Phemie Frost's Experiences Part 17

"Yes, I should think so," says I sarcastically; "only Miss Venus does seem ashamed of herself; but the fellow is bold as bra.s.s."

The girl's lip curled like an opening rose-bud; she gave a nipping laugh, and I just heard "old fogy" break through it so saucily that my blood riled.

"Did you apply that to me?" says I, a-lifting my finger.

"No, no, nothing of the kind," says Cousin E. E., catching her breath.

"You quite misunderstand Cecilia. Dear me, that is a carriage; people are beginning to call. Cecilia, my love, do try and make yourself agreeable."

"Just as much as to say that I could be anything else," says the aggravating creature, a-hitching up her shoulders.

Sure enough, some one was coming, and no three canary birds in a cage ever fluttered into their places quicker than we did. Cousin E. E.

seated herself in a great cosey chair, all cus.h.i.+ons, spread out her dress on the floor, and leaned a little sideways as if she was sitting to Brady for a picture. I gave my pink silk a wide swoop, and let it settle down on the carpet in ridges; then I leaned my elbow on the silk cus.h.i.+ons of the great round sofa, and drooped my head a little as if breathing the scent of so many flowers had made me a trifle faint. That child ran to the gla.s.s, shook out her lace ruffles, and stepped back again to admire--well, her limbs--just as if she had been a stone girl, and was in love with herself. I swan to man she made me sick and faint, if the flowers didn't.

There was a noise in the hall-way, and I caught a peep at a handsome young fellow prinking himself in the great looking-gla.s.s set in the hat-stand. Then he came in, tripping along with his hand held out to Cousin E. E., who went forward with her train following after, took his lilac glove in her hand, smiled up in his face, and said how glad she was to see him.

Before he could answer, that forward child came up and held out _her_ hand. She, too, was delighted; wondered he hadn't been there lately.

Indeed, she began to think he was never coming again.

The young fellow did seem to be taken aback a minute, for the forward creature had just cut her mother out; but he soon began to talk and laugh with her as chipper as could be, and only stopped to give me a nip of a bow when Cousin E. E. introduced him.

Well, my opinion is I gave him as good as he sent; but short measure at that; for I just lifted my head as if taking a sniff at the flowers, and that was all. If that young man thought I was brought up in the woods to be scared by owls, he found out his mistake. He was standing with his back towards me when I heard E. E. say, in one of those whispers that cut to the ear keener than a scream:

"It is Miss Phmie Frost, the celebrated writer."

"What," says he, "Miss Frost, the person on whom the Grand Duke levelled his eye-gla.s.s at the opera three times, and who was prevented opening the ball with him by the machinations of the committee?"

"The same," says Cousin E. E.

Before she could put in another word, that young gentleman had wheeled round in his patent leather boots, and was making me a bow that went so near the floor that his lilac gloves fell below his knees. Then he rose slowly, like a jack-knife that opens hard, and stood there a-smiling in my face as if I had just treated him to a quart of maple mola.s.ses fresh from the kettle.

"Miss Frost," says he, "I'm happy to make your acquaintance; your writings have been my delight--in fact, a household word in our family--for years."

"Years?" says I.

"That is, ever since you began to honor the world with the emanations of your genius," says he, with an open wave of both hands.

I bowed. I half rose from that round sofa. I knew by the soft, quivering sensation that smiles were creeping to my lips, and giving them a lovely redness.

"Sir," says I, "you are complimentary. I am but a young beginner in the paths of literature--a timid worker in the great harvest field of thought."

He smiled; he moved the billowy folds of my dress with infinite reverence, and seated himself timidly beside me. Then he talked books to me--broken and fragmentary, but exquisite. He could understand why the Grand Duke was so anxious to get back to New York. That poetry of mine must have lifted him right off from his feet. What a lovely talent poetry was!

I sat upright, but looked downward, hiding the pleasure in my eyes by my drooping lashes. Faithful, heart and soul, to one n.o.ble being, I refused to look into the admiring eyes of another. His insidious praises of my genius made no impression. The image of a man six feet two, with a sky-blue scarf across his princely bosom, stood at the portal of my heart, and the young gentleman with curled hair and that light-colored mustache sighed, and sighed in vain.

That forward little creature, Cecilia, saved me from temptation. Up she came, with her frock and her hair all in a flutter.

"You haven't seen our new statue," says she, a-pulling at his hand.

