THE “GRAND DUKE’S OPREA HOUSE.”
Some minutes before eight, Julius reached the “Grand Duke’s Oprea
House.” It is very eligibly located on Baxter Street not far from the
famous Five Points. Perhaps in consequence of the filthy condition of
the streets in the immediate neighborhood, visitors are not expected to
appear in full dress, and nothing is more common than for the young
gentlemen who patronize it to dispense with coat or vest, or both. As
for kid gloves, these are not tolerated at the _Oprea_ House, and a
fellow who indulged in them would be regarded as “puttin’ on airs,” and
probably be hustled out unceremoniously, as guilty of a gross insult to
the rest of the spectators.
The entrance to the Grand Duke theatre is not imposing. In fact, the
visitor is obliged to descend a shaky staircase into a cellar about ten
feet below the level of the sidewalk.
“It’s like goin’ down into a coal mine,” remarked Julius to Pat Riley,
who was acting as his guide.
“That’s so,” said Pat; “but we have jolly fun when we get there.”
Reaching the bottom of the flight of steps, Julius found himself
confronted by the ticket seller who was looking out of a square hole,
over which were marked the prices of admission.
“That’s where yer pay,” said Pat. “I go in free, coz I’m one of the
actors.”
“Five cents,” said the keeper of the box office.
“There it is,” said Julius, who had come provided with the right change.
The treasurer pulled a cord connecting with the door of entrance, and
Julius entered.
The _Oprea_ House proved to consist of a room twenty feet by thirty, and
six and a half feet high. A portion of this was set apart as a stage, in
front of which hung a curtain of turkey-red calico, four breadths wide.
On one side was a lofty pillar with a scroll, on which was written the
ambitious name of this temple of the muses, “Grand Duke’s Oprea House.”
In place of the customary footlights was a kerosene lamp, which with the
aid of a concave reflector illuminated the room.
“What do yer think of it, Julius?” asked Pat, with justifiable pride.
“It’s bully.”
“Ain’t it? Do yer see that?”
Pat pointed to a large broadside of brown packing paper, on which was
rudely scrawled:
“BENEFIT
OF
MILES O’REILLY,
The Great Nigger Komedian
AND
Jig Dancer.”
“That’s me!” said Pat, with professional pride. “It looks big, don’t
it?”
“Yes,” said Julius, admiringly.
“There’s lots of chaps would give all they could make on shines in a
week, to hev their names put up there,” said Pat, confidentially.
“I’d like it myself,” said Julius.
“Ef you wos goin’ to stay in the city, I’d learn you some jigs,” said
Pat, “and see what you was made of. It isn’t every feller that can make
a good jig dancer.”
“How are you, Miles?” said a large boy, slapping Pat on the shoulder. “I
guess you’ll have a good house.”
“I hope I will. Dave, this is a friend of mine. He ain’t been to the
_Oprea_ House before.”
“Glad to see yer,” said David Conroy, with dignified affability. “Hope
yer’ll get yer money’s worth.”
To this Julius made a suitable reply.
“Dave is stage manager,” said Pat. “He kin do anything, kin Dave. He
painted the sceneries; you’ll see ’em bimeby, and he’s the best actor
we’ve got. He’s captain of the Mulligans. There ain’t nothin’ that
feller can’t do,” concluded Pat, with unmistakable admiration expressed
in his tone.
“Where do you get your plays from, Pat?”
“Call me Miles while we are in the _Oprea_ House. That’s my name here.”
“Miles, then.”
“Dave fixes ’em up out of plays at the Theatre Comique, and some of the
songs we gits from Tony Pastor’s. If there was time I’d take you behind
the sceneries. But it’s most time to begin.”
“Miles O’Reilly is wanted,” was heard from behind the curtain, and the
great comedian left our hero and hurried behind the scenes.
By this time the cellar was nearly full of boys, varying in age from
five to twenty, who were crowded together in such near proximity as the
limited size of the auditorium rendered imperatively necessary. The
front row was close up to the curtain, and here Julius was fortunate
enough to secure a place.
The stiffness and reserve which characterize the spectators at other
theatres was dispensed with at the free and easy “Grand Duke’s Oprea
House.” Cheerful and jocose remarks were interchanged, spiced with
genial humor, and occasionally tinged with sarcastic remarks of a
personal character. But all was taken in good part. At last, however,
the patrons became impatient, and calls were heard, such as, “What yer
waitin’ fur?” “Hurry up de overture!” “Have yer gone ter sleep behind
there?”
