Other formats

    Adobe Portable Document Format file (facsimile images)   TEI XML file   ePub eBook file  

Connect

    mail icontwitter iconBlogspot iconrss icon

Philiberta: A Novel

Chapter XXV. Philiberta's Failure

Chapter XXV. Philiberta's Failure.

Philiberta felt unequal to further comment upon a history and character like Madge Fitzroy's. There was something harshly repulsive about both; and yet, none looking at the actress could doubt the capacity for good in her sadly warped nature; and Philiberta involuntarily yielded her in fair measure that almost affectionate admiration that Miss Fitzroy had power to win whensoever and from whomsoever she pleased. She was truly very fascinating—this fair woman, and could be as winsomely gentle and lovable outwardly as she could be harsh and repellant. Philiberta chose to think and say that she was unnatural only when she assumed the latter moods. Miss Fitzroy disclaimed this, but liked to hear it said, I think. She loved praise—loved it so well that she would rather receive it in the form of coarse adulation and bald commonplace flattery, than not at all. But here again Philiberta found excuse for her, saying of this weakness that it was natural to an intensely excitable temperament and a mind that had been unwholesomely fed from the very beginning. Thus, like dram-drinking and other habits of a vitiated appetite, it grew, until it spoiled true taste and the nice sense of discrimination.

Miss Fitzroy laughed again, and said she was not clever enough to understand all that, which was but another instance of the self-depreciation in which she seemed to take continual delight when alone with our heroine.

She was of incalculable service to Philiberta during the latter's stage novitiate, and she gave her aid with a heartiness uncommon from one actress to another. But, despite the friendship that thus strengthened between the two, Philiberta page 171determinedly declined those afternoons at the little [gap — reason: invisiable] Carlton.

'It seems such a waste of time,' she said, with candour that would have been rudely abrupt in a less earnestly feeling woman. 'There are so many profitable things to fill up one's life with, that to lose the hours upon a number of men, the good of whose characters is lost in their variety and multitude, seems almost a sin. I could easily understand having one or two men friends, from whose society and converse one would reap pleasure and intellectual benefit.'

'And get oneself well scandalised through it,' observed Miss Fitzroy. 'No, my dear, the safety of my reputation lies in the multiplicity of my masculine friends and adorers. And, besides, I like variety.'

'But how do you find time to study?'

'I never do study now. At first I did, having, like you, very lofty aspirations. But soon finding that my forte, and the needs of the public, were good society acting and burlesque—something to appreciate which called for no heavy intellectual strain or mental effort—I adapted myself, dear; and the result is that there is no heavier demand upon my intellect than upon that of the public. Smart dialogue and pretty music are wondrous easy to learn. Appropriate gestures; expressiveness, "points," all follow naturally; at least, they do to me. I need no study beyond the committing to memory my parts, and the public like me, you see. If I have defects in the matter of talent, my appearance makes amends for them. A woman really pretty, pleasant, and graceful, finds it very easy to do all that I do—to gain all that I gain. I always feel intensely sorry for an ugly woman, especially an ugly actress. She must have some grand speciality to make success even possible, I am very glad that I am beautiful.'

There was not a vestige of conceit about this speech. Madge Fitzroy regarded her good looks as purely marketable gifts, of which it was her duty and pleasure to make the very most. She took the greatest care of her health always, because good health is essential to beauty. She avoided as much as possible page 172the baleful cosmetics so often necessary in her profession, and she made no risky experiments with her complexion or hair. But both being as near the perfection of loveliness as could well be, she had certainly little temptation to such experimenting. If she came into rivalship with another pretty woman, she did her best to obscure and extinguish that one; if the other woman happened to be prettier—but this never did happen but once, and then the relative beauty was altogether a matter of taste—she hated her rival with dutiful feminine deadliness. But you could no more apply the terms vanity and conceit, in their native ugliness, to her than to a lady pigeon pluming her pretty feathers and pouting her fair breast before a mirror.

