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

     Of Any Talent For It Whatever; I Do Not Think I Am Now Deceived As

     To The Quantity I Can Really Lay Claim To, By The Exaggerated

     Praises Of The Public, Who Have Been Too Long Deprived Of Any

     Female Object Of Special Interest On The Boards To Be Very Nice

     About The First That Is Presented To Them; Nor Am I Unconscious Of

     The Amount Of Work That Will Be Requisite To Turn My Abilities To

     Their Best Use. Wait; Have Patience; By And By, I Hope, I Shall Do

     Better. It Is Very True That To Be The Greatest Actress Of My Day

     Is Not The Aim On Which My Happiness Depends. But Having Embraced

     This Career, I Think I Ought Not To Rest Satisfied With Any Degree

     Of Excellence Short Of What My Utmost Endeavor Will Enable Me To

     Attain In It....

     My Print, Or Rather The Print Of Me, From Sir Thomas Lawrence's

     Drawing, Is Out. He Has Promised You One, So I Do Not. There Are

     Also Coming Out A Series Of Sketches By Mr. Hayter, From My Juliet,

     With A Species Of _Avant Propos_ Written By Mrs. Jameson; This Will

     Interest You, And I Will Send You A Copy Of It When It Is

     Published.

     I Will Tell You A Circumstance Of Much Anxious Hope To Us All Just

     Now, But As The Result Is Yet Uncertain, Do Not Mention It. We Have

     A Species Of Offer Of A Living For My Brother John, Who, You Know,

     Is Going Into The Church. This Is A Consummation Devoutly To Be

     Wished, And I Most Sincerely Hope We May Not Be Disappointed. He Is

     Still In Germany, Very Happy And Very Metaphysical; Should We

     Obtain This Living, However, I Suppose He Would Return Immediately.

     Independently Of My Wish To See Him Again, I Shall Be Glad When He

     Leaves Germany I Think; But I Have Not Time For What I Think About

     Germany To-Day, And You Must Be Rather Tired Of

                      Yours Most Affectionately,

                                                              F. A. K.

Mr. Hayter's Graceful Sketches Of Me In Juliet Were Lithographed And

Published With Mrs. Jameson's Beautifully Written But Too Flattering

Notice Of My Performance; The Original Drawings Were Purchased By Lord

Ellesmere. The Second Part Assigned To Me By The Theater Authorities Was

Belvidera, In Otway's "Venice Preserved." I Had Never Read The Play

Until I Learned My Part, Nor Seen It Until I Acted It. It Is, I Believe,

One Of The Longest Female Parts On The Stage. But I Had Still My

School-Girl Capacity For Committing Quickly To Memory, And Learned It In

Three Hours. Acting It Was A Very Different Matter. I Was No Longer

Sustained By The Genius Of Shakespeare, No Longer Stimulated By The

Sublime Passion And Exquisite Poetry. Juliet Was A Reality To Me, A

Living Individual Woman, Whose Nature I Could Receive, As It Were, Into

Mine At Once, Without Effort, Comprehending And Expressing It. Belvidera

Seemed To Me A Sort Of Lay Figure In A Tragic Attitude, A Mere, "Female

In General," Without Any Peculiar Or Specific Characteristics Whatever;

Placed As Belvidera Is In The Midst Of Sordidly Painful And Coarsely

Agonizing Circumstances, There Was Nothing In The Part Itself That

Affected My Feelings Or Excited My Imagination; And The Miserable

Situations Into Which The Poor Creature Was Thrown Throughout The Piece

Revolted Me, And Filled Me With Disgust For The Men She Had To Do With,

Without Inspiring Me With Any Sympathy For Her. In This Piece, Too, I

Came At Once Into The Unfavorable Light Of Full Comparison With My

Aunt's Performance Of The Part, Which Was One Of Her Famous Ones. A

Friend Of Hers And Mine, My Dear And Excellent William Harness, Said

That Seeing Me Was Exactly Like Looking At Mrs. Siddons Through The

Diminishing End Of An Opera Glass. My Personal Likeness To Her, In Spite

Of My Diminutive Size And Irregular Features, Was Striking, And Of

Course Suggested, To Those Who Remembered Her, Associations Which Were

Fatal To My Satisfactory Performance Of The Part. I Disliked The Play

And The Character Of Belvidera, And I Am Sure I Must Have Played It Very

Indifferently.

I Remember One Circumstance Connected With My First Performance Of It

Which Proved How Painfully The Unredeemed Horror And Wretchedness Of The

Piece Acted Upon My Nerves And Imagination. In The Last Scene, Where

Poor Belvidera's Brain Gives Way Under Her Despair, And She Fancies

Herself Digging For Her Husband In The Earth, And That She At Last

Recovers And Seizes Him, I Intended To Utter A Piercing Scream; This I

Had Not Of Course Rehearsed, Not Being Able To Scream Deliberately In

Cold Blood, So That I Hardly Knew, Myself, What Manner Of Utterance I

Should Find For My Madness. But When The Evening Came, I Uttered Shriek

After Shriek Without Stopping, And Rushing Off The Stage Ran All Round

The Back Of The Scenes, And Was Pursuing My Way, Perfectly Unconscious

Of What I Was Doing, Down The Stairs That Led Out Into The Street, When

I Was Captured And Brought Back To My Dressing-Room And My Senses.

