London at the end of August is not particularly inviting, save in one
respect--it is negatively pleasant to find that _Matinées_ are all
but suspended. I should say quite, were it not that the Shaftesbury
Theatre on the 27th opened its doors at a quarter to three o'clock
in the afternoon, for the performance of _The Violin Makers_, an
adaptation of _Le Luthier de Crémone_, and the production of a "new
and original Comedy sketch," in two Acts, called _The Deacon_, by
HENRY ARTHUR JONES. The first piece I had already seen at the Bushey
Theatre, with Professor HERKOMER, R.A., in the principal character.
I had now an opportunity of comparing the Artist-Actor with the
Manager-Actor, and must confess that I liked the former better than
the latter. Mr. WILLARD as _Filippo_, was Mr. WILLARD, but Professor
HERKOMER, shaved for the occasion, seemed to be anyone other than
Professor HERKOMER. The mounting of the piece at Bushey was also
greatly to be preferred to the _mise-en-scène_ in Shaftesbury
Avenue, and as the accomplished Artist-Actor had also supplied
some exceedingly touching music to his version of FRANÇOIS COPPEE's
Poetical Play, which was wanting two hundred yards from Piccadilly
Circus, I was altogether better pleased with the entertainment served
up with _sauce à la Herkomer_. I may be wrong in preferring the
amateur to the professional, or I may be right--after all, it is
merely a matter of opinion.
Mr. JONES is entirely justified in calling _The Deacon_ a "sketch,"
as it can scarcely claim greater histrionic importance. I think I
may take it for granted that a sausage-maker, from the nature of his
employment, is usually presumed to be a man not absolutely without
guile, and, therefore, _Abraham Boothroyd_, "Wholesale bacon-factor,
Mayor of Chipping Padbury on the Wold, and Senior Deacon of Ebenezer
Chapel," may perhaps be counted one of those exceptions that are said
to prove the rule. According to Mr. JONES, this eccentric individual
comes up to town to attend an indignation meeting held with a view to
protesting against the conversion of Exeter Hall into a temple of the
drama, and after dining with "a _Juliet_ of fifteen years ago," and a
new and quaint sort of Barrister, accompanies them to the play, and
is so greatly pleased with the performances presented, to him, that,
before the curtain falls, he announces his intention of repeating
his visit to the theatre every evening until further notice! This may
be true to human nature, because there is authority for believing
that the said human nature is occasionally a "rum un"; but, without
the precedent I have quoted, it is difficult to accept the sudden
conversion of _Mr. Boothroyd_ as quite convincing. I could scarcely
have believed that Mr. JONES, who has done such excellent work in
_Judah_, and _The Middleman_, could have been the author of _The
Deacon_, had not his name appeared prominently on the playbill, and
had not a rumour reached me that this "comedy sketch" had adorned for
years, in MS. form, a corner of some book-shelves. I think, if the
rumour is to be believed, that it is almost a pity that there was any
interference with that corner--I fancy _The Deacon_ might have rested
in peace on the book-shelves indefinitely, without causing serious
injury to anyone. But this is a fancy, and only a fancy.
I may add that Mr. WILLARD made the most of the materials provided for
him; but whether that most was much or little is, and must remain, a
matter of conjecture. On the whole, if I had understood aright what
the sad sea waves were evidently attempting to say to me, I think I
would not have attended on the 27th of August a London _Matinée_. But
this is a thought, and nothing more. Believe me, dear _Mr. Punch_,
yours, more in sorrow than in anger,