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THEATRE REVIEWS 38. The White Rose (1892) The White Rose
by Robert Buchanan and George R. Sims (an adaptation of the novel, Woodstock by Sir Walter Scott).
London: Adelphi Theatre. 23 April to 10 June, 1892. The Stage (31 March, 1892 - p.11) When you find “Dagonet” in the Referee devoting paragraphs to the doings and sayings of Mr. Robert Buchanan you may bet your bottom dollar that “something is up” between the two. And so it appears. For some time “Dagonet” has been telling us about Mr. Buchanan at Brighton and his wonderful staying powers. He has also described the poet as having indulged in the frivolities of the fancy dress ball at Covent Garden. Now for the sequel. On, or near to, Easter Monday, a new romantic drama, written by George R. Sims and Robert Buchanan, will be produced at the Adelphi, where it was read to the company on Monday. There you have the cause of the effect in a nutshell. The play in question is in four acts, and Windsor Castle will be one of the scenes. In it you will find a well-known actor, who has been from England some time, appearing as Cromwell. [Note: “Dagonet” was a pseudonym of G. R. Sims.] ___ The Scotsman (25 April, 1892 - p.7) The whirligig of time has brought with it another romantic drama at the Adelphi. For the moment present-day melodrama is put aside, and an older class prevails in its stead. The change is pleasant, even though the new work be not of any very remarkable merit either from the dramatic or from the literary point of view. One welcomes “The White Rose” of Messrs G. R. Sims and Robert Buchanan as a pleasant revival of an old and favourite style. There we are once more in an atmosphere of love-locks and round heads, of plumed hats and high boots, of lace ruffles and buff jerkins, of “king” and “Parliament,” of “go tos” and “verilys”—an atmosphere which we breathed not so long ago, when “The Royal Oak” was produced at Drury Lane. Messrs Sims and Buchanan have gone, they say, to Scott’s “Woodstock” for their inspiration, but they have not taken from it so much as might be supposed. The Cromwellian Colonel Markham Everard (Mr Boyne) is in love with and beloved by the Royalist Alice Lee (Miss Millard), who has just rejected the suit of Colonel Yarborough, another Cromwellian officer (Mr Cockburn.) Alice’s brother Albert takes refuge in Woodstock Lodge, bringing with him the young King (Mr Fuller Mellish), whom old Sir Harry Lee (Mr Beveridge) is only too proud to succour. The King makes love to Alice, but, in despite of this, Everard helps him to escape through the Roundhead lines. Cromwell’s daughter Elizabeth (Mrs Patrick Campbell), who is the apple of her father’s eye, is enamoured of Everard, who only admires her and says so. Cromwell, therefore, has no scruple in punishing Everard for his share in the King’s escape, and would have the Colonel shot but for the intervention of Elizabeth, who hands her lover over to the distracted Alice. It will be seen that in giving such prominence to “Old Noll” and his daughter, Messrs Sims and Buchanan diverge considerably from “Woodstock.” They have, indeed, rather overdone this divergence, giving us something too much of the Protector and his child. The general result, however, is good. When the last act of “The White Rose” has been freely “cut” the play will go well and attract powerfully. The story is interesting and full of sympathetic action. The humorous episodes are few, but as compensation there are a couple of tableaux, representing visions which Cromwell (Mr Cartwright) is supposed to see in a dream, and which were received to-night with abundant favour. They show the execution of Charles and the deathbed of Elizabeth Cromwell. Mr Collette, Mr Reginald, and Miss Jecks are the comedians, and make much fun out of characters which are necessarily subordinate. The principal role is that of Cromwell, which Mr Cartwright enacts with a good deal of rugged force, but with too great sameness in intonation. Next in importance comes the Markham Everard of Mr Boyne, which has all the necessary earnestness and vigour. Mr Cockburn shows some power as Everard’s rival and traducer, Mr Beveridge is a dignified Sir Harry Lee, Mr Brodie a gallant Albert Lee, and Mr Mellish a Charles Stuart more notable for humour than for kingliness. Alice finds in Miss Millard a pretty and spirited representative, while Mrs Campbell is graceful and touching as the ill-fated Elizabeth. The success of the piece is unquestionable. Mr Cartwright was twice “called” after his dream scene, and had, as Mr Boyne also had, a special “call” at the end. The authors were also summoned and duly appeared. “The White Rose” will not become a classic, but it is calculated to give much pleasure to many playgoers before it is finally put upon the shelf. ___ The Times (25 April, 1892 - p.10) THE THEATRES. ADELPHI. There are fashions in drama as in dress. Whence they come and what conditions determine the length of their stay are mysteries akin to the perplexing phenomena observed in the world of millinery, where one “creation,” for no apparent reason, supplants another, only to be itself in turn supplanted. If one man in his time plays many parts, it is equally true that he sees a good many varieties of play in vogue, from grave to gay, from lively to severe. There are veteran actors within whose experience the taste of the public has ranged over as wide a dramatic field as that sketched out by Polonius. Less than 40 years elapsed between the reign of Sheridan Knowles and that of T. W. Robertson—authors who may almost be said to represent the opposite poles of dramatic writing; and, while the claims of a literary drama are now being vigorously pushed in so many quarters, it is only a few years ago that all classes of the community were content to be regaled at two out of every three West-end theatres with comic opera or burlesque. Such are the broader aspects of this question. Tempora mutantur, nos et mutamur in illis would be an excellent, if somewhat hackneyed, motto for the playwrights of all countries and periods. That melodrama, although, generally speaking, one of the stablest of dramatic forms, has not gone scatheless amid the fluctuations of public taste is of course a foregone conclusion. If it has not passed through as many phases as burlesque, it has nevertheless been obliged in some degree to accommodate itself to its surroundings; whence it comes that the methods of Boucicault and Watts Phillips have given place to those of Sims, Pettitt, and Buchanan. The existing formula of melodrama may be said to have come in with The Lights o’ London; and, ten years being an exceptionally long run of popularity for a theatrical fashion, however good, the question has naturally arisen whether the time has not come for a change in this class of entertainment. To feel the pulse of the playgoing public in such matters is, however, an operation of considerable delicacy. Audiences can indicate plainly enough that they are tiring of the fare set before them, but they are not equally explicit as to what they would like to have in its place; in truth, they do not know. They are in the position of the gourmet who trusts to his chef to discover and minister to the requirements of a jaded palate; and this responsibility the management of the Adelphi, together with their purveyors in chief, Messrs. Sims and Buchanan, have frankly recognized to the extent that they do not even wait for their hydra-headed patron to express his dissatisfaction with the current menu, but strive to anticipate his appetites. At the Adelphi on Saturday night the Eastertide change of bill partook accordingly of the nature of a new departure, the familiar realism of The Trumpet Call giving place to the romance of a drama of the Cavalier and Roundhead period. Whether or not the bold experiment has been happily timed the events of the next few weeks or months will show. As regards the first-night audience there could certainly be no doubt of the entire success of the new play, which was applauded as warmly as the best of its predecessors in the heyday of their fortunes.
