THE COU I - c
1 miniiyiia the girt sits up in tho bunk, calinly
lmTTTirnTTN r,-rT.-rT smoothing out tho feathers of her absurd
t THE PASSING SHOW: Where. O where. Mrs. Fisk. are
$ W I LLA GATHER 8 tue usual cheap affections of surpriso
f and terror which stage ladies assume
witnessing a tight? Sho knows well
She has been with us again, that ro- enough, that knowing lady, that girls
markable woman, Minnie Maddein who are brought up in tho slums of Lon
Fiske, more remarkable, more hopeful, don see too much righting to be astoc
more different from all other players isbed at it. After tho painter's have
than ever. She appeared hero this sea- been ejected she thanks the young man
eon in her two new plays, "A Bit of Old and lies down to sleep. But sleep doesn't
Chelsea," and "Love Will Find a Way." come bo readily to the poor artist, toss
The tirst is a one act piece. The cur- ing about down there on his 6ofa. So
tain rises on a sculptor's studio m Lon he lifts up his voice and in that stillness
don. The sculptor is on his knees be- broken only by tho roar of London witb
fore the grate in the twilight, burning out, he tells herof his sweotheart, whom
old letters, eingiug "Oft in the Stilly he i3 soon te marry, of her charms and
Night" as he Borts and tears. From his her goodness. Minnie draws the covers
comments on the letters and love tokens up to her chin and lies very straight and
you gather that he is a susceptiole very still, clutching the side of tho
young man, that he has been in love and trunk with her hand. She 6tands it
has been loved a great many times, pretty well, she does, but tinally sho in
terrupts his raptures. "O yes. she's
your girl, that's what you mean. I sup
pose sho don't swear?"
"Swear! who? Millicent?"
"0 you needn't bo so shocked. She
would swear just as bad as I do If she'd
Women like him, on long or short ac
quaintance; it is very nocessary that one
should know that. The sculptor is
about to be married, and he is making a
bcrnt offering of these letters to the
mmiI fhincr." found at last after so manv
mistakes. When the last piece of note been brought up in our court and hadn't
paper has fluttered into the tlames, ho been always tied up in white paper to
gets up and looks out of the window, keep her clean."
The stage settings in this piece are very The artist drops off to sleep, but Min
effective. The window is a huge one, nie doesn't. She lies there stiff and
such as you see in studios, and outside still, thinkin?, thinking. You can hear
of it wintry London, a cold clear sky her think. Thinking that this is no
with an indefinable effect of distance in place for her, that there is a distance
it, the tall stone buildings that look like betweer her and all these beautiful
steel in the hard white light of the elec- things that she can never cross, that
tries, and swinging in the storm the this man is for girls who were not
lights themselves, tho "iron lillies of tho brought up in courts and who never
Strand "as Mr. Le Gallienne calls them, felt the world's rough hand. Present
It is a wonderful bit of scenic paintirgl ly the young man mutters his bweet
with its effect of vastness cold. It is heart's name in his sleep. Then the
like Broadway on a winter night when girl gets right up without a word. She
you are a stranger there. As the young cou.es down the ladder and puts on that
man looks out into the street he notices pathetic little hat and str ps her flower
a womac lying there and dashes out to basket over her 6houldeis. Sho takes
help her. In a moment ho returns, up the artist's great coat and gently
bearing in hiB arms a frail little figure throws it over him. Sho pauses a ma
that we all know so well, and of which ment and takes a bunch of flowers from
we are all a little afraid, despite ite her basket.
seeming fragility. He places her in a "He was awful kind to me. but it
chair before the fire, and when the heat aint like me to stay where I'm not
revives her, she asks for h3r hat and her wanted. There are tho best I've got;
flowers, for ehe is a flower girl. The flowers don't last long here in London."
obliging artist dashes cut again and re- She lays them on his pillow and then
turns with a big basket and a hat Oh, Eoee out of the door, without turning to
such a hat, Buch a pathetic, bedraggled look back, without any effort at theatric
little hat. Knowing people tell me that effect, just as quiet and hopelessly as
in London flower girls actually do wear though hundreds of eyes were not
juEt such hats, which has strengthened watching her; goes out into that big
my determination to go there. The wintry, pitiless London you can see
sculptor and Minnie have tea very com- through tho window there, that Loni.on
fortably together and she tells him very where indeed flowers do not last long,
simply and naturally what a bad day it and all jour sympathy and all your
has been for her and how poorly the imagination goes out or that door with
flowers sold, and how she lives in some her.
