We met a train with five engines. It came plunging along,—a veritable procession of locomotives. The foremost of them were mighty ploughs, to charge the growing snow-drifts we had left behind us. By and by the sun went down, and when our lamps were lighted, and it was night, as we thought, we looked out to see one of the magnificent sunsets which had been puzzling for many weeks the wise men of both worlds,—a wide red glare in the sky, stretching away as far as the eye could see, with a white foreground, the line of the horizon dotted with the dark configuration of farm buildings and forest trees.
At three o’clock in the morning we arrived at St. Louis, and on the next day I walked across the ice-locked Mississippi. In a street adjacent to the wharves, where steamers and boats of all kinds were frozen up, were the remains of an old hotel, that had been burnt out a short time previously. The thermometer stood at twenty degrees below zero. A first glance at the place, from a short distance, showed a house with what looked like packs of wool thrust out at the windows, and great bundles and entanglements of wool hanging down to the ground from eaves and window-sills. On examination these strange appearances turned out to be excrescences of ice,—part of the water that had been poured upon the flames by the fire-brigades, whose engines had literally been frozen up in the street. Inside the devastated buildings the ruins were hung with icicles many feet in length, with others rising to meet them, mimicking the stalactites and stalagmites of the Cheddar caverns, in England, not to mention the more famous caves of Kentucky.
A picturesque city, St. Louis, smoky and not overclean, but seated grandly upon the broad river which local enterprise has spanned with a roadway that is worthy of the engineering skill of the people whose locomotives climb the Rocky Mountains, and whose bridges are the admiration of the world. One of the picturesque memories of the tour, that will reappear at odd times in “the magic lantern of the mental vision,” will be the procession of carts and wagons drawn by teams of mules, driven by colored drivers, that is continually passing over the bridge, across the Mississippi, at St. Louis. The English government have obtained a great many mules from this part of the United States. There could be no finer breed of this useful animal than the examples one saw at St. Louis. The drivers, almost to a man, appeared to be wearing old army cloaks. The greyish-blue of the cloth and the red linings, toned down to rare “symphonies” of worn color, were in perfect harmony with the atmospheric and material surroundings. Smoke hanging like a pall over the city; a wintry mist creeping along the icy river; the approaches to the bridge lost in the local haze of smoke and snowy clouds; the great mercantile procession of mules, and carelessly laden wagons, bursting with cotton, corn, and hides, made a fine busy foreground to a very novel scene.
St. Louis accepted the plays, the acting, the scenery, and the stage management of the Lyceum with much of the earnest admiration that had characterized the Chicago audiences. The “Republican,” the “Globe-Democrat,” the “Post-Dispatch,” and the “Chronicle” had lengthy and appreciative notices of “The Lyons Mail,” “The Bells,” and “The Merchant of Venice.” The spirit of the criticism is crystallized in the following remarks, which appeared as an editorial in the “Post-Dispatch” of Jan. 22:—
To the delighted audience which hung with rapt attention last night on each word and look, each tone and motion, of Henry Irving, there was only one element of disappointment. This was that they had not been prepared at all for any such magnificent revelation of dramatic genius.... As far as the people of St. Louis are concerned we have only to say that those who miss seeing him will sustain a loss that can never be made good.
II.
Among the social events of the visit to St. Louis was a reception given in the lodge and club rooms of the “Elks.”[42] The event was regarded as of so much interest and importance, and the Elks is so excellent an institution, and the affair so different to anything associated with the theatre in England, that it merits special attention. The local reporter will not, I am sure, feel annoyed if I call in his aid to make the record complete:—
The lodge and club rooms, the hall-ways and the corridors, were decorated for the occasion. The lodge-room, where the formal introductions took place, was festooned with flags and evergreens. The yellow light of the chandeliers was in striking contrast with the white rays of two Edison lamps, that were artistically hung at each end of the hall. Two handsome crayon portraits of Irving and Miss Terry were displayed above the platform at the east end of the room. Directly above them was the coat-of-arms of England, draped with the English flag and the Union Jack, while below and immediately over the lounge was a bank of white immortelles, framed in flowers and evergreens, and bearing in the centre the words, “Our Guests,” worked in purple flowers. The platforms at either end of the hall were decorated with rare plants and exotics, interspersed with evergreens.
In one corner of the main room supper was spread upon a table, the decorations of which were very dainty flowers interspersed with culinary trophies. About half-past nine o’clock the guests began to arrive and disperse themselves here and there about the rooms. An orchestra, under the direction of Professor Maddern, furnished the music for promenading; and an agreeable little concert of instrumental and vocal music led up to the entrance of the guests of the evening. “About eleven,” says the local chronicler, “they arrived, and were escorted to the lodge-room, where all the other guests had assembled to receive them. Mr. Irving entered, escorting Mrs. John W. Norton, while Miss Terry was escorted by Mr. John A. Dillon. As they strolled here and there about the hall they were introduced to those present. Mr. Irving’s countenance, when in repose, was rather inclined to be sombre and solemn, but immediately assumed a pleasant expression when he was introduced to the ladies and gentlemen who had assembled to do him honor.” Mr. and Mrs. Howe, Mr. Wenman, and several other members of Irving’s company, were present, and as one strolled through the rooms there was something very homelike in these familiar faces intermingled with the crowd. Says the local chronicler:—