The burlesque was a triumph; Philiberta's performance in it as great a success as a second-best part could be. The press gave her favourable criticisms; the management congratulated her. There was a change of piece presently, and the character of an Indian queen fell to our heroine—a sort of Pocahontas character that suited her admirably. It was the only serious character in the burlesque, and it could scarcely be called dramatic, but rather tragi-comic; but so much of the tragic element did Philiberta infuse into her impersonation that Mr. G. caught himself seriously considering the expediency of giving her the opportunity she had at first asked of him. The time between the close of the burlesque season and the opening of the pantomime would be certainly so dull in matters theatrical that nothing could well make it worse; while it was just possible that a short administration of Shakespeare would result in general satisfaction. The other partners in the management inclined to his views; and the end was a proposition to Philiberta that made her heart leap with glad anticipation. She had never lost sight of her great ambition, but she had not hoped for this chance of its gratification so soon. The prudential terms proposed by the management—that she should provide her own costumes, receive a fair salary if successful, but none at all if otherwise—she joyfully acceded to. The opening piece was to be 'Romeo and Juliet,' as there page 173was an ambitious young fellow in the stock company who would hail this chance and make no fuss about salary, and who possessed just the physique and voice for Romeo.

'Don't be too sanguine,' said Mr. G., with kind intention, to Philiberta when he saw how glad she was. 'If you do not set your hopes too high, the failure, which is always possible, will not hurt so much.'

'I will try and keep them at a moderate altitude, then,' she replied; 'but I will not dream of failure, I will make myself succeed.'

'Good fortune to you!' said Mr. G., doffing his hat as he spoke, for he dearly loved a woman of spirit.

From then until the close of the burlesque period Philiberta devoted every spare moment to 'under-study.' There is no doubt that she overdid it; that she wrought her system to a pitch of nervous excitability and anxiety that marred her gifts and weakened her power. Then she took too deep an interest in the preparations; she almost lived in the theatre while they were going on. She gave herself no moment's respite from the one idea, and all this tended to ruin her.

'If you go on like this, you will fail,' said Miss Fitzroy, who would almost have given up one of her own best successes just then to have ensured Philiberta's. 'Not only that, but you will lay the foundation of heart-disease, of which so many in our profession die. Take my advice and put the thing entirely out of your mind for the next fortnight.'

But that was impossible, and at the end of the fortnight came the night of ordeal.

All pallid and throbbing, she stood in her dressing-room, Miss Fitzroy and the stage costumière helping to attire her. There were two other ladies present—a young actress and her mother. The former was a new acquisition to the recent burlesque company. She was fair and very pretty, and consequently the object of Miss Fitzroy's undisguised animosity. There was a certain dandified violinist who had numbered one in the train of Miss Fitzroy's professional admirers, but who had had the audacity to detach himself lately and go over to page 174the enemy—i.e., to the new blonde. This was insufferable, Miss Fitzroy said, she all the while caring about as little for the violinist as for any mongrel dog that might follow her home.

The state of things between the two young ladies had for some days been one of 'armed neutrality.' Why they should have chosen the night of Philiberta's debut to declare open war is beyond human ability to divine, but they did so. Mrs. Jinks, the costumière, scenting battle with the delight of a warhorse, lent her tongue cheerfully in Miss Fitzroy's cause. After a few polite passages between the two leading combatants, Mrs. Jinks began:

'As I was saying, Mrs. Gregory,' she had not been saying anything, but that was her favourite manner of commencing a speech, 'as I was saying, that fiddle-playing rascal would prove a misfortune to any girl—a misfortune as a lovier, a still greater misfortune as a husband. I can't help remarking, ma'am, if you'll excuse me, how well that violet feather do become you! Yes, as I was saying, a misfortune. Not that any girl is likely to get him, though, for such as him is hard to catch; and he haven't got a shilling to his name neither.'

'His income is in his fingers,' said Mrs. Gregory. 'Such a musician as he need never fear poverty.'

'Certainly not,' returned Mrs. Jinks, continuing with a sweetness of tone that was in itself suspicious. 'How charmingly you do dress your hair, ma'am—if you'll excuse me—for a lady as is past the bloom of youth and prime of womanhood, as one may say. And Miss Gregory there, how she do take after you in loveliness! But, as I was saying about Mr. So-and-so (no need to mention names when supes is always on the listen), as I was saying, ma'am, he's not a marrying man, anyhow.'

'Who said he was?' snapped Mrs. Gregory.

'Nobody as I heard of,' said Mrs. Jinks, calmly proceeding with her task of lacing Philiberta's corsage. 'Only I heard him with my own blessed ears, no longer ago than yesterday, saying that his heart was well nigh worried out of his body by women as would run after him to marry him.'

