Chapter XLIII

by Theodore Dreiser

　　THE WORLD TURNS FLATTERER--AN EYE IN THE DARKInstalled in her comfortable room, Carrie wondered how Hurstwoodhad taken her departure. She arranged a few things hastily andthen left for the theatre, half expecting to encounter him at thedoor. Not finding him, her dread lifted, and she felt morekindly toward him. She quite forgot him until about to come out,after the show, when the chance of his being there frightenedher. As day after day passed and she heard nothing at all, thethought of being bothered by him passed. In a little while shewas, except for occasional thoughts, wholly free of the gloomwith which her life had been weighed in the flat.It is curious to note how quickly a profession absorbs one.Carrie became wise in theatrical lore, hearing the gossip oflittle Lola. She learned what the theatrical papers were, whichones published items about actresses and the like. She began toread the newspaper notices, not only of the opera in which shehad so small a part, but of others. Gradually the desire fornotice took hold of her. She longed to be renowned like others,and read with avidity all the complimentary or critical commentsmade concerning others high in her profession. The showy worldin which her interest lay completely absorbed her.It was about this time that the newspapers and magazines werebeginning to pay that illustrative attention to the beauties ofthe stage which has since become fervid. The newspapers, andparticularly the Sunday newspapers, indulged in large decorativetheatrical pages, in which the faces and forms of well-knowntheatrical celebrities appeared, enclosed with artistic scrolls.The magazines also or at least one or two of the newer ones--published occasional portraits of pretty stars, and now and againphotos of scenes from various plays. Carrie watched these withgrowing interest. When would a scene from her opera appear? Whenwould some paper think her photo worth while?The Sunday before taking her new part she scanned the theatricalpages for some little notice. It would have accorded with herexpectations if nothing had been said, but there in the squibs,tailing off several more substantial items, was a wee notice.Carrie read it with a tingling body:"The part of Katisha, the country maid, in 'The Wives of Abdul'at the Broadway, heretofore played by Inez Carew, will behereafter filled by Carrie Madenda, one of the cleverest membersof the chorus."Carrie hugged herself with delight. Oh, wasn't it just fine! Atlast! The first, the long-hoped for, the delightful notice! Andthey called her clever. She could hardly restrain herself fromlaughing loudly. Had Lola seen it?"They've got a notice here of the part I'm going to play to-morrow night," said Carrie to her friend."Oh, jolly! Have they?" cried Lola, running to her. "That's allright," she said, looking. "You'll get more now, if you do well.I had my picture in the 'World' once.""Did you?" asked Carrie."Did I? Well, I should say," returned the little girl. "They hada frame around it."Carrie laughed."They've never published my picture.""But they will," said Lola. "You'll see. You do better thanmost that get theirs in now."Carrie felt deeply grateful for this. She almost loved Lola forthe sympathy and praise she extended. It was so helpful to her--so almost necessary.Fulfilling her part capably brought another notice in the papersthat she was doing her work acceptably. This pleased herimmensely. She began to think the world was taking note of her.The first week she got her thirty-five dollars, it seemed anenormous sum. Paying only three dollars for room rent seemedridiculous. After giving Lola her twenty-five, she still hadseven dollars left. With four left over from previous earnings,she had eleven. Five of this went to pay the regular installmenton the clothes she had to buy. The next week she was even ingreater feather. Now, only three dollars need be paid for roomrent and five on her clothes. The rest she had for food and herown whims."You'd better save a little for summer," cautioned Lola. "We'llprobably close in May.""I intend to," said Carrie.The regular entrance of thirty-five dollars a week to one who hasendured scant allowances for several years is a demoralisingthing. Carrie found her purse bursting with good green bills ofcomfortable denominations. Having no one dependent upon her, shebegan to buy pretty clothes and pleasing trinkets, to eat well,and to ornament her room. Friends were not long in gatheringabout. She met a few young men who belonged to Lola's staff.The members of the opera company made her acquaintance withoutthe formality of introduction. One of these discovered a fancyfor her. On several occasions he strolled home with her."Let's stop in and have a rarebit," he suggested one midnight."Very well," said Carrie.In the rosy restaurant, filled with the merry lovers of latehours, she found herself criticising this man. He was toostilted, too self-opinionated. He did not talk of anything thatlifted her above the common run of clothes and material success.When it was all over, he smiled most graciously."Got to go straight home, have you?" he said."Yes," she