A GREENROOM ROMANCE.
IN THREE SCENES.—SCENE I.
Mr Percy Montmorency was seated in front of a looking-glass in his dressing-room at the Pantheon Theatre, habited in the costume of Charles Surface, with the perruquier in attendance. The name of ‘Montmorency’ was merely a nom de théâtre assumed by Harry Stanley when he adopted the somewhat singular resolution of ‘fretting and strutting his hour’ on the boards of a metropolitan theatre; for Mr Stanley was the only child of his father Colonel Stanley, and consequently heir to that gallant officer’s estates in Yorkshire and elsewhere. For the rest, he was three-and-twenty, undeniably good-looking, and endowed with considerable abilities. Having completed the arrangement of the powdered wig, the perruquier withdrew a pace and contemplated the effect with well-simulated admiration. ‘Mr Charles Mathews never looked the part better, sir.’
The actor seemed to coincide in the opinion of his flattering attendant, for he rose, and surveyed himself in the glass with admiration, which he made no attempt to conceal.
‘A good house, Jackson?’
‘Capital, sir. But a little cold. They’ll warm up when you go on, sir.’
‘Tell the call-boy I want him, Jackson.’
Jackson withdrew; and Montmorency surrendered himself to a mental soliloquy, which assumed somewhat of this form: ‘I wonder what my father wishes to see me about? The same old story, I suppose—the folly and wickedness of the step I have taken. Well, of one thing I am certain: I am much better off in my present position, than wedded to that Barbadoes girl, Miss Anstruther, in spite of her money-bags, and whom I have never seen.’
These reflections were put an end to by the entrance of the call-boy.
‘If a gentleman giving the name of Colonel Stanley should call, show him in here.’
‘He is outside, sir,’ replied the boy.
‘Show him in at once,’ whereupon there entered a small wizen-faced old gentleman, with snow-white hair, and supporting himself on a stick. Montmorency advanced, shook hands with a great show of cordiality, and placed a chair, on which Colonel Stanley slowly seated himself, gazing round the small apartment with an unfeigned expression of curiosity. ‘So this is a theatrical dressing-room. You are pretty snug.’
The room certainly deserved the encomium of the old colonel. Paintings in oil and water colours nearly covered the walls; fancy pipes and cigar-boxes and scent-bottles littered the tables; a case of champagne reposed in one corner, while in the other was a small pile of seltzer water.
The colonel, after indulging in a sigh, proceeded: ‘I have called, Harry, before I return to Yorkshire, to make one more appeal to you to give up your present mode of life, settle down as a landed proprietor in your native county, and marry Miss Anstruther.’
It was now the turn of the young man to sigh as he replied: ‘Impossible, my dear sir. I am already wedded—to the stage.’
‘That may be; but unions can easily be dissolved by a divorce, especially in these days.’
‘Not where the contracting parties are so attached to each other as I am to my profession. No, sir. If a man could take a wife on lease, for seven, fourteen, or twenty-one years, the case would be different. But the feeling that my lot in life was fixed—cut and dried, so to speak—the matter won’t bear a thought.’ The young man felt strongly inclined to indulge in a stage-walk, but the limited area of the apartment forbade such a physical relief. If the reader should consider the remarks of the actor somewhat flippant, it must be borne in mind that no one whose character did not fall under that definition would have acted as Harry Stanley had done.
The old man scowled as he resumed: ‘I wonder you can respect yourself, dizened out and painted like a mummer at a pantomime.’
‘I am of the same calling as the glory of England, Shakspeare the actor’——
‘And poet—you forget that, sir—poet, sir,’ sharply retorted the colonel.
‘I can assure you, sir, we have men of good family playing very small parts to-night. Trip took honours at Oxford, and Backbite is a Cambridge man.’
‘Pray, sir,’ replied the colonel, ‘if that be the case, why do you all sail under false colours? Why resign the honoured name of Stanley for the Frenchified one of Montmorency?’
The young man bowed as he responded: ‘Out of deference to the shallow scruples of the narrow-minded portion of Society.’
‘Of which I constitute a member, eh?’
It was in a more conciliatory tone that his son took up the argument. ‘Pray, sir, let me ask you a question. Do poets and novelists never adopt a nom de plume? Did not Miss Evans style herself “George Eliot;” the late Governor-general of India, “Owen Meredith;” Mademoiselle de la Ramée, “Ouida;” Dickens, “Boz?”’
‘That’ll do,’ interrupted the colonel. ‘Then one fine day you will be falling in love, as you call it, with one of these artful and painted sirens, and I shall find myself grandfather to a clown or a pantaloon! For, of course, you will bring up your offspring to the profession, as you call it, as if there were no other profession in the world.’
His son and heir drew himself proudly up as he replied: ‘No, sir; I trust I shall never forget that I own the honoured name of Stanley.’
The colonel remained silent for several moments ere he observed: ‘I shall never understand why you declined even to see Miss Anstruther.’
‘Because the very fact that the lady was labelled my future wife,’ replied his son, ‘would have caused me to detest her at first sight.’
The old colonel rose from his seat. ‘I can see very plainly that I am wasting both your time and my own.—I suppose you will have to do a little “tumbling” presently?’
‘I do not make my first entrance till the third act. If you will go in front, you can have my box.’ Montmorency rang the bell as he spoke, and when the call-boy appeared, directed him to show his visitor into box A.
