 Section 4 of Mimic Life by Anna Cora Mollett-Ritchie. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Read by Kelly Taylor. Stella, Chapter 4 It was the morning of Stella's debut. As she drew back the curtains of her window, the sight of her own name in huge letters on a placard opposite sent an electric shock through her frame. The novel sensation could hardly be designated as pain, yet it would be mistermed as pleasure. There was too much insertitude, too much thrilling expectancy, too many turbulent thoughts contending in her mind for the sense of enjoyment to predominate. She had broken the thrall of Tyrannus' custom. She had triumphed over all opposition, and yet the canker warm of discontent entered her breast and blasted the spring blossoms of her youth. The unrelaxed tension of her nerves, her mental unrest, had quenched the sparkle of her ever-vessing spirits. Her state constantly alternated between high excitement and oppressive weariness. As soon as her determination to become an actress was rooted in the public ear, she was, of course, besieged by the remonstruses of her friends, but their opinions she set at naught. Her independent tone and resolute manner silenced exhortation. To her mother's presence no one gained admission. Mr. Oakland declined to accompany his pupil to her second rehearsal. His tenderness towards the unprotected girl had induced him to violate a principle at her strong entreaty, but he saw no cause to subject himself to further slight without being of essential service to her. The clock had struck its tenth warning on that eventful day, and the ten minutes theatrical grace had expired before Stella, with Maddie at her side, once more entered the theater. They found the company already assembled, but rehearsal had not commenced. Everybody awaited the appearance of the Great Tragedian. Punctuality would have been derogatory to the dignity of Mr. Tennant. To cause his co-laborers as much annoyance as possible was to impress them with a due sense of his own importance. Mr. Belton saluted Stella more cordially than on the previous occasion. He was gratified to find that Mr. Oakland's presence was not considered indispensable. This bestowed on her a familiar nod. The stage managers and actors curtailed their civilities to the utmost brevity. The profession never pay homage in anticipation. Miss Rosenvilt's assumed position in the theater as yet lacked the stamp of a public recognition. All novices are looked upon as pretenders until success proclaims their legitimacy. Mr. Belton chanced to be called away. Stella was left standing in the center of the stage beside Maddie, looking wretchedly uncomfortable and out of place. Mrs. Fairfax, who had just entered, joined her at once. And ordered Visk to bring her a chair. You will learn the ways of the theater little by little, my dear. Everybody feels strange at first. She placed the chair beside the manager's table. You can sit here or in the green room, just as you please. It is the privilege of the stars to take their seat on the stage and watch the rehearsal. The rest of the company are not allowed this liberty. How flushed you look! Will you not be more comfortable if you lay a sigh your bonnet? You will rehearse better. Stella willingly removed her hat, for even its lightweight seemed to press painfully on her throbbing brain. Mrs. Fairfax hinted that Maddie had better keep a little more in the background. She might subject herself to a reproof than a steer stage manager. Maddie, at a word, retreated behind the scenes. But her honest, anxious face was constantly visible, peeping round one of the wings and watching Stella. After a half an hour's delay, Mr. Tennant made a pompous entrance. The stage echoed with his heavy tread, his deep, sonorous voice as he issued some despotic orders, his superior bearing, his athletic frame, cast in one of nature's rudest moles inspired Stella with a feeling akin to awe. Mr. Belton presented him. Sorry you've got me unnovous. Detest acting with immature was his audible observation as he eyed the young girl with supercilious scrutiny. Poor Lydia, we shan't soon see her match again. He churned on his heel without addressing a single syllable to the disconfited novice. And so he is to act virginious, thought Stella herself. How will I ever imagine myself his daughter? If he had only spoken one word to me, it would have made such a difference. Rehearsal commenced. To Stella's great surprise, the lieutenant rattled over the language of his role in the same senseless manner as the other actors, pausing now and then to explain his particular business and ejaculating brute in an undertone every time some unfortunate individual failed to comprehend him. Stella summoned all her energy and successfully assumed a bearing which might have been mistaken for composure. She went through her allotted duties without hesitation. And apparently undismayed. Mrs. Fairfax congratulated her on her newly acquired self-possession. Mr. Tennant occasionally instructed her in business, but without unbending from his state-lead demeanor. As Virginia is seen no more after the fourth act, Stella was at liberty to upset herself before rehearsal concluded. She returned to the chair upon which she had placed her bonnet. Mr. Finch was unconsciously sitting upon both. He laughed unconcernedly and made a clumsy attempt to pull the hat into shape, but uttered no apology. Then, thrusting it into her extended hand, he said, No use crying over spilled milk. You don't put your foot in it tonight and make a failure. You can't afford to buy yourself twice as fine a kickshaw as this. Stella's mind was too engrossed to dwell upon trifles, but she recalled from contact with coarse natures. It was less mortification to be forced to wear the damaged hat through the streets than to be treated with such rude indifference. She was passing out behind the scenes when Mrs. Fairfax once more joined her. Call upon me for any assistance you may need this evening. You will, of course, have the star dressing room. The luxury of an apartment to oneself is reserved for stars only. The room in which I dress with four other ladies joins yours. You would better come early, at least an hour and a half before the curtain rises, so that you can walk about after you are dressed and collect your thoughts. Do not forget that I will assist you with pleasure. Mrs. Fairfax's partiality for her profession, as well as her native kindness of heart, interested her in a novice who apparently possessed histrionic qualifications of a rare order. The compassionate actress stretched out a loving hand to this young girl whose uncertain feet were forcing their way within a briary circle which bounded that miniature world of theatre. Stella was thanking her new friend with much warmth when the ballet girl timidly approached. Her face was grief-warm and sickly, but of touching loveliness. Oppression looked out from her meek eyes, her coarse and insufficient garb, betokent penury. Her attenuated fingers were rapidly knitting lace and her needles never ceased their motion as she spoke. May Floyd carry your basket, Miss? My basket? The basket with your dresses. Floyd carries all the baskets. Stella looked inquiringly at Miss Fairfax. You should have a basket for your costumes. A basket is lighter and more convenient than a trunk. This is Floyd's sister. He takes charge of all our baskets. Poor fellow. We ought to help him as much as we can, she added in an undertone. The unfortunate boy is half-witted, but very honest. Matty shall purchase me a basket. Let your brother call for it by all means, said Stella. And tell him to be sure to call early, Perdita, added Miss Fairfax. Oh, never fear. Thank you kindly, Miss Rosenveld. Still knitting as she walked away, Perdita returned to the green room. That poor girl's history is a sad one, said Miss Fairfax. But alas, there is abundance of sad histories in all theaters. Her father is now the captain of the supernumeraries. I suppose you hardly know what that means. The captain is a sort of leader who directs and drills the soups. His grade in the theater, as you might imagine, is rather low, yet I remember him, a handsome, ambitious, promising actor. He is unfortunate, or rather he imagined himself unlucky, and was possessed with the idea that all the world conspired against him. He said he was always kept down in every theater where he was engaged, that managers never afforded him an opportunity of exhibiting the talents he was confident of possessing. A man of violent passions. He was constantly falling into disgrace by his disputes with his fellow actors. He was discharged from theater after theater. He became dispirited, morose, and finally abandoned himself to the control of demon intimperance. Intoxication was nightly prologued to his sleep. His wife was second walk-in lady in this theater, a gentle, inoffensive being, most unfitly mated. She died a few years ago leaving two children, Perdita and Floresel. So the mother called them after her favorite characters in Shakespeare's A Winter's Tale. One day the father, in a proxism of ungovernable rage, locked up little Floyd in a dark cellar. The child was left shrieking with terror while the father lost all remembrance at a neighboring tavern. He returned at midnight and found poor Perdita sitting outside the cellar door, moaning and weeping and calling to her brother, who he believed to be dead. The father, suddenly sobered by this alarm, drew the key from his pocket and opened the door. The boy was discovered sitting on the ground, staring wildly at one corner, his teeth chattering as he pointed with his fingers and used frantic gesticulations. Prolonged fear had unsettled his mind, ever since he has been what people call half-witted. Perdita, although she is only four years older, has tended him with all a mother's devotion. Over her father, too, she exerts a more powerful influence than anyone else. She belongs to Porte de Ballet here, but the poor child works day and night with her needle to support her family. The boy has just since enough to be taught to carry baskets to and fro. At first Perdita always accompanied him when he received the baskets and delivered them. The weary journeys did the brave girl take daily. By and by she earned by her knitting, sewing, and flower making sufficient money to buy Floyd a wheelbarrow. She has now so thoroughly taught him the way to all the resonances of the actors that he goes for the baskets every night by himself and takes them home again after the play. He never makes a mistake. And is the father still in temperate, hopelessly so, I fear, that evil spirit, Perdita, angel as she is, cannot exercise. He is tortured by remorse and drinks to drown all recollection of the injury he has inflicted on his child. You will see him tonight. Perdita is always watching over and helping him, but for her he would never be ready to go up on the stage at the right moment. He could not be depended upon and would have been dismissed long ago, but what a time I have spent gossiping over this romance of real life. I