title: Cortlandt Laster, capitalist.
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' y 0 N 0 Cortlandt / Laster, Capitalist by 1 HARLEY DEENE This Novel has been awarded, the & 1,000.00 Cash Prize offered by Laird ct Lee for the best orig- inal American novel submitted to them between Sept. 25, 2802, and March 31, 2802. CHICAGO LAIRD & LEE, PUBLISHERS ■ CORTLANDT LASTER, CAPITALIST BY HARLEY DEERE NO. i JULY, iSq2 ' V I CHICAGO LAIRD & LEE 1892 9 * CORTLAND! LASTER, Capitalist » V * ‘ r CORTLANDT Laster, Capitalist V By HARLEY DEENE CHICAGO ^ i- LAIRD & LEE, Publishers 1892 Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year Eighteen Hundred and Ninety-Two, By LAIRD & LEE, In the office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington All Rights Reserved. t. CONTENTS PAGE I. 818 Broadway 7 II. Behind the Scenes of the “Gaiety” . 22 III. The Rose of Satzuma 50 IV. Conspirators Two 67 V. A Good Day’s Work 86 VI. The Veil is Torn Aside .... 104 VII. Her Fate in Her Hands* . 119 VIII. A Safe Interview . 148 IX. A Fox in Shepherd’s Garb .... 164 X. Ways that are Dark ..... 186 XI. Priest and Dancer 204 XII. A First Night at the “Murray Hill” 224 XIII. What the French Call a Master-Singer 245 XIV. Good-bye, Sweetheart 263 XV. Mrs. Van Cleet’s Day of Triumph . . 285 XVI. Maroussia’s Wedding Gift .... 301 XVII. The Kiss of Eternal Peace . . . 318 . . . Do you 'want to know to what extremes guilty love can go ? See it at work in the heart of a man whose wealth is boundless. — Seneca. CORTLANDT LaSTER, CAPITALIST I 8 I 8 B ROADWAY “Supper is ready, gentlemen.” The speaker, a tall, middle-aged mulatto, with clean-cut features and long silky beard, bowed slightly to the well behaved company that half filled the upper part of the wide hall, and motioned them to the table, plentifully served behind him. The rooms, well known of all “ about-town ” New Yorkers, and of many others, East and West, occupied the whole parlor floor of an ancient family mansion near Twelfth street, on noisy, popu- lous Broadway. Upon the outside door of the com- fortable looking building, a well-polished plate bore the words “ Central Club and an inexperienced man, if admitted within this carefully guarded ( 7 ) 8 CORTLANDT LASTER, CAPITALIST sanctum, would have had to look around more than once before realizing that he was simply a visitor to a gambling “hell” of the upper grade, and not an honored guest in a reputable club. If properly introduced by some old habitut of the place, he would have seen the solid, oaken door opened before him by “Wash,” the gigantic colored man above mentioned, reputed to never forget a face once carefully noted upon the tablets of his mem- ory. In the hall, rows of hats and batches of canes and umbrellas denoted the presence of a numerous clientele, whilst in the three parlors, thrown into one room by the suppression of the usual folding doors, groups of attentive players thronged the tables whereon the “ tiger ” was nightly “ bucked ” with varying success. The decoration of the hall, one of the finest of its kind in New York, was quiet and tasteful. A single looking-glass, at the further end of the room, behind the faro-dealer and next to the large safe of the firm, reflected the many chandeliers and the lighted gas-jets. Two elderly gentlemen, — one of them, with his gray side whiskers, looking every inch like a successful and responsible down-town merchant — walked up and down the room, with the unmistak- able appearance of masters of the house. One of these, at times, took his seat upon a high stool, to the right of the faro-dealer, surveying from beneath his light gray, wide-brimmed and low-crowned hat, the uniform of the house so to speak, the many in- cidents of the game. Around the faro lay-out, sat, besides the dealers, eight or ten men, some with their 8 1 8 BROADWAY 9 coats on, some without, all perfectly dignified and silent except when announcing their moves or calling for more stacks of chips. By far the heaviest and steadiest wagers took place in this part of the room where, above the head of the dealer, hung the sign, affixed to the looking-glass : “ Day House, 12 Ann Street/’ A much less frequented center of attraction was the double roulette-table, the wide expanse of which stretched itself between the faro-lovers and the sup- per-table. Behind it and close to the wheel, the “ Major,” a pock-marked Southerner, with stolid, imperturbable mien, stood guard over his stacks of varicolored chips, and settled the bets after each stoppage of the ball. A few high stools, ranged around the long, oval table, seated the persistent