The White Rose is a dramatic version of Sir Walter Scott’s “Woodstock,” but the transition here effected by the authors from one dramatic plane to another is not quite as sharp or as violent as this circumstance might imply. They have borrowed the historical characters of the novel and assigned them to their appropriate place and period. But, availing themselves of the licence which Scott himself claimed and of which Shakespeare is the most signal example, Messrs. Sims and Buchanan have handled their material in their own way. Thus the well-known lines of the Sims-Buchanan melodrama, blurred a little though they be, in the new play, are still distinguishable. Mr. Leonard Boyne, as Markham Everard, the sober Cromwellian officer, remains what he has ever been at the Adelphi, the hero of one unfaltering love, proof alike against misfortune and temptation; and to this monumental passion Miss Millard, as Alice Lee, the Royalist beauty, responds as devotedly, through good and evil report, as if she were the modern village maiden betrothed to the young squire. Moreover, Everard finds in one Desborough, Cromwell’s High Commissioner, a rejected rival and secret enemy, corresponding in everything save his garb to the polished and relentless villain of the modern play, who entertains nefarious designs with respect to the lady and “the property”; while Mr. Lionel Rignold and Miss Clara Jecks, as dependents in a Cavalier household, carry on their comic courtship in the old familiar way—a courtship disturbed as usual by the advances of a rival swain, who in this instance is a hypocritical Roundhead, impersonated in a lively fashion by Mr. Charles Collette with the catchphrase—an echo of so many plays of the period—”Yea, verily,” with the accent on the “y.” In all such details of their story Messrs. Sims and Buchanan have kept pretty closely to their beaten track. We recognize the old melodrama without much difficulty in its new guise. The hands are the hands of Esau, but the voice is the voice of Jacob. Where the authors do acquit themselves fully and satisfactorily of their new responsibilities, where they break wholly fresh ground and invest their story with an interest such as the typical Adelphi play of the past ten years has never known, is in the building up of the massive central figure of Oliver Cromwell, in the representation of which they have the assistance of Mr. Charles Cartwright, an actor wonderfully well-adapted to the part in voice and bearing. This figure is the pivot of the entire action, and dwarfs curiously the rest of the dramatis personæ. Not that it is history, or even the Cromwell of Scott’s romance. The authors have given us a Cromwell of their own, a rugged, honest, God-fearing soldier—a character conforming, it will be seen, much more closely to the historical portrait than the late Mr. Wills’s curiously perverted sketch in Charles I., but still departing from all precedent in this respect, that the Man of Iron is dominated throughout less by his sense of duty than by his overweening love for his daughter Elizabeth, whose gentle counsels, at every juncture of affairs, dispose him to mercy and forbearance. It is the pleading of Elizabeth which allows Sir Harry Lee and his daughter Alice to retain possession of Woodstock; it is the same sweet influence again which saves Markham Everard from a traitor’s doom for having assisted the escape of the young King Charles. Cromwell’s is the hand, but Elizabeth’s the spirit which rules; and whatever may be said for or against this conception on historical grounds, there can be no question of its commanding merit from the dramatic point of view. The new Cromwell is a most impressive and sympathetic character, admirably embodied by Mr. Cartwright.
Designed as they are to bring out the new side of the Protector’s character, the relations of Markham Everard and Cromwell in the play are not exactly those of the novel. Everard is indeed engaged to Alice Lee, but he is beloved by Elizabeth Cromwell, whose heart has gone out to the young soldier, it appears, with out any encouragement, and Cromwell has marked him out as a son-in-law. When, therefore, Everard openly prefers Alice to Elizabeth, Cromwell pursues him, for his Royalist leanings, with something like vindictiveness, subordinating the interests of the State to his interests as a father. This is a startling element of weakness to introduce into the Protector’s character, but it is so very human! Indeed, it would be difficult to praise too highly this portion of the authors’ scheme, which not only humanizes Cromwell in a remarkable degree, but gives an opportunity for the display of a touching generosity and true womanliness on the part of Elizabeth—a character in which Mrs. Patrick Campbell reveals an unsuspected command of the tender note. From first to last, Cromwell’s relations with his favourite daughter are a beautiful and elevating feature of the play. The part of Alice Lee is prettily sympathetic in its way likewise, and in the hands of Miss Millard loses nothing of its native sweetness. Mr. Leonard Boyne invests the young Roundhead officer with the fine cavalierly qualities indispensable to a character of heroic mould. Circumstances have driven the authors to bestow upon Everard this dual aspect, but there is not doubt that in so doing they weaken the part dramatically. It is difficult to sympathize with a soldier whose conscience is with the King while he lends his sword to the Parliament, and Mr. Boyne’s fine speeches are only a partial veneer to Everard’s inconsistencies. Various incidental characters traverse the action picturesquely. Such are the Sir Harry Lee, the fine, old, stanch cavalier of Mr. Beveridge, the devil-may-care Roger Wildrake of Mr. Dalton, and the feeble, self-indulgent Charles of Mr. Fuller Mellish, all derived from the novel. A fine play, in short, is this of The White Rose, interesting above all for its characterization, and therefore in the best sense literary. It would be a thousand pities if its many beauties were not appreciated as they deserve, but happily there is so far every sign that the confidence of the management and the authors in the judgment of the Adelphi public has not been misplaced. ___ The Stage (28 April, 1892 - p.12) LONDON THEATRES. THE ADELPHI. On Saturday, April 23, 1892, was produced here a romantic drama in four acts and seven scenes, founded on Sir Walter Scott’s novel “Woodstock,” by George R. Sims and Robert Buchanan, entitled:— The White Rose. ROUNDHEADS.
