29
30
“The landlord does not seem to share your opinion?” continued Susan, looking once more at the stranger.
“As a host he believes in brave deeds, not fair words,” said Kate, indicating the remains of the repast.
“Peace to his bones!” exclaimed the manager, extending a hand over the remnants of the suckling.
Here the dark-haired girl arose, the dinner being concluded. There was none of his usual brusqueness of manner, as the manager, leaning back in his chair and taking her hand, said:
“You are going to retire, my dear? That is right. We have had a hard day’s traveling.”
She bent her head, and her lips pressed softly the old man’s cheek, after which she turned from the rest of the company with a grave bow. But as she passed through the doorway her flowing gown caught upon a nail in the wall. Pre-occupied though he seemed, her low exclamation did not escape the ear of the stranger, and, quitting his place, he knelt at her feet, and she, with half turned head and figure gracefully poised, looked down upon him.
With awkward fingers, he released the dress, and she bowed her acknowledgment, which he returned with formal deference. Then she passed on and he raised his head, his glance following her through the bleak-looking hall, up the broad, ill-lighted staircase, into the mysterious shadows which prevailed above.
Shortly afterward the tired company dispersed, and the soldier also sought his room. There he found31the landlord’s daughter before him with the warming-pan. She had spread open the sheets of his bed and was applying the old-fashioned contrivance for the prevention of rheumatism, but it was evident her mind was not on this commendable housewifely task, for she sighed softly and then observed:
“It must be lovely to be an actress!”
Dreamily she patted the pillows, until they were round and smooth, and absently adjusted the bed, until there was not a wrinkle in the snow-white counterpane, after which, like a good private in domestic service, she shouldered the warming pan with its long handle, murmured “good-night” and departed, not to dream of milking, churning or cheese-making, but of a balcony and of taking poison in a tomb.
Absently the stranger gazed at the books on the table: “Nutting’s Grammar,” “Adams’ Arithmetic,” “David’s Tears” and the “New England Primer and Catechism”––all useful books undoubtedly, but not calculated long to engross the attention of the traveler. Turning from these prosaic volumes, the occupant of the chamber drew aside the curtain of the window and looked out.
Now the mists were swept away; the stars were shining and the gurgling had grown fainter in the pipes that descended from the roof to the ground. Not far was the dark fringe which marked the forest and the liquid note of a whippoorwill arose out of the solitary depths, a melancholy tone in the stillness of the night. The little owl, too, was heard, his note32now sounding like the filing of a saw and again changing in character to the tinkling of a bell. A dog howled for a moment in the barn-yard, and then, apparently satisfied with having given this evidence of watchfulness, re-entered his house of one room and curled himself upon the straw in his parlor, after which nothing more was heard from him.
Drawing the curtains of his own couch, a large, four-posted affair, sleep soon overpowered the stranger; but sleep, broken and fitful! Nor did he dream only of France and of kings running away, of American land barons and of “bolters.” More intrusive than these, the faces of the strollers crept in and disturbed his slumbers, not least among which were the features of the dark-eyed girl whose gown had caught as she passed through the doorway.
33CHAPTER IIA NEW ARRIVAL
The crowing of the cock awakened the French traveler, and, going to the window, he saw that daylight had thrown its first shafts upon the unromantic barn-yard scene, while in the east above the hill-tops spread the early flush of morning. The watch-dog had left his one-roomed cottage and was promenading before it in stately fashion with all the pomp of a satisfied land-holder, his great undershot jaw and the extraordinary outward curve of his legs proclaiming an untarnished pedigree. The hens were happily engaged in scratching the earth for their breakfast; the rooster, no longer crestfallen, was strutting in the sunshine, while next to the barn several grunting, squealing pigs struggled for supremacy in the trough. From the cow-shed came an occasional low and soon a slip-shod maid, yawning mightily, appeared, pail in hand, and moved across the yard to her early morning task.
Descending the stairs and making his way to the barn, the soldier called to Sandy, the stable boy, who34was performing his ablutions by passing wet fingers through a shock of red hair, to saddle his horse. The sleepy lad led forth a large but shapely animal, and soon the stranger was galloping across the country, away from the village, now down a gentle declivity, with the virgin forest on either side, then through a tract of land where was apparent the husbandry of the people.
