I Hear Mrs. Kean's Story of Wolsey's Robe--I Laugh at an Extravagantly
Kind Prophecy.
From the time I found the miniature and by accident fed Mr. Kean's
innocent vanity in his father's likeness to Byron, he made much of me.
Evening after evening, in Columbus, he would have me come to their
dressing-room, for after the habit of the old-time actor, they came very
early, dressed without flurry, and were ready before the overture was on.
There they would tell me stories, and when Charles had a teasing fit on
him, he would relate with great gusto the awful disaster that once
overtook Ellen in a theatre in Scotland, "when she played a Swiss boy, my
girl--and--and her breeches----"
"Now, Charles!" remonstrated Mrs. Kean.
"Knee breeches, you know, my dear----"
"Charles!" pleadingly.
"Were of black velvet--yes, black velvet, I remember because, when they
broke from----"
"C-h-a-r-l-e-s!" and then the stately Mrs. Kean would turn her head away
and give a small sob--when Charles would wink a knowing wink and trot
over and pat the broad shoulder and kiss the rouged cheek, saying: "Why,
why, Ellen, my dear, what a great baby! now, now, but you know those
black breeches did break up before you got across the bridge."
Then Mrs. Kean turned and drove him into his own corner or out of the
door, after which she would exclaim: "It's just one of his larks, my
dear. I _did_ have an accident, the seam of one leg of my breeches broke
and showed the white lining a bit; but if you'll believe me, I've known
that man to declare that--that--they fell off, my dear; but generally
that's on Christmas or his birthday, when only friends are by."
Mr. Kean had been the first man to wear an absolutely correct cardinal's
robe on the stage, and very proud he was of that fact, and never failed
in giving his Ellen all the credit of it. Until this time actors had worn
a scarlet "something," that seemed a cross between a king's mantle or a
woman's wrapper. Mr. Kean had been quite carried away with enthusiasm
over his coming production of "Henry VIII.," and his wife, seeing his
disappointment and dissatisfaction over the costumer's best efforts in
the direction of a cardinal's robe, determined, some way or somehow, to
obtain for him an exact copy of the genuine article.
One night, while "Louis XI." was going on, Mrs. Kean herself told me how
she had at last succeeded. They were in Rome for their holiday; they had
many letters, some to very important personages. In her story Mrs. Kean
gave names and dates and amounts of money expended, but they have passed
from my memory, while the dramatic incident remains.
From the first she had made known to her most powerful Roman friend her
desire to see the robe of a cardinal--to obtain measurements from it, and
had been treated at first to a great showing of uplifted hands and eyes
and many "impossibles," but later on had received positive promises of
help. Yet days, even weeks passed, and always there was some
excuse--nothing came of the fine promises.
One day, in her anxiety and disappointment, she mentioned to an English
friend, who had long resided in Rome, her trouble over the
procrastination of her Italian acquaintance, when the Englishwoman asked:
"What have you paid him?" "Paid him?" cried Mrs. Kean. "Do you know you
are speaking of F----, whose high official as well as social position is
such----"
"Oh," laughed the visitor, "his position has nothing to do with it--his
being your friend has nothing to do with it. The Italian palm is an
itching palm--no wonder time is being wasted. Soothe that palm the next
time he calls, and mention the day on which you are compelled to leave
for home, and he will act quickly enough, though you really are asking
for next to an impossibility, when you, a woman, ask to see and handle a
cardinal's robe."
"Oh, my dear!" cried Mrs. Kean, "when that stately, gray-haired gentleman
next came, I almost fainted at the thought of putting such an insult upon
him as to offer him money. Indeed I could barely whisper, when clasping
his hand I left some broad gold pieces there, murmuring, 'For the poor,
sir!'--and if you'll believe me, he brightened up and instantly said:
'Keep to the house to-morrow, Madame, and I will notify you what you are
to do, and the effort to get a robe to you here having failed, you will
have to come to the general "audience" his Holiness will grant day after
to-morrow, and, and, hem! you will do well to have some loose _lire_ in
your pouch, and be sure, sure, you carry a smelling-bottle. I suppose, of
course, so famous an actress as yourself can faint at command, if need
be? Then the tailor, an usher or two, possibly even a guard may require a
fee, for they will run great risk in serving you, Madame. A woman within
those sacred passages and chambers!'
"He held up his hands in horror, but nevertheless he was doing directly
what he had been promising to do for weeks, and all for a few broad
pieces of gold. After he left me I was fairly sick with feverish
excitement. I dared not tell Charles of the arrangement; he would have
left Rome instantly, and here was I preparing to bribe tailor, ushers,
guard--and beyond them, to be still armed with loose _lire_. Oh, to what
depth was I falling!
"Next day I received a card of admission for the 'audience,' and orders:
'To keep my eyes open--to show no surprise, but to follow _silently_
wherever a hand beckoned with a single finger. To bring all things
needful for my use--not forgetting the loose _lire_ and the
smelling-bottle.'
