THEATRE REVIEWS

3. Miss Tomboy (1890) to The Sixth Commandment (1890)

Miss Tomboy from The Times (21 March, 1890 - p.11)

VAUDEVILLE THEATRE.

     To furbish up old comedy and present it in a fresh form to a later generation of playgoers than that for which it was written is not so much a new as a revived branch of theatrical enterprise. It was a common enough industry in the last century, when Shakespeare himself was thought to require adaptation. Now that classics are viewed with the same veneration as old monuments, it requires, perhaps, as much courage to renovate an old dramatist as it would do to whitewash Stonehenge; but where courage is needed Mr. Robert Buchanan is never found wanting, and it is he, accordingly, who is responsible for the modernized version of Vanbrugh’s famous comedy The Relapse, which was played yesterday afternoon at the Vaudeville, under the title of Miss Tomboy. Adapters are much given to the use of the phrase “founded upon,” which no doubt expresses as little obligation to the work in question, whatever it may be, as is compatible with the mention of the original author’s name. In the present instance the words, for once, are appropriately employed in the playbill, since they convey a tolerably exact impression of the relation of the new to the old piece. Mr. Robert Buchanan has not adapted Vanbrugh; he is hardly indebted to him, indeed, for a line of dialogue. What he has done has been to borrow the underplot of The Relapse, with its characters, sacrificing all the incidents in which Loveless, Amanda, and Berinthia, are concerned, and to present in a quick and well-ordered succession of scenes the device by which Tom Fashion cuts out Lord Foppington in the scheme for winning the hand of Miss Hoyden, the rustic heiress. A considerable group of Vanbrugh’s dramatis personæ are thus retained, though why Coupler should now be disguised as Sir George Matcham, while Sir Tunbelly Clumsey is not ashamed of his patronymic, it is hard to understand. As Tom Fashion’s adventure in personating his elder brother is of an entirely proper character from the modern point of view, Mr. Robert Buchanan’s task, within the limits he has assigned himself, has been one of suppression chiefly; and, all things considered, this is no doubt the least objectionable form in which a revival of Vanbrugh’s comedy could be attempted. The action becomes somewhat attenuated, it is true; but, on the other hand, it is commendably free from the vices of its period, resolving itself mainly into an illustration of the character of the scented dandy of the 17th century, Lord Foppington. This personage is now amusingly portrayed by Mr. Thomas Thorne even to the lisping affectation of speech conveyed by the substitution of “a” for “o” in such words as “apalagize” and “Tam;” and his follies and fatuities may, perhaps, be found to compensate for what must be described as a lack of plot, seeing that the wooing and winning of Miss Hoyden remains what it originally was—a rather meagre dramatic incident. Miss Hoyden herself, who naturally gives the piece its title, now that Loveless and his “relapse” from conjugal fidelity are suppressed, has been modernized into a frolicsome boarding-school miss, and is winsomely played on such lines by Miss Winifred Emery, Mr. Frank Gillmore appears as the dashing young Tom Fashion, Mr. Fred Thorne as Sir Tunbelly, Mr. Cyril Maude as a foppish man-servant, and Mr. J. S. Blythe as the matchmaker. The curiously hybrid work to which Mr. Robert Buchanan has put his name in conjunction with that of Sir John Vanburgh was yesterday well received, and it may, perhaps, obtain something more than a succès de curiosité.

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Miss Tomboy from The Times (28 May, 1891 - p.14)

     Mr. Thorne revived on Tuesday at the Vaudeville Mr. Robert Buchanan’s adaptation of Vanburgh, known as Miss Tomboy. In the title character Miss Ella Bannister succeeds Miss Winifred Emery, and gives a spirited embodiment of the hoyden, though she is not, perhaps, quite so spontaneous in her frolics as might be desired. Mr. Conway is also new to the cast, appearing as Tam Fashion.

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[Poster of Grace Hawthorne in Theodora courtesy of the British Library.]

Theodora from The Scotsman (25 March, 1890 - p.4)

THEATRES.

     The production of “Theodora” at the Theatre Royal, with Miss Grace Hawthorne as the heroine, drew out a large audience last evening. As adapted by Mr Robert Buchanan, the classic play of M. Sardou is one of absorbing interest, if at times somewhat repulsive in its tone. Miss Hawthorne’s Theodora is a wonderfully powerful delineation of a difficult part. The company supporting Miss Hawthorne is a very clever one. Theodora was very cordially received last night.

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Theodora from The Times (6 May, 1890 - p.9)

PRINCESS’S THEATRE.

     As Theodora was written expressly for Madame Sarah Bernhardt, it is not without a certain temerity that any English actress can attempt an embodiment of M. Sardou’s title character. Mrs. Bernard Beere has of late years acquired a sort of prescriptive right to enter upon such hazardous undertakings, and she has in general acquitted herself of her task remarkably well. It is now the turn of Miss Grace Hawthorne to array herself in the défroque of the great French actress. Last night an English version of Theodora was brought out at the Princess’s Theatre with Miss Hawthorne as the courtesan queen. Rashness was probably the mildest term which the experienced playgoer was prepared to apply to this enterprise, more especially as the play has not been in any sense adapted to the measure of the English actress, but bristles with situations designed to throw the personal characteristics of Madame Sarah Bernhardt into the strongest relief. The result was, however, a pleasant surprise. Miss Hawthorne grappled very successfully with her trying character, and earned the cordial applause of the house. In the more passionate scenes some indebtedness to her predecessor could be traced in her acting, but her impersonation was, on the whole, consistent, well-studied, and impressive. The closing incident has been altered. In the French play, the executioner enters with the bow-string in his hand, and Theodora bends her neck to her fate as the curtain falls. In the English version, the Empress defeats the purpose of her enemies by swallowing a dose of poison after the manner of M. Sardou’s heroines in other plays. A more picturesque, although more conventional, climax is thus provided. It enables Miss Hawthorne to lie down and die pathetically by the side of her dead lover Andreas. With Mr. Vernon as Justinian, and Mr. Leonard Boyne as Andreas, the general representation has ample justice done to it. The mounting is also appropriate. In fine, the performance is interesting and agreeable throughout.

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Theodora from The Penny Illustrated Paper (10 May, 1890 - p.3)

     Miss Grace Hawthorne last Monday night fulfilled the promise she pluckily made at the commencement of her management of the Princess’s Theatre. This clever American actress appeared at the Princess’s in Mr. Robert Buchanan’s effective adaptation of Sardou’s powerful drama of  “Théodora,” especially written for Madame Bernhardt. Handsomely mounted and beautifully costumed, the dresses worn by Miss Hawthorne herself being of regal splendour, “Theodora” presents a series of lustrous tableaux of the ancient Byzantium where the Emperor Justinian and the frolicsome and vicious circus-girl he made his Empress played their parts. I had heard of the success Miss Hawthorne had achieved in this arduous part in the provinces, but was wholly unprepared for the remarkable power she displayed in the strong passages of the romantic play. It was from first to last an excellent performance on the part of Grace Hawthorne—playful in the rencontre with her old Show mistress at the Hippodrome; full of soft amour in the moments of dalliance with her lover, Andreas; impassioned in her quarrel with the Emperor; and frenzied in the scenes in which she kills Marcellus at his own request and saves her lover against himself; and touching in the last scene of all, where she poisons herself and droops on the couch, where Andreas lies dead. As Andreas, Mr. Leonard Boyne acted with rare spirit. Mr. W. H. Vernon was admirable as Justinian; and so was Mr. Charles Cartwright as Marcellus; and the like may be said of Miss Dolores Drummond as Tamyris, and Miss A. Lloyd as Iphis. Miss Hawthorne and Mr. Buchanan were enthusiastically called before the curtain. “Theodora” was an unmistakable success.

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Theodora from Time (June, 1890 - pp.662-666)

     Like Macbeth, we have of late been supping full of horrors. The theatrical menu has consisted of three courses. Two ladies and one gentleman - Theodora, Esther Sandraz, and Paul Kauvar. The three are all members of one family, and they have a strong family likeness.
     The word “horrors” is used in connexion with these three plays, not merely on account of their subject matter, but on account of their dramatic and literary manner. They swarm with more or less physical unpleasantnesses; poisons, executioners, swinging blades, hints of torture and the bowstring, pistol shots, cannon balls, and the guillotine. But the nightmare induced by our late dramatic supper is due rather to the cooking and the serving than to the raw material.

