As Mrs. Bryce and Wally came out from luncheon, they beheld the first
consignment of friends and relatives, a motor car full from the Pages.
"We've come to the matinee," laughed Mrs. Page.
"It's ridiculous of you," retorted her hostess.
"I would not have missed it for anything," said Martin Christiansen.
"I hear she invited you to play Carton," jeered Wally.
"I never was more flattered in my life. But I persuaded her that I was
not the type."
Other motors began to arrive with beaming parents, and excited children.
The terrace was almost crowded when finally, after much delay, and trips
to and from the house, Teddy Horton rushed into view, announcing through
a megaphone that the doors of the Isabelle Theatre were open. Everybody
strolled toward the garage and soon all the "stalls" were full.
Isabelle appeared before the sheets which served as curtain. She was
pale, composed, and in deadly earnest.
"Fathers and mothers, and ladies and gentlemen," she began, "we are
going to give a play called 'A Tale of Two Cities,' by Charles Dickens
and me."
She was undisturbed by their laughter and applause.
"We didn't have time to print programmes, so I will tell you the
characters: Mademoiselle Lucy Manet--Isabelle Bryce; Dr. Manet, her
father--Margie Hunter; Madame La Farge--Isabelle Bryce; Mr. Lorry--Margie
Hunter; Charles D'Arnay--Teddy Horton; Sidney Carton--Tommy Page.
Manager--Isabelle Bryce."
More applause.
"The first scene is An Inn. Mr. Lorry is waiting for Lucy Manet."
She made a low bow, and walked off, followed by much hand clapping. Some
time elapsed, and then by slow laborious jerks the sheets were parted,
and Margie Hunter, a fat serious girl of nine, was discovered in her
father's overcoat and hat, pacing the floor. She rather overdid the
pacing, so a strident voice prompted: "My Blood!" and yet again, and
louder: "My Blood!"
"Oh, yes," said Mr. Lorry. Then in a deep chest tone, he inquired: "My
Blood! Why doesn't Mademoiselle Lucy Manet, my old client's, child,
appear?"
Enter Lucy Manet. She wears Mrs. Page's best opera coat, which extracts
a groan from the owner. Her bobbed brown hair is barely covered by the
long yellow shaving curls which more or less crown her head. A
Gainsborough hat of her mother's threatens to submerge her countenance,
and she carries a walking stick of Wally's as a staff. But for all the
ridiculous figure she cut, there was an earnestness and a sort of style
to her entrance, that cut short the first outburst of laughter.
"Sir, are you Mr. Lorry?" she demanded.
"I am. I kiss your hand, Miss."
"I have had a long trip in the stage coach. . . . Did you bring me to
England when I was an orphan child?"
"Miss Manet, it was me, but you aren't an orphan."
She kneels.
"Quick, sir, the truth!" she cries.
"Your father is found. He is a wreckage in prison."
Lucy Manet faints. Curtain.
Both actors were forced to take a curtain call after this. Isabelle
manages to push fat Margie into the wings while she stays on, bowing, to
announce:
"Margie Hunter is Dr. Manet this scene."
The next scene discovers Margie Hunter, in a long beard, cobbling a
shoe, hastily contributed by Tommy Page at the last moment. A dramatic
and tender meeting between father and child was played in a tense key,
only slightly marred by the frequent loss of Father Manet's hirsute
appendage.
The scene changed suddenly and unexpectedly to the court room in England
where D'Arnay appears as prisoner. Margie Hunter played the judge. Teddy
Horton as D'Arnay was so overcome with stage fright that Isabelle had to
tell him all his lines. However, when it came to Lucy Manet's testimony
the scene lifted. At the climax, just when Sidney Carton was to make his
dramatic entrance into the story, it was discovered that Tommy had not
his shoe. In the quick change, it had been left in the corner of Manet's
garret. The action was held up while it was restored to him, but he put
it on so hastily that he lost it once or twice during the scene. It kept
his mind off his lines, rather. The moment came when the striking
resemblance between D'Arnay and Carton is pointed out by Lucy. Tommy
Page--plump, short, red-haired, with freckles--and Teddy Horton--tall,
gangling, half a head taller than his double--stood side by side facing
the audience.
Up to this moment a certain restraint had marked that body, but at this
sight they went into uncontrolled spasms of delight. Martin Christiansen,
dramatic critic, was seen to wipe tears of joy from his cheeks. The actors
were spurred to renewed efforts.
Carton declared his eternal devotion to Lucy, in words that were
scarcely Dickensian.
"I like you, Lucy; you're all right. I'll stick to you for ever," he
improvised frantically.
The marriage scene between Lucy and D'Arnay ran something like this.
