Theatre Production - The Gay Gordons

You ask me what made me write "The Gay Gordons." Dear Friend, there is every reason I should have written it! It is a debt that I owe to Ellaline Terriss, the greatest classic ingenue of her time. If Forbes Robertson has the genius of a Bernard Shaw, surely she should have the brilliant scissors of a Seymour Hicks at her disposal! You would not have her back in the only standard musical comedy works that exist, such as "The Runaway Girl," "The Catch of the Season," and "Bluebell in Fairyland"? She has run the gamut of all the passions of these; she has struck each chord of human interest in them all, and having educated the people, the cry for her must not be "of mediocre things" or back to these epoch-making works, but it must be "on to the greater ones" where tread the artist and the poet hand in hand in realms which the "legitimates" are never allowed to dull with their presence.

It is true that tragedy in their hands is provocative of more laughter than we can ever hope for in our "higher walks of the drama," but can you honestly say that their methods in procuring it are more to be commended than ours? Of course you can't! Something to live had to be written - something for which posterity would not mean "Reduced to 2d." on a hawker's barrow, but a work whose comrades on the middle shelves of the knowledgable librarian would be "the ethics of George Elliot. " Had I not a laudable ambition then in wanting to see my dear wife's picture on the frontispiece of my work in such company? And when I am gone to that long rest where at least I shall have no dances with the songs, and having been followed by a multitude of some dozen persons to the secluded nook where from critics there is no slating, and the "Booers" are at rest, all that has been left of me being an inscription - "Deeply regretted by all who never saw him act" - would it not be sweet to think that at least the vindication of my talents shall lie bound in real morocco, with Golden letters lighting up that cover, letters of gold which spell "THE GAY GORDONS."

Don't think that I am an egoist. I'm not. I know. And the public know, for the thousands may not discriminate, but the thousands pay to see this great work. I had a "call" to do this thing for my wife's sake, for the public's sake, and - may I say it? - for the sake of the struggling multitudes who are losing money on the Stock Exchange, and who are oppressed by income taxes, duties, and the like. I wanted to bring some ray of electric light into their lives, and I know from the crowded houses that I have done so! That flickering dip called "the drama," which so long has spluttered, is a thing of the past; there need be no more worry as to whether it still lives. We know the best. And in its place has arisen phoenix-like " The Gay Gordons."

PRESS REVIEW

(The Daily Mail [London, UK] - 12th September, 1907)
"The Gay Gordons"
Youth, Love and Laughter at the Aldwych Theatre

What a wonderful man Mr.Seymour Hicks would be for a dull houseparty! Before the first evening was out he would have the grounds ablaze with light and the villagers staging in the shrubberies, and the youths and maidens waltzing on the lawn, and the chaperons cake-walking down the drive, and the grandpapas laughing their hearts out on the verandah! It is this splendid vitality of his, this glorious zest, this never-failing flow of high spirits that have made him the prince of the lyric stage in London. It is this same marvellous vitality which has sometimes led him into failures, but, more often, has dashed him into success.

"The Gay Gordons," seen for the first time last night at the Aldwych Theatre, is a genuine success. What makes it a success? The story? Mr.Hicks, as his own author, knows very well that the story of mistaken identity, of the millionaire's daughter who wins the heart of a true man while masquerading as a poor girl, is as old as the hills. The music? The music is gay enough, and there are some charming little numbers, but the music is not remarkable. (Yourpardon, Mr.GuyJones.) The setting? The setting is picturesque - moor and heather - always delightful. The cast? We have Miss Rosina Filippi, one of the greatest comedy actresses on the London stage, but she has little to do. We have Mr.Fred Emney, Miss Zena Dare, Miss Sidney Fairbrother, Miss Barbara Deane - favourites all. But they do not make the success of "The Gay Gordons."

Mr.Hicks and Miss Terriss are the trump cards. In a moment of happy carelessness one might be led to define Miss Terriss as a little lump of sunshine. She seems to be made up of fun and love, and good nature. Small wonder that the playgoing world, men, women, and children alike, are at her feet. We want to be cheered up, and Miss Terriss drives away all the clouds. We want to believe that the world is sweet to the core, and Miss Terriss never breathes a word or smiles a smile that will dispel the illusion. Long life and good luck to this charming little lady? And Mr. Hicks? Even his enemies, if he has any, must admit that he is an intensely interesting personality. He has two love scenes in "The Gay Gordons." The first, though slightly-exaggerated, is a thing of genius. You can hardly imagine that it was ever written down in cold ink. Nobody on the stage can make love quite so naturally as Mr. Hicks. In the second scene, the daring rascal burlesques himself in the first. Hero, again, is a touch of genius. If Mr. Hicks cared to take himself as an actor seriously - which he never will - he would astonish some of the dullards who, having made up their minds about a man, refuse to unmake them.

Book a seat or line up for "The Gay Gordons." It is as bracing as a week at Margate - and far more amusing.

