A BLAZE OF TRIUMPH.
The voyage on board the Cuba was by no means the dreadful experience
which Miss Montressor had been led to believe; in fact, when they were
twenty-four hours clear of the coast of Ireland--where it was, as
usual, very wet and inclement, the weather always, apparently,
endeavouring to spoil the pleasure prepared by the hospitable
inhabitants for their visitors--she roused up and enjoyed herself very
much. At first the mere idea of food upset her, and she declared that
the constant round of meals was 'disgusting;' but it was soon observed
that 'when refection bell did call,' Miss Montressor was one of the
first persons to smilingly take up her position at the board, and one
of the last to leave it. It was a part of Mr. Bryan Duval's policy
that everything should be done in the most liberal manner, and there
was consequently abundance of wine and of very excellent quality, on
the merits and demerits of which Mr. Duval would descant to the
admiration of the company.
This was not the only point on which, that eminent artist won renown.
He expounded his views on certain questions of seamanship to the
captain with such a wealth of professional phraseology that the worthy
officer, who was not in the habit of consorting much with his
theatrical passengers, looked upon him with especial favour, asked him
constantly into his deckhouse, and ventilated at length--almost, as
Byran thought, at too great length--his original theories concerning
currents and wind storms. When, moreover, Mr. Duval had corrected the
third officer, who was a Yorkshireman, about the exact position of a
tobacconist's shop in Boar-lane, Leeds, and had demonstrated that a
Scotch professor of St. Andrew's University, who was looked upon as a
miracle of learning, was little better than an idiot, he was generally
allowed to be a man of universal genius, and respected accordingly. As
for the officers of the ship, they took the greatest fancy to him. He
was unanimously elected an honorary member of their mess, and the
deliciously titillating and highly-spiced dishes which, at a late hour
of the night, he prepared in the purser's cabin, the effervescent
cooling drinks which he manufactured to go with them, and the romantic
little Spanish love songs which he sung afterwards to the
accompaniment of a guitar, formed the theme of conversation for many a
future voyage.
Mr. Skrymshire, the low comedian, who had been seen in the exercise of
his profession by several of the passengers, both in London and
Liverpool, and from whom a fund of amusement was expected, did not
quite come up to popular anticipation, as he passed the principal part
of the voyage moaning in his berth in the agonies of illness, and
requesting, as a personal favour, that he might be thrown overboard.
It was not until the ship had passed Sandy Hook that he put in an
appearance on deck; and she was safe at anchor in the quarantine
ground--where, in consequence of her late arrival, she was compelled
to remain during the night--before he cracked his first joke.
All the party were up on deck very early the next morning, looking
with admiring eyes at the beauties of Staten Island, and with wonder
at the steamers and ferry-boats darting in and out. Acting upon the
private hint given to her by Bryan Duval the night before, Miss
Montressor had paid a little special attention to her toilette, and
looked very pretty and fascinating.
'Quite right, my dear,' said Bryan, when lie saw her--he himself was
arrayed in a high hat with a curly brim, blue body coat, gray trousers,
and jean boots with patent leather tips--'quite right, my dear; they
go in immensely for this sort of thing here, and you will find that we
shall have a few of the press fellows on board before we land, and no
end of them waiting at the wharf. First impressions are everything,
and half a column in the _Scarifier_, a personal paragraph in the
_Growler_, and a subleader in the _Democrat_ to-morrow morning, will
do us good service with our first night's audience; besides, Van Buren
is a man who fancies himself a lady-killer, and I want him to be
impressed.'
'And won't you be at all jealous?' asked Miss Montressor, looking up
coquettishly.
'I jealous?' cried Bryan. 'Of course; stark, staring, raving crazy
with jealousy. I'd push those side curls a little further back, my
dear, if I were you; and just let me tighten that pin at the back of
your collar. That will do nicely. Have you seen anything of
Skrymshire?'
'The last time he appeared he was looking very melancholy and
disconsolate,' said Miss Montressor.
