following an engagement of The Little Minister at the Hotel del Coronado in California."
She was not, however, caught in a blizzard. Her company may have been but she was not with them. She stayed behind at the hotel. Not even her mother or manager remained with her.
Now that's peculiar; unlike anything she'd ever done before. From what the author indicates (however discreetly), her action was an unexpected shock to everyone. "But more on that later," writes Gladys Roberts. What does that mean? Yet another mystery?
The section goes on: "The play, which had been undergoing trial performances on the West Coast, proceeded no further, and for some time it appeared as though it might be cancelled altogether."
Ten months later, it opened in New York.
In the intervening period, notes the author, no one saw Elise McKenna. She remained secluded on her farm, spending her days walking on her property. Why?
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Her favorite wine was an unchilled red Bordeaux. I'll get some. Then I'll be able to listen to her favorite composer as I drink her favorite wine-here in the very location where she was.
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Another aspect to the mystery.
"Before The Little Minister opened in New York, her acting had been highly pleasing but from that day on, her performances took on a luminescence and a depth which no one has yet been able to explain."
I'd better go back to those reviews.
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Comments on her acting up to 1896:
"Delightfully delicate. Charming restraint. Simple sincerity. Personal charm. Gracious modesty. Felicity in utterance. Clever and intelligent. Consistently promising."
And afterward:
The Little Minister: "There is a new vitality, a new warmth, a vivid emotional life in Miss McKenna's acting."
L'Aiglon: "Surpasses that of Sarah Bernhardt as the stars surpass the moon."
Quality Street: "Played with infinite grace and a pathos for which there was no gainsay."
Peter Pan: "Her acting is an expression of the life force in the simplest, most beautiful way."
'Op o' Me Thumb: "The Actress portrays every pang of despair, of utter wretchedness and of absolute desolation that the unloved, unlovable woman feels tearing at her heart. The acme of genuine pathos."
Romeo and Juliet: "How different from her first performance of this role. Finely emotional and intensely appealing on its tragic side. Total poignancy. Sense of emotional loss conveyed with brilliant conviction and authority. The most sympathetic, the most human, and the most convincing Juliet we have ever seen."
What Every Woman Knows: "Her best work was noticed in the scenes of suppressed agony of spirit and the philosophic tone of her gentle martyrdom."
The Legend of Leonora: "Exquisitely appealing acting by Miss McKenna, who has never played with finer touches or richer glimpses of real womanliness and tenderness."
A Kiss for Cinderella: "Miss McKenna is so dauntless and gently pathetic that she almost breaks your heart." (From no less than Alexander Woollcott himself.)
Joan of Arc: "The triumph of her career. A completely formed and finished jewel of characterization."
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When exactly did this change take place?
I can't help but believe that it was during her stay at this hotel.
What happened, though?
I could use the aid of Sherlock Holmes, Dupin, and Ellery Queen right now.
I'm looking at the photograph again.
What put that expression of despairing acceptance on her face?
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Maybe there's an answer in this chapter. I'm near the end of the book now. The sun is going down again. So are my hopes. When I'm finished with the book, what's going to happen to me?
"The stage is her life, her close friends always said. Love-making is not for her. Yet once, to me, in an unguarded moment, a moment never again repeated, she hinted that there had been someone. As she spoke of it, I saw, within her eyes, a tragic light I'd never seen before. She gave no details beyond referring to it, with a sad smile, as 'My Coronado scandal.'
Learning to Kill: Stories