Part 20

Few of Frohman's "discoveries" justified his confidence with lovelier success than Julia Sanderson. Her first public appearance on the stage had been in vaudeville. When Frohman sought a comedienne with a certain dainty, lady-like quality for the English musical play called "The Dairymaids," which he produced at the Criterion in 1907, his attention was called to this charming girl, then doing musical numbers in a New York vaudeville theater. Frohman went to see her, and was fascinated by her beauty and charm. He noted, most of all, a certain gentle quality in her personality, and with his peculiar genius in adapting plays to people and people to plays, she fairly bloomed under his persuasive and sympathetic sponsorship.

Frohman now obtained "The Arcadians," in which Miss Sanderson was featured. Of all the musical plays that he produced, this was perhaps his favorite. He liked it so much that he told Miss Sanderson one day during rehearsal:

"If the public does not like 'The Arcadians,' then I am finished with light opera."

"The Arcadians," however, proved to be a gratifying success, and Frohman's confidence was vindicated. Frohman was undergoing his long and almost fatal illness at the Knickerbocker Hotel when "The Arcadians" was being rehearsed. He was so fond of the music that whenever possible the rehearsals in which Miss Sanderson sang were conducted in his rooms at the hotel. He always said that he could see the whole performance in her singing. In rehearsing her he always seemed to well-nigh break her heart, but it was his way, as he afterward admitted, of provoking her emotional temperament.

[Illustration: _JULIA SANDERSON_]

He next gave her a strong part in "The Siren," and subsequently made her a co-star with Donald Brian in "The Sunshine Girl," which brought out to the fullest advantage, so far, her exquisite and alluring qualities.

* * *

The last star to twinkle into life under the Frohman wand was Ann Murdock. Here is presented an extraordinary example of the way that Charles literally "made" stars, for seldom, if ever, before has a young actress been so quickly raised from obscurity to eminence. Almost overnight he lifted her into fame.

Miss Murdock, who was born in New York, and had spent her childhood in Port Washington, Long Island, was not a stage-struck girl. She went on the stage because she made up her mind that she wanted more nice frocks than she was having. She rode over to New York one day and went to Henry B. Harris's office to get a position. As she sat waiting among a score of applicants, Harris came out. He was so much taken with her striking Titian beauty and unaffected girlish charm that he immediately asked her to come in ahead of the rest, and gave her a small part in one of "The Lion and the Mouse" road companies. When Harris saw her act he took her out of the cast and put her in a new production that he was making in New York.

At the end of the season she wanted to get under Charles Frohman's management, so she went to the Empire Theater to try her luck. There she met William Gillette, who was making one of his numerous revivals of "Secret Service." The moment he saw this fresh, appealing young girl he immediately cast her in his mind for the part of the young Southern girl. After he had talked with her, however, he said:

"I think it would be best if I wrote a part for you. I am now working on a play, and I think you had better go in that."

Miss Murdock now appeared in Gillette's new play, "Electricity," in which Marie Doro was starred. Charles Frohman saw her at the opening rehearsal for the first time.

"Electricity" was a failure. Instead of following up her connection with the Frohman office, she went to the cast of "A Pair of Sixes," in which she played for a whole season on Broadway, displaying qualities which brought her conspicuously before the public and to the notice of the man who was to do so much for her.

One night Charles stopped in to see this farce. He had never forgotten the lovely young girl who had played in "Electricity." The next day he sent for Miss Murdock, offered her an engagement, and made another of those simple arrangements, for he said to her:

"You are with me for life."

This was Frohman's way of telling an actor or actress that, without the formality of a contract, they were to look to him each season for employment and that they need not worry about engagements.

From this time on Frohman took an earnest interest in Miss Murdock's career. He saw in her, as he had seen in only a few of his women stars, an immense opportunity to create a new and distinct type.

[Illustration: _ANN MURDOCK_]

Just about this time he became very much interested in the English adaptation of a French play which he called "The Beautiful Adventure," which was, curiously enough, one of the plays uppermost in his mind on the day he went to his death.

He now did a daring but characteristic Frohman thing. He believed implicitly in Miss Murdock's talents; he felt that the part of the ingenuous young girl in this play was ideally suited to her pleading personality, so, in conjunction with Mrs. Thomas Whiffen and Charles Cherry, he featured her in the cast. Miss Murdock's characterization amply justified Frohman's confidence, but the play failed in New York and on the road. He wrote to Miss Murdock:

_I am afraid our little play is too gentle for the West. Come back. I have something else for you._

He now put Miss Murdock into Porter Emerson Browne's play "A Girl of To-day," which had its first presentation in Washington. Frohman, Miss Murdock, and her mother were riding from the station in Washington to the Shoreham Hotel. As they passed the New National Theater, where the young actress was to appear, Miss Murdock suddenly looked out of the cab and saw the following inscription in big type on the bill:

_Charles Frohman presents Ann Murdock in "A Girl of To-day."_

It was the first intimation that she had been made a star, and she burst into tears. In this episode Frohman had repeated what he had done in the case of Ethel Barrymore ten years before.

