I ASSIST AT TWO WEDDINGS AND HAVE THE BEST OPPORTUNITY FOR
CONTRASTING THE GRAVE AND GAY
Life has just been varied by two weddings--two: one serious and the
other most distinctly the reverse. I attended both.
The first wedding was that of Alf Pinto and Bonnie Birdie Twist; the
second--but let us take them in order.
Bonnie Birdie Twist, as her name may suggest, is in the profession
too, a sprightly lady vocalist with a high kick and a wink of such
calibre that it can carry with deadly effect to the uttermost
standing-room.
She has not long entered her kingdom, but is firmly established there
now, hardly less profitably than Alf himself. Her particular line of
song is the confidential, involving responses from an audience only
too ready to oblige, her latest success being entitled, "Is there
room in your lap for me?"--a question that produces in every Hall
where she sings an Everlasting Yea that lifts the roof.
Such a lady would hardly have an ordinary wedding; and the ceremony
to which I was invited by Mrs. Duckie, and from which I felt I could
not abstain without hurting that good woman's feelings, was as far
removed from the ordinary as a naphtha lamp is removed from an altar
candle.
The wedding was I can hardly say solemnised but achieved under
difficulty by a patient and tenacious Islington Registrar in the
Maltravers Assembly Rooms, which had been taken for the occasion by
Birdie's father. That gentleman, who is now a thriving publican and
a very assiduous racing man, was once a heavy-weight champion boxer,
while Mrs. Twist, whose plush gown sent the thermometer up five
degrees, had her triumphs years ago as Polly Pearl the Coster Queen.
The Assembly Rooms were crowded with warm-hearted professionals in
every kind of clothes but the expected, and jovial bookmakers and
licensed victuallers--all accompanied by their ladies, and all very
gay from the moment they arrived, and gayer still as the day
advanced, and the ceremony became more vivacious, and the
ex-bruiser's generous flow of wine got to work, and appropriate
excerpts from Alf and Birdie's repertoires rose in chorus: so
appropriate indeed, that it seemed as if they had been singing all
their lives only by way of preparation for this exuberant festival.
Birdie's bridesmaids were her own sisters, both of whom are budding
soubrettes, and four other friends with yellow hair. Be-trice had
been implored by Alf to serve too, but she declined, partly on an
impulse of natural prudence and partly because the legitimate drama,
to which she is affiliated, must not be too friendly with the variety
stage.
Alf's best men were a pair of famous knockabouts who took their
duties very seriously, and, to the exquisite enjoyment of the
father-in-law, insisted on treating Alf as a boxer in need of minute
and exhaustive seconding. They fanned him with red handkerchiefs as
he sat back in a state of hilarious exhaustion, and every one else
within reach offered him refreshments from a black bottle, and
generally and genially did all they could to relieve matrimony from
the stigma of holiness.
The Registrar at first seemed a little scandalised, but after a while
he resigned himself to the tide of facetiousness and was carried
along upon its bosom as buoyantly as any.
The only uncomfortable people there were Mr. and Mrs. Duckie and
myself: but it was easy for me, being a mere spectator, to retire
into the background, whereas they, simple, affectionate creatures,
were perforce in the very forefront of the battle.
Poor Mrs. Duckie was, I fear, more than uncomfortable, she was
shocked and sorrowful. The marriage of her eldest son, I doubt not,
had been in her thoughts these many years: and in her visions she had
been present with dignity and pride, Mr. Duckie beside her in his
very best, and Be-trice so captivating as to make the possibility of
the second wedding--the wedding that grows from a wedding, as of
course one always should--a certainty. The reality, in which she
found herself an alien in a new world (but her son's) of
light-hearted laxity, must have been very disturbing.
Mr. Duckie's discomfiture, as charming duettists and dashing serios
with gamboge locks patted his cheeks and pulled his whiskers and
complimented him on his new daughter-in-law, was more physical, and
was another proof of the importance to their importance of important
persons keeping to their own natural environment. Here was the
autocrat of the Fleet Street grill-room and countless City dinners
visibly abashed in broad day. There is, I suppose, no potentate so
powerful that skilful transplantation could not make small.