The young gentleman arose from my side with a look that went to my heart. As he stood before that pre-Adamite stone man, I got one good, long look at his face. As true as I live, he had found out some of Cousin E. E.'s ways of making herself beautiful! for his eyes had shadows under them, and his cheeks were like roses. Now, sisters, did you ever? Only think of a Green Mountain fellow doing that!

But now another lot of men came in, dressed up to kill. Some had yellow kid gloves on, some lilac, and some gray. Their patent-leather boots shone like looking-gla.s.ses, and some of 'em tipped along as if they were treading over eggs and didn't mean to break 'em. Cousin E. E. introduced them all, and I had to rise, and bow, and make long, sweeping curtsies till my back ached, and my poor mouth felt dry with trying to look unconscious when so many of 'em told me I was a household word in their families.

When the first lot of 'em were going out, Cousin E. E. just put back the red curtains at one end of the room, and behind 'em was a table all set off with silver, and gla.s.s, and flowers, and great, tall dishes crowded full of fruit and mottoes, all standing under the hot suns.h.i.+ne of one of those gla.s.s balloons, a-glittering and a-flas.h.i.+ng like a house afire.

I couldn't help giving a little scream, it was all so rich and beautiful--with two colored waiters in white gloves, ready to help everybody.

Cousin E. E. stood at one end of the table--for it was a stand-up meal--and asked her visitors to take birds, and oysters, and terrapin.

What the d.i.c.kens is terrapin? Have you any idea, sisters? I ate some, and it had a stewy sort of taste, as if it had been kind of burnt in cooking.

Well, one took one thing, and one another. Then each fellow wiped his mustaches, and the waiters came round with cider bottles, loaded over and chained up with silver, and the cider hissed and bubbled and sparkled as they poured it out into the gla.s.ses, that started narrow at the bottom, but spread out into dishes at the top, giving a chance for little whirlpools to the cider--which _was_ cider, I can tell you; it had vim enough in it to make your eyes snap.

When the gla.s.ses were full we all took them up. The gentlemen muttered "Compliments of the season," and we answered "Compliments of the season"

Cecilia and all--who just had the impudence to stand on tip-toe, and knock her gla.s.s against that of the fellow with lilac gloves and curly hair. Then we all drank and sipped, and, as that party went off, another came in--stream after stream--till night. It was the same thing over and over again, till ten o'clock at night, when Mr. Dempster came home, looking awfully tired out; then we just gave up. Sisters, this has been the hardest and most confusing day that I have known in New York.

It seems as if my joints never would get limber again. But then I had a real good time, though the cider did begin to get into my head towards night. It couldn't have been made out of Vermont apples, I feel certain--they haven't got so much dizziness in 'em.

XXIV.

MIGNON: A NIGHT AT THE GRAND OPERA.

Sisters, we went to the opera--that is, dear sisters in the cause, the Grand Duke and I were there; both of us seated on red cus.h.i.+ons, and so near that we could exchange glances through our eye-gla.s.ses, which draw a beloved object close to you. They are a great invention which has not yet reached that portion of the country where prayer-meetings take the place of operas.

I felt in my bones that he would meet me there; and when Cousin Emily Elizabeth sent me word that she had got a loge--which means a little square pen in the gallery, cus.h.i.+oned off like a first-cla.s.s pew--and wanted me to go with her to hear the great primer-donner, I just got that dress out again, and set the frizzing-pins to work, and did myself up so scrumptiously that I don't believe that a creature on Sprucehill would have known me. Don't say this is extravagant, and flying in the face of Providence. If He don't want silk dresses worn by the elect, what on earth does He make silk-worms and mulberry-leaves for? That is a question that we'll have debated over in the Society some day. Until then, oblige me by not saying, openly, that I'm a free-thinker, because I'm nothing of the sort. Not that my taste, since coming to the opera, has not got a notch above Greenbank or Old Hundred, in the way of music; I am free to own that it has.

Well, Cousin Emily Elizabeth had sent word that I mustn't wear a bonnet, or think of such a thing; and she sent me down a fur mantle, made of white kitten-skins, I reckon, with little black tails dropping all over it--just the tips, which needn't have hurt the black kittens much, if it _was_ all day to the white ones. So, when I come down, holding up my long skirts with one hand, and folding this fur across my innocent bosom, she just screamed out from the carriage that I looked gorgeous enough to turn the great Grand Duke's head, which I felt to be true--for women are not given to praising each other for nothing, anyhow.

