A French Comedy ~ Entr'acte
To the uninitiated, it may seem that acting upon the stage in a prestigious house is perhaps the most glamourous of all occupations. In many ways, this illusion is, in fact, true, but the deeper truth is that all the glamour of the stage is there to be seen while on the stage - and woe to any actor or actress who tries to transfer his glamour to the serious, regimented business of "backstage". Behind the curtains, and in the wings, acting is just as much of a job as constructing a house is, and it is quite often more difficult. The directors know this, and all those who display their talents upon the stage, must, when not actually performing, submit themselves to a long list of hasty and sometimes arduous tasks. It is not exactly demeaning, but it is humbling to know that the gorgeous bella singing her most triumphant aria will, in a few minutes, probably be placing a paper cone over one of her compatriots faces and re-dusting the other woman's wig. When something must be done, it MUST be done, and it makes no odds if you are this year's prima donna, you will fasten the stays of the woman playing the kitchen maid and be demmed to you if you complain.
It is very much like a clockwork machine, and those who work within it find ways to plan, ways to make do, ways to make it work. Above all, they find ways.
Marguerite St. Just, the leading lady of Le Comedie for nearly three years, was resting during the interval, and in the small portion of her mind that was not occupied with the intricacies of her part, she was very busy finding a way. Her sharp wits had often done battle with men of intelligence, women of distinction, lords and ladies of court, and foreigners of note, but now those wits were doing battle with one thing, and that the most difficult thing of all - her own happiness.
A backstage aide handed her a small box full of handkerchiefs - a prop for the next scene.
The dream of love and security, birthright of every woman, had been offered her by a man she felt only indifferent affection for, and did not easily trust. Naturally, this same offer had been made by dozens of men before, but no one had ever been as persistent as Louis St. Just, and no one, she was sure, would ever make her as angry as Louis had done. He must come to understand who she was, what she was.
A comrade asked for her help in pinning up her hair, and Marguerite absent-mindedly complied.
As a cousin, Louis had a right to her company, and, in time, he might come to earn that feeling from her that every woman wants to feel, but does not know how to describe. But, he never would earn anything from her if he insisted on insulting her in this way! The presumptuous cad was taking over her life, and she would not have it!
But what to do?
Yes, what?
Oh, Marguerite! If you only knew the tangled, webby future that awaits you when the curtain rises again! Would any woman find the courage to face the moment of her life if she knew it was coming? Would the brightest, starriest woman in Paris have been so wonderful, so perfect upon the stage that evening, if she had known that to continue upon her present path would mean nearly four years of struggle, of pain, of utter disaster, and, finally, of grand fulfillment? Who knows what might have been, had this woman not had the wits and courage of a noblewoman, mingled with the constitutional strength of a crossbred bloodline, and perfected with a sweet heart and entreatable spirit? Truly, had Marguerite not been Marguerite, not one jot of it all would have happened.
The clockwork of backstage clicked and ticked around her - very soon she must listen for her cue.
Slowly, a plan formed in Marguerite's shapely head, and in desperation, she accepted it. Louis must be taught. His friends must be taught. SHE would teach them. It was a bold plan, (somehow she thought it wholly unlike her), and quite subtle, but then, she was bold (and, indeed, subtle), and she could carry it through, she thought, if she had the right assistant. . .
Hm. . .
Who could help her in this terribly convoluted scheme?
She personally knew no one who would be able to. . .
Then the curtain rose again, and the future was in full swing.
