LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume XXII, Issue 1914, 13 April 1880, Page 3

LITERATURE.

A NEW YEAR’S DRAMA,

From * Figaro. ’

On the first day of January, many years ago, it happened to me that, by some miscalculation of time or distance, I was an hour and more too early for a certain dinnerparty which was the object of my journey. I pride myself on punctuality, and flaunt it before offenders in that direction with all the ostentation which characterises the possession of a solitary virtue. I was determined, therefore, at all risk and inconvenience to sustain my reputation, and made for the nearest inn ; where, having bespoken a private room, I hoped to peacefully beguile the sixty or seventy minutes d’arret, till the hour waited for should arrive, and I could proudly present myself ‘up to time,’ as ever, at my friend’s house. I forget what specially lying post speaks of ‘the warm welcome of an English inn I wish to forget him : for my experience of English inns loudly contradicts the bard ; the general 1 welcome ’ being sordid suspicion of your respectability and solvency, and the ‘ warmth ’ only to he traced in the bill, which the proprietor invariably makes ‘ hot ’ for you. In my chill apartment, furnished as only a ‘ private room ’ in an English inn can be furnished, I chafed and fretted for some quarter of an hour or so ; trying to read the day-before-yesterday’o local ‘Gazette,’ and perpetually referring to my watch ; which, though as a rule ridiculously fast, assumed ‘for this occasion only ’ a stolid determination to register one hundred and twenty minutes to the hour. Meanwhile a detestable buzz of voices rising from some kitchen, or parlor ‘ underworld,’ worried me beyond endurance. In sheer despair I descended to the bar of the tavern, and, confronting a weak-eyed young potman, inquired whether there was no room wherein I might enjoy the comfort of a fire. By way of answer I was ushered into an adjoining den (full of tobacco-smoke, and garnished with the smell of fried onions recently departed) wherein sat some four or five commonplace-looking men enjoying themselves bitterly, as Englishmen generally do. My sudden appearance checked the conversation, which I hastily endeavored to renew by some pungent and original remarks upon the weather ; much more to the purpose was my ordering of ‘glasses round’ to drink a Happy New Year to the world in general. On the common platform of drink all Englishmen are of one mind, and my abrupt entrance was soon forgotten and forgiven, and the interrupted flow of foul once more ran in its boozy channel. Before long an observation, made by a dirty-looking gentleman with, I cannot say, a clean- shaved face, revealed that he was, or had been, in the theatrical profession. I immediately fraternised with him, and after exchanging many anecdotes of the stage, I made the profound but just observation concerning its professors, that they seldom figured in the criminal lawcourts, and were, as a rale, innocent folk, kindly disposed to their brethren, and inclined to the bland pleasures of their own homes.

* Ah!’ responded my theatrical friend. ‘ Likely enough ! but I never knew an actor who would take another actor’s part—unless it was better than his own !’ This retort, which was designed as a joke, being duly honored, I inquired seriously whether my friend’s experience did not bear out my assertion.

