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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Me. It Is Not Often That Such A Piece Of Awkwardness As This Is
Perpetrated On The Stage, But Dramatic Heroines Are Nevertheless Liable
To Sundry Disagreeable Difficulties Of A Very Unromantic Nature. If A
Gentleman In A Ball-Room Places His Hand Round A Lady's Waist To Waltz
With Her, She Can, Without Any Shock To The "Situation," Beg Him To
Release The End Spray Of Her Flowery Garland, Or The Floating Ribbons Of
Her Head-Dress, Which He May Have Imprisoned; But In The Middle Of A
Scene Of Tragedy Grief Or Horror, Of The Unreality Of Which, By Dint Of
The Effort Of Your Imagination, You Are No Longer Conscious, To Be
Obliged To Say, In Your Distraction, To Your Distracted Partner In Woe,
"Please Lift Your Arm From My Waist, You Are Pulling My Head Down
Backwards," Is A Distraction, Too, Of Its Kind.
The Only Occasion On Which I Ever Acted Juliet To A Romeo Who Looked The
Part Was One When Miss Ellen Tree Sustained It. The Acting Of Romeo, Or
Any Other Man's Part By A Woman (In Spite Of Mrs. Siddons's Hamlet), Is,
In My Judgment, Contrary To Every Artistic And Perhaps Natural
Propriety, But I Cannot Deny That The Stature "More Than Common Tall,"
And The Beautiful Face, Of Which The Fine Features Were Too Marked In
Their Classical Regularity To Look Feeble Or Even Effeminate, Of My Fair
Female Lover Made Her Physically An Appropriate Representative Of Romeo.
Miss Ellen Tree Looked Beautiful And Not Unmanly In The Part; She Was
Broad-Shouldered As Well As Tall, And Her Long Limbs Had The Fine
Proportions Of The Huntress Diana; Altogether, She Made A Very "Pretty
Fellow," As The Saying Was Formerly, As All Who Saw Her In Her Graceful
Performance Of Talfourd's "Ion" Will Testify; But Assumption Of That
Character, Which In Its Ideal Classical Purity Is Almost Without Sex,
Was Less Open To Objection Than That Of The Fighting Young Veronese
Noble Of The Fourteenth Century. She Fenced Very Well, However, And
Acquitted Herself Quite Manfully In Her Duel With Tybalt; The Only Hitch
In The Usual "Business" Of The Part Was Between Herself And Me, And I Do
Not Imagine The Public, For One Night, Were Much Aggrieved By The
Omission Of The Usual Clap-Trap Performance (Part Of Garrick's
Interpolation, Which Indeed Belongs To The Original Story, But Which
Shakespeare's True Poet's Sense Had Discarded) Of Romeo's Plucking
Juliet Up From Her Bier And Rushing With Her, Still Stiff And Motionless
In Her Death-Trance, Down To The Foot-Lights. This Feat Miss Tree
Insisted Upon Attempting With Me, And I As Stoutly Resisted All Her
Entreaties To Let Her Do So. I Was A Very Slender-Looking Girl, But Very
Heavy For All That. (A Friend Of Mine, On My First Voyage To America,
Lifting Me From A Small Height, Set Me Down Upon The Deck, Exclaiming,
"Oh, You Solid Little Lady!" And My Cousin, John Mason, The First Time
He Acted Romeo With Me, Though A Very Powerful, Muscular Young Man,
Whispered To Me As He Carried My Corpse Down The Stage With A Fine
Semblance Of Frenzy, "Jove, Fanny, You Are A Lift!") Finding That All
Argument And Remonstrance Was Unavailing, And That Miss Tree, Though By
No Means Other Than A Good Friend And Fellow-Worker Of Mine, Was Bent
Upon Performing This Gymnastic Feat, I Said At Last, "If You Attempt To
Lift Or Carry Me Down The Stage, I Will Kick And Scream Till You Set Me
Down," Which Ended The Controversy. I Do Not Know Whether She Believed
Me, But She Did Not Venture Upon The Experiment.
