As many people know, there are not, in the famous Theatre Francais, more
than a dozen good seats accessible to ladies.[*] The stalls are
forbidden them, the boxes are a quarter of a mile from the stage and the
balcony is a delusion save for a few chairs at either end of its vast
horseshoe. But there are two excellent _baignoires d'avant-scene_, which
indeed are by no means always to be had. It was, however, into one of
them that, immediately after his return to Paris, Sherringham ushered
Mrs. Rooth and her daughter, with the further escort of Basil Dashwood.
He had chosen the evening of the reappearance of the celebrated
Mademoiselle Voisin--she had been enjoying a _conge_ of three months--an
actress whom Miriam had seen several times before and for whose method
she professed a high though somewhat critical esteem. It was only for
the return of this charming performer that Peter had been waiting to
respond to Miriam's most ardent wish--that of spending an hour in the
_foyer des artistes_ of the great theatre. She was the person whom he
knew best in the house of Moliere; he could count on her to do them the
honours some night when she was in the "bill," and to make the occasion
sociable. Miriam had been impatient for it--she was so convinced that
her eyes would be opened in the holy of holies; but wishing as
particularly as he did to participate in her impression he had made her
promise she wouldn't taste of this experience without him--not let
Madame Carre, for instance, take her in his absence. There were
questions the girl wished to put to Mademoiselle Voisin--questions
which, having admired her from the balcony, she felt she was exactly the
person to answer. She was more "in it" now, after all, than Madame
Carre, in spite of her slenderer talent: she was younger, fresher, more
modern and--Miriam found the word--less academic. She was in fine less
"_vieux jeu_." Peter perfectly foresaw the day when his young friend
would make indulgent allowances for poor Madame Carre, patronising her
as an old woman of good intentions.
[*: 1890]
The play to-night was six months old, a large, serious, successful
comedy by the most distinguished of authors, with a thesis, a chorus
embodied in one character, a _scene a faire_ and a part full of
opportunities for Mademoiselle Voisin. There were things to be said
about this artist, strictures to be dropped as to the general quality of
her art, and Miriam leaned back now, making her comments as if they cost
her less, but the actress had knowledge and distinction and pathos, and
our young lady repeated several times: "How quiet she is, how
wonderfully quiet! Scarcely anything moves but her face and her voice.
_Le geste rare_, but really expressive when it comes. I like that
economy; it's the only way to make the gesture significant."
"I don't admire the way she holds her arms," Basil Dash wood said: "like
a _demoiselle de magasin_ trying on a jacket."
"Well, she holds them at any rate. I daresay it's more than you do with
yours."
"Oh yes, she holds them; there's no mistake about that. 'I hold them, I
hope, _hein_?' she seems to say to all the house." The young English
professional laughed good-humouredly, and Sherringham was struck with
the pleasant familiarity he had established with their brave companion.
He was knowing and ready and he said in the first _entr'acte_--they were
waiting for the second to go behind--amusing perceptive things. "They
teach them to be ladylike and Voisin's always trying to show that. 'See
how I walk, see how I sit, see how quiet I am and how I have _le geste
rare_. Now can you say I ain't a lady?' She does it all as if she had a
class."
"Well, to-night I'm her class," said Miriam.
"Oh I don't mean of actresses, but of _femmes du monde_. She shows them
how to act in society."
"You had better take a few lessons," Miriam retorted.
"Ah you should see Voisin in society," Peter interposed.
"Does she go into it?" Mrs. Rooth demanded with interest.