THEODORA.

     The Byzantine, the French, the English, the American. The first is “as God made her,” and with that, as these are not historical notes, we have nothing to do. For the French Theodora - she is a creature, artistically speaking, after Sarah Bernhardt’s own heart. The play, as it is Sardou’s, is, by compulsion, clever. But it has not escaped the risks necessarily attending all works of art fashioned to order. “Written round” Madame Bernhardt, the character, the language, the incidents, the situations, do not seem to grow inevitably, inexorably, as necessary parts of one organic whole of art. They seem to be fitted on to the personal peculiarities and individual wishes of one great artist.
     Mr. Robert Buchanan is the stepfather of’ the English Theodora. The main difference between him and the actual parent lies in the fact that he prefers the offspring committing suicide by poison to her being strangled by string.
     And the American? Well, it is a brave, a rash experiment, wonderfully well carried out in every detail, but with the great heart of the play not beating. Scenery, dresses, jewels, music, lights, colours - all there in the ordinary and in the vulgar sense. But the Theodora? Non est inventa. No one can say that, as the Murder Club in De Quincey’s Essay said it of Toad-in-the-hole, cum cacchinibus. No. More in sorrow than in mirth let us repeat, Ube est ill Theodora? And answer, Cum suspiriis, non est inventa.
     Or, in plain English, Miss Hawthorne is not physically fitted to play the lecherous, beautiful, venomous, murderous woman. Whether she is mentally fitted for realising a character at once complex and powerful, we need not stop to ask. The initial qualification of body, without which no one has the artistic right to touch Theodora, is wanting. Extraordinary physical beauty - face, form, voice agreeing - the beauty and the wickedness of the devil - the power of fascinating as much by the wickedness as by the beauty - these are essential. And these are wanting. The American Theodora is physically under-sized and over-weighted. Not that actual physique is a sine qua non for a great actor. As witness Rachel, Kean, Garrick! For the rest, Mr. Vernon is splendid in the little that the great Justinian has to do; Mr. Leonard Boyne is rather unhappy as Andreas; and Mr Cartwright’s Marcellus is so good that one could almost sit out the play as far as he lasts for his sake. Almost. Not quite.

Alec Nelson (pseudonym of Edward Aveling)

[This review appears on the Marxist Internet Archive in the Eleanor Marx Dramatic Notes section.]

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[Advert from The Times (Saturday, 3 May, 1890 - p.13) for the Princess’s Theatre, London.
Theodora received its premiere at the Theatre Royal, Brighton.]

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The Bride of Love from The Scotsman (22 May, 1890 - p. 6)

LONDON THEATRICALS.

     LONDON, Wednesday night.— A new poetical play—for that is the title of “The Bride of Love” on the programme, by Mr Robert Buchanan—was given at the Adelphi Theatre this afternoon. Before dealing with the plot it will be best to quote the author’s preliminary note, prefixed to certain excerpts from the play which were handed to the critics. Mr Buchanan says “The Bride of Love” is founded on the beautiful Greek legend of “Eros and Psyche,” preserved for posterity in the “Golden Ass” of Apuleius. Perhaps no subject is associated with so many illustrious names; for it has been versified by La Fontaine, dramatised by Molière with the assistance of Corneille (who at 65 years of age wrote the famous perfervid invocation of L’Amour), graced by the songs of Quinault and the music of Lulli. The original L’Amour was Baron; the original Psyche, Mademoiselle Molière; and the original Zephyr Molière himself. The passion conceived by La Molière for young Baron during the representations of “Psyche” led to the fatal estrangement between the great author-actor and his wife.
     The present author’s treatment of the legend is practically new and original, and has nothing in common with either the form or the spirit of Greek drama, or with the “tragédie-ballet” of Molière. It has been well remarked, however, that there is a curious and sympathetic likeness between the fancifulness of early Greek mythology and that of mediæval fairy lore. Eros, the eldest born of Aphrodite, is the embodiment of fully-developed though still young godhead, and is not in any way to be confounded with the Cupid of popular imagination. The story of Psyche’s love and loss has been well described as an allegory of the human soul in its passage upward—and hence, of course, the name. In the fourth act of the present play Psyche actually passes through the shadow of death, and arising thence glorified, realises not only the old Greek idea of apotheosis, but the modern Christian sentiment of the resurrection of the spiritualised body. The story of the piece is simple in the extreme. Eros, a god, loves Psyche, a mortal, and his devotion brings upon her a double doom. In the first place, the jealousy of Aphrodite, who cannot bear to hear of her loveliness, and desires to save her son from an ignominious love, condemns her to a fate like that of Andromeda, and then Psyche’s request that Eros should declare his name and station brings upon her total blindness, the fate of those who inquire too curiously of the gods. In the end she dies, but is brought back from death by Aphrodite, who relents and restores her to the arms of Eros. Mr Buchanan is a poet, and this piece is indubitably poetical. He is also a dramatist, but it cannot be said that, save here and there, it is dramatic. It has grace and prettiness, but it lacks action and variety. As an example of the blank verse in which it is written, we may quote the following speech of Eros, in which, before he sees Psyche, he is bewailing his condition on the heights of Olympus, being, in fact, bored to death:—

Heigh O! I would I were some merry mortal,
A mountaineer, a tiller of the earth,
A happy warrior on a battlefield;
To be in leading-strings and yet a god,
To be divine and yet a prisoner,
To deal at will to all, to men or gods.
The loving rapture I may never share;
There’s not a herd boy down in yonder dales
I do not envy. He at least can love!
Sits ’mid the shade in the sweet summer time,
With strong arm circled round some brown girl’s waist,
And busses her with a great smacking kiss
To crown his joy withal. I, lord of love’s self,
Whose breathing fills the air with love,
Am the one loveless thing in all the world!

     The play was competently acted. Miss Harriett Jay, as Psyche, has good intentions and is evidently an earnest student of acting, but her execution leaves a good deal to be desired. She has tenderness, but she lacks power. Miss Ada Cavendish, who has come back to the stage, was an imposing Aphrodite; and Miss Ada Ferrar, in a comparatively small part showed herself a charming actress and one of the most capable of young ladies who now throng the stage. Mr Thalberg was a competent Eros, and other characters were fairly sustained. Mr Walter Slaughter’s music was most tuneful, and Miss Letty Lind won much applause for her dancing. The whole performance was received with great applause.

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The Bride of Love from The Times (22 May, 1890 - p.8)

ADELPHI THEATRE.

