Clyde Fitch and His Letters by Virginia J. Gerson, Montrose J. Moses; Little, Brown, and Company, 1924
In gathering the letters for the present volume, the authors have tried to recreate all the joy and faith and genius for friendship which marked the life of Clyde Fitch. His active career in the theater brought him in constant touch with the most representative actors, managers, and men of letters of his period.
His letters breathe of warm association with the novelist, Mr. Robert Herrick; they show a breezy friendship with Miss Maude Adams and Kate Douglas Wiggin; they reveal glimpses of appreciation interchanged between himself and William Dean Howells.
How many times were "yawning gaps" to be "knocked into" the finances of Fitch! He had his lean and his fat years, and in the lean ones he was nearly always saved by some contract which arrived to relieve him in the nick of time. He eagerly welcomed a Charles Frohman commission sent him by Miss Elizabeth Marbury, his play broker, for an adaptation of "The Masked Ball" from the French of Bisson and Carré, in which John Drew, just from the management of Augustin Daly, was to make his entrance under the Frohman wing.
Thus there came a rift in the clouds! And what is more, the consequences resulting from this play were of vast importance. For, as Mr. Daniel Frohman has written, "It brought Fitch into contact with the man who was to be his real sponsor; it made John Drew a star; it carried Maude Adams into the frontier of the stellar realms, and gave Charles Frohman a whole new and distinguished place in the theatre."
The letters from Miss Maude Adams to Fitch, which follow, were written at St. Moritz, while both were recovering from serious illness: she at the Grand Hotel Kulm, and he at the Palace Hotel. They were each in that stage of convalescence when they were always feeling chilly, never seeming to get warm, and both were bored for entertainment. An interesting sidelight on these times is given in reminiscence by Mr. Ferdinand Gottschalk, who had joined Fitch and was with him. He writes:
"In the local paper we discovered that Miss Maude Adams had arrived. As we knew she was weakened by work and was there for absolute rest, we decided we would not intrude; even if we met her we would look the other way, while really hungering for her recognition. Many a time when we were out together, Fitch would suddenly say, 'Look out, here comes Maude!' and we would immediately gaze skyward, or he would point out something of interest -- something that was never there!
"His slow improvement brought back much of his boyishness. In time Miss Adams discovered our names on the visitors' list and asked us to call. We felt that if we called together it might prove fatiguing to her. I convinced Fitch that strict etiquette demanded he should be the first to pay his respect, since he was a 'personage' and I a mere person. With modest reluctance he finally yielded. . . . Soon thereafter we were gladdened by an invitation from Miss Adams to dine with her at Maloja, about twelve miles from St. Moritz, at a vast hotel originally intended as a rival to the gaming house at Monte Carlo. But at the last moment, it was discovered that the proprietors had forgotten to apply for a license.
"The afternoon of the day we were to dine with Miss Adams, Fitch and I walked over to Pontresina. The beauties of the place held us unconscious of the flight of time, until we found that only by rapid driving in a carriage -- there were few automobiles in those days -- could we arrive in time for dinner. We had scarcely reached the outskirt of Pontresina, when a passer-by drew the attention of our driver to the fact that one of the wheels of our carriage was coming off. Another moment and an accident would have happened, -- I would have been pitched out, head foremost, Fitch on top of me. Another carriage was sent for, and we had to wait for ages. . . . At last we arrived at Maloja, just an hour late, to find our hostess and a dear .elderly couple from New York conjecturing darkly as to our fate. Fitch humorously related our narrow escape, and we had a most enjoyable evening in that vast dining-room, meant for a gaming saloon.