players, whilst, standing behind them, stray deser- ters from the faro-table attempted to retrieve their losses at the more disastrous game, by throwing at random their last spare cash upon the numbers, the dozen-cases, or the simple side chances. Here you met with more animation on the part of the players, even with weak attempts at a joke. The winners also, few and far between, manifested their satisfaction with some sort of enthusiasm, punt- ing right and left with a noise of clattering ivory checks, and addressing sharp orders to the dealer to place their bets when their arms could not reach easily. There was undoubtedly some sem- blance of pleasure-seeking in that section of the room ; not exclusively the dull, heavy expression of the absorbed gambler whose stakes are not only to IO CORTLANDT LASTER, CAPITALIST be ciphered in cash, but carry away with them hap- piness and honor. “No supper for me, Wash,” remarked one of the roulette players, as he laid down a full stack of white chips on the black, and pulled out his watch. “ I have to be twelve blocks away in half an hour, and, with your permission, I'll just take a leetle brandy.” The voice was clear and soft, the accent slightly foreign, and, to an experienced ear, more Russian than French. “ Thirteen, black,” droned the monotonous voice of the Major, placing a stack of white chips next to the one just punted on the black. That night, only six players surrounded the table, the young man who had just spoken, a steady winner for the last hour or so. It was evident that this player was not, although on speaking terms with the employes of the house, born to the land and manners of his surroundings. His very blonde face and pale gray eyes, his slight, turned-up mustache and his close-cut hair would have marked him at once as a European, even if his slow drawl and his half contemptuous, half courteous bow, whenever addressing the dealer, had not re- vealed a foreign aristocrat away from his native sphere. Without close -inspection it would have been difficult, perhaps, to guess aright his age, for, if his thin lips were red and his brow perfectly smooth, the peculiar hardness of his general expres- sion was not that of a very young man. After attentive surveying, however, one would call him a man of thirty-five, and have hit pretty near the 8 1 8 BROADWAY II mark. On his long, white fingers, very dry and very wiry of aspect, three or four rings threw the light of colored stones set in broad gold bands. His evening dress was faultless. One single stud, a cat’s eye surrounded by four black pearls, dotted the middle of his plain shirt bosom. An air of absolute ease and even nonchalance characterized his whole bearing. He lost somewhat of this natural or studied in- difference, however, when black, his favorite color as it appeared, began to lose steadily, without almost any intermission. Rapidly did the row of stacks in front of him, which he punted one at a time, with mechanical precision, dwindle down to five, four, three, two — one. Just as he was dividing that last heap into two equal lots to try his luck twice more, a hubub at the entrance door caused him to turn his head. The party, which made its way toward the table with merry remarks and hearty laughter, was, cer- tainly, a more boisterous one than the place was ac- customed to shelter, especially at so early an hour. Six men, with the undoubted stamp of fashionable vivenrs just out of a club dinner, followed a seventh visitor, with crisp gray hair and heavy mustache, who seemed to have led the march to the house. They all made for the roulette table, throwing their light overcoats to the three attendants who had rushed to meet the evidently welcome guests. Even MacGlory, the dignified host and proprietor, advanced toward the leader, and, extending his hand, whispered with a marked degree of respectful consideration : 12 CORTLANDT LASTER, CAPITALIST “ I hope I see you well, Mr. Laster? ” “ Quite well, my dear sir,” answered the portly looking club man, seating himself next to the for- eigner, and throwing across the table, on the red, a hundred-dollar bill ; and he added, with a smile which showed two rows of perfect teeth, small and pointed like those of a cat, “ These men have bet that they would see me ‘ broke 9 to-night.” A shrug of the shoulders from MacGlory showed how absurd the supposition was to him. “ Broke,” Mr. Laster, with every house out of twenty in New York city his property, or that of his sole nephew! “ Oh ! they don’t mean that I’ll have to go to the Island just yet; but they want to see my last cent of cash out of my pocket to-night ; only,” and