Polly Mountemple. A fin de siècle story of the stage

Chapter I Polly In Search Ok Employment

I FIRST knew Polly Mountemple when she was a fine strapping young woman of twenty; she was then in search of employment, a not uncommon occupation with ladies in her position. Polly, whose name at this interesting period of her life was certainly not Mountemple, was the daughter of one Albert Bennet, a small retail vendor of pipes, cigars, tobacco, etc., likewise of journals daily and weekly, some of a distinctly shady character — some harmless enough, such as the Young Lady's Journal, which in an elegant pink cover and containing a tale chiefly illustrative of the joys and sorrows of high life, was considered Polly's especial property. Polly's father was extremely proud of his girl's appearance and smartness ; but this fact did not A prevent his departing to America on the failure of the shop, leaving the assuring message, that he would send for Polly and her Ma as soon as he had made all preparations for them.

As, however, it was certainly reported that he was next heard of embarking at Liverpool with a young person of the female sex, it must be presumed he made other arrangements. All this happened a year before the time I write of, and Polly was quick to feel the change it made in other people's attitude towards her. One young gentleman, who had been courting her assiduously, much against his family's wishes, did not indeed cease that interesting occupation, but gave a turn to it which implied that he regarded the registrar's office as quite an inferior path to happiness. ' Like his impudence,' said Polly afterwards to Ma. ' If I went in for that sort of thing — and I'd sooner drown myself, I would indeed — I could get something showier than him any day of the week. Why, the swells run after the girls any amount, if they've only got any looks about them.' Polly could not for the life of her help priding herself on the thought, though it was the alter native to a watery grave !

She was airing some such sentiments as this, before her Aunt Janet, a widow lady, who let the first and second floor of her bijou, residence at Sydenham and lived in the attics and the kitchen, a most praiseworthy and economical arrangement for making two ends meet. ' Maria,' said this good lady to Polly's Ma as they sat drinking tea in the best parlour, ' that girl of yours '11 never do anything, take my word for it, she's a deal too good-looking for any respectable folk to care to have about the place. Here Polly tossed her head and arranged her fringe in the looking-glass. 'You'd better keep her at home, and go out yourself if you want to earn money ; or why don't you let lodgings, like me,' continued Aunt Janet with professional enthusiasm. ' Take a small 'ouse in the suburbs, pick up a few bits of furniture at a sale, board your lodgers, and there you are, food and lodging free, as one may say.' ' No — no — my dear,' replied Polly's Ma, ' 'tisn't my way that sort of thing.

I've never been in the lodgings line — I'd no call to do it when I was young, and I couldn't do it now.' The exact line that marks the inferiority of lodging-house keeping to retail trade not being apparent to Aunt Janet, she was beginning to reply hotly when Polly interrupted. ' I tell you what it is, Ma, I've had enough of this talk, talk, talk. If Aunt Janet thinks I'm too good-looking for respectable folks, I'd better go on the stage straight and have done with it at once.' ' Lord 'a mercy, child,' screamed Ma, ' what are you thinking of ! Yer Pa went off with a female of that persuasion, and now you're agoing to do the same, you'll break my heart, you will indeed.' It looked very much as if that fatal accident POLLY MOUNTEAIPLE 4 had actually taken place, for Ma threw herself back in her chair with such vigour that seams began to show white, and button-holes to gape dangerously.' The suggestion thrown out by Polly in a fit of pique, meeting with such opposition from every body, naturally fixed itself firmly in that young lady's mind.

Of course Ma's objections were finally routed by a glorious vision of her Polly acting Shakespeare. Ma had no particular preference for any one rdle in the master's plays, but in common with many in her position she had a strong affection for that author. She did not like others of a higher education demand his skilful wrapping up in magnificent scenery, costumes and music, so that he can be bolted like a quack pill with as little of the original flavour about him as possible. But to return to Polly who was not much further advanced when she had received various vague blessings and encouragements from Ma, and Auntie Janet had ceased shaking her head, and had drunk to Polly's future debut in a little drop of brandy from the grocer's over the way. Her parting words, indeed, to Polly took the form of a solemn injunction, 'Keep straight, my girl — keep straight, whatever you do.