'I do not believe it,' said Miss Gregory, with sudden anger.

page 175

'The gentleman you are speaking of would never express himself in that manner.'

'Well, it mightn't 'a' bin those words, miss,' replied Mrs. Jinks carelessly, 'but it was words to that effect, as the saying is.'

'If he did say it,' observed Mrs. Gregory, 'there is no difficulty in guessing to whom he alluded.'

'Exactly; just so,' said Mrs. Jinks, displaying a pink danger signal in either cheek; 'and so, as I was saying, as a woman that has had daughters myself, though they are all respectably married now, thank Heaven! and got children of their own, but as a woman knowing the trouble and foolishness of daughters, as I was saying, Mrs. Gregory, it's a fortunate thing, I say, that you do know who Mr. So-and-so (no need to mention names, for reasons aforementioned) alooded to, so's you can take steps accordin'.'

'What does this woman mean?' said Mrs. Gregory, taking in the entire room in one sweeping glare of her rather fine eyes.

'Why, I thought you clearly understood me, ma'am,' said the little costumière, looking up with an expression of touching innocence; 'I thought you knew that Miss Gregory there——'

'Do you mean to say, creature, that my daughter is suspected of running after any man? Do you think anyone is blind to the deliberate efforts of Miss Fitzroy there to entrap Mr. ——into marriage?'

'In what way have I merited this gratuitous insult, Mrs. Gregory?' inquired Miss Fitzroy, smiling upon her enemy with spiteful amiability.

'It wasn't likely Miss Fitzroy would try on any such little game,' said Mrs. Jinks, coming well to the front, 'seeing that she knows as well as I do that the fellow is already married.'

Miss Gregory screamed. Mrs. Gregory made a threatening gesture at Mrs. Jinks and bade that lady explain herself.

'Didn't you know?' said Mrs. Jinks, still perfectly calm. 'Wasn't you aweer that his housekeeper, poor young thing, as has worked and slaved for him for years, gave up the little fortune as her aunt left her out of her savings to stop his insolvency, and that he married her out of gratitude, and that she keeps him even yet because he spends all he earns in gambling?'

page 176

Miss Gregory burst into tears.

'I don't believe a word of it,' shouted Mrs. Gregory furiously. 'It is a trumped-up lie!'

'Softly, softly,' said Miss Fitzroy; 'we are not accustomed to vulgar brawling in the ladies' dressing room, Mrs. Gregory.'

'All a beastly trumped up lie!' repeated Mrs. Gregory. 'Made to break my poor girl's heart. Harriet, come out of this.' And away the lady went, with a rushing rustle of skirts, and a sound of gasping breath, and her daughter following sorrowfully after.

Mrs. Jinks lifted her petticoats until rather more of her slender limbs was revealed than would be considered exactly proper even under the broad license of the ballet, and she performed an elaborate pas seul very creditably.

'I think the Gregorys' goose is cooked,' she remarked, more expressively than elegantly. 'I think I've done for them. It took me all the morning to dodge round the flies preventing Miss G. and the fiddler from spooning. I was determined they shouldn't spoon, and they didn't. I don't think Miss G. will want to try any more now.'

'I hope all this has not worried you, dear,' said Miss Fitzroy to Philiberta.

'Not a great deal,' was the reply. 'It might have if I had attended, but I was too busy with myself. Yet I do wonder that you can descend to quarrels like that.'

'I didn't quarrel, dear,' said Miss Fitzroy sweetly; 'it was Mrs. Gregory who quarrelled. Jinks, you splendid little woman, see who is at the door.'

It was the call boy summoning Juliet.

'My time is come,' said Philiberta.

'Cheer up. Success awaits you,' said Miss Fitzroy, dramatically 'I'll watch you from the wings.'

Everyone knew Juliet's cue.' What, Juliet!' from the old nurse, and Juliet's response. 'How now! who calls?' uttered just before her entrance. Phliliberta's voice rang out clear and rich and resonant in those opening words; she passed on to the stage; the house was filled in every part, and there were page 177the sea and wall of faces before her; her knees trembled; she forgot all her familiarity with the stage; she staggered, and the thundering sound in her ears drowned the next speech from the nurse—ah well! it was a failure—a failure!