DOI issue:
December 30, 1882
DOI Page / Citation link:https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.17753#0315
December 30, 1882.] PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
309
many people play upon that familyer instrument many hundred
times.
I was glad to hear afterwards that the Queen wasn’t at all
fritened at the butiful Griffin, as Captain Shaw Lefeyer had
feared, but acshally larfed at it with admiration. The one thort
that filled my manly busom at the Temple Luncheon was, that upon
the whole I suttenly had never seen a finer display of magnificent
appetites in the whole course of my waried career. Robert,
“0 Ware and 0 Ware!”
THE SILVER KING;
OR, BEAUTIFUL AS A BUTLER.
The Drama at the Princess’s, written by Messrs. A. Jones—not
the Jones, only A Jones,—and Henry Herman, is, except for one
fault, well constructed, carefully written, admirably placed on the
stage, forcibly played by the men, weakly by the women, but suffi-
ciently interesting from first to last when once the spectator has
granted the rather improbable
basis on which the whole action
rests,—though- ’tis fair to say that
the action never does “ rest ” any
more than do the villains of the
play, who carry on their work
with unflagging spirit.
The situation in Scene 3, Act I.,
which brings down the Curtain,
and the house, on the termina-
tion of some remarkably fine
acting on Mr. Wilson Bar-
rett’s part, specially as Denver
the Drunkard, is, we believe, tho-
roughly new and original. Denver
has come to kill Geoffrey Ware, hut, stupified by drink, only wakes
up to find himself alone with the corpse of Geoffrey, who has been
shot by the captain of a gang of burglars. Then Denver, after
stretching himself, and exclaiming, “Where am I? Where?
Where ? ” approaches the body, starts, and echoes his own question,
Ware ! Is this Some
Ware, or Ho Ware, or
Hard Ware ? Is it
Summer Ware or
Winter Ware ? Good
Ware? A Wash and
a Ware ? Here’s
Ware—on the floor—
and not in the Great
Bed of Ware! ” Gradu-
ally, as these misty
notions—the last re-
maining effects of beer
and skittles at “ The
Wheatsheaf,” Clerken-
well—clear away, Den-
ver fancies that he has
murdered Ware with-
out himself being a-
ware! Then he
staggers off, and rushes, through the entr'acte, back to his own
house, where he confesses to his wife what he thinks he has
done, and his wife (Miss Eastlake) hurries him off disguised
as his own butler, the latter generously advancing forty pounds out
of his hard-earned savings to help his murdering master to make
away with himself as quickly as possible.
Mr. George Barrett throughout is excellent—a true artist.
The weak point of the piece is
that the sensation scene of the
murder comes in the First Act;
and though there are four Acts,
and about fourteen scenes more,
no such thrilling situation as
this occurs again. Mr. Wil-
lard’s Spider, a sort of modern
Robert Macaire, is, as far as we
are capable of judging such
a character, a very clever per-
formance. He is associated
with three comic villains—
reminding every playgoer of
the accomplices of Lesurque
in The Courier of Lyons
Latest News. “ Hooray! I ’m dead! ”
“Willard the Willin; or, the Spider
and the Ely.
played, without very much exaggeration, by Messrs. Clifford
Cooper, Charles Coote, and Frank Huntley. At the end of
Act II. Denver reads of his own supposed death in a railway
accident, and he is free.
And now comes either a very weak point, or real touch of nature,
according to the view of each individual spectator. Being free,
Denver does not at once go to his wife, and say, “ Now we ’ll be
off! ” nor does he go away to Boulogne, for example—(very few
people, by the way, would think of going to Boulogne, for example;
but we didn’t mean that)—taking the name of Jones or Herman,
and from that salubrious sea-port send for his wife and child to
come out to him, and share his new name, and probable fortune.
No ; he makes use of his liberty, and of as much as remains of the
confiding Butler’s forty sovereigns, to holt to Australia, leaving
his wife and child behind him to get on as best they can, and
sponge to any extent on Daniel Jaikes, the aged domestic above
mentioned.
The man who takes a cynical view of married life, would at once
say that Denver, with forty pounds in his pocket and. free, to call
himself anything he likes and to begin the world again as a
bachelor without responsibility, would naturally go away and enjoy
himself; but the Respectable Member of Society, or the inexperi-
enced Lover, would take the other
line and say, “ Of course, he might
go away; but, hang it all, he’d at
once send for his wife and child—
which he could do in perfect safety.”
