Mistress Nell: A Merry Tale of a Merry Time

by George Cochrane Hazelton

  CHAPTER III

  _He took them from Castlemaine's hand to throw to you._

  The greenroom seemed like some old forest rent by a storm. Itsfurniture, which was none too regular at best, either in carving orarrangement, had the irregularity which comes only with a tempest, humanor divine. The table, it is true, still stood on its four oaken legs;but even it was well awry. The chairs were scattered here and there,some resting upon their backs. To add to all this, oranges in confusionwere strewn broadcast upon the floor.

  A storm in fact had visited the greenroom. The storm was Nell.

  In the midst of the confusion, a jolly old face peeped cautiously in atthe door which led to the street. At the sound of Manager Hart'sthunderous tones coming from the stage, however, it as promptlydisappeared, only to return when the apparent danger ceased. It was arare old figure and a rare old dress and a rare old man. Yet, not an oldman either. His face was red; for he was a tavern spirit, well known andwell beloved,--a lover of good ale! Across his back hung a fiddle whichtoo had the appearance of being the worse for wear, if fiddles can everbe said to be the worse for wear.

  The intruder took off his dilapidated hat, hugged his fiddle closelyunder his arm and looked about the room, more cautiously thanrespectfully.

  "Oons, here is a scattering of props; a warfare of the orange-wenches!"he exclaimed. "A wise head comes into battle after the last shot isfired."

  He proceeded forthwith to fill his pockets, of which there seemed to bean abundance of infinite depth, with oranges. This done, he calmly madea hole in the next orange which came to his hand and began to suck itloudly and persistently, boy-fashion, meanwhile smacking his lips. Hisface was one wreath of unctuous smiles. "There is but one way to eat anorange," he chuckled; "that's through a hole."

  At this moment, Hart's voice was heard again upon the stage, and thenew-comer to the greenroom liked to have dropped his orange. "Odsbud,that's one of Master Hart's love-tones," he thought. "I must see Nellbefore he sees me, or it will be farewell Strings." He hastened toNell's tiring-room and rapped lightly on the door. "Mistress Nell!Mistress Nell!" he called.

  The door opened, but it was not Nell. Her maid pointed toward the stage.Strings--for Strings was his name, or at least none knew him by abetter--accordingly hobbled across the room--for the wars too had lefttheir mark on him--and peeped off in the direction indicated.

  "Gad," he exclaimed, gleefully clapping his hands, "there she goes onthe stage as a Moorish princess."

  There was a storm of applause without.

  "Bravo, Nelly, bravo!" he continued. "She's caught the lads in the pit.They worship Nell out there." The old fellow straightened up as if hefelt a personal pride in the audience for evincing such good taste.

  "Oons! Jack Hart struts about like a young game-cock at his firstfight," he observed. He broke into an infectious laugh, which would havebeen a fine basso for Nell's laugh.

  From the manager, his eye turned toward the place which he himself hadonce occupied among the musicians. He began to dance up and down withboth feet, his knees well bent, boy-fashion, and to clap his handswildly. "Look ye, little Tompkins got my old place with the fiddle.Whack, de-doodle-de-do! Whack, de-doodle, de-doodle-de-do!" he cried,giving grotesque imitations to his own great glee of his successor asleader of the orchestra.

  Then, shaking his head, confident of his own superiority with the bow,he turned back into the greenroom and, with his mouth half full oforange, uttered the droll dictum: "It will take more than catgut andhorse-hair to make you a fiddler, Tommy, my boy."

  Thus Strings stood blandly sucking his orange with personal satisfactionin the centre of the room, when Dick entered from the stage. Thecall-boy paused as if he could not believe his eyes. He looked andlooked again.

  "Heigh-ho!" he exclaimed at last, and then rushed across the room togreet the old fiddler. "Why, Strings, I thought we would never see youagain; how fares it with you?"

  Strings placed the orange which he had been eating and which he knewfull well was none of his own well behind him; and, assuming anunconcerned and serious air, he replied: "Odd! A little the worse forwear, Dickey, me and the old fiddle, but still smiling with the world."There was a bit of a twinkle in his eye as he spoke.

  Dick, ever mindful of the welfare and appearance of the theatre,unhooked from the wall a huge shield, which mayhap had served somefavourite knight of yore, and, using it as a tray, proceeded to gatherthe scattered fruit.

  "Have an orange?" he inquired of Strings, who still stood in areflective mood in the centre of the room, as he rested in his laboursby him.