Frohman had predicted great things for Miss Murdock, for at the time of his death there was no doubt of the fact that she was destined, in his mind, for a very remarkable career.

* * *

But those last years of Frohman's life were not confined exclusively to the pleasant and grateful task of making lovely women stars. The men also had a chance, as the case of Donald Brian shows. Frohman had been much impressed with his success in "The Merry Widow," so he put him under his management and starred him in "The Dollar Princess," which was the first of a series of Brian successes.

Frohman saw that Brian had youth, charm, and pleasing appearance. He was an unusually good singer and an expert dancer. He was equipped to give distinction to the musical play Frohman wanted to present. He had watched the interest of his audiences, and saw that young Brian was a distinct favorite with women as well as men, and his success as star justified all these plans.

While Frohman was making new stars, older ones came under his control in swift succession, among them Madame Nazimova, William Courtnay, James K. Hackett, Kyrle Bellew, Mrs. Fiske, Charles Cherry, John Mason, Martha Hedman, Alexandra Carlisle, William Courtleigh, Nat Goodwin, Blanche Bates, Hattie Williams, Gertrude Elliott, Constance Collier, Richard Carle, and Cyril Maude.

Frohman now reached the very apex of his career. At one time he had twenty-eight stars under his management; and in addition fully as many more companies bore his name throughout the country. To be a Frohman star was the acme of stage ambition, for it not only meant professional distinction, but equitable and honorable treatment.

* * *

The year 1915 dawned with fateful significance for Charles Frohman. With its advent began a chain of happenings that, in the light of later events, seemed almost prophetic of the fatal hour which was now closing in.

Perhaps the most picturesque and significant of these events was the reconciliation with his old friend David Belasco. Twelve years before, through an apparently trivial thing, a breach had developed between these two men whose fortunes had been so intimately entwined. They had launched their careers in New York together; the old Madison Square Theater had housed their first theatrical ambition; they had kept pace on the road to fame; their joint productions had been features of the New York stage. Yet for twelve years they had not spoken.

Frohman became ill, and lay stricken at the Knickerbocker Hotel. That he had thought much of his old comrade, so long estranged, was evident. A remarkable coincidence resulted. It was like an act in any one of the many plays they had produced.

One afternoon Belasco, who had heard of the serious plight of Frohman, sat in his studio on the top floor of the Belasco Theater. There, amid his Old World curios, he pondered over the past.

"'C. F.' is lying ill at the Knickerbocker," he said to himself. "He may die. I must see him. This quarrel of ours is a great mistake."

He started to write a note to his old friend, when the telephone-bell rang. It was his business manager, Benjamin Roeder, who said:

"I have just had a telephone message from Charles Frohman. He wants to see you."

When Belasco told Roeder that he was just in the act of writing to Frohman to tell him that he wanted to see him, both men were amazed at the coincidence.

That night, when the few friends who gathered each evening at Frohman's bedside had gone, Belasco entered the sick-room at the Knickerbocker. Frohman was so weak that he could hardly raise his hand. Belasco went to him, took his right hand in both of his, and the old comrades put together again the thread of their friendship just where it had been broken twelve years before.

They talked over the old days. Frohman, whose mind was always on the theater, suddenly said:

"Let's do a play together, David."

"All right," said Belasco.

"You name the play. I will get the cast, and we will rehearse it together," added Frohman.

Out of this reconciliation came the magnificent revival of "A Celebrated Case," by D'Ennery and Cormon. The cast included Nat Goodwin, Otis Skinner, Ann Murdock, Helen Ware, Florence Reed, and Robert Warwick. On Frohman's recovery he undertook the rehearsals. Belasco came in at the end, but he had little to do.

[Illustration: COPYRIGHT BY UNDERWOOD & UNDERWOOD

_CHARLES FROHMAN and DAVID BELASCO_

_A photograph taken in Boston April 3, 1915, just after the two had renewed their partnership, ending a separation of twenty years._]

Frohman and Belasco not only resumed their joint production of plays, but they resumed part of their old life together. Now began again their favorite diet of pumpkin and meringue pie and tea after the day's work was done. Night after night they met after the theater, just as they had done in the old Madison Square days when they went to O'Neil's, on Sixth Avenue, for their frugal repast, dreaming and planning their futures. Now each man had become a great personage. Frohman was the amusement dictator of two worlds; Belasco, the acknowledged stage wizard of his time.

