LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume XXIV, Issue 2438, 28 January 1882, Page 4

LITERATURE.

NEVER SAY DIE. [Abridged from the 44 Theatre,”] Every man boasts of the beauty of his own land, hifl own city, or his own homestead. Wa Britons certainly ought to have a proverb, 4 Who has never seen the Thames has never seen the sweetest river in Christendom.”

Coma up this backwater with me, you won’t disturb those two sitting aide by side among the high grasses on the bank. It is Sunday ; and lure we are out of the way of the pleasure-seekers, and the barges never come this way. The red sun is just setting; the air is still warm, and tho sky beginning to fleck with orange and crimson. As I am telling a story, I must say something about the two who are still sitting on the bank. Very oloie to each other, hand in hand, and ■houlder to shoulder, they sit, a young man and a young woman—that you expected—--with their feet overhanging the water, which gently ripples past the rushes as it runs away with Time to the big city and the remorseless sea. That they are lovers is more than probable, to look at them ; for, though he is at least ten years older than his companion —and she can be four or tive-and-twenty at most—there is a quiet pride la his evident admiration and a modest happiness in her face as she turns her eyes up to his, that means much to you and me, who have studied courtship in the abstract. Theoretically we know something about it, 4 Yon know I love you, Violet; and you must feel that my love is not a passing fancy, a worthless caprice, but that I am ready in every way, as far as I can, to prove I will nacrlfice everything for yon, but ’ By the way, I do not think I have told you that tho 4 he ’ is In the army—Captain Arthur Calderon, of the 142 ed Highlanders, and the 4 she ’ Miss Violet Gaycroas, of the Apollo Theatre, Strand. I don’t half like tellirg you who they are, because there is a foolish prejodioe among tho many floreacent idiots who inhabit our island that a Eo’dier must be a scoundrel, and an actress necessarily an objectionable character ; that only ne’er-do-weels go Into the army, and only light-o’-lovea on the stage. Be good enough to set aside any such preconceived notions. Whatever tho temptation may be which render a man in his uniform or a woman before the footlights more seductive to tho opposite sex both Arthur Calderon and Violet Gaycroas are entirely worthy of your respect, and fit in every way to be recalved into the best society—which in these depraved days is not always the highest; this by way of a cynical parenthesis. Violet Gaycroas is the daughter of a Mrs Gowan, widow of a physician who took high honors at Cambridge, and as long as he lived made a fair income in a cathedral town, enough to keep his wife unhampered by dressmakers’ bills, and his daughter educated above the mark of moat young ladies one meets. At the same time, as he had cot reached the age when white whiskers and a black satin waistcoat argue « weight of opinion and consequent maturity of practice guaranteeing a two-guinea fee, and as he bad not condescended to edit any quack medicine or stand godfather to any rented water. Dr. Gowan bad never laid np ■jk competence for his loved ones, who little oKpected their bread-winner would be suddenly carried off by a ruptured aneurism as be wao.

The widow almost broke down under the loss, and Violet, at the age of twenty, found ht raelf the only support of her mother, whose health was hopelessly delicate, and whose sola income was some hundred and fifty pounds a year. • You will have to leave mo, darling, ana be a governess or a companion, or something horrid of that kind, Violet love ! ! But “Violet love” thought she could remain with her mother, and turn her grace and intelligence to better account. She wont straight to a theatrical agent, was Inoky enough to find a travelling company just starting on a tour with comedy ; and os the managers were a good old couple, whoso envy, hatred, and malice could not be excited by those who played younger parts, Violet obtained an engagement of three pounds a week —a fair enough salary for a novice, but quite justified by her distinguished appearance and graceful beauty, whatever her actiug capabilities might prove to be. Arthur Calderon bad known her when she was a mere girl, and he waa reading for his commission in the town where the Gowans lived. He had played lawn tennis with her, and scarcely gave a thought to the rather leggy child whose flashing eyes and golden hair brightened the garden where they met. But some years after he was astonished to recognise tho little Violet Go wan he had known in the beautiful Mias Gayoross, who waa fast working her way to the front in publio opinion on the stage of the Apollo Theatre in the Strand, Instead of tipping the Cerberus at the stage door, or waylaying a dresser to find out her address, Arthur Calderon wisely followed her to her home, called the next day, and asked for Mrs Go wan. The mother waa delighted to talk of old time, and the daughter was grateful to him for hla memory. He soon became a fast friend, and without any absolute declaration Violet knew that she was in love, and that he was entirely devoted to her. She was recaivicg twelve guineas a weak, and had accepted an engagement for two years, which was now drawing to a close. Violet had made a great success in a modern comedy, her superb voice and bewitching manner distinguishing her among her comrades, and marking her out, as the prompter In her theatre confided to me, as “ a duohesa born and bred.” Devoted to her art, and never satisfied with what she called her own ignorance, she was ever adding to her accomplishments, and improving her knowledge in languages or music.

