[170] The list of productions beginning with Mrs. Fiske’s return to the stage in 1893, and not including revivals, is as follows: A Doll’s House, and Hester Crewe (by Mr. Fiske), 1893; Frou-Frou, 1894; The Queen of Liars (La Menteuse) and A White Pink, 1895; A Light from St. Agnes (by Mrs. Fiske) and La Femme de Claude, 1896; Divorçons and Tess of the D’Urbervilles, 1897; A Bit of Old Chelsea and Love Finds a Way (The Right to Happiness) 1898; Little Italy, Magda, and Becky Sharp, 1899; The Unwelcome Mrs. Hatch and Miranda of the Balcony, 1901; Mary of Magdala, 1902; Hedda Gabler, 1903; Leah Kleschna, 1904; The Rose, and The Eyes of the Heart (one-act plays by Mrs. Fiske), 1905; Dolce, and The New York Idea, 1906; Rosmersholm, 1907; Salvation Nell, 1908; Hannele, The Pillars of Society, and Mrs. Bumpstead-Leigh, 1910; The New Marriage, 1911; Lady Patricia and The High Road, 1912; Lady Betty Martingale, or The Adventures of a Hussy, 1914.
[171] H. T. Parker in the Boston Transcript.
[172] W. P. Eaton.
[173] H. T. Parker.
[174] In 1907 Mrs. Fiske took The New York Idea on an unprecedented tour throughout the West. She played not only as far South as the Mexican border, and along the Pacific coast, but even went into the Canadian Northwest as far as Edmonton, appearing in many towns that had never before seen a theatrical company of the highest grade. And The New York Idea, a sophisticated comedy addressed to Eastern audiences, was successful everywhere. At Globe, Arizona, the audience contained hundreds who had come from long distances by train, stage or horse-back. Calgary demanded a return engagement. At Edmonton the play was given in a rink on an improvised stage, and lasted from eleven o’clock—the time of the arrival of the belated train—till two of the early northern dawn.
[175] “There never was a case of lame or scurvy dog that fell under Mrs. Fiske’s notice that did not get instant relief. A mangy and ownerless mongrel cur on the street never failed to find a friend in her. If she were in a carriage, no conveyance was too good for Towser or Tige. Towser or Tige might never have had a bath during all of his unhappy dog days, but into the carriage went the friend of man, and the coachman was directed to steer for the nearest veterinarian, who was forthwith subsidized to make a good dog out of a very much frazzled one, and send the bill to Mrs. Fiske. All over this glorious country dogs were being repaired, boarded, and rebuilt as good as new, when masters were adopted for them, and ‘the dog that Mrs. Fiske saved’ lived his allotted span and expired loved, honored, and respected. With horses, too, it was just the same. I believe if she were on the way to a matinée with the house all sold out, and an abused or otherwise pitiful case of horse attracted her attention,—and it would—she would sacrifice that matinée before she would the horse.”—Griffith.
[176] Mrs. Fiske at one time was fond of visiting the motion-picture theatres, heavily veiled and sitting in the back of the house. The better grade of foreign films interested her. And she has recently shown more broad-mindedness toward a growing art than some actresses much lower than she in the artistic scale; for she has herself recently acted Tess and Becky Sharp for the motion-picture camera.
“When attending another theatre, as she sometimes does on a Wednesday afternoon, she would like, if she could, to occupy an obscure balcony seat, or at the back downstairs; but if that is not feasible, and a box must be taken, she generally ensconces herself behind the drapery, in as inconspicuous a place as possible. There is absolutely nothing of the spectacular or ‘theatrical’ about Mrs. Fiske.”—Griffith.
[177] “During a rehearsal her poodle entered the theatre and calmly and unconsciously crossed the stage, keeping at a respectful distance from her, however, only condescending to notice her mistress with a side glance. This was so contrary to her customary dashing and bounding approach, that Mrs. Fiske stopped the rehearsal and called to Fifi to come to her. But not Fifi; she merely glanced and continued her dignified and stately promenade across the stage. Persistently and with authority Mrs. Fiske ordered the queenly Fifi to approach. Not for Hecuba—no approach, only a pause. Mohammed must go to the mountain, and Mrs. Fiske did the approaching. Did Fifi grin, or what did the slight gleam of white teeth portend? It was merely the flash of lightning, for the thunder came soon after in a low growl of defiance. Never had such a thing happened before. This impromptu play was good, with Mrs. Fiske at her best, and the audience of actors stood by immensely interested. With tragic emphasis Mrs. Fiske stamped her foot and, pointing in the direction of her dressing room, ordered the black woolly beast to begone and quit her sight, to let the dressing room hide her, and a few things like that, and added something about Fifi’s bones being marrowless and her blood cold, and about the absence of speculation in her eyes which she did glare with. Just then Mr. Gilmore remarked: ‘That’s not Fifi—that’s my dog Genie.’ Laughter—quick curtain.”—Griffith.
[178] “When a series of one-night stands was being played—and she has a perfectly frantic fondness for them—it was our custom to charter a Pullman, as she lived in the car instead of in hotels.... This she most urgently requested to have placed ‘not at the end of the train.’ The rear-end collision had mortal terrors for her.... The same nervous fear applied to non-fireproof hotels, in any of which Mrs. Fiske will not go above the second story.... Mrs. Fiske appears never to weary of travel, and while she objects to starts ranging from five to ten o’clock A.M., an earlier or later leaving hour does not disturb her; in fact, she says she rarely falls asleep until near morning. We had a prohibition against ringing the berth bells before ten A.M., and also against any kind of alarm clock.... Very rarely Mrs. Fiske went to the dining car in the train, her dislike for making herself conspicuous being very marked. This modesty was exemplified in her fondness for veils, as she always wore at least one, and more generally two.... Her unceasing employment of time when on tour is in study. It is a never-ending labor, and one that evidently delights her. The preparation for things to come—perhaps a year or more ahead—is always in her mind.... During all my time [thirteen years] with Mrs. Fiske she never lost a single night from illness.”—Griffith.