A BREATH OF LIFE
This is the story of a comedy which nearly became a tragedy. In its wayit is rather a pathetic story.
The comedy was called _The Wooing of Winifred_. It was written by anauthor whose name I forget; produced by the well-known and (as hispress-agent has often told us) popular actor-manager, Mr. Levinski; andplayed by (among others) that very charming young man, ProsperVane--known locally as Alfred Briggs until he took to the stage. Prosperplayed the young hero, _Dick Seaton_, who was actually wooing_Winifred_. Mr. Levinski himself took the part of a middle-aged man ofthe world with a slight _embonpoint_; down in the programme as _SirGeoffrey Throssell_ but fortunately still Mr. Levinski. His openingwords, as he came on, were, "Ah, Dick, I have a note for you somewhere,"which gave the audience an interval in which to welcome him, while hefelt in all his pockets for the letter. One can bow quite easily whilefeeling in one's pockets, and it is much more natural than stopping inthe middle of an important speech in order to acknowledge any cheers.The realization of this, by a dramatist, is what is called "stagecraft."In this case the audience could tell at once that the "technique" of theauthor (whose name unfortunately I forget) was going to be all right.
But perhaps I had better describe the whole play as shortly as possible.The theme--as one guessed from the title, even before the curtainrose--was the wooing of _Winifred_. In the First Act _Dick_ proposed to_Winifred_ and was refused by her, not from lack of love, but for fearlest she might spoil his career, he being one of those big-hearted menwith a hip-pocket to whom the open spaces of the world call loudly;whereupon Mr. Levinski took _Winifred_ on one side and told the audiencehow, when _he_ had been a young man, some good woman had refused _him_for a similar reason and had been miserable ever since. Accordingly inthe Second Act _Winifred_ withdrew her refusal and offered to marry_Dick_, who declined to take advantage of her offer for fear that shewas willing to marry him from pity rather than from love; whereupon Mr.Levinski took _Dick_ on one side and told the audience how, when _he_had been a young man, he had refused to marry some good woman (adifferent one) for a similar reason, and had been broken-hearted everafterwards. In the Third Act it really seemed as though they were comingtogether at last; for at the beginning of it Mr. Levinski took them bothaside and told the audience a parable about a butterfly and asnap-dragon, which was both pretty and helpful, and caused severalmiddle-aged ladies in the first and second rows of the upper circle tosay, "What a nice man Mr. Levinski must be at home, dear!"--the purportof the allegory being to show that both _Dick_ and _Winifred_ were beingvery silly, as indeed by this time everybody but the author was aware.Unfortunately at that moment a footman entered with a telegram for _MissWinifred_, which announced that she had been left fifty thousand poundsby a dead uncle in Australia; and, although Mr. Levinski seized thisfresh opportunity to tell the audience how in similar circumstancesPride, to his lasting remorse, had kept _him_ and some good woman (athird one) apart, nevertheless _Dick_ held back once more, for fear lesthe should be thought to be marrying her for her money. The curtain comesdown as he says, "Good-bye ... good ber-eye." But there is a FourthAct, and in the Fourth Act Mr. Levinski has a splendid time. He tellsthe audience two parables--one about a dahlia and a sheep, which Icouldn't quite follow--and three reminiscences of life in India; hebrings together finally and for ever these hesitating lovers; and, bestof all, he has a magnificent love-scene of his own with a pretty widow,in which we see, for the first time in the play, how love should reallybe made--not boy-and-girl pretty-pretty love, but the deep emotion felt(and with occasional lapses of memory explained) by a middle-aged manwith a slight _embonpoint_ who has knocked about the world a bit andknows life. Mr. Levinski, I need not say, was at his best in this Act.
. . . . .
I met Prosper Vane at the club some ten days before the first night, andasked him how rehearsals were going.
"Oh, all right," he said. "But it's a rotten play. I've got such adashed silly part."
"From what you told me," I said, "it sounded rather good."
"It's so dashed unnatural. For three whole acts this girl and I are inlove with each other, and we know we're in love with each other, and yetwe simply fool about. She's a dashed pretty girl, too, my boy. In reallife I'd jolly soon----"
"My dear Alfred," I protested, "you're not going to fall in love withthe girl you have to fall in love with on the stage? I thought actorsnever did that."
"They do sometimes; it's a dashed good advertisement. Anyway, it's asilly part, and I'm fed up with it."
"Yes, but do be reasonable. If _Dick_ got engaged at once to _Winifred_what would happen to Levinski? He'd have nothing to do."
