“Perhaps it is quite as well, major,” said my heroine, “that they should leave us a little to ourselves this evening, for it is quite necessary that we should talk over what we have got to do next. I suppose we may reckon upon receiving these five hundred dollars to-morrow morning, and the sooner we can be off afterwards, the better I presume you will be pleased.”
“Decidedly, my Barnaby,” replied her husband. “But don’t you think, my dear,” he added, after meditating upon the subject for a minute or two, “don’t you think that there will be something rather awkward in our running away the very moment you have got the money from them? Don’t you think it will look odd?”
“Not the least in the world, Donny,” replied his wife, with very prompt decision. “You forget that the very purpose for which I am to receive it, renders it absolutely necessary for me to travel with all the perseverance and activity possible into the other Free States. New York, you know, is one of them, and as it is there we most wish to go, why should we not set off for it to-morrow? There are steamers going two or three times a day.”
“If you have no objection, my dear, I am sure I have none; for to tell you the truth, I never hated a place so much in my life,” returned her husband. “I never sit down to table without feeling as if I were put in the stocks. Confound their solemn faces, they positively give me the cramp.”
This short dialogue sufficed to settle the question as to what they were to do next, and that no time might be lost, they employed themselves till it was time to set off for the theatre, in collecting together whatever had been unpacked, and putting all things in order for departure.
“There!” said Mrs. Allen Barnaby, as she turned the key of her trunk with a very satisfactory snap, “now I shall be able to help Patty to-morrow; for, as we well know, she is always behind-hand.”
Having completed this business, and been favoured with an early cup of tea in their own apartment, they set off for the theatre.
“Buy a bill, Donny,” said my heroine, as they passed through the lobby. The request was complied with, and having reached the places secured for them, the major politely placed the play-bill in his lady’s hand. Her spectacles were immediately applied, for alas! the beautiful Barnaby had reached the time at which they were necessary, and she proceeded to examine the bill of fare for the evening’s amusement.
“Read it aloud, my dear, for you know I can’t see in this owl’s light,” said the major.
The lady obeyed, and read, “The Merchant of Venice.”
“Ah! that’s a very good play,” observed the major; “I remember seeing it in London. And who is the new performer Patty talked about?”
Mrs. Allen Barnaby applied herself anew to the play-bill, and read aloud, “The part of Nerissa by a lady from England, being her first appearance.”
“Oh! then, it is only some English actress who has never played here before,” said the major. “It does not mean a first appearance.”
“I suppose not,” replied his wife. And then she obligingly read aloud the other parts of the bill, even to the name of the printer. This done, they both set themselves to examine the house (for they had arrived unnecessarily early), and criticised all the people who came into it; and in this way they beguiled the time till the curtain rose.
When the scene changed from Venice to Belmont, the stage was for a moment unoccupied and then two well-bedizened ladies entered at the farther end of it, and walked forward towards the footlights, for the first half of the distance in silence, and then conversing. The shorter of the two actresses was the favourite American Portia of the day; but the burst of applause which greeted their entrée, was evidently as much intended for the maid as the mistress, her novelty being as cordially greeted as the well-known reputation of the other.
“What a lovely woman!” was exclaimed by many voices at once.
“The stage is full of dust,” said Mrs. Allen Barnaby, rubbing her eyes; “I can’t make out their features at all.”
The major applied his opera-glass to his eye, and remained in contemplation of the fair creatures before him for several seconds. At length removing the glass from his eyes, and turning short round towards his wife, he whispered almost in her ear —
“By all that’s sacred, wife, that girl in pink is Patty!”
“Impossible!” exclaimed the portly lady, looking very much as if she intended to clamber upon the stage over the front of the box, the orchestra, and all other obstacles. “She dare not, Donny! She dare not for her life!”
The greatly irritated major did not exactly reply in words, “she dare do anything,” but his tremendous frown said it for him, and by the time my heroine had herself looked through the glass, the same disagreeable truth impressed itself’ on her mind also, and she exclaimed, in a rage that was equally ill-timed and unprofitable —
“True enough, sir. And who is it that has spoilt her from first to last, and taught her in all ways to be an undutiful monster?”