After a brisk pace for some miles, he reined in his horse, and, leisurely riding in a circuit, returned on the road that crossed the farming country back of the tavern. Around him lay fields of rye and buckwheat sweet with the odor of the bee-hive; Indian corn, whose silken tassels waved as high as those of Frederick’s grenadiers’, and yellow pumpkins nestling to the ground like gluttons that had partaken too abundantly of mother earth’s nourishment. Intermingling with these great oblong and ovoid gourds, squashes, shaped like turbans and many-cornered hats, appeared in fantastic profusion.
The rider was rapidly approaching the inn, when a sudden turn in the highway, as the road swept around a wind-break of willows, brought him upon a young woman who was walking slowly in the same direction. So fast was the pace of his horse, and so unexpected the meeting, she was almost under the trampling feet before he saw her. Taken by surprise, she stood as if transfixed, when, with a quick, decisive effort, the rider swerved his animal, and, of necessity, rode full tilt at the fence and willows. She felt the rush of35air; saw the powerful animal lift itself, clear the rail-fence and crash through the bulwark of branches. She gazed at the wind-break; a little to the right, or the left, where the heavy boughs were thickly interlaced, and the rider’s expedient had proved serious for himself, but chance––he had no time for choice––had directed him to a vulnerable point of leaves and twigs. Before she had fairly recovered herself he reappeared at an opening on the other side of the willow-screen, and, after removing a number of rails, led his horse back to the road.
With quivering nostrils, the animal appeared possessed of unquenchable spirit, but his master’s bearing was less assured as he approached, with an expression of mingled anxiety and concern on his face, the young girl whom the manager had addressed as Constance.
“I beg your pardon for having alarmed you!” he said. “It was careless, inexcusable!”
“It was a little startling,” she admitted, with a faint smile.
“Only a little!” he broke in gravely. “If I had not seen you just when I did––”
“You would not have turned your horse––at such a risk to yourself!” she added.
“Risk to myself! From what?” A whimsical light encroached on the set look in his blue eyes. “Jumping a rail fence? But you have not yet said you have pardoned me?”
The smile brightened. “Oh, I think you deserve that.”
36
“I am not so sure,” he returned, glancing down at her.
Slanting between the lower branches of the trees the sunshine touched the young girl’s hair in flickering spots and crept down her dress like caressing hands of light, until her figure, passing into a solid shadow, left these glimmerings prone upon the dusty road behind her. The “brides,” or strings of her little muslin cap, flaunted in the breeze and a shawl of China crape fluttered from her shoulders. So much of her dusky hair as defied concealment contrasted strongly with the calm translucent pallor of her face. The eyes, alone, belittled the tranquillity of countenance; against the rare repose of features, they were the more eloquent, shining beneath brows, delicately defined but strongly marked, and shaded by long upturned lashes, deep in tone as a sloe.
“You are an early riser,” he resumed.
“Not always,” she replied. “But after yesterday it seemed so bright outdoors and the country so lovely!”
His gaze, following hers, traversed one of the hollows. Below yet rested deep shadows, but upon the hillside a glory celestial enlivened and animated the surrounding scene. Scattered houses, constituting the little hamlet, lay in the partial shade of the swelling land, the smoke, with its odor of burning pine, rising lazily on the languid air. In the neighboring field a farm hand was breaking up the ground with an old-fashioned, pug-nosed “dirt-rooter;” soil as rich as that of Egypt, or the land, Gerar, where Isaac reaped37an hundred fold and every Israelite sat under the shadow of his own vine.
Pausing, the husbandman leaned on the handle of his plow and deliberately surveyed the couple on the road. Having at the same time satisfied his curiosity and rested his arms, he grasped the handles once more and the horses pulled and tugged at the primitive implement.
While the soldier and the young girl were thus occupied in surveying the valley and the adjacent mounds and hummocks, the horse, considering doubtlessly that there had been enough inaction, tapped the ground with rebellious energy and tossed his head in mutiny against such procrastination.
“Your horse wants to go on,” she said, observing this equine by-play.
“He usually does,” replied the rider. “Perhaps, though, I am interrupting you? I see you have a play in your hand.”
“I was looking over a part––but I know it very well,” she added, moving slowly from the border of willows. Leading his horse, he followed.