Bonnie Birdie Twist, so soon to be Bonnie Birdie Pinto, or rather
Duckie, had a smile for every one, and she continued to recognise her
friends, with appropriate greetings, such as "Cheer-O Alice!"
"What-ho, Bill!" even while the Registrar was reciting the most
compromising of his sentences, which he did to a muffled rendering by
most of the company of Alf's famous chorus, adapted by a quick-witted
colleague:--
"Mr. Right! Mr. Right!
Our Birdie and he have met;
So cheer up, girls, and wish them lots of luck,
And there'll soon be..."
but I must not transcribe further.
Could there be a scene more different from that provided on similar
occasions by the Establishment?--and yet, I daresay, the knot will
last as long and be as honourably respected as if it had tied under
even episcopal auspices. Certainly it could not last a shorter time
than many that date from the chancel steps.
After the formality what fussing and congratulations! There was room
for a few minutes on every one's lap for the bride; and room on hers
for every one. Alf meanwhile was not idle, embracing and being
embraced; while funny men flung their arms round Mrs. Duckie's neck
and reduced her to a mass of scarlet confusion. Mr. Duckie meanwhile
was finding his bearings at the buffet; Be-trice was the centre of an
admiring circle of lion comiques; and Ern was becoming the firm
friend of a boy contortionist (known to the world as Ernesto, the
Human Serpent), and rapidly losing his hold on the allurements of
chauffing.
I moved among these strange impulsive confident creatures with the
deepest interest. All were jolly, all were ready to give and take
chaff, there was no faltering in repartee even if there was no
subtlety. And all were fairly hard-working honest-living folk, whose
efforts were mainly directed to keeping the ball of pleasure rolling;
that is to say, all were in a way unnecessary. I refer particularly
to the professionals and the bookmakers; for I suppose that the
licensed victuallers, even in times of great national stress, when
one can imagine music halls closing all around and race meetings
neglected, would still be busy in their shirt sleeves.
Whether the professionals, the bookmakers, or the publicans
interested me most, I cannot say; but all were a very curious
society, living completely within their own boundaries, so very
differently from ordinary persons, and to the casual observer so
lawlessly, and yet obeying their own laws too; wholly independent of
religion, and yet getting through life with certainly no less
kindliness and forgiveness and practical generosity to their names
than professedly religious people, if not more; all English, and yet
so thoroughly un-English; all busy, or at any rate living fatiguing
lives, making money easily and spending it easily, living practically
only for to-day. I was glad that I went; I was equally glad to
escape.
I moved outside as soon as it seemed time for the couple to leave.
They were to be driven off in a taxi-cab, with a comic driver and a
string of boots trailing behind it like the tail of a kite. The
ordinary bridegroom is careful to remove such appendages as soon as
he can. It will give a vivid idea of the character of the
Pinto-Twist wedding when I say that Alf spent some time in helping to
fix this one to the cab.
Among the crowd outside I perceived Miss Wagstaff, who, seeing me,
joined me, and we chatted together for awhile.
"What do you think of it all?" I asked, as her mouth curled
sarcastically at the sight of the string of old boots and the comic
men on the Assembly Room steps affecting to faint with grief into
each other's arms.
"Very little," she said bitterly. "They're too much alike. A
quieter kind of girl would have done him more good."
I stole a glance at her. Had she been nursing a tenderness for Alf
herself? One knows so little of one's fellow-creatures.
"And I'm tired of weddings anyhow," she said.
At this point the crowd raised three cheers and then again broke into
the chorus of Alf's great song, but in its original form:--
"Mr. Right! Mr. Right!
He may not have knocked just yet;
But, cheer up, girls, he's putting on his boots,
And he'll soon be here, you bet!"
This they followed with Bonnie Birdie Twist's phenomenal success:--
"Is there room in your lap for me?"
to which Alf replied by thrusting his head out of the window with a
thundering "No!"--and so bride and bridegroom disappeared from view.
The point of Miss Wagstaff's nose soared higher in the air as we took
a last look of the scene, and we then turned away together.
