THE STUDENT OF COIMBRA
“YOU are, like me, an English artiste,” said the girl as I sat down by
her side. “I have seen you on the stage. I am in trouble,” she added,
after a short pause.
“Perhaps I can help you,” I returned.
“I’m afraid you can’t,” she said, shaking her head. “It is not a matter
in which anyone can help me. But I am quite alone in Madrid, and I
would like to tell you of my trouble.”
I ordered some coffee, and Rose began her story in a low tone.
“My father was a commercial traveller, and we lived in Sheffield. I was
one of three girls, and we were all put to business. I was apprenticed
to the drapery, and I served my time. I never liked the business; it
was quite uninteresting to me, and I was a failure in it. My heart was
set upon going to the stage, and I longed to be a comedy actress. Soon
after the end of my apprenticeship to Messrs B———— and Co. I asked my
father to allow me to go on the stage. He was a very religious man,
with a horror of the theatre, and he sternly forbade me from becoming
an actress.
“Well, the passion for the stage was strong upon me, and, to make a
long story short, I saved a pound or two and borrowed some more money,
and went up to London to see agents. I can’t say how many I called
upon, but at last I obtained an engagement to ‘walk on’ in a musical
comedy at a pound a week. I had no lines and no part; I was just one of
a crowd. However, it was a beginning, and I managed to live on a pound
a week in one small room.
“I told my parents what I was doing. My father cut me off; he refused
to have anything to do with me unless I left the stage. But my mother
wrote regularly to me.
“When the run of the piece was at an end I was out of work. I had
just two pounds in the world, which I had saved at the expense of my
appetite, for I lived very plainly indeed. One of the girls who walked
on with me had been on the halls for a time, and she said that if we
went into partnership we might do well as duettists and dancers. She
offered to teach me the business. I liked this girl, and I was glad to
do anything to keep starvation at bay.
“I needn’t tell you much about my partnership with Joan. We led an
up-and-down life for about a year, singing in small halls and with
touring variety combinations. Our top salary was six pounds a week, and
our usual pay came to about thirty shillings each. As we were ‘out of
a shop’ for five months in the year, you can guess how hard-driven we
were.
“One day Joan said that she was going to marry a sketch artiste who was
just starting for South Africa. It was a shock to me. I had to look
about now for a job on my own.
“I began the usual tour of the London agents. In a few days I was ‘on
the rocks’ I remember starting out without any breakfast to call on an
agent on the Surrey side. I had been told that this man was booking
girls for pantomime, and that there was a good chance of an engagement
for the provinces in a fit-up company.
“The agent was a middle-aged man, very coarse to look at, and quite
as coarse in his language. One does not object to the familiarity of
agents if they don’t go too far, as their chaff means nothing. But this
fellow was a perfect brute. He very soon made suggestions to me which I
leave to your imagination. Now, up to lately I’ve kept quite straight,
and when this man made advances I grew highly indignant. He simply
laughed at me.
“‘If you’re so jolly particular, you’d better chuck this business,’ he
said with a leer.
“After enduring his coarseness for some time, hoping that he would talk
business, I left the office, feeling that I had been horribly insulted.
“I tell you this because I was then leading a respectable life, and
because I want you to understand that I got into trouble through
mistaken affection.
“And now,” said Rose, with a choke in her voice, “I must tell you
that I met a young man in the profession who made violent love to me,
and promised to be true for life. I won’t deny that I knew what I was
doing. But I was in love with this man. We could not marry, for his
wife is living, though he separated from her five years ago.”
She stopped for a moment, overcome with grief. Then she continued:
“Well, we came to Madrid a fortnight ago, and now he has left me, and
gone off to Paris with another woman. I am almost penniless, and I am
deserted. I have just one peseta left.”
It was a common story, but none the less sad. My heart ached for poor
Rose. What could I do for her? I tried to think of a plan, and I
pressed some money upon her.
For two days I spent a greater part of my leisure time in calling upon
managers whom I knew, and trying to find work for Rose. But I was
unsuccessful; there were no vacancies anywhere. Meanwhile I kept the
girl going on what money I could spare.
One day an idea struck me. We had made the acquaintance of an artist
who painted figure subjects. I had posed for him two or three times
as a classical dancer in Grecian dress. I went to see Señor Casa, and
asked him if he would engage Rose as a model.
