MARION'S MA;

Auckland Star, Volume II, Issue 506, 24 August 1871, Page 2

MARION'S MA;

OK, LIFE BEHIND THE SCENES, Maeion Mobtimee is the late soubrette of the Phoenix. The Phoenix, as I need not inform my readers, is one of the leading theatres. Its company is composed of the highest class, none of whom can be induced to play Secondary parts. This is according to the prevailing principle of theatriel management. In the Phoenix, therefore, you see a few favourites from time to time, and many who are not favourites. If Miss De Vere, who is one leading lady, plays Julia in " the Hunchback," Miss Bfc. Maur, who is the other leading lady, cannot be induced to play Helen. In the same way, when " Love's Sacrifice " is put up for next week, and Miss St. Maur appears as Margaret Helmore, Miss De Vere is heard calmly to remark that she should like to see anybody mako her play Hormine de Vaudmont; meaning that she should not like to see anybody make her play the part alluded to. This state of affairs,fthough vexatious to the manager and disappointing to the public, is beneficial to the soubrette, who is not only left in possession of the impossibly pert chambermaids, and boys with curly hair and feminine contours (two clnsses of characters, I may here remark, found only on the stage and never in nature), but at times s has a chance fto sparkle through the light comedy parts disdained by the De Veres and St. Maurs of our theatres. So Marion Mortimer took all she could get from the manager in the way of business, and she could got from the public in the way of applause and bouquets. Heartsease and Hobb, florists, whose shop is in profitable proximity to the theatre, have so realised the blessing that Miss Mortimer has been to them in the way of business that, on her last annual benefit, they presented her with all the unsold bouquets in their front window, making twenty-seven in all, that the victorious Marionreceived on that memorable occasion, which number was five more than Miss St. Maur received on her benefit, and eight more than were bestowed upon Missive Vere when that worthy and deserving arlist was a beneficiary. " Miss St. Maur," said Miss Mortimer, " took occasion to say in her spiteful way to me, that, since my benefit came later in the season than hers, flowers were cheaper, which might account for my having more bouquets than she did; but my only answer to this outburst of spleen was a contemptuous smile, which I am sure she felt." ]N row Marion Mortimer had one serious drawback as an actress. She can sing, she can dance, she is not troubled with djffidence. She has versatility.■■- When you hear her declare, on Thursday night, that' she is-a poor orphan with: no protector but Heaven, you aie so moved with her ingenuousness, by the plaintive tone of her voice, by the graceful way in which her long brown hair flows over her shoulders, that you cannot realise that she is the boy in stylish coat and trowsers who smoked a cigar, and talked the hitest slang.and winked in a fascinating manner, during1 the progress of the rattling farcu of WednosTO}'. With all these qualities of a successful actress, which can bo the deficiency of Marion Mortimer? My answer is brief but telling. She has no mother. Here, I pause, for tho purpose of allowing the kind-hearted to say, " Poor girl!: The stage is indeed a terrible place to be in, or on, without a mother's sympathy, influence, and protection." The kind-hearted people who say this are right. Bat it is not so much on account of these things, as in a business pcint of view, that Marion's lack of a mother is to bo regretted. Miss Cavendish, the walking lady, has a mother. Even the ladies of the ballot are accompanied from the theatre by dingy-looking females, whom they are heard to address as "Ma!" The use of a mother to a popular actress is obvious. Who cau so urgently and indefatigably besiege a manager with applications for the privileges and perquisites which every actress desires? Who can so well guard the tender flowers from too close observation ? Who cau so well watch iv the dressing-room while the performer is on the stage ? And who can so well discourse on the artistic merits and general popularity of an actress as the ma of that actress ? The first time I went behind the 'scenes at the Phoenix was in tho morning. Unused^ to the place I stopped at the door of tho green-room, wondering if that was where the rehearsal was,.and if there I should find the manager, with whom I had business to transact. Four ladies, elderly, dingy, and of severe aspect, were wildly gesticulating. I supposed it fl'as a scene from the new piece, and stood observing them. "How impressive," thought I," is this devotion to art! These women, absorbed in their characters, forget the existence of the outside world, and do not notice my presence, absorbed as they are in the ideal." It was at this moment that the doorkeeper touched me, and said:—" The manager is this way, at rehearsal, sir." " Why," said I, iv some surprise," isn't this rehearsal ?" ' "No,sir," said the doorkeeper, with a smile. " Who arc these ladies ?" I asked;, "I thought surely they M rere acting ; they seemed so earnest." The doorkeeper grinned. " Them," said he, " is mas of different ladies in the company, and they're going on about their, daughters. They almost always does when they gets together." It was then, for tho first time, that 1 realised how much a mother was to a dramatic performer. The life of the stage is terribly full of temptation, and quite as likely to destroy feminine modesty and reserve as a course of fashionable society flirtations. Marion Mortimer was ashrowd, sensible, and energetic girl. She enjoyed her profession and workedhardat it.' She was, however, a woman, and alone in tho world —a disadvantageous position, which she fully appreciated. Sho felt that she must have a protectoress at least; and on one night, when Miss St. Maur made somo spiteful remark about girls who had no one to look after them—no pa, no ma—being deserving of pity rather than blame, Marion,, ragiug inwardly, replied— _ " I quite agree, with you.Miss St. Maur. Pro thought so all this season ; and I wrote to ma last week, telling her she must come and stay with mo." Iv dismayed astonishment, Miss St. Maur stared at Marion.' ««» f ... •

