A Peep Behind the Scenes
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Mrs. O. F. Walton >> A Peep Behind the Scenes
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14 Produced by Timeless Truths Online Library,
Charles Franks, Juliet Sutherland and the DP Team
A PEEP BEHIND THE SCENES
BY MRS. O. F. WALTON
Author OF 'CHRISTIE'S OLD ORGAN,' 'SAVED AT SEA' 'SHADOWS,' ETC.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER
I. ROSALIE
II. THE LITTLE THEATRE
III. THE DAY AFTER THE FAIR
IV. THE ACTEESS'S STORY
V. ROSALIE'S FIRST SERMON
VI. A FAMILY SECRET
VII. THE CIRCUS PROCESSION
VIII. LITTLE MOTHER MANIKIN
IX. THE DOCTOR'S VISIT
X. BRITANNIA
XI. THE MOTHER'S DREAM
XII. A LONE LAMB
XIII. VANITY FAIR
XIV. BETSEY ANN
XV. LIFE IN THE LODGING-HOUSE
XVI. A DARK TIME
XVII. ALONE IN THE WORLD
XVIII. THE LITTLE PITCHER
XIX. SKIRRYWINKS.
XX. MOTHER MANIKIN'S CHAIRS
XXI. IN SIGHT OF HOME
XXII. THE LOST LAMB FOUND
XXIII. THE GREEN PASTURE.
[Illustration: ]
A PEEP BEHIND THE SCENES
CHAPTER I
ROSALIE
Rain, rain, rain! How mercilessly it fell on the Fair-field that Sunday
afternoon! Every moment the pools increased and the mud became thicker. How
dismal the fair looked then! On Saturday evening it had been brilliantly
lighted with rows of flaring naphtha-lights; and the grand shows, in the
most aristocratic part of the field, had been illuminated with crosses,
stars, anchors, and all manner of devices.
But there were no lights now; there was nothing to cast a halo round the
dirty, weather-stained tents and the dingy caravans.
Yet, in spite of this, and in spite of the rain, a crowd of Sunday idlers
lingered about the fair, looking with great interest at the half-covered
whirligigs and bicycles, peeping curiously into the deserted shows, and
making many schemes for further enjoyment on the morrow, when the fair was
once more to be in its glory.
Inside the caravans the show-people were crouching over their fires and
grumbling at the weather, murmuring at having to pay so much for the ground
on which their shows were erected, at a time when they would be likely to
make so little profit.
A little old man, with a rosy, good-tempered face, was making his way
across the sea of mud which divided the shows from each other. He was
evidently no idler in the fair; he had come into it that Sunday afternoon
for a definite purpose, and he did not intend to leave it until it was
accomplished. After crossing an almost impassable place, he climbed the
steps leading to one of the caravans and knocked at the door.
It was a curious door; the upper part of it, being used as a window, was
filled with glass, behind which you could see two small muslin curtains,
tied up with pink ribbon. No one came to open the door when the old man
knocked, and he was about to turn away, when some little boys, who were
standing near, called out to him--
'Rap again, sir, rap again; there's a little lass in there; she went in a
bit since.'
'Don't you wish you was her?' said one of the little boys to the other.
'Ay!' said the little fellow; 'I wish _our_ house would move about,
and had little windows with white curtains and pink bows!'
The old man laughed a hearty laugh at the children's talk, and rapped again
at the caravan door.
This time a face appeared between the muslin curtains and peered cautiously
out. It was a very pretty little face, so pretty that the old man sighed to
himself when he saw it.
Then the small head turned round, and seemed to be telling what it had seen
to some one within, and asking leave to admit the visitor; for a minute
afterwards the door was opened, and the owner of the pretty face stood
before the old man.
She was a little girl about twelve years of age, very slender and delicate
in appearance. Her hair, which was of a rich auburn colour, was hanging
down to her waist, and her eyes were the most beautiful the old man thought
he had ever seen.
She was very poorly dressed, and she shivered as the damp, cold air rushed
in through the open door.
'Good afternoon, my little dear,' said the old man.
She was just going to answer him when a violent fit of coughing from within
caused her to look round, and when it was over a weak, querulous voice said
hurriedly--
'Shut the door, Rosalie; it's so cold; ask whoever it is to come in.'
The old man did not wait for a second invitation; he stepped inside the
caravan, and the child closed the door.
