Records Of A Girlhood Volume 1 (1 Of 2) - Frances Ann Kemble (sad books to read TXT) 📗
- Author: Frances Ann Kemble
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Sorrow, Anguish,--The Sentimental And Suffering Element Of Tragedy. She
Was Expressly Devised For A Representative Victim; She Had, Too, A Rare
Endowment For Her Special Range Of Characters, In An Easily Excited,
Superficial Sensibility, Which Caused Her To Cry, As She Once Said To
Me, "Buckets Full," And Enabled Her To Exercise The (To Most Men)
Irresistible Influence Of A Beautiful Woman In Tears. The Power (Or
Weakness) Of Abundant Weeping Without Disfigurement Is An Attribute Of
Deficient Rather Than Excessive Feeling. In Such Persons The Tears Are
Poured From Their Crystal Cups Without Muscular Distortion Of The Rest
Of The Face. In Proportion To The Violence Or Depth Of Emotion, And The
Acute Or Profound Sensibility Of The Temperament, Is The Disturbance Of
The Countenance. In Sensitive Organizations, The Muscles Round The
Nostrils And Lips Quiver And Are Distorted, The Throat And Temples
Swell, And A Grimace, Which But For Its Miserable Significance Would Be
Grotesque, Convulses The Whole Face. Men's Tears Always Seem To Me As If
They Were Pumped Up From Their Heels, And Strained Through Every Drop Of
Blood In Their Veins; Women's, To Start As Under A Knife Stroke, Direct
With A Gush From Their Heart, Abundant And Beneficent; But Again, Women
Of The Temperament I Have Alluded To Above Have Fountains Of Lovely
Tears Behind Their Lovely Eyes, And Their Weeping, Which Is
Indescribably Beautiful, Is Comparatively Painless, And Yet Pathetic
Enough To Challenge Tender Compassion. I Have Twice Seen Such Tears
Shed, And Never Forgotten Them: Once From Heaven-Blue Eyes, And The Face
Looked Like A Flower With Pearly Dewdrops Sliding Over It; And Again,
Once From Magnificent, Dark, Uplifted Orbs, From Which The Falling Tears
Looked Like Diamond Rain-Drops By Moonlight.
Miss O'Neill Was A Supremely Touching, But Neither A Powerful Nor A
Passionate Actress. Personally, She Was The Very Beau Ideal Of Feminine
Weakness In Its Most Attractive Form--Delicacy. She Was Tall, Slender,
Elegantly Formed, And Extremely Graceful; Her Features Were Regular And
Finely Chiseled, And Her Hair Beautiful; Her Eyes Were Too Light, And
Her Eyebrows And Eyelashes Too Pale For Expression; Her Voice Wanted
Variety And Brilliancy For Comic Intonation, But Was Deep And Sonorous,
And Of A Fine Pathetic And Tragic Quality.
It Was Not An Easy Matter To Find A Romeo For Me, And In The Emergency
My Father And Mother Even Thought Of My Brother Henry's Trying The Part.
He Was In The First Bloom Of Youth, And Really Might Be Called
Beautiful; And Certainly, A Few Years Later, Might Have Been The Very
Ideal Of A Romeo. But He Looked Too Young For The Part, As Indeed He
Was, Being Three Years My Junior. The Overwhelming Objection, However,
Was His Own Insuperable Dislike To The Idea Of Acting, And His Ludicrous
Incapacity For Assuming The Faintest Appearance Of Any Sentiment.
However, He Learned The Words, And Never Shall I Forget The Explosion Of
Laughter Which Shook My Father, My Mother, And Myself, When, After
Hearing Him Recite The Balcony Scene With The Most Indescribable Mixture
Of Shy Terror And Nervous Convulsions Of Suppressed Giggling, My Father
Threw Down The Book, And Henry Gave Vent To His Feelings By Clapping His
Elbows Against His Sides And Bursting Into A Series Of Triumphant
Cock-Crows--An Expression Of Mental Relief So Ludicrously In Contrast
With His Sweet, Sentimental Face, And The Part He Had Just Been
Pretending To Assume, That I Thought We Never Should Have Recovered From
The Fits It Sent Us Into. We Were Literally All Crying With Laughter,
Volume 1 Chapter 11 Pg 11And A More Farcical Scene Cannot Be Imagined. This, Of Course, Ended All
Idea Of That Young Chanticleer Being My Romeo; And Yet The Young Rascal
Was, Or Fancied He Was, Over Head And Ears In Love At This Very Time,
And An Exquisite Sketch Hayter Had Just Made Of Him Might With The
Utmost Propriety Have Been Sent To The Exhibition With No Other Title
Than "Portrait Of A Lover."
