Chapter 4

The forgotten plays put into the still on this occasion were "The Discovery," by Mrs. Frances Sheridan, and "The Tender Husband," by Sir Richard Steele. From one, that portion which relates to the "City," is taken; the "Court" end of the piece belonging to the other. In fact, even in their modern dress, they are two distinct dramas, only both are played at once--a wholesome economy being thus exercised over time, actors, scenery, and decorations: the only profusion required is in the article of patience, of which the audience must be very liberal.

The courtiers consist of _Lord Dangerfield_, who although, or--to speak in a sense more strictly domestic--because, he has got a wife of his own, falls in love with the young spouse of young _Lord Whiffle_; then there is _Sir Paladin Scruple_, who, having owned to eighteen separate tender declarations during fourteen years, dangles after _Mrs. Charmington_, an enchanting widow, and _Louisa Dangerfield_, an insipid spinster, the latter being in love with his son.

The citizens consist of the _famille Bearbinder_, parents and daughter, together with _Sir Hector Rumbush_ and a clownish son, who the former insists shall marry the sentimental _Barbara Bearbinder_, but who, accordingly, does no such thing.

The dialogues of these two "sets" go on quite independent of each other, action there is none, nor plot, nor, indeed, any progression of incident whatever. _Lord Dangerfield_ tells you, in the first scene, he is trying to seduce _Lady Whiffle_, and you know he won't get her. Directly you hear that _Sir Paladin Scruple_ has declared in favour of _Miss Dangerfield_, you are quite sure she will marry the son; in short, there is not the glimmer of an incident throughout either department of the play which you are not scrupulously prepared for--so that the least approach to expectation is nipped in the bud. The whole fable is carefully developed after all the characters have once made their introduction; hence, at least three of the acts consist entirely of events you have been told are going to happen, and of the fulfilment of intentions already expressed.

One character our enumeration has omitted--that of _Mr. Winnington_, who being a lawyer, stock and marriage broker, is the bosom friend and confident of every character in the piece, and, consequently, is the only person who has intercourse with the two sets of characters. This is a part patched up to be the sticking plaster which holds the two plots together---the flux that joins the _mettle_some _Captain Dangerfield_ (son of the Lord) to the sentimental _citoyenne_ _Barbara Bearbinder_. In fact, _Winnington_ is the author's go-between, by which he maketh the twain comedies one--the Temple Bar of the play--for he joineth the "Court" with the "City."

So much for construction: now for detail. The legitimate object of comedy is the truthful delineation of manners. In life, manners are displayed by what people do, and by what they say. Comedy, therefore, ought to consist of action and dialogue. ("Thank you," exclaims our reader, "for this wonderful discovery!") Now we have seen that in "Court and City" there is little action: hence it may be supposed that the brilliancy of the dialogue it was that tempted the author to brush away the well-deserved dust under which the "Discovery" and the "Tender Husband" have been half-a-century imbedded. But this supposition would be entirely erroneous. The courtiers and citizens themselves were but dull company: it was chiefly the acting that kept the audience on the benches and out of their beds.

Without action or wit, what then renders the comedy endurable? It is this: all the parts are individualities--they speak, each and every of them, exactly such words, by which they give utterance to such thoughts, as are characteristic of him or herself, each after his kind. In this respect the "Court and City" presents as pure a delineation of manners as a play without incident can do--a truer one, perhaps, than if it were studded with brilliancies; for in private life neither the denizens of St. James's, nor those of St. Botolph's, were ever celebrated for the brilliancy of their wit. Nor are they at present; if we may judge from the fact of Colonel Sibthorp being the representative of the one class, and Sir Peter Laurie the oracle of the other.

This nice adaptation of the dialogue to the various characters, therefore, offers scope for good acting, and gets it. Mr. Farren, in _Sir Paladin Scruple_, affords what tradition and social history assure us is a perfect portraiture of an old gentleman of the last century;--more than that, of a singular, peculiar old gentleman. And yet this excellent artist, in portraying the peculiarities of the individual, still preserves the general features of the class. The part itself is the most difficult in nature to make tolerable on the stage, its leading characteristic being wordiness. _Sir Paladin_, a gentleman (in the ultra strict sense of that term) seventy years of age, is desirous of the character of _un homme de bonnes fortunes_. Cold, precise, and pedantic, he tells the objects--not of his flame--but of his declarations, that he is consumed with passion, dying of despair, devoured with love--talking at the same time in parenthetical apologies, nicely-balanced antitheses, and behaving himself with the most frigid formality. His bow (that old-fashioned and elaborate manual exercise called "making a leg") is in itself an epitome of the manners and customs of the ancients.

Madame Vestris and Mr. C. Matthews played _Lady_ and _Lord Whiffle_--two also exceedingly difficult characters, but by these performers most delicately handled. They are a very young, inexperienced (almost childish), and quarrelsome couple. Frivolity so extreme as they were required to represent demands the utmost nicety of colouring to rescue it from silliness and inanity. But the actors kept their portraits well up to a pleasing standard, and made them both quite _spirituels_ (more French--that _Morning Post_ will be the ruin of us), as well as in a high degree natural.