'It is most important that Van Buren should not see him until he is in
better feather,' said Bryan. 'There will be some champagne cocktail
going on when these press fellows come on board, and I will take care
that Skrymshire has a dose of that to pick him up. A low comedian with
a horse's head and that suit of clothes is enough to frighten any
manager out of an engagement.'
Mr. Duval's predictions were fulfilled. The health officer had
scarcely rowed off after his interview with the doctor when another
boat was seen approaching the vessel, containing certain members of
the press, who quickly appeared on board and were conducted to Mr.
Duval, by whom they were received with great courtesy. His ability and
geniality had made him a general favourite during his last visit to
America, and his return, bringing out a company of whom--notably of
Miss Montressor--great things were expected, was hailed with delight.
The literary gentlemen, who had a general air of having been up all
night, and not having thought it worth while to devote much attention
to their toilets in the morning, were conducted to the cabin, where
champagne cocktails and other exhilarating drinks were provided for
them by Mr. Duval, who, when the liquor had well circulated,
despatched a trusty emissary to conduct Miss Montressor to their
presence.
In her fresh morning toilette, with her pleasant smiles and frank
ingenuous manner, the London actress took by storm the susceptible
hearts of the literary gentlemen. They had come with the express
intention of interviewing her, and, lo and behold, the most they could
do was to utter little compliments and flattery, while most of their
time was occupied in staring at her. But Mr. Duval, who knew exactly
what was wanted, was not going to let slip such a golden opportunity,
and went about from one to the other, answering such questions as he
thought might have been propounded.
'What should I say her height was? About five feet five, I should
think--a little taller, perhaps, with those new French heels, which
set the foot off, but are deuced dangerous for walking. Ah, Willie
Webster, you rascal,' whispering in the ear of a dirty little man in a
wideawake, 'you're the lad for the ladies, and you're death on
complexions, I know. Look at hers; look at the Montressor's. That's
the real thing--none of your bismuth and pearl powder, but with the
warm tinge on it which she has caught on her voyage from the sea and
sun. Natural daughter of a most distinguished man, my dear Carter;
blue blood, Norman descent, and all that sort of thing--look at it in
her hands and feet, that's where the real breeding comes out. You
don't care about noble descent in this country, I know--honesty,
virtue, simple citizen, and all that kind of thing; but you do admire
hands and feet, and most of your ladies have them in perfection.'
The press gentlemen went off in their swift-sailing little boat, and
landing before the huge steamer worked her way to the wharf, so
aroused the enthusiasm of those waiting there by their description of
Miss Montressor's charms, that when she was seen on the deck, leaning
on Bryan Duval's arm, she was greeted with great applause, cheerings,
and waving of handkerchiefs. Most interested among those assembled on
the wharf to meet the voyagers was Mr. Van Buren, a strikingly
handsome man of between forty and fifty, with jet-black hair in crisp
waves over his well-shaped head, a classic profile, and an excellent
figure. He was naturally nervous, for the good old British comedies,
which were the staple attraction at Van Buren's Varieties, had ceased
to attract, and the manager was looking to the engagement of Duval's
company to recoup him his losses, and finish his season brilliantly.
Dogging his heels was his friend and adviser Mr. Morris Jacobs, who
had entered the service of Mr. Van Buren's father as call-boy at three
dollars a week, but who was now reputed to be worth half a million,
and to be the real owner of Van Buren's Varieties and almost of Van
Buren himself, for the manager-actor was fond of pleasure, and was
besides a great sportsman. He had always horses in training somewhere,
and whenever he could get away from the theatre he was rushing off to
look after them; while Mr. Morris Jacobs had but one thought in life,
the accumulation of money; and finding that could be best attended to
at the Varieties, there he remained, and there, morning, noon, and
night, he was to be found. But when Mr. Van Buren had been presented
to Miss Montressor by Bryan Duval all his nervousness vanished. He
bowed his curly head over her daintily gloved hand, and lifted it to
his lips. Then turning to Mr. Jacobs, he muttered,
'No use shinning about any more, Morris; trump card's found!'