Colonel Markham Everard ... Mr. Leonard Boyne
Oliver Cromwell ... ... Mr. C. Cartwright
Colonel Yarborough ... ... Mr. George Cockburn
General Harrison ... ... Mr. R. Davis
Mr. Bletson ... ... Mr. H. Cooper, jun.
Captain Pearson ... ... Mr. Howard Russell
Joseph Tomkins ... ... Mr. Charles Collette
Ezekiel Robins ... ... Mr. F. T. Lingham
Ephraim Wood ... ... Mr. W. Northcote
Habakuk ... ... Mr. E. Saxon
Corporal of the Guard ... ... Mr. F. Anderson
Elizabeth Cromwell ... ... Mrs. Patrick Campbell
ROYALISTS.
In The Trumpet Call Messrs. Sims and Buchanan took a step out of the very much beaten track of Adelphi melodrama, and now in The White Rose they have plunged into the wildwood of romantic drama. In this adventurous course they have relied largely on Sir Walter Scott in “Woodstock” as guide and friend, not disdaining a hint or two by the way from W.G. Wills in Charles I. and Buckingham. The play that is the outcome of these excursions is in a new style, that should commend itself to Adelphi playgoers, whose name is legion. It belongs altogether to a higher reach of dramatic writing than the unbroken succession of melodramas that Mr. Sims, alone or in collaboration—with an ability that may easily be decried but not easily excelled—has contributed to the boards of this popular theatre. The White Rose is a well-made play, in a vein in which drama and melodrama are judiciously blended. The interests are strong, and they are set forth with a vigour of expression and an ingenuity of treatment likely to captivate Adelphi audiences for a very long time to come.
Passing from the play considered by itself to the play in relation to the fiction of Scott and to the fact of the Civil War, perhaps terms must become more qualified. The authors’ indebtedness to Scott is considerable. They have followed very closely certain main incidents in the novel, touching the sequestration of Woodstock, the love-making of Markham Everard and Alice Lee, the harbouring and the escape of Charles Stuart, and the coming of Cromwell and his soldiery on the scene. Herein, but for occasional change of sequence and curtailment of matter, they employ freely both incidents and words as they are found in “Woodstock.” The original element, which is considerable, tends to weaken the scheme, which is really Scott’s. The characters of Everard, Charles, and Cromwell suffer, the last-named especially. Cromwell is presented as a mere matrimonial matchmaker, subordinating thereto affairs of high politics. He desires that Everard shall marry his daughter Elizabeth, and on the success or the failure of this project he bases his whole treatment of Everard and the Lees. He pardons treasonable conduct on Everard’s part when he thinks doing so will make his officer a warmer suitor; he visits a repetition of it with sentence of death when there is no hope of this result. Everard himself is made an officer of Cromwell’s, instead of an ally with whom, because of the power of the Everards, the General is particularly anxious to stand well. Markham Everard, moreover, as this Cromwellian officer, rather than a leader of Parliamentary forces, is the more inexcusable in his proneness to help Royalists in place of Roundheads. As for Charles, his qualities are not great in the novel; they are despicable in the play. Trusty Tompkins, among minor persons, is the worse for the transference: he is reduced to an oleaginous buffoon. These comparisons are doubtless odious, but it is impossible for the reader of the novel not to make them. After all, it is one of the inevitable consequences of adaptation from print to boards. And the authors are, in some of these respects, as unkind to fact as to fiction. For example, the real Cromwell was of quite other clay and spirit than the wordy, partial, vacillating, vision-haunted man depicted; and his daughter, far from the love-lorn maid depicted, was, as school books record, Mrs. Claypole at 17.
