Olga Nethersole (1866-1951)

"The Transgressor"
A play in four acts, by A. W. Gattie.
Produced at the Court Theatre, Saturday, January 27th, 1894.
(with Olga Nethersole as Sylvia)

Can a great actress carry a dull play? That was the question propounded at the Court. But Mr. Gattie never intended that discussion during and after his play should rage round a problem like that. In writing 'The Transgressor' he was full of the iniquities and injustice of the law. Given a husband whose wife loses her wits and who falls in love with a fascinating girl, how shall he behave. Shall he remember those little words, "for better, for worse," and bear his cross like a man; or, calmly wait until the tide of passion, which rolls in upon him after years of loneliness and self-denial, grows to such height that his power of resistance is unavailing, and he permits an innocent girl to be borne away with him on the flood ? These were the questions which confronted him, these he hoped to poise in a dramatic shape, and with these enthral a countless succession of audiences.

But inexperience and an unfortunate blindness to the unattractiveness of his theme shattered his hopes, and had it not been for Miss Olga Nethersole and her extraordinary art, we might have been left without even the problem aforesaid. Eric Langley had a mad wife, and for twenty years posed as a widower. Then he fell in love with Sylvia Woodville and drifted. Intending to tell the whole truth, he told only that part of it relating to his love, and went through a form of marriage with her. Through incredible folly on his part the rest of the story became known, and Sylvia had to suffer all the agony of horror that his treachery had ensured for her. But fury gave place to humiliation, shame to love. What though he had been false? At least he had loved her well enough to commit a crime for her. That should be his excuse, if not his justification, and Sylvia defied the world, braved its judgment, and gave herself to him "body and soul" - presently, however, consenting to his working out such atonement as he could by submitting to the laws which he had outraged, with the promise that she would wait for him - presumably on earth, possibly in heaven and for the bliss to come.

That is Mr. Gattie's story, a story in which he begs the question in every other scene. His hero, as drawn, is a dastard and a craven; his heroine, a white flower ruthlessly trampled in the mud. Whereas to do justice to his theme, to treat his subject seriously, it is essential that the criminal and the victim shall find no place in the scheme, that each party to the action shall be in full possession of all the facts before the argument upon justice or injustice begins. One must therefore deny Mr. Gattie any praise for choice of subject or the handling of it. Indeed, there is much that is dull and commonplace in the work. But praise and gratitude alike are his for that one scene of Sylvia's agony. We do not reach it by the right road, but somehow or other reach it we do, and once there the previous dulness is forgotten.

Miss Nethersole has done fine work. There were brilliant moments even in that unsatisfying and unedifying Janet Preece in 'The Profligate.' Her repentant Faustine in 'A Silent Battle' dignified a third-rate play. Zicka, the purring spy of 'Diplomacy,' the adventuress of the limelight and the mysterious chord, in her hands became a woman. It has long been obvious that for distinction and sheer intellect she is the finest artist on our stage. But it is doubtful if anyone ever looked to her for so masterly an exposition of conflicting emotion as that witnessed on Saturday night. To say that the house rose at her is to convey but a fraction of the truth. Quivering from the triumphant assault of her pathos and passion, the audience had no mind for the faults and follies of the piece, and were concerned with only one question "Will this wonderful acting carry the play?"

Of the many clever actors engaged, none other got a worthy opening for his talent. Buoyant Mr. Seymour Hicks was wasted on a doctor who is a prig; Mr. Brookfield could not create even comic effect as an impressionist painter; Mr. Elwood, despite his distinction and fine restraint, was unable to make anything of Langley but a coward; and Mr. Bucklaw actually earned compassion by being cast for an eavesdropping curate, who should be shorn of the second syllable as well as his cloth. Miss Bessie Hatton was by far the happiest, being very sweet and tender and charming as a lively girl. But really there was no call to mention anyone but Miss Nethersole; for the play was Miss Nethersole, and Miss Nethersole was the play.

'The Theatre', Vol XXIII, March, 1894.