must say goodbye until tonight. Keep up a brave heart and success to you. Goodbye. I feel a little more like success than I did on Saturday. How much heavier are that poor girl's trials than mine, Muse Stella, as she walks slowly home? What could have revealed to me the blessedness of my own lot forcibly as the contrast with this great sufferer? The afternoon was one of long expectancy to Stella. The thoughtful Maddie had persuaded her to lie down, but she tossed uneasily on her pillow, finding no repose. Every few minutes she turned to the clock. There was surely some clog upon its hands. They moved so slowly. Oh, that the night had come and passed. Then, as the long four-time drew near, suddenly she grew sick at heart and was seized with faintness. The thought flashed through her mind that she would fail at the last moment, that she lacked strength to carry the burden which she had lifted upon her own shoulders with such headstrong will. Half past seven was the hour at which the curtain must rise. She had been apprised that Mr. Belton enforced the strictest punctuality at night. Even when stars of first magnitude solicited a few moments delayed, it was denied. Miss Fairfax had cautioned her to be at the theatre in ample time. It wanted but a quarter of six. A knock at the door. The pale-faced Perdita stood without. She was accompanied by a tall, ungainly stripling. The extreme sharpness of his countenance reminded Stella of the profile show she had seen that morning scattered about the stage. His large, projecting eyes of faintest blue seemed starting from their sockets. His nether limbs bore a strong resemblance to a pair of compasses, and his long, lank arms reached below his knees. His mouth remained open with an expression of silly wonder. When he caught Stella's eye he shook his head, agitating a profusion of straight, toe-coloured lock, and chuckled and laughed as child does with child when they are bent upon some forbidden frolic. I have brought my brother, said Perdita, advancing into the room. He has come for the basket. I show him the way the first time he goes, to a strange place. He always remembers it after that. The serene, sweet face of the humble girl who had passed calmly through such soul-heroing trials who faithfully performed so many difficult duties had more effect in composing Stella's excited nerves than all the heart-shawn and sound-voletive which Maddie had solicitously administered. The basket was already packed. Maddie strapped the cover with leathering girths and Floyd delightedly received his new burden. Stella's adieu to her mother was very brief. She only trusted herself to say, I hope I shall bring you good news, mother, and the promise of laurels hereafter, even if I win none tonight. She was equally surprised and gratified when her mother asked for a copy of Virginia's to peruse in her daughter's absence. Maddie, who was now and then a little tyrannical, had persisted in ordering a carriage, though Stella declared herself quite able to walk. Soon after six, they were driving to the theater. They presented themselves at the stage door, just as Perdita and Floyd arrived with the basket. The doorkeeper brusquely questioned Stella as to her identity before he admitted them. The dreary gloominess of the theater behind the scenes when twilight is chasing the outspent day must be seen and felt to be fully comprehended. The desolate cheerlessness of the place has struck a chill in the heart of many a novice. The crowded scenery looks rougher and dingier. The painted tenements, groves, gardens, streets more grotesque. The numberless stage anomaly is more glaringly absurd. The seaweed floating on the waves and feathery sprays of brilliant red and vivid green that seized for closer scanning turns out to be an unsightly shapeless mass. Fitly typifies the stage in its resplendent wizard robe of night enchantment, unideal, lugubrious daytime garb. Where am I to go? Stella inquired of Perdita. The dresser, Miss Bunce, has not come yet and the gas will not be turned on until half past six. Mr. Belton only allows it to be lighted for one hour before the curtain rises. But if you please, I can show you the star dressing room. Perdita led the way up a long flight of stairs then through a narrow entryway or rather gallery. On one side appear a row of small doors very like those of a bathing machine. They opened into the rooms of the ladies of the company. A wooden railing extended on the other side. To anyone who leaned over this rude balcony the larger portion of the stage became visible. Five or six persons were often crowded into one dressing room. The apartments were portioned off into set spaces and every cramped division labeled with a name. The room at the end of the gallery was appropriated solely to the lady star. The dressing rooms devoted to the use of gentlemen were located beneath the stage. Perdita opened the door of this modern star chamber. The apartment was very small and the atmosphere suffocatingly close. Maddie at once threw up the tiny cobweb draped windows. A shelf ran along one side of the wall after the manner of a kitchen dresser. In front lay a narrow strip of bays. The rest of the floor was bare. On the center of the shelf stood a cracked mirror. A gas branch jutted out on either side. Two very rickety chairs, a crazy wash stand, a diminutive stove constituted the furniture of the apartment. In this unseemly chrysalis shell the butterflies of the stage received their wings. Little did the audience who greeted some queen-like favorite sumptuously attired embroidered velvet and glittering with jewels imagined such was the Powis Bower from which she issued. The year had just ushered in its most wayward child, smiling, frowning April. Frowns thus far predominated. The unsund air had all the searching bleakness of March. Maddie threw her own shawl over her shivering charge and examined the unlighted stove. Set down the basket-flaw and run for a match, said Perdita. The boy, as he removed the basket from his shoulders, looked at Stella with evident admiration, winked at her, chuckled again, and ran down the stair. He was strongly attracted by this new fangs. He comprehended that something was going on which principally concerned its possessor but what it was he could not have defined. Flurry returned with the match and Maddie was lighting the fire which she found prepared for kindling when Perdita whispered, Here comes Mrs. Bunce and hurried away with her brother apparently awed by the approach of some Auguste personage. Mrs. Bunce, a portly middle-aged woman now bustled in. What a voice that Mrs. Bunce had. It was so shrill that when she spoke, Stella almost fancied her ears were suddenly pierced by a sharp instrument. All Mrs. Bunce's words were darted out with amazing rapidity. Here in time, eh? That's a good sign for a novice. This is the young lady, I suppose. Examining Stella. Quite a stage face. How do you do, my dear? This is your maid, I suppose. Her maid, her nurse, or her costume or anything she is pleased to want, replied Maddie with dignity. Ah, that's well. No doubt a very serviceable person. So you set the fire going. You may be smoked out soon. All the stoves here smoke when the wind's contrary. Out with the dresses, hang them up on those nails. Her toilet things go here. Never been on the stage before, Miss. It's a trying thing for beginners. I've seen hundreds of debuts in my days. Most of the young ones think a great deal of themselves until they get before the lights. Then they find out what they're made of. Not one in fifty succeeds. Hope you're not scared. Don't show it to the audience, or they'll think it's good fun. They always laugh at the fright of the novices. You know, it makes the poor, simple things look so ridiculously awkward. Here, Jerry, calling out over the gallery to the gaslighter. If you can't light up the gas yet, give us a candle, will you? The young person is a novice and I may have some trouble dressing her. Thank you, Mrs. Bunce. Stella ventured to say. Maddie has been accustomed to dress me. Yes, that I have, ever since she was that high. Added Maddie, affectionately, and designating with a hand a statue of some few inches. Ah, I dare say, but not for the stage. Mr. Belton depends on me to look after the novices on their first night and to see that they don't disfigure themselves. Maddie, when her legitimate office was thus preemptorily snatched from her hands, looked like a suppressed thunder-gust. But, consider it, even in her wrath, she feared to distress Stella by remonstrating. Not without difficulty, she controlled a strong temptation to forcibly eject Mrs. Bunce from the apartment. As Maddie opened the basket, Mrs. Bunce seized upon the contents and dragged them to light without ceremony. White marina, that's right, has he got a sweep not too long, I hope, if she's awkward, she'll trip. Those foals are too small for a Roman dress. She has such a wisp of a figure she should wear loose foals which are more correct. Where's your key border? Key border, asked Stella. Yes, round the bottom of the dress, it's Roman. We always dress our Virginians with a key border trimming. I like the dress better without. Virginia's character is marked by such girlish simplicity that her attire should go unadorned. Oh, very well, it's no great matter. You are not expected to know much about it as yet. Mrs. Bunce chattered on without pause while Stella commenced her to a lift. The busy fingers of the dresser made several desperate attempts to assist in the arrangement of the novice's hair, but this Stella would not allow. She folded back the waving, golden-tinted tresses from her pure brow, gathered them into a classic knot, and encircled her head with a white fillet. A stray lock here and there escaped its bonds and was permitted to curl down her finely curved throat. The gas was by this time lightened. Stella was just receiving her dress from the hands of Maddie. Mrs. Bunce snatched it away. Wait, wait a bit, she said. Where's your paint and powder? But you're white enough without powdering. Where's your rouge? I have none. There is nothing in the poet's description of Virginia to make one suppose that she was particularly ruddy. Besides, excitement has given me too much color already. It does very well now, but it can be depended upon like rouge. It won't last when you're frightened out of your wits. That's the mischief. Better let me borrow some rouge from the ladies. No, I would rather not. I don't see the necessity. Mrs. Bunce persisted. Stella refused. Oh, of course you can just do as you please, said the officious dresser, and a rather irate tone. I always do, replied Stella quietly. Stella's Roman toilet was completed. Even the critical Mrs. Bunce was forced to confess herself satisfied with the young debutante's appearance. It was so chastely classic, so befitting to the patrician maiden, so indicative of vestal purity. It wanted more than a half an hour of the rising of the curtain. The small stove had been gradually sending out thin wreaths of smoke. The atmosphere was becoming