The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, September 13, 1903, Page 50

THE SAN ¥FRANCISCO CALL, SUNDAY, SEPFPTEMBER 13 1908. ger t asked: ere do the Cr Aha!” 1 laughe T the CRAWLEYS stay, romise of an appointment had the grace not to ask who “they” were. It was, however, a man, a quietly ourteous person, who met me at the a moment. as what accustomed to ng ch es In costu She swam in, b how I missed jonger—the the George n the stage. catch the delicately —more fre- from m wagine Mrs. Pat be- longz, however, fo pbell is the W sch: Crawley 1s the spirit ed, as the erm seems her warm, s talk then, and more later of pbell, and then I asked If there ances e there been some ol "7 women Crawley I replied. exclaimed. ot be possible that— ou're not—"" whe Crawle was now smil weak-witted Like the I couli not down & little shiver at the memory of his make- at me les other Then he appealed gruesomely to Mrs, Crawley: “I couldn’'t use the other make-up then?”’ She nodded a ughtful “no,” and I asked: “That is—' “Well, I wanted to draw the whole skel- eton,” the mimic Death said cheerfully, ‘and then wear a floating, a at would giv could be 4 Crawley grimly with a thin finger. “You dreadful person!” I laughed, then It sald: “I don't g e get the signific the fur collar in your pr awful, Mr. Crawley—make- “Where. moth and rust do corrupt,’ It is moth-eaten,” he replied costume is much like Hol- of course.” Mrs. Crawley said, lean- d with her luminous smile, wice the fortune-tellers told me not , that Death would be have been with teasing e Mr. Craw naive re- he sald: *“You s a fortune-teller, not a clair- wife replied with sympa- - her husband’s anx- hecy concerned Mr. have been she contin- of that kind of thing p people, spiritualists, sorts of things. id give them ten shillings and nd,” this from Mr. Craw- rotest, “look at your Psych- Society, with its volumes lumes of nightmare stories, in Lon- s. Crawley unexpectedly subscribed: B T in one of them. Three voice lowered mys e finger up-pointed— asked: she laughed. “And I don’t want to meet one, do ? There are too many interesting people to trait?” I “Ghost seeing? Oh no,” meet. Still I have had rather odd ex- periences. The sense of having been be- fore in gome ¢ Roman streets, ages and ages ago, for example, was almost overwhe I'm not a bit modern. m ssand years old!” 1 shouldn’t have thought so by 99,97 " 1 laughingly appraise her. “But may we not return to ‘Everyman’? It so urprised me to learn that you if I were a hundred only now cssayed the role, Mrs. Crawley.” “1 am only now beginning to feel its possif;illtles she returned simply, *“What de you think the effect on the ress of much playing of such a part be?” : m much interested to ld think,” thoughtfully, th tremendous d not be very e lighted drolly has often e was playing saintly roles his tem- as appalling off the stage! Also hat he was perfectly charming in every- day life when he played the villains!” May 1 suggest something?” ‘Certainly.” It seems to me inartistic—from the objective side—when in putting on the coat of penance you leave on the other coat. beneaih. The lines trouble one.” Ah, we've tried to obviate that in sev- ways,” the Everyman replied. “But ere is even now a little shiver—don't feel it?—when the coat of worldliness s to the waist. I couldn’t take it off apletely.” . '‘And,” Mr, Crawley thoughtfully inter- rupted, “one hardly wants Everyman to look attractive there. To me the figure istic in its pathetic ugliness, all beauty forgotten, you kfow. Then how does the introduction of the _Diety strike you?" ““As no more irreyerent than-a stained glass window,” I tistified. “He was too much like Wotan, however. I think you were wise to omit the personification, though. It is better simply for the voice to be heard, as you now have it. I feel it should come from above, in the center, d not from the side.” “Doesn’t sound come from where you imagine it?" Mrs. Crawley queried. “But we should have to use a little balloon to get it above and in the center at Lyric Hall."” “In the Santa Clara passion play they represent the Christ very effectively by & light,” I recalled. “Apropos, I wonder why we have Botti- celll angels in ‘Everyman’ with the rest of the costumes Dutch?’ Mrs. Crawley conjectured. “I don’t mind the anachronism in cos- ut thelr wigs distress me,” I tes- hough, you know, the occasional awkwardness, seems only to add aic quality of the thing and know. 1 “that one ‘Mrs. Beerbohm told me that when Mr. I am sure,” Mrs. Crawley said; is the most wonderful person, you . there were features of the Berke- ley performance I liked better than the cal one, the players making their exits the front of the hall instead of through the audlence for example. But pne must own it is managed with notable dignity. Yet it brushed off some of the nec e D W st v s < S ot s Faareva, - T B PR . aloofness, and I think somewhat detracts from the novelty and impressiveness of Everyman’s pligrimage.” “I think I rather agree,” Mr. Crawley said. “But this is ungrateful,” I owned, “the production is so extraordinarily impres- sive and harmonious, so wonderfully rev- erent. It seems to me that only one member of the cast could ever have been within miles of a rouge pot. I nave won- dered, Mrs. Crawley, whether you felt the strain of being on the stage so con- tinuously 7" “A lttle,” she owned. “You see I am there only for a few moments throughout the whole performance. Must you go?”’ this to Mr. Crawley, who had risen to his feet. “It will leave you freer to talk,” the actor said. Mrs. Crawley looked charmingly as if ghe did not want to be left any freer, and I ventured to say: “But you also are in this.” His “Really, no!” only left me more de- termined, for it is not everyday one meets Death, and really one could hardly have hoped to find him a person of such charm and distinction. He bade us good-by, however, and I asked Mrs. Crawley what had preceded Death in her husband's repertoire, “Sherlock Holmes,” ghe smiled. “Sherlock himself, of course?”’ He looks it. “Sherlock himself.” “And what has Miss Constance Crawley been doing?”’ “ lately Roma Eternal in ‘The You like the part “Oh, yes, very well,” in her deep, full- biooded tones. “It is a baby ‘La Tosca.” “‘Miss Viola Allen did not like the part.” “And changed it completely, I under- stand. I cannot imagine how it was played.” “You like ‘La Tosca,” I know from that phrase.” “That—I'm almost afraid to say it—is my greatest ambition, to play ‘La Tosca.’ 1 keep on hoping that Mrs, Pat won't play it first!” Her eye traveled to the mantel- piece, whereon I immediately discerned Mrs. Campbell’s subtle profile. “You think her very great?" ““The greatest actress in England. You know after her perfermances when you g0 home there are the men actually fight- ing on the cars about her. They always like or dislike her violently. There's no neutrality—which is fame, I suppose, Oh, she's tremendously clever. The only ek b SR e " PRt e o e oy B I | L MRS. CONSTANCE CRAWLEY, THE “EVERYMAN” OF THE MORALITY PLAY, WHOSE RARE HISTRIONIC TALENT AND PERSONAL BEAUTY HAVE CHARMED THEATER-GOERS WHO HAVE SEEN THE PRO- DUCTION AND WHOSE RESEMBLANCE TO MRS. PATRICK CAMPBELL IS REMARKABLE. —_— woman I ever saw who could turn white on the stage, I don't know how she does i “Mr. Steyens at the Tivoll yonder would have it that everything was taught her."” Mrs. Crawley’s eyes blazed incredu- lously as she sald: “That’s absolutely im- possible. Why,” she put it, “it would be Mrs. Pat's natural inclination if one said ‘do this' to do the other thing. Genius always 'rouses antagonism, you know. Her wonderful ways are not their ordi- nary ways, and some people can’t forgive her her originality.” “We gecem unable to keep to Mrs. ley as a subject,” I discovered. you were not born to the stage?” though I did not need to ask. “No; my people are all church and army persons,” Mrs. Crawley replied. “How did you come to the theater?” *“Mr. Tree thought I had a_face,” she quaintly put it. *He saw you in private theatricals?” “No; just saw me.” “Your first effort—you doubtless remem- ber?” “Oh, yes; I remember! Tt was in ‘The Dancing Girl’ a great big part and a wonderful cast.” Mrs. Crawley roundly says “cahst” and “dahncing.”” “It was in London, t0o.” “And you have done much Shakespeare —you will be the Viola in the ‘Twelfth Night' at Berkeley?” _ Yes, to both questions,” she answered, “though my first three years were in lit- tle society plays. They were lovely years, happy and content, but I really ought