"Experience is a great book, the events of life its chapters."
--SAINTE-BEUVE.
By eight o'clock the house was well filled. The signboard bearing the
legend, "Standing Room Only" was put out in front to catch a few more.
It was such an audience as would make any manager's heart rejoice. The
curtain rose promptly on the first act. To say the act went off tamely
would be simply admitting the truth. Camille was not only uncertain in
her lines, but she was suffering from a bad attack of stage fright. Were
it not for extraordinary exertions on the part of the principal members
of the company--a confidence acquired of long experience--the star of
the evening would have twinkled out of existence and "Camille" would
have been presented in one act instead of five. The unfortunate "angel"
realized for the first time in her life, possibly, that the calling she
had selected to adopt was not all her fancy had painted it. The
so-called coaching and training she had paid for proved of little or no
practical value. She was _Camille_ only in costume--if in that; the
_Camille_ of the dressmaker--nothing more. The audience, moreover, were
not slow in recognizing this fact also. That day has gone by,
apparently, when tyros may sally forth from the city and win country
audiences with fine dresses, pretty faces, cheek, and inexperience. The
theatre-going public knows the trick. The days of such barn-storming are
passing away.
Mr. Fogg, who was the _Armand_, did not make a profound impression. The
part suited him like an ill-fitted garment, and he felt it. The
realization of that fact took all the vim out of him. If the real truth
was known, he, no doubt, wished himself back in his little second-story
back in the big city, gossiping of what he might, but could not, do if
he had the chance. Handy was cast for the part of the _Count de
Varville_. He was not great in the character, but he could wrestle with
it. Was there a role in the whole range of the English drama he would
decline to take a fall out of if circumstances demanded?
"Say, you'll have to throw more ginger into the part, old fellow," said
Handy, as the hero of the carmine blouse of benefit memory walked across
the stage, looking very disconsolate after the first act. Neither he nor
the star received the slightest applause during their scenes.
"Wait until the fourth act, the great act of the piece," replied Fogg,
"and I'll fetch 'em. You just watch me."
"All ready for the second act," cried out the call-boy. A few seconds
later the curtain went up and the play proceeded. Nothing of particular
moment transpired during the act. The audience sat through it as tamely
as if listening to a funeral sermon. _Camille_ was painfully tame;
_Armand_ as harmless a lover as any respectable parent could desire. The
remainder of the cast, influenced, no doubt, by the shortcomings of the
principals, became listless and merely walked through their parts as
they spoke their lines.
At the close of the act a number of people left the house. They
evidently had had enough and did not care for more. The "angel" also had
had enough of "Camille," and wished the whole thing was over. Fogg also
had had enough of _Armand_, and mentally avowed that never again would
he undertake a stage lover to an "angel" without experience. In passing,
it may be added that an experienced "angel" would not accept Fogg for a
_Claude_ at any price. Handy had enough of both of them, with something
to spare. In desperation he even expressed regret he did not have a hack
at _Armand_ himself and infuse some life into it. If he had there would
have been fun, for Handy's lovers were fearfully and wonderfully made.
The third act passed pretty much as the two preceding acts, only more
so, with fewer people in the house to see it. A number of noticeable
yawns evidenced the frame of mind of those who remained.
The curtain went up on the fourth act--that in which Fogg was going to
do something. He had in the meantime been bracing up. When he made his
entry and spoke, his manner of speech was somewhat thick, but his acting
was more energetic. Fogg never could take anything stimulating without
its going to his head, and as his brain exercised a peculiar influence
over other members of his body, they all contributed their aid to
illustrating his actual condition. He at length appeared to wake up to
the actualities of the situation. So had _Camille_, so had the _Count de
Varville_, and so had the audience--particularly the audience. Fogg
strenuously warmed up. The first genuine manifestation on the part of
the audience occurred when _Armand_, rising from the card-table and
making a stage crossing, caught his foot in a hole in the carpet,
caromed against the card-table, upset it, and measured his length on the
boards. The audience burst into laughter. Audiences really enjoy such
contretemps, cruel as such accidents or mishaps may be to the luckless
player. Fogg arose and, wisely affecting not to notice the storm in
front of the footlights, continued the scene. At length the moment was
reached for him to shower gold on _Camille_, and by such insult endeavor
to provoke a quarrel with _de Varville_. Hastily and clumsily drawing
forth the property purse or bag of coin which Smith had prepared, he
burst the fastening and showered the contents on the unfortunate
_Camille_. Lo and behold! the property coin proved to be medium-sized
brass buttons with long shanks. A far-sighted humorist among the
audience caught sight of them and, with utter disregard of the dramatic
situation and ignoring the consequences of his interference, unloosed
his tongue and in a peculiar treble voice called out:
"Button, button; who has the button?"
The audience caught the ill-timed humor of the situation, _Camille_
nearly collapsed, and the people on the stage with considerable
difficulty restrained themselves from taking part in the prevailing
hilarity. It was some time before the slightest semblance of order could
be restored in front. Eventually, when something like quiet was
restored, the act was played to a finish, in a somewhat fitful and
highly nervous manner.
Behind the curtain there was a very lively condition of things. _Armand_
was furious; _Camille_ was engaged in giving a practical demonstration
of hysterical stunts. She declared she would not go on any more. She was
going to quit right there and then. It required all of Handy's
persuasive eloquence to prevail on her to finish the performance.
_Camille_ seemed to be firm in her resolve.
"'Tis only the dying scene," urged Handy. "It's dead easy, and the merit
of it is that it is the best act of all for you. Only for those
unfortunate buttons everything would have gone off all serene. We were
getting into the spirit of the thing when the mishap broke everything
all up. I'll kill that blithering property man when I lay hands on him."
