University of Virginia Library

10. CHAPTER X.

The passion which this girl had awakened in my bosom was
such as to lead me to a complete departure from many of my
usual habits. I now remembered certain old acquaintance
among the editorial fraternity—clever, good-humoured fellows—
who, I well knew, possessed carte blanche at all the theatres.
One of these, in particular,—a vivacious literary and political
writer—a fellow who could write a comedy after supper and a
review before breakfast, and who was sufficiently popular in the

community to do as he pleased with every body—had been a
frequent companion of my idle hours during my first acquaintance
with New York. Him I had seen frequently at the theatre
while my inamorata was playing, and his voice, through the
medium of his papers, had been one of the loudest in her eulogy.
I resolved on renewing my acquaintance with him, and availing
myself, as far as I could, of the privileges which he possessed to
procure some of those which I desired. I did accordingly. I
called on him, and after listening to his good-humoured reproaches
at what he was pleased to call my neglect of old friends, I plainly
told him what I came for. I wished an introduction to the
Prima Donna.

“Ah, ha!” said he—“so you too are among the thousand in
the meshes of Mam'selle —.”

“She is then unmarried?” I exclaimed—“she is not the wife
of —”

“The little old Othello that has her in keeping! Well! of that
the least said the better. We know nothing. Enough to tell you
that she passes for his wife, and for aught that any body knows
in New York, she may be.”

“But you call her `Mam'selle?”'

“True, but that means nothing. A miss is always more attractive
in theatrical parlance than a mistress; and I have known,
in Green Room history, a woman who had buried eleven husbands,
more or less, who never once changed her maiden name
in the bills! This is only a trick of trade, and the stage, as you
should know, has, perhaps, a hundred and one tricks beyond any
other craft or profession. Mam'selle — is assuredly married
to the little old Italian; and if not married —”

A shrug of the shoulder finished the sentence of my editorial
friend, very little to my satisfaction.

“The story goes,” he continued, “that he happened upon the
poor girl in London, while in a state of great destitution, just after
she had lost a mother, or while the mother was in the last stages
of decay. That he provided them with present means, and
availing himself of their necessities, married the girl, —”

“Against her will?” I interrupted.

“No—not so—against her wish, perhaps, but not against her
will. Destitution, and poverty, and hunger, have no will in such
a place as London; and famine will reconcile a girl, however
lovely, to a very strange connection. Mam'selle, who is English
by birth, was thus persuaded to couple with this Italian, who
makes himself very ridiculous here by his jealousies. He has
already had a dozen quarrels where he had no cause for one;
for, though the girl is a sort of rage at present—a distinction
which she owes more to me than to herself—yet she is not deluded
by applause, and takes it as humbly as if she knew its real
value as well as the oldest veteran among us. If you really

desire an introduction, after what you have heard, I don't see
that there will be any difficulty. She will be at rehearsal to-day
at 12, M., and the matter can be easily managed.”

I readily embraced the proposition. He continued:

“A week more will finish her career in New York. The rage
now, she will soon give place to another novelty, and in ten days
more be among the things that were. We are to have, by the
next packet, a celebrated Harlequin, who can jump twenty feet
high, take the ceiling in his teeth, and hold on thereby sufficiently
long, to enable him to poach a dozen eggs for his supper by a
machine which he takes up with him for that purpose. His legs,
meanwhile, not to be outdone, are to go through all the movements
of the famous Tilsit Waltz, and at the close he professes to
be able to shuffle them off, with his boots, and drop down, finally,
with his stumps again falling into the dismembered sockets, as
truly as if the position had undergone mathematical arrangement.”

“Oh, nonsense!”

“Well, I doubt not that the report of his wonders is somewhat
exaggerated, but the report is enough. It will kill Mam'selle
most effectually for the season, so that, to know her in the day
of her glory, you must know her at once. I shall look for you
at 12.”