     The myth of Eros and Psyche, originally told by Apuleius and dramatized in later days by Molière and Corneille, has given an inspiring if difficult subject to a modern playwright. Mr. Robert Buchanan, whose play entitled The Bride of Love was produced at the Adelphi Theatre yesterday afternoon, has treated the classical story with a free hand, and the result is a piece which, although it leaves much to be desired and although it is capable of much improvement, has many pleasing features. In the first act, of which the scene is the summit of a mountain in Cyprus, Aphrodite (Miss Ada Cavendish), Eros (Mr. T. B. Thalberg), and Zephyros (Mr. Lionel Rignold) are introduced. Aphrodite is jealous because her worship on earth is neglected by reason of the charms of Psyche. Eros, by no means the mischievous Cupid of legend but a young divinity who is feeling his strength, appears in the guise of one wearied of celestial society. Zephyros is, so to speak, the clown of the piece. At the outset the play drags heavily and it is only after Aphrodite has left the scene that human interest is introduced. At the invitation of Zephyros, Eros looks down upon Psyche (Miss Harriet Jay) sleeping upon the hillside, and then commands Zephyros to waft her to the mountain. There follows a pretty passage, in which the god places a ring on the finger of the sleeping maiden. He then determines to woo her in mortal shape. The second act is no better than the first. At the outset a ludicrous row of Kings propose in turn for the hand of Psyche and are rejected. Her father, Methonos (Mr. A. Brydone), consults in his anger the oracle of Aphrodite, and Psyche is doomed to be chained to a rock at the edge of the sea awaiting the advent of a monster. The spiteful delight of her sisters, Creusa and Hyla, is well portrayed by Miss Ada Ferrar and Miss Frances Ivor. Psyche is duly chained to the rock and, with great promptitude, released by Eros; but up to the end of the act the weariness produced by the long succession of proposing Kings does not wear away. When the curtain rises there is a great and welcome change. In an enchanted garden Eros wooes Psyche, and the occasion becomes an excuse for an admirable cymbal dance by Miss Letty Lind in the character of Euphrosyne. In an evil moment Eros allows Methonos, Creusa, and Hyla, with two Kings, to be brought into the enchanted garden, and a bitter scene follows in which the sisters taunt Psyche because she avows herself the bride of Prince Nobody of No Man’s Land. On their departure Eros vows, by Styx and Acheron, to grant Psyche any prayer she may offer, and, in pursuance of the vow, reveals his divinity to her. Then the curse of blindness falls upon her. The final scene of the act is touching and effective. It evoked tumultuous applause from the crowded house. In the final act the repentance of Aphrodite is portrayed. Psyche wanders blind and groping on to the stage and dies in the arms of Eros; but in the meanwhile Aphrodite has interceded with Zeus and Psyche is brought to life, destined to be immortal, through the instrumentality of Euphrosyne, who strews her body with flowers. When the curtain dropped for the last time the audience showed its satisfaction by repeated calls for the actors and the author. On the whole, Mr. Buchanan has cause for satisfaction. Miss Harriet Jay played the part of Psyche admirably; Mr. Thalberg, aided by his looks, was a commendable Eros as soon as the play began to move. But there were plenty of mistakes. The part of Zephyros is somewhat coarsely conceived; Mr. Rignold did not improve upon the author’s conception. Errors in pronunciation were numerous, and it ought surely to have been possible to teach some of the actors beforehand that Creusa is not to be pronounced “cruiser,” that the first syllable in Eros is not quite the same as that in era. The music, by Mr. Walter Slaughter, is pleasing. In this connexion particular mention may be made of an epithalamium in the third act, and of a hymn, in the last act, composed expressly for the occasion by Dr. A. C. Mackenzie.

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The Bride of Love from The Penny Illustrated Paper (31 May, 1890 - p. 3)

     Most notable of recent matinées was the Adelphi performance of Mr. Robert Buchanan’s mythological play “The Bride of Love,” which was so favourably received that Mr. Horace Sedger is anxious to run it at the Lyric till the provinces claim Miss Ada Cavendish. This proved a musical dramatic poem of signal merit, the music being composed by Dr. A. C. Mackenzie and Mr. Walter Slaughter, the clever composer of “Marjorie.” In “The Bride of Love” that talented and favourite actress Miss Ada Cavendish—far too long absent from the stage—met with an enthusiastic reception, which evidently stimulated her to deliver the stern lines of Aphrodite with the greatest possible artistic effect. In a word, Miss Ada Cavendish imbued the part with that touch of Nature which is the triumph of Art. Mr. Thalberg, the handsome Eros, would have done well to have studied the fine elocution of Miss Cavendish, then he would not have clipped his words and bitten his sentences as he did in the early acts. When this intelligent and rising young actor got into the full fling of his love-making with the beauteous Psyche, he improved materially. The third act was the most dramatic of the piece. It was here that Miss Letty Lind, personification of the poetry of motion, danced her seductive measures as Euphrosyne, and here that some of the most charming verse was spoken, such as this gem from the lips of Psyche:—

                                               Thus is Love born—
          Not with long coaxing like a hothouse flower,
          But instantaneously—a happy star
          That bursts to life, and finds itself in heaven!
          I saw his eyes—they kindled light in mine!
          I heard his voice—the music of my dreams!
          I took his hand, I fell upon his heart;
          And pillow'd there, I knew it was my home!

Enjoying the advantage of being acted in its two principal parts by Miss Ada Cavendish and Miss Harriet Jay, “The Bride of Love” went admirably. The sparkling “Puck”-like Eridon of sprightly Miss Clara Jecks, the vivacious Hyla and Creusa of Miss Frances Ivor and Miss Ada Ferrar, and the Lycas and Atalantos of Mr. Bassett Roe and Mr. Leonard Outrum were also praiseworthy, as were the low-comedy and mirth-moving efforts of Mr. Lionel Rignold to assume the lightsome character of Zephyros.

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Miss Letty Lind - personification of the poetry of motion

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[Lyric Theatre handbill announcing the end of The Bride of Love
and the opening of Sweet Nancy on Saturday, July 12th, 1890.]

Sweet Nancy from The Scotsman (14 July, 1890 - p.8)

     LONDON, Saturday night — Mr Robert Buchanan has taken advantage of his brief tenancy of the Lyric Theatre to produce there a new comedy from his own pen, founded on Miss Rhoda Broughton’s novel called “Nancy,” withdrawing “The Bride of Love.” On Friday night he followed on with “Sweet Nancy” (as he calls his latest venture.) This evening there was a large audience, including Mr A. M. Palmer, the American manager; Miss Genevieve Ward, Miss Wallis, Miss Kate Santley, Mr Edward Terry, and other well-known people, and it proved very liberal in its applause, especially at the conclusion of the first and the second acts. The third act was found inordinately long, the performance not ending until close upon midnight; nevertheless very few hisses mingled with the cheers that followed the fall of the curtain, and so far the reception given to the comedy was favourable. The third act, however, will need to be relieved of much of its verbosity and repetition, and even then the play will not rank high in the list of Mr Buchanan’s productions. The subject is thin, and it is treated for the most part conventionally. The first act, which exhibits Nancy as the “tomboy” of a large family of children, and illustrates the processes by which she yields to the addresses of her middle-aged lover Sir Roger Tempest, is fresh and bright, but as soon as the illicit lover Frank Musgrave and the scheming “grass widow” Mrs Huntley come upon the scene, the interest begins to lag. Nancy gets jealous of Mrs Huntley. Her soldier husband is called to the wars, the lover whom Nancy has all along regarded as the suitor of her sister Barbara pays violent court to the former, the husband returns to find Nancy’s name linked slanderously with Musgrave’s, and after explanations too many and too long, Musgrave’s treachery is exposed, Nancy’s innocence vindicated, and Sir Roger reassured. All this is very jejune, besides being clumsily worked out, and it would not have been tolerated to-night but for the admirable acting of Miss Annie Hughes as Nancy. This clever young artist, delightfully naive in the opening scenes, showed herself capable later on not only of pretty pathos, but of genuine passion, and altogether enhanced her reputation very considerably. The sound method of Mr Henry Neville was of great service in making Sir Roger an impressive figure; Mr Hendrie was humorous as Nancy’s father, of whom, however, there is too much; and Mr Henry Esmond was effectively natural as Nancy’s brother, who is ensnared by the wiles of Mrs Huntley. Apart from these, the cast is not especially strong, for Miss Harriet Jay as Barbara is amateurish. Mr Bucklaw as Musgrave seems ill at ease, and Miss Ivor, clever in many things, is not well suited as the “grass widow.”

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Sweet Nancy from The Times (14 July, 1890 - p.4)

LYRIC THEATRE.

     Mr. Robert Buchanan is not as careful of his reputation as he might be. The comedy of Sweet Nancy, which he brought out upon his own responsibility at the Lyric Theatre on Saturday night, is not in his best style. Adapted from a novel of Miss Rhoda Broughton’s of the year 1873, it bears every sign of being an early an d immature work, and exhibits none of that happy blending of the arts of the playwright and the novelist which has distinguished the author’s Sophia and Clarissa. The courtship and marriage of a sedate, elderly gentleman with a young romp of 19, who knows that he has “been to school with father,” is not an interesting subject for the stage, where there beats a fiercer light than on the pages of a novel; and when the serenity of the household is disturbed by jealousies for which there is no real foundation, and which a timely and natural word of explanation would dissipate, the spectator’s patience is apt to be a little tried. Sweet Nancy is a very small story— a mere episode, indeed—beaten out into three acts of extraordinary tenuity. Here and there it contains pleasing suggestions of truth and human nature, as in the case of the tyrannical father who is followed about by a brow-beaten wife and a troop of insufferable children of all ages from 12 upwards; but, as often happens in a piece which has been derived from a book, the odds and ends of character put forward are somewhat inconsequent; they look for the most part what they are, the mere débris of a novel rather than the living material of a play. Mr. Henry Neville acts the middle-aged lover, and Miss Annie Hughes the hoyden of 19 in a pinafore. The choleric paterfamilias finds a very plausible representative in Mr. Hendrie. In an incidental part appears Miss Harriett Jay. Oddly enough, a new first piece, entitled An Old Maid’s Wooing, also deals with the unsympathetic subject of an elderly courtship.

