There has been so much said and written on the morals of the stage that it will not be necessary here to warn the young dramatic aspirant that this is a branch of the subject which she should well consider. That there are actresses who are good women, fulfilling nobly all the duties of wives, mothers, and sisters, nobody pretends to deny. But that the stage offers very strong and dangerous temptations to young and pretty women is a fact which every one who knows any thing about the subject will admit. These temptations are not in the theatre itself. The profession of acting is conducted on purely business principles. Life behind the scenes is dull, uninteresting, matter-of-fact. The actors and the actresses are full of their work, and the whole place is decidedly unromantic. But there are great temptations from without the theatre, into the details of which it is not necessary to enter. It is not necessary that she should yield to these temptations, nor are they, probably, all things considered, any greater or stronger than the pretty shop-girl has to meet. But if she values her character she will, when she enters this profession, make up her mind to devote herself thoroughly to work, and she will be particularly careful about the acquaintances she forms with the opposite sex, and above all avoid that large and growing class of silly men, both young and old, who love to boast that they number an "actress" among their female acquaintances.
In the North American Review for December, 1882, there was published a symposium on the subject of success on the stage. There are so many young ladies whose ambition lies in the direction of the drama, and the contribution referred to contained such wholesome advice, that I am tempted to quote from it at considerable length. There were six contributors: John McCullough, Joseph Jefferson, Lawrence Barrett, William Warren, Miss Maggie Mitchell, and Madame Helena Modjeska. The views of the lady contributors will be found of especial interest to the readers of this book.
The article was addressed more particularly to those whose ambition it is to reach the highest rank in the profession, but the extracts contain many useful hints for those who are simply looking forward to a respectable, well-paying "utility" position on the stage.
Miss Mitchell says:—
"To succeed on the stage, the candidate must have a fairly prepossessing appearance, a mind capable of receiving picturesque impressions easily and deeply, a strong, artistic sense of form and color, the faculty of divesting herself of her own mental as well as physical identity, a profound sympathy with her art, utter sincerity in assuming a character, power enough over herself to refrain from analyzing or dissecting her part, a habit of generalization, and at the same time a quick eye and ready invention for detail, a resonant voice, a distinct articulation, natural grace, presence of mind, a sense of humor so well under control that it will never run riot; the gift of being able to transform herself, at will, into any type of character; pride, even conceit, in her work; patience, tenacity of purpose, industry, good-humor, and docility. She must behave, in her earlier years, very much as if she were a careful, self-respecting scholar, taking lessons of people better informed than herself, with her eyes and ears constantly open and ready to receive impressions.
"She should begin by getting, if possible, into a stock company, even in the most inferior capacity, keeping within reach of the influence of her home,—or by joining a reputable combination on the road. Managers, no matter what may be said to the contrary, are always eagerly looking for talent in the bud, and if a young girl, with reasonable pretensions to good looks, who is modest and well-behaved, and shows the slightest ability with a common-sense readiness to begin at the bottom of the ladder, should offer herself for an engagement, the chances are that she would get it with much less difficulty than she imagined. There are, no doubt, numerous candidates, even for the smallest positions on the stage, but those who possess even moderate qualifications are extremely rare. Managers have, at present, to take the best they can pick from a host of worse than interlopers.
"I do not think that novices reap any practical benefit from private lessons. The neophyte learns not merely of her professional teacher, but of her audience; and to be informed by the one without being influenced by the other is to have very lopsided instruction. The stage itself is the best, in fact, the only school for actresses. It is a profession made up of traditions and precedents and technicalities. Mere oral advice, or training in elocution or gesture, counts for very little. They are, in fact, too often obstacles which have to be eventually and with difficulty surmounted. In some instances I have known 'instruction'—of this sort—to bring about as prejudicial effects as if the victim had tried to learn the art of swimming at a dancing academy, and then put the knowledge thus gained into practice. The modulations of the voice and the language of illustrative gesture ought to be either taught by example or insensibly acquired by experience. To learn them by precept and rule has for a result, usually, that woodenness and jerkiness which one cannot help noticing in the 'youthful prodigies' of the stage. To be an actress one has to learn other things than merely how to act, and that is why nobody ever succeeded in the profession who tried to enter it at the top. * * *
"The early bent of her studies and reading should be precisely the same as that of any other woman aspiring to be liberally educated. She should, if possible, speak French, at all events read it. She should be familiar with English literature. She should cultivate an acquaintance, through books and otherwise, with the highest as well as the lowest forms of human society. Refinement and general information ought to be the characteristics of every actress. * * *
"It would be bold for me to pretend to descry the chances of success for the actress of the future. It is a lottery, this profession of ours, in which even the prizes are, after all, not very considerable. My own days, spent most of them far from my children and the comforts and delights of my home, are full of exhausting labor. Rehearsals and other business occupy me from early morning to the hour of performance, with brief intervals for rest and food and a little sleep. In the best hotels my time is so invaded that I can scarcely live comfortably, much less luxuriously. At the worst, existence becomes a torment and a burden. I am the eager, yet weary, slave of my profession, and the best it can do for me—who am fortunate enough to be included among its successful members—is to barely palliate the suffering of a forty-weeks' exile from my own house and my family.
"For those of our calling who have to make this weary round, year after year, with disappointed ambitions and defeated hopes as their inseparable company, I can feel from the bottom of my heart. Each season makes the life harder and drearier; each year robs it of one more prospect, one more chance, one more opportunity to try and catch the fleeting bubble in another field."