to have been slaving away at the big things,” she laughed. “I-have played Juliet and Katharine quite frequently. South Africa is the place for Shake- speare.” I could not have been more astonished had Mrs. Crawley mentioned Milpitas as an art center, but managed to maintain a conventional surprise in my ‘“South Af- Tical” Indeed, yi Mrs, Crawley insisted, with complimentary emphasis. *“Why, they will ride a hundred miles in a bul- lock wagon to see a Shakespearean per- formance.” “Think of that for devotion to art! You were there long?” “Quite a long time, in the Henry Irving repertoire. We were the first company allowed in Pretoria after, the, war and were in Bloemfontein when peace was declared. But you must not persuade me to talk of Agrica, I shall never stop,” laughing richly and jingling her barbaric gold chain, heavy with tiny powder flasks, soldier buttons and other war tro- phies; “I am very willing,” 1 said. “Well,” she began, her eyes becoming deep pools of enthusiasm, “how I wish I could make you see it, that wonderful, immense weirdness, Africa! It is tremen- dously beautiful. When they say to me in Italy, ‘Isn't this lovely? I want to say, ‘But you should see Natal” The great arid stretches of the ‘cursed lands,’ the fields of arum lilfes, the weird trees— like witches turned into trees, crouching and looming. The hills are of the strangest, softest purple, and at every turn you see the mirage. You know the Burne-Jones landscape, queer, old, half- enchanted? ‘There was his coumtry,’ I said when I saw Africa.” “You paint,” T challenged ter, “A little, only a very, very mue."\ — -—.;q “And doubtless play?” “Not at all.” “Then you certainly write?" “A little, again,” less diffidently. can’t help that, you know.” “‘Plays?” “Yes, madam,” humbly. “Do you?” “Not guilty—but we'll return to Africa,” I‘d’eclded. “How did you find the peo- ple?” “‘Absolutely the most interesting I have ever met,” she asserted unhesitatingly, “The men from up-country, who have lived in those strange solitudes, seem to find thoughts there as big and huge as their hills.” “Did you meet Rhodes?” “No. I met Mr. Kruger.” “Interesting “Not at all; too unfriendly—bows this way to you’—executing a stiff, Boer sa- lute that would have made even Kruger chuckle. “But everybody goes to Africa now, painters and all sorts of people,” she went on. “I should like myself to play six months of the year in Pieter- maritzburg. “Well, well.” “The soclal lifé”—was she going to de- molish my visions of dancing Zulus?— ‘“the social life, too, is most attractive. You have only to say ‘What a night for a pienie,’ and immediately some one ar- ranges a picnic, and you should see the African moons! Or one has only to think ‘what a day for a drive, and some one comes along with horses. But I am afraid it is not only the liking for a little cleverness that makes people do things for you down there,” she laughed with frank coquetry. ‘*‘There are about four hundred men to one woman.” “Ah. I see why you like Africa!” “‘One “No,” she tossed her head gracefully. “] find women much more interesting— in masses—than men.” “How are the Africans as audiences?” By the way, how won- derfully quiet the American audiences are. | Not even a British audience keeps quite ’ “Most friendly. ' v tiny so still. You give us not even one hand,” and our Everyman looked a shade piqued. Greet's_ fault, he barred 4 Mr. T s “And I like it that spplause,” I sald. way, don’t you? ghe owned she did in the case of “Everyman,” then said how uncomfort- ably sensitive she was to her audiences. “If there is a corner of”the room that is irresponsive I feel it all over. I re- member & man who sat in front at one of our. productions. ‘That man dlnllke: me, I told my husband. He laughed, o course. But I found afterward that the man actually did dislike me. He doesn now,” and Mrs. Crawley smiled archly. 