It was Jubilee year, and the amiable and generous host was evidently determined to treat his guests to a novel entertainment. He wanted something that had not been done before, and instructed his friend, Rutland Barrington, to look out for an original entertainment. A suggestion came eventually from Mr. Fred Leslie, the clever actor, that the screen scene from The School for Scandal should be performed in a dumb show. Barrington and Leslie discussed the matter, and it was arranged that there should be no costumes, and that the silent actions of the performers should be described by a lecturer. Mr. Aird was delighted with the idea, and determined that the piece should be well cast. I feel sure the reader will be interested to know who took part in the performance; so I append the cast:
Sir Peter Teazle … … … Mr. ARTHUR CECIL.
Joseph Surface … … … Mr. FRED. LESLIE.
Charles Surface … … … Mr. CORNEY GRAIN.
Servant … … … … Mr. DURWARD LELY.
Lady Teazle … … … Mr. GEORGE GROSSMITH.
Lecturer … … … … Mr. RUTLAND BARRINGTON.
At the Piano … Mr. MUNROE COWARD.
The skit had been carefully rehearsed several times, and Mr. Aird ("our manager," as we called him) attended all the rehearsals in the most business-like manner, and gave some valuable suggestions. The performance, which lasted about twenty-five minutes, went with a roar of laughter from beginning to end.
I thought it stood a chance of being successful, but had no idea it would succeed so well as it did. Barrington's introduction and description were very funny. He commenced by explaining that a dramatic license had at the last moment been refused us, and we were not, therefore, permitted to speak any dialogue; but he would stand at the side and explain the plot and performance as they proceeded. He also added that another disappointment had been experienced by the non-arrival of the costumes, and apologised for the screen being a glass one, but it was the only one he could get. Although our actions were at times extravagant, still we played with great seriousness. There was no ridiculous "mugging," which always spoils a burlesque performance. There was no conventional comic walk, strut, or pantaloon gait. We discarded the usual knowing grin which always seems to say, "I'm the funny man; prepare to laugh." An audience never requires to be told in this fashion that a man is funny; they are quite capable of discovering the fact for themselves. A carroty wig and a red nose can no more make a comedian than a coat can make a man. It was the extreme seriousness of the opening scene between Leslie and Cecil, as Joseph and Sir Peter, that set the audience off at the very beginning. Fred. Leslie was simply immense. His natural look of extreme horror when Sir Peter indicated he suspected Charles Surface simply convulsed the people. Arthur Cecil was excessively funny in his relation of his quarrels with her ladyship. He was as melancholy as all the Sir Peters ever played put together; and the following was the climax:
The Lecturer (Barrington): Sir Peter will now express that in their last quarrel, Lady Teazle almost hinted that she should not break her heart if he was dead.
Arthur Cecil did a little dumb-show action, then quietly rose from his chair and lay at full length on the stage, on his back.
When the servant entered, and Charles Surface was announced, Barrington said:
"Joseph Surface says, ''Sdeath, blockhead! I'm not within.'"
[Suitable action by Leslie.]
Lecturer: Joseph Surface says he is "out for the day." Observe, ladies and gentlemen, how Joseph describes being out for the day.