I met Mr. Jefferson in Paris at that dreadful time when he was threatened with blindness, and I never shall forget his gentle patience, his marvelous courage. That was a day of real rejoicing to me, when the news came that his sight was saved. Blindness coming upon any man is a horror, but to a man who can see nature as Joseph Jefferson sees her it would have been an almost incredible cruelty.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIFTH
I See an Actress Dethroned—I Make Myself a Promise, for the World Does Move.
To be discarded by the public, that is the bête noire, the unconquerable dread and terror of the actor. To fail in the great struggle for supremacy is nothing compared to the agony of falling after the height has once been won.
Few people can think of the infamous casting down of the great column Vendôme without a shiver of pain—the smashing of the memorial tablet, the shattering of the statue, these are sights to shrink from, yet what does such shrinking amount to when compared to the pain of seeing a human being thrust from the sunlight of public popularity into the darkness of obscurity?
I was witness once to the discrowning of an actress, and if I could forget the anguish of her eyes, the pallor beneath her rouge, I would be a most grateful woman.
She had been handsome in her prime, handsome in the regular-featured, statuesque fashion so desirable for an actress of tragic parts; but Mrs. P—— (for I shall call her only by that initial, as it seems to me that naming her fully would be unkind) had reached, yes, had passed, middle age and had wandered far into distant places, had known much sorrow, and, alas, for her, had not noticed that her profession, like everything alive, like the great God-made world itself, moved, moved, moved! So not noticing, she, poor thing, stood still in her method of work, loyally doing her best in the style of acting that had been so intensely admired in her triumphant youth.
She had most successfully starred in Cleveland years before, but at the time I speak of she was returning from distant parts, widowed and poor, yet quite, quite confident of her ability to please the public, and with plans all made to star two, possibly three, years, long enough to secure a little home and tiny income, when she would retire gracefully from the sight of the regretful public. Meantime she entreated Mr. Ellsler, if possible, to give her an engagement, that she might earn money enough to carry her to New York and see the great agents there.
By some unlooked-for chance the very next week was open, and rather tremulously as manager, but kind-heartedly as man, Mr. Ellsler engaged her for that week.
The city was billed accordingly: "Mrs. P——, the Queen of Tragedy!"—"The celebrated Mrs. P——, Cleveland's great favorite!"—"Especial engagement of Mrs. P——!" etc., etc.