Geraldine Farrar — Gerry: The Woman (1920) 🇺🇸
It is quite true that I set out to “cover” Geraldine Farrar the prima donna and Geraldine Farrar the cinema star.
by Adele Whitely Fletcher
And while, after a fashion, I did “cover” them, it was primarily Gerry the woman with whom I chatted away the evening. And I might have called my story “The Philosophy of Geraldine” and it would have been quite all right, for her philosophy is well worth handing on to every one. But somehow, when I left her palatial home and wended my way subwaywards, I felt that I had met, above all else — the woman.
Her philosophy is not of the brand which orators deliver to audiences, clothed in exquisite literary style — it is an every-day philosophy and she does not talk it — she lives it.
She is vivid, possessor of unlimited energy, optimistic and supremely happy.
One might shrug his shoulders and ask why she should not be happy. Fortune has remembered her consistently, it is true, and she has tasted in a great measure the success for which countless thousands daily strive.
At the Metropolitan Opera House in New York she holds the audiences spellbound by the magic of her voice and the artistry of her acting thru the entire winter season. The glittering horseshoe, with all its representativeness, culture and wealth, has been at her feet.
Thru her films, she has reached out into the most obscure corners of the world, bringing romance in all its tones of rose and silver to those who may never know Geraldine Farrar the prima donna.
But I should not say that it is primarily because of this that she is happy.
Her home holds many treasures; its curving marble stairways are carpeted in velvet and the walls are tapestry hung; rare rugs from the Fast, where dusky hands spent lifetimes in their weaving, cover the exquisite doors; there are priceless bits of furniture, many pieces with a history; and the cream bookshelves encircling the rose-silken upholstered walls of the library hold priceless volumes, many of them first editions, hand-tooled with exquisite engravings.
Because these things have come to her thru her own endeavors they possess for her a value far beyond their intrinsic worth — but again I should not say that it is this which brings her happiness.
Before she came I had been conscious of the great beauty about me, even while I talked with her secretary.
Then she came — Gerry — one always thinks of her as that; it suits her, somehow, with her happy earnestness.
The iron- wrought door clanged; she spoke a few sentences in French to the butler and then she swept in, swathed in caracul cloth and chinchilla.
“Miss Fletcher,” she said, “you have waited. It was kind of you.”
Then the wrap and hat were flung into the old-rose recesses of a wide polychrome chair and she curled up on the lounge, giving her marcelled tresses an adjusting pat which was entirely unnecessary. All day she had been rehearsing for the premiere of her new opera, but she failed to appear the least ruffled or fagged.
In the winter she devotes her entire time to the opera and it is in the spring, summer and early fall that she and Mr. Tellegen [Lou Tellegen] live quietly in Hollywood, giving themselves to the screen.
Generally it is the incentive to accomplish something which urges us on, and I wondered what urge Gerry knew, when she has, so it would seem, reached the summits.
“I am striving to retain that which I have gained,” she explained. “It is far more difficult to stay, as it were, than it is to arrive. At first one is a novelty, but when you have been recognized and accepted, you must prove your right to that which has been given to you. It has been said often before, but its triteness does not affect its truth — therefore, may I say it again?
“My voice and my ability are gifts with which I have been entrusted. My responsibility of caring for those gifts is indeed great — the responsibility of passing them on to my public is even greater.”
She has not made desperate and frantic strives towards happiness. If it be true that she has sought it, then it has been unconsciously. There is nothing forced in her living or her manner, nor does she play at Pollyanna’s “glad game,” yet, she is supremely happy and it is her great sense of happiness which one carries away with him. There is a happiness within herself which shines out.
“Many of us,” she said with her wonderfully brilliant smile, when we talked of happiness, “base our happiness on the wrong things — base it on worldly things. We are foolish. Such things are passing, and with them will go the very happiness they have brought with them. Take myself; just for instance. Always the public will not flock to see me. My very voice which gave me public favor in the first place, is not a thing to be relied upon. Nervous strain, worry or overwork might rob me of it before I could readjust myself — were my happiness based on that, then I should cease being happy. Oh, no. We were meant to be happy — every single one of us. But the fault lies within ourselves. We blindly call great things little.”
She is earnest in her talking — sitting forward — trying hard to pass on any truths she feels she has come to know.
She was quite sure when I questioned her about it, that it is not the success she has won which has given her happiness, for she told me there was a time when money did not come as rapidly as there were needs for it. She told me of the time when she, in her early ‘teens, was permitted to go abroad to study, knowing full well, that if these were not results at the end of a certain time, it would mean giving up everything for which she had dreamed and planned. And she was happy then.
“I feel that I was born with a happy disposition,” she said. “My parents could have given me no greater heritage. I think it must be frightful to have to teach yourself to be happy.”
Before she had come, her secretary had told me of her interest in the home; of how she arises early every morning so that she may plan her household matters for the day before giving herself to professional things — telling me of it in a way which bespoke great admiration — in a way that became something of a tribute to her for whom she labored.
And when, during the evening, Miss Farrar evinced a pleasurable interest in the light refreshments which were served I remembered the secretary’s words.
Gerry is the prima donna; Gerry is the cinema star…
But far and above that — Gerry is the woman — appreciative of the gifts which have been bestowed upon her. caring for them and loving them — but cherishing her womanhood — her wifehood, even more than these.
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In the winter she devotes her entire time to the opera and it is in the spring, summer and early fall that she and Mr. Tellegen live quietly in Hollywood, giving themselves to the screen
Photo by Fred Hartsook
Photos by Sarony
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“[It seems] that I was born with a happy disposition,” she said. “My parents could have given me no greater heritage. I think it must be frightful to have to teach yourself to be happy”
Photo by Fred Hartsook
Photos by Sarony Studios
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Collection: Motion Picture Magazine, July 1920