 
 E. L. Davenport, Kate Bateman, Matilda 
 Heron, Jean Davenport, E. A. Sothern, William 
 Stuart, William Winter, and many more. 
 
 60 
 
E. A. SOTHERN 
 
CHAPTER X 
 
 THE NEW ENGLAND CIRCUIT — A PUT-UP JOB — MISAD- 
 VENTURES IN NEW BEDFORD 
 
 It was the custom of the Davenport- Wallack 
 combination, at the close of a Boston engage- 
 ment, to follow with a season through New 
 England, and sometimes very droll things hap- 
 pened to one or other, or all of us, in our one- 
 night stands. 
 
 I remember one occasion, when Mr. Wallack 
 ought to have been supposed to be taking an 
 after-dinner siesta in his luxurious drawing- 
 room, the curtain went up discovering him 
 lying doubled up on three wooden chairs, which 
 he much more than filled, both in length and 
 breadth, and looking very much as if he were 
 laid out for torture. 
 
 My great sin in those days — and, I must 
 confess, also in later days — was laughter, and 
 
 61 
 
ROSE EYTINGE 
 
 this reprehensible tendency sometimes led me 
 into very awkward predicaments. 
 
 We were playing in New Bedford — our first 
 engagement in that town. During a scene be- 
 tween Mr. Wallack and myself something set 
 me off laughing. Mr. Wallack caught the in- 
 fection, and there we stood, and laughed, and 
 laughed. Mr. Davenport came to the wings 
 and frowned upon us with great severity. His 
 virtuous disapproval of our levity seemed only 
 to increase it, and we laughed the more. We 
 got through somehow, and when the curtain 
 fell Wallack unmistakably shirked his share of 
 the scoring that awaited us. He sneaked to his 
 dressing-room and locked himself in until the 
 storm should blow over, leaving me to "catch 
 it" alone. And I did catch it! 
 
 Among the many things which Davenport said 
 was a reminder that "we had our reputation 
 to make in New Bedford." I was — as I was 
 too prone to be — saucy and defiant. I told 
 him that before the week had ended I would 
 find an opportunity to punish him for his un- 
 called-for severity, and that I would also make 
 reprisal upon Wallack for his cowardice in de- 
 
 62 
 
A PUT-UP JOB 
 
 serting me. And within that time fortune gave 
 me an opportunity to make good my threat. 
 
 We were playing one night in Taunton. The 
 bill was "The King of the Commons." Wal- 
 lack and Davenport were having a strong dra- 
 matic scene together. I planted myself in the 
 first entrance, and said or did some trifling 
 thing which set them off laughing. This was 
 the opportunity I had been waiting for. I fol- 
 lowed up my advantage. I continued my ab- 
 surdity, whatever it was, and induced them, 
 against their efforts to control themselves, to 
 laugh again. Five times they walked "up 
 stage," recovered themselves, came down, took 
 up the scene, and fell a-laughing again. 
 
 At last the audience, which at first had, good- 
 naturedly, laughed with them without in the 
 least knowing why, lost patience and hissed 
 them soundly. This instantly steadied them. 
 They both recovered their wonted dignity, and 
 played the rest of the scene as only they could. 
 The audience, by the generous applause it be- 
 stowed upon them, proved how hearty was its 
 forgiveness. Afterward, at the close of the per- 
 formance, they fell into my hands, and I took 
 
 63 
 
ROSE EYTINGE 
 
 my revenge. I remember that I was at great 
 pains to remind Mr. Davenport that we had our 
 reputation to make in Taunton. 
 
 A curious incident occurred at the hotel in New 
 Bedford where we were stopping. A nice, com- 
 fortable-looking old couple appeared one day 
 at dinner. Later in the afternoon I observed 
 the old lady seated at a window in the parlour, 
 seeming to find abundant amusement in watch- 
 ing the passers-by. But, as the shadows length- 
 ened and twilight set in, she fell to crying silently 
 and bitterly, with great sobs, watching all the 
 time from the window, eagerly scanning each 
 person. Her tears were soon dried when her 
 husband reappeared, distressed, anxious, and 
 repentant. It seems that they had driven into 
 town that morning from their farm, some 
 ten miles away, and, having finished their sell- 
 ing and buying, had adjourned to the hotel for 
 dinner, after which the old man went off to at- 
 tend to some matter of business, leaving his 
 wife to amuse herself at the window. His 
 business finished, he had returned to the hotel, 
 and, being very absent-minded, had gone di- 
 
 64 
 
AN AMUSING INCIDENT 
 
 rectly to the stable, hitched up his team, and 
 driven home. It was not until he had walked 
 into his own kitchen and missed his wife from 
 her accustomed place there that he remembered 
 he had left her in the town. 
 
 It was also in New Bedford that we were the 
 victims of a very awkward but a very amusing 
 incident. The night was pitch dark ; the moon 
 had, apparently, broken an appointment with 
 the town, and the lamplighter, relying upon her 
 reputation for punctuality, of which she had 
 at this crisis proven herself utterly unworthy, 
 had retired, early. When, at the close of the 
 performance, we left the theatre, stepping into 
 the street was like stepping into solid ink. 
 None of us knew even in what direction to turn 
 to reach the hotel. We were all singularly de- 
 ficient in the sense of locality, and there was 
 not a creature on the street of whom we might 
 inquire our way. So we plunged desperately 
 into the darkness, and walked on and on, each 
 of us in turn, as we grew tired, losing patience 
 with the others for not knowing the way. Sud- 
 denly the crimination and recrimination that 
 
 65 
 
ROSE EYTINGE 
 
 had been becoming pretty lively between Wal- 
 lack and Davenport was abruptly interrupted, 
 and we found ourselves quietly falling through 
 space, evidently bent on visiting the other side 
 of the globe. After a descent of what seemed 
 several miles, but what we afterward learned 
 was about six feet, we found ourselves reposing 
 on a bed of soft, shifting sand. 
 
 What had happened was this : we had passed 
 a building in course of construction. Over an 
 excavation under the sidewalk some planks had 
 been laid. One or more of these planks be- 
 came misplaced, had turned — and there we 
 were. When we had somewhat recovered from 
 our astonishment, had righted ourselves, and 
 found ourselves unhurt, the burning question 
 that presented itself was: "How are we to 
 get out ?" 
 
 My two fellow-prisoners began the task of ef- 
 fecting our liberation with great vigour, making 
 light of the matter, and promising that in a few 
 moments we would all be once more on the 
 street, making our way home. But this view 
 of the situation did not continue, and it really 
 began to look as if this subterranean shelter 
 
 66 
 
AN ANNOYING TUMBLE 
 
 was to be our permanent home. Both Wallack 
 and Davenport waxed eloquent in suggesting 
 what the other ought to do. But effort after 
 effort failed. They each in turn lost patience. 
 From impatience they passed to annoyance, 
 from annoyance to anger, from anger to sar- 
 casm, from sarcasm to contempt for the nature 
 that could condescend to trivialities under such 
 circumstances, — all these varying moods of 
 temper following in due course each failure at 
 effecting our escape. 
 
 For me, the surprise of the tumble over, I 
 settled down in the sand and took refuge in 
 the perpetration of my old sin of laughter, taking 
 care to keep all audible indulgence of that 
 crime in the background, for there were mo- 
 ments when a good, round peal of laughter 
 would have been a rather dangerous experi- 
 ment. At last Davenport, the lithest of the 
 two, succeeded in reaching the upper world. 
 He promptly pulled Wallack and myself after 
 him, and every feeling was merged into thank- 
 fulness. There was an interchange of congrat- 
 ulations at our escape. 
 
 Still we found ourselves "distressed and com- 
 67 
 
ROSE EYTINGE 
 
 passless" in the dark, silent, solitary street, as 
 far from any knowledge of the hotel as ever. 
 As we were stumbling aimlessly along in the 
 darkness we heard the sound of a horse's feet. 
 We made for that sound. We came up with 
 the sound, but not with the horse. No matter, 
 we were content. We were at least going some- 
 where. After some little time the horse stopped. 
 We soon came up with our equine guide and 
 found ourselves in front of the hotel. 
 I believe we went in with the milk. 
 
CHAPTER XI 
 
 WASHINGTON IN WAR-TIME — "CONTRABANDS" DEFINED 
 — UNCLE SAM'S SOLDIERS — PATRIOTIC SONGS — TOM 
 PLACIDE — WALLACK AND DAVENPORT — DISTINGUISHED 
 GUESTS 
 
 The Davenport-Wallack combination often 
 played engagements in Philadelphia and Balti- 
 more, and in all the cities and towns as far 
 South as Washington and as far East as Maine. 
 But we never went West. The West was not 
 then the near neighbour to us that it is now. 
 The city which occupies a foremost place in 
 my memories of that time is Washington. 
 
 I think our first visit there was made in the 
 early days of the war, and the city was in a 
 constant state of ferment and excitement. Mar- 
 tial music was everywhere to be heard; aides- 
 de-camp and bearers of despatches were gallop- 
 ing hither and thither; and "contrabands " in 
 their picturesque rags were encamped in little, 
 squalid, but cheerful and laughing groups wher- 
 ever they could find an eligible spot, their fav- 
 ourite resting-place being Pennsylvania Avenue. 
 
 69 
 
ROSE EYTINGE 
 
 Just here I am reminded of a definition which 
 a dusky maiden in Washington, one "to the 
 manor born," gave me of that new-born term 
 "contraband." During a wordy quarrel with 
 a fellow-servant I heard her call her antagonist 
 "nothin' but a oP contraband any way!" I 
 asked her why she did so, and what was a con- 
 traband, and she replied: "Why, Lor', missie, 
 don' yo' know what a contraband is? It 's 
 jis' one o' dem low-down wufless Southern 
 niggers dat come up to Washin'ton and set 
 down on de guv'ment, and 'pend on de guv'- 
 ment." 
 
 There were soldiers everywhere, all over the 
 town; Pennsylvania Avenue was alive with 
 them at all hours of the day and night, and 
 Pennsylvania Avenue was not then the fine, 
 well paved and lighted promenade that it is 
 now. Some of these soldiers made a fine show- 
 ing with their blue uniforms and glittering side- 
 arms and bayonets. New regiments passed 
 to the front with high hearts and springing 
 steps, and with bright, fresh flags flying. Others, 
 again, were seen returning, their uniforms tat- 
 tered and travel-stained, and their flags ragged 
 
 7 o 
 
WASHINGTON IN WAR-TIME 
 
 and faded. But all alike moved with stirring, 
 martial music; if not with bands, at least with 
 song. 
 
 Perhaps one of the finest sights and sounds was 
 afforded by a Western regiment, full a thousand 
 strong; it had "got the route," and was on its 
 way to the front. Buttoned up close in their 
 light-blue overcoats, guns reversed to keep them 
 dry, their slouched hats drawn well down over 
 their brows, the men marched down Pennsyl- 
 vania Avenue in a driving rain, every one sing- 
 ing "John Brown's Body." 
 
 It was as inspiring as the scene one evening in 
 mid -Atlantic, on board a North- German Lloyd 
 steamer. We had been buffeted about for ten 
 days, harassed by head winds and gales, and 
 were just enjoying the first hours of respite. 
 Moving along at a spanking rate, before a fair 
 wind, with a full moon to light us, everybody 
 came crawling up on deck, breathing his or her 
 thankfulness for deliverance from danger or 
 death, and every heart was full of hope. A lit- 
 tle group of first-cabin passengers who were sit- 
 ting aft began singing; soon they dropped into 
 "Die Wacht am Rhein." Voice after voice 
 
 7 1 
 
ROSE EYTINGE 
 
 took up the strain. The steerage folk, in twos 
 and threes, sauntered toward the rail that di- 
 vided them from their better-off fellow-passen- 
 gers, and in their turn took up the song. In 
 a few minutes a great chorus came from for- 
 ward, the officers on deck joined in, and in a 
 little while every man, woman, and child on 
 board the great ship was singing the patriotic 
 song. 
 
 But in the words of our ex-Confederate broth- 
 ers, "On to Washington!" 
 
 At the time we had arranged to play in Wash- 
 ington our advance agent, Mr. Pennoyer, found 
 the hotels so crowded that it was impossible 
 to obtain proper accommodation for us at any 
 one of them. He therefore secured for us quar- 
 ters in a private house on Seventh Street, and 
 there we were much more comfortable than we 
 should have been in any hotel. 
 
 Among the members of our company was 
 "Tom" Placide. In addition to our individual 
 rooms, Wallack, Davenport, and I had in com- 
 mon a large, straggling, many-sided, many- 
 windowed room which we all three used as 
 
 7 2 
 
TOM PLACIDE 
 
 library, writing-room, reception, dining, break- 
 fast, and supper room, and as all the windows 
 looked on Pennsylvania Avenue it served also 
 as an observation-room. 
 
 Here we were always glad if Mr. Placide would 
 join us, but he could seldom be persuaded to 
 do so. The poor man was a great sufferer, and 
 too proud and reticent to complain. Naturally 
 this self-repression reacted upon himself, and 
 his silent, dark moods were set down to bad 
 temper. Doubtless our light-hearted moods 
 and our habit of seeing the humorous side of 
 life found little sympathy with him, and jarred 
 upon his nerves. I think he liked me, for he 
 showed his good will in many kindly ways, 
 but I fear that my ever-ready laughter often 
 annoyed him. He would sometimes look at 
 me with a dark frown and growl out, "Ah, 
 laugh away! You '11 get the laugh taken out 
 of you some day." 
 
 But that day was not then, and many a merry 
 laugh and many a pleasant hour I had in that 
 old room, in which it was many times my priv- 
 ilege to listen to men whose names are bright 
 in the pages of our nation's history. 
 
 73 
 
ROSE EYTINGE 
 
 Both Wallack and Davenport, each in his own 
 way, were men of mark, and more than usually 
 intelligent and interesting. Wallack was the 
 quieter and more thoughtful of the two; some- 
 what of a dreamer and given to sentiment and 
 poetic fancies. Davenport was a totally differ- 
 ent type of man; he was gay and light-hearted 
 as a boy, very witty and quick at repartee, 
 and he had a memory which was stocked with 
 amusing anecdotes. 
 
 To those men who were making our history at 
 that time in Washington, whose lives were so 
 full of the hurry, the worry, and the fury of the 
 fight, the talk of these two bright men offered 
 such a sense of respite and refreshment that 
 often, when the performance was over, we 
 were joined at supper in our many-purposed 
 room by some of these more-or-less " grave and 
 reverend signiors." And in the wake of these 
 lawmakers and statesmen came their chron- 
 iclers, among them some of the foremost news- 
 paper men of that day, such as Thurlow Weed, 
 Joseph Medill, " Brick" Pomeroy, Henry J. 
 Raymond, Manton Marble, William Hurlburt, 
 William Stuart, "Gath" Townsend, Don Piatt, 
 
 74 
 
DISTINGUISHED GUESTS 
 
 and Hugh Hastings. At these gatherings I was 
 only "a looker-on in Vienna." 
 
 The same kind fate which sent us into private 
 quarters instead of to the cold conventionalities 
 of hotel life guided us in our business. We 
 had come to Washington expecting to play one 
 week at the National Theatre; but some con- 
 fusion of dates or other business complication 
 upset this arrangement, and to the great chagrin 
 and annoyance of both Wallack and Daven- 
 port we were obliged to put up with a wretched, 
 insignificant, little whitewashed house on the 
 wrong side of Pennsylvania Avenue, which was 
 called the Washington Theatre. But the poor 
 little house proved to be a mascot for us. We 
 played there, not one but many weeks, and to 
 very fine business. In short, we became the 
 rage. Our audiences were largely made up of 
 the best people in Washington. It was no 
 unusual thing to see in our audience a heavy 
 sprinkling of men and women in full dress, with 
 here and there some foreign ambassador in full 
 regalia, and of "the boys in blue" we always 
 had a good contingent. 
 
 75 
 
CHAPTER XII 
 
 ABRAHAM LINCOLN — WILLIAM HENRY SEWARD — PLA- 
 CIDE'S HUMOUR — "STILL WATERS RUN DEEP" — AS- 
 SASSINATION OF THE PRESIDENT — A NIGHT OF TERROR 
 
 It was a very pleasant occasion on which for 
 the first time I met Abraham Lincoln. It is 
 not to be supposed, that, in such times as those 
 of which I write, the President, borne down 
 as he was by public cares, had either time or 
 inclination for amusement ; but he dearly loved 
 the theatre and was present at several of our 
 performances. It was after one of these visits 
 that he notified Wallack and Davenport that 
 he would be pleased to see them. 
 
 The day following the receipt of this invitation 
 they went to the White House, and, like the 
 good fellows they were, asked me to accom- 
 pany them. When, in my turn, I was pre- 
 sented to the President, he took my hand, and, 
 holding it while he looked down upon me from 
 his great height, said: "So this is the little 
 lady that all us folks in Washington like so 
 
 7 6 
 
WILLIAM HENRY SEWARD 
 
 much?" Then, with a portentous shake of 
 his head, but with a twinkle in his eye, he 
 continued, " Don't you ever come 'round here, 
 asking me to do some of those impossible things 
 you women always ask for, for I would have 
 to do it, and then I'd get into trouble." 
 
 I met Mr. Seward under different circum- 
 stances, — at a social function. I enjoyed the 
 privilege of personal introduction to him, and 
 I felt greatly distinguished. When Mr. Seward, 
 with his stately, old-school manner, bowed low 
 over my hand and expressed himself as being 
 gratified at having this opportunity of greeting 
 me, it seemed as if he were conferring upon 
 me a patent of nobility. 
 
 It is impossible to think of two more contrast- 
 ing personalities than those of Lincoln and Sew- 
 ard: the one so simple, warm-hearted, and 
 free-spoken; the other so stately, cold, and dig- 
 nified. When Mr. Seward spoke a few com- 
 plimentary commonplaces to any one, the 
 person addressed felt as if he or she were par- 
 ticipating in history. 
 
 But to return to the theatre. One night we 
 
 77 
 
ROSE EYTINGE 
 
 were playing Dion Boucicault's " London As- 
 surance," Wallack acting Dazzle, Davenport 
 Sir Harcourt Courtley, and I Lady Gay Spanker. 
 In the scene between Sir Harcourt and Lady 
 Gay, when she asks him if her agitation renders 
 her unfit to re-enter the ballroom, Davenport, 
 instead of replying according to the text, said: 
 "Your beauty is only heightened by a Rose- 
 Eytinge " — pronouncing it " Rosytinge. " The 
 house took the pun instantly, and I made my 
 exit amid a storm of applause and laughter. 
 
 Again, one night, during a performance of Bul- 
 wer's comedy "Money," with Wallack as Al- 
 fred Evelyn, Davenport as Smooth, Placide as 
 Graves, and I as Clara Douglas, in the scene 
 where the will, which carries disappointment 
 and chagrin to so many hearts, is read, we 
 were seated in a semicircle across the stage, 
 and I found myself directly opposite Placide. 
 Through the whole scene he made at intervals 
 a sort of procession of the most excruciatingly 
 funny, lugubrious faces. My attention became 
 riveted on Placide. I found him irresistibly 
 funny, and the audience seemed to be entirely 
 
 78 
 
PLACIDE'S HUMOUR 
 
 of my mind, for the scene went with hearty and 
 continuous laughter. But several times I no- 
 ticed, and I was greatly puzzled by it, that 
 when my glance wandered for a moment from 
 Placide and rested upon one or other of the per- 
 sons engaged in the scene, I was met with frowns 
 and sly negative nods, and divers other evidences 
 of disapproval. When the curtain fell I was 
 promptly enlightened as to the cause of their 
 conduct. 
 
 It seems that my enjoyment of Placide' s grim- 
 aces had been so great that it took the highest 
 form of compliment, and that during the whole 
 scene I had been busy following, and uncon- 
 sciously imitating, every one of them. I had 
 thus been unwittingly sharing the scene with 
 Placide and furnishing the cause for the laughter 
 of the house. 
 
 A favourite bill with us was Tom Taylor's com- 
 edy, " Still Waters Run Deep," Wallack giving 
 a delightful performance of John Mildmay, and 
 Davenport playing Hawksley with equal bril- 
 liancy. When the piece was first played by 
 us I was cast for Mrs. Mildmay, because she 
 
 79 
 
ROSE EYTINGE 
 
 was young and amiable, but as soon as I learned 
 how much better an acting part was Mrs. Stern- 
 hold, I insisted upon playing that character 
 instead. It was useless for Wallack and Daven- 
 port to point out to me, as they did repeatedly 
 and strenuously, that she was, to say the least, 
 middle-aged, and that in order to play the part 
 I would be obliged to make up middle-aged, 
 thus destroying my appearance of youthfulness, 
 and artistically doing myself a present and 
 future injury. Play her I would, and play her 
 I did. 
 
 One day Mr. Wallack felt called upon to take 
 me seriously to task for something I had said 
 which would have been much better left unsaid. 
 I felt the full force of his rebuke, because I knew 
 that my position was indefensible. So I put 
 on a bold front and made a sweeping denial. 
 We were seated opposite each other at the 
 breakfast-table, and when I found myself ac- 
 cused I planted my elbows on the table, and, 
 putting my face between my hands, I looked 
 him squarely in the eyes and said, deliberately 
 and incisively, "I have no recollection of hav- 
 ing ever said anything of the kind." Wallack 
 
 80 
 
AN UNEXPECTED HIT 
 
 looked at me and made no reply. He was 
 silenced, — I dare not say by what. 
 
 That night the bill was "Still Waters Run 
 Deep." In the second act Wallack and my- 
 self, in our respective parts, were seated oppo- 
 site each other in precisely the same positions 
 as those which we occupied that morning, and 
 Wallack, in his character of Mildtnay, repeated 
 to me the slighting remarks which he was sup- 
 posed to have overheard me make to his wife 
 with reference to himself. 
 
 In the text I merely offered a general denial; 
 but this night I assumed the same expression 
 and used the identical words I had used in real 
 life in the morning, exclaiming, "I have no 
 recollection of having ever said anything of the 
 sort"! Either my effrontery, or Wallack's 
 realistic amazement, caught the audience. The 
 point made a hit, and ever afterward the 
 speech, with the accompanying "business" of 
 Wallack and myself, became an integral por- 
 tion of that scene. 
 
 81 
 
ROSE EYTINGE 
 
 I now approach one of the most awful 
 and awe-inspiring periods of my life, — the 
 night on which President Lincoln was assas- 
 sinated. 
 
 At the time I was taking a brief vacation, 
 and was visiting the family of an army officer 
 who was in charge of a military hospital a few 
 miles out of town. On that dread occasion my 
 hostess and I had been in town for the day 
 and evening and it had been arranged that an 
 orderly, with the carriage, should call for us 
 next morning and drive us out home. 
 
 Suddenly some of the men of the household 
 where we were visiting dashed into the house, 
 bringing intelligence of the crime. 
 
 The first reports were that the President and 
 every member of the Cabinet were murdered. 
 The community was wild with horror. Every- 
 body, as if moved by one impulse, rushed into 
 the streets, the church bells were tolled, and all 
 social and conventional barriers were levelled 
 in the general horror. Utter strangers talked 
 together in hurried accents, exchanging the 
 various rumours with which the air was filled. 
 
 82 
 
LINCOLN'S ASSASSINATION 
 
 One report had it that Washington was in the 
 hands of the rebels. Strangers accosted each 
 other and asked for the last news; and when 
 one or the other confirmed the dreadful truth 
 of the President's murder they cried like chil- 
 dren. 
 
 Soon it became bruited about that the crime 
 had been committed by an actor, and woe to 
 the actor who had been found on the streets 
 that night ! My friends and I, in common with 
 everybody else, rushed into the street, but we 
 were soon filled with fear lest I should be rec- 
 ognised. 
 
 Toward midnight, to our added alarm and 
 horror, an army ambulance lumbered up the 
 street and stopped at the door of the house 
 where we were. It developed that, as had been 
 arranged, the carriage had been sent for us, but 
 it had been so often stopped and searched, and 
 the orderly who was driving had been put 
 through so many and such rigid examinations, 
 that he had decided to turn back and get the 
 ambulance instead, hoping that the sight of 
 this familiar and authorised vehicle would at- 
 tract less attention. 
 
 83 
 
ROSE EYTINGE 
 
 By this time the city was declared under mar- 
 tial law, every point of egress was closely guarded, 
 and the members of the theatrical guild were 
 looked upon with universal disfavour. The air 
 seemed rife with murder and the suspicion of 
 murder. 
 
 It was a time to burn itself into one's memory. 
 I pray that I may never be called upon to go 
 through its like again. 
 
 mmmfflmmmmmmMBam 
 
CHAPTER XIII 
 
 NEW YORK — WALLACK'S THEATRE — NANCY SYKES — 
 LEADING WOMAN WITH LESTER WALLACK — PERFECT 
 THEATRICAL MANAGEMENT — MARY GANNON — CHARLES 
 DICKENS — LOVE FOR THE STAGE 
 
 The next step in my progress as an actress was 
 coming to New York with Davenport and Wal- 
 lack, who had made an engagement with Lester 
 Wallack to play a spring and summer season 
 at Wallack's — afterward the Star — Theatre. 
 Here we played all our regular repertory and 
 renewed all our old successes. 
 
 It was during this season that I made my step 
 into melodrama. It had been the rule, when- 
 ever we played " Oliver Twist, " to send for Mrs. 
 Wallack to join us for the part of Nancy Sykes, 
 and when it was settled that that piece should 
 be given, this was the programme settled upon 
 by the powers. 
 
 But I seriously disarranged matters by an- 
 nouncing my intention to play Nancy. When 
 I voiced my wish, both Wallack and Davenport 
 
 85 
 
ROSE EYTINGE 
 
 were convulsed with laughter. The more I 
 urged, the more they laughed; and the more 
 they laughed, the more my wish crystallised into 
 determination. 
 
 When my position in the matter forced them 
 to view the question seriously, they each in 
 turn, and each in his own way, placed before 
 me the absurdity of my attempting to play such 
 a part, and they pointed out to me how, in 
 every particular — physically, mentally, and 
 temperamentally — I was wholly unequipped 
 for it. The more they argued, the more posi- 
 tive I became. At last an appeal was made to 
 Lester Wallack. He simply pooh-poohed my 
 wish and also laughed me out of court. But 
 1 ' a wilful woman ' ' 
 
 They gave way, Lester Wallack suggesting, by 
 way of compromise, that some light one-act 
 piece should be put on to end the performance, 
 in which I could look myself, in order that the 
 audience should not take away with them the 
 ghastly picture of Nancy in her death throes. 
 
 When we were rehearsing, both Wallack and 
 Davenport never wearied of impressing upon 
 me the necessity for me to make a fierce, realistic 
 
 86 
 
LESTER WALLA CK 
 
A REALISTIC PERFORMANCE 
 
 struggle to break away from Bill Sykes's re- 
 straining arms, when I should try to attack 
 Fagin. I felt very desirous to play the part 
 well, and thus redeem my promise, and by so 
 doing justify the faith which my managers had 
 been induced, at last, to place in me when they 
 yielded their judgment at my urging. 
 
 The night of the performance I was wrought 
 up to the highest pitch of nervous excitement; 
 for then I realised for the first time the import- 
 ance of the task I had laid out for myself. 
 
 The scene of the fight, which ended the second 
 act, began, and I had seized the stick with 
 which Fagin had been about to beat Oliver. 
 Davenport, flinging his arms around me in a 
 close grasp, kept whispering in my ear: "Try 
 to break away from me! Try! Try!" I 
 tried, and, lo! I succeeded. With a vigorous 
 wrench I broke from his arms, flew across the 
 stage, and with the stick struck poor Mr. Wal- 
 lack a sounding thwack on the side of his head ; 
 he went down like a shot, and then he rolled 
 and rolled — almost into the footlights. 
 
 Down came the curtain, leaving Nancy mis- 
 tress of the situation, and Fagin, quite outside 
 
ROSE EYTINGE 
 
 of it, obliged to pick himself up and walk off at 
 first entrance. Thereafter, whatever may have 
 been the opinion of the managers as to my per- 
 formance of the part, they never again expressed 
 any doubt of my ability to carry that struggle. 
 The piece ran many weeks and was the success 
 of the season. 
 
 This summer season of the Wallack-Davenport 
 combination at Wallack's Theatre bore excel- 
 lent fruit for me. It resulted in my receiving 
 from Lester Wallack the offer of the position 
 of leading woman at his theatre for the following 
 regular season. I need scarcely say how grat- 
 ified I was upon receiving such an offer, and 
 how eagerly I accepted it, though if the Wallack- 
 Davenport combination had not been upon the 
 eve of dissolution I do not think that even so 
 brilliant an opportunity of advancement would 
 have tempted me to leave my two dear friends. 
 But the state of J. W. Wallack's health forced 
 him into retirement, and in little more than a 
 year afterward he died. 
 
 What a school of acting was Wallack's Theatre ! 
 
PERFECT MANAGEMENT 
 
 With the business portion — the front of the 
 house — under the able control of Theodore 
 Moss, and the stage-management in the hands 
 of Lester Wallack, courtesy and kindness ruled 
 on both sides of the curtain. Everybody em- 
 ployed in the theatre, whether a principal or 
 a call-boy, was treated with consideration. 
 
 Every Saturday, at noon, the company would 
 assemble in the greenroom, and thither would 
 come Theodore Moss, with a pleasant greeting 
 on his lips and a tin box under his arm. Then 
 the salaries were paid, and, if a member of the 
 company were ill, his salary was sent to him 
 every week, together with pleasant words of 
 hope and good wishes. 
 
 The rehearsals were conducted in the same 
 spirit. True, Lester would occasionally "let 
 out" if some one or other were unusually stupid, 
 but the outburst was pretty sure to be followed 
 by some little gracious act or word that effect- 
 ually removed the sting. 
 
 But there was one unfailing refuge from a re- 
 proof at the hands of "the governor," and that 
 was to tell him a funny story. He had an ex- 
 quisite wit and a keen sense of humour. Once 
 
ROSE EYTINGE 
 
 catch his eye, or his ear, for either one or the 
 other, and, no matter how great your fault or 
 how late you might be for rehearsal, you were 
 safe. 
 
 I was fortunate enough, while at Wallack's 
 Theatre, to have an opportunity to play a great 
 variety of parts, embracing at times three lines 
 of business. This opportunity came to me 
 through two important vacancies which oc- 
 curred in the company. 
 
 Dear little Mary Gannon, one of the sweetest 
 little women that ever graced the world, and 
 one of the best actresses that ever graced the 
 stage, died, and at Mr. Wallack's request I 
 played several of her parts, notably Rosa Leigh 
 in "Rosedale." When Fanny Morant, who 
 played the ultra-fashionable dames, and the 
 high and mighty ones generally, left the com- 
 pany in mid-season, I played several of her 
 parts. 
 
 While I was associated with Wallack's Theatre, 
 my desire to hear Charles Dickens read was so 
 great that when, in the spring, I was making 
 
 90 
 
CHARLES DICKENS 
 
 my engagements with Lester Wallack for the 
 following season, I begged him to insert a 
 clause in the contract by which I would be left 
 out of the bills for one of Dickens's series, which 
 were made up of four evenings. 
 
 When the distinguished novelist arrived, Wal- 
 lack, true to his word, and with the gracious- 
 ness which always marked his conduct, gave 
 me the opportunity to attend his first course, 
 which was given at Steinway Hall. The night 
 of the first reading I was in a fever of delighted 
 anticipation. I was going, not so much to see 
 and hear the great author, Charles Dickens, 
 but to meet old friends, the men and women 
 whom I knew and loved. They might, in- 
 deed, be the creations of the wondrous imagina- 
 tion of their author, but to me they were real, 
 true, breathing men and women. 
 
 Dickens came upon the platform, and my first 
 feelings were those of disappointment. Dickens 
 was a dandy — decidedly a dandy — and a 
 rather mean-looking dandy at that. Certainly 
 he stood upon as mean-looking a pair of legs 
 as I ever saw. He was dressed in a pair of 
 light-coloured trousers; a rather flashy waist- 
 
 91 
 
ROSE EYTINGE 
 
 coat, across which stretched a very self-assertive 
 watch-chain, balanced in the middle with a fat 
 locket; and a brown surtout with collar and 
 cuffs of velvet and very much drawn in at the 
 waist. 
 
