Twelfth Night Revels
The autumn term was drawing rapidly to a close and Christmas was near at hand. The Literary branch of the Alliance had been particularly active in preparing a number of the united Magazine, which was now at the printer's, and was to be issued shortly before breaking-up day. The six editresses who were responsible for its production had not found their task a light one. The expense of printing had limited them to one hundred pages, so many of their original plans had had to be curtailed. After much consultation it was decided to allow each school fifteen pages and two illustrations, either in line, or half-tone, the spaces for which must be included in their portion. The remaining ten pages of the magazine were to contain a leading article on the Alliance, and special news, such as reports of the Eisteddfod and Exhibition, results of cricket and hockey matches since last Easter, the work of the various leagues and guilds, and announcements for the forthcoming season.
Rachel Hutton, the head girl of the High School, was voted general editress, and appointed to write the leader and the various reports, while each sub-editress was responsible for the portion allotted to her school. The work did not sound very formidable, but when Laura Kirby, as editress for St. Cyprian's, began to get her material together she realized some of the thorns which beset the journalistic path. Fifteen pages of print seemed a small allowance, and very limiting to the powers of her contributors. She could almost have filled it on her own account. She wished all the best talent of the school to be represented, and tried to map out her space accordingly. It was most difficult, however, to keep her literary stars within due bounds. Nora Farrar, the generally acknowledged poet laureate of the College, had been put down for a short poem of twelve lines, calculated exactly to fill half a page; but when she handed in her manuscript the dismayed editress found that it contained no less than seven verses.
"You'll have to cut some of it out," she suggested.
"Cut it short! Impossible! Why, it would spoil it entirely," protested the poetess indignantly. "Can't some of the others shorten their things instead?"
"No, indeed! They'd prefer to lengthen them."
"Well, look here, it will ruin my piece utterly if I have to chop out the middle half of it."
"I'm very sorry, but it's got to be done, unless you'd rather write another poem."
Laura found that every contributor committed the same mistake, and each manuscript was apt to overflow its due number of words. The distracted editress had to be very stern in marking out passages which she considered were not strictly necessary, and insisting upon their omission. It was so hard to persuade the budding authoresses that this matter of space was one of real importance, and that they must not exceed their allowance even by a single paragraph. Many were the grumbles and protests, and as Laura was unfortunately not blessed with too large a share of tact, the making of the magazine proved a rather stormy business. The illustrations were another source of difficulty. Freda Kingston brought a very pretty pen-and-ink sketch, over which she had spent much time and trouble. She had drawn it the exact size it was to appear in the magazine, and was highly annoyed when she was informed that all drawings meant for reproduction must be on a scale half as large again as they would eventually be printed, as they were minimized in the process of making the blocks.
"I shall actually have to do it over again! Why didn't you tell me before, and save me all this trouble?" she asked plaintively.
"I didn't know myself," groaned Laura. "I've only just found out how illustrations are printed. By the by, you'll have to make all your lines thicker, too, because those will be thinned down when it's diminished."
"I hope they won't spoil my sketch at the printing works, I want to keep it afterwards."
"You'll probably get it back adorned with the impress of the compositor's thumb in black ink! It'll be a chance for you if you want to acquire skill in reading finger-marks, but it won't be an improvement to your design, so you'd best prepare yourself for the worst."
In spite of all these minor troubles Laura managed in the end to arrange her fifteen pages satisfactorily, and sent them off in triumph to the general editress by the appointed day. The printer faithfully fulfilled his part of the bargain, and delivered the copies in good time, so that the magazines were ready for subscribers at the beginning of the last week of the term. It had been impossible to afford anything very grand in the way of a cover, so they had contented themselves with the title The Alliance Journal, and the motto "Unitas superabit", which had been chosen as the watchword of the League. Rachel Hutton had written a really capital leading article as an introduction, and had contrived to express a large number of ideas and suggestions in an extremely small space. Each of the separate schools had contributed highly readable matter, and of a very varied character, so that sonnets, lyrics, and parodies, essays, detective stories, adventures, Nature notes, historic dialogues, reminiscences of country rambles, recitations, serious and comic, humorous episodes, and school titbits all found due place.
General opinion voted the magazine "ripping", and the editresses had the proud consciousness of having for once given entire satisfaction to their reading public, a distinction which editors in the real world of journalism might well envy them.
