This reminds me of another anecdote of the same accomplished actress and admirable woman. The people of Edinburgh, among whom she lived, had so identified her with all that was gentle, refined and noble, that they did not like to see her play wicked parts. It happened that Godwin went down to Edinburgh with a tragedy in his pocket, which had been accepted by the theatre there, and in which Mrs. Henry Siddons was to play the principal part—that of a very wicked woman (I forget the name of the piece). He was warned that it risked the success of his play, but her conception of the part was so just and spirited, that he persisted. At the rehearsal she stopped in the midst of one of her speeches and said, with great naïveté, “I am afraid, Mr. Godwin, the people will not endure to hear me say this!” He replied coolly, “My dear, you cannot be always young and pretty—you must come to this at last,—go on.” He mistook her meaning and the feeling of “the people.” The play failed; and the audience took care to discriminate between their disapprobation of the piece and their admiration for the actress.
117.
Madame Schrœder Devrient told me that she sung with most pleasure to herself in the “Fidelio;” and in this part I have never seen her equalled.
Fanny Kemble told me the part she had played with most pleasure to herself, was Camiola, in Massinger’s “Maid of Honour.” It was an exquisite impersonation, but the play itself ineffective and not successful, because of the weak and worthless character of the hero.
118.
Mrs. Charles Kean told me that she had played with great ease and pleasure to herself, the part of Ginevra, in Leigh Hunt’s “Legend of Florence.” She made the part (as it is technically termed), and it was a very complete and beautiful impersonation.
These answers appear to me psychologically, as well as artistically, interesting, and worth preserving.
