A Study of Stage-Management—I Am Tricked into Signing a New Contract.
Before I came under the management of Mr. Daly, I may say I never really knew what stage-management meant. He was a young man then; he had had, I believe, his own theatre but one season before I joined his forces, yet his judgment was as ripe, his decisions were as swift and sure, his eye for effect was as true, his dramatic instinct as keen as well could be.
We never exchanged so much as a frown, let alone a hasty word, over work. I realized that he had the entire play before his "mind's eye," and when he told me to do a thing, I should have done it, even had I not understood why he wished it done. But he always gave a reason for things, and that made it easy to work under him.
His attention to tiny details amazed me. One morning, after Mr. Crisp had joined the company, he had to play a love-scene with me, and the "business" of the scene required him to hold me some time in his embrace. But Mr. Crisp's embrace did not suit Mr. Daly—no more did mine. Out he went, in front, and looked at us.
"Oh," he cried, "confound it! Miss Morris, relax—relax! lean on him—he won't break! That's better—but lean more! lean as if you needed support! What? Yes, I know you don't need it—but you're in love, don't you see? and you're not a lady by a mile or two! For God's sake, Crisp, don't be so stiff and inflexible! Here, let me show you!"
Up Mr. Daly rushed on to the stage, and taking Crisp's place, convulsed the company with his effort at acting the lover. Then back again to the front, ordering us to try that embrace again.
"That's better!" he cried; "but hold her hand closer, tighter! not quite so high—oh, that's too low! Don't poke your arm out, you're not going to waltz. What in —— are you scratching her back for?"
It was too much; in spite of the awe in which Mr. Daly was held, everyone, Crisp included, screamed with laughter, while Mr. Daly fumed and fretted over the time that was being wasted.
One of my early experiences of his way of directing a rehearsal made a deep impression upon me. In the play of "Jezebel" I had the title part. There were a number of characters on in the scene, and Mr. Daly wanted to get me across the stage, so that I should be out of hearing distance of two of the gentlemen. Now, in the old days, the stage-director would simply have said: "Cross to the Right," and you would have crossed because he told you to; but in Mr. Daly's day you had to have a reason for crossing the drawing-room, and so getting out of the two gentlemen's way—and a reason could not be found.
Here are a few of the many rejected ideas: There was no guest for me to cross to in welcoming pantomime; no piano on that side of the room for me to cross to and play on softly; ah, the fireplace! and the pretty warming of one foot? But no, it was summer-time, that would not do. The ancient fancy-work, perhaps? No, she was a human panther, utterly incapable of so domestic an occupation. The fan forgotten on the mantel-piece? Ah, yes, that was it! you cross the room for that—and then suddenly I reminded Mr. Daly that he had, but a moment before, made a point of having me strike a gentleman sharply on the cheek with my fan.