The Next Piece In Which I Appeared Was Murphy's "Grecian Daughter;" A

Feeble And Inflated Composition, As Inferior In Point Of Dramatic And

Poetical Merit To Otway's "Venice Preserved," As That Is To Any Of

Shakespeare's Masterpieces. It Has Situations Of Considerable Effect,

However, And The Sort Of Parental And Conjugal Interest That Infallibly

Strikes Sympathetic Chords In The _Pater Familias_ Bosom Of An English

Audience. The Choice Of The Piece Had In It, In My Opinion, An

Ingredient Of Bad Taste, Which, Objectionable As It Seemed To Me, Had

Undoubtedly Entered Into The Calculation Of The Management, As Likely To

Increase The Effect And Success Of The Play; I Mean The Constant

Reference To Euphrasia's Filial Devotion, And Her Heroic And Pious

Efforts In Behalf Of Her Old Father--Incidents In The Piece Which Were

Seized Upon And Applied To My Father And Myself By The Public, And Which

May Have Perhaps Added To The Feeling Of The Audience, As They Certainly

Increased My Dislike For The Play. Here, Too, I Again Encountered The

Formidable Impression Which Mrs. Siddons Had Produced In The Part, Of

Which, In Spite Of The Turbid Coldness And Stilted Emphasis Of The

Style, She Had Made A Perfect Embodiment Of Heroic Grandeur And

Classical Grace. My Euphrasia Was, I Am Sure, A Pitiful Picture Of An

Antique Heroine, In Spite Of Macdonald's Enthusiasm For The "Attitude"

In The Last Scene, And My Cousin Horace Twiss's Comical Verdict Of

Approbation, That It Was All Good, But Especially The Scene Where "You

Tip It The Tyrant."

                      JAMES STREET, BUCKINGHAM GATE, January 17, 1830.

     DEAREST H----,

     Although My Mind Is Much Occupied Just Now With A New Part In Which

     I Appear To-Morrow, I Take Advantage Of The Bodily Rest This Day

     Affords Me To Write You A Few Lines, Which I Fear I Might Not Find

     Time For Again As Soon As I Wish. There Was Enough In Your Last

     Letter, Dear H----, To Make Me Melancholy, Independently Of The

     Question Which You Ask Respecting My Picture In Juliet, And Which

     The Papers Have By This Time Probably Answered To You.

     Sir Thomas Lawrence Is Dead. The Event Has Been Most Distressing,

     And Most Sudden And Unexpected To Us. It Really Seemed As Though We

     Had Seen Him But The Day Before We Heard Of It; And Indeed, It Was

     But A Few Days Since My Mother Had Called On Him, And Since He Had

     Written To Me A Long Letter On The Subject Of My Belvidera, Full Of

     Refined Taste And Acute Criticism, As All His Letters To Me Were.

     It Was A Great Shock; Indeed, So Much So, That Absolute Amazement

     For A Little Time Prevented My Feeing All The Regret I Have Since

     Experienced About It. Nor Was It Till I Sat Down To Write To

     Cecilia, To Request Her To Prevent Any Sudden Communication Of The

     Event To My Aunt Siddons, That I Felt It Was Really True, And Found

     Some Relief In Crying. I Had To Act Belvidera That Same Night, And

     It Was With A Very Heavy Heart That I Repeated Those Passages In

     Which Poor Sir Thomas Lawrence Had Pointed Out Alterations And

     Suggested Improvements. He Is A Great Loss To Me, Individually. His

     Criticism Was Invaluable To Me. He Was A Most Attentive Observer;

     No Shade Of Feeling Or Slightest Variation Of Action Or Inflection

     Of Voice Escaped Him; His Suggestions Were _Always_ Improvements,

     Conveyed With The Most Lucid Clearness; And, As You Will Easily

     Believe, His Strictures Were Always Sufficiently Tempered With

     Refined Flattery To Have Disarmed The Most Sensitive Self-Love. My

     Juliet And Belvidera Both Owe Much To Him, And In This Point Of

     View Alone His Loss Is Irreparable To Me. It Is Some Matter Of

     Regret, Too, As You May Suppose, That We Can Have No Picture Of Me

     By Him, But This Is A More Selfish And Less Important Motive Of

     Sorrow Than My Loss Of His Advice In My Profession. I Understand

     That My Aunt Siddons Was Dreadfully Shocked By The News, And Cried,

     "And Have I Lived To See Him Go Before Me!" ... His Promise To Send

     You A Print From His Drawing Of Me, Dearest H----, He Cannot

     Perform, But I Will Be His Executor In This Instance, And If You

     Will Tell Me How It Can Be Conveyed To You, I Will Send You One.

     This Letter, My Dearest H----, Which Was Begun On Sunday, I Now Sit

     Down To Finish On Tuesday Evening, And Cannot Do Better, I Think,

     Than Give You A Full Account Of Our Last Night's Success; For A

     Very Complete Success It Was, I Am Happy To Say. Murphy's Play Of

     "The Grecian Daughter" I Suppose You Know; Or If You Do Not, Your

     State Is The