LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume XXIV, Issue 2698, 30 November 1882, Page 4

LITERATURE.

CHANCE: A STORY OF A YOUNG ACTRESS. She was my namesake, and called Marie Mario Lambton. A dear, charming little creature she was, too, when I first knew her, looking, with her sweet smile, as if she had not a care on her mind ; and yet she must have been often fearfully plagued by that mother of hers. Mrs Lambton had retired from trade on a small competence, with which, however, she seemed unable, owing to her reckless, slatternly habits, to ‘ make two ends meet ’ (as the phrase goes), stretch the two ends as she might. She was flaunting in her dress-self-willed and worldly-minded in her disdisposition. I have no doubt that she really loved her daughter, but she seemed to look on her only child as a species of property, to be used for her own advantage and her personal aggrandisement ; and she ruled this household chattel with a firm, almost tyrannical hand. After turning over in her mind the best means to dispose of her daughter with a view to future emolument, Mrs Lambton had decided on the stage as most suitable to her purpose. 1 ‘ If I had but the chance,’ she would say, 4 to got the girl on the stage, I could look forward to my old days with comfort. But where am Ito look for the chance 1 However, I will not despair ; the chance may tarn up.’ Marie at seventeen was lovely, and her sprightly bearing gave her loveliness an additional charm. But, for all her gay animation and liveliness of manner, she was delicate in appearance, and her mother’s friends declared that she looked consumptive, and shook their heads over her, but no prognostications could have damped the sweet girl’s joyous spirit. If ever subdued in manner, it was when Marie was in the presence of the one person to whom she had given her whole heart. This was a certain Harry Stanford, who had met and learned to love her. But Harry Stanford was only a lawyer’s clerk ; and the ambitious mother loosed forward to a better match for her child, although she never placed any decided veto on the aspirations of the lovers. Besides, the young man had been brought up in a Puritanical family, and, following the principles inculcated in him from his childhood, looked with an aversion almost amounting to horror on the stage. Suchprinciples were naturally most adverse to the opinions of Mrs Lambton and her views for her daughter. ‘Drat the fellow’s principles !’ she had been heard to mutter, ‘ they are perfectly outrageous. ’ One morning Marie came to me flushed and excited, with tears glistening in her eyes. I asked the cause. ‘You see, mamma’s chance has turned up,’ she said ; they want an extra lady at the Variety Theatre The manager has sent for me, and says 1 shall do ; and mamma says I must accept the chance;’ ‘ Why, then, do you cry, dear ?’ I inquired ; ‘do you dislike the idea of going on the stage V ‘ Not at all,’ she replied with animation ; * I think I should like it awfully—but ’ ‘This chance will be your first step,’ I said ; ‘we must all begin at the beginning—at least, we ought to do so.’ ‘ I know that,’ murmured Marie, hanging her head, 4 but ’ 4 But what ?’

‘ But Harry will object to my appearing, so dreadfully, I am sure,’ and she began to cry; 4 he will be so angry; and I cannot bear to vex him. But then mamma, you see, will not allow me to let the chance slip. Oh, I don’t know what to do ! I don’t know what to do !’

What Marie would do was obvious, under the control of her mother. She undertook the very feeble part offered her, and made her appearance ; and even in her minor position her beauty and grace attracted attention. I met her shortly afterwards with her mother. Marie dropped behind for a moment to whisper to me, with choking

voice, ‘He has oast me off for ever ! ‘ He’ meant Harry Stanford. ‘Ah! my poor girl,’ I thought, ‘your first chance has been a mischance to you.’ A few Sundays afterwards, to my great surprise, I saw ray Marie side by side with her wooer at church. '■■They looked demure, bqt very happy, holding the same hymnbook in their hands. 1 smiled to' myself, thinking how weak was man’s resolution when in love. A shy little note from Marie, who had seen me at church, explained the little mystery. Harry Stanford, in spite of All his prejudices, had yielded to the conqueror love. He bad gone so far as to permit her actual appearance on those dreadful boards, but on her solemn promise that she would never appear in any attire unbecoming to female delicacy, and would never allow herself to be ‘ hauled about by those horrid men.’