Mrs. Allen Barnaby was by no means accustomed to give way in public to those little eruptions of warm temper to which she was constitutionally liable; but now the well-behaved major began, to fear that she would lose all command of herself, and multiply all the evils of the exposure his high-spirited daughter was bringing upon them.
“We had better come away, my dear,” he said, in the gentlest accents possible. “Nobody will know anything about her if we keep our own secret.”
Fortunately the house was by no means crowded; and in the box they occupied, the only persons besides themselves in it, were two lounging men, whose whole attention seemed devoted at this moment to the stage. And no great wonder that it should be so. The very striking face and figure of Patty being just then displayed in the manner to make both as striking as possible; and though face, figure, attitude, and dress, might all perhaps have been classed as meretricious in their coarse attractiveness, there was, nevertheless, something of youthful brilliance in her appearance which most people would have found it difficult, at the first glance, to turn away from.
Whether either father or mother had sufficient of what may be called decent refinement, to feel all the painful degradation of such an appearance, may be doubtful; but both the one and the other were instantly aware, that at the moment when they were endeavouring to push their fortune among the wealthy quaker magnates of the land, such an exhibition of their daughter must be fatal. And this was certainly the feeling which induced them both, without further consultation, to leave the theatre, that they might themselves be as little as possible identified with her.
My unfortunate heroine suffered her common-sense to get the better of her anger at this critical moment, and suddenly ceasing her ejaculations, prepared herself to follow her husband’s advice, and leave the box.
It was, as has been already stated, the front seat of this box that they occupied, and Mrs. Allen Barnaby had deposited her shawl on the cushion in front of it. As she took hold of this shawl for the purpose of drawing it away, she became sensible that a hand, or some other impediment, prevented its yielding to her pull, which she then rendered rather more powerful, but in vain, the shawl yielded not, and the major, who perceived this, immediately bent forward, with a hasty movement, to discover who or what it was which thus delayed the exit that he so impatiently desired.
This movement of his was accompanied by one precisely similar on the part of his wife, and thus at the same instant they both perceived the black and yellow physiognomy of their noble son-inlaw turned up to greet them, while a flute, which he held in the hand not occupied by the shawl, informed them, by its very intelligible hieroglyphic, why and wherefore it was that he had taken his place in the orchestra of the Chesnut-street Theatre. There was not the slightest mixture of doubt or fear in the expression of the features thus turned up towards them; on the contrary, the Don had probably never met the eyes of his parents-in-law with an aspect so entirely free from both. He seemed to think it was a moment of common triumph to them all; and after havi
ng looked at them both with a congratulating grin, he turned his head towards the stage just as Patty was pronouncing, with a very majestical wave of the right arm —
Your father was ever virtuous — and kissing the tips of his fingers, waved the caressing salutation towards her, and pronounced the word “Bravo!” as if involuntarily, but with a degree of unction that drew many eyes upon him. Infinitely provoked at this very unnecessary additional annoyance, the major jerked the shawl very unceremoniously from his fingers, and muttering “Come along, for heaven’s sake!” to his wife, hurried out of the box.
Not one syllable was spoken by the major between the theatre and the boarding-house, a species of moody silence which appeared to produce a very imposing effect on his wife; for though she was well nigh bursting with impatience to speak of what had occurred, she produced no sounds more articulate than sighs and groans, till they were fairly concealed from all eyes and ears, in the retirement of their own apartment. —
“How many of your boasted five hundred dollars, Mrs. Allen Barnaby, do you expect to get from your quaker friends after this?” said the major, throwing himself into an arm-chair, and freely using the refreshing friction of his silk handkerchief upon his heated brow.
