Chapter 12

Kolbein. In vain they seek conciliation at any price with the chieftain, who is enraged by the slaying of his friend Thorolf, and infuriated beyond measure by the speeches of his implacable wife. Even Jorun's offering her life for Brand's does not soften his heart; when, finally, the prisoner-bishop's threat of excommunication subdues Kolbein with the fear of the hereafter. Compensation is duly imposed upon the allies, and peace once more rules in the harried land.

The subject of the above drama was suggested by two or three rather meagre pages of the 'Islendingasaga' of Sturla Thordsson (ed. Vigfússon, ch. 146). To my notion, the poet has succeeded admirably in reproducing the cool coloring, the ironic-pessimistic attitude, that uncompromisingly masculine sentiment we know so well in their refreshing acerbity from the best sagas. Not the least meritorious thing in the play, by the way, is the very slight insistence on Thorolf's relations to Helga, notwithstanding its temptation to the author of a social drama betraying strong influence of Ibsen; for the saga--it is to be borne in mind--is the literature of revenge and ambition as ruling motives, love having an incomparably smaller sphere allotted to it. Too much weight laid on that relation would have been ruinous to the total conception of the play.

In conformity to that conception are also the terse, pithy language which allows us to surmise the unlimited possibilities hidden in the saga literature, and the equally succinct manner of character drawing.

The most interesting figure in the drama is Brand, a Hamletic character without a Hamlet's zest of retaliation--noble, generous, and beloved; yet ever a loser, because never resolutely willing the means to an end. As Thorolf avers scornfully, 'Brand lacks both the forethought _before_ battle, and that fire _in_ battle which wins the victory,' The reign of lawlessness and bloodshed appalls him, to be sure; but he cannot see that his own irresolution is one of the causes. 'He is sick in his soul.' But 'peace'!--cries Broddi--'whenever was peace gotten in feuds, excepting the battle be won or--lost.' And yet, by the irony of fate, both his birth and his noble gifts make men look to Brand as Kolbein's natural successor. The tigerish Kolbein himself is equaled in ruthless pursuit of his own ends, but not in good fortune, by Broddi. As foils to these larger characters stand out the mean, vengeful Einar, the brutal Alf, the insolent but brave Thorolf. In Jorun we fancy we see the living strength of Christian virtue and devotion opposed to the heathen fierceness and self-seeking of Helga. Between the two parties the bishop, whose motives and intentions are, however, not brought out with sufficient clearness. Like the proverbial fifth wheel of a wagon he seems out of place and embarrassing, whenever he appears--a predicament, to be sure, which he shares with the Church itself in those times, whenever not guided by a born ruler.

Both in poetic value and technically--excepting for the staginess of the three meetings in the cave--the second act is the most successful of the drama. It is, in fact, a little masterpiece. The action is impetuous, strong, and telling. The dramatic germs potentially present in the situation are developed here with a fine consistency. Thorolf's death is made the central fact on which hinges the whole action of the play, while by Brand's fatal vacillations and the insults offered to Helga by his henchmen important tributary impulses are given toward the following development. Unfortunately, the third act, dramatically considered, is concerned chiefly with details. It suffers, even more than the first act, from a certain prolixity which is not wholly made good by its theatrically effective ending. However bright and skillfully wrought in the incident of the fraudulent miracle, it might well be spared, with a view for the whole. And the same is true of a considerable part of the dialogue.

There is small doubt that the fifth act offered the greatest difficulties to be overcome, because here the poet is face to face with the essentially epic nature of his subject matter and was certainly put to it to overcome this handicap. This is the state of affairs: The enraged chieftain is prevented by his implacable wife from yielding. The allies do all in their power to obtain peace. If Old Norse conceptions are adhered to there is a deadlock. Now, nothing prevents the epic art of the saga from telling, at this juncture, that forth stepped Bishop Botolf and with threat of excommunication brought about a satisfactory conclusion. It is different in the drama. In it the intervention of the bishop as _deus ex machina_ is a quasi-external element, because not sufficiently motivated in the preceding development. It remains an incident.

For all that the title is justifiable. Conceding that this sudden 'good' ending looks like a concession and certainly is a constructive weakness, yet in the inwardness of the subject it is excellently motivated by the typically mediæval attitude of Kolbein to salvation and the Church as its sole bestower. Notwithstanding the ambiguity of its victory, the Crozier _has_ won. Another power than the moribund gods and the overstrained Teutonic conceptions of morality--the Law of the Sword--has conquered, even if by the help of conceptions almost as crude. And this well indicates the normal course of Christianity, which has at all times made its way more by weight of power and influence than by conviction and conversion.

