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Her delicate little hands and feet were quivering, her eyes were full of tears, her cheeks turned paler and paler. And no wonder she was at the theatre for the first time in her life. "How well they act! how splendidly!" she said to her papa the police captain, every time the curtain fell. "How good Fenogenov is!"
Fenogenov remembered it, and muttered with clenched fists: "If he doesn't send money I'll smash her! I won't let myself be made a fool of, damn my soul!" At one provincial town the company tried to give Masha the slip, but Masha found out, ran to the station, and got there when the second bell had rung and the actors had all taken their seats.
She acted badly, lisped, and was nervous. She soon grew used to it, however, and began to be liked by the audience. Fenogenov was much displeased. "To call her an actress!" he used to say. "She has no figure, no deportment, nothing whatever but silliness." In one provincial town the company acted Schiller's "Robbers." Fenogenov played Franz, Masha, Amalie. The tragedian shouted and quivered.
He shouted, hissed, banged with his feet, tore his coat across his chest. When he refused to fight Morozov, he trembled all over as nobody ever trembles in reality, and gasped loudly. The theatre shook with applause. There were endless calls. Fenogenov was presented with a silver cigarette-case and a bouquet tied with long ribbons.
After the performance, Limonadov and Fenogenov were sitting in the ticket box-office engaged in conversation. "Your wife does not learn her part, you are right there," the manager was saying. "She doesn't know her line.... Every man has his own line,... but she doesn't know hers...." Fenogenov listened, sighed, and scowled and scowled.
"All except the fair sex," he whispered. "I don't want the actresses, for I have a daughter." Next day the actors dined at the police captain's. Only three turned up, the manager Limonadov, the tragedian Fenogenov, and the comic man Vodolazov; the others sent excuses. The dinner was a dull affair.
IT was the benefit night of Fenogenov, the tragic actor. They were acting "Prince Serebryany." The tragedian himself was playing Vyazemsky; Limonadov, the stage manager, was playing Morozov; Madame Beobahtov, Elena. The performance was a grand success. The tragedian accomplished wonders indeed. When he was carrying off Elena, he held her in one hand above his head as he dashed across the stage.
Limonadov, with tears in his eyes, described his interview with the former Governor, General Kanyutchin. The police captain listened, was bored, and smiled affably. He was well satisfied, although Limonadov smelt strongly of burnt feathers, and Fenogenov was wearing a hired dress coat and boots trodden down at heel. They pleased his daughter and made her lively, and that was enough for him.
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