_OR, THE DOOK, THE DANCING GIRL, AND THE LITTLE LAME DUCK._
What is to be admired in ENERY HAUTHOR JONES is not so much his work
but his pluck,--for has he not, in the first place, overcome the
prudery of the Lord Chamberlain's Licensing Department, and, in the
second place, has he not introduced on the boards of the Haymarket a
good old-fashioned Melodrama, brought "up to date," and disguised in
a Comedy wrapper? Walk in, Ladies and Gentlemen, and see _The Dancing
Girl_, a Comedy-Drama shall we call it, or, generically, a Play?
wherein the prominent figures are a wicked Duke,--_vice_ the "wicked
Baronet," now shelved, as nothing under the ducal rank will suit us
nowadays, bless you!--a Provincial Puritan family, an honest bumpkin
lover, a devil of a dancing woman who lives a double-shuffling sort of
life, an angel of a lame girl,--who, of course, can't cut capers but
goes in for coronets,--a sly, unprincipled, and calculating kind
of angel she is too, but an audience that loves Melodrama is above
indulging in uncharitable analysis of motive,--a town swell in the
country, a more or less unscrupulous land-agent, and a genuine,
honest "heavy father," of the ancient type, with a good old-fashioned
melodramatic father's curse ready at the right moment, the last relic
of a bygone period of the transpontine Melodrama, which will bring
tears to the eyes of many an elderly playgoer on hearing the old
familiar formula, in the old familiar situation, reproduced on
the stage of the modern Haymarket as if through the medium of a
phonophone.
[Illustration: FINAL TABLEAU, ACT I.
"O does not a Meeting (House) like this make amends?"
_Ham Christison_ (_Clown_). "Ullo! Oh my! I'm a looking at yer!"]
At all events, _Drusilla Ives, alias_ "the Dancing Girl "--though as
to where she dances, how she dances, and when she dances, we are left
pretty well in the dark, as she only gives so slight a taste of her
quality that it seemed like a very amateurish imitation of Miss KATE
VAUGHAN in her best day,--_Drusilla Ives_ is the mistress, neither
pure nor simple, of the _Duke of Guisebury_,--a title which is
evidently artfully intended by the, at present, "Only JONES" to be a
compound of the French "Guise" and the English "Bury,"--who from his
way of going on and playing old gooseberry with his property, might
have been thus styled with advantage: and so henceforth let us think
and speak of him as His Grace or His Disgrace the Duke of Gooseberry.
This Duke of Gooseberry visits, "quite unbeknown,"--being, for this
occasion only, the Duke of Disguisebury,--his own property, the Island
of St. Endellion, just to see, we suppose, what sort of people the
Quaker family may be from which his mistress, the Dancing Quakeress
(and how funny she used to be at the Music Halls and at the Gaiety!),
has sprung. For some reason or other, the Dancing Quakeress has gone
to stay a few weeks with her family in the country, and while this
hypocritical Daughter of HERODIAS is with her Quaker belongings at
prayers in the Meeting House, the spirit moveth her to come out,
and to come out uncommonly strong, as, within a yard or so of the
building, she laughs and talks loudly with Gooseberry, and then in a
light-hearted way she treats the Dook to some amateur imitations of
ELLEN TERRY, finishing up with a reminiscence of KATE VAUGHAN; all
of which _al fresco_ entertainment is given for the benefit of the
aforesaid Gooseberry within sound of the sermon and within sight of
the Meeting House windows. Suddenly her rustic Quaker lover, a kind
of _Ham Peggotty_, lounges out of the Conventicle, which, as these
persons seem to leave and enter just when it suits them, ought rather
to be called a Chapel-of-Ease,--and, like the clown that he is, says
in effect, "I'm a-looking at yer! I've caught yer at it!" Dismay
of Dook and Dancer!! then Curtain on a most emphatically effective
situation.