K.H.

I have achieved my end, dear Findon, and I have settled into a quiet retirement from which I shall not emerge, I hope, except between the hours of eight and eleven every evening at the Aldwych Theatre.

Mr. Seymour Hicks having explained the reasons why he has attempted to grasp the bay leaves of immortality in the particular domain of dramatic art to which he devotes his exuberant energies, it now remains for me to give some slight description of his chef-d'oeuvre.

"The Gay Gordons" is a step in the right direction. In "The Beauty of Bath" Mr. Seymour Hicks introduced a pleasing note of domestic sentiment, and in his latest work he has gone further on the same line and mixed up with a romantic love episode a touch of natural pathos in the relations between the hero and his foster-mother. The romantic note is struck by the scenic artist, Mr. R. C. McCleery, on the rising of the curtain. Dawn is just breaking on a moor in the Highlands; the dim outlines of hills gradually grow more distinct to the eye; in the picturesque glen which occupies the front of the stage we see a charming cottage; presently figures in Highland costume give life to the scene, for it is the day beloved of sportsmen, August 12, and the beaters begin their preparations for the opening drive. Then the shooting party from Meltrose Castle appear, and among them is pretty Peggy Quainton, the heiress of the millionaire American, Andrew Quainton, who, for the time being, is the owner of the shooting and the occupier of the Castle.

Peggy has original thoughts on the subject of marriage. Her wealth has tempted many suitors and she has rejected them all; she wants to be loved for herself, by some honest, handsome and brave man, who shall know nothing of her position and prospects in life. In a moment of wild inspiration and girlish irresponsibility she changes places with Victoria Siddons, the daughter of the proprietor of a peripatetic Punch and Judy Show, and who acts as "help" to Widow Janet McCleod, the tenant of the cottage on the left.

The widow is in a state of suppressed excitement for she is expecting her foster-son, Angus Graeme, a private in the famous Highland regiment, the Gay Gordons. Presently Angus, in tartan and kilt, makes his appearance, and the first person he meets is the heiress in her masquerading attire. Like the galllant soldier he is, the pretty face of the maiden makes an instantaneous impression, and before either of them are well aware of their words they find themselves deeply engaged in a sentimental conversation. Peggy is delighted with the young soldier and plays her part of "help" to perfection. In the course of this love episode Angus learns that she scorns titles and would on no account marry a man, however tempting the offer, with such an encumbrance.

Next we have another touch of homely sentiment in the meeting between Angus and his foster-mother, and now we learn of the mystery surrounding Angus's birth and parentage. That morning she has sent to a solicitor in Edinburgh a tin box containing papers that conclusively establish Angus's right to the Earldom and broad acres of Meltrose. The solicitor arrives and informs them that everything is in order, and that all that remains to be done is to proclaim Angus forthwith. But now Angus is faced with a difficulty. He has discovered the real identity of the "help," and knows full well that if he goes to Peggy in his character of the Earl his suit will not prosper, so he, too, effects a change, and changes places with a fellow private in his regiment.

Unfortunately it does not work, and he has to acknowledge himself the genuine article. Peggy is bitterly disappointed with the turn affairs have taken and firmly refuses to listen to Angus's earnest entreaties. Of course, in the end, love conquers, and the betrothal of the young couple is celebrated with much rejoicing. A word of praise is due to Mr. Guy Jones for his melodious music, published by Messrs. Ascherberg, Hopwood & Crew.

It was a famous poet who once said that "Man's love is of man's life a thing apart, 'tis woman's sole existence." But, with all due deference to the poet in question, I beg to differ from him. You see, being a woman myself, I claim to know something of the feelings of my sex, and I maintain that dress plays almost as important a part in the scheme of a woman's existence as does the love of which he prates so glibly. The chances are that if the burning question of "to wear or not to wear" didn't enter into her life, well-neither would love. Yet, show me the man who does not disdain the faithful heart that scorns to curl its hair or deck itself in lace, and turns instead to the woman who, realising the full value of chiffons and its uses, and knowing the important part a cunningly arranged curl here, a careless rose or a frill of lace there, will play in securing for her the prizes in the tournament of life, attires herself accordingly and smiles at her reflection in the mirror, for she knows that the end will most certainly justify the means.

HUMPTY AND DUMPTY

The Story of Humpty and Dumpty

Humpty and Dumpty were just boy and girl,
Humpty called Dumpty his peach and his pearl,
She seemed to like it - he risked an embrace,
Dumpty responded by smacking his face.

Humpty was merely the average man,
Dumpty a girl on the usual plan,
She ran away, very shocked so he thought,
But Dumpty took very good care she was caught.

Humpty and Dumpty spent their honeymoon,
And arrived back in London one fine afternoon.
And the train going off this is just how they sat,
But on the way home they were sitting like that.

Humpty was merely the average man,
Dumpty a girl on the usual plan,
They drove to their home, but the flat was so small
That Humpty and Dumpty got wedged in the hall.