I Am Reminded By This Recollection Of My Pleasant Professional
Fellowship With Miss Ellen Tree Of A Curious Instance Of The
Volume 1 Chapter 11 Pg 14Unprincipled, Flagrant Recklessness With Which Scandalous Gossip Is
Received And Circulated In What Calls Itself The Best English Society.
In Mr. Charles Greville's "Memoirs," He Makes A Statement That Miss Tree
Was Never Engaged At Covent Garden. The Play-Bills And The Newspapers Of
The Day Abundantly Contradicted This Assertion (At The Time He Entered
It In His Diary), And, Of Course, The Discreditable Motive Assigned For
The _Fact_.
I Cannot Help Thinking That, Had Mr. Greville Lived, Much Of The
Voluminous Record He Kept Of Persons And Events Would Have Been Withheld
From Publication. He Told Me, Not Long Before His Death, That He Had No
Recollection Whatever Of The Contents Of The Earlier Volumes Of His MS.
Journal Which He Had Lent Me To Read; And It Is Infinitely To Be
Regretted, If He Did Not Look Over Them Before They Were Published, That
The Discretion He Exercised (Or Delegated) In The Omission Of Certain
Passages Was Not Allowed To Prevail To The Exclusion Of Others. Such
Partial Omissions Would Not Indeed Alter The Whole Tone And Character Of
The Book, But Might Have Mitigated The Shock Of Painful Surprise With
Which It Was Received By The Society He Described, And By No One More
Than Some Of Those Who Had Been On Terms Of The Friendliest Intimacy
With Him And Who Had Repeatedly Heard Him Assert That His Journal Would
Never Be Published In The Lifetime Of Any One Mentioned In It.
I Consider That I Was Quite Justified In Using Even This Naughty Child's
Threat To Prevent Miss Tree From Doing What Might Very Well Have Ended
In Some Dangerous And Ludicrous Accident; Nor Did I Feel At All Guilty
Toward Her Of The Species Of Malice Prepense Which Malibran Exhibited
Toward Sontag, When They Sang In The Opera Of "Romeo And Juliet," On The
First Occasion Of Their Appearing Together During Their Brilliant Public
Career In England. Malibran's Mischievousness Partook Of The Force And
Versatility Of Her Extraordinary Genius, And Having Tormented Poor
Mademoiselle Sontag With Every Inconceivable Freak And Caprice During
The Whole Rehearsal Of The Opera, At Length, When Requested By Her To
Say In What Part Of The Stage She Intended To Fall In The Last Scene,
She, Malibran, Replied That She "Really Didn't Know," That She "Really
Couldn't Tell;" Sometimes She "Died In One Place, Sometimes In Another,
Just As It Happened, Or The Humor Took Her At The Moment." As Sontag Was
Bound To Expire In Loving Proximity To Her, And Was, I Take It, Much
Less Liable To Spontaneous Inspiration Than Her Fiery Rival, This Was By
No Means Satisfactory. She Had Nothing Like The Original Genius Of The
Other Woman, But Was Nevertheless A More Perfect Artist. Wanting Weight
And Power And Passion For Such Parts As Norma, Medea, Semiramide, Etc.,
She Was Perfect In The Tenderer And More Pathetic Parts Of Amina, Lucia
Di Lammermoor, Linda Di Chamouni; Exquisite In The Rosina And Carolina
Of The "Barbiere" And "Matrimonio Segreto;" And, In My Opinion, Quite
Unrivaled In Her Countess, In The "Nozze," And, Indeed, In All Rendering
Of Mozart's Music, To Whose Peculiar And Pre-Eminent Genius Hers Seemed
To Me In Some Degree Allied, And Of Whose Works She Was The Only
Interpreter I Ever Heard, Gifted Alike With The Profound German
Understanding Of Music And The Enchanting Italian Power Of Rendering It.
