This speech was greeted with great applause, for nothing appeals so strongly to the heart of the amateur actor as a thoroughly depressing estimate of his work, followed by a promise of food. As the group in the floodlight broke up, it was agreed that Miss Rich, though she undoubtedly knew her business, was too optimistic; after all, they knew enough about Theatre to be certain of one thing only, and that was that you could Never Tell. Even Professor Vambrace, so ardent a rationalist in the other affairs of life, clung to the superstition that a good dress rehearsal made a bad performance; everybody likes to be superstitious about something, and the stage provided the Professor with a holiday from the gritty scepticism which scoured the gloss off everything else he did. They moved away to take off their costumes somewhat disappointed that Valentine had not scarified them, told them that they were the worst actors in the world, regretted that she had ever consented to work with them. Nellie’s speech, though a good try, was not sufficiently gloomy to slake their masochistic thirst.
A few remained in the area of lawn which formed the stage, waiting to catch Valentine’s eye. But Nellie was lecturing her.
“Val, you’ll have to be terribly tactful about makeup. Dear old Auntie Puss just loves to do it, and if you criticize it you’ll break her heart.”
At this moment they were joined by the artist in question. Miss Puss Pottinger was very small, very old, but nimble in a rickety fashion, and when she moved she jiggled all over, like a mechanical toy. For a woman considerably over eighty she was smartly dressed.
“I believe you had some criticism of the makeup on the girls, Miss Rich,” said she, and her voice, like her walk, was brisk but quavery, as though it proceeded from a gramophone which was being dragged over rough ground. “If you will tell me what the matter is, I shall be very happy to correct it, very happy indeed.”
“I think it was a little over-bold, Miss Pottinger,” said Valentine.
“Aha, yes, but I don’t think you make allowance for the lights, my dear. Stage light, you see, is much brighter than ordinary light. I try to make full allowance for that, and of course the effect looks overdone when you stand near it.”
“I quite understand that, Miss Pottinger, but I watched the girls from considerable distance away, and they looked very strange.”
“Aha, yes, but I gave them what I call a Ballet Makeup. Don’t worry, when the lights are fully turned on, you will see the effect I intend.”
“But my dear Miss Pottinger, we had all the lights on tonight that we are ever going to use.”
“Aha, yes, but Shakespeare requires an exaggeration which you are probably not accustomed to. I have been doing this sort of work—as an amateur, of course—for a great many years. Indeed, when they used to have regular amateur theatricals at Rideau Hall, in the Earl of Minto’s time, I always looked after the makeup. His Excellency was once kind enough to say that I was a real artist at the job, and as you know, he painted china beautifully himself. Am I to understand that my ability is being called into question?”
“Oh no, dear Auntie Puss, of course not,” said Nellie, bending over and speaking sweetly into the fierce old face. “You know that we just couldn’t get along without you. Auntie Puss has made up at least somebody in every play our group has ever done,” she said to Valentine, in a voice which warned that respect for the aged must come before every other consideration. “We’d be just broken-hearted without her.”
“I can’t be expected to do everybody, as I used to,” said Auntie Puss, somewhat mollified. “And of course I don’t see quite as well as I did. I have to use this, now.” She hauled in the slack of a black silk ribbon which hung around her neck, and held up a large and powerful magnifying glass. “I don’t need anything for ordinary use, but for reading and makeup I find now that I need this.”
Feeling, apparently, that she had won the day, Auntie Puss rattled nimbly away, stumbling over a root as she left the lighted area.
“Gallant, gallant,” sighed Nellie watching her.
“Her makeup’s bloody, and that’s all that matters,” began Valentine, but Professor Vambrace moved forward from the group which lurked, ready to pounce upon her.
“I don’t want to cause any extra trouble,” said he, in the voice of a man who is going to do precisely that, “but could the stage management contrive to give me a stem of grapes with exactly seven grapes on it; to have it concealed, I mean, in the basket on the banquet table, so that I can get it before my Big Speech? I mean
of course. Then I could eat seven grapes, during that speech, and at the end—
I could toss away the stem. You take me? Rather fine, eh?”
Tm afraid I don’t fully grasp the point, Professor,” said Valentine.
“Oh, come, Miss Rich. Surely? Seven grapes—what does that put you in mind of? The Seven Ages of Man, eh? From As You Like It. It is pretty clearly understood that the Melancholy Jaques is an early study for the character of Prospero. Now here we have a chance to make a synthesis—to draw Jaques and Prospero together, with this piece of business with the grapes. That’s why I came on the stage with my glasses on; I had been scanning As You Like It in the wings. As a matter of fact, I have felt some big thing moving within me all day, but it wasn’t until half-past nine that I knew what it was. Will you speak to the stage management, or shall I?”
“I do not think that we should introduce anything new into the production at this point,” said Valentine. The Professor was astonished, but as the palaver appeared to be at an end, he moved away, giving place to Geordie Shortreed, who was next in line. Geordie spoke in a low voice, as though ashamed and fearful of being overheard.
“Miss Rich,” said he; “will it be all right if I slip a hot-water bottle under my costume for that scene where I have to lie on the ground so long? I got awful trouble with my kidneys, and if I get a chill they’ll seize right up. I got a pension for sixty per cent disability.”
“You may have your hot-water bottle if you give me a solemn promise that you won’t play any tricks during the run of the show,” said Valentine, severely. She had received private information that Geordie had been seen in the joke shop the day before, buying a large squirt and several feet of rubber tubing.
“Cross my heart and hope to spit myself to death,” said Geordie, and went away smiling.
The last to approach was Pearl Vambrace.
“Falsies for you, my girl,” said Valentine.
“I don’t understand you, Miss Rich.”
“Pads for the bosom. Ask Bonnie-Susan; she probably has some she would lend you. Though what she would need them for,” Valentine reflected, “is beyond me.”
“Oh, but won’t I look terribly big? I mean, I shouldn’t be gross, should I?”
“You’re a long way from grossness now. And you must make allowance for stage light; it’s brighter than ordinary light,” said Valentine, borrowing a leaf from Auntie Puss’s book.
The refreshment provided by the domestic staff of St Agnes’ consisted chiefly of a very large supply of chicken chow mein. A June night in Salterton is chilly enough to make a hot dish grateful to tired pioneers of the Pastoral. They gathered in knots upon the lawn and champed and worried about the play with great satisfaction.
“I’d be happy if I could just get enough light to kill those shadows,” said Larry Pye; “but do what I will, everywhere an actor goes, he casts a shadow.”