Chapter Twenty Three.
The Melodrama.
On Boxing Day, Lavender excused herself from joining a rinking party, and lay curled up on a sofa reading a Christmas number.
The following morning she stayed in bed to breakfast, and complained of a swollen face. On the third day, the sight of the huge cheeks and doubled chin sent the family flying for the doctor, and the tragic verdict of “mumps” was whispered from mouth to mouth.
Mumps in the Christmas holidays! Isolation for the victim for days, even weeks; the risk of infection for others; the terrible, unthinkable possibility of “missing a term”! Mrs Vernon came nobly to the rescue, and invited Darsie to spend the remainder of the holidays under her roof, since, with a Tripos in prospect, every precaution must be taken against infection. For the rest, Lavender’s own little eyrie was situated at the end of a long top passage, and might have been originally designed for a sanatorium and there, in solitary state, the poor mumpy poetess bewailed her fate, and besought the compassion of her companions. Letters were not forbidden, and she therefore found a sad satisfaction in pouring out her woes on paper, as a result of which occupation the following poetical effusion presently found its way to the schoolroom party—
“All gay and fair the scene appeared:
I was a gladsome maid;
When the dire hand of circumstance
Upon my life was laid.
Upon the eve of festal day
The first dread symptoms fell;
And those who should have sympathised,
Whose tender words I would have prized,
Did sneer, and jeer, and with loud cries,
Ascribe the reason to mince-pies!
“What time I woke the third day morn,
By mirror was the sad truth borne;
Not alone exile, grief, and pain
Must fill my cup—but also shame!
Gone is my youthful glee and grace,
I have an elephantine face;
My cheeks are gross, which were so thin;
I have a loathsome pendant chin.
All who behold me smile aside,
And their derision barely hide.
Oh, cruel fate! instead of tears,
In my sad plight I get but jeers.
“Friends, comrades, readers of this ditty,
If heart ye have, on me have pity.
Go not unthinking on your way,
Content to sing, content to play,
While I and mumps sit here alone
In an unending, drear ‘At home.’
Put wits to work, think out some way
To cheer the captive’s lonely day,
Forget yourself, and think of me,
And doubly blessed you shall be.
For since the days of earliest youth
You have been brought up on this truth—
To help the ailing by your side
Is the true work of Christmas-tide!”
To disregard so touching an appeal being plainly an impossibility, an impromptu committee meeting was held in the Vernons’ study, when the idea of an open-air melodrama was proposed, and carried with acclamation. A melodrama acted in the back garden, underneath Lavender’s window, opened out prospects of amusement for the actors as well as the audience, and a rainy afternoon was passed in the merriest fashion discussing the plot, characters, and costume.
Darsie sat on the hearthrug, and prodded the fire vigorously to mark each point scored. Vie wrote from dictation at the centre table. Dan sat chuckling in his own particular chair, and allowed himself to be cast as hero with lamblike calm, and plain Hannah affected dire displeasure at being passed over for the part of beauteous maid. It was like the dear old days when they had all been young—really young—in pinafores and pigtails, with no dread of coming Tripos, no agitation about youthful lawyers to chase away sleep at night! Looking back through the years, that hour stood out in remembrance as one most happily typical of the dear home life.
The programme was delicious. Vie discovered a great sheet of white paper, left over from the parcel wrappings of the week before; Dan printed the words in his most dashing fashion; John nailed it on the lid of a packing-chest, and the whole party escorted it round the terrace to the Garnett dwelling, and waited in the street beneath until it was conveyed upstairs, and Lavender, discreetly swathed in a shawl, appeared at her lighted window and waved a towel in triumph.
This was the programme—
On Wednesday Afternoon Next (Weather permitting)
In Aid of the Fund for Sick and Suffering Spinsters
A First Performance will be given of
The Blood-Curdling and Hair-Raising Melodrama entitled
The Blue Cabbage
by Allthelotofus.
Dramatis Personae.
Efflorescence (A Guileless Maid)—Miss Darsie Garnett.
Meretricia (1st Villainess)—Mr Harry Garnett.