[Illustration: Two "Regular Dawgs" having a _tête-à-tête._]
The Second Act is far away the best of the lot, damaged, however, by
vain repetitions of words and actions. To the house where Miss Dancing
Girl is openly living under the protection of Gooseberry, the Duke's
worthy Steward actually brings his virtuous and ingenuous young
daughter! If ever there were a pair of artful, contriving, scheming
humbugs, it is this worthy couple. Because the Duke saved her from
being run over by his own horses, therefore she considers herself
at liberty to limp after him, and round him, and about him, on every
possible occasion, to say sharp, priggish things to him, to make love
to him, and in the Third Act so craftily to manage as to spot him just
as he is about to drink off a phial of poison, which operation, being
preceded by a soliloquy of strong theatrical flavour and considerable
length, gives the lame girl a fair chance of hobbling down the stairs
and arresting the thus "spotted Nobleman's" arm at the critical
moment. Curtain, and a really fine dramatic situation. "Which nobody
can deny."
[Illustration: ACT III. Pantaloon David Peggotty Gladstone Ives.]
It is in this same Third Act that the fine old crusted melodramatic
curse is uncorked, and a good imperial quart of wrath is poured out on
his dancing daughter's head by the heavy father, who, in his country
suit, forces his way into the gilded halls of the Duke's mansion, past
the flunkeys, the head butler, and all the rest of the usual pampered
menials. An audience that can accept this old-fashioned cheap-novel
kind of clap-trap, and witness, without surprise, the marvellous
departure of all the guests, supperless, for no assigned cause, or
explicable reason, not even an alarm of fire having been given, will
swallow a considerable amount.
The Fourth Act is an anticlimax, and shows up the faulty construction
of the drama. Of course the news comes that the Dancing Girl is dead,
and this information is brought by a Sainte Nitouche of a "Sister" of
some Theatrical Order (not admitted after half-past seven), whose very
appearance is a _suggestio falsi_. Equally, of course, a letter is
found, which, as exculpating Gooseberry, induces the old cuss of a
Puritan father to shake hands with the converted "Spotted Nobleman";
but, be it remembered, the Dook is still his landlord, and the value
of the property is going up considerably. Then it appears that the old
humbug of an agent has sagaciously speculated in the improvement of
the island, and poor Gooseberry feels under such an obligation to that
sly puss of an agent's daughter, that, in a melancholy sort of way,
he offers her his hand, which she, the artful little hussy of a _Becky
Sharp_, with considerable affectation of coyness, accepts, and down
goes the Curtain upon as unsatisfactory and commonplace a termination
to a good Melodrama as any Philistine of the Philistines could
possibly wish. It would have been a human tragedy indeed had poor
Gooseberry poisoned himself, and the girl whose life he had saved had
arrived just too late, only to die of a broken heart. But that "is
quite another story."
The piece is well played all round, especially by the men. Mr. TREE
is excellent, except in the ultra-melodramatic parts, where he is too
noisy. The very best thing he does is the perfect finish of the Second
Act, when, without a word, he sits in the chair before the fire lost
in dismal thought. This is admirable: as perfect in its dramatic force
as it is true to nature. It is without exception the best thing in the
whole piece. Mr. F. KERR as _Reginald Slingsby_, achieves a success
unequalled since Mr. BANCROFT played the _parvenu_ swell _Hawtree_. It
should be borne in mind that Mr. KERR only recently played admirably
the poor stuttering shabby lover in _The Struggle for Life. Il ira
loin, ce bon_ M. KERR. Miss JULIA NEILSON looks the part to the life:
when she has ceased to give occasional imitations of Miss ELLEN TERRY,
and can really play the part as well as she looks it, then nothing
more could be possibly desired. All the others as good as need be, or
can be.
[Illustration: FINAL TABLEAU.
Triumph of the Artful Agent and his lame Duck of a Daughter, Sybil
Slyboots, _alias_ Becky Sharp, afterwards the Merry Duchess of
Gooseberry.]
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