A brief recital will show the arrangement of the dramatic action by the authors. In the first scene, a delightful piece of old English sylvan landscape, Sir Harry Lee is troubled with the news of the sequestration of Woodstock. As in the novel, his daughter Alice reasons with him, without avail; the rough intrusion of Joseph Tomkins, the steward to the Commissioners follows and then, in the heat of encounter, the interposition of Colonel Markham Everard takes place. The old man is bitter with the once boyish favourite, now a Commonwealth officer. In this scene two new interests are thus early touched upon—the rejected passion of one of the Commissioners, Colonel Yarborough, for Alice Lee, and the friendship—reciprocated by love—of Everard for Oliver Cromwell’s daughter. The second scene provides a comic interlude for Tomkins, Phśbe Mayflower, and an original character, Jeremiah Holdfast (who is perhaps too closely named after the presbyter, Nehemiah Holdenough of the story), and also serves to show the Roundhead soldiery on the alert for fugitive Royalists, who it is believed are harboured at Woodstock. Then in the third scene of the act, which is laid in the Panel Chamber, the son Albert Lee arrives, with the hunted young Charles Stuart, disguised as the young Scots page Louis Kerneguy, but without Dr. Rochecliffe, who plays so prominent a part in the novel. Sir Harry and Alice do not suspect the identity of their guest. The fugitives are disturbed by the abrupt entrance of the Commissioners, and hastily conceal themselves in the secret passages. The Commissioners, who come to take possession, find Sir Harry obdurate, and the vindictive Yarborough orders him and his household to be driven out into the stormy night. Hereupon Everard again intervenes and an appeal on his part to the soldiers has the remarkable effect of completely discomfiting their own Commissioners. Everard then sends his secretary, Roger Wildrake, with a petition to Cromwell for the removal of the Commissioners and the abandonment of the sequestration of the estates. Cromwell is depicted here not only uneasy in his mind about the execution of the King—as in the novel—but also keenly desirous of marrying his favourite daughter Elizabeth to Markham Everard, whom he knows she loves. His interrogation of Wildrake is similar to that of the story, as are his instructions; here, too, he compels himself to look upon the picture of Charles I. He is about to write the required order, when Yarborough is announced. The Commissioner is quickly followed by Everard himself, whom Cromwell hears in preference to Yarborough. Cromwell leaves Everard with his daughter, with a hint that all will be well if the Colonel woos and wins the gentle Elizabeth. But Everard, from his sense of chivalry, makes known the fact, hitherto unsuspected, that he can be only brother, not lover, to Elizabeth. The daughter crushes down her own pain in her unselfish devotion to Everard, but not so the father. He has been worked upon by Yarborough, who persuades Cromwell that Everard has not only abused the Commissioners and sheltered fugitives, but, engaged as he is to the old Royalist’s daughter, also deceived Elizabeth. Everard admits the first charge, and says little in mitigation of the second; and he gives up his sword. But Elizabeth intercedes, and Cromwell, moved that she should plead for him, returns him his sword, and bids him go back to Woodstock and take command there. With the reflection that he has established a powerful claim of gratitude upon Everard, which can be exerted in Elizabeth’s favour, Cromwell prepares for sleep ere journeying himself to Woodstock. But he cannot rest: dreams oppress him, and two visions come to him—one of the execution of Charles I., and the other of the death of Elizabeth. He rises shrieking from the last, and says as he finds the fond arms of his daughter about him, that he does not want the blood of young Charles Stuart upon him. With the third act a return is made to the Panel Chamber at Woodstock Lodge. Everard has become jealous of Charles Stuart, whom he believes to be the dissolute Lord Wilmot in disguise. Charles has revealed himself to Alice Lee, of whom he has become violently enamoured. The Wilmot ring which figures in “Woodstock” he persuades, or rather requires, her to wear, and forces upon her his company, which is too ardent to be acceptable. Markham sees them walking on the terrace, finds the ring on her finger, taxes Charles with being Lord Wilmot, calls him to account, and sends Wildrake to him with a challenge. Night comes on; all retire, and Charles lies down in the Panel Chamber to rest prior to his flight in the morning. Soon Alice runs hurriedly in, with news of the approach of Cromwell and his soldiers. Charles, reckless of his danger, seizes Alice, breathes passionate words into her ears, and attempts to do her violence. Alice cries out; Markham answers her, enters, and is only prevented from throwing himself on the supposed Lord Wilmot by the revelation of Charles’s true condition. A brief struggle with himself, and Markham Everard not only sanctions, but abets Charles’s escape. To Cromwell, who then forces his way in, he confesses what he has done, yields up his sword, and hears unmoved the sentence of death passed upon him. In the last act, Alice Lee obtains audience of Cromwell, and pleads for her lover’s life, or at least for a final interview. Cromwell, seeing in her only the rival of his daughter, will grant her nothing. Elizabeth supplicates too; then upbraids. Her father, she says, is not in this act justifying his country’s cause, but executing personal vengeance. Markham Everard is to die not because he let Charles Stuart escape, but because he would not marry Elizabeth Cromwell. The father is moved to tears. The guard, with Everard, pass by on the way to execution. Cromwell orders them to halt. Yarborough presents despatches from London, in which it is hinted that the Parliament thinks Cromwell himself connived at the escape of Charles Stuart. Cromwell is roused: Parliament may think what it pleases—Everard is not to die. And the rest is—applause: for here, after these psychological novelties, the curtain comes down.
The White Rose puts the members of the excellent Adelphi company to new tests, out of which they emerge much more successfully than could be expected. Mr. Leonard Boyne makes a most spirited figure of Colonel Markham Everard. He may not quite escape the long accustomed exuberance of melodrama, but the romantic fervour of his playing is not to be gainsaid. It is a bold, strong picture, touched with no niggard art, that he presents in the character of the soldier lover. Equally prominent is the Oliver Cromwell of Mr. Charles Cartwright, which is full of tense acting; indeed, nervous yet somewhat concentrated force is what dominates it throughout. It is far from the Cromwell of history, as modern research has revealed that great general and greater soul; it may not be the ideal Cromwell of the stage. But Mr. Cartwright has had to work upon given materials, and out of them he has wrought a most effective personality. Of conspicuous merit is the Colonel Yarborough of Mr. George Cockburn, a young actor whose good work, formerly in the country and latterly at the New Olympic, has often been remarked in our columns. His villain is a most refined piece of work, of the nicest finish, that yet leaves the strength of it unimpaired. Mr. J. D. Beveridge, sound actor always, is a courtly Sir Harry, but the quality of distinction is rather wanting in the Charles Stuart of Mr. Fuller Mellish, and the Roger Wildrake of Mr. Charles Dalton. The fugitive heir, first in his disguise as the page and then in his own person, is a difficult part for a young actor to essay. Mr. Mellish is better as page than prince; there is plenty of good character in the former, but in the latter not enough grace and glow of kinghood. Mr. Mellish sheathes a sword rather inexpertly. Roger Wildrake is a gallant of mad moods: Mr. Dalton emphasises the moods at the expense of the gallant. The result is not altogether satisfactory—Roger becomes too much a common wild braggart, and too little a poor gentleman whose reckless jollity is the goad of his life. Mr. Mathew Brodie plays forcibly, if with slight exaggeration here and there, as Albert Lee. Mr. Charles Collette as the Puritan steward and Mr. Lionel Rignold as the Royalist serving-man make the most of rather attenuated humours, in which not very grateful task they are joined by Miss Clara Jecks, sprightly as ever as Phśbe Mayflower. Mr. Howard Russell acts with his old skill as Captain Pearson, and remaining minor rôles are duly filled by Messrs. R. Davis (General Harrison), H. Cooper, jun. (Mr. Bletson), F. T. Lingham (Robins), W. Northcote (Wood), E. Saxon (Habakuk), and Arthur Leigh (Jolliffe). The female interest is confined to Alice Lee and Elizabeth Cromwell, two parts that are very ably, if not quite perfectly, performed by Miss Evelyn Millard and Mrs. Patrick Campbell. Miss Millard has not hitherto done anything better than her Alice Lee, which is a surprising performance from so young an artist. Miss Millard has not yet the ease and the freedom of playing that come of experience, but otherwise little fault can be found with her eminently pleasing portrayal of the sylph-like Alice, as fresh and sweet, as tender and true, as Old English maiden could be. Mrs. Campbell makes another decided advance in her art on the present occasion. There is a full charm in her mild Elizabeth, softly spoken and tenderly clinging. The dressing of the part we do not greatly like, but a spirit so sincere as Mrs. Campbell breathes into her Elizabeth cannot be much affected by mere externals.