Sweet Nancy from The Guardian (7 October, 1890 - p.8)

     Miss Harriet Jay went into management at the Royalty Theatre last evening, opening her campaign with Mr. Robert Buchanan’s adaptation of Miss Broughton’s “Nancy.” Considerable changes have been made in the third act since the play was first produced at the Lyric Theatre, and though the conclusion is still rather feebly led up to, it is at least more effective and less long-drawn than before. The play as a whole is very entertaining, and the impersonation of Sweet Nancy by Miss Annie Hughes deserves to rank among the freshest and most truthful pieces of acting which the English stage has seen of recent years. Mr. Yorke Stephens (who replaces Mr. Henry Neville) has not sufficient weight for the part of Sir Roger Tempest, and acts with no great sincerity. Otherwise the cast is as good as need be. Miss Harriet Jay’s staid, subdued Barbara afforded a valuable foil to the exuberant vitality of Miss Hughes’s Nancy.

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Sweet Nancy from The Penny Illustrated Paper (11 October, 1890 - p.9)

     The little Royalty Theatre, reopened by Mr. Robert Buchanan on Monday with his clever stage adaptation of Rhoda Broughton's novel “Sweet Nancy,” should be full to overflowing for many autumn and winter nights to come. Miss Annie Hughes, in the title-rôle of Sweet Nancy, a charming lass just out of her teens, and married to a middle-aged officer, who loves her devotedly, presents us with the freshest, most natural, and most delightful bit of girlish human nature conceivable. Don't fail to see “Sweet Nancy”—a gem of a play calculated to engross all classes of playgoers, replete with characterisation true to life, and greatly improved in its closing act since it was played at the Lyric. Mr. Yorke Stephens, in lieu of Mr. Henry Neville, enacts well the grizzled General who falls over head and ears in love with Nancy Grey. But it is the sweet, artless, bright, emotional creation of the young girl-wife by Miss Annie Hughes that should draw “All London” to the little Royalty. It is no exaggeration to say that her admirable acting is the very perfection of histrionic art—e.g., of the art that hides art. Words and expressions come spontaneously—not as if learned by rote. She is Nancy. Few prettier stage-pictures have been seen than the one in which Nancy is found seated on a high wall by her fond admirer, Sir Roger Tempest, of whom she speedily makes conquest. How Nancy’s love for her devoted husband develops after marriage, and triumphs over jealousy of the pretty grass-widow (Miss Jenny McNulty), and how her love and constancy are proof against the insidious addresses of a brother officer of the General are worked out in a series of domestic tableaux, the strong sentiment of which is judiciously relieved by the antics of Nancy’s brothers and sister, and by the selfishness of her crossgrained father. I strongly advise all who relish real dramatic art to hasten to see Miss Annie Hughes in what is undoubtedly her greatest stage triumph—her creation of bright and ingenuous “Sweet Nancy,” who has so noble a sister Barbara in Miss Harriet Jay. Well done indeed, Miss Hughes!

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Sweet Nancy from The Guardian (26 September, 1899 - p.8)

THEATRE ROYAL.

SWEET NANCY.

     Manchester playgoers already know Miss Hughes’s performance in “Sweet Nancy.” Mr. Robert Buchanan did not make a highly skilful adaptation of Miss Rhoda Broughton’s novel “Nancy.” The play is rather episodic, and unity of purpose is necessarily wanting, particularly after the first act. The points that draw us are those of the story-teller rather than of the dramatist; we see in them the worldly knowledge and sagacity of Miss Broughton, the bias of cynicism that leads her to choose situations always on the verge of the unpleasant, even though they are true and natural and common; and, lastly, we see the unconventionality. Last night we felt that we owed everything to these traits of the novelist that visibly lie behind the work of the adapter, and to Miss Hughes. Nothing else and nobody else mattered. Miss Hughes has many qualities that fit her to present the captivating mixture of Nancy’s character. Nancy is a hoyden and an altruist, a vixen and a devotee, “a pleasant little devil” (in her own phrase) and a sister of mercy. She is a mere child, and the old man who marries her is a natural and obvious foil to her gusty but affectionate caprices. Where Miss Hughes fails is that her purpose is not perfectly consistent. Occasionally a sentence drops that seems detached in tone from the rest, that strikes the ear as a little incongruous piece of insincerity—a burlesque almost of her own manner and the play. Again, a few passages seemed to us to speak rather of a loud young woman than of what Nancy was at her wildest moments—a madcap. But Miss Hughes’s performance was still very pleasant, and never more attractive than when she was being followed about by that unconventional retinue of inquisitive and inconvenient young brothers and sisters. The playing of the rest of the company wanted finish and in most cases experience.
     Miss Hughes also appeared as Nan in John Buckstone’s “Good for Nothing”—a part that has been a favourite with several actresses. Here she takes the field with Miss Louie Freear, and we cannot say justly that she gets glory by it. The part is that of a poor, towzled cockney girl. It is full of possibilities, if it is seen to be in need of genuine artistic and restrained handling. But Miss Hughes did not depend on exquisite grimace and intonation. She raised her voice, brushed her hair and her boots with the same brush, wiped her face and the floor with the same towel, and performed similar antics for about a quarter of an hour. The audience never laughed louder than at these things, which could be done by any amateur. Miss Hughes did herself infinitely greater credit in “Sweet Nancy.”

Back to the Bibliography or the Plays or Harriett Jay Reviews

[Advert for Sweet Nancy from The Scotsman (14 October, 1890 p.1)]

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The English Rose from The Penny Illustrated Paper (2 August, 1890 p.3) - preview

     “The English Rose,” the new melodrama Mr. G. R. Sims and Mr. Robert Buchanan have written for Messrs. Gatti, is the first important novelty of the early autumn in London. It is due at the Adelphi to-night. A little bird has whispered to me that “The English Rose” is as sweet as its fragrant namesake, and that it is likely to bloom for many a night to come in the bright and comfortable and well-ventilated and coolly lit theatre which MM. Gatti manage so successfully, with Mr. Sidney as the able stage-director. This “English Rose” is a winsome English gentlewoman, resident in Ireland, who wins th heart of the Irish hero. Miss Olga Brandon is the “English Rose.” I’m told there’s a splendid character in an Irish priest. Plot is exciting and sympathetic. Trust those Past Masters in the Art of Love (theatrical love, of course), MM. Sims and Buchanan, to supply plenty of love-making of the right sort for Adelphi audiences, bedad! Rely upon plenty of strong acting on the part of Mr. Leonard Boyne (who should try to be as natural as he can), Miss Mary Rorke, and Mr. Beveridge; and depend upon it, Mr. J. L. Shine (half an Irishman by birth), Mr. Lionel Rignold, Miss Clara Jecks, Mr. James East, and Miss Kate James will supply an abundance of humour, and good humour.

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The English Rose from The Times (4 August, 1890 - p.10)

ADELPHI THEATRE.

