Part 4 (2/2)

Kendal took time to think.

'Perfectly; you mean that play by that young Italian fellow which you altered and translated? I remember it quite well. I have meant to ask you about it once or twice lately.'

'You thought well of it, I know. Well, my sister has got me into the most uncomfortable hobble about it. You know I hadn't taken it to any manager.

I've been keeping it by me, working it up here and there. I am in no want of money just now, and I had set my heart on the thing's being really good--well written and well acted. Well, Agnes, in a rash moment two or three days ago, and without consulting me, told Miss Bretherton the whole story of the play, and said that she supposed I should soon want somebody to bring it out for me. Miss Bretherton was enormously struck with the plot, as Agnes told it to her, and the next time I saw her she insisted that I should read some scenes from it to her--'

'Good heavens! and now she has offered to produce it and play the princ.i.p.al part in it herself,' interrupted Kendal.

Wallace nodded. 'Just so; you see, my relations with her are so friendly that it was impossible for me to say no. But I never was in a greater fix. She was enthusiastic. She walked up and down the room after I'd done reading, repeating some of the pa.s.sages, going through some of the situations, and wound up by saying, ”Give it me, Mr. Wallace! It shall be the first thing I bring out in my October season--if you will let me have it.” Well, of course, I suppose most people would jump at such an offer.

Her popularity just now is something extraordinary, and I see no signs of its lessening. Any piece she plays in is bound to be a success, and I suppose I should make a good deal of money out of it; but then, you see, I don't want the money, and--'

'Yes, yes, I see,' said Kendal, thoughtfully; 'you don't want the money, and you feel that she will ruin the play. It's a great bore certainly.'

'Well, you know, how could she help ruining it? She couldn't play the part of Elvira--you remember the plot?--even decently. It's an extremely difficult part. It would be superb--I think so, at least--in the hands of an actress who really understood her business; but Miss Bretherton will make it one long stagey scream, without any modulation, any shades, any delicacy. It drives one wild to think of it. And yet how, in the name of fortune, am I to get out of it?'

'You had thought,' said Kendal, 'I remember, of Mrs. Pearson for the heroine.'

'Yes; I should have tried her. She is not first-rate, but at least she is intelligent; she understands something of what you want in a part like that. But for poor Isabel Bretherton, and those about her, the great points in the play will be that she will have long speeches and be able to wear ”medieval” dresses! I don't suppose she ever heard of Aragon in her life. Just imagine her playing a high-born Spanish woman of the fifteenth century! Can't you see her?'

'Well, after all,' said Kendal, with a little laugh, 'I should see what the public goes for mostly--that is to say, Isabel Bretherton in effective costume. No, it would be a great failure--not a failure, of course, in the ordinary sense. Her beauty, the medieval get-up, and the romantic plot of the piece, would carry it through, and, as you say, you would probably make a great deal by it. But, artistically, it would be a ghastly failure. And Hawes! Hawes, I suppose, would play Macias? Good heavens!'

'Yes,' said Wallace, leaning his head on his hands and looking gloomily out of window at the spire of St. Bride's Church. 'Pleasant, isn't it?

But what on earth am I to do? I never was in a greater hole. I'm not the least in love with that girl, Kendal, but there isn't anything she asked me to do for her that I wouldn't do if I could. She's the warmest-hearted creature--one of the kindest, frankest, sincerest women that ever stepped. I feel at times that I'd rather cut my hand off than hurt her feelings by throwing her offer in her face, and yet, that play has been the apple of my eye to me for months; the thought of seeing it spoilt by clumsy handling is intolerable to me.'

'I suppose it would hurt her feelings,' said Kendal meditatively, 'if you refused?'

'Yes,' said Wallace emphatically; 'I believe it would wound her extremely. You see, in spite of all her success, she is beginning to be conscious that there are two publics in London. There is the small fastidious public of people who take the theatre seriously, and there is the large easy-going public who get the only sensation they want out of her beauty and her personal prestige. The enthusiasts have no difficulty, as yet, in holding their own against the scoffers, and for a long time Miss Bretherton knew and cared nothing for what the critical people said, but of late I have noticed at times that she knows more and cares more than she did. It seems to me that there is a little growing soreness in her mind, and just now if I refuse to let her have that play it will destroy her confidence in her friends, as it were. She won't reproach me, she won't quarrel with me, but it will go to her heart. Do, for heaven's sake, Kendal, help me to some plausible fiction or other!'

'I wish I could,' said Kendal, pacing up and down, his gray hair falling forward over his brow. There was a pause, and then Kendal walked energetically up to his friend and laid his hand on his shoulder.

'You oughtn't to let her have that play, Wallace; I'm quite clear on that. You know how much I like her. She's all you say, and more; but art is art, and acting is acting. I, at any rate, take these things seriously, and you do too. We rejoice in it for her sake; but, after all, when one comes to think of it, this popularity of hers is enough to make one despair. Sometimes I think it will throw back the popular dramatic taste for years. At any rate, I am clear that if a man has got hold of a fine work of art, as you have in that play, he has a duty to it and to the public. You are bound to see it brought out under the best possible conditions, and we all know that Miss Bretherton's acting, capped with Hawes's, would kill it, from the artistic point of view.'

'Perfectly true, perfectly true,' said Wallace. 'Well, would you have me tell her so?'

'You must get out of it somehow. Tell her that the part is one you feel won't suit her--won't do her justice.'

'Much good that would do! She thinks the part just made for her--costumes and all.'

'Well, then, say you haven't finished your revision, and you must have time for more work at it; that will postpone the thing, and she will hear of something else which will put it out of her head.'

'There are all sorts of reasons against that,' said Wallace; 'it's hardly worth while going through them. In the first place, she wouldn't believe me; in the second, she won't forget it, whatever happens, and it would only put the difficulty off a few weeks at most. I feel so stupid about the whole thing. I like her too much. I'm so afraid of saying anything to hurt her, that I can't _finesse_. All my wits desert me. I say, Kendal!'

'Well?'

Wallace hesitated, and glanced up at his friend with his most winning expression.

'Do you think _you_ could earn my eternal grat.i.tude and manage the thing for me? You know we're going to Oxford next Sunday, and I suppose we shall go to Nuneham, and there will be opportunities for walks, and so on. Could you possibly take it in hand? She has an immense respect for you intellectually. If you tell her that you're sure the part won't suit her, that she won't do herself justice in it; if you could lead the conversation on to it and try to put her out of love for the scheme without seeming to have a commission from me in any way, I should be indeed everlastingly obliged! You wouldn't make a mess of it, as I should be sure to do. You'd keep your head cool.'

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