  "How; do they belong to you?" demanded Strings.

  "Oh, no," admitted Dick, "but--"

  The fiddler instantly assumed an air of injured innocence.

  "How dare you," he cried, "offer me what don't belong to you?" He turnedupon the boy almost ferociously at the bare thought. "Honesty is thebest policy," he continued, seriously. "I have tried both, lad"; and, inhis eagerness to impress upon the boy the seriousness of taking thatwhich does not belong to you, he gestured inadvertently with the handwhich till now had held the stolen orange well behind him.

  A FRIEND EVEN UNTO HER WORST ENEMY.]Dick's eye fell upon it, and so did Strings's. There was a moment'sawkwardness, and then both burst into a peal of joyous laughter.

  "Oh, well, egad,--I _will_ join you, Dick," said Strings, with morepatronage still than apology. He seated himself upon the table and begananew to suck his orange in philosophic fashion.

  "But, mind you, lad; never again offer that which is not your own, forthere you are twice cursed," he discoursed pompously. "You make him whoreceives guilty of your larceny. Oons, my old wound." He winced frompain. "He becomes an accomplice in your crime. So says the King's law.Hush, lad, I am devouring the evidence of your guilt."

  The boy by this time had placed the shield of oranges in the corner ofthe room and had returned to listen to Strings's discourse. "You speakwith the learning of a solicitor," he said, as he looked respectfullyinto the old fiddler's face.

  Strings met the glance with due dignity.

  "Marry, I've often been in the presence of a judge," he replied, withgreat solemnity. His face reflected the ups and downs in his career ashe made the confession.

  "Is that where you have been, Strings, all these long days?" asked Dick,innocently.

  "Heaven forbid!" exclaimed Strings, with sadly retrospectivecountenance. "Travelling, lad--contemplating the world, from the King'shighways. Take note, my boy,--a prosperous man! I came into the worldwithout a rag that I could call my own, and now I have an abundance.Saith the philosopher: Some men are born to rags, some achieve rags andsome have rags thrust upon them."

  "I wish you were back with us, Strings," said the boy, sympathetically,as he put a hand upon Strings's broad shoulder and looked admiringly upinto his face.

  "I wish so myself," replied the fiddler. "Thrice a day, I grow lonesomehere." A weather-beaten hand indicated the spot where good dinnersshould be.

  "They haven't all forgot you, Strings," continued his companion,consolingly.

  "Right, lad!" said Strings, musingly, as he lifted the old viol closeagainst his cheek and tenderly picked it. "The old fiddle is true to meyet, though there is but one string left to its dear old neck." Therewas a sob in his voice as he spoke. "I tell you, a fiddle's human, Dick!It laughs at my jokes alone now; it weeps at my sorrows." He sigheddeeply and the tears glistened in his eyes. "The fiddle is the onlyfriend left me and the little ones at home now, my lad."

  "--And Dick!" the boy suggested, somewhat hurt. He too was weeping."It's a shame; that's what it is!" he broke out, indignantly. "Tompkinscan't play the music like you used to, Strings."

  "Oons!" exclaimed the fiddler, the humour in his nature bubbling againto the surface. "It's only now and then the Lord has time to make afiddler, Dickey, my boy."

  As he spoke, the greenroom shook with the rounds of applause from thepit and galleries without.

  "Hurrah!
" he shouted, following Dick to the stage-door--his own sorrowsmelting before the sunshine of his joy at the success of his favourite."Nell has caught them with the epilogue." He danced gleefully about,entering heartily into the applause and totally forgetful of the factthat he was on dangerous ground.

  Dick was more watchful. "Manager Hart's coming!" he exclaimed instartled voice, fearful for the welfare of his friend.

  Strings collapsed. "Oh, Lord, let me be gone," he said, as he rememberedthe bitter quarrel he had had with the manager of the King's House,which ended in the employment of Tompkins. He did not yearn for anotherinterview; for Hart had forbidden him the theatre on pain of whipping.

  "Where can you hide?" whispered Dick, woefully, as the manager's voiceindicated that he was approaching the greenroom, and that too in farfrom the best of humour.

  "Behind Richard's throne-chair! It has held sinners before now," addedthe fiddler as he glided well out of sight.

  Dick was more cautious. In a twinkling, he was out of the door which ledto the street.

  The greenroom walls looked grim in the sputtering candle-light, but theyhad naught to say.