1 suppose I must let you 0 now, sald, unwillingly. “Well, come and talk Africa again, won't you?” she smiled. Plays and the Players. The oft-repeated prediction that the day of the book-play is ended is hardly borne out by the really wonderful success in London of Constance Fletcher’ dramatic Version of Rudyard Kipling’s “The Light That Failled,” which Forbes Robertson and Gertrude Elliott will present in this country this season under the direction ot Klaw & Erlanger, opening in Buffalo Soeptember 28. Constance Fletcher, who writes under tho pen name of “‘George Fleming,” has, in the opinion of London critics, adapted “Tho Light That Falled” to the stage with notable skill and dramatic power. The prologue and the thrge acts are brought together deftly, character in each instance is graphically portrayed and interest In the touching story Is maintained without abatement to the very end. Without apparently striving for it there is a delightful atmosphere of reality about the entire piece, while the dialogue, being in the main Rudyard Kipling’'s own, is refreshingly virile. An old Royal Academy student and a painter and jex- hibitor at the Royal Academy, Mr. Hob- ertson is just the man to sustain the past of Dick Heldar. Author and adapter were alike fortunate in securing the alliance of Mr. Robertson. In the camp scene of the prologue Dick Heldar, who has a saber cut across the eyes, and who frets under his blinding bandage, is the object of a general kindly solicitude, his friend Torpenhow especial- ly-constituting himself his nurse. Maisie is spoken of, for the artists know the lady, who is a hard working student of their art, and the author is informed in a charmingly natural way that Dick is her suitor. Mr. Aubrey Smith’s Torpenhow, a strong character sympathetically realized, is one of the features of the prologue, in which of course, Mr. Robertson's fine impersonation of Dick Heldar occupies a prominent plaée. founds of firing rouse HIHES RIS A B AT the “specials,” who hurry off to witness the engagement. Unable to withstand the temptation to join them, Dick tears off the bandage. The curtain descends on hl!s dearly bought temporary power of sight. The Test of the story, told in three acts and four scemes, could be told in half a dozen lines. Heldar loves Maisie, but she refuses his offer of marrigge and deter- mines to win fame as an artist on her own account. Dick worships her. They e driven to a sort of trial of artistic strength. She will paint a ‘““Melancholia,”™ rather than marry Dick, and he will paint one against her. The minor incidents that lead to this dual essay make much for the strength and interest of the play. Dick succors a poor slattern of a girl, Bessie Broko, & cockney of an unregenerate type, dying of starvation, and this creature becomes his model. She is an evil little person, yvet with something of “woman” in her nature. She cleaves to Torpenhow, and DicK, to save him from her, dismisses her. She has conceived a flendish dislike to Dick, fills his glass when he has taken to drink and in a moment of ungovern- able rage destroys his picture. His doom reaches him. The light fails. He is blind. Maisie «nows not of this. She is living away in her cottage at Vitry-sur-Marne when Torpenhow takes her the news. She returns to England, visits Dick in his studio, is repelled by him, for he will have no union of pity. but eventually her tenderness and love prevail, and with a pathetic and touching little final scene the play comes to a triumphant conclu- slon, siiiaic e Frank Daniels, who fell off his very tame fam#y horse, “Ting-a-Ling” (so named from previous connection with a New York crosstown car service), the day he signed with Charles B. Dillingham to present a new opera, “The Jockey who had to close this season prematurely on account of the accident. is himself again, but slightly “horse-shy,” a fact that is particularly apparent at rehearsals now in progress in which a steed named “Greased Lightning” figures in a scene with Mr. Daniels “up.” At first the horse was as full of ginger as an electric jar, but he is getting sadder every day. It is suspected that he is being surreptitious- ly drugged by !.he fiomg.dm A member of the “Florodora” company tells the following funny story that hap- pened during the last season’s tour: “We were playing in Indianapolis, and the per- formance was frequently interrupted by - Gild Gregore ben. Fu oretti on pleasure in his work, ! thetic voice, its artl conspicuously intelligent acting. refrains from the bello note, which is among the radical the Latin singers. Altogether hi notably free from exaggeration an monotonous. One needs no “ope —as