THE MASQUERADE AT THE PANTHEON.
The two women had passed the entire day in arranging their dominos. Only an occasional echo of the popular disturbance had reached them; and when they learned that a great crowd had surrounded Parliament, Mrs. Marsham, who was not easily disquieted, remarked: "That's good! It is the petition against the papists." And she dismissed the subject from her mind once and for all.
As for Esther, a great calm had replaced her agitation of the preceding evening. The gypsy's prediction, the Shakespearean oracle, together with the conspiracy of things in general so far as her vanity was concerned, failed to prevail against the sentiment hidden away in the depths of her heart. She had arrived at a determination and proposed to abide by it. She would go to the ball, would have as pleasant a time as she could, but she would not permit herself to be led away. She would not notice any such preconcerted signal as "The moon is risen!" She was resolved to act thus—unless at the last minute, and actuated by some new caprice, she did exactly the contrary.
Esther was ready in good time, and Mrs. Marsham, although much slower, was not behind hand in joining her in the parlor.
About nine o'clock, shortly after nightfall (for these were the longest days of the year), the women were startled by a great hubbub at the door, which resembled the hooting of children. In her curiosity and impatience Esther hastened to open the door, and discovered to her amazement, in the midst of a dozen or more boys who were throwing mud at him, a strange creature dressed like a gentleman but wearing the enormous head of an ass. The monster, who seemed either blind or intoxicated, bolted into the garden, slamming the gate behind him.
"Shut the door, quick!" muttered an indistinct voice which issued from the snout of the animal. "Can't you see they're hunting me?"
Mechanically the young girl obeyed, and then the intruder quickly removed his artificial head and displayed to the women the pale, haggard, dripping features of their friend, the music teacher.
"Mr. O'Flannigan!"
"O'Flannigan himself, astonished that he is still alive to tell the tale! Did you see those madmen?"
"Madmen! Why, the eldest was not more than twelve years of age."
"Are you sure of it?"
"Of course. But why this ass's head?"
"Well, they are having a terrible time with the Catholics this evening, and I thought it wise to be in disguise; and it's all right, since we are going to a masquerade ball. I hired from the property room at Drury Lane the ass's head which Bottom wears in the 'Midsummer-Night's Dream.' It fits me, does it not?"
"As if it had been made for you!"
"Unfortunately, in passing Charing Cross my chair was stopped and turned upside down by the populace, and my bearers deserted me like cowards. I hastily put on my ass's head, but evidently not quickly enough to avoid being recognized. I took to my heels, and they gave chase, screaming, 'Drown the papist!' and they would have been as good as their threat."
Esther burst out laughing.
"Bah! a parcel of children amusing themselves at your expense!" she said.
"Yes, children! For that reason I refrained from drawing my sword. Ah, had I had men to deal with, they would have paid dearly for their insolence!"
"You have indeed been magnanimous, Mr. O'Flannigan, which was worthy of you.—Now let us set out without further loss of time."
"But are the streets safe?" queried Mrs. Marsham.
"I believe it is all over. At least I hear nothing."
In fact it was the moment of cessation of hostilities when the rioters evacuated the Palace Yard.
Without accident a hired carriage conveyed the two women and their escort to Oxford Road, where the Pantheon was situated.
The passion for masked balls which had been the delight of the contemporaries of the first two Georges had received a serious check about the middle of the century, at the time that Europe was terrified by the report of earthquakes. London believed herself upon the eve of experiencing the fate which had befallen Lisbon. Indeed, a prophet appeared in the streets who announced the destruction of the city upon a certain date. On the night preceding the fateful day a great part of the population emigrated and encamped in the open air; but, though the dreaded event passed without catastrophe, a vague terror prevailed, paralyzing all sorts of pleasure. From their pulpits the popular preachers thundered against the vices of the day, and especially against the abominable license of masked balls. God was about to chastise England; already was His arm upraised against her. No more masquerades, or a rain of fire and brimstone would devour the new Babylon; the earth would yawn and engulf in its entrails the sinners, with their infamous tinsel and their masks, which hid all their impurities. Thus attired they would appear before their pitiless Master, and would pass from the laughter and intoxication of the dance hall straight into the inexpressible anguish of the last Judgment!