The opera-house in New York would take in our biggest meeting-house, and leave room for a wide strip of carpeting all round it. It has got three galleries, and ever so many places, that look like pulpits and deacon's seats, all cus.h.i.+oned and curtained off beautifully.

We went up to the first gallery, and got into Cousin Dempster's loge-pew, which was just big enough for four people. This was fortunate, for our skirts and fur mantles took up every mite of room that Cousin D.

did not want; but he put up with it beautifully, and just scrouched down behind us, with his head rising above our shoulders, which would have been rather uncovered if it had not been for the fur, which tickled mine a little; but I bore it with fort.i.tude. You who know me will understand that.

The opera-house was crowded full; every pew was crammed, and the benches down below couldn't be seen, the people were so thick. The pew loges were running over with handsome girls, and old ladies that tried their best to look like girls, and couldn't, not having the country freshness that some people bring with them from the mountains.

But the three pulpits on the second gallery were empty yet--all empty, and gorgeously red, waiting for _him_.

At last, a great green curtain that hung just beyond this sacred place rolled up. The lights in a great glittering balloon, all hung with ropes of s.h.i.+ny gla.s.s beads which fell down from the centre of the roof, blazed up, and when I dropped my head from looking at it, all the other end of the room was crowded with a gang of the queerest-looking people--men, women, children, and dogs--that ever you did see. That was the opera, Cousin E. E. said; though how an opera could have a house and a cart in it, beat me.

Well, sisters, I give up. Roll every singing-school in Vermont into one crowd, and they couldn't begin to burst out like that; men, women, and girls, just went in for a splendid time, and they had it. First, a pew full of fiddlers, drummers, tromb.o.n.e.rs, and bas-violers, let themselves out in a storm of music that made the ten millions of beads on the gla.s.s balloons tremble like hailstones. Then the whole gang lifted up their voices, and the music rolled out just as I reckon the water does at Niagara Falls. Such a general training of music was enough to wake the dead out of a New England grave, where they sleep sound, I guess, if they do anywhere.

By and by they rose up, and began to wander about, making their funny little white dogs play, and some of the girls began to dance about. It was a travelling-show, you see, and some of the upper-crust people came out of the house I spoke of, and listened. One was a lady, dressed out to kill in a striped skirt, black velvet, and yellow silk; another yellow skirt bunched over that, and then a blue dress puffed above both, and her hair just splendid. I tell you she was a dasher!

But the people were all busy unloading the cart; they took out bundles and baskets and things. Finally a girl, that had been lying asleep on the load, jumped down, with her shoulders. .h.i.tched up, and looking cross as fire at everybody that came near her. She was barefooted and bareheaded, and had nothing but an under night-gown and petticoat on, which seemed to aggravate her, for she looked scowling enough at the handsome young lady, and would not double-shuffle worth a cent, though all the men and women were trying to make her.

The moment she jumped off from the cart, the folks in the seats just ran crazy, and began clapping their hands and stamping their feet like a house afire; I never saw people act so in my life. It was enough to frighten the poor thing half to death. Instead of that, it seemed to tickle her mightily, for she came forward, with her bare feet, and made a little mincing bow, and almost laughed.

Then the strangest thing happened. First one, and then another, of the show-people, instead of reasoning with the wilful creature, just went to waving their arms and singing at her. I declare it was enough to have made a minister laugh when she turned, and began to sing back at them, sometimes spiteful, and then, again, with tears melting through her voice. An old man in gray clothes, that looked crazy as a coot, sung at her, sort of hoa.r.s.e, and mournfully. Then a young fellow, in a green coat and high boots, dropped into the affair, and he sung at her. Then the handsome lady in blue and yellow burst out and sang at her too, filling the whole opera-house with music. By watching and listening, I found out this much. This girl was an orphan, picked up by the band of players, that made her dance and sing for her keeping. The fellow with the green coat and boots felt sorry for her, and bought her up, short gown and all, from the tribe of players. Then she put on the dress of a pretty boy, and waited on the handsome woman in yellow, who was one of them actress-women, and dead in love with the young fellow in boots. He was awfully in love with the actress woman too, which just aggravated that girl-boy out of her seven senses, poor thing! When she happened to watch them together, you should have seen her fling down her cap, and kick it about. There was some human nature in that, but singing love out before folks beats me. I couldn't bring myself to anything of the kind--not if the Grand Duke were standing before me with his arms out, shouting Old Hundred.