"Then came the drive home under, I think, the biggest moon and the most cloudless sky I have ever seen. We had a brougham and a victoria waiting for us; the former naturally for the married couple, while the three of us chose the victoria. Fitch and I consulted in whispers as to the etiquette of the situation, for one of us would have to ride on the box with the driver. . . . Miss Adams cut matters short by telling us to jump in. Before we knew it she was up on the box, took off her hat, tossing it to me with, 'Here, Ferdie, you hold that!', shook her hair out to the breeze, and we were off, the driver cracking his long whip, as we turned the rocky corners of the sinuous road by the lake's edge back to St. Moritz. <.p>
(letter from Maude Adams, written at the Kulm Hotel, St. Moritz, Engadine, August 17, 1902.)
My dear Mr. Fitch:
The nice hotel man was so eager to get oranges for you that I think he sent everywhere, and now he is beginning to reap his whirlwind: Oranges are bulging from every point of the compass, -- the last are from Spain by way of Paris. If you want to make an orange tree of yourself just send word. I must say I think the Spaniards are a little below par as to oranges and some other things, but they do their best. I got the fur rug for Helen Hastings -- they took two hundred francs off -- was that right, guide, philosopher -- and papiermâché friend? -- and they've offered me everything else in the shop, that you don't want -- ("He is so amiable") at a great reduction!
This is just to tell you that there is nice clean snow on the mountains and the sun is shining and that when you are through with your throat, there is still whooping-cough.
Faithfully,
Maude Adams.
(letter from Maude Adams, sometime in 1902)
Cheer up! I'm reduced to Tiddledy-winks! -- and Lotto and Halma, and the little red man 1 -- and between times I twine myself around the stove. I hope Dr. Bernhardt told you good things yesterday. Jane's sister just now almost
jumped through the ping-pong net -- but J. Lee Finney saved her.
Faithfully, Maude Adams.
1st bulletin. 3:20 P.M.
(another 1902 St. Moritz letter).
Dear Mr. Fitch:
You see I've not caught up yet -- but it's impossible not to feel better with such spirits as you seem to have in the same village. I am a little suspicious about luncheons since yesterday -- I wish I could think of the French word for suspicious -- I just came across it in the dictionary -- but now I come to think of it -- it wasn't "suspicious", it was "crafty" -- but I'm both -- because yesterday I was asked to lunch; and come to find out, it was only that I might go into that large dining-room and waylay you -- but I was firm and insisted on having my food upstairs.
To-morrow -- I'll do anything I'm asked to do, together with whatever I can induce you to do -- which means that I'll drive at any hour after 3: 45 or lunch with me in Mary's bright eye.
Believe me,
Faithfully yours,
Maude Adams.
(letter written from the Grand Hotel, Kulm, Engadine, St. Moritz ( 1902). )
My dear Mr. Fitch:
I am so sorry -- I was afraid it was too cold (lovely St. Moritz). I shall stand on the spot and wail. I deserve to be disappointed because I've been so good. I've had things
for my breakfast two mornings -- no tea yesterday and I'm afraid there'll be none to-day. I put the miserable little red man together -- I don't think doctors would approve of my idea of anatomy -- there is a kind of a gap.
This is later: --
I have just tried to play tennis again. -- I haven't courage to go out till it's so dark I can't see the balls, but that makes no difference; I could hit them just as well if I could see them. Doehme 1 was playing to-day and his lady was looking on -- he made a brave front and a very bad game. Finally, he said he had a nail in his shoe, and asked another man to finish for him -- then he limped to the end of the court and got his hat -- then he limped back to the gate -- evidently suffering -- came up the path limping till he was well out of sight of his friends, and all of a sudden he was well! I know, 'cause I suspicioned him and I was mean enough to watch him.
Truth to tell he does very well -- he's only been at it a few days -- and I know how he feels.
Ever faithfully,
Maude Adams.
(another letter written from Kulm Hotel, Engadine, St. Moritz ( 1902). )
My dear Mr. Fitch:
Do you know that I've not thanked you yet for the flowers that came that rainy day? Of course you don't -- but Bobbie Russell used to say that sending books to me was like putting them down a manhole. Nearly everything is packed and the posies are doing their best to make the place look less desolate. Do you think you could come to lunch tomorrow? How I shall love St. Moritz when I am in Paris.