unendurable as Stella's smarting eyes and irritated lungs began to testify. I shall have neither sight nor voice. If I am shut up in here any longer, thought she, and this chattering woman will drive my part quite out of my head. Then she remembered the kind offer of Mrs. Fairfax and requested Mrs. Bunce to see if she were dressed. In the Roman matron who returned with the messenger, Stella hardly recognized her friend. The makeup of the practised actress was so elaborate, so striking, so full of character. Mrs. Fairfax shook hands and held the novice at arm's length with a look of unmistakable pleasure. Then retouched Stella's dress, disposed a fold here and there with a more statuette grace and said affectionately, I have seen at last my beau-ideal of Virginia. I hope you feel quite collected, tolerably, but this room is so close. Smoke chokes me. Might we not go down? Certainly. Come and I will show you the green room and teach you your way behind the scenes. That will help wear off the newness. Maddie followed carefully, protecting from contact with the ground, Virginia's spotless vestiture. To Stella's great relief, Mrs. Bunce remained behind. This is the green room, said Mrs. Fairfax. Stella looked in curiously. It was a long narrow apartment with one end sofas, thrown chairs, and other stately seats for stage use stood crowded together. On either side of the wall, a cushioned bench was secured, the only article of stationery furniture except a full-length mirror. On this bench lay an actor in Roman apparel. Stella's uninitiated eye failed to detect that he was indebted to art for his white locks and venerable aspect. He appeared to be studying, but every now and then gave vent to an uneasy groan. That is Dintatas, Mr. Martin. Don't you recognize him, inquired Mrs. Fairfax? He is a martyr to inflammatory rheumatism and can hardly stand. He has suffered for years and finds no relief. Stella called to mind the gentleman on crutches whom she had seen at rehearsal. But how can he act, she asked? This is one of the stage mysteries, which it requires some wisdom to solve. You will see him, when he is called, hobble with his crutches to the wing, groaning at every step and really suffering. There is no doubt about that. But the instant his cue is spoken, his crutches will very likely be flung at Fisk's head and low. Dintatas walks on stage, erect and firm as though he has never known an ache. He is a great favorite with the audience and generally manages to keep them convulsed with laughter, though he never ceases complaining and groaning himself when he is out of their presence. Two other Romans were walking up and down the green room, repeating their parts in a low tone. At the farther end, where sofas and chairs were huddled together, set a group of girls in Roman costume. Stella recognized Perdita among them. She was knitting lace with a rapidity positively wonderful. Mrs. Fairfax next conducted Stella to the prompter's nook on the right of the stage. There Mr. Finch sat, arranging his prompt book, and Fisk was going through a series of ludicrous antics at his side. The latter nodded to Stella and inquired patronizingly, How'd he do? How'd he feel now? Mrs. Fairfax checked him by a light box on the ear and led Stella to the stage. It was covered with a green base. The scene was set for a street in Rome. Come take your first look at the audience, said her Cicerione, pointing out a small aperture that had been surreptitiously made in the green curtain. They looked through and saw the boxes, pit, and gallery rapidly filling. At this moment, Floyd glided up to Stella, rubbing his boning hands. Such a house! Such a house! he exclaimed, then darted away again. Stella's heart began to leap as though it would bound into her throat as she caught sight of the thronged audience. You won't mind them when you are once engrossed in your part, said Mrs. Fairfax, noting her sudden trepidation. Never think of an audience if you can help it. They walked up and down behind the scenes. Stella remarked the broken windows, the open doors, through which rushed strong currents of cold air, the dilapidated condition of the walls, and wondered at the comfortlessness of the plagues. It's the same in all theatres, my dear. I never knew a manager yet who thought it necessary to render the members of his company comfortable behind the scenes. Those windows have been broken all winter. Nobody ever dreams of having them mended. The good many of us have nearly perished in our light clothing, but I dare say we get accustomed to it and on stage in the excitement of acting, one is not conscious of heat or cold. The doorkeeper came up to him. There is a gentleman asking to see you, miss. He says you desired him to call. It's against the rules to admit strangers, and I had to take his name to Mr. Belton to get consent. Mr. Belton said he didn't mind you seeing anyone tonight or nervous, but he wants you to learn the rules, the sooner the better. It's Mr. Oakland. I begged him to come for one moment. How kind he is! Mr. Oakland was standing at the stage door, somewhat discomposed by the doorkeeper's rebuke. Vastidious and sensitive as he was, that he was subjected himself to these annoyances was an eloquent proof of his attachment to the fatherless girl. How good you are! The sight of you revives me and gives me courage. Bear, Virginia. Yes, you are, Virginia, in looks. Be nothing but Virginia tonight. I must say a do, for I could not stay here. And he looked around with an expression of slight disgust. Amongst these dramatic savages, be natural. Do not aim at too much. Don't try to act, but to feel. Don't declaim, but talk. Remember the good rule. Colloquial, but not prosaic. Forcible, but not declamatory. Goodbye, and heaven help you. Just then, Fisk darted by her, twisting his body into ludicrous contortions as he ran up and down the stairs, crying at the top of his piping voice. First music! Kick, kick! First kick, kick! Along the gallery, past all the dressing rooms, he sped, repeating, First music! Kick! Down the staircase, beneath the stage, making the circuit of the gentleman's dressing rooms, he pursued his rapid flight, still shouting, First music! Kick! What is that strange boy about? asked Stella of Mrs. Fairfax. He's making the first music call. It is given a quarter of an hour before the curtain rises. The musicians could now be heard tuning their instruments. Stella continued, promenading up and down with Mrs. Fairfax. After the lapse of five minutes, Fisk was seen rolling himself from side to side in sailor-like fashion as he climbed the stairs again, screaming, Second music! Kick, kick! Second music! Kick, kick! He made the same tour and then rolled back to the prompter's seat. Now it wants ten minutes of the time, said Mrs. Fairfax. Stella was seized with an uncontrollable fit of gasping and trembling. Her head grew giddy, the same sickening faintness which she had experienced at home now nearly overpowered her. Maddie ran for a glass of water. The members of the company, who were on their way to the green room, stopped to stare at the novice, to nudge each other, and jest at the alarm which most of them had suffered themselves. Last music, kick, kick! Last music, kick! Screeched Fisk with a new variation of his fantasticalities. The orchestra was playing vocerifiously. Now, my dear, you had better forget everything else and think over your part. It wants but five minutes of the rising of the curtain. Oh, don't leave me! Don't leave me! What would I do without you, supplicated Stella? For she saw her friend was about to mount the stair. I will return directly. You don't appear until the second scene. I go on a moment before you and from the same entrance. I shall be by your side. Now walk quietly about with Maddie and try to think only of the play. I shall fail. I shall fail, murmured Stella, in an agony of fear. I shall never be able to articulate a word. Oh, if Mr. Oakland were here or my brother or anyone who loved me. She was wringing her hands in absolute despair when Perdita passed by her and went up to a man in the garb of a Roman citizen who was extended on the ground in one corner. He appeared to be asleep. His head rested on a pile of shields, breastplates, and other war-like accoutrements. Perdita laid a hand gently on his shoulder. Father, Father dear, the last music is called You'll be wanted out in a moment. Get out! Get out! Don't disturb me! Get out! Get out, I say! was the rough reply, accompanied by a motion that somewhat resembled a kick. Father, you must wake up. The curtain is going to rise. You are on in the first scene. Do wake! What is it? What is it? Asked the man with his vacant skit there. Birdie, it's you, is it? I'm always bothering me. No quiet to be found anywhere. No rest. I was forced to wake you, Father, for you are cold to the stage. She smoothed his disordered hair and arranged the tumbled folds of his toga. He rose unwillingly, shaking himself after the fashion of a hused mastiff. His form was tall and finally proportioned. His countenance must once have been handsome, but the defacing fingers of passion and sensuality had plowed furrows that destroyed its comeliness. He was not precisely intoxicated, but in the semi-stupid state which habitual intemperance rendered second nature. Stella forgot herself in her approaching trial as she watched the noble girl patiently waiting upon and soothing her brutal father. Everybody call for the first act of Virginia's! Bellowed Fisk gambling up to the green room door. Servius, nieces, Virginia's, Titus and all the Roman citizens! Oh, where is Mrs. Fairfax, cried Stella as she sees Maddie's arm to support herself. Why don't she come? Do try and find her room. Beggar to come, Maddie. No, no, don't leave me here alone. Oh, if only she would come. I go on at that entrance over there. I must get there quickly. She was walking across the stage with Maddie's arm encircling her waist when the orchestra seeped. The stage, ladies and gentlemen, called out Mr. Fitch. The prompter's tinkly bell was sounded. Stella's white dress and sandal feet were visible for a second as the curtain slowly rose. The first scene commenced. Where Stella stood, she commanded a full view of the stage, but she saw nothing, heard nothing, not even the stately Virginia's, not the shout of applause with which his interest was greeted. Courage! Courage! said the kind boy at her side. It was Mrs. Fairfax. Oh, madam, I feel as if I were under water, stifling, drowning. It's only stage fright, my dear. It will pass off by and by. All actors suffer more or less from its paralyzing influence. Even our veterans are not proof against the occasional attacks of the monster. Try and collect yourself and think of what you have to do. Virginia! Servia! Virginia! cried Fisk in a more subdued tone for now that the curtain had risen, his former key would have been heard by the audience. Fisk looks saucily in Stella's face, his head on one side and a sagacious expression upon his countens, which seemed to ask, How do you like it? Pleasant filling, isn't it? And