The Strollers Part 6

"Yes, sir," answered the host behind the bar, where he had been quietly dozing on a stool with his back against the wall.

"Do you think my horse will be fit for use to-morrow morning?"

"The swelling has gone down, sir, and perhaps, with care--"

"Perhaps! I'll take no chances. Hang the nag, but I must make the best of it! See that my bed is well warmed, and"--rising--"don't call me in the morning. I'll get up when I please. Tell my man to come up at once--I suppose he's out with the kitchen wenches. I have some orders to give him for the morning. Stay--send up a lamp, and--well, I believe that's all for now!"

CHAPTER IV

"GREEN GROW THE RUSHES, O!"

So well advertised in the village had been the theatrical company and so greatly had the crusade against the play and players whetted public curiosity that on the evening of the first performance every bench in the dining-room--auditorium--of the tavern had an occupant, while in the rear the standing room was filled by the overflow. Upon the counter of the bar were seated a dozen or more men, including the schoolmaster, an itinerant pedagogue who "boarded around" and received his pay in farm products, and the village lawyer, attired in a claret-colored frock coat, who often was given a pig for a retainer, or knotty wood, unfit for rails.

From his place, well to the front, the owner of the private equipage surveyed the audience with considerable amus.e.m.e.nt and complacency. He was fastidiously dressed in double-breasted waistcoat of figured silk, loosely fitting trousers, fawn-colored kid gloves, light pumps and silk hose. Narrow ruffles edged his wristbands which were fastened with link b.u.t.tons, while the lining of his evening coat was of immaculate white satin. As he gazed around upon a scene at once novel and incongruous, he took from his pocket a little gold case, bearing an ivory miniature, and, with the eyes of his neighbors bent expectantly upon him, extracted therefrom a small, white cylinder.

"What may that be, mister?" inquired an inquisitive rustic, placing his hand on the other's shoulder.

The latter drew back as if resenting that familiar touch, and, by way of answer, poised the cylinder in a tiny holder and deliberately lighted it, to the amazement of his questioner. Cigarettes were then unknown in that part of the state and the owner of the coach enjoyed the dubious distinction of being the first to introduce them there.

"Since which time," says Chronicler Barnes in his memoirs, "their use and abuse has, I believe, extended."

The lighting of the aboriginal American cigarette drew general attention to the smoker and the doctor, not a man of modern small pills, but a liberal dispenser of calomel, jalap, castor-oil and quinine, whispered to the landlord:

"Azeriah, who might he be?"

"The heir of the patroon estate, Ezekiel. I found the name on his trunks: 'Edward Mauville.'"

"Sho! Going to take possession at the manor?"

"He cal'lates to, I guess, ef he can!"

"Yes; ef he can!" significantly repeated the doctor. "So this is the foreign heir? He's got wristbands like a woman and hands just as small. Wears gloves like my darter when she goes to meeting-house! And silk socks! Why, the old patroon didn't wear none at all, and corduroy was good enough for him, they say.

Wonder how the barn-burners will take to the silk socks? Who's the other stranger, Azeriah?" Indicating with his thumb the soldier, who, standing against a window cas.e.m.e.nt in the rear of the room, was by his height a conspicuous figure in the gathering.

"I don't exactly know, Ezekiel," replied the landlord, regretfully.

"Not that I didn't try to find out," he added honestly, "but he was so close, I couldn't get nothing from him. He's from Paris, France; may be Louis Philippe himself, for all I know."

"No; he ain't Louis Philippe," returned the doctor with decision, "'cause I seen his likeness in the magazine."

"Might be the dolphin then," suggested the boniface. "He's so mighty mysterious."

"Dolphin!" retorted the other contemptuously. "There ain't no dolphin.

There hasn't been no dolphin since the French Revolution."

"Oh, I didn't know but there might a been," said the landlord vaguely.

From mouth to mouth the information, gleaned by the village doctor, was circulated; speculation had been rife ever since the demise of the last patroon regarding his successor, and, although the locality was beyond the furthermost reach of that land-holder, their interest was none the less keen. The old master of the manor had been like a myth, much spoken of, never seen without the boundaries of his acres; but the new lord was a reality, a creditable creation of tailor, hatter, hosier, cobbler--which trades had not flourished under the old master who bought his clothes, cap and boots at a country store, owned by himself. Antic.i.p.ation of the theatrical performance was thus relieved in a measure by the presence of the heir, but the delay, incident to a first night on an improvised stage, was so unusual that the audience at length began to evince signs of restlessness.

Finally, however, when the landlord's daughter had gazed what seemed to her an interminable period upon the lady and the swan, the lake and the greyhound, painted on the curtain, this picture vanished by degrees, with an exhilarating creaking of the rollers, and was succeeded by the representation of a room in a cottage. The scenery, painted in distemper and not susceptible to wind or weather, had manifold uses, reappearing later in the performance as a n.o.bleman's palace, supplemented, it is true, by a well-worn carpet to indicate ducal luxury.

Some trifling changes--concessions to public opinion--were made in the play, notably in the scene where the duke, with ready hospitality, offers wine to the rustic Lopez. In Barnes' expurgated, "Washingtonian"

version (be not shocked, O spirit of good Master Tobin!) the countryman responded reprovingly: "Fie, my n.o.ble Duke! Have you no water from the well?" An answer diametrically opposed to the tendencies of the sack-guzzling, roistering, madcap playwrights of that early period!