At last the manager responded to the flattering impatience of his
patrons. The curtain arose and displayed the orchestra consisting of two
musicians, a performer on an accordeon and a bone-player. The overture
was made up of pieces skillfully selected by the manager to suit the
tastes of the audience. Choice gems from “Norma,” “Trovatore,” and
“Faust” would not have satisfied the fastidious tastes of the Grand
Duke’s patrons. Instead of these, such choice airs as “Squeeze me, Joe,”
and “Up in Avenue A,” afforded unmistakable pleasure, and the whole
closed with “The Campbells Are Coming,” which was rendered with spirit
and general acceptance.
Next came the comedy, “Laughing Gas,” in which the gas is administered
to a variety of patients, who are differently affected, one laughing,
another dancing, another combative, and so on. The acting was rude, but
lively, and the piece was rapturously applauded. In this applause Julius
bore his full part. Though he is my hero I have no desire to represent
him as more refined or better educated than the majority of his
companions. The classic drama or the opera, as brought out at the
Academy, would have been far less attractive to him than this rude
performance.
He was no less pleased with the next piece, in which two boys,
representing _Tom King_ and _Dick Turpin_, appear on the stage with dark
lanterns, and attempt the robbery of a house, but become panic-stricken,
and exhibit more alarm than the occupants of the house. This, of course,
amuses the spectators.
“It ’minds me of Jack and Marlowe,” said Julius to his next neighbor,
“when they was robbin’ the house on Madison Avenue.”
“Was you there?” asked the other.
“No, but I knew all about it. I lived with Jack.”
“You did!” repeated the other, with something like awe at finding his
neighbor to have been intimate with so illustrious a criminal. “How did
you like him?”
“Jack wa’n’t a bad sort,” said Julius, “except when he was sprung. I
like him better than Marlowe.”
“They was took by the cops, wasn’t they?”
“Yes, they was took,” said Julius, shortly.
His own agency in the affair he didn’t care to mention, chiefly because
in the class to which he belonged it was considered a point of honor to
make common cause against the cops, that is, against the conviction of
those who transgress the laws, and our hero felt that the revelation of
his agency in entrapping his associates would not increase his
popularity. Nor would he have taken the part he did but for the
gratitude he felt to Paul, and the fear that he would suffer harm.
Later in the evening the beneficiary, the great Miles O’Reilly,
appeared in a jig, which was very creditably danced. His appearance was
the signal for a noisy ovation; due partly to his general popularity,
and partly to his position as the beneficiary of the evening.
“Good for yer, Miles!” expressed the general appreciation of his
efforts. Space will not permit us to enlarge on the other features in
the programme of the evening. Evidently “The Mulligan Guards” was most
popular, being received with tremendous applause. To gratify the
curiosity of such of my readers as are not familiar with this celebrated
local song, the first verse is here introduced:
“We crave your condescension,
We’ll tell you what we know
Of marching in the Mulligan Guard,
From Sligoward below.
Our captain’s name was Hussey,
A Tipperary man,
He carried his sword like a Russian duke,
Whenever he took command.
CHORUS.
“We shouldered guns, and marched and marched away,
From Baxter Street we marched to Avenue A;
With drums and fifes how sweetly they did play,
As we marched, marched, marched in the Mulligan Guard.”
The effect of the song is heightened by the marching of the Guards, the
roll of the drum, and presenting arms, which the young actors went
through very creditably.
At the close, Miles was summoned before the curtain, and a speech was
called for. As the recipient of the benefit the eminent actor could not
very well decline. He presented himself with a low bow, and said:
“Boys, I’m glad to welcome yez here this evening. I don’t care so much
for the stamps.” (“Oh, no! course yer don’t!” came in ironical accents
from some one in the audience.) “That’s so, Jim Blin, and you know it.
I’m glad yez like my dancin’! I won’t say no more, ’cause I ain’t used
to makin’ speeches, but, with the kind permission of the manager, I’ll
give yez anuther jig, and wish you good-night!”
Here the speaker bowed, the music struck up, and, to the satisfaction of
all, the beneficiary repeated his performance. Then there was a rush for
the door and in five minutes the “Grand Duke’s Oprea House” was silent
and deserted.