AN ACTRESS ON STAGE MORALITY.

Otago Witness, Issue 2785, 31 July 1907, Page 79

AN ACTRESS ON STAGE M ORALITY.

"For six long^ years I foolishly imagined that a woman might earn an honest living in a calling known as the 'dramatic profession.' Little by little, however, has it been borne in upon me that even to make sufficient to live upon ie an utter impossibility—that is, if one still wishes to retain one's self-respect." , So "An Actress )T affirms in the Grand Magazine for June. The writer, who describes herself as "a country squire's daughter," goes on to «ay : — "To achieve any manner of real sucesa in an art which still means bo much to some of us is only for the infinitesimal minority, including the women who have money and can afford to run a theatre for themselves, or those who marry managers or actormanagera. The vast majority of the others who succeed have to pay a heavy price for their laurels, promotion more often than not being at toe coet of all a true woman holds most dear. . . . "It lies with the public to perform the operation of amputating the diseased limb which is crippling dramatic art in Great Britain by insisting that the boards of our theatres mall be trodden by actresses, not by women whose real profession is illegal by act of Parliament, women who parade the stage but for the advancement of their own unavowable ends, and for the sordid gain of unscrupulous manager*. . . - . In case no one can believe that things are so bad a 6 I shall presently show, I am ready to stake my reputation that any six actresses, what one might term 'straight women,' picked at random from London and the provinces, would relate practically the same tale as my own. . . . "Through the instrumentality of the actor who had given me my first start, and, indeed, whose own company it was, I joined a Shakesperean company for a t&ur of six months at the salary of £1 per week. I rejoined for another tour, with a rise of 5s per week, and that sum I somehow managed to put by /or rainy days, which «vere not long in coming. The end of the tour landed me in London and necessitated my making acquaintance \ with the dramatic agents. I very booh ( became accustomed to bo addressed as 'my j dear,' to have my cheeks patted, and my ■ hands squeezed more than is necessary for an ordinary 'how-do-you-do shake.' 1 had been carefully coached in this ordeal by an old actress, who was never tired of assur-

ing me thaV to use her own words, if I wanted an agent to get me a 'job,' I'd just have to 'play up jolly well and fool 'em no end.' The resalt <>* this teaching I was that one of these men. put Jris_arm around -me and kissed me, with the remark, 'Come, little girl, you're awfully slow, you know,' before I knew # what had happened. As I" did not want to proceed any quicker, I had to renounce visiting that particular office! 'Once bitten, twice , shy,' I told myself, so I proceeded cautiously with the rest of the agents, and was persuaded that I was being quite charmingly diplomatic, steering an even course between the Scylla of too much reserve and the Charybdis of "unseemly familiarity. It was therefore doubly a blow to my pride when I was quite politely asked to 'go down to Brighton for-« weekend, and then Til be able to fix you up a nice engagement when we come'T>ack.' "In desperation I at length bethought me that I had a voice of sorts, and I determined to try to get something to do in > musical comedy. I obtained several appointments to see some of the biggest managers in this peculiar branch' of the profession. " TTes, that's all right, 1 said one of the leading men, after hearing me sing ; 'now what about the men? How many stalls can you fill?' "My face betraying my ignorance or astonishment, he explained without .any „ unnecessary circumlocution : 'Now, my i. dear, it's . no good: our humbugging each other. I depend apon my chorus to help to fill my- theatre. You must know that. It's useless your coming to me unless you can make yourself agreeable.' "«■• "The plain words look innocent enough aa I write them down, but the tone in which they were spoken gave them a hateful significance that brought a hot flush of shame to my brow; and murmuring something about 'thinking it over,' I departed hurriedly. Another -equally -well-known manager in musical comedy business, after hearing me sing, said — but no, I dare not i "write it ; a great wave of indignation | comes over me as I recall the incident in ' all its hideousness ! . , . This interview took place in a well-known agent'; office, the agent himself being present. "When the offer of. a part in a panto- ' mime came I reluctantly accepted, and signed my contract, the agent taking 10 per cent, of all I earned. * .' " . ' . After j a week I was astonished to receive a fortJ night's 'notice.' I confid«d my trouble- to i one of the most decent of- the chorus girls, j and asked her if she could tell me the ' reason. 'Why, of course' l can,' ene answered ; 'you're too straight for "panto." Watch the rest of -the girls. 'You d soon • , catch on if you took the trouble. I only wish I'd got your figure, my dear, that's all.' "And I did watch, - and saw the 'nods and becks and wreathed smiles' to mysterious'beings in the circle and stalls. I found that the supper invitations were accepted, likewise the escort home, with re- • suits satisfactory to all concerned, for the same men came night after night to the \ theatre. I found that I was the only one who failed to 'play up' in this game, and recognised the fact that my place could be better filled by someone else who would."