The Adelphi "Correspondent from Paris" has favoured that Theatre with an
adaptation of Scribe's "_Verre d'Eau_," which he has called "The Maid of
Honour."
Everybody must remember that, last year, the trifling affair of the
British Government was settled by the far more momentous consideration of
who should be Ladies of the Bed-chamber. The Parisians, seeing the
dramatic capabilities of this incident, put it into a farce, resting the
whole affair upon the shoulders of a former Queen whose Court was
similarly circumstanced. This is the piece which Mr. Yates has had the
daring to get done into English, and transplanted into Spain, and
interspersed with embroidery, confectionary, and a Spanish sentence; the
last judiciously entrusted to that accomplished linguist, Mr. John
Saunders.
Soon after the rising of the curtain, we behold the figure of Mr. Yates
displayed to great advantage in the dress usually assigned to _Noodle_ and
_Doodle_ in the tragedy of "Tom Thumb." He represents the _Count
Ollivarez_, and the head of a political party--the opposition. The Court
faction having for its chief the _Duchess of Albafurez_, who being
Mistress of the Queen's robes is of course her favourite; for the
millinery department of the country which can boast of a Queen Regnant is
of far higher importance than foreign or financial affairs, justice,
police, or war--consequently, the chief of the wardrobe is far more
exalted and better beloved than a mere Premier or Secretary of State. The
Count is planning an intrigue, the agents of which are to be _Henrico_, a
Court page, and _Felicia_, a court milliner. Not being able to make much
of the page, he turns over a new leaf, and addresses himself to the
dress-maker; so, after a few preliminary hems, he draws out the thread of
his purpose to her, and cuts out an excellent pattern for her guidance,
which if she implicitly follow will assuredly make her a Maid of Honour.
A comedy without mystery is Punch without a joke; Yates without a speech
to the audience on a first night; or Bartley's pathos without a
pocket-handkerchief. The Court page soon opens the book of _imbroglio_. He
is made a Captain of the Queen's Guard by some unknown hand; he has always
been protected by the same unseen benefactor, who, as if to guard him from
every ill that flesh is heir to, showers on him his or her favours upon
condition that he never marries! "Happy man," exclaims the Count. "Not at
all," answers the other, "I am in love with _Felicia_!" Nobody is
surprised at this, for it is a rule amongst dramatists never to forbid the
banns until the banned, poor devil, is on the steps of the altar.
_Henrico_, now a Captain, goes off to flesh his sword; meets with an
insult, and by the greatest good luck kills his antagonist in the
precincts of the palace; so that if he be not hanged for murder, his
fortune is made. The victim is the Count's cousin, to whom he is next of
kin. "Good Heavens!" ejaculates _Ollivarez_, "You have made yourself a
criminal, and me--a Duke! Horrible!"
By the way, this same _Henrico_, as performed by that excellent swimmer
(in the water-piece), Mr. Spencer Forde, forms a very entertaining
character. His imperturbable calmness while uttering the heart-stirring
words, assigned by the author to his own description of the late
affair-of-honourable assassination, was highly edifying to the philosophic
mind. The pleasing and amiable tones in which he stated how irretrievably
he was ruined, the dulcet sweetness of the farewell to his heart's adored,
the mathematical exactitude of his position while embracing her, the cool
deliberation which marked his exit--offered a picture of calm stoicism
just on the point of tumbling over the precipice of destruction not to be
equalled--not, at least, since those halcyon dramatic days when
Osbaldiston leased Covent Garden, and played _Pierre_.
Somehow or other--for one must not be too particular about the wherefores
of stage political intrigues--_Felicia_ is promoted from the office of
making dresses for the Queen to that of putting them on. Behold her a maid
of honour and of all-work; for the Queen takes her into her confidence,
and in that case people at Court have an immense variety of duties to
perform. The Duchess's place is fast becoming a sinecure, and she trembles
for her influence--perhaps, in case of dismissal, for her next quarter's
salary to boot--so she shakes in her shoes.
It is at this stage of the plot that we perceive why the part of _Henrico_
was entrusted to the gentleman who plays it,--the mystery we have alluded
to being by this arrangement very considerably increased; for we now learn
that no fewer than three ladies in the piece are in love with him, namely,
_Felicia_, the Queen, and the Duchess. Now the most penetrating auditor
would never, until actually informed of the fact, for a moment suspect a
Queen, or even a Duchess, of such bad taste; for, as far as our experience
goes, we have generally found that women do not cast their affections to
men who are sheepish, insensible, cold, ungainly, with small voices, and
not more than five feet high. Surprise artfully excited and cleverly
satisfied is the grand aim of the dramatist. How completely is it here
fulfilled! for when we discover that the personator of Henrico is meant
for an Adonis, we _are_ astonished.
The truth is then, that the secret benefactor of this supposed-to-be
irresistible youth has always been the _Duchess Albafurez_, who, learning
from _Ollivarez_ that her pet has new claims upon her heart for having
killed her friend the Duke, determines to assist him to escape, which
however is not at all necessary, for Ollivarez is entrusted with the
warrant for apprehending the person or persons unknown who did the murder.