After a week in Boston the all-star cast in "A Celebrated Case" opened at the Empire Theater in New York. History repeated itself. Frohman and Belasco sat in the same place in the wings where they sat twenty-two years before at the launching of "The Girl I Left Behind Me," which dedicated the Empire. Now, as then, there were tumultuous calls for the producers. Again David tried to induce Charles to go out, but he said:

"No, you go, David, and speak for me. Stand where you did twenty-two years ago."

In 1915, as in 1893, Belasco went out and spoke Frohman's thanks and his own.

The revival of "A Celebrated Case" not only brought Frohman and Belasco together, but led to an agreement between them to do a production together every year.

* * *

There was a tragic hint of the fate which was shaping Charles Frohman's end in his last production on any stage. It was a war play called "The Hyphen," by Justus Miles Forman, the novelist. The scenes were laid in Pennsylvania, and the story dealt with the various attempts to unsettle the loyalty of German-Americans through secret agencies. The whole problem of the hyphenated citizen, which had complicated the American position in the great war, was set forth.

Even in his unconscious stage farewell, Charles was the pioneer, because the acceptance of "The Hyphen" and the prompt organization of the company established a new record in play-producing. Up to a certain Saturday morning Charles Frohman had never heard of the play. That afternoon the manuscript was put into his hands and he read it. A messenger was sent off post-haste to find the author. In the mean time, Frohman engaged W. H. Thompson, Gail Kane, and a notable group of players for the cast, and gave orders for the construction of the scenery. Late that afternoon Mr. Forman called on Charles, whom he had never met. Without any further ado the manager said to the playwright-author:

"I am going to produce your play. We have nothing to discuss. A manager often discusses at great length the play that he does not intend to produce. Therefore all that I have to tell you is that your play is accepted. I have already engaged the chief actors needed, and the scenery was ordered two hours ago. I am glad to produce a play on this timely subject, but I am especially glad that it is an American who wrote it."

Charles was greatly interested in "The Hyphen." It was American to the core; it flouted treachery to the country of adoption; it appealed to his big sense of patriotism. He felt, with all the large enthusiasm of his nature, that he was doing a distinct national service in producing the piece. He personally supervised every rehearsal. He talked glowingly to his friends about it. At fifty-five he displayed the same bubbling optimism with regard to it that he had shown about his first independent venture.

Now began the last of the chain of dramatic events which ended in death. As soon as "The Hyphen" was announced, Frohman began to get threatening letters warning him that it would be a mistake to produce so sensational a play in the midst of such an acute international situation. Pro-Germans of incendiary tendency especially resented it. To all these intimations Frohman merely shrugged his shoulders and smiled. It made him all the more determined.

"The Hyphen" was produced April 19th at the Knickerbocker Theater before a hostile audience. Unpatriotic pro-Germans had packed the theater. During the progress of the play the dynamite explosions in the Broadway subway construction outside were misinterpreted for bombs, and there was suppressed excitement throughout the whole performance.

The play was a failure. Yet Frohman's confidence in it was unimpaired. He went to see it nearly every night of its short life in New York. He even sent it to Boston for a second verdict, but Boston agreed with New York. Like every production that bore the Charles Frohman stamp, he gave it every chance. Reluctantly he ordered up the notice to close.

Frohman became greatly attached to Forman. With his usual generosity he invited the author to accompany him on his approaching trip to England.

"I want you to come with me and meet Barrie and know some of my other English friends," Charles said, little dreaming that the invitation to a holiday was the beckoning hand of death to both.

XIV

STAR-MAKING AND AUDIENCES

During all these busy years Frohman had reigned supreme as king of star-makers. Under his persuasive sponsorship more men and women rose to stellar eminence than with all his fellow-managers combined. It was the very instinct of his life to develop talent, and it gave him an extraordinary satisfaction to see the artist emerge from the background into fame.

His attitude in the matter of star-making was never better expressed than in one of his many playful moods with the pencil. Like Caruso, he was a caricaturist. Few things gave him more delight than to make a hasty sketch of one of his friends on any scrap of paper that lay near at hand. He usually made these sketches just as he wrote most of his personal letters, with a heavy blue pencil.

