Records Of A Girlhood Volume 1 (1 Of 2) by Frances Ann Kemble (best e reader for android .txt) 📕

Screened My Eyes From It, My Mother Said, "Heaven Smiles On You, My

Child." My Poor Mother Went To Her Dressing-Room To Get Herself Ready,

And Did Not Return To Me For Fear Of Increasing My Agitation By Her Own.

My Dear Aunt Dall And My Maid And The Theater Dresser Performed My

Toilet For Me, And At Length I Was Placed In A Chair, With My Satin

Train Carefully Laid Over The Back Of It; And There I Sat, Ready For

Execution, With The Palms Of My Hands Pressed Convulsively Together, And

The Tears I In Vain Endeavored To Repress Welling Up Into My Eyes And

Brimming Slowly Over, Down My Rouged Cheeks--Upon Which My Aunt, With A

Smile Full Of Pity, Renewed The Color As Often As These Heavy Drops Made

Unsightly Streaks In It. Once And Again My Father Came To The Door, And

I Heard His Anxious "How Is She?" To Which My Aunt Answered, Sending Him

Away With Words Of Comforting Cheer. At Last, "Miss Kemble Called For

The Stage, Ma'am!" Accompanied With A Brisk Tap At The Door, Started Me

Upright On My Feet, And I Was Led Round To The Side Scene Opposite To

The One From Which I Saw My Mother Advance On The Stage; And While The

Uproar Of Her Reception Filled Me With Terror, Dear Old Mrs. Davenport,

My Nurse, And Dear Mr. Keely, Her Peter, And Half The _Dramatis Personæ_

Of The Play (But Not My Father, Who Had Retreated, Quite Unable To

Endure The Scene) Stood Round Me As I Lay, All But Insensible, In My

Aunt's Arms. "Courage, Courage, Dear Child! Poor Thing, Poor Thing!"

Reiterated Mrs. Davenport. "Never Mind 'Em, Miss Kemble!" Urged Keely,

In That Irresistibly Comical, Nervous, Lachrymose Voice Of His, Which I

Have Never Since Heard Without A Thrill Of Anything But Comical

Association; "Never Mind 'Em! Don't Think Of 'Em, Any More Than If They

Were So Many Rows Of Cabbages!" "Nurse!" Called My Mother, And On

Waddled Mrs. Davenport, And, Turning Back, Called In Her Turn, "Juliet!"

My Aunt Gave Me An Impulse Forward, And I Ran Straight Across The Stage,

Stunned With The Tremendous Shout That Greeted Me, My Eyes Covered With

Mist, And The Green Baize Flooring Of The Stage Feeling As If It Rose Up

Against My Feet; But I Got Hold Of My Mother, And Stood Like A Terrified

Creature At Bay, Confronting The Huge Theater Full Of Gazing Human

Beings. I Do Not Think A Word I Uttered During This Scene Could Have

Been Audible; In The Next, The Ball-Room, I Began To Forget Myself; In

The Following One, The Balcony Scene, I Had Done So, And, For Aught I

Knew, I Was Juliet; The Passion I Was Uttering Sending Hot Waves Of

Blushes All Over My Neck And Shoulders, While The Poetry Sounded Like

Music To Me As I Spoke It, With No Consciousness Of Anything Before Me,

Utterly Transported Into The Imaginary Existence Of The Play. After

This, I Did Not Return Into Myself Till All Was Over, And Amid A

Tumultuous Storm Of Applause, Congratulation, Tears, Embraces, And A

General Joyous Explosion Of Unutterable Relief At The Fortunate

Termination Of My Attempt, We Went Home. And So My Life Was Determined,

And I Devoted Myself To An Avocation Which I Never Liked Or Honored, And

About The Very Nature Of Which I Have Never Been Able To Come To Any

Decided Opinion. It Is In Vain That The Undoubted Specific Gifts Of

Great Actors And Actresses Suggest That All Gifts Are Given For Rightful

Exercise, And Not Suppression; In Vain That Shakespeare's Plays Urge

Their Imperative Claim To The Most Perfect Illustration They Can Receive

From Histrionic Interpretation: A _Business_ Which Is Incessant

Excitement And Factitious Emotion Seems To Me Unworthy Of A Man; A

Business Which Is Public Exhibition, Unworthy Of A Woman.

At Four Different Periods Of My Life I Have Been Constrained By

Circumstances To Maintain Myself By The Exercise Of My Dramatic Faculty;

Latterly, It Is True, In A Less Painful And Distasteful Manner, By

Reading, Instead Of Acting. But Though I Have Never, I Trust, Been

Ungrateful For The Power Of Thus Helping Myself And Others, Or Forgetful

Of The Obligation I Was Under To Do My Appointed Work Conscientiously In

Every Respect, Or Unmindful Of The Precious Good Regard Of So Many Kind

Hearts That It Has Won For Me; Though I Have Never Lost One Iota Of My

Own Intense Delight In The Act Of Rendering Shakespeare's Creations; Yet

Neither Have I Ever Presented Myself Before An Audience Without A

Shrinking Feeling Of Reluctance, Or Withdrawn From Their Presence

Without Thinking The Excitement I Had Undergone Unhealthy, And The

Personal Exhibition Odious.

Nevertheless, I Sat Me Down To Supper That Night With My Poor, Rejoicing

Parents Well Content, God Knows! With The Issue Of My Trial; And Still

Better Pleased With A Lovely Little Geneva Watch, The First I Had Ever

Possessed, All Encrusted With Gold Work And Jewels, Which My Father Laid

By My Plate And I Immediately Christened Romeo, And Went, A Blissful

Girl, To Sleep With It Under My Pillow.

