Anita Stewart — The Most Beautiful “Good Woman” in the Movies (1916) 🇺🇸

I heard a rippling melody in prose!

by Tom Bret

At first in the distance, then gradually drawing nearer, the cheery call of a youthful celebrity re-echoed thru the corridors of the west wing of the great Vitagraph studios, while I waited.

That sound was as clear as the high note of some rich-reeded, soft-toned organ, and as ear-pleasing as the clarion-call of an oriole.

And it heralded the approach of a creature as sweet as her voice.

“Well, I got my pie!” And there, in the door of her dressing-room, a radiant vision of loveliness stopped short when she saw that her secretary was not alone, and that I was lying in wait for her.

Mark my words, however, that was a striking entrance, for, as this little leading lady of the films stood there, in her pretty blue gown, with a dash of filmy pink heightening the peach-like complexion of her pretty, inquisitive face, it was so surely natural and vivacious that she seemed to exude joy in volumes, and it revealed, in a mindful manner, the great girl within, the heart of the most beautiful portrayer of the “good woman” in the movies.

I know you’re impatient, dear reader, to get a glimpse of the throne-room of Miss Stewart. When I reached there, I found she was visiting in another dressing-room, on her way in; consequently, I reached the conclusion that she is a very chummy sort of a person. This, however, gave me the opportunity to meet her secretary, Mrs. Margaret Talford, who, because of her motherly appearance, gives one more the impression of a chaperon than of a secretarial lady. The dressing-room itself is a dream of white and blue furniture, containing also upholstered, semi-circular divan; olive-green, fireproof lockers, fairly bulging with costly costumes; an art gallery, strung by brass tacks about brown-and cream-colored walls. In that galaxy of stars are Mother Maurice, Hughie Mack, Wally Van, Eleanor Woodruff, and nearly a hundred other celebrities of the Vitagraph family, past and present. I was struck by the fact that S. Rankin Drew, that brilliant young scion of a brilliant theatrical house, which includes the Drews and Barrymores, occupied the high altar of Miss Stewart’s affections, for his photo stood on a center table, beside a vase of roses and rich, red carnations, all emblems of undying devotion: while on a dainty side altar, as it were, a portrait of Earle Williams, the celebrated leading man, was also enshrined among a pro fusion of pink carnations.

I had just about sized up the place well, noticing the running water, fancy electric lights, and various other fixtures of modern convenience, when the most exquisite young woman in the movies, the lover of pie and children and pretty things, made her appearance. With the businesslike directness of an executioner, I shortly had her maidenly confusion subdued, and proceeded with the interview. She told me, without a blush, that she is fully nineteen years of age, and that she gets from seventy to a hundred and fifty letters a day, most of them from girls, attracted by her remarkable screen personality. Incidentally, I noticed her toys, a goat (her own — no one’s got it yet), and a doll in the gown of a French maid.

Her beauty secret?

Early to bed and late to rise, and, as the devoted Mrs. Talford interpolated, Miss Stewart’s abundant good humor.

Talking shop with this bit of female Tiffany, I learnt that she believed her greatest dramatic triumph was not in the famous serial, The Goddess, but in another gripping production, entitled A Million Bid, written by the late Mrs. Sidney Drew, who was Phyllis Rankin. This revered authoress, by the way, was the mother of S. Rankin Drew, Miss Stewart’s present director.

The genial star confided in me further that she is quite as exemplary in her habits as a well domesticated married man. She doesn’t smoke cigarets, drink, or stay out late at night.

She is never out late, except at a movie ball, or a charitable affair, where her presence is frequently a notable event.

Her next picture will be a Russian masterpiece, in which she is to grow from girlhood to womanhood and do all sorts of romantic adventures.

To the construction of a magnificent mansion, which Miss Stewart is having erected, of stucco and stone, at Brightwaters, Bay Shore, N. Y., is attached a bit of sentiment, for she is to call the place Wood Violet, in commemoration of the fact that her first screen appearance, three years ago, was as a wood-nymph, in a play of that name.

When, rather timidly, I inquired whether or not she was engaged, Miss Stewart became radiantly enthusiastic about not getting married. No; she is not engaged and positively will not become involved in matrimonial entanglements for the next five years. In this she seems a most sincere young lady, caring perhaps as little for the admiration of the opposite sex as she does for jewelry, and she doesn’t wear a trinket of any sort.

Here’s another mighty pretty thing about her. She doesn’t even use slang. Her every effort seems to be to cultivate within herself a refined and noble character, for she is a firm believer in the principle that her personality shows in her work, and, to move and entertain the hearts of the throng, she strives to live so as to reflect a lovable soul as well as a pleasing personality.

She gets proposals by the bushel. A widower, in Wales, with some cash, a farm and a whole hennery full of chickens, said he would pull out his hair and have no peace on earth should she refuse to come to him as his bride. He’ll be bald entirely before Anita sees him. Soldier Ramson, way over in the trenches at Verdun, wrote her that he expected to die on the morrow, that he had no kith or kin, and so he wrote her a note of farewell, because he had grown to love her on the screen. He has not written since and has probably been killed in action.

But the best of all her mash notes is one from an ardent admirer in flowery Japan. Here it is, fresh from the Orient:

Tokio, Japan,

Jan. 10th, 1916.

My Dear Miss A. Stewart:

I saw the biograph of 413, which are very amusing, and the great scale in the picture-theater of our city previously and I specially suit your skilful performance in it. You are very highly spoken of.

I like very much you. Even now I can’t forgot yours figure from my head, and therefore if I can see your art in other day, I am glad very much.

I hope to send you anything what you wishes, and I beg you will henceforth favour me with your friendship.

I am anxiously await your photograph enclosed answer.

I remain,

Sincerely yours,

Chogi Yachi.

She thought that was the “most cunning and cutest thing” she had ever read, and made haste to take the address of her quaint Japanese wooer; then, with hands clasped fervently over her knee, she mused aloud:

“My dear Mrs. Talford, have we sent him a photograph? Let us do it now. We must surely send him one.”

I really don’t blame the Jap. There are only seven reasons why I should not be tempted to do the same thing myself — a wife and six children.

Oh, yes; I had a long and enjoyable talk with Miss Stewart, whom I pronounce clever as well as pretty. Her composite loveliness lies in the fact that she has a modest demeanor, the freshness of youth unspoiled by fame, the gift of sympathy, a charming personality, and, withal, a radiant beauty that emanates from a good and perfect heart. ‘Tis said by wiseacres that an actress should sink her personality in her part. If so, I don’t want to see Anita Stewart on the screen again; for it is the dainty and charming and heart-whole ensemble of her — her personality — that makes her the hit she is. Seeing this exceedingly remarkable young woman and great artist, one may well be reminded of the poetic tribute of John E. Barrett, the Scranton bard, when he wrote:

For it’s not the new woman we want, nor the old woman,

But the good woman;

Then bend the knee as we address her, Here’s to the woman who’s good! God bless her!

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Anita Stewart (Vitagraph)

Photo by: Campbell

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Photo by: White

Photo by: Apeda

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In her greatest triumph, A Million Bid

Anita Stewart in her first great success, The Wood Violet

Collection: Motion Picture Classic Magazine, June 1916