His features, stern and obdurate in repose, relaxed in severity, while the deep-set blue eyes grew less searching and guarded. This alleviation became him well, a tide of youth softening his expression as a wave smoothes the sands.
“What is the part?”
“Juliana, in ‘The Honeymoon’! It is one of our stock pieces.”
38
“And you like it?”
“Oh, yes.” Lingering where a bit of sward was set with field flowers.
“And who plays the duke?” he continued.
“Mr. O’Flariaty,” she answered, a suggestion of amusement in her glance. Beneath the shading of straight, black brows, her eyes were deceptively dark, until scrutinized closely, they resolved themselves into a clear gray.
“Ah,” he said, recalling Adonis, O’Flariaty’s, appearance, and, as he spoke, a smile of singular sweetness lightened his face. “A Spanish grandee with a touch of the brogue! But I must not decry your noble lord!” he added.
“No lord of mine!” she replied gaily. “My lord must have a velvet robe, not frayed, and a sword not tin, and its most sanguinary purpose must not be to get between his legs and trip him up! Of course, when we act in barns––”
“In barns!”
“Oh, yes, when we can find them to act in!”
She glanced at him half-mockingly.
“I suppose you think of a barn as only a place for a horse.”
The sound of carriage wheels interrupted his reply, and, looking in the direction from whence it came, they observed a coach doubling the curve before the willows and approaching at a rapid pace. It was a handsome and imposing equipage, with dark39crimson body and wheels, preserving much of the grace of ancient outline with the utility of modern springs.
As they drew aside to permit it to pass the features of its occupant were seen, who, perceiving the young girl on the road––the shawl, half-fallen from her shoulder revealing the plastic grace of an erect figure––gazed at her with surprise, then thrust his head from the window and bowed with smiling, if somewhat exaggerated, politeness. The next moment carriage and traveler vanished down the road in a cloud of dust, but an alert observer might have noticed an eye at the rear port-hole, as though the person within was supplementing his brief observation from the side with a longer, if diminishing, view from behind.
The countenance of the young girl’s companion retrograded from its new-found favor to a more inexorable cast.
“A friend of yours?” he said, briefly.
“I never saw him before,” she answered with flashing eyes. “Perhaps he is the lord of the manor and thought I was one of his subjects.”
“There are lords in this country, then?”
“Lords or patroons, they are called,” she replied, her face still flushed.
At this moment, across the meadows, beyond the fence of stumps––poor remains of primeval monarchs!––a woman appeared at the back door of the inn with a tin horn upon which she blew vigorously, the harsh blasts echoing over hill and valley. The startled swallows40and martins arose from the eaves and fluttered above the roof. The farm hand at the plow released the handle, and the slip-shod maid appeared in the door of the cow-shed, spry and nimble enough at meal time.
From the window of her room Susan saw them returning and looked surprised as well as a bit annoyed. Truth to tell, Mistress Susan, with her capacity for admiring and being admired, had conceived a momentary interest in the stranger, a fancy as light as it was ephemeral. That touch of melancholy when his face was in repose inspired a transitory desire for investigation in this past-mistress of emotional analysis. But the arrival of the coach which had passed the couple soon diverted Susan’s thoughts to a new channel.
The equipage drew up, and a young man, dressed in a style novel in that locality, sprang out. He wore a silk hat with scarcely any brim, trousers extremely wide at the ankle, a waistcoat of the dimensions of 1745, and large watch ribbons, sustaining ponderous bunches of seals.
The gallant fop touched the narrow brim of his hat to Kate, who was peeping from one window, and waved a kiss to Susan, who was surreptitiously glancing from another, whereupon both being detected, drew back hastily. Overwhelmed by the appearance of a guest of such manifest distinction, the landlord bowed obsequiously as the other entered the tavern with a supercilious nod.
To Mistress Susan this incident was exciting while41it lasted, but when the dandy had disappeared her attention was again attracted to Constance and Saint-Prosper, who slowly approached. He paused with his horse before the front door and she stood a moment near the little porch, on either side of which grew sweet-williams, four-o’clocks and larkspur. But the few conventional words were scanty crumbs for the fair eavesdropper above, the young girl soon entering the house and the soldier leading his horse in the direction of the stable. As the latter disappeared around the corner of the tavern, Susan left the window and turned to the mirror.