he laughed a short, dry laughter, “ they don’t know what my card-case contains; that’s the rub, isn’t it, Lancelot ? ” A small, dark-featured man, fully twenty-five years the younger of the two, answered grimly : “ Of course, you may swamp us easily, but not to-night, though. It’s not your day of luck.” The older man looked at him with a quickly sup- pressed start, and opened his lips as if to ask a question. His face paled slightly ; but he simply retorted : “ I don’t know about that ; and your pony may not be so very long before changing owners.” In fact, whilst they had been chatting thus, three hundred dollars in blue chips had found their way in front of Mr. Laster. These last three turns of the red had wiped off the remaining chips of the 8l8 BROADWAY 13 foreigner, who now stood up, regretfully looking on. He had evidently forgotten the time and his ap- pointment. “ I stop at one thousand — that’s the wager, is it not ?” asked Laster. Six voices acquiesced merrily. Three of the new comers had sat down to tackle chance on their own account. The others, Lancelot among them, gazing silently. Six more reds. One more now, and the fixed limit is reached. Just before the ball was launched on its course, the stranger, as if fascinated by Mr. Laster’s extraordinary run of luck, pulled out his pocket-book, a dark green case, with a ducal coronet of raised gold in the corner, and placing it on the table called out: “ One hundred dollars on the red.” “ Thirteen, black,” called almost at once the calm voice of the Major. The young man blanched to the lips. He made no move toward picking up and opening his pocket-book to settle his loss, but an- swered the questioning look of the dealer by saying in as steady a voice as he could command : “ One hundred dollars more on the red.” The host had advanced a few steps, in answer to the Major’s mute appeal, and was about passing the usual stern decision against the reckless player, when a hand pulled slightly his coat-tail. It was Laster’s. The man understood — and the ball went twirling again, without a word of objection against the un- usual bet. “ Seventeen, black.” A twitch of anguish crossed, like a cicatrice, the 14 CORTLANDT LASTER, CAPITALIST white face of the foreigner. He pulled back the pocket-book toward him, opened it and made a poor pretense of inspecting its various compartments. The game had stopped, and not a sound was heard through the large room. With the same automatic gesture, the loser was now fumbling through his coat and waistcoat pockets, as if hunting for a stray bill or two. The agony on his face had become so acute and so visible that it almost took the by- standers’ breath away. Was this man, this gentle- man with the suave manners and the unquestionable stamp of the highest breeding, to be then and there kicked out of the room, with the epithets of swin- dler and cheat thrown at him by the infuriated pro- prietor? But no, his search has been successful. Out of a trousers’ pocket, his hand, which had disap- peared below the level of the table, brings out a roll of bills, two, three, four, five, hundred-dollar notes. A sigh escapes from everyone’s oppressed breast. Unable to control a sudden flush of triumph, the young man hands over the amount of his loss, and, with a smile and a bow, says to the dealer : ‘'May I trouble you for five stacks, Major? Heavy betting disagrees with me.” In apparent indifference to all that had just taken place, Mr. Laster was going through the even tenor of his play, with an occasional joke thrown out defiantly to his amused companions. Five or six turns of the ball brought his winnings up to the agreed total, and with subdued applause from the losing bettors he rose and asked the dealer for eleven hundred dollars in cash. MacGlory brought 8l8 BROADWAY 15 these over to him from the well stocked safe, remark- ing with a half comical sigh that his house could not well afford to fight such a Croesus as he. “ Bah ! ” answered the winner, pocketing the money nonchalantly, '‘You’ll get it all back out of me some time. I only wanted these ydungsters to give up tackling me when I feel as tip-top as I do to-day.” This with an involuntary look toward Lancelot, who seemed absorbed now by some ven- ture of his own upon the green cloth. The foreigner, in the meantime, had slowly doubled the hundred dollars he had exchanged for chips. Suddenly he pulled his watch again, appeared startled at the lateness of the hour, almost mid- night already, and with another of his courtly bows asked for his cash. Having called for a cigar and lighted it, he handed a silver dollar to Wash, and