Records Of A Girlhood Volume 1 (1 Of 2), Frances Ann Kemble [i can read book club .txt] 📗
- Author: Frances Ann Kemble
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Enthusiasm, Respect, Or Love For It, It Is Wonderful To Me That I Ever
Achieved _Any_ Success In It At All. The Dramatic Element Inherent In My
Organization Must Have Been Very Powerful, To Have Enabled Me Without
Either Study Of Or Love For My Profession To Do Anything Worth Anything
In It.
But This Is The Reason Why, With An Unusual Gift And Many Unusual
Advantages For It, I Did Really So Little; Why My Performances Were
Always Uneven In Themselves And Perfectly Unequal With Each Other, Never
Complete As A Whole, However Striking In Occasional Parts, And Never At
The Same Level Two Nights Together; Depending For Their Effect Upon The
State Of My Nerves And Spirits, Instead Of Being The Result Of
Deliberate Thought And Consideration,--Study, In Short, Carefully And
Conscientiously Applied To My Work; The Permanent Element Which
Preserves The Artist, However Inevitably He Must Feel The Influence Of
Moods Of Mind And Body, From Ever Being At Their Mercy.
I Brought But One Half The Necessary Material To The Exercise Of My
Profession, That Which Nature Gave Me; And Never Added The Cultivation
And Labor Requisite To Produce Any Fine Performance In The Right Sense
Of The Word; And, Coming Of A Family Of _Real_ Artists, Have Never Felt
That I Deserved That Honorable Name.
A Letter Written At This Time To Miss S---- Shows How Comparatively
Small A Part My Approaching Ordeal Engrossed My Thoughts.
JAMES STREET, September 24, 1829,
MY DEAREST H----,
Your Letter Grieved Me Very Much, But It Did Not Surprise Me; Of
Your Brother's Serious Illness I Had Heard From My Cousin, Horace
Twiss. But Is There Indeed Cause For The Terrible Anxiety You
Express? I Know How Impossible It Is To Argue With The
Apprehensions Of Affection, And Should Have Forborne This Letter
Altogether, But That I Felt Very Deeply Your Kindness In Writing To
Me At Such A Time, And That I Would Fain Assure You Of My
Heart-Felt Sympathy, However Unavailing It May Be. To You Who Have
A Steadfast Anchor For Your Hopes, I Ought Not, Perhaps, To Say,
"Do Not Despond." Yet, Dearest H----, Do Not Despond: Is There
_Any_ Occasion When Despair Is Justified? I Know How Lightly All
Soothing Counsel Must Be Held, In A Case Of Such Sorrow As Yours,
But Among Fellow-Christians Such Words Still Have Some
Significance; For The Most Unworthy Of That Holy Profession May
Point Unfalteringly To The Only Consolations Adequate To The Need
Of Those Far Above Them In Every Endowment Of Mind And Heart And
Religious Attainment. Dear H----, I Hardly Know How To Tell You How
Much I Feel For You, How Sincerely I Hope Your Fears May Prove
Groundless, And How Earnestly I Pray That, Should They Prove
Prophetic, You May Be Enabled To Bear The Affliction, To Meet Which
I Doubt Not Strength Will Be Given You. This Is All I Dare Say;
Those Who Love You Best Will Hardly Venture To Say More. To Put
Away Entirely The Idea Of An Evil Which One May Be Called Upon At
Volume 1 Chapter 11 Pg 8Loan, The Repayment Of Which May Be Exacted At The Very Moment,
Perhaps, When We Are Forgetting In Its Possession The Precarious
Tenure By Which Alone It Is Ours.
My Dear Father And Mother Have Both Been Very Unwell; The Former Is
A Little Recovered, But The Latter Is Still In A Sad State Of
Bodily Suffering And Mental Anxiety. Our Two Boys Are Well And
Happy, And I Am Very Well And Not Otherwise Than Happy. I Regret To
Say Mrs. Henry Siddons Will Leave London In A Very Short Time; This
Is A Great Loss To Me. I Owe More To Her Than I Can Ever Repay; For
Though Abundant Pains Had Been Bestowed Upon Me Previously To My
Going To Her, It Was She Who Caused To Spring Whatever Scattered
Seeds Of Good Were In Me, Which Almost Seemed As If They Had Been
Cast Into The Soil In Vain.
My Dear H----, I Am Going On The Stage: The Nearest Period Talked
Of For My _Début_ Is The First Of October, At The Opening Of The
Theater; The Furthest, November; But I Almost Think I Should Prefer
The Nearest, For It Is A Very Serious Trial To Look Forward To, And
I Wish It Were Over. Juliet Is To Be My Opening Part, But Not To My
Father's Romeo; There Would Be Many Objections To That; He Will Do
Mercutio For Me. I Do Not Enter More Fully Upon This, Because I
Know How Few Things Can Be Of Interest To You In Your Present State
Of Feeling, But I Wished You Not To Find The First Notice Of My
Entrance On The Stage Of Life In A Newspaper. God Bless You,
Dearest H----, And Grant You Better Hopes.
Your Most Affectionate
FANNY.
