“Dear Mephisto,
“Here is the Box for Saturday. I hope you will enjoy ‘Volumnia.’ I love her. Come on the stage after the play, and let me take you home.
“Yours cordially,
“Geneviève Ward.”
Her performance was simply amazing. Well rouged, with a cheerful smile and sprightly manner, this dear lady of over seventy looked young, handsome, animated, indeed beautiful, and buoyant in the first act. As the play proceeded her complexion paled, her eyes dimmed, the deep black robe and nun-like head-gear helped the tragedy of the scene, until in the mad scene she was cringing and yet magnificent; in the last act—thrilling.
Her clear enunciation, magnificent diction, and great repose are indeed a contrast to the modern young woman of the stage, who speaks so badly that one cannot hear what she says, and has often not learnt even the first rules of walking gracefully.
After the play I went behind the scenes, as arranged. Benson was there standing at Miss Ward’s door thanking her for her performance.
What a splendid athlete he is in appearance, and though I am not particularly fond of his performance, Coriolanus is by far his best. I congratulated him upon it, and his simplicity and almost shyness were amusing.
“But I am so much below my ideal of the part,” he said; “although it is strengthening and broadening, I cannot even now get it,” and then, turning to Miss Ward, added, “However, our ‘Volumnia’ is all she should be.”
There was Miss Ward, dressed ready to return home, smiling cheerfully and not in the least tired. As we were driving back to my house, she told me, in answer to a friendly enquiry, what her day had been.
“I went for a long walk this morning, had my lunch at a quarter to one, got to the theatre at two, began at two-thirty, and, as you know, did not end till five-thirty.”