But could he injure the man who has made him a Duke by a lucky
_coup-d'épée_? No, no. Let him cross the frontier; and, when he is out of
reach, what thundering denunciations will not the possessor of the dukedom
fulminate against the killer of his cousin! It is shocking to perceive how
intimately acquainted old Scribe must be with manners, customs, and
feelings, as they exist at Court.
The necessary passports are placed before the Queen for her signature
(perhaps her Spanish Majesty can't afford clerks); but when she perceives
whom they threaten to banish from behind her chair, she declines honouring
them with her autograph. The Duchess thus learns her secret. "She, too,
love Henrico? Well I never!" About this time a tornado of jealousy may be
expected; but court etiquette prevents it from bursting; and the Duchess
reserves her revenge, the Queen sits down to her embroidery frame, and one
is puzzled to know what is coming next.
This puzzle was not on Monday night long in being resolved. _Ollivarez_
entered, and a child in the gallery commenced crying with that persevering
quality of tone which threatens long endurance. Mr. Yates could not resist
the temptation; and Ollivarez, the newly-created Duke of Medina, promised
the baby a free admission for four, any other night, if it would only
vacate the gallery just then. These terms having been assented to by a
final screech, the infant left the gallery. After an instant's
pause--during which the Manager tapped his forehead, as much as to say,
"Where did I leave off?"--the piece went on.
We had no idea till last night how difficult it was for a Queen to indulge
in a bit of flirtation! A most elaborate intrigue is, it seems, necessary
to procure for her a tender interview with her innamorato. A plan was
invented, whose intricacy would have bothered the inventor of
spinning-jennies, whereby _Henrico_ was to be closeted with her most
Christian Majesty,--its grand accomplishment to take place when the Queen
called for a glass of ice (the original _Scribe_ wrote "water," but the
Adelphi adapter thought ice would be more natural, for fear the piece
should run till Christmas). The Duchess overhears the entire plot, but
fails in frustrating it. Hence we find _Henrico, Felicia_, and the Queen
together, going through a well-contrived and charmingly-conducted scene of
equivoque--the Queen questioning _Henrico_ touching the state of his
heart, and he answering her in reference to _Felicia_, who is leaning over
the embroidery frame behind the Queen, and out of her sight.
This felicitous situation is interrupted by the spiteful Duchess; the
lover escapes behind the window curtains to avoid scandal--is discovered,
and his sovereign's reputation is only saved by the declaration of
Felicia, that the Captain is there on _her_ account. Ollivarez asserts
that they are married, to clench the fib--the Queen sees her folly--the
Duchess is disgraced--all the characters stand in the well-defined
semicircle which is the stage method of writing the word "finis"--Mrs.
Yates speaks a very neat and pointed "tag"--and that's all.
For this two-act Comidetta, dear Yates, we pronounce absolution and
remission of thy sins, so wickedly committed in the washy melo-drama, and
cackling vaudeville, thou hast recently affronted common-sense withal!
Thine own acting as the courtier was natural, except when thou didst
interpolate the dialogue with the baby--a crying sin, believe us. Else,
thy bows were graceful; and thy shoulder-shrugs--are they not chronicled
in the mind's eye of thy most distant admirers? The little touches of
humour that shone forth in the dialogue assigned to thee, were not
exaggerated by the too-oft-indulged-in grimaces--in short, despite thy too
monstrous _chapeau-bras_--which was big enough for a life-boat--thou
lookedst like a Duke, a gentleman, and what in truth thou really art--an
indefatigable _intriguant_. Thy favoured help-mate, too, gave a reality to
the scene by her captivating union of queenly dignity and feminine
tenderness. But most especially fortunate art thou in thy Felicia. Alas
for our hunch and our hatchet nose! but O, alas! and alas! that we have a
Judy! for never did we regret all three so deeply as while Miss Ellen
Chaplin was on the stage. In our favourite scene with the Queen and her
lover, how graceful and expressive were her dumb answers to what ought to
have been Henrico's eloquent declarations, spoken _through_ the Queen. We
charge thee, dear friend, to "call" her on Monday morning at eleven, and
to rehearse unto her what we are going to say. Tell her that as she is
young, a bright career is before her if she will not fall into the sin of
copying some other favourite actress--say, for instance, Mrs.
Yates--instead of our arch-mistress, Nature; say, moreover, that at the
same time, she must be unwearying in acquiring _art_; lastly, inform her,
that Punch has his eye upon her, and will scold her if she become a
backslider and an imitator of other people's faults.
As to poor Mr. _Spencer_ Forde, he, too, is young; and you do wrong, O
Yates! in giving him a part he will be unequal to till he grows big enough
for a coat. A smaller part would, we doubt not, suit him excellently.
Lastly, give our best compliments to Mrs. Fosbroke, to the illustrious Mr.
Freeborn, to Mr. John Saunders, and our especial commendations to thy
scene-painter, thy upholsterer, and the gentleman lamp-lighter thou art so
justly proud of; for each did his and her best to add a charm to "The Maid
of Honour."
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