The St. Louis Republic. [volume] (St. Louis, Mo.) 1888-1919, 1902-12-28

We had to play. because the Shylockien
impresario wanted his pound Of flesh.
We had to play while he was lying alone,
deserted. fighting the battle of death.
On the first evening-'Fedora."
The house. as stated. sold out. and Ia
failure in all that the word implies.
The theater-a great. immense structure:
I myself small. Insignificant: a person of no
consequence.
My voice-how should my voice penetrate
Into the parterre?
I believe I might as well have said "Loris.
I love thee" as "Loris, leave me-: nobody
would have known the difference.
Add to this that there was 4 continuous
whispering and murmuring in all parts Of
the house. in the boxes, in the galleries,
everywhere, all the time. from the begin
ming up to the curtains fall.
My heart. my head, my ~voice-they seemed
not to belong to me at all
/ had no power over either.
was thinking OF him all the time: of him
alone.
At last the performance closed.
l ran home. and in the kne OF my
room threw myself on the floor.
I had never felt so lonely before.
Next day-intermission.
We played only three times in the week
The newspapers gave their final decision.
They said l had a certain something about
me that attracted attention. but my voice
well. half of what 1 said they could not
hear, and the other half they were unable
the understand.
The day following We had our second per-
Torrance. Demise"
The theater-that immense barn-empty.
Only three or four rows of seats were
taken. and to the right and left two or
three boxes.
My poor Denise, so simple, so devoid of
all sensational elements-no toilets to speak
- ~ I~,,1I- .--
during the first act.
AUDIENCE CRIED WITH
HER IN ONE SCENE.
They paid her some attention In the SCI
ond act.
In the third act I had a crying scene, and
I cried real tears. and the audience cried
with me.
Mine was victory. but the battle was not
entirely won yet. for the part Of Fernando
was essayed by another.
He who had been my Fernando was still
battling with death.
And the thought OF him. OF the patient
sufferer, would never cease to agitate me
that evening.
1t stood between me and the part I was
trying TO play.
He always was before me. cold. palhd,
shaking, mis- features distorted and his
eyes CLASSY.
In vain did 1 try to throw of this feeling.
In vain did l argue with myself that art
demands from its followers the sacrifice Of
Se~lf-nega,ion
! could not be otherwise.
He was always before me-that poor man,
that good man, who never harmed anybody
In the world
He was to die amid Strangers, while we,
his friends. played comedy.
Comedy. indeed! Is there anything moro
theatre than lie?
And there before those glorious. those
blessed tootllohtS
l prayed: 20. Madonna. save my friend
Save hun. Tor he mas q father and q
mother, whose only hope in lie he Is.
save him and lake me in his stead
Let me uIe, let me iose everytnIns-my re-
nown, my Talents. my cuture-rut save
HIM" o..
Two days later and all was at en- end
And We continued paying comedy.
AS to III! self, / heaped SUCCESS upon sue
cess. and every triumph l earned Increased
my sorrow, made me more wretched-
On the evening ot DIOtus death DAY =
played Fernando.
And then and there l became what l am
that l had = heart, that l had soul and
blood in that heart
Then and there I learned that life Is not
base; only sorrowful and hard 70 bear. This
1 felt.
Do you call it an event?
[ don't know whether it is important
enough TO be so classed by others.
AS for me 1t was the mar stone OK my
life.
A life-in a life.