[Illustration: P]Prodigious! The minor drama has exhausted its stock of
major crimes: parricide is out of date; infanticide has become from
constant occurrence decidedly low; homicide grows tame and uninteresting;
and fratricide is a mere bagatelle, not worthy of attention. The dramatist
must therefore awaken new sympathies by contriving new crimes--he must
invent. In this the Sadler's Wells genius has been fortunate. He has
brought forward a novelty in assassination, which is harrowing in the
extreme: it may be called _Farm-house-icide_! Just conceive the pitch of
intense sympathy it is possible for one to feel, while beholding "the
_murder_ of a lone farm-house!" Arson is nothing to it.
Out of this novel domiciliary catastrophe the author of "Margaret
Mayfield" has formed a melodrama, which in every other respect is founded,
like a chancellor's decree, upon precedent; it being a good old-fashioned,
cut-throat piece, of the leather-breeches-and-gaiter, plough-and-pitchfork
school. A country-inn parlour of course commences the story, where certain
characters assemble, who reveal enough of themselves and of the characters
assumed by their fellows (at that time amusing themselves in the
green-room), to let any person the least acquainted with the literature of
melodrama into the secret of the entire plot. There is the villain, who is
as usual in love with the heroine, and in league with three ill-looking
fellows sitting at a separate table. There too is the old-established
farmer, who has about him a considerable sum of money--a fact he mentions
for the information of his pot-companions, on purpose to be robbed of it.
The low comedian as usual disports himself upon a three-legged stool,
dressed in the never-to-be-worn-out short _non_-continuations, skirtless
coat, and "eccentric" tile.
A scene or two afterwards, and we are surprised to find that the farmer is
safely housed, and that he has not been robbed upon a bleak moor on a dark
stage. But we soon feel a sensation of awe, when we learn that before us
is the interior of the very farm-house that is going to be murdered. The
farmer and his wife go through the long-standing dialogue of
stage-stereotype, about love and virtue, the price of turnips, and their
only child; and the husband goes to some fair with a friend, who had just
been rejected by his sister-in-law in favour of the villain. The coast
being left clear, the villain and his accomplices enter, and we know
something dreadful is going to happen, for the farmer's wife is gone out
of the way on purpose not to interrupt. The villain draws a knife and
drags his sweetheart into an out-house, and then the wife comes on to
describe what is passing; for the audiences of Sadler's Wells would tear
up the benches if they dared to murder out of sight, without being told
what is going on. Accordingly, we hear a scream, and the sister of the
screamer exclaims,--"Ah, horror! He draws the knife across her throat!
(Great applause.) But no; she takes up a broken ploughshare and escapes!
(A slight tendency to hiss.) Now he seizes her hair, he throws her down.
Ah! see how the blood streams from her----." (Intense delight as the woman
falls flat upon the boards, supposed to be overcome with dread.) A bloody
knife, of course, next enters, grasped by the villain; who, as usual,
remarks he is sorry for what has happened, but it can't be helped, and
must be made the best of. The woman having suddenly recovered, escapes
into an additional private box, or trunk, placed on the stage for that
purpose; stating that she will see what is going on from between the
cracks. The villain then murders the child, and walks off with his hands
in his pocket; leaving, as is always the case, the fatal knife in a most
conspicuous part of the stage, which for some seconds it has all to
itself. The farmer comes in, takes up the knife, and falls down in a fit,
just in time for the constables to come in and to take him up for the
murder. The wife jumps out of the box, and by her assistance a tableau is
formed for the act-drop to fall to.
Our readers, of course, guess the rest. The farmer is condemned to be
hanged; and in the last scene he is one of the never-omitted procession to
the gallows. At the cue, "Now then, I am ready to meet my fate like a
man," the screech in that case always made and provided is heard at a
distance. "Hold! hold! he is innocent!" are the next words; and enter the
wife with a pair of pistols, and a witness. The executioner pardons the
condemned on his own responsibility; and the villain comes on, on purpose
to be shot, which is done by the farmer, who seems determined not to be
accused of murder for nothing.
To these charming series of murders we may add that of the Queen's
English, which was shockingly maltreated, without the least remorse or
mitigation.
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