Finally a word on the subject of the drama. Our readers are beginning to become so accustomed to the spiced dishes of Continental Problem drama,--reaction against which has set in there long ago,--that fears may well be entertained that the rude simple fare of the Historic Drama will be rejected with scorn. This would indeed be regrettable, as tending to show that we are still far from a sober catholicity of taste, and still in the leading-strings of the Old World, not yet having obtained that independence and maturity of judgment which consists in being wise enough to gather nourishment suitable to one's needs from whatever be offered to us, even it be not labeled with the ism of the hour.

THE NEW DRAMA

"_The play's the thing_"

THE PLAYFARER

BY HOMER H. HOWARD

THE BIJOU

As early as eighteen thirty-five a theater known as the Lion existed where the Bijou now is. It was maintained under various names until taken possession of by B.F. Keith. Later he decided to make a motion picture place of this theater, and in February, 1908, it was opened for that purpose. Soon a new policy was adopted and Mrs. Josephine Clement was appointed manager of the Bijou Theater, with instructions to develop an entertainment of a different type from the usual motion picture program.

Mr. Keith did this not only from a desire to preserve the old theater, but to see if the public would not support a higher-class cheap show. His confidence in the sanity of the taste of the public has been fully justified by the results of the experiment.

Mrs. Clement's first step was to improve the lecture which was a part of the regular program. These Ten-Minute Talks are now given by a good reader and really worth-while material is presented. Such men as Arthur Deitrick, Eugene Farnsworth, and C.W. Russel have prepared these talks. In order to secure good singing, it was made known that one day each week would be open for all those who wished to try. In this way good material has been secured and developed within the walls of the house itself. National songs, appropriately costumed, were made a part of the program, and recently the idea has been enlarged into a whole series of folk songs and dances. Mrs. Clement is too clever to force the growth of any tendency, but lets it develop and strengthen of its own accord. There is no set policy, rigidly followed, but changes are made whenever they are needed, and each new development aims to be a real improvement. There is a spirit of co-operation on the part of all those connected with the theater which has meant much in its success.

The idea which makes the Bijou especially deserving of notice is the introduction on Feb. 28, 1910, of a regular policy of producing a one-act play each week. This, with the occasional introduction of a short opera, has continued to the present time. As early as June, 1909, 'Shadows,' a mystical tragedy by Evelyn G. Sutherland, was put on, and in January of the following year a one-act comedy, 'The Red Star,' by Wm. M. Blatt, was produced. The success of these plays decided the management to adopt the one-act play as a regular part of the program. The play first to be acted under the new policy was Hermann Hagedorn's 'The World Too Small for Three.' This is important because the one-act play has almost no place on the professional stage. Vaudeville houses put on an occasional one-act piece of the lighter sort. The Bijou now provides a place where the serious worker in this form may see his work produced and watch the effect on the audience. That there is a constantly growing interest in this country in one-act plays as a separate genre of dramatic composition is proved by the continuing success of the experiment. This winter the manager opened a prize contest; one hundred dollars for the best one-act comedy, and fifty dollars for the second best comedy, to be produced at the Bijou. The first prize went to George F. Abbott, Rochester, N.Y., for his very excellent comedy, 'The Man in the Manhole,' and the second prize to S.F. Austin, of San Antonio, Tex., for a farce, 'The Winning of General Jane.'

One hundred and seventy-nine manuscripts were received. The judges were Prof. Geo. P. Baker, Walter Hampden, and Francis Powell. Ten plays, five comedies and five serious plays, were reserved from the contest for production at the Bijou. As far as settings are concerned, the plays are well produced. Unfortunately, the acting is not all that one could desire, but with the limited resources at command the results are remarkably satisfactory. Such authors as Upton Sinclair, Hermann Hagedorn, Percy McKaye, Hermann Suderman, Pauline C. Bouvé, Gerald Villiers-Stuart have permitted their plays to be given at the Bijou, which speaks for the quality of the work.

THE LITTLE THEATER

The LITTLE THEATER, in New York City, under the management of Winthrop Ames, is the first theater in America designed for intimacy. It was carefully planned, and has been well executed. Such theaters are known abroad, but this playhouse is a decided novelty, and an advance in America. The distance from the front of the stage to the rear of the last row of seats is a trifle over forty feet. There are no balconies and no boxes. The lighting is by an indirect system, which suffuses the auditorium with a soft, restful glow. The lobby, the retiring room, and the smoking room are all done in quiet, pleasant fashion. The auditorium decoration again is novel. There is paneling in dark-brown birch, with inserted tapestries above and a curtain in gobelin blues and carpet of gray.