stepped quickly away from the table, with never a glance toward Laster. A few seconds later, he had moved to the door and passed his arms through the covert coat presented him by the servant in the ante-chamber. The noise of the outside door, clos- ing behind him, announced his final departure. Strolling toward the faro-players, Laster nodded familiarly to a stout, thick-set man, in his shirt sleeves, who bowed his bald head, heavily bearded, over the layout. “ How do, Baron?” queried Laster. The man, a German Jew by face and name, Baron Braunschweig, of the well known Frankfurt and New York firm of Gebriider Braunschweig, the dia- mond dealers and general loaners of money on good l6 CORTLANDT LASTER, CAPITALIST security and at heavy interest, arose quickly at sight of the wealthy New Yorker, and advanced toward him, hand extended, having previously pocketed his chips with rapid and characteristic prudence. “Ich am all right, lieber Herr Laster,” answered the Jew, in his peculiar jargon, the shortness of his stays in the American metropolis never having allowed him to acquire more than a smattering of English. “ Ich hope dat mein Freund Ich find ganz well ?” “ Been here long, Baron ? I mean, in town?” “Nicht mehr than two weeks, lieber Herr Laster. You know Ich bin alvays on de vly.” The two men had walked a few steps away from the throng. Laster seemed to hesitate whether to ask his Jewish acquaintance, met in Paris or Baden a year or two before, a question that had just come to his mind. Finally, lowering his voice slightly, he said : “ Happen to know this young Frenchy-looking fellow who was playing roulette a moment ago? Rather a striking face, wasn’t it ? Think I have met him myself, abroad somewhere.” The beady eyes of the diamond dealer looked up furtively into the speaker’s face, as if he guessed that there might be more in the question than Laster cared to let him see. Right away the an- swer came : “ The young man Ich nicht personally know ; aber, Ich habe sein father, well enough beknown.” “ Now, Baron, for once in your life, do try and speak some sort of decent English ! ” exclaimed 8l8 BROADWAY 1 7 Laster, almost impatiently. The Jew went on, un- disturbed : “ Ja, Ich habe sein father twenty years known. He vas ein grosser Herr, ein Herzog, a Duke, as you say. “ What ! do you mean a real, live Duke ? Where from? England, France ? ” “ Veil, the name is French genug, aber the Duke he vas born and verheirated — married — in Russland, Russia, he vas ein emigre’s son — vous gomprenez? ” “ That is, I try to, quite hard. I think I do, though,” Laster answered with a short laugh. “And the name of this grand seigneur , O you well of information ? ” “ De name ? Alexandre Francois, due d’lmeguy. He, the daughter of a Grand-duke, by morganatic alliance, he married. That is der boy, Serge Alex- androvitch by name.” “ Only son, then ? ” “ Only son, und not ein sou marqut in der world. Ganz und gar ruined.” “ Gone to the bad, perhaps ? ” There was a sud- den light in the heavily-lidded eyes of Laster. “Ach ! ganz und gar so. Father no good. Son no good.” “ Don’t know what he is after, this side of the water ? ” “ Keine idee — perhaps marriage ? ” “ Ugly record ? ” The Baron hesitated ; then, desirous to please such a wealthy customer, perhaps the most gener- ous stone connoisseur in the States, he raised him- Cortlandt — 2 CORTLANDT LASTER, CAPITALIST self up to his companion’s ear and whispered a few words. “ Whew ! ” whistled Laster, meditatively ; then, as if losing interest in the quest, he changed the subject to one more pleasant to the Jew. “ By the way, if you have anything extra fine to show me, in the way of large rubies — perfect stones, you know — you might drop in, to-morrow or next day, at the club. About seven o’clock, say. I am keeping bachelor’s hall just now. House closed. Madam gone to Europe for the season. Ta ta.” And with a friendly shake-hands, he left the de- lighted diamond-dealer to dream of some mirific sale of his choicest stock. Most of Mr. Laster’s friends had now ceased to play, and were calling for various refreshments be- fore wending their several ways toward their couches, virtuous or otherwise. With some more chaffing and laughing remarks, all but Lancelot took their leave and disappeared. They were not far off, when Laster tapped his friend on the shoulder — for the latter was still punting with rapt attention, as if ob- livious of his surroundings — and proposed a walk home, “ through the starry night.” Lancelot acquiescing at once, coats and hats were duly donned, and with a pleasant smile for obse- quious MacGlory, who had felt