The Fires of Fate at the Lyric Theatre (review 30 june 1909)

"The Fires of Fate" at the Lyric Theatre is an article published in The Bystander on 30 june 1909.

The Fires of Fate with Lewis Waller as Colonel Cyril Egerton, was premiered on 15 june 1909 at the Lyric Theatre.

"The Fires of Fate" at the Lyric Theatre

The Bystander (30 june 1909, p. 660)

The Bystander (30 june 1909, p. 661)

The Bystander (30 june 1909, p. 662)

Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's "Modern Morality Play" resolves itself at last into a glorified melodrama on the familiar lines of the British party held captive by a dusky foe, with the usual "Relief of Lucknow" effects at the finish. The "Morality" part of the play seems to have been an afterthought — a not uncommon defect of our race, according to our hostile critics. Nevertheless, this part contains some of the best writing in the piece. It consists of a rather one-sided debate on the Right to Die — one of those ticklish subjects which usually make the debater get very red in the face and provoke him into pointing a warning finger at the opposition and daring him to say that again. In Sir Arthur's play, of course, the debate is kept well within the nicest Parliamentary limits, because, after all, when you are representing both sides in an argument you have no need at any time to get angry with yourself. You are sure of your majority at the finish.

The hero of this very Modern Morality Play is Mr. Lewis Waller, otherwise Colonel Cyril Egerton, D.S.O. (53rd Bengal Lancers). There is nothing like giving your hero good qualifications to start with. The Colonel has come to have a chat with his doctor about his health. The fact is, some years ago, in India, he was slightly wounded in a skirmish, the other fellow's sword having pierced his neck and chipped a piece out of his spinal column, or something like that. We soldiers, of course, take these things very lightly; but just as a matter of caution, it's as well to have the medico's opinion now and then. The medico in this instance is James Roden, M.D., F.R.C.S. (he probably has other degrees, but there is no room for them on the programme), and he diagnoses the Colonel's symptoms as spinal sclerosis, and gives him eighteen months longer to live. The Colonel receives the news like a brave man, and is duly applauded for his magnificent courage, after which he broadly hints that he will not bother about the odd eighteen months, but will take the matter into his own hands and await with confidence the verdict of the coroner's jury.

Then we have the Rev. Samuel Roden, who, I regret to observe, is not even an F.R.G.S. Happening to be in his brother's house he steps forward and conducts the debate hereinbefore referred to. His advice to those about to commit suicide is precisely the same as the now justly-celebrated advice to those about to marry, and it is the more suitable because, in the opinion of many people, the two states are practically identical. Without going too far into controversial matters, it will be sufficient to say that the padre's view is that in the remaining eighteen months the Colonel may be able to bring a ray of light into the life of some unhappy fellow-creature, and that, therefore, and consequently, and so on. The rev. gentleman is represented by Mr. A. E. George, who handles the extremely difficult part with real ability. He delivers his rather elementary views as if he at least were convinced by them, and we ask no more of an actor than that.

At this stage we abandon Morality for a while, and get on hoard a Nile tourist steamer. Here the Colonel falls in love with a young American lady, whose name — you would never have guessed it — is Sadie.

But it is not likely that a man with only eighteen months to live can ask a girl to marry him, and so the love affair loses a good deal of its interest. We, there-fore, pass on to Abdullah, the dragoman of the party. Abdullah is a sheer delight. He stands on the deck and outlines the programme for the morrow in exquisitely broken English, and with a smile that is childlike and bland. In the next act, when the party has landed, and is surveying the world from the Abousir rock, Abdullah points out the eccentricities of the landscape with a really glorious splash of mixed metaphors. This part is taken by Mr. Shiel Barry, who plays it with a nice restraint, and yet contrives to present a vivid picture of the type of guide familiar to all who have had dealings with the wily Oriental.

It is just after the party has arrived at the rock mentioned that the serious part of the play begins. A lot of unkind Dervishes come running up, and Abdullah, finding that his own party is out-numbered, promptly goes over to the enemy, whose atrocities have been duly reported to us before their arrival, they having quite wantonly killed the camel-boys and several negro regulars in their mad lust for blood. We are thus satisfied that the British tourists can expect no mercy from ruffians of this sort. Indeed, everything that is possible is done to make us apprehend that the members of the party are about to be subjected to the worst kind of treatment. The women are dragged off with pointed hints of an undignified destiny, while the men are clubbed and kicked remorselessly. The gallant Colonel, jeopardising his eighteen months' limit of life, tries to rescue one of the ladies, and is promptly knocked down for his pains, and left for dead. But is he downhearted? No-o-o! As soon as the procession has started on its homeward way, the gallant hero staggers to his feet, and then falls again, but not before he has had time to flourish his handkerchief to the distant horizon by way of calling help. Thus you see the padre was right. If the Colonel had committed suicide he would not have been the means of saving the lives of so many of his fellow-creatures. Q. E. D.

The lovely agony begun in the third act is continued in the fourth, where we are treated to a recital of the sufferings of the prisoners, and, alas receive the news that most of the members of the party who were not required to carry on the action of the play have been obligingly slaughtered by the sanguinary Dervishes. Even Dervishes, it would seem, have their uses, and we all know that nothing is wasted in the economy of nature. And then the Morality part of the play is suddenly dragged back into the limelight. Those of the survivors who will for-swear their religion and embrace Islam shall be saved. The others shall die. You can dimly imagine the consternation among the Keen Order of Wallerites in the pit and gallery at this truly awful ultimatum. One of the party is an amiable Frenchman, whose opportunism in the crisis is quite delightful. He has been, apparently, a Freethinker, a Christian, and a Buddhist, so that his acceptance of the Koran may be fairly regarded as merely a further stage in his religious evolution. Mr. Michael Sherbrooke has caught the spirit of this cleverly written part most admirably, and the airy insouciance of his Frenchman is to the life. But it is not likely that any of the party would be allowed to surrender, in a Morality play, and so the wicked Dervishes give them five minutes for their prayers before proceeding to knife them into a land that is fairer than this. About a minute later the notes of a good homely British bugle are wafted from afar, and all those with star parts are mercifully saved. Also, it transpires that the crack on the head which the Colonel received in the scuffle has put his spinal column in good going order again, and there is nothing to prevent his marrying Sadie and living happily ever afterwards.

Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, doubtless, has his own opinion of the value of his "Modern Morality," and I will, therefore, not intrude mine. But, as far as the other parts of the play are concerned, I think it will be admitted that he has written a really exciting drama. Mr. Lewis Waller plays the hero with all his well-known vigour from first to last, and he has mounted the production with a lavish splendour. It is impossible to ignore the remarkable realism of the scenes in the desert, and these, coupled with the blessed word Morality (which the late Mr. Barnum always insisted on in his advertisements), constitute a valiant bid for popularity, which should have its happy reward.

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