The supreme attraction of the last week of the term was the united dramatic performance that was to be given in aid of the Children's Hospital. It had been no easy matter to find any piece in which six schools could be represented without giving undue prominence to one or other; but the Twelfth Night revels which had been chosen happily allowed such a wide scope that each was able to undertake a separate department of equal importance. The play was a general combination of a number of old mediaeval festivities, and though it might be somewhat irregular to mingle them, the whole made an excellent entertainment. They were supposed to be acted on Twelfth Night, but as that date would fall during the holidays, it was considered no anomaly to anticipate it, and the event had been fixed for 20th December.
All the schools had been busy practising their parts, and none had worked harder than St. Cyprian's. The special portion of the performance which they had undertaken was the entrance of the King and Queen with their Court, and their enthronement amid due rejoicings. The speeches to be learnt were only short, but there was a very elaborate ceremonial to be observed, a dance to be executed by courtiers, and two part-songs to be sung, therefore many rehearsals were needed before it was perfected. Lottie was indefatigable. She drilled the chorus, trained the dancers, coached the speakers, arranged the costumes, and during rehearsals, at any rate, was sometimes stage-manager, pianist, prompter, dancing mistress, Lord Chamberlain, and principal boy, all combined. She herself was to act King, and Rose Percival, a very pretty girl from IVa Form, had been chosen as the Queen.
Mildred's orchestra was to play during the whole entertainment, so they learnt the music for the songs, dances, and processions of all the schools, also the opening and closing marches. Erica Newstead, Tessie von Steinberg, and Althea Ledbury, the girls respectively from Templeton, the Anglo-German and Newington Green, proved valuable additions, and with their help the little band really sounded quite effective. Elizabeth Chalmers's zealous conductorship had trained them to play in good time, exactly together, and in excellent tune; and if they could not attain to rivalling Professor Hoffmann's Students' Orchestra, they were at least a very welcome augmentation to the musical portion of the performance.
Mildred keenly enjoyed the rehearsals. It is always gratifying when one's pet scheme turns out well, and as she had taken much trouble in arranging the scores, she felt a pardonable pride in the success of her work. She loved the music for its own sake, but she was also very public-spirited, both on behalf of St. Cyprian's and the Alliance, and glad to contribute her share for the common weal. The charity to which the proceeds were to be sent was one that appealed to the schools. The Kirkton Children's Hospital was a new institution that had only lately been opened. Many of the girls had been taken to see it, had walked through the bright sunny wards, and had noticed the little patients wearing the red-flannel jackets that had been provided by their United Needlecraft Guild. To help to raise funds to keep the cots occupied was an object worth working for, and justified the original intention of the Alliance to be not only an institution for mutual improvement, but to render real aid to their poorer sisters in Kirkton.
The revels were to be held in the Kirkton Assembly Hall, though in a much larger room than that devoted to the Art Exhibition. Tickets had been sent to the various schools, and had sold so well that a good audience was assured beforehand. The Mayoress of Kirkton was to be present, and to bring her children, and several other prominent citizens had also promised their support. As it was essentially a children's entertainment it was decided to hold it in the afternoon, which would greatly simplify the difficulty of arranging for the safe home-going of the performers when it was over.
Twenty girls from St. Cyprian's were to take part, not counting the orchestra, and these were the heroines of the hour at the College. Their dress rehearsal was viewed and approved by a school audience, and the deepest interest taken in their costumes. Many of the details of these were lent for the occasion. There had been dramatic entertainments before at St. Cyprian's, so some of the ex-performers had various properties laid by at home, which proved of valuable assistance to the general effect. Clare Verrall, who had once been the ambassador in "Cinderella", was able to lend her gorgeous trumpet with its silken hangings to Agnes White, who was to act herald. Bess Harrison, who years ago had been one of the "Princes in the Tower", was delighted to find that her velvet doublet and silken hose would exactly fit Lucy Stearne, who made a pretty page. Freda Kingston's artistic skill was requisitioned to provide crowns for the King and Queen, and with cardboard, gilt paper, and cracker jewels she manufactured quite a magnificent regalia. Ivy Linthwaite prepared the Elizabethan ruffs of the courtiers, and stencilled heraldic devices on various banners which were to be used; and as many other girls were ready to contribute beads, knots of ribbon, paste shoe buckles, ornaments for the hair, lace ruffles, and other accessories useful in stage toilets, St. Cyprian's congratulated itself that it would be able to make a brave show.