“Not a single cent of it, Major Allen Barnaby, if the broadbrims find it out. But we must be quick, my dear, quick as thought. You will do what you like, of course; but this is what I should propose. Let us sit watching here till the Williamses return. I have heard them say that they are never late. The moment I hear them enter their room I will go to them. No! I don’t think I could stand that either. The steady look of her light gray eyes always disconcerts me. I’ll write, major, that’s what I’ll do. I will write to him.”
“And pray, my dear, if I may be so bold,” he replied, with something like a sneer, “what do you mean to say?”
“You shall see, major, you shall see; of course I won’t send it if you should disapprove.”
Mrs. Allen Barnaby said she would be quick, and she was so.
In a very short space of time she put the following lines into the hands of her husband: —
“MY DEAR SIR, — I have received a letter from a friend of mine at Washington, who is aware of the object which brought me to this country, informing me that one of those dreadful scenes of abomination, the sale by auction of negro slaves, is to take place there on the 15th. If I start by the five o’clock boat to-morrow morning, I shall be in time to witness this, and I feel certain that a description of it written on the spot will do more towards impressing my readers with the emotions I wish to inspire, than any other particular upon which I could employ my pen. You know, my dear sir, from the entire unreserve with which I have explained to you my situation, how I am circumstanced at this moment with respect to money, and will therefore fully comprehend of what great importance it will be to me that I should receive the subscription you have raised for me to-night. Should you, my dear sir, have failed in obtaining for me the contingent advantage we talked of in case of an extended sale of my work, I will consent, under the peculiar pressure of the moment, to dispose of my interest in it altogether, for the five hundred dollars that have been offered me. This sacrifice will be vexatious, but I feel that I ought to submit to it, rather than fail to be the eyewitness of a scene which is calculated to throw so much striking odium upon the system that my soul abhors. I await your reply to this with very anxious impatience. If it be favourable, I shall feel myself ever bound to you, and shall proceed with renovated zeal and courage in my enterprise; but if otherwise, I fear I must abandon it altogether, as my excellent, but, on this point, mistaken husband, declares that his duty as aide-de-camp and private secretary to the Duke of Wellington, will render it impossible for him to indulge me by prolonging much further his absence from home. I remain, dear sir, with the most lively sense of your benevolent kindness, your faithful, “Humble servant, “MARTHA ALLEN BARNABY.”
Major Allen Barnaby, who really was very proud of his wife, read tins epistle twice over with a very approving smile, and then said —
“I should be puzzled to improve it, my dear, I promise you. But there is one doubt suggests itself, my Barnaby. What think you would be likely to happen if this broad-brimmed Jonathan should chance to know that no such sale as thee talks of is going to take place?”
“Thee need not alarm theeself,” she replied in the same tone; “I am too old a soldier to hazard the success of a stratagem by any such risk.” And extending her hand to the other side of the table, at which she had been writing, she took up a newspaper, and handed it to him, pointing out the particular passage she wished him to peruse.
This was an advertisement of the Bale she had mentioned in her letter, and which, by great good luck, she remembered to have read, when she certainly had little thought of turning it to such good account.
“Good! Capital!” exclaimed Major Allen Barnaby, with much energy. “If you do but get these five hundred dollars, my dear, I shall not care that (snapping his fingers) for Patty’s foolish frolic. I hate this place, and all the people in it, and shall be heartily glad to get away from it, I promise you. Not but what I shall be devilishly provoked if these two fools, Tornorino and his wife, are the cause of your losing the reward of your cleverness, winch you most certainly will do if your beloved John and Rachel hear of it.”
“They are perfectly welcome to hear of it to-morrow at breakfast time, Donny,” returned my heroine, folding and sealing her letter. “And now ring the bell.”
The major obeyed, Ariadne appeared, and the important letter was despatched.