More and more delights were there in store for the newly-arrived
troupe: banquets in their rooms at the Fifth-avenue Hotel, bushels of
cards left by distinguished callers, artistic clubs proffering
receptions, and invitations for all kinds of entertainments. Miss
Montressor was in the highest state of delight. 'If this is America,'
she said to Bryan Duval, 'I rather think I am likely to be pleased
with it.'
Intelligence of the arrival of the star company, and their brilliant
reception in New York, speedily reached Mrs. Griswold's house. Helen,
with her usual cordial kindness, sent the newspaper which contained
the lengthiest and most sensational account of the proceedings of the
popular reception, and the programme of the performance, to Mrs.
Jenkins. She would have gone to the nursery to read it all for her,
and enjoy the pleasure and excitement with which she felt the nurse
would peruse it, but she happened just then to be detained by callers.
Mrs. Jenkins clutched the paper from the hand of the servant who
brought it to her, and read it with the utmost avidity. When, shortly
afterwards, Mrs. Griswold went up-stairs to pay her customary visit to
the baby before dressing for lunch, she found the nurse in rather a
fidgety state; she was absent while Mrs. Griswold talked to her, she
answered one or two of her questions at random, and altogether her
manner was so _distrait_ that Helen resolved to find out what it all
meant.
'Has anything happened to you?' she said; 'have you had any bad news?
Pray tell me.'
'No, ma'am,' said Mrs. Jenkins, 'I have not had any bad news, but I
should like very much to go out for a while; there is some one come to
New York that I know, and I should like to call and see her.'
Perhaps a transitory feeling of surprise crossed Helen's mind at the
unusual reticence of Mrs. Jenkins, who by this time had become so
familiarised with her friendly manner and her kindly genial interest
in all that concerned the dwellers in her house that she would have
supposed the nurse would at once have told her who the person was, and
all about it; but Helen's kindness was not of the exacting sort, and
she received this brief communication with her usual sweet compliance.
'Of course you can go out,' she said. 'I will take care of baby; I can
take you in the carriage wherever you want to go, and then you can
leave baby with me.'
'No, thank you,' answered Mrs. Jenkins, with some embarrassment and a
rising colour, which Helen at once perceived, but passed over quite
unnoticed, concluding that Mrs. Jenkins's confusion had something to
do with the good-for-nothingness of her husband--a point on which
Helen deeply commiserated her lot, because, though she had been told
no particulars, she felt perfectly convinced that Mr. Jenkins's
good-for-nothingness, and no other cause, was at the bottom of his
wife's present dependent situation--'no, thank you, ma'am, I would
rather go alone, if you please; and if you will allow me, I should
like very much to take baby. I think you can trust me not to take her
into any place or to see any person of whom you would disapprove.'
'Indeed, I can,' said Helen cordially. 'I can trust you most
completely. You shall take baby, and you shall go where you like, and
stay as long as you like, and,' she added, laying her hand gently on
Mrs. Jenkins's shoulder, as she stooped over the nursing chair, 'never
think it necessary to tell me more than you wish, never think that I
wish to drive your confidence faster than its natural pace.'
Then she immediately left the room, and Mrs. Jenkins, after a few
minutes, got herself and the child ready and went out.
Miss Montressor was very much pleased with the aspect of affairs in
New York. For the first time in her life, she felt herself a person of
real and indubitable importance; the reception had pleased her; she
was charmed with the look of the city, and delighted with her quarters
at Fifth-avenue Hotel; the largeness and liberality of all the
arrangements for public comfort, which cannot fail to strike the
newly-arrived visitor in New York, duly impressed themselves upon Miss
Montressor, and she had hardly become accustomed to her large and
pleasant rooms, she was still discovering new perfections in them, and
finding out points of advantage in everything American over everything
English, when she was told that a person wished to see her.