then he repeated almost in her ear, Virginia! Ca... Oh! Go away, you young pest! Said Mrs. Fairfax, giving me a shove, a shrill whistle sounded. It penetrated Stella's very brain, the scene changed to an apartment in the house of Virginia's. There's Virginia's brodery, said Fisk, giving Mrs. Fairfax a frame with worsted work of by no means classic appearance. There's your Virginia painting, he added, handing Stella a colored engraving. That's a picture of Achilles, which looks so wonderful like your beloved Achilles. Ain't it fine? At the sound of a changing scene, all the company poured from the green room and gathered around the wings to witness Stella's debut. Actors invariably entertain a sovereign contempt for novices. The stage trimmers of youthful aspirants are a fruitful source of mirth. They delight in confusing and tormenting a debutante. Virginia's enters with Servia. She points out the tell-tale letters L and I intertwined with a V in Virginia's embroidery. After a brief dialogue, Servia is dispatched for the maiden. Mrs. Fairfax returned to the place where she had left the panic-stricken Stella and found her lying in Maddie's arms, breathless with the intensity of her emotion. Her face and lips colorless, her eyes half-closed. The actress grabbed her by the shoulder and pretended roughness, shook her, saying, rouse yourself, child, rouse yourself. You've only a second now. You're not going to make a failure. Think of what a disgrace it would be. Think of the one whom you wish to please most, who is the dearest to you yourself. Virginia's soliloquy is just over. So she comes. That is your cue. Go on bravely. She clasped Stella's icy hand and with gentle force pressed her forward. Stella was scarcely conscious of what she was doing as she tottered on the stage and approaching Virginia's, saying in a tremulous tone, well, Father, what's your will? Those footlights set forth a dazzling glare, but Stella was in total darkness. The air grew so thick she could not breathe. Her soul of lead staked her to the ground and she could not move. There was a sound of noisy hands, a prolonged acclamation, but Stella paid no attention to these as she stood spellbound before Virginia's. He attempted to speak, but the applause drowned his voice. As it was bestowed upon another, he would gladly have hushed it down by proceeding with his part, a favorite trick of actors, but the audience was resolute in obtaining some recognition from the stupefied novice. Mr. Tinnit now, churlishly, whispered, curtsy, can't you, curtsy, muttering to himself, defend me from novices. Stella, thus prompted, turned mechanically to the audience and vended slightly. For her quivering limbs rendered the genuflexions somewhat difficult of accomplishment. The darkness was partially dispelled, but still the misty atmosphere seemed full of floating atoms. Her Roman father was enveloped by them. The air was less stifling, but were they not flakes of ice when she inhaled at every breath? Silence was restored and the dialogue proceeded. The graceful simplicity of Stella's attire, the changing beauty of her countenance, the refinement of her mean, her rich, well-catenced voice, made an instantaneous impression on the audience. Virginia dispatches her for her last task. Mrs. Fairfax had thoughtfully taken the painting from Stella's hand and was now holding it in readiness. Stella drew one long breath of relief as she passed out of sight of the audience, only three lines were spoken by Virginia's before Virginia re-enters. Stella would have certainly forgotten herself, but for Mrs. Fairfax. Virginia returns with the painting. Dintatas enters a moment afterwards. There was no trace of the crippled rheumatic in his gait or his mean. Dintatas and Virginia's retire together. It was passing strange, but Stella, now that she was left alone upon the stage, felt as though the freezing influences that begirt her had suddenly melted away. The spell was broken. Her lost faculties restored. Her form dilated. The truant blood rushed back to her cheeks, the luster to her dim dyes. Her thoughts concentrated themselves on her part and, with involuntary self-surrender, she became Virginia. Nothing could surpass the girlish naturalness, the earnest sweetness with which she uttered, How is it with my heart? I feel as one that has lost everything and just before had nothing left to wish for. He will cast Asilius off. I never told it yet, but take of me thou gentle air the secret and ever breathe more balmy sweet. I love Asilius. He'll cast Asilius off, not if Asilius approves his honour, that he'll never do. He speaks and looks and moves a thing of honour or honour never yet spoke, looked or moved, or was a thing of earth. The audience testified their approval. She had taken her first step on the steep flinty mount. That over at every tread she gained a secure fold. Asilius enters. Virginia has but a few lines to speak in this scene, but the maidenly modesty with which she confessed her love. My secret's yours, keep it and honour it, Asilius. Her drooping head, the unconscious picturesqueness of her pose, drew down a second round of plaudits. When the act closed, Mrs. Fairfax embraced her warmly. You will be an actress. I thought it so, but now I know it. But what I have suffered and how much more I owe to your sympathy and encouragement, replied Stella. By the time that the call boys summons for the second act was given, she had entirely regained her self-possession. Every time she appeared, she grew in favour with the audience. There is no field for a striking display of dramatic abilities in the simple character of Virginia as portrayed by Knowles, but Stella's unaffected, artless delineation left a deep impression. In the fourth act, as Virginia raises his knife to stab his daughter, Stella gave utterance to an irrepressible shriek which imparted unusual reality to the scene. Virginia, the instant he had struck the blow, dropped the girl from his arms to the ground and, with the upraised knife, rushed towards Claudius, exclaiming, low obvious with this innocent blood I do devote thee to the infernal gods. Stella felt the trampling of the citizens and soldiers' feet over her dress and on her loosened hair as they gather round to form the closing tableau, but she lay motionless, inwardly sending up thanks to heaven that her trial was over. The curtain rapidly descended. Mr. Belton assisted to her to rise. You've done well. You give promise, were his cherry words of commendation. There was, of course, a call for the debutante. The manager requested Mr. Tennant to be kind enough to lead on Miss Rosenbelt. The pompous tragedian complied somewhat sulkily. As Stella made her obeisance before the footlights, every chord of her heart vibrated with a strange, wild delight. It was the first sensation of unalloyed pleasure she had experienced that night. While she resumed her everyday attire, the tearful congratulations of Maddie drew from her eyes responding tokens of joy. Floyd came for the basket. That he noticed her streaming eyes was obvious. Oh, oh, oh, he murmured pityingly. Then, when she smiled, he shook his head, rubbed his hands gleefully, and repeated his favorite ejaculation. Such a house! Such a house! Half an hour later, the debutante was sobbing in her mother's arm. Mother, I have succeeded! Forgive my waywardness! End of section four. Section five. Of Mimic Life. By Anna Koromowit Ritchie. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Kelly Taylor. Stella. By Anna Koromowit Ritchie. Chapter five. The first perilous ordeal past, its auguries all auspicious, Stella thought to experience a sense of relief, of serene security, of freedom from the harassing doubts which had tortured her spirit for days. But the weight of a new responsibility that pressed upon her mind soon dispelled these fallacious hopes. She had succeeded, but alas, how uncertain was the tenure by which that success was held. Or even the smiles of princes as inconstant as public favor. What air-blown bubbles are lighter than the empty breath of popular acclamations? What is an actor but the world's puppet? To be today extolled to the skies, tomorrow derided and denounced as an egotistic imposter. Has not the various caprice, the merest accident again and again caused an audience to pluck from the brows of their minions the laurels of toilsome years? When the idol is elevated to its throne and clothe with all-imagining perfections, what is left but to tear it down? The existence of the actor, then, must be a daily struggle to maintain the slippery eminence he has won. A constant battle against the uplifted hands ready to pluck him fence, a nightly strife to ascend beyond their reach. And had Stella no prescience of this direful contest? No. The bitter knowledge could only be revealed after she had taken her first irrevocable step. On the morning succeeding her debut, she forsook her pillow almost before the sun began to draw the shady curtain from Aurora's bed. She rose unrefreshed for care had taken up his mansion in her breast and his enemy's sleep would not lodge near him. Her limbs ached as she staggered across the floor. Her eyes could scarcely see. She was compelled to lie down again and, having selected a volume of Shakespeare, returned to her couch not to slumber but to study. She was to enact Desdemona that night, to rehearse Desdemona that morning. The Lady of Lyon was the play selected for the following night. Evadne, for the third. In the crowded laboratory of her brain, those poetic phantoms must needs receive vitality and assume shape and substance. The book remained in her hands until Maddie summons to breakfast. Nor it was wholly thrown aside as the young actress performed her morning toilette. She listened the volume to the frame of the mirror and, while smoothing the rich tangles of her hair, her eyes were fixed upon the open pages. More than once her mind became so thoroughly engrossed that the comb dropped from her fingers. Her hand involuntary clasped themselves over her head in their favorite position and she walked to and fro in the small chamber, rehearsing aloud. It was long past the usual hour when she joined her mother at breakfast. The latter seemed, for once, inclined to converse. But Stella could not talk, nor could she partake of food. With middle ailment her throbbing brain was overloaded and labored fruitlessly to digest its too abundant supply. I am afraid you're forgetting rehearsal, Miss Stella. We shall hardly be in time, said Maddie. Stella was quickly roused from her fit of abstraction. The attendant identified herself so completely with her charge that the we was constantly upon her lips. We played as Demona tonight. We played Virginia last night. Mr. Tennant had not arrived when they appeared upon the stage. Other members of the company calculated upon the great tragedians that her habitual deletoriousness were also absent. The prompter and his flippant juvenile assistant were the only persons at their post. Stella, the interim, was not lost time. She seated herself at the manager's table and diligently