in duty bound to himself open the outer door to such an exalted per- sonage, the millionaire and the younger man strolled up the street toward Union Square. It was indeed a fine night, balmy as a summer day, although April was not yet ended. The pave- 8l8 BROADWAY 19 ment, dry and almost clean — as New York pavements go — offered a tempting lane for active pedestrians, trained in most athletic sports, and such the two friends had always been. As they passed the tree- planted square, the lighted clock in front of Tiffany’s store marked half past twelve. The Broadway cars loaded with home bound theatre-goers jingled merrily along, while a policeman or two, on their monotonous beat, passed the promenaders, whom they well knew as prominent club men, with a gruff but hearty “ Good night, gentlemen.” Farther on, between Twenty-third and Thirty-second Streets, the many restaurants and cafes, brightly lit up, re- sounded with the merry chat and the happy laughter of their crowds of customers. It was New York’s night-life in its best period, a proper feeling of respectability still blended with pleasure-seeking pro- pensities; perhaps nearer than anything that can be found, this side of the water, to beautiful Paris’s noc- turnal recreations, the grossest forms of vice kept carefully hidden, however, in neighboring side- streets. A breath of animation permeated the whole atmosphere, and could not fail to pleasantly impress even the two blast high-livers who strolled on, past the brilliantly illumined shops, exchanging here and there a remark or a nod with some of their acquaintances. On they went, until they passed, not far from the Metropolitan Opera House, the facade of a large restaurant, newly refitted and beauti- fied, whose quaint, deep-orange decoration and origi- nal electric-lighting were, at the time, the talk of the town. Just before they reached the door of the 20 CORTLANDT RASTER, CAPITALIST place, a couple came out and turned toward the upper part of the city, walking leisurely a few steps ahead. In one of the couple, the man, Laster and Lance- lot instantly recognized the foreigner, so recently no- ticed by them at the Central Club. He went his way, almost a step from his companion, making no pretense to offer her his arm, but walking on, silently and doggedly as it were, his head bent, and both hands in his covert coat pockets. The woman at his side had begun right away to talk, in a rapid, peculiar language, that was certainly neither Eng- lish, French nor German. Whatever the tongue she used, her words were decidedly unpalatable to her hearer, for he exclaimed suddenly, in French : “ Si tu ne te tais pas.je te quitte sur place!" But this threat of leaving her to find her way unescorted only added more fuel to the fire of her wrath, and the excited beauty — for she must be handsome, judging from her exquisite shape — answered back, in a tone of unfeigned ill-humor, easily interpreted, if not understood, by the two Americans, walking but a few steps behind the quarreling pair. Just at that moment, a cab grazed the curbstone, hunting about for late customers. Accepting with- out a warning the jehu’s offer of a fare for “ gem’man and lady,” the young nobleman pulled the door open with a jerk, motioned his companion inside, and followed her, throwing to the cabman a few words of direction. “ That’s La Juwa,” remarked Lancelot, as the cab 8 1 8 BROADWAY 21 turned sharply round and started on its trip down town. “ The Gypsy dancer at the * Gaiety’ ?” queried Laster. “The same. Been here two weeks now. You have seen her, I suppose ?” “ Indeed I have. Half a dozen times already. In fact, I never met anyone that compared with her, in her line.” “ Neither have I ; she is unique. I suppose that Frenchy fellow, who was misbehaving so shamefully to the poor girl just now, has come over in her wake.” “ As likely as not,” answered Laster, yawning. They were now turning into Forty-second Street, wending their steps toward Fifth Avenue. At the corner, Lancelot said good night, in his usual unconcerned way, and entered the fashionable flat-house wherein he kept bachelor’s hall : for Lance- lot Van Rassel counted yet among the marriageable catches of the “gilded” or at least “silvered” youth. With a nod and a “ Tata, old man,” Laster left him on the door-sill, and continued up the Avenue as far as Fiftieth Street. A few doors east from the main thoroughfare, he reached a discreet looking English-basement house, so small and well kept that it reminded one of the doll-like mansions rented so dear around Mayfair, London. He took a latch-key out of his vest pocket, and fitted