Don't have nothing to do with them actor fellows, they're all married, and they haven't got a farthing to bless themselves with,' which was a very valuable piece of advice in its way, if Polly had had any chance of putting it into practice ; but she soon found it is one thing to threaten weeping relatives with going on the stage, and quite another thing to accomplish it. It was her Aunt Janet, indeed, who came to her aid at last. Some of her lodgers knew a young fellow who played the cornet, at the Vanity Theatre, and his advice was, that the young lady should go to an agent's in Vincent Street, or if she wrote to him no doubt he would do something for her. Polly preferred writing ; as she explained to Ma, she didn't know much about the business, and she had better not let them find that out too soon, or they might get any amount of money out of her, writing couldn't hurt any one, and Pa always used to do business that way before the American episode, which proved that Miss Polly was not her father's daughter for nothing.

But after waiting in vain for the reply to the artfully concocted letter, they appealed again to the cornet player, and his ultimatum was, 'Go and see him, you can't do any harm, office hours eleven to four, and I think his name is Mansfield.' Polly had never been difficient in courage as a child, but I will give her credit for the fact that she walked up and down Vincent Street, till a man who was lounoing at the inevitable corner public, began to make unpleasantly complimentary remarks before she dared to enter the sacred precincts. The passage was dark enough after the open street. POLLY MOUNTEMPLE 6 A winding staircase led to a landing and two doors, one of which had a brass plate with MANSFIELD DRAMATIC AND MUSICAL AGENT on it, and the other simply the word ' Private ' in white letters.

As she stood hesitating, the door with 'Private' on it opened suddenly and two men came out ; the elder one wore a handsome fur -lined coat. His height and important air impressed Polly very much, and as he glanced at her approvingly she devoutly hoped it might be Mansfield. He did not pause, however, but hastened down stairs, talking as he went, ' Right you are, my boy — you send the girls on bv the great Northern — I'm going to stand the fare one way of course, — don't forget to find out Miss Leamington's address — I'm going back to-night, but I shall be up again in town Thursday week — see — you tell Miss Leamington that — have her up here if possible.' He finally dis appeared down the passage leaving Polly opposite the younger man, who stared her up and down a moment, and as she felt too frightened to speak went in and slammed the door to in her face.

She stood on the landing full five minutes not knowino what to do next. Then the brass-plated door at the further end opened, and in desperation she crossed over and went in. A knot of men standing c5 talking on the threshold honoured her with a stare but made no room for her to pass, so Polly shoved forward determinedly ; once in, sixty pairs of eyes turned towards her, contemptuously looked her up and down for two seconds — and then averted them selves again with equal contempt. In the sudden transition from the dark landing to the glaring office, it seemed to her as if the place were crowded with disdainful women dressed in the height of fashion. They were seated in a semi-circle, some pretending to read, some staring at their neighbours, one or two speaking in a low voice, or ogling the little red-haired clerk at the far end of the room.

The unfortunate late comer, like Polly, on entering faced the assembled company, and it was some time before she recovered herself sufficiently to discern a vacant chair in the far corner of the room. As, to stay in the doorway was as conspicuous as passing all the sitters, she screwed up her courage and made a bolt for it. When seated she saw with clearer eyes that some of the women were quiet and shabby enough. Only a minority indulged in a golden chevelure, the majority wore the coloured hair that nature had given them either half way down their backs — or ' banged,' as the Yankees would say. While she studied this furtively, another lady appeared in the doorway and looked round sharply. One or two of the girls instantly rose and went towards her as if it was a relief to do anything but sit, and a little, stout, much shaven man lifted his POLLY MOUNTEAIPLE hat with an air of great politeness, that would have ' fetched ' the pit and gallery in high-class comedy. ' Who's that ? ' asked a girl of Polly's next neighbour. ' Mrs Raymond of Leicester ; she's taking out her own crowd, you know, in " My Wife's Daughter." ' Polly was meditating on this answer when the office door was thrown open, and the same man she had seen on the landing sauntered into the room and rolled his eyes round as if trying to remember whether he had seen any of the inferiors present before.