 But my deepest disappointment came when he 
 began to read. His pathos — to my mind, — 
 was so thin, so flippant, and strained, that my 
 impulse was to say to him: "Do not read that 
 chapter; you do not know your characters; 
 you cannot do justice to their author." Of 
 course my position was untenable and absurdly 
 impertinent, and my rebuke was swift and 
 scathing. His comedy was as delightful as his 
 pathos was unsatisfying, and he suited his man- 
 ner so accurately to his characters that, as he 
 read, the little overdressed man with the shad- 
 owy legs and pink face disappeared, the cold 
 white platform faded away, and I was at the 
 Holly-tree Inn, or wherever the magic of his 
 voice pleased to take me. It was my good 
 fortune a year or two afterward to meet Charles 
 Dickens in his own country, and I bear in my 
 memory the most agreeable recollections of him ; 
 but I must confess that I found a much more 
 
 92 
 
VISIT TO THE ORIENT 
 
 solid enjoyment in making acquaintance with 
 and learning to know Dickens's men and women 
 through the medium of his written language, 
 than I did in hearing his spoken words. 
 
 I left Wallaces Theatre to go abroad. Family 
 reasons called me to the Orient, and in "that 
 land of sand and ruin and song" I passed 
 several years. 
 
 I did not take leave of the stage on my de- 
 parture from it at that time. I never have done 
 so, nor will I ever willingly do so. I have al- 
 ways given the stage my loyalty and my love, 
 and I will give up my interest in the theatre 
 and my loving work in the drama only when 
 I am called to another life. 
 
 93 
 
CHAPTER XIV 
 
 MY FIRST SEA VOYAGE — CAPTAIN JUDKINS AND THE 
 "SCOTIA" — SEA-SICKNESS — GOODWOOD RACES — THE 
 PRINCE OF WALES AGAIN — IN THE QUEEN'S BOX AT 
 THE OPERA — SMUGGLING — ROCHESTER, N. Y. — A 
 LEADING WOMAN IN A SAD PREDICAMENT 
 
 It was in the summer following the close of my 
 first season as leading woman at Wallack's 
 Theatre that I first went abroad, and then I 
 took the voyage across the Atlantic by way of 
 a prescription. 
 
 I was pretty well worn out in both mind and 
 body. So far as I can remember, there had not 
 been any long runs during the season, and I 
 had seldom, if ever, been out of the bill; so, 
 what with study, rehearsals, costumers, and 
 dressmakers, I had had very little rest. But, 
 as so often happens with persons whose work 
 is congenial, I was not conscious of fatigue until 
 the necessity for the work ended. Then I went 
 to pieces. 
 
 An ocean trip was strongly recommended to 
 give me complete rest. It must, of necessity, 
 
 94 
 
AN OCEAN TRIP 
 
 be a hurried one, for there was an interval of 
 only a few weeks between the closing of one 
 season and the opening of the next. 
 
 Captain Judkins, the oldest captain and by 
 courtesy the " commodore " of the Cunard fleet 
 of steamers, suggested that I make a round 
 trip on his famous old paddle-wheel ship, the 
 " Scotia." She would remain a week in port, 
 and this would give me an opportunity to run 
 up to London for a few days, and perhaps to 
 Paris. 
 
 Augustin Daly, who was then my fast friend, 
 attended to all details, and in just twelve hours 
 from the time I had settled to go I was on 
 board. Long before we passed the Narrows 
 I was the seasickest, sorriest, homesickest little 
 woman that ever "went down to the sea" in a 
 ship. 
 
 And the seasickest I continued to be until the 
 " Scotia" entered the Mersey; though there 
 were brief intervals of comparative relief, and 
 in those intervals I managed to obtain glimpses 
 of pleasant faces. Notably among those living 
 in my memory is Sir Edward Cunard, at that 
 time the principal owner of the Cunard Line. 
 
 95 
 
ROSE EYTINGE 
 
 I am afraid, however, that Sir Edward " prac- 
 tised'' upon me; he was so kindly solicitous 
 to relieve me that at various times he tried upon 
 me every obtainable known and unknown rem- 
 edy for seasickness, and I think he managed 
 to get them all. I was far too limp and languid 
 to refuse, so I meekly took everything he brought 
 me. And at times the result was simply awful, 
 — no wonder I remember him. 
 
 I received but scant sympathy from Captain 
 Judkins. He would come and look in at the 
 window of his cabin, which he had kindly 
 placed at my disposal, and shake his head dis- 
 approvingly at me; or he would suggest a little 
 luncheon when the mere mention of food was 
 worse than death to me. But at last the dread- 
 ful voyage ended, and as soon as possible after 
 the ship docked at Liverpool I set out for Lon- 
 don, and, being there, I made my way, of 
 course, to the Langham Hotel, which was then 
 the haven of all good Americans who went to 
 London. There I received the warmest kind 
 of welcome from Colonel Sanderson. 
 
 To my great good fortune, the day following 
 my arrival there were the Goodwood races, to 
 
 9 6 
 
THE PRINCE OF WALES 
 
 which Colonel Sanderson invited me. There I 
 had the additional good fortune again to meet 
 the Prince of Wales. When Colonel Sanderson 
 went to pay his respects to the Prince, he told 
 him of my being present, and his Royal High- 
 ness called upon me. Once again we ate and 
 drank together from the luncheon which Col- 
 onel Sanderson had brought. The Prince ex- 
 pressed his polite regrets that he was leaving 
 town the next day, but, looking at the Colonel, 
 laughingly said that he left me in good hands, 
 and that he hoped for the pleasure of seeing 
 me on his return. In the meantime, if there 
 was anything he could do, I had but to com- 
 mand him. 
 
 Colonel Sanderson explained to the Prince how 
 brief my stay was to be, whereupon he repeated 
 his regrets. He asked if I would like to attend 
 the opera, and on my replying that I would, 
 he said he would attend to the matter. And 
 thus the royal visit ended. 
 
 But, oh, dear ! what a lioness I was ! The drag 
 on top of which this reception took place was 
 mobbed by a gaping, wondering crowd that, 
 greatly to my relief, trailed off at the heels of 
 
 97 
 
ROSE EYTINGE 
 
 the Prince. But I was called upon to pass 
 through a worse ordeal than the gaze of the 
 mob, which had been kept at a respectful dis- 
 tance by the "bobbies." 
 
 Every glass on the racecourse was levelled at 
 me, and a sort of promenade of swells filed past 
 our drag in order to examine at close range 
 this person whom, nobody knew, and to whom 
 the Prince of Wales had shown such unusual 
 attention. For me, I was not nearly so much 
 impressed by the event as I suppose I ought to 
 have been. I have never felt any great respect 
 for rank as mere rank, and a prince, after all, 
 is but a man who has more opportunities for 
 doing good work in the world than most men. 
 
 I ought to say here that the Prince of Wales 
 sent me a box for the opera at Covent Garden 
 Theatre, — the Queen's, no less! — and the only 
 special impression that I remember it to have 
 made upon me was that it was rather stuffy. 
 
 My week ashore was a long time passing, 
 though every hour of every day was filled, and 
 every evening too. But I was homesick, — 
 deadly, drearily homesick; and the thought of 
 
SMUGGLING 
 
 that vast, cold, cruel Atlantic rolling between 
 me and my home and everything and every- 
 body I loved haunted me day and night. 
 
 At last Friday arrived, and I journeyed down 
 to Liverpool, with my purse empty, but with 
 my trunks filled with beautiful silks and satins 
 and laces and furbelows which I dishonestly 
 intended to smuggle. 
 
 The trip home — though bad enough — was 
 not quite so bad as the voyage out; but the 
 ship's nose was pointed westward, and the con- 
 sciousness that every roll and plunge which she 
 made brought me nearer to Manhattan Island 
 gave me courage. Early in the voyage I had 
 confided to Captain Judkins my nefarious in- 
 tentions toward Uncle Sam, and he, after 
 heaping reproaches upon me for my want of 
 patriotism, had threatened to expose me to the 
 customs officers as soon as they came aboard. 
 
 He would make this threat with so serious a 
 face that I could not decide whether he meant 
 it or not. When the officers came on board, 
 and the business of " declaring" had begun, 
 I became thoroughly frightened, and fled to 
 the captain for protection. He was more in- 
 LOF 99 
 
ROSE EYTINGE 
 
 exorable than ever, and he left me coiled up in 
 a corner of the sofa in his cabin, frightened, and 
 uncertain whether to "declare'' everything or 
 to wait and trust to luck. 
 
 My terror reached its climax when the cap- 
 tain's "boy" appeared with "the captain's compli- 
 ments, and would I please send him my keys?" 
 Still nothing happened. After what seemed to 
 me an interminable time, in walked the old 
 sea-dog, bringing with him the much-dreaded 
 custom-house officer. The latter was courtesy 
 itself, and he told me that as Captain Judkins 
 had explained to him that I had important 
 business which demanded my immediate at- 
 tention he would see to it that I should not be 
 detained; that I could leave the moment the 
 ship got in, and my trunks should be forwarded 
 to my address immediately they were brought 
 on deck. 
 
 It was about this time, usually between sea- 
 sons, that I made my first essays as a star. I 
 received an offer to go to Rochester for a week, 
 and I accepted. The morning after my arrival 
 in that city I went to the theatre. It was 
 
AT THE ROCHESTER THEATRE 
 
 empty, dirty, and cold, and presented an ap- 
 pearance of utter desolation. I waited about 
 for some time, being exhorted thereto by a for- 
 lorn old man whom I found crouched in a sort 
 of cage at the stage door, which looked, if possi- 
 ble, more forlorn than he did. He besought 
 me to "wait a while, the b'ys and gyurls will 
 be around here in a shake." 
 
 After a brief time my old friend's words were 
 verified. A few men and women came strag- 
 gling aimlessly in, and certainly a more dis- 
 contented, frowsy, unkempt set of mortals I 
 hope never to see. Still we waited, for neither 
 the manager, stage-manager, nor leading man 
 had put in an appearance. The day was 
 dreary, I was weary, and still they came not. 
 So I returned to my hotel in a very unsettled 
 frame of mind. 
 
 After an hour or two the manager called, and 
 apologies, regrets, and profuse assurances that 
 everything would be all right at night were 
 offered, with the further assurance that he — 
 the manager — was then going to the theatre 
 personally to conduct the rehearsal, which I 
 need not be troubled to attend. In the even- 
 
 IOI 
 
ROSE EYTINGE 
 
 ing, feeling no great confidence in those man- 
 agerial promises, I went to the theatre early. 
 The stage door was reached through a narrow 
 passage leading from the street. In this pas- 
 sage-way, which was quite dark, I fell over 
 something rather bulky and soft which ob- 
 structed the way. I summoned to my assist- 
 ance, from his post in the cage, my forlorn 
 old friend of the morning, and really he seemed 
 to be the only person connected with the es- 
 tablishment who ever was at his post. From 
 him I learned that the impediment which had 
 barred my way to the temple of art was the 
 leading man. 
 
 Feeling thoroughly discouraged by this dis- 
 covery I returned to my hotel, packed my be- 
 longings, and left town by the first train, trusting 
 to some later occasion for a more favourable 
 opportunity to make my first bow to a Roches- 
 ter audience. 
 
CHAPTER XV 
 
 TORONTO — "THE HEART OF MIDLOTHIAN" — A MINISTER- 
 ING ANGEL JEANIE DEANS A CONVERTED PRES- 
 BYTERIAN "SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER" GEORGE 
 
 HOLLAND AS TONY LUMPKIN 
 
 My next essay at starring was not much more 
 pleasant or profitable than was my Rochester 
 experience, but as it led to my forming a friend- 
 ship with a singularly interesting and delight- 
 ful woman I always think of it with gratitude. 
 At the time of which I write there was a small 
 theatre in Broadway, New York, on the site of 
 that quaint, rugged, grey-stone building known 
 as "Ye Olde London Streete.' , It was then 
 under the management of two capable old 
 actors, Mark Smith and Lewis Baker, the 
 fathers of the two actors of the same names, 
 respectively, of to-day. These gentlemen had 
 arranged for a production of Scott's "The 
 Heart of Midlothian," and they engaged me 
 to play Jeanie Deans. 
 
 Just previous to the opening I had an offer to 
 103 
 
ROSE EYTINGE 
 
 go to Toronto to star for a week. I went, 
 taking with me Scott's novel and my part of 
 Jeanie. 
 
 I found the theatre at Toronto in compara- 
 tively as complete a state of demoralisation as 
 the Rochester concern, and, I suspect, from 
 the same cause. 
 
 But the members of the company were good 
 enough to be present for rehearsals, and all the 
 discomforts of the theatre were more than com- 
 pensated for by the cosy comfort I found at the 
 Queen's Hotel, a hostelry then conducted by 
 Captain Dick, an old retired lake captain. 
 
 The weather was bitterly cold, and the theatre 
 was like an ice-house. After all these years, as 
 my memory carries me back to the horror of 
 that dimly-lighted, freezingly cold, long, nar- 
 row den which was miscalled a dressing-room, 
 to which I was shown, the old, cold misery 
 of that moment returns upon me. In addition 
 to my other discomforts I was attacked by a 
 violent siege of neuralgia. 
 
 I got through a performance, of what I do 
 not remember, and by the time I returned to my 
 hotel I was almost mad with pain. Thinking 
 
 104 
 
A MINISTERING ANGEL 
 
 to distract my thoughts, I drew a table beside 
 my bed, took from the chimney-piece a pair 
 of old-fashioned candlesticks, lighted the can- 
 dles which they contained, and, armed with 
 my story and the part, I set in to study 
 Jeanie. 
 
 The last thing I remember was feeling be- 
 numbed with the cold, and suffering intense 
 pain in my head. 
 
 The next sensations of which I was conscious 
 were of subdued light, release from pain, and 
 a general and delightful sense of warmth and 
 comfort; then of hearing a low, soft voice say- 
 ing, "Sit up now, dear, and take your tea." 
 
 I opened my eyes, and there, bending over me, 
 was a woman, not old, not very young, with a 
 lovely, lovable face, lighted by a pair of blue 
 eyes, and with a mouth large, mobile, expres- 
 sive at once of a tender, generous nature, and 
 yet made more interesting by lines of delicate 
 humour; the whole surmounted by a crown of 
 snow-white hair. My first confused thought 
 was that I had been "translated," and if this 
 was the "other world" I found my sensations 
 and surroundings such an improvement on 
 
 105 
 
ROSE EYTINGE 
 
 the state I last remembered that I was more 
 than satisfied with the change. 
 
 "Ah!" said my pleasant-looking visitor, "you 
 are awake; now we will have some tea." And 
 there was placed before me upon the table be- 
 side my bed a daintily served breakfast. 
 
 This somewhat disturbed the trend of my 
 thoughts, for my ideas of "that bourne' ' had 
 never included "'atin' and dhrinkin'.'' 
 
 But the breakfast was too entirely satisfactory, 
 and my enjoyment of it too thorough. All 
 thoughts of the spirit land fled; I knew that I 
 was upon the earth, and I also felt assured that 
 I was very pleasantly placed at that particular 
 moment. 
 
 It seemed that when the maid had knocked 
 at my door some hours previously she received 
 no response, and upon the door being opened 
 I was found in a faint. I had a trick of indulg- 
 ing myself in that way in those days. Miss 
 Dick, the lady upon whom I had opened my 
 eyes, and a member of Captain Dick's family, 
 was summoned, and all the comfort and cosi- 
 ness of my surroundings I owed to her kind 
 ministrations. 
 
 1 06 
 
JEANIE DEANS 
 
 As we talked I discovered by the soft burr of 
 her tongue and the musical intonations of her 
 voice that she was Scotch, and the volume of 
 Scott which she had found upon my table had 
 been the passport to her heart. When I ex- 
 plained to her the cause of its presence there, 
 and told her of my engagement to play Jeanie 
 Deans on my return to New York, she offered 
 to teach me the accent. 
 
 This she did, and in addition gave me a real 
 "maud" of the Stewart tartan, of which house 
 the Argylls were followers. 
 
 When I afterward played Jeanie, and when my 
 costume and my accent were alike praised, I 
 felt that I was, in a way, defrauding press and 
 public of their plaudits, all of which belonged 
 to Miss Dick, — good, pious, Presbyterian Miss 
 Dick, who had never in her life seen the inside 
 of a playhouse. But despite her strict Pres- 
 byterianism I led her, or rather she wandered, 
 from the fold into the theatre. 
 
 Accompanied by a niece, she came to visit me. 
 Knowing her strict religious principles and 
 prejudices I made no suggestion to them to 
 visit any theatre, but was at great pains to pro- 
 
 107 
 
ROSE EYTINGE 
 
 vide them with entertainments more adapted 
 to their habits of life. I sent them to con- 
 certs, lectures, missionary meetings, and such 
 innocuous gatherings. 
 
 One evening, as we were gathered around the 
 tea-table prior to my departure for my "shop," 
 I was a good deal puzzled to observe the aunt 
 and niece exchanging mysterious glances and 
 secret nudges, and soon these were abandoned 
 for equally puzzling speech, — "You tell her"; 
 "No, you ask her," etc. At last their wish 
 found clear expression. They wanted to go 
 to the theatre, to see Lester Wallack and my- 
 self act. 
 
 Only too pleased to comply with their request, 
 I mentioned the incident that evening to Mr. 
 Wallack, with all its attendant details. With 
 that genial courtesy which was one of his many 
 graceful qualities, he at once responded by 
 placing his own box at my friends' disposal, 
 and the following evening they occupied it. 
 Perhaps, however, I ought to qualify the latter 
 statement, for the reason that during the per- 
 formance the greater portions of them were 
 hanging over the railing of the box, and so 
 
 1 08 
 
WALLACK 'S BRILLIANT WORK 
 
 great was their delighted absorption of the 
 scene, and their utter and complete forgetful- 
 ness of the audience, that several times I feared 
 they would precipitate themselves upon the 
 stage. 
 
 I think Lester Wallack enjoyed their enthu- 
 siasm quite as much as they enjoyed his w T ork. 
 The piece was "She Stoops to Conquer." 
 Wallack was in great form and impersonated 
 Young Marlowe brilliantly. He played to 
 them the whole evening in the most flagrant 
 manner, and their admiration for him was 
 something beautiful to see. But their love, 
 full and unbounded, was given to old George 
 Holland, who, of course, played Tony Lump- 
 kin. 
 
 Indeed it was a pleasant sight, one not easily 
 to be forgotten, to see that silver-haired, elderly 
 lady, dressed simply and severely in black, and 
 her bonnie girl companion, so completely 
 carried out of the commonplace of everyday 
 life by that mimic picture. The culmination 
 of their adventure occurred as we were leaving 
 the theatre. Mr. Holland, at the close of the 
 performances, used to sit in a little nook at 
 109 
 
ROSE EYTINGE 
 
 the stage door and wait for his son "Ned," who 
 came every night to take his father home. 
 When, as we were leaving the theatre, I stopped 
 for a moment's chat and good-night with him, 
 Miss Dick asked me who it was I spoke to. 
 When I told her it was Tony Lumpkin, she 
 impulsively turned back, put her arms around 
 dear old Holland's neck and kissed him, saying, 
 "God bless you, Tony!" 
 
 The visit to the theatre that night marked an 
 epoch in my friend's life. She was a woman 
 possessing a rare intelligence, great breadth of 
 mind, and independence of character. She 
 frankly acknowledged that she now felt con- 
 vinced that by her lifelong absence from the 
 theatre she had made a great mistake, and had 
 deprived herself of much pleasure and intel- 
 lectual growth, a mistake which for the rest of 
 her life she would correct. And she kept her 
 word. 
 
 •/ 
 
 5IO 
 
CHAPTER XVI 
 
 AUGUSTIN DALY AND THE NEW YORK THEATRE — " UNDER 
 THE GASLIGHT" — DAVENPORT IN MISCHIEF — " CASTE " 
 — W. J. FLORENCE — MRS. GILBERT — STARRING — 
 NEWARK, N. J. — WASHINGTON 
 
 The management under which I played 
 Jeanie Deans did not last long, and their vacat- 
 ing the New York Theatre opened its doors to 
 Augustin Daly, who, then a very young man 
 and occupying the position of dramatic critic on 
 the New York " Evening Express," took the 
 theatre as a weekly tenant. 
 
 Mr. Daly afterward told me that when he be- 
 came the lessee of that theatre his entire capital 
 did not reach the sum of five hundred dollars. 
 It was his third venture into the theatrical busi- 
 ness, although but his first step into regular 
 management. His first had been his arrange- 
 ment into dramatic form of Mosenthal's drama 
 of "Deborah," which he called "Leah, the For- 
 saken," for Kate Bateman. This was followed 
 
ROSE EYTINGE 
 
 by an attempt to make a successful star of 
 Avonia Jones. 
 
 But Daly had always been a manager; his 
 mother told me that when he was a very small 
 boy he played at management and never wished 
 to play at anything else. When other boys 
 would evince a very natural desire to play 
 "tag" or "hop-scotch," or any other of the 
 games to which small boys are addicted, Daly 
 would organise his comrades into a stock com- 
 pany and manage them. He never attempted 
 to act himself, but, even as a child, he cast his 
 pieces and handled his company with the 
 single-mindedness that characterised him after- 
 ward. 
 
 So now, when his life-long ambition was in 
 the inception of its realisation, he was perfectly 
 equipped for his work, concentrated in his 
 methods, self-contained and self-reliant, know- 
 ing exactly what he wanted to do and how he 
 meant to do it. 
 
 He began his career as a manager with the 
 production of his own dramatisation of Charles 
 Reade's novel, "Griffith Gaunt," then popular. 
 
 The name of the heroine was Kate Peyton, and 
 
AUGUSTIN DALY 
 
AUGUSTIN DALY'S OFFER 
 
 Daly, having his own fixed ideas of just what 
 sort of actress he wanted to personate this hero- 
 ine, had experienced great difficulty in finding 
 her. His offering the part to me, or rather his 
 suggesting to me the possibility that I might 
 be induced to play it, was quite accidental, and 
 occurred at our first meeting. 
 
 One of the actresses whom he was considering 
 for the part was visiting me, and Mr. Daly 
 called to see her. At her request I received 
 him. We discussed the story and the character 
 of Kate, with the result that, with one of those 
 gusts of sudden resolution to which he was ad- 
 dicted, he asked me if I would play the part. 
 On account of the terms of my contract with 
 Lester Wallack, I was not free to consider the 
 offer; but I was greatly taken with and in- 
 terested in the serious-eyed, intensely earnest 
 young manager. He urged me to promise to 
 consider playing the part if Mr. Wallack's con- 
 sent to my doing so could be obtained. 
 
 This promise I made. In an incredibly brief 
 time this man, young, unknown, and without 
 influence, managed to see Mr. Wallack, and 
 returned to me armed with a note containing 
 
 113 
 
ROSE EYTINGE 
 
 the desired permission, only making the con- 
 dition that I would not play in New York later 
 than within six weeks of the opening of the 
 regular season. There was no talk of terms 
 between us. Indeed, at this stage of the ne- 
 gotiation there could not very well have been. 
 
 Daly now had his theatre, his company, and 
 possibly his heroine. He had gathered about 
 him a company of exceptional excellence, his 
 leading man being J. K. Mortimar, and we 
 began rehearsing. 
 
 During the first rehearsal Mr. Daly interrupted 
 me from time to time, to give me instructions 
 as to this or that bit of business. But I was 
 feeling my way through the part, and these in- 
 terruptions, though undoubtedly judicious and 
 necessary, made me nervous and uncertain in 
 my work; so I went quietly to him, where he 
 sat at the prompt table, reminded him that 
 this rehearsal was only a trial, and begged that 
 he would allow me to struggle through the part 
 uninterrupted. I suggested that he should 
 make notes of any changes which he wished 
 me to make, and if I played the part we could 
 incorporate these changes in future rehearsals. 
 
 114 
 
DALY'S ASPIRATIONS 
 
 To all these suggestions he promptly and 
 amiably assented. 
 
 I played Kate. The piece ran several weeks. 
 During its run my serious-eyed young man- 
 ager told me of an original play which he was 
 writing, and which he wished to produce at 
 the close of the run of "Griffith Gaunt." This 
 piece was "Under the Gaslight." 
 
 At his invitation I went to his home in Ho- 
 ratio Street, where he lived with his mother 
 and brother, and he read me the play. Even 
 then his artistic aspirations and longings were 
 struggling for expression. The walls of the 
 conventional little room, which was fitted up 
 as a sort of "den" and writing-room, were 
 coloured a dark blue, and there were little 
 plaster casts and small pictures scattered about ; 
 and everywhere there were evidences of his 
 reaching out after a literary and artistic at- 
 mosphere. 
 
 The result of this visit was that I agreed to 
 originate the part of Laura Courtland. 
 
 Again Daly surrounded himself with an ex- 
 ceptionally good company, J. K. Mortimar 
 playing the character part, and Dolly Daven- 
 
 IT 5 
 
ROSE EYTINGE 
 
 port the lead. I confess I do not remember 
 the story. I only remember that the situation 
 of the piece is where I break down a door with 
 an axe which I opportunely find, and rescue 
 somebody who is lashed down on a railroad 
 track, and that this "business" was preceded 
 by my frantic exclamation, "The axe, the 
 axe!" 
 
 This exclamation became a sort of catch- 
 word, and Davenport, who was an incorrigible 
 guyer, used to serve it up to me on all possible 
 and impossible occasions, with the result that 
 there was a great deal too much giggling and 
 guying during the performance. 
 
 Mr. Daly, who was then the same watchful, 
 ubiquitous manager he always was, tried every 
 available means to check us, with, I am sorry 
 to say, very little success. 
 
 One night, in sheer desperation, he threatened 
 Davenport, upon whom — with how much jus- 
 tice I will not say — he looked as the ring- 
 leader, with immediate discharge if he did 
 not on the following night and at every per- 
 formance thereafter play the part seriously. 
 
 The next night Davenport made his appear- 
 
DAVENPORT IN MISCHIEF 
 
 ance dressed completely in black, even wearing 
 black kid gloves throughout the entire perform- 
 ance; and he played the part throughout 
 without a smile, investing it with unbroken, 
 lugubrious gloom. The result was that every 
 scene in which he appeared, even the most 
 serious ones, went with shouts of laughter; 
 and the more the audience laughed, the more 
 solemnly serious Davenport became. 
 
 When the final curtain fell, Daly appeared 
 and fairly and frankly gave up the fight. He 
 begged Davenport to doff his a suit of solemn 
 black" and play the part as he had always 
 played it. 
 
 The magnanimous action of our young mana- 
 ger had the effect of making us all feel heart- 
 ily ashamed of ourselves, and from that night, by 
 unanimous decision, there was no more guying. 
 
 These two engagements under Daly's man- 
 agement resulted in a friendship between him 
 and myself that ended only with his life. We 
 became good comrades. His duty as dra- 
 matic critic made it necessary for him some- 
 times to make flying visits to several theatres 
 in one evening, and I was always glad to accept 
 
 n 7 
 
ROSE EYTINGE 
 
 his invitation to accompany him on these little 
 expeditions. 
 
 In this manner I witnessed with Daly the first 
 performance of French comic opera that was 
 given in New York. It was "La Grande Du- 
 chesse," with Tostee as La Duchesse. As an 
 indication of the change in public taste, both 
 Mr. Daly and I were so far from pleased with 
 the performance that we left early in the second 
 act, finding it rather — well! rather! — for our 
 taste. Nowadays the performance would be 
 rated rather slow. 
 
 With him also I witnessed the performance of 
 " Caste,' ' which was produced by W. J. Flor- 
 ence. The piece had been secured from Tom 
 Robertson by Wallack for production at Wal- 
 laces Theatre during the following regular 
 season. But Florence brought over a (shall 
 we say an annexed?) copy of the piece in a 
 summer season, in advance of Wallack, with 
 himself, his wife, Owen Marlowe, Davidge, 
 Mrs. Chanfrau, and Mrs. Gilbert in the cast. 
 I was particularly pleased with Mrs. Gilbert's 
 performance of the Marquise, and I said to 
 Daly, "When you get your theatre, there is a 
 
STARRING IN NEWARK 
 
 woman you ought to engage." He replied, 
 "I will." How well he kept his word we all 
 know. 
 
 Somewhere about this time I was often invited 
 to star here and there. Among the offers were 
 one from Washington and one from Newark, 
 which I accepted. The theatre in Newark 
 was under the management of Mr. and Mrs. 
 Waller, — delightful people to meet, both per- 
 sonally and artistically. Of that week I re- 
 tain most pleasant recollections. To both these 
 engagements Mr. Daly accompanied me, pro- 
 ducing my pieces for me. 
 
 A quaint incident occurred one night in Wash- 
 ington during the last act of "Griffith Gaunt." 
 In the most intense situation there arose — I 
 could scarcely say whence — the most awful 
 din. Being in the prisoner's box undergoing 
 trial for my life, I was very greatly distressed 
 over what seemed to be a wanton effort to dis- 
 turb my performance. I spoke off the wing 
 several times, imperatively demanding that it 
 should be stopped. My demands were quite 
 
 n 9 
 
ROSE EYTINGE 
 
 unavailing, and my annoyance was greatly 
 increased by observing that my remonstrances 
 were met by a helpless shrug or shake of the 
 head, accompanied by a suppressed smile. 
 
 The moment the curtain fell, intent upon visit- 
 ing dire vengeance on the head of the offender, 
 I was hurrying from the box when everybody 
 in the wings rushed on the stage and no longer 
 attempted to suppress laughter. My stage- 
 manager said: "No use, Miss Eytinge, even 
 you could not stop that noise; that's from 
 above!'' 
 
 It was. The roof was covered with tin; some 
 plates had become loosened; and when a gust 
 came, the wind, which was blowing fiercely, 
 would raise these plates and rattle them. My 
 stage-manager was quite right. I was obliged 
 to submit. It was from above. 
 
 1 20 
 
CHAPTER XVII 
 
 LONDON: — PARIS — LONGCHAMPS AND THE GRAND PRIX 
 — NAPOLEON III AND THE EMPRESS EUGENIE — PRIN- 
 CESS METTERNICH PRINCE PIERRE NAPOLEON DR. 
 
 EVANS — NUBAR PASHA — AUBER AND VERDI — AMER- 
 ICANS IN PARIS — CORA PEARL 
 
 In 1869 I went abroad for what was, virtually, 
 the first time, for my earlier hurried trip across 
 and back, which barely occupied three weeks, 
 could scarcely be called a visit. 
 
 After an uneventful voyage we arrived in Liv- 
 erpool and went direct to London, arriving in 
 that city on a Sunday morning, — a drizzling, 
 grizzling, grey Sunday morning, and I cannot 
 remember a more wretchedly uninteresting, 
 empty, miserable day than was that first Sun- 
 day in London. 
 
 As a consequence, the next day, bright and 
 early, we set out, like true Americans, for Paris, 
 then at the zenith of her pride and beauty. 
 Napoleon the Third was then Emperor of 
 France; and while he may possibly have been 
 
ROSE EYTINGE 
 
 weak, short-sighted, corrupt, or any of the 
 many things he ought not to have been, he cer- 
 tainly made of Paris the finest, most fascinat- 
 ing city in Europe, both to native and to visitor. 
 
 It is quite likely that both citizen and visitor 
 were heavily taxed, but in return for that tax 
 they enjoyed the inestimable privilege of living 
 in what had the appearance of a perfectly gov- 
 erned city. They had the opportunity of liv- 
 ing in an atmosphere of lightness and bright- 
 ness, where the air was filled with the scent of 
 flowers, the sound of music, and the gay laugh- 
 ter of light-hearted souls. 
 
 Paris, in those days, was so attractive that 
 travellers from the four corners of the earth 
 hurried through her gates, glad of the oppor- 
 tunity to witness and to share her glory, and 
 more than willing in return to pour their wealth 
 into her lap. To the visiting onlooker there 
 was no evidence that the Parisians ever com- 
 plained of the condition. 
 