The Brothers Gatti have come liberally to the aid of the authors in the setting and general presentation of the drama. Messrs. Bruce Smith, W. Perkins, and Walter Hann have painted a series of delightful scenes; Messrs. L. and H. Nathan have executed, from designs by “Karl,” and abundance of picturesque costumes, and Mr. Henry Sprake has supplied instrumental, and Mr. Stedman choral, music of attractive quality, while—witness the uninterrupted smoothness of the first night!—Mr. E. H. Norman has, under the personal direction of the authors, cleverly produced The White Rose.
The progress of The White Rose on Saturday was accompanied by every token of success, and at the close authors and actors were summoned and re-summoned to the front, in the midst of much enthusiasm. ___ The Penny Illustrated Paper (30 April, 1892 - p.282) The great majority of playgoers will, I am certain, feel grateful to MM. A. and S. Gatti and MM. G. R. Sims and Robert Buchanan, the authors, not only for producing a spirited and engrossing historical drama of the greatest interest in “The White Rose,” ingeniously adapted from Sir Walter Scott’s romance of “Woodstock,” but also for presenting to Adelphi audiences a noble portrait of Cromwell, which must do much to counteract the effect of the burlesque, venal Cromwell the late Mr. Wills drew in the Lyceum play of “Charles I.” To anyone who has recently reperused “Woodstock,” and thereby endured not a few of the “bad quarters of an hour” that abound, I must confess, in Scott’s novels, it must be a welcome surprise to see what a stirring and exciting play from first to last the skilled dramatists have made of this Cromwellian romance. Literally, from the rising of the curtain and the adroit introduction of the handsome old Royalist, Sir Harry Lee, of Woodstock Chase, with beauteous Alice Lee and her chivalrous young Cromwellian suitor, Colonel Markham Everard, to the moving dénoûment in which the belated lover awaits execution, “The White Rose” is throughout full of interest. I hold it is the most exciting piece at present on the London boards. Love and patriotism are well intermingled. The right note is struck—from the People’s side—with regard to the libertine young Prince who subsequently becomes Charles II., and with respect to the People’s champion, Oliver Cromwell, of whom a surprisingly good portrait is given by that excellent actor, Mr. Charles Cartwright, who has evidently studied the historic paintings of the great Protector. The face is well-nigh perfect. Mr. Cartwright has never done anything better than this Cromwell. His moving scenes with his gentle daughter, Elizabeth Cromwell, for whom he seeks, but in vain, to gain Markham Everard as a husband, are infinitely touching. This is due alike to the histrionic art of Mr. Cartwright and to the rare skill of Mrs. Patrick Campbell, whose refined representation of Elizabeth Cromwell cannot fail to enhance her reputation, already high. Granted such episodes as Everard’s natural jealousy as seeing his fair sweetheart in company with the reckless scapegrace Prince, as the same dashing Cromwellian’s magnanimous action in saving the careless gallant at a critical moment, are not unfamiliar on the stage. Granted, too, that history is not accurately followed in the romantic episode of Elizabeth Cromwell’s life. Yet this is a venial deviation on the part of the dramatists, and full warrant for it is to be found in the undoubted strength of the situations caused by the gentle rivalry of Alice Lee and Elizabeth Cromwell. The tableaux of Cromwell’s dream—visions of the execution of Charles I. at Whitehall, and of the death of Elizabeth Cromwell—of the panel chamber at Woodstock Chase, and of the picturesque park scene at Woodstock, are veritable scenic triumphs on the part of MM. Bruce Smith, W. Hann, and W. Perkins; and, while Mr. E. B. Norman is to be commended for the general stage production, I must not forget to commend Mr. Henry Sprake for the exceptionally good musical interludes, which comprised Mendelssohn’s “Songs without Words,” Mascagni’s “Cavalleria Rusticana,” and Charles Coote’s dansante “Yours Sincerely Waltz.” To return to the acting of “The White Rose,” let praise be likewise awarded to Miss Evelyn Millard, who, as Alice Lee, was simply charming in her love scenes with Mr. Leonard Boyne, whom the valiant part of Markham Everard suited like a glove; Mr. George Cockburn, as Colonel Yarborough, gave Mr. Charles Dalton, the exuberant Roger Wildrake, a lesson in sobriety of acting by keeping well within the picture; and the light comedy was, of course, admirably done by clever and sprightly Miss Clara Jecks, never seen to greater advantage than as comely Phśbe Mayflower; by genuinely droll and amusing Lionel Rignold as Jeremiah Holdfast, and by Mr. Charles Collette as the hypocritical Joseph Tomkins. I noticed bright and pretty Miss Vizetelly in a well-filled small part; doubtless this talented young actress is understudy for one or other of the principal parts. Finally, “The White Rose” was such an emphatic success that rounds of the heartiest applause at the close greeted the leading members of the company, MM. Sims and Buchanan, and Mr. A. Gatti, who smiled his acknowledgments. ___ The Graphic (30 April, 1892 - Issue 1170) “The White Rose” at the Adelphi BY W. MOY THOMAS HISTORICAL truth is not to be looked for—or, if looked for, is certainly not to be found in the new historical play at the ADELPHI; but the piece is the work of two practised dramatists, and there can be no question that The White Rose, on Saturday evening, greatly interested and excited the audience. There have been adaptors of Sir Walter Scott’s novel of “Woodstock” long before Messrs. Sims and Buchanan. Isaac Pocock, a well-known playwright—unceremoniously stealing a march upon Daniel Terry, whom Scott preferred—brought out an adaptation immediately after the novel appeared, in 1826, at Covent Garden Theatre, in which Charles Kemble played Prince Charles. In France also, where Scott has been and still is scarcely less popular than in his own country, there is an old piece called Le Château de Woodstock, which has been adapted and played at our minor theatres. These versions of Scott’s “tale of the year 1651,” however, belong to the times when a plain outline of a favourite novel sufficed for the simple tastes of the average playgoer. Nowadays a broader canvas, a more complex intrigue, a brisker succession of romantic incidents and picturesque tableaux are imperatively demanded—at least by Adelphi audiences. The authors of The White Rose have accordingly enlarged the basis of the story of the loves of Alice, the daughter of the staunch Royalist, Sir Harry Lee, of Ditchley, and the Parliamentary officer, Colonel Everard, and have provided a list of personages in which figure some two and twenty characters, divided into “Roundheads” and “Royalists” in about equal proportion.
