Part 1

Produced by Paul Haxo with special thanks to the Internet Archive and the Library of Congress.

COMEDIETTAS AND FARCES

BY

JOHN MADDISON MORTON

NEW YORK

HARPER & BROTHERS, PUBLISHERS

1886

PREFACE.

I HAVE been asked to write a few words of Preface to this little book of Plays. I may state that two are original; for the remainder (being too old an offender in this respect to do otherwise), I thankfully admit my indebtedness to French material, claiming, however, for myself, considerable alterations in plot, situations, etc., and complete originality of dialogue.

I beg to call the attention of Amateurs to these pieces--they having been written by me with a special view to Private performance.

JOHN MADDISON MORTON

CONTENTS.

PAGE

BOX AND COX 11

FIRST COME, FIRST SERVED 35

PEPPERPOT'S LITTLE PETS 61

AFTER A STORM COMES A CALM 85

EXPRESS! 106

TAKEN FROM THE FRENCH 125

DECLINED--WITH THANKS 147

JOHN MADDISON MORTON.

THE present generation is familiar enough with "Box and Cox," that best and brightest of good old English farces, and hundreds of other plays of the same kind, that were written years ago by one of the driest of humorists and most genial of gentlemen; but few young play-goers, I take it, are aware how much the stage owes to John Maddison Morton. Of the form and features of one of the most prolific writers for the stage, I believe many of my own contemporaries to be absolutely ignorant. They know little of his antecedents or history, and yet they, and their fathers before them, have laughed right merrily over the quips and cranks, the quaint turns of expression, the odd freaks of humor that distinguished a writer of fun belonging to the old school. No one has ever filled the place left vacant by John Maddison Morton. Managers for many years past have assumed that the public does not want farces, and are content to tolerate badly-acted rubbish before the play of the evening begins. But a strong reaction is setting in. The pit and gallery are not content any longer to remain open-mouthed while the scenes of the play of the evening are being set, or to be deluded into applauding the silly stuff that is nowadays served up as farce, and in which the principal actors and actresses do not condescend to appear. Why, when I first began to consider myself a regular play-goer, some five-and-twenty years ago, when I struggled with the young men of my time into the pit, I could see, quite irrespective of the play of the evening, Webster at the Adelphi in "One Touch of Nature," say at seven o'clock in the evening; Toole and Paul Bedford and Selby and Billington and Bob Romer, always in some favorite farce that began or ended the evening's amusement, at the Haymarket; Buckstone, old Rogers, and Chippendale in such plays as "The Rough Diamond," at the Haymarket, with an after-farce for Compton, Howe, and Walter Gordon; and at the Strand such excellent little plays as "Short and Sweet" or the "Fair Encounter," in which we were sure to find Jemmy Rogers and Johnnie Clarke, and most probably Belford, Marie Wilton, Fanny Josephs, and Miss Swanborough. In those days artists were not above their business, which was, and ever should be, to amuse the public; they were not taken up and patronized by society; they did not lecture their audiences, but were modest, hard-working, and unassuming. There were no young fops in the ranks of the dramatic profession with extravagant salaries and diminutive talent, and the young ladies who adopted the profession had to work, and work hard, in order to obtain a name. Farces were then well acted, for the simple reason that the best members of the company played in them. It was worth paying for the pit at half or full price when Robson was set down for "Retained for the Defence" or "Boots at the Swan," and when Leigh Murray, most accomplished of comedians, appeared in "His First Champagne."

John Maddison Morton was born on January 3, 1811, at the lovely Thames-side village of Pangborne, above Reading. His father was the famous dramatist Thomas Morton, author of "Speed the Plough," "Town and Country," "The Way to get Married," "Secrets worth Knowing," "Cure for the Heartache," "School of Reform," etc. The elder Morton resided at Pangborne for thirty-five years, and only removed to London in 1828. It must have been on the lovely reaches, back-waters, and weirs of the lovely Thames that the future author of "Box and Cox" acquired such a love of angling, and became so enthusiastic and excellent a fisherman. A few years ago I was in the habit of meeting Maddison Morton at the hospitable table of my old friend Robert Reece. They were both members of the old Dramatic Authors' Society, and on committee days Reece would bring the jovial dramatist home to dinner, when, over a glass of old port-wine, and with frequent intervals of snuff-taking, he would delight us with stories of actors, and many adventures with the rod and line. In fact, he told us that he devoted the best part of his after-life to two principal objects, "Fishing and Farce-writing."

