"THE LAND OF PROMISE."
"I'M about fed up with God's Own Country," says the waster in the play,
a youth who, after exchanging a safe thousand a year at Bridge for the
dangerous delights of "Chemin-de-fer," had been invited by a stern sire
to migrate to Canada. And even so he had not been present during the
Third Act to see the things that we saw, or he would have learnt some
more discouraging facts which are never mentioned in the philosophy of
the emigration-agents; for example, that the solitude and wide spaces of
the Golden West seem to induce, even in the honest native worker, a
reversion to the state of a dragon of the prime. But he had already
seen, in the case of _Norah Marsh_, whom poverty had driven to seek the
shelter of her brother's roof on a Manitoba farm, how the drudgery and
petty jealousies of a narrow Colonial _menage_, the familiar society of
hired hands, and the lack of life's common amenities, had developed a
gently-bred Englishwoman into a sour-tongued shrew.
Worse was to follow when, as a sole escape from the bitter spite
of her plebeian hostess, she consented to marry a barbarian who was
looking for a woman-of-all-work to manage his primitive shack. Here,
having already mislaid her feminine charm, she loses all sense of
honesty. First, when ordered to do her household duties--which were of
the essence of the contract--she declines to obey till he uses brute
force; and then, when he demands of her the attitude of a wife (a
very embarrassing scene), she protests that this was no part of the
bargain.
I can't imagine what she supposed the bargain was about, if it didn't
require her to be either wife or servant.
Terrorism was the man's simple solution; but those who looked, in the
last Act, for a tamed and adoring shrew were to be disappointed. Brute
force had only produced a patient obedience; and it was not till a
damaged crop had brought them to the edge of ruin that she consented
to become his ministering angel. But by that time we knew too well
her distaste for Manitoban methods to believe in the sincerity of this
sudden conversion.
Altogether, after what Mr. MAUGHAM has done to my illusions, I have
given up any thought of going to God's Own Country in search of a
larger existence.
The acting was perhaps better than the play, though the play was good
up to a point. The Second Act, with its fierce jealousy and wrangling
and the futile efforts of the farmer (admirably played by Mr. C. V.
FRANCE) to intervene between wife and sister, was excellent. For the
rest, it was the personality of Mr. GODFREY TEARLE, as the savage
mate of the shrew, that dominated the scene. There is no better
rough diamond (and he was really very rough) in the whole stock of
stage-jewellery. Miss IRENE VANBRUGH, though no actress could have
done more with her part, had less chance than usual of showing
her particular gift of _finesse_; and _Norah's_ character was too
inconsistent to command our sympathy. Not that we necessarily gave it
to the man. Indeed it was a flaw in the play that our sympathies were
never thoroughly engaged by either party. We were, of course, prepared
to range ourselves on the winning side, but there was no victory. The
issue was decided by _force majeure_ in the shape of a wretched weed
that destroyed the crop.
[Illustration: _Extract from "The Prentice (Manitoba) Post"_:--"The
wedding was quite an impromptu affair, the happy pair going straight
to Mr. Taylor's shack, where they are spending the honeymoon quietly."
_Norah_ Miss IRENE VANBRUGH.
_Frank Taylor_ Mr. GODFREY TEARLE.]
The situations, though of a rather strenuous order, gave occasion from
time to time for humorous relief. At first, when the English servant
in the opening Act rudely interposed with a facetious comment on the
sincerity of the grief of certain mourners, I feared lest the humour
was going to be distributed loosely without regard to the propriety
of its mouthpiece. But the rest was reasonable enough; and my only
complaint about the best repartee ("There's no place like home." "Some
people are glad there isn't") has to do with its antiquity rather than
with its appropriateness.
I have never been to Manitoba (and, after seeing _The Land of
Promise_, I am definitely resolved, as I said, never to go), so I
cannot say whether Mr. MAUGHAM'S interiors corresponded to the facts;
but their freedom from any signs of picturesqueness gave them an
air of being the right thing. Life in these parts no doubt revolves
largely round the simple joys of the stomach. Seldom have I seen so
much eating on the stage. We began at Tunbridge Wells with a funeral
tea (though perhaps I ought to pass this over as taking place outside
the Dominion); then as soon as we get to Dyer (Manitoba) we had a
mid-day dinner, with washing-up; and then at Prentice (Manitoba) we
were regaled with a supper of black tea and syrup.
I am confident that there is a great opening for drama dealing
solely with Life Between Meals. To see people smoking on the stage is
sufficiently irritating; but, when you are assisting at a First Night
after a sketchy repast from the grill, all this feeding on the stage,
however frugal the menu, makes for exasperation.
Finally I must compliment Mr. MAUGHAM on his ironical title. For his
play, too, is a thing "of promise" rather than achievement, if it
is to be judged by the test of the Last Act. Still, if a play only
promises well enough and long enough--as this play did--that is an
achievement in itself.