 Certainly I never heard a French landlady 
 complain, as I remember once to have heard 
 an English one do. In response to the latter's 
 cry of poverty I tried to cheer her up by point- 
 
AT LONGCHAMPS RACES 
 
 ing out to her the many opportunities which 
 she had for accumulating and saving money. 
 "Ah, yes, my dear lady," she replied, "but the 
 minute I Ve saved a sovereign, along comes a 
 man in a black coat and takes it for the Queen." 
 Arrived in Paris, we availed ourselves of the 
 opportunity to see the race for the Grand 
 Prix. And where could be seen a finer sight 
 than Longchamps of a Sunday during the 
 Third Empire? 
 
 It might not, I submit, have been a refreshing 
 spectacle to an old-fashioned, orthodox, New 
 England deacon; but to the everyday mere 
 human creature it presented a picture likely 
 to live a long time in the memory, marked with 
 a white stone, — the long stretch of perfectly 
 kept white road, gleaming in the sunshine; the 
 vast, emerald-green lawn, trim and close-cut; 
 the horses in the paddock and on the course, 
 with their well-trimmed fetlocks, hoofs oiled 
 and polished, and their coats glossy, and carry- 
 ing their heads high as if they knew their value. 
 The Imperial stand, ablaze with colour, was 
 filled with beautiful women in faultless cos- 
 tumes, and with equally well-dressed men. 
 
 123 
 
ROSE EYTINGE 
 
 Everywhere was gaiety, brilliancy. The air 
 was redolent of sweetness and bright with 
 flowers. 
 
 Here they come! — bowling along over the 
 soft, green turf, in a low, dark landau drawn 
 by four perfectly matched bays, with outriders 
 gorgeous in uniforms which glittered with gold 
 and steel, and with postilions jingling with spurs 
 and bells, Napoleon the Third and the Empress 
 Eugenie, followed by their court in equipages 
 of equal beauty and brilliancy. 
 
 The Empress was then, like her realm, in the 
 zenith of her beauty. She was tall and grace- 
 ful, with a swan-like throat set upon beautiful 
 sloping shoulders, her hands were exquisite, 
 and her hair rippled in golden splendour around 
 her fair face. But her eyes were set too closely 
 together, and drooped too low at their corners, 
 as also drooped the corners of her mouth, to 
 indicate that she had either a generous heart or 
 a large understanding. 
 
 Beside her sat the Emperor with his dignified 
 bearing and gracious manner, and his carefully 
 waxed moustache and "imperial." Louis Na- 
 poleon, like many another, had a happy knack 
 
 124 
 
NAPOLEON III AND EUGENIE 
 
 of looking much more than he was. The 
 one feature that seriously detracted from the 
 general impressiveness of his appearance were 
 his eyes. They were heavy, bulging, fish-like 
 eyes. 
 
 With them was their son, young Prince Napo- 
 leon, a beautiful child of a fair young mother. 
 Fortunately it was not then given to that moth- 
 er to be able to look into the future, where 
 waited disaster and disgrace, where death 
 lurked for her husband, his realm to fall about 
 him like a house of cards ; and her boy, stricken 
 down in early manhood, dying on an African 
 hillside, and herself passing long, lonely years 
 of widowhood in exile. 
 
 In the Empress's train there were many beau- 
 tiful women, and courtly, distinguished-looking 
 men; but as I was neither a chamberlain nor 
 a chambermaid at the French Court I did not 
 know them by name. To be sure I did recog- 
 nise here and there some one whom I had seen 
 before. There was the Princess Metternich, 
 who was as well known and as well beloved for 
 her charities as for her repartee. She was at 
 that time considered one of the plainest but 
 
 125 
 
ROSE EYTINGE 
 
 one of the wittiest women in Paris. To be 
 the first is a misfortune, to be the second is 
 fatal. 
 
 And there was Prince Pierre Napoleon, cousin 
 to the Emperor, and better known by his 
 sobriquet of "Plon-Plon," who bore a striking 
 likeness to the first Napoleon. With him was 
 his gentle, pretty young wife, the Princess 
 Clothilde, who had emerged from the safe, 
 sunny shelter of the Convent of the Sacred 
 Heart to be given in marriage to him, and to 
 live for many sad years in the cold shade of his 
 neglect. Near the Empress was her faithful 
 attendant, Dr. Evans, the American dentist. 
 He was a loyal courtier in the train of the Em- 
 press of the French in the days of her prosperity 
 and power, and still more loyal to the helpless 
 Spanish woman in that dark hour when, 
 stripped of rank and power, she was fleeing for 
 her life ! 
 
 Coming across the lawn from the paddock, 
 surrounded by admirers, I recognised a coun- 
 trywoman, the beautiful Mrs. Ritchie (now Mrs. 
 Adair), a daughter of General Wadsworth, of 
 New York. 
 
 126 
 
NUBAR PASHA AND AUBER 
 
 A stately man, with a complexion resem- 
 bling a pomegranate which has hung a trifle too 
 long in the sun; with a long, drooping mous- 
 tache; with hands and feet remarkable for their 
 smallness and perfection of shape; with dark, 
 impenetrable eyes, — was Nubar Pasha, chief 
 minister to Ismail Pasha, then Khedive of 
 Egypt, and grandfather of the present Khedive. 
 At the time of which I write, Nubar Pasha, an 
 Armenian noble, was considered one of the 
 foremost diplomatists in Europe, being ranked 
 as second only to Prince GortschakorT . 
 
 Standing in the front rank of the gay crowd 
 was a dapper little man, with a faint pair of 
 legs encased in lavender trousers and support- 
 ing a fragile body that was trimly buttoned in- 
 to a perfectly fitting bright blue surtout, his 
 breast ornamented with a red rose. The very 
 latest thing in hats covered his snow-white 
 hair. This was Auber, the composer. He was 
 at that time more than eighty years of age, 
 but to all appearance as gay and debonair 
 and as full of interest in the scene about him 
 as if he had been a boy of twenty. 
 
 Not far from Auber stood Verdi, who at that 
 127 
 
ROSE EYTINGE 
 
 time was engaged in finishing his opera, "Aida," 
 composed at the order of Ismail Pasha. Ismail 
 was building an opera-house at Cairo, which 
 "Aida" opened with great eclat, Verdi himself 
 conducting. 
 
 Prominent in the paddock, moving about 
 among his compatriots, was Leonard Jerome, 
 the father of Mrs. Cornwallis West, formerly 
 Lady Randolph Churchill, and grandfather 
 to Winston Churchill. Leonard Jerome was 
 easily one of the most distinguished-looking 
 men present. There, too, was Harry Stone, 
 a notable American of that day. And there 
 was Cora Pearl, then one of the features of 
 Paris. She was reclining in a perfectly ap- 
 pointed victoria, and was dressed in an ethereal- 
 looking costume of pale mauve. Her poodle, 
 which sat on the low front seat, solemnly blink- 
 ing at her, was dyed the same delicate shade 
 of mauve. 
 
 Such were Longchamps, and the Grand Prix 
 in the days of the Third Empire. And when 
 one remembers Paris as it was then, when one 
 remembers the gaiety, the brightness, the 
 beauty that were everywhere, and then is 
 
 128 
 
IMPERIAL PARIS 
 
 brought into close view of the rough face of 
 republican France as she is to-day, one is in- 
 clined to cry with the Moors of old : 
 
 "Aye de me, Alhaina!" 
 
 129 
 
CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 ROYALTY AND RANK — FONTAINEBLEAU AND "THE BLACK 
 EAGLE " — ACROSS THE ALPS — ITALY — ALEXANDRIA 
 — THE AMERICAN TRAVELLER — RAMLEH — CLEOPA- 
 TRA — THE BAWAUB — A MASCULINE CHAMBERMAID 
 
 I remained for several months in Paris in that 
 summer of 1869, and during that time I saw 
 a good bit of the high and mighty-nesses of the 
 Court and of the Third Empire. Being con- 
 nected, as I was, through my immediate family, 
 with an important diplomatic post, I was in 
 a peculiarly fortunate position for this purpose. 
 
 But I was never specially impressed by rank; 
 perhaps my stage life and experience had rather 
 taken the edge off any feeling of awe and rev- 
 erence for titles, even the highest. 
 
 I had queened it myself not a few times on the 
 stage, and as for duchesses and countesses, 
 why, they had been as plenty as blackberries 
 in season; and the only difference I have ever 
 been able to see between the real thing in titles 
 and the mimic is that there is a good bit more 
 
 130 
 
"THE BLACK EAGLE" 
 
 of rest and ease of mind in the mimic, when 
 one can take off the crown jewels and regalia 
 and go off behind the scenes and be "your 
 simple, honest, independent self." 
 
 Rather than any of the gorgeous functions, 
 which it was my lot to attend, there remain in 
 my mind, as recollections of that time, pleasant 
 memories of short trips made to some one or 
 other of the many delightful little places that 
 lie within easy distance from and all around 
 Paris. Such, for example was an excursion to 
 Fontainebleau ; and, being there, of course to 
 the inn of the "Black Eagle." This has been 
 an inn since early in the sixteen-hundreds, and 
 it is to-day — or was a few years ago — the 
 same in every feature that it was in that far- 
 away time. 
 
 It is a low, two-storied cottage, built around 
 three sides of a cool, damp, shady, brick-paved 
 courtyard, furnished with quaint rustic tables 
 and chairs; and here you can sit and take your 
 meal, and look across to the Forest of Fon- 
 tainebleau and wish that the stately old trees 
 that are nodding and whispering to each other 
 would tell some of the secrets of the old days 
 
 131 
 
ROSE EYTINGE 
 
 of royal splendour that they have witnessed. 
 And if you propose to spend the night at the 
 little inn, you will be shown with great cere- 
 mony up a crooked, narrow, winding stairway 
 into a bedroom about twelve feet square, with 
 a much-broken brick floor, and, by way of 
 luxury, a bit of carpet about as large as a 
 good-sized pocket-handkerchief spread at the 
 side of the bed; but always with the inevitable 
 mirror over the chimney-piece, and with the 
 equally inevitable pair of vases and clock upon 
 it, and the picture of the Blessed Virgin hang- 
 ing over the head of the bed. 
 
 And when you are left alone in possession of 
 this room, and look about you, and become 
 aware of the shadows that lurk in the corners 
 and dart out at you as your solitary candle 
 flares and flickers, you find your envy of those 
 folk who lived in the "good old times' ' giving 
 way to a feeling of thankfulness that you are 
 here in this prosaic, conventional twentieth cen- 
 tury, where you can command the ugly but 
 comforting steam-radiator and the common- 
 place gas-meter. 
 
 After a stay of some months in Paris, I started 
 132 
 
CROSSING THE ALPS 
 
 for Italy via Mont Cenis. The building of the 
 celebrated tunnel had just been decided upon, 
 but I was able to avail myself of the journey 
 over the mountains instead of through them, 
 as travellers are now obliged to do. The ex- 
 perience was replete with interest and pleasure, 
 an incident which occurred during the trip 
 adding greatly to both. 
 
 About midway, having reached the topmost 
 peak of Mont Cenis, we were met by an obstacle, 
 the recent heavy rains having caused a wash- 
 out on the road, and we were obliged to leave 
 the coaches and to walk a mile or two down 
 the mountain side. It was rather a curious 
 sensation to find one's self trudging along the 
 identical road over which Hannibal led his 
 army, and Napoleon marched his forces on his 
 raid against his Italian neighbours. 
 
 Through Turin, Ancona, Verona, and many 
 other old Italian towns around which is en- 
 twined so much historic lore and romance, we 
 went to Venice, and thence by steamer to Alex- 
 andria. 
 
 To offer any detailed description of the port of 
 133 
 
ROSE EYTINGE 
 
 Alexandria, which is now as well known to 
 travellers as is New York's beautiful harbour 
 or the Golden Gate, would be useless, and 
 the same may be said of the city itself, which 
 is one of the most cosmopolitan cities in the 
 world. 
 
 As its heterogeneous mass of humanity is 
 composed of Christians, Copts, Jews, Moham- 
 medans, Greeks, Armenians, Turks, Arabs, 
 Albanians, Maltese, Spaniards, French, Italians, 
 Germans, Scandinavians, Britons, Americans, 
 and any and every other sort of folk, known 
 or unknown, and all wear, as if by concerted 
 arrangement, their respective national cos- 
 tumes, the streets of the town present a most 
 kaleidoscopic effect. And as the representa- 
 tives of each and every one of these nationali- 
 ties, by the law of attraction, seek their own 
 countrymen, the place is divided and sub- 
 divided into small colonies, with the result that 
 it resembles a map, with its little patches of 
 colour placed here and there. 
 
 But of all the many sorts and conditions of 
 men who trot over this globe, for a good travel- 
 ler commend me to my compatriots. The 
 
 '34 
 
THE AMERICAN TRAVELLER 
 
 American tourist is, to my mind, the most all- 
 around sensible and adaptable traveller. He 
 goes a long way, and usually at great cost, to 
 see a foreign country. Finding himself in that 
 faraway land, he at once and earnestly sets 
 about seeing it in the most practical fashion. 
 He throws himself into every new situation 
 that presents itself with a good-humoured 
 gusto, and with a determination to get all the 
 enjoyment possible out of it. As a natural con- 
 sequence of this highly commendable disposi- 
 tion, in Egypt and throughout the East the 
 American is to be found in the coolest, lightest, 
 and most unbecoming costume, including, of 
 course, an enormous puggaree wound around 
 his hat, the white ends dangling down behind 
 like the sash of "a little maid at school." 
 
 And he rides, when he would much rather 
 walk, on the little native donkey, which he could 
 much more easily and comfortably carry. He 
 makes miscellaneous and indiscriminate pur- 
 chases in the "Mouski," and of native merchants 
 generally, at fabulous prices, buying entirely use- 
 less articles, manufactured with special refer- 
 ence to him, and such as him, in New England. 
 
 '35 
 
ROSE EYTINGE 
 
 He sits for hours in front of a dingy little cafe, 
 listening to and taking great seeming interest 
 in the ceaseless chatter which goes on around 
 him, made up of a polyglot of bad Italian and 
 worse French, Turkish, Arabic, and what not 
 else, while he drinks innumerable cups of Turk- 
 ish coffee. This is black, bitter, and gritty. 
 He does not like it at all, and he would on no 
 account touch it if he were at home. In brief, 
 he makes himself thoroughly uncomfortable 
 and enjoys himself immensely. 
 
 Finding Alexandria hot, uninviting, and in- 
 fected by all the known plagues of Egypt and 
 a few more, I went in a few days after my 
 arrival to Ramleh. This is a semi-European 
 colony of villas on the shores of the Mediter- 
 ranean, about four miles from Alexandria. On 
 the spot now called Ramleh once stood the 
 ancient city of Alexandria, in the days of its 
 splendour and glory. I was so fortunate as 
 to secure for occupancy a house built upon 
 a famous foundation. Between it and the 
 sapphire sea, whose waves lapped the shore a 
 few paces away, there lay, buried in the sand, 
 
 .36 
 
AMERICAN HOME IN EGYPT 
 
 the ruins of Cleopatra's palace, and at a short 
 distance was the spot where Octavius Caesar 
 set up his camp when, after defeating Marc 
 Antony, he came as the conqueror of Egypt and 
 of Egypt's queen. But that august sovereign, 
 true to the dictates of the nature that had given 
 her the power to rule men, — and, through men, 
 nations, — acknowledged only death as her 
 victor. 
 
 Upon this historic spot I set up my establish- 
 ment, raised the American flag, and proceeded 
 to the task of conducting in Egypt an American 
 home on strictly American principles. I do 
 not think that that most famous of all blunder- 
 ers, Handy Andy, ever succeeded in making 
 more of them than I did in the ordering of my 
 domestic affairs while I was learning my way 
 about. 
 
 For an example : It is the custom of the coun- 
 try for all good houses to employ a hall porter, 
 whose designation in the national vernacular, 
 is bawaub. His is the highest and most hon- 
 ourable position — after the janissary — of the 
 staff of servants, and it is usual to select for it a 
 person of ancient and honourable lineage. It 
 
 '37 
 
ROSE EYTINGE 
 
 seems that the one who had been chosen for 
 this post in my house filled the requirements 
 thoroughly, being able to trace back his family 
 three, four, or five thousand years, and, as 
 additional recommendation, he enjoyed the 
 honour of never having been known to have 
 done an honest day's work. 
 
 Clad in a long garment of spotless white, the 
 duty of this functionary is to sit cross-legged, 
 or, when he believed himself to be unobserved, 
 to lie full length, on a sort of camp bedstead, 
 composed of reeds, at the entrance of the house, 
 which is usually a courtyard of more or less 
 magnitude. Here he receives the cards of 
 visitors and passes them on to some one of the 
 indoor servants. And so they are passed from 
 hand to hand, and if the mistress of the house 
 happens to have been born under a lucky star, 
 in an hour or two after they have been started 
 on this circuitous trip she may receive the 
 "pasteboards." 
 
 Now I, being entirely ignorant of this custom 
 and of the character of the duties of a bawaub y 
 saw only a long, lean, elderly person, clad in 
 what appeared to me a more seemly garment 
 
 138 
 
A MASCULINE CHAMBERMAID 
 
 than that worn by the other servants, and I 
 concluded that she was, or ought to be, the 
 chambermaid, and set her to work as such. 
 The more strenuously the old one seemed to 
 object, the more urgently I insisted; and in the 
 performance of these tasks the antique bronze 
 was often admitted to ceremonies which are 
 usually sacred to feminine view. 
 
 As these tasks were most unwillingly gone 
 about, and as their performance was usually ac- 
 companied by many low mutterings suggestive of 
 the Southern darkey, who is given to the dual 
 habit of securing the last word and of mutter- 
 ing "cuss words," I christened the old servant 
 "Cussie-cussie." 
 
 It was not until the chief janissary begged for 
 an audience, and with many apologies and 
 salaams imparted to me the bawaub's ancient 
 lineage, sex, and position, that I learned what 
 an injustice I had been committing. 
 
 With profuse apologies I promptly restored 
 my bawaub to the duties and siestas of his time- 
 honoured place, but there was no denying the 
 fact that he had been thoroughly indoctrin- 
 ated in the duties of a first-class chambermaid. 
 139 
 
CHAPTER XIX 
 
 LOVE, THE GREAT LEVELLER — THE SERVANT PROBLEM 
 IN EGYPT — HOW THE GROCER IMPORTED HIS BRIDE — 
 WOMEN IN THE EAST — THE HAREMS — AN ORIENTAL 
 LADY'S CALL UPON AN AMERICAN WOMAN — THE MAN 
 IN THE CASE — HUMAN NATURE 
 
 For a while after my arrival in Alexandria, be- 
 fore going to Ramleh, I stopped at a hotel, the 
 New Callot, the proprietor being an Italian 
 named Pantalini. While there an incident oc- 
 curred which proves that love levels all lan- 
 guages as well as all ranks. 
 
 It seems that Signor Pantalini had assimilated 
 some of the domestic ideas of the unspeakable 
 Turk, and had reduced them to practice in his 
 daily life and in his own hotel. He had caused 
 to be fitted up in the most sumptuous fashion 
 a suite of rooms on the top floor, and there he 
 had installed his inamorata. 
 
 The adjoining suite had been assigned to a 
 young American "dude," who was doing Europe 
 and the East after the most approved fashion 
 140 
 
AN AMERICAN DUDE 
 
 of dudes. These two suites had no doors of 
 communication, but the windows of each opened 
 upon the same balcony, an airy, mysterious- 
 looking little try sting-place. But what of that ? 
 The young American could speak no Italian, 
 and Signor Pantalini's fair one could utter her 
 thoughts and wishes only in the sibilant syllables 
 of her own sunny Italy. 
 
 Notwithstanding these circumstances, which 
 would seem to have been enough to place an 
 insurmountable obstacle to any hope of even 
 acquaintance between these neighbours, in just 
 a fortnight from the time when the young Yan- 
 kee spark had been installed in that eyrie he 
 levanted with Signor Pantalini's cava sposa! 
 
 Once I found myself installed in my own 
 house, I had great difficulty in reconciling my- 
 self to the absence of women servants. But in 
 Egypt and throughout the Orient the order of 
 service is conducted on distinctly contrary prin- 
 ciples to anything to which we of this Western 
 hemisphere are accustomed. 
 
 Men perform all the domestic and indoor ser- 
 vice, while it is no unusual thing to see women 
 
 i 4 i 
 
ROSE EYTINGE 
 
 toiling in the fields, doing work upon buildings 
 in course of erection, and generally accom- 
 plishing those tasks which we are accustomed 
 to see performed by men. In my efforts to 
 find some women for my household I made 
 inquiries of the various trades-people with 
 whom I dealt, and my grocer, a good-looking 
 young Englishman, told me he knew of a young 
 English woman who he thought would be will- 
 ing to come out if her expenses were paid. As 
 to her qualification, he could recommend her 
 most highly. Negotiations were at once con- 
 cluded. I advanced the sum of twelve pounds, 
 and as fast as steam could fetch her the young 
 woman came out. I had every reason to be- 
 lieve that the grocer's recommendation was 
 entirely sincere, for within a week of the young 
 woman's arrival she and her sponsor were 
 married ! 
 
 A very brief residence in the Orient convinced 
 me that the women of the East not only do not 
 need, nor do they wish for, the sympathy of 
 their sisters of the West, but they profoundly 
 pity us. Indeed they go further: they despise 
 us! And this is because they agree with the 
 
 142 
 
VISITING THE HAREMS 
 
 men that we are, one and all, objects of ex- 
 treme indifference to our husbands, lovers, or 
 brothers. If we were not, these our husbands, 
 lovers, and brothers would not allow us to 
 wander about the world with uncovered faces, 
 thus making it possible for other men to look 
 upon us. 
 
 A somewhat embarrassing instance of this 
 peculiar point of view occurred to me. Through 
 my relations with the diplomatic circle I enjoyed 
 many privileges not usually accorded to Chris- 
 tians in a Moslem country. One of these was 
 to visit many harems, particularly those of 
 the Viceroy and of families high in position 
 about his Court. There was one lady, the wife 
 of an official of high rank in the viceregal ser- 
 vice, whom I had met several times, and be- 
 tween whom and myself there had come to be 
 a sort of friendship which had grown and flour- 
 ished with the help of an interpretess and with 
 the further aid of such fragments of Arabic as 
 I had managed to pick up. 
 
 This lady had several times expressed a great 
 desire to visit me in my home, to see for herself 
 how we Christians lived our everyday lives. I 
 
 M3 
 
ROSE EYTINGE 
 
 frankly urged her to do so. But if I fancied 
 that this interchange of wishes was sufficient, 
 I soon found my mistake. All sorts of per- 
 missions had to be obtained from all sorts of 
 persons, official and unofficial. One by one 
 these obstacles disappeared before a vigorous 
 and more or less continuous waving of the 
 American flag. 
 
 At last all was arranged. It was left for me 
 only to name a day and hour for the visit, with 
 a solemn promise on my part that on that day 
 I must banish every man who belonged to my 
 establishment. I must be sure that from the 
 moment the dark-eyed daughter of the sun 
 crossed my threshold that threshold must be so 
 well guarded that no masculine eye should have 
 the opportunity to gaze upon those charms 
 that were sacred to her lord. 
 
 When the cavalcade bringing me my visitor 
 arrived, it consisted, first, of the Laiee, then of 
 two eunuchs, each coal-black and enormously 
 fat, on horseback, then the carriage, with an- 
 other eunuch, as fat and as black, on the box 
 with the driver, the carriage being jealously 
 closed on all sides. Then, on each side of the 
 
 144 
 
DUTIES OF EUNUCHS 
 
 carriage, two more eunuchs, with great curved 
 swords attached to their sides with broad red 
 sashes. 
 
 It stopped, then, with a great jingling of 
 spurs and swords, and a great hubbub of 
 voices of every key, the two huge, black 
 masses of humanity heading the procession 
 were dragged, and pulled, and helped, to roll 
 to the ground. Once there, they took their 
 positions on either side of the carriage. The 
 same ceremony having been gone through with 
 the other two eunuchs, they also ranged them- 
 selves at the side of the first two. When the 
 carriage door was opened I saw, partly lifted, 
 partly rolled, what might have been Jack Fal- 
 stafj himself new-risen from the buck-basket. 
 A closer inspection revealed only a huge, ani- 
 mated grey bundle, which rapidly disappeared 
 into the house. 
 
 At the same moment my janissary opened the 
 door of the drawing-room, advanced a short 
 distance into the room on tip-toe, and in low, 
 mysterious, whispered tones told me she was 
 coming; then, carrying his shoes in one hand 
 and impressing silence with the other, he swiftly 
 
 "45 
 
ROSE EYTINGE 
 
 and silently withdrew. I began to feel as if I 
 were playing a walking-lady in a farce and did 
 not know my lines. Again the door opened 
 and the grey bundle entered. Now I began 
 to feel in some slight degree mistress of the situ- 
 ation, and, being more at ease myself, I deter- 
 mined that I would do all in my power to put 
 my visitor in the same condition. I summoned 
 all my small stock of Arabic ; I made her under- 
 stand that we were quite alone and safe from 
 all fear of interruption; that she must take off 
 her "things," and we would have a real old- 
 fashioned Yankee visit. 
 
 I helped to unroll her out from her grey silk 
 sheet, only to find her encased in a nondescript 
 garment of the same material, somewhat re- 
 sembling an old-fashioned pelisse — only more 
 so. 
 
 I decided that this also should come off, feel- 
 ing quite sure that the sad-coloured sack was 
 not the sort of thing which she usually wore; 
 and, after removing this and her yashmak, 
 there stood before me a very pretty woman, 
 lightly dressed in a motley attire of bright- 
 coloured, ill-made, and worse-fitting garments 
 
 146 
 
A DELIGHTFUL SPMPOSIUM 
 
 in which there was no redeeming feature, 
 there being neither grace, beauty, nor comfort 
 to recommend them. Her ears, neck, breast, 
 arms, and fingers were loaded with heavy, bar- 
 baric-looking jewellery; her little pudgy fingers 
 were purple and pressed out of shape with 
 rings almost to their ends ; and on her head was 
 perched a sort of miniature turban, made out 
 of a wisp of white tarletan, fastened with an 
 aigrette which was set with diamonds of almost 
 priceless value. 
 
 And then we set out to talk, — she to ask and 
 I to answer questions; and what we could not 
 say with our tongues we said with our eyes, our 
 hands, our shoulders. 
 
 I showed her some books and pictures, and, 
 what interested her much more, my gowns and 
 bonnets and frippery. I was not long from 
 Paris, and the time flew. A couple of hours 
 seemed like so many minutes. Then we had 
 luncheon, and no two youngsters at school, dis- 
 cussing a box of goodies from home, ever 
 enjoyed a treat more or extracted more fun 
 from it, than we got out of that luncheon. 
 
 We were recalled from our symposium by a 
 
 ■47 
 
ROSE EYTINGE 
 
 knock at the door. Thinking it was some 
 addition to our meal, I said, "Come in!" The 
 door opened, and there strode into the room — 
 a man ! — a real, live, sure-enough man ! And 
 no common sort of man either,— a true son of 
 Anak, six-foot-three, with a figure to match 
 his height, a bearing that set off both height 
 and figure, and a pair of bright blue eyes that 
 set one's own a-dancing just to look into them. 
 In he strode with the confident air of one who 
 felt sure of his welcome. 
 
 At the first glimpse of this spectacle my little 
 guest, with a terrified shriek, fled to the farthest 
 end of the room and concealed as much as was 
 possible of herself in the folds of the window 
 curtains. I am not, however, certain that she 
 covered her eyes. 
 
 I flew to my — for the nonce — unwelcome 
 guest, gave him the "right-about," and, to his 
 great surprise, led him from the room. Once 
 on the outside, and the door securely closed, 
 I explained the situation to him. He increased 
 my embarrassment by being greatly amused and 
 by insisting upon returning and making his 
 apologies to the lady. 
 
 148 
 
AN UNWELCOME VISITOR 
 
 The explanation of the presence of my un- 
 expected guest was very simple. He was an 
 American officer in the sendee of the Viceroy, 
 was upon terms of so great intimacy with my 
 household as to feel himself free to dispense 
 with the ceremony of sending in his card, and 
 in coming directly to my drawing-room he was 
 only following his usual custom. The presence 
 of the carriage and suite of my visitor, waiting 
 in the courtyard, was an occurrence too com- 
 mon to attract his attention, and the stately 
 bawaub, whose duty it was to have warned him, 
 was, as usual, fast asleep. 
 
 I returned to my trembling guest and set about 
 soothing her nerves and calming her fears, and 
 I found this a much easier task than I had dared 
 to hope. Indeed I soon found that she took 
 quite a Christian view of the situation. It was 
 not so much the presence of the man that 
 alarmed her, as it was the fear of his presence 
 being found out, thus proving that wherever 
 you place us, Moslem or Mohammedan, Turk 
 or Jew or Christian, there is a great deal of 
 human nature about us, after all. 
 
 149 
 
CHAPTER XX 
 
 AMERICAN PATRIOTISM — WOMAN'S STATUS IN AMERICA 
 AND THE EAST CONTRASTED — EUNUCHS — EUROPEAN 
 WIVES OF MOHAMMEDAN MAGNATES 
 
 I know of nothing that is so surely calculated 
 to develop the patriotism of an American wom- 
 an as a sojourn in a foreign country. This 
 is especially the case if that sojourn be in what 
 we are pleased to term " heathen" territory. 
 At one time and another I have lived much 
 abroad — in England, in various Continental 
 cities, and in the Orient; and the effect of each 
 of those experiences has been to send me home 
 with my patriotism and pride of country in- 
 creased and intensified. 
 
 In no other country is woman so respected, so 
 sheltered and protected, as in America. In no 
 other country are men so chivalrous, so gallant 
 to women, so careful and considerate of them, 
 as in America. And, at the risk of being dis- 
 cursive, I would like to say that I think we have 
 here two classes of men who stand pre-eminent 
 
 150 
 
WOMEN OF THE EAST 
 
 in their chivalrous and protective attitude to- 
 ward women, — railroad-men and firemen. 
 
 The Orient, like any heathen land, is an es- 
 pecially unpleasant place of sojourn for a Chris- 
 tian woman. The Mohammedan, by reason 
 of his faith, despises women. And his nature, 
 his habits, his education and everything that 
 goes to make up his life, develops and fosters 
 this feeling of contempt for women. 
 
 A Christian woman, if she once realised, in 
 ever so small a degree, the Mohammedan charac- 
 ter and nature, would indignantly repel and re- 
 pudiate as an insult the sleek, smiling, salacious 
 compliments so freely offered her by an Oriental. 
 
 Life in the Orient is most irksome to an 
 American woman, despite its many charms of cli- 
 mate, colour, beauty and mystery. An Amer- 
 ican woman is born and reared in freedom. 
 She is used to go and come as she pleases, her 
 own judgment and her own sense of the pro- 
 prieties being her only censors; and it is very 
 irritating to her to be obliged to live in a land 
 where she must not, under any circumstances, 
 walk out. When she appears upon the street 
 it must be in a carriage. 
 
 *5< 
 
ROSE EYTINGE 
 
 If she be a person of social standing, she must 
 be attended. If she is the mistress of a house- 
 hold, she cannot go to market in the good old- 
 fashioned way to provide for her family; but 
 she must retain a man-servant who is at once 
 major-domo and steward. He must receive 
 the money for the marketing, and she must take 
 what he chooses to return to her, always allow- 
 ing a liberal sum for his stealings. These are 
 only a few of the restraints which meet an 
 American or European woman at every step. 
 
 But this very absence of all freedom, and the 
 control and espionage that constantly surround 
 the Oriental woman, are the source of her 
 highest pride. Such a woman of rank or social 
 position passes her life entirely among the wom- 
 en and children of her own household. She 
 has no social world beyond the precincts of her 
 own hareem (or harem, as it is usually spelled 
 in English) ; she has no social duties or obliga- 
 tions, no domestic occupations. Life, with her, 
 is a continual condition of loll. 
 
 The portion of the house of an Oriental which 
 is dedicated to the use of the women and children 
 comprising his family is entirely separated from 
 
 152 
 
POWER OF THE EUNUCHS 
 
 the part of the house inhabited by the master, 
 or pasha. And the power of admission to the 
 women's quarters, the harem, is vested only in 
 the pasha or the head eunuch. The door is 
 always jealously locked and guarded, and ad- 
 mission to or egress from the harem can be 
 obtained only by the favour of the eunuch. 
 