awful court or other with her mother. I wonder where we hive another ac
She feels strangely happy and comfort- tress who could play this unpretentious
able in thiB warm, bright room, and she little piece in so untheatric a manner,
likes being waited on by this handsome wno could mat e one know what it feels
young gentleman, the like of whom she uke to be a flower girl. You see that
has never spoken to before. When the penetrating intellect of hers is tike a
tea is over they discover that it is two search light, she has only to turn it
o'clock in the morning and ehe can't upon acharacter to master it. She ma
afford a cab. and one of the afjjtV tfriaXces ental and emotional condi
friendfl haB Btolen his hat. She caWtiw; before your eyes, and when all is
proposes to just stay them all aJ-'gpNftjfcer modernness is the compelling
says she'll sbep in a corner or aajr .'wwiii her acting. She throws aside
place The astonished artists as jU uiiitione, traditions of elocution and
and remarks that he'll seek sheltergtfajiift business and the lofty manners
one of his friends. Minnie sayajaWgilragedy queens. She comes down
eo home alone if he does, shell MMOMr side, into me puising cumprci
6 . i nnl otiJBarllftiL ntiuant Sim has thnt ardent
IB llbA.UIl M..W HUw . -
ly whicn is tne very root 01 an
art and, in another form, of
iti art. for that matter.
for lurnicg bduuu; .-., 7 .ttj
see why she will disturb mm ff
Finally he lets down a sort of el
u..t, ,m thn wa and .Minnie ai
to it by means of a stepladder aoifc
:. lnnn nn Vita ant
..t;o lioa nown iu oiccw " "','
. .1 .. nra fdirifortabl V
jusi as iucj . . ' J--Ti-1
down to sleep the artist's friend?!
painteis, very much intoxicaieu
in on him and a veritable bedlam fa
One of them puts on innies
u- atnrtn to CO UP the stf p
The artist snatches the hat and to:
up to the girl and knocKs inj w
down. During the scuffle which!
m&& .
LiopjMr
11 1 ii
CrVfe"?-
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r '"'Bfe
' L" s "aMHaE
jpj? y..Kf aaaaam-:
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re Will rind a way, snoim-
a lame girl, rich, well edu-
ounded by everj luxury but
;e all of Mrs. Fiske's charac-
i; a psychological study, a study
Harping effect of a physical
upon the mind." Tho first act
Madeline in the bosom of her
family in which she is toler-
ied, indulged, everything but
loved, and it is for love that she is starv
ing, it is of pity that ehe is dying. Her
gay and beautiful sister, wishing to bo
agreeable, tells her that sho baa bought
some new waltzes and wouldn't she liko
to hear them?
"O yes," replies Madeline with asper
ity, "waltzing is my favorite pastime."
Later tho family convertatioa turns
upon marriago and Madeline remarks
that sho has been thinking of marrying
herself, lately. Her father breaks out
in indulgent laughter "You marry,
Madeline, you?"
"Yes I, why not I? Isthis," throwing
her crutch passionately against her
breast, "is this always to como between
me and everything that tills a woman's
life?"
This is about tho usual tomperaturoof
Madeline's relations with her family.
They irritato her at every turn and ehe
is in tho habit of being irritated and is
continually looking for irjuries. They
don't love hor and sho knows it. She
can only remember ore being who has
ever loved her, the physician who has
always tended her, who brought her
through all her childish illnesses, who
has exhausted every resource of medi
cine to cure hor lameness, and who, fail
ing in that, by his very devotion, has
kept life struggling in her frail little
body. She says to him: "Do you know
jou are tho only friend I have ever had
in ail my Ii'eT When I was a little
child I used to Ho tossing in my suffer
ing and listening for the sound of your
horses hoofs, and the hours 6eemed O,
so long! and I used to be so jealous, so
afraid that you might like one of your
other patients better than me. And
when I went abroad I was almost glad
that tho great doctors there could not
cure me. It would have broken my
heart if they had succeeded where you
had failod. But now, now I am a wo
man, and if you cannot cure me, can you
not at least kill me? I have borne this
humiliation too long."