“La!” she said, holding a mass of blond hair in one hand and deftly coiling it upon her little head, “I believe she got up early to meet him.” But Kate only yawned lazily.
Retracing his steps from the barn, the soldier crossed the back-yard, where already on the clothes’ line evidences of early matutinal industry, a pair of blue over-alls, with sundry white and red stockings, were dancing in the breeze. First the over-alls performed wildly, then the white stockings responded with vim, while the red ones outdid themselves by their shocking abandonment, vaunting skyward as though impelled by the phantom limbs of some Parisiandanseuse.
Making his way by this dizzy saturnalia and avoiding the pranks of animated hosiery and the more ponderous frolics of over-alls, sheets and tablecloths, Saint-Prosper entered the kitchen. Here the farm hand and maid of all work were eating, and the landlord’s42rotund and energetic wife was bustling before the fireplace. An old iron crane, with various sized pothooks and links of chain, swung from the jambs at the will of the housewife. Boneset, wormwood and catnip had their places on the wall, together with ears of corn and strings of dried apples.
Bustling and active, with arms bared to the elbow and white with flour, the spouse of mine host realized the scriptural injunction: “She looketh well to the ways of her household.” Deftly she spread the dough in the baking pan; smoothly leveled it with her palm; with nice mathematical precision distributed bits of apple on top in parallel rows; lightly sprinkled it with sugar, and, lo and behold, was fashioned an honest, wholesome, Dutch apple cake, ready for the baking!
In the tap-room the soldier encountered the newcomer, seated not far from the fire as though his blood flowed sluggishly after his long ride in the chill morning air. Upon the table lay his hat, and he was playing with the seals on his watch ribbon, his legs indolently stretched out straight before him. Occasionally he coughed when the smoke, exuding from the damp wood, was not entirely expelled up the chimney, but curled around the top of the fireplace and diffused itself into the atmosphere. Well-built, although somewhat slender of figure, this latest arrival had a complexion of tawny brown, a living russet, as warm and glowing as the most vivid of Vandyke pigments.
43
He raised his eyes slowly as the soldier entered and surveyed him deliberately. From a scrutiny of mere physical attributes he passed on to the more important details of clothes, noting that his sack coat was properly loose at the waist and that the buttons were sufficiently large to pass muster, but also detecting that the trousers lacked breadth at the ankles and that the hat had a high crown and a broad brim, from which he complacently concluded the other was somewhat behind the shifting changes of fashion.
“Curse me, if this isn’t a beastly fire!” he exclaimed, stretching himself still more, yawning and passing a hand through his black hair. “Hang them, they might as well shut up their guests in the smoke-house with the bacons and hams! I feel as cured as a side of pig, ready to be hung to a dirty rafter.”
With which he pulled himself together, went to the window, raised it and placed a stick under the frame.
“They tell me there’s a theatrical troupe here,” he resumed, returning to his chair and relapsing into its depths. “Perhaps you are one of them?”
“I have not that honor.”
“Honor!” repeated the new arrival with a laugh. “That’s good! That was one of them on the road with you, I’ll be bound. You have good taste! Heigho!” he yawned again. “I’m anchored here awhile on account of a lame horse. Perhaps though”––brightening––“it may not be so bad after all. These players promise some diversion.” At that moment his face wore an expression of airy, jocund assurance which44faded to visible annoyance as he continued: “Where can that landlord be? He placed me in this kennel, vanished, and left me to my fate. Ah, here he is at last!” As the host approached, respectfully inquiring:
“Is there anything more I can do for you?”
“More?” exclaimed this latest guest, ironically. “Well, better late than never! See that my servant has help with the trunks.”
“Very well, sir; I’ll have Sandy look after them. You are going to stay then?” Shifting several bottles on the bar with apparent industry.
“How can I tell?” returned the newcomer lightly. “Fate is a Sphynx, and I am not Œdipus to answer her questions!”
The landlord looked startled, paused in his feigned employment, but slowly recovering himself, began to dust a jar of peppermint candy.
“How far is it to Meadtown?” continued the guest.