It was a very small place; there was hardly room for him to stand. At the
end of the caravan was a narrow bed something like a berth on board ship,
and on it a woman was lying who was evidently very ill. She was the child's
mother, the old man felt sure. She had the same beautiful eyes and sunny
hair, though her face was thin and wasted.
There was not room for much furniture in the small caravan; a tiny stove,
the chimney of which went through the wooden roof, a few pans, a shelf
containing cups and saucers, and two boxes which served as seats,
completely filled it. There was only just room for the old man to stand,
and the fire was so near him that he was in danger of being scorched.
Rosalie had seated herself on one of the boxes close to her mother's bed.
'You must excuse my intruding, ma'am,' said the old man, with a polite bow;
'but I'm so fond of little folks, and I've brought this little girl of
yours a picture, if she will accept it from me.'
A flush of pleasure came into the child's face as he brought out of his
pocket his promised gift. She seized it eagerly, and held it up before her
with evident delight, whilst her mother raised herself on her elbow to look
at it with her.
It was the picture of a shepherd, with a very kind and compassionate face,
who was bearing home in his bosom a lost lamb. The lamb's fleece was torn
in several places, and there were marks of blood on its back, as if it had
been roughly used by some cruel beast in a recent struggle.
But the shepherd seemed to have suffered more than the lamb, for he was
wounded in many places, and his blood was falling in large drops on the
ground. Yet he did not seem to mind it; his face was full of love and full
of joy as he looked at the lamb. He had forgotten his sorrow in his joy
that the lamb was saved.
In the distance were some of the shepherd's friends, who were coming to
meet him, and underneath the picture were these words, printed in large
letters--
'Rejoice with Me, for I have found My sheep which was lost. There is joy in
the presence of the angels of God over one sinner that repenteth.'
The little girl read the words aloud in a clear, distinct voice; and her
mother gazed at the picture with tears in her eyes.
'Those are sweet words, ain't they?' said the old man.
'Yes,' said the woman, with a sigh; 'I have heard them many times before.'
'Has the Good Shepherd ever said them of _you_, ma'am? Has He ever
called the bright angels together and said to them of _you_, "Rejoice
with Me, for I have found My sheep which was lost"?'
The woman did not speak; a fit of coughing came on, and the old man stood
looking at her with a very pitying expression.
'You are very ill, ma'am, I'm afraid,' he said.
'Yes, very ill,' gasped the woman bitterly; 'every one can see that but
Augustus!'
'That's my father,' said the little girl.
'No; he doesn't see it,' repeated the woman; 'he thinks I ought to get up
and act in the play, just as usual. I did try at the last place we went to;
but I fainted as soon as my part was over, and I've been in bed ever
since.'
'You must be tired of moving about, ma'am,' said the old man
compassionately.
'Tired?' said she; 'I should think I _was_ tired; it isn't what I was
brought up to. I was brought up to a very different kind of life from
_this_,' she said, with a very deep-drawn sigh. 'It's a weary time I
have of it--a weary time.'
'Are you always on the move, ma'am?' asked the old man.
'All the summer-time,' said the woman. 'We get into lodgings for a little
time in the winter; and then we let ourselves out to some of the small town
theatres; but all the rest of the year we're going from feast to feast and
from fair to fair--no rest nor comfort, not a bit!'
'Poor thing! poor thing!' said the old man; and then a choking sensation
appeared to have seized him, for he cleared his throat vigorously many
times, but seemed unable to say more.
The child had climbed on one of the boxes, and brought down a square red
pincushion from the shelf which ran round the top of the caravan. From this
she took two pins, and fastened the picture on the wooden wall, so that her
mother could see it as she was lying in bed.
'It does look pretty there,' said the little girl; 'mammie, you can look at
it nicely now.'
'Yes, ma'am,' said the old man, as he prepared to take his leave; 'and as
you look at it, think of that Good Shepherd who is seeking you. He wants to
find you, and take you up in His arms, and carry you home; and He won't
mind the wounds it has cost Him, if you'll only let Him do it.
'Good-day, ma'am,' said the old man; 'I shall, maybe, never see you again;
but I would like the Good Shepherd to say those words of you.'
He went carefully down the steps of the caravan, and Rosalie stood at the
window, watching him picking his way to the other shows, to which he was
carrying the same message of peace. She looked out from between the muslin
curtains until he had quite disappeared to a distant part of the field, and
then she turned to her mother and said eagerly--
'It's a very pretty picture, isn't it, mammie dear?'