All the rest of the players, being always and altogether actors, within the most literal meaning of the word, were exactly the same in this comedy as they are in any other. Mr. Diddear had in _Lord Dangerfield_ one of those parts which is generally confided to gentlemen who deliver the dialogue with one hand thrust into the bosom of the vest--the other remaining at liberty, with which to saw the air, or to shake hands with a friend. Mr. Harley played the part of Mr. Harley (called in the bills _Humphrey Rumbush_) precisely in the same style as Mr. Harley ever did and ever will, whatever dress he has worn or may wear. The rest of the people we will not mention, not being anxious for a repetition of the unpleasant fits of yawning which a too vivid recollection of their dulness might re-produce. The only merit of "Court and City" being in the dialogue--the only merit of that consisting of minute and subtle representations of character, and these folks being utterly innocent of the smallest perception of its meaning or intention--the draughts they drew upon the patience of the audience were enormous, and but grudgingly met. But for the acting of Farren and the managers, the whole thing would have been an unendurable infliction. As it was, it afforded a capital illustration of

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TEN THOUSAND A-YEAR!

The dramatic capabilities of "Ten Thousand a-Year," as manifested in the vicissitudes that happen to the Yatton Borough (appropriately recorded by Mr. Warren in _Blackwood's Magazine_), have been fairly put to the test by a popular and _Peake_-ante play-wright. What a subject! With ten thousand a-year a man may do anything. There is attraction in the very sound of the words. It is well worth the penny one gives for a bill to con over those rich, euphonious, delicious syllables--TEN THOUSAND A-YEAR! Why, the magic letters express the concentrated essence of human felicity--the _summum bonum_ of mortal bliss!

_Charles Aubrey_, of Yatton, in the county of York, Esquire, possesses ten thousand a-year in landed property, a lovely sister in yellow satin, a wife who can sing, and two charming children, who dance the mazourka as well as they do it at Almack's, or at Mr. Baron Nathan's. As is generally the case with gentlemen of large fortunes, he is the repository of all the cardinal virtues, and of all the talents. Good husbands, good fathers, good brothers, and idolised landlords, are plenty enough; but a man who, like _Aubrey_, is all these put together, is indeed a scarce article; the more so, as he is also a profound scholar, and an honest statesman. In short, though pretty well versed in the paragons of virtue that belong to the drama, we find this _Charles Aubrey_ to be the veriest angel that ever wore black trousers and pumps.

The most exalted virtue of the stage is, in the long run, seen in good circumstances, and _vice versa_; for, in this country, one of the chief elements of crime is poverty. Hence the picture is reversed; we behold a striking contrast--a scene antithetical. We are shown into a miserable garret, and introduced to a vulgar, illiterate, cockneyfied, dirty, dandified linendraper's shopman, in the person of _Tittlebat Titmouse_. In the midst of his distresses his attention is directed to a "Next of Kin" advertisement. It relates to him and to the Yatton property; and if you be the least conversant with stage effect, you know what is coming: though the author thinks he is leaving you in a state of agonising suspense by closing the act.

The next scene is the robing-room of the York Court-house; and the curtains at the back are afterwards drawn aside to disclose a large cupboard, meant to represent an assize-court. On one shelf of it is seated a supposititious Judge, surrounded by some half-dozen pseudo female spectators; the bottom shelf being occupied by counsel, attorney, crier of the court, and plaintiff. The special jury are severally called in to occupy the right-hand shelf; and when the cupboard is quite full, all the forms of returning a verdict are gone through. This is for the plaintiff! Mr. Aubrey is ruined; and _Mr. Titmouse_ jumps about, at the imminent risk of breaking the cupboard to pieces, having already knocked down a counsel or two, and rolled over his own attorney.

This idea of dramatising proceedings at _nisi prius_ only shows the state of destitution into which the promoters of stage excitement have fallen. The Baileys, Old and New, have, from constant use, lost their charms; the police officers were completely worn out by Tom and Jerry, Oliver Twist, &c.; so that now, all the courts left to be "done" for the drama are the Exchequer and Ecclesiastical, Secondaries and Summonsing, Petty Sessions and Prerogative. But what is to happen when these are exhausted? The answer is obvious:--Mr. Yates will turn his attention to the Church! Depend upon it, we shall soon have the potent Paul Bedford, or the grave and reverend Mr. John Saunders, in solemn sables, _converting_ the stage into a Baptist meeting, and repentant supernumeraries with the real water!

Hoping to be forgiven for this, perhaps misplaced, levity, we proceed to Act III., in which we find that, fortune having shuffled the cards, and the judge and jury cut them, _Mr. Titmouse_ turns up possessor of Yatton and ten thousand a-year; while _Aubrey_, quite at the bottom of the pack, is in a state of destitution. To show the depth of distress into which he has fallen, a happy expedient is hit upon: he is described as turning his attention and attainments to literature; and that the unfathomable straits he is put to may be fully understood, he is made a reviewer! Thus the highest degree of sympathy is excited towards him; for everybody knows that no person would willingly resort to criticism (literary or dramatic) as a means of livelihood, if he could command a broom and a crossing to earn a penny by, or while there exists a Mendicity Society to get soup from.