But to return to his younger days. He was educated in Paris and Germany from 1817 to 1820. After that he went to school at Islington for a short time, and from 1820 to 1827 we find the future dramatist at Dr. Richardson's celebrated seminary at Clapham. Under the roof of the famous author of the English dictionary he found, and soon took for companions, Julian Young, Charles James Mathews, John Kemble, Henry Kemble, John Liston, Dick Tattersall, young Terry, son of Terry the actor, whose widow subsequently married the lexicographer, Dr. Richardson. In 1832 Maddison Morton was appointed to a clerkship in Chelsea Hospital by Lord John Russell, but he did not appear to relish the desk any more than his subsequent friends, W. S. Gilbert and Robert Reece. He did not wait patiently for a pension, like Tom Taylor, Anthony Trollope, etc., but got sick of government office-work in 1840, when he resigned his situation.

It was in April, 1835, that Maddison Morton produced his first farce at the little theatre in Tottenham Street destined afterwards to flourish as the Prince of Wales Theatre, and to be the nursery of Robertsonian comedy. The farce was called "My First Fit of the Gout," and the principal parts were played by Wrench, Morris Barrett, and Mrs. Nisbett. As I have said before, Maddison Morton lived in the happy days when farces were popular, when programmes were ample, and when actors were not ashamed of their work. Among the cultivated artists who have played in Maddison Morton's farces are the elder Farren, Liston, Keeley, Buckstone, Wright, Compton, Harley, Robson, Mrs. Glover, Mrs. Stirling, Charles Mathews, and many more of our own day, such as Toole, Howe, etc.

I once asked Maddison Morton some particulars concerning his subsequent career as a dramatist, when he observed, quaintly enough, "My dear boy, it would never do for me to blow my own trumpet. In the first place, I haven't got one, and I am sure I could not blow it if I had." It is sometimes brought as a charge against Maddison Morton that his plays are taken from the French, and as such are devoid of original merit. But how little such as these understand Maddison Morton or his incomparable style. He may have borrowed his plots from France, but what trace of French writing is to be found in the immortal "Box and Cox," or "Woodcock's Little Game?" "Box and Cox" is taken from two French farces, one called "Frisette," and the other "Une Chambre à Deux Lits," but the writing of the farce as much belongs to the man, and is as distinctly original and personal to him as anything ever said or written by Henry James Byron. For my own poor part, I consider that Maddison Morton is funnier than any writer for the stage in his day. It is the kind of dry, sententious humor that tickles one far more than the extravagances, the puns, and the strained tomfooleries of the modern writer of burlesque--the very burlesque that Maddison Morton considers was the death-blow to the old-fashioned English farce. Players may yet find it profitable to revive the taste for short farces, and they need not hesitate to do so because several excellent and funny plays by the author of "Box and Cox" remain unused. Benjamin Webster told Maddison Morton, not long before his death, that he had made more money by farces than by any other description of drama. This is not difficult to account for. The author was certainly not overpaid; the farces were evidently well acted; it cost next to nothing to produce them, and if successful, the world and his wife went to see them.

Writing to a friend the other day, Maddison Morton observes: "The introduction of 'Burlesque' gave the first 'knock-down blow' to the old-fashioned farce. I hoped against hope that its popularity would return, and that some employment might still be found for my pen. I was disappointed; and as the only means of discharging liabilities which I had in the mean time unavoidably contracted, I was compelled to part with my copyrights, the accumulation of a life's laborious and not unsuccessful work."

It is interesting to note that Maddison Morton's "Box and Cox" was the pioneer of the movement that resulted in the literary and musical partnership of Gilbert and Sullivan. If it had not been for Burnand's "Cox and Box," in all probability the "Sorcerer" and the rest of the operas would never have been written. And happily the reign of Maddison Morton is not yet over. On Monday, December 7, 1885, was produced at Toole's Theatre a three-act farce called "Going It," that kept the house in a continual roar of laughter. It is in the old vein, bright, witty, and bristling with verbal quip. When the farce was over the call for "author" was raised, but no one imagined that it would be responded to. To the surprise of all, Mr. Toole led on an elderly gentleman of the old school, prim, neat, well set up, and rosy-cheeked as a winter apple. This was Maddison Morton. At last the young play-goer had seen the author of "Box and Cox."

