Talk:Mary Anderson (actress, born 1859)

Untitled
Where I got the information about the World War one performances: I was reading microfilms of the local press (Evesham) for WWI and kept seeing references to Madame Navarro's doings, including the concerts/readings. Fortunately the library's local collection had copies of her books so I found out who she was.. Malcolm Farmer 12:54, 1 Dec 2004 (UTC)

Clean Up
The vast majority of the "Stage Career" section is taken word for word from a single source. Although the source is cited, a summary would be better, and the source should be listed in the reference section at the bottom. CClio333 04:30, 2 December 2007 (UTC)
 * Yep: it comes well under Don't include copies of primary sources. In fact, as this section was introduced in a single anon edit it's fair to ask, what exactly is the citation for George B. Berrell's unpublished memoirs? I've moved it below pending verification. Gordonofcartoon (talk) 14:44, 10 December 2007 (UTC)

Unsourced text for verification
George B. Berrell (1849-1933) an American actor and stage-manager, active in the theater from childhood until 1910, when he moved to motion pictures, in his unpublished memoirs, wrote the following about Mary Anderson:

One of the most notable events for me in the history of the drama in St. Louis, was the first appearance of Mary Anderson. She had made her theatrical debut at Macauley’s Theatre, Louisville, Nov. 17, 1875, as Juliet, and met with so much favor from friends and acquaintances that Barney Macauley gave her a week’s engagement a little later, in which she presented “Romeo and Juliet,” “Fazio,” “Evadne,” “The Hunchback,” and “The Lady Of Lyons,” truly a great undertaking for an amateur. She made her first appearance in St. Louis, as Juliet. I was not very favorably impressed with her rendition of the character; her voice was musical; her elocution showed careful training. She was tall, thin, by no means graceful – in fact, she might be described as “gawky;” she may have shown a spark of genius, but I failed to see the fire. To me, aside from a certain charm of matter and personal appearance, she seemed only ordinary, and gave but little promise of obtaining eminence in her chosen profession. This lack of judgment on my part, this failure to discern the diamond in the rough, was equaled by the mental blindness of the critics of New York, who, when she first appeared in that city, saw in her but little to commend, and much to condemn. The press of San Francisco was decidedly hostile, so, between the two, I may claim to have been in good company. In her opening bill I again played Mercutio, and as the “newspaper boys” were my friends, the notices I received were much more complimentary than the one given me in Indianapolis, though probably not so well deserved. Her repertoire, in her first week’s engagement, was the same as in Louisville, with the addition of “Ingomar,” in which as Parthenia, she made a beautiful appearance, and gave a flawless performance. In this character she has never been equaled, in my day.

In following engagements in St. Louis, she appeared as “Ion” in Thomas Noon Talfourd’s drama of that name, and as Meg Merrilies in “Guy Mannering,” of which she gave a meritorious performance, but took no laurels from the brow of Charlotte Cushman. At this inception of her career she was a frank, joyous, light-hearted girl, as full of mischief as a kitten, with no aloofness, or assumption of superiority, and at once endeared herself to her professional associates, who from the first felt a personal concern in her welfare. She was beloved by all with whom she came in contact, and was affectionately called “Our Mary.” Public interest and sympathy for her was created by the belief that she was “a Southern girl,” daughter of a brave soldier who had died in defense of “Southern rights,” and as there was then a great number of “unreconstructed” in the city, this sympathy took a practical form. Gen. Wm. T. Sherman who admired the drama and the fair sex equally well, and was then station in the “Mound City,” also interested himself greatly in her behalf, and his endorsement carried great weight. These influences combined with her artistic merit and charming personality won for her artistic and financial success and social triumph.

The fame of an artiste is due, primarily, to that artiste’s genius; but the one who gives genius opportunity to develop and become known, is entitled to credit – and deserving of gratitude. John W. Norton, having heard favorable reports, engaged Miss Anderson for the week at St. Louis, to be followed by another at the St. Charles Theatre, New Orleans, and, a little later, formed a company, and presented her in the principal cities of the South. On this tour, as well as in St. Louis, he acted in her support. He gave her many “points” in stage business; he smoothed away crudities, and it was through his recommendation that she was engaged by John T. Ford, no relation to the John Ford I performed for in the movies., for a week at Baltimore, and another at Washington. All of which Miss Anderson, in her “Memories,” sees fit to ignore. In one brief season she was numbered among the leading actresses of the American stage. For a number of years she appeared in all the principal cities of this country, and then, longing for other worlds to conquer, went to England and met with success and favor equally pronounced. On her return to this country, a few years later, she was no longer American, but an almost rabid Anglomaniac, with openly expressed contempt for American acts and customs, but no objections to American dollars; her former humble professional friends and associates were forgotten. She returned with an entire English company (with the exception of her stage-manager), because in her opinion artistes of equal ability were not available in “the States.”

At the time of her return I was stage-manager of the Chicago Opera House. Her opening bill there was “Ingomar,” and on the night prior to the opening there was a full-dress and scenic rehearsal of the play, commencing at midnight. Miss Anderson occupied a seat in the auditorium; her business-manager, Charles Abud, hovered near the aisle, filled with solicitude, eager to anticipate her slightest wish; Napier Lothian, her stage-manager, was at his post, in the first entrance; while I, having no part in the play, but in control of the theatre employees, occupied a seat in the same row with Miss Anderson, not more than three feet from her. Notwithstanding my proximity, and my identity, of which she was fully aware, she utterly ignored my presence; and gave me no opportunity to address her, although as stage-manager I had in former years directed all her plays, and had given her several “bits of business,” for which she was at the time grateful – and I had, also – acting for Norton – booked her first tour, and engaged the company for her support. It was not until the middle of the week, when in passing I bowed to her, that she condescended to notice me, and remarked frigidly, that it had been a long time since she had last seen me.

