INTRODUCES THE ROYAL WHITE ROSE MUSIC-HALL.
Gribble junior had the finest spirits of any man in London. Nothing
jarred upon him. From the days of his infancy, when he used to munch
his knuckles contentedly, to the present time, he was never known to
be out of temper. He had never had a ten-pound note to call his own,
and he was always blithe and happy. His father had been a struggling
small tradesman all his life, taking just enough over his counter to
keep body and soul together, as he expressed it; and therefore,
although Gribble junior was his son, he could scarcely be called his
heir. But the lucky junior came into a rare inheritance from his
mother--the inheritance of a cheerful nature. Such a patrimony is
worth more than great estates and much money.
He was in one of his happiest moods as, in accordance with his own
maxim, he pushed along and kept moving towards the Royal White Rose
Music-hall. It was not ten minutes' walk from his lodgings in Soho;
but it might have been situated in another land, so great was the
contrast between his quiet street and that in which the Royal White
Rose asserted itself. The difference between the two localities was
something similar to that between a poor peaceful woman treading
life's path humbly and unassumingly, and a flaunting shameless madam,
painted and bedizened, with everything glaring and everything false
about her. The narrow pathway that led to the Royal White Rose was
almost blocked up by the busy crowd of men and women and boys and
girls with which it was filled. The living stream moved, it is true;
but the waters were unhealthful and turbid, and ran sluggishly. In one
part of the thoroughfare it was dark, and the shops were closed; in
another--that portion which was in immediate contiguity to the Royal
White Rose--every shop was open and driving a busy trade. Hansom cabs,
with senile men and painted women in them, were rattling along;
man-rakes and boy-rakes--from the twelve-year-old smoking his penny
cigar with his hands in his pockets, to the fifty-year-old with his
hat on one side and his black whiskers and dandy cane--sauntered idly
this way and that, and often stopped to exchange light words and looks
with the girl-rakes and women-rakes, who out-vied them in numbers and
boldness. Unrestrained license prevailed in this saturnalia. Laughing
indecency, painted misery, and flagrant violations of all that is
modest and good, unblushingly proclaimed themselves in the very eye of
the law. The corruption was open. There was no attempt at disguise in
this legalised Mart of Shame, through which, as it forms an important
lung of the City, many good men and women must necessarily walk. How
innately pure must be that rose of modesty that can escape defilement,
when brought into contact with it!
The Royal White Rose Music-hall was situated almost in the centre of
the Mart of Shame, and Gribble junior paused for a moment at the
entrance of the Hall, which was blazing with light. Dozens of pompous
and fascinating announcements, in the largest letters and in the most
brilliant of coloured inks, lined both sides of the passage which led
to the pay-place. Upon these announcements Gribble junior gazed
admiringly. The Great This will appear. The Great That was engaged.
The Inimitable Noodle, who had been patronised by Royalty, would sing
his choicest songs. The Flashiest Man in London to-night. The Pretty
Lily at half-past eleven. The Incomparable Lackbrain (the Pet of the
Drawing-room) would sing "Fie, for Shame!" and "The Only Way to enjoy
Life." And so on and so on.
Gribble junior made his way into the Hall, which was crowded to excess
with flash men and women, with working people of both sexes, and with
boys and girls sucking in bad and foolish lessons eagerly. The
Incomparable Lackbrain was on the stage, singing "Fie, for Shame!" to
the intense delight of his hearers. He was a tall lank man, with a
painfully vacuous countenance, and "Fie, for Shame!" was the recital
of the doings of a young man and a young woman who had met on a penny
steamboat, and whose vulgar words and allusions continually elicited
from one or the other the exclamation, most enjoyably uttered, "Fie,
for Shame!" The title of the song was the refrain of the chorus, in
which the audience were invited to join by the singer. Amazing were
the zest and vigour with which they complied with the invitation; the
men and women laughed and winked at one another, and cried, "Fie, for
Shame! Fie, for Shame!" and when the Incomparable disappeared, after
many an ungainly slouch, they clapped their hands and shouted for him
to return. The Chairman struck twice upon his bell, and the well-known
signal provoked another burst of applause. In the interval between the
songs, Gribble junior observed and admired; for it would be useless to
deny that the honest fellow enjoyed the scene immensely. His ticket
admitted him to the stalls, where the Chairman, with a dyed moustache
and a large nose, sat upon his throne, the cynosure of a thousand
admiring eyes. Gribble junior managed to squeeze himself into a seat
near this potentate, who was looked upon with awe by the youthful
portion of the audience, and whose chief duty appeared to consist in
smoking unlimited cigars and drinking unlimited brandies and whiskies
hot at the expense of certain favoured frequenters of the Hall. In the
programme, which Gribble junior had purchased for a penny, was a
portrait of the Chairman, in which his large nose was considerably
toned down, as a body might say (to use one of Gribble junior's
favourite phrases), and his moustache presented a noble and imposing
appearance. A biography of the distinguished man was also given, in
which he was credited with many rare qualities, and from which you
would infer that his career was one of spotless virtue; but had you
been aware of the true facts of the case, you would have regarded the
biography with considerable doubt. Gribble junior read also in the
programme an advertisement of an eminent music-seller in the West, who
had published those justly popular and refined favourite songs, "Fie,
for Shame!" and "The Only Way to enjoy Life!" with a portrait of the
composer on the title-page. As he was reading this, the band struck up
a well-known air, and the Incomparable Lackbrain appeared in an
outrageous costume to instruct the audience in "The Only Way to enjoy
Life." According to his laying down of the law, the only time to enjoy
life was after midnight; the only place, in the streets; and the only
method, to drink champagne and brandy hot until you reeled home to
your bed at three o'clock in the morning in a state of intoxication.
