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

Strange-Looking Place, The Stage, With Its Racks Of Pasteboard And

Canvas--Streets, Forests, Banqueting-Halls, And Dungeons--Drawn Apart On

Either Side, Was Empty And Silent; Not A Soul Was Stirring In The

Indistinct Recesses Of Its Mysterious Depths, Which Seemed To Stretch

Indefinitely Behind Me. In Front, The Great Amphitheater, Equally Empty

And Silent, Wrapped In Its Gray Holland Covers, Would Have Been

Absolutely Dark But For A Long, Sharp, Thin Shaft Of Light That Darted

Here And There From Some Height And Distance Far Above Me, And Alighted

In A Sudden, Vivid Spot Of Brightness On The Stage. Set Down In The

Midst Of Twilight Space, As It Were, With Only My Father's Voice Coming

To Me From Where He Stood Hardly Distinguishable In The Gloom, In Those

Poetical Utterances Of Pathetic Passion I Was Seized With The Spirit Of

The Thing; My Voice Resounded Through The Great Vault Above And Before

Me, And, Completely Carried Away By The Inspiration Of The Wonderful

Play, I Acted Juliet As I Do Not Believe I Ever Acted It Again, For I

Had No Visible Romeo, And No Audience To Thwart My Imagination; At

Least, I Had No Consciousness Of Any, Though In Truth I Had One. In The

Back Of One Of The Private Boxes, Commanding The Stage But Perfectly

Invisible To Me, Sat An Old And Warmly Attached Friend Of My Father's,

Major D----, A Man Of The World--Of London Society,--A Passionate Lover

Of The Stage, An Amateur Actor Of No Mean Merit, One Of The Members Of

The Famous Cheltenham Dramatic Company, A First-Rate Critic In All

Things Connected With Art And Literature, A Refined And Courtly,

Courteous Gentleman; The Best Judge, In Many Respects, That My Father

Could Have Selected, Of My Capacity For My Profession And My Chance Of

Success In It. Not Till After The Event Had Justified My Kind Old

Friend's Prophecy Did I Know That He Had Witnessed That Morning's

Performance, And Joining My Father At The End Of It Had Said, "Bring Her

Out At Once; It Will Be A Great Success." And So Three Weeks From That

Time I Was Brought Out, And It Was A "Great Success." Three Weeks Was

Not Much Time For Preparation Of Any Sort For Such An Experiment, But I

Had No More, To Become Acquainted With My Fellow Actors And Actresses,

Not One Of Whom I Had Ever Spoken With Or Seen--Off The Stage--Before;

To Learn All The Technical _Business_, As It Is Called, Of The Stage;

How To Carry Myself Toward The Audience, Which Was Not--But Was To

Be--Before Me; How To Concert My Movements With The Movements Of Those I

Was Acting With, So As Not To Impede Or Intercept Their Efforts, While

Giving The Greatest Effect Of Which I Was Capable To My Own.

I Do Not Wonder, When I Remember This Brief Apprenticeship To My

Profession, That Mr. Macready Once Said That I Did Not Know The Elements

Of It. Three Weeks Of Morning Rehearsals Of The Play At The Theater, And

Evening Consultations At Home As To Colors And Forms Of Costume, What I

Should Wear, How My Hair Should Be Dressed, Etc., Etc.,--In All Which I

Remained Absolutely Passive In The Hands Of Others, Taking No Part And

Not Much Interest In The Matter,--Ended In My Mother's Putting Aside All

Suggestions Of Innovation Like The Adoption Of The Real Picturesque

Costume Of Mediæval Verona (Which Was, Of Course, Juliet's Proper

Dress), And Determining In Favor Of The Traditional Stage Costume For

The Part, Which Was Simply A Dress Of Plain White Satin With A Long

Train, With Short Sleeves And A Low Body; My Hair Was Dressed In The

Fashion In Which I Usually Wore It; A Girdle Of Fine Paste Brilliants,

And A Small Comb Of The Same, Which Held Up My Hair, Were The Only

Theatrical Parts Of The Dress, Which Was As Perfectly Simple And As

Absolutely Unlike Anything Juliet Ever Wore As Possible.

Poor Mrs. Jameson Made Infinite Protests Against This Decision Of My

Mother's, Her Fine Artistic Taste And Sense Of Fitness Being Intolerably

Shocked By The Violation Of Every Propriety In A Juliet Attired In A

Modern White Satin Ball Dress Amid Scenery Representing The Streets And

Palaces Of Verona In The Fourteenth Century, And All The Other

Characters Dressed With Some Reference To The Supposed Place And Period

Of The Tragedy. Visions Too, No Doubt, Of Sundry Portraits Of Raphael,

Titian, Giorgione, Bronzino,--Beautiful Alike In Color And

Fashion,--Vexed Her With Suggestions, With Which She Plied My Mother;

Who, However, Determined As I Have Said, Thinking The Body More Than

Raiment, And Arguing That The Unincumbered Use Of The Person, And The

Natural Grace Of Young Arms, Neck, And Head, And Unimpeded Movement Of

The Limbs (All Which She Thought More Compatible With The Simple White

Satin Dress Than The Picturesque Mediæval Costume) Were Points Of

Paramount Importance. My Mother, Though Undoubtedly Very Anxious That I

Should Look Well, Was Of Course Far More Desirous That I Should Act

Well, And Judged That Whatever Rendered My Dress Most Entirely

Subservient To My Acting, And Least An Object Of Preoccupation And

Strange Embarrassment To Myself, Was, Under The Circumstances Of My

Total Inexperience And Brief Period Of Preparation, The Thing To Be

Chosen, And I Am Sure That In The Main She Judged Wisely. The Mere

Appendage Of A Train--Three Yards Of White Satin--Following Me Wherever

I Went, Was To Me A New, And Would Have Been A Difficult Experience To

Most Girls. As It Was, I Never Knew, After The First Scene Of The Play,

What Became Of My Train, And Was Greatly Amused When Lady Dacre Told Me,

The Next Morning, That As Soon As My Troubles Began I Had Snatched It Up

And Carried It On My Arm, Which I Did Quite Unconsciously, Because I

Found Something In The Way Of _Juliet's Feet_.