The phjsician ii admirably played by
Mr. Frederick de Belleville. He tells
her as he has often told her before, that
her affliction is purely a nervous one,
that a great nervous shock, a supreme
effort of will, even, would cure her lame
ness. She recalls to him the time when
a tenement house in which bhe was do
ing charity work caught tire and she
was unable to escape even to save her
life and a young painter had rescued
her and carried her out, and this joung
painter, she tells him, she is going to
marry. He is poor and cares for noth
ing but his worlt. He had a wife once
whom he loved, but she deserted him
because of his poverty and afterwards
died. She will furnish him money to go
abroad and study and then he will come
back and marry her and she will go out
of this house that she hates and live
her own life. It is to be simply a busi
ness transaction. She proposes to buy
her husband and her liberty as she has
always bought what she wanted and the
doctor, who loves her, can say nothing.
The second act opens a year later upon
the preparations for Madeline's wed
ding. She comes in in her bridal dress,
with her crutch. She is manifestly un
happy. She calls the doctor, who is
nover far to call, and in an incoherent
fashion imparts to him her grier. She
went into this matrimonial bargain
coldly, with a clear conscience. But
something has happened, something has
wakened up, has been born in her. sae
has suffered and hoped and dreamed
and wept over the painter's formal let
ters, she loves this man and he does not
love her.
The doctor springs to his feet and de
clares he will stop this infamous mar
riage. But she cries, "You will not, you
dare not! Jn all the great things of life
I have been thwarted, and you shall not
take this from me! If it makes me the
most wretched being in the world, it
will at least make me a woman."
Wheu she is left ulone.sho sits staring
at tho footlights, thinking and agair.
you hear her think.
Then n woman steals in through tho
bay window and kneels beside her, beg
ging for help and pity. She ia Leslie,
tho painter's wife, who, after tho manner
of stage wives, did not die, and has
found that plio cannot livo without him.
In ono of those momonts of absolutely
tranefiguring power which comes to her
at will, Mrs. Fiake drives tho woman out
into the night and tho storm, Hhrioking:
"You shall not thwart me now, nothing
shall thwart me now." Then, as sho
sits thore gnsping, panting, muttering
like a mad woman, she does ono of theso
little things that lend such awful verity
to her work, just takes her handker
chief and with a quick, dtspcrato ges
ture wipes her throat and hands. And.
1 assure you, ev ry being in tho house
feels the cold moisturo that had gath
ered on her flesh. Leslie goes out and
fal's in a faint in tho snowy road The
sound of sleigh bolls announces that the
wedding guestB are approaching and the
woman will bo run over. Madeline
Bcreams again and again for help;
"Father, Harry, that woman will bo run
over! Sho is lying in the road!" but no
one hcaia her. She looks for her crutch
but someone hae mislaid it. Sho tries to
stand but falls liko a broken thing. Sho
drags herself on her knees to tho window
and shouts and shouts, but no ono an
swers and the jingle of the belli sounds
nearer and nearer. Then, in thnt mo
ment of desperation she rise8,8hestands
she walks, Out of the window, out
into the snow. And it is as though the
days of the biblical miracles were como
again. I remember in Kipling's story
when Mulvaney is telling how Love o
Women, when he is almost dead, walks
up :o the porch to die in bis wife's arms,
he says "the Power uphilt him." And it
is just so when Madeline goes out of
that window. The illusion is complete
and you feel that you havn seen the
dead arise and walk.
In the last act, which occurs later the
saxe uight, Madeline sends the painter
and Leslie away together. The house is
dark, the family are in bed, she sits by
the window watching the re united
lovers go their way: "Over the snow
through the moonlight, out of my life."
She sends for the doctor, who knows
nothing of tho events of the night, and
tells him that she haa sent the artist
away.
"He would never have a lame woman,
that ie all," she says. Mr. de Belleville
rises to a height he has not often
touched in his life when he saB simply,
but with all the heart in him. "Made
line. I would give my life to make you
walk."
She rises emiling, and walks across
the stage to his arms.
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