 This power makes the eunuch king of the 
 house. The Oriental women, far from resent- 
 ing this state of things, are proud of the 
 isolation and seclusion in which they pass 
 their lives, and interpret their imprisonment 
 as proof of the admiration and love which 
 their husbands entertain for them. 
 
 Their explanation of the freedom which Chris- 
 tian women enjoy is that Christian husbands 
 are indifferent to their wives, and it is because 
 of that indifference that the poor, unloved 
 creatures may wander where they will with 
 uncovered faces, permitting all men to look 
 upon them. When I was in Alexandria and 
 Cairo it was my fortune to have upon my visit- 
 ing-list quite a number of harems, including 
 those of the Viceroy. 
 
 But while in those harems there was much 
 
 ! 53 
 
ROSE EYTINGE 
 
 splendour and magnificence, there was an utter 
 absence of all those features that go to fill the 
 Anglo-Saxon idea of home. There were beau- 
 tiful gardens, brilliant and odorous with rare 
 tropical flowers; music, barbaric if you will, but 
 dreamy and fascinating; soft, luxurious divans; 
 rare fruits and delicious confections, sweets and 
 sherbets, black coffee and cigarettes. 
 
 But of books, or pictures, or statuary, or of 
 anything that appealed to the intellect or the 
 higher nature, there was not a trace. Nor was 
 there a sign of the sacred privacy of the home. 
 
 While I was in Egypt there came under my 
 notice one or two instances wherein European 
 women, dazzled by the prospect of wealth and 
 luxury, became the wives of Mohammedan 
 magnates. Nothing more tragic, though at the 
 same time more grotesque, than were the lives 
 they led, can well be imagined. 
 
 As I write I recall the case of a bonnie English 
 girl, about twenty years old, who at the per- 
 sistent solicitation of an ambitious and im- 
 pecunious widowed mother married a rich old 
 copper-coloured pasha of about sixty. They 
 had one child, a miserable, whining, weazen- 
 
 '54 
 
A MOHAMMEDAN'S WIFE 
 
 faced, copper-coloured little boy. The mother 
 never manifested the slightest interest in this 
 child. Indeed she never manifested any in- 
 terest in anything. The poor girl was as very 
 a slave as any to be found in the harem. She 
 would gladly have given all her laces and cash- 
 meres and jewels for a pretty, simple, English 
 print gown ; as gladly have exchanged her beau- 
 tiful victoria and her tine horses, with which 
 every afternoon she used to drive, — husband 
 or mother beside her, — for a brief scamper 
 across English fields. 
 
 One day she escaped from her splendid 
 prison. She just quietly lay down and died, — 
 as I verily believe, from sheer lack of a wish 
 to live. 
 
 *55 
 
CHAPTER XXI 
 
 EGYPTIAN DANCING-GIRLS — THE VICEROY'S MOTHER — 
 ORIENTAL SPLENDOUR — A NOBLEMAN WITH AN HALLU- 
 CINATION 
 
 One of the most interesting if not one of the 
 most agreeable experiences that ever came in 
 my way was when I witnessed an exhibition of 
 Egyptian dancing-girls. 
 
 This delectable form of entertainment is one 
 not usually patronised by women, and was 
 vouchsafed to me as a special mark of favour 
 by the mother of the Viceroy, who was un- 
 doubtedly the reigning feminine power at the 
 Egyptian Court. Although the Viceroy had 
 at this time four wives, all legitimate according 
 to Mohammedan laws, and a countless train 
 of — shall we say "ladies of his household ?" — 
 his mother was the real power, and she it was 
 whom his Excellency consulted on all impor- 
 tant questions of foreign or domestic policy. 
 Her tact and authority kept up a semblance of 
 peace in that vast household, for, while the 
 
 156 
 
EGYPTIAN DANCING-GIRLS 
 
 eunuchs ruled the wives, she ruled the eunuchs. 
 She it was who prepared all the food of which 
 her son partook, always accompanying him on 
 his journeys for this purpose. With this old 
 brown lady, who must have been between 
 seventy and eighty years of age, I had found 
 special favour. 
 
 At the time of which I speak there were a num- 
 ber of American women tourists in Cairo; and 
 I was besieged by one and all to obtain for them 
 some glimpses of harem life, — one merry party 
 of Western girls insisting that they should see 
 an exhibition of dancing-girls. The request 
 made, time had to be taken for consideration, 
 and after acquiescence had been obtained a 
 day had to be set when the dancing-girls could 
 be obtained, for these damsels are quite as 
 expensive in their way and as exacting and 
 capricious as are other prime donne. 
 
 The powers decided that the affair should 
 come off at the Gezira Palace, the most spacious 
 and magnificent of all the Viceroy's twenty-six 
 domiciles. A general invitation was issued to 
 the wives of the foreign consuls. They were all 
 present except the Duchesse de Montholon, 
 
 »57 
 
ROSE EYTINGE 
 
 wife of the French consul-general, who, as al- 
 ways when a public function occurred, was too 
 ill to be present, though it was an open secret 
 that she, being a Spanish grandee and a rigid 
 Catholic, never presented herself at any of the 
 Egyptian Court functions. 
 
 At the last moment a difficulty arose in our 
 party, several of the ladies being in deep mourn- 
 ing, and it was impossible that they should 
 present themselves in black. To do so was to 
 insult the Court. 
 
 In this dilemma all sorts of expedients were 
 resorted to. Of course it would have been easy 
 enough for them to meet the difficulty if they 
 had wished to obtain fresh toilettes for the occa- 
 sion; but this would have entailed heavy ex 
 pense, and as they were persons of moderate 
 means, and the costumes would have been 
 useless to them afterward, they wished to evade 
 the ruling. But as the difficulties grew, their 
 anxiety to attend the function increased in 
 corresponding degree. 
 
 At last an expedient was hit upon. The ladies 
 produced from their trunks various shawls, 
 large and small, and pieces of silk from Da- 
 
 158 
 
ORIENTAL SPLENDOUR 
 
 mascus, and what not else., and with a light and 
 inexpensive skirt here, a show}- little home-made 
 bonnet there, and a graceful if somewhat bizarre 
 disposition of these various fabrics, the party 
 presented a highly picturesque and brilliant 
 appearance. The most gorgeous effect was 
 made by the chaperon. Among her possessions 
 was a large crepe shawl, with a bright, light-blue 
 ground, covered at intervals with all sorts of 
 birds, and beasts and flowers of gorgeous 
 colours. When this shawl was stretched across 
 her ample shoulders, the spectacle was both 
 instructive and inspiring. 
 
 At last we arrived at the ponderous gate of the 
 Gezira Palace, whose frowning front offered no 
 promise of the scene of beaut}* that was to burst 
 upon us on entering its portals. When the 
 janissary of the American Consulate — gor- 
 geous in fine attire and earning his silver tip- 
 staff of office with great gravity and dignity — 
 descended from his official post, and opened 
 the box of the Consular carriage, and presented 
 the viceregal invitation, the Egyptian guards pre- 
 sented arms, the trumpets sounded, the drums 
 beat, the gates flew open, and we entered. 
 
 ■59 
 
ROSE EYTINGE 
 
 Beauty, beauty, beauty everywhere! A be- 
 wildering blaze of light and colour; gleaming 
 white and rose-coloured marble and alabaster; 
 the air filled with the perfume of flowers, the 
 song of birds, the cool tinkle of water from a 
 fountain ! 
 
 After wandering through a maze of this beau- 
 ty, sometimes a courtyard, sometimes a garden, 
 sometimes a lofty hall, we were ushered into 
 the reception-hall. Enthroned on a dais at one 
 end of this magnificent apartment 'sat my old 
 brown friend, the Viceroy's mother; grouped 
 about her, but not upon the dais, were the 
 Viceroy's various wives and favourites and the 
 ladies of the households of his various ministers 
 and officers of the Court. 
 
 Among the foreign ladies present, conspicuous 
 always for her beauty, was the then Countess 
 of Dudley, now the dowager. This beautiful 
 woman was spending some time in Egypt with 
 her husband, who was suffering from one of 
 his periodical attacks of hallucination, his 
 especial imagination at that time being that he 
 was a mouse. As the noble gentleman was 
 about sixty years old and carried weight for age, 
 
 1 60 
 
THE COUNTESS OF DUDLEY 
 
 he was somewhat unwieldy in his movements, 
 and his attempts to retire under chairs or up 
 chimneys to escape from imaginary marauding 
 cats was somewhat embarrassing in general 
 society. 
 
 His fair young Countess was less than half his 
 age. It was amusing to see the effect upon the 
 untutored savage when her ladyship told the 
 viceregal mother, through an interpreter, that 
 she had left several children at home, the young- 
 est of whom was an infant of a few months. 
 Arabian women are most devoted mothers. 
 
 At last the interminable ceremony of sweets, 
 sherbets, and coffee was at an end, and we 
 arrived at the cigarette period. Then the 
 dancing-girls were introduced. At first there 
 was a dreamy fascination about the exhibition, 
 — the dim light, the soft, smothered tinkle- 
 tinkle and strum-strum of the music, the beauty 
 of the girls, shining with golden ornaments and 
 graceful and agile as young fawns. But as the 
 music increased in volume and measure, as the 
 movements of the dancers kept time to this 
 change, and as the longer they dance the more 
 we saw of them, one's interest changed to 
 
 161 
 
ROSE EYTINGE 
 
 languor, the languor to something very like 
 disgust, and when they fell, semi-nude, panting, 
 shapeless heaps upon their rugs, their retire- 
 ment was accepted with a general sigh of relief. 
 
 162 
 
CHAPTER XXII 
 
 TRAGEDIES OF THE HAREMS — SULYMAN PASHA — FROM A 
 FRENCH CLOISTER TO AN EGYPTIAN PRISON — CHERIF 
 PASHA AND HIS UNHAPPY WIFE 
 
 To live in the Orient, basking in perpetual sun- 
 shine, breathing the odours of perennial flowers, 
 luxuriating on delicious fruits, being waited 
 upon by willing slaves who feed the mind with 
 subtle flatteries and the palate with cloying 
 sweets, is not always to find life a playground. 
 
 The life in the harems sometimes discloses 
 tragedies soul-sickening in their secret horror 
 and in the utter inability of any power to avenge 
 them. An incident that recurs to me will illus- 
 trate what I mean. 
 
 The beginning of this tragedy dates back to the 
 time of Mehemet Ali, the founder of the present 
 Egyptian dynasty, if Egypt can now be said to 
 have a dynasty. 
 
 When this man, by a successful rebellion, seized 
 the reins of government and proclaimed himself 
 sovereign, he had in his confidential service a 
 
 163 
 
ROSE EYTINGE 
 
 soldier who had served with distinction in the 
 French army, in which at the period when he 
 left that service he held the rank of colonel. 
 Originally of the people, he had attained this 
 position through the possession of unusual 
 qualities. He was brave in action, ready in expe- 
 dients, unscrupulous in carrying them out, and 
 possessed of an insatiable cupidity. 
 
 These characteristics led to his committing 
 some act which brought disgrace upon himself, 
 and sooner than await the consequences, which 
 seemed inevitable, he deserted and sought ser- 
 vice in Egypt, where he soon rendered himself 
 indispensable to Mehemet Ali, who, as soon as 
 he found himself Egypt's ruler, loaded the 
 apostate Frenchman, — who made no difficulty 
 about declaring himself a good Mohammedan, 
 — with wealth and honours. He bestowed 
 upon him the title of Sulyman Pasha, and gave 
 'him as his first wife, or queen of his harem, an 
 Armenian princess of great wealth and won- 
 drous beauty. 
 
 Although Sulyman availed himself of his Mo- 
 hammedan privileges to the fullest extent, and 
 kept a flourishing domestic establishment, he 
 
 164 
 
A MOHAMMEDAN PRINCESS 
 
 never deposed this princess from her first place 
 in either his regard or her position. She bore 
 him a daughter, and for this daughter he ex- 
 hibited the fondest and deepest paternal love; 
 and he revolted from the thought of having her 
 grow up in the ignorant, aimless, idle life of the 
 harem. While she was little more than a baby 
 he sent her to a convent in France to be edu- 
 cated, and to grow up in the Catholic faith. 
 Her Mohammedan parentage was carefully 
 concealed, not only from her schoolmates, but 
 also from the sisterhood and from herself, — 
 only the Mother Superior being cognizant of 
 the fact. It was only known that she was of 
 high rank and great wealth. 
 
 She had been several years in the convent be- 
 fore she made a visit to her native place, and 
 even then she was too young to realize the differ- 
 ence in the mode of life; and so she grew to 
 womanhood virtually ignorant of the difference 
 between herself and the girls who were her com- 
 panions and friends, but from whom, in the 
 near future, she was to be so completely and 
 cruelly separated. 
 
 When she was in the first years of her bud- 
 165 
 
ROSE EYTINGE 
 
 ding womanhood and fresh young beauty, she 
 made one of her customary visits to her father, 
 her mother having been dead several years; and 
 during this visit her father, after a sudden and 
 brief illness, died. 
 
 An examination of his affairs took place, and 
 the story of her great wealth was confirmed; 
 it was found that while she was still an infant 
 her father had settled an immense fortune upon 
 her, but he had made no provision looking 
 toward her release from the condition of a 
 Turkish subject. 
 
 The Viceroy was appointed her guardian, and 
 she was surrounded with every luxury that her 
 great wealth entitled her to. But her Christian 
 attendants were all sent back to France, her 
 household was conducted upon a strictly Turk- 
 ish basis, and she herself was not permitted to 
 leave the country. In a very short time the 
 Viceroy gave her in marriage to Cherif Pasha, 
 who was at least double her age, a man of wealth 
 and importance and a thorough Moslem. 
 
 She, a free woman, made free by that greatest 
 of all enfranchisements, a cultivated mind, was 
 thus condemned to slavery. As the wife of a 
 
 1 66 
 
A TRAGIC STORY 
 
 Turk she must live in her husband's harem 
 along with the other women of his household, 
 where she must be in the keeping of an official 
 who by right of his office carried the key to 
 those apartments, and only at his pleasure and 
 in his custody could she leave them. 
 
 I had heard the tragic story of this woman 
 some time before I made her acquaintance, 
 though she might often have been present on 
 any of the occasions when I visited the royal 
 harem, and I not have been aware of her pres- 
 ence, as our Western custom of introduction and 
 general intercourse did not prevail there. 
 
 But on one of these visits I met a woman who 
 knew Madame Cherif by sight, and at my re- 
 quest she pointed her out to me. As she sat 
 gorgeously dressed and ablaze with gems she 
 was a most pathetic figure. Though she had 
 passed her first youth she was still a striking and 
 noble figure and bore traces of great beauty. 
 Her great, dark eyes were surrounded by circles 
 almost as dark as themselves, and she had an 
 eager, starved glance. Her mouth was closely 
 drawn in, and her lips were pressed together 
 as though she habitually kept back the words 
 
 167 
 
ROSE EYTINGE 
 
 that were striving for utterance. I was most 
 painfully impressed by her hands, they were so 
 pitifully eloquent. Such tiny hands they were, 
 and, as they lay so white and helpless-looking 
 on her gorgeous robe, they had a trick of flutter- 
 ing, it seemed to me, like some lost bird whose 
 wings had been sorely wounded. 
 
 There were tears in the quivering of those 
 small fingers; they, and her eyes, and her mouth 
 revealed a tragedy. I there and then made up 
 my mind that if a woman who was herself 
 happy in the privilege of having been born in 
 a free land could brighten, if even in ever so 
 slight a way, the dark fate of that unhappy 
 woman, it should be done. 
 
 As soon as I could do so without attracting 
 attention, I asked to be presented to Madame 
 Cherif . After a few ceremonious words of greet- 
 ing on either side, I said to her in my most dis- 
 tant manner, but with a slight shade of meaning 
 in my voice, that it would give me great pleas- 
 ure to call upon her. With a startled glance, 
 first at me and then about her, she replied with 
 one word, "Impossible !" 
 
 But I was determined that I would not be so 
 1 68 
 
AN UNHAPPY WIFE 
 
 easily discouraged. I asked, "Is that your 
 wish?" In reply, with another startled glance, 
 she said, "It is my fear." To this I replied, 
 "Leave it to me," and I moved away. 
 
 I knew that in trying to offer any hope to this 
 poor creature I was setting for myself no easy 
 task, but I rested my hopes on the fact that I 
 knew Cherif Pasha quite well. By this time I 
 had learned that the men of the Orient greatly 
 enjoyed meeting the women of the Western 
 world, but, while they enjoyed their intelligent 
 talk and observed with a sort of puzzled ad- 
 miration the perfect ease and freedom with 
 which such women expressed their views, they 
 were all very careful that none of that intelli- 
 gence or freedom of opinion should find its way 
 to the women of their own country or faith. 
 
 A little careful inquiry helped me to learn that 
 the Cherif s harem was just then at his palace 
 a little way out of Cairo, on the banks of the 
 Mahmoudieh Canal, and I knew that the gar- 
 dens of this palace were famous for the beauty 
 and rarity of their flowers. 
 
 I developed a great interest in horticulture, 
 and managed to have it given out that I en- 
 
 169 
 
ROSE EYTINGE 
 
 joyed nothing so much as a stroll among the 
 flowers. 
 
 A great man once told me that opportunities 
 never occur, — they are made. And it was not 
 long before I made an opportunity to mention 
 to Cherif Pasha my love for flowers, and that I 
 had heard of the great beauty of his garden. 
 What so natural as that he should beg me to 
 visit them, and that I should accept his invita- 
 tion? 
 
 But I reminded his Excellency that the cus- 
 toms of my country made it incumbent that 
 Madame Cherif Pasha should receive me, and 
 after a little half-bantering, half-serious discus- 
 sion the Pasha smilingly yielded to what he 
 considered was an absurd exhibition of quite 
 unnecessary etiquette. 
 
 An early day was named for the visit. I con- 
 fess I looked forward to it with no small degree 
 of nervousness. I had in my mind nothing 
 definite, only a great wish to try to cheer this 
 woman who, with the rank of a noble, the wealth 
 of a millionaire, and the luxury of a sybarite, 
 was poorer, more pitiable than the most miser- 
 able beggar that wanders through the streets 
 
 170 
 
VISIT TO MADAME CHERIF 
 
 of any Christian town, — for that beggar has 
 freedom. 
 
 It is needless to describe the details of my visit 
 except so far as it relates to Madame Cherif. 
 She, with three or four other wives of the Pasha 
 and a train of women attendants, met us on our 
 arrival. Standing on either side of the entrance 
 to the harem were two tall eunuchs. They 
 looked like great carved, ebony figures, they 
 were so densely black and they stood so motion- 
 less. 
 
 With a fine assumption of breezy familiarity I 
 at once claimed Madame Cherif as an old ac- 
 quaintance, and while she seemed for a moment 
 dazed and startled I drew her arm through 
 mine, and, glibly chattering, I led her away 
 from the rest. 
 
 Once out of earshot of the others, I told her 
 rapidly that if — as I suspected — she was un- 
 happy and needed a friend, I begged her to 
 allow me to be that friend. I did not know if 
 she needed or would accept my services, but 
 here I was, and I begged her to command me. 
 But I reminded her that moments were precious 
 and she must be frank and prompt. 
 
ROSE EYTINGE 
 
 The poor woman looked closely and wonder- 
 ingly at me, and then said in an awe-struck 
 whisper: "Yes! Yes! There is a God! It is 
 true, what the good nuns taught me! Christ 
 lives, and he has sent this angel to comfort 
 me!" And she would have thrown herself at 
 my feet if I had not promptly and impera- 
 tively prevented so absurd an act. 
 
 Self-control and a calm demeanour were most 
 necessary, for the voices of others of the party 
 could be heard. So, giving her a good, old- 
 fashioned hand-shake, I drew her on and fell 
 to chattering like a magpie, and as soon as we 
 were at a safe distance I again begged her to 
 tell me quietly if I could do anything to serve 
 her. She said with quiet hopelessness, there 
 was nothing. Then she added, "If sometimes 
 I could see you, if you could tell me of your 
 country, your home, where women are free, 
 where they are permitted to read, to think !" 
 
 Before I had time to reply we were joined by 
 others of the party, and during the rest of the 
 visit I had no opportunity to speak confiden- 
 tially to her; but I wanted very much to give 
 her some little comforting message, so I begged 
 
 172 
 
A MESSAGE OF HOPE 
 
 to be told the names of some rare plants, and 
 then required paper and pencil with which to 
 make a note of them. In taking these names 
 I made many blunders; in short, I managed to 
 write her a line telling her we would certainly 
 meet again, and I hoped to be able so to manage 
 it that she should return my visit. I might as 
 well say here that at the time I told her this I 
 had no more hope of being able to accomplish 
 such a feat than I had of overturning the Turk- 
 ish Empire. 
 
 I contrived to let her see the slip of paper on 
 which I had scrawled my little message of hope, 
 and shortly afterward she received it from under 
 a dish of sweets. She withdrew for a moment 
 to the side of a fountain that adorned the court, 
 and on rejoining us I had the satisfaction of 
 seeing her eat some little paper pellets together 
 with some conserve of violets. 
 
 A few days after this visit to the gardens I sent 
 to Madame Cherif a ceremonious invitation to 
 her to return my visit. As I expected, my in- 
 vitation was as ceremoniously declined. I at 
 once requested Cherif Pasha to call upon me, 
 and to him I expressed my grievance against 
 
 1.73 
 
ROSE EYTINGE 
 
 Madame Cherif, explaining to him that I, hav- 
 ing called upon Madame, was placed in a very- 
 awkward position by her declining to return my 
 call. That in my country, — etc., etc. 
 
 The Pasha was at great pains to explain to me 
 the habits of Oriental women, but I persistently 
 declined to be either enlightened or pacified. 
 I stood upon my claim that I had visited 
 Madame Cherif, and that it was incumbent 
 upon her to return that visit. 
 
 After a long and vigorous talk, during which I 
 confess I exhibited almost every quality at a 
 woman's command except humility and cour- 
 tesy the Pasha capitulated. It was settled that 
 Madame Cherif should visit me. It was also 
 agreed that on the day appointed for her visit 
 all the men of my household should absent 
 themselves, that my house should be guarded 
 by the chief eunuch of Cherif s harem, and that 
 nobody should be present — no guests — only 
 the women of my household. 
 
 The talk between Madame Cherif and myself 
 was pleasant in that it was free and uncon- 
 strained, yet it was very sad. The unhappy 
 lady fully realised the hopelessness of her posi- 
 
 '74 
 
A HELPLESS SORROW 
 
 tion. Indeed, she saw it much more clearly 
 than I either could or would. There was in- 
 finite pathos in the quiet despair with which 
 she pointed out to me the impossibility of any 
 change in her life. 
 
 She was a Turkish subject. The whole ques- 
 tion was summed up in that statement; and 
 this woman, whom I had hoped to help and 
 comfort, was forced to try to console me in my 
 helpless sorrow for her. She said there was 
 one thing I could do for her, I could give her 
 a few books. I searched the bookshelves and 
 selected for her Michelet's "Woman," Sou- 
 vestrie's "Pleasures of Old Age," and Balzac's 
 "Eugenie Grandet." Then we set to work to 
 tear them from their bindings and remove every 
 unnecessary leaf, so that she might the more 
 easily conceal them about her person. 
 
 This over, amid hopes that the future might 
 give us the opportunity to meet often, we parted. 
 I never saw Madame Cherif again. 
 
 Very soon I learned that the harem of Cherif 
 Pasha had been sent to one of his palaces in the 
 interior. When, on meeting Cherif, I inquired 
 for Madame Cherif, I was told with the most 
 
 175 
 
ROSE EYTINGE 
 
 ceremonious courtesy that she was quite well, 
 and would shortly return to Cairo, if but for 
 the happiness of again seeing me. 
 
 But she never came. I have often wondered 
 if the few printed leaves that had been meant 
 to lighten the darkness of her sad life had been 
 discovered, and been made the means of draw- 
 ing still closer the chains of her slavery. 
 
 176 
 
CHAPTER XXIII 
 
 VERDI'S "AIDA" IN THE CAIRO OPERA-HOUSE — A BLAZE 
 OF JEWELS — A COSMOPOLITAN AUDIENCE 
 
 While in Cairo I witnessed the first perform- 
 ance of Verdi's opera, "Aida," the occasion being 
 the opening of the first opera-house that city 
 had ever possessed. 
 
 Ismail Pasha, then Viceroy of Egypt, while a 
 good Mussulman, was a great admirer and 
 imitator of all things European, especially of 
 English and French fashions. So, one day, as 
 I have mentioned in an earlier chapter, he 
 determined that he would have an opera-house. 
 But he found, to his vexation, that it was much 
 easier to form this determination than to carry 
 it out. 
 
 It was easy enough to obtain plans and esti- 
 mates, — all these the European schools offered 
 in abundance; but the two almost insuperable 
 difficulties which he encountered were, first to 
 raise the money with which to build; second, 
 to obtain from among the fellaheen, labourers 
 
 1 77 
 
ROSE EYTINGE 
 
 who could be entrusted with the work. After 
 months of delay the land was obtained and 
 ground broken ; and after more and more delay 
 the building was begun. 
 
 There would be pauses in the proceedings, 
 sometimes running into months. At last the 
 project was sufficiently advanced to justify the 
 hope that some time in the far future the opera- 
 house might be an established fact, and next 
 Ismail bethought him that it would be a fine and 
 appropriate thing to dedicate the house by the 
 performance in it for the first time of an opera 
 of Oriental plot. Verdi was the composer se- 
 lected, and "Aida" was the opera settled upon. 
 
 Verdi came from Paris and was royally lodged 
 in one of the viceregal palaces during the time 
 occupied by rehearsals, and at the initial per- 
 formance he conducted in person. The stage 
 presented a positive blaze of light which was 
 reflected from the jewels worn by the artists 
 and chorus. 
 
 At the time of this performance the Franco- 
 Prussian War was raging, and the stage jewels 
 and ornaments which had been ordered from 
 Parisian manufacturers could not be obtained, 
 
 178 
 
A BLAZE OF JEWELS 
 
 for the reason that the Frenchmen were too busy 
 righting their German neighbours to give any 
 attention to business. So in this dilemma, and 
 in order that nothing might be lacking to mark 
 the occasion with appropriate splendour, the 
 Viceroy emptied the treasure-chests of his 
 harems and distributed their contents among 
 the persons engaged in the performance. 
 
 On that memorable occasion there was dis- 
 played on the stage more than three million 
 pounds' worth of gems. In order to protect this 
 vast amount of wealth there were placed among 
 the chorus and "extra" persons a great number 
 of detectives, and it was said at the time, with 
 great pride, that not a stone of the collection 
 was lost. Whether this was a tribute to the 
 honesty of the crowd or to the watchfulness of 
 the detectives did not appear, but the blaze of 
 light and splendour upon the stage was fully 
 reflected back from the audience. 
 
 Of course nothing could be seen of the occu- 
 pants of the viceregal boxes, except an occa- 
 sional flash of light darting through the jalousies, 
 — w r hether reflected from a gem, or from a pair 
 of glorious dark eyes, who shall say? But the 
 
 i 79 
 
ROSE EYTINGE 
 
 audience was magnificent in numbers and 
 dazzling in appearance. The house was packed 
 from floor to ceiling. All the consuls were in 
 full dress, many of them in regalia; and there 
 was a large sprinkling of English, French, and 
 people of other nationalities in uniform, many 
 Greek and Albanian notables in their pictur- 
 esque costumes, and of course a large propor- 
 tion of Mussulmans, whose scarlet tarbooshes 
 made patches of brilliant colour throughout the 
 house. 
 
 But the women ! What words can do justice 
 to the wondrous beauty of their appearance! 
 The soft Cairene climate made possible cos- 
 tumes of the most diaphanous materials, and 
 these costumes were literally encrusted with 
 gems. The heads of these ladies gleamed with 
 gorgeous tiaras, their breasts blazed with collars, 
 necklaces, and revers of gems, and the air was 
 heavy with the odours of the flowers with which 
 they were adorned. 
 
 When Verdi took his place in the orchestra and 
 waved his baton, he seemed extremely nervous, 
 but as he warmed to his work his nervousness 
 seemed gradually to melt from him, and by the 
 
 1 80 
 
A GREETING TO VERDI 
 
 end of the first act he had himself perfectly in 
 hand. The end of the second act was the signal 
 for such an ovation as would have turned the 
 head of many a master, but Verdi, while his 
 face beamed, and the whole man seemed to 
 vibrate with the pleasure that such a greeting 
 gave him, was throughout quite self-possessed 
 and comparatively calm. 
 
 It was a notable event, as introducing mod- 
 ern art in the capital of ancient mysticism, and 
 it deserved all the recognition it received. And 
 too great praise cannot be accorded to Ismail 
 Pasha, a Mohammedan monarch, for the public 
 spirit and appreciation of art he exhibited in 
 producing such a result. 
 
 181 
 
CHAPTER XXIV 
 
 EGYPTIAN ANTIQUITIES — A REMARKABLE COINCIDENCE 
 — A GREEK DOG — A PRESENT OF MUTTON "ON THE 
 HOOF" — A BERBER PRINCE — THE RESTORATION OF 
 A LONG-LOST CHILD 
 
 During my residence in Egypt I was the recip- 
 ient of many gifts, some of intrinsic value, but 
 many of them valuable only because of their 
 curious and unique character. One was a 
 drinking-cup and saucer cut from the horn of 
 a young buffalo when the moon was in the third 
 quarter. The legend of this cup was, that if 
 a new-born babe received its first drink from it 
 the child would be blessed with good fortune 
 during its life. 
 
 Another gift was a figure of a sacred bull, in 
 green bronze. This had been discovered in 
 the tomb of one of the Pharaohs, where it had 
 lain for more than five thousand years. This 
 ancient treasure I gave to the Rev. Dr. Chan- 
 ning, the American clergyman, an enthusiastic 
 and learned Egyptologist, and for many years 
 
 182 
 
EGYPTIAN ANTIQUITIES 
 
 a resident of London, in which city we met. 
 Our talk naturally turned upon Egypt, and in 
 the course of the distinguished doctor's conver- 
 sation — a great part of which, I must confess, 
 was indeed "dark as Egypt" to me — he told 
 me how he had for years been seeking the 
 bronze image of a certain sacred bull, which 
 image was needed to complete and verify cer- 
 tain data over which he had spent years of toil 
 and research. I told him of my possession, to 
 which, I acknowledged, I had, up to this time, 
 attached no great importance except to regard 
 it as a unique paper-weight. 
 
 I also told him that when the figure was given 
 to me it had been rolled in a strip of papyrus, 
 the whole being enclosed in a piece of the 
 peculiar yellowish, greyish linen in which all 
 mummies and their belongings are preserved. 
 The doctor's excitement during my recital of 
 these details almost passed those bounds of 
 conventionality so carefully preserved in polite 
 society everywhere, but especially in English 
 circles. When I told him that it would give 
 me pleasure to place the whole relic at his dis- 
 posal, he almost "went to pieces." 
 
 183 
 
ROSE EYTINGE 
 
 It was settled that I should send the precious 
 "loot" to him the following day, he to send a 
 trusty messenger for it, and by eight o'clock the 
 next morning the messenger arrived. I was 
 greatly pleased to learn, shortly afterward, that 
 Dr. Channing's highest hopes were more than 
 realised. The papyrus gave him the fullest 
 details, and aided him in establishing beyond 
 a peradventure the link of evidence for which 
 he had sought so long and fruitlessly. 
 
 Another curious gift which was brought to me 
 was of quite a different sort. It was a Greek 
 dog. 
 
 It was not a pretty dog, Greek though it was, 
 and its habits quite put to rout all one's ideas 
 of the beauty and artistic qualities of the 
 Greeks. Dogs are not popular in Egypt. The 
 wild, semi- wolfish creatures — very like coyotes 
 — that infest the country destroy one's sen- 
 timent about "old dog Tray," for the Egyptian 
 dog is neither gentle nor kind, and he has a 
 trick of attacking you from behind. The 
 dog's stay among us was limited to that of his 
 donor. 
 