» Why " said she, " I didn't kn ow ' had a mother. yOll "I trust," said Marion, » laon'tn ee( n carry my ma with me all tho time, as • n tificate of character." ' S a cci" And Miss St. Maur, crushed ami i fcatcd could only console herself by 11 thoughtthat she had now something,, hT way of news to tell her companions •fl i? before an hour had passed, the very'X of the dressing-rooms re-echoed With* words-« Marion Mortimer has got a J$This conversation took place on SatC' night. The next fortnight was devotfr a piece in which Marion did not aiXi Taking advantage of this fact, Ma^\ secured a companion.in the shape orvt elderly lady, byname Bullington ■ TV** exact articles of confederation . betstep Marion and her ma have never beenm ? public; but they amounted to this Marion agreed to supply her nominal n? with board, lodging, a moderate weelrtv stipend. The ma agreed to supply Mario with apparent parental affection,. S U o J? to accompany her,as a rule, to thethfofoe! she was to decline invitations for Tier• *v was to aid her in the composition of dr'esse for the stage ; she was to gaze on herfondlv when they were together and to lifeloSain her praises when they were apart; and in short, was to fulfil all the duties that m». reasonably be expected from ..the, of an actress. . v -> I was fortunate enough to witness- the advent of Marion's ma. Standing at tie green-room door in conversation with ft. manager, I beheld Marion descending - the stairs from her dressing-room, arrayed in the jaunty costume of Susaih,^]^,^ maid, in the roaring farce of " Troitiop her out." Around the green-room were seated several ladies and gentlemen, some * studying others talking. " ~ [ " ihis," said Marion, addressing her ! comrades comprehensively, 'J.ianiymj/' ! " I am glad to see you," said Marion's ma, in a somewhat agitated tone of voice. She was a small woman, dressed in deen '? black, with a damp and tearful voice, f | think I never saw a woman who appeared if I niay be allowed the expressions, so crapy, so bombaziny.. As she stood gazing upon the crowd, which comprised a stagebaron, who was a respectable sort villain-. his minion, who had a false hump on and was therefore plainly a low and degraded I ' villain ; and a faithful old family servant with a red nose—she appeared to besoms what alarmed. " Don't be alarmedftia," said Marion. Then,.turningiojjl^ com. pany, she explained that her mother had never beea in a theatre before, as sheiii only recently arrived from 'h^r^cjbtuitry home. ,:-..-. '~'., ~..' :l "'I *- ( A beam of delight simultaneously^illuminated the features of the baron^is minion,'! and the faithful family servant; and, anyone familiar with them might;'readily have perceived that they saw in: l^rion'B | ma material for future hoaxesi;i;.i ;!l It took a long time for Marion^ ma to accustom herself to the mysteries of the stage:-1 In the beginning she: was continually getting entangled in ■llie.rijpes.or sinking slowly through, what she" alluded to in a disgusting tone as " them traps," She could not be cleared off the stage at the commencement'";pf the act. As the curtain rose, her dress would be \ seen vanishing