Prosper Vane grunted. As he seemed disinclined for further conversationI left him.
. . . . .
The opening night came, and the usual distinguished and fashionableaudience (including myself), such as habitually attends Mr. Levinski'sfirst nights, settled down to enjoy itself. Two acts went well. At theend of each Mr. Levinski came before the curtain and bowed to us, and wehad the honour of clapping him loud and long. Then the Third Actbegan....
Now this is how the Third Act ends:--
_Exit_ Sir Geoffrey.
_Winifred (breaking the silence)._ Dick, you heard what he said. Don't let this silly money come between us. I have told you I love you, dear. Won't you--won't you speak to me?
_Dick._ Winifred, I---- (_He gets up and walks round the room, his brow knotted, his right fist occasionally striking his left palm. Finally he comes to a stand in front of her._) Winifred, I---- (_He raises his arms slowly at right angles to his body and lets them fall heavily down again._) I can't. (_In a low, hoarse voice_) I--can't! (_He stands for a moment with bent head; then with a jerk he pulls himself together._) Good-bye! (_His hands go out to her, but he draws them back as if frightened to touch her. Nobly_) Good ber-eye.
[_He squares his shoulders and stands looking at the audience with his chin in the air; then with a shrug of utter despair, which would bring tears into the eyes of any young thing in the pit, he turns and with bent head walks slowly out._
CURTAIN.
That _is_ how the Third Act ends. I went to the dress rehearsal, and soI know.
How the accident happened I do not know. I suppose Prosper was nervous;I am sure he was very much in love. Anyhow, this is how, on that famousfirst night, the Third Act ended:--
_Exit_ Sir Geoffrey.
_Winifred_ (_breaking the silence_). Dick, you heard what he said. Don't let this silly money come between us. I have told you I love you, dear. Won't you--won't you speak to me?
_Dick_ (_jumping up_). Winifred, I---- (_with a great gulp_) I LOVE YOU!!!
Whereupon he picked her up in his arms and carried her triumphantly offthe stage ... and after a little natural hesitation the curtain camedown.
. . . . .
Behind the scenes all was consternation. Mr. Levinski (absolutelyfurious) had a hasty consultation with the author (also furious), in thecourse of which they both saw that the Fourth Act as written was now animpossibility. Poor Prosper, who had almost immediately recovered hissanity, tremblingly suggested that Mr. Levinski should announce that,owing to the sudden illness of Mr. Vane, the Fourth Act could not begiven. Mr. Levinski was kind enough to consider this suggestion notentirely stupid; his own idea having been (very regretfully) to leaveout the two parables and three reminiscences from India and concentrateon the love-scene with the widow.
"Yes, yes," he said. "Your plan is better. I will say you are ill. It istrue; you are mad. To-morrow we will play it as it was written."
"You can't," said the author gloomily. "The critics won't come till theFourth Act, and they'll assume that the Third Act ended as it didto-night. The Fourth Act will seem all nonsense to them."
"True. And I was so good, so much myself, in t
hat Act." He turned toProsper. "You--fool!"
"Or there's another way," began the author. "We might----"
And then a gentleman in the gallery settled it from the front of thecurtain. There was nothing in the programme to show that the play was infour acts. "The Time is the present day and the Scene is in Sir GeoffreyThrossell's town-house," was all it said. And the gentleman in thegallery, thinking it was all over, and being pleased with the play andparticularly with the realism of the last moment of it, shouted"_Author!_" And suddenly everybody else cried "_Author! Author!_" Theplay was ended.
. . . . .
I said that this was the story of a comedy which nearly became atragedy. But it turned out to be no tragedy at all. In the three acts towhich Prosper Vane had condemned it the play appealed to both criticsand public; for the Fourth Act (as he recognised so clearly) wasunnecessary, and would have spoilt the balance of it entirely. Best ofall, the shortening of the play demanded that some entertainment shouldbe provided in front of it, and this enabled Mr. Levinski to introduceto the public Professor Wollabollacolla and Princess Collabollawolla,the famous exponents of the Bongo-Bongo, that fascinating CentralAfrican war dance which was soon to be the rage of society. But though,as a result, the takings of the Box Office surpassed all Mr. Levinski'sprevious records, our friend Prosper Vane received no practicalacknowledgment of his services. He had to be content with the hand andheart of the lady who played _Winifred_, and the fact that Mr. Levinskiwas good enough to attend the wedding. There was, in fact, a photographin all the papers of Mr. Levinski doing it.