Visions of eager strangers bent on obtaining her autograph and
photograph, dreams of interviewing, even notions of a sharp contention
between rival managers, flashed in a moment across her lively
imagination, as she requested that the person--no indication of the
sex of the applicant had been given--should be invited to walk up.
Miss Montressor was already very handsomely dressed, so that nothing
remained but for her to assume a statuesque and striking attitude in
which to await the arrival of her visitor. Half a minute sufficed to
show her that her preparations were thrown away: no fashionable
lounger, no splendidly-dressed lady, no eager man of business, was
this visitor who thus early claimed admittance to her; only a
plainly-dressed woman, carrying an infant in her arms, who stretched
her disengaged hand eagerly towards her with a glad cry of, 'Clara!
Clara!'
Miss Montressor recoiled--to do her justice, it was only for a
moment--the next she took the woman's hand, and saying, 'Hush! do not
speak so loud,' kissed her.
'O, how glad I am to see you, Clara! You see, your grand new name
comes quite easy to me. I have never forgotten that you told me not to
call you Matty any more. How glad I was when I heard you were coming
out, and though at first I took it very unkind that you did not write
to tell me, I soon knew it was because you were sure I should see it
in the papers.'
The speaker had seated herself, loosened her shawl, and taken off her
bonnet before Miss Montressor had recovered from the slight constraint
of the first surprise.
'Yes,' she said, 'I am very glad, indeed, to see you; but you have put
me in a mortal fright. I don't want to be unkind, you know--and you're
a sensible woman--only think how it would ruin me if Jenkins came
about after me here.'
'Jenkins can't, my dear soul.' said the other. 'He is away, he ain't
in New York; and if he was he would do nothing to harm you, bless you.
He and I both understand that we must keep our distance from you
now--not that you're not a good sister, as you always was and always
will be, but for your sake and ourselves too--only you must forgive my
coming to you. I really couldn't bear it, and I knew it was all safe;
it is such a time since I have seen you, and you have done such a deal
in the time. Only to think, Clara, of your being a regular star, and
leading lady at the Thespian.'
Miss Montressor laughed a good-natured laugh, but with a peculiar
sound in it, which comes of a superior knowledge of the world and a
truer test of greatness than that of the speaker.
'My dear, you have got very funny notions about me. I have not done
badly; but as to the great things, I have not many of them to count up,
and this is the very first really big chance I have had.'
'Don't be afraid that I shall spoil it,' said Bess, laying the
sleeping child comfortably in a corner of a luxurious settee, and
seating herself beside Miss Montressor, with one arm placed fondly
round her neck, while her honest gray eyes, full of tears, looked
searchingly in the other's face. 'I would rather never see you for
half my life than harm you, dear; and I suppose it would harm you,
even in this country, where everybody is free and equal, they say, if
you were known to have a servant for a sister?'
'A servant, Bess!' said Miss Montressor with surprise and displeasure.
'How is that? What do you mean?'
'Just what I say to you. I am a servant. I am a nurse in a very good
family here in town; it is a good place, and I am happy, trusted,
useful, and comfortable.'
'Nurse!' said Miss Montressor; 'is that your nurse-child, then? I
thought it was your own.'
'Mine? O dear no. My baby was a poor little cripple, and he was taken
away from all his troubles a little while ago. Jenkins was leaving me
for a profitable job he had got, and I could not stand the loneliness;
besides we were very poor, and so I took a place. It is Mrs.
Griswold's, in Fifth-avenue, and I get along very well indeed. Mrs.
Griswold is alone, like myself. Her husband is in Europe; and she gave
me leave to come here to-day, and to bring the child, so as I might be
free, as kind as possible.'
'Fifth-avenue?' said Miss Montressor; 'why, that's a fashionable part
of New York. I know that much, though I have only been one night in
the place. I knew it before, however. This lady must be a person of
importance. My dear Bess, you didn't let out to her where you were
coming to?'