The lighting system for the stage is most complete, as are all the arrangements behind the scenes, dressing rooms, flies, and bridges. The chief novelty on this side of the playhouse is the use of the Japanese idea of a revolving platform for the stage. The revolving stage has been used largely in Germany, but this is one of the few instances where it has been used in America. Its value is shown for sets that require no great depth, and it permits quick changes of scenery. The circular stage is thirty feet in diameter.

Mr. Ames said in advance that his aim was to create a house of 'entertainment for intelligent people.' Behind this vague statement lies a force which has already proved that the Little Theater can entertain and at the same time show itself worthy of the best ideals in drama. Mr. Ames has produced Galsworthy's admirable comedy, 'The Pigeon'; Charles Rann Kennedy's 'The Terrible Meek,' and the same author's translation of M. Laloy's French version of the Chinese play, 'The Flower of the Palace of Han.' However diverse likings and dislikings of these pieces may have been, there is no doubt that they were all worthy of a first-rate production.

Mr. Ames announces for the coming year a series of matinees, especially for children. It is pleasant to see the professional theaters falling into line with the increasing trend of amateur organizations in paying attention to the need of good plays for children.

MISS HORNIMAN'S PLAYERS

Late in March, at the Plymouth Theater in Boston, Miss Horniman's players from Manchester, England, gave their only performance in the United States. They came under the auspices of the American Drama Society. They presented 'Nan,' a three-act tragedy by John Masefield, whose work we otherwise would not have seen for some time. Aside from the remarkable play, the performance is memorable as setting a new standard in acting. The value of perfect ensemble work was clearly demonstrated.

SUMURÛN

Sumurûn, an oriental pantomime, which Winthrop Ames brought to the Casino in New York, is the work of Max Reinhardt, a progressive German manager. It has been produced throughout Germany and in London, with great success, and now comes to America. 'Sumurûn' deserves notice because it is a great novelty, but especially because it has certain lessons for us in America.

The story of the pantomime is a more or less lurid eastern melodrama, based on the Arabian Nights. A hunchback is in love with a beautiful young dancer, who hates him. He sells her to a fierce old sheik, to get her out of the way of another lover, the sheik's son. Then he takes poison. Sumurûn, the sheik's chief wife, favors a handsome cloth merchant called Nur-al-Din, whom she manages to smuggle into the harem in a chest of silks. The intruder is, of course, discovered by the sheik, who is warned of the treachery below, as he is about to kill his son, whom he has found in the room with his new dancer. He has Nur-al-Din at his mercy when the supposedly poisoned hunchback slips in and stabs him. The lovers are united and the inmates of the harem set free.

It is true that there is nothing strikingly original nor remarkable in the outline of the story. That is impossible in a wordless play. Bernard Shaw, speaking of a pantomime with music, 'A Pierrot's Life,' produced some years ago in London, says, 'I am conscious of the difficulty of making any but the most threadbare themes intelligible to the public, without words.' Reinhardt was wise in selecting a vivid tale, and one easy to follow. Besides, he has told the story with remarkable directness and swiftness. Attention and interest never for an instant flag, owing to the impression of incessant swarming life which we get from the scene before us. The personages are clearly and definitely characterized by means of the careful working out of the details of every action. Colors and their arrangement play a positive part in the understanding of the play.

Pantomime is the foundation of drama. An audience which appreciates pantomime will appreciate good drama. Action is the element which distinguishes drama from other literary forms, and pantomime is made up wholly of action, hence its very real place in drama. The greatest moments in life are manifested not in words but in action. Dramatists are coming to realize that a gesture may be more expressive and natural at tense moments than speech. We have some striking examples of this.

In the silent opening of 'What Every Woman Knows,' Barrie accomplishes, by the chess game and the entrance of the brother, what ten minutes of dialogue would have failed to do. Roberto Bracco's 'Infedele,' played in English as 'The Countess Coquette,' by Nazimova, is a still more remarkable instance. The play, in lines, is a very short one, but by the use of pantomime, even long stretches of it, there is produced a play of the regular length. One of the most intense scenes in modern drama is the prison scene in Galsworthy's 'Justice,' where not a word is spoken till the end, when a cry rings out into the still, breathless house.

The 'Sumurûn' shows that there is much which we can accomplish without speech. Aside from its value to the drama, pantomime has a large significance for acting. The necessity of making one's self intelligible without words forces the actor to weigh and consider every movement, gesture, and facial action.

'Sumurûn,' like all pantomimic entertainments, seems to have no great value in and of itself. It is remarkable for the admirable co-operation of the performers, the potency of trained gesture and studied facial expression. The music, which was written by Victor Holörder, is excellent in its harmony and appropriateness. The decorative quality of even the shabby scenery used in America is striking. It achieves an artistic, oriental effect without gaudy, costly, or spectacular elements.