A PRESENT OF MUTTON 
 
 But of all the extraordinary gifts to make to a 
 rather quietly disposed woman, commend me 
 to a sheep! 
 
 It was on the occasion of some Mohammedan 
 holiday. I was awakened by the confused 
 sounds of many feet upon the veranda, and the 
 sound of many voices all raised at once, — some 
 in praise, some in expostulation, others in stern 
 tones of command, the whole being supple- 
 mented at intervals by a loud and plaintive 
 "Ba-a-a!" 
 
 After a long and somewhat anxious suspense, 
 the trampling feet and many voices entered the 
 house and made for my bedroom. After 
 due knocking the procession entered, headed 
 by my major-domo, who was a most stately 
 personage, and, having a smattering of every 
 language in the universe, spoke none. 
 
 Nicolo was closely followed by Marie, a Mal- 
 tese maiden, who, I must confess, usually followed 
 Nicolo pretty closely, and bringing up the rear 
 was every man employed about the place, from 
 the cook to the water-carrier. 
 
 Trotting in their midst, looking wretched and 
 terrified at his unaccustomed surroundings, was 
 
 185 
 
ROSE EYTINGE 
 
 an enormous ram. He had evidently been sub- 
 mitted to an elaborate toilet for the occasion, 
 for his fleece was snowy white, and his great, 
 curled horns, and his feathered tail, which 
 swept the ground, were ornamented with blue 
 ribbons. 
 
 Marie, also ornamented, like the sheep, with 
 blue ribbons, and tricked out also with "nods 
 and becks and wreathed smiles," stepped for- 
 ward, having evidently been selected for the hon- 
 ourable position of spokeswoman. In a speech 
 which I understood much better by watching 
 her pantomime than by listening to her lame, 
 polyglot jargon, she begged me to accept this 
 small "ship," — by which I made out that she 
 meant this enormous ram, — as a proof of re- 
 gard, love, reverence, etc. 
 
 Of course I accepted. What else could I do ? 
 I was there in my bed. There was my entire 
 establishment, and there was "de leetle ship." 
 So I patted my gift on the head, and let him 
 place his moist nose in my palm, and duly ad- 
 mired him, and at last, to my very great relief, 
 saw him led away. 
 
 Where? I never dared to inquire. I only 
 1 86 
 
A BERBER PRINCE 
 
 know that my table, and the tables of several 
 of my neighbours, were all bountifully supplied 
 with mutton for some time. I never could bring 
 myself quite to enjoy that mutton; I could not 
 forget the trusting way in which that "leetle 
 ship" visited me, and had allowed me to pat 
 his curly head, and it didn't seem quite a nice 
 
 way to treat him, to 
 
 But let us have in the next course. 
 
 The very finest gift I ever received was a 
 prince, — a real, for-true, flesh-and-blood prince. 
 
 It happened this way. A party made up of 
 persons whom I knew went in their dahabeah 
 up the Nile as far as the Second Cataract, and 
 while in that Upper Egypt country they met a 
 party of marauders who were bringing slaves 
 from the Berber country down to the slave- 
 markets. 
 
 They noticed among the slaves a boy about ten 
 years of age, and of singular and striking beau- 
 ty. He repelled all their attempts to make ac- 
 quaintance, held himself proudly aloof, and 
 preserved a stern silence and stoical manner 
 fitted more to a man than to the child he was. 
 
 187 
 
ROSE EYTINGE 
 
 His captors treated him with a rough, dumb 
 sort of consideration, and, while his fellow-slaves 
 were most cruelly and villainously treated, he 
 was passed over and artfully overlooked. 
 
 Through their interpreter my friends learned 
 that this child was indeed a prince, — his father 
 was king of a powerful and warlike tribe. The 
 child had been captured in a night attack, and 
 his captors regretted the fact and greatly feared 
 the vengeance which his father would most 
 surely take. So when these travellers offered 
 to buy him their offer was accepted. 
 
 But when the bargain was concluded, and the 
 boy was transferred to their dahabeah, they did 
 not in the least know what to do with him. He 
 spoke a Berber dialect, and there was not a man 
 on board who could understand him. He re- 
 fused alike to join the crew "forward" or to 
 associate with the servants; he would sit apart, 
 watching the white people with an expression 
 of amazed curiosity; and from a sort of cavalier 
 respect in his manner toward them he seemed 
 to acknowledge their superiority. When my 
 friends came to Alexandria they sent this child 
 out to me. On obtaining possession of him I 
 
AN EBONY BEAUTY 
 
 at once carried out Mr. Dick's advice as to 
 David Copperfield, — I had him bathed. 
 
 When he next appeared before me, his beau- 
 tiful bronze skin shining, his exquisitely formed 
 feet slipped into scarlet pointed slippers, dressed 
 in a white shirt, and with a scarlet sash about 
 his waist, and a tarboosh on his head, I thought 
 him one of the most beautiful objects I had ever 
 seen. And as I look back now, and conjure 
 him before me as he looked then, I still think so. 
 The poor child's solitude, the wrongs inflicted 
 upon him, appealed most strongly to me. I 
 opened my arms. Never shall I forget the 
 flash that seemed to envelop him; for the first 
 and last time I saw his eyes suffuse with tears. 
 With a swift action he sprang toward me, and 
 for an instant only he rested in my arms. Then 
 he slid down to my feet, kissed the hem of my 
 gown, and — never taking his eyes from my 
 face — settled himself into an easy attitude and 
 uttered a brief grunt of content. From that 
 moment his position in the establishment was 
 settled. He belonged to me. 
 
 For me he would perform any office ; he would 
 fetch and carry; and, by an arrangement en- 
 
ROSE EYTINGE 
 
 tirely his own, he would stand behind my chair 
 at table, and take from any hand that proffered 
 me anything, and himself hand it to me. 
 
 I soon, however, discovered a difficulty, — in- 
 deed, there were a good many domestic diffi- 
 culties consequent upon this child's presence 
 in the household. The particular difficulty 
 which presented itself was his getting anything 
 to eat. He absolutely refused to eat with or in 
 any way to associate with the servants, so I got 
 into the habit of duplicating what I myself ate, 
 and, placing it upon a dish, would give this to 
 my young henchman. He would retire and 
 put it in a place of safety, and when he thought 
 himself quite unobserved he would eat. 
 
 We tried him with every Arabic name we had 
 ever heard or heard of, and when we said "Hal- 
 eel" he expressed the greatest delight, so that 
 matter was settled and his name discovered. 
 
 He had a quick intelligence, and, unlike most 
 of his race, he had a ready sense of humour. 
 He soon mastered the Arabic that he heard 
 spoken by those about him. 
 
 My interest in the boy increased daily, and 
 I determined that I would seize upon any op- 
 
 190 
 
A PRINCE'S GRATITUDE 
 
 portunity that might offer to restore him to his 
 family and his rank. 
 
 With my and his fragments of Arabic I soon 
 managed to talk quite freely with him, and 
 I imparted my determination to him. His de- 
 light was too deep for words; he looked at me 
 with unutterable gratitude, flung himself at 
 my feet, kissed my gown, and disappeared. 
 When he presented himself several hours later, 
 he had evidently been crying, poor child ! 
 
 Needless to say, I soon ceased to refer to this 
 resolve of mine. Everybody regarded it as a 
 most quixotic notion, entirely impossible of exe- 
 cution. So Haleel and I kept our own counsel. 
 
 When strangers visited me, Haleel, who was 
 rarely absent from my side, would scan them, 
 look questioningly at them, and then at me, 
 and when he learned that there was nothing 
 in their visit likely to help our project, he would 
 sigh — a low inward, rather than outward sigh 
 — and disappear. When he reappeared he 
 would always come in smiling and apparently 
 happy, usually with some gift for me, — a 
 captured bird, a basket of figs, or a branch of 
 oranges. 
 
 191 
 
ROSE EYTINGE 
 
 But one day, oh, day of days for my young 
 prince! there came a man from Upper Egypt, 
 a consular agent who had got himself into 
 trouble and who needed some help and pro- 
 tection that it happened to be in my power to 
 bestow. 
 
 I found that he talked the Berber dialect. 
 Haleel spoke to him; they understood each 
 other. 
 
 Then there occurred one of the most dra- 
 matic scenes I ever witnessed. 
 
 At first the man, a large, forbidding-looking 
 creature, questioned Haleel. Haleel replied 
 briefly. As this examination proceeded, the 
 huge man seemed to lose importance, and the 
 child to gain it; and when, in reply to some 
 crowning question, Haleel replied, briefly still, 
 but in ringing tones, evidently making some 
 startling statement, the man, with a great cry, 
 flung himself on the floor before the child and 
 literally grovelled at his feet, while Haleel stood 
 erect with blazing eyes transfigured with maj- 
 esty. 
 
 Details were soon arranged. You may be 
 sure my consular agent was not pressed too 
 
 192 
 
A LOST CHILD RESTORED 
 
 hard 5 the charges against him were pigeon- 
 holed, and with all possible speed his face was 
 turned homeward. 
 
 And Haleel, my young prince, my slave, my 
 comrade, my protege, was to accompany him, 
 under the most solemn pledge that he would 
 be returned to his father. The doubtins; 
 Thomases on all hands, especially those who 
 had always considered my project of sending 
 the child back to his home as a huge joke, 
 smiled and shrugged their shoulders, and ex- 
 pressed more incredulity than ever. 
 
 But Haleel believed in the consular agent, 
 and I believed in Haleel. The child, in the 
 jargon that he and I had patched up between 
 us, made me understand that the Berber with 
 whom he was going would be only too pleased 
 and proud to return him to his father, for his 
 father was a powerful king and would not only 
 shower gifts upon his child's restorer, but 
 would protect the man's tribe. 
 
 I gave Haleel a tiny locket and told him 
 to conceal it. which he promptly proceeded 
 to do bv weaving it into the tassel of his tar- 
 boosh. When he was with his father, and not 
 
 193 
 
ROSE EYTINGE 
 
 before, he was to give it to the Berber, with 
 instructions to pass it down from hand to hand 
 by any traveller, or sheik, or soldier who was 
 coming to Lower Egypt until it reached me, 
 when I would reward the messenger. 
 
 And so Haleel went. 
 
 Ah! how many times he turned around when 
 he reached the foot of the hill, and raced back 
 to the terrace where I stood watching him, and 
 flung himself first into my arms and then at 
 my feet, uttering mingled words of sorrow and 
 joy, of love, of gratitude. 
 
 Some eighteen months afterward an Arab 
 sheik demanded an audience, and he told the 
 janissary that he brought me a message from 
 Prince Haleel. 
 
 First there was a little hamper of straw, then 
 another lesser hamper of some sweet grass, 
 and so on until at last, enclosed in a tiny silver 
 box of cunning workmanship, there lay my 
 locket. 
 
 i 94 
 
CHAPTER XXV 
 
 SIR HENRY BULWER — AMERICAN OFFICERS IN THE KHE- 
 
 DIVE'S SERVICE — STONE PASHA COLONEL THOMAS 
 
 W, RHETT — GENERAL SHERMAN — PATRIOTISM MOL- 
 LIFIED BY OLD ASSOCIATIONS — A MEETING OF ONE- 
 TIME ENEMIES 
 
 While in Egypt I met a number of notable 
 persons. At this moment I remember a gentle- 
 man who, in that community at least, was 
 better known for his eccentricities than for his 
 ability as a diplomat. This was Sir Henry 
 Bulwer, brother of Lord Lytton. 
 
 Sir Henry was a sort of resident Plenipo- 
 tentiary Minister Extraordinary for the British 
 Government. To describe his position in a 
 more homely but clearer way, he was appointed 
 to Egypt as a sort of diplomatic "Sister Anne"; 
 and his real duty consisted in keeping a sharp 
 look-out that no movement, however insig- 
 nificant it might seem to be, that could, how- 
 ever remotely, have an adverse influence upon 
 English interests in Egypt, could take place 
 without his immediate knowledge, and a corre- 
 
 195 
 
ROSE EYTINGE 
 
 spondingly immediate communication to the 
 home powers. 
 
 Sir Henry was an invalid, a valetudinarian, 
 a hypochondriac, and anything else that one 
 could think of that is sour, discontented, and 
 disagreeable. He lived the life of a recluse, 
 his poor health making this a necessity; and 
 when, on the rare occasions he invited one or 
 more guests to dine with him, it was considered 
 more a penance than a pleasure; for his place 
 at table was always banked in with medicine- 
 bottles and pill-boxes, and it was his habit to 
 dose himself with these various drugs between 
 the courses. His only really close friend was 
 a monkey, a hideous little beast, as bad-tem- 
 pered and ill-conditioned as his master, but 
 with a much better digestion. 
 
 The American colony in Egypt of course 
 interested me, and this colony was largely 
 augmented during my stay there through the 
 instrumentality of Ismail Pasha himself. 
 
 It had long been the secret wish of Ismail 
 to feel himself able to make a bold stand, throw 
 off the yoke of the Sultan, and declare himself 
 
 196 
 
GENERAL MOTT'S IDEA 
 
 an independent sovereign. But to do this, 
 even to attempt it, was out of the question, 
 unless the whole of Lower Egypt could be 
 placed upon a firm war footing. 
 
 How to do this was, and for a long time had 
 been, Ismail's great difficulty. An American 
 attached to his Court seemed to have solved 
 the problem for him. This American was 
 Thaddeus P. Mott, a son of Dr. Alexander 
 Mott, of New York, and at the time I refer to 
 — the 'sixties — he was attached to the Khe- 
 dive's service with the rank of General. 
 
 We all remember that at the close of the war 
 between the North and South many of the fore- 
 most and best-trained military men in this 
 country, who had stood by their States, went 
 down and were lost with their cause. 
 
 General Mott's idea was based upon this 
 fact. He proposed to bring into Egypt some of 
 these distinguished military leaders and employ 
 them to train the Viceroy's troops. 
 
 The Viceroy eagerly accepted this plan, and 
 he gave orders to General Mott to carry it into 
 execution. The General returned to the United 
 States to obtain such men as, in his judgment, 
 
 i 97 
 
ROSE EYTINGE 
 
 would be most valuable, and of the officers he 
 selected I recall Generals Loring, Rhett, and 
 Stone; Colonels Mason, Purdy, Hunt, Du 
 Chaillu-Long; and many others. 
 
 But it is a far cry from America to Egypt. 
 The majority of the officers selected were men 
 of family, and when the war was over they 
 found themselves reduced to penury. In every 
 case it was necessary to advance them money 
 with which to equip themselves and their fam- 
 ilies for the long trip. Thus, when they arrived 
 in Egypt, they were to a man, deeply in debt 
 to the Government that they had come so far 
 to serve, and they still needed aid to provide 
 their families with homes; so that, however 
 dissatisfied they might feel, they had no free- 
 dom of choice, but were obliged to accept any 
 condition that might present itself. 
 
 A short time after General Mott's departure, 
 which had been conducted with the utmost 
 secrecy (as was supposed), the Porte received 
 information as to the motive of his journey, 
 and the Viceroy had been made quietly but 
 most convincingly to understand that the pres- 
 ent state of his army was perfectly satisfactory, 
 
THE AMERICAN CONTINGENT 
 
 and that it was not at all necessary, nor would 
 it be advisable, to introduce any reforms. 
 
 The result of all this was that when the 
 American contingent arrived, with high hopes 
 and reawakened ambitions, their hopes were 
 dashed to the ground, and their ambitions died 
 in their hearts. 
 
 The generals were reduced to colonels, the 
 colonels to majors, the captains to lieutenants, 
 and so on, and of course with corresponding 
 cuts in their pay. 
 
 Of all the American contingent this blow 
 fell most heavily upon Charles P. Stone and 
 Thomas W. Rhett, and the two men received 
 this blow according to their different natures. 
 
 General Stone was cool, calm, and self-con- 
 tained. He was a thorough French scholar, 
 and possessed a remarkable aptitude for the 
 acquisition of languages. As a consequence, 
 in an incredibly brief time he mastered the 
 Arabic tongue. This combination of qualities 
 enabled him to turn his misfortune into success. 
 
 Ismail Pasha was himself proficient in French, 
 but before any and everything else he was an 
 Arab to the core of his heart, and the foreigner 
 
 199 
 
ROSE EYTINGE 
 
 who could talk with him in his beloved native 
 tongue could walk straight into his heart. 
 
 And straight into the Viceroy's heart walked 
 General Stone. He received the appointment 
 of chief of staff of the Egyptian army, with the 
 rank and pay of general; fine quarters were 
 assigned to him; and he was in constant per- 
 sonal attendance upon the Viceroy. 
 
 General Rhett could not speak French. He 
 spoke only English, but he spoke that most 
 forcibly and unmistakably, and he was much 
 more frank and forcible in the expression of 
 his opinions and of his general dissatisfaction 
 than was politic under the circumstances. The 
 result was that General Rhett's rank was per- 
 manently reduced to a colonelcy, and he was 
 officially notified that he could not begin to 
 draw pay until his debt to the Egyptian Govern- 
 ment was paid. No duties were given him, 
 and his quarters were inadequate to the needs 
 and the position of himself and his family. 
 
 As might have been expected, Rhett suc- 
 cumbed to these repeated blows of fate. He 
 suffered a stroke of paralysis that laid him help- 
 less upon his bed, with his left side dead. 
 
GENERAL SHERMAN'S VISIT 
 
 While things were in this state with these 
 two men, there came a distinguished visitor 
 to Egypt, also an American soldier. This was 
 General Sherman, who, in a warship placed 
 at his command by our Government, was 
 making his famous trip around the world. 
 
 These three men, Sherman, Rhett, and Stone, 
 had been classmates at West Point. 
 
 Of course everybody made much of our great 
 hero, and on all hands there were given dinners, 
 dances, luncheons, and picnics in his honour; 
 and greatly General Sherman enjoyed them. 
 
 At many of these functions, official and semi- 
 official, General Sherman met General Stone, 
 but these meetings were merely ceremonious; 
 there was never any cordiality nor any attempt 
 to renew old acquaintance. General Sherman, 
 to the last hour of his life, never relaxed (but 
 in the one instance I shall relate) the rigour 
 of his resentment against those who took part 
 against the Union. 
 
 In the midst of the many engagements and 
 distractions consequent upon the presence of 
 General Sherman, I tried not to neglect my 
 friends, the Rhetts. I was sitting one day at 
 
ROSE EYTINGE 
 
 General Rhett's bedside, endeavouring to en- 
 tertain him with some account of our distin- 
 guished visitor, when, after a rather long pause, 
 he said: "I have never seen Sherman since he 
 and Stone and I were boys together in the same 
 class at West Point. Bill Sherman and I used 
 to be mighty chummy then. And now we have 
 drifted away off here, I wonder if he would 
 come and see me? I would like mighty well 
 to shake hands with him." 
 
 I had known of the former friendship of these 
 men, and I had watched, with interest, the 
 attitude of Sherman and Stone to each other. 
 Remembering that, and remembering too, the 
 hard, stern lines of Sherman's face, I feared 
 there was little likelihood of poor Rhett's wish 
 being realised. So I remained silent. But 
 I promised myself that it should be tried. 
 
 With this purpose steadily before me, and 
 most carefully keeping my own counsel, I not 
 only took advantage of every opportunity that 
 I had of meeting General Sherman, but I made 
 opportunities whenever I could. I did my 
 best to cultivate him, to make him like me, and, 
 as this was the beginning of a friendship with 
 
GENERAL SHERMAN ENTRAPPED 
 
 this great man that ended only with his life, I 
 think I may say that I succeeded. 
 
 While staying in Cairo I was spending a 
 great deal of time on a dahabeah that the Vice- 
 roy had placed at my disposal. I gave Gen- 
 eral Sherman an informal invitation to break- 
 fast with me on board that craft, promising 
 that I would try to rive him something like an 
 old-fashioned home breakfast. 
 
 The General accepted; the breakfast was 
 nearer to our expectations than I could have 
 dared to hope, and after we had adjourned 
 to the upper deck and the General had lighted 
 his cigar, I opened fire, told him my little story, 
 and made my request. But when I saw the 
 effect I had produced I confess I was frightened. 
 
 The General afterward told me that he felt 
 himself fairly — or rather unfairly — entrapped, 
 and he could not remember having ever felt 
 more angry with a woman. 
 
 The lines in his face grew hard and cold as 
 ice, and a steely glint came into his eyes. When 
 I saw these things I realised for the first time 
 to what an extent I had committed myself, and 
 had allowed my sympathies to earn* away my 
 
 203 
 
ROSE EYTINGE 
 
 judgment. Somehow my voice failed me, and 
 I am afraid my eloquence rather trailed off. 
 
 The General rose, and, looking down upon 
 me with impassive severity, said: 
 
 "Madam, I am sorry, but I cannot entertain 
 your request. I am an officer of the United 
 States Army and a loyal citizen of the Republic, 
 — two facts which, in the warmth and zeal of 
 your friendship, you seem to have overlooked. 
 I will never do anything that might in the 
 remotest way give aid or comfort to my coun- 
 try's enemies." 
 
 As may readily be understood, I was crushed, 
 and if the General had carried out what seemed 
 to be his intention — to turn upon his heel and 
 walk ashore (as I ought to have mentioned the 
 boat was moored), — the matter would have 
 ended there, and General Rhett would have 
 lost his wish; but by a special good fortune 
 he had left his hat in the cabin. When he dis- 
 covered this, his temper got the better of his 
 dignity, and while he was looking about for his 
 hat he let drop a few warm expressions about 
 "rattlesnakes" and "damned rebels. " 
 
 I was not slow to take advantage of this 
 204 
 
MEETING OLD FRIENDS 
 
 lapse. I took his hand and drew him back to 
 his place upon the settee. I begged him to 
 forgive me. I told him that in my wish to 
 serve a friend I had forgotten that I was talk- 
 ing to a great man, the hero of "the March to 
 the Sea.' 5 I had just meant to tell "Bill" 
 Sherman, who had been at West Point with 
 "Tom" Rhett when they were both boys, how 
 unfortunate and unhappy poor Tom Rhett 
 was, and had wondered if Bill Sherman wouldn't 
 like to shake hands with him ! 
 
 By good fortune I struck the right chord. 
 The General forgave me. I was not slow to 
 follow up my advantage, and in less time than 
 it takes to tell it he and I were on our way to 
 Rhett' s quarters. 
 
 There, after brief, ordinary greetings, the 
 two men were left alone together. Mrs. Rhett 
 and I retired and indulged in a good cry. When, 
 after some time, we were summoned to join 
 them, the eyes of both old soldiers were sus- 
 piciously red, and their furrowed faces both 
 bore traces of tears. 
 
CHAPTER XXVI 
 
 THE FELLAHEEN OF EGYPT — TAXATION — "HOW THE 
 OTHER HALF LIVES" IN THE EAST — A BEDOUIN FAMILY 
 AT RAMLEH — AN ARAB MOTHER-IN-LAW — MARRIAGE 
 A LA MODE 
 
 Now that Egypt is virtually under English rule, 
 the condition of the lower classes may be a 
 shade better than when I lived there, some 
 thirty years ago. Then the country was a 
 mere dependency of Turkey, and its sovereign 
 was, as his title indicated, the slave of the 
 Sultan. 
 
 There were but two native classes — the 
 rich and titled, and the labourers, and the gulf 
 which divided those two classes was deep and 
 impassable. There was an utter absence of 
 a prosperous middle class. All the trade en- 
 terprise of the country was in the hands of 
 foreigners. 
 
 Of the native population, only those attached 
 to the Court and high in favour would care 
 to own to the possession of much of this world's 
 206 
 
THE FELLAHEEN OF EGYPT 
 
 goods. Anything more deplorable than the 
 condition of the fellaheen, or labouring class, 
 cannot be imagined. Of home, its comforts, 
 possessions, beauties, they knew absolutely 
 nothing. A mud hut, with a hole for entrance 
 and exit, a straw mat, a goolah to contain water, 
 which is dipped from the river, and an iron 
 pot, would fairly represent their worldly pos- 
 sessions. A single garment of indigo-blue 
 cotton cloth, with a white cotton skull-cap, 
 several yards of soft, white cotton cloth, and 
 a red tarboosh, would customarily summarise 
 their wardrobe. The blue cotton garment — 
 a sort of compromise between a nightshirt 
 and a butcher's smock — was the sole covering 
 for the body. The other articles served to 
 cover the head, for, however scarce the Mussul- 
 man's body-garments may be, his head is 
 always warmly clad. 
 
 But let it not for a moment be supposed that 
 the establishment which I have described is 
 carried on free of expense. The rent for the 
 mud-hole is rigorously demanded and collect- 
 ed. The food, usually bought ready cooked 
 from a vender sitting in squalid rags on some 
 
 207 
 
ROSE EYTINGE 
 
 corner, with one eye on the steaming pot beside 
 him, and the other zealously watching for cus- 
 tomers, is never obtained without much scream- 
 ing and haggling and bargaining. 
 
 The head of a family living thus may, with 
 much secrecy and economy, have managed 
 in the course of many months to accumulate 
 a few coins, an indiscriminate collection of 
 copper and silver, and possibly, but not prob- 
 ably, a few gold coins of every nation under 
 the sun. These, carefully concealed in an 
 earthen vessel, will be hidden somewhere under 
 the earthen floor of the hut. I often heard that 
 a good Mussulman's hoard was almost sure 
 to be found not far from the spot where he 
 usually offered up his prayers. He might be 
 saving this hoard for some special and highly 
 coveted purpose, — perhaps to buy from her 
 parents some dark-eyed maiden upon whom 
 his eyes had rested, and whom he desired to 
 add to the number of his already numerous 
 wives. Or even a more solemn and sacred 
 motive may have urged him. Perhaps he 
 looked forward to that highest hope of the good 
 Mohammedan, a pilgrimage to Mecca, the 
 
 208 
 
GOVERNMENT BAKSHEESH 
 
 accomplishment of which hope would confer 
 upon him, on his return, the right to wear a 
 green turban, and to paint green the lintel- 
 posts of his hut, if he had one. 
 
 Whatever might be his motive for the col- 
 lection of this little hoard, his possession of it 
 would be very short-lived if there happened to 
 arise any sudden desire or necessity for bak- 
 sheesh on the part of the government. This 
 baksheesh would be called taxes, and the occa- 
 sions for the collections of taxes were numer- 
 ous and arose from many causes. 
 
 Possibly the Sultan wished to replenish his 
 seraglio with some fresh Georgian beauties, 
 a carefully selected bunch of whom had just 
 reached Constantinople in the charge of some 
 venerable sheik. They came high, but the Sun 
 of the Universe wanted them, and perhaps 
 the exchequer was low. In this crisis, what 
 so natural as that the Sun should communicate 
 his wishes to his faithful satellite, the Viceroy 
 of Egypt? The Viceroy would at once be 
 impressed with the thought that the public 
 interest must be conserved, the exchequer must 
 be replenished, and the fellaheen must be taxed. 
 
 209 
 
ROSE EYTINGE 
 
 The consular agents of the Egyptian Govern- 
 ment throughout the country would be notified 
 that at a certain time the duly authorised agents 
 would arrive to receive from their hands a 
 specified amount, such amount to be regulated 
 by the number of miserable wretches existing 
 in whichever little village might be in point. 
 
 Then would begin the collection, conducted 
 by a small military force on one side, and the 
 howling, writhing, screaming populace on the 
 other, the ceremony usually ending with a 
 pretty general administering of the bastinado, 
 the result of which would be the production of 
 hoards from various hiding-places. 
 
 A great stretch of sand divided my house at 
 Ramleh from the Mediterranean, and on this 
 patch of sand a Bedouin family set up their 
 roof-tree, which consisted of a tiny tent, com- 
 posed of parti-coloured rags, stretched over 
 three crooked sticks. This wretched little 
 shelter, with its poverty, would have put to 
 shame any Indian tepee I ever saw on the 
 plains. The family consisted of the father, 
 mother, and twenty sons. I should rather say 
 
AN ARAB MOTHER-IN-LAW 
 
 mother, father, etc., for the old lady was un- 
 deniably the head of the house. Nineteen of 
 the twenty sons were married and lived else- 
 where; but now one and now another of them 
 would come to visit their parents, and they 
 always brought with them a few wives and a 
 small regiment of children. 
 
 These visits were of irregular length, and 
 were usually brought to a somewhat abrupt 
 end in the midst of an animated discussion 
 between the visiting wives and the resident 
 mother-in-law, during winch the former quests 
 would hastily depart down the hill in an irregu- 
 lar double-quick, to an accompaniment of shrill 
 anathema, empty tin cans, and other missiles 
 flung after them by the irate old lady. 
 
 The apple of her eye, the light of her life, 
 her youngest son, was a tall, grand-looking 
 young bronze standing six foot three. He lived 
 with his parents and was unmarried, but had 
 recently fallen in love with a comely little dusky 
 maiden of about fourteen years of age, and 
 after many meetings, and much warm dis- 
 cussion, haggling, and bargaining between the 
 parents of the pair, the price of the bride was 
 
ROSE EYTINGE 
 
 settled upon, and the time of the wedding was 
 fixed. The preparations were of an unusually 
 extensive and elaborate character, and were 
 carried on with great activity. The old lady 
 made frequent pilgrimages from home, remain- 
 ing absent for several days, leading one to sus- 
 pect that, in the words of Fa gin, she was going 
 "on the prowl." Sometimes her husband would 
 meekly and unprotestingly make a weak at- 
 tempt to accompany her on these little expedi- 
 tions, but the old lady promptly frowned down 
 such attempts, using her usual methods of 
 persuasion, — any missile within easy reach 
 as she stood on the brow of the sandhill. The 
 old gentleman would quietly turn about, re- 
 enter the tent, and address himself to his needle- 
 work, for evidently to him was entrusted the 
 making of the trousseau. 
 
 At last the wedding night arrived. The 
 bride was glittering with coins, the air was 
 rent with twanging, moaning, squeaking sounds 
 that passed for music, and voices arose in chant. 
 Hands were joined in a simple, swaying move- 
 ment that passed for dancing, and all went 
 merrily. Suddenly I was summoned to re- 
 
 212 
 
MARRIAGE A LA MODE 
 
 ceive my neighbour, the head of the family. 
 The old lady was greatly embarrassed, and, as 
 she stood in the moonlight, with her bare, 
 brown legs showing under her simple blue 
 garment, — in fact she was quite decollete at 
 both ends, — and with her elf-locks, coloured 
 with henna, fluttering in the soft, night air, 
 she was a model of Meg Merrilies. 
 
 The occasion of her visit was to tell of a 
 disaster. At this late hour it was discovered 
 that no sugar had been provided with which 
 to sweeten the sherbet. The family stores were 
 promptly placed before her, and she was bidden 
 to help herself. She selected the brown, moist 
 sugar, drew up her solitary garment until she 
 had formed it into an impromptu bag, filled 
 this with sugar, overwhelmed us with thanks 
 and blessings, and went on her way rejoicing. 
 
 213 
 
CHAPTER XXVII 
 
 BACK TO THE STAGE — SHOOK & PALMER AND THE UNION 
 SQUARE THEATRE, NEW YORK — CHARLES THORNE — 
 DION BOUCICAULT — "LED ASTRAY " — "BLOW FOR 
 BLOW" — MARIE WILKINS 
 
 When I came back to America, about 1872 or 
 1873, I had no intention of ever returning to 
 the stage; I do not know that I had any settled 
 purpose one way or the other. As I had gone 
 to Europe and the East because the shaping 
 of my life drew me there, so I came home when 
 fate called me. 
 
 And very gladly I obeyed that call, for I had 
 yearned and wearied for my home; but when 
 I found myself at home once more my life was 
 such a full and busy one that it seemed there 
 was no room in it for more work; and for that 
 reason I concluded that my life as an actress 
 was ended. 
 
 But then, as always, the stage was my loyal, 
 faithful, wise friend; much wiser for me, and 
 much kinder to me, than I have ever been to 
 myself. Thus it fell out that after I had thought 
 
 214 
 
MY RETURN TO THE STAGE 
 
 my stage career was ended I did my highest 
 and my best dramatic work; playing for the 
 first time, among other parts, Lady Macbeth, 
 Cleopatra, Hermione, Rose Michel, Gabrielle 
 Le Brun, Felicia, and Miss Multon. 
 
