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

As For My Success, There Was, I Believe, A Genuine Element In It, For

Puffing Can Send Upward Only Things That Have A Buoyant, Rising Quality

In Themselves; But There Was Also A Great Feeling Of Personal Sympathy

For My Father And Mother, Of Kindly Indulgence For My Youth, And Of

Respectful Recollection Of My Uncle And Aunt; And A Very General Desire

That The Fine Theater Where They Had Exercised Their Powers Should Be

Rescued, If Possible, From Its Difficulties. All This Went To Make Up A

Result Of Which I Had The Credit.

Among My Experiences Of That Nauseous Ingredient In Theatrical Life,

Puffery, Some Have Been Amusing Enough. The Last Time That I Gave Public

Readings In America, The Management Of Them Was Undertaken By A Worthy,

Respectable Person, Who Was Not, I Think, Exceptionally Addicted To The

Devices And Charlatanism Which Appear Almost Inseparable From The

Business Of Public Exhibition In All Its Branches. At The End Of Our

First Interview For The Purpose Of Arranging My Performances, As He Was

Taking His Leave He Said, "Well, Ma'am, I Think Everything Is Quite In A

Nice Train. I Should Say Things Are In A Most Favorable State Of

Preparation; We've A Delightful Article Coming Out In The ----." Here He

Mentioned A Popular Periodical. "Ah, Indeed?" Said I, Not Quite

Apprehending What My Friend Was Aiming At. "Yes, Really, Ma'am, I Should

Say First-Rate, And I Thought Perhaps We Might Induce You To Be Good

Enough To Help Us A Little With It." "Bless Me!" Said I, More And More

Puzzled, "How Can I Help You?" "Well, Ma'am, With A Few Personal

Anecdotes, Perhaps, If You Would Be So Kind." "Anecdotes?" Said I (With

Three Points Of Interrogation). "What Do You Mean? What About?" "Why,

Ma'am" (With A Low Bow), "About Mrs. Kemble, Of Course." Now, My Worthy

Agent's Remuneration Was To Consist Of A Certain Proportion Of The

Receipts Of The Readings, And, That Being The Case, I Felt I Had No

Right Absolutely To Forbid Him All Puffing Advertisements And Decently

Legitimate Efforts To Attract Public Attention And Interest To

Performances By Which He Was To Benefit. At The Same Time, I Also Felt

It Imperatively Necessary That There Should Be Some Limit To These

Proceedings, If I Was To Be Made A Party To Them. I Therefore Told Him

That, As His Interest Was Involved In The Success Of The Readings, I

Could Not Forbid His Puffing Them To Some Extent, As, If I Did, He Might

Consider Himself Injured. "But," Said I, While Refusing The Contribution

Of Any Personal Anecdotes To His Forthcoming Article, "Take Care What

You Do In That Line, For If You Overdo It In The Least, I Will Write An

Article, Myself, On My Readings, Showing Up All Their Faults, And

Turning Them Into Ridicule As I Do Not Believe Any One Else Either Would

Or Could. So Puff Just As Quietly As You Can." I Rather Think My Agent

Left Me With The Same Opinion Of My Competency In Business That Mr.

Macready Had Expressed As To My Proficiency In My Profession, Namely,

That "I Did Not Know The Rudiments Of It."

Mr. Mitchell, Who From The First Took Charge Of All My Readings In

England, And Was The Very Kindest, Most Considerate, And Most Courteous

Of All Managers, On One Occasion, Complaining Bitterly To My Sister Of

The Unreasonable Objection I Had To All Laudatory Advertisements Of My

Readings, Said To Her, With A Voice And Countenance Of The Most Rueful

Melancholy, And With The Most Appealing Pathos, "Why, You Know, Ma'am,

It's Really Dreadful; You Know, Mrs. Kemble Won't Even Allow Us To Say

In The Bills, _These Celebrated Readings_; And You Know, Ma'am, It's

Really Impossible To Do With Less; Indeed It Is! Why, Ma'am, You Know

Even Morrison's Pills Are Always Advertised As _These Celebrated

Pills!_"--An Illustration Of The Hardships Of His Case Which My Sister

Repeated To Me With Infinite Delight.

When I Saw The Shop-Windows Full Of Lawrence's Sketch Of Me, And Knew

Myself The Subject Of Almost Daily Newspaper Notices; When Plates And

Saucers Were Brought To Me With Small Figures Of Me As Juliet And

Belvidera On Them; And Finally, When Gentlemen Showed Me Lovely

Buff-Colored Neck-Handkerchiefs Which They Had Bought, And Which Had, As

I Thought, Pretty Lilac-Colored Flowers All Over Them, Which Proved On

Nearer Inspection To Be Minute Copies Of Lawrence's Head Of Me, I Not

Unnaturally, In The Fullness Of My Inexperience, Believed In My Own

Success.

I Have Since Known More Of The Manufacture Of Public Enthusiasm And

Public Triumphs, And, Remembering To How Many People It Was A Matter Of

Vital Importance That The Public Interest Should Be Kept Alive In Me,

And Covent Garden Filled Every Night I Played, I Have Become More

Skeptical Upon The Subject.

Seeing Lately A Copy Of My Play Of "Francis The First," With (To My

Infinite Astonishment) "Tenth Edition" Upon It, I Said To A Friend, "I

Suppose This Was A Bit Of Bookseller's Puffery; Or Did Each Edition

Consist Of Three Copies?" He Replied, "Oh, No, I Think Not; You Have

Forgotten The _Furor_ There Was About You When This Came Out." At Twenty

I Believed It _All_; At Sixty-Eight I Find It Difficult To Believe _Any_

Of It.