Thus at one fell swoop the masked balls disappeared.
By degrees, however, the panic calmed, was forgotten, and in time became a historic memory. The strong-minded even risked a smile at the recollection.
The first time that a purveyor of amusement spoke of resuscitating masked balls a wag remarked, "He may be going to treat us to an earthquake!" The proposition met with success, and the whole town hastened to the fêtes which Teresa Cornelys inaugurated at Carlisle House in Soho Square. In the first place, the good Cornelys asked no money; oh, no! If she accepted a little it was devoted to the purchase of charcoal for the poor of London, who were suffering extremely from the cold that winter. But the summer came, and still the dances continued at Carlisle House. The Cornelys explained that her aim was to encourage business, which was undergoing a crisis. (Business is always undergoing a crisis!) Nevertheless, the bishops complained loudly of the liberty which reigned at Madame Cornelys's house; according to them Carlisle House was a very bad place indeed.
It was then decided to create a masked ball, access to which should be refused to persons of questionable reputation, and to which only women of the fashionable world should be admitted. The Pantheon threw open its doors on the 27th of January, 1772. On the very first evening Miss Abington, who occupied a place in the foremost rank of the excluded, presented herself smilingly at the door, fluttering her fan with a victorious air.
"Mademoiselle," faltered the master of ceremonies respectfully, "it is with the profoundest regret that I am forced to refuse you admittance to this house. The rule is stringent and—"
Miss Abington turned and gave a signal, whereupon forty gentlemen in good order appeared, with drawn swords. The poor master of ceremonies yielded to number, and Miss Abington made her triumphal entrée to the ballroom. Through the breach thus opened passed the whole army of vice, from the princes' favorites to the rovers of Drury Lane.
The evening was well advanced ere Mrs. Marsham and her niece entered the great rotunda, both in domino and masked. Upon coming out of the fresh, sleepy streets through which their coach had jolted them they were dazed and overwhelmed at finding themselves in the midst of such a furnace and din. The confusion amounted almost to delirium. The atmosphere was hot, heavy, and charged with pungent perfumes. The heat was so excessive that the candles melted and ran down upon such maskers as were not upon the lookout. Fifteen hundred persons, some intoxicated, others excited by the stir, the fun, and the noise, talked, laughed, screamed, and fluttered about; while their feet raised a dust which rose in a cloud and spread like a fog, enveloping the entire scene. Such was the turmoil of the crowd that the strident scraping of the violins and the shrill blasts of the horns were only occasionally heard.
"This is Bedlam let loose!" remarked Esther.
"It is hell!" responded Mrs. Marsham, who trembled with emotion and already regretted having come to such a place.
Mr. O'Flannigan, who was stifling beneath his ass's head, scarcely seeing anything and hearing nothing, kept turning from one to the other of his companions, but he had not counted upon his prominent snout, which continually struck them in the face unless they dodged quickly.
Amidst the rout they soon began to distinguish certain details, certain characteristic figures. A sultana, half-naked beneath her diaphanous draperies, was borne in a velvet palanquin upon a cardboard elephant, the legs of which were formed by four stout men, conducted by a magnificent Mussulman with a long beard and a golden caftan, and with an enormous ruby in his turban. Two little negroes, one bearing a casket of perfumes, the other waving a fan of plumes, slipped into the hands of the gentlemen mysterious bits of paper carefully folded. Upon each of these was found the address of the merchant in Bond Street who sold East Indian stuffs at the lowest cash prices, and for whom the masquerades served as an advertisement. The cortége closed with a group of odalisques, in the midst of whom a grinning eunuch carried a banner upon which was inscribed, "Slaves for sale." These odalisques were perpetually assailed by a band of man-monkeys, who left nothing to be desired in the way of audacity and effrontery. Next a Friesland nurse-girl, her head covered with metallic ornaments, gravely carried a little dog in her arms swaddled like an infant. Then came a personage half-miller, half-chimney-sweep, one side being white with flour, the other black with soot. A rigorously straight line divided his forehead, followed the line of his nose, crossed his mouth and chin, and apportioned his body into two equal parts. Among the promenaders were to be seen a dark-lantern, an artichoke, the shaft of a pillar, an egg-shell, a gigantic spider, and a corpse swathed in his winding-sheet, carrying his coffin under his arm, which he showed to the ladies with a gesture of jovial invitation that was received with roars of laughter. Adam and Eve in flesh-colored tights with a cincture of leaves in painted paper carried between them a little tree, about the trunk of which was entwined a remarkable imitation of the serpent. As she passed along Eve gathered crystallized fruits from the tree and offered them to the men with a sweetly innocent smile.
