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St. Nicholas Magazine for Boys and Girls, September 1878
Under the Lilacs
by Louisa M. Alcott
Chapter XXI: Cupid's Last Appearance
A picnic supper on the grass followed the games, and then, as twilight began to
fall, the young people were marshaled to the coach-house, now transformed into a
rustic theater. One big door was open, and seats, arranged lengthwise, faced the
red table-cloths which formed the curtain. A row of lamps made very good
foot-lights, and an invisible band performed a Wagner-like overture on combs,
tin trumpets, drums, and pipes, with an accompaniment of suppressed laughter.
Many of the children had never seen anything like it, and sat staring about them
in mute admiration and expectancy; but the older ones criticised freely, and
indulged in wild speculations as to the meaning of various convulsions of nature
going on behind the curtain.
While Teacher was dressing the actresses for the tragedy, Miss Celia and Thorny,
who were old hands at this sort of amusement, gave a "Potato" pantomime as a
side show.
Across an empty stall a green cloth was fastened, so high that the heads of the
operators were not seen. A little curtain flew up, disclosing the front of a
Chinese pagoda painted on pasteboard, with a door and window which opened quite
naturally. This stood on one side, several green trees with paper lanterns
hanging from the boughs were on the other side, and the words "Tea Garden,"
printed over the top, showed the nature of this charming spot.
Few of the children had ever seen the immortal Punch and Judy, so this was a
most agreeable novelty, and before they could make out what it meant, a voice
began to sing, so distinctly that every word was heard:
"In China there lived a little
man,
His name was Chingery Wangery Chan."
Here the hero "took the stage" with
great dignity, clad in a loose yellow jacket over a blue skirt, which concealed
the hand that made his body. A pointed hat adorned his head, and on removing
this to bow he disclosed a bald pate with a black queue in the middle, and a
Chinese face nicely painted on the potato, the lower part of which was hollowed
out to fit Thorny's first finger, while his thumb and second finger were in the
sleeves of the yellow jacket, making a lively pair of arms. While he saluted,
the song went on:
"His legs were short, his feet
were small,
And this little man could not walk at all."
Which assertion was proved to be false
by the agility with which the "little man" danced a jig in time to the
rollicking chorus:
"Chingery changery ri co day,
Ekel tekel happy man;
Uron odesko canty oh, oh,
Gallopy wallopy China go."
At the close of the dance and chorus,
Chan retired into the tea garden, and drank so many cups of the national
beverage, with such comic gestures, that the spectators were almost sorry when
the opening of the opposite window drew all eyes in that direction. At the
lattice appeared a lovely being; for this potato had been pared, and on the
white surface were painted pretty pink cheeks, red lips, black eyes, and oblique
brows; through the tuft of dark silk on the head were stuck several glittering
pins, and a pink jacket shrouded the plump figure of this capital little Chinese
lady. After peeping coyly out, so that all could see and admire, she fell to
counting the money from a purse, so large her small hands could hardly hold it
on the window seat. While she did this, the song went on to explain:
"Miss Ki Hi was short and
squat,
She had money and he had not;
So off to her he resolved to go,
And play her a tune on his little banjo."
During the chorus to this verse Chan
was seen tuning his instrument in the garden, and at the end sallied gallantly
forth to sing the following tender strain:
"Whang fun li,
Tang hua ki,
Hong Kong do ra me!
Ah sin lo,
Pan to fo,
Tsing up chin leute!"
Carried away by his passion, Chan
dropped his banjo, fell upon his knees, and, clasping his hands, bowed his
forehead in the dust before his idol. But, alas!—
"Miss Ki Hi heard his notes of
love,
And held her wash-bowl up above;
It fell upon the little man,
And this was the end of Chingery Chan."
Indeed it was: for, as the doll's basin
of real water was cast forth by the cruel charmer, poor Chan expired in such
strong convulsions that his head rolled down among the audience. Miss Ki Hi
peeped to see what had become of her victim, and the shutter decapitated her
likewise, to the great delight of the children, who passed around the heads,
pronouncing a "Potato" pantomime "first-rate fun."
Then they settled themselves for the show, having been assured by Manager Thorny
that they were about to behold the most elegant and varied combination ever
produced on any stage. And when one reads the following very inadequate
description of the somewhat mixed entertainment, it is impossible to deny that
the promise made was nobly kept.