For some time I heard nothin" of my little Marie : and my ora avocations prevented me from bestowing on her the same interest which I had been wont to do. I contented myself with concluding that she was perfectly happy. The events which ensued were told me afterwards, partly by Marie herself, partly by her ridiculous, but impe.ious mother. The pretty young ‘ extra lady ’ had found favor, it seems, in the eyes of the manager. The secession of one of the prominent actresses had induced him to offer the part of a young prince in a fairy burlesque to the graceful and intelligent novice. Marie, mindful of her promise to her wooer, had steadily refused. But her mother displayed the most furious indignation at her daughter’s ‘egregious folly,’ as she termed it, in giving way to such ‘ridiculous and senseless scruples. ’ Here was a chance offered her, such as one might never have again. To throw it away would be a sin. She owed compliance to the poor mother, who had slaved for her all her life, &c., &c. Moreover, that idiot young Stanford would never know anything about her change of part, as his foolish fancies would prevent hia going into the theatre. Mrs Lambton raged, stormed and hurled strong language on her poor daughter’s head.

The inevitable result came—Marie yielded .—accepted the chance on which so much stress had been laid by her mother. She appeared in her splendid, but not over decorous costume of the young prince, and, I may add, made a signal success in the part—so signal a success that the newspapers, generally so slow to recognise progress in a novice, teemed with her praises. The notices came to the knowledge of Harry Stanford. For once he broke through the tyranny of his puritanical tenets. He went to the theatre, and, instead of being delighted with the grace and intelligence of his beloved, he was disgusted. Ho wrote poor Marie a hard, angry letter; he utterly gave her up, he said. The rupture between the lovers was complete. Poor Marie! Her groat * chances' obviously brought her but little happiness. From this moment Marie Lambton drooped in spirit. Her manner, off the stage, was listless and oppressed. A settled melancholy appeared to overcloud all around her ; and her health appeared to suffer, although her mother could or would see nothing of her daughter’s ailing condition. On the stage, however, Marie displayed a spirit and animation which were almost feverish, and added more and more to her success.

Marie was naturally not without many admirers. Presents of a valuable description were showered in on her. Young guardsmen and fashionable swells threw bouquets in profusion, and dropped innumerable letters addressed to Miss Lambton at the stage door. All these would be evidences of adoration were treated by the ‘ little fool,’ as her mother called her, with indifference and contempt. In her refusal of all these advances, Marie for once bid defiance to the maternal tyranny.

Among the admirers of the rising young actress was a stockbroker—a middle-aged gentleman, of rather prepossessing appearance. He saw and loved. He offered diamonds and was refused. Then he offered his hand in marriage. Marie again declined. Uer heart was still with him who had thrown her over.

But now Mrs Lambton stopped in with determination. Hero was a chance of her own settlement in life as well as Marie’s. A chance, indeed ! ‘ Such a chance might never occur again, and to throw it away would be madness!' she reiterated day by day ; ‘ and for what ? ’

she would ask, ‘ All for a young fool, who cared for her no longer. ’ Marie consented at last, hut with a bleeding heart. By a strange coincidence, I happened to be present at Richmond, when poor Marie was driven over by her affianced adorer, together with her mother, to dine at the Star and Garter. On meeting I wished her joy. I shall never forget the sad, melancholy smile with which she answered me. She was pale, and looked seriously ill. Her husband that was to be was a good-looking man,, and obviously a gentleman. But evidently Marie’s heart had been buried with her first love. I was standing at the door of the hotel with some friends when the party drove away. As they started a young man rushed wildly forward and threw a paper into Marie’s lap. I knew him to be Harry Stanford. I tried to grasp his arm in order to expostulate with him, but he tore himself away and disappeared. When I looked at the receding carriage I saw that Marie had fallen back.- She had probably fainted. Her mother was fanning her face violently with a handkerchief. Not many weeks afterwards I r eceived a note from Mrs Lambton, bogging me to come and see my protege (as she termed it), since her poor girl was very ill. I went. Marie was in bed, pale as that Death which had evidently placed its cruel hand on her. She smiled faintly, with a sweet look of pleasure as she saw me- and made a weak sign to her mother to leave us.

- 4 lt has killed me,’ she gasped, when we wore alone, 4 1 did not deserve it. No, I did not.’

Her voice only came in jerky respirations, and I begged her to be calm. 4 No,’ she muttered, 4 1 must tell you all.’ She held out her white, thin, wasted hand, in which was a crumpled paper. 4 Read! read !’ she stammered.

It was the letter from Harry Stanford, thrown into the carriage; and I must say the letter was a bitterly cruel one. 4 Faithless to your vows of love, as to your promises, I curse the first hour I knew you. You will see me no more. I start for Australia to-morrow.’

I looked pityingly at the poor dying girl. 4 Place it in my coffin with me,’ she found breath to say, 4 and if you can, let him know that I forgive him. lam dying fast, I feel. Better so—bettor so.’

She raised herself with difficulty to try and kiss my cheek. As she fell back her last words were :

4 Death ! death! After all, it is my best chance. ’