Crying for the Light Volume Iii Part 13

'For instance?'

'Well, to begin with, the atmosphere of self-consciousness in which the actor lives and moves and has his being. Mr. Henry James tells us the artist performs great feats in a dream; we must not wake him up lest he should lose his balance. The actor, alas! has always to be wide awake-to think of the applause to be won. I am sure too much of that sort of life cannot be good for anyone.'

'And I have long been expecting you to say as much.'

'But you are not sorry, are you?'

'On the contrary; it is the very thing I have been looking for all along.

It is nice to feel when the public applaud an actress that she is your own; but how much nicer to feel as I do now,' said Wentworth, with a loving caress, 'that she is all my own! You were happy on the stage; you will be ten times happier off it.'

'Ah, that I know well enough.'

'I fancy you little people of the mimic world are rather inclined to overrate your importance. By the side of it the editorial "we" is modesty itself. You actors and actresses are not such great folk after all. Admired one day, forgotten the next! As I think of all the men and women I have known upon the stage, who were lions of their day, for whom the public went into fits of madness, and then see how completely they are forgotten, it has always seemed to me that to ill.u.s.trate the vanity of life and the nothingness of human applause I should point to the stage.'

One morning there came the manager of the theatre.

'No, I shall never go back to the stage,' replied the actress.

'Why not, my dear?' said the manager, a gentleman of showy manners, and suspected of being rather over-sweet.

'Because I don't like the life behind the scenes.'

'I am surprised to hear that. If you knew how young ladies of really good position bother me to give them a trial!'

'Ah, they are ignorant.'

'Yes,' said the manager; 'remember the old lines:

'"Where ignorance is bliss, 'Tis folly to be wise.'"

'Folly or not,' replied Rose, 'my eyes have been opened by experience.

Once I was ignorant as they, and thought how delightful the life behind the scenes must be; but now I know better. I only wish I could have a quiet chat with some of those stage-struck girls, and warn them before it is too late. The life is only possible for the children of parents who are on the stage. It is the atmosphere in which they have been brought up. But as to other girls, the stage is the last thing they should think of if I had my way.'

'But what do you object to?'

'Why, to everything: the language one is obliged to hear; the dresses, which are often actually indecent; the way in which one is persecuted by men supposed to be gentlemen-the free-and-easy way in which they attempt familiarities is decidedly unpleasant. No, I have been behind the scenes; I have no more illusions on that score. I have done with the whole affair. I am off the boards, and I have no wish to reappear on them again.'

'No money will tempt you?' said the manager.

'None,' was the reply.

'You will be exposed to no inconvenience, you know.'

'That is true; but I should have to give my sanction to much that I disapprove of. You must reform what goes on behind the scenes.'

'Oh, that is impossible.'

'That's what I fear.'

'Well, as you've made up your mind, it is no use, I fear, discussing the subject any longer.'

His appeal was in vain.

She did not want money, she did not care for applause; she had plenty of excitement in real life. She wanted time to think, and read, and feel.

Behind the footlights every night, what time has actor or actress to realize the great ends of life as something real, and not a show with its pretended tragedy or farce?

'In fact,' said the lady, 'I wish to live and not to act.'

'And then return to the stage when you are getting old,' said the manager in dismay. 'Well, the public are indulgent, I admit. A favourite is a favourite, whether old or young. There are old men and women now on the stage who ought to have retired years ago. They cannot act decently; with all their making up they are scarcely presentable. Their memory and their power are gone, or something very like it, still the public applaud. They do not understand what failures the poor creatures have become, and they praise them as liberally as when they were in their prime and could act. One cannot much wonder that under the circ.u.mstances the veteran actor lags superfluous on the stage.'

'But are they not afraid of the newspaper critics?'

Here the manager laughed.

'Excuse me-that is too ridiculous. Who cares for theatrical criticism?

Of course, we managers are civil to the critics, who give themselves amusing airs, and have a high opinion of their own abilities, and we get an advertis.e.m.e.nt gratuitously, which, of course, is an advantage. But a theatrical critic always swims with the stream-applauds what the public applaud, and blames what they blame. The public don't care a rap for the theatrical critic. I often wonder newspaper editors take the trouble to print what they write. That no one reads it, except on a wet Sunday, they know as well as I. But you will come back to us soon?' said the manager, with his most beseeching air.

'No, I think not,' said the lady. 'The life is too exciting to be healthy, either for the heart or the head. It is all very well for a little while, but not for long. I have been happy on the stage, but I believe I shall be equally happy off. Let the younger ones have a chance. Every dog has his day.'

And the manager departed, thinking that the lady had made a great mistake, that perhaps she only needed a little more pressing. At any rate, he said, as he bowed himself out:

'Madame, you shall hear from me again.'

'It is no use,' was her reply.

'I am glad you have come to such an opinion. I also have obtained my freedom,' said Wentworth. 'My work at the newspaper office is done. It has been rather unpleasant of late. The proprietors depend on the Liberal Government; the Liberal Government fancy that to me it is due that a Tory was returned for Sloville. It was hinted to me that I was too independent-too negligent as to the interests of the party; that I was not severe enough on the sins of the opposition; that, in short, I was not enough of a party hack. Our manager is a keen party man; indeed, he expects one of these days to be knighted. And now I am free, and so are you, and we can set about a work I have long had in contemplation.

You and I have often talked of Southey's and Coleridge's pantisocracy-I believe the time has come for some such an enterprise. It is true they never carried it out, it is true that when Robert Owen tried to do something of the kind it failed; but that is no reason why we should fail.'

'Of course not,' said Rose. 'Yes, let us emigrate. Let us leave Sodom and Gomorrah to their fate. The sooner we are off the better.'

'Let us have old Buxton down to talk over the matter,' said Wentworth, making a signal by applying the poker to the ceiling.

In a moment or two he was in the room, a big burly man, with a big head and a big beard-given to the immoderate use of tobacco; averse to wearing new clothes, and not overfond of soap and water; rather inclined to be lazy; ready to say with Lord Melbourne, when reforming action was proposed: 'Why can't you leave it alone?' Such men have their uses in a land where fussy people-as much with a view to their own personal gratification as to the welfare of the public-are always putting themselves forward; attempting to wash the blackamoor white, to have the Ethiopian change his skin or the leopard his spots.

'What's up now?' said he as he shuffled in. 'You look uncommonly grave.'

'Listen to me,' said Wentworth. 'You have read my article in this morning's paper?'

'Not a line.'

'Read it then.'

Buxton shrugged his shoulders and sat down.

Wentworth continued:

'Listen to my ideas, which I have published in the paper.'