The Incomparable illustrated the last phase. He set his hat at the
back of his head, pulled his hair over his eyes, untied his cravat and
let it hang loose, hitched his coat off one shoulder, buttoned his
waistcoat awry, and pulled one leg of his trousers nearly up to his
knees. In this condition he reeled about the stage, and drivelled and
laughed like an imbecile; and, having thus distinguished himself,
retired, after an egregiously stupid speech, in which he returned
ungrammatical thanks to his admirers for their appreciation of his
efforts. Then another singer appeared, who sang only one song; for as
this was the last night of his engagement, it was the Chairman's
policy to show by his indifference that the popularity of the Royal
White Rose Music-hall would not be diminished by the retirement of
this performer. Consequently he did not lead the applause by rapping
on the table with his little hammer, and did not give the usual signal
on the bell for the singer's reappearance. But he did rap very loudly
before he rose to announce, with great pleasure, the fascinating Lily;
and when he sat down he led the applause smartly and vigorously.
Gribble junior was not the only one who joined in the applause with
spirit. Nearly every person in the Hall lent a hand, and great
clapping came from a private box at the corner of the stage, towards
which many a curious and envious gaze had been directed during the
night. There was a little table in that box, on which were a
champagne-bottle and glasses, and two gentlemen were there, one
sitting and the other standing. The one who was standing was the
well-known manager and proprietor of the Royal White Rose Music-hall,
and every now and then he leant from the box and surveyed his patrons,
some of whom nudged each other, and pointed him out as the great
manager who had risen from nothing. About an hour ago a bottle of
champagne had been sent down from the box to the bottle-nosed
Chairman, who had filled his own and one or two other glasses, and,
before he drank, had looked towards the donor with a half-respectful,
half familiar glance. These small circumstances had rendered the box
an object of interest to the audience.
A working-man said to his wife, "There's a swell up in that box; he's
drinking champagne, and treating the manager."
"What's champagne like, Bill?" the wife asked.
"Don't know; never tasted it," was the gruff rejoinder.
"It must be dreadfully nice," said the wife, with a woman's longing
for things.
These paradoxical phrases are not confined to working-women;
ladies in polite society are in the habit of giving utterance to such
unmeaning combinations of words that we may expect presently to hear
certain matters spoken of as sweetly murderous or delightfully
disgusting.
The gentleman in the box, then, who sat with his back to the audience,
applauded energetically when the fascinating Lily was announced, and
the manager, as in duty bound, applauded also, but more graciously
than the other.
"You've only seen her once," observed the manager.
"Only once," replied the gentleman. "I strolled in last night to kill
half an hour, and was surprised to see such a little beauty come on
the stage. How long has she been out?"
"Nearly eight months. There's nothing very striking about her, but
she's pretty and simple and innocent----"
"Pretty--and simple and innocent!" interrupted the gentleman, with a
light laugh.
"Yes, I'm hanged if she isn't!" exclaimed Storks energetically.
"And been in the Royal White Rose Music-hall, or any other music-hall,
rose or dandelion, for eight months?" interrupted the gentleman again,
in the same light manner.
Manager Storks looked displeased. "You've got the common notion," he
said; "because a girl's a ballet-girl or a singer, she can't be
honest, I suppose! You don't know so much about them as I do, that's
clear."
It came into the gentleman's mind to answer, "I don't suppose I do;
_I_ didn't marry a ballet-girl." But as Manager Storks did marry a
ballet-girl, who was a good and industrious wife, and as he was at
present master of the situation, the gentleman wisely held his tongue.
