Somewhere in Time Read Online Free PDF Page B

Story of American Theatre by V. A. Bentley.
    "Her rise to critical acclaim, after 1896, was rapid, almost phenomenal. Although before that she had, despite her success and adulation, manifested no truly outstanding thespic gift, there was not a role she essayed after that that was not done magnificently."
    Mention is made that her portrayal of Juliet represents a symbol of this change. She performed it to minor critical reception in 1893. When she did it again in 1899, it was to general acclaim.
    A few words are expended on her manager. "A man of overly forceful nature, William Fawcett Robinson was disliked by most who knew him. Never having had the advantage of a good education, he, nonetheless, displayed daring and boldness in his many enterprises." Good God. He died on the Lusitania. I wonder if he loved her. He must have. I can almost sense his feelings toward her. Uneducated, crude perhaps, he probably never told her of his feelings in their entire relationship, regarding her as too high above himself, and devoting all his efforts to keeping her elevated, thus making certain she was unavailable to anyone else as well. That's the last of the books.
    � � �
    Sitting by the window, dictating again. Getting close to five, the sun descending. Another day.
    I feel a terrible restlessness inside with no way of resolving it. Why have I let myself become involved this way? She's dead. She's in her grave. She's moldering bone and dust.
    She's not!
    The people in the next room, who were chatting, have gone deathly still. My shouted words must have startled them. Charlie, there's a madman in the next room, call the desk.
    But... God, oh, God, I hate myself for having said that. She isn't dead. Not the Elise McKenna I love. That Elise McKenna is alive.
    Better lie down, close my eyes. Take it easy now, you're letting things get out of hand.
    � � �
    Lying in the darkness, haunted by the mystery of her.
    Shall I turn detective, try to solve it?
    Can I turn detective? Or is it all lost, buried underneath the sands of time?
    I've got to get out of this room.
    � � �
    I'm walking along the fifth-floor corridor-a narrow passageway, the ceiling just a few inches above my head.
    Did she ever walk this corridor? I doubt it; she was too successful. She'd have stayed on the first floor, facing the ocean. A big room with a sitting room adjoining.
    I've stopped. I stand here, eyes shut, feeling the hotel's atmosphere seep into me.
    The past is here; no doubt of it.
    I don't think ghosts could walk here though. Too many guests have been in and out; they'd dissipate an individual spirit.
    The past, on the other hand, like some immense, collective ghost is present here beyond all possibility of exorcism.
    � � �
    I'm standing on a fifth-floor outside balcony, looking at the stars.
    To the human eye, stars move very slowly. Considering their relative motion, at this moment she and I might be looking up at virtually the same sight.
    She in 1896, me in 1971.
    � � �
    I'm sitting in the Ballroom. Some affair was held here earlier; tablecloths are flung across the floor, chairs strewn everywhere. I'm looking at the stage on which Elise McKenna acted. Less than fifty feet away from me.
    I'm standing now and walking toward the stage. The six gigantic chandeliers are darkened. The only light comes from wall lamps on the outer edges of the room. My shoes move soundlessly across the parquet flooring.
    I'm standing on the stage now. Wonder if they've changed the size or shape of it since then? I suppose they must have. Even so, at some point in The Little Minister she had to walk across this very spot. Perhaps she paused here, even stood.
    Science tells us that nothing can be destroyed. In a real sense, then, some part of her must remain here. Some essence she exuded during her performance. Here. Now. On this spot. Her presence mingling with mine.
    Elise.
    Why am I so drawn to her and what am I to do about it? I'm not a boy. A boy