The Linnet's first Flight.
There were many phases of this life in which Lord Sandilands enjoyed a
singular and an extensive popularity, many varieties of the social
scale in which his name was mentioned with respect, and not a few in
which he was regarded with far more than ordinary interest. In the
first place, he was a man well born and well bred, and did honour to
his position by his appearance, his manners, and the constant decorum
which pervaded and formed part of his life. City merchants, members of
parliament, who, having swept out their own counting-houses, of course
became rigidest Conservatives, when by those wonderful gradations
which are known to the reverent as "honest perseverance," and to the
irreverent as "lucky flukes," they rose to be heads of the firm, felt
immensely honoured by being permitted to play in the same rubber at
the Portland with the calm, quiet, self-possessed, bald-headed,
silver-fringed old nobleman, who was a model of courtesy throughout
the game, but who never missed a point or gave a chance. Young men
imbued with slang, as are the young men of the present day, dropped
the metaphor of the prize-ring, music-hall, and the _demi-monde_ villa
in the presence of the "high-dried old boy," of whose position there
could not be the smallest doubt, and who, on occasion, had shown that
he owned a tongue which could make itself felt "doosid unpleasantly,
don't you know!--kind of rough side of it, and all that sort of thing,
you know!" To women he was always scrupulously attentive, and was in
consequence in the greatest favour amongst them. The fact of his
wearing the willow for his old love, Lady Lucy Beecher, was _répandu_
from Belgrave- to Grosvenor-squares; and the story, which had won for
him such affectionate interest amongst those who were young at the
time when, as all supposed, he was jilted by the fair one, and bore
his jilting so manfully, yet lived amongst their descendants, and
caused Lord Sandilands to be regarded as "a sweet old thing," who had
suffered in Love's cause, by _débutantes_ who were unborn when John
Borlase first won Gertrude Gautier's childish heart.
And yet Lord Sandilands was by no means a representative man. For
politics he cared little or nothing. On special occasions he went down
to the House and voted with his party, but in that was comprised his
whole Parliamentary career. He never spoke and never intrigued; the
Custom-house and the Inland Revenue enrolled no members who had
obtained their appointments at his instance; his personal appearance
was unknown to the private secretary of the Postmaster-general; nor
was his handwriting to be found in the bulging pigeon-holes of the
Treasury. Many years had elapsed since he had arrayed himself in the
charming court-costume which intelligence has retained from the
customs of the dark ages, and presented himself at the levees of his
sovereign. At flower-shows and races, at afternoon Park or morning
Row, at garden-parties or _fêtes champêtres_, at none of those
gatherings where pleasant Frivolity rules, was Lord Sandilands
known--at none, rather, save one--the Opera. There he was _facile
princeps_; there he was king of the place. The check-takers and the
box-keepers knew him as well as they knew the lessee, and stood in as
much awe of him. The principal librarians, Messrs. Ivory, MacBone, and
Déloge, prostrated themselves before him, and were always most anxious
to learn his opinion of any novelty, as on that opinion they were
accustomed to base their calculation of profit or loss. With Schrink,
the critic of the _Statesman_--a cynical, humpbacked man, who had
a spite against mankind, and "took it out" in writing venomous
articles abusive of the world in general, and the musical world in
particular--Lord Sandilands was the only man who had the smallest
weight; and many a neophyte has owed the touch of oil which she
received, instead of the pickling which threatened her, to a kind word
dropped by his lordship in the seclusion of that box on the pit tier
to which he alone was admitted, where Schrink sat nursing his leg,
biting his nails, and glowering with fury alike at singers and
audience. Behind the scenes his popularity was equally great; the
sulky tenors gave up sucking their cough-lozenges and grinding their
teeth at his approach, and welcomed him with courteous salutations;
the basso roused himself from his stertorous sleep; the prima donna
gave up that shrill altercation with her snuffy old mother; the
property-men and the scene-shifters, who dashed indiscriminately
against the gilded youth who roamed vacantly about, took special care
to steer clear of Lord Sandilands, and touched their paper caps to him
as he passed by; and the little ballet-women and chorus-singers
dropped deepest curtsies to his lordship, and felt that so long as he
was satisfied with them their pound a week was safe.
Had he any interest in the management? That was a moot point. Ever
since the publication of the bankrupt's schedule made patent the fact
that a well-known advertising teacher of languages was identical with
an even more notorious agricultural-implement maker, one has been
afraid to give any positive opinion as to who is who in this most
extraordinary world of ours. Mr. Boulderson Munns was the responsible
lessee of the Grand Opera, and held the reins of management; but whose
was the money embarked in the speculation it was impossible to say.
Young Jeffcock, the China merchant (Jeffcock Brothers of Shanghai),
used to attend all the rehearsals, had boxes always at his command,
and was treated with great deference by Mr. Boulderson Munns; but in
all these respects he was equalled by Jack Clayton of the Coldstreams,
who was notoriously impecunious, who owed even for his button-hole
bouquets, and--who spent all his ready-money in hansom cabs and
sprat-suppers for the _corps de ballet_. Tommy Toshington, who knew
most things, declared that Lord Sandilands had no monetary interest in
the house, but that his position gave him greater influence with Mr.
