BEHIND THE SCENES.
Olympia had selected an auspicious time for the first appearance of her
protege, as she always persisted in calling Caroline.
It was the fashion just then to recognize American genius with something
like enthusiasm, and the very suddenness with which this young girl had
been brought forward operated in her favor.
A glowing account of her voice and beauty had reached the public just at
a time when no special excitement occupied it, and this served to draw a
crowd around the opera house long before the hour of opening.
On the outskirts of this crowd, the carriage which contained Olympia and
her victim--for such the heroine of the evening really was--made its way
toward the stage door. Olympia leaned out of the window, and cried
exultingly:
"Look, child, look! Hundreds of people waiting already!"
Caroline cast one frightened glance at the crowd, and shrank back with a
faint moan.
Just as the audience began to pour in through the opened doors the
carriage drove up to the stage entrance, and Olympia took a leap from
the steps and held the carriage door open with her own hand, while
Caroline descended more slowly. The light from a neighboring lamp fell
upon her face, and revealed the tears that stood upon her cheeks, and a
half rebellious look in the eyes, which Olympia saw, and met with angry
bitterness.
"Crying again? Shooting spiteful looks at me, as if I were a monster,
instead of a tender, considerate, self-sacrificing mother, ready to
share everything with you, even my glory! Was ever such ingratitude?"
Caroline did not answer, but walked into the narrow door, and stood upon
the dreary stage, panting for breath, like some superb animal from the
wild woods, hunted down, and without hopes of escape.
"This way--come this way," said Olympia, taking hold of her arm.
"Perhaps you will remember that we are late. The audience was crowding
in like a torrent when we passed the door. Come!"
Caroline allowed herself to be led along the stage, through yawning
vistas of scenery ready placed for use, and along dark passages, until
she came to Olympia's dressing-room, in which a blaze of light was
reflected by half-a-dozen mirrors, and fell like sunshine on a pile of
gorgeous vestments laid out for her use.
Caroline shrank back with a faint, sick feeling. Oh, how everything had
changed since she was so fascinated by a scene like that! Her delicate,
proud nature revolted from the splendid confusion. From her very heart
she loathed the sumptuous garments with which Olympia had hoped to tempt
her.
"Is there no hope?" she cried, desperately. "I would rather suffer
anything than undertake this part!"
"Hope? Yes, there is everything to hope. The house is crowded already.
There never was so fine an opening. Come, make ready!"
"Not if I have the power to resist."
She spoke in a low but resolute voice, which frightened Olympia, who
stood gazing at the pale young face turned upon her with a frown of
terrible anger gathering on her forehead.
"Caroline, you cannot resist. My word is given, the contract signed, my
honor pledged. Would you disgrace me forever?"
"Your honor pledged, and I belong to you," said the girl. "I see, I
see--there is no escaping! It is my miserable destiny!"
Caroline took off the cloak in which she was wrapped, flung down all her
magnificent hair, and seated herself before one of the mirrors.
"Do with me as you please," she said, turning a weary glance upon the
mirror. "It may be my death, but you _will_ have it so."
The next moment that unhappy girl found herself in the hands of a clever
French maid, who fairly revelled in her task, as she shook out that rich
mass of hair, and held it up for the light to shine through. But
Caroline took no heed. The toilet only reminded her of that most hideous
one when Marie Antoinette was prepared for the scaffold. For the moment
she almost wished it possible to change places with that unhappy woman.
But the French waiting-maid went on with her work, while Olympia stood
by, directing her.
Not till she felt a soft touch on her cheek did the girl rebel. Then she
started up, and, pushing the maid away, rubbed her cheek with a
handkerchief so resolutely that the maid clapped her hands, declaring
that it was enough--no roses could be more lovely.
Then she fell to her task again, muttering to herself:
"Oh, it will come in time! Youth is so satisfied with itself. But it all
ends in that."
Here the maid nodded toward a tiny jar of rouge, as if to encourage it,
and went on with her task.
"Now look at yourself!" said Olympia, tossing aside some garment that
had been flung over the swinging-glass. "What do you think of that?"
Caroline looked, and saw a beautiful woman, with sweeping garments of
rose-colored silk, and a cloud of frost-like lace flung over her head
and trailing down her shoulders. Splendid jewels--whether real or false,
she did not care to ask--twinkled like stars through the lace, both on
her head and bosom. The pictures thus reflected were beautiful, but
stormy.
Olympia saw that the rebellious spirit was but half subdued.
"What can I do?" she said, in her perplexity, addressing the maid, who
lifted up both hands and shook her head as she answered:
"Ah, madame! if a toilet like that fails, who can say?"
"I will send for Brown. She will listen to him," said Olympia, driven to
desperation. "With that spirit, she will never get the rollicking air
for her first act."
She went to the door, and found the teacher lingering near, restless and
anxious almost as herself.
"Brown--I say, Brown--come in! She is dressed, but so obstinate! If she
were about to play Norma, it would be worth everything, but in this
part--! Do come in, dear Brown, and get her up to the proper feeling."
Brown entered the room in absolute distress. He would gladly have kept
that young creature from the stage; but having no power to aid her in
avoiding it, was nervously anxious that she should make a success.
Caroline turned to him at once, and came forward with her hands held
out.
"Oh, Mr. Brown, help me! It is not too late. Let them say I am sick.
Indeed, indeed, it will be true! She can take the part, and leave me in
peace. Ask her, beg of her; say that I will go into her kitchen, be her
maid, go out as a teacher--anything on earth, if she will only spare me
this once! Ask her, Mr. Brown. Sometimes she will listen to you!"
Brown held both her hands. They were cold as ice, and he felt that she
was trembling all over.
"My dear, dear child! I have pleaded with her. I have done my best."
"But again--again! Oh, Mr. Brown, do!"
Brown drew Olympia on one side, and entreated her to give the unhappy
girl more time; but he knew well enough that he was asking almost an
impossibility--that the woman had no power to grant that which he
implored of her. In her arrogant power she had pledged that young
creature, body and soul, to the public. How could she draw back, when
the crowding rush of the audience might now be heard from the place
where they stood.
Still the man pleaded with her, for he loved the girl better than
anything on earth, and, knowing something of the feelings which made the
stage so repulsive to her, would have died to save her from the pain of
that night's experience.
Olympia was impatient, nervous, angry. What did the man think? Was she
to throw away the chances of a great success and a brilliant fortune,
because a romantic girl did not know her own mind? Was she to disgrace
herself before all London?
Brown had no answer. The whole thing was unreasonable--he knew that well
enough; but his heart ached for the poor girl. So he had done his best,
and failed miserably.
"Go back and cheer the foolish thing up," said Olympia. "You can do it.
She loves you better than any one in the world. Now, if you want to
oblige me, give her courage, soothe her. I never saw such a creature!
With the genius and voice of an angel, she has no ambition; but it will
come. Before the drinking song is over, she will forget herself. Go,
Brown, and give her courage."
Brown went back to the dressing-room, feeling like an executioner.
Caroline met him eagerly; but when she saw his face, her heart turned to
stone.
"I see! I see!" she said. "I am doomed! But, remember, I was forced into
this. Of my own choice, I would have died first; but she is my mother,
and, in my ignorance, I promised her. Tell _him_ this, if you should
ever see him. I never shall. After what he said of parts like this, I
should perish with shame. Ha! what's that?"
"They are calling you," faltered Brown.
She caught a sharp breath and sprang away from him, like a deer when the
hounds are in full cry.