resumed her studies. She was totally unconscious of what occurred around her until Fisk made his call and the rehearsal commenced. Mrs. Fairfax enacted Emilia. Stella had again the encouraging support of the friend to whom she hourly became more attached. Mrs. Fairfax was so helpful, so considerate of the feelings of others, so lenient to their failings, a being to whom all gracious acts seemed so natural that she was respected and beloved throughout the theatre. Rehearsal passed off smoothly. It was nearly two o'clock when it ended and Stella had promised to be at her tutor's residence by one. She had hoped to devote at least two hours to the study of an art which, still progressing, is never perfected. It was vexatious that her time was thus unexpectedly curtailed. She could not require Mr. Oakland to abandon other engagements. She prized his instructions for they pointed out landmarks by means of which she could travel safely on her new pathway. His analytical criticism unfolded the subtlest beauties of the character they were investigating. Stella used to call the process a poetic dissection. The author's most hidden meanings were brought into the full light and often what was the mere outline of an ideal creation was gracefully filled up and rendered a coherent whole. Mr. Oakland, though he had been charmed by Stella's personation of gentle Virginia, was not prodigal of eulogium. He bade her remember that the character was not one in which her powers could be tested, that what she had accomplished was, but as a few, coarsicant sparks compared to a steady upward shooting flame when contrasted with what she must achieve to a rank among earth-treading stars of first magnitude. Stella and Maddie reached the theatre nearly an hour later that night than on the previous evening. Fisk had shouted his last Musicikikik, accompanying his other whimsicalities by Yankee Doodle with his knuckles on every door he passed. And Stella had not yet dawned her white satin train and secured her net of pearls over her locks, and at night were allowed to escape in struggling regalance to her waist. The orchestra had ceased. The curtain rose. Stella's heart, when she distended the staircase, palpitated almost as painfully as on the evening before. She was accompanied only by Maddie, who bore her train. Mrs. Fairfax did not appear until the second act, and her toilette was not completed. As Stella passed behind the scenes, the boy leaped out of some dark corner and rushed up to her, whispering, Such a house! Such a house! Then fled again. Perdita caught sight of her as she passed the green room door. With a confused mean, the young ballet girl joined her and placed a long strip of lace in her hand. It was delicately knitted of white linen thread. It is the best I can do. Do you think it pretty? Ask Perdita timidly. Very pretty indeed. What do you do with it? Sell it, generally, to the ladies of the theater. It does almost as well on stage dresses as real lace. One can't tell the difference from the boxes. Perhaps you would like this piece? You may have dresses that need lace trimming. I should like it very much. I don't want five or six yards of lace for the dress I wear in the Lady of Lyon tomorrow. But you have not more than two yards here. Let me knit you the rest. It will be such a help to me. You shall have it in time for the dress. I don't mind sitting up all night. I won't give me the order and I won't disappoint you and make you set up all night knitting. I would not like to do that to you. I'm used to it, replied the girl, tranquilly. I am only too glad to obtain work. May I knit the lace for you? She pleaded. Yes, certainly. Only Maddie must have it at least an hour before we start for the theater tomorrow. Stella listened to the ballet girl's warm outpouring of gratitude and watched her flying needles. She thought to herself, if only I am successful in the center of what a field for performance of kindly offices shall I stand. What a wide sphere of usefulness will be thrown open to me. Why may I not foster this violet by the mossy stone, transplant it, and perhaps to some more fertile soil? It is for such exercise of good my heart has long yearned. Success will be doubly glorious if her laurels gift me with this power. Desdemona does not appear until the third scene of the tragedy. She is then led by Iago into the council chamber. Perdita's father represented one of the most potent grave and reverence in yours. Stella noticed that the thoughtful daughter broke off abruptly from the conversation and unfastened a wig of flowing white hair, which she had secured to her waistband. Her father, in senatorial robes, had just emerged from his underground dressing room. She went up to him, carefully adjusted the wig on his head, talking to him all the while in a low, loving tone. The task completed. The knitting needles flash back and forth again as she stood by his side. Desdemona caught all, loudly whispered, Fisk behind her. She started and commenced running towards the entrance from which she was supposed to make her appearance when Fisk intercepted her rebukingly. Plenty of time. Keep cool. Take it easy. Don't be in a hurry. Two minutes by the watch. My calls always give enough time to prevent ruffling feathers. The icy trimmer, the giddiness, the choking faintness were coming back. She listened to Mr. Tennant's blustering delivery of Othello's memorable speech before the Senate, the course of his wooing, the witchcraft which he had used. Were made known through a succession of explosive sounds accompanied by a series of spasmodic gesticulations. Instead of the modest, exculpatory negation warranted by the text, his manner spoke defiance to the hearty potentates who dared to demand such a history from his august lips. Stella's agitation was not so great that she failed to make this criticism. As the Moorish hero announced her presence with, Here comes the lady. Let her witness it. Your hand, please, said the representative of Iago. She had not noticed that he was standing beside her. Stella gave him her hand. Maddie smoothed down and floated the snowy train. Iago led in Desmonda. She curtsied low to the duke. The stage was arranged in such a manner that to face the senators, her back was necessarily turned to the audience. Its reception passed unnoticed by Stella. Even had she possessed sufficient self-command to turn and acknowledge their greeting by an obeisance, it would have been considered a breach of good taste. The spectators would at once lost sight of maiden never so bold, a spirit so still and quiet that her motion blushed at herself and viewed but the actress, the novice. When Brabrandtio addresses his daughter with, Come hither, mistress, you perceive in all this noble company where most you owe obedience, bowed her head with an inclination of filial reverence. Then, in a tone of modest frankness, her speaking eyes lifted to her father's face and afterwards turned confidingly upon the moor, she replied. My noble father, I do perceive here a divided duty. To you I am bound for life and education. My life and education both do learn me how to respect you. You are the Lord of duty. I am hither to your daughter. But here's my husband, and so much duty as my mother showed to you, preferring you before her father, so much I challenged that I profess due to the moor, my Lord. The audience seldom failed to respond to Desdemona's sentiment, even if its delivery command no other approval. But in this instant, poet and interpreter won equal mead. In a moment the young actress had merged her own individuality into ideal personation. Desdemona's touching softness, the tender pride with which she confesses and defends her devotion to her newly-made husband were exquisitely illustrated in Stella's glowing recital of the lines, that I did love the Moor to live with him. My downright violence and storm of fortunes made trumpet to the world, my heart subdued, even to the very quality of my Lord. I saw Othello's visage in his mind and to his honors, and his valiant parts did I, my soul, and fortunes consecrate. Her pleading to the duke to be allowed to accompany her husband to the wars, her imploring face as she sank at her father's feet and clung to his robe, mutely supplicating a blessing, her shudder when he threw her off, exclaiming, look to her Moor, have a quick eye to see she have deceived her father and may thee. Her expression of grateful joy when Othello lifts her with a confident reply, my life upon her faith. Give warrant of the fidelity of her conception. Desdemona next enters with Amelia, Iago, and Rodrigo. They have just landed on the island of Cyprus and are thus poetically welcomed by Cassio. O, behold, the riches of the ship is come on shore, ye men of Cyprus, let her have your knees, hail to thee, lady, and the grace of heaven before, behind thee, and on every hand, in-wheel thee round. Iago's scoffs at womanhood are the leading feature of the brief dialogue that ensues. Desdemona, though she replies merrily to his jest, trace a secret solicitude in the absence of Othello, not merely by her anxious query. There's one gone to the harbour and her declaration, I am not merry, but I do beguile the thing I am by seeming otherwise. But by her troubled mean her abstracted looking in the distance her start of joy and the sudden lighting up of her countenance at the sound of the trumpet which Iago pronounces to be that of the moor. Let's meet and receive him, gushed, in a burst of rapture from her lips. There was no hesitation when she rushed into his arms as he greeted her with O, my fair warrior, it gives me wonder greatest by content to see you here before me. O, my soul's joy! If after every tempest come such calms, let the winds blow till they have wakened death, and let the laboring bark climb hills of seas, Olympus high, and duck again as low as hell's from heaven. If it were now to die to her happy now to be most happy, for I fear my soul hath her content so absolute that not another comfort like to this succeeds in unknown fate. Stella never once thought of Mr. Tenet, the supercilious, exacting, self-sufficient tragedian, but of Noble Othello, not of Stella Rosenvelt, the unsophisticated maiden, but of the true-hearted ingenious Desdemona, the bride of her Moorish husband, the least undue reserve, the slightest shrinking would have been an evidence of that painful self-consciousness which is indissolubly allied to mediocrity, but which genius tramples underfoot. Othello had held her off, gazing fondly at her face, but with the last words, he suddenly drew her to his heart. The action was unanticipated by the luckless Desdemona. Her face was upraised, her forehead came in contact with his chin, the sublime and the ridiculous embraced at the same moment as the Moor and the Lady. The reddish-black die which gave to Othello's visage its swarthy hue could be removed by a touch. Othello's forehead had largely received the somber impression. Not suspecting the untoward accident, she replied, in the same impassioned strain, the heavens forbid but that our loves and comforts