DOI Heft:
December 31, 1887
DOI Seite / Zitierlink:https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.17658#0307
301
ANOTHER "BTTTLER;" OR, A THORITE IN" HIS SIDE.
Taking for granted the improbabilities of Mr. Author Jones's
plot—which seems to use up again the materials of Aurora Ployd,
and one or two other novels, including
the Danvers Jewels—and a certain
maladroitness of construction. Heart of
Hearts is both interesting and amusing.
AH the characters are distinctly out-
lined exoepting one, and this one,
strange to say, is James Robins, the
hero of the piece, a part apparently
written rath°r to suit Mr. Thohas
Thoene's peculiarities, than to exhibit
anv marked individuality of character.
James Robins, Lady Clarissa Fitzralf's
butler,—who is of course the'intimate friend of Mr. and Mrs. Meri-
Vaxe's butlerat Toole's Theatre round the corner,—has secretly
married his mistress's sister, and her niece is openlv to marrv his
mistress's son. Now, how about the character of James Robins f
Is he honest ? _ Hardly so. Is he sly P Certainly. Is he crafty ? It
cannot be denied. Yet the sympathy of the audience is with him.
"Why ? Well, ohieflv because he is played by Mr. Thokne, and
secondarily, because he is very fond of his brother's child, whom he
has brought up beoausehis brother, having got into trouble and been
compelled to "do his time." has delivered her into his care. This
nice father returns, comes to see his child, and steals a mby bracelet,
this ruby being the "heart of hearts." "Whereuponone Miss Latimer,
a malicious schemer, fixes the th^ft on Lucy Rubins- What more
natural, considering the name P The father, Old Robins, has stolen
the jewel; the daughter, Lucy Robins, has been accused of doing so.
Quite a robbin's family. Of course exculpation and explanation
wind up the play, though I regret to say I was compelled to leave
before hearing how Mr. Author Jones deals with that old repro-
bate Cock Robins, the parent bird, who, in view of the future
happiness of Mary and Ralph, would be about as presentable a
father-in-law to have on the premises as that old "unemployed"
reprobate, Hccles, ia Caste. I am sorry he wasn't somehow disposed
of, having of course previously confessed his guilt to the bilious
detective, March, and expired under the assumed name of Mister
Masters. By the way, Authur Jones is not happy in nomenclature.
The dialogue is good throughout, even when it only indirectly
developes character or helps the action, and so is the acting. Mr.
Thorne as James is admirable ; representing the character as a man
gifted with an overpowering appreciation of the humorous side of
every situation,—including his own as a butler,—in wMch either
accident or design may place him. I do not believe that this was the
author's intention, but this is the impression made upon me by Mr.
Thoene's acting, and I am sure it could not be better played._ Miss
Kate Rorke is charmingly natural; Mr. Leonard Botne is un-
equal, being better in the last Act than the first. My sensitive ear
having been struck by the mellifluous accents of Lucy and the
Corkasian,—I think, though, it may be Galwaisian,—tones of her
lover, I could not help wondering why the author, after the first few
rehearsals, did not slightly alter the dialect and lay the scene m
Ireland. The play is well worth seeing, and begins at the easy hour
of 8'45. There should be matinees of a new operetta, entitled The
Two Butlers, characters by J. L. Torne and Thomas Thoolb.
Pianner, settin' there with that sort of a dreamy grin on your pasty
countinance!
P. And if I am, where's the harm of it P
C. _ It's easy to see you- ain't bin at it long, or you wouldn't take
tbat interest in it. Much they thank you for takin' a interest, these
bloated children of a pampered aristocracy ! Why, they don't mind
you and me more than the drugget under their feet. Even gutter
kids have got manners enough to thank the Italian as plays the
orgin for 'em to dance to. Are we ever thanked ? I arsk you.
P. The Italian plays for'nothing. We don't.
C. There you go, redoocin'everything to coppers. Tou're arguin'
beside the question, you are. Ever see a well-dressed kid give a
orgin a penny without there was a monkey a-top of it ? /never did.
If you chained a monkey to your pianner now, they might condescend
to look at yer now and then—not unless.
P. Well, you can't deny they're a nice-looking set of children
here. Look at that one with the long hair, in the plush—like a little
Princess, she is.
C. And p'raps she ain't aware of it, either! Why, there's that
little sister o' yours, that's got hair just as long, ah, and 'ud look as
pretty too, if she'd a little more colour; but you can't have colour
without capital. It's 'igh-feeding does it all, and money wrung
from the working-daises, like you and me.
P. I don't know what you call yourself. I'm a professional, and
see no shame in it.