In the year 1881, on the nomination of her Majesty, this great and accomplished gentleman, who never mixed in Bohemian or literary society, was appointed a "poor brother of the Charter House." Who that has read Thackeray is not familiar with the fine old hospital of "Greyfriars," and its pleasant old "codds," under whose shadow and in whose society Colonel Newcome breathed his last, and said "Adsum." Here in this pleasant retreat, quiet and retired although in the heart of the busiest part of the city, Maddison Morton met another "brother," John A. Heraud, a dramatist and dramatic critic who had often sat in judgment on Morton's plays. What chats about old times they must have within those venerable walls that circle round the poet-dramatist and the dramatic farce-writer. "Here," writes Maddison Morton, in his well-known cheerful and contented frame of mind, "I shall doubtless spend the short time I may have to live, and then be laid in the quiet little church-yard at Bow--not, I hope, entirely 'unwept, unhonored, nor unsung.'"

Good, kindly, gentle heart thus to speak with such fervor and such faith in the long evening of your days! Shut up in your cloistered home, the hearts of those who had the honor and pleasure of knowing you often go out to you! And on the stage the laughter evoked by your fanciful wit, and the true humor that sprung from your merry heart, will soothe you and delight many more who honor your excellent name.

CLEMENT SCOTT.

BOX AND COX.

_In One Act._

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.

JOHN BOX, _a Journeyman Printer._

JAMES COX, _a Journeyman Hatter._

MRS. BOUNCER.

COSTUMES.

BOX.--Small swallow-tailed black coat, short buff waistcoat, light drab trousers, short, turned up at bottom, black stockings, white canvas boots with black tips, cotton neck-cloth, shabby black hat.

COX.--Brown Newmarket coat, long white waistcoat, dark plaid trousers, boots, white hat, black stock.

MRS. BOUNCER.--Colored cotton gown, apron, cap, etc.

EXITS AND ENTRANCES.--R. means _Right;_ L., _Left;_ R. D., _Right Door;_ L. D., _Left Door;_ S. E., _Second Entrance;_ U. E., _Upper Entrance;_ M. D., _Middle Door;_ F., _the Flat;_ D. F., _Door in Flat._

RELATIVE POSITIONS.--R. means _Right;_ L., _Left;_ C., _Centre;_ R. C., _Right of Centre;_ L. C., _Left of Centre._

SCENE.--_A room decently furnished. At C. a bed, with curtains closed; at L. C. a door; at L. 3d E. a door; at L. S. E. a chest of drawers; at back, R., a window; at R. 3d E. a door; at R. S. E. a fireplace, with mantle-piece, table, and chairs, and a few common ornaments on chimney-piece. COX, dressed, with the exception of his coat, is looking at himself in a small looking-glass, which is in his hand._

COX. I've half a mind to register an oath that I'll never have my hair cut again! (_His hair is very short._) I look as if I had just been cropped for the militia. And I was particularly emphatic in my instructions to the hair-dresser only to cut the ends off. He must have thought I meant the other ends! Never mind--I sha'n't meet anybody to care about so early. Eight o'clock, I declare! I haven't a moment to lose. Fate has placed me with the most punctual, particular, and peremptory of hatters, and I must fulfil my destiny. (_Knock at L. D._) Open locks, whoever knocks!

_Enter MRS. BOUNCER, L._

MRS. B. Good-morning, Mr. Cox. I hope you slept comfortably, Mr. Cox?

COX. I can't say I did, Mrs. B. I should feel obliged to you if you could accommodate me with a more protuberant bolster, Mrs. B. The one I've got now seems to me to have about a handful and a half of feathers at each end, and nothing whatever in the middle.

MRS. B. Anything to accommodate you, Mr. Cox.

COX. Thank you. Then perhaps you'll be good enough to hold this glass while I finish my toilet?

MRS. B. Certainly (_holding glass before COX, who ties his cravat_). Why, I do declare, you've had your hair cut.

