Nat Goodwin's Book

Fate said "No," and I began my journey to the Antipodes, leaving as a legacy to the Kentucky woman – a lie!

Fifteen years later we met in New York. We drove through Central Park and I told her the truth. When I had finished she said nothing; for almost an hour we drove in silence. She then turned to me and simply replied, "Well I've waited all these years to prove what I thought was true. It is over now and I presume we both are happy."

Are we? I wonder!

It was Poe who wrote Annabel Lee: —

The moon never beams
Without bringing me dreams
Of my beautiful Annabel Lee.

It is a strange world. The young lady married some few years ago. I hope she is happy; she deserves to be.

Chapter XLIX

THE CONFESSIONAL

Happy the man, and happy he alone,
He who can call to-day his own;
He, who, secure within, can say:
"Tomorrow, do thy worst, for I have lived to-day!"

Come fair or foul, or rain or shine.
The joys I have possessed, in spite of fate, are mine!
Not Heaven itself upon the past has power,
But what has been, has been,
And I have had my hour. – John Dryden

I have —

been addicted to the use of alcoholic stimulants – but always with distinguished and worthy companions;

deserted home and fireside, always by request, bought and dearly paid for;

lied – to myself – for recreation;

cheated – the undertaker;

deceived – only "yours truly;"

been a reveler – during the day, always too busy at night;

been a gambler – on the green;

a rambler – on the nod;

an actor – on the job;

a hypocrite? – no, by God!

The Shubert theatres and Carnegie libraries are running a dead heat in an earnest endeavor to perpetuate their respective names.

What sublime egotism and how humorous! A race between a Scotchman and a Jew!

Now if only a New England Yankee could be persuaded to enter the race I would back him to win! He would be sure to erect against every library and theatre a soup house in which to feed the inartistic hungry – and he would get the money, too.

I have been accused by many of my reviewers of being a casual person, with no reverence for my art; a trifler, unreliable, never taking myself seriously. To all of which I plead guilty. I am casual; I never found it necessary to plod. I have little reverence for the art that has never played fair with me.

I had to play in London to discover that I was an artist.

A trifler? Yes – when circumstances compelled me to associate with pin-headed critics.

And why should I take myself seriously when nobody else does?

Mind you, when I say I plead guilty that does not signify that I am. Many a man has pleaded guilty to save himself from the hangman's noose, being assured that by so doing he will receive life imprisonment. If after a perusal of the itinerary that I have written in this book of thirty-nine years before the public, in which I prove that I have run the gamut from an end man in a minstrel show to Shylock in "The Merchant of Venice" anyone pronounces me guilty I am willing to abide by his verdict.

But none will deny that I have worked – worked hard – and enjoyed it!

The three saddest events in my life: —

The burial of my son.

The death of Eliza Weathersby.

Inspecting Her Majesty's Theatre, London, with Sir Henry Irving under the guidance of Beerbohm Tree, then the lessee and manager!

The three happiest events: —

The birth of my son.

The presentation of a loving cup to me by the Lambs Club.

My first performance in "The Merchant of Venice."

I earnestly beseech my readers, particularly the professional critics to whom I pay my respects later, not to misconstrue my motives nor consider any of my references as personal. They are simply mild protests at the methods employed of featuring my professional and private lives, particularly the latter.

For years I have been misrepresented, at times assailed, brutally assaulted. I am not defending any real act that has ever been exploited; my principal objection is that the real bad in me has never been discovered! Only the supposed errors and little idiosyncrasies are all they have endeavored to circulate.

What has been printed is puerile and worthy only of contempt. I am really capable of far more devilish accomplishments than those with which they have credited me, but they are apparent only to my intimate friends who know my tremendous capacity for wrong-doing!

Conscious of my alleged proclivities I find supreme consolation in knowing a dear old lady living in Boston who is proof against the accusations made against me. Really she does not believe them. For years I have been the recipient twice a week of just such epistles as this, my latest love letter: —

My own darling Son:

We were both very very happy to get your dear letter this morning, yet sorry to hear you are suffering with Sciatica and Rheumatism, I do hope the next letter we get, you will be able to walk with a Cane; very thankful you are not having but very little pain in the back. I know dear that you dont believe in Christian Science yet I feel it is helping us all and if mother is happy in that belief, I know you wont mind me writing this to you. I've prayed night and day your Back would heal and your legs would grow Stronger every day, and I really believe my prayers have helped you; now I am going to work hard night and day for you to get rid of Sciatica and Rheumatism, and tell me in your next letter if you are getting all over your illness, and those weak nerves, even if you dont believe in C. S. I've just read this to Dad, he says, tell Nat his mother is crazy. Give Miss Moreland my fond love and all good wishes for her kindness to our darling, God bless her, tell her I often think of her and hope I may see her Soon, and tell her how very grateful I am and thank her over and over again, dont know what you would have done without her, through all your terrible Sufferings. Dad has written you all the news which isn't very much. I am able to get around and waiting to get Stronger to go out. Dad joins in sending our fond love with kisses God bless you may you improve every day rapidly, and soon be ready for business and enjoy perfect health and great Success in your new part – with all the happiness there is, is ever my constant and Silent prayers always for our Darling Son. From your ever loving and affectionate mother

    C. R. Goodwin