We do not pretend to decide:
Messrs. Jones and Herman make
him go away, give him a silver-
mine, and then bring him hack to
his own native land, dressed much
in the style of that lugubrious
person, the husband of Mrs. Haller,
once well known and indeed popular
as “The Stranger,” with white hair,
a Guy-Fawkes hat, and an invin-
cible propensity for wearing dis-
guises and making long speeches
just at a time when everybody most
wants the Play to be “ getting on.”
However, Mr. Wilson Barrett &
Co. must he .satisfied that the Play is getting on uncommonly well.
Then the Silver King disguises himself as a modern “ poor Tom’s
a-cold,” and easily deceives the knowing ones, who open the door
and take him in, when he in turn takes them in, and, mastered by
some unaccountable desire to frighten the villains with a melodra-
matic attitude, he starts up among the bales and barrels in the
marine-store-dealer’s place, and exclaims “I am Wilfred Denver!”
which so takes them aback that, though they are armed and are four
to one, they actually let him escape scot free. “ Conscience makes
cowards of us all,” we know; but, as not one of these blackguards
ever had any conscience, and as Captain Spider possesses the greatest
sang-froid possible, this situation is comparatively tame.
The remainder of the play is the return of the dead ’un, reminding
us of La Joie fait Peur. Good plays, like good men, have their little
weaknesses, but, making allowance for these, our friends in
Return of Mr. Barrett as “The
Stranger,’’ or Bogie the Silvery
Haired King.
Mr. Barrett still as “ The Stranger ’’ makes his Missis halier ! The Butler
weeps at a reminiscence of his Childhood.
front cannot do better than pass an evening in the company of The
Silver King; or, Beautiful as a Butler. And they won’t see much
better acting of its kind than that of Mr. Wilson Barrett in the
earlier part of the play, and of Mr. Willard and Mr. George
Barrett throughout.
Now that Arabi’s trial is finished, Mrs. Ramsbotham sincerely
trusts that all the European Powers will settle down quietly and
smoke the Calomel of peace.
A Problem in Real (and Theatrical) Property.—[Case for
Counsel, picked up in the Globe.)—After hearing the Wills, to find
the rightful Eyre.
309
many people play upon that familyer instrument many hundred
times.
I was glad to hear afterwards that the Queen wasn’t at all
fritened at the butiful Griffin, as Captain Shaw Lefeyer had
feared, but acshally larfed at it with admiration. The one thort
that filled my manly busom at the Temple Luncheon was, that upon
the whole I suttenly had never seen a finer display of magnificent
appetites in the whole course of my waried career. Robert,
“0 Ware and 0 Ware!”
THE SILVER KING;
OR, BEAUTIFUL AS A BUTLER.
The Drama at the Princess’s, written by Messrs. A. Jones—not
the Jones, only A Jones,—and Henry Herman, is, except for one
fault, well constructed, carefully written, admirably placed on the
stage, forcibly played by the men, weakly by the women, but suffi-
ciently interesting from first to last when once the spectator has
granted the rather improbable
basis on which the whole action
rests,—though- ’tis fair to say that
the action never does “ rest ” any
more than do the villains of the
play, who carry on their work
with unflagging spirit.
The situation in Scene 3, Act I.,
which brings down the Curtain,
and the house, on the termina-
tion of some remarkably fine
acting on Mr. Wilson Bar-
rett’s part, specially as Denver
the Drunkard, is, we believe, tho-
roughly new and original. Denver
has come to kill Geoffrey Ware, hut, stupified by drink, only wakes
up to find himself alone with the corpse of Geoffrey, who has been
shot by the captain of a gang of burglars. Then Denver, after
stretching himself, and exclaiming, “Where am I? Where?
Where ? ” approaches the body, starts, and echoes his own question,
Ware ! Is this Some
Ware, or Ho Ware, or
Hard Ware ? Is it
Summer Ware or
Winter Ware ? Good
Ware? A Wash and
a Ware ? Here’s
Ware—on the floor—
and not in the Great
Bed of Ware! ” Gradu-
ally, as these misty
notions—the last re-
maining effects of beer
and skittles at “ The
Wheatsheaf,” Clerken-
well—clear away, Den-
ver fancies that he has
murdered Ware with-
out himself being a-
ware! Then he
staggers off, and rushes, through the entr'acte, back to his own
house, where he confesses to his wife what he thinks he has
done, and his wife (Miss Eastlake) hurries him off disguised
as his own butler, the latter generously advancing forty pounds out
of his hard-earned savings to help his murdering master to make
away with himself as quickly as possible.
