h night from the great Public, by whose
favor I and mine existed, I was grateful and would have been quite
happy--_but_ for a brand-new difficulty that suddenly loomed up, large,
and wide, and solid before me.

Never in my life had I been in a play of a longer run than one week.
Imagine, then, my misery when I found this play, that was already old to
me at the end of the first week, was likely to go on for a long time to
come. It was not mere _ennui_ over the repetition of the same lines,
night after night, that troubled me, it was something far more serious. I
had made my hit with the public by moving the people's feelings to the
point of tears; but to do that I had first to move my own heart, for, try
as I would, no amount of careful acting had the desired effect. _I_ had
to shed tears or _they_ would not. Now that is not an easy thing to do to
order, in cold blood. While the play is new one's nerves are strained
almost to the breaking point--one is over-sensitive and the feelings are
easily moved; then the pathetic words I am speaking touch my heart, tears
rush to my eyes, tears are heard in my voice, and other hearts respond
swiftly; _but_ when you have calmed down, when you have repeated the
lines so often that they no longer mean anything to you, what are you to
do then?

Really and truly there were days when I was nearly out of my mind with
terror lest I should not be able to cry that night; for those tears of
mine had a commercial value as well as an artistic, and Mr. Daly was
swift to reproach me if the handkerchief display in front was not as
great as usual. This sounds absurd perhaps to a reader, but heaven knows
it was tragic enough to me. I used to agonize all day over the question
of tears for the night, and I have seen the time when even my own
imaginary tomb failed to move me.

One night, when my eyes were dry as bones, and my voice as hard as stone,
and Mr. Daly was glaring whitely at me from the entrance, I had suddenly
a sort of vision of that dethroned actress whom, back in Cleveland, I had
seen uncrowned. I saw her quivering face, her stricken eyes, and a sudden
rush of tears blinded me. Later, Mr. Daly said: "What a tricky little
wretch you are. I thought you were going to throw that scene away,
without a single tear to-night. I suppose you were doing it to aggravate
me, though?"

Goodness knows I was grateful enough myself for the tears when they did
come, and I got an idea from that experienc