VII
The great French dramatist, dark, pale-faced, and corpulent, stood uponthe extreme edge of the stage, brandishing his manuscript in his hand.From close at hand, the stage manager watched him anxiously. For thethird time M. Graillot was within a few inches of the orchestra-well.
"If you would pardon me, M. Graillot," he ventured timidly, "thefootlights are quite unprotected, as you see."
Graillot glanced behind him and promptly abandoned his dangerousposition.
"It is you, ladies and gentlemen," he declared, shaking his manuscriptvigorously at the handful of people upon the stage, "who drive me intoforgetfulness and place me in the danger from which our friend here hasjust rescued me. Do I not best know the words and the phrases which willcarry the messages of my play across the footlights? Who is to judge,ladies and gentlemen--you or I?"
He banged the palm of his left hand with the rolled-up manuscript andlooked at them all furiously. A slight, middle-aged man, clean-shaven,with a single eyeglass, and features very well known to the theatergoingworld, detached himself a little from the others.
"No one indeed, dear M. Graillot," he admitted, "could possibly knowthese things so well as you; but, on the other hand, when you write inyour study at Fontainebleau you write for a quicker-minded public thanours. The phrase which would find its way at once to the brain of theFrench audience needs, shall I say, just a little amplification to carryequal weight across the footlights of my theater. I will admit that weare dealing with a translation which is, in its way, not sufficientlyliteral, but our friend Shamus here has pointed out to me thedifficulties. The fact is, M. Graillot, that some of the finest phrasesin your work are untranslatable."
"There are times," the dramatist asserted, moistening his lipsvigorously with his tongue, "when I regret that I ever suffered Mr.Shamus or anybody else to attempt to translate my inimitable play into alanguage wholly inadequate to express its charm and subtlety!"
"Quite so," the actor remarked sympathetically; "but still, since thedeed has been done, M. Graillot, and since we are going to produce theresult in the course of a fortnight or so, or lose a great deal ofmoney, don't you think that we had all better try our utmost to insurethe success of the production?"
"The only success I care for," Graillot thundered, "is an artisticsuccess!"
"With Miss Maurel playing your leading part, M. Graillot," theactor-manager declared, "not to speak of a company carefully selected tothe best of my judgment, I think you may venture to anticipate eventhat."
The dramatist bowed hurriedly to Louise.
"You recall to me a fact," he said gallantly, "which almost reconcilesme to this diabolical travesty of some of my lines. Proceed,then--proceed! I will be as patient as possible."
The stage manager shouted out some directions from his box. A gentlemanin faultless morning clothes, who seemed to have been thoroughlyenjoying the interlude, suddenly adopted the puppetlike walk of afootman. Other actors, who had been whispering together in the wings,came back to their places. Louise advanced alone, a little languidly, tothe front of the stage. At the first sound of her voice M. Graillot,nodding his head vigorously, was soothed.
Her speech was a long one. It appeared that she had been arraignedbefore a company of her relatives, assembled to comment upon hermisdeeds. She wound up with a passionate appeal to her husband, Mr.Miles Faraday, who had made an unexpected appearance. M. Graillot'sface, as she concluded, was wreathed in smiles.
"Ah!" he cried. "You have lifted us all up! Now I feel once more theinspiration. _Mademoiselle_, I kiss your hand," he went on. "It is youwho still redeem my play. You bring back the spirit of it to me. In youI see the embodiment of my _Therese_."
Miles Faraday gave a little sigh of relief and glanced gratefully towardLouise. She nodded back to him and gave her hand to the Frenchman, whoheld it to his lips.
"You flatter me, M. Graillot," she said. "It is simply that I feel theforce of your beautiful words. _Therese_ is a wonderful conception! Asto those disputed passages--well, I feel myself in a very difficultposition. Artistically, I am entirely in accord with you, and yet Iunderstand exactly what Mr. Faraday means from the commercial point ofview. Let us submit the matter to the prince. He knows something of bothsides of the question."
The Prince of Seyre, who was seated in the orchestra-leader's chair,looked reproachfully toward Louise.
"Is this fair?" he protested. "Remember that I am more than half aFrenchman, and that I am one of our friend's most faithful disciples. Irealize the delicacy of the situation, and I understand Mr. Faraday'spoint of view. I tell you frankly that the thought of an empty theaterappals me. It is not the money--I am sure you all know that--but thereisn't a single man or woman in the world who can do his best unless heor she plays to a full house. Somehow or other, we must secure ouraudience."
"It really comes to this," Faraday intervened. "Shall we achieve apurely artistic triumph and drive the people away? Or shall we--at theexpense, I admit, of some of the finest passages in M. Graillot's superbdrama--compromise the matter and keep our box-office open? In a morehumble way I hope I also may call myself an artist; and yet not onlymust I live myself, but I have a staff of employees dependent upon me."
Graillot waved his hand.
"So! No more!" he exclaimed grandiloquently. "The affair is finished. Myconsent is given. Delete the lines! As to the scene laid in the bedroomof _madame_, to-night I shall take up my pen. By noon to-morrow I willgive you a revision which will puff out the cheeks of the Philistineswith satisfaction. Have no fear, _cher ami_ Faraday! Mothers shall bringtheir unmarried daughters to see our play. They shall all watch itwithout a blush. If there is anything to make the others think, it shallbe beneath the surface. It shall be for the great artist whom it is mysupreme joy to watch," he went on, bowing to Louise, "to act and expressthe real truth of my ideas through the music of innocent words."
"Then all is arranged," Miles Faraday concluded briskly. "We will leavethe second act until tomorrow; then M. Graillot will bring us hisrevision. We will proceed now to the next act. Stand back a little, ifyou please, ladies and gentlemen. Miss Maurel, will you make yourentrance?"
Louise made no movement. Her eyes were fixed upon a certain shadowycorner of the wings. Overwrought as she had seemed a few minutes ago,with the emotional excitement of her long speech, there was now a newand curious expression upon her face. She seemed to be looking beyondthe gloomy, unlit spaces of the theater into some unexpected land.
Curiously enough, the three people there most interested in her--theprince, Graillot, and her friend, Sophy Gerard--each noticed the change.The little fair-haired girl, who owed her small part in the play toLouise, quitted her chair to follow the direction of her friend's eyes.Faraday, with the frown of an actor-manager resenting an intrusion,gazed in the same direction.
To Sophy, the newcomer was simply the handsomest young man she had everseen in her life. To Faraday he represented nothing more nor less thanthe unwelcome intruder. The prince alone, with immovable features, butwith a slight contraction of his eyebrows, gazed with distrust, almostwith fear, unaccountable yet disturbing, at the tall hesitating figurethat stood just off the stage.
Louise only knew that she was amazed at herself, amazed to find thewalls of the theater falling away from her. She forgot the littlecompany of her friends by whom she was surrounded. She forgot theexistence of the famous dramatist who hung upon her words, and theclose presence of the prince. Her feet no longer trod the dusty boardsof the theater. She was almost painfully conscious of the perfume ofapple-blossom.
"You!" she exclaimed, stretching out her hands. "Why do you not come andspeak to me? I am here!"
John came out upon the stage. The French dramatist, with his handsbehind his back, made swift mental notes of an interesting situation. Hesaw the coming of a man who stood like a giant among them, sunburnt,buoyant with health, his eyes bright with the wonder of his unexpectedsurroundings; a man in whose pre
sence every one else seemed to representan effete and pallid type of humanity.
The dramatist and the prince were satisfied, however, with one singleglance at the newcomer. Afterward, their whole regard was focused uponLouise. The same thought was in the mind of both of them--the samefear!
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