The artist replied that he was glad to know of a model, but she must
sit for the nude. He wanted a model for a Psyche figure, to be included
in a group in a symbolic painting.
“Send your friend to me,” said Señor Casa. “She may be just the girl I
want.”
I went to Rose’s lodgings and told her of this chance. She was not so
delighted as I expected her to be. At first her face brightened, but
when she heard that she must stand undraped she recoiled from the idea.
I argued that there was no disgrace whatever in being a model, and told
her that this opportunity was not to be despised when she was in such
difficulties.
Poor Rose! At last she overcame her scruples, and went to the studio.
She trusted Señor Casa most confidently, for he was an honourable
gentleman.
I saw Rose once only after she became a model. She said she was saving
up enough money to pay her passage to England, and that in a few weeks
she would leave Spain.
Rose Nevill was very soft-hearted and emotional, and a curious mixture
of prudery and a love of pleasure. She was exceedingly squeamish about
posing as Psyche, and yet she had no objection to appearing in tights.
She liked wine when she could afford it, and she drank pretty freely.
But she was horrified when she saw me light a Cuban cigarette. Many of
the public think that all women in the variety profession are loose
in their morals. Yet, as I have said before, I have met with curious
prudery in my profession, and I can assure my readers that many women
artistes are as strait-laced as Quakeresses.
From the capital of Spain we travelled to Oporto, the second largest
town in Portugal, where we opened at a popular variety theatre with our
dancing and statuary show. Oporto is a splendid city on the banks of
the River Douro. I have never seen anywhere such beautiful gardens as
those of the Crystal Palace, which is built on a steep hill overhanging
the river. The views from the winding paths of the Crystal Palace,
looking down the Douro to the sea, are magnificent, especially at
sunset.
There are many English people at Oporto, and there is much bustle in
the streets. The shops are large, and in the English or Parisian style.
Oporto is, in some respects, more modern than the large Spanish towns
that I have visited.
I found the Portuguese people less attractive and picturesque than the
Spaniards, but I have no fault to find with the way that artistes are
treated by the managers and the audiences.
We were about a month in Oporto, and during our stay nothing of
especial interest happened. But at Coimbra, our next town, we were to
meet with an adventure of an exciting character.
Coimbra is even more beautiful than Oporto. It is a much smaller
town, with less than 20,000 inhabitants; but it is prosperous, and
the musical cafés are well patronized by the lively students of the
university.
I shall have something to say presently of the ways of one of the
students of Coimbra. They are a very gay set of young men, and they
dress in a peculiar costume and play the guitar and mandoline.
The climate of Coimbra is so warm that dates ripen here, and oranges,
lemons, and many other fruits are abundant.
The streets of Coimbra are extremely steep, and there is an upper and
lower town. Above the higher town rises the university, which was once
an old palace.
In this quaint and charming place we soon became popular with
audiences. The students came night after night to the performance, and
they always applauded our dancing with enthusiasm. We worked very hard
to please them, and as the weather was extremely hot, I found dancing
quite fatiguing, especially when encores were demanded by the noisy but
appreciative students.
One night, after I had gone to bed, I heard voices in the street close
to my window. My room was on the ground floor, and the window was open,
as it was a stifling night. Presently a guitar was strummed lightly,
and a man’s tenor voice rang out. The words were in Portuguese, and I
could not understand them, but the melody was sweet and plaintive.
I peeped under the curtain and saw a group of students. One played a
guitar, and another sang the love ditty, while a third held a lantern
on the end of a pole. I could only suppose that I was being serenaded
by the party, and I felt flattered by this pretty attention.
I opened the window a few inches, and threw a rose into the street.
The singer stooped, picked it up, and, after kissing it, put it in his
buttonhole. Amused by his gallantry, I watched the group from behind
the curtain. The guitar-player now struck up another air, and all
the students joined in the chorus. It was quite romantic, and this
serenading recalled what I had read about the old days in Spain and
Portugal.
Presently a shower of gravel rattled on the window-panes. I lit the
lamp, and, putting on a shawl, drew the curtain back. The handsome
singer, with his hand on his heart, made a profound bow, and all the
students raised their hats when I showed myself.
On the next day, as I was leaving the café after a rehearsal, I saw the
tall, swarthy student advancing towards me. He raised his hat, and, in
broken English, asked if he might speak a few words.