“Forty odd miles! Perhaps you are seeking the old patroon manor there? They say the heir is expected any day”––gazing fixedly at the young man––“at least, the anti-renters have received information he is coming and are preparing––”
The sprightly guest threw up his hands.
“The trunks! the trunks!” he exclaimed in accents of despair. “Look at the disorder of my attire! The pride of these ruffles leveled by the dew; my wristbands in disarray; the odor of the road pervading my person! The trunks, I pray you!”
45
“Yes, sir; at once, sir! But first let me introduce you to Mr. Saint-Prosper, of Paris, France. Make yourselves at home, gentlemen!”
With which the speaker hurriedly vanished and soon the bumping and thumping in the hall gave cheering assurance of instructions fulfilled.
“That porter is a prince among his kind,” observed the guest satirically, wincing as an unusual bang overhead shook the ceiling. “But I’ll warrant my man won’t have to open my luggage after he gets through.”
Then as quiet followed the racket above––“So you’re from Paris, France?” he asked half-quizzically. “Well, it’s a pleasure to meet somebody from somewhere. As I, too, have lived––not in vain!––in Paris, France, we may have mutual friends?”
“It is unlikely,” said the soldier, who meanwhile had drawn off his riding gloves, placed them on the mantel, and stood facing the fire, with his back to the other guest. As he spoke he turned deliberately and bent his penetrating glance on his questioner.
“Really? Allow me to be skeptical, as I have considerable acquaintance there. In the army there’s that fire-eating conqueror of the ladies, Gen––”
“My rank was not so important,” interrupted the other, “that I numbered commanders among my personal friends.”
“As you please,” said the last guest carelessly. “I had thought to exchange a little gossip with you, but––n’importe! In my own veins flows some of the blood of your country.”
46
For the time his light manner forsook him.
“Her tumults have, in a measure, been mine,” he continued. “Now she is without a king, I am well-nigh without a mother-land. True; I was not born there––but it is the nurse the child turns to. Paris was mybonne––a merry abigail! Alas, her vicious brood have turned on her and cast her ribbons in the mire! Untroubled by her own brats, she could extend her estates to the Eldorado of the southwestern seas.” He had arisen and, with hands behind his back, was striding to and fro. Coming suddenly to a pause, he asked abruptly:
“Do you know the Abbé Moneau?”
At the mention of that one-time subtle confidant of the deposed king, now the patron of republicanism, Saint-Prosper once more regarded his companion attentively.
“By reputation, certainly,” he answered, slowly.
“He was my tutor and is now my frequent correspondent. Not a bad sort of mentor, either!” The new arrival paused and smiled reflectively. “Only recently I received a letter from him, with private details of the flight of the king and vague intimations of a scandal in the army, lately come to light.”
His listener half-started from his seat and had the speaker not been more absorbed in his own easy flow of conversation than in the attitude of the other, he would have noticed that quick change of manner. Not perceiving it, however, he resumed irrelevantly:
“You see I am a sociable animal. After being47cramped in that miserable coach for hours, it is a relief to loosen one’s tongue as well as one’s legs. Even this smoky hovel suggests good-fellowship and jollity beyond a dish of tea. Will you not join me in a bottle of wine? I carry some choice brands to obviate the necessity of drinking the home-brewed concoctions of the inn-keepers of this district.”
“Thank you,” said the soldier, at the same time rising from his chair. “I have no inclination so early in the day.”
“Early?” queried the newcomer. “A half-pint of Chateau Cheval Blanc or Cru du Chevalier, high and vinous, paves a possible way for Brother Jonathan’sdéjeuner––fried pork, potatoes and chicory!” And turning to his servant who had meanwhile entered, he addressed a few words to him, and, as the door closed on the soldier, exclaimed with a shrug of the shoulders:
“An unsociable fellow! I wonder what he is doing here.”
48CHAPTER IIIAN INCOMPREHENSIBLE VENTURE
Pancakes, grits, home-made sausage, and, before each guest, an egg that had been proudly heralded by the clucking hen but a few hours before––truly a bountiful breakfast, discrediting the latest guest’s anticipations! The manager, in high spirits, mercurial as the weather, came down from his room, a bundle of posters under his arm, boisterously greeting Saint-Prosper, whom he encountered in the hall:
“Read the bill! ‘That incomparable comedy, The Honeymoon, by a peerless company.’ How does that sound?”