it to the lock, muttering to himself : “ I might have found a worse investment for my five hundred ! ” II BEHIND THE SCENES OF THE “ GAIETY ” “ Here she comes ! Here she comes! ” There was a deep murmur, like the howling of the wind through the pine-covered beach ; then a long, a thundering clapping of hands ; and on the raised plat- form, between the delicately cut-out wings of scene- ry, all silvered and painted gauze, a woman glided leisurely forward, and stood there, motionless and smileless, looking down on the applauding crowd. The hall was wide and deep, gaudily decorated, and with a row of tiny boxes instead of a gallery, each box enclosed in half-drawn plush hangings of a dead gold hue. In spiral clouds, the smoke of to- bacco rose up to the clusters of incandescent lights dotting the dome-shaped ceiling, whilst the clinking of glasses and the voices of the drinkers drowned the first chords of the starting orchestra. This is the “ Gaiety,” the latest and best patronized New York imitation of the London Music-halls or the Paris Cafes-concerts, and the woman who now awaits the leader’s signal is the world-famed Bohe- ( 22 ) BEHIND THE SCENES OF THE “ GAIETY ” 23 mian dancer, La Juwa , the star attraction of this year’s season. Before and since, many a troop of so-called Bo- hemian performers have trod the stages of American variety theatres ; none of them ever honestly entitled to the proud appellation of Bohemians or Tziganes. And although more than one society lady mani- fested an almost dangerous enthusiasm for this lion- maned violinist or that heavily mustached cymbalum player, the sad fact remains that their adoration and their jeweled offerings were thrown at the feet of ill-disguised Teutons. So much for these cast-off Leipzig or Stuttgart virtuosi , parading, under false pretenses, as the sons of that extraordinary people, the very origin of which is the embodiment of a dread mystery. Many are the names they are known by, the world over ; Romichal the only one they accept. Many the lands they are supposed to. have sprung out of; Egypt, the Egypt of the Pharaohs, the sphinxes and the pyramids, the only motherland their traditions admit. “ Our fathers were the sorcerers Moses fought against,” is the boast of their leaders ; and they add, in their deep, impressive voices : “ We come from a far-away country, where the secrets of the world’s existence are buried in a fathomless cave under a giant mountain, a dragon standing guard over them for ever and ever.” And sorcerers they have indeed remained; sorcer- ers in look, in gesture, in word and song, in their in- sight of man’s future, in their composing of philters and draughts that can rejoice or destroy the human 24 CORTLANDT LASTER, CAPITALIST body and the human soul. The wisdom of the Brahmins is no mystery to them, nor the science of the old-time transmuters; but, in this age of skep- tical prosaism and money-getting activity, that grave race has turned its very strangeness into lucre-ac- quiring, and plays upon the world’s gaping curiosity as do its untrained fiddlers upon the old, rickety in- struments their fathers left them as sole inheritance. Thus it is with the bands of Hungarian and Russian Tziganes. Thus it was with Maroussia la Juwa — in plain English, Mary the Gypsy, the favorite — the “craze,” as they say — of the pleasure-seeking New Yorkers of that year. La Juwa may have been twenty-three or twenty- five years of age, and, if she is to be depicted in one word, she was undoubtedly ugly. A small head, with a low, contracted brow, beady eyes of intense black, thick protruding lips, and a nose which had more of the Kalmouck type than is generally found in her race. The expression of the face was severe, even Karsh, almost cruel ; and the curve of the mouth, the nostrils, disclosed none of those vibrations which correspond with the softer sensations of woman’s inner being. Such was La Juwa at rest. Never a smile, never a look that gave forth, or called for, sympathy, never a moist film over the brightness of the shining eyes — a true reflection of some metallic mirror. But La Juwa in action, La Juwa dancing, was an- other creature from La Juwa at rest. Look, and listen ; she begins now. After the first few bars, the orchestra is silenced, and behind her, crouched rather BEHIND THE SCENES OF THE “ GAIETY ” 25 than seated upon the last step of the background stairs, you perceive a strange being, a small boy or dwarf, a tambourine in his hands, and clad in something that looks, to the untrained eye, like a multicolored and shapeless bundle of rags. Beside this uninvit- ing garb, you see nothing