“We are so pleased with you and the other lady dancer that we desire to
give you a benefit,” he said.
“That is very kind,” I answered.
“Ah, my charming English mees, it is a joy and a privilege to me,” he
said, bowing profoundly.
Well, I had better confess that I was attracted to this handsome
student with the sweet tenor voice. His manners were delightful, and he
knew how to pay the most charming compliments.
We had several walks together in the lovely Botanic Gardens and by the
banks of the River Mondego. My companion certainly seemed to be sincere
and honest. He was apparently very anxious that the benefit performance
should be a great success.
“I will sell at least a hundred tickets for you,” he said, over and
over again.
Naturally, we all wished to profit by the kindness of the students of
Coimbra; so Gamboli had a number of tickets printed for the benefit
entertainment, and special bills were pasted up in the town. My
attentive cavalier took fifty or sixty tickets, which he said he could
sell without trouble.
For the benefit we rehearsed two new dances, and we arranged a very
full bill. The café was partly filled when the curtain went up. When
I came on the stage with Lily Gamboli to dance a duet I could not see
my cavalier. Why was he not present? He usually sat in the front seats
and applauded vigorously. I was puzzled at not seeing him in his usual
place.
Between the turns Gamboli teased me a little.
“Where is your gallant admirer to-night?” he asked, with a laugh.
“I can’t understand it,” I said, feeling rather vexed with Dom Carlos.
But something of a far more disturbing nature occurred that night. I
have spoken of the great heat in Coimbra, and that may explain what
followed. Towards the end of the performance, just as I was going on
the stage, a terrible rumbling sound was heard.
“Is that thunder?” I asked, turning to Gamboli.
Then I noticed that the stage was heaving. Something fell with a loud
crash, and startled cries came from all parts of the house.
“It is an earthquake!” cried the manager. “Fly for your lives!”
Strange to say, my first thought was for my dress-basket and costumes.
I turned to run to the dressing-room. As I fled along the passage the
floor rocked and heaved like the deck of a vessel in a storm.
When I reached the dressing-room I saw the looking-glass sliding
from the table, and the floor heaving in an alarming manner. With a
crash, the glass fell to the floor, broken into fragments. A terror
seized me, and I felt myself trembling. I flung my costumes out of the
dressing-basket on to the floor, and grasped the most expensive of them
and some of my stage jewellery, and turned to fly. From all parts of
the building there came cries of fear and distress. The manager came
running along the passage, carrying a cash-box and some account-books.
“Fly, Señora, fly!” he cried. “The roof will fall presently!”
I rushed to the front of the house, and found myself merged in a mass
of struggling and shouting people. Every one was in a panic. Women
screamed, and men struggled to escape from the jumble of terrified
humanity that blocked the doorway. I kept my elbows stiff, and fought
with the rest of the crowd, for it was no use to do otherwise. The
panic-stricken crowd had lost all reason. My skirt was torn, and my
hair disordered. Panting, crushed, and almost fainting, I was carried
along with the seething mass into the street.
I staggered to a shop front and propped myself up to regain breath. But
I was at last out of the building, and I was thankful. The whole town
seemed crazy with fear. Women carrying children rushed down the streets
without knowing where they were going. Tradesmen were throwing their
goods into the roadway with frantic energy. It was a terrible scene.
The whole world seemed toppling to destruction.
I can’t say how long the tremors lasted, but it seemed many minutes
after I reached the street before the shock was over. The road was
strewn with the shopkeepers’ things, and the people were kneeling down
praying to God and the Holy Virgin for help. I was fearfully anxious
concerning my friend Lily, her child, and her husband, for I could not
see them anywhere.
As soon as I recovered breath, I hastened to the little hotel where we
were staying. To my great joy, I found my friends there, safely seated
in the dining-room They were pale and excited, and little Henry was
crying with fear.
“Thank God we’re saved!” said Gamboli reverently.
The shock had been very severe. Several buildings in the town were
damaged, and the people were half mad with terror. A wind had sprung
up, and it howled in the streets, adding to our nervousness. None of us
slept that night. I sat up with Lily, but we got the tired child off to
sleep in the early morning.
Earthquakes are not very uncommon in Spain and Portugal, and several
times I have felt the earth tremble. But this disturbance at Coimbra
was really serious, and I must confess that I was greatly alarmed for
our safety.