Mr. George Barrett throughout is excellent—a true artist.
The weak point of the piece is
that the sensation scene of the
murder comes in the First Act;
and though there are four Acts,
and about fourteen scenes more,
no such thrilling situation as
this occurs again. Mr. Wil-
lard’s Spider, a sort of modern
Robert Macaire, is, as far as we
are capable of judging such
a character, a very clever per-
formance. He is associated
with three comic villains—
reminding every playgoer of
the accomplices of Lesurque
in The Courier of Lyons
Latest News. “ Hooray! I ’m dead! ”
“Willard the Willin; or, the Spider
and the Ely.
played, without very much exaggeration, by Messrs. Clifford
Cooper, Charles Coote, and Frank Huntley. At the end of
Act II. Denver reads of his own supposed death in a railway
accident, and he is free.
And now comes either a very weak point, or real touch of nature,
according to the view of each individual spectator. Being free,
Denver does not at once go to his wife, and say, “ Now we ’ll be
off! ” nor does he go away to Boulogne, for example—(very few
people, by the way, would think of going to Boulogne, for example;
but we didn’t mean that)—taking the name of Jones or Herman,
and from that salubrious sea-port send for his wife and child to
come out to him, and share his new name, and probable fortune.
No ; he makes use of his liberty, and of as much as remains of the
confiding Butler’s forty sovereigns, to holt to Australia, leaving
his wife and child behind him to get on as best they can, and
sponge to any extent on Daniel Jaikes, the aged domestic above
mentioned.
The man who takes a cynical view of married life, would at once
say that Denver, with forty pounds in his pocket and. free, to call
himself anything he likes and to begin the world again as a
bachelor without responsibility, would naturally go away and enjoy
himself; but the Respectable Member of Society, or the inexperi-
enced Lover, would take the other
line and say, “ Of course, he might
go away; but, hang it all, he’d at
once send for his wife and child—
which he could do in perfect safety.”
We do not pretend to decide:
Messrs. Jones and Herman make
him go away, give him a silver-
mine, and then bring him hack to
his own native land, dressed much
in the style of that lugubrious
person, the husband of Mrs. Haller,
once well known and indeed popular
as “The Stranger,” with white hair,
a Guy-Fawkes hat, and an invin-
cible propensity for wearing dis-
guises and making long speeches
just at a time when everybody most
wants the Play to be “ getting on.”
However, Mr. Wilson Barrett &
Co. must he .satisfied that the Play is getting on uncommonly well.
Then the Silver King disguises himself as a modern “ poor Tom’s
a-cold,” and easily deceives the knowing ones, who open the door
and take him in, when he in turn takes them in, and, mastered by
some unaccountable desire to frighten the villains with a melodra-
matic attitude, he starts up among the bales and barrels in the
marine-store-dealer’s place, and exclaims “I am Wilfred Denver!”
which so takes them aback that, though they are armed and are four
to one, they actually let him escape scot free. “ Conscience makes
cowards of us all,” we know; but, as not one of these blackguards
ever had any conscience, and as Captain Spider possesses the greatest
sang-froid possible, this situation is comparatively tame.
The remainder of the play is the return of the dead ’un, reminding
us of La Joie fait Peur. Good plays, like good men, have their little
weaknesses, but, making allowance for these, our friends in
Return of Mr. Barrett as “The
Stranger,’’ or Bogie the Silvery
Haired King.
Mr. Barrett still as “ The Stranger ’’ makes his Missis halier ! The Butler
weeps at a reminiscence of his Childhood.
front cannot do better than pass an evening in the company of The
Silver King; or, Beautiful as a Butler. And they won’t see much
better acting of its kind than that of Mr. Wilson Barrett in the
earlier part of the play, and of Mr. Willard and Mr. George
Barrett throughout.
Now that Arabi’s trial is finished, Mrs. Ramsbotham sincerely
trusts that all the European Powers will settle down quietly and
smoke the Calomel of peace.
A Problem in Real (and Theatrical) Property.—[Case for
Counsel, picked up in the Globe.)—After hearing the Wills, to find
the rightful Eyre.