0183m
Ah—h-h—h!
Oh, go away, 'Vonia!
Sir Gower! [To Sir William.] Good-morning.
[She withdraws.]
[Pacing the room—again very violent.] Yes! and these are the associates you would have tempted my boy—my grandson—to herd with! [Flourishing his stick.] Ah—h—h—h!
[Sitting upon the basket—weakly.] That young lady doesn't live in that attire. She is preparing for the pantomime———
[Standing over her.] And now he's gone; lured away, I suspect, by one of ye—[pointing to the center door] by one of these harridans!——
[Avonia reappears defiantly.]
Look here, Sir Gower———
[Rising.] Go, 'Vonia!
.
[To Sir William.] We've met before, if you remember, in Cavendish Square——
[Sitting again, helplessly.] Oh, Mrs. Gadd——!
Mistress! a married lady!
Yes, I spent some of my honeymoon at your house——
What!
Excuse my dress; it's all in the way of my business. Just one word about Rose.
Please, 'Vonia——!
[To Sir William, who is glaring at her in horror.] Now, there's nothing to stare at, Sir Gower. If you must look anywhere in particular, look at that poor thing. A nice predicament you've brought her to!
Sir——! [Correcting himself.]. Madam!
.
You've brought her to beggary, amongst you. You've broken her heart; and, what's worse, you've made her genteel. She can't act, since she left your mansion; she can only mope about the stage with her eyes fixed like a person in a dream—dreaming of him, I suppose, and of what it is to be a lady. And first she's put upon half-salary; and then, to-day, she gets the sack—the entire sack, Sir Gower! So there's nothing left for her but to starve, or to make artificial flowers. Miss Trelawny I'm speaking of! [Going to Rose, and embracing her.] Our Rose! our Trelawny! [To Rose, breaking down.] Excuse me for interfering, ducky. [Retiring, in tears.] Good-day, Sir Gower. [She goes out.]
[After a pause, to Rose.] Is this—the case?
[Standing, and speaking in a low voice.] Yes. As you have noticed, fortune has turned against me, rather.
.
[Penitently.] I—I'm sorry, ma'am. I—I believe ye've kept your word to us concerning Arthur. I-I——
[Not heeding him, looking before her, dreamily.'] My mother knew how fickle fortune could be to us gypsies. One of the greatest actors that ever lived warned her of that—-
Miss Gower will also feel extremely—extremely——
Kean once warned mother of that.
[In an altered tone.] Kean? which Kean?
Edmund Kean. My mother acted with Edmund Kean when she was a girl.
[Approaching her slowly, speaking in a queer voice.] With Kean? with Kean!
Yes.
[At her side, in a whisper.] My dear, I—I've seen Edmund Kean.
Yes?
A young man then, I was; quite different, from the man I am now—impulsive, excitable. Kean! [Drawing a deep breath.] Ah, he was asplendid gypsy!
[Looking down at the dress-basket.] I've a little fillet in there that my mother wore as Cordelia to Kean's Lear——
I may have seen your mother also. I was somewhat different in those days——
[Kneeling at the basket and opening it.] And the Order and chain, and the sword, he wore in Richard. He gave them to my father; I've always prized them. [She drags to the surface a chain with an Order attached to it, and a sword-belt and sword—all very theatrical and tawdry—and a little gold fillet. She hands him the chain.] That's the Order.
[Handling it tenderly.] Kean! God bless me!
[Holding up the fillet.] My poor mother's fillet.
[Looking at it] I may have seen her. [Thoughtfully.] I was a young man then. [Looking at Rose steadily.]Put it on, my dear.
[She goes to the mirror and puts on the fillet.]
[Examining the Order.] Lord bless us! how he stirred me! how he——!
[He puts the chain over his shoulders. Rose turns to him.]
[Advancing to him.] There!
[Looking at her.] Cordelia! Cordelia—with Kean!
[Adjusting the chain upon him.] This should hang so. [Returning to the basket and taking up the sword-belt and sword.] Look!