 My return to the stage was brought about 
 by the wishes and through the offers of the 
 then leading American managers, Lester Wal- 
 lack, Augustin Daly, and Shook & Palmer. 
 
 As my old friends as well as my former man- 
 agers, Lester Wallack and Augustin Daly both 
 called upon me and made me tempting offers 
 to join their forces. While I was considering 
 under which banner I should enroll myself, 
 A. M. Palmer, of the firm of Shook & Palmer, 
 managers of the Union Square Theatre, called, 
 and, on behalf of his partner and himself, made 
 me an equally flattering offer. 
 
 Shook & Palmer and their theatre were 
 alike strangers to me, but Sheridan Shook was 
 a protege of my old friend, Thurlow Weed, 
 and Thurlow W T eed threw the weight of his 
 influence in favour of the Union Square Theatre, 
 and to the Union Square Theatre I went. 
 215 
 
ROSE EYTINGE 
 
 That theatre had then been but recently 
 lifted from the variety to the legitimate standard, 
 and the company occupying the stage at that 
 time was acting a piece adapted from the 
 French play called "Le Centenaire." 
 
 The play in which I first appeared was "The 
 Geneva Cross," a four-act drama founded upon 
 the Franco-Prussian War, written by George 
 Fawcett Rowe. I played Gabrielle Le Brun 
 and Charles Thorne played Riel Dubourg. 
 
 Ah! that Charles Thorne! He was a good, 
 strong, virile actor; but he was also an invet- 
 erate and adroit "guyer," and it was no simple 
 matter, after he became easy in his lines, to 
 play a serious scene with him. For instance, 
 in a most dramatic situation in "The Geneva 
 Cross," I was called upon to say to him, "Who 
 are you?" and he ought to have answered 
 heroically, "I am Riel Dubourg." What he 
 did say was, "I am the pie-biter of Surinam." 
 
 The next play in which I acted was the old 
 blank- verse drama, "Love's Sacrifice," I play- 
 ing Margaret Elmore. This part was one that 
 216 
 
UNION SQUARE REHEARSALS 
 
 I had often played when I was associated with 
 Wallack and Davenport, J. W. Wallack play- 
 ing Matthew Elmore and E. L. Davenport 
 playing St. Lo. The piece was put on at the 
 Union Square only because "Led Astray," then 
 in course of preparation was not ready; and 
 the intention was to run it for only one week, 
 by which time it was calculated that "Led 
 Astray'' would be ready. But "Love's Sac- 
 rifice' ' played to such unexpectedly good busi- 
 ness that it was kept on for several weeks. 
 
 During all this time we continued to rehearse 
 "Led Astray," and the result of these long- 
 continued rehearsals was that the first per- 
 formance was as smooth and as well rounded 
 and in every respect as satisfactory as was the 
 last performance after a continuous run of six 
 months. 
 
 These rehearsals were conducted by Dion 
 Boucicault, who had translated and adapted 
 the piece from "La Tentation," I think, of 
 Octave Feuillet, and they were equal to a liberal 
 dramatic education. 
 
 The play was like a child whose growth one 
 can mark from day to day. Boucicault did 
 
 217 
 
ROSE EYTINGE 
 
 not edit it with a pair of scissors and a paste- 
 pot, but he corrected it with a note-book and 
 a pencil. 
 
 There were in the company one or two per- 
 sons who could, on occasion, say some rather 
 bright things. "These things to hear" would 
 Dion Boucicault "seriously incline"; but while 
 the company laughed at them at the moment 
 and forgot them the next, not so the astute 
 Dion; he would either pass them by appar- 
 ently without notice, or with a grave expression 
 of disapproval at our levity in such a serious 
 moment. 
 
 But the next morning, at a place in the dia- 
 logue where one of these quips could be used 
 with profit, our mentor would pause, as if a 
 thought had just struck him, and say, "Stop a 
 bit," and out would come that little note-book, 
 "Just say, instead of so-and-so," — and then he 
 would read, as a quite fresh thought, some 
 child of wit that had been born at the previous 
 day's rehearsal. 
 
 When this first occurred, the quiet coolness 
 of the transaction somewhat took away our 
 breath; but afterward we used rather to await 
 
 218 
 
DIOX BOUCICAULT 
 
"LED ASTRAY" 
 
 with interest the advent of these little waifs. 
 But never did any one venture to intimate to 
 the great dramatist that this little trick of 
 annexation had been observed. 
 
 And Dion Boucicault was a great man, — 
 great if only in his power to assimilate the work 
 of others, and, clothing it in the graceful garb 
 of his own charming words, make the world 
 forget that it had ever had a previous existence. 
 
 During the half-year run of "Led Astray" 
 there occurred many incidents, unimportant in 
 themselves, but which were all factors in keeping 
 things lively and active among us. I myself 
 never had any admiration for either the play 
 or for my part in it. I had conceived this 
 rather unfavourable opinion on my first reading 
 of the manuscript, and the favour with which 
 both the play and my part in it were received 
 never had the effect of changing my verdict. 
 
 Indeed, my low estimate of my part was so 
 clear that I said to both Mr. Palmer and Mr. 
 Boucicault that if I succeeded in getting any- 
 thing out of the part the credit would be due 
 rather to me than to Mr. B.; and the fact that 
 219 
 
ROSE EYTINGE 
 
 many excellent actresses, from time to time, 
 essayed the part, and not one of them ever 
 achieved any success in it, would seem to go 
 far to prove that, so far at least, my judgment 
 was correct. 
 
 I think my success was due, not to any super- 
 excellent work on my part, but only because I 
 was fortunate in catching its keynote, which 
 was essentially minor. Throughout the play the 
 character was negative. More than any part I 
 have ever played, it demanded repose, enforced 
 repose. During the entire action Armande is 
 called upon to do nothing, but to do it well. 
 
 Despite my slighting estimate of Armande, 
 it is only justice to her to acknowledge that she 
 brought me great store of popularity; and I be- 
 lieve that this popularity was very largely due 
 to a little verse that I was called upon to read. 
 
 It ran thus: 
 
 " I have another life I long to meet, 
 Without which life my life is incomplete. 
 O sweeter self! like me, art thou, astray, 
 Trying, like me, to find the way to mine; 
 Trying, like me, to find the breast 
 On which alone can weary heart find rest?" 
 
A POPULAR STANZA 
 
 Boucicault settled upon this verse only after 
 trying many others, and I believe it was orig- 
 inal. One morning he handed me a copy of 
 it, saying: "Try this; let us see how it goes." 
 My reading of the lines caught his fancy, and 
 they went; and I believe there never was a 
 stanza of poetry that sprang into such instan- 
 taneous popularity. Wherever one happened 
 to go, or to be, one was quite sure to hear, 
 "I have another life," etc. 
 
 I was inundated with requests for auto- 
 graphed copies. I believe, if an account- 
 ing could be made, it would be found that 
 these lines outnumber any other stanza of 
 verse in the autograph albums of the country. 
 Even to-day I am often asked for a copy of 
 them. 
 
 I must confess that I have never felt any 
 admiration for the lines. I think them forced 
 and artificial. But they have lived, and they 
 will live when better verse is forgotten. 
 
 In gossiping in this way about work done 
 and undone at rehearsal, I am reminded of 
 something that happened to a play at Wal- 
 
 221 
 
ROSE EYTINGE 
 
 lack's Theatre while I was there with Wallack 
 and Davenport. 
 
 There was cast and put into rehearsal a play 
 called "Blow for Blow," written by Henry J. 
 Byron, who at that time was very popular in 
 London. Lester Wallack had seen the piece 
 there, and had secured it for his theatre, ex- 
 pecting that in New York it would repeat its 
 London success. 
 
 To Wallack, Davenport, and myself were 
 assigned the leading parts. At the reading of 
 the play we three were unanimous that there 
 was nothing in it. Study and rehearsal of the 
 parts served only to strengthen and crystallise 
 this opinion, and we entered upon our work 
 very half-heartedly. 
 
 Lester W 7 allack, as was his custom, directed 
 the rehearsals. Davenport, Wallack, and — 
 I am bound to confess — myself also, would, 
 sotto voce, interpolate between our lines divers 
 remarks, editorial, critical, and slighting, re- 
 garding the play, and we enjoyed our own 
 comedy much more than the author's. 
 
 Wallack, who had a rare sense of humour 
 and a ready wit, often had great difficulty in 
 
 222 
 
LEVITY REBUKED 
 
 repressing his desire to laugh; and once or 
 twice we were too much for him, and he would, 
 sorely against his will, join in our merriment; 
 but he would instantly recover himself, "pull 
 himself together," call everybody to order, and 
 continue the rehearsal with renewed rigour and 
 severity. Sometimes he would sternly rebuke 
 us for this levity in business, and remind us 
 of the bad example which we were setting the 
 rest of the company; and once or twice he fell 
 into a positive rage, and spoke very sharply of 
 our neglect of duty. 
 
 During a week or ten days of continuous 
 rehearsals this state of things continued, when 
 one morning, after a repetition of one of these 
 interludes, Lester gave some order in a low 
 tone to the call-boy, who went to each of us in 
 turn, collected the parts, and laid them on the 
 prompt-table. 
 
 Lester, with great deliberation, made a neat 
 parcel of the manuscript and parts, tied it up, 
 and, putting it under his arm, lifted his hat, 
 and bidding us a ceremonious good-morning 
 marched off the stage and out of the theatre, 
 leaving everybody present, but especially we 
 223 
 
ROSE EYTINGE 
 
 three culprits, looking blankly at each other. 
 We never heard of "Blow for Blow" again. 
 
 But to return to the Union Square Theatre 
 and "Led Astray." 
 
 Charles Thorne was genial, witty, and amus- 
 ing; but he could give a joke in better spirit 
 than he could take one, and because of this, 
 and for other reasons, he and I had many a 
 tilt. 
 
 One of these was occasioned by his address- 
 ing me by my Christian name. Now,, while 
 I have a great liking to be addressed without the 
 conventional "Miss" or "Mrs.," familiarity 
 of personal address with the Christian name 
 only, except among members of a family or 
 very close friends, has always been distasteful 
 to me. So, taking Thorne aside, I mentioned 
 my feeling in the matter, and begged him to 
 avoid a repetition of the offence. 
 
 He took great umbrage at this, and blustered 
 out, "Oh, very well! If you are so mighty 
 particular, I won't speak to you at all!" I, 
 being quite as peppery as he was, retorted, 
 "Just as you please." And so for about six 
 224 
 
CHARLES THORNE 
 
 weeks, though we acted together, we never 
 spoke to each other in our own persons. 
 
 One night, as I entered the greenroom, 
 Thorne, who was already there, said to me, 
 "How do you do, Mrs. Siddons?" Whereupon 
 I replied, "Quite well, thank you, John Philip 
 Kemble.' , He glanced at me, and a smile 
 peeped out from behind a scowl, and, walking 
 over to me, he held out his hand and said, "Rose 
 Eytinge, shake!" I "shook," and peace was 
 restored between us. 
 
 Notwithstanding the great success I achieved 
 as Armande Chandoce, I never had any liking 
 or respect for her, especially objecting to a 
 speech which she had in the last act. It was 
 so replete with "sweetness and light," and 
 breathed such a spirit of humility and submis- 
 sion, that I found it rather insipid. 
 
 One night, on my saying something about 
 this, Thorne said, "If you object so much to 
 that speech, let us hear to-night what you 
 would like to say." Nothing daunted, I re- 
 plied, "I will," and when I got my "cue" I did. 
 I concluded a speech which in sentiment was 
 exactly the opposite of the author's idea with 
 225 
 
ROSE EYTINGE 
 
 these words, "And remember, dear, while you 
 may feel that you owe much to your husband, 
 you must always remember that you owe some- 
 thing to yourself." 
 
 For once, Thorne, who was given to doing 
 and saying all sorts of irrelevancies, was beaten 
 at his own game; and he was taken so com- 
 pletely by surprise that it was with the greatest 
 difficulty that he recovered himself and took 
 up the scene. 
 
 You may be sure that when the curtain fell 
 I made excellent time to my dressing-room. 
 
 I have no word of excuse or extenuation to 
 offer for my conduct. I have only to acknowl- 
 edge that I richly deserved the "talk" that Mr. 
 Palmer afterward bestowed upon me. 
 
 It was an unusual thing for Mr. Palmer to 
 interfere in any way with the work on the stage; 
 he had surrounded himself with a company 
 in whose work both he and the public had the 
 fullest confidence, and he let them alone. 
 Occasionally, however, some one or other of 
 us had to be "pulled up" for carelessness, and 
 that one was very likely to be myself. 
 
 226 
 
DION BOUCICAULT 
 
 In "Led Astray," six months are supposed to 
 elapse between the first and second acts. One 
 night — I suppose I was feeling ill, or tired — 
 I omitted to change my costume between these 
 acts. At the close of the act Mr. Palmer met 
 me, quite as if by accident. He stopped me 
 for a moment's chat, and then said suavely, 
 and as if he were paying me a compliment, 
 "That is such a charming costume, and it 
 wears so well too! Why, you have worn it 
 six months." 
 
 I do not remember to have seen Dion Bouci- 
 cault behind the scenes or on the stage during 
 the long run of his play. The last rehearsal 
 and the first performance were both so satis- 
 factory that there was none of that cutting out, 
 pulling together, and smoothing of rough places 
 usually found necessary. But I remember 
 with pleasure that on the hundredth perform- 
 ance he sent me a gracious letter of thanks for 
 my work, accompanying it with a beautiful 
 and valuable bracelet. 
 
 I think it was while we were playing "Led 
 227 
 
ROSE EYTINGE 
 
 Astray" that Thorne had some difference of 
 opinion with a brother actor relative to some 
 business during the scene upon which the 
 curtain had just fallen. The argument wax- 
 ing warm, Mrs. Marie Wilkins rushed between 
 the belligerents and attempted to soothe their 
 excitement. 
 
 Now Marie Wilkins presented a fine, broad 
 front; she was one of those women of whom 
 it has been aptly said that their figures were 
 "not lost, but gone before," and, Thorne be- 
 coming momentarily more tumultuous, his 
 adversary prudently took refuge behind Mrs. 
 Wilkins and continued the quarrel over her 
 shoulder. Whereupon some one remarked that 
 he had sought sanctuary behind the bulwarks 
 of old England. 
 
 I could chat about "Led Astray" and the 
 happenings among the men and women who 
 played in it almost indefinitely, for they formed 
 a very interesting group. But the affairs of 
 a company which is thrown together for a long 
 time, as was this, are like those of a family, and, 
 as is the case with the doings of a family, they 
 228 
 
STAGE AFFAIRS 
 
 would not interest the general public. We had 
 our friendships and our feuds, our confidences 
 and our cabals, our tricks and our jokes, our 
 quarrels and our makings up. 
 
 229 
 
CHAPTER XXVIII 
 
 "the two orphans" — "the lady of lyons" — george 
 rignold — "rose michel" — steele mackaye — 
 john parselle and charles thorne — tom taylor 
 
 If my memory serves me, the next important 
 production that followed "Led Astray" at the 
 Union Square Theatre was "The Two Or- 
 phans." As this play contains two leading- 
 woman parts, Henriette and Louise, and as I 
 was the leading woman of the theatre, I could 
 not see my way to appearing in the play. 
 
 My decision caused Mr. Palmer a good deal 
 of chagrin, and many talks between us resulted 
 therefrom. At last a compromise was reached. 
 I consented to play Marianne for the first fort- 
 night, that the cast might have the strength of 
 my name. 
 
 The play ran for six months, and for the 
 whole of that period I walked about, drawing 
 my salary, and doing nothing. This was not 
 
 230 
 
"THE LADY OF LYONS" 
 
 necessary, for I was quite willing to take a 
 vacation and fill my time with other enterprises, 
 but Mr. Palmer persistently declined to enter- 
 tain any proposal to release me from his com- 
 pany. 
 
 One offer that I received was particularly 
 tempting. Lester Wallack wanted to produce 
 "Lady Clancarty," and to engage me to play 
 the title-role. He opened negotiations to ob- 
 tain my services, but 
 
 I do not remember having taken part in any 
 performance during that time, save one, when 
 A. M. Palmer, my manager, and Harry Palmer, 
 George Rignold's manager, joined in giving 
 a double-star holiday performance of "The 
 Lady of Lyons." I played Pauline, and Rig- 
 nold Claude. The occasion was a Thanks- 
 giving, and the place the Academy of Music, 
 Brooklyn. 
 
 On the night of the performance I went to 
 the dressing-room on the stage, the one which 
 I had occupied on every previous occasion 
 when I had played at that house. I found Mr. 
 Rignold's servant in possession. Feeling quite 
 231 
 
ROSE EYTINGE 
 
 sure that this was through some mistake on the 
 part of the man, I sent to Mr. Rignold to 
 inquire. My surmise was correct, and Mr. 
 Rignold promptly placed the dressing-room at 
 my disposal. 
 
 But when I next saw Charles Thorne I was 
 overwhelmed with the assurances of his admira- 
 tion and approval for the stand which I had 
 taken in forcibly ejecting the burly British 
 Thespian from his stronghold in the disputed 
 dressing-room, — whether at the point of the 
 sword or with a broom, I was not informed. 
 
 In vain I protested that nothing of the sort 
 had occurred. Thorne had his own version 
 of the circumstance, which had really been no 
 circumstance at all. But it was a good story, 
 and I was covered with partisan and patriotic 
 glory which I in no way merited. 
 
 About this time I decided to go on a starring 
 tour in preference to remaining longer at the 
 Union Square ; but Mr. Palmer was very averse 
 to my withdrawing from his theatre, and, as 
 an inducement for me to remain, he offered 
 to secure a piece in which I should play the 
 
 232 
 
JOHN PARSELLE 
 
 title-role, and which, at the end of its New York 
 run, I could use as a vehicle in starring. 
 
 After a good deal of difficulty and delay, 
 "Rose Michel' ' was settled upon. The next 
 step was to obtain a good translation and 
 adaptation of the play. Several versions were 
 made, but not approved, until at last Steele 
 Mackaye essayed the work, and his version 
 was accepted. 
 
 Then began the rehearsals. Steele Mackaye 
 conducted them. Thorne played the young 
 hero, the Count de Vernay, and John Parseile 
 played the Baron de Marsan. 
 
 Parseile was a very valuable actor, but by 
 no means a brilliant one. He was a handsome 
 old man, with a fine manner and a dignified 
 bearing, and he had an excellent quality in 
 an actor, — a knack of wearing the costume 
 of the period of any play in which he might 
 be cast, as if he had worn that particular style 
 of dress all his life. The stately garments of 
 the period of Louis XV suited him admirably, 
 and he presented a most picturesque and dig- 
 nified picture. He had passed his novitiate 
 in the theatres of London and Edinburgh, and 
 233 
 
ROSE EYTINGE 
 
 had the additional advantage of being thorough- 
 ly familiar with the French stage. He was a 
 great stickler for the etiquette of the stage, and 
 for a strict adherence to its traditions. 
 
 Thorne was a social aiid dramatic iconoclast, 
 and he had no respect for either etiquette or 
 tradition. His great scene occurred in the 
 third act, — indeed the scene had been written 
 especially for him, — and in its setting there 
 appeared a small desk and one particular chair, 
 which were used by Thorne. 
 
 Although Parselle did not use either of these 
 articles of furniture, he argued that their place 
 on the stage had a very important bearing on 
 his "business" in the scene. Morning after 
 morning, at precisely the same juncture, there 
 would occur between Thorne and Parselle, 
 with many and various changes of language, 
 precisely the same argument. Thorne would 
 have the chair here; Parselle would have it 
 there. Each would claim, from his own stand- 
 point, that his was the only just demand. As 
 Thorne grew warm, Parselle grew cool, and I 
 cannot recall that the burning question was ever 
 settled. Up to the very first performance, and 
 234 
 
STEELE MACKAYE 
 
 even after, the quarrel was resumed nightly, 
 with no perceptible result that I ever discovered, 
 except to afford me many a sly smile. 
 
 The rehearsals of "Rose Michel" were more 
 heavy and serious than had been those of "Led 
 Astray," and as Dion Boucicault had directed 
 the rehearsals of the latter play, so Steele Mack- 
 aye directed those of the former. 
 
 Steele Mackaye was a man of extraordinary 
 and exceptional brilliancy, and among the 
 multiplicity of subjects to which he had given 
 attention, the drama held a leading place. 
 He was a master of all dramatic work, and, as 
 an ardent disciple of Delsarte it was he who 
 introduced the Delsarte system into the United 
 States. He thoroughly understood the art of 
 acting, but he could not act. 
 
 This fact was demonstrated many times; as 
 a matter of fact it was very clearly manifested 
 every time he went upon the stage; but I am 
 convinced that it was a fact of which he him- 
 self had no suspicion, and, although failure 
 inevitably followed his every attempt to act, 
 I do not believe that he ever for one moment 
 
 2 35 
 
ROSE EYTINGE 
 
 attributed those misfortunes to his own ineffec- 
 tive work. 
 
 One of the most signal of these failures was 
 his endeavour in London, to play the leading 
 part in Tom Taylor's drama of "Arkright's 
 Wife." 
 
 Tom Taylor and Steele Mackaye were warm 
 friends, and Taylor was greatly pleased when 
 negotiations were completed which brought 
 about this result. Now, at last, Taylor was 
 about to enjoy the satisfaction, so dear to the 
 dramatist, of seeing all his ideas realised and 
 carried out to the very minutest detail. 
 
 The first performance found Taylor early 
 in his place in the stalls, eager with anticipative 
 delight. Mackaye began his work. As the 
 first act proceeded, Taylor's face began to 
 lengthen, and he projected himself farther and 
 farther forward in his chair, quite oblivious of 
 the backward glances of annoyance that were 
 being flashed at him by the occupant of the 
 stall immediately in front of him. 
 
 The longer Mackaye went on, the deeper and 
 darker grew Taylor's vexation and disappoint- 
 ment ; and the more vexed he became, the more 
 
 236 
 
MACKAYE'S STAGE DIRECTION 
 
 unconsciously he flung himself forward, until 
 he was seen to be merely hanging on to the 
 back of the chair in front of him, and was heard 
 to mutter in gruesome, grinding tones: "Idiot! 
 Idiot! purblind, doddering idiot!" 
 
 But while it must be confessed that Steele 
 Mackaye could not act himself, he knew all 
 about acting, and his stage direction was most 
 masterly. He was very nervous and excitable. 
 So was I. I had made a close study of the part 
 of Rose Michel; in fact I had devoted myself 
 to it so closely that I became in a way perme- 
 ated with it. 
 
 At some crucial moment in a scene Mackaye 
 would interrupt me, a circumstance which for 
 the time would chill my enthusiasm and paral- 
 yse my efforts. While we were both, of course, 
 working up to one end, we were, of necessity, 
 working on parallel lines, and therefore it was 
 not possible for us to meet at any point. This 
 condition of things led to friction between us 
 many times. There came a day when a crisis 
 was reached. I laid the part upon the prompt- 
 table, and, telling Mackaye that as it was im- 
 possible for both of us to play the part, and he 
 
 237 
 
ROSE EYTINGE 
 
 did not seem willing to permit me to perform 
 it, I thought it would be better that he should 
 play it himself, — and so marched off the stage. 
 
 Before I had time to leave the theatre I was 
 "headed off" by my managers, Messrs. Shook 
 & Palmer. Mackaye was sent for, and we 
 four had a "pow-wow." The result of it was 
 that Mackaye bound himself not to interrupt 
 the rehearsals with corrections or suggestions 
 to me, but to make notes of anything in my 
 work of which he did not approve, and submit 
 them to me afterward, when I was to accept 
 them, or give him good and sufficient reasons for 
 not doing so. 
 
 This arrangement was strictly adhered to, 
 but, greatly to my surprise, there were no notes, 
 and the rehearsals proceeded rapidly and 
 smoothly. 
 
 The night of the first performance I was 
 greatly wrought up. Mackaye was in a stage- 
 box. I knew that I played Rose Michel well. 
 There were too many persons who said so then, 
 and who have said so since, for there to be 
 any doubt about the matter; but I also know 
 that I never played the part so well as I did 
 
 23 8 
 
STEELE MACKAYE'S NATURE 
 
 at that first performance. But Steele Mack- 
 aye's was the first individual voice which 
 poured into my eagerly listening ears the liba- 
 tion of praise for which my soul was thirsting. 
 At the close of the second act, after I had 
 said "Thank you" many times to my great 
 body of friends in front, as I left the stage I 
 found him awaiting me in the entrance. There 
 he stood, — 
 
 — "all his visage wanned, 
 Tears in his eyes, distraction in 's aspect, 
 A broken voice," — 
 
 and with both hands held out to me he said: 
 "Can you ever forgive me for ever having pre- 
 sumed to offer you a suggestion?" 
 
 I tell this incident, not in order that I may 
 vindicate my claim to a better understanding 
 of the character of Rose Michel than his had 
 been, but as a tribute to the nobility and gen- 
 erosity of Steele Mackaye's nature. 
 
 That same night I received another testi- 
 monial to the worth of my performance, but of 
 quite a different sort. The third act of "Rose 
 Michel" is the Count de Vemay's. As a mat- 
 
 239 
 
ROSE EYTINGE 
 
 ter of fact it was arranged to placate Thorne 
 and to give him an opportunity for a strong 
 scene as I have stated above. At first the in- 
 tention was to leave me out of the act, an ar- 
 rangement to which I gave my heartiest assent, 
 for it would have given me time to rest, and 
 "pull myself together" for the two last acts. 
 Later, however, it was decided that I should 
 appear in this act, but with very little to do; 
 I was merely to come on for a brief scene at 
 the beginning and be on for the curtain at the 
 end. I saw a possibility for some very effec- 
 tive work in this entrance, though I had nothing 
 to say. I availed myself of this opportunity. 
 At the end of the act Thorne looked gloomily 
 at me, and said in rueful tones, "It's no use, 
 she hogged the whole persimmon !" 
 
 240 
 
CHAPTER XXIX 
 
 STARRING — BUYING EXPERIENCE — THE WEST — BEN DE 
 BAR — "BOB" MILES — MRS. JOHN DREW — THE LITH- 
 OGRAPH QUESTION — A SANDWICH MAN 
 
 At the close of the run of "Rose Michel" at 
 the Union Square Theatre — it lasted about 
 half a year — I went starring with the piece, 
 and never did wight embark upon an enter- 
 prise worse equipped and less fitted to carry it 
 to successful issue than was I. I am sorry to 
 be obliged to confess that I am — always have 
 been, and, I fear, always will be — a very poor 
 business woman. I know nothing of figures 
 but figures of speech. 
 
 With the exception of some intermittent 
 weeks some years previously, I had had no 
 experience of starring, and at that time I had 
 not been called upon to look after any details 
 of the business. Augustin Daly, then himself 
 a young manager, had always taken entire 
 charge of the business. All that I had ever 
 been called upon to do was to go to, at the ap- 
 pointed time, the city and the theatre in which 
 241 
 
ROSE EYTINGE 
 
 the engagement was to be played, rehearse the 
 piece with the regular stock company, play my 
 own part, and at the close of the engagement 
 receive from Mr. Daly a nice little pot of money. 
 
 Therefore in this, my first independent busi- 
 ness, and one in which I was thrown entirely 
 upon myself, I was victimised on every hand, 
 and by nearly every one with whom my busi- 
 ness relations brought me in contact. I had 
 about me only strangers, and they were all 
 far too busy looking out for opportunities to 
 advance their own interests to devote any time 
 or thought to mine. I was so entirely ignorant 
 of all the details of starring that I did not even 
 know what percentages I had a right to de- 
 mand, and so I went groping and stumbling on, 
 buying my experience, and paying for it at a 
 pretty high figure. 
 
 Notwithstanding all these crippling circum- 
 stances, however, my tour with "Rose Michel" 
 was very successful in both an artistic and a 
 pecuniary sense. At the end of the season I 
 was not only many thousands of dollars richer 
 in money, but far, far richer in recognition of 
 artistic merit and in admirers of my work. I 
 
 242 
 
STARRING 
 
 was pleased, too, with the opportunity afforded 
 rne by my travelling, of seeing my own country. 
 Up to this time I had never been farther West 
 than Buffalo and Canada, and the bustling, 
 rushing, hurrying cities and towns of the great 
 West filled me with wonder and admiration, — 
 a wonder and an admiration that have increased 
 with years and experience. Since that first 
 Western journey I have crossed the Atlantic 
 many times and have lived in Europe, but my 
 experience of other lands has only increased 
 my patriotic love of my own, and I always feel 
 thankful for the inestimable boon of being an 
 American woman. 
 
 During this my first starring season I met a 
 few of the old representative actor-managers. 
 One of these was Ben De Bar, then managing 
 his own theatre in St. Louis. Both poor De 
 Bar and his theatre were at this time falling 
 somewhat into desuetude, and but for the 
 energy infused into the business by John Nor- 
 ton, who was at this time De Bar's stage-mana- 
 ger, things would have gone ill indeed with 
 both theatre and visiting stars. 
 
 243 
 
ROSE EYTINGE 
 
 The stock company was extremely poor, and 
 when, in a talk with De Bar, in the course of 
 which I was pretty severe in my criticism of 
 some of its members, the old man scratched his 
 head, looked ruefully at me, and said: "Well, 
 what is a manager to do? Somebody must 
 have these people." I learned the secret of the 
 downfall of De Bar's Theatre and the dissipa- 
 tion of its owner's fortunes. He allowed his 
 heart to rule his head. 
 
 Another old-time manager whom I met 
 during that season was R. E. G. Miles, better 
 known as "Bob" Miles, of Cincinnati. He, 
 too, was a great-hearted, genial, good-tempered 
 man, the friend of his actors; indeed, in those 
 days of the actor-manager there was a free- 
 masonry of friendship and comradeship be- 
 tween manager and company which would 
 be impossible to find in these days of syndicate 
 and speculator. 
 
 During this season, and for several following 
 
 seasons, I played at the Arch Street Theatre, 
 
 Philadelphia, under the management of Mrs. 
 
 John Drew. It was, without exception, the 
 
 244 
 
THE LITHOGRAPH QUESTION 
 
 best-conducted, cleanest, most orderly and 
 most all-around comfortable theatre that I ever 
 acted in. Of Mrs. Drew herself, eulogy from 
 me is not necessary. She was a woman whom 
 it was an honour for a fellow-woman to call a 
 friend. 
 
 It was during an engagement at Mrs. John 
 Drew's theatre that I was brought face to face 
 with the lithograph question. The stage en- 
 trance was, as is the case with the majority of 
 theatres, up a dark and more or less noisome 
 alley, on which opened the side entrance to a 
 drinking-place. As I was passing up this alley- 
 way the first evening of my engagement, I was 
 greeted by the sight of my pictured face looking 
 down upon me from the window of the afore- 
 said "shebeen." Filled with indignation and 
 disgust, I at once sent for my business manager. 
 He had not yet arrived. Some one about the 
 theatre mentioned to Mrs. Drew that I was 
 evidently much disturbed about something, 
 and she came to my dressing-room to inquire 
 about the matter. On being told, she drew 
 her chair in front of me, sat down, looked at 
 me with her calm, quizzical expression, and 
 245 
 
ROSE EYTINGE 
 
 said: "My dear, don't be a fool; we will all be 
 obliged to come to it, and God knows where 
 we will next see ourselves pictured. But wher- 
 ever it may be, we will have to submit." 
 
 I remember with much pleasure the produc- 
 tion of "Rose Michel" as arranged by Mrs. 
 Drew at her theatre. The third act of the 
 piece represents the salon of a ducal chateau 
 of the period of Louis XV. The hangings of 
 the scenes and the covering of the various 
 couches, divans, and chairs were of pale blue, 
 covered with white lace. Every article of 
 furniture was of white and gold, and strictly 
 correct as to period. And I may mention, 
 as an evidence of her excellent management, 
 that all this furniture was made in the property- 
 room of the theatre, and the apparently rich 
 lace used for the hangings was picked out from 
 old lace curtains that from time to time had 
 been retired from active service. 
 