  The door from the stage opened, and in came Nell. There was somethingsadly beautiful and pathetic in her face. She had enjoyed but now one ofthe grandest triumphs known to the theatre, and yet she seemed obliviousto the applause and bravas, to the lights and to the royalty.

  A large bouquet of flowers was in her arms--a bouquet of red roses. Herlips touched them reverently. Her eyes, however, were far away in adream of the past.

  "From the hand of the King of England!" she mused softly to herself."The King? How like his face to the youthful cavalier, who weary andworn reined in his steed a summer's day, now long ago, and took a gourdof water from my hand. Could he have been the King? Pooh, pooh! I dreamagain."

  She turned away, as from herself, with a heart-heavy laugh. The managerentered from the stage.

  "See, Jack, my flowers," she said, again in an ecstasy of happiness."Are they not exquisite?"

  "He took them from Castlemaine's hand to throw to you," snarled Hart,jealously.

  "The sweeter, then!" and Nell broke into a tantalizing laugh. "Mayhap hewas teaching the player-king to do likewise, Jack," she added,roguishly, as she arranged the flowers in a vase.

  "I am in no mood for wit-thrusts," replied Hart as he fretfully pacedthe room. "You played that scene like an icicle."

  "In sooth, your acting froze me," slyly retorted Nell, kindly butpointedly. She took the sweetest roses from the bunch, kissed them andarranged them in her bosom.

  This did not improve Hart's temper.

  Strings seized the opportunity to escape from his hiding-place to thestage.

  "I say, you completely ruined my work," said Hart. "The audience wererightly displeased."

  "With you, perhaps," suggested Nell. "I did not observe the feeling."

  Hart could no longer control himself. "You vilely read those gloriouslines:

  _"See how the gazing People crowd the Place; All gaping to be fill'd with my Disgrace. That Shout, like the hoarse Peals of Vultures rings, When, over fighting Fields they beat their wings."_

  "And how should I read them, dear master?" she asked demurely of hervainglorious preceptor.

  "Like I read them, in sooth," replied he, well convinced that hisreading could not be bettered.

  "Like you read them, in sooth," replied Nell, meekly. She took the floorand repeated the lines with the precise action and trick of voice whichHart had used. Every "r" was well trilled; "gaping" was pronounced withan anaconda-look, as though she were about to swallow the theatre,audience and all; and, as she spoke the line, "When, over fightingFields they beat their wings," she raised her arms and shoulders inimitation of some barn-yard fowl vainly essaying flight and swept acrossthe room, the picture of grace in ungracefulness.

  "'Tis monstrous!" exclaimed Hart, bitterly, as he realized the travesty."You cannot act and never could. I was a fool to engage you."

  Nell was back by the vase, toying with the flowers. "London applauds myacting," she suggested, indifferently.

  "London applauds the face and figure; not the art," replied Hart.

  "London is wise; for the art is in the face and figure, Master Jack. Youtold me so yourself," she added, sharply, pointing her finger at heradversary in quick condemnation. She turned away triumphant.

  "I was a fool like the rest," replied Hart, visibly irritated that hecould not get the better of the argument.

  "Come, don't be angry," said Nell. Her manner had changed; for her hearthad made her fearful lest her tongue had been unkind. "Mayhap Almahydeis the last part Nell will ever play." She looked thoughtfully into thebunch of roses. Did she see a prophecy there?

  He approached the table where she stood. "Your head is turned by theflowers," he said, bitterly. "An honest motive, no doubt, prompted theroyal gift."

  Nell turned sharply upon him. Her lips trembled, but one word only cameto them--"Jack!"

  Hart's eyes fell under the rebuke; for he knew that only anger promptedwhat he had said. He would have struck another for the same words.

  "Pardon, Nell," he said, softly. "My heart rebukes my tongue. I loveyou!"

  Nell stepped back to the mirror, contemplating herself, bedecked as shewas with the flowers. In an instant she forgot all, and repliedplayfully to Hart's confession of love: "Of course, you do. How couldyou help it? So do others."

  "I love you better than the rest," he added, vehemently, "better than mylife." He tried to put his arms about her.

  Nell, however, was by him like a flash.

  "Not so fast, dear sir," she said, coyly; and she tiptoed across theroom and ensconced herself high in the throne-chair.

  Hart followed and knelt below her, adoring.