C. Ton can be as purfessional as you please, hut you needn't be
poor-spirited. Come on; pound away! Ain't you got a uglier worltz
than that ?
At Supper.
C. I must say I ardly expected this—after the leminade. But
you're eatin' nothin', young Pianner. (To Servant.)^ Thank 'ee,
my pretty dear, yon may leave that raised pie where it is ; and do
you think you could get us another bottle o' Sham, now—for my
young friend here P (To Pianist. Tou needn't think you 'ye made
a conquest with that moony mug of yours. She's only lookin' after
you to make me jealous, d'ye see? I know these minxes' ways,
ble3s you.)
P. (with lofty bitterness). I've no wish to dispute it with you.
C. Ah, you've had your eye on the governess all the evening. I
saw you
CORNET AND PIANO.
AT A JUVENILE PARTY.
Cornet. Eeadv ? Tes, I'm ready—but I'm not going to begin
before I'm asked. If they want us to strike up, let 'em come and
ask us, d've see? .... . ,
Piano. Well, but there are all the children sitting about doing
nothing- . . ,
C. Let 'em sit! They'll see you and me sittin all the evemn
strummin' and blowin' like nigger slaves, and a lot tbey U care<
Don't you make no mistake, young Pianner, there am t no sense m
doin' more than you 're obliged—you '11 get no credit for it, d ye see P
And don't keep that programme all to yourself. Ah one Swedish,
one Sir IWer and a bloomin' Cotilliong-^ey'11 take two hours
alone' We°shan't work this job off much before one, you see if we do.
(To Hostess ) Commence now ? By all means, Madam. Send us a
little refreshment? Thank you, Madam, we shall be exceedingly
obliged to you. (The refreshment arrives.) Here's stuff to put
liveliness in us, Mate—Leminade! _
[Puts jug under piano with intense disgust.
P. Well I should think you'd lemon enough in you already.
C. I 'ate kids, there—and that's the truth of it! It makes me
downright sick to see 'em dressed out, and giving themselves the airs
and graces of grown-ups. (To Small Child.) Tes, my little dear,
it's a worltz this time. (To Pianist.) Strike up, young P. and 0!
(A little later.) I'm blest if I don't believe you 're enjoying this,
P. (blushing). Tou're talking folly, Cornet, and what's more, you
know it.
C. That's her playin' upstairs now. I know a governess's polker
—all tum-tnm and no jump to it. Wouldn't you like to go up and
help her, eh ?
P. If I am a wretch doomed to misery, it's not for you to remind
me of it, Cornet. It's not a friendly act, I'm blowed if it is !
C. Tou're a regular Tant—Tarantulus, you know, that's what
you are! Tou'11 be goin' mad on your music-stool—" I saw her
dancin' in the 'All"—that sort o' thing, hey?
P. (with dignity.) It seems to me you've had quite enough of that
Champagne, and we've been down half-an-hour.
C. Tou don't 'pear to unnerstand that a Cornet's very mush
thirstier instrumen' than a iron-grand out o' tune—but you 're a
good young feller—I li' a shentimental young chap. I'm a soft-
arted ole fool myshelf !
After Suppee.
C. (with emotion.) Loo' at that now, ain't that a sight to make
a man o' you ? All these brit appy young faces. I could play for
'em all ni'—blesh their 'arts ! Lor, what a rickety chair 1 'm on
and thish bloomin' brash inshtrumen's gone and changed ends. Now
then, quicken up, let 'em 'ave it—you are a shulky young chap!
P. It is not sulks but misery. I swear to you, Cornet, that each
hammer I strike vibrates on my own heart-strings!
C. Then you can be innerpennant of a pianner.
P. I am young—but the young have their sorrows, I suppose. Is
it nothing to have to minister to others' gaiety with a bitter pang in
one's own breast?
C. Thash wha'comes o'shtickin'to the leminade!
A Little Latee.
P. (aghast). I say, what«re you about? You mustn't, you know'
C. (smiling dreamily). It'sh all ri', dear boy ! If a man fines he
can't breathe in 'sh bootsh—on'y loshical coursh 'fore him is to plav
in socksh—d 'ye see ?
At Pasting.
The Cornet (to hostess, with benignant tenderness) Goori' Madam
Gobblesh you I do' min' tellin' you, you've made me and the pianner
here, and ah. undreds of young mnoshent arts very 'appy, Madam,
you may ta that from me. 1 hope we've given complete satisfaction,
m sure we ve had mosht pleasant strapper— 1 mean pleashant
evemn —sho glad we came. And you mushn't ta' no notish my
young fren, he'sh been makin' lil too free with the leminade, d'ye
see? Goo ri! [Exit gracefully, and is picked up at bottom of
Staircase by the Pianist.
vol. xcin. D D
ANOTHER "BTTTLER;" OR, A THORITE IN" HIS SIDE.
