[132] Arthur Byron, the actor, is their son. Harriet, the second sister, had a long and comparatively inconspicuous career on the stage as Hattie Russell. Two brothers, William Crehan and Arthur Rehan, were more or less definitely identified, after Ada’s success, with the business side of the theatre.
[133] While in his employ she appeared also in Baltimore.
[134] Garrick’s version of The Taming of the Shrew.
[135] In these pre-Daly days Miss Rehan played, besides the Shakespearean parts named, a host of others that it would be tedious and useless to name. Most of them would suggest nothing to a present-day theatregoer. A few that may have some significance are: Esther Eccles in Caste, Hebe in Pinafore, Lady Florence in Rosedale, Lady Sarah in Queen Elizabeth, Little Em’ly in David Copperfield, Louise in Frou-Frou, Marie de Comines in Louis XI, Mary Netley in Ours, Pauline in The Lady of Lyons, Queen of France in Henry V, Ursula in Much Ado About Nothing, and Virginia in Virginius. There were about ninety in all.
[136] On the southwest corner of Thirtieth Street and Broadway.
[137] Arthur Lynch, in Human Documents.
[138] Still, in 1888, when the Daly company was playing in Paris, several of its members were interviewed, (seemingly about particularly trivial matters) and Miss Rehan was one of the talkers. She was said to have been pessimistic about the wisdom of marriages among actresses, particularly to actors. This is an ever fresh subject for debate. A writer in the New York Dramatic Mirror, September 15, 1888, wrote a column to refute Miss Rehan’s remarks.
[139] “I would go to the theatre any night if only to see him run his fingers over the invisible keys of the sofa cushion.”—“Brunswick” in the Boston Transcript.
[140] Mary Young, herself a member of Daly’s Company, in a talk to the Drama League of Boston in 1914, said: “Mr. Daly was a most polite gentleman, with extraordinary eyes of green, as clear and sharp as they were kind and laughing; wonderful, all-seeing eyes!... The strictest discipline reigned everywhere. Every member, with the exception of Miss Rehan, seemed to be in a state of complete terror. Mr. Daly was supreme and held his company of distinguished players with a grip of iron. Rules and regulations were posted everywhere. One or two that I recall were: ‘The way to succeed—mind your own business,’ and ‘How to be happy—keep your mouth shut.’ I was amazed to see some of the extra girls hide behind pieces of scenery rather than face those remarkable eyes that might be cast their way as Mr. Daly was casually passing from one part of the stage to another.... However, to my mind he was a just man, although his temper often caused him to seem to do unjust things.... His heart was kind and he could not treasure up a wrong against any one who had once gained his confidence and respect.”
C. M. S. McLellan, who nowadays writes “books” for operettas, (and who wrote Leah Kleschna for Mrs. Fiske) in 1888 was writing for the New York Press what passed for amusing comment on theatrical matters. His chatter about Mr. Daly and Miss Rehan does a little toward characterizing both: “At the stage door you find a bulldog. Mr. Daly secluded himself in a padded room at the end of a secret passage. He comes down to the dog kennel to freeze all reporters. Editors are invited up to the green room. Henry Irving is supposed to be the only man who ever penetrated to the padded chamber, and he tells the story that while he was there Mr. Daly opened a bottle of claret and smiled. The claret part of the story is generally credited, but unless Mr. Irving is degenerating in his choice of words we think there was some mistake about the smile.