‘ V es,’ he slowly assented, * but, of course, there’s exceptions ; and, it I’m not mistaken, I’ve known one— a rum ’un, too ! Ch! I’ll tell you the story. I was one of Joe Martin’s company fifteen years since (yon know Joe Martin? —travelled the Bath Circuit and Midland Counties —that’s him !). Well, as I say, I was one of his regular people, and did the light business in those days. We were doing a fortnight at the Old Wells, about Christmas time, fourteen years ago, and business was uncommon slack, to be sure ; for Cheltenham’s a fogyieh place, and regular under the parson’s thumb—not even a panorama could pitch there, once, without the vicar’s permission. Fact ! Anyhow, business was queer, and the governor determined to put up something strong to draw the gentry, and ‘billed’us for ‘Macbeth,’ with me as Macduff, Miss Estelle do Leroy (Mrs Briggs, she was) as Lady Macbeth, and Mr Roland Yipont (Brigge) as the Thane — a really fine ‘ cast.’ The day it was settled, and the bills ready to go out, a quiet, re-spectable-looking young man of about thirty, I should say, not particularly well-dressed, nor yet remarkable seedy, called on Joe Mai tin, and begged for some employment in the theatre as actor, super, or what yon like We were short of a Duncan just then, as our old man had left us through words with Joe. and I should have had to double him with Macduff; but the governor took a strange fancy to this quiet chap, and put him on for the king at no salary, but only his meals ; for it seemed this was all the poor fellow asked. I never came across so gentle and sweetspoken a man in my life. He had a kind word for everybody, knew his place, spoke beautiful English, seemed to thoroughly understand his business, and was far away the beat Duncan I ever saw —and, as I said, I’ve played the part myself. Well, at the second rehearsal of the tragedy, Briggs, who was certainly a most violent ranter (‘ physical actor actor ’ they call it nowadays. _ It physicked me then, I know !), roared himself so outrageously hoarse that he wasn’t fit for even a ‘ crowd ’ or an ‘ echo,’ much less for Macbeth. Joe was at his wits’ end, and we were generally at a standstill, when Duncan mildly offered to take the part. You might have felled me with a harlequin's waud! Joe smiled, and quietly said, ‘ Try it, Mr Parker; try it!’ If he could only have seen Joe’s expression of pitying contempt. I didn’t mind, ’cos I knew it was my chance coming at last. Miss i'stelle looked thunder, and Mr Yipont growled it. Rehearse it, all the same, Parker did ; and, as I’m an honest man, sir, you’ll believe me that before ten minutes of the great scene in the second act had passed, we all of us—yes I Briggs too! saw Macbeth for the first time. Mrs Briggs was downright frightened, and pale, and when it was over, instead of applause, Parker saw only that in our faces which to a real actor was worth more than three ‘rounds.’ We caved in—we weren’t in it. Joe said (with an oath in a whisper), ‘You’ll do, Parker!’ ‘Do 1’ I should think so ! It was simply the most marvellous picture of the part we had ever seen —past my poor description. Joe said no more to Parker, but with an eye to future business, he quietly ‘ billed ’ him as a ‘ star,’ and without his knowing, announced him as ‘ The Great Chandos Fleetwood, from the Principal London Theatres, and waited the result. Joe was safe about Parker knowing nothing of this, for the new Macbeth, to save lodgings, lived In the theatre, and never stirred out night or day, but had his meals fetched In always by the call boy. The governor was always deep. The next night we played the tragedy, and Joe’s bills had done the trick ! Not only was the house nearly full, but a superior class of people honored the 1 stai ’s’

appearance ; in particular we noticed two awful swells in full dress (with bouquets in their coats like my lord) a sitting in the stalls, and surveying the ladies through their ivory glasses In add'tion to Duncan and Macduff I had to doable one of the witches, so I was on the stage nearly all play, and can tell you that I never saw a Macbeth so splendidly played and so properly appreciated. In the second act Parker outdid all that we had seen at lehearsal. Miss Estelle de Leroy was cowed and crushed by Parker’s intensity : her face was ashen white, and she seemed fit to drop ; Parker was the cowardly, murdering devil to the very life : his voice hissed like a snake’s j his thin hands gripped the air like a vampire’s claws, his eyes shone like a cat’s, and his teeth glittered as he gnashed them in despair and horror. It was downright awful; and when that ghastly act was over, Mrs Briggs went quietly off in a faint, and Parker staggered against a back wing. Joe knew the trick was done, and was all smiles to the two swells from the stalls, who sent np their cards begging for an introduction to the new Macbeth Joe led them up to the back, bouqets and all, and made the presentation. Parker faintly bowed, and tried to sp -ak his thanks, when, of a sudden (I was standing close by, watching intently), I saw his face turn a livid blue, and the next minute he and the two swells were in a fierce struggle. Though two to one, Parker nearly did for them ; he bit, he raved, he hurled them this way and that, foaming like a man in a fit, when I h r ard a sharp click, and one of the swells, rising from the stage with the blood pouring from a bitten wound in his cheek, said coolly, 'Safe enough now, Mr Fleetwood ! ’ and we saw that Parker was in handcuffs, and standing at bay like a hunted rat. ‘Sorry to disturb the performance, Mr Martin, ’ said the swell, ‘ bat duty is duty. I am Inspector Grove, this (.•ointing to the other swell) is Chief D.itactive Brown.’ ‘But why’—gasped poor Joe, * why do this ? W ho is this man ?’ ‘ Who is he? ’ replied Ir specter Grove. ‘ Why, 1 handos Fleetwood, of course, whom we have arrested for the bloodiest wife murder ever knowu in Lon don.’ ‘Yon knew me, then,’ whispered Parker (I shall never forg t hia face). ‘Knew you?’ said Inspector Grove, ‘certainly not. But since you’re fool enough to print your own name in capitals all over the town, yon can’t be surprised if you’re captured.’

*He was took on New Year's Day—he was banged six week’s afterwards. But wasn’t odd that Joe Martin should have hit on the murderer’s own name? Sort of destiny, wasn’t it ? But he was the beat Macbeth I ever saw.’

And, after all, I was ten minutes late for dinner.