Yours faithfully,
Maude Adams.
(letter written from 22 E. 41st St., 21 November, 1902. )
Dear Mr. Fitch:
Don't get the habit of hot water bottles, please, and will you come at 12 instead of 12: 30; I have to go out at two. Hasn't it been a day? It has been so cheery in town, too -cold as the mischief -- and I've had a fire, and a little girl and her mother stood under my window and played hurdygurdy music, and the little thing danced (chiefly with her arms); she'd keep forgetting to take her feet up -- but she
had many ribbons in her hair, and with her feet solid on the ground she could turn 'round real fast and her little red skirt seemed to have been made with that idea in mind. She kept throwing little kisses with her cunning little hand, and didn't notice at all where she was sending them -- it was all in the hurdy-gurdy, I suppose
Yours faithfully,
Maude Adams.
(letter written from Onteora, Tannersville, New York. January, 1904. )
Dear Clyde:
There are some things you don't think of, being a mere man. I feel awfully that it [ "Glad of It" ] hasn't gone right, but I feel so strongly that it is a turning-point for you and a hopeful one. I haven't seen the papers, but I know you. You are just at that age when a man has two dangers to face, -- a substitution of an emotional enthusiasm for a real one and his resentment of criticism. Between you and me I agree with you about that. I have never seen anything funnier than some criticisms of a play I received yesterday. Their abuse was funny (unintentionally), but there was no sting left after one had read their praise -- it was so absurd. -- But we can't afford to take criticisms of ourselves on the funny and absurd basis. -- I wish you could do some things that you'd hate to do. I wish you could give over for a while your beloved Italy and your admired France and go to some place where the art is dead and life is uppermost -- common life. We live so much among people of morbid tendencies, neurasthenics (I can't spell it), and the like -- that we begin to think they are real, and they are real of their kind but it isn't a red blood kind. -- You have been through a serious illness and a man doesn't recover from an illness like that in a year, and while he's recovering he must be careful not to let himself drop back into an old environment of mind as well as of body. Our illnesses
are our vacations and we should use them to get new turns of mind. -- Don't get in a groove. Make yourself agree with your critics for a time until you discover their secret -- it is a secret to them as well -- they can't put in words the real thing they criticize -- they can't voice it -- so you must discover it, but when you've discovered it you'll find there will no longer be need of it. Men of temperament, if they are very successful when they are young, are in great danger. They either go to pieces or they get two chances -- and the second chance is usually better than the first, if they are big men. It seems to me you're getting your second chance. Forgive all this. I've promised myself not to read it over or I shouldn't have the courage to send it.
Faithfully yours,Maude.
Once more Clyde found himself in antique shops abroad, and every night at the theater. With his ever-devoted friend, Eugène Gautier, who was generally with him when he was in Paris, he was at work on a play by Alban de Polhe, called "L'Enfant du Temple", 1 which Frohman had thought would be suited to Maude Adams. It dealt with the Temple child, Louis XVII. But the final opinion was that it would be too "gloomy." Clyde was whipping himself into an energy which was slowly ebbing, for, as he confessed, he was living a 90-horse-power life, except in Italy, where he always knew how to rest. His European reception was relished, as he wrote to Tod Galloway. Russia and Germany were acclaiming him, and he was planning Continental productions of various kinds for the next season.
(another letter)
TO MRS. JOHN CORBIN
New York, 27 Jan., 1909.
Dear Amy:
Thank you for yr sweet & kind note. I'd love to see you, but I'm very miserable & utterly wretched. Still, I go to Schenectady to-morrow -- am trying to keep my business engagements, if possible. I wanted you to see the "H. M.", because it looks very much as if it might be my best. But one never can tell; at rehearsals it is, anyway!! Maude Adams came the other day, & was almost enthusiastic!
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