But no answer came from the bed. Rosalie thought her mother was asleep, and
crept on tiptoe to her side, fearful of waking her. But she found her
mother's face buried in the pillow, on which large tears were falling.
And when the little girl sat down by her side, and tried to comfort her by
stroking her hand very gently, and saying, 'Mammie dear, mammie dear, don't
cry! What's the matter, mammie dear?' her mother only wept the more.
At length her sobs brought on such a violent fit of coughing that Rosalie
was much alarmed, and fetched her a mug of water, which was standing on the
shelf near the door. By degrees her mother grew calmer, the sobs became
less frequent, and, to the little girl's joy, she fell asleep. Rosalie sat
beside her without moving, lest she should awake her, and kept gazing at
her picture till she knew every line of it. And the first thing her mother
heard when she awoke from sleep was Rosalie's voice saying softly--
'"Rejoice with Me, for I have found My sheep which was lost. There is joy
in the presence of the angels of God over one sinner that repenteth."'
CHAPTER II
THE LITTLE THEATRE
It was the next evening; the fair was once more in its glory, and crowded
with an admiring throng. The great shows were again illuminated, and three
rows of brilliant stars shone forth from the little theatre belonging to
Rosalie's father. He had been out all day, strolling about the town, and
had only returned in time to make preparation for the evening's
entertainment.
'Norah,' said her husband, as he put his head in at the door of the
caravan, 'surely you mean to come and take your part to-night?'
'I can't, Augustus, and you would know it, if you stayed long enough with
me; I've been coughing nearly the whole day.'
'Well, I wish you would get better soon; it's very awkward to have to fill
your part up every time. Conrad has to take it, and every one can see he's
not used to it, he's so clumsy and slow.'
'I'll come as soon as ever I can,' said the poor wife, with a sigh.
'It's to be hoped you will,' said her husband. 'Women are always fancying
they are ill. They lie still thinking about it, and nursing themselves up,
long after a man would have been at his work again. It's half laziness,
that's what it is!' said Augustus fiercely.
'If you felt as ill as I do, Augustus,' said his wife, 'I'm sure you
wouldn't do any work.'
'Hold your tongue!' said her husband; 'I know better than that. Well, mind
you have Rosalie ready in time; we shall begin early to-night.'
Little Rosalie had crept to her mother's side, and was crying quietly at
her father's rough words.
'Stop crying this minute, child!' said Augustus harshly. 'Wipe your eyes,
you great baby! Do you think you'll be fit to come on the stage if they're
red and swollen with crying? Do you hear me? Stop at once, or it will be
the worse for you!' he shouted, as he shut the caravan door.
'Rosalie, darling,' said her mother, 'you mustn't cry; your father will be
so angry, and it's time you got ready. What a noise there is in the fair
already!' said the poor woman, holding her aching head.
Rosalie wiped her eyes and washed her face, and then brought out from one
of the boxes the dress in which she was to act at the play. It was a white
muslin dress, looped up with pink roses, and there was a wreath of paper
roses to wear in her hair. She dressed herself before a tiny looking-glass,
and then went to her mother to have the wreath of roses fastened on her
head.
The poor woman raised herself in bed, and arranged her little girl's long
tresses.
What a contrast Rosalie looked to the rest of the caravan! The shabby
furniture, the thin, wasted mother, the dirty, torn little frock she had
just laid aside, were quite out of keeping with the pretty little
white-robed figure which stood by the bed.
At length her father's voice called her, and after giving her mother a last
kiss, and placing some water near her on the box, in case a violent fit of
coughing should come on, Rosalie ran quickly down the caravan steps, and
rushed into the brilliantly-lighted theatre. A crowd of people stared at
her as she flitted past and disappeared up the theatre steps.
The audience had not yet been admitted, so Rosalie crept into the room
behind the stage, in which her father's company was assembled. They all
looked tired and cross, for this was the last night of the fair, and they
had had little sleep whilst it lasted.
At length Augustus announced that it was time to begin, and they all went
out upon a platform, which was erected half way up the outside of the
theatre, just underneath the three rows of illuminated stars. Here they
danced, and sang, and shook tambourines, in order to beguile the people to
enter. Then they disappeared within, and a crowd of eager spectators
immediately rushed up the steps, paid their admission money, and took their
seats in the theatre.
After this the play commenced, Augustus acting as manager, and keeping his
company up to their various parts. It was a foolish play, and in some of
the parts there was a strong mixture of very objectionable language; yet it
was highly appreciated by the audience, and met with vociferous applause.