Storks proceeded:
"I could show dozens of ballet-girls who'd reckon you up in no time,
and who'd snap their fingers at your----"
"There, there!" cried the gentleman, putting his fingers in his ears.
"Stop it, there's a good fellow. I don't want a lecture upon the
virtues of ballet-girls. I only meant that it's against the order of
things for a pretty girl to be in a music-hall for eight months, and
to be as simple and innocent as you make out Lily to be. She may be as
goody-goody as a missionary's daughter, for all I care."
But although he expressed himself in this indifferent manner, he was
not at all indifferent when Lily came on the stage.
"By Jove!" he exclaimed, under his breath, "she _is_ a little beauty!"
And he clapped his hands, and threw a handsome bouquet to her.
As Lily stooped and picked up the flowers, the applause was redoubled.
She stood before the motley assembly with the flowers in her hand, and
her sweet innocent face beamed like a star amidst the atmosphere of
smoke and heat. Truly, what had been enacted previously within the
Royal White Rose Music-hall gave the lie to the title; but here was a
rose, a pure white rose, which justified it. She was dressed in white
silk, and had white flowers in her hair. She recognised Gribble
junior, and gave him a little smile, which filled him with delight and
made him look round with pride. The gentleman in the box saw the
smile, and the individual at whom it was directed.
"Does she know that cad down there?" he asked of Manager Storks
curiously. He would have given something for such a smile, but Lily
did not raise her eyes to the box.
"Seems like it," was the reply.
"He looks like a potman. Hush! What a sweet voice she has!"
The sweetest of voices--pure and fresh, sounding strangely indeed in
such a place. There was not one in the Hall to whom her simple song
and almost childlike manner did not afford pleasure. "How pretty she
is! How young! Is that hair all her own? She paints o' course. What a
stunnin' little foot she's got! Let's 'ave 'er in agin. Ah, _she'll_
soon get spoilt! Lackbrain's awfully sweet on her, I heerd. So is that
gent in the box." Suchlike comments were made freely in the Hall, as
were also a few others of a different nature. Said one painted young
woman in pink silk to another in blue, "She's the very image of my
sister Bess as she was twelve years ago. I've got a picture of her at
home." And another, a faded woman--you could see she was that,
notwithstanding all her finery--sighed and said to her companion,
"That was mother's favourite song. Many's the time she's sung it to
me." And the memory of the days when she led a better life acted upon
her parched heart for a few moments like drops of dew. But the
softening influence soon died away in the glare and the smoke and the
bad surroundings.
The noise in the Hall was at its highest as Gribble junior pushed his
way through the pleasure-and-pain seekers. Being directed by the
attendant, he soon found himself on the stage. It was dark and almost
quiet. The last song had been sung, and the last strains of music had
died away; the curtain was drawn up, and the waiters were collecting
the glasses and assisting to the door two or three "jolly dogs," who
were unable to assist themselves.
Gribble junior surveyed these proceedings with considerable interest.
It was the first time in his life that he had ever been behind the
scenes, and he was surprised to find the place dirty and shabby and
unattractive. Although the Hall was closed, and no more business was
supposed to be done, there were a dozen persons at least drinking at a
bar in a corner. The Incomparable Lackbrain, the Inimitable Noodle,
and the Flashiest Man in London, were there, laughing and drinking
with the manager and the gentleman who had occupied the private box.
He was a fair man, in the prime of life, and had just ordered a fresh
bottle of champagne. As he raised his glass to his lips, he glanced
towards the stage, and saw the shadow of Gribble junior, who was
advancing towards Lily.
"Oh, Mr. Gribble," she said, "how strange to see you here! Where's
grandpapa?"
"He sent me for you, Lily," answered Gribble junior, "and told me to
tell you that he couldn't come for you himself, because your mother
wasn't awake, and he had to give her her medicine."
"You must wait a little while," said Lily, with something of
disappointment in her voice, "as I have to fold my dresses. I always
put everything in order Saturday night. I sha'n't be long."
And she tripped away, leaving Gribble junior looking after her
admiringly, and thinking what a bright little creature she was.
"Who's that fellow?" asked the gentleman at the bar of the manager.
Manager Storks did not reply; but, being jealous of strangers, and
probably having the fear of detectives in his mind, walked on to the
stage, followed by his friends. When Gribble junior explained that he
had come to fetch Lily home at the request of her grandfather, Manager
Storks grumbled, and told him to tell the old man to come himself for
Lily for the future.
"I can't have all sorts of strangers knocking about my stage," he
said.