Free use of history, the authors of The White Rose have unquestionably made. Inspired, as it would seem, by the late Mr. Wills’s daring example in his now forgotten play, entitled Buckingham, they have chosen Cromwell’s favourite daughter Elizabeth—who can hardly be said to appear in the novel—for a position so prominent that she may almost be said to have become the pivot of the entire action of the play. Elizabeth Cromwell was, as most people know, a pious and decorous lady, who married at the early age of seventeen a Mr. Claypole, who survived her. At the period of the play, the action of which all passes within a week or two after the battle of Worcester, she was the mother of a young family. But, after the fashion of Mr. Wills, the authors have chosen to depict her as an unmarried lady, with a sentimental passion for a young officer, who is so far from returning her feeling that Elizabeth is fain, at last, in a mood of generous self-sacrifice, to promote his union with her more favoured rival. Cromwell was hardly the man to sympathise with such love-sick fancies, the more especially as Colonel Everard, towards whom his beloved daughter exhibits a decidedly “coming-on disposition,” is a Parliamentarian of a no very pious or enthusiastic pattern. To such a Cromwell, however, as Messrs. Sims and Buchanan have chosen to depict—weak, amiable, vacillating, and sentimental—all things are possible. Accordingly, no one is much surprised to find the Lord general conniving at his daughter’s weakness, and, partly at her entreaty, partly, as he explains, to give a convincing proof that he cares nothing for the slanderous rumour that he himself has favoured Prince Charles’s escape, reprieving Colonel Everard from a sentence of death passed on him by himself for that same offence. The limits of permissible license in such matters are, it is true, not very clearly defined; still, there are limits. Of course the object of all this is to present the contrast of the loves of the two women; and it must be confessed that the notion, fundamentally absurd though it is, gives rise to some touching passages and not a few dramatic situations, to which full effect is given by Mrs. Patrick Campbell as Elizabeth Cromwell and that refined and pathetic actress, Miss Evelyn Millard in the character of Alice Lee. If Mr. Cartwright’s Cromwell is wanting in dignity and self-possession it may be said that the Adelphi Cromwell has been careful shorn by the authors of both these qualities. Mr. Leonard Boyne, though too uniformly brimful of emotion, is a capital representative of Colonel Everard, and Charles Stuart, whom the new society of “The White Rose” will be shocked to find in the playbill described as “afterwards” Charles II., is played with ease and discretion by Mr. Fuller Mellish. Of the rest of the long list time serves not now to tell, but I must not omit to note that Mr. Lionel Rignold, supported by the sprightly Miss Clara Jecks as an Innkeeper’s daughter, makes the most of the conventional humours of a cowardly, good-tempered butler, and Mr. Collette, as the snuffling, self-seeking puritan, who is a no less familiar figure in stories of the Commonwealth period, is not less successful. The scenic artists, Messrs. Bruce, Smith, Hann, and Perkins, have turned to good account the picturesque opportunities of the story. The gates of Woodstock Chase with the peaceful English landscape in the distance, the postern gate at Windsor, and the Panel Chamber at Woodstock, are excellent examples of scenic illusion, and the dream of Cromwell—the Cromwellian drama is rarely without a dream—wherein the spectator beholds tableaux of the execution of Charles and the death of Cromwell’s daughter—is very skilfully and effectively managed. ___ The Era (30 April, 1892 - Issue 2797) “THE WHITE ROSE.”
_____ A New Romantic Drama,
Founded on Sir Walter Scott’s “Woodstock,”
by George R. Sims and Robert Buchanan,
First Produced at the Adelphi Theatre, April 23d.
Colonel Markham Everard ... Mr LEONARD BOYNE
Oliver Cromwell ... ... Mr CHAS. CARTWRIGHT
Colonel Yarborough ... ... Mr GEORGE COCKBURN
General Harrison ... ... Mr R. DAVIS
Mr. Bletson ... ... Mr H. COOPER, Jun.