Boulderson Munns than was enjoyed by any of the others. "Sandilands,
sir," Tommy would say, when he had dined well at somebody else's
expense,--"Sandilands is the man to give a stamp to a thing of that
sort! Don't know what there is in him, but there's something that when
he says a musical thing's all right, it's safe to go. Why, when that
old gray horse and green brougham of his are seen at the door of
Canzonet's shop, as they are day after day in the season, it's worth a
fortune to Sam Canzonet--he told me so himself. Money? Not a sixpence,
not a sous. When he was John Borlase he was a regular screw, and he's
not improved with age; but it is not money Munns wants out of him.
Jeffcock? nonsense! Jack Clayton? bah! The real capitalist there, sir,
is-;" and here Mr. Toshington whispered in your ear the name of a
well-known Evangelical M.P., whom you would have as soon accredited
with Mormonism as with connection with theatrical affairs; and having
made his point, hobbles off chuckling.
There was truth in this, although it was said by Tommy Toshington.
There was no doubt that Lord Sandilands had powerful interest in all
the ramifications of the musical world; and though this fact must for
a long time have been patent to him, he never thought of it, never, at
least, felt it so strongly as when he was turning over in his mind the
curious chance which had brought him face to face with his daughter,
and had been casting about as to how he best could serve her. That the
girl had musical talent he was certain. He had served too long an
apprenticeship, all amateur though it was, to his favourite science
not to be thoroughly convinced of that; and he knew perfectly well
that Grace Lambert's voice and style were both far beyond those
possessed by most of the gifted pupils of the Academy of Music: for
the most part delightful young persons, who came out with a gush, and
went in with a run; who gave immense delight to their personal friends
at the few concerts at which they sung gratuitously; and who may,
according to the orthodox ending of the children's tales, "have lived
happy ever after," but who, at all events, passed the remainder of
their lives in obscurity, and were never heard of again.
No; Grace Lambert--what the deuce had made her assume so unromantic a
name? Gertrude Keith was fifty times as pretty--Grace Lambert was not
to be measured by the usual bushel. Her voice, as Lord Sandilands
recollected it at Carabas House, was one of the sweetest, the most
_trainante_ and bewitching which, in all his great experience, he had
ever listened to; and there was something about her personal
appearance, her hair and _tournure_, which completely lifted her out
of the common. "Psht!" said the old gentleman to himself, as he lay
back in his easy-chair, revolving all these things in his mind--"how
many of 'em have I seen? There was Miss Lavrock--charmin' voice she
had, bright and shrill, like a bird's pipe--a little fat, dumpy body,
that made the plank in the _Sonnambula_ creak beneath the weight of
her ten stone, and looked more like a cook than Lucia; and there was
Miss Greenwood--Miss Bellenden Greenwood, I beg her pardon--with her
saucy black eyes, and her red-and-white complexion, and her corkscrew
ringlets--gad, how horrible! But this child is marvellously
_distinguée_ and bred-looking; the way her head is set on her
shoulders, the shape of her head, the curve of her nostrils, and the
delicacy of her hands--I'm always telling myself that blood's all
bosh, as they say in their modern slang; but 'pon my word, one finds
there's something in it after all!"
Lord Sandilands was a constant visitor now at the pretty Bayswater
villa, and had conducted himself with such courtesy and kindness as to
render his presence anything but disagreeable to Grace. The time
during which she had lived with her husband, short though it had been,
had been quite long enough to give her an unconquerable aversion for
slanginess, and bad taste, and enable her to appreciate the spirit of
the gentleman, which showed itself in every action, in every word of
the old nobleman. Nor did Lord Sandilands, after a little time, care
to conceal the great interest which he took in Miss Lambert's career.
While carefully veiling everything which might show the relationship
in which he stood to the young girl, and while never ceasing to
impress on Mrs. Bloxam--much to that worthy woman's secret annoyance,
for was she not the possessor of a secret even more mysterious and
more compromising in connection with Gertrude--the necessity of
reticence, Lord Sandilands confessed to Miss Lambert that, actuated by
the purest and most honourable motives, he wished to place himself at
her service in advancing her interests in the profession which she had
chosen, and in which she was evidently destined to take a high
position, and in being of use to her in society. And in both these
ways the old nobleman was of the greatest assistance to the
_débutante_. As has been before said, his verdict in musical matters
was immensely thought of; while, though it must be acknowledged that
the open and avowed support of many elderly noblemen would be anything
but fortunate in securing the interests of a young musical lady with
the members of her own sex, that of such a known Galahad as Lord
Sandilands had due weight, and his protégée, duly escorted by Mrs.
Bloxam, "went everywhere." "Everywhere" included Lady Lowndes'; and
the Marchioness of Carabas knew of this, as how could she do
otherwise? being a diligent student of the _Morning Post_, in addition
to having it told her by seven of her dearest and most intimate
friends, who called for the express purpose of startling her with the
information during the next afternoon. But the Marchioness knew of
Miss Lambert's appearance at Lady Lowndes' house, and yet received
her the next day with a welcome which had in it even more than the
usual _empressement_. Why? impossible to say, save that people
were beginning to talk more and more of Miss Grace Lambert's
voice and appearance, and specially of her manners. "Something
odd about her, don't you know--frigid, unimpressionable,
something-which-one-can't-make-out sort of thing, you know!" the
ladies said; while the delightful creature in the Blues, to whom she
had been specially introduced with the view of eliciting the speaking
of her heart, declared she was "doosid hard nut to crack," and
something which had beaten him, the delightful creature in the Blues,
"by chalks." So that Lady Carabas, carefully noting all the phases of
society, felt more bound than ever to "keep in" with the _protégée_
whom she had introduced; and the ambrosial footmen with the powdered
locks went more frequently than ever between the halls of Carabas and
the Bayswater villa, and the much-monogramed notes which they conveyed
were warmer than ever in their expressions of admiration and
attachment, and hopes of speedily seeing their most charming &c.; and
more than ever was Lady Carabas Miss Grace Lambert's dearest friend.
