CHAPTER XXX.
ROSE RETIRES FROM THE STAGE.
‘I think,’ said Rose to her husband that night, ‘I shall give up the stage. I have been without an engagement long; I have refused everything of the kind.’
‘Yet, darling, you are not growing old.’
‘No, it is not that.’
‘But what?’
‘That I care less and less for the artificial atmosphere of the stage. We lead such a conventional life and breathe such a conventional air; there is so much of insincerity. “Suppose any given theatre,” writes Mr. Thomas Archer in one of his clever essays, “suppose any given theatre suddenly turned into a Palace of Truth, and all the members of the company forced to state their true opinion of each other’s performances, the Palace of Truth would be a pandemonium.” And then there are other considerations.’
‘For instance?’
‘Well, to begin with, the atmosphere of self-consciousness in which the actor lives and moves and has his being. Mr. Henry James tells us the artist performs great feats in a dream; we must not wake him up lest he should lose his balance. The actor, alas! has always to be wide awake—to think of the applause to be won. I am sure too much of that sort of life cannot be good for anyone.’
‘And I have long been expecting you to say as much.’
‘But you are not sorry, are you?’