"When I entered the carriage to go to the Vatican, I was so weak with
hope and fear and fright that Charles was quite upset about me, and was
all for going with me; so I had to brace up and pretend the air was
already doing me good. As I looked back at him, I wondered if he would
divorce me, if in my effort to secure the pattern of a cardinal's gown I
should create a tremendous scandal? I wore the regulation black silk,
with black veil, demanded for the occasion, but besides the little pouch
of silk depending from my belt with _lire_, salts, and 'kerchief, I had
beneath my gown a pocket in which were some white Swiss muslin, pins,
pencil, and tablets, and small scissors.
"There were many carriages--many people. I saw them all as in a dream. In
a magnificent room the ladies were formed in line, waiting to be admitted
to the Holy Father's presence. I was forgetting to keep my eyes
open--there was a stir. A great door was opening down its centre. I heard
a faint, low 'Hem!' The line began to move forward--a little louder that
'Hem!' Suddenly my eyes cleared--I looked. A pair of curtains, a little
ahead, trembled. I drew my smelling-bottle and held it to my nostrils, as
if ill, but no one noticed me--all were intent upon the opening of the
great door. As I came on a line with the curtains, a hand, dream-like,
beckoned. I stepped sidewise between the curtains, that parted, then fell
thick and soft behind me. Another white beckoning hand appeared at the
far side of this chamber. Swiftly I crossed toward it. A whisper of
'Quick! quick!' just reached me--a door opened, and I was in a
passage-way, and for the first time saw a guide.
"At the foot of the stairs he paused--yet the voice had said 'Quick!
quick!' I thought of the loose _lire_--yes, that was it. I gave him
three, and saw him glide up the stairs with cat-like stealth. Here were
bare walls and floors, and all that cold cleanliness that makes a woman
shrink and shiver.
"At last I was in a small, bare room, with brick-paved floor. A table
stood in its centre, and a small and wizened man, red-eyed and old,
glided in and laid upon the table--oh, joy--oh, triumph almost
reached!--a glowing-red cardinal's robe. As I laid my hand upon it the
ferret-like custodian gave a sort of whispered groan, 'Oh, the sacrilege!
and the danger! his whole life's occupation risked!'
"I remembered the 'itching palm,' and as my hand went toward my pocket,
his brown claw was extended, and the glint of gold so warmed his heart
that smiles came about his toothless mouth, and seeing me, woman fashion,
measuring by finger-lengths, he offered me a dirty old tape-measure--then
stole to the second door 'to watch for me.' Oh, yes--to watch like the
cat--while with all the haste possible the good and most high lady would
gain such knowledge as she could, and after all the robe was but an old
one, etc., etc.
"All whispered, while I with the deft fingers of a skilled seamstress and
the comprehending eye of the actress, well used to strange costumes, was
measuring here and putting down notes, swiftly pinning on a bit of muslin
there, and cutting an exact pattern. And, lo! the piece that crosses the
chest, cape-like, yet without visible opening, came near undoing me.
Tears began to blind me, but--but, ah well, my dear, I thought of
Charles, and it is astonishing what love can do to sharpen the eyes and
clear the brain. Suddenly the thing seemed quite plain to me. I then
turned the hem, and ripping it open an inch or so, I took a few
ravellings of the silk, where it was clean and bright, for a sample for
the dyers to go by--since the silk would have to be prepared especially
if it was to be absolutely correct.
"I rearranged my veil, crept to the door, and agreeably surprised the
watchers by telling them I was through. The ferrety old man had the robe
in his arms, and was gliding swiftly out of the room in the merest
instant. I followed as softly as possible the other watcher. Once an
unseen man cleared his throat as we passed, and I thought my guide would
have fallen from sheer terror, but we reached in safety the frescoed
corridor again and stood at the door waiting. The guide scratched gently
with his nails on the lower panel--a pause, then the door began to move,
and he disappeared as a ghost might have done. Across the room a hand
appeared between the hangings, beckoning me; I moved swiftly toward it. I
could hear a hum of voices, low and restrained. There was but one room
now between me and the great chamber in which we had waited in line for
'audience.' No further signal came, what should I do? I was nearly
fainting. Then another hand, a hand I knew by the splendid ring on its
middle finger, appeared. I almost staggered to it. A whisper like a
breath came to me, 'smelling-salts,' in an instant the bottle was in my
hand, I was through the curtains, my Italian friend was asking me, was I
not wrong to remain in Rome so late? He hoped my faintness was quite
past, but he must himself see me to my carriage, and so he swept me
forth, under cover of his courteous chatter, and the next day I sent him
money for those who had to be rewarded.