Taking for granted the improbabilities of Mr. Author Jones's
plot—which seems to use up again the materials of Aurora Ployd,
and one or two other novels, including
the Danvers Jewels—and a certain
maladroitness of construction. Heart of
Hearts is both interesting and amusing.
AH the characters are distinctly out-
lined exoepting one, and this one,
strange to say, is James Robins, the
hero of the piece, a part apparently
written rath°r to suit Mr. Thohas
Thoene's peculiarities, than to exhibit
anv marked individuality of character.
James Robins, Lady Clarissa Fitzralf's
butler,—who is of course the'intimate friend of Mr. and Mrs. Meri-
Vaxe's butlerat Toole's Theatre round the corner,—has secretly
married his mistress's sister, and her niece is openlv to marrv his
mistress's son. Now, how about the character of James Robins f
Is he honest ? _ Hardly so. Is he sly P Certainly. Is he crafty ? It
cannot be denied. Yet the sympathy of the audience is with him.
"Why ? Well, ohieflv because he is played by Mr. Thokne, and
secondarily, because he is very fond of his brother's child, whom he
has brought up beoausehis brother, having got into trouble and been
compelled to "do his time." has delivered her into his care. This
nice father returns, comes to see his child, and steals a mby bracelet,
this ruby being the "heart of hearts." "Whereuponone Miss Latimer,
a malicious schemer, fixes the th^ft on Lucy Rubins- What more
natural, considering the name P The father, Old Robins, has stolen
the jewel; the daughter, Lucy Robins, has been accused of doing so.
Quite a robbin's family. Of course exculpation and explanation
wind up the play, though I regret to say I was compelled to leave
before hearing how Mr. Author Jones deals with that old repro-
bate Cock Robins, the parent bird, who, in view of the future
happiness of Mary and Ralph, would be about as presentable a
father-in-law to have on the premises as that old "unemployed"
reprobate, Hccles, ia Caste. I am sorry he wasn't somehow disposed
of, having of course previously confessed his guilt to the bilious
detective, March, and expired under the assumed name of Mister
Masters. By the way, Authur Jones is not happy in nomenclature.
The dialogue is good throughout, even when it only indirectly
developes character or helps the action, and so is the acting. Mr.
Thorne as James is admirable ; representing the character as a man
gifted with an overpowering appreciation of the humorous side of
every situation,—including his own as a butler,—in wMch either
accident or design may place him. I do not believe that this was the
author's intention, but this is the impression made upon me by Mr.
Thoene's acting, and I am sure it could not be better played._ Miss
Kate Rorke is charmingly natural; Mr. Leonard Botne is un-
equal, being better in the last Act than the first. My sensitive ear
having been struck by the mellifluous accents of Lucy and the
Corkasian,—I think, though, it may be Galwaisian,—tones of her
lover, I could not help wondering why the author, after the first few
rehearsals, did not slightly alter the dialect and lay the scene m
Ireland. The play is well worth seeing, and begins at the easy hour
of 8'45. There should be matinees of a new operetta, entitled The
Two Butlers, characters by J. L. Torne and Thomas Thoolb.
Pianner, settin' there with that sort of a dreamy grin on your pasty
countinance!
P. And if I am, where's the harm of it P
C. _ It's easy to see you- ain't bin at it long, or you wouldn't take
tbat interest in it. Much they thank you for takin' a interest, these
bloated children of a pampered aristocracy ! Why, they don't mind
you and me more than the drugget under their feet. Even gutter
kids have got manners enough to thank the Italian as plays the
orgin for 'em to dance to. Are we ever thanked ? I arsk you.
P. The Italian plays for'nothing. We don't.
C. There you go, redoocin'everything to coppers. Tou're arguin'
beside the question, you are. Ever see a well-dressed kid give a
orgin a penny without there was a monkey a-top of it ? /never did.
If you chained a monkey to your pianner now, they might condescend
to look at yer now and then—not unless.
P. Well, you can't deny they're a nice-looking set of children
here. Look at that one with the long hair, in the plush—like a little
Princess, she is.
C. And p'raps she ain't aware of it, either! Why, there's that
little sister o' yours, that's got hair just as long, ah, and 'ud look as
pretty too, if she'd a little more colour; but you can't have colour
without capital. It's 'igh-feeding does it all, and money wrung
from the working-daises, like you and me.
P. I don't know what you call yourself. I'm a professional, and
see no shame in it.
C. Ton can be as purfessional as you please, hut you needn't be
poor-spirited. Come on; pound away! Ain't you got a uglier worltz
than that ?