     The English playgoer has never taken a very matter-of-fact view of Ireland. He has been accustomed to think of it as a land of kneebreeches and brimless hats, sprigs of shillelagh, wakes, jigs, shebeens, and jaunting cars, with a population of black-eyed and short-skirted colleens, “bhoys” who are always “spoiling for a fight,” shovel-hatted priests, familiarly addressed as “your riverince,” and soldiers wearing the uniform of the Georges. If only for their courage in breaking with a worn-out convention, Messrs. G. R. Sims and Robert Buchanan deserve the thanks of the public in connexion with their new Irish play, paradoxically called The English Rose, which was given at the Adelphi on Saturday night. They have brought the Ireland of the stage up to date. They have swept away the comic opera personnel which has hitherto represented the Irish character. Theirs is not the Ireland of Mr. Boucicault or Charles Lever, but that of the daily newspapers or the Parnell Commission—the Ireland of judicial rents, threatening letters, police protection, moonlight outrage, and murder, side by side with a fund of law-abiding sentiment and a fair sprinkling of the heroic virtues. It may be thought that these are dangerous elements to juggle with in a popular entertainment. So they are; but the authors have taken care to hold the scale so evenly between all parties, to be so unbiased in their views, so unpolitical, in a word, that The English Rose can be applauded by Unionists and Home Rulers alike, if indeed under the spell of a strongly dramatic theme all political partisanship is not forgotten.
     Messrs. Sims and Buchanan’s story starts with the advent into the wilds of Connemara of an English landlord, Sir Philip Kingston, and his pretty niece, Ethel Kingston, known as “the English rose.” Sir Philip is a just and honourable man, who has bought the land in open market. Unfortunately, he has taken it from the popular Knight of Ballyreeny, and his chivalrous son, Harry O’Mailley, ruined Irish gentry, and this constitutes a sentimental grievance against the newcomer. But the hardship undesignedly inflicted in this way by Sir Philip is more than repaired by his niece, who falls head over ears in love with Master Harry, the young squire. There are, of course, thriftless tenants, who think Sir Philip’s exactions hard, and outrage is darkly hinted at. Again, however, the compensating element is introduced; the tenants, left to themselves, would be honest enough to let their landlord go scatheless, but their evil passions are stirred up by the agent, one Macdonnell, whose books are wrong, and who is anxious that Sir Philip, his employer, should be murdered before the defalcations come to light. Another motive operates with Macdonnell. He is himself in love with “the English rose,” and O’Mailley is therefore his hated because successful rival. Now, O’Mailley has had a personal altercation with Sir Philip, and, in the event of the latter being “removed,” a suspicion of guilt will inevitably fall upon the young squire. So if murder is planned by the tenants against their landlord it is really the work of the wicked agent, who has personal rather than agrarian ends to serve. The spectator is consequently free to sympathize either with the landlord or the tenant party, or both; the Irish difficulty in the hands of Messrs. Sims and Buchanan being reduced to the proportions of a mere misunderstanding.
     The piece is a notable achievement. It has quite a special and realistic interest for the Adelphi public, after the romantic nonsense which has hitherto passed as Irish drama, while in purely emotional and sensational elements it exhibits no falling away from the accepted standard. In truth, the authors have not diverged as widely from the beaten track of melodrama as would at first sight appear. The great scene of the second act, upon which the action hinges—namely, the murder of Sir Philip Kingston—is at once a typical Irish outrage and a melodramatic situation of approved effectiveness, with all the customary moral issues depending upon it. The dark deed is done at a spot called the Devil’s Bridge, one of the most picturesque scenes ever presented on the Adelphi stage. Sir Philip is driving home on his car—a genuine importation from Dublin. At the Devil’s Bridge the assassins, instigated by Macdonnell, lie in wait for him. The car with its occupant is being driven across the stage when bang! bang! go the rifles of the masked moonlighters. Sir Philip leaps from the car, fires his revolver at his assailants, and sinks upon the ground mortally wounded. Just then Harry O’Mailly, who has had wind of the conspiracy, and who has galloped after Sir Philip with the view of saving his life, appears upon the scene; he has a short but unavailing scuffle with one of the murderers, from whom he wrests a smoking rifle, and a minute afterwards he is discovered—by Macdonnell—with the accusing weapon in his hand, and denounced as the author of the crime. Nothing could be truer to melodramatic tradition; the situation is one that appeals to every habitué of the Adelphi. There is no need to pursue the story in detail. Harry O’Mailly is arrested in the third act. In the fourth he is tried on the charge of murder and condemned, the spectator obtaining only an exterior view of the court-house; he is rescued, however, from the soldiers and constabulary by a generous-hearted mob, who, despite the verdict, believe in his innocence, and after an exciting chase he is brought to bay in a chapel where he has sought sanctuary. Here, of course, his troubles end, for by this time one or two accomplices in the murder have confessed, and as the curtain falls it is the villanous Macdonnell who is taken prisoner.
     More interesting than the solution given to this familiar dramatic problem is the colouring of the story, where, indeed, the art of the authors and of their interpreters is seen at its best. Mr. Leonard Boyne as O’Mailly is a valiant and chivalrous hero, whom it is refreshing to behold; he is just a little too free from guile, perhaps, but the Adelphi public like their virtue, equally with their vice, to be drawn with no uncertain hand. And for this work Mr. Boyne has no superior. His accents, besides being indubitably Irish, have the true ring of passion, and the evil designs which thwart his amorous intent, even temporarily, assume, ipso facto, a double-dyed aspect. Not that Mr. Abingdon, as the representative of Macdonnell, is at all lacking in detestable characteristics. The able-bodied villany of this actor has for one or two seasons past commended itself to Adelphi audiences, and it has seldom had better opportunities of displaying itself than in the present instance, where hero and villain are enabled to play into each other’s hands with the skill of an accomplished whist-party. For the part of “the English rose,” whose alliance with the shamrock, in the person of Mr. Boyne, is probably intended to typify the Union, the management have engaged Miss Olga Brandon, a young actress whose gifts of sympathetic and tender expression are of a very high order. Like Mr. Boyne, Miss Brandon makes her first appearance at this theatre in the present play, which for that reason alone establishes a claim to the gratitude of the Adelphi public. To the character of Miss Kingston an agreeable contrast is presented by the Bridget O’Mara of Miss Mary Rorke. Another new-comer is Mr. Bassett Roe, who is cast for the part of Sir Philip Kingston, and who invests it with a manliness and a dignity of the greatest value to the author’s dramatic scheme. The rest of the cast is extremely satisfactory. Half a dozen picturesque exteriors are traversed by the action, one of the prettiest of which is a little chapel by the sea, where the drama finds it dénouement.

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The English Rose from The Penny Illustrated Paper (9 August, 1890 - p.9,10)

     WHIRROO! A romantic new Irish play, as full of honest love-making, fun, noble self-sacrifice, humour, and natural sensation as “The Colleen Bawn” and “Arrah-na-Pogue,” was greeted with laughter, tears, and enthusiasm last Saturday night by an immense audience at the Adelphi Theatre, which Messrs. A. and S. Gatti, the enterprising Managers, have transformed into the coolest, brightest, and most comfortable Home of Melodrama. Mr. George R. Sims and Mr. Robert Buchanan are to be warmly thanked for having presented us with a thoroughly wholesome and most engrossing story in “The English Rose,” and with a fresh gallery of cleverly and clearly delineated characters, whose acquaintance London playgoers will certainly be pleased to renew again and again.

     The melodious mélange of Irish airs in Mr. Henry Sprake’s capital overture at once prepares the mind for the picturesque peasantry, warm-hearted Squires, and witching Irish Lasses that abound in the powerful new Adelphi piece, albeit the play is called “The English Rose.” She needs to be a very fascinating “English Rose,” indeed—sweet, alluring, coy, and sparkling as a pretty English girl usually is—to sustain the fine part of “The English Rose,” as devised by the authors. For this “English Rose” blooming in Erin’s fair island—Ethel Kingston, the niece and ward of Sir Philip Kingston, an English landowner in Ireland—is set by the dramatists the task of overcoming (in so far as she herself is concerned) the aversion of a downfallen Irish family to English rule, and of winning the heart of Harry O’Mailley, as brave and gallant, as true and honest a Squireen as ever found delight in courting the “purty lasses” or winning a steeplechase. Truth to tell, Harry O’Mailley (enacted with consistent manliness, chivalry, and force by Mr. Leonard Boyne) loves his hunter, Taraneg, almost as well as he does the graceful and genial “English Rose”; and it chances he wins the human prize he has set his heart on gaining, and the steeplechase, in which he is matched against the designing villain, Captain Macdonell, wellnigh at one and the same time. This double victory occurs at a critical moment. Affairs have gone so badly with Captain Macdonell, Sir Philip Kingston’s agent, that he has been directed on the morrow to furnish Sir Philip with a balance-sheet of his accounts. This the agent finds so inconvenient to comply with that he does not scruple to persuade a devil-may-care ne’er-do-well, Randal O’Mara, who has a grudge against Sir Philip, to murder him; and Macdonell so manœuvres furthermore that the suspicion of having committed the murder shall fall upon his rival in love, Harry O’Mailley. It is one of the most exciting episodes where Harry O’Mailley, heartily cheered as he rides amid the crowd in his racing colours, leaping from the back of brave Taraneg, learns from little Patsie Blake that mischief is afloat, and that danger threatens Sir Philip at the Devil’s Bridge. Macdonell rushes in, and orders the arrest of Harry on a false charge of threatening to murder Sir Philip (who had insultingly forbidden his union with Ethel Kingston). But Harry O’Mailley is in the saddle in an instant, beats off his scoundrelly assailant with his whip, and gives one good lash at Taraneg, who gallops off at the top of his speed on the errand of mercy. Gallop as hard as he can, Harry is too late to save Sir Philip. Murderous Randal O’Mara, maddened by drink and the spirit of revenge, is at the Devil’s Bridge before him with his knot of “Moonlighters.” As the car drives up, Sir Philip is shot at. The Englishman springs to the ground, and discharges a revolver in the direction whence the shot came, but receives a bullet full in his chest from the rifle of Randal O’Mara. It is then that Harry O’Mailley rides up, jumps from his saddle in time to wrest the gun from the hands of the murderer, who seeks flight without being recognised. Confronted with the gun in his hand by Macdonell, Harry O’Mailley is staggered at being accused of the murder, and is smitten to the heart when his sweetheart herself, seeing the senseless body of her uncle, momentarily believes him to be guilty. Faith in his innocence is speedily restored so far as the “English Rose” is concerned. But his arrest follows. He is tried, found guilty, and sentenced to death; but is rescued by his faithful peasantry, and flies for sanctuary to his brother’s chapel, where this eventful history ends with the exculpation of the hero through the confession of the actual murderer. The family fortunes of Harry O'Mailley are at the same time restored by an American “windfall” his father brings from New York; and nothing remains for the long-suffering hero but to take “The English Rose” to his heart.