“Attractive, certainly,” said the other.
“Do you think it strong enough? How would ‘unparagoned’ do?”
“It would be too provincial, my dear; too provincial!” interrupted the querulous voice of the old lady.
“Very well, Madam!” the manager replied quickly. “You shall be ‘peerless’ if you wish. Every fence shall proclaim it; every post become loquacious with it.”
“I was going to the village myself,” said the soldier,49“and will join you, if you don’t mind?” he added suddenly.
“Mind? Not a bit. Come along, and you shall learn of the duties of manager, bill-poster, press-agent and license-procurer.”
An hour or so later found the two walking down the road at a brisk pace, soon leaving the tavern behind them and beginning to descend a hill that commanded a view to eastward.
“How do you advertise your performances?” asked the younger man, opening the conversation.
“By posters, written announcements in the taverns, or a notice in the country paper, if we happen along just before it goes to press,” answered Barnes. “In the old times we had the boy and the bell.”
“The boy and the bell?”
“Yes,” assented Barnes, a retrospective smile overspreading his good-natured face; “when I was a lad in Devonshire the manager announced the performance in the town market-place. I rang a cow-bell to attract attention and he talked to the people: Ding-a-ling!––‘Good people, to-night will be given “Love in a Wood”;’ ding-a-long!––‘to-morrow night, “The Beaux’ Strategem‘”;’ ding!––‘Wednesday, “The Provoked Wife”;’ ling!––‘Thursday, ”The Way of the World.”’ So I made my début in a noisy part and have since played no rôle more effectively than that of the small boy with the big bell. Incidentally, I had to clean the lamps and fetch small beer to the leading lady, which duties were perfunctorily performed. My art, however,50I threw into the bell,” concluded the manager with a laugh.
“Do you find many theaters hereabouts?” asked the other, thoughtfully.
Barnes shook his head. “No; although there are plenty of them upon the Atlantic and Southern circuits. Still we can usually rent a hall, erect a stage and construct tiers of seats. Even a barn at a pinch makes an acceptable temple of art. But our principal difficulty is procuring licenses to perform.”
“You have to get permission to play?”
“That we do!” sighed the manager. “From obdurate trustees in villages and stubborn supervisors or justices of the peace in the hamlets.”
“But their reason for this opposition?” asked his companion.
They were now entering the little hamlet, exchanging the grassy path for a sidewalk of planks laid lengthwise, and the peace of nature for such signs of civilization as a troop of geese, noisily promenading across the thoroughfare, and a peacock––in its pride of pomp as a favored bird of old King Solomon––crying from the top of the shed and proudly displaying its gorgeous train. Barnes wiped the perspiration from his brow, as he answered:
“Well, a temperance and anti-theatrical agitation has preceded us in the Shadengo Valley, a movement originated in Baltimore by seven men who had been drunkards and are now lecturing throughout the country. This is known as the ‘Washington’ movement, and51among the most formidable leaders of the crusade is an old actor, John B. Gough. But here we are at the supervisor’s office. I’ll run in and get the license, if you’ll wait a moment.”
Saint-Prosper assented, and Barnes disappeared through the door of a one-story wooden building which boasted little in its architectural appearance and whose principal decorations consisted of a small window-garden containing faded geraniums, and a sign with sundry inverted letters. The neighborhood of this far from imposing structure was a rendezvous for many of the young men of the place who had much leisure, and, to judge from the sidewalk, an ample supply of Lone Jack or some other equally popular plug tobacco. As Saint-Prosper surveyed his surroundings, the Lone Jack, or other delectable brand, was unceremoniously passed from mouth to mouth with immediate and surprising results so far as the sidewalk was concerned. Regarding these village yokels with some curiosity, the soldier saw in them a possible type of the audiences to which the strollers must appeal for favor. To such hobnails must the fair Rosalind say: “I would kiss as many of you as had beards that pleased me.” And the churls would applaud with their cowhide boots, devour her with eager eyes and––at this point the soldier found himself unconsciously frowning at his village neighbors until, with an impatient laugh, he recalled his wandering fancies. What was it to him whether the players appeared in city or hamlet? Why should52he concern himself in possible conjectures on the fortunes of these strollers? Moreover––
Here Barnes reappeared with dejection in his manner, and, treading his way absent-mindedly past the Lone Jack contingent with no word of explanation to his companion, began to retrace his steps toward the hostelry on the hill.