The Part Of Romeo Was Given To Mr. Abbot, An Old-Established Favorite
With The Public, A Very Amiable And Worthy Man, Old Enough To Have Been
My Father, Whose Performance, Not Certainly Of The Highest Order, Was
Nevertheless Not Below Inoffensive Mediocrity. But The Public, Who Were
Bent Upon Doing More Than Justice To Me, Were Less Than Just To Him; And
The Abuse Showered Upon His Romeo, Especially By My More Enthusiastic
Admirers Of The Male Sex, Might, I Should Think, Have Embittered His
Stage Relations With Me To The Point Of Making Me An Object Of
Detestation To Him, All Through Our Theatrical Lives. A Tragicomic
Incident Was Related To Me By One Of The Parties Concerned In It, Which
Certainly Proved That Poor Mr. Abbot Was Quite Aware Of The Little Favor
His Romeo Found With My Particular Friends. One Of Them, The Son Of Our
Kind And Valued Friends The G----S, An Excellent, Good-Hearted, But Not
Very Wise Young Fellow, Invariably Occupied A Certain Favorite And
Favorable Position In The Midst Of The Third Row Of The Pit Every Night
That I Acted. There Were No Stalls Or Reserved Seats Then, Though Not
Long After I Came Out The Majority Of The Seats In The Orchestra Were
Let To Spectators, And Generally Occupied By A Set Of Young Gentlemen
Whom Sir Thomas Lawrence Always Designated As My "Body Guard." This,
However, Had Not Yet Been Instituted, And My Friend G---- Had Often To
Wait Long Hours, And Even To Fight For The Privilege Of His Peculiar
Seat, Where He Rendered Himself, I Am Sorry To Say, Not A Little
Ludicrous, And Not Seldom Rather Obnoxious To Everybody In His Vicinity,
By The Vehement Demonstrations Of His Enthusiasm--His Frantic Cries Of
"Bravo," His Furious Applause, And His Irrepressible Exclamations Of
Ecstasy And Agony During The Whole Play. He Became As Familiar To The
Public As The Stage Lamps Themselves, And Some Of His Immediate
Neighbors Complained Rather Bitterly Of The Incessant Din And Clatter Of
His Approbation, And The Bruises, Thumps, Contusions, And Constant Fears
Which His Lively Sentiments Inflicted Upon Them. This _Fanatico_ Of
Mine, Walking Home From The Theater One Night With Two Other Like-Minded
Individuals, Indulged Himself In Obstreperous Abuse Of Poor Mr. Abbot,
In Which He Was Heartily Joined By His Companions. Toward Cavendish
Square The Broad, Quiet Streets Rang With The Uproarious Mirth With
Which They Recapitulated His "Damnable Faces," "Strange Postures,"
Uncouth Gestures, And Ungainly Deportment; Imitation Followed Imitation
Of The Poor Actor's Peculiar Declamation, And The Night Became Noisy
With The Shouts Of Mingled Derision And Execration Of His Critics; When
Suddenly, As They Came To A Gas-Light At The Corner Of A Crossing, A
Solitary Figure Which Had Been Preceding Them, Without Possibility Of
Escape, Down The Long Avenue Of Harley Street, Where G---- Lived, Turned
Abruptly Round, And Confronted Them With Mr. Abbot's Unimpressive
Countenance. "Gentlemen," He Said, "No One Can Be More Aware Than Myself
Of The Defects Of My Performance Of Romeo, No One More Conscious Of Its
Entire Unworthiness Of Miss Kemble's Juliet; But All I Can Say Is, That
I Do Not Act The Part By My Own Choice, And Shall Be Delighted To Resign
It To Either Of You Who May Feel More Capable Than I Am Of Doing It
Volume 1 Chapter 11 Pg 12Justice." The Young Gentlemen, Though Admiring Me "Not Wisely, But Too
Well," Were Good-Hearted Fellows, And Were Struck With The Manly And
Moderate Tone Of Mr. Abbot's Rebuke, And Shocked At Having
Unintentionally Wounded The Feelings Of A Person Who (Except As Romeo),
Was Every Way Deserving Of Their Respect. Of Course They Could Not
Swallow All Their Foolish Words, And Abbot Bowed And Was Gone Before
They Could Stutter An Apology. I Have No Doubt That His Next Appearance
As Romeo Was Hailed With Some Very Cordial, Remorseful Applause,
Addressed To Him Personally As Some Relief To Their Feelings, By My
Indiscreet Partisans. My Friend G----, Not Very Long After This
Theatrical Passion Of His, Became What Is Sometimes Called "Religious,"
And Had Thoughts Of Going Into The Church, And Giving Up The Play-House.