But Lady Carabas was a very woman after all, and as such her
friendship for her dearest friend stopped at a certain point; she
brooked no interference in matters where her Soul (with the big S) was
concerned. Other women, not possessing so much worldly knowledge,
might have given their dearest friends opportunity for intimacy with
the temporary possessor of the Soul, and then quarrelled with them for
causing the Soul to be depressed with the pangs of jealousy and
distrust. Lady Carabas knew better than that. He whose image the Soul,
however temporarily, enshrined must be kept sacred and apart, so far
as it was possible to keep him, and must be troubled with no
temptation. Hence it happened that Gilbert Lloyd, then regnant over
Lady Carabas' Soul, was never permitted to meet, or scarcely even to
hear of, the young lady in whom he would have recognised his wife.
Of Miles Challoner, however, Miss Grace Lambert saw a great deal; not,
indeed, at Carabas House. Ever since the eventful evening of his
introduction to Mr. Gilbert Lloyd, Miles had crossed the threshold of
Lady Carabas' mansion as seldom as social decency, in deference to the
Marchioness's constantly renewed invitations, would permit him. The
invitations were constantly renewed; for Lady Carabas had taken a
liking to the young man, and, indeed, the idea had crossed her
ladyship's mind that when Gilbert Lloyd's time of office had
expired--and his tenure had been already more than the average--she
could scarcely do better than intrust Miles Challoner with the secret
of the existence of her Soul, and permit him to share in its
aspiration. There was a freshness, she thought, about him which would
suit her admirably; a something so different from those _fades_ and
jaded worldlings among whom her life was passed. But though the
invitations were constant, the response to them was very limited
indeed, and only on one or two occasions subsequent to his
introduction did Miles avail himself of the hospitality of Carabas
House. On none of these occasions did he meet Mr. Gilbert Lloyd. The
same reason which induced Lady Carabas to manoeuvre in keeping her
friend for the time being from meeting her handsome protégée suggested
to her the expediency of preventing any possible collision between the
actual and the intended sharers of her Soul; collision, as Lady
Carabas thought, by no means unlikely to occur, as she was a shrewd
observant woman of the world, and had noticed the odd behaviour of
both gentlemen at the time of their introduction.
But Lord Sandilands, loving Miles Challoner for his own and for his
father's sake, and noticing the strong impression which Miss Lambert's
voice and beauty had made upon the young man, had taken him to the
Bayswater villa, and formally introduced him; and both Mrs. Bloxam and
Grace had "hoped they should see more of him." He was a gentleman. You
could not say much more of him than that; but what an immense amount
is implied in that word! He was not very bright; he never said clever
or smart things--consequently he kept himself from evil-speaking,
lying, and slandering; he had no facility for gossip--consequently he
never intruded on the ladies the latest news of the _demi-monde_
heroines, nor the back-stairs' sweepings of the Court; he was earnest
and manly, and full of youthful fervour on various subjects, which he
discussed in a bright, modest way which won Mrs. Bloxam's by no means
impulsive heart, and at the same time made that impulsive heart beat
quickly with its knowledge of Gertrude's secret: a secret with which
the unexpressed but impossible-to-be-mistaken admiration of this young
man might interfere.
Impossible-to-be-mistaken admiration? Quite impossible. Lord
Sandilands--though years had gone by since he had been a proficient in
that peculiar vocabulary, whose expressions are undefined and
untranslatable--recognised it in an instant, and scarcely knew whether
to be pleased or vexed as the idea flashed upon him. He loved Miles
like his own son, believed in all his good qualities, recognised and
admitted that the young man had all in him requisite to make a good,
loving husband; his social status, too, was such as would be most
desirable for a girl in Gertrude's position. But Lord Sandilands knew
that any question of his natural daughter's marriage would entail the
disclosure of the relation in which he stood to her; and he dreaded
the ridicule of the world, dreaded the banter of the club, dreaded
more than all the elucidation of the fact that the _répandu_ notion of
his wearing the willow for Lady Lucy Beecher had been all nonsense,
and that he had consoled himself for her ladyship's defalcation by an
intrigue of a very different calibre.
"I should be laughed at all over town," the old gentleman said to
himself; "and though it must come, by George, it's best to put off the
evil day as long as possible. I don't know. I'm an old fellow now, and
have not as keen an eye for these things as I had; but _I_ don't
perceive any sign of a _tendresse_ on Gertrude's part; and, all things
considered, I'm glad of it."
