Julia Marlowe: From Coal Cellar to Center Stage
How a Childhood Escape to the Theater—and a Dazzling Ballerina Named Morlacchi—Set Julia Marlowe on the Path to Stage Legend
Readers of my work will already be familiar with legendary cowboy Texas Jack Omohundro and his wife, the renowned ballerina Giuseppina Morlacchi. Their partnership—fusing frontier grit with cosmopolitan elegance—became legendary in its own right. But another iconic theatrical duo, Julia Marlowe and E.H. Sothern, would go on to shape the American stage in profound ways, enchanting audiences with their masterful Shakespearean performances and earning lasting fame as one of theater’s most beloved pairs.
What makes the connection between these two couples so fascinating is a moment of early inspiration. Long before Julia Marlowe ever met Sothern, her passion for the stage was ignited by seeing Giuseppina Morlacchi perform in The French Spy in October 1872—just two months before Morlacchi appeared onstage in Chicago alongside her future husband Texas Jack and their close friend Buffalo Bill Cody in Ned Buntline’s The Scouts of the Prairie.
At the time, Julia Marlowe was still Sarah Frances Frost, an English girl newly arrived in America. Her family adopted the name Brough after her father, John Frost, fled England fearing prosecution—he believed he had injured another man during a horse race, causing him to lose an eye. When he sent for his wife and children, they took on the name Brough to avoid potential discovery or retaliation.
Julia’s early life was far from glamorous. After a failed attempt to settle in Kansas, the family moved to the Boneyfiddle district of Portsmouth, Ohio, and later to Cincinnati. There, her mother—known as Madame Brough—operated a notorious saloon and "fast house," catering to riverfront workers. The environment was violent and volatile; one incident left her mother badly scarred. Amid this rough upbringing, young Sarah, then called Fanny Brough, witnessed firsthand the seedy underside of life along the Ohio River.
Taking the long way home from school to avoid going home, she often passed Pike's Opera House, where she would stop to stare at the playbills and advertisements for shows at the Opera House.
"In going to and from school in Cincinnati, I stared fascinated at the playbills of the old National Theatre: Madame Morlacchi in the French Spy...within me stirred a hot desire to ride horses, to shoot apples off other people's heads, to be a glamorous heroine. Meanwhile, my ability to learn had improved with age, for at eleven I achieved sixth grade. Recitations—poems and dialogues—were my favorite; although I was rarely ever better than second in my other classes, in recitations I was always first."
Fanny would later recall thinking she was sent to the coal cellar as punishment for misbehavior, though it’s likely her mother was keeping her and her brother out of sight during the saloon’s more illicit activities. In a household where danger was upstairs and innocence was stashed in the basement, this concealment may have been less discipline than desperate protection.
In Julia Marlowe’s Story, recorded by her husband E.H. Sothern, she recounts the experience that changed her life: escaping from the locked coal cellar with her brother and heading straight to the theater.
My first play! It was an epoch in my life, of course, but it was a rare adventure, too. My small brother and I for some misconduct had been condemned to the coal cellar and its door was locked. While my brother employed himself investigating rat holes, I sat forlorn at the top of the cellar steps. My back was to the kitchen door, I was plunged into combre thought on the wickedness of grownups who had such awful power over poor, helpless, little girls. Meanwhile my brother climbed on top of the heap of coal and, using the shovel, pushed up the lid of the coal hole which opened on to the pavement. I ran to his assistance. As much inflamed by a sense of injury as I, he proposed that we escape into the outside world. He helped me up first and then, by the aid of acrobatics, emerged himself. Now we were free, my brother suggested that we go to the theatre. Through dealings in bottles, rags, and old paper he had the price of admission, so off we dashed hand in hand to see Madame Morlacchi in The French Spy. Breathless we reached the theatre and bough two gallery seats for ten cents each.
The spectacle of Giuseppina Morlacchi's thrilling performance profoundly impacted young Marlowe:
"What a glorious night! The heroine was a female version of Mazeppa, bound to a white horse which rushed through mountain passes. Oh, that I were she! That perilous ride! The golden hair! The limelight! The thunders of applause! When the curtain fell, my brother and I ran home, lifted the lid of the coal hole, dropped back into the cellar and, finding the door now unlocked stole up to bed. Many another time we proceeded by our subterranean route to the plays, and only when trade in old bottles was poor did we miss our one marvelous night a week at the theatre."
This exhilarating night of rebellion and artistic awakening—sparked by Morlacchi’s stunning performance—set Julia Marlowe on her lifelong path to becoming one of America's most cherished dramatic performers. Inspired by Morlacchi, she began acting at the age of thirteen and continued to perform for over four decades, retiring from the stage at fifty-nine. Over the course of her remarkable career, she became one of the most highly regarded actors of her generation, celebrated for her passionate portrayals of Shakespearean heroines.
Marlowe received honorary doctorates from both George Washington University and Columbia University in recognition of her contributions to American theater. She was also a proud and outspoken feminist, campaigning for women’s suffrage and supporting the fight for the right to vote. Her advocacy work earned her a place on the Advisory Council of the Congressional Union for Woman Suffrage, where she stood alongside pioneering activists like Alice Paul and Lucy Burns.
Julia Marlowe died in New York City in 1950 at the age of 85, with no children but an enduring legacy. She was inspired by one great performer—and in turn, she inspired a generation of early Hollywood actors, helping to usher in a new era of performance and forever changing the face of American theater.
Awsome research Matt