"After a wedding, a funeral," she said. "I'm going to see how old
Glendinning is. He was so bad on Monday that they had to take him to
the hospital. That means getting another cataloguer, I suppose."
"Can't he recover?" I asked.
"Recover! There's nothing to recover on. He's just skin and bone.
He's eaten nothing for years; nothing but gin."
I went with her to the hospital, and we were allowed to see the old
man. By an extraordinary chance, one of the staff had been a pupil
of his in the days of his prosperity as a schoolmaster, and there had
been a recognition. The circumstance had turned Mr. Glendinning's
thoughts again to that happier period. He was voluble, but quite
unconscious of his surroundings.
Miss Wagstaff, with a tenderness of which I had not suspected her,
sat by his side and held his hand. He did not recognise her, but
called her Ellen and stroked her hair. Where was the real Ellen, I
wondered. Never to see him again or be seen by him; that was certain.
As he became more delirious he identified himself more and more with
his old post of authority. The weak tremulous lip of the tippler
took on a firmness, his watery eye almost flashed. At one moment he
was in class construing Xenophon, at another at the nets; but
everywhere the instructor in command. "Don't shift your feet!" he
cried to an imaginary batsman. "The ball won't hurt you!" So the
old man had been a cricketer too!
We left him still raving, as the nurse called it, but to my thinking
happier and nearer his right mind than he had been for many a long
year.
And the other wedding?
For that, I must go back a little into time. I told you about old
Mrs. Wynne's efforts to find Drusilla a husband among the eligible
young men of Ludlow and district. In vain. But a capricious chance
can do on its head, as Dollie would say, that which not all the old
ladies in Shropshire can compass with bell, book, and candle.
Drusilla, her visit ended, returned to London with a glad heart. She
took her place in the express at Shrewsbury, in a third-class
compartment with three other persons in it, and settled down to her
novel, on excellent terms with herself and the world. She had done
her duty and might now do something pleasant--a perfect foundation
for peace of mind.
At Wolverhampton two of the three other passengers left, and no other
coming in, Drusilla found herself sitting opposite a clean-shaven,
grey-eyed young man of determined but agreeable aspect, who was
reading _The British Medical Journal_.
Being merely a man, and not obviously a male reformer, this creature
naturally had no possible interest for Drusilla, or should not have
had; but our little Drusilla, although still veneered with Purpose
and Campaign and all the rest of it, was yet akin to the old Eve too;
and, after all, his eyes really were very clear and direct, and his
mouth was at once firm and tender, and his hands looked strong and
capable and were not wholly shapeless either. There had been worse
hands at the Slade, where hands were supposed to mean so much.
It was easy to observe these, for they were holding up _The British
Medical Journal_ before his face.
Drusilla's thoughts left her novel.
It is a pity that Socialists have such indifferent tailors.
Why should they?
Surely it is possible to be interested in the higher ideals, and also
go to a good barber and keep one's knees from bagging?
At any rate, every one knows that there are exceptions to every rule.
No one would read _The British Medical Journal_ unless he had some
kind of intellect, even if one of the papers on the seat beside him
was rather violently pink.
At Leamington the unexpected happened. A Japanese spaniel fell down
between the train and the platform just before they stopped, and had
a paw crushed by the wheel of Drusilla's carriage. She uttered a cry
of anguish as she learned of the accident, and her companion leaped
out and, extricating the little animal, examined the wound and
comforted its owner.
Drusilla loved dogs, and the incident led to conversation. He was a
doctor at Thomas's. They talked all the way to London.
Where and when Drusilla met her doctor again I do not know, but she
lost no time in doing so on our return from Venice, and electrified
the family one evening very shortly after by announcing that she was
giving up art and intended to be a hospital nurse.
It is an ordeal which many families have to undergo, and it brings
forth in most the same blend of resignation, admiration, impatience,
and satire. Naomi, who suspected nothing, defended and supported her
sister; Alderley was vexed, in part, I think, at the conventionality
of the decision from such an independent girl as his second daughter,
and in part at the sacrifice of her painting lessons; Mrs. Wynne took
it as it came, and hoped for the best, liking moreover the
old-fashionedness of a step that seemed to involve a little drudgery
and self-sacrifice; while Lionel said something about the
uniform--"Not quite so fetching perhaps as the Salvation Army bonnet,
but a jolly sight prettier than dingy Slade greens and browns."