Calderon, when ho coaid run up from Aldershott. used to drop in to five o’clock tea, and filled the room with flowers from Covent Garden ; bat it was only on Sundays that they really enjoyed a tete-a-tete, and now the summer had come, and he had his “ leave,” he had taken a cottage on the river above Maidenhead, where mother and daughter came on each day of rest to bask in the sun and'dream of repose.

‘Bat what?’ replied Violet on this particular occasion, when Arthur Calderon had been tempted by the poetry of the scene, and the proximity of the woman he knew ho adored above all, to tell her all he felt for her. ‘Bat what?’

‘I don’t know how to tell what, nor can I think you will refuse to hear me if I do.'

‘Something very dreadful.it seems,’ answered Violet in a merry tone of banter ; ‘ something melodramatic, perhaps.’ ‘ So much so that I hardly credit it myself. It is like a horrid nightmare which leaves a seusa'ion of dread behind it, while the details are scarcely remembered, Violet, lam married!’

Violet sprung np erect, and looked straight ont across the river, while two tears welled up to her eyes and fell elowly down each burning cheek. Her lips trembled, but she said not a word.

‘ Violet, hear me ! All must come right at last; my love for you is so true, so honest; ah, do not shrink from mo, I conjure you by all yon hold most holy! Do not condemn me because I have kept it from you ; I ought to have told yon as soon as I felt I was loving you ; I ought to have left your sight 1 He grovelled at her feet, and kissed the hem of her dress where she stood. That dear old prude Britannia who looks on passion as a wicked eccentricity, and imagines that a man who has once plighted his troth is to look carelessly on for ever without being touched by worth, wit, or beauty, is abating her skirts and lowering her eyebrows at the idea of snoh effrontery. Why does not the girl leave him in cold contempt ? How dare the man remain there to find excuses for such disgraceful confessions ? Violet has as much common sense as she has intelligence, and what is more she loves the man, and cannot believe him guilty of deceit. So she sits down again, and though the tears still follow each other down her cheeks, and she still stares painfully into the river, she says firmly, bat sadly—‘Tell mo all.’

Sitting at a short distance, and lower down the bank, without raising his head, as if ho were arraigned before a judge or avowing his sins in a confessional, Arthur began : 4 Yon know how young I was when my father died, how I was only eighteen when I came Into my fortune and a commission, without a friend but the old family solicitor. That I have told you ; but you de not know that I was a mere child in experience when I first entered the army, and how my income allowed me to lead a life of luxurious dissipation, in which I was encouraged by our major, many years older than myself, who had no scruples in leading me into every kind of extravagance. He is dead now, so I can leave his name out, simply telling you that for reasons he best knew he introduced me to a foreign lady, a young French widow ho assured me, whose great beauty and fascinating voice gradually drew me like a fly into the web she had spun for me. I knew nothing of life j had never been flattered by a woman; had no memories of ary girl even, beyond the one fair-haired fairy I had ployed lawn-tennis with years ago. I looked on my fascination as a devotion, as a sacred duty; and under the impression that my fortune could be realised (luckily my capital was so tied up that I was master of my income only till I was eight-and-twenty), the major and his accomplice persuaded mo one day to apply for leave, and I was married by special license before X had been forty-eight hours in town. My wife seemed disappointed that I was only able to settle a sum of one thousand pounds on hor, and I had not been married a week before she had disappeared entirely from the house I had taken for a month, and I have never seen her since. I need scarcely say that tho old family solicitor was only informed when all was over, and It was too late to stop the marriage. My fascination was at an end, the snake had glided away and tho bird began to wake to life. I felt the glamour was no longer over me, that the scales had fallen from my eyes. All I could do I did. She was traced to Brussels, where she was last seen with a popular tenor, who had since left the town. The major had exchanged Into another regiment, and was killed in Ashanteeland. I heard from a mutual friend that he had only been too glad to find a fool to take the Faenchwoman off his hands. He rests in peace. Perhaps it was beat for me that all this happened, I became a man, and a different man, for I despised myself for my follies and determined to try to be worthy of living. I have so long been a bachelor that insensibly I glided into tho deep love I feel for you without a thought of that sad epoch of my life. Can you forgive me ? Will you promise not to forget me ? Violet, I conjure you, don’t throw me away !' A glimmer of amber where the sun had set, the olive sky above where tho stars were coming out on guard one by one, and the black shadows of the trees around showed that night was coming on. Violet crept up to him, and raising her lips to h!s he kissed her for the first time in one long passionate heart-givlng. She pressed bis hand, and both rising walked sadly aide by side regardless of the dew which was falling thickly and the mists that rose in ghostly columns from tho silvery stream. They never spoke nnlil they reached the cottage door, where a fly was ready to take her and her mother to the station ; then she turned—4My poor darling, we must part!’ were all the words she spoke.