should increase even as our days do grow. Othello rejoins, amen to that sweet powers. I cannot speak enough of this content. It stops me here. It is too much joy. And this and this the greatest discords be that or our hearts shall make. And while he bent over her the pretense of suiting the action to the word, stage salutations being generally the very obvious mate-believe, he whispered, don't turn your face towards the audience for your life. Your foreheads as black as the ace of spades. Down fell poor Stella from her poetic heights. The black paint, its begriming touch to her own fair forehead, Mr. Tennant's commonplace tone dissolved the spell. The loving Venetian quickly melted away. The disenchanted girl shrank from Mr. Tennant's encircling arms. She raised her hand to her forehead in pain, but only smeared the inky hue into her eyes. She was strongly inclined to dart from the stage. Perhaps would have yielded to the temptation had not Mrs. Fairfax noticed the mishap and approaching her with a step and an air that suited Amelia, whispered, they won't notice it, my dear. You're often a few lines, don't try to rub it away. You're only making it worse and you will attract the audience. As she spoke she bowed her head deferentially, causing the spectators to suppose that Desdemona's attendant and confident was merely delivering to her some courteous message. Stella was at last conducted from the scene by Mr. Tennant. She heard fisks, peals of laughter as he passed her on his way to make the calls and the suppressed merriment of Mrs. Fairfax. As she removed the disfiguring marks she resolved to keep at a respectful distance from her grimed, visaged lord. Desdemona, according to the stage version which omits her during the midnight brawl when Casio fights with Rodrigo, is next discovered conversing with the disgraced Casio and pledging herself with all the generosity of an unsuspicious, inexperienced man to his lost position. Before Amelia here I give thee warrant of thy place, assure thee. If I do thou a friendship I'll perform it to the last article. My lord shall never rest, I'll watch him tame and talk him out of patience. I'll intermingle everything he does with Casio's suit, therefore be Mary Casio. For thy solicitor shall rather die than live thy cause away. The promise was uttered with emphatic earnestness. Stella had again surrendered herself to the magic impersonation. Casio departs. Othello enters. Desdemona at once playfully introduces her suit. When it is denied she, with bewitching coquetry, chides her lord for being more niggered of his courteous gifts to her than she is him. I wonder in my soul that you should ask me that I should deny. Then so memorying on, what Michael Casio, that came a wooing with you and many a time when I have spoken of you dispraisingly, hath taken your part, to have so much to do, to bring him in. Trust me, I could do much. Othello, freely no more. Let him come when he will. I will deny thee nothing. Desdemona Why, this is not a boon. Tis as I should entreat you wear your gloves, or feed on nourishing dishes, or keep you warm, or sue you to do a particular profit to your own person. Nay, when I have suit wherein I mean to touch your love indeed, it shall be full of poise and difficulty and fearful to be granted. Othello desires her to leave him for a while. He yields to his request, but not forgetting for a moment her promised advocacy turns back with an arch taunt. Shall I deny you? No. Farewell, my lord. Whither you be I am obedient. Before Desdemona and Othello meet again, Iago has roused the green-eyed monster slumbering in the moor's breast. But at fair Desdemona's approach, the evil spirit vanishes as demons fly in the presence of angels. Othello beholds her coming and penetrated by the aura of purity that surrounds her flings away his unworthy doubts and bursts forth. If she befalled Oh, then heaven mocks itself, I'll not believe it. The scene is very short. Desdemona summons her husband to join the generous islanders at dinner. With the quick eyes of love she notices his dejection. He assigns a pain above his forehead here as the cause. She would bind the aching brow with her handkerchief. Othello impatiently puts by her hand from which the handkerchief drops. It is silently secured by Emilia who afterwards gives it to Iago. The following scene finds Desdemona searching for the lost handkerchief, her husband's much-loved gift. Othello unexpectedly breaks in upon her, and now the powers of the young actress unfolded themselves as she portrayed Desdemona's feminine softness, her unresisting, defenseless nature, her perfect trust in the nobleness of her Lord. She greets him tenderly and when he asks for her hand he scans her face with suspicious eyes, rudely telling her that the hands he holds is moist. She replies with a smile. It yet hath felt no age nor no no sorrow. Her look of innocent wonder as Othello warns her that such a hand requires fasting prayer, exercised of out, and when he checks himself and adds tis a good hand, a frank one, and her whole-sold reply, you may indeed say so, for twas the hand that gave away my heart, her careless disclaimer of all knowledge that hands were ever given without hearts. For a woman like Pertanacity in reverting to her former suit Oscio's pardon, her almost guilty start when Othello asks for her handkerchief. Equivocation and confusion, her sudden parlor and violent trembling, the quick lights and shadows flitting over her face when he tells her of the charm that is woven in that handkerchief, the misery it would ring upon her to lose it or give it away, her look of frozen horror as she gasp out, then would to heaven that I had her short frightened answers to his questioning violence, her hysterical effort to force a laugh and feign composure as she tries to speak of Casio again, and, when Othello rushes out and Emilia taunting her with incredulity coalesce, is not this man jealous? Her gazing after him with dilated eyes, quivering lips, then turning upon Emilia with a face all wonder and slowly answering I never saw this before. Her subdued greeting of Casio, who now enters, her mournful communication to him that her avocation is not now in tune, snatching at Casio's suggestion that something a moment has moved Othello, and her brightening countenance as she persuades herself that it is something of state matters which has disturbed him, her extracting comfort from the reflection that in such cases men's natures wrangle with inferior things, though great ones are their object, the regretful sigh with which she adds nay we must think men are not gods, nor of them look for such observances as fit the bridal her determination to seek Othello evidently because she cannot bear his absence though she bashfully veils her motive under the plea that she must further entreat for Casio's reinstatement. All these changing emotions were delineated with a skill that stamped the youthful actress as one who vindicated her own right to interpret the great master of the drama by her bold yet delicate grand yet lifelike embodiment of his conception. After this Desdemona seeks Othello's presence, accompanied by her cousin Lodovico the latter bears a packet of import to the Moor. She has resumed her wanted smiling sincerity. She prattles with Lodovico of Casio the unkind breach between him and her lord, and even when Othello accosts her in a wrathful tone she inquires his will with a gentle my lord, nor as his rage increases does she seem willing or able to perceive its workings. Once she turns to Lodovico with an incredulous, what is he angry, as though she needed confirmation of what is so apparent. Her cousin tells her that doubtless something in the letter he is perusing moves him and she is satisfied. But when Othello's ire breaks all bounds he strikes her with the letter. She utters a low cry and bursts into tears looking up with the mild and touching reproach, I have not deserved this. Othello orders her from his presence and she meekly replies I will not stay to offend you. In the ensuing scene the Moor wrought to frenzy by the conviction that his jealous fears are planted on firm ground sends Emilia for his wife. Desdemona's hold demeanor is now changed as she enters her head droops her eyes peruse the ground her limbs quake. She faintly demands my lord, what is your will? Othello harshly bids her to let him see her eyes to let him look at her face she lifts to his aghastly countenance and murmurs with suppressed breathing what horrible fancies this after a moment sinking at his feet she exclaim upon my knees what doth your speech import I understand a fury in your word but not the words when her husband frames his doubts of her infidelity into language she starts up horror stricken and too much amazed even for indenation ask alas what ignorant sin have I committed? But when he enfolds his meaning in planar and more revolting words she is stunned by the monstrous accusation and can hardly answer by heaven you do be wrong Othello ask her if this charge be not true she drops upon her knees and lifting up her arms and her beauteous face to heaven fervently replies no as I am a Christian no as I shall be saved there was so much reality in the action the guileless countenance the heaven-appealing tone that it thrilled the whole audience the repeated rounds that testified their recognition of the true Promethean spark were followed by a loud long cheer when Othello in the succeeding speech applies to his wife a term of worst opprobrium she falls upon the ground as though the word had been shot from a deadly level of gun and murdered her Othello summons Amelia and leaves his prostrate wife to her care Amelia raises her friend Desdemona's mind seems confused by the sorrows when she yet makes a feeble effort to hide then moved by a sudden thought she bids Amelia call Iago Desdemona imagines that he may explain Othello's conduct Iago appears before her but when she would repeat to him the insulting epithet used by her husband her modest tongue refuses its office the word cannot pass her pure lips she weeps in silence while Amelia discounts upon the brutality of the more but the young wife's affection is not shaken a love doth so approve him that even his stubbornness checks and frowns have grace and favor in them she never dreams of blaming or approaching him her whole thoughts are engrossed with plans to win him back she rushes to Iago in proxisms of agony and cries out oh good Iago what shall I do to win my lord again good friend go to him for by this light of heaven I know not how I lost him here I kneel if ere my will did trespass against his love either in discourse or thought or actual deed or that mine eyes mine ears or any sense delighted them in any other form or that I do not yet or ever did ever will though he do shake me off to beggardly divorcement love him dearly comfort for swear me unkindness may do much but his unkindness may defeat my life but never taint my love Stella's utterance of these lines was sublime in its pathos as the kneeling girl was raised by Mrs Fairfax at