After our enthusiastic response to her graceful6 greeting, she said simply: "Ladies and gentlemen, I shall read—I trust for your pleasure, surely for mine," laying her hand upon her heart—"from the second scene in the third act of 'Henry the Eighth.'"
It so happened there had been, incident upon her appearance, a remarkable7 discussion in some of the journals of the day. The wise ones, the elect, had paused in their speculations8 as to the authorship of 360Shakespeare's plays, or the Letters of Junius, or the enlightenment of the nations by certain rearrangement of periods in Hamlet's immortal9 soliloquy, and had cast an eye of scrutiny10 upon Wolsey's magnificent monologue11. To nous autres it seems clear enough as it is—but who are we that we should know the heart hidden under a red robe? They gravely opined that the king, not God, was meant in the lines, "Had I but served my God with half the zeal12," etc. Without doubt Charlotte Cushman was aware of this remarkable discussion. A good many backs were straightened to "attention" as she reached the noble words:—
"... O Cromwell, Cromwell!
Had I but served my God with half the zeal
I served my king, He would not in mine age
Have left me naked to mine enemies."
She pointed13 upward as she uttered reverently14 the word "He."
From this, after a brief pause—she did not leave her seat all evening—she passed to "Much Ado about Nothing." Never was there such a Dogberry, bursting with arrogance16 and ignorance. Mrs. Maloney, on the Chinese question, followed, dismissing, with inimitable impudence17, the mistress who had just shown her the door. Then she became the loyal, spirited, wildly sweet Kentucky girl and her blue-grass horse, Kentucky Belle,—utterly18 charming, both of them,—concluding with "Molly Carew," In this she was tremendous. The policemen at the door came in to listen; the applause 361was loud and long. "Molly Carew," forsooth! What is there in "Molly Carew"? What in the entreaty19 to take off her bonnet20 lest she cost her lover, as he declares, "the loss of me wanderin' soul," to bring down the house? What in the indignant summing up that she had better be careful; "you'll feel mighty21 queer when you see me weddin' mairching down the street an' yersilf not in it"?
I soon found out how much there was in Molly Carew per se with no Charlotte Cushman to interpret! I happened to have Samuel Lover's poems, and when I reached home, I took the book from the library shelves and summoned the children to listen to the funniest thing they had ever heard in all their lives. "I warn you," said I, "you'll half kill yourselves laughing."
I read "Molly Carew." Round eyes opened wider in astonishment22 as I proceeded. There was not a smile; not the faintest glimmer23 of mirth. Dead silence was broken by a polite "Is that all? Thank you, mamma," as they escaped. Oh, genius, gift of the gods! Who can measure it? Who, not born to it, can hope to win it! Who can attain24 even a faraway imitation of it! How it can clothe and glorify25 the simplest ideas! How it transfigured Charlotte Cushman—haggard and gray from keen physical suffering, knowing well that her hour was at hand! What noble restraint in her selections, ignoring pain and sorrow, denying herself the tribute of sympathy, bidding us good night with a smile on her lips and words demanding an answering smile on ours! 362 To remember Charlotte Cushman is to recall Madame Helena Modjeska—totally different, certainly not inferior. I met her in society in New York. Her beautiful face, her tender, sensitive mouth, and the "far-away look of her eyes, as though she were thinking of the wrongs of Poland," are never to be forgotten. And the splendor26 of her genius! I saw her as Ophelia to Edwin Booth's Hamlet. "You are as good as a Greek chorus, my lord,"—she in a Savonarola chair, he on a fauteuil at her feet. I saw her also as Queen Catherine. I think she impressed all who knew her as a most sad woman. But is not melancholy27 the prerogative28 of genius? I, for one, never knew a man or woman of genius, real genius, who was merry. Madame Modjeska made melancholy beautiful.
She was once the guest of a lady who had gathered together a number of choice spirits in her honor. One of them, forgotten of her good angel, asked, "How do you like our country, madame!"
"Oh," spreading out her hands to signify empty space, and speaking in a weary tone, "Oh! It is all—all one great level."
"Ah, but," said her hostess, "patience! I shall introduce you by and by to a little hill."