The actor was indulging in a sigh of relief, when a head appeared at the half-closed door, and a voice exclaimed: ‘May I come in?’
Montmorency bounded from his chair as he seized hold of the extended hand and drew the owner into the room. The new-comer was a young man of about the same age as the actor, and was habited in modern evening dress. Montmorency wrung the hand of his friend Vallance, and forced him into a seat. ‘Delighted to see you, Jack! Have a weed and a seltzer?’
In a few seconds the two young men were similarly occupied, and immersed in the consumption of a couple of choice Partagas.
The actor opened the ball. ‘You must have met an elderly party in the passage. That was the governor. He is very irate because I won’t fall in love by word of command, and marry Miss Anstruther, whom I have never seen.—By-the-bye, you have seen her. What is she like?’
‘A lovely girl,’ replied Vallance. ‘I met her at a ball at Scarborough, soon after her arrival from the West Indies. Faith, Harry, you might do worse.’
‘And might do better; eh, Jack? But your ideas of beauty are so opposite to mine, as I remember of old. Now, if you wish to see a perfect vision of loveliness, go in front and see Fonblanque, the Lady Teazle of to-night.’
‘You mean Miss Fonblanque, I presume?’
‘Exactly. The prefix “Miss” is frequently omitted in theatrical parlance. She is bewitching!’
Vallance shakes his head. ‘Have a care, Harry. It would be a pity if you allied yourself with some unknown adventuress, after refusing the rich Miss Anstruther.’
‘Well, to be candid, Jack, I am afraid of myself. If I did not constantly call to my mind the fact that I am a Stanley, I should speedily succumb to the charms of the divine Fonblanque, so there is some benefit arising from birth after all.’
‘And how long do you mean to pursue this mad freak of yours?’ inquired Vallance.
‘Till I hear on good authority that the troublesome Miss Anstruther is engaged, or married.’
‘And then?’
‘Why, then I quit the mimic stage as suddenly as I entered upon it.’
‘Meanwhile!’ ejaculated Vallance with an incredulous smile.
‘Meanwhile,’ replied Montmorency loftily, ‘I contribute to the “gaiety of nations,” as Johnson said of Garrick; and therefore consider myself a far better member of society than a successful general, who has killed so many hundreds of his fellow-mortals; or a lawyer, who has set whole families by the ears in order to fill his pockets; or a doctor, who, as Tobin says, spends the greater part of his time in writing death-warrants in Latin.’
Vallance examined his finger-nails for a few seconds, and after an embarrassing pause, said: ‘Harry, I am about to make a confession.’
‘I cannot promise you absolution, Jack.’
Vallance proceeded: ‘On the memorable night when I first beheld Miss Anstruther at the ball at Scarborough, I fell over head and ears in love with her.’
‘You fell in love with her, did you!’ repeated Montmorency, in a tone of some annoyance. ‘You mean with her banking account. Remember, you are in the confession box.’
‘On my honour, no!’ replied Vallance. ‘As you are aware, I could not afford to marry a penniless girl; but if I were as rich as Rothschild, and Miss Anstruther a pauper, I would marry her to-morrow, if she would have me.—You do not seem to like the idea?’
‘Humanity is a strange compound, Jack. It grates upon my sense of propriety that any one else should step into my shoes and wed the woman intended for my wife, yet whom I have vowed never to marry.’
‘Why, what a dog in the manger, you are!’
‘I would not so much mind if a stranger were to win the heiress; but to know her as your wife, Jack, for the remainder of my existence, to repent probably of my obstinacy—— You are not in earnest, Jack?’
‘Ah, but I am!’ replied Vallance, inwardly murmuring: ‘May I be forgiven the lie!’
After a brief mental struggle, Montmorency continued: ‘Well, success attend you. You are a lucky fellow to walk off with such a prize; while I—I shall remain a humble stage-player.’
‘Remember the peerless Fonblanque, Harry.’
‘Ah! you are right. There is beauty, talent, wit, elegance, refinement, all enshrined in the admirable Lady Teazle of to-night. I shall now no longer hold back. To-night I shall know my fate. You have applied the touchstone.’
The shrill voice of the call-boy now uttered the words ‘Charles Surface.’
‘There is my call. So adieu for the present. Go in front, and call for me at the end of the show; and we will have a steak at the Albion together, and drink to the speedy nuptials of my bête noire, Miss Anstruther.’
‘With whom?’
‘Any one! I care not—no offence, Jack—so I am free.’
Vallance proceeded straight to box A, and having tapped at the door, found himself face to face with Colonel Stanley, who eagerly exclaimed: ‘Well, Vallance, has my plan succeeded?’
‘I fear not, sir.’
‘Give him a second dose the first opportunity. I never knew it fail. If you want to make a man fall in love with a particular woman, tell him she is half engaged, and she will instantly go up twenty per cent. in his estimation. That is how I came to marry his mother. Directly my father told me that Fred Spencer was mad after her, and that she was half inclined to marry him, I rushed to the attack, stormed the fortress, and carried off the prize! I wasn’t going to let that puppy Spencer march off with her. A fellow with not a tithe of my personal recommendations.’ Here the colonel paused, as he beheld the countenance of his auditor completely engrossed with the scene; for in the lovely Lady Teazle of the play, Jack Vallance had recognised the West Indian heiress, Emily Anstruther!