The Beauty of Bath

It is the first night of a new play at the Mascot Theatre. The act drop has fallen and there is the usual interval. Ladies and gentlemen from stalls and circle throng the gorgeous foyer in picturesque confusion. The audience, like the theatre, is a large and fashionable one. Here is naughty Sir Timothy Bun, a small man with a large family. Over there by the stairs is Lady Bun, his wife. Those tall girls who swarm round her, and in numbers and hovering resemble the gulls off Blackfriars Bridge, are his "adopted" daughters "the twelve Bath Buns." Here, again, is Lord Quorn, whose one speech is, "Oh, you are, you know you are," and who, doglike, is on the heels of Miss Truly St. Cyr, the dazzling actress to whom he is engaged.

And there are others. Remarks of the "Delightful!", "Simply ripping!" or "Most amusing!" sort are as plentiful as Spring snowflakes. Obviously the play is a big hit, and Mr. Beverley, the leading actor, is the hero of the night.

In a private box are Mrs. Alington, a widow, who thinks less of the play than of the fact that her sailor son, Dick, whom she has not seen for ten years, may arrive home at any moment, and Lord Bellingham, with his lovely daughter the Hon. Betty Silverthorne, who, doting on actors in general and stage heroes in particular, falls violently in love with Beverley before the play is half over, much to the disgust of her dignified, papa.

I have here a few remarks to make in parenthesis. Some six months ago Mrs. Alington sent her son a photograph of Betty, and so impressed was he with the picture that he instantly tumbled into love.

Now in accordance with the privileges, more or less reasonable, extended to authors of plays and stories, there exists an extraordinary personal likeness between Dick - or to give him his full name, Lieutenant Richard Alington, R.N. - and Mr. Beverley, the actor. It is, in fact, so difficult to tell which is which that once they both appear on the scene, complications and ramifications follow on the heels of each other with almost bewildering rapidity.

Having told you so much, is it not the easiest thing in the world to guess what happens?

Dick of course does come on the scene this same evening. Eager to meet his dearest friend in the world - his mother, he rushes into the theatre while still in his sailor's undress. Naturally, he meets Betty, and instantly recognises the girl he loves. Betty meets Dick, and instantly recognises the man she loves. But with this difference.

She mistakes him for Beverley, who, curiously enough, has been playing a sailor's part and wearing precisely similar clothes. Lord Bellingham, who is most emphatic in presuming that an actor is no fit husband for his daughter, next meets Dick. He, too, thinks the sailor is Beverley, and so he invites him to a ball to be given to-morrow night at Bellingham House, on condition that he shall pretend to be tipsy, in order to cure his daughter's infatuation for him.

The scheme is successfully carried out. In due course the supposed actor creates a terrible disturbance at the ball, and in a scene, reminiscent of "David Garrick," does his level best, or worst, to disgust Betty. Not that it was necessary. He might have saved himself a lot of exertion and remained a gentleman right through, for Betty proves to be far cleverer than her father.

Although she kept it to herself, she saw through the little plot and discovered the dual likeness some time beforehand. Dick she found was not Beverley, and Beverley was not Dick, but Dick was the one and only man on land or sea that she could ever love.

As for Beverley - well, he's got a sweetheart anyhow, so that the final pairing off is doubtless to everybody's satisfaction; and as Dick has just come into five millions (we do not learn how, but that doesn't matter), I have no doubt that even Lord Bellingham is congratulatory.

"The Beauty of Bath" was produced at the Aldwych on Monday evening, March 19th, 1906, by Mr. Charles Frohman. The authors are Mr. Seymour Hicks and Mr. Cosmo Hamilton, with lyrics by Mr. Charles H. Taylor, and music by Mr. Herbert E. Haines. The play is delightful. There is not too much music, but just enough, and if it is sometimes noisy, it is at any rate bright and "catchy." There is plenty of smart dialogue, and several taking ditties. The chorus is pretty, and the scenery - particularly the ballroom at Bellingham House, with its procession of fancy dresses after celebrated paintings - is sumptuous and lovely to look upon. High praise is due to all concerned for the manner in which the play is presented.

The personal popularity and the charm of Mr. Hicks and his wife are incontestable, and it goes without saying that Miss Ellaline Terriss as the "beauty" is as dainty and delightful as only Miss Terriss knows how to be, and that Mr. Hicks as Dick plays throughout with his usual exuberance and buoyancy. Many other talented people contribute to this very excellent entertainment.

These inclulde such popular favourites as Miss Rosina Filippi as Mrs. Alington; Miss Sydney Fairbrother as Mrs. Goodge, once a Bloomsbury lodging-house keeper with an affection for Beverley; Miss Maudi Darrell as the actress Miss St. Cyr; Miss Mollie Lowell, as Lady Bun; Miss Topsy Sinden, with a delightful dance; Miss Barbara Deane, with some pretty singing, and Mr. Stanley Brett, Mr. William Lugg, Mr. Murray King, and a lot of others. Then, too, there is Master Valchera, who as Lemon Goodge, the programme boy at the Mascot, who "loves to be squeezed," is a diminutive entertainment in himself.

Fred Dangerfield.