“Going back so soon?” asked the young man in surprise.
“There is nothing to be done here! The temperance lecturer has just gone; the people are set against plays and players. The supervisor refuses the license.”
With which the manager relapsed into silence, rueful and melancholy. Their road ran steadily upward from the sleepy valley, skirting a wood where the luxuriance of the overhanging foliage and the bright autumnal tint of the leaves were like a scene of a spectacular play. Out of breath from the steepness of the ascent, and, with his hand pressed to his side, Barnes suddenly called a halt, seated himself on a stump, his face somewhat drawn, and spoke for the first time since he left the hamlet.
“Let’s rest a moment. Something catches me occasionally here,” tapping his heart. “Ah, that’s better! The pain has left. No; it’s nothing. The machinery is getting old, that’s all! Let me see––Ah, yes!” And he drew a cigar from his pocket. “Perhaps there lies a crumb of comfort in the weed!”
The manager smoked contemplatively, like a man53pushed to the verge of disaster, weighing the slender chances of mending his broken fortunes. But as he pondered his face gradually lightened with a faint glimmer of satisfaction. His mind, seeking for a straw, caught at a possible way out of this labyrinth of difficulties and in a moment he had straightened up, puffing veritable optimistic wreaths. He arose buoyantly; before he reached the inn the crumb of comfort had become a loaf of assurance.
At the tavern the manager immediately sought mine host, stating his desire to give a number of free performances in the dining-room of the hotel. The landlord demurred stoutly; he was an inn-keeper, not the proprietor of a play-house. Were not tavern and theater inseparable, retorted Barnes? The country host had always been a patron of the histrionic art. Beneath his windows the masque and interlude were born. The mystery, harlequinade anddivertissementfound shelter in a pot-house.
In a word, so indefatigably did he ply arguments, appealing alike to clemency and cupidity––the custom following such a course––that the landlord at length reluctantly consented, and soon after the dining-room was transformed into a temple of art; stinted, it is true, for flats, drops, flies and screens, but at least more tenable than the roofless theaters of other days, when a downpour drenched the players and washed out the public, causing rainy tears to drip from Ophelia’s nose and rivulets of rouge to trickle down my Lady Slipaway’s marble neck and shoulders. In this54labor of converting the dining-room into an auditory, they found an attentive observer in the landlord’s daughter who left her pans, plates and platters to watch these preparations with round-eyed admiration. To her that temporary stage was surrounded by glamour and romance; a world remote from cook, scullion and maid of all work, and peopled with well-born dames, courtly ladies and exalted princesses.
Possibly interested in what seemed an incomprehensible venture––for how could the manager’s coffers be replenished by free performances?––Saint-Prosper that afternoon reminded Barnes he had returned from the village without fulfilling his errand.
“Dear me!” exclaimed Barnes, his face wrinkling in perplexity. “What have I been thinking about? I don’t see how I can go now. Hawkes or O’Flariaty can’t be spared, what with lamps to polish and costumes to get in order! Hum!” he mused dubiously.
“If I can be of any use, command me,” said the soldier, unexpectedly.
“You!”––exclaimed the manager. “I could not think––”
“Oh, it’s a notable occupation,” said the other with a satirical smile. “Was it not the bill-posters who caused the downfall of the French dynasty?” he added.
“In that case,” laughed Barnes, with a sigh of relief, “go ahead and spread the inflammable dodgers! Paste them everywhere, except on the tombstones in the graveyard.”
55
Conspicuously before the postoffice, grocery store, on the town pump and the fence of the village church, some time later, the soldier accordingly nailed the posters, followed by an inquisitive group, who read the following announcement: “Tuesday, ‘The Honeymoon’; Wednesday, ‘The School for Scandal’; Thursday, ‘The Stranger,’ with diverting specialties; Friday, ‘Romeo and Juliet’; Saturday, ‘Hamlet,’ with a Jig by Kate Duran. At the Travelers’ Friend. Entrance Free.”
“They’re going to play after all,” commented the blacksmith’s wife.