Mycrobe (2nd Villainess)—Mr Russell Garnett.
Elijah B. Higgins (Hero)—Mr Dan Vernon.
Sigismund La Bas (A False Caitiff)—Mr Percy Lister.
D. Spenser (Certificated Poisonmonger)—Mr John Vernon.
Endeavora (A Well-Meaner)—Miss Clemence Garnett.
The Greek Chorus—Miss Hannah Vernon.
N.B.—There is no Cabbage!
Imagine the feelings of a solitary invalid on receipt of such a programme as the above—a programme of an entertainment organised, composed, and designed wholly and solely for her own amusement! Lavender’s mumps were at a painful stage—so sore, so stiff, so heavy, that she felt all face, had no spirit to read, craved for companionship, and yet shrank sensitively from observing eyes. Let those jeer who may, it is an abominable thing to feel a martyr, and look a clown, and poor Lavender’s sensitive nature suffered acutely from the position. Then oh! it was good to feel that to-morrow something exciting was going to happen—that she would be amused, cheered, comforted; that her dear companions would be near her, so near that once again she would feel one of the merry throng.
If only it were fine! Really and truly Lavender felt that she could not support the blow if it were wet. Mumps seem to sap the constitution of moral force; if she could not see the melodrama, she would weep like a child!
It was fine, however. The very elements conspired in her behalf, and produced a still, unshiny day, when the pageant of the melodrama appeared to the best advantage, and the voices rose clear and distinct to that upper window, before which Lavender stood, a muffled figure, in a fur coat and cap, and a great wool shawl swathed round face and neck after the fashion of an English veil.
The melodrama proved even more thrilling than had been expected. On his, or her, first appearance on the scene, each character advanced to a spot directly in front of the upstairs window, and obligingly related the salient points of his life, character, and ambitions, together with a candid exposition of his intentions towards the other members of the cast; the while Hannah, as Greek Chorus, interposed moral remarks and reflections on the same. After an indulgent hearing of these confessions, it would appear that two ambitions were common to the actors—either they wished to elope with the hero or heroine, or to poison the False Caitiff, and the Villainess Number One or Two, or such a contingent of these worthies as excluded themselves.
The Well-Meaner assiduously endeavoured to foil these intents, and received the scant amount of encouragement which falls to well-meaning interference in real life; the Certified Poisonmonger presided over three tin pails of liquids, labelled respectively, “Lingering,” “Sudden,” and “A highly superior article in writhes and coils. As patronised by the Empress of China” and the demand for these wares was naturally brisk in so quarrelsome a company: the False Caitiff chose a sudden death for his rival, the Hero; Meretricia, the first Villainess, poisoned the Caitiff by a more lingering means; Villainess Number Two, under the false impression that the Hero had given his heart to Meretricia, poisoned that good lady, sparing no money on the deed, whereby Russell was afforded an admirable opportunity of exhibiting his wriggling powers. The guileless maid poisoned herself with the dregs in her lover’s glass; and the Poisonmonger, fatigued with the rush of Christmas business, fainted away, and, being revived by potions from his own pails, survived only long enough to administer a forcible dose in revenge. The Well-Meaner’s fate differed from that of her companions in that she was insidiously poisoned by each actor in turn, so that, figuratively speaking, the curtain descended upon a row of corpses, in the midst of which the Greek Chorus intoned exemplary precepts and advice.
Hannah, as Greek chorus, was by common consent pronounced the star of the company, her interpolated reflections being so droll and to the point that even the lingering victims found themselves overcome with laughter.
As for the audience, her joy, though great, was not unmixed with pain. As the melodrama approached its critical point the actors could see her at her window, holding up her mumps with either hand, and the piteous plea—“Don’t make me laugh! Don’t make me laugh!” floated down on the wintry air.
Next day Lavender was worse, and melodramas were banned as a means of recreation; but she sent a touching message of thanks to the troupe, in which she declared that “the joy outweighed the pain,” so that, all things considered, “The Blue Cabbage” was voted a great success.