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

Still Too Deficient In Interest To Retain The Favor Of The Public. The

Character Of Camiola Is Extremely Noble And Striking, But That Of Her

Lover So Unworthy Of Her That The Interest She Excites Personally Fails

To Inspire One With Sympathy For Her Passion For Him. The Piece In This

Respect Has A Sort Of Moral Incoherency, Which Appears To Me, Indeed,

Not An Infrequent Defect In The Compositions Of These Great Dramatic

Pre-Shakespearites. There Is A Want Of Psychical Verisimilitude, A

Disjointed Abruptness, In Their Conceptions, Which, In Spite Of Their

Grand Treatment Of Separate Characters And The Striking Force Of

Particular Passages, Renders Almost Every One Of Their Plays

Inharmonious As A Whole, However Fine And Powerful In Detached Parts.

Their Selection Of Abnormal And Detestable Subjects Is A Distinct

Indication Of Intellectual Weakness Instead Of Vigor; Supreme Genius

Alone Perceives The Beauty And Dignity Of Human Nature And Human Life In

Their Common Conditions, And Can Bring To The Surface Of Vulgar,

Every-Day Existence The Hidden Glory That Lies Beneath It.

The Strictures Contained In These Girlish Letters On The Various Plays

In Which I Was Called To Perform The Heroines, Of Course Partake Of The

Uncompromising Nature Of All Youthful Verdicts. Hard, Sharp, And

Shallow, They Never Went Lower Than The Obvious Surface Of Things, And

Dealt Easily, After The Undoubting Youthful Fashion, With A Main Result,

Without Any Misgiving As To Conflicting Causes Or Painful Anxiety About

Contradictory Component Parts. At The Beginning Of Life, The Ignorant

Moral And Intellectual Standard Alike Have Definite Form And Decided

Color; Time, As It Goes On, Dissolves The Outline Into Vague

Indistinctness, And Reveals Lights And Shades So Various And

Innumerable, That Toward The End Of Life Criticism Grows Diffident,

Opinion Difficult, And Positive Judgment Almost Impossible.

My First London Season Was Now Drawing To An End, And Preparations Were

Begun For A Summer Tour In The Provinces. There Had Been Some Talk Of My

Beginning With Brighton, But For Some Reason Or Other This Fell Through.

                                                   BATH, May 31, 1830.

     MY DEAR H----,

     I Have Owed You An Answer, And A Most Grateful One, For Some Time

     Past, For Your Kindness In Writing Me So Long A Letter As Your

     Last; But When I Assure You That, What With Leave-Taking, Trying On

     Dresses, Making Purchases, Etc., Etc., And All The Preparations For

     Our Summer Tour, This Is The First Moment In Which I Have Been Able

     To Draw A Long Breath For The Last Month, I Am Sure You Will

     Forgive Me, And Believe, Notwithstanding My Long Silence, That I

     Was Made Very Happy Indeed By Your Letter. I Bade Covent Garden And

     My Dear London Audience Farewell On Friday Last, When I Acted Lady

     Townley For The First Time. The House Was Crammed, And As The

     Proprietors Had Fixed That Night For A Second Benefit Which They

     Gave Me, I Was Very Glad That It Was So. I Was Very Nicely Dressed,

     And To My Own Fancy Acted Well, Though I Dare Say My Performance

     Was A Little Flat Occasionally. But Considering My Own Physical

     Powers, And The Immense Size Of The Theatre, I Do Not Think I

     Should Have Done Better On The Whole By Acting More Broadly; Though

     I Suppose It Would Have Been More Effective, I Should Have Had To

     Sacrifice Something Of Repose And Refinement To Make It So. I Was

     Very Sorry To Leave My London Audience: They Welcomed My First

     Appearance; They Knew The History Of Our Shipwrecked Fortunes, And

     Though Perhaps Not One Individual Amongst Them Would Go A Mile Out

     Of His Way To Serve Us, There Exists In Them, Taken Collectively, A

     Kind Feeling And Respect For My Father, And An Indulgent Good-Will

     Toward Me, Which I Do Not Hope To Find Elsewhere. I Like Bath Very

     Much; I Have Not Been Here Since I Was Six Years Old, When I Spent

     A Year Here In Hopes Of Being _Bettered_ By My Aunt, Mrs. Twiss. A

     Most Forlorn Hope It Was. I Suppose In Human Annals There Never

     Existed A More Troublesome Little Brat Than I Was For The Few Years

     After My First Appearance On This Earthly Stage.