I Have Often Admired The Consummate Good Sense With Which, Confronting A

Whole Array Of Authorities, Historical, Artistical, Æsthetical, My

Mother Stoutly Maintained In Their Despite That Nothing Was To Be

Adopted On The Stage That Was In Itself Ugly, Ungraceful, Or Even

Curiously Antiquated And Singular, However Correct It Might Be With

Reference To The Particular Period, Or Even To Authoritative Portraits

Of Individual Characters Of The Play. The Passions, Sentiments, Actions,

And Sufferings Of Human Beings, She Argued, Were The Main Concern Of A

Fine Drama, Not The Clothes They Wore. I Think She Even Preferred An

Unobtrusive Indifference To A Pedantic Accuracy, Which, She Said, Few

People Appreciated, And Which, If Anything, Rather Took The Attention

From The Acting Than Added To Its Effect, When It Was Really Fine.

She Always Said, When Pictures And Engravings Were Consulted, "Remember,

This Presents But One View Of The Person, And Does Not Change Its

Position: How Will This Dress Look When It Walks, Runs, Rushes, Kneels,

Sits Down, Falls, And Turns Its Back?" I Think An Edge Was Added To My

Mother's Keen, Rational, And Highly Artistic Sense Of This Matter Of

Costume Because It Was The Special Hobby Of Her "Favorite Aversion," Mr.

E----, Who Had Studied With Great Zeal And Industry Antiquarian

Questions Connected With The Subject Of Stage Representations, And Was

Perpetually Suggesting To My Father Improvements On The Old Ignorant

Careless System Which Prevailed Under Former Managements.

It Is Very True That, As She Said, Garrick Acted Macbeth In A Full Court

Suit Of Scarlet,--Knee-Breeches, Powdered Wig, Pigtail, And All; And

Mrs. Siddons Acted The Grecian Daughter In Piles Of Powdered Curls, With

A Forest Of Feathers On The Top Of Them, High-Heeled Shoes, And A

Portentous Hoop; And Both Made The Audience Believe That They Looked

Just As They Should Do. But For All That, Actors And Actresses Who Were

Neither Garrick Nor Mrs. Siddons Were Not Less Like The Parts They

Represented By Being At Least Dressed As They Should Be; And The Fine

Accuracy Of The Shakespearean Revivals Of Mr. Macready And Charles Kean

Was In Itself A Great Enjoyment; Nobody Was Ever Told To _Omit_ The

Tithing Of Mint And Cummin, Though Other Matters Were More Important;

And Kean's Othello Would Have Been The Grand Performance It Was, Even

With The Advantage Of Mr. Fechter's Clever And Picturesque "Getting Up"

Of The Play, As A Frame To It; As Mademoiselle Rachel's Wonderful

Fainting Exclamation Of "Oh, Mon Cher Curiace!" Lost None Of Its

Poignant Pathos, Though She Knew How Every Fold Of Her Drapery Fell And

Rested On The Chair On Which She Sank In Apparent Unconsciousness.

Criticising A Portrait Of Herself In That Scene, She Said To The

Painter, "Ma Robe Ne Fait Pas Ce Pli La; Elle Fait, Au Contraire,

Celui-Ci." The Artist, Inclined To Defend His Picture, Asked Her How,

While She Was Lying With Her Eyes Shut And Feigning Utter Insensibility,

She Could Possibly Tell Anything About The Plaits Of Her Dress.

"Allez-Y-Voir," Replied Rachel; And The Next Time She Played Camille,

The Artist Was Able To Convince Himself By More Careful Observation That

She Was Right, And That There Was Probably No Moment Of The Piece At

Which This Consummate Artist Was Not Aware Of The Effect Produced By

Every Line And Fold Of The Exquisite Costume, Of Which She Had Studied

And Prepared Every Detail As Carefully As The Wonderful Movements Of Her

Graceful Limbs, The Intonations Of Her Awful Voice, And The Changing

Expressions Of Her Terribly Beautiful Countenance.

In Later Years, After I Became The Directress Of My Own Stage Costumes,

I Adopted One For Juliet, Made After A Beautiful Design Of My Friend,

Mrs. Jameson, Which Combined My Mother's _Sine Qua Non_ Of Simplicity

With A Form And Fashion In Keeping With The Supposed Period Of The Play.

My Frame Of Mind Under The Preparations That Were Going Forward For My

_Début_ Appears To Me Now Curious Enough. Though I Had Found Out That I

Could Act, And Had Acted With A Sort Of Frenzy Of Passion And Entire

Self-Forgetfulness The First Time I Ever Uttered The Wonderful

Conception I Had Undertaken To Represent, My Going On The Stage Was

Absolutely An Act Of Duty And Conformity To The Will Of My Parents,

Strengthened By My Own Conviction That I Was Bound To Help Them By Every

Means In My Power. The Theatrical Profession Was, However, Utterly

Distasteful To Me, Though _Acting_ Itself, That Is To Say, Dramatic

Personation, Was Not; And Every Detail Of My Future Vocation, From The

Preparations Behind The Scenes To The Representations Before The

Curtain, Was More Or Less Repugnant To Me. Nor Did Custom Ever Render

This Aversion Less; And Liking My Work So Little, And Being So Devoid Of