  "Admit that I can act--a little--just a little--dear Hart, or tell me nomore of love." She spoke with the half-amused, half-indifferent air of abeautiful princess to some servant-suitor; and she was, indeed, mostlovable as she leaned back in the great throne-chair. She seemed a queenand the theatre her realm. Her beautiful arms shone white in theflickering candle-light. Her sceptre was a rose which the King ofEngland had given her.

  Hart stepped back and looked upon the picture. "By heaven, Nell," hecried, "I spoke in anger. You are the most marvellous actress in theworld. Nature, art and genius crown your work."

  Nell smiled at his vehemence. "I begin to think that you have taste mostexcellent," she said.

  Hart sprang to her side, filled with hope. As the stage-lover he ne'erspoke in tenderer tones. "Sweet Nell, when I found you in the pit, aragged orange-girl, I saw the sparkle in your eye, the brightintelligence, the magic genius, which artists love. I claimed you for myart, which is the art of arts--for it embraces all. I had the theatre. Igave it you. You captured the Lane--then London. You captured my soul aswell, and held it slave."

  "Did I do all that, dear Jack?" she asked, wistfully.

  "And more," said Hart, rapturously. "You captured my years to come, myhope, ambition, love--all. All centred in your heart and eyes, sweetNell, from the hour I first beheld you."

  Nell's look was far away. "Is love so beautiful?" she murmured softly.Her eye fell upon her sceptre-rose. "Yea, I begin to think it is." Shemused a moment, until the silence seemed to awaken her. She looked intoHart's eyes again, sadly but firmly, then spoke as with an effort: "Youpaint the picture well, dear Jack. Paint on." Her hand wavedcommandingly.

  "I could not paint ill with such a model," said he, his voice full ofadoration.

  "Well said," she replied; "and by my troth, I have relented like you,dear Jack. I admit you too can act--and marvellously well." She took histrembling hand and descended from the throne. He tried once again toembrace her, but she avoided him as before.

  "Is't true?" he asked, eagerly, without observing the hidden meaning inher voice.

  "'Tis true, indeed--with proper emphasis and proper art and properintonation." She crossed the room, Hart following her.


  "I scarce can live for joy," he breathed.

  Nell leaned back upon the table and looked knowingly and deeply intoHart's eyes. Her voice grew very low, but clear and full of meaning.

  "In faith," she said, "I trow and sadly speak but true; for I am sad attimes--yea--very sad--when I observe, with all my woman's wiles andarts, I cannot act the hypocrite like men."

  "What mean you, darling cynic?" asked he, jocosely.

  "Darling!" she cried, repeating the word, with a peculiar look. "To telltwo girls within the hour you love each to the death would be in mehypocrisy, I admit, beyond my art; but you men can do such things withconscience clear."

  Hart turned away his face. "She's found me out," he thought.

  "Nell, I never loved the Spanish dancing-girl. You know I love but you."

  "Oh, ho!" laughed Nell. "Then why did you tell her so?--to break herheart or mine?"

  The manager stood confused. He scarce knew what to say.

  "You are cruel, Nell," he pleaded, fretfully. "You never loved me,never."

  "Did I ever say I did?"

  Hart shook his head sadly.

  "Come, don't pout, Jack. An armistice in this, my friend, for you weremy friend in the old days when I needed one, and I love you for that."She placed her hands kindly on the manager's shoulders, then turned andbegan to arrange anew the gift-flowers in the vase.

  "I'll win your life's love, Nell, in spite of you," he said,determinedly.

  She turned her honest eyes upon him. "Nay, do not try; believe me, donot try," she said softly.

  "Nell, you do not mean--?" His voice faltered.

  "You must not love me," she said, firmly; "believe me, you must not."

  "I must not love you!" His voice scarcely breathed the words.

  "There, there; we are growing sentimental, Jack,--and at our age," shereplied. She laughed gaily and started for her tiring-room.

  He followed her.

  "Sup with me, Nell," he pleaded. "No word of this, I promise you."

  "Heyday, I'll see how good you are, Jack," she answered, cordially.

  "My second bid to sup to-night," she thought. "Who sets the betterfeast?"

  The tiring-room door was open; and the little candles danced gleefullyabout the make-up mirror, for even candles seemed happy when Nell camenear. The maid stood ready to assist her to a gown and wrap, that shemight leave the theatre.

  Nell turned. Hart still stood waiting. The spirit of kindnesso'er-mastered her.

  "Your hand, friend, your hand," she said, taking the manager's hand."When next you try to win a woman's love, don't throw away herconfidence; for you will never get it back again entire."

  Hart bowed his head under the rebuke; and she entered her room.