The six companies of performers went early to the Exchange Assembly Hall, each school in charge of a mistress. The arrangements had been well made, so that there was no confusion over the dressing, though much fun went on behind the scenes. The members of the Alliance had met so often for various functions that they began to know one another, and to exchange greetings almost like old friends. Though each was a stanch supporter of her own school, they were always ready to combine for a general object, and drop any rivalries for the moment. So St. Cyprian's and Templeton girls might be seen chatting about hockey, and Newington Green discussing the magazine with the Anglo-German, and a general entente cordiale reigned supreme.
The members of the orchestra had come in white dresses, and gave quite a festive appearance to the room as they took their places and commenced the overture. Templeton was first on the programme, and opened the proceedings with a procession. Their players were dressed as boys and girls in Old English costume, the former in smock-frocks, large felt hats adorned with bunches of cowslips, and knees tied with knots of gay ribbons; the latter in low-cut dresses, muslin cross-overs, mob-caps and mittens, so that the whole looked exactly as if they had stepped out of a Kate Greenaway picture-book. To celebrate the season they sang a Christmas carol, and then proceeded to give a charming and elaborate exhibition of morris-dancing. They had been carefully drilled, and went through the most intricate steps without a hitch, waving their sprigs of holly, coloured handkerchiefs, or ribbon-tipped wands, according to the requirements of the measure. They sang well, and rendered all their choruses crisply and in exact accordance with the actions of the dances. With the orchestra to augment the music the effect was most gay, and gave a vivid impression of the Merrie England of former days.
Templeton was succeeded by Newington Green, which had taken up a totally different line. It had concentrated its energies on its younger members, and its first item was a dance of fairies and elves by small girls of nine or ten years of age. They had been selected with a view to their appearance. The fairies were all blue-eyed and fair-haired, and in their thin gauzy robes looked true gossamer sprites, as light as air. Their little feet tripped about as if scarcely touching the stage, and they left a general impression among the audience that they were of such sylph-like and ethereal composition that it was almost possible to see through them. Their partners, the elves, were all brunettes, and wore pale-green tights and helmets made to represent big bluebells. Both they and their sister fairies carried long garlands of flowers, which they used in the performance of their dance, now holding them aloft, now waving them to and fro, and now joining them in a floral chain to link the sprites together. The songs chosen were: "The Fairy Pipers", and "The Horns of Elfland", and Mildred had contrived so admirably to arrange the melodies with pizzicato passages on the violins that the ring of the little magic pipes and horns was unmistakable, and the audience listened almost spellbound to the fairy music.
When the pretty scene was over, it was rivalled by another of equal interest. As the fairies and elves danced off the stage, a troupe of butterflies flitted on instead. Their costumes had been prepared by the Newington Green art mistress and her best pupils. They were of thin butter muslin, made extremely full from the neck, and with a thin piece of bamboo stitched down the length of the skirt under each arm. When these bamboos were seized at the bottom, and raised above the level of the head, the skirt extended so as to give an exact impression of wings. All the dresses had been painted with the characteristic markings of certain butterflies, and as their owners gently waved them about, it seemed as if Fritillaries, Tortoiseshells, Purple Emperors, Swallow-tails, Camberwell Beauties, Painted Ladies, Red Admirals, and Peacocks were holding carnival together upon the stage. They danced a charming measure, twisting and turning so as to display the splendour of their wings, and winding in and out as if flitting about among the flowers. Each girl had a helmet contrived to represent a butterfly's head, with long antennæ and large round eyes, which further enhanced the insect effect, and wore long brown stockings drawn over sandals, giving a far more characteristic effect than shoes. The music was dainty and appropriate, and after responding to a vigorous encore, the butterflies flitted away, having covered Newington Green with glory.
It was now the turn of St. Cyprian's. Their chief feature was the grandeur of their procession, so an opening march announced their advent. They filed on to the stage with slow and stately steps, in all the pomp and majesty which they had been able to get together. First came the heralds, magnificent creatures in silk and velvet, holding long trumpets from which hung emblazoned banners; then my Lord Chamberlain, in flowered robe and long cloak, bearing his wand of office, and ushering in with much ceremony the King and Queen. Lottie really looked very fine in her gold-embroidered doublet, crimson cloak, long silk stockings, and magnificent crown; and Rose Percival, in pearl-trimmed white satin, with a mock-diamond necklace, her long flaxen hair arranged to fall over her shoulders below her waist, and her pretty face surmounted by her tiara, was regal enough to rival the monarchs of story-book fame. Their Court was not behind in gorgeousness. The gentlemen-in-waiting looked true cavaliers with their curled lovelocks, lace ruffles, and plumed hats, and the ladies outvied them in the gayness of their colours and the elaboration of their ruffs.
