"WANTED A HUSBAND."
You will easily guess that a comedy (or farce) in which a woman is
reduced to advertising in the Press for a husband belongs to the
ante-bellum era, before the glad eye of the flapper became a permanent
feature of the landscape. Indeed Mr. CYRIL HARCOURT'S play might
belong to just any year since the time when women first began to write
those purple tales of passion that are so bad for the morals of the
servants' hall. It was simply to get copy for this kind of stuff that
_Mabel Vere_ (most improbably pretty in the person of Miss GLADYS
COOPER) advertised for a husband, for this post had already been
assigned to the dullest and stuffiest of _fiancés_. I dare not
think how the theme might have been treated in French hands, but Mr.
HARCOURT is very firm about the proprieties. My only fear was that the
gallery might mistake his rather second-rate people for gentlefolk.
In what kind of club, I wonder, do members reply to matrimonial
advertisements and make bets about the result of their applications?
I should be sorry to think that anybody attributes such conduct to the
_habitués_ of the Athenæum.
[Illustration: THE DISCOMFITURE OF A KITCHEN LOTHARIO.
_Captain Corkoran_ ......... MR. MALCOLM CHERRY.
_Adams_ (_a butler_) ....... MR. ERNEST HENDRIE.
_Mabel Vere_ ............... MISS GLADYS COOPER.]
The types that came to inspect _Mabel Vere_ were sufficiently varied.
There was a masterful Colonial (finally ejected by a lady-friend, who
performed a jujitsu feat which required a very palpable collusion
on his part); a butler; an Army Officer (with a reputation for
exploring); a gay naval thruster, and an old gentleman who ought
to have known better. To most of them she opposed an air of
virgin superciliousness very disappointing to their justifiable
anticipations; but the butler promised copy, and she accepted an
invitation to tea in his kitchen. This scene furnished some very
excellent and natural fun, and there was really no need to introduce,
and exploit over and over again, the hallowed device of a trip-mat,
that last resort of the bankrupt farceur. The necessary complications
ensued with the unexpected arrival of the master (one of the
candidates for the lady's hand, I need not say), who makes sudden
demand for an early dinner, a thing impossible to execute with the
cook in a fit of hysterics induced by jealousy of the lady who had
supplanted her in the butler's perfidious affections.
In the third Act we return to _Mabel's_ flat and resume her interviews
with the applicants for her hand. This revival of the situation of the
First Act was a weakness in the construction. The original _fiancé_--a
wooden dummy set up for the purpose of being knocked down--is
dismissed, and _Captain Corkoran_, the bold explorer, is appointed to
the vacancy. He deserved his luck; but, if I wish him joy of it, I do
so without a pang of envy, for she was much too good at back-chat for
a quiet life, to say nothing of her taste in literature, which would
want a deal of correction.
Of course Miss GLADYS COOPER made her seem much more desirable
than she really was. (I speak of her personal charm and not of
her agreeable costumes, which are for the pens of more instructed
reviewers. I got nothing out of a lady near me, whom I recognised as
a dramatic critic by a question that her neighbour put to her. "Do you
know this frock," she asked, "or will you have to go behind?") Apart
from the delightful picture which Miss COOPER always presents she has
a most swift and delicate feeling for the details of her craft.
She has the confidence that avoids over-emphasis, and she does her
audience the compliment of assuming that they have intelligence enough
to understand the least of those little nods of hers that have the
true eloquence of an under-statement. Mr. MALCOLM CHERRY was at his
best and easiest as _Captain Corkoran_. Mr. HENDRIE handled the broad
humour of the butler with imperturbable restraint, and Miss BARBARA
GOTT was as fine and human a cook as I ever wish to meet in her native
lair. Miss MARGARET FRASER, a most attractive figure, was a model for
any housemaid on whose damask cheek the concealment of an unrequited
passion for her master feeds like a worm i' th' bud. Altogether a
really excellent cast.
The humour of the dialogue was fresh and well sustained. Here and
there Mr. HARCOURT permitted himself allusive refinements which
deserved a better response, as when _Captain Corkoran_, discussing
with _Mabel_ the menu of the dinner that she fails to cook for him,
adapts the language of SOLOMON and says, "Fritter me apples, for I am
sick of love." This was lost upon an audience insufficiently familiar
with the works of that great voluptuary.