al 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."
Simultane
|