Once more in the shadow of the cedar at the door he kissed her, and their romance became reality again. Mrs Gowan came out, half scolding Violet for being late, and fearing they might not catch the train. Heart-broken, he saw them into tho train, and the mother could not understand the sadness which had crept over her daughter’s face, A whistle, and they had gone. Arthur Calderon returned to the river’s

aide. The cold moon, with her monotonous smile, seemed to meek him, and ho looked at the river, half tempted to end his griefs and his hopra there for ever. What right had he to compromise by his selfish love tho reputation of a woman who had passed through the ordeal of a stage life without a stain, without a reproach ? >ext day Captain Calderon volunteered for the Cape. * * Sir Arnold Stourbridge plunged into the private hansom waiting for him at Mrs Gowan’a door with grave disappointment on his features. Violet, who had seen him to her door, had just given him an answer which his vanity little expected. The baronet had been hanging round the Apollo for weeks, and, though very respectful, had shown that he thought his attentions a condescension. At the same time he had been so intensely smitten by the popularity and beauty of Miss Gaycross that he had gone so far as actually to offer his hand to Violet if she would make him happy by becoming Lady Stourbridge. Violet simply said— * Don’t think for a moment, Sir Arnold, that I do not appreciate the honor you do me. I hope we shall always be friends, but I have no devotion for anything but my art. I shall never marry.’ Calderon wrote her a long letter before he left for the Cap?, assuring her of devotion, his hopes that law or death might help him eventually to freedom, that ho could love no one else, and that wherever he was her image alone would comfort him, with a great deal more most interesting to both of them, Violet grieved over his loss sadly ; her mother found her much more silent, while the public and the critics noted the matured declaim of her delivery, and the intensified pathos in her acting. No one knew tho real truth.

As she closed the door on the departing baronet, who waa mote annoyed at having laid himself open to refusal than at tho refusal itself, the landlady (for the Gowans only had half the house) said to her ; •I beg your pardon, Miss Violet; but I want to go out this afternoon, and there’s that poor lodger of mine up-staira very bad with no one to look after her. It would bo a real charity if you would sit with her a bit till yon go to the theatre.’ * Who is she, Mrs Grafton ? I did not know you had another lodger in the house!l

• Bless yon, miss, she’s a foreigner, and sings In the chorus at the Opera, Sho’c always been away till a week ago, when she tried to poison herself, the doctor thinks, and she has boon in bad ever since.’ ‘ Yon should have told mo before; I might have been of use to the poor creatnre. What can I do for her ?’

*lf you will sit with her a bit, or take her some books of pictures or the like. She pays all right up to now, miss.’ Violet hid not wait to hear more, bat running into her little drawing-room and selecting a book or two, an album, and a basket of flowers, trotted up-stairs to the room Mrs Grafton indicated to her. Violet knocked, *' Entrez,” said a feeble voice within. Violet went in, and in very respectable French apologised for her intrusion ; but as as she was a neighbor, she hoped she might be useful in some way or other.

•Itis sc good of you! How yon are kind! I much thank you, ver much ver much-’

They were soon friends, Violet arranged her pillow, put the flowers by her side, and showed her the books, while she took note of the woman herself, who must have been strangely beautiful—was still, in spite of her wasted form and haggard faoo._ The poor singer had been once popular in her own land, had been reduced to the chores as her voice had failed her ; and the man she had followed everywhere like a slave had left her a week ago for another woman. Yes, she had tried to poison herself, but she had not succeeded —at least, not at onoe. The feeble invalid was talking and idly looking through the album of photographs, when all of a sudden she gave a scream—‘Ah! My God! How that resembles my poor husband I How like! He had no moustaches; but perhaps it is the brother of him. Poor husband !’

* What do you mean ?’ asked Violet earnestly, while her blood came and went, and her heart seemed breaking all its bonds.

Only a passing memory. She had onoe been married to a boy—the best boy ever known, A wicked man had forced her into the disgraceful plot. She loved another, and had run from her husband—her lawful husband. She could prove it —run away with a thousand pounds, ‘ Serve me right now, for I am a beast. He was a wretch ! An awful wretch ! A very devil! You will soon be die!’

The woman was delirious, clntohiog at the sheet, snatching at the flowers, and now reproaching herself, now begging some man she called Enrico to return to her ; now pitying her little husband, Suddenly she sprang up, and, pulling from under the pillow a desk in Russia leather, she hugged it to her, and with maniac cries swore no one should take It from her. This paroxysm only lasted a few seconds. Her eyes fixed in a glassy stare, her arms relaxed, and she fell back cold and silent on the bed. She was dead. Thera was no doubt of it. On the desk were the letters, * A, C., 142ud Regt.,’ and inside was her certificate of marriage, with some letters, a lock of black hair, and a wreath of dead flowers, probably a reminiscence of some stage success. It all came out at the inquest, and the old family solicitor took charge of all that remained of Calderon’s wife! * * Violet is devoted to her art. I wonder whether she has heard that .Arthur Calderon has returned with Sir F. Roberts from the Cape on flick leave ? # * He cannot bo very ill, for I take up this morning’s 4 Times ’ and see under the 4 Marriages ’ — 4 Arthur Calderon, Captain 142nd Highlanders, to Violet, only daughter of the late Gregory Gowan, M.D.’ How Arthur must treasure the prize that Art has lost.