at the wings. ,On one occasion she was caught id ttif^curtam, and her venerable ankles were jkjevated some six feet before- the ~jpitised and convulsed audieno^, - Aftes. Jpp she. neye! went upon the stage' wifclWlt j carefully pining up her skirt, as though slie were about to cross a puddle in a thunder shower. The remonstrances of the manager and the directions of Marion padually improved . her behaviour, fihe would see the play, and would stand at the wings to do so. This''habit, although* not. objectionable in itself, became somewhat annoying, as Marion's ma pat way easily to her feelings sometimes to v absurd extent. On the comic she gazed with a stony severity. f Tiiis wai not owing to any deficiency in'the appre^ ciation of humour, butmay fte'e'xplainedby • a remark that she addressed to ftlynders low comedian, one night after lie Lad ... finished his celebrated song, the " Boasted I Cat." ' ; ' *"*"; "I declare," said she, " it's too badthat them folks in front laugh so, and put you out! I want to laugh myself,; but lam happy to say I can restrain myself." Her po.rcer.,of self-control, howerei, utterly failed her when she saw .anything pathetic. On such occasions'sbS sobbed audibly. Kemohstrance causld';: her to define her position thus :— '" - "Emotion," said Marion's ma, "is not* thing that cau be repressed by a feeling | he"aft; and a feeliug heart is what I hays > always been known to have, therefore I j cannot repress it. Jiad I been-Gonstanee I should have cried dreadful. Not being Constance I cried dreadful all the same.' || Notwithstanding her slight eccentfl" gg oities Marion's ma soon bepame-a great m favourite with the conipany./Slie WM devoted- to Marion, who treated her in | the sweetest possible way. She was «| B great help in dressing and jawing, jßfl§ attending to the thousand little niceheJ and mysteries of a theatrical wardrobe. Only once did she lose wr temper while s.ho ;was ; in; tke ; thegt?* - The good lady wore 'a' false W» and a cap. A clumsy scene-shitt« left a nail in the framework of a sere* ■ which caught. the cap and, .front, w ,'' pulled them off together, disown Marions-ma, in all her baldness to »• passing members of tho company- j words can describe the. look,of disg** "" wrath with which M arion's ma gM«d °J him as he stood there laughing, m said — . { a "Elijah was mocked at by WVI being bald; do you know what happen? to them boys P" " No," said the man, half-sullenly- ,#: " They were ate up by bears,":retutg Marion's ma, impressively; " and *et be a warning." ij She then burst into tears, and wWar' to Marion's dressing-room, where Blie \ mained the rest of the evening. */ * One night, the performance enaoyl • "Black-eyed Susan," Douglas Je|fL beautiful and touching little P^'fi; trial scene, when a low, smotherecjT/j audible only to those on the st»g*.jj heard ; and Marion's ma was seen ■.»» , * fainting at the wing. A crowd, ot BJ% ~f thetio friends gathered around her, as ■ was carried into-the green room, inquired the cause of Her fainting «v< | which she replied that it arose from sew«« I « lieaaify, Miss" Morfcimfer,"" said the Wjjj ager, li^vexed, to ,ssss " r