For two or three days the weather continued stormy and wild, and many
people feared that there would be another shock. The talk in the hotel
and everywhere was about earthquakes and the disaster at Lisbon a few
years ago. Some of the inhabitants left the town in a state of alarm.
Our engagement at Coimbra was now at an end. The benefit performance,
which had abruptly concluded in such a remarkable manner, only brought
us a few pounds after paying the expenses. As for my student friend,
he was not to be found, and he had not paid us for the tickets he had
sold for our benefit. I was quite mystified. Why had this man, who had
professed such an ardent friendship for me, suddenly ceased to come
to the performances? Ever since he took the tickets to sell he had
carefully avoided meeting me.
I was heartily chaffed by my friends about his disappearance. I did not
mind this, but it was exasperating to think that I had been “done” in
this manner, and I determined to sift the mystery.
“The fellow deserves imprisonment,” said one of the artistes at the
café when I told him my tale. “But I do not advise you to make a police
case. The law in Portugal is very curious, and if the police do take up
a case, you’ll have to stay in Coimbra to give evidence.”
“I don’t wish to inform the police,” I said; “but I would like to get
the money that he got for the tickets.”
At length I decided to go to the college and to look for my cavalier.
I attired myself in a quiet black dress and a mantilla, and went up
the hill to the university. It was a somewhat strange errand. I don’t
like dunning people for money; and, besides, this man had represented
himself as my friend, and I had liked him. However, the money was not
only due to me; it belonged in part to my friends the Gambolis. We were
not in a very flourishing way just then. I therefore decided to act
immediately.
I felt rather nervous as I came near the imposing building and saw
several students emerge. Two of them recognized me, and one raised his
hat.
“The English dancer,” they murmured.
“Can you tell me where I can find Dom Sebastian?” I asked in Spanish.
“Dom Sebastian?” they repeated. Then one of the students bade me follow
him, and he led me to a house in an adjoining street. An old crone
answered his summons. As my guide spoke to her she looked me closely
up and down and rumpled her yellow forehead. At that moment I saw Dom
Sebastian cross the passage of the house. Without ceremony, I pushed by
the old woman and went into the house. My prey had entered the parlour,
and I knocked at the door.
The features of my friend were a study. He muttered something
inaudible, and his cheeks grew pale as I confronted him. His aspect
proved that he was guilty.
“I have come for the money that you owe me,” I said quietly.
Dom Sebastian drew himself up, and then bowed profoundly.
“I owe you an apology,” he stammered. “I have been unfortunate,
señorita; I have lost it.”
“Lost it” I repeated, in amazement.
“Let me explain, please?” he said, with another bow. “Be seated, if you
please.”
I sat down and listened to his story. Never have I seen a man appear so
abject as this young Portuguese student. He wrung his hands as if in
pain, and his forehead was damp with nervousness. Did he think that I
intended to inform the police?
“Señorita,” he said in a pathetic tone, “my conduct may seem very base
in your eyes. But, believe me, I had no intention of cheating you, and
I vow that the money shall be paid to you in full. To tell the whole
truth and to hide nothing is my intention. I will tell you, then, that
I am in the clutches of moneylenders.
“I have been foolish, Señorita; I have gambled heavily, and misfortune
has followed me for weeks past. Hoping to pay my debts of honour, I
staked the money that I had received for the benefit tickets, and,
alas! I lost all.”
His voice sank to a sob. I was touched by his emotion, for I still
remembered that I had enjoyed his friendship. What could I say? I was
sorry for him, but, at the same time, it was unfair that the Gambolis
should suffer through his folly.
“Believe me, every reis that I owe you will be paid in a week or two,”
he declared with his hand at his heart. “Ah, my adorable English lady,
I would that I could express to you the admiration that I have for your
grace————”
I stopped him in the middle of a fine speech. It seemed to me
insincere, and in a flash I divined the man’s true character. He was
fooling me.
“We are going to-morrow to Evora. I shall call daily at the post office
for letters, and I hope you will send the money quickly. Good-day.”
“Señorita, one moment,” he cried. “I will send you all the money in the
course of ten days. I am writing to my mother for money. ... I have
loved you sincerely————”
“That is enough,” I said in a frigid tone.
“Señorita, listen————” he began. But I went from the room.