And Lord Sandilands was right. There was not the smallest sign of
any feeling for Miles Challoner in Grace Lambert. Had she had the
least spark of such a feeling kindling in her heart, it is very
doubtful--whether she would have permitted it to be remarked in her
outward manner; but her heart was thoroughly free from any such
sentiment. She liked Miles Challoner--liked his frank bearing, and was
touched, after her fashion, by the respect which he showed her. It was
something quite new to her, this old-fashioned courtesy from this
young man. Of course, during her schooldays she had seen nothing of
mankind, save as exemplified in the foreign professors of languages
and music, whose courtesy was for the most part of the organ-monkey
order--full of bows and grins. After her marriage, the set in which
she was thrown--though to a certain extent kept in order by the
feeling that Gilbert Lloyd was "a swell," and had peculiar notions as
to how his wife should be treated--never had scrupled to talk to her
without removing their hats, or to smoke in her presence. And though
the gentlemen she had met at Carabas House had been guilty of neither
of these solecisms, there had been a certain _laissez-aller_ air about
them, which Grace Lambert had ascribed to a _tant soit peu_ disdain of
her artistic position; the real fact being that to assume a vice if he
have it not, and to heap as much mud as possible on that state of life
into which it has pleased Providence to call him, is the chosen and
favourite occupation of a high-born and wealthy young man of the
present day. So Grace Lambert recognised Miles Challoner as a
gentleman _pur sang_, and appreciated him accordingly; had a bright
glance and a kindly word of welcome for him when he appeared at the
Bayswater villa, made him at home by continuing her singing-practice
while he remained, made him happy by asking him when he was coming
again as he said his adieux; but as to having what Lord Sandilands
called a _tendresse_ for the man, as to being in love with him--Love
came into Gertrude Keith's heart three months before she walked out of
the laundry-window over the roof of the school-room, and stepped down
on to the driving-seat of the hansom cab, in which Gilbert Lloyd was
waiting to take her off to the church and make her his wife. Love
died out of Gertrude Lloyd's heart within three months of that
marriage-day; and as for Grace Lambert, she never had known and never
intended to know what the sentiment meant. So, so far, Lord Sandilands
was right; and the more he watched the conduct of the two young people
when alone towards each other--and he watched it narrowly enough--the
more he took occasion to congratulate himself on his own perspicacity
and knowledge of the world. But at the same time he reflected that the
life which Miss Grace Lambert was leading was but a dull one, that she
took but little interest in these society successes; and he took
occasion to glean from her what he knew before--that her heart and
soul were bound up in her profession, and that she was by no means
satisfied by the hitherto limited opportunities afforded her of
showing what she really could do therein. This ambition of the girl's
to make for herself name and fame in the musical world by no means
jarred against the ideas of the old nobleman. He should have to
acknowledge her as his daughter some day or other, that he saw clearly
enough; and it would be infinitely preferable to him, and would render
him infinitely less ridiculous in the eyes of that infernal bantering
club-world of which he stood so much in awe, if he could point to a
distinguished artist of whom all the world was talking in praise, and
say, "This is my child," than if he had to bear the brunt of the
parentage of a commonplace and unknown person. There were half-a-dozen
other ladies occupying a somewhat similar position to Miss Lambert's
in society, as queens of amateur singing sets; and though she was
acknowledged by all disinterested people to be far and away the best
of them, it was necessary that she should have some public
ratification of her merits, or, at all events, that some professional
opinion, independent of that of Da Capo or her other singing-master,
who would naturally be biassed, should be given. The other ladies were
daughters and wives of rich men, who sang a little for their friends'
and a great deal for their own amusement; but Miss Lambert's career
was to be strictly professional, and a touchstone of a very different
kind was to be applied to her merits.
That was a happy time for Miles Challoner, perhaps really the happiest
in his life. His first love, at least the first passion really
deserving that name, was nascent within him, and all the environing
circumstances of his life were tinged with the roseate hue which is
the necessary "local colour" of the situation. Moreover, his feelings
towards Gertrude were at present in that early stage of love in which
they could be borne and indulged in without worrying and making him
miserable. She was the nicest woman he had ever seen, and there was
something marvellously attractive about her, something which he could
not explain, but the magnetic influence of which he knew it impossible
to resist. So he abandoned himself to the enjoyment of this pleasant
feeling, enjoying it doubly perhaps, because up to this point it had
been, and seemed to promise to continue to be, a mild and equable
flame; not scorching and withering everything round it, but burning
with a pleasant, steady heat. You see, at present Mr. Challoner had
not seen much, if anything, of Miss Lambert alone; his admiration
sprung from observation of her under the most commonplace
circumstances, and his passion had never been quickened and stung into
fiercer action by the thought of rivalry. True, that whenever Miss
Lambert went into society she was always surrounded by a bragging
crowd of representatives of the gilded youth of the period, who did
their best to flatter and amuse her; attempts in which, if her grave
face and formal manner might be accepted in evidence, they invariably
and signally failed. And at the Bayswater villa he might be said to
have her entirely to himself, he being the only young man admitted
there, with the exception occasionally of some musical professor,
native or foreign; the delightful creature in the Blues, and other
delightful creatures who had made Miss Lambert's acquaintance in
society, having tried to obtain the _entrée_ in vain.