'I did not,' said Mrs. Jenkins. 'I only told her some one had come to
New York that I wanted to see, and she never asked another question.
She is a perfect lady, is Mrs. Griswold, and respects everybody's
confidence. She will ask me nothing when I get back; and when you meet
her, I am sure you need not be afraid she will know that the famous
Miss Montressor is her nurse's sister.'
There was just the slightest tone of hurt feeling in Mrs. Jenkins's
kindly voice, and Miss Montressor, who was as kindly as herself at
bottom--only a little overlaid by the affectation of her profession
and her associations--sympathetically perceived it. 'The gentleman
talked nonsense, Bess,' she said, bestowing on her sister a hearty
hug, to which the other responded. 'Here we are now, and here we may
not be long uninterrupted, so let us have a talk while we may. What's
Jenkins about?'
'I don't know, darling. No harm, but some business of a private
nature, which will keep him away for some time--it's only a commission
agency, but I don't know in what.'
Mrs. Jenkins was the most loyal of wives, and even to her beloved
sister, the pride and delight of her life, would not have betrayed her
husband's confidence, and Miss Montressor was in reality profoundly
indifferent to the answer to the question which she had just asked.
She did not care one straw where Jenkins was, provided he was not in
New York, or what he was doing, provided his occupation was not of a
nature to expose her to any risk of contact with him. Satisfied on
this point, she was quite ready to respond to her sister's
affectionate inquisitiveness respecting herself and her concerns, and
the two plunged immediately into an animated and confidential
conversation, which brought out the best sides of the characters of
both.
Miss Montressor gave her sister a tolerably correct and exceedingly
pleasant description of her career during the years which had parted
them--years which had been very prosperous on the whole for the
friendless young actress, and not unmarked by acts of generosity
towards her sister, whose lot had been very different. That Mrs.
Jenkins was so poor as she had been when we first made her
acquaintance in Bleeker-street was not Miss Montressor's fault; she
had frequently assisted her sister and her good-for-nothing husband
out of her, at first, very moderate means; but when Bess saw that
Jenkins's good-for-nothingness was an established fact, her honesty of
purpose and truthfulness of mind made her make a resolution to accept
no more assistance from Clara. 'I don't mind working hard,' was her
mental comment on the situation, 'that he may have money to
waste--I am his wife; but Clara shall not do it. I will never touch a
shilling of her earnings more;' and she had written to Clara asking
her to abstain from sending them money.
This, to tell the truth, Miss Montressor, who had had an instinctively
bad opinion of her brother-in-law, was not sorry to do; and so her
knowledge of the Jenkinses' circumstances became slight and confused.
Her sister could not very well keep her informed of them without
appearing to ask for the aid which she had deprecated; she therefore
wrote vaguely and seldom, and Miss Montressor had acquiesced in this
latterly, contenting herself with the reflection that she was now so
extensively reported in the newspapers as being here or there, and
playing this or that engagement to more or less appreciative
audiences, that really Bess would know as much about her from the
journals as she cared to tell, for there were one or two things she
did not wish to tell. But she was brimful of news now, and Mrs.
Jenkins's impression that Miss Montressor was by far the finest
actress in existence was deepened by the narrative of triumphs which
her sister poured into her ear. It was not an untrue narrative, it was
only coloured; and yet, with all their confidence, with all their
eager talk, there was a reticence on both sides.
Miss Montressor never mentioned Mr. Dolby.
Mrs. Jenkins made no allusion to Trenton Warren.
Bess had a great deal to say respecting Mrs. Griswold; and here told
her sister, with lively pleasure, of that lady's promise to take her
with herself to the play. 'But,' she added, 'she will have the
satisfaction of seeing you before I shall, Clara. You see, I didn't
care to press her so much as asking to go on the first or second night
would have done--I thought it would not seem reasonable, and might
arouse a suspicion; and if it did not do you harm, it might make you
angry; and I would rather know you were playing for a whole week to
all New York, and turning the place upside down about you, and sit at
home without the chance of seeing you, than vex you; and so I have got
to wait patiently until my betters are served. But I know she will
keep her word; and, as I was going to say, she will see you before I
shall, for she is going to-night.'