     There are in “The English Rose” many eloquent dramatic situations unrecorded in the above brief report of the plot. Infinitely touching is the unrequited love of the sweet and pretty Irish rose, Bridget O’Mara (sustained by Miss Mary Rorke with the rare and exquisitely natural art, full of emotional sympathy, to which this admirable actress has long accustomed us), for Harry O’Mailley. One of the finest scenes on the English stage is that in which this winsome Irish lass chances to meet Harry’s brother, Father Michael O’Mailley, and learns the lesson of her own life in the parable he tremulously tells her—the parable of an Irish lad (himself) who loved with all his heart the sweetest of girls (herself), but loved in vain, and so became a priest that he might forget his own sorrow in alleviating the misery of those around him. Her acting in this impressive scene alone would stamp Miss Mary Rorke as one of the best actresses of our day, and her natural intensity deservedly won instant recognition on the part of the audience, although Mr. Thalberg, the young priest, did go in too much for the “reserved force” which is utterly unsuited to the Adelphi. I have never seen Mr. Leonard Boyne act so well and manfully as he did as Harry O’Mailley. Making love like an Irishman, riding like a Nimrod, full of zest and spirit, Leonard was himself again, and fully merited to share in the triumphs of the piece. Distressed by a bad cold, Miss Olga Brandon could not do justice to her natural abilities in the captivating part of Ethel Kingston on the first night, but is doubtless stronger and better by this time. Perhaps the most powerful bit of sympathetic acting yet forthcoming from Mr. J. D. Beveridge was his pathetic farewell to his sons and friends—a hearty farewell uttered by this able actor, the Knight of Ballyveney, with emotional force of the highest order, the knowledge being kept from him all the while that at that very moment his son is under arrest on the charge of murder. Mr. Charles Dalton, too, has enhanced his reputation by the incisive power of his acting as Randal O’Mara; and Mr. Bassett Roe and Mr. W. L. Abingdon sustained the parts of Sir Philip Kingston and Captain Macdonell with adequate ability. That remarkably clever and experienced young actress Miss Kate James, who charmed us all in “London Day by Day” and “The Green Bushes,” wins all hearts by her bright intelligence as Patsie Blake, who has to sing, and sings in a most dulcet manner, a catching Irish song, which will presently be whistled all over London. That popular humorous pair, Mr. J. L. Shine and Miss Clara  Jecks, have never been more happily coupled than in “The English Rose”; the quaint love-making of Sergeant O’Reilly (who also sings, a rattling good song) and of “Louisha” rousing plenty of laughter. So with Mr. Lionel Rignold: he is vastly amusing as the Cockney sportsman, Nicodemus Dickenson, who finds Ireland too hot to hold him. It should be added that “The English Rose” has been mounted with habitual magnificence by Messrs. Gatti, is stage-managed to perfection by Mr. William Sidney, and is embellished with exceptionally beautiful scenery by Mr. Bruce Smith and Mr. W. Perkins—scenery as alluring, in fact, that the enchanting Irish tableaux should drive many holiday-makers to Ireland this autumn. In short, one and all concerned in the play, authors, actors, scenic artists, managers, and  lessees, well deserved the storm of applause which greeted the triumphant production of “The English Rose,” destined to bloom for a very long time at the Adelphi, where it will be seen again and again with fresh interest and fresh pleasure.

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The English Rose from The Scotsman (4 August, 1890 - p. 7)

LONDON THEATRICALS

                                                                                                                  LONDON, Saturday Night.
     THIS has been a busy day for the dramatic critics. This afternoon they were summoned to the Globe Theatre to witness the first performance of a new play by Mr Pierre Leclercq. This evening they have been present at the production of a new melodrama at the Adelphi—”The English Rose”—by Messrs G. R. Sims and Robert Buchanan. The former work proved very dreary, and though not pointedly condemned, was a virtual failure. “The English Rose,” on the other hand, is a great popular success. It may not have quite the staying power of some of its predecessors—even of those by less distinguished “hands.” It lacks speciality of scheme and interest, and the action is rather slight and simple for a four-act drama. The plot and characters are, however, so well adapted to the tastes of Adelphi audiences that a long career for the piece may pretty safely be prophecied. A few playgoers may have expected that when Mr Buchanan joined Mr Sims in the concoction of an Adelphi drama that there would be an attempt to diverge from the main lines hitherto laid down for such productions, and, as a matter of fact, there is a certain measure of novelty in some minor particulars of the play. Mr Charles Dalton, as an Irish tenant who is hired by a rascally land agent into killing his landlord, and Miss Mary Rorke, as the sister of this tenant, nourishing an unrequited passion for the hero, both have rôles somewhat out of the ordinary course; while the “Royal Irish” constable of Mr J. L. Shine, and the Cockney bookmaker of Mr Lionel Rignold, are also more or less strangers in the Irish drama of to-day. Messrs Sims and Buchanan have, however, very wisely not departed widely from the models supplied them by the past. In the main “The English Rose” is a typical Adelphi play. The scene is laid in Ireland, and the hero, Harry O’Mailley, is a young Irishman, eldest son of a decayed squireen. He is in love with Ethel, niece of the English Baronet, Sir Philip Kingston, who has bought the squireen’s estates. That Baronet has a land agent, one Captain MacDonell, who, besides robbing his employer, has designs on Ethel, and a proportionate hatred for Harry. The first step in his plans is to get rid of Sir Philip, and this he does by inciting Randal O’Mara, the aforesaid tenant, to murder the old man. Harry gets wind of the intention, and arrives on the spot just in time to find Sir Philip dead, and to be mistaken for the assassin. MacDonell promptly takes advantage of the latter fact, and has Harry arrested. Meanwhile, Randal, who has been severely wounded by Sir Philip in the struggle for life, goes to the village priest and confesses his crime. The priest is the younger brother of Harry, but, greatly as he would like to divulge what he knows, his lips are closed by the seal of the confessional. Here we have an effective situation—recalling, of course, the recent production at the Haymarket. Harry is tried for the murder and condemned, but is rescued by the peasants, and Randal, now on the point of death, once more confesses—this time to his sister Bridget, who is thus able to proclaim Harry’s innocence. To the personæ already named have to be added a half-witted boy, devoted to the service of the hero, and a young London girl, represented by Miss Clara Jecks, who pairs off with the “Royal Irish” constable. All the characters are handled with skill and effect, and a special sensation is created in the scene where Harry, who has just won a steeplechase, gallops off on the victorious horse to intercept the men who have joined O’Mara in his raid on Sir Philip. There are weaknesses of construction here and there, and the play is altogether too long, but the frequent strokes of humour and sentiment, homely as they are, delighted to-night’s audience, and secured the success of the drama. The comic roles; played with perfect unction by Messrs Shine and Rignold, do not exactly overflow with wit, but they nevertheless have abundant drollery. Miss Olga Brandon, as the heroine, has hardly force enough for the Adelphi stage, for which an ampler method is needed, but she may by-and-by overcome this defect. Mr Thalberg, as the young priest, may also be expected to show eventually less coldness and stiffness. In other respects, the authors are well served by their interpreters. Mr Leonard Boyne, himself an Irishman, is thoroughly well suited to the rôle of Harry, which he renders picturesque and interesting. Mr Beveridge is impressive as the squireen, and Mr Abingdon is properly vindictive as MacDonell. O’Mara is made remarkably convincing by Mr Dalton. Miss Mary Rorke as his sister is tender and sympathetic; Miss Jecks is as pleasantly humorous as ever, and Miss Kate James sings an Irish song very prettily. The scenery is always adequate, and in some instances charming. Altogether it is not surprising that the piece was saluted with enthusiasm, and that everybody concerned in it was called before the curtain at the close.