Gribble junior received the rebuke humbly; he was fully sensible of
the privilege he was enjoying in being allowed to linger, if only for
a few minutes, behind the scenes. Some of the singers and performers
had followed Manager Storks, and they stood about in little groups,
talking--not in the most refined language, it must be confessed. The
luxury of adjectives was by far too freely indulged in. Gribble junior
did not think so; he positively glowed with delight. Was he not almost
rubbing elbows with the Inimitable Noodle and the Flashiest Man in
London, whose dress and walk hundreds of boys in London were
imitating! As for Lackbrain the Vacuous, his dull common face was
regarded with reverence by Gribble junior. In such enchanting company
the minutes flew away until Lily appeared, with the bouquet and a
little bundle in her hand. Gribble junior was advancing toward her
when he was pushed aside by the gentleman of the private box.
"A friend of mine is anxious for an introduction, Miss Lily," said
Manager Storks.
The friend of the manager, who was introduced as Mr. Sheldrake, raised
his hat, and Lily bowed and cast just a look at him; he murmured his
pleasure at being introduced to such a charming lily--"the fairest
flower in the entire Royal White Rose bouquet," he said gallantly.
Ready of speech and smooth of manner was Mr. Sheldrake as he addressed
Lily. He was not satisfied with Lily's bow, but held out his hand, on
the little finger of which was a plain band of gold, in which a
valuable diamond was set. Every respect was paid to the young girl,
who replied with smiles and simple words to the civilities of speech
with which she was greeted by one and another. Lackbrain the Vacuous
offered to see her home.
"Thank you," she said, advancing to Gribble junior; "I have an
escort." And she placed her hand on Gribble's arm, and gave him the
bundle to carry.
"Let me have the pleasure of driving you home," said Mr. Sheldrake in
his most agreeable voice; "my brougham is at the door."
Lily shook her head laughingly, and thanked him, but she preferred to
walk.
"Then I'll walk a few steps with you," he said pertinaciously.
Gribble junior did not like the proposal, neither did Lily approve of
it; but Mr. Sheldrake was not to be shaken off. When they left the
Hall it was half an hour after midnight. The Sabbath-day had
commenced, and had not commenced well. The glare of a noonday sun
could scarcely have been more powerful in its effect than the bright
light which fell from the open shops on the people and the
thoroughfare. Fish-shops and glove-shops, cigar-shops and refreshment
houses, the first and last especially, were driving a brisk trade. The
pushing, the struggling, the anxious faces, the drunken forms, the
senseless enjoyment, the joyless mirth, the fevered life, the various
aspects in which human nature was there presented, were sad to
witness. Here and there in the scene were patches of shade formed by
narrow thoroughfares where no light was, and at the corners of these
thoroughfares, standing in the shade and forming part of it, policemen
might occasionally be seen, waiting quietly to play their part in the
torrent which the law allows to flow. Before one of these guardians of
the peace--most paradoxical designation in such a scene--two men of
the lower classes paused, and were immediately desired to move on.
They were costermongers; their appearance was as rough as their
speech. But that one of them at all events was logical, and that there
was reason in his logic, were in some measure proved by his speech.
"This is Sunday, ain't it?" he asked.
"Yes," answered the policeman good-humouredly, "and time for you to be
abed."
"Thank yer for nothin', Bobby," he said, swaying slightly before the
policeman; "but my mate 'ere wants me to arks yer somethin' fust. He
wants to know why these 'ere swell shops is allowed to keep open arter
twelve o'clock on Saturday nights, and why he was summonsed afore the
beak for sellin' wegetables last Sunday?"
"Come, move on," was the only reply from the policeman.
"But, look 'ere now," urged the costermonger; "'ere he is with 'is
barrer----"
"Yes, that's it, Dropsy!" exclaimed the second man, illustrating the
position with eloquent action. "That's it. 'Ere I am with my
barrer----"
But the policeman, not at all disposed to parley, and not at all
curious to know the history of the man's "barrer," used effectual
arguments to relieve himself of the controversial costermongers, who
consoled each other, as they staggered away, by agreeing that "it was
a blazin' shame, that's what it was!"
Through such scenes as this, Lily and her escort walked to the humble
home in Soho. Mr. Sheldrake almost entirely monopolised the
conversation, talking much about himself, and about the pleasure it
would give him to improve an acquaintance so agreeably commenced.
Notwithstanding that it was past midnight, he threw out hints that
nothing could afford him so much pleasure as being invited into the
house; but as no invitation followed the expression of this desire, he
was compelled to bid Lily good-night at the street-door.
When he was alone, he stood in the quiet street, looking up at the
light in the room where the old man had been waiting anxiously for his
darling Lily.