So Miles went on pleasantly in a happy dream, which was very shortly
to come to an end; for Lord Sandilands, thinking it full time that
some definite steps should be taken in regard to Gertrude's
professional future, arrived one morning at the Bayswater villa, and
was closeted with the young lady for more than two hours. During this
interview, the old gentleman, without betraying his relationship with
her, told Gertrude that, far beyond anything else, he had her
interests at heart; that he had perceived her desire for professional
distinction; and that, as he saw it was impossible to combat it, he
was ready then and there to advance it to the best of his ability.
Only, as the training was somewhat different, it was necessary that
she should make up her mind whether she would prosecute her career in
the concert-room or on the operatic stage.
It was a pity Miles Challoner was not present to mark the brilliant
flush which lit up Gertrude's usually pale cheeks, the fire which
flashed in her eyes, and the proud curl of her small lips, as this
proposition was made to her. For a few moments she hesitated, a
thousand thoughts rushed through her mind--thoughts of her real
position, retrospect of her past life--a wild, feverish vision of
future triumph, where she, the put-aside and rejected of Gilbert
Lloyd, the pupil-teacher of the suburban boarding-school, should be
queen regnant, and have some of the greatest and highest in the
kingdom for her slaves. As _prima donna_ of the Opera, what position
might she not assume, or where should her sway stop, if ambition were
to be gratified? And then the old cynical spirit arose within her, and
she thought of the tinsel and the sham, the gas and the gewgaws; and
the light died out of her eyes, and her cheeks resumed their usual
pallor, and it was a perfectly cold hand which she placed in Lord
Sandilands', as she said to him, without the smallest tremor in her
voice, "You have indeed proved yourself a perfectly disinterested
friend, my lord; how could I do better than leave the decision on my
future career in your hands?"
Lord Sandilands was rather unprepared for this speech, and a little
put out by it. He had an objection to accepting responsibility in
general; and in this instance, where he really felt deeply, he thought
naturally that Gertrude would scarcely think of him with much
gratitude if his choice did not eventuate so happily for her as he
intended. However, there was nothing else to be done; so he raised the
cold hand to his lips with old-fashioned gallantry, and promised to
"think the matter over," and see her again on the following day. With
many people, to think a matter over means to discuss it with someone
else. Lord Sandilands was of this class; and though he accepted the
commission so glibly from Gertrude, he never had the smallest
intention of deciding upon it without taking excellent advice. That
advice he sought at the hands of Mr. Déloge, the "librarian" of
Jasmin-street.
An odd man, Mr. Déloge--a character worth a passing study. His father,
who had been a "librarian" before him, had amassed a large sum of
money in those good old days when speculations in opera-boxes and
stall-tickets were highly remunerative to those who knew how to work
them, had given his son an excellent education abroad, and had hoped
to see him take a superior position in life. But, to his parent's
disappointment, young Déloge, returning from the Continent with a
knowledge of several languages, and an acquaintance with life and the
world which serves anyone possessing it better than any other
knowledge whatsoever, determined to follow the family business, adding
to it and grafting on to it such other operations as seemed to be
analogous. These operations were so admirably selected and so well
conducted, that before the old man died he had quite acquiesced in his
son's decision, and at the time of our story there was no more
thriving man in London. The old-fashioned shop in Jasmin-street bore
the name over the door still; but that name was now widely known
throughout England and Europe. No Secretary of State was harder worked
than Mr. Déloge, who yet found time to hunt once or twice a week, to
live at Maidenhead during the summer, and at Brighton during the
autumn, and generally to enjoy life. In person he was a tall thin man,
with an excellently-made wig and iron-gray whiskers, always calm and
staid in demeanour, and always irreproachably dressed after the
quietest style. He looked like a middle-aged nobleman whose life had
been passed in diplomacy; and people who asked who he was--and most
people did, so striking was his appearance--were surprised to hear
that he was only "the man who sells the stalls, don't you know?" in
Jasmin-street. Nothing pleased him more than to observe this
astonishment, and he used to delight in telling a story against
himself in illustration of it. One day, in the course of business, he
had occasion to wait on a very great lady, one of his customers. He
drove to the house in his perfectly-appointed brougham, and the door
was opened by a strange footman, to whom he gave his card for
transmission to her grace. The footman led the way into the library,
poked the fire, wheeled the largest arm-chair in front of it, and
placed the _Morning Post_ in the visitor's hands. Mr. Déloge had
scarcely finished smiling at the extreme empressement of the man's
manner, when the door was opened, and the same servant pushed his head
in. "Her grace don't want no hop'ra-box to-night," were his charming
words, delivered in his most offensive manner. The scales had fallen
from his eyes, and the great creature found he had deceived himself
into being civil to a "person in business."
Mr. Déloge had gone through what to many men would have been an entire
day's business in the morning before Lord Sandilands called upon him.