My Father Not Acting Romeo With Me Deprived Me Of The Most Poetical And
Graceful Stage Lover Of His Day; But The Public, Who Had Long Been
Familiar With His Rendering Of The Part Of Romeo, Gained As Much As I
Lost, By His Taking That Of Mercutio, Which Has Never Since Been So
Admirably Represented, And I Dare Affirm Will Never Be Given More
Perfectly. The Graceful Ease, And Airy Sparkling Brilliancy Of His
Delivery Of The Witty Fancies Of That Merry Gentleman, The Gallant
Defiance Of His Bearing Toward The Enemies Of His House, And His
Heroically Pathetic And Humorous Death-Scene, Were Beyond Description
Charming. He Was One Of The Best Romeos, And Incomparably _The_ Best
Mercutio, That Ever Trod The English Stage.
My Father Was Miss O'Neill's Romeo Throughout Her Whole Theatrical
Career, During Which No Other Juliet Was Tolerated By The English
Public. This Amiable And Excellent Woman Was Always An Attached Friend
Of Our Family, And One Day, When She Was About To Take Leave Of Me, At
The End Of A Morning Visit, I Begged Her To Let My Father Have The
Pleasure Of Seeing Her, And Ran To His Study To Tell Him Whom I Had With
Me. He Followed Me Hastily To The Drawing-Room, And Stopping At The
Door, Extended His Arms Towards Her, Exclaiming, "Ah, Juliet!" Lady
Becher Ran To Him And Embraced Him With A Pretty, Affectionate Grace,
And The Scene Was Pathetical As Well As Comical, For They Were Both
White-Haired, She Being Considerably Upward Of Sixty And He Of Seventy
Years Old; But She Still Retained The Slender Elegance Of Her Exquisite
Volume 1 Chapter 11 Pg 9Figure, And He Some Traces Of His Pre-Eminent Personal Beauty.
My Mother Had A Great Admiration And Personal Regard For Lady Becher,
And Told Me An Anecdote Of Her Early Life Which Transmitted Those
Feelings Of Hers To Me. Lord F----, Eldest Son Of The Earl Of E----, A
Personally And Mentally Attractive Young Man, Fell Desperately In Love
With Miss O'Neill, Who Was (What The Popular Theatrical Heroine Of The
Day Always Is) The Realization Of Their Ideal To The Youth, Male And
Female, Of Her Time, The Stage Star Of Her Contemporaries. Lord F----'S
Family Had Nothing To Say Against The Character, Conduct, Or Personal
Endowments Of The Beautiful, Actress Who Had Enchanted, To Such Serious
Purpose As Marriage, The Heir Of Their House; But Much, Reasonably And
Rightly Enough, Against Marriages Disproportionate To Such A Degree As
That, And The Objectionable Nature Of The Young Woman's Peculiar
Circumstances And Public Calling. Both Miss O'Neill, However, And Lord
F---- Were Enough In Earnest In Their Mutual Regard To Accept The Test
Of A Year's Separation And Suspension Of All Intercourse. She Remained
To Utter Herself In Juliet To The English Public, And Her Lover Went And
Travelled Abroad, Both Believing In Themselves And Each Other. No
Letters Or Communication Passed Between Them; But Toward The End Of
Their Year Of Probation Vague Rumors Came Flying To England Of The Life
Of Dissipation Led By The Young Man, And Of The Unworthy Companions With
Whom He Entertained The Most Intimate Relations. After This Came More
Explicit Tales Of Positive Entanglement With One Particular Person, And
Reports Of An Entire Devotion To One Object Quite Incompatible With The
Constancy Professed And Promised To His English Mistress.
Probably Aware That Every Effort Would, Till The Last, Be Made By Lord
F----'S Family To Detach Them From Each Other, Bound By Her Promise To
Hold No Intercourse With Him, But Determined To Take The Verdict Of Her
Fate From No One But Himself, Miss O'Neill Obtained A Brief Leave Of
Absence From Her Theatrical Duties, Went With Her Brother And Sister To
Calais, Whence She Travelled Alone To Paris (Poor, Fair Juliet! When I
Think Of Her, Not As I Ever Knew Her, But Such As I Know She Must Then
Have Been, No More Pathetic Image Presents Itself To My Mind), And Took
Effectual Measures To Ascertain Beyond All Shadow Of Doubt The Bitter
Truth Of The Evil Reports Of Her Fickle Lover's Mode Of Life. His
Devotion To One Lady, The More Respectable Form Of Infidelity Which Must
Inevitably Have Canceled Their Contract Of Love, Was Not Indeed True,
And Probably The Story Had Been Fabricated Because The Mere General
Accusation Of Profligacy Might Easily Have Been Turned Into An Appeal To
Her Mercy, As The Result Of Reckless Despondency And Of His Utter
Separation From Her; And A Woman In Her Circumstances Might Not Have
Been Hard To Find Who Would Have Persuaded Herself That She Might
Overlook "All That," Reclaim Her Lover, And Be An Earl's Wife. Miss
O'Neill Rejoined Her Family At Calais, Wrote To Lord F----'S Father, The
Earl Of E----, Her Final And Irrevocable Rejection Of His Son's Suit,
Fell Ill Of Love And Sorrow, And Lay For Some Space Between Life And
Death For The Sake Of Her Unworthy Lover; Rallied Bravely, Recovered,
Resumed Her Work,--Her Sway Over Thousands Of Human Hearts,--And, After
Lapse Of Healing And Forgiving And Forgetting Time, Married Sir William
Wrixon Becher.
The Peculiar Excellence Of Her Acting Lay In The Expression Of Pathos
Volume 1 Chapter 11 Pg 10
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