It Is Certain, However, That I Played Juliet Upward Of A Hundred And

Twenty Times Running, With All The Irregularity And Unevenness And

Immature Inequality Of Which I Have Spoken As Characteristics Which Were

Never Corrected In My Performances. My Mother, Who Never Missed One Of

Them, Would Sometimes Come Down From Her Box And, Folding Me In Her

Arms, Say Only The Very Satisfactory Words, "Beautiful, My Dear!" Quite

As Often, If Not Oftener, The Verdict Was, "My Dear, Your Performance

Was Not Fit To Be Seen! I Don't Know How You Ever Contrived To Do The

Part Decently; It Must Have Been By Some Knack Or Trick Which You Appear

To Have Entirely Lost The Secret Of; You Had Better Give The Whole Thing

Up At Once Than Go On Doing It So Disgracefully Ill." This Was Awful,

And Made My Heart Sink Down Into My Shoes, Whatever Might Have Been The

Fervor Of Applause With Which The Audience Had Greeted My Performance.

My Life Now Became Settled In Its New Shape. I Acted Regularly Three

Times A Week; I Had No Rehearsals, Since "Romeo And Juliet" Went On

During The Whole Season, And So My Mornings Were Still My Own. I Always

Dined In The Middle Of The Day (And Invariably On A Mutton-Chop, So That

I Might Have Been A Harrow Boy, For Diet); I Was Taken By My Aunt Early

To The Theater, And There In My Dressing-Room Sat Through The Entire

Play, When I Was Not On The Stage, With Some Piece Of Tapestry Or

Needlework, With Which, During The Intervals Of My Tragic Sorrows, I

Busied My Fingers; My Thoughts Being Occupied With The Events Of My Next

Scene And The Various Effects It Demanded. When I Was Called For The

Stage, My Aunt Came With Me, Carrying My Train, That It Might Not Sweep

The Dirty Floor Behind The Scenes; And After Spreading It Out And

Adjusting Its Folds Carefully, As I Went On, She Remained At The Side

Scene Till I Came Off Again, Then Gathered It On Her Arm, And, Folding A

Shawl Around Me, Escorted Me Back To My Dressing-Room And Tapestry; And

So My Theatrical Evenings Were Passed. My Parents Would Not Allow Me To

Go Into The Green-Room, Where They Thought My Attention Would Be

Distracted From My Business, And Where I Might Occasionally Meet With

Undesirable Associates. My Salary Was Fixed At Thirty Guineas A Week,

And The Saturday After I Came Out I Presented Myself For The First And

Last Time At The Treasury Of The Theater To Receive It, And Carried It,

Clinking, With Great Triumph, To My Mother, The First Money I Ever

Earned.

It Would Be Difficult To Imagine Anything More Radical Than The Change

Which Three Weeks Had Made In The Aspect Of My Whole Life. From An

Insignificant School-Girl, I Had Suddenly Become An Object Of General

Public Interest. I Was A Little Lion In Society, And The Town Talk Of

The Day. Approbation, Admiration, Adulation, Were Showered Upon Me;

Every Condition Of My Life Had Been Altered, As By The Wand Of A Fairy.

Instead Of The Twenty Pounds A Year Which My Poor Father Squeezed Out Of

His Hard-Earned Income For My Allowance, Out Of Which I Bought (Alas,

With How Much Difficulty, Seeing How Many Other Things I Would Buy!) My

Gloves And Shoes, I Now Had An Assured Income, As Long As My Health And

Faculties Were Unimpaired, Of At Least A Thousand A Year; And The Thirty

Guineas A Week At Covent Garden, And Much Larger Remuneration During

Provincial Tours, Forever Forbade The Sense Of Destitution Productive Of

The Ecstasy With Which, Only A Short Time Before I Came Out, I Had Found

Wedged Into The Bottom Of My Money Drawer In My Desk A Sovereign That I

Had Overlooked, And So Had Sorrowfully Concluded Myself Penniless Till

Next Allowance Day. Instead Of Trudging Long Distances Afoot Through The

Muddy London Streets, When The Hire Of A Hackney-Coach Was Matter Of

Serious Consideration, I Had A Comfortable And Elegant Carriage; I Was

Allowed, At My Own Earnest Request, To Take Riding Lessons, And Before

Long Had A Charming Horse Of My Own, And Was Able To Afford The Delight

Of Giving My Father One, The Use Of Which I Hoped Would Help To

Invigorate And Refresh Him. The Faded, Threadbare, Turned, And Dyed

Frocks Which Were My Habitual Wear Were Exchanged For Fashionably Made

Dresses Of Fresh Colors And Fine Texture, In Which I Appeared To Myself

Transfigured. Our Door Was Besieged With Visitors, Our Evenings Bespoken

By Innumerable Invitations; Social Civilities And Courtesies Poured In

Upon Us From Every Side In An Incessant Stream; I Was Sought And Petted

And Caressed By Persons Of Conventional And Real Distinction, And Every

Night That I Did Not Act I Might, If My Parents Had Thought It Prudent

To Let Me Do So, Have Passed In All The Gayety Of The Fashionable World

And The Great London Season. So Much Cordiality, Sympathy, Interest, And

Apparent Genuine Good-Will Seemed To Accompany All These Flattering

Demonstrations, That It Was Impossible For Me Not To Be Touched And

Gratified,--Perhaps, Too, Unduly Elated. If I Was Spoiled And My Head

Turned, I Can Only Say I Think It Would Have Needed A Strong Head Not To

Be So; But God Knows How Pitiful A Preparation All This Tinsel, Sudden

Success, And Popularity Formed For The Duties And Trials Of My

After-Life.