[Handling them.] Kean! [To her, in a whisper.] I'll tell ye! I'll tell ye! when I saw him as Richard—I was young and a fool—I'll tell ye—he almost fired me with an ambition to—to——[Fumbling with the belt.] How did he carry this?
[Fastening the belt, with the sword, round him.] In this way—
Ah! [He paces the stage, growling and muttering, and walking with a limp and one shoulder hunched. She watches him, seriously.] Ah! he was a little man too! I remember him! as if it were last night!
I remember——- [Pausing and looking at her fixedly.] My dear, your prospects in life have been injured by your unhappy acquaintanceship with my grandson.
[Gazing into the fire.] Poor Arthur's prospects in life—what of them?
[Testily.] Tsch, tsch, tsch!
If I knew where he is——!
Miss Trelawny, if you cannot act, you cannot earn your living.
How is he earninghisliving?
And if you cannot earn your living, you must be provided for.
[Turning to him.] Provided for?
Miss Gower was kind enough to bring me here in a cab. She and I will discuss plans for making provision for ye while driving home.
[Advancing to him.] Oh, I beg you will do no such thing, Sir William.
Hey!
I could not accept any help from you or Miss Gower.
You must! you shall!
I will not.
[Touching the Order and the sword.] Ah!—yes, I—I'll buy these of ye, my dear——
Oh, no, no! not for hundreds of pounds! please take them off!
[There is a hurried knocking at the door.]
[Startled.] Who's that? [Struggling with the chain and belt.] Remove these———!
[The handle is heard to rattle. Sir William disappears behind the curtains. Imogen opens the door and looks in.]
[Seeing only Rose, and coming to her and embracing her.] Rose darling, where is Tom Wrench?
He was here not long since——
[Going to the door and calling, desperately.] Tom! Tom Wrench! Mr. Wrench!
Is anything amiss?
[Shrilly.] Tom!
Imogen!
[Returning to Rose.] Oh, my dear, forgive my agitation—-!
[Tom enters, buoyantly, flourishing the manuscript of his play.]
I've found it! at the bottom of a box—"deeper than did ever plummet sound——"! [To Imogen.]
Eh? what's the matter?
Oh, Tom, old Mr. Morfew——-!
[Blankly.] Isn't he willing—-?
[With a gesture of despair.] I don't know. He's dead.
No!
Three weeks ago. Oh, what a chance he has missed!
[Tom bangs his manuscript down upon the table savagely.]
What is it, Tom? Imogen, what is it?
[Pacing the room.] I can think of no one else——
Done again!
We shall lose it, of course—
Lose what?
The opportunity—her opportunity,myopportunity,youropportunity, Rose.
[Coming to him.]Myopportunity, Tom?
[Pointing to the manuscript.] My play—my comedy—my youngest born! Jenny has a theatre—could have one—has five hundred towards it, put down by a man who believes in my comedy, God bless him!—the only fellow who has ever believed——?
Oh, Tom! [turning to Imogen] oh, Imogen!
My dear, five hundred! we want another five, at least.
Another five!
Or eight.
And you are to play the part of Dora. Isn't she, Jenny—I mean, wasn't she?
Certainly. Just the sort of simple little Miss youcouldplay now, Rose. And we thought that old Mr. Morfew would help us in the speculation. Speculation! it's a dead certainty!
Deadcertainty? poor Morfew!
And here we are, stuck fast——!
[Sitting upon the dress-basket dejectedly.] And they'll expect me to rehearse that dragon to-morrow with enthusiasm.
[Putting her arm around his shoulder.] Never mind, Tom.
No, I won't——[Taking her hand.] Oh,
[Looking up at her.]Oh, Dora——!
[Sir William, divested of his theatrical trappings, comes from behind the curtain.]
Oh! Tom. [Rising.] Eh?
[Retreating]. Sir William Gower, Tom——
[To Tom.] I had no wish to be disturbed, sir, and I withdrew [bowing to Imogen] when that lady entered the room. I have been a party, it appears, to a consultation upon a matter of business. [To Tom.] Do I understand, sir, that you have been defeated in some project which would have served the interests of Miss Trelawny.