D'Arnay, very accurate in his lines, remarks to Dr. Manet:
"Dr. Manet, I love your daughter--fondly, dearly. You loved once
yourself; let your old love speak for me!"
Dr. Manet's lines escaped him, so he replied informally:
"Oh--all right."
Whereupon the bridal procession entered, with Isabelle as climax, in her
mother's best tulle scarf as a veil.
The scene once more shifted to Paris. D'Arnay was arrested, and
resisted. It took the entire company to overpower and drag him forth to
the Bastille.
A bit of unequalled histrionism followed in which Isabelle entered as
Lucy, with little Nancy Holt as her child. She proceeded to impersonate
both that heroine and Madame La Farge. It was simpler than it sounds.
As Lucy she still wore the wedding veil, as Madame La Farge she
snatched off the veil, wrapped a fur boa around her, seized her mother's
knitting, and by leaping from one side of the stage to the other, by
using now a high voice now a low one, the illusion was perfect. The
chee-ild was rather roughly pushed about during the scene, which was
highly emotional.
"Be merciful to my husband for the sake of my chee-ild," cried Lucy,
passionately, pushing Nancy forward.
"Never!" growled Madame La Farge, pushing Nancy back.
"Don't, Isabelle, you hurt," objected Nancy, but quailed into silence at
Isabelle's terrible look.
The audience was almost hysterical.
The part where Carton rescues D'Arnay and changes places with him,
important climax though it is in the book, was omitted by the dramatist,
because it had no opportunity for Isabelle. D'Arnay arrived in Carton's
clothes, many inches too small for him, and explained to Lucy what had
occurred. So she and her child and her husband escape.
The curtains were closed now, and the audience stirred as if to rise.
Isabelle rushed forth.
"Sit still," she commanded, "it isn't over yet."
There was a long wait, and much hammering back on the stage. Then the
curtains parted again on the big realistic moment of the drama.
Suspended at back was what at first glance looked to be a wooden window
frame. It was suspended from above by ropes, which disappeared over the
gallery which ran around the garage. Under this frame was a wooden
saw-horse, and beneath that a pail. Only a look sufficed to show that
this was _La Belle Dame sans Merci_, the guillotine.
A ragged rabble appeared at back, shouting and shaking fists. Then--led
forward by D'Arnay and the able Margie who had been Dr. Manet, Lorry,
and the Judge--came the blind-folded figure of the hero, Carton. They
led him to the foot of that terrible machine of destruction, and after
several vain promptings from the gallery above, Carton cried in a loud,
manly voice:
"It's a far, far better thing that I do, than I have ever done; it is a
far, far better rest I go to, than I have ever known."
Then he laid his noble head on the saw horse, and _bing!_ went the
window frame down on his neck.
"Gosh!" yelled Carton, just as it struck; and then no more.
"Good Lord! Tommy!" cried his mother excitedly from the audience. "I
think she's killed him."
"He's all right," cried Isabelle from the gallery. "There wasn't any
knife in it--it couldn't hurt him much, unless it just broke his neck."
Carton sat up and lifted a red and angry face toward her.
"It just about did break my neck, you big nut!" he cried, feeling
himself, gently. "I told you that darned thing wouldn't work."
"Draw the curtain," hissed Isabelle fiercely, sensing that the shouts of
the audience were too abandoned to be complimentary.
The curtains were hitched shut, and she looked over the balustrade on
to the group below. Wally was beating Christiansen on the back, and Max
was laughing hysterically. Mrs. Page, whose stupid maternal plans had
nearly ruined the climax, was now panting for breath.
Isabelle, even while she was delighted with their applause, despised
them. Had they no feeling for the noble tragedy of Carton? Of course,
Tommy Page, the fool----just then she caught Martin Christiansen's eye.
He held up his hands to her, clapping, and bowing and throwing kisses.
He rushed to the garden, and came back with a huge sunflower which he
tossed to her, calling: "Author!"
After many and prolonged calls, Isabelle came modestly forth.
"Thank you," she said. "I think Mr. Charles Dickens is dead; if he is, I
will thank you for him."
"Company! Company!" shouted the parents and relatives. Isabelle felt
this to be bad discipline for the actors, but after a moment's
hesitation, she led them all forth.
Martin Christiansen was the first to reach her side. With a low bow he
indicated the sunflower which she carried.
"My flower!" he murmured tenderly. "Isabelle, I've seen them all,
Bernhardt, Duse, Fiske, but I've never seen any acting that could be
compared with yours!"
It was that supreme moment which made up to Isabelle for everything else.
She knew then the joy of appreciation--knew that Martin Christiansen was a
finer soul, and akin unto her own!