  A most extraordinary man is Beerbohm Tree. Refined, almost aesthetic in manner yet as worldly and practical as the most prosaic merchant. His humor is human if a bit cynical. He has the manner of a dreamer and an eye like a City man or an American gambler. Among those he loves he is nothing but a boy with a boyish simplicity but when he is surrounded by uninteresting acquaintances he suggests a German philosopher or Danish poet—in his impenetrable reserve! A clever man is Beerbohm Tree and I like him. As is the case with all successful players especially if they have the good sense and good taste to present refined art he has many enemies. And most of these are members of his own profession! These malcontents have the effrontery to discuss a genius who has so far distanced them by his indefatigable industry, mentality and application as to leave them nowhere. He has succeeded in producing dignified plays in a dignified manner and his success has not been only "artistic." He makes enough to be able to pay $50,000 per annum for one of the prettiest playhouses in the world! I smile with you at your scoffers, Mr. Tree (I can't say Sir Beerbohm!). My hat's off to you. Here is a little anecdote of the man they say is characteristic. He had been dining quite late—yes, and well. When the party broke up Tree hailed a cab and jumped in with the one word, "Home," addressed toward the cabby. That artful individual saw his chance for a fat fare and drove off without inquiring for more explicit instructions. After he had let his horse wander about London all night—with Tree in peaceful slumber inside—the cabby peeked in through his little aperture in the roof and awoke the sleeping player. "Where shall I drive you to now, sir?" queried the cabby. "Home, I say," replied Tree angrily. "I beg pardon, guv'nor," replied the cabby, "but where is your 'ome, sir?" Tree opened one eye long enough to direct a look full of reproach at the cabby. "You don't imagine I'm going to tell every common cabman my private address, do you?" |
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