So thoroughly had she become saturated with English mannerisms that she lost her American accent. She wore over her gown a long brown ulster with broad checks and on her head a peaked cap of the same material, and was, in appearance the typical British tourist of the comic weeklies. Abud was a thoro’ Cockney, “native, and to the manorr born,” and, of course, had brought his dialect with him; while Lothian, Yankee born and bred, had cultivated such a pronounced cockney accent that anyone was justified in believing that he had been born within the sound of Bow Bells, and was now in this “blawsted kentry” for the first time.

At length all was ready for the rehearsal; the orchestra began the incidental music, and the curtain rose. But before the mass of people in the Market Place of Massillia had moved many steps, the voice of Miss Anderson was heard declaring that they had not started to move at the right moment, and ordering the curtain to be lowered. Abud ran down the aisle to the orchestra railing, and communicated the order to Lothian, who gave the necessary signal. Seven times this was repeated before she was satisfied and the action allowed to proceed, the curtain being no sooner up than it had to be lowered again, the head carpenter each time stepping out on the stage and looking belligerently to the front, the leader of the orchestra turning around in silent protest, and on the seventh failure a loud voice from the fig-gallery shouted, “What in the hell’s the matter down there, anyway?” The curtain man was losing his patience. The eighth attempt was successful; the action proceeded, and the dialogue began – only to be again interrupted before a dozen words had been spoken. Mr. Abud approached, and with meek subserviency asked what was wrong. “Aw,” said Miss Anderson, “that upper wing, on the left, is out about four inches too far; have it taken off a bit.” Abud moved toward the stage, and called: “Aw, Mr. Lothian.”  The latter stepped in view, and showed that he was all attention, and Abud continued:- “Aw, cawnt ye see; that hupper wing hon the left is hout habout four hinches too far. Kindly ‘ave hit chineged.”

Lothian, with an accent still more fearful, peered over the foot-lights into the semi-darkness of the auditorium and called me by name. I gracefully acknowledged the call. “I say, deah boy,” said he, “this wing here, on the left, is out about four inches too far; kindly have it moved a bit, like a good chap.” Whereupon I, with my Philadelphia twang, called – “Mr. Hughes.” The first-carpenter stepped from the wings, and answered “Aye, aye, sir.” in stentorian tone. “Move that left upper wing off about four inches,” said I. “Finnegan.” roared Hughes.

Finnegan, the second-carpenter, with fiery red hair and a beautiful brogue, appeared on the opposite side of the stage, and responded, “Sorry, to you.”

“Git a move on ye,” ordered Hughes in choice Bowery tone and diction; “fix that wing, on the left upper.”

Now it was Finnegan who had “set” that wing, and to say that there was anything wrong with it was a reflection upon his ability, and he was inclined to take. “What t’ell’s the matter with it?” he asked.

“She’s on too far,” replied Hughes; “shover’r off ‘bout four inches.”

Finnegan “shoved” her, and the rehearsal was resumed. Numerous interruptions occurred during the night, Miss Anderson in each case giving her commands to Abud, who repeated them to Lothian, who gave them to me, who called them to Hughes, who roared them to Finnegan, who long before the rehearsal came to an end was boiling with indignation, and showing the effects of numerous journeys beyond the back door. Everything was straightened out at last, however, but it was 7 A.M. when the rehearsal ended.

I have not met Miss Anderson since that week [Berrell wrote c. 1930.] In common with all who knew her, I deplored the great change in her matter – the too evident snobbishness, the attitude of one who having been welcomed by the nobility, even royalty, deemed  herself superior to those less favored; but, despite this failing, those who knew her in those early days, when she was “Our Mary,” will ever retain for her an affectionate remembrance, thinking only of the sweet, simple girl who won the admiration, the friendship and the love and respect of all who knew her. The brutal and uncalled-for attacks in a certain journal of a Western city that led her suddenly to abandon a profession that exposed her to such insults, and sent her, self-exiled, to seek a home in a foreign land, received only the condemnation and contempt of all, and the world extols Mary Anderson Navarro – the noble woman, wife, and mother, the honor and ornament of the American stage.

Miss Anderson is not a “Southern girl” by birth, but having lived long in the South she may have been so in sentiment. Her father, Charles H. Anderson was born in England, and died in 1862, having taken no active part in the Civil War. Her mother was of German lineage, and married, second, Dr. Hamilton Griffin, who had been a surgeon in the Confederate service. “Our Mary” was born at Sacramento, July 58, 1859. She married Antonio F. de Navarro, at Hampstead, London, in June, 1890, and since then has made her home in England.

Forbes-Robertson
''The great actor Johnston Forbes-Robertson fell in love with her after performing in some plays with her in the late 1880s. He offered his hand in marriage to Mary but she kindly refused his proposal. They however stayed friends''.

It's easy to find that he was in some plays with her, but this proposal story needs sourcing. Gordonofcartoon (talk) 22:08, 16 January 2008 (UTC)

Title
I don't see why 'born 1859' needs to be in the title of the page. Valetude (talk) 17:04, 28 June 2016 (UTC)

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