'To-night?' said Miss Montressor; 'that's quick! Is she as fond of the
play as you are?'
'I think she is very fond of it. She tells me she and Mr. Griswold
always went to see anything that was worth seeing. But now that he is
away she is very particular indeed. She never goes anywhere except
amongst old friends, and she does that very sparingly; and as to a
theatre or concert, she has never put her foot in one since he left.'
'O, then, Mr. Griswold is not at home?' said Miss Montressor.
'O dear no! he went away before I came. I have never seen him.'
'Where is he?'
'He is in London, I believe, doing some business in a very large way.
People say Griswold is a very rich man; and I suppose he wants to be
richer, like all the rest of them, and must pay a price for it--pretty
big price too, going to the other end of the world, and leaving his
young wife alone so long. She mopes dreadfully; I am quite glad she is
going to-night, if it is only to cheer her up. She was in great
spirits at getting so good a place. It was bespoke long before you
came.'
'You had been talking about me, I suppose?'
'Of course I had. I had just told her you were the finest actress in
the world, and she had better make haste to see you.'
'Have you any idea in what part of the theatre Mrs. Griswold would be
sitting?' said Miss Montressor. 'I very seldom try to see any one from
the stage; and most times, when one does try, one cannot do it. But I
will have a look at her, if you will tell me where she will sit.'
'I can tell you,' said Mrs. Jenkins. 'She will be right at the end of
the dress circle, last seat but two, right-hand side; and I know what
she is going to wear, so that you can tell her by her dress. An old
gentleman and an old lady and their son are going with her--it is just
a party of four.'
'Tell me about her dress,' said Miss Montressor, 'and the colour of
her hair.'
'She has a quantity of very fine brown hair,' said Mrs. Jenkins,
'which matches her eyes, and she never wears any ornaments in it. The
dress she is going to wear to-night is pale blue velvet, square cut,
with turnovers, and very fine guipure lace. She always wears plain
gold ornaments with that gown, and a blue-and-gold fan.'
'Very well,' said Miss Montressor; 'I will look out for the blue
velvet and the guipure, for the gold ornaments, and the blue-and-gold
fan.'
A timepiece rang out the hour.
'Dear me, how late it is!' said Mrs. Jenkins. 'I had no notion I had
been here so long. I think I must go now, Clara; but I shall get down
to see you again before long, and you will come to see me, won't you?'
'My dear Bess, what are you thinking of?' replied her sister. 'How do
you suppose I am to keep the secret, which you see I cannot help
keeping? It is not unkindness and it is not snobbishness; it is only
for the sake of the interests which I cannot afford to throw over. If
I am seen going to Mrs. Griswold's house to visit Mrs. Griswold's
nurse, why, if she didn't find it out, as I suppose she need not--no
doubt I could always see you in a room to ourselves--just fancy how
the servants would talk. There is not one in New York, I suppose, by
this time who does not know my face; and it would be all over the
place in a few hours. No, no you must come and see me when you can. It
is muck safer, and just as easy.'
'I really think you might let me tell Mrs. Griswold,' said Mrs.
Jenkins; 'you have no notion how kind she is, and how free from
nonsense and pretence of all sorts. Her heart would be touched if I
told her how we two were left poor motherless children to the care of
our old aunt, who pushed us out into the world when we were almost
babies, to do the best we could each for ourselves, and how you did
the best, and it was very good, and I did--well, not quite the worst
after all.'
A sweet smile, though sad, passed over the frank features of the
speaker, a spark of the ever-burning lamp of life within her, that
light which glorified even so mean an object as Ephraim Jenkins.
