LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume XXIV, Issue 2706, 9 December 1882, Page 4

LITERATURE.

A VERY LEADING LADA’. ‘Oh, air. ‘ Haiti Airs Harford to mo in the green room of the Greathampton Theatre, ‘ I am not such a fool as to follow in the steps of the traditionary leading lady, who is recorded to have complained indignantly to her manager that she had been playing Juliet for forty years in his theatre, and then found a little dirty chit of a child put over her head into the part. No, air, such a fool lam not ! I have not been in this theatre one quarter of those forty years, and 1 have no desire to play Juliet! But I must say that the constant preference shown by tho management to this Miss Melrose—a mere inexperienced novice, sir—is more than I can be expected to bear in my position. It is very clear that either she must leave tho theatre, or I.’ With these words Mrs Harford swept round tho confined space of tho green room, in her grandest attire, with a maimer rather pettish and irritable, than profoundly dignified, as was probably her intention to appear. I ought to explain, perhaps, that a loagthoned atay with a friend who had a considerable estate a few miles distant from Greathampton bad enabled me to establish myself as a a;-rt of “tame cat” in the theatre, and to be on familiar terms with the whole company. Mrs Harford was indisputably the leading lady of tho establishment; and it was generally whispered among the rest of the troupe that she presumed on this indisputable position to give herself ‘consummate airs.’ It oammt be denied that her manner was generally imperious—as becomes a leading lady, perhaps —but occasionally querulous also, who was in a querulous phase of temper just now—a state of mind easily accounted for, as I knew that she hated poor dear little Miss Melrose. Were not the youth, the beauty, tho grace, tho bright intellLonco of the ‘juvenile lady,’ to say nothing of her obviously increasing favor with the public, quite sufficient to warrant tho most justifiable feelings of hatred in tho heart of tho established and favorite actress, who felt “(as, in a weak moment, she had previously avowed to me) that ‘ she was having her nose put out of joint by the little minx ?' Mrs Harford was a fine, handsome, very attractive woman. I should have given her some six and thirty years. Perhaps I should have been below tho mark ; for she herself admitted to thirty ! She generally passed for a widow, although tittle-tattlers —and where does the genus abound if not in a theatre, especially a provincial one ; would insinuate, in their own little circles, that she had been separated from her busband on account of incompatability of temper—the evil balance of temper being, of course, in the minds of tittle-tattlers, entirely on the side of the wife. What could bo expected of a woman who gave herself such unfounded airs. I was not inclined to acquiesce in the deprecation of pretty Miss Melrose, whoso manners, as well as her appearance, had charmed me. So I, rather maliciously, fired off a small shot or two. ‘Well! you must admit,’ I said, ‘that this girl, although a novice, has a great deal of lady-like grace. ’ ‘Lady-like grace!’ sneered the angry actress ; ‘ where did you discover that, I wonder ? Why! tho girl, as I know on the very best ’authority, is the daughter of a mere common gardener !’ Like you men ! apnonyonher, I suppose !’ ■ ‘Come, come,’ I resumed; ‘you cannot deny, Mrs Harford, that you yourself have boeu spooned on, many a time, by a common gardener 1’ ‘ What! shouted the leading lady, in her grandest explosion of stage indignation. ‘Yes! when you played Pauline in the Lady of Lyons. ’ 1 Pshaw !’ was the only repartee that the lady could find, as she stalked out of tho room, qualifying her rudeness, however, by the explanatory remark, ‘ I am called ” which she was not. In a short time it came to my knowledge that very disagreeable reports were being circulated in Greathampton and the neigborhood respecting Miss Melrose. She was denounced as a ‘designing hussy,’ ‘a vile, intriguing girl,’ and, even in some coarse mouths, as ‘no better than she should bo.’ How these scandalous insinuations were first set afloat it was, of course, impossible to prove. They gathered and grew, however, and at last I found my own nanje mixed up with these scandals, and heard that I was pointed out among all the old maids of Greathampton as Miss Melrose’s lover. I may as well protest at once that I had never shown the poor girl more attention than befits a gentleman to show a lady in whose society he finds himself. I was profoundly vexed at all this foul aoandal-mongering, although I did not see how to battle with it. There con d not bo much doubt in my mind as to the source from which it had originally proceeded. Jealousy on the stage is still bitterer than jealousy in love; and jealousy is apt to be vengeful. I endeavored to think that I was doing the leading Lady a gross wrong in fixing on her as the originator of the scandal; but suspicion, spite of all my efforts, would grow nntil it assumed the shape of certainty. What should Ido ? I could not attack Mrs Harford openly on surmises so vague, and yet I felt that it was imperatively necessary I should take some steps to defend the name and fame of a maligned girl, as well as to remove tho stigma resting on myself. This trouble was absorbing me as I sat in tho library of Crawford Castle, where I was staying. A servant came in to tell mo that Mr Parker desired to see me. I begged that ho might come in, wondering what he could have to say to me. Now, Mr Parker had lately become tho head gardener at Crawford Castle, or rather tho chief superintendent of the decorative portion of tho grounds, and as such occupying tho position of a man of science and an artist. I had seen him seldom, but had always looked on him as a gentleman. To my surprise, as Mr Parker entered, I saw that his face was flushed, his brow darkly knitted. I bowed, and pointed out a chair to him; but he remained standing. ‘lt is with considerable pain,’ he said sternly', ‘ that I feel myself compelled to address you, air, on a matter at once awkward and delicate. Cannot you guess to what I would allude ?’

I was puzzled, and I said so. ‘Your name, sir,’he continued, in an excited manner, ‘ has been connected, in a most disreputable manner, with that of a young lady—Miss Melrose—in whom I feel the strongest interest—no matter why. I would hear from your own mouth—you are a gentleman, and will apeak the truth—what your relations with her may bo.’ I protested that ray intercourse with Miss Melrose had been only dictated by delicacy and propriety. ‘ And she— ’ I pursued. He checked me with a gesture almost of defiance. * I know her to bo the soul of purity and virtue, sir,’ ho interrupted: ‘she does not need your defence. I ask ■what your designs on her may be. ’ 1 had none, whatever, I assured him. ‘ The scandals to which you allude have reached my ears,’ I added, ‘and, at the very moment you came in, I was devising in ray mind the best means of refuting them.’ ‘ That shall be my task,’ said Mr Parker, somewhat proudly. ‘ But your interest in Miss Melrosel asked. ‘ls a perfectly legitimate one,’ ho answered ; ‘ I cannot •do otherwise than avow it to you now. I am her father.’ ‘The father, 1 am sure, of as noble a girl as over lived.’ For the first time a smilo passed over Mr Parker’s lips. lie advanced to me, and, not without Homo hesitation, held oat his hand, which I grasped warmly, as I rose. ‘ I have given up a fine position,’ ho continued, ‘and accepted that at Crawford Castle, in order to bo near my daughter, who has chosen—not without my sanction- - the stage as her profession. lam thus enabled to see her from time to time.’ We sat down; and I could not refrain from detailing to him my suspicions as to the-origin of all the scandalous reports. ‘ Why do you think this f’ he asked. ‘ls there any accounting for female theatrical jealousy, or its effects ;’ I said ; ' but I may bo wrong—T trust I am so. Ho you know this Mrs Harford ?’ ‘ No,’ ho replied ; ‘ from a foolish fouling of shyness, I have never visited the theatre; although my dear Emmy has often wished it. But I will go this evening.’