COX. Cut! It strikes me I've had it mowed! It's very kind of you to mention it, but I'm sufficiently conscious of the absurdity of my personal appearance already. (_Puts on his coat._) Now for my hat. (_Puts on his hat, which comes over his eyes._) That's the effect of having one's hair cut. This hat fitted me quite tight before. Luckily I've got two or three more. (_Goes in at L., and returns with three hats of different shapes, and puts them on, one after the other--all of which are too big for him._) This is pleasant! Never mind. This one appears to me to wabble about rather less than the others. (_Puts on hat._) And now I'm off! By-the-bye, Mrs. Bouncer, I wish to call your attention to a fact that has been evident to me for some time past--and that is, that my coals go remarkably fast--

MRS. B. Lor, Mr. Cox!

COX. It is not the case only with the coals, Mrs. Bouncer, but I've lately observed a gradual and steady increase of evaporation among my candles, wood, sugar, and lucifer-matches.

MRS. B. Lor, Mr. Cox! you surely don't suspect me?

COX. I don't say I do, Mrs. B.; only I wish you distinctly to understand that I don't believe it's the cat.

MRS. B. Is there anything else you've got to grumble about, sir?

COX. Grumble! Mrs. Bouncer, do you possess such a thing as a dictionary?

MRS. B. No, sir.

COX. Then I'll lend you one; and if you turn to the letter G, you'll find "Grumble, verb neuter--to complain without a cause." Now, that's not my case, Mrs. B.; and now that we are upon the subject, I wish to know how it is that I frequently find my apartment full of smoke?

MRS. B. Why--I suppose the chimney--

COX. The chimney doesn't smoke tobacco. I'm speaking of tobacco-smoke, Mrs. B. I hope, Mrs. Bouncer, _you're_ not guilty of cheroots or Cubas?

MRS. B. Not I, indeed, Mr. Cox.

COX. Nor partial to a pipe?

MRS. B. No, sir.

COX. Then, how is it that--

MRS. B. Why--I suppose--yes--that must be it--

COX. At present I am entirely of your opinion--because I haven't the most distant particle of an idea what you mean.

MRS. B. Why, the gentleman who has got the attics is hardly ever without a pipe in his mouth--and there he sits, with his feet upon the mantle-piece--

COX. The mantle-piece! That strikes me as being a considerable stretch, either of your imagination, Mrs. B., or the gentleman's legs. I presume you mean the fender or the hob.

MRS. B. Sometimes one, sometimes t'other. Well, there he sits for hours, and puffs away into the fireplace.

COX. Ah, then you mean to say that this gentleman's smoke, instead of emulating the example of all other sorts of smoke, and going _up_ the chimney, thinks proper to effect a singularity by taking the contrary direction?

MRS. B. Why--

COX. Then, I suppose, the gentleman you are speaking of is the same individual that I invariably meet coming up-stairs when I'm going down, and going down-stairs when I'm coming up!

MRS. B. Why--yes--I--

COX. From the appearance of his outward man, I should unhesitatingly set him down as a gentleman connected with the printing interest.

MRS. B. Yes, sir--and a very respectable young gentleman he is.

COX. Well, good-morning, Mrs. Bouncer.

MRS. B. You'll be back at your usual time, I suppose, sir?

COX. Yes--nine o'clock. You needn't light my fire in future, Mrs. B., I'll do it myself. Don't forget the bolster! (_Going, stops._) A halfpenny worth of milk, Mrs. Bouncer; and be good enough to let it stand--I wish the cream to accumulate.

[_Exit at L. C._

MRS. B. He's gone at last! I declare I was all in a tremble for fear Mr. Box would come in before Mr. Cox went out. Luckily, they've never met yet; and what's more, they're not very likely to do so; for Mr. Box is hard at work at a newspaper office all night, and doesn't come home till the morning, and Mr. Cox is busy making hats all day long, and doesn't come home till night; so that I'm getting double rent for my room, and neither of my lodgers is any the wiser for it. It was a capital idea of mine--that it was! But I haven't an instant to lose. First of all, let me put Mr. Cox's things out of Mr. Box's way. (_She takes the three hats, COX'S dressing-gown and slippers, opens door at L. and puts them in, then shuts door and locks it._) Now, then, to put the key where Mr. Cox always finds it. (_Puts the key on the ledge of the door, L._) I really must beg Mr. Box not to smoke so much. I was so dreadfully puzzled to know what to say when Mr. Cox spoke about it. Now, then, to make the bed; and don't let me forget that what's the head of the bed for Mr. Cox becomes the foot of the bed for Mr. Box--people's tastes do differ so. (_Goes behind the curtains of the bed, and seems to be making it; then appears with a very thin bolster in her hand._) The idea of Mr. Cox presuming to complain of such a bolster as this! (_She disappears again behind curtains._)

BOX (_without_). Pooh--pooh! Why don't you keep your own side of the staircase, sir? (_Enters at back, dressed as a printer. Puts his head out at door again, shouting._) It was as much your fault as mine, sir! I say, sir--it was as much your fault as mine, sir!