He had read through an enormous mass of letters, and glanced over
several newspapers--had pencilled hints for answers on some, and
dictated replies to others at full length. His business seemed to have
ramifications everywhere: in Australia, where he had an agent
travelling with the celebrated Italian Opera _troupe_, the soprano,
basso, tenor, and baritone, who were a little used up and bygone in
England, but who were the greatest creatures that had ever visited
Australia--so at least said the _Wong-Wong Kangaroo_, a copy of which
the agent forwarded with his letter; in America, where Schlick's
opera, in which Mr. Déloge possessed as much copyright as the
large-souled American music-sellers could not pillage him of, was a
great success; in India, whence he had that morning received a large
order for pianos--for Mr. Déloge is not above the manufacture and
exportation of musical instruments, and, indeed realises a handsome
yearly revenue from that source alone. Before eleven o'clock he had
come to terms, and signed and sealed an agreement with Mr. McManus,
the eminent tragedian, for a series of readings and recitations
throughout the provinces, thus giving the "serious" people who
objected to costume and gas a quasi-theatrical entertainment which
they swallowed eagerly; he had sent a cheque for ten pounds to Tom
Lillibullero, who was solacing his imprisonment in Whitecross-street
by translating a French libretto for the house of Déloge; he had given
one of his clerks a list of a few friends to be asked down to
Maidenhead the next Sunday--all art people, writers, painters,
singers, who would have a remarkably jolly day, and enjoy themselves,
as they always do, more than any other set of people in the world 5
and he had written half-a-dozen private notes--one among the rest
addressed to the Marchioness of Carabas, telling her that as her
ladyship particularly wished it he should be happy to purchase and
publish Mr. Ferdinand Wisk's operetta, which had been performed with
such success at Carabas House, but that he must stipulate that the
operetta must be dedicated to her ladyship, and that each _morceau_
must have a vignette from her ladyship's portrait on the cover. Mr.
Déloge had not half completed his business for the day when he was
informed, through the snake-like elastic pipe that lay at the
right-hand of his writing-table, that Lord Sandilands was in the shop
and asking to see him, but he gave orders that his visitor should at
once be admitted. He was far too recognisant of the old nobleman's
position in the musical world to have kept him waiting or allowed him
to feel the smallest slight, if indeed there had not been, as there was,
a feeling of respect between the two men, which, had they been on the
same social footing, would have been strong friendship.
"How d'ye do, Déloge?" said Lord Sandilands, walking up and heartily
shaking hands; "this is very kind of you, my good fellow, to allow me
to come and bother you when you're over head and ears in business, as
you always are--very kind indeed."
"I don't want to say a pretty thing, my dear lord," said Mr. Déloge,
"but when I can't find leisure from my business to attend to you when
you want to see me, I'd better give that business up."
"Thanks, very much. Well, what's the news? Been to Tenterden-street
lately? Any very promising talent making itself heard up there, eh?"
"No, my lord, none indeed--I'm glad to say," replied Déloge with a
laugh.
"Glad to say! eh, Déloge? that's not very patriotic, is it?"
"O, I did not mean to confine my gladness to the dearth of native
talent. If you only knew, my dear lord, how I'm hunted cut of life by
promising talent, or by talent which considers itself promising and
wants to perform, you would know fully how to appreciate, as I do,
good steady-going mediocrity."
"By Jove, Déloge! this is not very encouraging for me! I came to ask
your advice on the question of bringing out a young lady of
unquestionable genius."
"Unless her genius is quite unquestionable I should advise you to let
the young lady remain in. Why, think for yourself, my dear lord; you
know these things as well as I do, and have every singer for the past
quarter of a century in your mind. Run over the list and tell me which
of them--always excepting Miss Lavrock--has made anything like a
success."
"Ha!" said Lord Sandilands, "yes, the Lavrock--what a voice, what a
charming trill! not but that I think Miss Lambert--"
"Is it a question of Miss Lambert--Miss Grace Lambert?"
"It is. Miss Lambert has decided upon adopting the musical profession,
and my object in coming here was to consult you as to the best means
to give effect to her wishes."
"That's quite another affair. I have only heard Miss Lambert once. I
was engaged by Lady Lowndes to pilot Miramella and Jacowski to one of
her ladyship's wonderful gatherings, and after they had finished their
duet we went to the dining-room to get some of that curious
refreshment which is always provided there for the artists. They had
scarcely begun to eat when the whole house rang with a trill of melody
so clear and bird-like that the Miramella only drank half her
glass of sherry, and Jacowski put down his sandwich--I don't wonder at
it--untasted. We all rushed upstairs, and found that the singer was
Miss Grace Lambert. She sang so exquisitely, and produced such an
immense effect, that Madame Miramella was seized with one of her
violent headaches, and was obliged to be taken home."
Lord Sandilands was delighted. "Poor Miramella!" said he, chuckling
quietly, "and Ger-- and Miss Lambert was successful?"
"Successful! I have not heard such a combination of voice and style
for years! But I thought she was merely an amateur, and had no idea
she intended to take to the profession."
"Yes, she is determined to do so; and as I take the greatest interest
in her, I have come to ask your advice. Now, should she select the
concert-room or the stage as her arena?"
"The stage! the stage!" cried Déloge excitedly; "there can be no
question about it, my dear lord! With that personal appearance and
that voice, she must have the whole world at her feet, and make her
fortune in a very few years. Any dumpy little woman who can sing
tolerably in tune, and face an audience without the music in her hand
visibly trembling, will do for a concert-room; but this young lady has
qualities which--Good heavens! fancy the effect she'd make in Opera,
with that head and that charming figure!"
"My good friend!" said the delighted old nobleman, "you are becoming
positively enthusiastic. In these days of total suppression of
feelings, it does one good to hear you. I am charmed to see you think
so highly of my _protégée_. Now tell met what's the first step to be
taken towards bringing her out?"
