Ah, a tender mouth was bitted and bridled at last! the reins were in the hands of the public, and it would drive me—where?
The public! the public! I had never feared it before, because I had never realized its power. If I pleased, well and good. If I displeased it, I should be driven forth from the dramatic Eden I loved, in which I hoped to learn so many things theatrical and to become very wise, and I should wander all my life in the stony places of poverty and disappointment! I clenched my hands and writhed in misery at the thought. I seemed again to hear that applause, which had been for me—my very self! and I thrilled at its wild sweetness. Ah, the public! it could make or it could mar my whole life. Mighty monster, without mercy! The great many-headed creature, all jewelled over with fierce, bright eyes, with countless ears a-strain for error of any kind! That beat the perfumed air with its myriad hands when pleased—when pleased! A strange, great stillness seemed to close about me; something murmured: "In the future, in the dim future, a woman may cause this many-headed monster you fear to think as one mind, to feel as one heart! Then the bit and bridle will be changed—that woman will hold the reins and will drive the public!" At which I broke into shrill laughter, in spite of flowing tears. Two women came in, one said: "Why, what on earth's the matter? Have they blown you up for your didoes to-night? What need you care, you pleased the audience?" But another said, quietly: "Just get a glass of water for her, she has a touch of hysteria—I wonder who caused it?"
But I only thought of that woman of the dim future, who was to conquer the public—who was she?
Why that round of applause should have so shattered my happy confidence I cannot understand, but the fact remains that from that night I never faced a new audience, or attempted a new part, without suffering a nervous terror that sometimes but narrowly escaped collapse.
CHAPTER ELEVENTH
My Promiscuous Reading wins me a Glass of Soda—The Stage takes up my Education and Leads me through Many Pleasant Places.
I suppose it sounds absurd to say that during those first seasons, with choruses, dances, and small parts to learn, with rehearsals every day and appearances every night, I was getting an education.
But that depends upon your definition of the word. If it means to you schooling, special instruction, and formal training, then my claim is absurd; but if it means information, cultivation of the intellectual powers, enlightenment, why then my claim holds good, my statement stands, I was getting an education. And let me say the stage is a delightful teacher; she never wearies you with sameness or drives you to frenzy with iteration. No deadly-dull text-book stupefies you with lists of bare, bald dates, dryly informing you that someone was born in 1208, mounted the throne in 1220, died in 1258, and was succeeded by someone or other who reigned awhile—really you can't remember how long, and don't much care. There's nothing in figures for the memory to cling to. But no one can forget that Edward V. was born in 1470, because he is such a tragic little figure, only thirteen years old and of scant two months reign, because there was the Tower and there the crafty, usurping Duke of Gloster eager for his crown.
Perhaps people would remember that Edward III. was born in 1312 and was succeeded by his grandson, Richard, if they were told at the same moment that he was father to that superb Black Prince, beloved alike of poet, painter, and historian.
Now, to be a good actress and do intelligent work, one should thoroughly understand the play and its period in history, as the mainspring of its action is often political. To be able to do that requires a large fund of general information. That I had from my very babyhood been a reckless reader, came about from necessity—I had no choice, I simply read every single thing in print that my greedy hands closed upon; the results of this promiscuous reading, ranging from dime novels to Cowper, were sometimes amusing. One day, I remember, an actress was giving a very excited account of a street accident she had witnessed. Her colors were lurid, and some of her hearers received her tale coldly. "Oh!" she cried, "such an awful crowd—a mob, you know—a perfect mob!"