Captain Pearson ... ... Mr HOWARD RUSSELL
Joseph Tomkins ... ... Mr CHARLES COLLETTE
Ezekiel Robins ... ... Mr F. T. LINGHAM
Ephraim Wood ... ... Mr W. NORTHCOTE
Habakuk ... ... Mr E. SAXON
Corporal of the Guard ... ... Mr F. ANDERSON
Elizabeth Cromwell ... ... Mrs PATRICK CAMPBELL
Charles Stuart ... ... Mr FULLER MELLISH
Sir Harry Lee ... ... Mr J. D. BEVERIDGE
Albert Lee ... ... Mr MATTHEW BRODIE
Roger Wildrake ... ... Mr CHARLES DALTON
Jolliffe ... ... Mr ARTHUR LEIGH
Jeremiah Holdfast ... ... Mr LIONEL RIGNOLD
Landlord ... ... Mr H. COOPER
Alice Lee ... ... Miss EVELYN MILLARD
Maid at Inn ... ... Miss ALICE BRONSE
Milkmaid ... ... Miss VIZETELLY
Phśbe Mayflower ... ... Miss CLARA JECKS
A brilliant audience last Saturday night gave a hearty welcome to the latest play of Messrs G. R. Sims and Robert Buchanan. It was quite a pleasant change to see a “costume play” at the Adelphi. Time was when Cavaliers and Roundheads, Cropheads, and fluttering tresses figured largely upon the English stage, but latterly the slums have had the largest share in the drama. Poverty and crime, forgery and murder have harrowed upon souls, and people began to inquire if something more genial, pure, and picturesque could not be placed upon the stage. It was, therefore, a happy thought to dip into the glowing pages of Sir Walter Scott, and in his story “Woodstock” a subject was found which suited the purpose of Messrs Sims and Buchanan exactly. That these brilliant dramatists have not adhered literally to the novel of Scott will not be regarded as a serious offence, nor will it be charged against them that they have treated history in an unconventional fashion. Some may say “We don’t find Thomas Carlyle or M. Guizot representing ‘Old Noll’ in the same spirit as Messrs Sims and Buchanan.” Similarly Mr Wills’s portrait of Charles the First caused a flutter in the minds of certain readers of history. But history is not supposed to deal with the inner life of its heroes. Charles the First may have been as gentle, true, and tender as Mr Wills paints him, and as he is so exquisitely represented upon the stage of the Lyceum, and burly Oliver Cromwell possibly loved his sweet affectionate daughter as fondly as in the Adelphi drama. Once when the elder Dumas was accused of altering facts he retorted that “he had improved upon them.” Many will think Messrs Sims and Buchanan have done so. They had one object in view, to produce a drama full of human interest, excitement, picturesque movement, and attractive characters, and they have done their work so well that, when the curtain fell on Saturday night, the house—not the pit only—but the entire audience “rose at them,” and with ringing cheers gave a most emphatic verdict of approval, while not forgetting the liberal support of Messrs Gatti in giving carte blanche to all concerned in the production. The representation of The White Rose was nothing short of a triumph. This everybody must be glad of, as we can well spare for a time the hackneyed scenes of sensational melodrama. The White Rose opens charmingly at the gates of Woodstock Chase, a beautiful sylvan landscape, where, after an introductory scene in order to start the main incidents, Colonel Markham Everard appears. That young officer in Cromwell’s army is sad at heart. Convinced of the justice of Cromwell’s mission he had broken with the old traditions and had imperilled even his love in order to fulfil what he considers his duty. Therefore, he comes to Woodstock Chase with news for his sweetheart, pretty Alice Lee, which he knows will grieve her, and make her father, the stout Royalist, Sir Harry Lee, furious. He brings the intelligence that the fair ancestral home of the Lees is confiscated. The Commissioners from the Parliament are even now on their way to drive from its noble roof Sir Harry and his daughter. But Everard hopes to soften the inevitable blow, and to prepare them for the sacrifice. After an angry scene between Sir Harry and the Colonel, in which the former reproaches the lover with abandoning the Royal house, excitement is caused by the actual arrival of Cromwell’s soldiers. They have learned that Charles Stuart has escaped after the battle of Worcester, and is likely to seek shelter at Woodstock, for Albert Lee, Sir Harry’s son, fought for the King. After these incidents the scene changes to the Panel Chamber of the Mansion, and Albert arrives with a friend—none other than the King in disguise—but fearing to trust the secret, Albert only introduces him as a Scottish friend who had fought with him. Events progress, the Commissioners arrive, and it is necessary to conceal the fugitives. A thunderstorm is coming on, and Colonel Yarborough, at the head of the Commission, informs Sir Harry what is the decision of the Parliament, when Colonel Markham Everard boldly countermands the orders of Yarborough, and declares that Sir Harry and his daughter shall not be driven from their home in the midst of the storm. The soldiers, taking their orders from Everard, accordingly take the Commissioners away, and the first act closes with a picturesque and exciting picture.