 On more than one occasion I found that 
 being a star and at the head of one's own com- 
 pany carried with it many cares, responsibili- 
 
 246 
 
THE SANDWICH MAN 
 
 ties, and annoyances that made life much 
 harder than it was to be a member of a well- 
 ordered, regular stock company in a metropol- 
 itan theatre. 
 
 But it was not all work and no play. Indeed 
 it would go hard with me if I could not find 
 occasional oases of fun while threading my way 
 through the desert of daily work. 
 
 One night, during a most touching scene 
 between Rose Michel and her young daughter, 
 a scene in which both audience and myself 
 usually mingled our tears, I was from time to 
 time disturbed, and greatly surprised, to find 
 myself interrupted by ripples of laughter, 
 Holding myself as well in hand as w T as possible, 
 I tried to continue the scene, but a pretty simul- 
 taneous peal of laughter, a little louder than 
 any which had preceded it, sent me all to pieces. 
 I raised my eyes and looked into the audience 
 to try to discover the cause of this ill-timed 
 mirth. I found it. Sitting conspicuously in 
 the middle of the orchestra was a redundantly 
 stout person, who for his greater ease had re- 
 moved his coat and waistcoat. He, at least, 
 was paying full tribute to the pathos of the 
 247 
 
ROSE EYTINGE 
 
 scene; his face was a picture of woe, great 
 tears were rolling down his cheeks, and they 
 fell where they listed, for both his hands were 
 occupied holding an immense sandwich, which 
 at frequent intervals he lifted to his mouth. 
 As he helped himself to a huge bite, it would 
 have been difficult to decide which he enjoyed 
 most, — his sorrow or his sandwich. Need I 
 say that my sorrow was for the time quite for- 
 gotten ? — and I joined in the general mirth, and 
 the scene was brought to an abrupt conclusion. 
 
 I remember at this moment a thing which 
 my business manager told me, showing a rather 
 quaint form for admiration to take. After the 
 manner of business managers he was standing 
 in the "front" as the audience filed out after 
 a matinee, and overheard this bit of dialogue: 
 
 Mother (an old lady). — I never want to see that ac- 
 tress, Rose Eytinge, again. 
 
 Daughter (an elderly woman). — Why, mother, you 
 said you liked her. 
 
 Mother. — I do! I love her. She is a great actress. 
 But I've got trouble enough at home. 
 
 248 
 
CHAPTER XXX 
 
 THE CALIFORNIA THEATRE, SAN FRANCISCO — JOHN MC- 
 CULLOUGH — JULIA— LADY MA CBETH—CAMILLE—lM^Ci 
 ANDERSON — " EAST LYNNE" 
 
 At the close of my regular season I conceived 
 a rather wild scheme to play "across country." 
 I was under engagement to play a four weeks' 
 starring engagement at the California Theatre, 
 San Francisco, under the management of John 
 McCullough, opening, if I remember rightly, 
 in August. My supporting company was to 
 continue with me to some point west of the 
 Mississippi River, after which I was to pro- 
 ceed alone to San Francisco, breaking my 
 journey with a two weeks' engagement at Salt 
 Lake City. 
 
 My four weeks in San Francisco was a de- 
 lightful experience in every particular. The 
 theatre was as nearly perfect as it is possible 
 to imagine, equipped with everything in scen- 
 ery, properties, wardrobe, etc., that the most 
 
 249 
 
ROSE EYTINGE 
 
 exacting star could demand, and I can say with 
 truth that I was by no means an exacting star. 
 The company was of exceptional brilliancy as 
 to ability, and most complete in numbers. 
 
 During those four weeks I played several 
 important parts for the first time, among them 
 being Julia in "The Hunchback," and Lady 
 Macbeth. Of Julia, as I played it, I remember 
 John McCullough was greatly enamoured, and 
 on this occasion, breaking through his rule not 
 to support any woman star, he played Sir 
 Thomas Clifford. He pronounced Julia my 
 best part. (Lester Wallack had thus commend- 
 ed my Juliana, in the comedy of "The Honey- 
 moon.") 
 
 The night I played Lady Macbeth for the 
 first time I was very nervous; indeed, I had a 
 pretty severe attack of stage fright, and I had 
 so little confidence in my own memory that in 
 the banquet scene I had a young member of 
 the company ensconced behind my throne- 
 chair, armed with a book of the play, prepared 
 to give me the word if I needed it. 
 
 Camille was another part which I played 
 for the first time during this engagement, and 
 250 
 
ROSE EYTIXGE 
 
"EAST LYNNE" 
 
 each performance was more easy and pleasant 
 than the last. 
 
 My four weeks' work at the regular starring 
 terms of the theatre netted me many thousands 
 of dollars, and at its close I stopped in San 
 Francisco long enough to form a company with 
 which to go to Virginia City. 
 
 This brief stay led to my playing Lady Isabel 
 in "East Lynne" for the first time. It happened 
 this way : Mary Anderson, then slowly emerging 
 from her chrysalis stage of amateur, was to 
 follow me, being booked for a two weeks' en- 
 gagement. If I remember aright, she opened 
 with Juliet, following, I think, with Evadne. 
 But after two or three performances she fell 
 ill, and her engagement was brought to an abrupt 
 conclusion. 
 
 In those days San Francisco was not the 
 theatrical centre it has since grown to be, and 
 this disarrangement of dates meant a "dark 
 house" for about ten nights. In this dilemma 
 McCullough suggested to me a week's re-en- 
 gagement, which I declined. He then urged 
 me to play one night, and suggested "East 
 Lynne" as the bill. When I told him I knew 
 251 
 
ROSE EYTINGE 
 
 nothing of the piece, had never even seen it 
 (a perfectly true statement), he promptly and 
 sternly refused to credit so altogether improbable 
 a statement, and the position taken by Mc- 
 Cullough was held by every member of the 
 company. When I repeated, with every form 
 of emphasis at my command, that I had never 
 seen "East Lynne," they jeered at me and 
 laughed me out of court. 
 
 So, despite my protests, the announcements 
 were made that "in compliance with a universal 
 request" I would play Lady Isabel. But now 
 a veritable crisis arose. We could not find a 
 book of the piece. While every member of 
 the company "knew the piece backward," it 
 was very soon learned that none of them knew 
 it forward, and there was nothing for me to do 
 but to "vamp" the part as well as I could; and 
 when I turned reproachfully to McCullough 
 and appealed for sympathy and help, he said, 
 with a fine appearance of confidence, "O, 
 that'll be all right ; just sob, and look sorry, and 
 it will go." 
 
 Thomas Keene played Archibald Carlisle, 
 and from scene to scene he would, in language 
 252 
 
STAGE INSTRUCTION 
 
 more direct than didactic, instruct me as to the 
 particular form of emotion that was supposed 
 to hold Isabel in its thrall, as, "Now she's a 
 jealous cat"; "Now she's kitteny"; "Now 
 she's sorry she was such a fool, and 'gets back' 
 at the other fellow" ; "Now she wants her young 
 ones"; and "Now she ups and dies." And 
 from such instruction, more or less fully elab- 
 orated, I played Lady Isabel to a crowded house, 
 which exhibited every indication of satisfac- 
 tion at the performance, and I received from 
 McCullough a clear half of the receipts and 
 much praise. 
 
 I have assumed the character occasionally 
 since, and to my shame I confess that I have 
 never succeeded in playing it letter-perfect. 
 I remember performing it once under the man- 
 agement of William Henderson, who was one 
 of our old representative actor-managers. Af- 
 ter the performance Mr. Henderson came to 
 my dressing-room for a chat. I felt a little 
 uneasy as to what he might have to say about 
 my version of the piece, but to my great sur- 
 prise and corresponding relief he expressed 
 very great pleasure at my performance. After 
 253 
 
ROSE EYTINGE 
 
 a thoughtful pause he said: "What strikes me 
 with surprise is, when you give so fine a per- 
 formance of the part, that you never took the 
 trouble to study the lines." 
 
 254 
 
CHAPTER XXXI 
 
 VIRGINIA CITY AN AUDIENCE OF MINERS — A MIDNIGHT 
 
 RIDE WITH A GUARD OF HONOUR — DOWN IN A SILVER 
 MINE 
 
 At the close of my engagement at the California 
 Theatre, San Francisco, I went to Virginia City, 
 Nevada, taking with me a company which was 
 largely selected from members of the stock 
 company of the California Theatre, Mr. Mc- 
 Cullough being willing that they should go, and 
 they wishing to do so. 
 
 Oh, that Virginia City! It was then a mere 
 mining-camp, consisting of one long street 
 levelled out from the "mountain-side. The 
 houses which lined this thoroughfare closely 
 on either side were of wood and one story high. 
 They were all glass-fronted business houses, 
 and the business to which a heavy majority 
 of them appeared to be devoted was the sale 
 of liquor. Indeed, the population of the town 
 seemed to take most of its nourishment in 
 liquid form, for of more simple and solid sorts 
 
 255 
 
ROSE EYTINGE 
 
 of food there was little or none exposed for sale. 
 The business of the town also seemed to in- 
 clude the public playing of all sorts of games 
 of chance. As one passed along it was common 
 to see in these places — for the doors were all 
 wide open — great piles of gold and silver, 
 sometimes in coin, often in its crude state, 
 heaped up on the small tables with which the 
 places were filled, and around which could be 
 found seated, at all hours of the day and night, 
 all sorts and conditions of men, playing, play- 
 ing, playing. 
 
 The hotel was most primitive in its arrange- 
 ments, the theatre more so. But the spirit of 
 Midas might have presided over the place, for 
 everywhere there was gold. Nevertheless the 
 men of that rude mountain mining-camp could 
 have taught their brothers in the capitals of 
 the world the fine art of chivalrous, courtly, 
 respectful bearing to women. 
 
 The distance between the hotel and the 
 theatre measured not more than one of our 
 city blocks. Along and up and down this 
 little line of street, on my way to and from 
 performances and rehearsals, I passed many 
 
 256 
 
AN AUDIENCE OF MINERS 
 
 times, and at any time from midday to midnight, 
 and that same little journey was always marked 
 by the reverent courtesy that might have been 
 bestowed upon a queen on her progress to her 
 coronation. If, as was the common custom, 
 a group of smoking, spitting, swearing men 
 rilled the small sidewalk, at my approach every 
 pipe and cigar was for the moment relieved from 
 active service. Every man uncovered, and in 
 a pause of respectful silence I passed through 
 a line of men, every one of whom was, I know, 
 my faithful adherent. 
 
 Of this faithful adherence I had, during my 
 brief stay among them, more than one proof. 
 For instance, one night there was a disturbance 
 in the audience which momentarily interrupted 
 the performance during one of my good scenes. 
 My business manager was in front, and a man 
 standing beside him took from his belt, which 
 formed no small armament, a revolver, and of- 
 fered it to my manager, saying, " Pepper the 
 ! how dare he interrupt the lady!" 
 
 At the time I write of there was but one 
 daily train between New York and San Fran- 
 cisco. The train going east passed through 
 257 
 
ROSE EYTINGE 
 
 Reno — which lay at the foot of the mountain — 
 at some wretched hour about dawn. Virginia 
 City was at, or nearly at, the mountain top, 
 and was reached by a single-track railroad, 
 which also ran one train either way once in 
 every twenty-four hours. The usual thing for 
 travellers going east from Virginia City was to 
 take this train in the evening, reach Reno, 
 distant about twenty-four or twenty-five miles, 
 in a couple of hours, spend the night at the 
 " hotel" at Reno, and be ready to board the 
 east-bound train as it passed through in the 
 morning. This train did not run Sundays; 
 therefore, in the ordinary course of things, 
 my engagement closing Saturday night, I would 
 be obliged to remain all Sunday in Virginia 
 City, and not catch the eastern train until 
 Monday morning. 
 
 This loss of time was peculiarly distressing, 
 as time just then was of great value to me. 
 On enquiry I discovered that the mine-owners 
 were in the habit of sending trains of pack- 
 mules, loaded with panniers of ore, down the 
 mountain. So down that mountain-side I 
 determined to go on Saturday night after the 
 
 258 
 
A MIDNIGHT RIDE 
 
 close of my last performance, and be in Reno 
 in time to catch my train Sunday morning in- 
 stead of Monday, thus saving twenty-four hours. 
 It was necessary to be very secret in my prep- 
 arations, since the patrons of the theatre, who 
 represented about the entire population of the 
 town, were very jealous of their rights and 
 would have resented very bitterly any cutting 
 of the performance. But everything worked 
 admirably. Tickets for my business manager 
 and myself were secured for the Saturday 
 evening train, and all my trunks went down 
 on that, except the one containing my wardrobe 
 for Saturday night. A phaeton with a fine 
 pair of horses and a driver who knew the road 
 were engaged, and at about midnight we started. 
 I had with me a goodly amount of diamonds, and 
 I had also my week's receipts in gold and silver 
 in bags. The night was dark, but we were 
 provided with a lantern. The driver, with a 
 Winchester rifle across his knees, sat in front; 
 my business manager and I on the back seat, 
 our treasure at our feet, and loaded revolvers 
 in our hands. The cool, solemn silence, after 
 the garish light and rude revelry we had left 
 259 
 
ROSE EYTINGE 
 
 behind, penetrated one's soul. Of fear I had 
 not one impulse ; the only feeling I experienced 
 was one of peace, of perfect rest. Not a sound 
 disturbed the air except the occasional cry of 
 some night-bird, or some four-footed denizen 
 of the sage-brush. Occasionally, however, a 
 solitary figure would loom up out of the dark- 
 ness and disappear. In the cool, clear dawn we 
 reached Reno, and were soon whirling toward 
 the East. 
 
 At a little station a few miles from Reno I 
 received a touching and convincing proof of 
 the loyalty of the friends I had made in Virginia 
 City. A letter was handed to me, bidding me 
 good-bye and expressing every good wish, and 
 signed 
 
 "The Boys Who Patrolled Your Ride 
 to Reno." 
 
 That explained the presence of the shadowy 
 figures I had from time to time seen loom up 
 through the darkness. 
 
 While I was in Virginia City my courage was 
 260 
 
DOWN IN A SILVER MINE 
 
 submitted to a severe test. The great "Cali- 
 fornia and Ophir Mine" (I think it was called) 
 was in full operation, yielding almost fabulous 
 amounts of ore. Archibald Boland, familiarly 
 known as "Archie" Boland, was the super- 
 intendent of the mine; and one of the many 
 courtesies which he extended to me was an in- 
 vitation to go down the mine. What with long 
 rehearsals and the many demands upon my time 
 I found that I could not manage this excursion 
 during the day. So it was decided that the 
 descent should be made some night after the 
 performance. 
 
 It was a glorious moonlight night when — 
 in a man's oil-skin suit — I stepped into the 
 cage. As we descended, and the bright moon, 
 the blue sky, and the shadowed earth passed 
 from my gaze, I had a curious sensation, a 
 mingling of curiosity as to when, if ever, I 
 should see those things again. Or if not, what 
 should I see in their stead? Of fear I had 
 none. Mr. Boland accompanied me, and — as 
 I thought, at the time, unnecessarily — held 
 my two wrists. He afterward told me that 
 his object in doing this was to note the action 
 
 261 
 
ROSE EYTINGE 
 
 of my pulse, to see if it would quicken or flutter 
 with fear, but it remained perfectly steady. 
 
 I cannot say that I found the visit very in- 
 teresting. We went to the level which they 
 were then working, some 2,000 feet below the 
 surface of the town, and we saw silver, silver, 
 silver, everywhere silver; and everywhere men 
 in more or less savage undress working, and 
 darkness and noise, and great beams overhead 
 propping up the walls of silver. Hot, dusty, 
 thirsty, tired, we again mounted the cage and 
 reached the earth, the dear, old, familiar earth, 
 with the blue sky over our head and the moon 
 sailing gloriously. And oh! it was a fine sight, 
 — finer than all the silver that ever was dug 
 out of the earth. 
 
 262 
 
CHAPTER XXXII 
 
 RENO — A WESTERN HOTEL — THE RENO THEATRE — 
 PURIFICATION 
 
 On one of my Western tours I received an 
 urgent letter from the proprietor of the theatre 
 in Reno to stop a few days in that town and 
 give a performance. As I had passed through 
 the town several times I did not feel any special 
 inclination to accept this proposition, for a more 
 unpromising spot for any form of art to flourish 
 could not well be imagined. 
 
 It was an arid, sandy plain, walled in by 
 mountains, treeless, even shrubless. The white 
 heat of the sun beat down upon white sand. 
 Dotted about at irregular intervals were un- 
 sightly little one-story buildings that looked 
 as if their projectors had begun to erect them, 
 but, on taking time to look about them and 
 observe their environments, had fled in horror 
 and haste, lest some impelling influence should 
 induce them to stop and occupy them. 
 
 263 
 
ROSE EYTINGE 
 
 Straight through this strip of plain ran the 
 lines of iron rail, flanked by a rude platform 
 and the various sheds pertaining to the business 
 of the railroad, and on a line with it and close 
 to the track, ingeniously arranged so that the 
 sad sojourner, who might by adverse circum- 
 stances be compelled to stop in it, might not 
 be spared a single clang of the bell, a toot of 
 the whistle, or a grain of dust, smoke or cinders, 
 stood the "hotel." 
 
 This had grown to the dignity of two stories. 
 It was a glaring-white, square, wooden shed, 
 with innumerable shutterless windows piercing 
 it on every side. Nothing could be more un- 
 promising of rest or comfort than the exterior 
 of this building, unless it was its interior. 
 
 Of anything in the slightest degree like a 
 theatre, hall, or lyceum, or of anything that 
 held out hopes of entertainment or intellectual 
 relaxation in any form, there was nothing 
 visible. 
 
 With this picture fixed in my mental vision 
 
 I hesitated to close with the offer of a brief 
 
 engagement at Reno. But in the end greed 
 
 prevailed. I believe the terms I asked were 
 
 264 
 
THE RENO THEATRE 
 
 the entire receipts and my fare out of the town, 
 or something just about as reasonable. 
 
 I forget where my supporting company was 
 to come from, but, as I recollect their work, 
 they ought to have been returned to the spot 
 from whence they came, and never to have been 
 permitted to leave it. 
 
 Well, I went to Reno to play one night. The 
 first thing to do was to see the theatre. I went 
 forth in search of it, and it was promptly pointed 
 out. It was a long, narrow, unpainted wooden 
 barn with a wide double door at one end, and 
 another barn tacked onto it at right angles, the 
 first being the auditorium, the second the stage. 
 
 When I first saw this structure it was bare 
 and empty, — empty, that is, save for an odour. 
 Oh! such an odour. The combined essences 
 of Cologne (the town, not the perfume), the 
 bay of Naples, the Roman Ghetto, the — the 
 
 any, any malodorous spot that can be 
 
 remembered or imagined, cannot convey the 
 faintest idea of what that odour was. 
 
 After the first overpowering moment, when, 
 I confess, I fled before it, I pursued my inves- 
 tigation with the spirit of the explorer and 
 
 265 
 
ROSE EYTINGE 
 
 the pioneer, determined to pursue that odour 
 to its source; for I knew that it and I could 
 not both occupy that temple of art at the same 
 time. 
 
 By this time I found myself surrounded by 
 a goodly escort of small boys, and I called 
 loudly for the man in charge, the janitor. A 
 chorus of voices came to my rescue ; they knew 
 him, they would find him. Meantime we 
 penetrated deeper and deeper into the build- 
 ing, steadily approaching the odour and being 
 guided by it. 
 
 At the end of the auditorium we encountered 
 three or four steps. These led up to the stage, 
 our escort swarming up with us. Suddenly 
 the air was rent with cries of triumph. The 
 janitor was found. And when we found the 
 janitor, we at the same time found the source 
 of the odour. 
 
 The guardian of this temple of the fine arts 
 was a noble red man. He was seated in a large, 
 comfortable, leather-covered arm-chair, look- 
 ing, with its air of civilisation, as incongruous 
 with its surroundings as its occupant did with 
 it. 
 
 266 
 
REMOVING A JANITOR 
 
 My first act was to take steps to procure 
 the removal of the janitor and his surroundings, 
 which consisted of numerous tin cans — all 
 empty; a high hat, much dilapidated, a pair 
 of moccasins; a feather-duster that might have 
 been intended to serve on festive occasions 
 for a head-dress; and various other mysterious 
 articles which perhaps were important details 
 of a warrior's wardrobe. But his removal from 
 his post, which he was vigorously guarding 
 when we rudely interrupted him in the onerous 
 discharge of his duty, was no easy matter. 
 
 My self-appointed bodyguard sallied forth 
 into the town, and in a very short time returned, 
 reinforced by a committee of prominent citizens. 
 It required much eloquence on their part, not 
 wholly dissociated from more active measures, 
 as blowing a horn in his ear, pulling his arm- 
 chair from under him, and playing upon him 
 other joyous pranks, to suggest to him the 
 expediency of a change of base. But the most 
 efficacious method was hit upon when every 
 available door and window in the place was 
 thrown open to admit floods of glorious sunshine 
 and breaths of balmy air. At the first breath 
 
 267 
 
ROSE EYTINGE 
 
 of air that struck him he opened his eyes, 
 shrank away from it, grunted his disapproval 
 of such heroic measures, and, on looking about 
 him and finding himself exposed on every hand 
 to fresh air and sunshine, he reluctantly took 
 his departure, followed by an enthusiastic if 
 not sympathetic train of followers bearing his 
 belongings. 
 
 The next step was to examine the dressing- 
 rooms. At one end of the barn which repre- 
 sented the theatre there was a door on which 
 was scrawled "Star." This, on examination, 
 proved to be fully occupied: one half by coal, 
 the other half by cans of coal-oil. 
 
 I think the most impartial and easily pleased 
 jury would have decided that these arrange- 
 ments were not calculated to increase dramatic 
 ardour. 
 
 But when the auditorium was swept and 
 sprinkled with clean sand, and filled with a 
 gradually ascending forest of trestles, on which 
 were extended foot- wide planks, and was lighted 
 by clean coal-oil lamps, it looked very differ- 
 ent. When it is taken into consideration that 
 every foot of those foot-wide planks brought 
 
 268 
 
PURIFICATION 
 
 three dollars into the treasury, its crudities 
 were not so painful to the senses. Brooms 
 and buckets of water, a vigorous scrubbing 
 and judicious distribution of bolts of unbleached 
 muslin did wonders for the dressing-rooms. 
 
 269 
 
CHAPTER XXXIII 
 
 SEEKING REST AND FINDING NONE — "WHY DON'T YOU 
 GO INTO SOME DECENT BUSINESS?" — NEW-MOWN HAY 
 — THE PROPERTIES OF THE RENO THEATRE 
 
 Although in my various pilgrimages I have 
 found many places in many parts of the world 
 which provided me with much unrest, yet that 
 town of Reno is marked with a white stone in 
 my memory as having given me an ideal and 
 most idyllic rest, albeit under somewhat unusual 
 circumstances. 
 
 I had come in from rehearsal — such a re- 
 hearsal — in the early afternoon of the day on 
 which the performance was to be given — 
 tired, hot, hungry, and with a severe headache. 
 A glance at the dining-room — a long white 
 barn, through the bare windows of which poured 
 sun, heat, dust, and flies, and the government 
 of which was administered by a cabinet of 
 waiter-ladies with clicking heels, small waists, 
 short aprons, and shorter manners — sent me 
 dinnerless to my room, the one window of which, 
 being bare also, admitted the same visitors that 
 
 270 
 
SEEKING REST 
 
 were making themselves at home in the salle-a- 
 manger. 
 
 The house having been built to resemble 
 as closely as possible a penal institution, my 
 room was one of a row, with the doors opposite 
 each other, in a long passage about four feet 
 in width, and in the doorway opposite to mine 
 there sat a young woman in a rocking-chair. 
 This she had placed over the door-sill, so that 
 every swing of the chair as it bumped over that 
 sill — and she rocked with a magnificent vigour 
 — sent a rumble and thrill through the entire 
 building, and, incidentally, through my head. 
 To add to the prospect of my having a nice, 
 quiet afternoon a little boy with a fine, strong, 
 new pair of hobnailed, copper-toed boots was 
 testing their noise-making propensities by gal- 
 loping up and down the passage. 
 
 In the face of all these opposing forces I tried 
 to sleep, but of course unsuccessfully, and after 
 a couple of hours of pain and feverish unrest 
 I opened my door, and in the sweetest and most 
 insinuating tone I could command told the 
 lady opposite of my weariness and headache, 
 concluding by asking her if she would not have 
 
 271 
 
ROSE EYTINGE 
 
 her little boy play elsewhere. She turned her 
 face — it was a bright little face, and she was 
 a bright, pretty little woman — toward me, and 
 said: "No, I sha-ant! I ain't a-goin' to spoil 
 my kid's fun fer you. Sleepy! Why don't you 
 go inter some decent business, where you kin 
 sleep nights ?" 
 
 I felt that her remarks were at least unan- 
 swerable, and I retired. Feeling disinclined 
 to woo the drowsy god again, I sat on a hard, 
 straight-backed chair and mechanically looked 
 out of the window. On the other side of the 
 railroad and the white, sun-smitten sandy road 
 there lay a great field of grass, and there also 
 was a high, cool-looking mound of new-mown 
 hay. As I sat, bolt upright, in that hot, com- 
 fortless cell of a room, it was a most tempting 
 vision, and as the time dragged along and the 
 shadows about it lengthened it seemed to my 
 tired eyes and wearied fancy to stretch out its 
 arms to me and invite me to find rest beside it; 
 so I made a hasty toilet, and, taking a book, 
 I passed over to that rick of hay. 
 
 Oh! how cool and sweet and delicious it was, 
 as I sank down upon its fragrant softness, and 
 
 272 
 
NEW-MOWN HAY 
 
 how I did enjoy the sweetness and the quiet, 
 and I settled down in a hollow of my fragrant 
 retreat to rest and read ; for I felt that, much as 
 I should have enjoyed doing so, it would not 
 be quite the thing, even in unconventional 
 Nevada, to yield to my great desire to take a 
 nap there; so I would just rest, and read, and 
 think, and — and 
 
 Eh? What? Where was I? The sun had 
 gone down, the dark shadows of night were 
 closing in, and here was my business manager 
 — with the face expressive of the condition of 
 a manager who sees a sinister possibility of a 
 full house being dismissed, and the money 
 returned — bending over me. 
 
 It was nearly time to "ring up"; the house 
 was full; the lamps were trimmed; the hotel 
 and its inmates were in a state of excitement 
 in which disappointment at the possibility of 
 missing the "show" and anticipation of a spicy 
 tragedy were about equally divided; and here 
 had I been asleep for hours on my happily found 
 couch of new-mown hay. 
 
 The play, selected by popular choice, was 
 "Camille." Of the performance, the scenes, 
 
 273 
 
ROSE EYTINGE 
 
 the properties, the costumes, no amount of 
 description would do justice to all or any of 
 them. The supper-table was a study at once 
 of simplicity of detail and ingenuity of resource. 
 The epergne of fruit which decorated its centre 
 consisted of an old straw hat, inverted, and 
 containing three withered apples; and the 
 glasses from which we were supposed to quaff 
 champagne were two thick tumblers of unequal 
 size and one thick coffee-cup with a broken 
 handle. 
 
 Of my Armand, to say that he was abso- 
 lutely ignorant of the lines of his part is but 
 faintly to express his shortcomings. It was 
 not so much what he did not say that was 
 so painful as what he did say. And he was 
 entirely and airily satisfied with himself and 
 his efforts. 
 
 Realising the situation, and being anxious 
 to keep the performance somewhere within the 
 lines of the story, I adopted a desperate course. 
 As he stood regarding me with a smirk of senile 
 self-sufficiency, I would exclaim, "Ah, Armand, 
 I know what you would say," and then I would 
 speak such of his lines as were necessary to 
 
 274 
 
VIGOROUS ACTING 
 
 make it possible for Camille to reply, and pro- 
 ceed with my own part. 
 
 This action of mine produced an unexpected 
 effect upon him. At first he was surprised, 
 then bewildered, then angry. Turning fiercely 
 upon me, he exclaimed, "Cum-mille, you ain't 
 worth no man's love. I'll leave you forever," 
 and rushed for the centre door to effect an exit. 
 But I was too quick for him. I caught his 
 coat-tails just as they were disappearing, and, 
 bringing him back upon the stage, I cried in 
 tones of anguish, "Armand! you shall not leave 
 me thus!" — and, clinging to him, I held him 
 on the stage by main force till I managed to 
 bring the curtain down. 
 
 The local paper, I remember, called especial 
 attention to the extremely lifelike and vigorous 
 acting of this scene. 
 
 275 
 
CHAPTER XXXIV 
 
 SALT LAKE CITY — THE GUEST OF BRIGHAM YOUNG — THE 
 KING OF UTAH — POLYGAMY 
 
 Salt Lake City is to-day, as I understand 
 from recent visitors there, a typical, thriving, 
 Western business centre, differing in no special 
 features from any other town of like size; but 
 a quarter of a century ago it was unique. I 
 think no other spot on earth was like it, and it 
 was like no other spot on earth; it was such a 
 mingling of the savage and the civilised, the 
 fervid pietist and the reckless agnostic, the 
 thrifty money-spinner and the careless spend- 
 thrift. 
 
 The same strong contrasts that marked its 
 social aspects characterised its natural features. 
 It was a great strip of sandy desert, backed by 
 frowning mountains, and made all the more 
 awe-inspiring by the mysterious presence of 
 the Great Salt Lake. But this sandy desert 
 had, by the marvellous energy of the sect that 
 had put up its tents in it, been transformed into 
 
 276 
 
GUEST OF BRIGHAM YOUNG 
 
 a garden. The streets were shaded by trees, 
 and made sweet and refreshing by pure water, 
 both having been brought down from those 
 frowning mountains. Cleanliness, order, quiet, 
 and apparent peace reigned everywhere. 
 
 To this most interesting spot I was invited 
 to come and play an engagement. I timed 
 my acceptance so that my season would close 
 there, and thus I might devote a brief time to 
 a visit in the city and its neighbourhood. On 
 my arrival I was waited upon by a couple of 
 white- whiskered, reverend-looking men, the 
 bearers of an invitation from Brigham Young 
 to become his guest during my stay. When I 
 learned that I was to be entertained at the best 
 hotel in the place, where the best suite had 
 been reserved for me, and not in any one of 
 the score or so of his marital establishments, 
 I promptly accepted the great polygamist's 
 hospitality. 
 
 The next morning a fine carriage, drawn by 
 a pair of spanking bays, drew up in front of the 
 hotel, and a message was sent me that this 
 carriage was at my disposal for the period of 
 my stay. Promptly at nine o'clock every 
 
 277 
 
ROSE EYTINGE 
 
 morning it appeared, and a great joy and com- 
 fort it was to me. 
 
 I lost no time in paying my respects to my 
 host, and a very interesting old man I found 
 him. He certainly was a most courteous, 
 thoughtful, and attentive host, and he lost no 
 opportunity to make my visit agreeable. Day 
 after day parties were formed to go to some 
 one of the many marvellous spots with which 
 the surrounding country abounded, and these 
 parties were usually recruited from members 
 of his very numerous families. There were 
 scores of young and middle-aged men and 
 women who called him father, and they one 
 and all treated him with great respect and 
 deference. I soon found, however, that his 
 many wives were very chary of meeting, and 
 always referred to each other in cold, grudging 
 terms. This state of feeling seemed to be uni- 
 versal among Mormon wives. 
 
 In all essentials, but not in name, Brigham 
 Young was a sovereign, and his rule was abso- 
 lute. Nothing could exceed his pride in his 
 principality and in his own part in its estab- 
 lishment. He would point to the great range 
 
 278 
 
A TALK ON POLYGAMY 
 
 of mountains all around us, and say, "Look 
 at 'em; all the gold in California is nothin' 
 compared with the wealth that's in them moun- 
 tains." And when I put to him the pertinently- 
 natural question why he did not get some of it 
 out, he would answer: "If I did, we would be 
 swarmed out and trodden down by armies of 
 Gentiles, for the Gentiles love gold a heap bet- 
 ter than they do their God, for all their talk." 
 
 We had many talks on the subject of his 
 peculiar faith, more particularly the feature of 
 polygamy, which he, of course, strenuously de- 
 fended, while I as strenuously opposed it. 
 