the conclusion of her speech the latter could not refrain from whispering good good beautifully given you are indeed an actress the intention was most kind but its effect unfortunate the condom recalled Stella to herself it broke the dream she was Desdemona no longer she suddenly became constrained and awkward it was fortunate that the scene drew rapidly to its close the exceeding length of the play requires the omission of a most charming dialogue between Emilia and Desdemona at the conclusion of the fourth act one which is essential to the perfect development of Desdemona's character in the fifth act Desdemona is beheld asleep she is waked by a fellow bending over her to taste the balmy breath that doth almost persuade justice to break her sword her terror the vehement affirmations of her innocence her frantic pleadings for a few moments more of life make up the scene Stella was not prepared for the violence with which Mr Tennant thrust the pillow over her face holding it firmly on either side her stifle shrinks might well sound natural to the audience she felt as though she were suffocating in reality but the more she struggled the more tightly the unreflecting tragedian pressed upon her mouth it was her duty to lie still before he could relinquish his hold was it that Emilia's voice at the chamber door required to reply poor Stella lay with the pillow over her face and being dead or nearly so to the audience she dared not move in a choking tone by no means simulated she groaned out in advance of her cue the few words that cause Emilia to fly to her mistress Mrs Fairfax not only removed the pillow but placed the young girl in her position Stella could now lie still and listen to the scene she expected to remain in the same attitude until the curtain fell but of fellow when the certainty of Desdemona's innocence was forced upon him sprang to her side seized her in his arms half dragged her from the bed and sank upon the ground himself leaving her head hanging over the side of the couch where swept the floor he wound his fingers in the tresses pressed them to his lips and moaned aloud the picture was no doubt one that Mr Tennant had wedled studied and it certainly was very beautiful very truthful its effect upon the luckless revs representative of Desdemona was entirely disregarded the blood rushed to her head until her brain seemed bursting crushed by a mountain load her senses were leaving her it was with the greatest difficulty that she could repress a cry every instant appeared an hour she could no longer distinguish the language declaimed in her very ears she only heard a confused sound she could endure no more she tried to groan to move but in vain when the curtain descended she felt unconscious Mr Finch was in the act of carrying her to her dressing room when remembrance slowly returned for some time she could neither stand nor speak she was wholly unable to respond to the summons before the curtain an apology was made and her absence accounted for by the plea of indisposition Mrs Fairfax had fortunately some knowledge a most efficacious treatment of apoplexy which the attack resembled she seized a jug of water and poured it from a height upon the head of the prostrate girl Stella gradually revived and soon was able to reassure a terrified Maddie by a few affectionate words soon after the young girl was conveyed to her home End of section 5 section 6 of Mimic Live this LibriVox recording is in the public domain recording by Kelly S. Taylor Stella by Anna Coral-Mawik Ritchie Chapter 6 very weary were the eyes that Stella unclosed on the morrow another morning oh that I could rest and she turned upon her pillow yielding for an instant to a delicious drowsiness but the multitudinous occupations of the day crowded upon her repimbrance her energizing will conquered physical lassitude she sprang up with a bound a dull heavy pain the consequence of her last night's misadventure still lingered about her head but she was now an private sufferings private grievances all private emotions must be swept aside before the public servitude to which she had enslaved herself The Lady of Leong would be rehearsed at ten o'clock the reading of a new play was announced to take place in the green room at twelve a drama which was to be performed on Friday for Mr. Tenant's benefit and this was Wednesday the hour for rehearsal arrived only too soon to Stella's delight she found that Miss Fairfax enacted Madame de Chappelle's Claude's widowed mother was entrusted to the delineation of an odd-looking shriveled-up little lady at whose wiry motions pinny-truppet voice and original readings Stella could hardly repress her mirth this singular personage familiarly seized her hand behind the scenes and libly accosted her How do you do my dear? I ought to know you since you're to be one of us made a hint I hear glad of it good-looking, tolerable figure fine voice, passion for the stage no doubt just the case with me nothing like it I say can't exist without acting nobody here to introduce me my name's Puddle second old woman of the establishment how Mrs. Puddle strayed into a profession for which she possessed not a single qualification was a mystery engagement she obtained through her willingness to accept the smallest of salaries without stipulating about parts her most remarkable attainment was a faculty of transmuting by species of mental alchemy sublime sentiments into commonplace absurdities of unidealizing the most elevated characters by her prosaic personation she often declared her determination to render herself intelligible to the audience it was not unusual for her to search out in a dictionary the choice words of her role and for the author's expression substitute the lexicon definition if the proctor remonstrated she indignantly asked how the people were to understand what she was talking about if she adhered to the text she did not comprehend it herself how should they her literal mind converted everything into matter of fact even technical stage directions were all translated OP della letra a rehearsal seldom passed during which her ludicrous idiosyncrasy did not create an uproar of merriment she was re-summoned to the stage just as she was addressing Stella Mrs. Pottle held in great awe the pompous Mr. Tenet to approach him too nearly she frisked about him with timorous movements and was constantly in his way barely escaping the wide sweep of his arm or his huge stride all down left ordered the tragedian crossing into a right hand corner at this command Mrs. Pottle soberly gathered her garments around her and gently laid herself down on the left of the stage shouts of laughter surrounded on every side Mr. Tenet's back was turned but fist caper of delight as he remarked there she's at it again ain't it funny to have Pottle rehearsing cause the actor to look around when he marched up to where she meekly lay Mrs. Pottle was in mortal dread that he was about to trample her but she dared not move will you have done with your foolery's woman you mean by lying there he bellowed out you told me to fall down left why Mrs. Pottle it was more convenient lying down for the business this morning I'll make you the fall all right at night never you fear the dignity of Mr. Tenet was in decided peril but he recovered himself before it was lowered by any mirthful manifestation place yourself on the left hand toward the corner that's what I meant Mrs. Pottle rose with alacrity and obeyed she was strongly tempted to argue with Mr. Tenet about the correctness of his expressions but he was too august a personage to be taken to task a short time afterwards she stationed herself directly between him and the person whom he was addressing Mr. Tenet gave her a slight admonitory shove at the same time saying back up my good woman back up repeated Mrs. Pottle in a puzzle tone back up oh dearie me she caught the eye of a mischievous fisk he made a pantomimic action in the imitation of an indignant gray malkin Mrs. Pottle nodded thankfully in a say to copy the feline attitude didn't you hear me tell you to get out of the way repeated Tenet what are you doing there I'm backing up the best I can faltered Mrs. Pottle vigorously jerking up her shoulders only I quite haven't got the knack of it yet Fisk turned a summer set in the zuberance of his delight Mr. Tenet's wrath only augmented Mrs. Pottle's confusion and increased her vagarities Claude entertained a most unfilial desire to suppress his mother without ceremony when the rehearsal was over the company reluctantly collected in the green room Stella was surprised at the discontented tone of their remarks and caused the use they asked of Mr. Belton's insisting on the old fashioned idea of a green room reading hundreds of theaters got up new plays without the actors being bothered with anything but their own parts scarcely any of them had the remotest idea of the plot what's the play about was a common question after it had been enacted for almost a week and didn't everything go on as well leave the plot to the audience the actors had enough to do in attending to their own characters the new drama required four female representatives Stella Mrs. Fairfax Mrs. Pottle and Ms. Doren this was Stella's first introduction into the green room though she had once or twice before stood at the threshold she seated herself beside Mrs. Fairfax Mrs. Pottle crowded her diminutive person into a small compass on the other side and drew from her pocket a mammoth woollen stalker partially knitted Mrs. Fairfax occupied herself in hemming lace ruffles Ms. Doren scribbled a note Mr. Martin lay moaning on one sofa Mr. Doren was stretched at full length on the other Mr. Swain whittled a stick as he leaned over Ms. Doren's chair and talked to her in whispers Mr. Conklin practiced attitudes before the mirror Mr. Tennant was forced to absent himself owing to the severe indisposition of his wife several members of the company were venting their impatience and displeasure in no very measured terms and entered accompanied by the author Mr. Percy was formally introduced Mr. Belton drew a table into the center of the room and placed a chair for the fluttered dramatist After he opened his manuscript he looked around as though about to utter a few words by way of preface but the intention was crushed in embryo he bent over his book again loves triumphs not one third of the pages had been turned when a loud yawn from Mr. Doren was followed by a general titter could he have escaped Mr. Percy's ears he gave no sign of hearing a second and third yawn followed then Mr. Martin groaned aloud the author looked up and looked down again and paused do not be disturbed said Mr. Belton apologetically Mr. Martin is a great sufferer we are also accustomed to hear him complain that we hardly notice him Mr. Percy proceeded he had now reached what he considered a magnificent situation in the third act his delivery became more animated he was even betrayed into a few gesticulations Mr. Doren giggled Mr. Percy laid down the book abruptly the manager considered it prudent to remain oblivious of the interruption