After a while we again shook hand and parted, both of us resolved to sift tho matter to the bottom, and to clear away tho cloud on the name of tho poor maligned girl. It was loug before I was able to make up my mind what steps to take ; and it was only with considerable hesitation that I at last resolved to risk a bold measure, by se Aug Mrs Harford, and ‘ having it out with her’—but, necessarily, with all the caution and diplomatic tact I could command. I did not visit tho theatre that evening but on tho morrow I went over to Great bampton, determined to call on tho illustrious , ‘ leading lady.’ I had done so before, and there could be nothing strange in a visit on my part. Mrs Harford had contrived to secure excellent lodgings on tho ground floor of one of the prettiest houses in which “furnished apartments ” were lot in Greathampton. The serving girl, who opened to mo, said that Mrs Harford was engaged. I told her I won d wait. 1 sat down in tho entrance passage, intending to compose my mind to the proper frame necessary for tho delicate interview in which I had embarked. But my attention was immediately aroused by tho sound of voices in Mrs Harford’s room. They were female voices, and they sounded as if raised in considerable excitement. Mrs Harford’s deeper tones were easily distinguished. But those of the other. Surely it was tho voice of the very girl whom I looked upon as her victim ! 'Yes. I could not be mistaken. I was certainly that of Miss Melrose. By a sudden impulse I opened tho door, and entered tho room unannounced The two woman stood facing one another. Mrs Harford was flushed in countenance and her eyes flashed. The girl was deadly pale. The leading lady started as I entered ; but, instead of displaying any anger at my intrusion, she turned on me with an air of triumph and defiance. ‘So !’ she cried, to Miss Melrose, ‘ you have seat for your defender, it seems, my young lady —I might use a coarser word, did 1 not fain to defile my lips with it— a doughty champion, I can well surmise !’ ‘I was not aware that this gentlemen would he present,’ said Miss Melrose quietly, but with indignation. 1 * I was merely paying you a chance visit, madame,’! cried, somewhat angrily, almost at the same moment. ‘Both in a talc, of course,’ sneered the leading lady. ‘Perhaps, sir,’she added, turning with her best manner of stage dignity to me, ‘ you will add to the obligation your flattering visit has conferred, by offering tho girl' your arm to conduct her from my house, where she has come with the evident intention of insulting me.’ ‘I had no such purpose,’ said Mias Melrose, firmly but quietly ; ‘ I came only in a friendly spirit to ask this lady’s protection against some calumnies with which I have been cruelly assailed.’ ‘And of which I came here,’l exclaimed excitedly, ‘ to seek the origin and source.’ I fixed my eyes, and spoke, with distinct moaning, on Mrs Harford, who for the first time grew very pale. She mastered herself, however, sufficiently to address me, with some degree of scorn in tho words, — ‘I am not aware, sir, by what authority you interfere |in matters which in no way concern you.’ ‘Simply because my name has been coupled with that of this young lady,’ I answered. ‘ Young lady ! ’ repeated the aug.y woman ; * I wish you joy of being coupled in any way with the low gardener’s daughter.’ Miss Melrose was now fully roused. Before I could speak, she answered tho imputation with pride. ‘My father is a gentleman,' she said, with quiet dignity ; * he was once a celebrated engineer. When his cruel wife deserted him and his young child, he left hia home in trouble and agony of mind. He accepted a position in another sphere of life, which cannot be stigmatised .as that of a ‘ low gardener and in that sphere ho has achieved honor and renown.’ Mrs Harford grow paler than ever. She gasped convulsively. Her eyes seemed starting from her head; and she stammered , with choking voice, ‘ Who are you, girl; who are you ?’ As she spoke, a man had entered the room, and Emmy Melrose rushed to the protecting arms of her father. ‘ You ask who this girl is,’ exclaimed Mr Parker, with energy,* she is your daughter, madam !’ Mrs Harford gasped again, tried to speak, but collapsed utterly. She would hqve fallen to tho ground, had I had sprung forward and caught her in my arms. It was no stage acting this time. The revolution of natural feeling had struck her down. I was obviously out .of place in this scene of domestic drama. So, after having placed Mrs Harford on a sofa, I quietly withdrew. I afterwards learned that Mr Parker, in visiting the theatre, had discovered his wife, from whom he had been separated for years on account of her uncontrollable temper, and had resolved to meet her once more, and for the last time, in order to defend tho fame of his beloved child. It has nob come to my ears that Parker and his wife have since recommenced their doubtful matrimonial life, with vovs of reconciliation; but I have learned that the leading lady of the Greathampton Thiatre now fosters Miss Melrose as a young genius, whose career on the stage must necessarily lead to the highest positions.