All innocently I put my foot into it by saying that I hoped that her
Hospital would be Bart's, because I had an uncle who used to be on
the staff there, and the circumstance had given me a kind of
proprietary interest in the place; but Drusilla declared for
Thomas's, and Thomas's alone, so emphatically as almost to give away
her secret.
Lionel, who, for a thoughtless youth, has diabolical luck in his
sharpshooting, went on to remark that girls who wished to be hospital
nurses had always marked down their doctor first. Naomi told him not
to be unkind; but Drusilla's cheeks confessed his accuracy.
As it happened, however, Drusilla never donned the uniform. There
was no need.
By an odd chance I was the first person to whom she confided her
secret. I say odd chance, because, although we have been happy
enough together, I am not exactly a favourite with her. But young
women in love when they want a thing done can make exceptions; and,
as it happened, I was in the way of being useful to her conquering
Adonis.
It seemed that suddenly, out of a clear sky, had dropped the offer of
a medical post in Buenos Ayres, at a high salary, the condition being
that it was accepted at once. To me, therefore, as an old
Argentinian, came Drusilla to ask if I advised it, and what was the
hospital like, and would I give introductions if it was
accepted--speaking vaguely of some one she was interested in, a
friend of a friend, and so on: mystifications so time-worn as to wear
every sign-manual of truth.
I disguised my divination of her secret and advised in favour of her
friend's friend accepting the appointment, and promised to write any
number of letters of introduction if she would tell me what name to
call him by.
She blushed and was silent for a minute, and then she told me all and
expressed their intention, contingent apparently upon my opinion
being favourable, of being married at once, as she had resolved to
bear him company to the new post as his wife.
"Very well," I said, "but kindly let me know when the bomb is to be
exploded in the family circle, and I will be careful to dine
elsewhere."
If I smiled a little as she told her story, Heaven forgive me, for I
would not willingly wound a young and ardent heart; but to have
Drusilla's altruistic zeal to be a hospital nurse so suddenly laid
bare was more than flesh and blood--at any rate the flesh and blood
of my tell-tale lips--could stand. She took it very well, though, as
we can take things when we are preoccupied or they make us happy.
Mrs. Duckie came in just as I was ready for Drusilla's wedding, and
looked me over approvingly.
"It will be a nicer wedding than ours the other day," she said a
little wistfully. "I can't forget those comic men. The idea of
comicalities at a wedding! But there, one never knows what the
world's coming to! I shan't get my peace of mind back till Be-trice
goes off. No comicalities then, I promise you. I mean to write to
Canon Lyme to ask him as a great favour to oblige. His wedding
sermons are beautiful. Not a dry eye."
The good woman, she is quite right. Weddings are for tears: only
those guests who can cry really enjoy them.
I did not myself cry at Drusilla's,--at least I produced no
tears,--but it was a melancholy occasion. Such was the haste that
the two families had had no time to become acquainted, and we seemed
to be engaged rather in some ceremony of hostility than of fusion.
We fell naturally into sides, Montagus, almost, and Capulets.
To add to the difficulty, the father and mother of the bridegroom
were so much like several other members of their party that slights
were of constant occurrence; but this is a common experience at
weddings, where the newness of clothes cancels personality.
However, even weddings come to an end, and by four o'clock we were
cheering a departing brougham on its way to Waterloo for Southhampton
and South America. There was no singing of "Mr. Right," but I felt
very little uneasiness as to Drusilla's future. None the less, the
more I revolved the matter that evening the more did I wonder that
affectionate parents can ever give their consent to their children's
marriage at all. I can understand a father having no particular
objection to his son's wife, and a mother to her daughter's husband;
but how a father can ever even tolerate his daughter's husband or a
mother the wife of her son, that is beyond my imagination. And that
night as I watched Alderley's gallant efforts to be gay at dinner I
realised my perplexity more than ever. Life can be very hard on
parents.