'Good Heavens,' thought Miss Montressor, 'she actually believes in
that vagabond still, and is as fond of him as ever; she is perfectly
incorrigible!' She did not give utterance to these sentiments, but
took a most affectionate leave of her sister, even bestowing some
transient expressions of admiration upon little Mary Griswold, who was
wide awake by this time, and staring about her with a greedy curiosity
which succeeds the first stages of stolid indifference incidental to
babyhood. She did not kiss the child, she was not quite equal to
that--Mrs. Jenkins wondered how she could deny herself the
indulgence--but she patted her and chirped to her, and sent her sister
away delighted with her amiability and her affability.
How hard it was for Bess to keep from talking of her visit when she
went to assist at Mrs. Griswold's evening toilette nobody but Bess
knew. When Mrs. Griswold had gone down-stairs, and driven away in the
carriage which her friends had brought to fetch her, arrayed and
looking very handsome in the pale blue velvet gown, with the guipure
trimming, in the gold ornaments, and carrying her blue-and-gold fan,
Mrs. Jenkins indemnified herself for the unnatural restraint by
talking rapturously to the baby.
An enormous crowd of well-dressed people was flocking into Van Buren's
Varieties, to the great delight of Mr. Van Buren himself, who stood at
the checktaker's wicket, with his friend Mr. Morris Jacobs by his
side. Mr. Van Buren had that amount of vanity which is inseparable
from the theatrical profession, and to see himself recognised by
members of the crowd, to hear the flattering remarks made on his
personal appearance and his histrionic talents, rendered him supremely
happy. Mr. Jacobs, who had no pretensions to manly beauty, being a
short stout man, with an enormous head and an exaggerated Jewish cast
of countenance, contented himself with silently counting the people as
they came in, and keeping a wary eye upon the checktaker. It was a
long time since the Varieties had boasted such an audience; every seat
was taken, and the large lobbies at the back of the circles were
inconveniently crowded. There was scarcely one in the many-sided
phases of New York society which was not represented. The journals had
done their work so well, and Mr. Van Buren and Mr. Jacobs had worked
their various agencies with such success, that a desire to see the
English actress and renew acquaintance with the handsome tragedian had
been generated amongst people who had not visited the theatre for
years. Good old Knickerbocker families, prouder of the 'Van' before
their names than of the enormous fortunes which had accrued to them
from the sale of the lands which had once formed the gardens and
grounds of their old red-brick houses, and which now formed avenues
and streets in the most fashionable districts; steady church-goers,
whose wildest idea of dissipation was attendance at a lecture or a
mass meeting; men who passed their days in Wall-street, and their
evenings at the extemporised exchange in the hall of the Fifth-avenue
Hotel--all these classes seemed to have caught the infection, and were
largely represented. The regular attendants at theatrical
representations--the club men, Fifth-avenue families, the people who
wished to be thought 'in the style,' and whose newly-gotten wealth has
made of them a plutocracy as imperious, as intolerant, and as hollow
as any aristocracy in the Old World--all these were in fullest force.
Such a reunion was seldom to be seen at so late a period; and the
buzzing conversation of friends which took place before the
commencement of the play was not, as usual, about the balls and
entertainments to which they were invited, but treated rather of their
intended summer flights; the various merits of style at Saratoga,
rural quiet at Lake George, boisterous frivolity at Long Branch, or
sea breezes at Newport being fully discussed.