Y—y—yes, sir.
Mr. Wicks
Wrench——
Tsch! Sir, it would give me pleasure—it would give my grandson, Mr. Arthur Gower, pleasure—to be able to aid Miss Trelawny at the present moment.
S—s—sir William, w—w—would you like to hear my play——?
[Sharply.] Hey! [Looking round.] Ho, ho!
My comedy?
[Cunningly.] So ye think I might be induced to fill the office ye designed for the late Mr.— Mr. ————
Morfew.
Morfew, eh?
N—n—no, sir.
No! no!
[Shrilly.] Yes!
[After a short pause, quietly.] Read your play, sir. [Pointing to a chair at the table.] Sit down. [To Rose and Imogen.] Sit down.
[Tom goes to the chair indicated. Miss Gower's voice is heard outside the door.]
[Outside.] William! [Rose opens the door; Miss Gower enters.] Oh, William, what has become of you? has anything dreadful happened?
Sit down, Trafalgar. This gentleman is about to read a comedy. A cheer! [Testily.] Are there no cheers here! [Rose brings a chair and places it for Miss Gower beside Sir William's chair.] Sit down.
[Sitting, bewildered.] William, is all this—quite——?
[Sitting.] Yes, Trafalgar, quite in place—quite in place——
[Imogen sits. Rose pulls the dress-basket round, as Colpoys and Gadd swagger in at the door, Colpoys smoking a pipe, Gadd a large cigar.]
[To Tom, referring to Gadd and Colpoys.] Friends of yours?
Yes, Sir William.
[To Gadd and Colpoys.] Sit down. [Imperatively.] Sit down and be silent.
[Gadd and Colpoys seat themselves upon the sofa, like men in a dream. Rose sits on the dress-basket.]
.
[Opening the center door slightly—in an anxious voice.] Rose——!
Come in, ma'am, come in! [Avonia enters, coming to Rose. A cloak is now attached to the shoulders of Avonia's dress.] Sit down, ma'am, and be silent!
[Avonia sits beside Rose, next to Miss Gower.]
[In horror.] Oh—h—h—h!
[Restraining her.] Quite in place, Trafalgar; quite in place. [To Tom.] Now, sir!
[Opening his manuscript and reading.] "Life, a comedy, by Thomas Wrench——"
The scene represents the stage of a theatre with the proscenium arch, and the dark and empty auditorium in the distance. The curtain is raised. The stage extends a few feet beyond the line of the proscenium, and is terminated by a row of old-fashioned footlights with metal reflectors. On the left, from the proscenium arch runs a wall, in which is an open doorway supposed to admit to the Green-room. Right and left of the stage are the "P." and "O. P." and the first and second entrances, with wings running in grooves, according to the old fashion. Against the wall are some "flats." Just below the footlights is a T-light, burning gas, and below this the prompt-table. On the right of the prompt-table is a chair, and on the left another. Against the edge of the proscenium arch is another chair; and nearer, on the right, stands a large throne-chair, with a gilt frame and red velvet seat, now much dilapidated. In the "second entrance" there are a "property" stool, a table, and a chair, all of a similar style to the throne-chair and in like condition, and on the center, as if placed therefor the purpose of rehearsal, are a small circular table and a chair. On this table is a work-basket containing a ball of wool and a pair of knitting-needles; and on the prompt-table there is a book. A faded and ragged green baize covers the floor of the stage. The wings, and the flats and borders, suggest by their appearance a theatre fallen somewhat into decay. The light is a dismal one, but it is relieved by a shaft of' sunlight entering through a window in the flies on the right.
[Mrs. Telfer is seated upon the throne-chair, in an attitude of dejection. Telfer enters from the Green-room.]
[Coming to her.] Is that you, Violet?
Is the reading over?
Almost. My part is confined to the latter 'alf of the second act; so being close to the Green-room door [with a sigh], I stole away.
It affords you no opportunity, James?
[Shaking his head.] A mere fragment.