Her Mode Of Uttering Sound, Of Putting Forth Her Voice (The Test Which
All But Italians, Or Most Carefully Italian-Trained Singers, Fail In),
Was As Purely Unteutonic As Possible. She Was One Of The Most Perfect
Volume 1 Chapter 11 Pg 15Singers I Ever Heard, And Suggests To My Memory The Quaint Praise Of The
Gypsy Vocal Performance In The Ballad Of "Johnny Faa"--
"They Sang So Sweet,
So Very _Complete_,"
She Was The First Rosina I Ever Heard Who Introduced Into The Scene Of
The Music-Lesson "Rhodes Air," With The Famous Violin Variations, Which
She Performed By Way Of A _Vocalise_, To The Utter Amazement Of Her
Noble Music-Master, I Should Think, As Well As Her Audience.
Mademoiselle Nilsson Is The Only Prima Donna Since Her Day Who Has At
All Reminded Me Of Sontag, Who Was Lovely To Look At, Delightful To
Listen To, Good, Amiable, And Charming, And, Compared With Malibran,
Like The Evening Star To A Comet.
Defeated By Malibran's Viciousness In Rehearsing Her Death-Scene, She
Resigned Herself To The Impromptu Imposed Upon Her, And Prepared To
Follow Her Romeo, Wherever _She_ Might Choose To Die; But When The
Evening Came, Malibran Contrived To Die Close To The Foot-Lights And In
Front Of The Curtain; Sontag Of Necessity Followed, And Fell Beside Her
There; The Drop Came Down, And There Lay The Two Fair Corpses In Full
View Of The Audience, Of Course Unable To Rise Or Move, Till A Couple Of
Stage Footmen, In Red Plush Breeches, Ran In To The Rescue, Took The
Dead Capulet And Montague Each By The Shoulders, And Dragged Them Off At
The Side Scenes; The Spanish Woman In The Heroism Of Her Maliciousness
Submitting To This Ignominy For The Pleasure Of Subjecting Her Gentle
German Rival To It.
Madame Malibran Was Always An Object Of The Greatest Interest To Me, Not
Only On Account Of Her Extraordinary Genius, And Great And Various
Gifts, But Because Of The Many Details I Heard Of Her Youth From M. De
La Forest, The French Consul In New York, Who Knew Her As Marie Garcia,
A Wild And Wayward But Most Wonderful Girl, Under Her Father's
Tyrannical And Harsh Rule During The Time They Spent In The United
States. He Said That There Was Not A Piece Of Furniture In Their
Apartment That Had Not Been Thrown By The Father At The Daughter's Head,
In The Course Of The Moral And Artistic Training He Bestowed Upon Her:
It Is Perhaps Wonderful That Success In Either Direction Should Have
Been The Result Of Such A System; But, Upon The Whole, The Singer Seems
To Have Profited More Than The Woman From It, As Might Have Been
Expected. Garcia Was An Incomparable Artist, Actor, And Singer (No Such
Don Giovanni Has Ever Been Heard Or Seen Since), And Bestowed Upon All
His Children The Finest Musical Education That Ever Made Great Natural
Gifts Available To The Utmost To Their Possessors. I Suppose It Was From
Him, Too, That Marie Derived With Her Spanish Blood The Vehement,
Uncontrollable Nature Of Which M. De La Forest Told Me He Had Witnessed
Such Extraordinary Exhibitions In Her Girlhood. He Said She Would Fly
Into Passions Of Rage, In Which She Would Set Her Teeth In The Sleeve Of
Her Silk Gown, And Tear And Rend Great Pieces Out Of The Thick Texture
As If It Were Muslin; A Test Of The Strength Of Those Beautiful Teeth,
As Well As Of The Fury Of Her Passion. She Then Would Fall Rigid On The
Floor, Without Motion, Breath, Pulse, Or Color,
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