Some of the women looked visibly embarrassed when they met his eye, and appeared quite thank ful when he spoke to Mrs Raymond of Leicester, even though that implied a further delay of their chance of seeing him. The manageress he shewed into his private room where she remained about fifteen minutes, and then emerged from some further door, for Polly did not see her enter the waiting-room again. The hours passed by and Mansfield, for by this time she knew the agent was no other than her bete noir, came in and out, but as he stared at Polly as if her chair had suddenly become vacated, she did not dare to speak to him. He seemed to be pur posely ignoring her, as he would come straight towards her and then commence a conversation with his clerk over her very head. Some of the people after a time went without being seen, and Polly grew so heartsick and angry that she slipped out with a bevy of them.

On the landing, however, she met the agent again just saying good-bye to a client, and afraid of offending if she passed him silently, she made bold to ask if he would see her. 'Too busy now,' he answered. 'Give us a look in to-morrow, Miss What's-yer-name ? ' ' Bennet,' said Polly, but Mansfield had already turned to answer a little lady who hail flown up with all the confidence of old acquaintance, and Polly went downstairs vowing she would never set foot in the place again. But she did, nevertheless, wisely consoling her self with the thought that nothing is worth having in this world that does not cost something. So she sat waiting hours and hours with the other ladies and gentlemen, employing the time by studying the different types of human nature that were to be found in the agent's dusty office in Vincent Street.

How well she got to know the lady and gentle man ; husband and wife, sometimes, who travelled about together, he taking character parts such as ' Colonel Sanderson ' in ' Wicked War,' she taking leading lady, if she could get it, and both adver tising in the front column of the principal theatrical journal, something after this fashion : Mr Brabant Melcombe and Miss Attalie Chaloner, Mrs B.M. in parenthesis, at liberty to create leading roles or aristocratic heavies. All communications to, either the Journal's office or an address in some out-of-the-way suburb, which might suggest heaviness, but certainly not aristocracy ! Then there was the provincial juvenile lead, with his straight-featured girlish face, long curly hair, with his limp felt hat and Inverness cloak, always posing to an imaginary gallery, and loving to be photographed in evening dress as Lord Arthur Somebody, or displaying elegant nether limbs as ' Orlando ' in the forest costume.

Quite a different sort were the low comedians, looking fat and well-fed in their astrachan trimmed coats and their curly brimmed bowlers, their hair cropped like a convict's, to permit the easier ad justment of various wigs, their wide mouths and twinkling eyes suggesting endless grimaces, or their perpetually shuffling feet, the possibility of a break down. Again there were the younger and more fashion able girls, who acted soubrettes or inge'nues, where the principal thing required is a smart wardrobe of frocks. And so on ad libitum, but all out of a shop, no ! I beg their pardon. ' resting, through indisposition or preference,' and all doing their best to express surprise at each other's presence. ' What ! you here, dear ! Aren't you doing any thing ? ' ' Me ! oh, I've just returned from touring with Mr Bond's A company.

I'm going out with them again next month.' Or, 'I say, old fellow, have you been resting, eh?' ' Rather not, I've been working the smalls with n a crowd of my own. We're going to give a matinee in London, then we're off again.' Truly, the Vincent Street office was filled with birds of passage. As all this was a new world to Polly, she did not so much mind when Mansfield lounged into the room at one o'clock and announced to nobody in particular, that he was going off to his lunch. He left the tired and hungry crowd to melt away if they liked, or wait to see if he would return, which he sometimes did not do, till about four o'clock in the afternoon. At times somebody bolder than the rest would ask him to see them, when, if they were worth it, they were shown solemnly into the inner room, where Mansfield would leave them half-an-hour or so to talk to his clerk in the outer one.