After some delay and several crashes behind the curtain, which mightily amused
the audience, the performance began with the well-known tragedy of "Blue-beard";
for Bab had set her heart upon it, and the young folks had acted it so often in
their plays that it was very easy to get up with a few extra touches to scenery
and costumes. Thorny was superb as the tyrant with a beard of bright blue
worsted, a slouched hat and long feather, fur cloak, red hose, rubber boots, and
a real sword which clanked tragically as he walked. He spoke in such a deep
voice, knit his corked eyebrows, and glared so frightfully, that it was no
wonder poor Fatima quaked before him as he gave into her keeping an immense
bunch of keys with one particularly big, bright one, among them.
Bab was fine to see, with Miss Celia's blue dress sweeping behind her, a white
plume in her flowing hair, and a real necklace with a pearl locket about her
neck. She did her part capitally, especially the shriek she gave when she looked
into the fatal closet, the energy with which she scrubbed the tell-tale key, and
her distracted tone when she called out: "Sister Anne, O, sister Anne, do you
see anybody coming?" while her enraged husband was roaring: "Will you come down,
madam, or shall I come and fetch you?"
Betty made a captivating Anne,—all in white muslin, and a hat full of such
lovely pink roses that she could not help putting up one hand to feel them as
she stood on the steps looking out at the little window for the approaching
brothers, who made such a din that it sounded like a dozen horsemen instead of
two.
The Blue-Beard Group
Ben and Billy were got up regardless of expense in the way of arms; for their
belts were perfect arsenals, and their wooden swords were big enough to strike
terror into any soul, though they struck no sparks out of Blue-beard's blade in
the awful combat which preceded the villain's downfall and death.
The boys enjoyed this part intensely, and cries of "Go it, Ben!" "Hit him again,
Billy!" "Two against one isn't fair!" "Thorny's a match for em." "Now he's down,
hurray!" cheered on the combatants, till, after a terrific struggle, the tyrant
fell, and with convulsive twitchings of the scarlet legs, slowly expired, while
the ladies sociably fainted in each others arms, and the brothers waved their
swords and shook hands over the corpse of their enemy.
This piece was rapturously applauded, and all the performers had to appear and
bow their thanks, led by the defunct Blue-beard, who mildly warned the excited
audience that if they "didn't look out the walls would break down, and then
there'd be a nice mess." Calmed by this fear they composed themselves, and
waited with ardor for the next play, which promised to be a lively one, judging
from the shrieks of laughter which came from behind the curtain.
"Sanch's going to be in it, I know, for I heard Ben say, 'Hold him still; he
wont bite,'" whispered Sam, longing to "jounce" up and down, so great was his
satisfaction at the prospect, for the dog was considered the star of the
company.
"I hope Bab will do something else, she is so funny. Wasn't her dress elegant?"
said Sally Folsom, burning to wear a long silk gown and a feather in her hair.
"I like Betty best, she's so cunning, and she peaked out of the window just as
if she really saw somebody coming," answered Liddy Peckham, privately resolving
to tease mother for some pink roses before another Sunday came.
Up went the curtain at last, and a voice announced "A Tragedy in Three
Tableaux." "There's Betty!" was the general exclamation, as the audience
recognized a familiar face under the little red hood worn by the child who stood
receiving a basket from Teacher, who made a nice mother with her finger up, as
if telling the small messenger not to loiter by the way.
"I know what that is!" cried Sally; "it's 'Mabel on Midsummer Day.' The piece
Miss Celia spoke; don't you know?"
"There isn't any sick baby, and Mabel had a 'kerchief pinned about her head.' I
say it's Red Riding Hood," answered Liddy, who had begun to learn Mary Howitt's
pretty poem for her next piece, and knew all about it.
The question was settled by the appearance of the wolf in the second scene, and
such a wolf! On few amateur stages do we find so natural an actor for that part,
or so good a costume, for Sanch was irresistibly droll in the gray wolf-skin
which usually lay beside Miss Celia's bed, now fitted over his back and fastened
neatly down underneath, with his own face peeping out at one end, and the
handsome tail bobbing gayly at the other. What a comfort that tail was to Sancho,
none but a bereaved bow-wow could ever tell. It reconciled him to his
distasteful part at once; it made rehearsals a joy, and even before the public
he could not resist turning to catch a glimpse of the noble appendage, while his
own brief member wagged with the proud consciousness that though the tail did
not match the head, it was long enough to be seen of all men and dogs.
