"JUST TO OBLIGE BENSON."
Dear Mr. Punch,—It was not a very happy thought to send me to the Globe Theatre at this festive season of the year to witness the representation of a piece, called by the management, for some reason or other, "a faërie comedy." Now, I like a Burlesque, and I am fond of a Pantomime, but a mixture of blank verse and tom-foolery is rather too much for me, especially when that mixture is not redeemed by a plot of any interest. Nothing can be more absurd than the story (save the mark!) told in this particularly uninteresting play. It appears that a "Duke!" of Athens married the Queen of the Amazons, and during the nuptial rejoicings ordered the daughter of one of his subjects to "die the death" unless she transferred her affections from her own true love to a gentleman of her father's choice. The gentleman of her father's choice was beloved in his turn by a school friend of his would-not-be betrothed, and the play which lasted from eight until nearly midnight, was devoted to setting this simple (in more senses than one) imbroglio right. By a clumsy device, Oberon King of the Fairies bewitched the two pairs of lovers during their sleep in a wood, so that one lady had two admirers and the other none. All that was needed to bring the piece to a conclusion was to have another exercise of magic when the couples paired off, of course, in a manner calculated to give satisfaction to their friends and relations. This was the entire plot. There was now and again some attempts to turn amateur theatricals into feeble ridicule by the introduction of a party of village histrions, who were allowed to "clown" to their heart's content; and voilà tout!
The mounting is excellent. Nothing better than "a Wood near Athens," painted by Mr. Hemsley, has been seen since Professor Herkomer startled the world with his representation of village life at Bushey. The music, too (chiefly from the works of Mendelssohn), is always charming, and frequently appropriate. Moreover, Mr. Benson, no doubt feeling that his author required every possible support, has introduced a number of pretty dances, executed by comely maidens of ages varying from seven to (say) seven-and-twenty.
Of course, such a play required very ordinary acting. Mr. Benson was, on the whole, a gentlemanly Lysander, Mr. Otho Stuart a dignified Oberon, and Mr. Stephen Phillips quite the best of the village histrions. Miss Grace Geraldine was also fanciful in the rôle of a sort of gnome. But, allowing for the music, and the scenery, and the acting, the piece itself was unquestionably dull. And now, having given you my unbiassed opinion, I beg to sign myself, Your Unprejudiced Contributor.
P.S.—I am told that the author of A Midsummer's Dream wrote a number of other plays of considerable merit. This I challenge, the more especially as those who swear by Mr. William Shakspeare candidly admit that his name is a deterrent rather than an attraction on a play-bill.
1890 Almanack for Funny Dogs.—Evidently "Whitty Curs' Almanack."