At Supper.
C. I must say I ardly expected this—after the leminade. But
you're eatin' nothin', young Pianner. (To Servant.)^ Thank 'ee,
my pretty dear, yon may leave that raised pie where it is ; and do
you think you could get us another bottle o' Sham, now—for my
young friend here P (To Pianist. Tou needn't think you 'ye made
a conquest with that moony mug of yours. She's only lookin' after
you to make me jealous, d'ye see? I know these minxes' ways,
ble3s you.)
P. (with lofty bitterness). I've no wish to dispute it with you.
C. Ah, you've had your eye on the governess all the evening. I
saw you
CORNET AND PIANO.
AT A JUVENILE PARTY.
Cornet. Eeadv ? Tes, I'm ready—but I'm not going to begin
before I'm asked. If they want us to strike up, let 'em come and
ask us, d've see? .... . ,
Piano. Well, but there are all the children sitting about doing
nothing- . . ,
C. Let 'em sit! They'll see you and me sittin all the evemn
strummin' and blowin' like nigger slaves, and a lot tbey U care<
Don't you make no mistake, young Pianner, there am t no sense m
doin' more than you 're obliged—you '11 get no credit for it, d ye see P
And don't keep that programme all to yourself. Ah one Swedish,
one Sir IWer and a bloomin' Cotilliong-^ey'11 take two hours
alone' We°shan't work this job off much before one, you see if we do.
(To Hostess ) Commence now ? By all means, Madam. Send us a
little refreshment? Thank you, Madam, we shall be exceedingly
obliged to you. (The refreshment arrives.) Here's stuff to put
liveliness in us, Mate—Leminade! _
[Puts jug under piano with intense disgust.
P. Well I should think you'd lemon enough in you already.
C. I 'ate kids, there—and that's the truth of it! It makes me
downright sick to see 'em dressed out, and giving themselves the airs
and graces of grown-ups. (To Small Child.) Tes, my little dear,
it's a worltz this time. (To Pianist.) Strike up, young P. and 0!
(A little later.) I'm blest if I don't believe you 're enjoying this,
P. (blushing). Tou're talking folly, Cornet, and what's more, you
know it.
C. That's her playin' upstairs now. I know a governess's polker
—all tum-tnm and no jump to it. Wouldn't you like to go up and
help her, eh ?
P. If I am a wretch doomed to misery, it's not for you to remind
me of it, Cornet. It's not a friendly act, I'm blowed if it is !
C. Tou're a regular Tant—Tarantulus, you know, that's what
you are! Tou'11 be goin' mad on your music-stool—" I saw her
dancin' in the 'All"—that sort o' thing, hey?
P. (with dignity.) It seems to me you've had quite enough of that
Champagne, and we've been down half-an-hour.
C. Tou don't 'pear to unnerstand that a Cornet's very mush
thirstier instrumen' than a iron-grand out o' tune—but you 're a
good young feller—I li' a shentimental young chap. I'm a soft-
arted ole fool myshelf !
After Suppee.
C. (with emotion.) Loo' at that now, ain't that a sight to make
a man o' you ? All these brit appy young faces. I could play for
'em all ni'—blesh their 'arts ! Lor, what a rickety chair 1 'm on
and thish bloomin' brash inshtrumen's gone and changed ends. Now
then, quicken up, let 'em 'ave it—you are a shulky young chap!
P. It is not sulks but misery. I swear to you, Cornet, that each
hammer I strike vibrates on my own heart-strings!
C. Then you can be innerpennant of a pianner.
P. I am young—but the young have their sorrows, I suppose. Is
it nothing to have to minister to others' gaiety with a bitter pang in
one's own breast?
C. Thash wha'comes o'shtickin'to the leminade!
A Little Latee.
P. (aghast). I say, what«re you about? You mustn't, you know'
C. (smiling dreamily). It'sh all ri', dear boy ! If a man fines he
can't breathe in 'sh bootsh—on'y loshical coursh 'fore him is to plav
in socksh—d 'ye see ?
At Pasting.
The Cornet (to hostess, with benignant tenderness) Goori' Madam
Gobblesh you I do' min' tellin' you, you've made me and the pianner
here, and ah. undreds of young mnoshent arts very 'appy, Madam,
you may ta that from me. 1 hope we've given complete satisfaction,
m sure we ve had mosht pleasant strapper— 1 mean pleashant
evemn —sho glad we came. And you mushn't ta' no notish my
young fren, he'sh been makin' lil too free with the leminade, d'ye
see? Goo ri! [Exit gracefully, and is picked up at bottom of
Staircase by the Pianist.
vol. xcin. D D