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Rh I find myself living the rôle and overwhelmed with the terrific pathos of that poor woman. It exhausts me. At dress rehearsal I broke down twice."

I made some polite response, but to myself I said, "If that is so, dear lady, you are going to flop." She did. I was able to see a matinée. She had not been on the stage three minutes before it was apparent that she was not thinking of herself as an actress artfully portraying a rôle, but as a woman overwhelmed with misery. Very early in the play she reached her climax and had nothing left for contrast in the bigger scenes. In life, grief is not necessarily majestic; often it is a bit ludicrous. One may respect and pity the tears of a weeping woman and yet find her streaked and swollen face and reddened eyes a little ridiculous. And so in the scene which Bernhardt had made so arresting, this second actress seemed rather to be a bride sniveling over her first burned biscuits or a matron grieving over the marriage anniversary forgotten by her husband, than a figure of stark tragedy.

The lady was entirely sincere, I believe. She had heard that an actress must live her rôles, and had believed it. A better actress