     This Town Reminds Me A Little Of Edinburgh. How Glad I Shall Be To

     See Edinburgh Once More! I Expect Much Pleasure, Too, From The

     Pleasure Of My Aunt Dall, Who Some Years Ago Spent Some Very Happy

     Time In Edinburgh, And Who Loves It From Association. And Then,

     Dear H----, I Am Looking Forward To Seeing You Once More; I Shall

     Be With You Somewhere In The Beginning Of June. I Have Had My First

     Rehearsal Here This Morning, "Romeo And Juliet;" The Theatre Is

     Much Smaller Than Covent Garden, Which Rather Inconveniences Me, As

     A Novelty, But The Audience Will Certainly Benefit By It. My

     Fellow-Laborers Amuse Me A Good Deal; Their Versions Of Shakespeare

     Are Very Droll. I Wonder What Your Irish Ones Will Be. I Am

     Fortunate In My Romeo, Inasmuch As He Is One Of My Cousins; He Has

     The Family Voice And Manner Very Strongly, And At Any Rate Does Not

     Murder The Text Of Shakespeare. I Have No More Time To Spare Now,

     For I Must Get My Tea And Go To The Theater. I Must Tell You,

     Though, Of An Instance Of Provincial Prudery (Delicacy, I Suppose I

     Ought To Call It) Which Edified Us Not A Little At Rehearsal This

     Morning: The Mercutio, On Seeing The Nurse And Peter, Called Out,

     "A Sail, A Sail!" And Terminated The Speech In A Significant

     Whisper, Which, Being Literally Inaudible, My Mother, Who Was With

     Me On The Stage, Very Innocently Asked, "Oh, Does The Gentleman

     Leave Out The Shirt And The Smock?" Upon Which We Were Informed

     That "Body Linen" Was Not So Much As To Be Hinted At Before A Truly

     Refined Bath Audience. How Particular We Are Growing--_In Word!_ I

     Am Much Afraid My Father Will Shock Them With The Speech Of That

     Scamp Mercutio In All Its Pristine Purity And Precision. Good-By,

     Dear H----. Ever Your Affectionate

                                                              F. A. K.

     P.S.--My Mother Desires To Be Particularly Remembered To You. I

     Want To Revive Massinger's "Maid Of Honor;" I Want To Act Camiola.

The Necessity For Carrying With Us Into The Provinces A Sufficient

Number Of Various Parts, And Especially Of Plays In Which My Father And

Myself Could Fill The Principal Characters, And So Be Tolerably

Independent Of Incompetent Coadjutors, Was The Reason Of My Coming Out

In The Play Of "The Provoked Husband," Before Leaving London. The

Passage In This Letter About Lady Townley Sufficiently Shows How Bad My

Performance Of It Must Have Been, And How Absolutely In The Dark I Was

With Regard To The Real Style In Which The Part Should Be Played. The

Fine Lady Of My Day, With The Unruffled Insipidity Of Her _Low_ Spirits

(High Spirits Never Came Near Her) And The Imperturbable Composure Of

Her Smooth Insolence, Was As Unlike The Rantipole, Racketing High-Bred

Woman Of Fashion Of Sir John Vanbrugh's Play As The Flimsy Elegance Of

My Silver-Embroidered, Rose-Colored Tulle Dress Was Unlike The Elaborate

Splendor Of Her Hooped And Feathered And High-Heeled, Patched-And-Powdered

Magnificence, With Its Falling Laces And Standing Brocades. The Part Of

Lady Townley Was Not Only Beyond My Powers, But Has Never Been Seen On

The English Stage Since The Days Of Mrs. Abington And Miss Farren, The

Latter Elegant And Spirited Actress Being Held By Those Who Had Seen

Both Less Like The Original Great Lady Than Her Predecessor; While Even

The Théâtre Français, Where Consummate Study And Reverend Tradition Of

Elder Art Still Prevail, Has Lost More And More The Secret Of _La Grande

Manière_ In A Gradual Descent From The _Grande Dame_ Of Mademoiselle

Contat To The Pretty, Graceful _Femme Comme Il Faut_ Of Mademoiselle

Plessis; For Even The Exquisite Célimène Of Mademoiselle Mars Was But A

"Pale Reflex" Of Molière's Brilliant Coquette, As Played By Her Great

Instructress, Contat. The Truth Is, That Society No Longer Possesses Or

Produces That Creature, And A Good Deal Of Reading, Not Of A Usual Or

Agreeable Kind, Would Alone Make One Familiar Enough With Lady Townley

And Her Like To Enable An Actress Of The Present Day To Represent Her

With Any Verisimilitude. The Absurd Practice, Too, Of Dressing All The

Serious Characters Of The Piece In Modern Costume, And All The Comic

Ones In That Of The Time At Which It Was Written, Renders The Whole

Ridiculously Incoherent And Manifestly Impossible, And Destroys It As A

Picture Of The Manners Of Any Time; For Even Stripped Of Her Hoop And

Powder, And Her More Flagrant Coarseness Of Speech, Lady Townley Is

Still As Unlike, In Manners, Language, And Deportment, Any Modern Lady,

As She Is Unlike The Woman Of Fashion Of Hogarth's Time, Whose Costume

She Has Discarded.

The Event Fully Justified My Expectation Of Far Less Friendly Audiences

Out Of London Than Those I Had Hitherto Made My Appeals To. None Of The

Personal Interest That Was Felt For Me There Existed Elsewhere, And I

Had To Encounter The Usual Opposition, Always Prepared To Cavil, In The

Provinces, At The Metropolitan Verdict Of Merit, As A Mere Exhibition Of

Independent Judgment; And To Make Good To The Expectations Of The

Country Critics The Highly Laudatory Reports Of The London Press, By

Which The Provincial Judges Scorned To Have A Decision Imposed Upon

Them. Not Unnaturally, Therefore, I Found A Much Less Fervid Enthusiasm

In My Audiences--Who Were, I Dare Say, Quite Justified In Their

Disappointment--And A Far Less Eulogistic Tone In The Provincial Press

With Regard To My Performances. Our Houses, However, Were Always Very

Crowded, Which Was The Essential Point, And For My Own Part I Was Quite

Satisfied With The Notices And Applause Which Were Bestowed On Me. My

Cousin, John Mason, Was The Romeo To Whom I Have Referred In This

Letter. He Was My Father's Sister's Son, And, Like So Many Members Of

Our Family, He And One Of His Brothers And His Sister Had Made