There were many young girls there, some of them servants in respectable
families, where they enjoyed every comfort; yet they looked up at little
Rosalie with eyes of admiration and envy. They thought her life was much
happier than theirs, and that her lot was greatly to be desired. They
looked at the white dress and the pink roses, and contrasted them with
their own warm but homely garments; they watched the pretty girl going
through her part gracefully and easily, and they contrasted her work with
theirs. How interesting, how delightful, they thought, to be doing this,
instead of scrubbing floors, or washing clothes, or nursing children!
But they knew nothing of the life behind the scenes; of the sick mother,
the wretched home, the poor and insufficient food, the dirty, ragged frock.
They knew nothing of the bitter tears which had just been wiped away, nor
of the weary aching of the little feet which were dancing so lightly over
the stage.
And those little feet became more and more weary as the night went on. As
soon as the play was over, the people rushed out into the fair to seek for
fresh amusement; but the actors had no rest. Once more they appeared on the
platform to attract a fresh audience, and then the same play was repeated,
the same songs were sung, the same words were said; fresh to the people who
were listening, but oh, how stale and monotonous to the actors themselves!
And so it went on all night; as soon as one exhibition was over, another
began, and the theatre was filled and refilled, long after the clock of the
neighbouring church had struck the hour of twelve.
At last it was over; the last audience had left, the brilliant stars
disappeared, and Rosalie was at liberty to creep back to her mother. So
weary and exhausted was she, that she could hardly drag herself up the
caravan steps. She opened the door very gently, that she might not disturb
her mother, and then she tried to undress herself. But she was aching in
every limb, and, sitting down on the box beside her mother's bed, she fell
asleep, her little weary head resting on her mother's pillow.
Poor little woman! She ought to have been laid in a quiet little nest hours
ago, instead of being exposed to the close, hot, stifling air of the
theatre through all the long hours of a weary night.
In about an hour's time her mother woke, and found her little girl sleeping
in her uncomfortable position, her white dress unfastened, and the pink
roses from her hair fallen on the ground. Weak as she was, the poor mother
dragged herself out of bed to help her tired child to undress.
'Rosalie, dear,' she said tenderly, 'wake up!'
But for some time Rosalie did not stir, and, when her mother touched her,
she sat up, and said, as if in her sleep--
'"Rejoice with Me, for I have found My sheep which was lost."'
'She is dreaming of her picture, poor child,' said the mother to herself.
Then Rosalie woke, and shivered as she felt the cold night air on her bare
neck and arms. Very gently the poor weak mother helped her to take off her
white dress and her small ragged petticoats; and then the child crept into
bed and into her mother's arms.
'Poor little tired lamb!' said the mother, as the weary child nestled up to
her.
'Am I the lamb?' said Rosalie, in a sleepy voice.
The mother did not answer, but kissed her child passionately, and then lay
awake by her side, weeping and coughing by turns till the morning dawned.
CHAPTER III
THE DAY AFTER THE FAIR
The next morning Rosalie was waked by a rap at the caravan door. She crept
out of bed, and, putting her dress over her shoulders, peeped out between
the muslin curtains.
'It's Toby, mammie,' she said; 'I'll see what he wants.'
She opened the door a crack, and Toby put his mouth to it, and whispered--
'Miss Rosie, we're going to start in about half an hour. Master has just
sent me for the horses; we've been up all night packing; three of the
waggons is loaded, and they've only some of the scenery to roll up, and
then we shall start.'
'Where are we going, Toby?' asked the child.
'It's a town a long way off,' said Toby; 'we've never been there before,
master says, and it will take us nearly a week to get there. But I must be
off, Miss Rosie, or master will be coming.'
'Aren't you tired, Toby?' said the child kindly.
Toby shrugged his shoulders, and said, with a broad grin--
'I wonder if any one in this concern is ever anything else but tired!'
Then he walked away into the town for the horses, which had been put up in
the stables of an inn, and Rosalie returned to her mother. There were
several things to be done before they could start; the crockery had all to
be taken from the shelf and stowed away in a safe place, lest the jolting
over the rough and uneven field should throw it down. Besides this, Rosalie
had to dress herself and get her mother's breakfast ready, that she might
eat it in peace before the shaking of the caravan commenced.