He Confided To My Mother, Who Was His Mother's Intimate Friend, And Of
Whom He Was Very Fond, His Conscientious Scruples, Which She In No Wise
Combated; Though She Probably Thought More Moderation In Going To The
Theater, And A Little More Self-Control When There, Might Not, In Any
Event, Be Undesirable Changes In His Practice, Whether His Taking Holy
Orders Cut Him Off Entirely From What Was Then His Principal Pleasure,
Or Not. One Night, When The Venerable Prebend Of St. Paul's, Her Old
Friend, Dr. Hughes, Was In Her Box With Her, Witnessing My Performance
(Which My Mother Never Failed To Attend), She Pointed Out G----,
_Scrimmaging_ About, As Usual, In His Wonted Place In The Pit, And Said,
"There Is A Poor Lad Who Is Terribly Disturbed In His Own Mind About The
Very Thing He Is Doing At This Moment. He Is Thinking Of Going Into The
Church, And More Than Half Believes That He Ought To Give Up Coming To
The Play." "That Depends, I Should Say," Replied Dear Old Dr. Hughes,
"Upon His Own Conviction In The Matter, And Nothing Else; Meantime, Pray
Give Him My Compliments, And Tell Him _I_ Have Enjoyed The Performance
To-Night Extremely."
Mr. Abbot Was In Truth Not A Bad Actor, Though A Perfectly Uninteresting
One In Tragedy; He Had A Good Figure, Face, And Voice, The Carriage And
Appearance Of A Well-Bred Person, And, In What Is Called Genteel Comedy,
Precisely The Air And Manner Which It Is Most Difficult To Assume, That
Of A Gentleman. He Had Been In The Army, And Had Left It For The Stage,
Where His Performances Were Always Respectable, Though Seldom Anything
More. Wanting Passion And Expression In Tragedy, He Naturally Resorted
To Vehemence To Supply Their Place, And Was Exaggerated And Violent From
The Absence Of All Dramatic Feeling And Imagination. Moreover, In
Moments Of Powerful Emotion He Was Apt To Become Unsteady On His Legs,
And Always Filled Me With Terror Lest In Some Of His Headlong Runs And
Rushes About The Stage He Should Lose His Balance And Fall; As Indeed He
Once Did, To My Unspeakable Distress, In The Play Of "The Grecian
Daughter," In Which He Enacted My Husband, Phocion, And Flying To
Embrace Me, After A Period Of Painful And Eventful Separation, He
Completely Overbalanced Himself, And Swinging Round With Me In His Arms,
We Both Came To The Ground Together. "Oh, Mr. Abbot!" Was All I Could
Ejaculate; He, Poor Man, Literally Pale Green With Dismay, Picked Me Up
In Profound Silence, And The Audience Kindly Covered Our Confusion, And
Comforted Us By Vehement Applause, Not, Indeed, Unmixed With Laughter.
But My Friends And Admirers Were None The More His After That Exploit;
And I Remained In Mortal Dread Of His Stage Embraces For Ever After,
Steadying Myself Carefully On My Feet, And Bracing My Whole Figure To
"Stand Fast," Whenever He Made The Smallest Affectionate Approach Toward
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