Caricatures of living personages were also seen, and easily recognized and understood. A mariner's compass which bore a vague resemblance to George III. held its needle turned towards the north, that is, towards Lord North, who advanced in the garb of Boreas, having a hideous cannibal upon his arm,—the symbol of the alliance between the Prime Minister and the Indians. Another group, formed by a Spaniard, a French coxcomb dressed in the latest Versailles fashion, and a Virginian planter (the three enemies united against England at this epoch), fled before Dame Britannia, who lashed them soundly to the immense delight of the patriots in the hall. A woman impersonating Intrigue whispered mysteriously, distributed bags of money and pension certificates, and wore the national coat-of-arms, on which the horse of Hanover was represented as kicking the British lion, while she stamped with rage upon a ragged piece of paper upon which was written in large letters, "Bill of Rights." Near her the Pope, with mitre on his head, turned somersaults and juggled with Saint Peter's keys.
"We had better go above in order to have a bird's-eye view," said Esther to her aunt.
So they dragged poor O'Flannigan up to the top of the staircase, stumbling as he went.
From the upper floor, leaning upon the velvet railing, they viewed the spectacle for some time. The great rotunda seemed like the crater of an active volcano, while the vapor that ascended scorched their cheeks. At this moment a string of men and women, uttering insane cries, whirled round and round the hall with ever-increasing velocity. Woe to him who met them in their mad career! Woe to the one who fell, for he would be trampled under foot! Carried away by the intoxication of their folly, they regarded neither decorum nor obstacles, and in their wild sport lost the very sentiment of their existence as they whirled like gnats dancing themselves to death in the sunlight.
The two curious women turned away. Close about them were different scenes, other phases of pleasure. In adjoining halls, which represented, according to the fancy of the time, the interiors of Chinese and Japanese houses, persons seated at tables ate and drank. There were hungry women among them who greedily devoured pork-pies with prunes; others who nibbled cakes and sipped whipped cream. Champagne and Rhine wine flowed in torrents. From obscure corners came the sound of whispered words, stifled laughter, and the smack of kisses. Elsewhere the merry-makers made greater exertions, and the supper was changed into an orgy. Mounted upon a table a young girl of sixteen danced with a man's cocked hat slipping down over her eyes. Another with dishevelled hair had thrown herself upon a man's knee, tossed her naked arm about a second, and was smiling at a third with a glance languid, half unconscious with wine. Still another, stretched at full length upon a sofa, slept as tranquilly as if she had been in bed.
"Come away, quick!" ejaculated Mrs. Marsham, uttering mental anathemas upon her curiosity.
At this moment, in an alcove between two pillars, Esther perceived two persons,—a man and a woman, partially concealed by the draperies. The remarkable thing about it was that the latter wore a domino exactly similar to her own,—brown with blue ribbons. The man, leaning towards her, spoke in low tones, seeming to beseech, to supplicate her; while she, with a wave of her fan and a shake of the head, said "No" with a coquettish gesture,—that sort of a "no" which is the preface to and synonym of "yes." Undoubtedly it was one of those momentary love affairs which are born and expire by the myriad upon such nights. However, the cavalier appeared to be more serious than the men about him. The way in which he pressed one of the little hands which had been entrusted to his clasp, and sought to plunge his gaze through the openings in the mask to find the eyes of the unknown, was at once anxious, impassioned, and sorrowful. For one moment he turned his head, but in that moment Esther recognized Francis Monday!