of him but an enormous head, all black hair and eyes, and long bony hands striking his drum, around which hang bunches of amulets, brass rings, scarabs, coppers and coins. And then La Juwa touches with her lips a slender double-piped flute or clarionet, and blowing softly, without an effort or a contraction, begins, almost imperceptibly, to move her feet to the sound of her own music. Her thick braids, coiled over her head in a huge mass, are held together by a broad, dia- dem-like, gold band ; and over her short clinging skirt of red and yellow Indian stuffs, quaintly pieced together, a silver spangled muslin veil wraps her up from neck to ankle, attached here and there with some enormous gold-headed pins. There is no in- decent exposure of limbs or bust, although the arms are bare, — the firm, round, bronze-tinted arms ; although the feet, — the slender, Arab-like feet — are bare also — yes, bare up to the swelling of the limb, where the skirt reaches and envelops her nudity. To the music of tambourine and flute, now soft and almost inaudible, now furious and raging like a simoom over the sand-hillocks of the Sahara, but always confined to five or six notes modulated in a tone of unspeakable melancholy — she dances— at first in a slow, stately rhythm, which hardly displaces 26 CORTLANDT LASTER, CAPITALIST her feet. As the rhythm grows wilder, the supple figure, so perfect in shape and form as to have caused the despair of many a famed sculptor, undu- lates with increasing and more passionate intensity, whilst the feet also, within that same little square of ground, begin to accentuate their movement, as if away to the trysting-place, breathless with adoring expectation. And the sombre resonance of the tambourine seems the voice of the lover she is rush- ing to, — manly, protecting, valiant. It seems a very little thing to describe, these five minutes of Bohemian dance, and indeed from such a description no idea can be formed of the extraor- dinary effect this performance produced upon the public — that common-place, uncultured public of a pretentious variety show. Still, the fact was there : the crowd sat spell-bound, in absolute silence, al- most breathless, hypnotized. For La Juwa was not only playing the flute, dancing and swinging her shapely body, she was looking ; and those two eyes, so small, so inexpressive, so metallic, just a moment ago, now seemed to fill the whole hall with the fatidic splendor of their radiant pupils. The thick lips also had parted, and a smile, the smile of some- one in a trance who gazes into the limitless vistas of the world beyond, shone like the awe-inspiring smile of a supernatural apparition. There was noth- ing theatrical, stagy, conventional, already seen, in those five minutes of gypsy incantation ; it was like the opening ajar of an ever-closed gate, suddenly re- vealing some of the rites of the ancient mysteries of Egyptian worship, or perhaps the hieratic dances BEHIND THE SCENES OF THE “ GAIETY ” 27 of the priestesses of Vishnoo in the Sanctuary of their god. Softer and softer, lower and lower, like threads of infinite tenuity, grew the sound of the flute and the grumbling of the tamboarine ; and the little feet hardly moved now ; and the voluptuous- ness of the head and bust had the weakness of sa- tiety ; and the eyes gradually extinguished their fire ; and the ecstatic smile vanished from the rich, red lips — and, like a huge butterfly, arose the coupled wings of the stage screen. La Juwa was gone. Awake at last, and madly howling, the public rises like one man and applauds, applauds, applauds. In answer to the stamping, the clapping, the shriek- ing, the stage-manager steps in front of the drop, and says : “By a special clause in her contract, La Juwa is to appear but once a day, and never to acknowledge calls. I have the honor of thanking the public, in her name/’ A gesture starts the orchestra on the next num- ber, and the growling of the displeased audience is soon drowned under the banging and bugling of the “ Boulanger March.” The “behind the scenes” of the New York “Gaiety” is not a thing of beauty, albeit it may seem a “ joy forever ” to the love-sick Johnnies or the well primed stock-brokers or politicians admitted within its mysteries. You penetrate into these hal- lowed precincts through the mercenary courtesy of a Dutch Cerberus, who collects with an impassive mien the dollars of the privileged ones. After 28 CORTLANDT LASTER, CAPITALIST crossing a dingy, ill-smelling hall, one reaches a large room, all tapestried with a collection of champagne corks, and devoted to the consumption of the amber