SAN FRANCISCO
After touring the rural towns in "In Mizzoura," I opened at the Baldwin Theatre, San Francisco, June, 1896. It was then that I discovered that San Francisco stands alone among the cities of the world. It is indeed a strange place. The coolest time of the year and by far the pleasantest is during the summer months and yet many of the inhabitants go East, to swelter in New York or at the hotter sea shores.
I know of no more delightful city in America during June, July and August than San Francisco. But everyone who can afford it packs up and leaves! This of course has a tendency to affect the business of the theatres, particularly the high-priced ones.
Dear old "Mizzoura!" How I love the play and my character, Jim Radburn! My company, organized for Australia, comprised the following people:—William Ingersoll, Fraser Coulter, Clarence Handysides, Neil O'Brien, H. C. Woodthorp, Louis Payne (whom I predict will become an excellent character actor some day), Arthur Hoops, Blanche Walsh, Estelle Mortimer, Emily Melville and the Misses Usner and Browning. The play went exceedingly well and it was pronounced a big hit. We retired from our labors quite contented for it was really a meritorious performance. Barring a little nervousness on the part of some of the ladies and gentlemen who were new in their characters we gave a splendid ensemble.
By the way, what an awful thing is this nervousness on the first night! The older the artist the more intense is the suffering. You, dear public, who sit in silent judgment upon the poor player on his initial performance, know nothing of the anguish going on behind the curtain. You do not see the blanched faces that no grease-paint yet invented can conceal nor hear the whispered ejaculations of us all, fearful of our finish and sick with anxiety for our brothers and sisters in art who are experiencing the same torture! Everything is forgotten save the result of those awful three or four hours. If you only knew what your verdict meant I tell you, gentle reader, you would be less harsh in your judgment of us. Think of the many, many people who are interested in your verdict, the many whose very life and sustenance depend upon your words. Think of the amount of toil involved in the production of a new play.
First comes the evolution of a plot. And this is but the beginning of the author's work. For him it is toil, toil, toil. Then comes his fearful ordeal of reading his work to the actor-manager for whom it was written. Perhaps his future depends upon it—his destiny!
Next comes the selection of the cast to perform the work. I regret to state that in this era versatility is lacking because of the absence of fine stock companies. We actor-managers are forced to select actors and actresses who are fitted only physically, mentally (and sometimes socially) for the respective rôles. This is shocking when one considers the art seriously. However, such is the case, and we "luxuries" must accept the inevitable.