Heroines of the Modern Stage

by Forrest Izard

Some of the names in this list are, of course, among the greatest in theatrical history. In Anne Bracegirdle and Elizabeth Barry the Restoration rejoiced in two actresses of the first order. “Bracey” was the Ada Rehan of her day, a blithe creature of comedy who seems to have possessed the temperament and the charms of the typical born actress. Cibber called her “the Cara, the Darling of the Theatre.” She excelled in the comedies of Congreve, but she was versatile, and played also in tragedy. Elizabeth Barry was England’s first great tragic actress. She was of the august, severe, tragedienne type that was later exemplified in Siddons and Ristori, and that has nowadays, with the decline of the poetic drama, virtually disappeared. With these women, and with a number of others,—some of whom, like Mrs. Betterton and Mrs. Verbruggen, were skilled actresses,—the standard was surprisingly early set high.

Anne Oldfield charmed the England of Addison and Steele with a versatility and brilliance of acting that has never been surpassed. She acted with great majesty and fire in the tragedies of the day,—such as Cato and The Distressed Mother,—while in comedy she “played with the enthusiasm of a child.” There is much in the sunny amiability, the volatile, zestful personality and the wide-ranged equipment of “Nance” Oldfield to remind one of that modern actress,—Ellen Terry,—who often herself impersonated Mistress Oldfield.

One thinks again of Terry in reading of Margaret Woffington. “The Woffington” was a beauty, a hard worker, an adept in comedy, and only less successful in tragedy. She played captivatingly the rakish Sir Harry Wildair in Farquhar’s The Constant Couple; she was notably good in parts as diverse as Sylvia in The Recruiting Officer and Cordelia in Lear; but the parallel to Ellen Terry appears when we read of her lovely Portia and of her Rosalind (a part that Terry was born to play, but somehow never tried). “Peg” Woffington was one of that long line of geniuses with whom Ireland has continued to enrich the English theatre, from her day and Sheridan’s down to that of Ada Rehan, Bernard Shaw and Synge.

Frances Abington, a person of temper and caprice, but a true daughter of comedy nevertheless; Dora Jordan, who was really two Dora Jordans,—“one the whimsical, hoydenish performer, all laughter, or the delineator of graceful sentiment,—the other, only seen off the stage, a shrewd little woman, of kind heart and exquisite sensibility”; Mary Robinson, the “Perdita” of him who was to be George IV of England, and a graceful, appealing actress of the tenderly comic and of such characters as Viola and Rosalind—the Julia Marlowe of the eighteenth century; such are hints of a few of those women who have continued the line of gifted actresses of comedy and sentiment down from the days of Bracegirdle and Oldfield.

For commanding figures in tragedy, for the Duses and Bernhardts of earlier days, we must look, as a rule, outside of England and America. There is, to be sure, always Sarah Siddons, a majestic figure, a veritable Queen of Tragedy, who made her characters—such as Lady Macbeth and Queen Katherine—awe-inspiring even to those who acted with her. Her niece, Frances Ann Kemble, was prevented from being a truly great actress only by a dislike for the stage. As it was, with her Juliet, her Belvidera in Venice Preserved, and her Julia in The Hunchback she takes her place in that succession of tragic actresses which, with the change in theatrical fashions, has now ceased, and which has had its best examplars on the Continent rather than in England.

In Charlotte Cushman, America produced a tragic actress of commanding dignity and power. She was “a noble interpreter of the noble minds of the past,” a stately and vigorous woman, unique as Meg Merrilies, and a powerful and poetic interpreter of Shakespeare’s tragic women.

The daughter of a Jew, Rachel Felix was a Parisian by birth, and thus far she was an earlier Bernhardt. In the thrilling intensity of her acting and in the capricious imperiousness of her own nature, she again suggests Madame Sarah. She introduced a measure of naturalness of speech and spontaneity of action into the French theatre, and here her influence was like that of Duse.

The rise of Adelaide Ristori spelled the decline of the great Rachel. In her earnestness, in her choice of plays, in the quiet dignity of her life and nature, Ristori is recalled by that later great Italian, Duse. And just as Duse invaded Paris and rivaled the reigning queen of the stage there, so (only more successfully) did Ristori when she replaced Rachel in French esteem. Ristori’s parts, however, suggest rather Bernhardt, though in general all four actresses—Rachel, Ristori, Bernhardt and Duse—have worked in the same metier. Ristori’s great parts were Medea, Francesca, Myrrha, Lady Macbeth, Phédre, Marie Stuart and Queen Elizabeth.

Janauscheck, “the last of the actresses of the ‘grand style,’” born in Prague and for years a successful tragedienne in Germany, anticipated Modjeska by her adoption of America and the English tongue. She too was an heroic woman, who impressed her generation by the intensity and sincerity of her acting, her wonderful voice, and the dignity she lent her profession. Her best parts were in Bleak House, Brünnhilde, Medea and Marie Stuart.

Adelaide Neilson, a womanly and gracious personality, an ideal Juliet, and a Shakspearean actress who as Viola, Imogen and Rosalind foreshadowed and combined many of the merits of Modjeska, Rehan and Marlowe, died in the ripeness of her youth and ability.