MRS. B. (_emerging from behind the curtains of bed_). Lor, Mr. Box! what is the matter?

BOX. Mind your own business, Bouncer!

MRS. B. Dear, dear, Mr. Box! what a temper you are in, to be sure! I declare you're quite pale in the face!

BOX. What color would you have a man be who has been setting up long leaders for a daily paper all night?

MRS. B. But, then, you've all the day to yourself.

BOX (_looking significantly at MRS. BOUNCER_). So it seems! Far be it from me, Bouncer, to hurry your movements, but I think it right to acquaint you with my immediate intention of divesting myself of my garments, and going to bed.

MRS. B. Oh, Mr. Box! (_going_).

BOX. Stop! Can you inform me who the individual is that I invariably encounter going down-stairs when I'm coming up, and coming up-stairs when I'm going down?

MRS. B. (_confused_). Oh--yes--the gentleman in the attic, sir.

BOX. Oh! There's nothing particularly remarkable about him, except his hats. I meet him in all sorts of hats--white hats and black hats--hats with broad brims and hats with narrow brims--hats with naps and hats without naps--in short, I have come to the conclusion that he must be individually and professionally associated with the hatting interest.

MRS. B. Yes, sir. And, by-the-bye, Mr. Box, he begged me to request of you, as a particular favor, that you would not smoke quite so much.

BOX. Did he? Then you may tell the gentle hatter, with my compliments, that if he objects to the effluvia of tobacco, he had better domesticate himself in some adjoining parish.

MRS. B. Oh, Mr. Box! you surely wouldn't deprive me of a lodger? (_pathetically_).

BOX. It would come to precisely the same thing, Bouncer; because if I detect the slightest attempt to put my pipe out, I at once give you warning that I shall give you warning at once.

MRS. B. Well, Mr. Box--do you want anything more of me?

BOX. On the contrary--I've had quite enough of you!

MRS. B. Well, if ever! What next, I wonder?

[_Goes out at L. C., slamming door after her._

BOX. It's quite extraordinary, the trouble I always have to get rid of that venerable female! She knows I'm up all night, and yet she seems to set her face against my indulging in a horizontal position by day. Now, let me see--shall I take my nap before I swallow my breakfast, or shall I take my breakfast before I swallow my nap--I mean, shall I swallow my nap before-- No; never mind! I've got a rasher of bacon somewhere (_feeling in his pockets_). I've the most distinct and vivid recollection of having purchased a rasher of bacon-- Oh, here it is (_produces it, wrapped in paper, and places it on table_); and a penny roll. The next thing is to light the fire. Where are my lucifers? (_Looking on mantle-piece, R., and taking box, opens it._) Now, 'pon my life, this is too bad of Bouncer--this is, by several degrees, too bad! I had a whole boxful three days ago, and now there's only one! I'm perfectly aware that she purloins my coals and my candles and my sugar, but I did think--oh, yes, I did think that my lucifers would be sacred! (_Takes candlestick off the mantle-piece, R., in which there is a very small end of candle; looks at it._) Now I should like to ask any unprejudiced person or persons their opinion touching this candle. In the first place, a candle is an article that I don't require, because I'm only at home in the day-time; and I bought this candle on the first of May--Chimney-sweepers' Day--calculating that it would last me three months, and here's one week not half over, and the candle three parts gone! (_Lights the fire; then takes down a gridiron which is hanging over the fireplace, R._) Mrs. Bouncer has been using my gridiron! The last article of consumption that I cooked upon it was a pork-chop, and now it is powerfully impregnated with the odor of red herrings! (_Places gridiron on fire, and then with fork lays rasher of bacon on the gridiron._) How sleepy I am, to be sure! I'd indulge myself with a nap, if there was anybody here to superintend the turning of my bacon. (_Yawning again._) Perhaps it will turn itself. I must lie down--so, here goes. (_Lies on the bed, closing the curtains round him. After a short pause--_

_Enter COX, hurriedly, L. C._