As licensing day was approaching, I thought it my duty to visit the Empire Theatre of Varieties in Leicester Square, so that if needs be I could appear as a witness either for the prosecution or the defence. I am happy to say that my expedition has put me in a position to join the garrison. From first to last—from item No. 1 to item No. 10—the entertainments at the Empire are excellent. And in the general praise I am able to include "Living Pictures," which are all that even an archbishop could wish that they should be. But the chief attraction of the evening is a new ballet divertissement in one tableau, called On Brighton Pier, which has evidently been put up to teach the members of the L. C. C. how much better things are done in the Sussex watering place than in the great metropolis. According to "the Argument," when the scene opens, people are promenading in the sun, and "some gentlemen bribe the bath chairmen to give up their places in the evening so that they may flirt with the girls accompanying the invalids." But possibly as an afterthought this was thought a little too strong for the Censor of Spring Gardens. I found the "gentlemen" (most of them in high white hats), and then I discovered the bath chairmen, but there was nothing to lead me to believe that the connecting links between the two were bribery and corruption. In addition to this plat à la Don Giovanni there were an entrée in the shape of a gathering of schoolboys and schoolgirls, a soufflé in some military plus naval drill, and a pièce de résistance in a change of scene from the deck of the Pier to the depths of the sea beneath it. And here let me say that I use résistance in a purely culinary sense, as nothing could have worked more smoothly than the transformation.
"I can conscientiously recommend it."
Madame Katti Lanner, by whom the ballet has been invented, is a past mistress in the art of concocting terpsichorean trifles, and never admits any difficulty in combining the poetry of fancy with the actuality of fact. In her latest production she finds that after a while a change of scene is necessary. The public, after admiring the refreshment stalls and the distant view of the Grand Hotel, want something more. Certainly, why not? The daughter of an American millionaire, who has met a rather effeminate gentleman for the first time, overcome by the heat, falls asleep. Then, to quote from "the Argument," in her dream she sees sirens and sea-nymphs, led by the Queen Coralie (Signorina Bice Porro), unsuccessfully attempt to lure away her lover, but—awaking from her sleep—the vision disappears, and she finds him at her feet. All this was very pretty, and the scruples of the L. C. C. were considered by the lack of success of Queen Coralie to shake the swain's fidelity to his betrothed. Although evidently interested in the dances of the sirens and sea-nymphs—in spite of their treating him with little or no attention—he was ultra discreet in making the acquaintance of her submarine majesty. When the Queen stood on one toe he merely accepted her invitation to hold her hand, and thus enable her to revolve on the tip of her right toe—but went no further. And really and truly, as a gentleman, it was impossible for him to do less. At any rate his conduct was so unexceptional in Grace Dollar's dream, that his fiancée, who, according to "the Argument," had had "a slight quarrel with him," immediately sought reconciliation. Besides the submarine interlude, On Brighton Pier has a serious underplot. Senora Dolares (Signorina Cavallazzi), who has been searching all over the world for her daughter, who had been stolen from her ten years ago, is personally conducted to the pleasant promenade off the beach. Husband and wife seemingly spend the entire day on the Pier. They are here in the morning, in the sunshine, and here when the variegated lamps are lighted at night. The Senora is pleased at nothing. She regards the vagaries of a negro comedian with indifference, and does not even smile at the gambols of a clown dog. Suddenly a girl called Dora appears. And now once more to quote the Argument. "Dora plays upon her mandoline some melody the Senora Dolares recognises. She quickly asks the girl where she first heard it; and Dora says that a lady used to sing it to her in her early days and that the same lady gave her a cross, which she produces. The Senora, by means of the cross, recognises in Dora her long-lost child. Amid great excitement she leads her tenderly away [in the direction of the Hotel Metropole], and, after some further dances, the curtain falls." Nothing can be prettier, and more truly moral, than On Brighton Pier. I can conscientiously recommend it to every member of the L. C. C.; some will smile at the eccentric dance of Major Spooner (Mr. Will Bishop); others will grin at the more boisterous humour of Christopher Dollar (Mr. John Ridley); and all must weep at the depressed velvet coat of Don Diego (Mr. George Ashton), the husband of Senora Dolares, in search of a (comparatively) long-lost daughter. Judging from the reception the ballet received the other evening, I fancy that On Brighton Pier will remain on London boards for any length of time.
GOSSIP WITHOUT WORDS.
["Autolycus," in the Pall Mall Gazette of October 11, inveighs against the necessity of conversation between friends:—"If I find a girl nice to look at, and she has taken great pains to make herself nice to look at, why cannot we pass the evening, I looking at her, and she being looked at? But no, we must talk.">[
Undoubtedly, if conversation were abolished, "short stories" in the future would be still further abbreviated. Here is a beautiful specimen of blank—or Anthony Hope-less—dialogue:—
THE NELLY NOVELETTES.