If they were not worth it, he would utterly ignore the humble petitioner, turninghis back on them to the great delight of the onlookers. At last Polly's turn came, and she was told she might venture into the inner sanctum, — the holy of holies. Here the cream of the photographs that perfectly covered the walls of the outer office, were enshrined in frames or lying loose on the table. ' Yours sincerely, Leonie Dysart,' in a prince's costume, with a maximum of unclothed leg and a minimum of clothed body , and, 'Yours faithfully, Edgar Devereux,' frowning in a pot hat and a fur lined cloak, expansive evening dress, with cigarette and signet ring, as the villain in the famous melo drama ' Murder will Out.' All this was lost on Polly; she was gazing apprehensively at Mr Mans field throned in state behind the writing table. ' My dear,' he said solemnly, waving his hand over the piles of letters, telegrams, and photographs. ' I'm worked to death, absolutely worked to death.' Polly felt she would not have objected to such an easy way of 'shuffling off this mortal coil,' but she only inquired if he remembered her letter. 'Yes, — no,— my dear, — what was it about ?

Oh, you want to act, what, Shakespeare — oh, that's no good, you wouldn't get anything in that line. You try burlesque — you'd do well in a boy's dress — just the figure for it ! Ever tried on tights, eh ? — never ! Well, you get a pair and come down and shew me how you look in them. Can you dance ? ' ' No,' said Polly, flattered at the idea of looking well in tights, but with a vision of the wrath of Ma and Auntie, strong in her. ' Oh, you must learn a bit of dancing, it comes in handy. Have you got a strong voice.' Polly nodded. 'That's all right — now look here, I might be able to get you something this Christmas in a pantomime ; give me your name and address. Miss Polly Bennet — is that your real name, dear ? Well, if I were you, I'd have something prettier to match your pretty face. Let's think of one.

Come here!' Polly went obediently, and the agent putting an arm round her waist suggested a variety of absurd POLLY IN SEARCH OF EMPLOY AlENT 13 names, interspersed by kisses, which Polly could not honestly say she objected to. In this Arcadian occupation they were interrupted by a knock at the door, and Polly retired from the scene as triumphantly as if she had signed a con tract for an engagement, instead of having gained nothing but empty promises. Ma heard a vague account of the great things that were to happen, but I never heard that the good lady was told of either the tights or the kisses — at least at that time.

Chapter II Polly In The Chorus

Polly came to know the way to the agent's office in Vincent Street extremely well. Once a week and sometimes more often she would sit there like 'patience on a monument' waiting for a word from the divinity who presided over the two dusty rooms. Her hopes, that she had ' mashed' the agent at all on the occasion described were soon put to flight, and she conjectured shrewdly that as all the ladies were treated alike in the outer office, they were probably all treated alike in the inner one. Sometimes after a day spent fruitlessly thus she would have a fit of crying, when she got home, and would vow that she must fling the whole thing up. At such times it required all Ma's sympathy, fljivoured with a little strengthening brandy, to set her right again. On one of these occasions her depression was cheered by the advent of Auntie.