An introduction followed, and at the close of the evening Madame Modjeska, pressing the hand of her hostess at parting, said with feeling:—
"Ah, madame! She was one great mountain!"
Helena Modjeska.
Before the war which cut me off from every pleasure demanding leisure and a little money, I heard the elder Booth in "Hamlet"—and I must 363confess he was rather a wheezy Hamlet in his old age. In Brooklyn the circumstances of my life forbade my indulging my passion for music and the enjoyment29 of a good play, but we had tickets for gallery seats to see Edwin Booth when Madame Modjeska played with him. Afterward we saw him in "The Fool's Revenge," and I remember being quite carried away and oblivious30 of everything except his splendid acting31, until the calm voice of my son recalled me, "Don't you think, mamma, you had better sit down?" I spent a summer at Narragansett in the same hotel with Mr. Booth when he was resting his weary brain. He had a hooded32 chair placed in a corner of a veranda33 overlooking the sea, and there alone and in silence he spent most of his time. His devoted34 daughter ministered to him and carefully protected him from intrusion. At certain conditions of the tide the sands of the Narragansett beach emit a weird35, faint, singing sound as the waves recede36 from them,—moaning, as it were, because they are left behind. These sounds could not be heard by every ear. Some eager listeners never could hear them. I used to wonder if Edwin Booth did, and wish I could ask him what they said to him. I might even tell him what they said to me! But his "Edwina" watched him jealously, and we respected his evident prostration37 of mind and spirit. His place at table was near mine. A moonlight smile would steal over his face when his two grandchildren, rosy38 little tots, came to him at dessert for a bit of sweet from the hand whose slightest gesture had once been able to move a multitude. The next 364time he was brought vividly39 before us we were in a great assembly of his friends, listening to Mr. Parke Godwin,—his friend and ours,—as he told of the sun whose rise, whose splendid noon, and whose setting we were ever to remember.
In the autumn of 1882 our old Southern friend, General R. D. Lilley, visited New York in the interests of Washington and Lee University. Colonel Mapleson, with Adelina Patti, Nicolini, and the famous danseuse, Cavalassi, had just arrived for a brilliant season at the Metropolitan41 Opera House. General Lilley sent me a letter from Colonel Mapleson,—which lies before me,—in which he offered "a grand entertainment to be given about the 3d of March for the endowment of scholarships in Washington and Lee University, in which entertainment the leading artists of the opera would appear," and asked for a committee of ladies to act in concert with him.
General Lilley was in a quandary42. He knew no New York ladies. No more did I. But finally he won his way into the good graces of the widow of Governor Dix and mother of the Rev15. Morgan Dix, who granted her drawing-room for our meetings, and doubtless consulted her own visiting list to find patronesses. When, at the general's earnest prayer, I went over to the first meeting, I found a noble band of women all enthusiasm over the project. I was a stranger in New York, and but dimly recognized the names on the committee with my own: Mrs. John Dix, Mrs. August Belmont, Mrs. William M. Evarts, Mrs. Francis R. Rives, Mrs. 365John Jay, Mrs. (Commodore) Vanderbilt, Mrs. Vincenzo Botta, Mrs. Henry Clews, Mrs. James Brown Potter, Mrs. Winfield S. Hancock, and others, about fifty in all! I can now easily understand that this committee had but to will a thing, and if it were not accomplished43, the fault would not lie in their lack of potentiality. They had but to say the word. Means, overflowing44 means, and generous patronage45 would be assured.
Colonel Mapleson met with us at our meetings, which Mrs. Dix made delightful46. We had animated47 discussions over Mrs. Dix's tea-cups, and adopted fine resolutions. Patti, the colonel assured us, would sing,—certainly,—but she needed a vast deal of coaxing48 and mock entreaty. Then every day Nicolini—whom she had recently married—wrote us a letter presenting some difficulty which we must settle. The flowers we ordered were beyond compare—to Arditi, the orchestra leader, a large music scroll49 in white flowers, and upon this ground the first bars of his "Il bacio" in blue violets. To the witch Cavalassi we voted a floral slipper50, to Colonel Mapleson a silken banner of Stars and Stripes. What, alas40! could we do for Patti? Could anything be enough? At last we sent for Colonel Mapleson. "Ladies," he said, "this will be your easiest task. Come to the opera-house with bouquets52 in your hands or corsage, tied with cords you have taken from your fans, and throw them to her, impulsively53. There's nothing she so dotes on as to run all over the stage and pick up flowers, affect intense surprise at each new bouquet51, press them 366to her heart, and be utterly overcome at last as she runs away."