Down at the Club Humpty had lots of fun,
This is the way he came home about one.
Dumpty said "You do look funny to-night!"
Humpty said "Never you mind, I'm all right! "

Humpty was merely the average man,
Dumpty a girl on the usual plan,
Humpty got up in the morning, like that
And had to buy Dumpty a new Paris hat.

Said Dumpty to Humpty one morning "My dear,
Just fancy! To-day we've been married a year!
I'll give you a present: now what shall I get?
"Dumpty said" Buy me a nice bassinette."

As regards myself personally, I can only say that a pretty frock has for me - whether I view it in the light of a triumphant possessor or just that of a mere spectator - an irresistible fascination. This being the case, I need hardly add that I was "irresistibly fascinated" by the frocks I saw the other night at "The Gay Gordons." Not the least of their charm lies in their variety, for gowns of the very latest fashion, picturesque gipsy garb, and immaculate guardsman uniform, all these are severally worn in Mr. Seymour Hicks' latest production, and all prove equally becoming, although, of course, it was on the fashionable gowns and with a view to describe them to you that my interest principally centred.

Miss Ellaline Terriss would look pretty in sack-cloth, but she looks doubly so in the first gown she wears, which is carried out in white cloth made quite simply with three broad tucks at the hem and cut short enough to allow of a display of shoes and stockings of a vivid shade of purple. This same note of colour, together with a glimpse of peacock blue, we catch in the lining of the skirt, and this colour contrast is again repeated in the swathed belt, thus giving full effect to the dainty blouse of broderie Anglaise, which has a deep turn-down collar finished off by a white satin tie edged with gold, and elbow sleeves edged with frills of Valenciennes lace. Over this is worn a short bolero of white cloth strapped with white leather and profusely ornamented with gold buttons, whilst the accompanying quaint white felt hat has for sole trimming a cluster of pheasants' feathers.

In the second act Miss Terriss wears over a white Empire gown of crepe-deChine, with a floating pink sash and knots of pink roses, an exquisitely lovely coat of pink chiffon veiled with white, the whole spangled with silver. Panels of palest eau-de-nil satin are outlined with trails of baby roses and beautifully embroidered with a flower design of white and pink and silver. The whole seemed absolutely to shimmer in the glow of the electric lights, and proved to me once again how almost indispensable silver is at present as an adjunct to chiffon. I also greatly liked the loose motoring gown she dons later - a very fanciful one, be it said - of palest blue adorned with trimmings of silver lace and two immense silver tassels, and worn in conjunction with an under-robe of azure ninon-de-soie with a lace chemisette veiling a glimpse of pink and a high swathed belt. The hat destined to be worn with this was a "mushroom" carried out in white satin and enveloped in yards and yards of pale blue chiffon, ending in a huge bow beneath the chin.

It is in the first act that Miss Terriss wears a gipsy gown which I commend to you, my readers, as a most becoming costume for a fancy-dress ball. The short skirt is of orange cloth with a broad hem of varyingly-hued embroideries, whilst the pansy velvet bodice is laced with gold and finished off with folds of palest green and mauve, the chemisette being of cream crepe-deChine, as are the sleeves, which are further strapped with long floating ends of orange cloth. The girdle is of brown velvet, and a dainty little cap of sequined green and mauve shading is poised upon the hair.

the whole veiled with hyacinth chiffon and hemmed at the foot with sapphire velvet, of which same material the Empire belt is also composed. The chemisette and sleeves are of shirred net touched with silver and lined with palest pink, whilst a knot of Banksia roses completes the whole.

Miss Barbara Deane looks daintily pretty in her Empire gown of palest green glace silk let in with panels of brocade bordered with gold. There are glimpses of brighter green here and there and touches of mauve, whilst the long floating scarf is of shaded heliotrope chiffon. Her gipsy costume, too, pleased me greatly. Over a petticoat of green was looped a woollen skirt of checked grey and white, whilst the black-and-white striped bodice was almost hidden from sight by the folds of a warm apricot-hued cloak which had a voluminous frilled hood.

Miss Sydney Fairbrother's gown of orange velvet let in with appliques of string-coloured guipure and adorned with falling silver fringes suits her admirably, and I can't refrain from mentioning the one worn by Miss Butler and which reminded me irresistibly of a midsummer night's dream, for its white was flushed with pink, and elusive moonbeams (otherwise silver lace) slept in its folds, and trails of pink roses clung lightly to it, whilst silver fringes hemmed it and glittered here and there like drops of sparkling dew. Truly an ideal gown, and one that more than ever helped to convince me that, whilst manners may make man, dress truly maketh woman. Very smart, too, do the ladies look in their neat kilt shooting costumes; and I am quite sure that Mr. William Evans, the famous gunmaker in Pall Mall, must feel quite a thrill of pleasure at seeing his breechloaders handled by such dainty sportswomen.

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