In Auntie's train came the redoubtable cornet player ; he had called to see his friends at Sydenham, but finding they were out had been very willing to accompany Aunt Janet up to London. Polly and he were introduced to one another and got on very well together. Being very small and very thin, owing perhaps to his having breathed all his substance down the cornet, the little fellow had a decided penchant for ladies of the 'all very fine and large ' school. Polly answering these requirements and being not at all averse to admiration from any one, they were soon friendly enough. ' If we'd on'y got you down at the Van., Miss Bennet, you'd cut 'em all out I do believe ! ' ' Oh, I couldn't go in the chorus,' said Polly dis dainfully. ' But you can't begin at the top of the ladder, so to speak, you must work your way up from the bottom, and there ain't — no, there ain't, indeed, a better place for a girl with a fine face and a fine figure, than the Vanity, and that's what I think.' Polly was beginning to be of the same opinion too ; she had seen some chorus girls down at Mans field's Agency, and had been surprised to find them more ladylike and better dressed than the provincial actresses. ' Supposing I wanted to get into the Vanity,' she asked after a moment's reflection, ' how should I do it ? ' ' Nothing easier ! ' replied the cornet player, his face brightening, ' we're rehearsing " Robin Hood, Junior," now.

They've got most of their chorus of course, but they generally have a reserve, there's always one or two ladies drops out, you know, before the end. You've just got to go down to the Vanity Office and ask to see Mr Clarence or Jimmy Wilson, either of them would put you in in a minute. Now do — say you will, Miss Bennet — it couldn't hurt you to ask.' He was so pressing in his entreaties that Polly at last consented to join the ranks of the Vanity chorus. It was time to escort Auntie back to Sydenham. The little cornet player tore himself away, but he was so ' gone ' on Polly that he found himself answering Auntie quite vaguely ; he could think of nothing but ' keeping company ' with her fair niece. I need not dwell on the tears that Ma shed before allowing her Polly to disgrace herself by showing her legs in public ; most of Polly's sug gestions had to be watered in this manner before they blossomed.

By habit you can accustom yourself to the idea of anything uncommon, so why not to the idea of the short-skirted drama ? Ma agreed, and forgot her sorrows in the exciting occupation of choosing her daughter's professional name. Polly Bennet was much too common a one for stage purposes. Talbot or St Clair or Beres ford attached to a simple little name like Florrie or Nellie or Bessie, what could be more effective. Ma routed out an old Debrett and soon had a fine collection of names on hand. Unfortunately, she had a partiality for titles which are not the most suitable things in the world for surnames. ' The Duke of Kensington. Earl of St Ives. Earl of Castlereagh,' she read out, mouthing them all with great gusto ; ' how'd Kitty Kensington do, Polly ? Or Kitty Castlereagh ? Or Tottie St Ives 1 ' ' There is a Tottie Townsend, I believe, down at the Vanity, Ma; it doesn't do to take other folks' names.

Besides, Polly's as pretty as Tottie any day of the week ! ' 'How'd Polly Cholmondely sound then?' It certainly sounded very funny in the way Ma pro nounced it. ' Or Polly De Vere, spelt VEER to make it a bit more uncommon, or — Polly Mount- Temple ? There was a Temple in your Pa's fam'ly, tho' that ain't a recommendation, Heaven knows ! ' ' It doesn't sound bad, Ma ; let's have a look at it!' and Polly eagerly scanned the words Eustace Warde Lord Mount-Temple. ' I wonder what the fam'ly'd think now if they was to know, p'r'aps they might objeck ! ' suggested Ma. ' Oh, the best way is to alter a letter or so,' said Polly, decisively, 'then nobody can tell it's copying.' So after various mutilations of his lordship's title, it finally ended as Mountemple in one word, and in that state was henceforth adopted by Polly.

The next morning the newly christened Polly Mountemple sallied forth to get taken on at the Vanity Theatre. It was half-an-hour at least by 'bus from Polly's home to the temple of burlesque. Round the front of the building a few idlers were gathered, staring at the photographs displayed, and these took stock of Polly with great interest as she crossed the handsomely furnished vestibule and went upstairs. By the man in the booking-office she was directed up another flight of steps, and on the first landing found herself opposite a passage leading to the dress circle. She lingered gazing at the deserted seats before she screwed up her courage to enter a little door on her left. There were one or two women in the room, who stared hard at her, and some clerks were writing busily behind a partition.