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The English Rose from Time (October, 1890)

     At the Adelphi, by Geo. R. Sims. After that, is there anything to be said? Any one with a little knowledge of stagecraft and of past Adelphi dramas could write such a burlesque as this, always provided that he brings to the task absolutely no literary qualifications whatever. And any one who held the same fortunate position as Geo. R. Sims could get the travesty of art and human nature accepted by the Brothers Gatti. The sorry thing is to see Mr. Robert Buchanan’s name mixed up with the business. He has certainly done dramatic work in the past too good for him to be punished by having his name printed cheek by jowl with Geo. R. Sims as one of the authors of “The English Rose.”
     The keynote of the play is, its usual, money, money, money. Even the virtuous hero is only able to hold up his head for his family generally when there is a millionaire in it. Mechanical use is made of the position of things in Ireland, but all the dummies that move through the play are our old friends and enemies for the thousandth time. Indeed, one cannot but think that the economical Messrs. Gatti, if they have heard about the phonograph, might, for the future utilise that instrument. Let the characters at any Adelphi drama by Geo. R. Sims speak their lines once for all into a phonograph, and thereafter have Italian Marionettes to do the acting, whilst the phonographs stuck inside them do the talking.
     It is a sorry sight to see really big artists thrown away upon a play in every sense so degrading as this. The last time we saw Miss Olga Brandon was in “Judah;” the last time we saw Mr. Leonard Boyne was in “Theodora;” and Messrs. Bassett Roe and Thalberg in “The Bride of Love.” And with these two last plays Mr. Robert Buchanan had something to do.
     Messrs. Beveridge, Abingdon, Rignold, and Shine appear to be fixtures at the Adelphi - more’s the pity. And so does Mary Rorke - most is the pity. The Adelphi would not be the Adelphi without Miss Clara Jecks, an actress entirely wasted in the hopelessly stupid comic parts - not yet phonographed. And there is one actor comparatively new to us, who, let us hope, will soon be free from the artistic miasma of the “English Rose,” and Geo. R. Sims - that is Mr. Charles Dalton. If he doesn’t become spoilt by breathing the mephitic air of the Adelphi, Mr. Dalton ought to take very high rank indeed amongst our romantic actors. Not even the commonplace play, and the commonplace writing were able to keep this actor down to their dead level. The part is not a big one in the ordinary sense, but by Mr. Dalton’s acting it was lifted a head and shoulders above all the others. It was a fine piece of work upon scanty and well-worn materials.

Alec Nelson (pseudonym of Edward Aveling)

[This review appears on the Marxist Internet Archive in the Eleanor Marx Dramatic Notes section.]

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The English Rose from The Times (28 November, 1890 - p.7)

     The English Rose having passed its 100th performance before a crowded and enthusiastic house, now takes rank as one of the most remarkable Adelphi successes of recent years. Very skilful from the literary point of view is the captivating air of romance which Messrs. Sims and Buchanan have contrived to throw over the prosaic difficulties of the Irish land question, and a curious proof of the evenhandedness of their treatment of the subject is the fact that the two most popular characters of the play should prove to be the young Irish squire represented by Mr. Leonard Boyne and the English renegade of Mr. Lionel Rignold. The ardour and spontaneity of Mr. Boyne’s performance appears to be unaffected by repetition; Mr. Rignold’s is one of the most searching and at the same time most humorous studies of Cockney rascality that the modern stage has seen.

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The English Rose from The New York Times (10 March, 1892)

AMUSEMENTS.

PROCTOR’S THEATRE.

     Mr. Charles Frohman and his excellent company having retired from Proctor’s Theatre, “The Lost Paradise” was succeeded there last night by “The English Rose,” a British melodrama put together by G. R. Sims and Robert Buchanan. The scene of this is Ireland; the heroine is an English girl, the hero an Irish boy of the long-familiar stage pattern, with a sound, warm heart, a reckless temperament, and an abundance of animal spirits. “The English Rose” is not a new play in any sense. It had a long run in London, and was also performed in Boston. Moreover, its plot and incidents are very old. The piece might have been written by Edmund Falconer.
     One of its least familiar episodes is a scene between a sentimental priest and a girl who has been crossed in love. To encourage the young woman to bear her burden of sorrow bravely, the priest tells her that he, too, has a blighted heart; that he took to the priesthood in order to forget his own sorrow in caring for the sorrows of others. The same episode served in “The Broken Seal,” lately seen at Palmer’s Theatre, and that drama, under another title, was produced in London before “The English Rose” was written.
     There are other points of resemblance between this play and “The Broken Seal.” For instance, the priest hears the confession of a murderer, for whose crime his own brother is on trial. But he does not, like Mr. Grundy’s Abbe, break his vow, and reveal the secret of the confessional.
     There was a great crowd at Proctor’s last night, and the throng in the gallery was noisy, hilarious, and apparently pleased with the play.
     Harry O’Malley, the horsey young Irishman, who defied the deadly villain so bravely, made love to the English maiden so fervently, and bore his shame, when accused of murdering the heroine’s ill-tempered uncle, so manfully, was just the sort of hero for them. Perhaps if he had been impersonated by Mr. John Glendenning, a competent actor subordinated to the rôle of the villain’s sentimental and besotted accomplice, he would have pleased them more. Mr. Aubrey Boucicault has nothing of his famous father’s equipment but the small, glittering, restless black eyes. He is a slender, boyish actor, with a dry and uninspiring manner.
     But it matters very little how such a piece is acted if the players only know their parts and their “business.” The ensemble is everything. No fault can reasonably be found with the manner in which “The English Rose” is performed.
     The pictures are good enough of their kind. The scenery is all new. The steeplechase is an exciting episode. The representation of the murder near the Devil’s Bridge by moonlight, with a cascade of real water in the background, is picturesque and thrilling. Two well-trained horses have important parts to play. The names of all the other actors in this piece have already been printed in THE TIMES. They all go through their parts with vim.

Back to the Bibliography or the Plays

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The Struggle for Life from The Times (26 September, 1890 - p.7)

AVENUE THEATRE.