answered, with an air of quiet understanding."She's not so inexperienced as she looks," he thought, andthereafter his respect and ardour were increased.She could not help sharing in Lola's love for a good time. Therewere days when they went carriage riding, nights when after theshow they dined, afternoons when they strolled along Broadway,tastefully dressed. She was getting in the metropolitan whirl ofpleasure.At last her picture appeared in one of the weeklies. She had notknown of it, and it took her breath. "Miss Carrie Madenda," itwas labelled. "One of the favourites of 'The Wives of Abdul'company." At Lola's advice she had had some pictures taken bySarony. They had got one there. She thought of going down andbuying a few copies of the paper, but remembered that there wasno one she knew well enough to send them to. Only Lola,apparently, in all the world was interested.The metropolis is a cold place socially, and Carrie soon foundthat a little money brought her nothing. The world of wealth anddistinction was quite as far away as ever. She could feel thatthere was no warm, sympathetic friendship back of the easymerriment with which many approached her. All seemed to beseeking their own amusement, regardless of the possible sadconsequence to others. So much for the lessons of Hurstwood andDrouet.In April she learned that the opera would probably last until themiddle or the end of May, according to the size of the audiences.Next season it would go on the road. She wondered if she wouldbe with it. As usual, Miss Osborne, owing to her moderatesalary, was for securing a home engagement."They're putting on a summer play at the Casino," she announced,after figuratively putting her ear to the ground. "Let's try andget in that.""I'm willing," said Carrie.They tried in time and were apprised of the proper date to applyagain. That was May 16th. Meanwhile their own show closed May5th."Those that want to go with the show next season," said themanager, "will have to sign this week.""Don't you sign," advised Lola. "I wouldn't go.""I know," said Carrie, "but maybe I can't get anything else.""Well, I won't," said the little girl, who had a resource in heradmirers. "I went once and I didn't have anything at the end ofthe season."Carrie thought this over. She had never been on the road."We can get along," added Lola. "I always have."Carrie did not sign.The manager who was putting on the summer skit at the Casino hadnever heard of Carrie, but the several notices she had received,her published picture, and the programme bearing her name hadsome little weight with him. He gave her a silent part at thirtydollars a week."Didn't I tell you?" said Lola. "It doesn't do you any good togo away from New York. They forget all about you if you do."Now, because Carrie was pretty, the gentlemen who made up theadvance illustrations of shows about to appear for the Sundaypapers selected Carrie's photo along with others to illustratethe announcement. Because she was very pretty, they gave itexcellent space and drew scrolls about it. Carrie was delighted.Still, the management did not seem to have seen anything of it.At least, no more attention was paid to her than before. At thesame time there seemed very little in her part. It consisted ofstanding around in all sorts of scenes, a silent littleQuakeress. The author of the skit had fancied that a great dealcould be made of such a part, given to the right actress, butnow, since it had been doled out to Carrie, he would as leavehave had it cut out."Don't kick, old man," remarked the manager. "If it don't go thefirst week we will cut it out."Carrie had no warning of this halcyon intention. She practisedher part ruefully, feeling that she was effectually shelved. Atthe dress rehearsal she was disconsolate."That isn't so bad," said the author, the manager noting thecurious effect which Carrie's blues had upon the part. "Tell herto frown a little more when Sparks dances."Carrie did not know it, but there was the least show of wrinklesbetween her eyes and her mouth was puckered quaintly."Frown a little more, Miss Madenda," said the stage manager.Carrie instantly brightened up, thinking he had meant it as arebuke."No; frown," he said. "Frown as you did before."Carrie looked at him in astonishment."I mean it," he said. "Frown hard when Mr. Sparks dances. Iwant to see how it looks."It was easy enough to do. Carrie scowled. The effect wassomething so quaint and droll it caught even the manager."That is good," he said. "If she'll do that all through, I thinkit will take."Going over to Carrie, he said:"Suppose you try frowning all through. Do it hard. Look mad.It'll make the part really funny."On the opening night it looked to Carrie as if there were nothingto her part, after all. The happy, sweltering audience did notseem to see her in the first act. She frowned and frowned, butto no effect. Eyes were riveted upon the more elaborate effortsof the stars.In the second act, the crowd, wearied by a dull conversation,roved with its eyes about the stage and sighted her. There shewas, grey-suited, sweet-faced, demure, but scowling. At firstthe general idea was that she was temporarily