Behind the scenes, too, there was very great excitement. Bryan Duval
knew exactly the kind of audience he might expect to welcome his
return and Miss Montressor's first appearance; he knew that on such an
occasion his appeal ought to be made rather to the sympathies than the
intelligence of the people; and so, reserving for a further occasion
_Romeo and Juliet_, and other specimens of poetical drama in which he
knew that he and Miss Montressor could help each other largely, and
make themselves appreciated by the critical and the educated, he had
determined upon commencing his campaign with the celebrated Irish
drama, _Cruiskeen Lawn_. The American version of this play--it
underwent considerable modification when acted in the United
Kingdom--contained a goodly amount of treasonable speeches,
denunciation of British kings and British government, and therefore
greatly acceptable to that portion of the New York population which
made their entry into America through the fair haven of Castle Garden;
the dialogue, too, was sprinkled with numerous tropes and metaphors
which Bryan had carefully culled from Tom Moore's poetical works. When
there is to be added to this that it gave scope for pretty scenery,
quaint coquettish peasant dresses for Miss Montressor, much
love-making, and various astonishing feats, such as diving down a well
and rushing through a blazing cottage, for Mr. Duval himself, it was
evident that those who loved sensation were likely to be gratified.
Mr. Duval had arrived at the theatre early, donned his stage costume,
and was occupying himself in looking after the members of his troupe.
He found Mr. Covington, like most novices, in deep distress as regards
his costume, and assisted that young gentleman to make up his face,
and showed him how to wear his sword. He gave Mr. Skrymshire a little
more red eyebrow, and threw a Hibernian expression into the low
comedian's somewhat long face by the simple process of making two
thick black streaks under his nose, which imparted to that organ a
turn-up appearance. With Mrs. Regan, on the contrary, he had to tone
down the Hibernianism, that worthy old woman being desirous of
expressing her nationality by entering into a fight with her
attendant dresser. Finally, Mr. Duval knocked at Miss Montressor's
dressing-room, and being bidden to come in, stood in the doorway and
expressed his delight by clapping his hands.
'Nothing could be better, my dear,' said he. 'Why on earth didn't I
have you for the original Kathleen Mavourneen in London? If I had, I
should have made 32,000_l_. by this time. The rouge a little higher up
on the left cheek, dear, I think, and the right eyebrow, too, a
hair's-breadth longer--that will do nicely! You must take off your
rings, dear; peasant girls in Kerry don't wear blue silk stockings
either, but that's a poetical license; but I do not think the public
will stand the rings. That's right! Now just remember one thing, that
the Irish brogue is permanent, and not a temporary affliction, and
that you are sometimes in the habit of forgetting it, and talking in
your native Regent-street accent; think of that, and hold to it all
through; and if you stick at all for words--I don't think you will,
for you struck me as being letter perfect--but if you do, just say
"Arrah!" and "Bedad!" until I can get alongside and prompt you. Now,
then, it is my time to go on.'
Two minutes after, an enormous roar of applause welcomed Mr. Bryan's
return to the United States, a roar which very speedily was exceeded
twenty fold by the greeting given to Miss Montressor. There is an idea
that an American audience is not enthusiastic, but it is a false one,
for if you please them there is no people so lavish in their favour.
The ladies waved their handkerchiefs, the gentlemen cheered and
clapped their hands, the rougher portion of the community roared and
shrieked until they were hoarse, and Miss Montressor stood curtsying
and curtsying, her hands crossed over her little blue bodice, and her
eyes demurely cast upon the ground.
When silence was restored and the business of the play recommenced,
she took advantage of the first opportunity to look in the direction
where, according to Bess's information, she expected to see Mrs.
Griswold. There, accordingly, at the end of the first circle, in the
last seat but one on the right-hand side, sat a lady with a quantity
of fine brown hair, dressed in plain blue velvet and guipure lace, and
bearing a blue-and-gold fan. What caused Miss Montressor to start as
she gazed upon this face? What rendered her so oblivious for the
moment that Bryan Duval had to prompt her? Mrs. Griswold had never
been out of America, and yet Miss Montressor could have sworn she had
seen her before. Whenever she could she stole a glance at the face,
and still found it familiar to her; but it was not until nearly the
close of the play that the right idea came to her.
It came like an inspiration. 'The portrait!' she said to herself; 'the
portrait! That woman may or may not be Mrs. Griswold, but assuredly
she is the original of the portrait set in the watch which was shown
to me on the terrace at Richmond by Mr. Foster.'