                         BUCKINGHAM GATE, JAMES STREET, December 14th.

     DEAREST ----,

     I Received Your Letter This Morning, Before I Was Out Of My Room,

     And Very Glad I Was To Get It. You Would Have Heard From Me Again

     Ere This, Had It Not Been That, In Your Present Anxious State Of

     Mind Respecting Your Brother, I Did Not Like To Demand Your

     Attention For My Proceedings. My Trial Is Over, And, Thank Heaven!

     Most Fortunately. Our Most Sanguine Wishes Could Hardly Have Gone

     Beyond The Result, And At The Same Time That I Hail My Success As A

     Source Of Great Happiness To My Dear Father And Mother, I Almost

     Venture To Hope That The Interest Which Has Been Excited In The

     Public May Tend To Revive Once More The Decaying Dramatic Art. You

     Say It Is A Very Fascinating Occupation; Perhaps It Is, Though It

     Does Not Appear To Me So, And I Think It Carries With It Drawbacks

     Enough To Operate As An Antidote To The Vanity And Love Of

     Admiration Which It Can Hardly Fail To Foster. The Mere Embodying

     Of The Exquisite Ideals Of Poetry Is A Great Enjoyment, But After

     That, Or Rather _For_ That, Comes In Ours, As In All Arts, The

     Mechanical Process, The Labor, The Refining, The Controlling The

     Very Feeling One Has, In Order To Manifest It In The Best Way To

     The Perception Of Others; And When All, That Intense Feeling And

     Careful Work Can Accomplish, Is Done, An Actor Must Often See Those

     Points Of His Performance Which Are Most Worthy Of Approbation

     Overlooked, And Others, Perhaps Crude In Taste Or Less True In

     Feeling, Commended; Which Must Tend Much, I Think, To Sober The

     Mind As To The Value Of Applause. Above All, The Constant

     Consciousness Of The Immeasurable Distance Between A Fine

     Conception And The Best Execution Of It, Must In Acting, As In All

     Art, Be A Powerful Check To Vanity And Self-Satisfaction.

     As To The Mere Excitement Proceeding From The Public Applause Of A

     Theater, I Am Sure You Will Believe Me When I Say I Do Not Think I

     Shall Ever Experience It. But Should I Reckon Too Much Upon My 

     Steadiness, I Have The Incessant Care And Watchfulness Of My Dear

     Mother To Rely On, And I Do Rely On It As An Invaluable Safeguard,

     Both To The Purity And Good Taste Of All That I May Do On The

     Stage, And The Quiet And Soberness Of My Mind Under All This New

     Excitement. She Has Borne All Her Anxieties Wonderfully Well, And I

     Now Hope She Will Reap Some Repayment For Them. My Dear Father Is

     Very Happy; Indeed, We Have All Cause For Heartfelt Thankfulness

     When We Think What A Light Has Dawned Upon Our Prospects, Lately So

     Dismal And Overcast. My Own Motto In All This Must Be, As Far As

     Possible, "Beget A Temperance In All Things." I Trust I Shall Be

     Enabled To Rule Myself By It, And In The Firm Hope That My Endeavor

     To Do What Is Right Will Be Favored And Assisted, I Have Committed

     Myself, Nothing Doubting, To The Stormy Sea Of Life. Dearest H----,

     The Papers Will Give You A Detailed Account Of My _Début_; I Only

     Wish To Assure You That I Have Not Embraced This Course Without Due

     Dread Of Its Dangers, And A Firm Determination To Watch, As Far As

     In Me Lies, Over Its Effect Upon My Mind. It Is, After All, But

     Lately, You Know, That I Have Become Convinced That Fame And

     Gratified Ambition Are Not The Worthiest Aims For One's Exertions.

     With Affectionate Love, Believe Me Ever Your Fondly Attached

                                                                FANNY.

     I Most Sincerely Hope That Your Brother's Health Is Improving, And

     If We Do Not Meet Sooner, I Shall Now Look Forward To Dublin As Our

     _Point De Réunion_; That Will Not Be The Least Of The Obligations I

     Shall Owe This Happy Turn Of Affairs.

I Do Not Know Whence I Derived The Deep Impression I Expressed In This

Letter Of The Moral Dangers Of The Life Upon Which I Was Entering;

Certainly Not From My Parents, To Whom, Of Course, The Idea That Actors

And Actresses Could Not Be Respectable People Naturally Did Not Occur,

And Who Were Not Troubled, I Am Sure, As I Then Was, With A Perception

Of The More Subtle Evils Of Their Calling. I Had Never Heard The Nature

Of It Discussed, And Was Absolutely Without Experience Of It, But The

Vapid Vacuity Of The Last Years Of My Aunt Siddons's Life Had Made A

Profound Impression Upon Me,--Her Apparent Deadness And Indifference To

Everything, Which I Attributed (Unjustly, Perhaps) Less To Her Advanced

Age And Impaired Powers Than To What I Supposed The Withering And Drying

Influence Of The Overstimulating Atmosphere Of Emotion, Excitement, And

Admiration In Which She Had Passed Her Life; Certain It Is That Such Was

My Dread Of The Effect Of My Profession Upon Me, That I Added An Earnest

Petition To My Daily Prayers That I Might Be Defended From The Evil

Influence I Feared It