fluid. Therein, around a half-dozen clammy tables, and close, too close, to the bass drums of the orchestra, the elect are allowed to call for their favorite brand, treating, with boisterous merriment, some of the minor female attractions, not on duty just then, but clad in their diminutive costumes as Cupids, Odalisques or Amazons. At the farther end of the chamber, a narrow door leads to the performers’ dressing-rooms, tiny cabins built of boards and cotton stuff, but not opened to the visitors’ investigations. Close to that door sits, all alone, as if keeping guard, a silent, taciturn man, with the abject features and manner of the Polish Jew, undoubtedly the most repulsive of his race. His name is Simon Ralowitch, and his, the honor of managing Maroussia La Juwa, through her pro- tracted foreign tour. Isaac Staffel, another Hebrew, a Swiss several times bankrupt, and at present the part proprietor of the “ Gaiety,” is now walking toward him, a roll of bills in his hands : “ Is dat all you trink, lieber Herr Ralowitch ? ” says Staffel, as he sits down in front of the manager of his star. “ Ha ! Ha! Ich see. You will your money haben pefore intulging — always pisness, pis- ness ! ” and the stout, uncouth exploiter of variety shows laughs a fat, conciliating laughter. “ Ja wohl, Herr Staffel,” answers the Pole, as his slender, dirty fingers stretch intuitively toward the money. “ Pisness pefore blessure, as you say.” BEHIND THE SCENES OF THE “ GAIETY ” 29 “ Veil, Veil,” cries out Staffel, “ We will both at the same dime haben,” and bringing down his heavy fist upon the table, he calls to the waiter, the com- plaisant Mercury of Mesdames les Artistes ; “ Hein- rich, eine kleine Flasche, schnell.” The receipt is ready, the money also ; one signa- ture is given, five hundred dollars handed over, and the two men are just about enjoying the sparkling liquid, a very fair imitation of the Widow’s best — at least the cork and label are — when the door is opened with a jerk, and in steps La Juwa herself, dressed in her street gown, her hat on, and pulling on her gloves. Her quick eyes survey the place, and, disappointed, she asks Ralowitch, who gets up with a great display of smirking bows and smiles : u Not come yet ? ” She speaks Russian, and her voice has a strong, guttural resonance, quite in keeping with her whole person. “ Not yet, gnadige Fraulein,” answers the Jew, in German. She stamps her foot moodily. “ It’s half past eleven, though, is it not?” “ Nearer twelve, Ihre Gnade.” “ I am not going to wait, Simon ; take your hat and walk to my hotel with me.” The well-trained manager silently obeys, leaving regretfully behind 'this nice glass of wine that cost him nothing. With a nod to the proprietor, and not a glance for the painted beauties scattered about the room in gleeful flirtations, La Juwa fol- lows Ralowitch to the outer door. Behind her, the 30 CORTLANDT LASTER, CAPITALIST jeering remarks and the jealous bickerings hardly await the closing of the door. But just as the two, star and manager, emerge into the filthy back street, crowded with the empty carts of a beer-bottling concern, they meet a tall, blonde gentleman, in a light covert coat, and a cigarette in his mouth, walking with the nonchalant air of a born grandee. “ That’s the way you come for me, Serge ! ” ex- claims, in a loud, harsh voice, the infuriated beauty, addressing the new-comer. “ Well, yes,” he answers in French, “ mieux vaut tard que jamais , ma chere .” “ Some night, it shall be trop tard , mon cherj is the snappy retort. Then, taking the young man’s arm, she says to the manager, “ That’ll do, Simon. Come to-morrow at ten, with your accounts and the money.” “Yes, surely, gnadige Fraulein,” answersthe Jew, bowing himself almost double. And, hat in hand, he adds, looking toward the new escort of his star : “ Ich empfehle mich, Excellenz.” Not waiting for a sign of recognition which he expects not, he returns chucklingly to his interrupted potations. Just three years before, almost to a day, Serge Alexandrovitch Francois de Valois, due d’lm^guy, on a mild April night, very like this one, indeed, was wending his way from the English Club, the swell St. Petersburg Club, to his house near the Anitchkoff bridge. As he walked along the river, in the dead silence of the starlit night, he stopped suddenly, as 3i BEHIND THE SCENES OF THE GAIETY ” if a final resolve had entered his head. He looked down upon the water, black and still, and a brusque movement of his might have caused a passer-by to believe that the next minute was to see this princely looking young chap taking a plunge into eternity. 