On such occasions every moment seems an age; nevertheless, the answer arrived so speedily, that it was received with the word “already!” pronounced in rather tremulous accents by Mrs. Allen Barnaby. But no sooner had her fingers touched the envelope, than hope took the place of fear, for the packet had evidently more than one inclosure, and the moment after, hope gave way before certainty; for on opening the said packet, two bills for two hundred and fifty dollars each fell out of it, together with a short letter and a long paper within it. The letter ran thus: —
“Thee art right, friend Barnaby, in wishing to see with thine own eyes the actual sale by auction of our unhappy fellow-creatures. For this cause I am ready and willing to hasten the business between us to its conclusion; wherefore I send thee five hundred dollars, together with duplicate engagements from the bookseller, by the which thee wilt perceive that an ultimate interest in thy work is secured to thee. If thee wilt sign one of these papers and send it back, the business will be settled between us for the present. When thy work shall be ready for publication, thee mayest send it directed to John Williams, Philadelphia, and then I will promise thee to be watchful and faithful for thy interests, and take care that when the costs of publication, together with the advance, shall be liquidated by the profits arising therefrom, thy stipulated share of all such profits as shall accrue afterwards, shall be punctually forwarded to thy address.
“Fare thee well, “From thy friend, “JOHN WILLIAMS.
“Post Scriptum. The black servant, Ariadne, has orders to wait for the agreement to which thee art to affix thy signature.”
Having read this letter through, Mrs. Allen Barnaby placed it in the hands of her husband, with an expressive “hem;” and then with a sort of gentle sigh, as if things might have been better with her, she took up the two bills and placed them in a purse, which she drew from her pocket; after which she cast her eyes over the duplicate engagements, signed one of them, placed it in the hands of Ariadne, and dismissed her.
There was a good deal of genuine fun in the look with which the major contemplated his lady as the door closed, and they found themselves again alone. My heroine, for the first moment or two, ventured not to utter any articulate sound in return, but pursed up her mouth, and twinkled her eyes. But as she listened to the retreating steps of Ariadne, she took courage and ventured to say —
“I told you I would be quick, Major Allen Barnaby, a
nd I hope you think that I have kept my word?”
“My dear, you are an angel,” was his satisfactory reply; adding, however, “but for all that, my Barnaby, I feel as if we were sitting upon a mine. Just fancy their hearing that your daughter was a strolling-player, and your son-in-law first flute in the orchestra!”
“They may hear that, Donny, or anything else within the reach either of truth or invention, as soon as we are beyond reach of hearing them, and that we shall be, my dear, before they all meet at breakfast to-morrow; till then, I think, our secret may be considered as safe.”
The major agreed that this was certainly probable, and at once, without indulging any more in speculation on the subject, they both set to work upon the necessary business of the final packing up, and had very satisfactorily completed all they had to do in that way, when Don Tornorino and his lady knocked at the chamber-door.
It had been previously agreed between the angry parents that the present was no time for remonstrance or reproach, and all that was uttered of either was contained in the information that after this appearance, in public, it would be impossible for any of them to remain in the city, that everything they could themselves do in the way of preparing for departure, had been already done, and that the Don and his wife, instead of retiring to rest, must immediately set about the same work for themselves, unless, indeed, they had made such terms with the manager of the company they had joined, as might enable them to support themselves without further assistance — in which case they certainly need not trouble themselves about preparing for removal.
Patty clapped her hands and burst into a loud laugh, but her Don stood aghast, and expressed by his countenance every species of humility and repentance, that the most severe parents could require. He knew, though his madcap wife did not, that his engagement with the manager consisted solely in having obtained permission for himself and his wife to appear — his lady on the stage, and himself in the orchestra. The result of which experiment had been, that the musical part of the establishment had declared that they could not and would not play with Don Tornorino, for that it was a damnation bore to be told every other minute that they were playing out of time, an accusation which, whether just or unjust, they being, one and all, native free-born Americans, were not very likely to take in good part; so that, in fact, he had brought away with him nothing but his congé. His handsome wife, however, had had somewhat better success, having received sundry rounds of applause when she appeared in the clerk’s dress; which, to say truth, became her extremely well, so much so, indeed, that the manager had announced a repetition of the piece for another night of the current week, which had been very favourably received by all the clapping and thumping part of the audience.
Collected Works of Frances Trollope Page 366
