A Dramatic Point

"A Dramatic Point" by Robert Barr is a captivating short story that explores themes of suspense and human psychology. The narrative centers around a pivotal moment filled with tension, where characters are faced with difficult choices that reveal their true natures and motivations. Through Barr's deft storytelling, the reader is drawn into a world of intrigue, showcasing his skill in crafting dramatic tension and profound insights into the complexities of human relationships. With its engaging plot and insightful character development, the story is a thought-provoking examination of the choices that define us.

• Short story

								
In the bad days of Balmeceda, when Chili was rent in twain, and its
capital was practically a besieged city, two actors walked together
along the chief street of the place towards the one theatre that was
then open. They belonged to a French dramatic company that would gladly
have left Chili if it could, but, being compelled by stress of war to
remain, the company did the next best thing, and gave performances at
the principal theatre on such nights as a paying audience came.

A stranger would hardly have suspected, by the look of the streets,
that a deadly war was going on, and that the rebels--so called--were
almost at the city gates. Although business was ruined, credit dead,
and no man's life or liberty safe, the streets were filled with a crowd
that seemed bent on enjoyment and making the best of things.

As Jacques Dupré and Carlos Lemoine walked together they conversed
earnestly, not of the real war so close to their doors, but of the
mimic conflicts of the stage. M. Dupré was the leading man of the
company, and he listened with the amused tolerance of an elder man to
the energetic vehemence of the younger.

"You are all wrong, Dupré," cried Lemoine, "all wrong. I have studied
the subject. Remember, I am saying nothing against your acting in
general. You know you have no greater admirer than I am, and that is
something to say when the members of a dramatic company are usually at
loggerheads through jealousy."

"Speak for yourself, Lemoine. You know I am green with jealousy of you.
You are the rising star and I am setting. You can't teach an old dog
new tricks, Carl, my boy."

"That's nonsense, Dupré. I wish you would consider this seriously. It
is because you are so good on the stage that I can't bear to see you
false to your art just to please the gallery. You should be above all
that."

"How can a man be above his gallery--the highest spot in the house?
Talk sense, Carlos, and then I'll listen."

"Yes, you're flippant, simply because you know you're wrong, and dare
not argue this matter soberly. Now she stabs you through the heart----"

"No. False premises entirely. She says something about my wicked heart,
and evidently intends to pierce that depraved organ, but a woman
never hits what she aims at, and I deny that I'm ever stabbed through
the heart. Say in the region or the neighbourhood of the heart, and go
on with your talk."

"Very well. She stabs you in a spot so vital that you die in a few
minutes. You throw up your hands, you stagger against the mantel-shelf,
you tear open your collar and then grope at nothing, you press your
hands on your wound and take two reeling steps forward, you call feebly
for help and stumble against the sofa, which you fall upon, and,
finally, still groping wildly, you roll off on the floor, where you
kick out once or twice, your clinched hand comes with a thud on the
boards, and all is over."

"Admirably described, Carlos. Lord! I wish my audience paid such
attention to my efforts as you do. Now you claim this is all wrong, do
you?"

"All wrong."

"Suppose she stabbed you, what would you do?"

"I would plunge forward on my face--dead."

"Great heavens! What would become of your curtain?"

"Oh, hang the curtain!"

"It's all very well for you to maledict the curtain, Carl, but you must
work up to it. Your curtain would come down, and your friends in the
gallery wouldn't know what had happened. Now I go through the
evolutions you so graphically describe, and the audience gets time to
take in the situation. They say, chuckling to themselves, 'that
villain's got his dose at last, and serve him right too.' They want to
enjoy his struggles, while the heroine stands grimly at the door taking
care that he doesn't get away. Then when my fist comes down flop on the
stage and they realise that I am indeed done for, the yell of triumph
that goes up is something delicious to hear."

"That's just the point, Dupré. I claim the actor has no right to hear
applause--that he should not know there is such a thing as an audience.
His business is to portray life exactly as it is."

"You can't portray life in a death scene, Carl."

"Dupré, I lose all patience with you, or rather I would did I not know
that you are much deeper than you would have us suppose. You apparently
won't see that I am very much in earnest about this."

"Of course you are, my boy; and that is one reason why you will become
a very great actor. I was ambitious myself once, but as we grow older"
--Dupré shrugged his shoulders--"well, we begin to have an eye on box-
office receipts. I think you sometimes forget that I am a good deal
older than you are."

"You mean I am a fool, and that I may learn wisdom with age. I quite
admit you are a better actor than I am; in fact I said so only a moment
ago, but----"

"'You wrong me, Brutus; I said an elder soldier, not a better.' But I
will take you on your own ground. Have you ever seen a man stabbed or
shot through the heart?"

"I never have, but I know mighty well he wouldn't undo his necktie
afterwards."

Dupré threw back his head and laughed.

"Who is flippant now?" he asked. "I don't undo my necktie, I merely
tear off my collar, which a dying man may surely be permitted to do.
But until you have seen a man die from such a stab as I receive every
night, I don't understand how you can justly find fault with my
rendition of the tragedy. I imagine, you know, that the truth lies
between the two extremes. The man done to death would likely not make
such a fuss as I make, nor would he depart so quickly as you say he
would, without giving the gallery gods a show for their money. But here
we are at the theatre, Carlos, and this acrimonious debate is closed--
until we take our next walk together."

In front of the theatre, soldiers were on duty, marching up and down
with muskets on their shoulders, to show that the state was mighty and
could take charge of a theatre as well as conduct a war. There were
many loungers about, which might have indicated to a person who did not
know, that there would be a good house when the play began. The two
actors met the manager in the throng near the door.

"How are prospects to-night?" asked Dupré.

"Very poor," replied the manager. "Not half a dozen seats have been
sold."

"Then it isn't worth while beginning?"

"We must begin," said the manager, lowering his voice, "the President
has ordered me not to close the theatre."

"Oh, hang the President!" cried Lemoine impatiently. "Why doesn't he
put a stop to the war, and then the theatre would remain open of its
own accord."

"He is doing his best to put a stop to the war, only his army does not
carry out his orders as implicitly as our manager does," said Dupré,

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