When all was ready, Rosalie stood at the window and looked out. The fair
looked very different from what it had done the night before. Most of the
show-people had been up all night, taking their shows to pieces, and
packing everything up. Though it was not yet nine o'clock, many of them had
already started, and the field was half empty. It was a dreary scene of
desolation; all the little grass it had once possessed, which had given it
a right to the name of field, had entirely disappeared, and the bare,
uneven ground was thickly strewn with dirty pieces of paper, broken boxes,
and old rags, which had been left behind by the show-people; besides a
quantity of orange-peel and cocoa-nut and oyster shells, which had been
thrown into the mud the night before. Very dirty and untidy and forlorn it
looked, as Rosalie gazed at it from the door of the caravan. Then a waggon
jolted past, laden with the largest of the numerous whirligigs, the wooden
horses and elephants peeping out from the waterproof covering which had
been thrown over them. Then a large swing passed by, then the show of the
giant and dwarf; these were followed by a pea-boiling establishment and the
marionettes. And, a few minutes afterwards, the show of the blue horse and
the performing seal set out on its way to the next feast, accompanied by
the shows of the fat boy and of the lady without arms, who performed
wonders with her toes in the ways of tea-making and other household
business, and whose very infirmities and deformities were thus made into
gain, and exposed to the gaze of curious crowds by her own relations.
All these rattled past, and Rosalie watched them out of sight. Then Toby
returned with the horses; they were yoked to the waggons and to the
caravans, and the little cavalcade set forth. The jolting over the rough
ground was very great, and much tried the poor sick woman, who was shaken
from side to side of her wretched bed. Then outside the field they had to
wait a long time, for the road was completely filled by the numerous
caravans of the wild-beast show, and no one could pass until they were
gone.
The elephants were standing close to the pavement, now and again twisting
their long trunks into the trees of the small gardens in front of the
neighbouring houses; and they would undoubtedly have broken the branches to
atoms had not their keeper driven them off with his whip. A crowd of
children was gathered round them, feeding them with bread and biscuit, and
enjoying the delay of the show.
But Augustus became very impatient, for he had a long journey before him;
so, after pacing up and down and chafing against the stoppage for some
time, he went up to the manager of the wild-beast show, and addressed him
in such violent and passionate language, that a policeman was obliged to
interfere, and desired him to keep the peace.
At length the huge yellow caravans, each drawn by six strong cart-horses,
moved slowly on, led by a procession of elephants and camels, and followed
by a large crowd of children, who accompanied them to the outskirts of the
town. Here, by turning down a by-street, the theatre party was able to pass
them, and thus get the start of them on their journey.
Rosalie was glad to leave the town, and feel the fresh country air blowing
upon her face. It was so very refreshing after the close, stagnant air of
the fair. She opened the upper part of the door, and stood looking out,
watching Toby, who was driving, and talking to him from time to time of the
objects which they passed by the way; it was a new road to Rosalie and to
her mother.
At length, about twelve o'clock, they came to a little village, where they
halted for a short time, that the horses might rest before going farther.
The country children were just leaving the village school, and they
gathered round the caravans with open eyes and mouths, staring curiously at
the smoke coming from the small chimneys, and at Rosalie, who was peeping
out from between the muslin curtains. But, after satisfying their
curiosity, they moved away in little groups to their various homes, that
they might be in time to get their dinner done before afternoon school.
Then the village street was quite quiet, and Rosalie stood at the door,
watching the birds hopping from tree to tree, and the bees gathering honey
from the flowers in the gardens. Her mother was better to-day, and was
dressing herself slowly, for she thought that a breath of country air might
revive and strengthen her.
Augustus, Toby, and the other men of the company had gone into the small
inn for refreshment, and Toby was sent back to the caravan with large
slices of bread and cheese for Rosalie and her mother. The child ate of it
eagerly--the fresh air had given her an appetite--but the poor woman could
not touch it. As soon as she was dressed, she crept, with Rosalie's help,
to the door of the caravan, and sat on the top step, leaning against one of
the boxes, which the child dragged from its place to make a support for
her.
The caravan was drawn up by the side of a small cottage with a thatched
roof. There was a little garden in front of it, filled with sweet flowers,
large cabbage-roses, southernwood, rosemary, sweetbriar, and lavender. As
the wind blew softly over them, it wafted their sweet fragrance to the sick
woman sitting on the caravan steps. The quiet stillness of the country was
very refreshing and soothing to her, after the turmoil and din of the last
week. No sound was to be heard but the singing of the larks overhead, the
humming of the bees, and the gentle rustling of the breeze amongst the
branches.
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