Read Online The Devil's Gentleman by Harold Schechter - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Harold Schechter
Ads: Link
socially suitable woman he craved. Sometime in late October, in an effort to free himself of Mamie, he dismissed her from the Herrmann paint factory, giving her—as a reward for her many years of varying sorts of service—a new dress. 2
Blanche, in the meantime, had moved to a different apartment. Wishing to be closer to her younger sister Lois, she had taken rooms at a fashionable boardinghouse on West Seventy-second Street, owned by a landlady named Mary Bell. An enormous bouquet of roses, sent by the ever-thoughtful Roland, was waiting to welcome her to her new living quarters.
It was only one of many gifts—baskets of fruits, boxes of sweets, the latest best-selling novels, such as Mr. Frederic’s
The Damnation of Theron Ware
—that he would lavish on Blanche that fall, as he set about wooing her with the same singleness of purpose he applied to all his pursuits, from his amateur athletics to his persecution of Harry Cornish.
As promised, he provided Blanche with a surfeit of social activities. On a typical Saturday evening, they might take in a Broadway show or a comic operetta—Marie Dressler doing her star turn as Flo Honeydew in
The Lady Slavey
at the Casino Theater or Lillian Russell performing her piping high Cs in Gilbert and Sullivan’s
Patience
at the Bijou.
Even more glorious were those nights when they attended the Metropolitan to hear the celebrated De Reszke perform the title role of Le Cid, or the great dramatic soprano Lillian Nordica sing
Siegfried.
Eyes fixed raptly on the stage, heart thrilling to the strains of Wagner or Verdi or Bizet, Blanche would, at certain moments, feel so overcome with emotion that she could not keep from reaching out and seizing Roland’s hand. During intermission, they would stroll among the glittering crowd and excitedly discuss the performance. Their “mutual love of this enchanting art,” writes Blanche in her memoir, “established a sympathetic bond between Roland and myself.” 3
Afterward, they would dine at the Waldorf or Delmonico’s or Louis Martin’s smart new establishment on Twenty-sixth Street, outfitted like a Parisian café with marble-topped tables and cushioned banquettes. Or perhaps Roland would take her to Louis Bustanoby’s Café des Beaux Arts on Sixth Avenue and Fortieth Street, where a gypsy violinist would greet them at the door and serenade them with a polonaise as the headwaiter escorted them to their table. 4
When they weren’t together, they were in constant communication by letter, telegram, and the telephone in Mrs. Bell’s parlor. As the winter approached, Roland’s gifts became more expensive: an opal broach and a diamond butterfly pin, both from Tiffany’s, where he had an account.
Then came the costliest—and most serious—gift of all.
It was a diamond ring, also from Tiffany’s, inscribed with the Hebrew word
mizpah,
typically translated as “watchtower” or “lookout.” Implicit in its meaning is the prayer: “May God watch over you when we are apart.”
For Roland, the ring carried a solemn significance. By that time, he had not only resolved to marry Blanche but had made his intentions known to her.
Blanche, however, felt deeply divided about her suitor. She was happy to accept the diamond
mizpah
ring as a token of his friendship. But whenever the subject of marriage came up, she “would not be serious about it; always parried it; always laughingly told him I did not think I cared deeply enough for him.” 5 Her teasing demurrals were partly a game, a way of playing hard-to-get. But she also had serious doubts about Roland.
With his physical beauty, charm, and money, he was certainly a good catch. And then there was their shared love of the opera.
At the same time, however, he seemed strangely deficient in that “masculine element” so prized by Blanche. She had certainly given him every opportunity to display it. Indeed, by November 1897, Roland had taken to spending so much time in Blanche’s
Blanche, in the meantime, had moved to a different apartment. Wishing to be closer to her younger sister Lois, she had taken rooms at a fashionable boardinghouse on West Seventy-second Street, owned by a landlady named Mary Bell. An enormous bouquet of roses, sent by the ever-thoughtful Roland, was waiting to welcome her to her new living quarters.
It was only one of many gifts—baskets of fruits, boxes of sweets, the latest best-selling novels, such as Mr. Frederic’s
The Damnation of Theron Ware
—that he would lavish on Blanche that fall, as he set about wooing her with the same singleness of purpose he applied to all his pursuits, from his amateur athletics to his persecution of Harry Cornish.
As promised, he provided Blanche with a surfeit of social activities. On a typical Saturday evening, they might take in a Broadway show or a comic operetta—Marie Dressler doing her star turn as Flo Honeydew in
The Lady Slavey
at the Casino Theater or Lillian Russell performing her piping high Cs in Gilbert and Sullivan’s
Patience
at the Bijou.
Even more glorious were those nights when they attended the Metropolitan to hear the celebrated De Reszke perform the title role of Le Cid, or the great dramatic soprano Lillian Nordica sing
Siegfried.
Eyes fixed raptly on the stage, heart thrilling to the strains of Wagner or Verdi or Bizet, Blanche would, at certain moments, feel so overcome with emotion that she could not keep from reaching out and seizing Roland’s hand. During intermission, they would stroll among the glittering crowd and excitedly discuss the performance. Their “mutual love of this enchanting art,” writes Blanche in her memoir, “established a sympathetic bond between Roland and myself.” 3
Afterward, they would dine at the Waldorf or Delmonico’s or Louis Martin’s smart new establishment on Twenty-sixth Street, outfitted like a Parisian café with marble-topped tables and cushioned banquettes. Or perhaps Roland would take her to Louis Bustanoby’s Café des Beaux Arts on Sixth Avenue and Fortieth Street, where a gypsy violinist would greet them at the door and serenade them with a polonaise as the headwaiter escorted them to their table. 4
When they weren’t together, they were in constant communication by letter, telegram, and the telephone in Mrs. Bell’s parlor. As the winter approached, Roland’s gifts became more expensive: an opal broach and a diamond butterfly pin, both from Tiffany’s, where he had an account.
Then came the costliest—and most serious—gift of all.
It was a diamond ring, also from Tiffany’s, inscribed with the Hebrew word
mizpah,
typically translated as “watchtower” or “lookout.” Implicit in its meaning is the prayer: “May God watch over you when we are apart.”
For Roland, the ring carried a solemn significance. By that time, he had not only resolved to marry Blanche but had made his intentions known to her.
Blanche, however, felt deeply divided about her suitor. She was happy to accept the diamond
mizpah
ring as a token of his friendship. But whenever the subject of marriage came up, she “would not be serious about it; always parried it; always laughingly told him I did not think I cared deeply enough for him.” 5 Her teasing demurrals were partly a game, a way of playing hard-to-get. But she also had serious doubts about Roland.
With his physical beauty, charm, and money, he was certainly a good catch. And then there was their shared love of the opera.
At the same time, however, he seemed strangely deficient in that “masculine element” so prized by Blanche. She had certainly given him every opportunity to display it. Indeed, by November 1897, Roland had taken to spending so much time in Blanche’s
Similar Books