On the whole the representation was well-balanced, with few weak spots in the acting for fault finding, even from a more captious gathering.

In the costumes, it is true, the carping observer might have detected some flaws; notably in Adonis, a composite fashion plate, who strutted about in the large boots of the Low Countries, topped with English trunk hose of 1550; his hand upon the long rapier of Charles II, while a periwig and hat of William III crowned his empty pate!

Kate was Volante; not Tobin's Volante, but one fashioned out of her own characteristics; supine, but shapely; heavy, but handsome; slow, but specious. Susan, with hair escaping in roguish curls beneath her little cap; her taper waist encompa.s.sed by a page's tunic; the trim contour of her figure frankly revealed by her vestment, was truly a lad "dressed up to cozen" any lover who preferred his friend and his bottle to his mistress. Merry as a sand-boy she danced about in russet boots that came to the knee; lithe and lissome in the full swing of immunity from skirts, mantle and petticoats!

Conscious that his ident.i.ty had been divined, and relishing, perhaps, the effect of its discovery, the young patroon gazed languidly at the players, until the entrance of Constance as Juliana, when he forgot the pleasing sensations of self-thought, in contemplation of the actress. He remarked a girlish form of much grace, attired in an attractive gown of white satin and silver, as became a bride, with train and low shimmering bodice, revealing the round arms and shoulders which arose ivory-like in whiteness. Instead of the customary feathers and other ornaments of the period, specified in the text of the play, roses alone softened the effect of her dark hair.

Very different she appeared in this picturesque Spanish attire from the lady of the lane, with the coquettish cap of muslin and its "brides," or strings.

The light that burned within shone from her eyes, proud yet gay; it lurked in the corners of her mouth, where gravity followed merriment, as silence follows laughter when the brook sweeps from the purling stones to the deeper pools. Her art was unconscious of itself and scene succeeded scene with a natural charm, revealing unexpected resources, from pathos to sorrow; from vanity to humility; from scorn to love awakened. And, when the transition did come, every pose spoke of the quickening heart; her movements proclaimed the golden fetters; pa.s.sion shone in her glances, defiant though willing, lofty though humble, joyous though shy.

Was it the heat from the lamps?--but Mauville's brow became flushed; his buoyancy seemed gross and brutal; desire lurked in his lively glances; Pan gleamed from the curls of Hyperion!

The play jogged on its blithesome course to its wonted end; the duke delivered the excellent homily,

"A gentle wife Is still the sterling comfort of a man's life,"

and the well-pleased audience were preparing to leave when Barnes, in a drab jacket and trunks, trimmed with green ribbon bows, came forward like the clown in the circus and addressed the "good people."

"In the golden age," said the father of Juliana, "great men treated actors like servants, and, if they offended, their ears were cut off.

Are we, in brave America, returning to the days when they tossed an actor in a blanket or gave a poet a hiding? Shall we stifle an art which is the purest inspiration of Athenian genius? The law prohibits our performing and charging admission, but it does not debar us from taking a collection, if"--with a bow in which dignity and humility were admirably mingled--"you deem the laborer worthy of his hire?"

This novel epilogue was received with laughter and applause, but the audience, although good-natured, contained its proportion of timid souls who retreat before the pa.s.sing plate. The rear guard began to show faint signs of demoralization, when Mauville sprang to his feet.

Pan had disappeared behind his leafy covert; it was the careless, self-possessed man of the world who arose.

"I am not concerned about the ethics of art," he said lightly, "but the ladies of the company may count me among their devout admirers. I am sure," he added, bowing to the manager with ready grace, "if they were as charming in the old days, after the lords tossed the men, they made love to the women."

"There were no actresses in those days, sir," corrected Barnes, resenting the flippancy of his aristocratic auditor.

"No actresses?" retorted the heir. "Then why did people go to the theater? However, without further argument, let me be the first contributor."

"The prodigal!" said the doctor in an aside to the landlord. "He's holding up a piece of gold. It's the first time ever patroon was a spendthrift!"

But Mauville's words, on the whole, furthered the manager's project, and the audience remained in its integrity, while Balthazar, a property helmet in hand, descended from his palace and trod the aisles in his drab trunk-hose and purple cloak, a royal mendicant, in whose pot soon jingled the pieces of silver. No one shirked his admission fee and some even gave in excess; the helmet teemed with riches; once it had saved broken heads, now it repaired broken fortunes, its properties magical, like the armor of Pallas.

"How did you like the play, Mr. Saint-Prosper?" said Barnes, as he approached that person.

"Much; and as for the players"--a gleam of humor stealing over his dark features--"'peerless' was not too strong."

"'Your approbation likes me most, my lord,'" quoted the manager, and pa.s.sed quickly on with his tin pot, in a futile effort to evade the outstretched hand of his whilom helper.

Thanking the audience for their generosity and complimenting them on their intelligence, the self-const.i.tuted lord of the treasury vanished once more behind the curtain. The orchestra of two struck up a negro melody; the audience rose again, the women lingering to exchange their last innocent gossip about prayer-meeting, or about the minister who "knocked the theologic dust from the pulpit cushions in the good old orthodox way," when some renegade exclaimed: "Clear the room for a dance!"