We have yet to mention one character; and considering that he is the main-spring of the whole matter, we cannot put it off any longer. _Mr. Gammon_ is a lawyer--that is quite enough; we need not say more. You all know that stage solicitors are more outrageous villains than even their originals. _Mr. Gammon_ is, of course, a "fine speciment of the specious," as Mr. Hood's Mr. Higgings says. It is he who, finding out a flaw in _Aubrey's_ title, angled per advertisement for the heir, and caught a _Tittlebat--Titmouse_. It is he who has so disinterestedly made that gentleman's fortune.--"Only just merely for the sake of the costs?" one naturally asks. Oh no; there is a stronger reason (with which, however, reason has nothing to do)--love! _Mr. Gammon_ became desperately enamoured of _Miss Aubrey_; but she was silly enough to prefer the heir to a peerage, _Mr. Delamere. Mr. Gammon_ never forgave her, and so ruins her brother.

Having brought the whole family to a state in which he supposes they will refuse nothing, _Gammon_ visits _Miss Aubrey_, and, in the most handsome manner, offers her--notwithstanding the disparity in their circumstances--his hand, heart, and fortune. More than that, he promises to restore the estate of Yatton to its late possessor. To his astonishment the lady rejects him; and, he showing what the bills call the "cloven foot," _Miss Aubrey_ orders him to be shown out. Meantime, _Mr. Tittlebat Titmouse_, having been returned M.P. for Yatton, has made a great noise in house, not by his oratorical powers, but by his proficient imitations of cock-crowing and donkey-braying.

This being Act IV., it is quite clear that _Gammon's_ villany and _Tittlebat's_ prosperity cannot last much longer. Both are ended in an original manner. True to the principle with which the Adelphi commenced its season--that of putting stage villany into comedy--Mr. Gammon concludes the _facetiæ_ with which his part abounds by a comic suicide! All the details of this revolting operation are gone through amidst the most ponderous levity; insomuch, that the audience had virtue enough to hiss most lustily[3].

[3] While this page was passing through the press, we witnessed a representation of "Ten Thousand a-Year" a second time, and observed that the offensiveness of this scene was considerably abated. Mr. Lyon deserves a word of praise for his acting in that passage of the piece as it now stands.

Thus the string of rascality by which the piece is held together being cut, it naturally finishes by the reinstatement of Aubrey--together with a view of Yatton in sunshine, a procession of charity children, mutual embraces by all the characters, and a song by Mrs. Grattan. What becomes of _Titmouse_ is not known, and did not seem to be much cared about.

This piece is interesting, not because it is cleverly constructed (for it is not), nor because _Mr. Titmouse_ dyes his hair green with a barber's nostrum, nor on account of the cupboard court of _Nisi Prius_, nor of the charity children, nor because Mr. Wieland, instead of playing the devil himself, played _Mr. Snap_, one of his limbs--but because many of the scenes are well-drawn pictures of life. The children's ball in the first "epoch," for instance, was altogether excellently managed and _true_; and though many of the characters are overcharged, yet we have seen people like them in Chancery-lane, at Messrs. Swan and Edgar's, in country houses, and elsewhere. The suicide incident is, however, a disgusting drawback.

The acting was also good, but too extravagantly so. Mr. Wright, as _Titmouse_, thought perhaps that a Cockney dandy could not be caricatured, and he consequently went desperate lengths, but threw in here and there a touch of nature. Mr. Lyon was as energetic as ever in _Gammon_; Mrs. Yates as lugubrious as is her wont in _Miss Aubrey_; Mrs. Grattan acted and looked as if she were quite deserving of a man with ten thousand a year. As to her singing, if her husband were in possession of twenty thousand per annum, (would to the gods he were!) it could not have been more charmingly tasteful. The pathetics of Wilkinson (as _Quirk_) in the suicide scene, and just before the event, deserve the attention and imitation of Macready. We hope the former comedian's next character will be Ion, or, at least, Othello. He has now proved that smaller parts are beneath his purely histrionic talents.

Mr. Yates did not make a speech! This extraordinary omission set the house in a buzz of conjectural wonderment till "The Maid of Honour" put a stop to it.

NOTE.--A critique on this piece would have appeared last week, if it had pleased some of the people at the post-office (through which the MS. was sent to the Editors) not to steal it. Perhaps they took it for something valuable; and, perhaps, they were not mistaken. Thanks be to Mercury, we have plenty of wit to spare, and can afford some of it to be stolen now and then. Still we entreat Colonel Maberly (Editor of the "Post" in St. Martin's-le-Grand) to supply his clerks with jokes enough to keep them alive, that they may not be driven to steal other people's. The most effectual way to preserve them in a state of jocular honesty would be for him to present every person on the establishment with a copy of "Punch" from week to week.

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