That was a pretty picture, for the little maid came walking in with the basket
on her arm, and such an innocent face inside the bright hood that it was quite
natural the gray wolf should trot up to her with deceitful friendliness, that
she should pat and talk to him confidingly about the butter for grandma, and
then that they should walk away together, he politely carrying her basket, she
with her hand on his head, little dreaming what evil plans were taking shape
inside.
The children encored that, but there was no time to repeat it, so they listened
to more stifled merriment behind the red table-cloths, and wondered whether the
next scene would be the wolf popping his head out of the window as Red Riding
Hood knocks, or the tragic end of that sweet child.
It was neither, for a nice bed had been made, and in it reposed the false
grandmother, with a ruffled nightcap on, a white gown, and spectacles. Betty lay
beside the wolf, staring at him as if just about to say, "Why, grandma, what
great teeth you've got!" for Sancho's mouth was half open and a red tongue hung
out, as he panted with the exertion of keeping still. This tableau was so very
good, and yet so funny, that the children clapped and shouted frantically; this
excited the dog, who gave a bounce and would have leaped off the bed to bark at
the rioters, if Betty had not caught him by the legs, and Thorny dropped the
curtain just at the moment when the wicked wolf was apparently in the act of
devouring the poor little girl, with most effective growls.
They had to come out then, and did so, both much disheveled by the late tussle,
for Sancho's cap was all over one eye, and Betty's hood was anywhere but on her
head. She made her courtesy prettily, however; her fellow-actor bowed with as
much dignity as a short night-gown permitted, and they retired to their
well-earned repose.
Then Thorny, looking much excited, appeared to make the following request: "As
one of the actors in the next piece is new to the business, the company must all
keep as still as mice, and not stir till I give the word. It's perfectly
splendid! so don't you spoil it by making a row."
"What do you suppose it is?" asked every one, and listened with all their might
to get a hint, if possible. But what they heard only whetted their curiosity and
mystified them more and more. Bab's voice cried in a loud whisper, "Isn't Ben
beautiful?" Then there was a thumping noise, and Miss Celia said, in an anxious
tone, "Oh, do be careful," while Ben laughed out as if he was too happy to care
who heard him, and Thorny bawled "Whoa!" in a way which would have attracted
attention if Lita's head had not popped out of her box, more than once, to
survey the invaders of her abode, with a much astonished expression.
"Sounds kind of circusy, don't it?" said Sam to Billy, who had come out to
receive the compliments of the company and enjoy the tableau at a safe distance.
"You just wait till you see what's coming. It beats any circus I ever saw,"
answered Billy, rubbing his hands with the air of a man who had seen many
instead of but one.
"Ready? Be quick and get out of the way when she goes off!" whispered Ben, but
they heard him and prepared for pistols, rockets or combustibles of some sort,
as ships were impossible under the circumstances, and no other "she" occurred to
them.
A unanimous "O-o-o-o!" was heard when the curtain rose, but a stern "Hush!" from
Thorny kept them mutely staring with all their eyes at the grand spectacle of
the evening. There stood Lita with a wide flat saddle on her back, a white
head-stall and reins, blue rosettes in her ears, and the look of a
much-bewildered beast in her bright eyes. But who the gauzy, spangled, winged
creature was, with a gilt crown on its head, a little bow in its hand, and one
white slipper in the air, while the other seemed merely to touch the saddle, no
one could tell for a minute, so strange and splendid did the apparition appear.
No wonder Ben was not recognized in this brilliant disguise, which was more
natural to him than Billy's blue flannel or Thorny's respectable garments. He
had so begged to be allowed to show himself "just once," as he used to be in the
days when "father" tossed him up on bare-backed old General, for hundreds to see
and admire, that Miss Celia had consented, much against her will, and hastily
arranged some bits of spangled tarletan over the white cotton suit which was to
simulate the regulation tights. Her old dancing slippers fitted, and gold paper
did the rest, while Ben, sure of his power over Lita, promised not to break his
bones, and lived for days on the thought of the moment when he could show the
boys that he had not boasted vainly of past splendors.