the Tivoli's small boys ha underst. His acting le; the words y necessary, and vocal sy gives yet another key the story. tt! was Rigoletto of Se no bett Next week, as the C Trova- tore,” Sigr a oppor- tunity to e: able flex f v a good Count di I even Salassa, who sar he didn't like it. The little Tromben is a frail and flo}y lttle person whose vocal volume hardly clothes her strong dramatic impulses. The voice is fascinating, pure as a flute in its best notes, going up aloft with most ease and f her fortes frequ mere scr: and gale” mu: throat or will not be sing at all. Like most of th ers, she impresses one as t » Tedeschi me—is try tenor, quite ease and mc chews the keeps to h try Mast very well indeed. ing instine He has a 1 ow, a pupil of Mr. Steindorff’s, has made a pleasing debut this season Sife has a fine mezzo-cont a pleasant personal hings of have mnot mirably and De Spada’s sure welcome 1n t! guerite rol “La Sonnamb and “1 are this week's A concert in which fid terested is that of little low, who is little no but tops her mother by at least of that Beethoven brow of he Kathleen gives a tal evening next and something good to show f and earnest work she has la ing with Mr. Holmes at her e young girl Is perhaps the violin student of her age ar budding Nerudas, and recitals are to help to send F Those who are familiar with work through the Holmes ¢ concerts will dov portunity to ald yo Perhaps the phonist, in Johannes resented on next Tu programme. Since M Philadelpbia it is sal become a Brahms stre ductor acknowledges to ha best that way, and the criti that the works were Interpreted In most w! loving and luminous fashion. Bu Scheel's Brahms is not new he more eminently welcome to-day when he last played it for us. T phony Is the second, with its lovely mezzo, richly fashioned adagio finale as fine as any movement in mod and a orchestral literature. Some “Pa excerpts are also programmed, nd the Mendelssohn “Midsummer .Night's Dream™ is another number. @ inininiileim il @ the crying of a child in the gallery. finally became quite annoying and o comedian stepped to the footll a exclaimed In tragic tones: ‘Lac gentlemen, unless the play “child cannot possibly go on.’ one of the hits of the evening a the child seemed to take its stopped crying instantly.” .. Miss Jean Lane Brooks, American dramatic soprano, a; abroad last week on the Kalser Wilhel der Grosse. Miss Brooks, to this country to join Henr age's English Grand Opera Com a daughter of the late Genmeral Edward J. Brooks of the United States army. Miss Brooks received her mu 2 under Juliani in Paris. her debut with Henry W. Savage's lish Grand Opera Company in Bro late in September. . season with the same been presenting this et gseveral seasons. There are o minor changes, but they are so un ant that the cast may be virtuall sidered the same. Of course, J. H dart continues as Lachlan Campbell. Ha has made that character a clas A Mrs. Fiske, who is rehearsing at the Manhattan Theater every day, has s “The Earl of Pawtucket” four times since she returned to New York. She says that the clean, delicate humor of the comedy appeals to her and declared a day or two ago that she would enjoy playing Harriet Fordyce, so engaged with her ow: Rose Coghlan will play the role of Penelope in *“Ulysses,” when Steph; Phillip’s greatest work Is represented the Garden Theater. e AR e Chinese Judgment of Eggs. Many Chinese frequent Philippine mar- kets and are good patrons, as many have They no him- He usually buys a number of eggs self. and always carries with him to market a small tin pail full of water to test their usefulness! If the egg falls to the bottom of the pall it is good; if it rises to the top it is bad and is refused, only to be care- fully wiped off by the vender and put back in stock to catch a customer with- out a pail. ——— Working of Preferentials. In the discussion of the propesition of Mr. Chamberlain, the Secretary for the Colonles, to establish preferential tariffs between Great Britain and her dependen- cles it was stated that Great Britain's trade with her: colonies was only one- fourth as much as with other countries. An annual report of the Admiralty, just issued, shows trade with colohles £237,- 098,000, and with other countries &71,- 838.000,