AT THE PLAY.
"The Riddle."
THE WOLF AND THE RIVAL SLEUTH-HOUNDS.
Mrs. Lytton Miss Irene Vanbrugh.
William Rigg Mr. Oswald Marshall.
James Stronach, K.C. Mr. Dion Boucicault.
For a woman who has barely scraped through a charge of poisoning her husband and has had to change her name and dye her hair from yellow to sable (contrary to the customary order of things) and lead "the wolf's life"—preying, that is, on innocent lambs—there might be worse hells on earth than the Sleeve Ard Hotel, Ardcastle, Co. Down, with its pleasant lake and mountain scenery, its golf and its real Irish waiter. And it was a cruel stroke of bad luck that into this quiet fold, teeming with woolly lambs of all ages in their crisp fleeces of fivers and tenners, there should have intruded (1) a vulgar blackmailer who knew all about her lurid past, and (2) a K.C. with a deadly memory for the details of causes célèbres. And (3) it was a heart-breaking coincidence that the youngest lamb of all should have borne such a striking resemblance to the lady-wolf's dead lover that she wanted to embrace him instead of fleecing him; and (4) that his betrothed should have been the god-daughter of the K.C. with the terrible recording tablets.
But what would you? We are not talking of life, but of a stage-play; and from the moment of the curtain's rise, when Miss Elsom sat down at the piano and sang, without any provocation, a little thing by Mr. Landon Ronald, for the sole benefit of the Irish waiter, to the juncture when the K.C. and the blackmailer got through a game of billiards in about four minutes, we were seldom allowed to forget that we were seeing things in a light that never was on any land but stageland.
Like so many theatrical plays it was written up to what the profession calls a "strong scene." Even the weather was pressed into a shameless collusion; for it was a wet afternoon that gave the K.C. his opportunity, as it might have been in the house on the road to Fiesole, of narrating, with lavish detail and the whole hotel for audience, the story of the murder trial in which "Mrs. Lytton" (the wolf) had figured as the prisoner; and frankly indicating that, if he had been the prosecutor, he could have established her guilt. His object, more moral than humane, and more histrionic than either, was to confound the wretched woman, to expose her identity and so, by a sudden disillusionment, to restore her lamb to the fold. The end, as it turned out for the general good, did actually seem to justify the means; but at the time it was not a very edifying exhibition.
"One likes to show the truth for the truth;
That the woman was light is very true;
But suppose she says, Never mind that youth!
What wrong have I done to you?"
"Well, anyhow" (as Browning also said) it was an effective piece of stage-work, and the result tallied with the best conventions by which youth is reclaimed from the snares of a baffled and repentant vampire.
Commercial Traveller. "What do you think of the War now, Mrs. Haggett?"
Mrs. Haggett. "Well, Mr. Smith, from what I read in the newspapers and from what Haggett tells me, I—well, I really don't know what to think."
The staginess of things infected or seemed to infect even Miss Irene Vanbrugh. In the first Act I found her a little spasmodic. And all through the play the authors were most arbitrary about the way in which they made her meet the various attacks that were sprung upon her. Thus, at a small shock, she would suddenly start and drop something; but when you expected her at least to swoon on finding that her true name had been discovered, she bore the blow with superb aplomb. And after enduring the K.C.'s interminable recitation with only here and there a sign of personal interest, she finally gave herself away in a loud and voluble protest against the idea that any woman purposing to administer poison to her husband could have been callous enough to try it first on a favourite dog.
There was inconsistency too in the pace at which the performance was conducted. All obvious things were taken quite leisurely; but the speed at which really difficult and complex details were rushed, was simply torrential.
Miss Irene Vanbrugh had her own reputation to compete with in the kind of part in which we know her so well, and to say that she was equal to it is praise enough. She was best, perhaps, because most womanly and least wolfish, in the scene of her confession. As for Mr. Dion Boucicault I would not go so far as to say that his manner deceived me into supposing that he was a real K.C. I have mixed with many real K.C.'s on the parade-ground or in the trenches (home defence), but even in the disguise of a uniform, and under conditions that might tend to obscure the outward signs of legal distinction, I have always observed a certain manner which betrayed their high calling. That manner was not very saliently marked in Mr. Dion Boucicault. But he had an exceptional chance as an actor and grasped it firmly.
The part of Mr. Rigg, blackmailer, the mystery of whose personality, aggravated by a penchant for "hovering" with intent, constituted a darker "Riddle" than that of "Mrs. Lytton," was played by Mr. Oswald Marshall with admirable ease and reserve; and Mr. Stanley Drewitt's Professor Beveridge, an antique lamb who confided to the wolf his views on "discontinuous variations," and by way of reprisal was touched by her for a couple of ten-pound notes, had a pleasant air of naïve sincerity. The others were sufficiently sound on the old accepted lines.
The dialogue had too many long sentences for spontaneity, and when I say that the humour was largely confined to the vague inconsequences of the mother-in-law-to-be you will kindly understand that it was neither profuse nor sparkling.
I shall not venture to predict the length of The Riddle's run; but I suspect that the public may rise superior to the judgment of the critics. Plays that are purely actors' plays have a habit, however familiar their formulas, of coming home to the British bosom; and this one may stick there. O. S.
Mother (to Jack, who has drawn lots with his twin-brother and won the choice). "Well, dear, can't you settle which you want?"
Jack (after deep thought). "Ye-es, Mother; I think I want the one Bobby wants."
By the courtesy of the directors of the Grand Opera Syndicate, Covent Garden Opera House will be lent during the week of July 3rd-8th for the use of those who are promoting, under the presidency of the Duchess of Somerset, "The Women's Tribute to the Soldiers and Sailors of the Empire." The scheme offers an opportunity to every woman to prove her gratitude to the men who have defended our honour and our liberty, and to assist in raising a fund which will not compete with, but be supplementary to, the recognised agencies for the care of our sailors and soldiers, particularly those who have been wholly or partially disabled on active service; bearing, in fact, the same relation to those agencies that King Edward's Hospital Fund bears to established institutions for the relief of sufferers by disease or accident.
The first three days of the Covent Garden Week will be devoted to a Patriotic Fair, with side-shows to be arranged by Mr. Louis N. Parker; and the second three days to Music and Entertainments of various kinds.
THE CINEMIC TOUCH.
The Megalo Motion Co. (U.S.A.) has the pleasure to announce the release of its latest triumph, a film version of the well-known nursery rhyme
"Mary had a Little Lamb."
Stupendous production. Genuine British classic revitalised by American methods, featuring Miss Eylash Black, the ten-thousand dollar screen star.
Short Synopsis: Mary at home. The old farm-stead. Five hundred specially trained Sussex sheep, with genuine shepherds. Mary thinking. "What is my lamb's fleece like?" Fade out, revealing real snow, two thousand tons of which have been specially imported from Nebraska for the purpose of this unique comparison.
"And EVERYWHERE that Mary went——"
For the first time these lines have obtained, thanks to American enterprise, their full interpretation. See the world-voyagings of the Heroine. Watch Mary in the gilded salons of Paris and Monte Carlo, in Thibet and the South Seas, always accompanied by her pet.
N.B.: That lamb was some goer, but the film is out to beat it.
Five million dollars were spent on this unique picture-drama; but you can see it for 6d. upwards.
Released shortly. Have your local motion-manager order
"Mary had a Little Lamb,"
and insist that he gets it.
Jilted.
"Motor driver wanted, young man, ineligible for Amy."—Shields Daily News.
From an essay on "Daylight-Saving":—
"The clock at Greenwich has not been altered because the tide and sun all work with the clock and if they were to put it on the tide might not run right when it was put back."