Before the delighted children could get their breath, Lita gave signs of her
dislike to the foot-lights, and, gathering up the reins that lay on her neck,
Ben gave the old cry, "Houp-la!" and let her go, as he had often done before,
straight out of the coach-house for a gallop round the orchard.
"Just turn about and you can see perfectly well, but stay where you are till he
comes back," commanded Thorny, as signs of commotion appeared in the excited
audience.
Round went the twenty children as if turned by one crank, and sitting there they
looked out into the moonlight where the shining figure flashed to and fro, now
so near they could see the smiling face under the crown, now so far away that it
glittered like a fire-fly among the dusky green. Lita enjoyed that race as
heartily as she had done several others of late, and caracoled about as if
anxious to make up for her lack of skill by speed and obedience. How much Ben
liked it there is no need to tell, yet it was a proof of the good which three
months of a quiet, useful life had done him, that even as he pranced gayly under
the boughs thick with the red and yellow apples almost ready to be gathered, he
found this riding in the fresh air with only his mates for an audience
pleasanter than the crowded tent, the tired horses, profane men, and painted
women, friendly as some of them had been to him.
After the first burst was over, he felt rather glad, on the whole, that he was
going back to plain clothes, helpful school, and kindly people, who cared more
to have him a good boy than the most famous Cupid that ever stood on one leg
with a fast horse under him.
"You may make as much noise as you like, now; Lita's had her run and will be as
quiet as a lamb after it. Pull up, Ben, and come in; sister says you'll get
cold," shouted Thorny, as the rider came cantering round after a leap over the
lodge gate and back again.
So Ben pulled up, and the admiring boys and girls were allowed to gather about
him, loud in their praises as they examined the pretty mare and the mythological
character who lay easily upon her back. He looked very little like the god of
love now; for he had lost one slipper and splashed his white legs with dew and
dust, the crown had slipped down upon his neck, and the paper wings hung in an
apple-tree where he had left them as he went by. No trouble in recognizing Ben,
now; but somehow he didn't want to be seen, and, instead of staying to be
praised, he soon slipped away, making Lita his excuse to vanish behind the
curtain while the rest went into the house to have a finishing-off game of
blindman's-buff in the big kitchen.
"Well, Ben, are you satisfied?" asked Miss Celia, as she stayed a moment to
unpin the remains of his gauzy scarf and tunic.
"Yes'm, thank you, it was tip-top."
"But you look rather sober. Are you tired, or is it because you don't want to
take these trappings off and be plain Ben again?" she said, looking down into
his face as he lifted it for her to free him from his gilded collar.
"I want to take 'em off; for somehow I don't feel respectable," and he kicked
away the crown he had help to make so carefully, adding with a glance that said
more than his words: "I'd rather be 'plain Ben' than any one else, if you'd like
to have me."
"Indeed I do; and I'm so glad to hear you say that, because I was afraid you'd
long to be off to the old ways, and all I've tried to do would be undone. Would
you like to go back, Ben?" and Miss Celia held his chin an instant, to watch the
brown face that looked so honestly back at her.
"No, I wouldn't—unless—he was there and wanted me."
The chin quivered just a bit, but the black eyes were as bright as ever, and the
boy's voice so earnest, she knew he spoke the truth, and laid her white hand
softly on his head, as she answered in the tone he loved so much, because no one
else had ever used it to him:
"Father is not there; but I know he wants you, dear, and I am sure he would
rather see you in a home like this than in the place you came from. Now go and
dress; but, tell me first, has it been a happy birthday?"
"Oh, Miss Celia! I didn't know they could be so beautiful, and this is the
beautifulest part of it; I don't know how to thank you, but I'm going to try—"
and, finding words wouldn't come fast enough, Ben just put his two arms round
her, quite speechless with gratitude; then, as if ashamed of his little
outburst, he knelt down in a great hurry to untie his one shoe.
Miss Celia and Ben
But Miss Celia liked his answer better than the finest speech ever made her, and
went away through the moonlight, saying to herself:
"If I can bring one lost lamb into the fold, I shall be the fitter for a
shepherd's wife, by and by."
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