On one occasion he was talking with Pauline Chase about making stars. A smile suddenly burst over his face; he seized pencil and paper and made a sketch of himself walking along at night and pointing to the moon with his stick. Under the picture he wrote, as if addressing the moon:

_Watch out, or I'll make a star out of you._

Once he said to Billie Burke, in discussing this familiar star subject:

"A star has a unique value in a play. It concentrates interest. In some respects a play is like a dinner. To be a success, no matter how splendidly served, the menu should always have one unique and striking dish that, despite its elaborate gastronomic surroundings, must long be remembered. This is one reason why you need a star in a play."

[Illustration: _MARIE TEMPEST_]

[Illustration: _MME. NAZIMOVA_]

Despite the fact, as the case of Ann Murdock shows, that Charles could literally lift a girl from the ranks almost overnight, he generally regarded the approach to stardom as a difficult and hard-won path. Just before the great European war, he made this comment to a well-known English journalist, who asked him how he made stars:

"Each of my stars has earned his or her position through honest advancement. If the President of the United States wants to reward a soldier he says to him, 'I will make you a general.' By the same process I say to an actor, 'I will make you a star.'

"All the stars under my management owe their eminence to their own ability and industry, and also to the fact that the American is an individual-loving public. In America we regard the workman first and the work second. Our imaginations are fired not nearly so much by great deeds as by great doers. There are stars in every walk of American life. It has always been so with democracies. Caesar, Cicero, and the rest were public stars when Rome was at her best, just as in our day Roosevelt and others shine.

"Far from fostering it, the star system as such has simply meant for me that when one of my stars finishes with a play, that play goes permanently on the shelf, no one ever hoping to muster together an audience for it without the original actor or actress in the star part.

"Vital acting in plays of consequence is the foundation of theatrical success. You have only to enumerate the plays to realize the drain even one management can make upon what is, after all, a limited supply of capable leading actors. This is because the American stage is short of leaders. There is a world of actors, but too few leading actors."

"What do you mean by leading actor?" he was asked.

"I mean that if in casting a play you can find an actor who looks the part you have in mind for him, be thankful; if you can find an actor who can act the part, be very thankful; and if you can find an actor who can look and act the part, _get down on your knees and thank God!_"

Frohman had a very definite idea about star material. He was once talking with a well-known American publisher who mentioned that a certain very rich woman had announced her determination to go on the stage. The manager made one of his quick and impatient gestures, and said:

"She will never do."

"Why?" asked his friend.

"Because," replied Frohman, "in all my experience with the making of stars I have seldom known of a very rich girl who made a finished success on the stage. The reason is that the daughters of the rich are taught to repress their emotions. In other words, they don't seem to be able to let go their feelings. Give me the common clay, the kind that has suffered and even hungered. It makes the best star material."

There is no doubt that Frohman liked to "make" careers. He wanted to see people develop under his direction. To indulge in this diversion was often a very costly thing, as this incident shows:

Chauncey Olcott, who had been associated with him in his minstrel days, and become one of the most profitable stars in the country, once sent a message to Frohman saying that he would like to come under his management. To the intermediary Olcott said:

"Tell Mr. Frohman that I make one hundred thousand dollars a year. He can name his own percentage of this income."

Frohman sent back this message:

"I greatly appreciate the offer, but I don't care to manage Olcott. He is _made_. I like to _make_ stars."

One reason that lay behind Frohman's success as star-maker was the fact that he wove a great deal of himself into the character of the stars. In other words, the personal element counted a great deal. When somebody once remonstrated with him about giving up so much of his valuable time to what seemed to be inconsequential talks with his women stars, he said:

"It is not a waste of time. I have often helped those young women to take a brighter view of things, and it makes me feel that I am not just their manager, but their friend."

Indeed, as Barrie so well put it, he regarded his women stars as his children. If they were playing in New York they were expected to call on him and talk personalities three or four times a week. On the road they sent him daily telegrams; these were placed on his desk every morning, and were dealt with in person before any other business of the day. He had the names of his stars printed in large type on his business envelopes. These were so placed on his table that as he sat and wrote or talked he could see their names ranked before him.

When his women stars played in New York he always tried to visit them at night at the theater before the curtain went up. He always said of this that it was like seeing his birds tucked safely in their nests. Then he would go back to his office or his rooms and read manuscripts until late.

One phase of Charles's great success in life was revealed in this attitude toward his women stars. He succeeded because he mixed sentiment with business. He was not all sentiment and he was not all business, but he was an extraordinarily happy blend of each of these qualities, and they endeared him to the people who worked for him.

The attitude of the great star toward Frohman is best explained perhaps by Sir Henry Irving. Once, when the time came for his usual American tour, he said to his long-time manager, Bram Stoker, who was about to start for New York: