Lily Brayton (1876-1953)
Lily Brayton (1876-1953)
(Evening Post [Wellington NZ], 8th October, 1912)
WOMEN IN PRINT - MISS LILY BRAYTON - AN INTERVIEW
It is not always - nor even often - that a beautiful actress is a beauty when she steps beyond the footlights, but Mrs. Asche - or Miss Lily Brayton as she is better known - is as charming as are her pictures, and they are legion.
It is strange to learn that she hates being photographed, and would almost as soon visit a dentist. But she is earnest in praise of Miss May Moore's work - so exquisite in light and shade and excellent in technique. Some of Miss Moore's pictures of Miss Brayton in her coming role of Cleopatra are absolutely splendid.
"I think," says Miss Brayton, "that, other things being equal, women can photograph women best. Look at Rita Martin and Lallie Charles - they are both sisters, by the way, in London. The former takes nearly all my photographs."
In answer to a question about hobbies, Miss Brayton confesses to only one, which includes many - her art. It keeps her busy, for to her artistic taste is due much of the poetic harmony of many of the plays produced. The bazaar scene in "Kismet," so wonderfully Eastern, is entirely her design, and the dresses, most of which are made from Oriental fabrics, are planned and arranged by her. There is marvellous attention paid to correctness of detail in Mr. Asche's, productions. No trouble is too much, no expense too great, to attain the requisite atmosphere. In "Kismet" many of the costumes, the incense, and the properties were bought in Tunis, many of the draperies and fabrics gathered on their Eastern travels, and the big hats worn by two of the Nubians are just what are to be seen there.
But Miss Brayton's part in "Kismet," set as it is in such entrancing surroundings, is not her favourite. She likes best Katherine in the "Taming of the Shrew." In this, too, all the dresses are designed by her, and absolutely correct as to period and style. Asked whether she approved of the abject confession of faith which Katherine the Reformed makes at the end of the play, Miss Brayton tells me she herself does not deliver that speech too seriously. She does not deliver it as a solemn sermon to the recalcitrant wives, as is often done. Instead, she speaks it somewhat casually, walking about or standing at one time with an arm about Petruchio's neck. "I am ashamed that women are so simple to offer war where they should sue for peace," she says, with a hint of mischief in her tone that draws a laugh and promises for Petruchio anything but perpetual dullness in the future.
Miss Brayton studies each part with keen interest. The learning of it is only a minor task: it is the getting into the character that is the difficulty. To this end she reads many opinions, and, like a woman, form's her own. She was a mere girl, still learning with her governess, when she went off to join Benson's Company, and with him she stayed three and a half years. Later she was with Sir Herbert Tree, and had the proud distinction of being chosen for his first Viola. Mr. and Mrs. Asche's home in London is in St. John's Wood; not far from where Ada Crossley lives, and there she has her garden brimming over, as only an English garden can, with summer blossoms. They are now in treaty for another house in the same pretty locality - an old house with quaint oak panelled rooms.
She owns to no nervousness. After many times acting one character it naturally becomes to a certain degree mechanical. But that is fortunate, for an actress would be short-lived who, every time for hundreds of performances, felt the same intense emotions as keenly as at the beginning. Miss Brayton has only twice required the services of her understudy (Miss Noble). Once was in Australia, when - for one night only - she was laid aside by ptomaine poisoning; and once in London, five weeks after "Kismet" had been running, when she fell ill from nervous collapse. And little wonder, when one learns that before the play was put on Mr. and Mrs. Asche were often till 3 or 4 o'clock in the morning at the theatre, arranging and preparing, and even in the daytime came rehearsals. But the labour we delight in physics pain, and both love their work too much to grudge their toil.
"We were not able to visit Rotorua," said Miss Brayton, with a regretful sigh. "We played till just before the train started, and were very busy rehearsing while in Auckland."
One of her pleasantest memories is acting with Sir Henry Irving, who, with Miss Ellen Terry, staged "The Merchant of Venice" for a grand benefit in aid of the actors' benevolent fund. Miss Brayton was chosen by Miss Terry for Nerissa, she herself, of course, being Portia and Irving Shylock. And what a list of splendid names the programme showed - Evelyn Millard (Jessica), Sir George Alexander (Bassanio), Ben Webster (Gratiano), Martin Harvey (Lorenzo), H. B. Irving (Salario), and Oscar Asche (the Prince of Morocco). It was a magnificent performance, and a great sum was gained for the fund.
Miss Brayton is frankly interested in chiffons, and, from her artistic work in connection with the theatre, must be learned in styles and stuffs. The gown she is wearing has something of the distinctive and artistic about it, the bodice and upper part of the skirt of deep blue charmeuse embroidered in black resembling somewhat a jerkin. Beyond the blue is black charmeuse, the skirt short enough to show very dainty silk-clad ankles and pretty shoes. A wide black tegal hat, with a patterned veil, shades her face. Her sense of artistic detail is seen in all the charming accessories - the tall aigrettes, black and blue, that rise from the back of the hat; the flat black satin neckbow, with its dangling tasselled ends; the tiny little turn-over collar of sheer cambric that finishes the bodice.
At present the company are busily rehearsing "Antony and Cleopatra," but, alas! New Zealand will not have the privilege of seeing it. It will be something altogether unique, and infinite study and care are being given to its production. I am on tiptoe to go, when Miss Brayton stops me to recount a littie incident apropos of Cleopatra, told her by the Princess of Monaco. Maspero, a famous French Egyptologist, had been studying the bas-reliefs at Philae, and had discovered, in the many portraits of Cleopatra, that she had a turned-up nose. Had she not had a turned-up nose, declared Maspero, she would have conquered the world. It was this touch of feminism that made her ambitions turn to nothing when love came on the scene. And so Miss Brayton - who believes, quite erroneously, that her nose is tip tilted, is much comforted and feels that this may be another factor in the success of her new role. She turns her pretty profile against the light to show me, when I deny her statement, that she is right, but there is only a fascinating piquancy that is more attractive than icy perfection.
I said, when I entered, "how do you do?" - our silly Anglo-Saxon greeting - with a little nervousness. One is so afraid of interested curiosity slipping into impertinence! I say good-bye with regret, blended with pleasure at having had the opportunity of meeting so attractive a personality.
(The Advertiser [Adelaide, AUS] - 14th May, 1919)
Excerpt from article entitled "Oscar Asche And Lily Brayton"
I have read my husband's reminiscences and notice his complimentary reference to myself. I should like however to recall his mind to the fact that, with the cool assertiveness of a Petruchio, he had decided on the co-operation from which he confesses to have derived such benefit before my humble self had even consulted in the matter - before, in fact, I had spoken to him or we had been introduced!
According to a confession he made to me when we did become engaged, he first saw me as I passed through the stagedoor of the Theatre Royal, Manchester, where I had gone to interview Mr. Benson (as he then was). After I had passed through he turned to a friend and said:- "That is the girl I am going to marry."
Perhaps it was his self-confidence as a wooer which-fitted him so well for the character of Petruchio, when for nearly a thousand nights he treated me so shamefully as the long-suffering Katharine had in 'The Taning of the Shrew.' Indeed he rather inclined to glory in his opportunism for domination over woman, and had the effrontery one night at the Savage Club to boast that during the years he had been in London "he had wallowed in brutality towards women on the stage."
In view of all this, the fear is natural that the reminiscences of a mere woman would suffer in comparison with those of such a man. However we have this much in common, that I too can claim the pride of being a Bensonian, and I too should like to pay tribute to the teaching and training which meant so much to me.
You must visualise a Lancashire lassie with a longing for the stage, born of reading poetry ans Shakespeare. A holiday in Scarborough and a visit to the theatre where Benson was playing 'Hamlet' intensified that longing, with the result that I dared to write him a letter telling him of my fondness for Shakespeare and my desire to go on the stage. I hardly expected that he would answer, but a day or two afterwards a letter did come from him asking me to see him at the theatre. Of course I went and recited to him Queen Katherine's speech before the court. When I had finished, Mr. Benson told me I should join the company, but, to my inexpressible regret, he made haste to add that there was no vacancy at the moment. Still, he told me that, as soon as there was he would send for me. I went away crestfallen, for when I got his letter I quite expected that he would engage me there and then.
When I got home I did not say a word to my mother about having written. A few weeks later, however, when my sister and I were working with our governess my mother entered the schoolroom with an open telegram in her hand. "Can you tell me what the meaning of this is?" she asked, as she put the paper into my hand: "Join the company to-morrow at Manchester - Benson,"
I had to explain about the letter, my visit to the theatre, and Mr. Benson's promise. My mother was greatly distressed, for she did not know anything about the stage, and therefore mistrusted it. I told her, however, that I felt that the quiet life at home was not suited to me: that I wanted to do something and I thought I could find my best field on the stage. Looking back, I can see that the firmness of my decision satisfied her, for she put no obstacles in my way, and the next day I went to Manchester to see Mr. Benson.
Technically speaking my first appearance was as a super, for I walked on in 'Twelfth Night' the evening of the same day I arrived in Manchester. In the repertoire of that week were also included 'Othello,' 'The Taming of the Shrew,' and 'Richard II,' and I appeared in all of them. It was in the last named that I spoke my first line as one of the ladies in attendance upon the queen, whom I afterwards played both with Mr. Benson and with Sir Herbert Tree at His Majesty's. My line was, I believe, "Madam, we will play at bowls."
Unimportant as the line was, I think I felt an importance which has never been equalled when I have been playing the most onerous leading part. It seemed to me as though I were the only person in the scene, and as if the audience would have its eyes on me alone, while, as a matter of fact, I know that nobody took the slighest notice of me. I have often laughed at myself since, for it shows how delightfully humorous a thing it is to lose sense of proportion.
At the end of the week Mr. Benson sent for me and told me that he was very pleased with the way I had been working and gave me the first salary I had ever earned on the stage. It was done up in an envelope, and when I opened it I found that my salary amounted to twenty-five shillings. Before I had been living on an allowance from home. After that, when my salary began I asked that my allowance should cease; and, happily for me, from the day I received that first salary I have never been out of an engagement.
My first real chance came when Mrs Benson fell ill at Newcastle-on-Tyne, and I was asked to play Ophelia. That night Miss Ellen Terry was in front, and, when the performance was over she sent for me, and the things she said made me a very happy and very proud girl. It was after that performance that Mr. Benson engaged me for three years, during which time we came to the Lyceum, where I had the good fortune to attract the notice of Sir Herbert Tree, who engaged me, and with whom I remained for between three and four years.
As Alice in 'Henry V.' I made my London debut, my first real taste of success, however, being as Viola in 'Twefth Night.' But I believe, of all the characters I have impersonated , I most enjoy Rosalind as 'As You Like It.' I practically began my stage career in comedy, and much prefer it, for I think emotional parts, such as Clotilde in 'Count Hannibal,' for instance, have a tendency to make me rather depressed.
Later years have been spent in joint management with my husband, whom I have found a source of responsibilty and anxiety at times. He seems destined for trouble. When we were playing at a theatre in Dunedin, New Zealand, the counter-weight of the fire-proof curtain fell on him. Fortunately it glanced off his shoulder, but it caused me a short period of extreme anxiety. Again, when we were playing 'Kismet,' a pole from the flies fell on him. I was not on the stage at the time, but I can well remember my terror when a boy came running up to me and exclaimed, "Miss Brayton, Miss Brayton, a pole's fell on Mr.Asche!" But here, happily, my worst fears were ull-founded.
If any more heavy objects fall on him from the flies, I shall make him give up acting and go in for skittles, something less exciting.
Outside the theatre I have not much interest, except my love of the garden and of dogs, always my special pets. The theatre is my work and my play. My interest, however, in our productions does not begin and end with studying my part and playing it. I look upon the wardrobes as my special department.
What can be more fascinating to a woman than the study of clothes? For modern dress I don't care tuppence except, of course, that I like my own to be nice. Mediaeval clothes have always appealed to me. Indeed, so strong is this predilection for dress of a bygone day that I don't think it would interest me the least to play in a modern piece, nor do I look with favor on the modern tendency, especially in the attire of mere man, toward sombre color and subdued harmonies. Color affects one so much that I feel we should have everything around us as bright as possible.
I am sure that if we could only dispel the notion that bright colors are vulgar, and utilise them more in our dress and in our home decorations, life would be very much better.
In other respects, too, we have departed from the artistic in our dress. I hate the waistline and sigh for the days to come again when all our robes shall be loose and hang in graceful lines and soft clinging folds from the neck.
You can imagine, therefore, how the Eastern charm of 'Kismet' and 'Chu Chin Chow' appealed to me.