THE first impression of _A Village Priest_ is that, in one respect, Mr.
GRUNDY has done well to choose the historical name of the execrable
"Abbé DUBOIS," and bestow it on the _Curé_, who is meant to be the
interesting hero of what, without him, would have been a sufficiently
strong melodrama. The very A B C of the practice of the confessional
being that everything between Priest and Penitent (even when the
Penitent is impenitent) is _sub sigillo_, this Abbé can have, as the
Grand Inquisitor in the _Gondoliers_ sings, "No possible probable shadow
of doubt, No possible doubt whatever," as to his plain duty; and yet he
demands of Heaven a miracle to show him how _not_ to do it. And to this
pious request comes an answer (by limelight) which demonstrates once
more how the Devil can quote Scripture to his purpose.
[Illustration: The Tree at the Haymarket.]
Frankly, Mr. GRUNDY has written three Acts of a play which must have
been powerful had he not extended it to five, and, had he not attempted
to centre the interest on a character which, charming as an incidental
sketch, is, as an essential, an excrescence. Practically the play is at
an end with the finish of the Third Act. Why lug in the _Abbé
Constantin_? And what an Abbé!!
Where are the familiar details? Where the ancient snuffbox, where his
snuffy old pocket-handkerchief? And where the old well-thumbed breviary
from which he is inseparable? M. LAFONTAINE as the _Abbé Constantin_,
_the_ man to the life, was never without the "old black book," under his
arm. The Haymarket Abbé takes his meals without blessing himself, by way
of saying grace, and fumbles about the heads of people who ask his
benison, like an awkward phrenologist feeling for bumps. And what kind
of an Abbé would he be who would tell a young girl that, "when she comes
to be as old as he is, she will have learnt to doubt everything?" Is it
characteristic of a French Abbé to complain of his housekeeper "lighting
his fire with his sermons?" It would be quite in keeping with the type
of an English Clergyman, who, as a rule, preaches from a written sermon;
but not of a French Priest, who preaches without book or manuscript. No;
the _Abbé Dubois_ is the _Abbé Constantin_ spoilt, a French _Curé_
Anglicised into a pet Ritualistic Clergyman, ROBERT-ELSMERE'd-all-over
by Mr. GRUNDY, and finally im-parson-ated by Mr. BEERBOHM TREE. Wasn't
it Mr. BEERBOHM TREE who, years ago, created the original of the
Bath-bun-eating comical Curate, in _The Private Secretary_? Well, this
is the same comical Clergyman grown older, and with the burden on, what
he is pleased to call, his mind of a dying scoundrel's last speech and
confession. The strongest objection he has to violate his sacred trust
arises from the fear that such a revelation would break the heart of an
exemplary old Goody Two-Shoes, for whom he has all his life long
cherished a youthful love, the thought of which, and not his
supernatural vocation, has sustained him, so I understood him to say,
throughout his priestly career. All very pretty and "pale young
Curatey," and theatrically sentimental, but don't put this man forward
as the self-sacrificing hero of a Melodrama. No; the subject is best let
alone. Mr. GRUNDY seems to have rushed in where wiser men have feared to
tread, and thoroughly to have "put his foot in it," all for the sake of
transplanting _L'Abbé Constantin_, whom he has transformed into _L'Abbé
In-Constantin_.
The piece is beautifully put on the stage, and accepting the story as
worked out by Mr. GRUNDY'S characters, the acting is excellent all
round. There are two powerful situations, one in the First Act between
the Judge's son, Mr. FRED TERRY, and the innocent victim, Mr. FERNANDEZ,
admirably played; and another in the Second between Mr. TERRY and Miss
LECLERCQ, also rendered with considerable power. Little Miss NORREY'S
shrill squeak, or scream, or whatever it is, at the end of the First
Act, imperils the situation, and might be toned down with advantage, as
also might her spasmodic melodramatic acting later in the piece. Mrs.
TREE'S is a pretty part, but not a strong one. To sum up, apart from the
two situations I have cited, I should say, that what will linger in the
memory of man when it runneth not to the contrary, is not the false
sentiment, but the real water which fills the real watering-pot, the
blossoming apple-tree, and, above all, the stolidly-chivalrous Mr. ALLEN
as _Captain of Gendarmes_. By the way, the exterior of the presbytery is
that of a small cottage. Excellent. The interior, representing the
Abbé's sitting-room, is a large and lofty Gothic cell--a regular
cell--capable of holding two such presbyteries as we have just seen from
outside. But there--it is another lesson--never judge by appearances.
[Illustration: Probable future of the ex-Abbé In-Constantin. He marries
Madame D'Arcay, and they come over to England and join the Salvation
Army.]
To return for the last time to the _dramatis personæ_, everyone who sees
this play will regret that the Author has not bestowed as much pains on
the character of the _Captain of Gendarmes_ as he has on the maudlin
water-pottering old _Curé_. The drama, after the Third Act, is
lugubrious. Why not lighten the general depression by bringing on the
_Captain of Gendarmes_ to the "_Boulanger March_," and making him as
amusing as _Sergeant Lupin_ in _Robert Macaire_? The piece is well
mounted, why should not the Gendarmes be also mounted? There are four or
six of them. What an effect has been missed by not bringing them in on
real horses, and giving them a quartette or a sestette _à cheval_, with
a solo for the Captain! Then the Captain might know all about the
murder, and _he_ would reveal it without breaking the seal--unless it
were to crack a bottle--and all would end happily. As it is, all ends
miserably, or would so end, but for the Captain, whose last words before
the fall of the Curtain, uttered in his best French, are "_Ong Avong!
Marsh!_" From which it may be inferred that they are going into a dismal
swamp, but it is magnificent, if not _la guerre_, and this cry of the
Captain has a true military ring about it that gladdens the heart of
Yours ever,
PRIVATE BOX.
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