"I should let Munns hear her," said Mr. Déloge.
And Lord Sandilands' face fell, and he looked very grave. Why? Well,
the mention of Mr. Munns' name was the first thing that had jarred
disagreeably on Lord Sandilands' ears and feelings in connection with
Gertrude's intended adoption of the musical profession; and it _did_
jar. Why, Lord Sandilands knew perfectly, but could scarcely express.
Who was Mr. Boulderson Munns? You might have asked the question in a
dozen different sets of society, and received a different answer in
each. What was his birth or parentage no one, even the veriest club
scandal-monger, ever assumed to know; and as to his education, he had
none. He had been so long "before the public" that people ad forgotten
whence he came, or in what capacity his _début_ was made. Only a very
few men remembered, or cared to remember, that when Peponelli's
management of the Grand Scandinavian Opera came to smash disastrously,
by reason of Miramella, Jacowski, Courtasson, and Herzogenbusch, the
celebrated singers, revolting and going over in a body to the Regent
Theatre, the opposition house, Messrs. Mossop and Isaacson, of
Thavies' Inn, put themselves in communication with the agents of the
Earl of Haremarch, the ground landlord, and proposed their client, Mr.
Boulderson Munns, as tenant. Lord Haremarch's agent, old Mr.
Finchingfield, of New-square, Lincoln's Inn, looked askance through
his double eyeglass at Messrs. Mossop and Isaacson's letter. He
had heard of those gentlemen, truly, and knew them to be in a
very large way of business, connected generally with people "in
trouble"--criminals and bankrupts. Of Mr. Boulderson Munns, the
gentleman proposed as tenant, Mr. Finchingfield had never heard; but
on consulting with Mr. Leader, his articled clerk, a young gentleman
who saw a good deal of "life," he learned that Mr. Munns had been for
some time lessee of the Tivoli Gardens over the water, and was
supposed to be a shrewd, clever, not too scrupulous man, who knew his
business and attended to it. Mr. Finchingfield was a man of the world.
"I don't know anything about such kind of speculations, and indeed it
is strongly against my advice that my Lord Haremarch permits himself
to be mixed up in such matters," he said. "But I should imagine that
from a person tendering for a theatre you do not require a certificate
of character from the clergyman of his parish; and if Mr. Munns is
prepared to deposit a year's rent in advance, and to enter into the
requisite sureties for the due performance of the various covenants of
the lease, I see no reason why I should not recommend my lord to
accept him as his tenant." And Mr. Leader, remembering this
conversation, made a point of letting Mr. Munns know as soon as
possible that if he, Mr. Munns, should get the theatre it would be
owing entirely to his, Mr. Leader's, representations,--a statement
made by Mr. Leader with a view to the future acquisition of gratuitous
private boxes, and that much coveted _entrée_ known as "going behind."
So Mr. Boulderson Munns became the tenant of the Grand Scandinavian
Opera House, and took up his position in society, which at once began
to pick holes in his garments, and to say all the unpleasant things it
could against him. Some people said his name was not Boulderson at
all, nor Munns much; that his real appellation was Muntz, and that he
was the son of a German Jew sugar-baker in St. George's-in-the-East.
People who professed to know said that Mr. Munns commenced his career
in the useful though not-much-thought-of profession of a chiropodist,
which they called a corn-cutter, in which capacity he took in hand the
feet of Polesco Il Diavolo, the gentleman who made a rushing descent
down a rope with fireworks in his heels at the Tivoli Gardens; and
that by these means the youthful Muntz was brought into relations with
Waddle, who then owned the gardens, and to whom Muntz lent some of the
money he had inherited from the parental sugar-baker, at enormous
interest. When Waddle collapsed, Muntz first appeared as Munns, and
undertook the management of the gardens, which he carried on for
several years with great success to himself and gratification to the
public--more especially to the members of the press, who were always
free of the grounds, and many of whom were entertained at suppers, at
which champagne--known to Mr. Munns by the name of "sham"--flowed
freely. He was a genial, hospitable, vulgar dog, given, as are the
members of his nation, to the wearing of rich-coloured velvet coats
and waistcoats, and jewelry of a large and florid pattern, to the
smoking of very big cigars, the driving of horses in highly-plated
harness in mail-phaetons with wheels vividly picked out with red, to
the swearing of loud and full-flavoured oaths, and to Richmond dinners
on the Sunday. When he entered on the lesseeship of the Grand
Scandinavian Opera House, he continued all these eccentricities of
pleasure, but mixed with them some excellent business habits. On the
secession of Miramella, Jacowski, and all the rest, the public
pronounced the Scandinavian Opera to be utterly dead and done for; but
after the first few weeks of his season Mr. Munns produced Fräulein
Brödchen, from the Stockholm Theatre, who fairly routed everyone else
off their legs, and took London by storm. Never had been known such a
triumph as that achieved by the Brödchen; boxes and stalls fetched a
fabulous price, and were taken weeks in advance. It began to be
perceived that the right thing was that Norma should have bright red
hair; and people wondered how they had for so long endured any
representative of Lucrezia without a turn-up nose. Miramella of
the classic profile and the raven locks was nowhere. Jacowski the
organ-voiced bellowed in vain. The swells of the Young-England
party--guardsmen and impecunious youths, who were on the free list at
the Regent--tried to get up an opposition; but Munns ran over to
Barcelona, and came back with the Señorita Ciaja, whose celebrated
back-movement in the Cachuca finished the business. The people who
really understood and cared for music were delighted with the
Brödchen; the occupants of the stalls and the omnibus-box--crabbed age
and youth, who, despite the old song, manage to live together
sometimes, and on each other a good deal--revelled in the Ciaja, and
the trick was done. Mr. Munns realised an enormous sum of money, and
was spoken of everywhere as "a marvellous fellow! a cad, sir, but a
genius!"