[Rising.]Well, but a few good speeches to a man of your stamp——
Yes, but this is so line-y, Violet; so very line-y. And what d'ye think the character is described as?
What?
"An old, stagey, out-of-date actor."
[They stand looking at each other for a moment, silently.]
[Falteringly.] Will you—be able—to get near it, James?
[Looking away from her.] I dare say——-
[Laying a hand upon his shoulder.] That's all right, then.
And you—what have they called you for, if you're not in the play? They 'ave not dared to suggest understudy?
[Playing with her fingers.]They don't ask me to act at all, James.
Don't ask you—-!
Miss Parrott offers me the position of Wardrobe-mistress.
Violet!
Hush!
Let us both go home.
[Restraining him.] No, let us remain. We've been idle six months, and I can't bear to see you without your watch and all your comforts about you.
[Pointing toward the Green-room.] And so this new-fangled stuff, and these dandified people, are to push us, and such as us, from our stools!
Yes, James, just as some other new fashion will, in course of time, pushthemfrom their stools.
[From the Green-room comes the sound of a slight clapping of hands, followed by a murmur of voices. The Telfers move away. Imogen, elaborately dressed, enters from the Green-room and goes leisurely to the prompt-table. She is followed by Tom, manuscript in hand, smarter than usual in appearance; and he by O'Dwyer,—an excitable Irishman of about forty, with an extravagant head of hair,—who carries a small bundle of "parts" in brown-paper covers. Tom and O'Dwyer join Imogen.]
[To Tom.] Mr. Wrench, I congratulate ye; I have that honor, sir. Your piece will do, sir; it will take the town, mark me.
Thank you, O'Dwyer.
Look at the sunshine! there's a good omen, at any rate.
Oh, sunshine's nothing. [To Tom.] But did ye observe the gloom on their faces whilst ye were read in'?
[Anxiously.] Yes, they did look glum.
Glum! it might have been a funeral! There's a healthy prognostication for ye, if ye loike! it's infallible.
[A keen-faced gentleman and a lady enter, from the Green-room, and stroll across the stage to the right, where they lean against the wings and talk. Then two young gentlemen enter, and Rose follows.]
Note.—The actors and the actress appearing for the first time in this act, as members of the Pantheon Company, are outwardly greatly superior to the Gadds, the Telfers, and Colpoys.
[Shaking hands with Telfer.] Why didn't you sit near me, Mr. Telfer? [Going to Mrs. Telfer.] Fancy our being together again, and at the West End! [To Telfer.] Do you like the play?
Like it! there's not a speech in it, my dear—not a real speech; nothing to dig your teeth into—-
[Allotting the parts, under the direction of Tom and Imogen.] Mr. Mortimer! [One of the young gentlemen advances and receives his part from O'Dwyer, and retires, reading it.] Mr. Denzil!
[The keen-faced gentleman takes his part, then joins Imogen on her left and talks to her. The lady now has something to say to the solitary young gentleman.]
[To O'Dwyer, quietly, handing him a part.] Miss Brewster.
[Beckoning to the lady, who does not observe him, her back being towards him.] Come here, my love.
[To O'Dwyer.] No, no, O'Dwyer—not your "love."
[Perplexed.] Not?
No.
No?
Why, you are meeting her this morning for the first time.
That's true enough. [Approaching the lady and handing her the part.] Miss Brewster.
Much obliged.
[Quietly to her.] It 'll fit ye like a glove, darlin'. [The lady sits, conning her part. O'Dwyer returns to the table.]
[To Rose.] Your lover in the play? which of these young sparks plays your lover—Harold or Gerald——?
Gerald. I don't know. There are some people not here to-day, I believe.
Mr. Hunston!
[The second young gentleman advances, receives his part, and joins the other young gentleman in the wings.]
Not that young man, I hope. Isn't he a little bandy?
One of the finest Macduffs I ever fought with was bow-legged.
Mr. Teller.
[To O'Dwyer.] No, no—Telfer.
Telfer!