mother will take acting so much to heart, she mnst not bo allowed to come to the wings." Upon this, Marion's ma sat up. " It isn't always, nor yet often, that I lalco on so," said slio : " but that play hfii' ; ;s up : bout my sou George, who went away to sea, and whom I shall never see again." Aud then she told her story. George was on the ship Palconia. The men mutinied, and George among them. The captain seized the ringleaders and had them shot. George, who was a mere boy, was left 'with two others on an island in theP'' {'ic. Then his father died at home ; an.J/'lvhmother was left in destitution and •'< F/q6. " Until she," said Marion's ma, v/ie&iae to my aid like an angel, as she is, and saved me from starvation. And if," said Marion's ma, suddenly flaming up, " I could ketch hold of that critic of The Daily Investigator, which Marion was crying over yesterday, I'd let him know what the Bible says about them as judges others, and considerest not the beam that is in thine own eye."

With this somewhat ruixed sentence, Marion's ma concluded. Wo one laughed •. for the story she told was a sad one ; and she told it as one who had suffered, and not like a repeater of bare facts. But, after this time there was a vague report that Marion's ma was not the real article, but a substitute. Still Marion's ma, aud Marion herself had by this time grown to be so much liked by the other members of the company, that even Miss St. Maur refrained from unpleasant remarks. The mild behaviour of Miss St. Maur though, may perhaps be explained by the facttlafc she now reigned undisputed in the position of leading lady ; Miss I)e Vere having taken umbrage and departed. My story must now leap over the winter into the spring. Business was light, except on the benefit nights ; and Marion fell into the habit of glancing over the partially filled house night after night to see whom she knew there. This habit caused her to notice aman of some twenlyfire years of age with bronzed face and fall brown beard, who wildly applauded hor, and seemed completely absorbed in watching her movements. One night he appeared, with an enormous bouquet, which he essayed to throw two or three times ; but then his courage failed him, and, after flourishing it before the eyes of the audience, he held it placidly in his lap during the rest of the evening. Marion found herself,as it were, fasinated by him. She saw that she pleased him; and yet he was modest and abashed—a sort of behaviour that was new to Miss Mortimer, both on and off the stage. One night in April, Marion's ma complained of a toothache, and declined to accompany Marion to the theatre. Marion was perfectly contented a*; this, and determined to take an omnibus home after the performance. In doing so, an adventure with a drunken man fell to her lot.

I am now going, by a bold and unvarnished narration of facts, to sacrifice an opportunity of making fame and fortune as a writer. With my knowledge of the exquisite humor of the farce-writers of the dqy, I might fill several pages with descriptions of the person and behaviour of this drunken man. His language, too, might flow from this fertile pen with fine effect, it is so easy, by dropping every alternate vowel and every third consonant, to transfer to paper the drunken dialect of fiction and the drama. But I will not. With a sigh, I simply record that the drunken man asked Marion for a kiss, and Marion told him to " go away ;" that the drunken man then moved forward, and some one behind him knocked him down into the gutter, where he lay peaceably. Here, again, I nip my description in the bud, and briefly state that Marion immediately recognised in her defender her modest admirer with the full beard.

"I am very much obliged to you, sir," said she.

" Not as much as I am to you," he returned. Then in a disconnected manner, he broke forth :—" Oh, Miss Mortimer ! I think you are the greatest actress I ever saw."

Marion laughed, " Then you can't have seen many," said she; " but I cannot stop here any longer. I shall be pleased if you would call on me next Sunday evening, that I may more fully thank you." Need I say that the invitation was accepted with effusion; that he went one way perfectly silent for joy, and that she hummed comic songs to herself all the way home. Sunday came in its time, and Marion sat waiting for her visitor. She did not have to wait long. As soon as it could possibly be called evening, the bell rang, and ho appeared. Marion and Marion's ma both rose.

"lam so glad to see you!" said iVlariori, taking his hat; " this is my ma, Mr.—do you know, I forgot to ask your name ?" "My name," said the stranger, "is Bullington—George Bullington." " George Bullington," said Marion's

ma. He looked at her an instant; aud then. With onp tremendous cry of " Mother I" he caught her to his breast. Marion's ma did not die—she did not even faint; she cried, aud he cried ; and Marion herself had just presence of mind enough left to go out of the room and cry and laugh.finally winding up her performance by giving three small piping cheers to herself, and indulging in a sort of wardance. Then she went back, and heard George Bullington tell how he had worked his way around the world hack home, and how he grew rich by luck in Australia, and how he came back and hunted vainly for the mother be supposed he had lost for ever. " That was all owing to me," said Marion, remorsfully." "I forgive you," said George Bullington.

Of course, Marion cotildn't do without her ma; and, of course George Bullington Wasn't going to be deprived of his natural '"(parent without a struggle. Then, on subsequent visits, instead of Marion leaving the room, as at first, Marion's ma herself disappeared. The result of all this has •been that Marion Mo.timer has left a vacancy in the position of soubrette to be filled at the Phcenix, This summer will witness the departure of .Viarion and Marion's ma to Liverpool, where Mr. Bullington's business headquarters are to be. This information I gather from a letter to my friend, the mtn&ger; to which letter

a postscript was attached, which, us it is decidedly misty to the manager, and obscure to myself, I place before the eyes ol an intelligent public :— P.S.—I desire to say a word or two myself, before shaking your dust .off my feet for ever. When I used to get in the way, why don't you blame your attachers; for clumsy they were, and clumsy are, and ever will be, unless changed. In conclusion I would remark that I regard myself as merely a means to an ond ; and as such, trust you will favourably remember she who now signs herself playfully, " Marion's Ma."