Colonel Yarborough has been a rejected suitor of Alice Lee, and, full of hatred, is only too glad of the opportunity to denounce Everard to Cromwell, who is at Windsor Castle. There Colonel Yarborough hastens, but Markham has already found a trusty messenger in Roger Wildrake, a reckless, boisterous adherent, but one who is ready to risk everything to serve his friend. Wildrake’s interview with “Old Noll” in the stately chamber at Windsor is amusing, and, although Cromwell is somewhat surprised at the treatment the Commissioners have met with, he is disposed to think Markham justified in his conduct until Colonel Yarborough arrives, flaming with jealousy and desirous of revenge. Both stories are told, and then Everard himself arrives and is heard. Cromwell hears Everard patiently, and has a conference with his daughter Elizabeth. He has long suspected that she loves the young officer, and so deeply is he attached to her that he would gladly see her wedded to Everard, as he believes her happiness would thus be secured. It is amusing to see the great Puritan leader, the destroyer of thrones, the victorious general, as a tender father with a love match on hand. But the whole of the scene, from a stage point of view, is delicate, sympathetic, and charming in the extreme. Everard is a manly fellow, and, left alone with the gentle Elizabeth, cannot help seeing that she loves him. But in a courteous and earnest manner he tells Cromwell’s daughter of the state of affairs at Woodstock. The authors have given a most exquisite picture of true womanhood in Elizabeth. She sees that her dream of future happiness is broken, and cannot restrain her tears. The young soldier, still faithful to Alice, is deeply moved, but after a time Elizabeth recovers her wonted calm, and in gently tones speaks only of Everard’s happiness, and promises to be a sister to him. Knowing what is in her father’s mind, however, she advises Everard to keep secret for the present his love for Alice Lee. A prettier scene of sentiment, or one more wholesome and pure, has never been witnessed upon the modern stage. We shall have, later on, to speak of the charming acting of Mrs Patrick Campbell as Elizabeth. She has never been seen to such advantage as in her portrait of Cromwell’s gentle daughter. There are two effective scenes in this act, in which a successful attempt is made to show the agitation of Cromwell as he thinks of the execution of Charles the First. Looking at the portrait of the King, he speaks of the execution as a stern necessity, but, sitting down wearily, he is inclined to pray that the Second Charles may not become his prisoner. Then , falling asleep, a tableau is shown of the execution, with the King, the headsman, and all the grim accessories of the scaffold. This was very impressive, but still more pathetic was the tableau of the death of Elizabeth. This was what had ever haunted the mind of Cromwell, and he awakes from these terrible dreams in violent agitation, to be calmed by his devoted daughter.
The third act takes place in the Panel Chamber of Woodstock, where the King is still hidden waiting for the opportunity to escape to France. The young monarch cannot resist the charms of Alice Lee, much to the disgust of her lover, who is ignorant of his identity, and believes it is the notorious Lord Wilmot, whose adventures with the fair sex are but too well known. Consequently Everard, coming upon them suddenly, is staggered to witness Alice receiving an embrace and a kiss from the supposed libertine. In an instant his sword is drawn, but Alice informs her lover it is the King, and implores him to aid Charles’s escape. There is no time to lose, for again the troopers of Cromwell are upon his track. In strict duty, Everard is bound to deliver the King to the Roundheads, but, after a severe mental struggle, he determines to save Charles, and even to assist his flight.
The fourth act is the exterior of the Lodge at Woodstock, another lovely scene, in which artistic realism is carried out to the extent of making the mists of dawn melt in the sunshine, while a herd of deer is seen under the branches of the trees in the park. Colonel Everard having secured the safety of the King, gives himself up to Cromwell, who sentences him to be shot. Again the gentle Elizabeth pleads, and even tells her father that, but for Everard’s engagement to Alice Lee, he would still find excuses to grant him a pardon. Meanwhile Colonel Yarborough exults in Everard’s downfall. He is too open in his hatred, and Cromwell detects it. There is also an irritating message from the Parliament in which Cromwell is accused of favouring Charles’s flight. These incidents have some influence on “Old Noll,” and once more the devoted Elizabeth exerts herself on behalf of the prisoner, with the result that Cromwell sets him free, and declares that if the Parliament is displeased with him he will create another.
Mr Charles Cartwright most zealously carried out the ideas of the authors in their portrait of Cromwell. We shall not object to their idea of “Old Noll,” who is an extremely pleasant Puritan, as seen in his devoted attachment to his daughter. In the scene in which Cromwell dreams of the execution and of his daughter’s death, Mr Cartwright’s emotional style proved very effective and won hearty applause. In the final scenes, where Cromwell hesitates respecting the sentence upon Everard, the actor also played with capital effect. Mr Leonard Boyne put considerable spirit into his portraiture of the hero, but was occasionally somewhat indistinct in his delivery. Mr George Cockburn may be warmly praised as Colonel Yarborough. He represented an unscrupulous man bent upon revenge with great intelligence, not making the character too much of a melodramatic villain, yet showing the workings of his mind with unquestionable ability. Mr Fuller Mellish played the King with plenty of animation, his scene with Alice Lee being spirited and buoyant. If a little more regal dignity could be added, his rendering of the character would be entirely satisfactory. Mr J. D. Beveridge gave an excellent idea of the staunch Royalist, Sir Harry Lee. Mr Matthew Brodie was a genial representative of Albert Lee, and Mr Charles Dalton as the roystering Roger Wildrake, equally at his ease in the presence of Cromwell, or with his boon companions, was just the actor for the part, and succeeded completely. The humour of the play was confided to Mr Charles Collette, Mr Lionel Rignold, and Miss Clara Jecks. It was mainly a series of scenes, in which Mr Collette, as a Puritan, is the rival in love of a Royalist butler, played by Mr Lionel Rignold with his customary genial humour; while Mr Collette’s Puritanical references to the “pretty lamb,” represented charmingly by Miss Clara Jecks, never failed to evoke hilarity. The two principal feminine characters are delightfully played. Mrs Patrick Campbell makes of Cromwell’s daughter one of the sweetest figures imaginable. The interview in the second act between Elizabeth and Everard was quite poetical in feeling and tone. Mrs Campbell displayed intellectual as well as emotional power; and, in fact, the character was quite a creation, full of grace and charm. In the part of Alice the ability of Miss Evelyn Millard was fully displayed, and with the best possible results. Miss Millard’s prepossessing appearance and command of vivacity and tenderness, as seen in the incident with the King and in the interviews between Alice and her lover, made the character a most attractive one, and the merits of the performance were not overlooked by the audience. Several other parts were well played, for example, that of Captain Pearson by Mr Howard Russell. Miss Alice Bronse and Miss Vizetelly are also to be commended.
The White Rose is a success of the most decided kind. So interesting, pure, and effective a drama should certainly attract large audiences to the Adelphi for many a month to come. ___ The Theatre (1 June, 1892) Our Play-Box.
_____ “THE WHITE ROSE.” Romantic drama, in four acts, founded on Sir WALTER SCOTT’S novel “Woodstock,” by
GEORGE R. SIMS and ROBERT BUCHANAN.
First produced at the Adelphi Theatre, Saturday evening, April 23rd, 1892. |
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