[Telfer draws himself erect, puts his hand in his breast, but otherwise remains stationary.]
[Anxiously.] That's you, James.
Come on, Mr. Telfer! look alive, sir!
[To O'Dwyer.] Sssh, sssh, sssh! don't, don't——!
[Telfer advances to the prompt-table, slowly. He receives his part from O'Dwyer. To Telfer, awkwardly.] I—I hope the little part of Poggs appeals to you, Mr. Telfer. Only a sketch, of course; but there was nothing else—quite—in your———-
Nothing? to whose share does the Earl fall?
Oh; Mr. Denzil plays Lord Parracourt.
Denzil? I've never 'eard of 'im. Will you get to me to-day?
We—we expect to do so.
Very well. [Stiffly.] Let me be called in the street. [He stalks away.]
[Relieved.] Thank Heaven! I was afraid James would break out.
[To Mrs. Telfer.] But you, dear Mrs. Telfer—you weren't at the reading—what areyoucast for?
I? [Wiping away a tear.] I am the Wardrobe-mistress of this theatre.
You! [Embracing her.] Oh! oh!
[Composing herself.] Miss Trelawny—Rose—my child, if we are set to scrub a floor—and we may come to that yet—let us make up our minds to scrub it legitimately—with dignity——
[She disappears and is seen no more.]
Miss Trelawny! come here, my de——
[To O'Dwyer.] Hush!
Miss Trelawny!
[Rose receives her part from O'Dwyer and, after a word or two with Tom and Imogen, joins the two young gentlemen who are in the "second entrance, L." The lady, who has been seated, now rises and crosses to the left, where she meets the keen-faced gentleman, who has finished his conversation with Imogen.]
[To the keen-faced gentleman.] I say, Mr. Denzil! who plays Gerald?
Gerald?
The man I have my scene with in the third act—the hero—-
Oh, yes. Oh, a young gentleman from the country, I understand.
From the country!
He is coming up by train this morning, Miss Parrott tells me; from Bath or somewhere—-
Well, whoever he is, if he can't play that scene with me decently, my part's not worth rags.
[To Imogen, who is sitting at the prompt-table.] Er—h'm—shall we begin, Miss Parrott?
Certainly, Mr. Wrench.
We'll begin, O'Dwyer.
[The lady titters at some remark from the keen-faced gentleman.]
[Coming down the stage, violently.] Clear the stage there! I'll not have it! Upon my honor, this is the noisiest theatre I've ever set foot in!
[The icings are cleared, the characters disappearing into the Green-room.]
I can't hear myself speak for all the riot and confusion!
[To O'Dwyer.] My dear O'Dwyer, there is no riot, there is no confusion—
[To O'Dwyer.] Except the riot and confusion you are making.
You know, you're admirably earnest, O'Dwyer, but a little excitable.
[Calming himself.] Oh, I beg your pardon, I'm sure. [Emphatically.] My system is, begin as you mean to go on.
But wedon'tmean to go on like that.
Of course not; of course not. Now, let me see—[pointing to the right center] we shall want another chair here.
Another chair?
A garden chair.
[Excitably.] Another chair! Now, then, another chair! Properties! where are ye? do ye hear me callin'? must I raise my voice to ye-?
[He rushes away.]
[To Tom.] Phew! where did you gethimfrom? Tom.
[Wiping his brow.] Known Michael for years—most capable, invaluable fellow——
[Simply.] I wish he was dead.
So do I.
[O'Dwyer returns, carrying a light chair.]
Well, where's the property-man?
[Pleasantly.] It's all right now. He's gone to dinner.
[Placing the chair in position.] Ah, then he'll be back some time during the afternoon. [Looking about him.] That will do. [Taking up his manuscript.] Call—haven't you engaged a call-boy yet, O'Dwyer?
I have, sir, and the best in London.
Where is he?
He has sint an apology for his non-attindance.
Oh!
A sad case, ma'am; he's buryin' his wife.
Wife!
The call-boy?
What's his age?
Ye see, he happens to be an elder brother of my own——
O Lord!
