Dorothy Wallis. An autobiography. With introduction by W. Besant

Introduction

. In the following pages an attempt has been made to delineate faithfully the experiences of a girl who resolved to win for herself, by her own exertions, without the help of any one, with no money, and with very few friends, an honourable position in the profession for which she felt an irresistible call. When this girl, a gentlewoman, resolved upon making the attempt to conquer the stage, she was quite young, having just left school and passed her examinations. I had the privilege of making her acquaintance at that time : she consulted me upon certain literary ambitions — call them rather certain transient whisperings or fleeting desires — such as come to many clever young people at that time of life : she took such advice as I had to offer, and came again with the results in her hand. Concerning these results, it is enough to say that by this time she had found out the only pursuit which could satisfy her soul.

She VI would be an actress. It was no sudden fancy such as comes to so many women, springing from a desire for the admiration, the applause, the splendour, the costly raiment that belong to the successful actress — it was a resolution, fixed and determined, grounded on such a perception of the Art as is given only to those who have the genius to practise it. So he who can paint even a little looks at a great picture with eyes that see far more in it than he who cannot paint at all : for the latter sees only the picture, while the other sees, besides, something of the soul of the man who painted it : one sees what there is ; the other understands what was in tended. Again, we who are not actors laugh and cry in the House. Dorothy Wallis, and such as she — they are but few — pass over the footlights and stand beside the actors, under standing what they mean, seeing and hearing far more than the people in the pit.

Again, then, she did me the honour of con sulting me ; but this time it was only a pretence of consulting, for her mind was already made up. Perhaps she wished to hear and to combat objec tions which one need not repeat, and exhortations which it was one's apparent duty to offer. She Introduction. VII was resolved; she would seek no one's permission; she would ask no one's support ; she would rely entirely upon herself. And so, with her little purse, her box of belongings, she went out into the raging, roaring ocean where all the fishes are preying upon each other. For a space I knew not what had become of that slender, brave — stubborn (?) — girl who had gone out unprotected into the unprotecting world, the stony-hearted world, the world of sweaters, grinders, and deceivers — nor did I know where to seek for her, nor what had become of her.

You who do Dorothy Wallis the honour of reading these pages may learn what became of her. The time came when she returned and told me what had happened. Then I ventured, for the third time, upon a little advice. I advised her, encouraged her, and stimulated her to set down faithfully the history which follows. It is a perfectly true history. Some things have been altered ; many things have been suppressed. In the history of a girl who lives such a life, pro tected only by the companionship of another girl, many things have to be suppressed ; many insults which such girls have to encounter must be passed over. Of these one can only explain that there is a certain class of reptile who sits at the entrance of every profession or calling taken up by girls. All that we need say of him is that it is a pity he cannot have his multitudinous carcase rolled into one for a single comprehensive flogging, and his multitudinous head compressed into one for a single comprehensive hanging.

The presentation of any one girl's fight for life, truly and faithfully told, ought to be useful, whether it shows how difficult that fight may be, how brave must be the girls who attempt it, how frugal must be their life, how arduous is their labour, or whether it may lead some to consider what, if anything, may be done for the girls who have to face such a life. This young actress, while she is learning her profession, lives — but you shall see how she lives ; and you may thus reflect how many there are who live in the same hard, poor, and hopeless way, doing work that must be done by somebody, yet is necessarily poorly paid. There are thousands of girls like Dorothy in London : not all trying to become actresses, it is true, but all trying somehow to live. They would write ; they would paint ; they would act ; Introduction.

IX they would teach ; they would become type writers, clerks, cashiers, anything and everything, for any pay that is offered. How do they all live? They have their relations, it is true, but these are often so poor that even the addition of a daily meal is felt. They have also, which is more important, each other — Dorothy, for instance, had her friend Rachel. Alone and unsupported I think she could not have faced all the misery and all the poverty and all the drudgery. Some of them also have their lovers and, one hopes, in due time, their husbands. Dorothy, you will see, does not complain. Girls like Dorothy never do complain. They have always youth, hope, and faith. Others may get trampled down ; they will not. Others are desperately wounded, crippled, disabled ; they mean to come out all the stronger.

Considering all things, I think that, under these conditions, young men are not so brave as girls. The number of very poor young men who are brave enough to resolve that, in spite of all, they will succeed, is much smaller in proportion, I believe, than the number of poor girls who are sustained by the like lofty courage. It only remains to hope that Dorothy may find X a sympathetic audience. Good people, consider — she is but a girl still, and unused to face so many. Give her your ears for a few minutes only, and perhaps she will keep them to the end. The orchestra ceases ; the fiddlers lay down their bows; the footlights brighten. In a private box I see Rachel — Dorothy's friend — and Oney, her brother. The former looks anxious. " Oh ! " she cries, "how can she — how can she — face this crowd ?

" Crowd, indeed ! If only she can persuade some of this crowd into silence while she speaks ! Strange House, in which the writer becomes a dramatist or an actor, and the scenes shift con tinually and become a panorama! This House is full, sometimes, though there are but fifty people in it, and it will stretch out wide enough, deep enough, high enough, to hold as many as speak the English language- — yea, a hundred living millions. " She will face the crowd all right," says Oney, who has boundless confidence in Dorothy. " You wait and see. I'm not afraid. She'll make them listen." The curtain rises. The scene is a dingy Introduction. XI room in a lodging-house. And see — the actress writer is seated at the table. She rises ; she comes down the stage, and stands before us — her hands folded, her eyes serious, and . . .

Hush ! Silence ! The piece is a monologue ; the author herself is the actress ; she is a debutante on this stage of ours ; she has never before appeared on the boards of the Royal Paternoster Theatre (sole Lessees and Managers, Messrs. Longmans, Green, & Co.), formerly the old Ship Theatre Royal. We sit back in our seats — the House is hushed, and . . . Dorothy Wallis speaks. WALTER BESANT.