and the author was compelled to continue he now read in a lower more subdued tone and constantly looked up to watch the countenances of his unreceptive auditors upon one face alone he perused neither weariness nor contempt one beautiful face was turned to his enrapt attention from that moment he no longer heard the moans of Mr. Martin the yawns of Mr. Doren the whispered criticisms of the actors Stella was his entire audience and when she lifted her handkerchief to hide a starting tear the young poet felt his brows wreathed with invisible laurels the play was gemmed with noble flashes of eloquence but it lacked broad dramatic effects it was fitted for the enactment of poets before an audience of poets when the reading was over the parts were distributed by Mr. Belton Stella was to personate the heroine Mr. Doren her rival Miss Fairfax the mother of the latter and Mrs. Pottle Mrs. Pottle when her part was handed to her exclaimed with a puny shriek bless us if I ain't a queen it will just ruin me to get a cotton, velvet and foil paper enough for a robin crown you? they have given Queen Eleanor to you said the author greatly disconfosed Mr. Belton silenced him by applied I have cast the play to the best advantage according to the strength of my company and to old women of the latter Mrs. Fairfax takes the first Mrs. Pottle the second the company were dismissed and Mr. Percy was doomed to listen to not a few disparaging remarks and complaints as they departed the new play was to be rehearsed after the rehearsal of a bad knee on the ensuing morning the author had been presented to Mr. Tennant by an influential editorial friend the play was accepted chiefly with a view to propitiate a Nestor of the press Perdita redeemed her promise the lace was brought in due time Maddie who received it entreated her to sit down and rest for she was breathless from the exertion of running her wand, face and drooping eyelids testified that she had not slept to leave the order what a odd life you do lead said Maddie compassionately no harder than that of others and it will not last always when I am troubled and worn out I have sweet visions of another life where rest and peace will be given my mother has found that life and so shall we in good time we only have to wait patiently poor child is death the best thing you can find in life my mother believed it to be the best thing in hers she said so in her dying hour she gave me counsel that comes back to me when I am sorrowful I often hear her voice as plainly as though she were near me I often think she is near me people laugh and call me superstitious and a fool when I say so but I am sure of her presence I know that our heavenly father permits her to watch over her poor orphans when I do a good action it is my mother's spirit that prompts me often I abstain from a wrong one because the eyes of God and my mother are upon me and God would seem far off but for my mother through whom he is near almost persuade me that you all happy in spite of this wretched kind of life I am too busy to be miserable let me help you to sew on that lace it's getting late you will not have it finished what a beautiful dress Maddie accepted the offer for the sake of retaining the young girl near her and conversing with her this snowy dove trooping with crows wore in her mouth and a olive branch for the great arc of the hereafter God for his service needeth not proud work of human skill they please him best who labor most in peace to do his will Stella went to the theater that night through a pelting storm in common with all nervous temperaments she was subject to skye influences the atmosphere had a depressing effect on her spirits the costly attire of the haughty beauty of Leon was assumed almost in silence indeed there was an unwanted quietude about the whole establishment even Fisk shouted his last music kick in a less hilarious tone than customary she did not descend to the stage until summoned just before the rising of the curtain Floyd was reconordering the audience through the secret aperture when he caught sight of Stella he ran up to her but his invariable such a house such a house was followed by a doleful oh oh oh and an expressive ringing of the hands instead of the usual lively friction got your bouquet asked Fisk personally my bouquet no I have none I forgot that Pauline should have one did your bow buy you one what a sale give him his walking ticket well here's a beautiful flower sent by Claude Miss Pauline I'm his messenger he didn't pay me nothing though he left that to you and he thrust into her hand a soiled coarsely made bunch of artificial flowers Stella received them with reluctance and vexation but there was no time for remonstrance the prompter's warning bell had sounded she took her seat in Madame de Chapelle's Boudoir and bent over the fictitious nose gay as though it excelled delicious perfume the curtain rose how cheerless looked those rows of hapt empty boxes the play had been worn thread bear that circumstance combined with the tempestuous weather accounted for the meager audience Stella was only welcomed by a faint round which chilled rather than inspired her during the first two acts there was nothing striking in her performance it was ladylike but cold the acting of Mr. Tenet was unusually tame his mannered was hurried and abstracted his thoughts were with his suffering wife in the garden scene when Claude paints to Pauline the home to which he would lead her Stella who should have represented the entranced enamored listener was perplexed and distressed by Mr. Tenet's involuntary assides such as the following a palace lifting to eternal summer the doctor the doctor's at the wing its marble walls from out a glossy bower of all the medicine don't help her of this foliage musical with birds whose songs should syllable I wonder if she's worse thy name what could he want I must come to cues don't mind the cutting Mr. Tenet's eyes had wonder from Pauline's face to that of the medical gentlemen standing at the side scenes Claude now mangled the author Ah Libidium and curtailing his courtship brought the scene to a close and hurried Pauline from the stage as Stella made her exit through the dorm of Madame de Chappelle's residence she encountered two carpenters carrying Mr. Martin in a chair the inclement weather had augmented his rheumatic affection he appeared to be suffering excruciatingly the carpenters placed the chair at the entrance he designated this stood behind the illenvalid making thrust at imaginary individuals with a pair of fold lift me up boys said Mr. Martin visc you young rascal be ready with the foils the actor was raised to his feet with some difficulty but the moment his cue was given he seized the foils walking firmly onto the stage and a few minutes afterward was engaged in active combat with Claude who found that he could not disarm him without exerting his utmost skill well what do you think of that asked Mrs. Fairfax who stood beside Stella watching the combatants wonderful, most wonderful mind over matter you see which is victorious in an actor's life would a single individual in that audience believe on hearsay what we have just witnessed yet every theater can afford instances of equal or more marvelous power of will the drama of the Lady of Lyon has been so pertenaciously hunted down by critics that there is no temptation to dwell upon its striking situations the author has planned a series of prominent points all unmistakable as signpost on a term pike a succession of dramatic traps in which the hands of the audiences are invariably taken captive these Stella could not miss it was only in the fifth act that she rose above her author and filled out and perfected his incomplete portraiture the gorgeous garments with which Pauline had bedecked herself in the days of her untamed pride were exchanged for a white Muslim rogue fastened with bunches of purple violets the emblems of mourning and a few of those grief betokening flowers were scattered among her disheveled locks that Pauline could not recognize her husband after an absence of two years because he wore a moustache was habituated in military dress and his presence was unanticipated seemed an improbability which Stella reconciled by never lifting her eyes from the ground as she addressed him in heart broken accents and when he spoke her sobs drowned the tones of the well-known and well-loved voice that Pauline's confidential communication could have been made in a room occupied by her father, mother affianced husband the notary, etc. is an obvious absurdity when the words of the text are acclaimed according to custom in an elevated tone the credulity of the spectators is too largely drawn upon when they are required to believe that two of the party present are not afflicted with deafness but every word that Stella uttered was spoken in a whisper which, though distinct to the audience, conveyed the impression that it reached Claude's ear alone this unwanted reality imparted to the scene which, albeit touching and effective, offends against probability Stella's personation of the proud beauty was by no means faultless. It occasionally was marred by too rapid transitions lacking artistic smoothness and exuberance of gesticulation and absence of repose, the inevitable failings of a novice, yet her spontaneity, impulsive ardor, flexibility of features and motion, her sculpture as grace, quickened that weather-dulled audience and charmed them into forgetfulness of her shortcomings. The sea of genius made its presence felt and compelled homage even from her unwilling associates. Stella's debut and second appearance had only been chronicled in the public journals by a few stereotyped phrases emanating probably from the licensed puffer of the theatre, but now the clarion note of praise was sounded loudly. The press awoke from its apathy the tide of popular approval bore her aloft in triumphant waves. The fickle public had already forgotten the worshipped Lydia Talbot and with ready hands lifted up a new idol upon her empty pedestal. Stella began to taste the intoxicating sweetness of adulation, that honeyed poison so pernicious to the untried soul so tasteless to the absorbed intellectual artist when she becomes truly enamored by her dedication. Complimentary letters, poems, elaborate laudatory notices daily greeted her eyes. At first she read them with avity and treasured them up with proud satisfaction. Of floral gifts she received almost hourly offerings but her mind was so much engrossed by her professional duties that the flattering testimonials which for a day enchanted by their novelty quickly lost all value. Critiques and letters were glanced over, not read. Bouquets consigned unexamined to Maddie's care. All flattering demonstrations were treated with strange ingratitude but it was the ingratitude of a preoccupied mind which had no leisure for thankfulness a dangerous middle stage. Too assuredly developed by sudden and brilliant success but vis-a-tus to which the most favored artist is inevitably subjected somewhat later in her career. End of Section 6