One of the latter passed her out a printed form on which she had to state her name, her business — and whom she wanted to see. After five minutes' waiting the door opened and Mr Clarence, the lessee of the Vanity, entered. He passed into his private office, slammed the door, and soon after rang for his clerk. Polly in fear and trembling watched the clerk take with him a handful of the printed forms, amongst them hers. 'Are you Miss Mountemple — go in please,' he said, when he at last emerged, and Polly felt as meek as she had done at Mansfield's agency. But the great man was in a beneficent humour to-day. ' What d'you want — chorus, my dear ? All right — if you've got a song with you, go down and have your voice tried. Tell Mr Wilson I sent you.' With a nod he dismissed her and turned to his work.

Polly delighted at getting through so easily made her way round by the dress circle to the stage. There was not much going on at the moment. A piano was in one corner, one girl was singing, some others were standing in a bored knot at the back of the stage. The Chorus Mistress, an elderly woman with dyed hair, was holding a loud discussion with the Ballet Master, and thumping out an accompaniment at the same time. Polly heard something like this : — ' Sailing — Sailing — ' ' Mr Wilson says the seconds are to go to A.' Thump — Thump. ' Over the boundless sea.' ' It's rediklous as I told him.' Thump — Thump. ' As obstinate as a mule.' ' Sailing — g.' ' That's enough, Miss Lester ! Is there anyone else to sing ? What's that lady over there want ? ' All eyes were turned towards Polly as she answered, 'Mr Clarence said I was to come down and have my voice tried.' ' Have you got a song with you ? 'No.' ' Well try one of these, they're all easy enough.

Miss Lester, dear, just lend me " Sailing " for a minute. Sing out now ! ' Thus encouraged, Polly began very much out of tune, and did not find her sea legs in ' Sailing ' till she reached the second POLL Y MO UNTEMPLE 20 verse, there she was getting along quite nicely, when she was interrupted by, — ' Here, stop that row for Heaven's sake.' Polly came to a horrified pause, but seeing the Chorus Mistress quite unconcernedly rolling up the song, as if used to this kind of interruption, she took heart again. Jimmy Wilson, for it was he who had spoken, bounced over to the piano. His hat was drawn down over his knitted brows, his face was the colour of a lobster, and by the way the girls melted away from his path, Polly scented a storm coming. ' Look here ! where the d 1 is the Property Master !

We've got to get through those two choruses and it's twelve now, and not a girl got her spear. If you'd had any sense,' he continued to the ladies who now came crowding on to the stage, 'you'd have got 'em out yourselves. You might as well be a set of staring fools, or idiots. Look here, Jenkins,' as the delinquent appeared on the scene, 'if you d — n well can't bring me those spears in time, you can just hook out of the whole concern. D'yer hear ! Now go on.' Two frightened rows of girls advanced up the stage, each lugging a heavy metal spear, while the Chorus Mistress struck up a popular march recently imported from France. ' Valiant soldiers we, by flood and field ; If there's a chance of death. We'd rather yield ' were the words they sang, in which the poet's heroic spirit was about equalled by his powers of expression.

Anything more comical than the appearance of the 'valiant soldiers' can hardly be conceived, as they stamped along in their fashion able dresses and gants de suede, each clutching a mediæval-looking spear, the faces of those who were nearest Jimmy, expressing an agony of fear, lest, by a slip, they should draw down a torrent of his wrath upon them. He watched the performance grimly for two minutes, then having stopped the music by a peremptory wave of the hand, pro ceeded in his own winning fashion. ' Now look here, ladies, if you don't put more spirit into this chorus, I'm d — d if I won't show every woman of you the way to the stage door. I'll not have anybody playing the fool with me ! Begin again and out with it!' Here he threw down his hat and seized a pair of wooden clappers to beat time. 'Val — iant soldiers we' — bang — bang — bang, and as he warmed to his work, off went his coat after his hat.