 I particularly remember one little incident. 
 He took me one day, on a visit of inspection, 
 to a house in course of erection. As we passed 
 from room to room this subject of polygamy 
 was under discussion, and by way of illustrating 
 his argument he pointed out the many spacious 
 advantages of the house, and said : 
 
 "Now, suppose you were living in this house, 
 and say you were sealed to me, and I were to 
 bring in another wife and establish her in 
 another wing, why should you object? What 
 would you do?" 
 
 279 
 
ROSE EYTINGE 
 
 To which I replied: 
 
 "Do? I would dance on her!" 
 
 The old man dropped on a pile of lumber 
 that lay conveniently near, and laughed until 
 I thought he would do himself an injury. 
 
 280 
 
CHAPTER XXXV 
 
 PLAYING A BOY'S PART FOR THE ONLY TIME — CLEOPATRA 
 — HENRY BERGH'S EULOGY 
 
 It is a rather odd circumstance, in view of 
 the large range of characters I have imperson- 
 ated, that I have never played but one boy's 
 part. That was when I was a green girl and 
 was cast for the part of Violente, in the comedy 
 of "The Honeymoon." In those days I made 
 my own costumes, and in a general way was 
 my own milliner and dressmaker. So I set to 
 work, studied the character, and made myself 
 a nice little costume for it. 
 
 The night of the performance came. With 
 some pride, but with more trepidation, I donned 
 my page's suit. During the progress of my 
 dressing for the part, the women of the com- 
 pany, whose dressing-room I shared, submitted 
 me to a running fire of comment and criticism 
 mere pertinent than polite. 
 
 I bore this as well as I could, though I con- 
 281 
 
ROSE EYTINGE 
 
 fess that it stung. But it was when I went to 
 the greenroom, and was made the target for 
 the remarks of the masculine members of the 
 company, that my real sufferings began. They 
 were quite frank in the expression of their 
 opinions as to my appearance on this particular 
 occasion, and my general fitness to play boys' 
 parts. I had found the comments of my pro- 
 fessional sisters quite hard to digest; they were 
 tonic, if somewhat bitter; but those of my pro- 
 fessional brothers were much more unpleasant, 
 though they were sweet, cloyingly sweet, and 
 their effect upon me was to reduce me to tears, 
 partly of embarrassment, but mainly of help- 
 less indignation. 
 
 The result of all this was that Violente went 
 on the stage with a pair of red eyes, a swollen 
 nose (which no amount of powder could reduce 
 to symmetry), and a voice choked with unuttered 
 sobs. The end of the performance came at 
 last. I went to my dressing-room, and, as I 
 dropped my pretty little page's suit, I laid it 
 in a neat heap on the floor with the remark 
 that the costume was entirely at the service 
 of any one who liked to take it, as I should 
 
 282 
 
PLAYING A BOY'S PART 
 
 never need it again, for the reason that I would 
 never again play a boy's part. 
 
 This declaration of mine was met by a volley 
 of remarks, some of derision, some of amuse- 
 ment, some of lofty disapproval. One lady 
 said, with severe acrimony, "Ah, young one, 
 you'll get bravely over all that nonsense. You'll 
 play many a boy's part before you get through 
 your career as an actress, if you propose to be 
 an actress." 
 
 Whereupon I retorted, "I will be an actress, 
 and my name as an actress will be known and 
 will live when you and your name are forgotten, 
 and I will never again play a boy's part." 
 
 And never since have I played in that char- 
 acter. But I think my resolution was a very 
 stupid one, for because of it I have deprived 
 myself of the privilege of playing some glorious 
 parts, such as Imogene, Viola, and Rosalind. 
 
 But I have consoled myself for never having 
 played any of these delightful characters by 
 appearing as some of the great heroines of 
 Shakespeare, as Lady Macbeth, Beatrice, Her- 
 mione, and Cleopatra. I am often asked which 
 is my favourite character, and I am never able 
 283 
 
ROSE EYTINGE 
 
 to answer this question conclusively. But I 
 certainly enjoyed playing Cleopatra more than 
 any other part, and I think that was, perhaps, 
 because of many contributing causes — the 
 most potent, may be, being the fact that at the 
 time when I first played the role I had but 
 recently returned from a residence of some 
 years' duration in the East, and was more or 
 less permeated with the Oriental atmosphere. 
 While in Egypt I had actually lived for a while 
 upon almost the identical spot where, long ago, 
 had stood a summer palace of Cleopatra. 
 
 Then I had brought with me from the East 
 many things that I used in arranging my cos- 
 tumes, — silks, quaintly fringed scarfs from 
 Damascus, shawls from Persia, and ornaments 
 of virgin gold and silver, rudely beaten out and 
 set with gems. From drawings and photo- 
 graphs which I was at great pains to procure, 
 from copies of ornaments which had from time 
 to time been discovered by the researches of 
 archaeologists and preserved in the museums, 
 I had had made crowns and other headgear, 
 jewelled belts, girdles, armlets, bracelets, ear- 
 rings, and various ornaments, all of which were 
 
 284 
 
1 'ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA" 
 
 faithful counterparts of the gewgaws with which 
 women of that faraway period had bedecked 
 themselves. 
 
 All these details helped to fix in my mind 
 a certainty and clearness that I would be able 
 to look the part, at any rate; and I think that 
 every actress will agree with me that to feel 
 sure that one looks a part is always a great help 
 in playing it. 
 
 Another important factor, and one which 
 added greatly to my enjoyment of the perform- 
 ance, was the complete, correct, and gorgeous 
 character of the production. It was at the 
 California Theatre, under John McCullough's 
 management. There had been an arrangement 
 entered into between McCullough and myself, 
 at the close of an engagement, that I should 
 return the following year and play a Shake- 
 spearean heroine, for which he would make a 
 production. Whatever I may or may not have 
 done, he most nobly kept his share of the com- 
 pact. 
 
 After much discussion "Antony and Cleo- 
 patra' ' was the piece settled upon, and with 
 much tribulation I set to work to study the 
 
 285 
 
ROSE EYTINGE 
 
 part; and, without overstepping modesty, I 
 can say I played it well. There is no doubt 
 that Cleopatra is the strongest, the most com- 
 plex, and most difficult to realise of all Shake- 
 speare's heroines. It calls upon the actress to 
 run the gamut of every emotion and every 
 passion which the heart is capable of feeling 
 or the tongue is capable of expressing, and to 
 be able to depict her in all her varying moods 
 is to elevate histrionism to its apex. 
 
 The production had a run of four weeks, 
 an unprecedented success in those days in 
 California. Afterward I played the piece in 
 the various cities North, South, East and West, 
 but never under the agreeable circumstances 
 or with the artistic surroundings that marked 
 its first production. 
 
 I remember one incident that marked this 
 difference. Henry Bergh, the founder of the 
 Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Ani- 
 mals, was a man of more than ordinary intellect 
 and literary attainment, and was a loving stu- 
 dent of Shakespeare. He attended a perform- 
 ance of the piece when I was most inadequately 
 supported. Afterward he called upon me, and 
 
 286 
 
PRAISED BY HENRY BERGH 
 
 on his entrance he saluted me, not in my own 
 person, but as Cleopatra. He then went on 
 to say that the illusion which my make-up and 
 general appearance and performance created 
 was so complete that he would never again be 
 able to dissociate me in his thoughts from 
 Egypt's queen. "In fact," he continued, "as 
 you reclined upon your throne, regarding the 
 various persons who were about you, it seemed 
 to me that you were observing them with a 
 mixture of contemptuous amusement and cu- 
 riosity, as wondering if they were trying to 
 entertain you, and thinking how unsuccessful 
 they were." 
 
 287 
 
CHAPTER XXXVI 
 
 london and its notables — tom taylor — the olym- 
 pic theatre — beerbohm tree — the effect of 
 too realistic acting — a noble lord's criticism 
 — "annie thomas" 
 
 My second visit to Europe was at the close 
 of a long season, and for the same reason that 
 occasioned the first, to obtain a much-needed 
 rest, for I was pretty thoroughly worn out, 
 having played Cleopatra during the preceding 
 year almost exclusively. 
 
 I had no intention of acting while abroad, 
 for, before my departure, I had signed a con- 
 tract with Colonel Sinn to play under his man- 
 agement the following season, beginning in 
 September. As he had arranged to have me 
 play a pretty extensive repertory, the necessity 
 for the devotion of many weeks to preparatory 
 rehearsals made my early return imperative. 
 
 While in London I had the good fortune to 
 fall into a most interesting social set of actors, 
 writers, and other notables. Among them were 
 Charles Reade, "Tom" Taylor, Wilkie Collins, 
 
TOM TAYLOR 
 
 "Annie Thomas," Sir John Millais, W. S. Gil- 
 bert, Henry Irving, Ellen Terry, J. S. Clark 
 (who, though an American, had long been 
 known as a London manager), B. F. Chatter- 
 ton, the Duke of Beaufort, Lord Londesborough, 
 Robert Buchanan, Edmund Yates, John Cole- 
 man, Mrs. Charles Kean, Lionel Brough, Henry 
 J. Byron, Mrs. Chippendale, and a host of 
 others. 
 
 I have a particularly pleasant recollection 
 of Tom Taylor. Possibly my memory of him 
 is only another proof of the power of mutual 
 admiration, for, from our first meeting, although 
 he had never seen me act, he conceived a great 
 admiration for my dramatic powers, and he 
 seemed to be impressed with the idea that there 
 were characteristics in my personality and 
 general presence which, to his mind, seemed 
 eminently to fit me to realise the tragic and 
 heroic. 
 
 So impressed was he with this idea that he 
 was very anxious to write a tragedy for me, 
 with Boadicea, Queen of Britain, for its heroine, 
 but somehow the subject did not appeal to me, 
 and nothing ever came of the scheme. 
 
ROSE EYTINGE 
 
 In his personal appearance Tom Taylor was 
 the very opposite of the usual literary man; he 
 looked much more like a well-to-do miller. He 
 affected grey clothing and a soft grey hat, and 
 when one saw his fine, strong face crowned with 
 iron-grey hair, he looked like a miller powdered 
 with his own stock. 
 
 Both Tom Taylor and Charles Reade were 
 very desirous that I should play Cleopatra in 
 London, predicting a great success; but as by 
 this time it was June, and I was to return to 
 America in August, such an appearance was 
 out of the question. I did, however, play two 
 short engagements in London, in both of which 
 I had the good fortune to be very successful. 
 
 My first character was Nancy Sykes at the 
 Olympic Theatre, London, where the audiences 
 liked my Nancy much better than I ever did. 
 I always disliked the part from the first time 
 I played it in association with Wallack and 
 Davenport. 
 
 As a result of this brief engagement I received 
 offers from several London managers, which, 
 if I had been free to accept them, would have 
 filled out a year in that city, in that part alone. 
 
 290 
 
REALISTIC ACTING 
 
 At this time the lesseeship of Drury Lane 
 Theatre was to be disposed of, and Chatterton 
 and Harris were rival competitors. Mr. Chat- 
 terton offered me an engagement there under 
 the most flattering conditions, in the event of 
 his obtaining possession of it. But Harris won. 
 
 It was during my engagement at the Olympic 
 Theatre that Beerbohm Tree made his first 
 professional appearance, although he had long 
 been known as an amateur of marked ability. 
 On the occasion I refer to he played the part of 
 a German waiter in a curtain-raiser. 
 
 A somewhat interesting incident occurred 
 during this engagement. One night, some time 
 after the curtain had fallen, while I was busy 
 removing the traces of Nancy's tragic death, 
 a gentleman appeared at the door of my dress- 
 ing-room, having been brought there by an 
 usher from the front of the house. After pro- 
 fuse apologies for his intrusion, he begged me 
 to go with him to the assistance of the young 
 lady under his escort, who with him had wit- 
 nessed the performance, was in great distress 
 of mind on my account, and refused to be com- 
 forted. He said if she could see me, she would 
 291 
 
ROSE EYTINGE 
 
 be convinced of my safety, but he feared in no 
 other way. 
 
 I slipped on some garment and went with 
 him. The theatre was dark and empty, save 
 for a little group which the dim light of a lan- 
 tern in the hand of the night watchman showed 
 me at the top of the three steps leading down 
 to the stalls. There, sitting on the top step, 
 was a fair young woman, her dress dishevelled, 
 her beautiful brown hair fallen about her 
 shoulders, her hands pressed tightly over her 
 eyes. She was rocking herself, and moaning 
 and muttering incoherently. I sat down beside 
 her, took her hands in mine, drew them from 
 her face, and cheerfully begged her to see for 
 herself that I was not in the slightest degree 
 the worse for all the dreadful scenes she had 
 witnessed. 
 
 At the sound of my voice she threw back 
 her head and listened, slowly opened her eyes, 
 looked searchingly into my face, and, being 
 at last convinced of who I was, flung herself 
 into my arms with a cry of: "Oh, you poor dear, 
 they didn't kill you after all!" After which 
 she pulled herself together and went home, to 
 292 
 
A NOBLEMAN'S CRITICISM 
 
 the great relief of all of us who wanted to do 
 likewise. 
 
 The criticism of Lord Londesborough was 
 quite as hearty and sincere, though it was offered 
 in a somewhat original fashion. After the cur- 
 tain had fallen upon poor dead Nancy, he came 
 to my dressing-room to pay his respects, but 
 when he found himself there he seemed to be 
 a bit bewildered. He peered at me through 
 his glasses, his face wearing an expression of 
 helpless amazement. Finally he took my hands 
 in his, but seemed to be at a loss to know what 
 to do with them, and, looking down upon me, 
 his expression of amazement momentarily in- 
 creasing, he muttered at intervals: "Extraor- 
 dinary! Ton my life, mos' extraordinary!" 
 Then, dropping my hands, he backed toward 
 the door, only to return and repeat this cere- 
 mony several times, at last making his exit. 
 But even then there still floated back to me, 
 "Mos' extraordinary ! really mos' extraordinary I" 
 
 I found much to interest me in "Annie 
 Thomas." I had long been familiar with her 
 293 
 
ROSE EYTINGE 
 
 name, having often read it on the title-pages of 
 her novels, and had as often wondered why she 
 had never come to the front, for I thought her 
 literary work far in advance of that of many of 
 her fellow- workers in the same field, who had 
 achieved success. After meeting her I no longer 
 wondered, unless it was to wonder how, with 
 the many claims she had upon her, she managed 
 to do so much. In real life she was Mrs. Annie 
 Cudlipp. Her husband, a clergyman, was in 
 charge of a large, turbulent, East End London 
 parish, where he held three daily services and 
 drew a salary of fifty pounds a year. She had 
 a large family of small children, and was a 
 devoted wife and mother. Besides being a 
 bright, pretty woman, fond of society, she 
 managed, despite all these claims upon her 
 time and energies, to keep in touch with her 
 other work. 
 
 One morning I met her on the Strand. Her 
 appearance denoted that she was in some 
 trouble. "Oh, my dear!" she exclaimed, "I 
 am in such a scrape. When I left home this 
 morning I had fifty pages of 'scrip' for 'Tin.'" 
 This, being translated, meant that she had 
 294 
 
A LOST MANUSCRIPT 
 
 written fifty pages of manuscript on a serial 
 story that was running in "Tinsley's Magazine.' ' 
 "And now, look!" — pointing to a bag which 
 hung upon her arm — "When I was leaving the 
 'bus a few moments ago, this beast" — shaking 
 her little black bag — "had its mouth wide 
 open, and my fifty pages are gone to the 
 devil! — God forgive me! — and I a parson's 
 wife!" 
 
 I soothed and comforted her, assuring her 
 that William Tinsley, whom I knew quite well 
 as one of the kindest of men, would straighten 
 the matter out for her. 
 
 We turned into Catharine Street, and, finding 
 Mr. Tinsley in his office, she repeated to him 
 her tale of woe. He turned away without a 
 word, and stood with his back to us for a brief 
 time, then returned, and, patting Mrs. Cudlipp 
 on the shoulder, said: "There, there, Annie, 
 we'll manage. We'll insert a slip in this month's 
 edition, saying, 'Owing to a press of matter, 
 Annie Thomas's charming story is unavoid- 
 ably crowded out this month.' Now, go home, 
 pull yourself together, and write something 
 a deal better." 
 
 295 
 
CHAPTER XXXVII 
 
 WILKIE COLLINS — CHARLES READE — THE INFLUENCE OF 
 CHARLES DICKENS — NANCY SYKES CONVERTS A BAP- 
 TIST 
 
 Among the literary men whom I met in 
 London, perhaps Wilkie Collins was as great 
 a surprise, and, in a way, as great a disappoint- 
 ment, as I ever experienced in a first meeting 
 with a "notable." In all Mr. Collins's stories 
 I had read, his men, especially his villains, 
 had been big, portentous, heavy men; while 
 he, in his own person, was the exact opposite 
 of all these, and certainly, in dealing out all 
 these fine proportions to his characters, Wilkie 
 Collins displayed a modesty unusual among 
 people of his craft. 
 
 He was "the mildest-mannered man," and 
 almost the smallest, I ever met, who was not 
 positively a dwarf. His hands and feet were 
 almost dwarfed, and as he sat perched up on 
 a rather high chair at his writing-table, with 
 his grizzled beard flowing over his breast, and 
 his low, soft voice flowing out in silvery accents, 
 296 
 
AN AUTHOR'S WEAKNESS 
 
 his head surmounted with a quaintly shaped 
 skull-cap, he looked rather like a wizard who 
 had fallen under the ban of his fairy godmother, 
 who in anger had deprived him of his legs. 
 
 The first time I met him, he was suffering 
 from one of his frequent attacks of gout. I re- 
 member, when I mentioned this circumstance 
 to Charles Reade, that gentleman said — and 
 there seemed to be a sort of gusto, a sense of 
 satisfaction in his tone: "Ah! Wilkie has been 
 drinking champagne! He will do it, though 
 he knows it's poison to him. The very moment 
 he gets a bit better, off he will trot to the club 
 and have a good 'tuck-in' of lobster and 
 champagne, and so gets another attack." 
 
 This gloating over the weakness of his liter- 
 ary brother struck me as particularly human, 
 for this was precisely one of Mr. Reade' s many 
 weaknesses. His enemy was dyspepsia, and 
 any deviation from simple fare was sure to be 
 followed by a sharp attack of this malady, with 
 the inevitable result of reducing him to repen- 
 tance, abstemiousness, and bad temper. 
 
 He was under the influence of this combina- 
 tion when, one day, I visited Covent Garden 
 297 
 
ROSE EYTINGE 
 
 with him. With the inconsistency that so often 
 marked his conduct, he bought for me the rarest 
 fruit and the most beautiful plants, exhibiting 
 in his selections the finest taste and the most 
 lavish generosity; and then he dragged me, 
 shamefaced enough, through the length of the 
 market, begging of every stall-keeper the gift 
 of a bruised peach, of which dainty morsel he 
 expressed himself as being extravagantly fond. 
 I think it is conceded that Charles Dickens 
 was a powerful teacher of Christian charity; 
 and it was once my privilege to be his apostle, 
 the knowledge of which came to me in rather 
 an odd way. I was crossing the Atlantic on 
 my return voyage, and as I sat huddled in my 
 steamer-chair, looking, as I always do look on 
 shipboard, more like a bundle of rags than a 
 reasonable woman, I noticed among my fellow- 
 passengers a venerable-looking, white-haired 
 man in the garb of a clergyman. One day, 
 the captain, with whom I had crossed many 
 times, said this old gentleman wished to be 
 presented to me. I consented, thinking that 
 knowing my profession, the minister felt it 
 his duty to make an effort to convert me. I 
 
 298 
 
A BAPTIST CONVERT 
 
 was quite wrong; it was, on the contrary, to 
 thank me for having been the cause of his con- 
 version. The means of my doing this, sum- 
 marised, were as follows : 
 
 This old man had been educated a Baptist 
 of the most severe type, and had never read 
 a novel or any work of fiction. The men- 
 tal illness of a brother-in-law had occasioned 
 this, his first visit to Europe, the imperative 
 condition being that, while it was dangerous 
 to oppose his change, it was equally imperative 
 that he should be closely and constantly watched 
 and accompanied everywhere he chose to go. 
 
 One night during my London engagement 
 this brother-in-law of my new acquaintance, 
 finding himself in front of the Olympic Theatre, 
 where I was playing Nancy Sykes, walked in, 
 and his relative was forced to follow him. The 
 old gentleman said to me: "I felt that I was 
 walking through the gates of hell," and then he 
 proceeded to describe his feelings and experi- 
 ences. At first, his horror at finding himself 
 in a theatre swept away every other thought, 
 but gradually he found himself becoming more 
 interested in poor Nancy, the womanhood of 
 299 
 
ROSE EYTINGE 
 
 the poor creature shining out amid the gloom 
 and wretchedness and sin of her surroundings. 
 In short, he told me that when the curtain fell 
 he awakened to the truth that he had received 
 one of the deepest, most far-reaching lessons 
 in Christian charity of his life, and he felt pro- 
 found gratitude to Charles Dickens for having 
 given the world the story, and to me for having 
 revealed it to him. 
 
 This confession, as it were, on his part, led 
 to long talks between my convert and myself, 
 with the result that he expressed the determi- 
 nation to enter upon a new course of reading 
 of humanity, which, beginning with the great 
 teacher, Shakespeare, should include all the 
 standard writers of English fiction from the 
 Elizabethan to the Victorian era. 
 
 That he carried out this resolution I know, 
 for the acquaintance, which was begun under 
 such unusual circumstances, ripened into a 
 friendship which was brought to an end only 
 by the death of my friend. 
 
 300 
 
CHAPTER XXXVIII 
 
 EDMUND YATES — ROBERT BUCHANAN — MRS. W. E. GLAD- 
 STONE — PROFESSOR BLACKIE — PALGRAVE SIMPSON 
 
 Among the men whom I met in London were 
 Edmund Yates and Robert Buchanan. It is 
 rather paradoxical to mention them together, 
 for no two men were ever farther apart. They 
 had had, at some time, a very bitter quarrel, 
 and, being both very bumptious, and holding 
 very exaggerated opinions of their own im- 
 portance, each nursed his wrath against the 
 other, which, as a consequence, was always 
 at white heat. It was quite understood among 
 their mutual friends and acquaintances that 
 Buchanan's name was not to be mentioned in 
 Yates's presence, and vice versa. Occasionally, 
 however, someone, bent on a bit of fun, would 
 
 break this rule, and then 
 
 Edmund Yates's wife was the daughter of 
 a saddlemaker who had accumulated a fortune, 
 a large portion of which had fallen to this 
 daughter. She was — letting her tell it — the 
 
 301 
 
ROSE EYTINGE 
 
 greatest lady in London. About the time I 
 met them they had just moved into a fine house 
 in an ultra-aristocratic neighbourhood, and, 
 in speaking of the arrangement of her new 
 abode, she said: "I shall not use the rooms on 
 the first floor at all ; they will be used for offices 
 and reception-rooms for writers and actors, 
 and that sort of person that Edmund always 
 has about him." As "Edmund" was the son 
 of an actor and actress, and "that sort of per- 
 son," her remark was in peculiarly good taste. 
 Robert Buchanan and his wife were of quite 
 a different sort, — whole-souled, hospitable, and 
 unconventional. Indeed it sometimes struck 
 me that Robert Buchanan was a trifle too un- 
 conventional; as, for instance, when he walked 
 into a box at the theatre to pay his respects to 
 me, arrayed in a heavy tweed suit. 
 
 I often found Englishmen more careless in 
 matters of dress than Americans. Charles 
 Reade once gave me rather a shock when he 
 called to take me to some social function, and 
 he was dressed in a long, loose, black velvet- 
 garment, that, if he had worn it at home, would 
 302 
 
MRS. W. E, GLADSTONE 
 
 have passed very well for a dressing-gown. To 
 add to his appearance he was without his false 
 teeth. I have no doubt they were quietly re- 
 posing in the waste-paper basket in his writing- 
 room, their usual refuge. An Englishwoman, 
 however, will rise to her circumstances with 
 more courage than we Americans are apt to 
 do. Her gown may be of cheap material, if 
 she cannot afford better, and it may not be well 
 or tastefully made, but it will always be con- 
 ventionally correct for the occasion on which 
 it is worn. 
 
 I speak with profound respect for the lady, 
 but one of the worst, if not the very worst, 
 dressed women I ever met in society was Mrs. 
 William Ewart Gladstone. I remember on one 
 occasion meeting her at luncheon at Dalmeny, 
 where we were guests of Earl Rosebery. She 
 was arrayed in a gown of shabby, once black 
 velveteen, trimmed with cheap cotton lace. 
 
 Dalmeny, which is near Edinburgh, reminds 
 
 me of a noble man, indeed, whom I had the 
 
 privilege of meeting in that old town, — John 
 
 Stuart Blackie, professor of Greek at Edin- 
 
 303 
 
ROSE EYTINGE 
 
 burgh University. No man was more beloved 
 and revered in the university and in the com- 
 munity than was this gracious, kingly old man. 
 
 Never shall I forget the sensation which his 
 advent created in a usually quiet household 
 on the occasion of his first call upon me. I was 
 having my afternoon tea "wi' a wee bittee hot 
 scone," in the cosy sitting-room of my Edin- 
 burgh lodging, when my hostess fell in, and 
 with starting eyes and heaving breast gasped, 
 with bated breath, "He's bye! he's ben the 
 hoose! he's comin' up the stair! It's you, mem, 
 it's you he's wantin'; I her-ed him speak yer 
 name!" 
 
 And out she rushed; while I sat amazed, 
 and wondering whether this visitor was a Ma- 
 hatma from Tibet or a sheriff from New York, 
 that his appearance created such consternation. 
 
 From without I heard mysterious sounds of 
 opening and shutting of drawers, scuffling and 
 shuffling of feet, and whispers in excited tones. 
 Then silence, followed by the sound of a firm 
 footstep on the landing. 
 
 The door opened, and my landlady, looking 
 inches taller and miles grander than I had ever 
 
 304 
 
A PACKED HOUSE 
 
 seen her before, and arrayed in a long, black 
 silk apron, and a cap with flowers at the sides 
 and flowing Gibbon strings, handed me a card, 
 bearing the Professor's name. When I read 
 it, and calmly asked her to show the gentleman 
 in, and fetch another cup and saucer, her 
 consternation was complete. But it was when 
 the Professor departed that the great sensa- 
 tion occurred; I accompanied him to the door, 
 and we found awaiting his appearance literally 
 a packed house. Every inch of available space 
 was filled. The dear, kindly old man, accus- 
 tomed as he was to these marks of love, did not 
 share my surprise at this demonstration, but 
 passed down through the crowd, flinging quips 
 and pleasant greetings; and a fine, pleasant 
 sight he was, with his snow-white hair flowing 
 about his neck, under his black, soft, slouched 
 hat, and carrying on his shoulders a mantle 
 of the Stuart plaid. 
 
 Palgrave Simpson was another English writer 
 
 whom I met. He always struck me as being 
 
 the most un-Bohemian writer I ever knew. He 
 
 was a quiet, serious, unobtrusive gentleman, 
 
 305 
 
ROSE EYTINGE 
 
 and when in his company it was hard to realise 
 that he was the author of many comedies and 
 rattling farces that have held a place on the 
 English stage for the last twenty or thirty years, 
 He wanted me to play Lady Dedlock in his 
 dramatisation of "Bleak House," but I had 
 had the good fortune to see Madame Janau- 
 schek play that part, in conjunction with Hor- 
 tense, the vindictive waiting-maid of her haughty 
 ladyship, and I was not willing to disturb my 
 recollection of her admirable performance of 
 those two parts. 
 
 306 
 
CHAPTER XXXIX 
 
 CHANGES IN THE PROFESSION — LUCILLE WESTERN — 
 LOUIS ALDRICH — JAMES A. HERNE — ADAH ISAACS 
 
 MENKEN 
 
 Other times, other manners. No greater 
 change has taken place in matters theatrical 
 than in the ways of actresses. It used to be 
 the custom for an actress of any prominence to 
 surround herself with an atmosphere of ex- 
 clusiveness and mystery. She was never to be 
 seen, as she may be constantly, to-day, upon 
 the ordinary promenade, or at the theatre, or 
 shopping, or at teas, or receptions. 
 
 She was known personally only to a few 
 intimate friends. The public never saw her, 
 except upon the stage. 
 
 Many times, some thirty years ago, I hap- 
 pened to stop at the same hotel with Lucille 
 Western. She was a beautiful creature, and 
 then in the zenith of her charms and her repu- 
 tation. I remember how jealously she guarded 
 herself from casual observation. She never 
 307 
 
ROSE EYTINGE 
 
 permitted herself to enter the public rooms of 
 the hotel, such as the parlour, reception-room, 
 and dining-room. Her meals were always 
 served in her own apartment, and when she 
 left or entered the hotel she would pass 
 swiftly and silently along, not only her face, 
 but also her head and shoulders, draped in a 
 heavy black-lace veil. 
 
 Even in her own room she always kept this 
 veil near her, and, if a knock came to the door, 
 she would invariably cover her face with it 
 before the summons was answered. 
 
 This conduct on the part of Lucille Western 
 may have been a little extreme, for she was an 
 intense woman and given to extremes, but the 
 rule of exclusiveness and aloofness from obser- 
 vation used to be general with actresses. 
 
 Two men, with whom I had personal inter- 
 course, and each prominent in their respective 
 paths of life, were Louis Aldrich and James A. 
 Heme. Of the former more perhaps than of 
 any man I ever knew might in truth be quoted 
 these lines: 
 
 None knew him but to love him, 
 None named him but to praise. 
 
 308 
 
AN INVETERATE GUYER 
 
 When the grave closed upon him every actor 
 and actress lost a true friend. 
 
 Though Louis Aldrich was in the fullest and 
 freest sense of the term a legitimate actor, there 
 is no denying that he was also an inveterate 
 "guyer," and he could "guy" so artistically, 
 with so serious a face and so dignified a port, 
 with so much poise and self-possession, that 
 while those in the scene with him would be 
 convulsed with laughter, and would have much 
 ado to hold themselves together, the audience 
 would never for a moment suspect him. An 
 example of this occurs to me. 
 
 I was in the cast with him in a war-piece 
 written by Augustus Thomas, called "Surren- 
 der." In this piece there was a court-martial, 
 at which Mr. Aldrich enacted the part of the 
 judge-advocate. There was an amusing inter- 
 change between the president of the court and 
 the comedian. 
 
 Now this comedian was a bit of a "guyer" 
 himself, so they had several tilts. On this 
 particular night, when the comedy man came 
 up for examination, Mr. Aldrich straightened 
 himself up, looked at the witness with severe, 
 309 
 
ROSE EYTINGE 
 
 judicial dignity, and in a deep, portentous voice 
 went on to say: "I know what you are about 
 to tell me, sir. You would tell me," — and 
 then proceeded to give the unfortunate wight's 
 entire scene, gags and all. That comedian's 
 face was a study. 
 
 Of the famous Heme I saw much less than 
 I did of Aldrich, either as actor or as man, but 
 the little I did see endeared him to me for both 
 his art and his heart. 
 
 The recent death of Mr. Newell — "Orpheus 
 C. Kerr" — reminds me of the only time I ever 
 saw — or, what is really of more worth, heard 
 — Adah Isaacs Menken. 
 
 In the words of Little Buttercup, "many years 
 ago, when I was young and charming," I used 
 to patronise a French hairdresser named Gentil. 
 One morning I went to his place, and on enter- 
 ing I saw a swathed and betowelled form 
 occupying the operating-chair. Apologising, I 
 was about to beat a hasty retreat, when the 
 figure turned toward me. I then saw one of 
 the loveliest faces I ever beheld, and a voice 
 begged me to remain. Never, either before 
 or since, have I heard anything so perfect in 
 
 310 
 
ADAH ISAACS MENKEN 
 
 sound as that voice. It transfixed me; it was 
 like the softest, sweetest tones of an seolian 
 harp. My admiration roused my curiosity, — 
 a quality usually rather inactive with me. I 
 took an early opportunity to ask Gentil who 
 his beautiful-faced, syren-voiced patroness was, 
 and he told me it was Adah Isaacs Menken. 
 
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