irritated, that thelook was genuine and not fun at all. As she went on frowning,looking now at one principal and now at the other, the audiencebegan to smile. The portly gentlemen in the front rows began tofeel that she was a delicious little morsel. It was the kind offrown they would have loved to force away with kisses. All thegentlemen yearned toward her. She was capital.At last, the chief comedian, singing in the centre of the stage,noticed a giggle where it was not expected. Then another andanother. When the place came for loud applause it was onlymoderate. What could be the trouble? He realised that somethingwas up.All at once, after an exit, he caught sight of Carrie. She wasfrowning alone on the stage and the audience was giggling andlaughing."By George, I won't stand that!" thought the thespian. "I'm notgoing to have my work cut up by some one else. Either she quitsthat when I do my turn or I quit.""Why, that's all right," said the manager, when the kick came."That's what she's supposed to do. You needn't pay any attentionto that.""But she ruins my work.""No, she don't," returned the former, soothingly. "It's only alittle fun on the side.""It is, eh?" exclaimed the big comedian. "She killed my hand allright. I'm not going to stand that.""Well, wait until after the show. Wait until to-morrow. We'llsee what we can do."The next act, however, settled what was to be done. Carrie wasthe chief feature of the play. The audience, the more it studiedher, the more it indicated its delight. Every other featurepaled beside the quaint, teasing, delightful atmosphere whichCarrie contributed while on the stage. Manager and companyrealised she had made a hit.The critics of the daily papers completed her triumph. Therewere long notices in praise of the quality of the burlesque,touched with recurrent references to Carrie. The contagiousmirth of the thing was repeatedly emphasised."Miss Madenda presents one of the most delightful bits ofcharacter work ever seen on the Casino stage," observed the stagecritic of the "Sun." "It is a bit of quiet, unassuming drollerywhich warms like good wine. Evidently the part was not intendedto take precedence, as Miss Madenda is not often on the stage,but the audience, with the characteristic perversity of suchbodies, selected for itself. The little Quakeress was marked fora favourite the moment she appeared, and thereafter easily heldattention and applause. The vagaries of fortune are indeedcurious."The critic of the "Evening World," seeking as usual to establisha catch phrase which should "go" with the town, wound up byadvising: "If you wish to be merry, see Carrie frown."The result was miraculous so far as Carrie's fortune wasconcerned. Even during the morning she received a congratulatorymessage from the manager."You seem to have taken the town by storm," he wrote. "This isdelightful. I am as glad for your sake as for my own."The author also sent word.That evening when she entered the theatre the manager had a mostpleasant greeting for her."Mr. Stevens," he said, referring to the author, "is preparing alittle song, which he would like you to sing next week.""Oh, I can't sing," returned Carrie."It isn't anything difficult. 'It's something that is verysimple,' he says, 'and would suit you exactly.'""Of course, I wouldn't mind trying," said Carrie, archly."Would you mind coming to the box-office a few moments before youdress?" observed the manager, in addition. "There's a littlematter I want to speak to you about.""Certainly," replied Carrie.In that latter place the manager produced a paper."Now, of course," he said, "we want to be fair with you in thematter of salary. Your contract here only calls for thirtydollars a week for the next three months. How would it do tomake it, say, one hundred and fifty a week and extend it fortwelve months?""Oh, very well," said Carrie, scarcely believing her ears."Supposing, then, you just sign this."Carrie looked and beheld a new contract made out like the otherone, with the exception of the new figures of salary and time.With a hand trembling from excitement she affixed her name."One hundred and fifty a week!" she murmured, when she was againalone. She found, after all--as what millionaire has not?--thatthere was no realising, in consciousness, the meaning of largesums. It was only a shimmering, glittering phrase in which lay aworld of possibilities.Down in a third-rate Bleecker Street hotel, the broodingHurstwood read the dramatic item covering Carrie's success,without at first realising who was meant. Then suddenly it cameto him and he read the whole thing over again."That's her, all right, I guess," he said.Then he looked about upon a dingy, moth-eaten hotel lobby."I guess she's struck it," he thought, a picture of the oldshiny, plush-covered world coming back, with its lights, itsornaments, its carriages, and flowers. Ah, she was in the walledcity now! Its splendid gates had opened, admitting her from acold, dreary outside. She seemed a creature afar off--like everyother celebrity he had known."Well, let her have it," he said. "I won't bother her."It was the grim resolution of a bent, bedraggled, but unbrokenpride.