The impression that she experienced was one of more unexpected violence than she would ever have been able to imagine or foresee. Every drop of blood in her veins fled to her heart, and her limbs trembled. Being dragged away by her aunt, she took several steps without knowing whither she was going. That one moment sufficed to reveal to her the fact that she loved, and to teach her at one and the same blow that he did not love her. She had permitted herself to believe his tender words, his sad glances, and the recital of his early hardships; it had seemed so sweet to console the lonely orphan. It was for him, without her daring to frankly confess it even to herself, that she would willingly sacrifice her dreams of fortune, grandeur, and pleasure! And Frank was a libertine, after all, like the rest of them; he had never even thought of her! At the thought her irritation against herself knew no bounds. The spirit of audacity and adventure, which had often tormented her, rose imperiously and urged her on, as the spur incites the high-bred horse.
"I have had a narrow escape," thought Esther; "a hut, a garret with him, the joy of freezing to death, of starving for bread! That is what I have been nigh to plighting my troth to,—I, a daughter of Shakespeare,—I, who was born for a brilliant career, for great rôles and lofty emotions!—The die is cast: I shall be Lady Mowbray!"
The two women with their ass-headed cavalier had returned to the foot of the stairs. All at once a woman flung herself upon O'Flannigan, uttering so shrill a cry that even amidst the deafening uproar more than thirty persons turned and paused to witness the scene which was about to take place.
"Wretch!" screamed the woman, "is it thus that you desert me, and our poor children crying for bread?"
"I!" faltered O'Flannigan, paralyzed with surprise, and well-nigh strangled by the stranger, who had seized him by his ruffled shirt-front.
"Yes, you! While you are promenading here with hussies, whom I should blush to touch with the tip of my finger, you leave your lawful wife to the care of the parish!"
"Madam, there is some mistake! Permit me to say to you, with all the respect due to your misfortune, that you hold me too tight! You will tear my ruffles, which belong to the property-room of Drury Lane. I repeat, there is some mistake!"
And taking off the ass's head, O'Flannigan revealed his honest face convulsed with perplexity. The spectators crowded anxiously about them.
"No, there is no mistake! You are, indeed, my husband, Pat O'Flannigan, music teacher and prompter to Drury Lane Theatre."
"Certainly, I am O'Flannigan, music teacher and prompter at Drury Lane, but as to being your husband, may Heaven confound me if I ever set eyes on you before!"
"You have never set eyes on me? You have never set eyes on Molly MacMurragh, to whom you were married by the priest at Bray, in Ireland? You have never set eyes on the mother of your six children?"
Mrs. Marsham loosened her hold upon the unhappy O'Flannigan's arm.
"Can this be true?" she cried. "Can this woman really be Mrs. O'Flannigan?"
"My dear madam, I protest! There is no Mrs. O'Flannigan! This woman is either a fool or a jade; she has been hired by my enemies!"
"A fool! a jade! If there is any jade here it is this bold hussy who has helped herself to other people's belongings, and seduced a married man from his duty!"
"Mercy!" gasped Mrs. Marsham in horror.
"I do not know," cried the woman, "what prevents me from tearing off her mask, and leaving the marks of my nails upon her as the headsman brands forgers!"
She advanced menacingly, and shook her clinched fist in Mrs. Marsham's face, who feebly cried, "Help! help!"
A circle had been formed; those who could not see elbowed their neighbors, or mounted upon chairs, while such exclamations were heard as—
"Two women! They're going to fight! Bravo! Let 'em go!"
Some one cried out. "I'll wager five to one on the lawful dame!"
To which came the reply, "I'll take you!"
Others made sport of O'Flannigan's piteous face. Mrs. Marsham had let go of Esther's hand, who found herself in the background, and quite unnoticed. Presently a voice close behind her pronounced these words very distinctly,—
"The moon is risen!"
She trembled in every nerve; her heart beat violently. Her whole future life depended upon the step she was about to take. In that supreme moment the pantomime which she had just surprised above stairs shot with the rapidity of lightning through her mind; again she saw Francis Monday pressing the hand of the unknown domino and supplicating her with his eyes.
"Enough!" thought she.
She closed her eyes as does one who is about to leap into an abyss.
A hand seized hers and drew her away, and without a word she followed her guide.