The first act passed quickly. Somehow, she surprised herself by how well it was going. Perhaps because
she was thinking of other things than singing. In the interval she found Patrick standing beside her.
“Are you ok?” he asked awkwardly. She tried to smile.
“Bit scared,” she said. “But I’ll be fine.”
“You’re doing really well,” he said. Neither of them were on stage
for the start of the second act, but then he went on for his big patter
song and trio. Ruth stood in the wings, watching. The Fantoms lurked
nearby, covering the exits from backstage. She tried to distract
herself by concentrating on the performance. The Nightmare song was not
an easy one, and Patrick did it well. The trio after it was one of the
highlights of the show.
When Patrick came off after the trio, all glowng with exhilleration,
she kept away. In a minute she would go on for the last time, her big
moment, and soon that would be the end. She did not want to impose her
terror on him. So she stayed sadly in the shadows.
But he came over to her and put his arms round her and hugged her
tightly. She had to fight back tears again. There was only a brief bit
of dialogue and then a duet before she had to go on for the last time,
and he would soon follow her.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. He squeezed her hand.
“No need,” he said.
“I hope she lets you go,” she said. “Good luck.” On stage, the duet
was into its’ second verse. She looked round and saw the whole cast
were standing in the wings, waiting, watching. She took a step back
from Patrick, and wiped her eyes carefully. Thankfully her veil would
hide the signs of her emotional breakdown.
“Break a leg,” he said.
The duet ended. Polite applause from the audience, and she stepped
out onto stage. She tried to act naturally, but it had never been
something she was good at. Thankfully there were only a few lines of
dialogue before Patrick entered, and for most of them she was supposed
to be anxious and afraid, which would hopefully cover her woodenness.
She wrapped herself in her veil and prepared to plead with him for the
love of her character’s son.
“My lord! A suppliant at thy feet I kneel,
Oh, listen to a mother’s fond appeal,
Hear me tonight! I come in urgent need.
Tis for my son, young Strephon, that I plead.
"He loves! If in the bygone years thine eyes have ever shed
Tears, bitter unavailing tears, for one untimely dead.
If, in the eventide of life, sad thoughts of her arise,
Then let the memory of thy wife
Plead for my boy- he dies!"
She had wanted to play Iolanthe almost from the moment she had seen
her first production of the show. She couldn't quite explain why. For
some reason it appealed to her more than any of the soprano leads, who
had so little individuality that they could often have been swapped
without other characters noticing. Mabel for Yum Yum, Josephine for
Gianetta- would their respective tenors even care? And although she
generally preferred the altos, the Duchesses and Dames, she knew she
didn't have the ability or experience to carry them off. Iolanthe had
been what she had secretly hoped she might, one day, aspire to do. And
yet there were always people around who were better than her. It was a
bitter joke that her wish should be granted like this.
He dies! If fondly laid aside in some old cabinet
Memorial of thy long-dead bride lie, dearly treasured yet.
Then let that hallowed bridal dress- her little dainty gloves-
Her withered flowers- her faded tress-
Plead for my boy- he loves.
She knelt, a gauzy veil wrapped around her head but still perfectly
able to see, although she did not look out at the audience. She was
glad that the emotional nature of the song made the tremor in her voice
appropriate. She had thrown herself into the role, truly thought
herself into the person of Iolanthe as a way of distracting herself from
thinking about what was going to happen. If she were to die, she would
give the best performance she could first, and try not to show how she
really felt.
"It may not be, for so the fates decide!
Learn thou that Phyllis is my promised bride."
Patrick was good as the Lord Chancellor. She didn't have time to
think about it on stage, but she knew it was true. She could see why
the woman had given him that part- to make him feel that he bore some
responsibility for her death, to fulfil her devil’s bargain with him by
making him take part in this hideous horror show. And yet- she was glad
he was there.
"Thy bride! No no!"
"It shall be so. Those who would separate us, woe betide!"
Now for it. But as she stood before him, head bowed, she was not
Ruth, dying because a bloodthirsty dictator wanted some entertainment.
She was Iolanthe, sacrificing her life for love. Somehow that made it
easier to bear.
"Thy doom my lips have spoken,
I plead in vain.
A vow already broken
I break again.
For him, for her, for thee
I yield my life,
Behold, it may not be
I am thy wife!"
She had cried the first time she saw this scene performed, the first
time she heard those words. The fairies' offstage warnings sounded
truly sinister in her ears, as she stood now beside her Lord Chancellor,
her veil torn loose, awaiting her doom. Patrick took her hands in his.
“Iolanthe! Thou livest!”
There was so much she had wanted to say, and so little she had ever
been able to. She met his eyes and a few tears began to roll down her
cheeks as she sang her last line, holding her voice as steady as she
could.
“Aye, I live. Now let me die!”
She tried to keep calm as she turned from Patrick to face the queen.
As the adjudicator strode onto the stage in the guise of the fairy
queen she faced her, struggling to be Iolanthe still and not Ruth. Now
for the hardest piece of acting she had ever had to do- to act like she
was not afraid.
"Once again thy vows are broken,
Thou thyself thy doom has spoken.
Bow thy head to destiny!
Death thy doom and thou shalt die."
From the sheath at her side the adjudicator drew a sword. It glinted
as the stage lights caught it. Ruth knelt before her. She bowed her head, beyond caring whether anyone saw that she
was shaking with fear. Her hands clasped tightly in front of her, she
waited for the adjudicator to strike.
The story continues...
Wow.
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