“I don’t see much harm in ‘Hamlet,’” said the supervisor’s yokemate. “It certainly ain’t frivolous.”
“Let’s go to ‘The Honeymoon’?” suggested an amorous carl to his slip-slop Sal.
“Go ’long!” she retorted with barn-yard bashfulness.
“Did you ever see ‘The School for Scandal’?” asked the smithy’s good wife.
“Once,” confessed the town official’s faded consort, her worn face lighting dreamily. “It was on our wedding trip to New York. Silas warn’t so strict then.”
Amid chit-chat, so diverting, Saint-Prosper finished “posting” the town. It had been late in the afternoon before he had altered the posters and set out on his paradoxical mission; the sun was declining when he returned homeward. Pausing at a cross-road, he selected a tree for one of his remaining announcements. It was already adorned with a dodger, citing the escape56of a negro slave and offering a reward for his apprehension; not an uncommon document in the North in those days.
As the traveler read the bill his expression became clouded, cheerless. Around him the fallen leaves gave forth a pleasant fragrance; caught in the currents of the air, they danced in a circle and then broke away, hurrying helter-skelter in all directions.
“Poor devil!” he muttered. “A fugitive––in hiding––”
And he nailed one of his own bills over the dodger. As he stood there reflectively the lights began to twinkle in the village below like stars winking upwards; the ascending smoke from a chimney seemed a film of lace drawn slowly through the air; from the village forge came a brighter glow as the sparks danced from the hammers on the anvils.
Shaking the reins on his horse’s neck, the soldier continued his way, while the sun, out of its city of clouds, sent beams like a searchlight to the church spire; the fields, marked by the plow; the gaunt stumps in a clearing, displaying their giant sinews. Then the resplendent rays vanished, the battlements crumbled away and night, with its army of shadows, invaded the earth. As Saint-Prosper approached the tavern, set prominently on the brow of the hill, all was solemnly restful save the sign which now creaked in doleful doldrums and again complained wildly as the wind struck it a vigorous blow. The windows were bright from the fireplace and lamp; above the door57the light streamed through the open transom upon the swaying sign and the fluttering leaves of the vine that clambered around the entrance.
In the parlor, near a deteriorated piano whose yellow keys were cracked and broken––in almost the seventh stage of pianodum,sansteeth,sanswire,sanseverything––he saw the dark-eyed girl and reined his horse. As he did so, she seated herself upon the hair-cloth stool, pressed a white finger to a discolored key and smiled at the not unexpected result––the squeak of decrepitude. While her hand still rested on the board and her features shone strongly in relief against the fire like a cameo profile set in bloodstone, a figure approached, and, leaning gracefully upon the palsied instrument, bent over her with smiling lips. It was the grand seignior, he of the equipage with silver trimmings. If the horseman’s gaze rested, not without interest, on the pleasing picture of the young actress, it was now turned with sudden and greater intentness to that of the dashing stranger, a swift interrogation glancing from that look.
How had he made his peace with her? Certainly her manner now betrayed no resentment. While motionless the rider yet sat in his saddle, an invisible hand grasped the reins.
“Shall I put up your horse?” said a small voice, and the soldier quickly dismounted, the animal vanishing with the speaker, as Saint-Prosper entered the inn. Gay, animated, conscious of his attractions, the fop hovered over the young girl, an all-pervading Hyperion,58with faultless ruffles, white hands, and voice softly modulated. That evening the soldier played piquet with the wiry old lady, losing four shillings to that antiquated gamester, and, when he had paid the stakes, the young girl was gone and the buoyant beau had sought diversion in his cups.
“Strike me,” muttered the last named personage, “the little stroller has spirit. How her eyes flashed when I first approached her! It required some tact and acting to make her believe I took her for some one else on the road. Not such an easy conquest as I thought, although I imagine I have put that adventurer’s nose out of joint. But why should I waste time here? Curse it, just to cut that fellow out! Landlord!”
“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!”
59CHAPTER 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 amusement 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 buttons,60while 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 gloves61like 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 casement 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 manor62had 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. Anticipation 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 nobleman’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 noble Duke! Have you no water from the well?” An answer diametrically opposed to the tendencies of63the 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 encompassed 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 identity 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 of64much 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; passion 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 wifeIs still the sterling comfort of a man’s life,”