"And for fear of Charles's rage about the infamy of bribing, said
nothing, till he, in great anxiety about my feverish state, removed me
from Rome. And then, my dear! I threw my arms about his neck and told him
he should have a true and veritable cardinal's robe for his _Wolsey_, and
in outrageous pride I cried: '_Ego hoc feci!_'" At which _I_ gravely
said: "That sounds like 'I have done something,' anyway it's I; but that
'_fetchy_' word bothers me."
And she laughed and laughed, and said: "It means _I_ did this! And I am
ashamed to have used a Latin term to you, child. You must forgive me for
it, but I _must_ tell Charles that 'fetchy' word that bothered you--I
must indeed, because he does so love his laugh!"
Then came the night when by chance I played an important part in one of
their plays. My scenes were mostly with Mr. Cathcart, and I only came in
contact with Mr. Kean for a moment in one act. I was as usual frightened
half out of my life, and as I stood in the entrance ready to go on, Mr.
Kean smilingly caught my fingers as he was passing me, but their icy
coldness brought him to a stand-still. "Why, why! bless my soul, what's
the matter? this--this is not nervousness, is it?" he stammered.
I nodded my head. "Oh, good Lord!" he cried. "I say, Cathcart, here's a
go--this poor child can't even open her mouth now----"
I tried to tell him I should be all right soon, but there was no time.
The word of entrance came, and a _cue_ takes the _pas_ even in presence
of a star. I went on, and as my lines were delivered clearly and
distinctly, I saw the relieved face of Mr. Kean peering at us, and when
Mr. Cathcart (who enacted my soldierly lover) gave me a sounding kiss
upon the cheek as he embraced me in farewell, we plainly heard the old
gentleman exclaim: "Well, well, really now, James, upon my word, you
_are_ coming on!" and Mr. Cathcart's broad shoulders shook with laughter
rather than grief as he rushed from me.
When, later on, Mr. Kean took my hand to give it in betrothal to my
lover, he found it so burning hot as to attract his attention.
Next night I did not play at all, but came to look on, and being invited
to the dressing-room, Mr. Kean suddenly asked me: "Who are you, child?"
"No one," I promptly answered.
He laughed a little and nudged his Ellen, then went on: "I mean--who are
your people?"
"I have none," I said, then quickly corrected, "except my mother."
"Ah, yes, yes, that's what we want to get at--who is that mother? for I
recognize an inherited talent here--a natural grace and ease, impossible
for one so young to acquire by any amount of effort."
I was a bit confused--I hesitated. Mrs. Kean asked: "Were both of your
parents actors, child?"
Suddenly I broke into laughter. The thought of my mother as an actress
filled me with amusement. "Oh, I beg your pardon," I cried, "I have no
father, and my mother just works at sewing or nursing or housekeeping or
anything she can get to do that's honest."
They looked disappointedly at each other, then Mrs. Kean brightened up
and exclaimed: "Then it's foreign blood, Charles--you can see it in her
use of her hands."
They turned expectantly to me. I thought of the big, smiling
French-Canadian father, who had been the _bete noire_ of my babyhood. My
head drooped. "He, my father, was bad," I said, "his father and mother
were from the south of France, but he was a horrid Canadian--my mother,
though, is a true American," I proudly ended.
"That's it!" they exclaimed together, "the French blood!" and Mr. Kean
nodded his head and tapped his brow and said: "You remember, Ellen, what
I told you last night--I said 'temperament'--here it is in this small
nobody; no offence to you, my girl. Here's our dear niece, who can't act
at all, God bless her! our 'blood,' but no temperament. Now listen to me,
you bright child!"
He pushed my hair back from my forehead, so that I must have looked quite
wild, and went on: "I have seen you watch that dear woman over there,
night after night; you admire her, I know." (I nodded hard.) "You think
her a great, great way from you?" (More nods.) "A lifetime almost?"
(Another nod.) "Then listen to what an old man, but a most experienced
actor, prophesies for you. Without interest in high places, without help
from anyone, except from the Great Helper of us all, you, little girl,
daughter of the true American mother and the bad French father, will,
inside of five years, be acting my wife's parts--and acting them well."
I could not help it, it seemed so utterly absurd, I laughed aloud. He
smiled indulgently, and said: "It seems so funny--does it? Wait a bit, my
dear, when my prophecy comes true you will no longer laugh, and you will
remember us."
He gave me his hand in farewell, so did his gracious wife, then with
tears in my eyes I said: "I was only laughing at my own insignificance,
sir, and I shall remember your kindness always, whether I succeed or not,
just as I shall remember your great acting."
Simultaneously they patted me on the shoulder, and I left them. Then Mr.
Kean put his arm about his wife and kissed her, I know he did, because I
looked back and saw them thus reflected in the looking-glass. But did I
not say they were love-birds?
Four years from that month I stood trembling and happy before the
audience who generously applauded my "sleep-walking scene" in "Macbeth,"
and suddenly I seemed to hear the kind old voice making the astonishing
prophecy, and joyed to think of its fulfilment, with a whole year to the
good.