He was a cad, there was no doubt of that. The Earl of Haremarch, who,
with all his eccentricities, was a highly-polished gentleman, suffered
for days after an interview with his tenant, who would receive him in
his managerial room with open bottles of "sham," and "My lord" him
until the wine had done its work, when he would call him "Haremarch,
old fellar!" with amiable frankness. He always addressed the foreign
artistes in English; told them he didn't understand their d--d
palaver, and poked them in the ribs, and slapped them on the back,
until they ground their teeth and stamped their feet in inarticulate
fury; but his money was always ready when due, and his salaries were
liberal, as well as promptly paid. The _corps de ballet_ adored him,
admired his velvet waistcoats, and screamed at his full-flavoured
jokes. In person, Mr. Munns was a short stout man, with an enormous
chest, a handsome Hebraic face, with dyed beard and whiskers, and
small keen eyes.
To such a man as this, Lord Sandilands, the polished old nobleman, had
naturally a strong antipathy; and yet Lord Sandilands was almost the
only man of his _clientèle_ to whom Mr. Munns showed anything like
real respect. "There's something about that old buffer," he would say,
"which licks me;" and he could not have paid a greater compliment. The
Brödchen had retired into private life before this, and the Ciaja had
gone to America on a starring tour; but Mr. Munns had replaced them
with other attractions, had well maintained his ground: and when Mr.
Déloge told Lord Sandilands that from Mr. Munns it would be best to
obtain the information and the opinion he sought, the old nobleman
knew that the librarian was right; though he hated Mr. Munns from the
bottom of his heart, yet he made up his mind to get the great
_impresario_ to hear Miss Grace Lambert, and determined to abide by
his advice.
So, one fine afternoon, the little road in which the pretty Bayswater
villa was situated was thrown into a state of the greatest excitement
by the arrival of the dashing phaeton with the prancing horses in
their plated harness; and Mr. Boulderson Munns alighting therefrom,
was received by Lord Sandilands, and duly presented to Miss Lambert.
After partaking somewhat freely--for he was a convivial soul--of
luncheon and dry sherry--which wine he was pleased to compliment
highly, asking the "figure" which it cost, and the name of the
vendor--the great _impresario_ was ushered into the drawing-room,
where Signor Da Capo seated himself at the piano, and Gertrude,
without the smallest affectation or hesitation, proceeded to sing. Mr.
Munns, who had--been present at many such inaugural attempts, seated
himself near Lord Sandilands with a resigned countenance; but after a
very few notes the aspect of his face entirely changed; he listened
with the greatest attention; he beat time with his little podgy
diamond-ringed fingers, and with his varnished boots; and at the
conclusion of the song, after a strident cry of "Brava! brava!" he
winked calmly at the radiant nobleman, laid his finger alongside his
nose, and whispered, "Damme, that'll do!"
After a further hearing the great _impresario_ expressed himself more
fully, after his own symbolic fashion.
"That's the right thing," said he; "the right thing, and no flies! or
rather it will be the right thing a few months hence.--My dear," he
continued, laying his hand on Gertrude's arm, and keeping it there,
though she shrank from his touch, "no offence, my dear; you've got the
right stuff in you! No doubt of that! Now what we've got to do is to
bring it out of you. Don't you make any mistake about it; it's there,
but it wants forcing. What's to force it? why, a mellower air a and
few lessons reg'larly given by someone who knows all about it. No
offence again to Da Capo here, who's a very good fellow--him and me
understand each other; but this young lady wants someone bigger than
him, and quiet and rest and freedom from London ways and manners. Let
her go to Italy and stop there for nine months; meanwhile you and me,
my lord, the Marsh'ness Carabas, and the rest of us, will work the
oracle, and then she shall came back and come out at the Grand
Scandinavian Opera House; and if she ain't a success, I'll swallow my
Lincoln and Bennett!"
There was a pause for a minute, and then Lord Sandilands said: "Do you
mean that Miss Lambert should make her _début_ on the Italian stage?"
"Not a bit of it," shrieked Mr. Munns; "keep her _début_ for here! A
gal like that, who can walk up to the piano and sing away before me,
won't have any stage-fright, I'll pound it! Let her go to Florence, to
old Papadaggi--which you know him well, my lord, and can make it all
square there; let her take lessons of him, and make her _début_ with
me. I'm a man of my word, as you know, and I see my way."
Within a fortnight from that time Miles Challoner, who had been out of
town, called at the Bayswater villa, found it in charge of a policeman
and his wife, learned that Miss Lambert and Mrs. Bloxam had gone to
Hit'ly for some months, and--went away lamenting.