     The adapters of M. Alphonse Daudet’s unfortunate play La Lutte pour la Vie have done him the signal service of cutting out his “Darwinism,” root and branch, and presenting his story as what it really is, a somewhat gloomy, but quite unpretentious, tragedy of the drawingroom type. It is still called The Struggle for Life, but this title is merely the trace of a disused faculty which has survived the evolutionary process of adaptation; it is the rudimentary tail, so to speak, which serves to remind us of the morphological changes effected in M. Daudet’s original scheme. Nothing of the Darwinian counterblast remains, and the name of the author of the “origin of Species” is not even mentioned in the dialogue. As before, the ruthless and cold-blooded Paul Astier is shot down in the last scene, but this retributory deed is no longer put forward as an application of la loi darwinienne; it is merely a rather commonplace act of poetic justice, such as the playwright was wont to permit himself long before Darwin was born. Relieved of its sham science, the piece is now at least a perfectly inoffensive production. Messrs. Robert Buchanan and F. Horner retain the French characters, and have borrowed most of M. Daudet’s ideas. They have, however, recast the story, and the action in its more compact form now passes comfortably within the space of two and a half hours. Being quite an hour shorter than the original, it would be rash to say that The Struggle for Life, apart from the Darwinian question, is not a considerable improvement upon M. Daudet. At the same time it is to be regretted that the adapters have not seen their way to brighten the action a little. The story is still, in an exceptionable degree, one of gloom and depression; for, by a curious fatality, even the one character supposed to provide “comic relief” is a young widow who is always ready to burst into tears for her “late lamented.” The really admirable features of this performance are the mounting and the acting. If the constitutional weaknesses of the play are past cure, Mr. George Alexander has spared no pains to give it a brave and attractive aspect. The gardens of the château and the salon, in which a large portion of the action passes, are among the prettiest and most tasteful “sets” to be seen on the stage. Mr. George Alexander’s own rendering of Paul Astier, with his detestable, but quite incontrovertible, doctrine that the weak must give way to the strong, will alone do much for the play; for the easy, cynical, polished, heartless man of the world of which Paul Astier is a sample has never found a better exponent. The part of the elderly wife, who is a mill stone round the neck of her too ambitious husband, was a triumph for Mme. Pasca at the Gymnase; it is now no less so to Miss Genevieve Ward, who unfalteringly sustains her share of the burden of the play. Happily, too, a very sympathetic victim of Paul Astier’s heartlessness has been found in Miss Laura Graves; while her humble sweetheart, with an unprepossessing exterior but a brave and loyal heart, is depicted with rare skill by Mr. Frederick Kerr. As the father of the hapless Lydie, Mr. Nutcombe Gould is hardly seen at his best, but the character is one which in any case is more to the taste of a French than an English audience. This the adapters have perceived. In the French play, by virtue of his paternal character, it is Vaillant who is charged with the duty of exterminating his daughter’s seducer. That duty, in the English version, is more appropriately transferred to the betrayed lover—a change which is to be credited to the authors as a distinct improvement. Mr. Chevalier plays Paul Astier’s fussy friend Chemineau, and Miss Alma Stanley, Mr. Ben Webster, and others form a picturesque group of fashionable “types.”

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The Sixth Commandment from The Times (9 October, 1890 - p.9)

SHAFTESBURY THEATRE.

     There seems to be a fatality connected with plays of Russian life; they are pervaded by a deadly dulness. Mr. Robert Buchanan’s new play, or rather adaptation, being on a Russian subject, is not exception to the rule. It is in five acts; it lasts from 8 o’clock till close upon midnight; it is peopled by the conventional characters who have so often done duty on the boards in this connexion—the reckless young Socialist, the chief of police, the quasi-official personage in variably addressed as “Excellency,” the travelling Englishman, who is storing his note-book with facts as to “Savage Russia,” and after a succession of gloomy and far-fetched incidents we come to the inevitable scene in the wilds of Siberia, with its trains of prisoners toiling along under the whip of the overseer. All this has been seen many times before, we might say ad nauseam, for the Russian drama has almost become a by-word on the stage. Mr. Robert Buchanan has been attracted to the subject by Doskoievsky’s novel “Crime and Punishment,” and upon this The Sixth Commandment, as the new play is named, is in a great measure founded. But the fact remains that, despite the freshness of his inspiration, he deals with a set of characters and a class of incidents which experience has shown to be dramatically unprofitable. Hence the undisguised discontent of the first night public with the new play. A sense of weariness set in early, steadily increased, and culminated in something like active hostility when, at the fall of the curtain, the author indiscreetly accepted a call. Mr. Robert Buchanan affixes to the playbill his usual “Author’s Note.” Let us rather have in such cases as this an “Author’s Apology.” Whatever the theme or its treatment, no play can be regarded as a source of unmixed pleasure when it drags its weary course over a period of nearly four hours, and condemns those who would see the dénouement to miss their last trains and omnibuses.
     The tone of Russian fiction is depressing, and, in this respect, Mr. Robert Buchanan has fully caught the spirit of his author. The Sixth Commandment is a story of crime and expiation. While Fedor Ivanovitch, the young Socialist, sees his sweetheart, with her mother, steeped to the lips in poverty and insulted by the overtures of the wealthy profligate, Prince Zosimoff, a money lender crosses his path with taunting and bitter words on his tongue. In a paroxysm of rage he strangles this miserable creature, a character, by the way, cleverly embodied by Mr. de Lange, and all too soon disposed of. Instantly he is overwhelmed with remorse, and, to add to his distress of mind, he finds himself, by the death of a relative, raised to a position of affluence and social consideration. To his sweetheart he returns with wealth in his hand, only to find that she has meanwhile yielded to the tempter, and his disgust with the world is further increased by the discovery that some wretched, poverty-stricken being, tired of life, has given himself up to the police as the perpetrator of the murder. This being so, it is not surprising to find that Fedor Ivanovitch makes a confession of his crime under circumstances which, if they do not immediately lead to his arrest, place him at all events in the power of his enemy, Prince Zosimoff, and that this heartless, selfish profligate, a fine specimen of what M. Daudet calls the “struggle-for-lifeur,” turns the fact to account by coercing Fedor’s sister into giving him her hand. There is here a considerable amount of dramatic suggestion. Unfortunately, it is not of an interesting, still less of an enlivening, kind, and what, perhaps, is still more fatal, the only possible solution to the dramatic problem so raised is not of a character to stir the public sympathy. Fedor Ivanovitch is sent to Siberia, and with him, on one pretext or another, go all the principal dramatis personæ. Thanks to this circumstance, Prince Zosimoff, still pursuing his evil courses, falls into Fedor Ivanovitch’s power. The young man could kill him like a dog, but he refrains; he feels that he has still to expiate his crime. Not of this opinion, however, are the authorities of St. Petersburg, for an unconditional pardon is sent to him, while by the same turn of fortune’s wheel his arch enemy is laid by the heels. At least a story of this cast ought to point some moral, but The Sixth Commandment has none, unless it be that murder is sometimes to be condoned. It would be difficult to name a more unsatisfactory piece of work than this play from any point of view, whether moral or practical. Mr. Lewis Waller enacts the sombre-minded and somewhat enigmatical hero with much point and vigour, and he has sympathetic associates in Mrs. Lancaster-Wallis as the sister and Miss E. Robins as the sweetheart, both victims of Prince Zosimoff’s unbridled passions. This last-named personage is rendered with the necessary degree of gentlemanly brutality by Mr. Herbert Waring, while M. Marius is the indispensable chief of police. No acting, however, could save the play from its all-pervading air of unreality and melodramatic bombast; and the new management of this theatre will doubtless find it to their advantage to change the bill as soon as may be.

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The Sixth Commandment from The Times (20 October, 1890 - p.4)

THE THEATRES.

     For some days it was announced that on Saturday night Miss Wallis would “put a question” to the audience at the Shaftesbury Theatre, where Mr. Robert Buchanan’s romantic drama The Sixth Commandment is being performed. Accordingly, on the fall of the curtain on Saturday night Miss Wallis came forward and said the matter she had to submit to the public was this:—Mr. Buchanan’s play had been subjected to a certain amount of criticism in some quarters, and she wished to know whether the public liked it, and whether it ought to be continued in the bill. Shouts of “Yes” went up in reply, and some little disorder ensued, in the midst of which Miss Wallis retired, apparently satisfied with the result of her experiment.

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The Sixth Commandment from Time (November, 1890 - pp.1221-1,226)

“THE SIXTH COMMANDMENT” AT THE SHAFTESBURY.

     Was there really any need for Mr. Robert Buchanan to assure us that he had not adapted Dostoievsky’s “Crime and Punishment.” Doskoievsky, as the programme hath it. His “Sixth Commandment” is melodrama of the Dick Venables type; and we fear, in spite of the brave appeal of Miss Wallis to the public, it will prove of the Dick Venables order of success.
     And the pity of it is that Mr. Buchanan had in the personages and the central incident of “Crime and Punishment” such good material to work upon, and in the company that Miss Wallis had gathered round her, such good material to work with. In the twenty-three names that appear upon the programme there is, literally, not one unknown. And most of them are names of men and women who have made great mark in the world dramatic. Herbert Waring was excellent with the impossible, and Lewis Walter excellent with the hopeless. Marius, best of stage managers, succumbed after a brave struggle with a comic policeman. Maude Brennan came back to us all very welcomely. Miss Wallis and Miss Robins did wonders with nothing. William Herbert and Marion Lea were supposed to provide the fun, as the Israelites were supposed to provide bricks. For once, Ivan Watson did not please. He should have let General Skobeloff (sic) die a natural death instead of galvanising him into unnatural life.

Alec Nelson (pseudonym of Edward Aveling)

[This review appears on the Marxist Internet Archive in the Eleanor Marx Dramatic Notes section.]

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