In this part of the revels there were a few speeches; the King and Queen were enthroned, songs were sung, and an old-fashioned dance was performed by the courtiers, such as might have taken place at some pageant of the fifteenth century. At its conclusion, instead of retiring from the platform, the royalties kept their thrones, and their maids of honour and gentlemen-in-waiting grouped themselves picturesquely on either side. They were to act stage audience for the mummers who came to play before the Court. This important department of the entertainment had been undertaken by the High School, which had risen nobly to the occasion. First came St. George of England, St. Andrew of Scotland, St. Patrick of Ireland, and St. David of Wales, all arrayed as knights in armour and all mounted on hobby-horses. They wore surcoats emblazoned with their countries' coats of arms, and carried pikes and shields; and with the permission of the King and Queen they engaged in a spirited tournament, making their hobbies prance about with fiery zeal, and dealing resounding blows on their pasteboard armour. But their internal rivalries were soon put an end to by the entrance of a common enemy—a huge and terrific green dragon, a scaly monster with horrible jaws and businesslike talons with which it suggestively clawed the air. It immediately made for its opponents, and there followed a grand scene of dodging, scuffling, and pursuing before the fabulous beast was finally subdued and bound in chains.
A jester in motley costume, with hood and bauble, was a special feature of the mummers, and provided immense fun as he made his jokes and plied his comic antics upon the other characters, belabouring John Bull with his bladder, rallying the doctor on the virtues of his pills, and tripping up the constable with the easy mirth of the clown in an old-fashioned pantomime. Quite out of breath with their violent exertions, the various champions ranged themselves on the steps of the throne, to give the audience the pleasure of beholding them during the performance of the next item on the programme.
Marston Grove School was in no way behind the others. To make a variety, it had provided a series of "Songs in Character", mostly chosen from nursery rhymes. "Where are you going to, my pretty maid?" was acted with lifelike coyness by a charming country wench swinging her milk can; Jack and Jill came together, bearing their pail between them; little Miss Muffet fled in a panic from the onslaught of a gigantic spider; six pretty innocents danced round a mulberry bush; Bo-Peep lamented the loss of her sheep; and Wee Willie Winkie stole about in his night-gown, blowing sand into the eyes of his companions. The costumes were charming, and each little scene was perfect in itself.
The Anglo-German, the last on the programme, had arranged a totally different display as a final effect. A large grandfather's clock stood at the back of the platform, and had before appeared only a part of the stage scenery. The space in front of this was now cleared, and after an appropriate speech from the King, and a song from the mummers, all waited with close attention while the chimes rang out and the hour was tolled. As the last stroke died away, the door of the clock-case opened, and out trooped, one after another, a procession of wonderful personages. First came old Father Time, with scythe and hour-glass, and behind him the months of the year, from snowy January to rosy June, corn-crowned October and holly-decked December. Then followed many a well-known nursery character—Little Red Riding Hood, Puss in Boots, Bluebeard, Aladdin, Hop o' my Thumb, the Three Bears, Cinderella, Jack the Giant Killer, Beauty and the Beast, Catskin, the Snow Queen, Rumpelstiltskin, Robinson Crusoe, Dick Whittington, and Goody Two-Shoes.
Ranging themselves at the front of the stage, they performed a pretty series of German action-songs, very appropriate to the season, and ending in compliments to the audience. As a climax to the whole, Father Christmas made his appearance, bearing in his arms the New Year (a darling three-year-old baby, borrowed for the occasion), and in a little speech thanked everybody for coming to the performance, and gave hearty good wishes to all for the coming holidays. With one final parade round the stage the pageant retired. For the last time the butterflies flitted, the fairies tripped, the dragon roared, and the jester swung his bladder; then amid a storm of clapping and cheering, headed by Father Time and with Father Christmas at the rear, the long procession wound itself off the platform and behind the scenes, to the accompaniment of sprightly music from the band.
"Your orchestra really was a great addition, Mildred," said Mrs. Graham that evening. "It kept everybody together, and made the whole affair sound most gay."
"I'm glad you say so! I think it was worth the trouble. We had a glorious afternoon, and every one of the six schools enjoyed it equally," said Mildred. "Do you know what we did in the dressing-room afterwards? We all joined hands in one big circle and sang 'Auld lang syne', and shouted 'Hip, hip, hip, hooray!' for the Alliance."