All this was done, I learned, for I was not there to see! Colonel Mapleson, however, did not forget me. He sent me the monogram54 cut in gold of Washington and Lee University, and I often wear it as a souvenir of my charming hours with good Mrs. Dix and her friends.
When I came to the city to live, I found that Dr. Dix, his lovely mother, and many of the ladies of our committee still remembered me. This was not the last time we were together in a benevolent55 enterprise, nor the last time Patti honored me. Childish as were the little arts attributed to her by Colonel Mapleson, she could give evidence of a big warm heart on occasion!
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1
distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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malady
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| n.病，疾病(通常做比喻) | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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kindled
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| （使某物）燃烧，着火( kindle的过去式和过去分词 )； 激起（感情等）； 发亮，放光 | |
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afterward
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| adv.后来；以后 | |
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graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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7
remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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speculations
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| n.投机买卖( speculation的名词复数 )；思考；投机活动；推断 | |
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9
immortal
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| adj.不朽的；永生的，不死的；神的 | |
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scrutiny
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| n.详细检查，仔细观察 | |
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monologue
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| n.长篇大论，（戏剧等中的）独白 | |
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zeal
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| n.热心，热情，热忱 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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reverently
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| adv.虔诚地 | |
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rev
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| v.发动机旋转，加快速度 | |
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16
arrogance
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| n.傲慢，自大 | |
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impudence
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| n.厚颜无耻；冒失；无礼 | |
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utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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entreaty
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| n.恳求，哀求 | |
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bonnet
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| n.无边女帽；童帽 | |
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mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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glimmer
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| v.发出闪烁的微光；n.微光，微弱的闪光 | |
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24
attain
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| vt.达到，获得，完成 | |
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glorify
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| vt.颂扬，赞美，使增光，美化 | |
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26
splendor
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| n.光彩；壮丽，华丽；显赫，辉煌 | |
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melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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prerogative
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| n.特权 | |
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enjoyment
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| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
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oblivious
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| adj.易忘的，遗忘的，忘却的，健忘的 | |
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acting
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| n.演戏，行为，假装；adj.代理的，临时的，演出用的 | |
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hooded
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| adj.戴头巾的；有罩盖的；颈部因肋骨运动而膨胀的 | |
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veranda
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| n.走廊；阳台 | |
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34
devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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35
weird
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| adj.古怪的，离奇的；怪诞的，神秘而可怕的 | |
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36
recede
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| vi.退(去)，渐渐远去；向后倾斜，缩进 | |
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prostration
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| n. 平伏, 跪倒, 疲劳 | |
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rosy
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| adj.美好的，乐观的，玫瑰色的 | |
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vividly
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| adv.清楚地，鲜明地，生动地 | |
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40
alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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41
metropolitan
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| adj.大城市的，大都会的 | |
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42
quandary
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| n.困惑，进迟两难之境 | |
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43
accomplished
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| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
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44
overflowing
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| n. 溢出物,溢流 adj. 充沛的，充满的 动词overflow的现在分词形式 | |
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45
patronage
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| n.赞助，支援，援助；光顾，捧场 | |
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delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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animated
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| adj.生气勃勃的，活跃的，愉快的 | |
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48
coaxing
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| v.哄，用好话劝说( coax的现在分词 )；巧言骗取；哄劝，劝诱；“锻炼”效应 | |
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49
scroll
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| n.卷轴，纸卷；(石刻上的)漩涡 | |
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50
slipper
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| n.拖鞋 | |
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51
bouquet
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| n.花束，酒香 | |
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52
bouquets
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| n.花束( bouquet的名词复数 )；（酒的）芳香 | |
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53
impulsively
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| adv.冲动地 | |
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54
monogram
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| n.字母组合 | |
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55
benevolent
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| adj.仁慈的，乐善好施的 | |
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