Nevermind! let's get on! Call Miss—— [Looking toward the right.] Is that the Hall-Keeper?
[A man, suggesting by his appearance that he is the Hall-Keeper, presents himself, with a card in his hand.]
[Furiously.] Now then! are we to be continually interrupted in this fashion? Have I, or have I not, given strict orders that nobody whatever——?
Hush, hush! see whose card it is; give me the card——
[Handing the card to Tom.] Ah, I'll make rules here. In a week's time you'll not know this for the same theatre——
[Tom has passed the card to Imogen without looking at it.]
[Staring at it blankly.] Oh——!
[To her.] Eh?
Sir William.
Sir William.!
What can he want? what shall we do?
[After referring to his watch—to the Hall-Keeper.] Bring this gentleman on to the stage. [The Hall-Keeper withdraws. To O'Dwyer.] Make yourself scarce for a few moments, O'Dwyer. Some private business——-
All right. I've plenty to occupy me. I'll begin to frame those rules—-[He disappears.]
[To Tom.] Not here———
[To Imogen.] The boy can't arrive for another twenty minutes. Besides, we must, sooner or later, accept responsibility for our act.
[Leaning upon his arm.] Heavens! I foretold this!
[Grimly.] I know—"said so all along."
If he should withdraw his capital!
[With clenched hands.] At least, that would enable me to write a melodrama.
Why?
I should then understand the motives and the springs of Crime!
[The Hall-Keeper reappears, showing the way to Sir William Gower. Sir William's hat is drawn down over his eyes, and the rest of his face is almost entirely concealed by his plaid. The Hall-Keeper withdraws.]
[Receiving Sir William.] How d'ye do, Sir William?
[Giving him two fingers—with a grunt.] Ugh!
These are odd surroundings for you to find yourself in—- [Imogen comes forward.] Miss Parrott——
[Advancing to her, giving her two fingers.] Good-morning, ma'am.
This is perfectly delightful.
What is?
[Faintly.] Your visit.
Ugh! [Weakly.] Give me a cheer. [Looking about him.] Have ye no cheers here?
Yes.
[Tom places the throne-chair behind Sir William, who sinks into it.]
Thank ye; much obleeged. [To Imogen.] Sit. [Imogen hurriedly fetches the stool and seats herself beside the throne-chair. Sir William produces his snuff-box.] You are astonished at seeing me here, I dare say?
Not at all.
[Glancing at Tom.] Addressing the lady. [To Imogen.] You are surprised to see me?
Very.
[To Tom.] Ah! [Tom retreats, getting behind Sir William's chair and looking down upon him.] The truth is, I am beginning to regret my association with ye.
[Her hand to her heart.] Oh—h—h—h!
[Under his breath.] Oh! [Holding his fist over Sir William's head.] Oh—h—h—h!
[Piteously]. You—you don't propose to withdraw your capital, Sir William?
That would be a breach of faith, ma'am——
Ah!
[Walking about, jauntily.] Ha!
[Seizing Sir William's hand.] Friend!
[Withdrawing his hand sharply.] I'll thank ye not to repeat that action, ma'am. But I—I have been slightly indisposed since I made your acqueentance in Clerkenwell; I find myself unable to sleep at night. [To Tom.] That comedy of yours—it buzzes continually in my head, sir.
It was written with such an intention, Sir William—to buzz in people's heads.
Ah, I'll take care ye don't read me another, Mr. Wicks; at any rate, another which contains a character resembling a member of my family—alatemember of my family. I don't relish being reminded of late members of my family in this way, and being kept awake at night, thinking—turning over in my mind——
[Soothingly.] Of course not..
[Taking snuff.] Pa—a—a—h! pi—i—i—sh!
When I saw Kean, as Richard, he reminded me of no member of my family. Shakespeare knew better than that, Mr. Wicks. [To Imogen.] And therefore, ma'am, upon receiving your letter last night, acqueenting me with your intention to commence rehearsing your comedy—[glancing at Tom] his comedy——
[Softly.]Ourcomedy——