Fogg had already started on the warpath after Smith, but Smith, having
an intuitive knowledge that a meeting between himself and his leading
man would result in strained relations, and not doubting for an instant
that discretion is the better part of valor, beat a hasty retreat from
the theatre, costumed and made up as he was, not even remaining long
enough to wash the make-up from his face.
It was debatable for several minutes whether the "angel" would finish
_Camille_ or some obliging member of the company would undertake the
job. None of the ladies appeared ambitious to shuffle off the mortal
coil of the _Lady of the Camellias_. Finally, after a successful siege
of coaxing, pleading, imploring, and entreating on the part of Handy,
the "angel" consented. The curtain went up. _Camille_, under the
circumstances, did the best she could in speaking the lines. An
occasional titter from the audience conveyed only too plainly the
information that the button incident was not yet forgotten.
Notwithstanding, poor _Camille_ struggled bravely on. It was uphill
work, but she persevered. At length the fateful moment arrived for
_Armand_ to make his entrance. No sooner did he set his foot on the
stage in view of the audience then again the voice of the serio-comic
humorist in front, in the same weird tone, was, it must have been
drowned in the laughter of the assemblage.
"Ring down the curtain," piteously pleaded _Camille_ in an undertone
from her deathbed.
Handy stood in the wings, ready for any emergency likely to turn up, and
in a very audible prompt whisper replied: "Go on, go on with the scene.
Die as fast as you can. Don't give them any fancy dying frills, but
croak at once and have done with it."
Whether the people in front overheard the manager's imperative prompting
or that the echo of "button" was still ringing in their ears, the death
scene of _Camille_ was presented as it had never been before--with peals
of laughter. _Camille_ made a final effort, and then fell back on the
bed. There was something in the realistic manner of the act that caught
the quick perception of the audience. The people on the stage also were
attracted by it, and they gathered about the fallen star. The curtain
was rung down on the double-quick. The poor girl remained motionless in
the position she had fallen. The effort had proven too much, the strain
too great--she had been completely overcome, had broken down and
collapsed.
Handy and Fogg later in the night were seated together in a little back
room of the hotel. Fogg was crestfallen--Handy thoughtful. Only a slight
exchange of conversation passed between them. At length the silence was
broken.
"Fogg," asked Handy, "do you believe in a hereafter?"
"What a singular question."
"Never mind about its singularity. Do you?"
"Certainly I do."
"In heaven, and all that kind of thing?"
"Yes."
"Then take a friend's advice. Never again undertake the support of an
'angel' until you reach heaven. They have no buttons there."
The humor was wasted on Fogg. He was too humiliated to relish any kind
of a joke. After lingering a short time, he retired. The veteran
remained thoughtful, taking some consolation from his briarwood and a
steaming hot Scotch. For some minutes he continued in what for some
reason or other is known as a brown study. How long he might have
continued in that condition it is not necessary to speculate on. A tap
at the window aroused him from his revery. He glanced in the direction
from whence the sound came. There he beheld the well-known face of his
first lieutenant, Smith. He motioned Handy to come to him. Handy was too
comfortable where he was. He bade Smith come right in. Smith shook his
head and pantomimed Handy to survey his get-up. The latter recognized
the situation, swallowed the contents of his glass, and stepped outside.
The meeting was not at first particularly cordial, but when Handy
comprehended the predicament in which his friend had placed himself he
laughed.
"You're a beaut, you are. It's a mighty lucky thing Fogg didn't catch
you, let me tell you. If he had, it's dollars to doughnuts there would
be a funeral in the Smith family in the near future; and what's more,
you wouldn't have a word as to choice of vehicle in which you went to
the cemetery. But say, why on earth are you masquerading about the
streets in that get-up?"
"Oh, cut all that!" replied Smith, "and tell me how I'm going to get my
street togs. They are in the dressing-room at the theatre, and I can't
go gallivanting through the streets in this rig. Do you want to have me
pinched and locked up, eh?"
"Didn't you come from there in 'em?"
"Sure I came in 'em. I had to. I would have come out without anything, I
was so scared of that lunatic Fogg. But, say, you got through with the
show all right."
"Oh, yes. Oh, yes! We got through with the show all--wrong, but----"
"But what?"
"The season is closed."
"Closed!" repeated Smith anxiously. "You don't mean it?"
"Yes, but I do mean it. The game is up. No more 'Camille.' The 'angel'
has fallen. She has had all the starring she wants, and starts
heavenwards to-morrow on the Pennsylvania limited for the Lord knows
where."
"An' Fogg--whither goest he?"
"He accompanies her as a kind of guardian angel."
"An'--an'--a--the--salaries, what about them?"
"They remain."
"With whom?" asked Smith.
"They are all right. The 'angel' does the decent thing, and puts up for
the entire week."
"An' then----"
"Oh, you want to know too much! Maybe I will try and fill in the dates
myself. I don't exactly know yet, but for mercy sake, come in with me
and run up to my room, wash the grease paint and make-up off your mug,
and I will let you have my ulster to cover you while you go back to the
theatre and get your clothes."
On his return, Smith rejoined his manager and they spent the night
together. Next morning Handy was up early, and after a conference with
Miss De la Rue and Mr. Fogg he called on the landlord and settled the
hotel bill. He then accompanied the "angel" and Fogg to the station and
saw them both safely on the train. The lady resolved to abandon all
histrionic ambition, and never after sought the fickle fame of the
footlights, and Fogg ever since shows an affected contempt for anyone
who sees anything to laugh at over the button episode of his
extraordinary one-night season with the "angel" _Camille_.