Perhaps the greatest lesson of 'Sumurûn' is for stage managers. All of them might profit by an intensive study of this production.

IN BALTIMORE.--The fashionable dramatic club of Baltimore, known as the Wednesday Club, expects to develop a theater for regular amateur performances. This playhouse will be modeled on Boston's 'Toy Theater.'

AGAINST THE SPECULATOR.--The Chicago city council has offered to reduce the theater licenses in amounts from one thousand to five thousand dollars if the theater managers will refuse to take back from agencies unsold tickets. Nine managers are said to have agreed to do so. This will aid the public to get good seats without paying advanced prices. Any gleam of civic interest in the real welfare of the theaters is most welcome.

The editor of the _Playfarer_ will be glad to receive information about any American dramatic venture, no matter how small or seemingly insignificant.

* * * * *

THE PLAYHOUSE BY CHARLOTTE PORTER

_Civic Experiments in Massachusetts_

When we say 'Civic Theater' we are all so used to thinking in terms of money that we think of nothing but a theater financially supported by a city or community. Yet there are other ways of support that are more vital.

A civic theater cannot be created by money, although it requires it. Intelligence demands, therefore, when we say 'Civic Theater,' that we think at once and foremost of these other more vital ways of support.

Fortunately we can appeal to historic life for light on these other and more vital ways of support by city or community. Historic life can show us well-ascertained facts concerning drama that has been supported by the civic life of its whole people, and expresses, in consequence, the life of its men of genius, and of its interpretative artists and artisans, along with its racial genius.

Because historic life at its great moments of dramatic activity can show us these facts and supplement the bias of the present moment toward but one way of support, I shall appeal to it to make our definition complete and sound.

Yet because we all, first of all, are the children of our current notions, and only in a deeper sense, when we think below the bias of the moment, the children of all life's experience, I shall call attention first to two or three facts of civic life here in Massachusetts which illustrate merely the financial support of a theater by a city or community.

It seems to me significant that already one of our own states, and that state Massachusetts, offers an example or two of this least vital but most obvious necessity of financial ownership or support of a city's main theater.

Northampton is the town in Massachusetts which took the lead in this respect. It was first to secure ownership of a theater.

A native citizen of Northampton, Mr. G.L. Hinckley, who knows the town well, at my request has written the following report of it:

'The Academy of Music of Northampton was presented to the city of Northampton by Mr. Edward H.R. Lyman, of Brooklyn, N.Y. In making this gift it was his desire to benefit his native town by providing it with a safe, handsome, and well-equipped theater of a suitable size.

'The academy has a building to itself. It is set some fifty feet from the main street, and has a very attractive façade. On one side is a wide street and on the other a small park, which extends behind the academy. In appearance it is, therefore, more like a municipal building than the ordinary theater, and in two respects is safer as regards fires: in the first place there is no other building within one hundred feet of it; and in the second, it is far easier for an audience to leave quickly. The interior leaves nothing to be desired as regards vision or acoustics. The house seats almost exactly one thousand, not including its boxes.

'The academy was formally accepted by the City Council, Feb. 6, 1893, after it had secured the necessary authority from the General Court of Massachusetts. The deed of gift, which was executed Nov. 4, 1892, contained the following provisions:

'"1. Said granted premises shall be devoted and used solely and exclusively for the delivery of lectures, the production of concerts and operas, and the representation and delineation of the drama of the better character, as shall be approved by the unanimous vote of the committee or board of management hereinafter named.

'"2. The management is vested solely in a board composed of the following five trustees, serving without other compensation than three free seats at every performance: (a) the donor, (b) the town mayor of Northampton, _ex-officio_, (c) the President of Smith College, _ex-officio_, (d) Mr. C.H. Pierce, (e) Mr. T.G. Spaulding."

'These last two are citizens of Northampton. Vacancies, other than among the two _ex-officio_ members, are filled by election by the remaining members of the board. This board met and organized April 5, 1893. There have been but two changes in its personnel, aside from the changes in the office of mayor, Mr. Lyman being succeeded by his son, Mr. Frank Lyman, and President Seelye by President Burton.

'It will be observed that the institution is kept out of politics by placing the control of it in what is virtually a close corporation, and yet through the mayor the citizens are directly represented in the management.

'Other conditions provide that if in any year there shall be an excess of receipts over disbursements such excess shall be paid into the city treasury of Northampton, with the annual account. If in any year the disbursements shall exceed the receipts, the treasurer of the city of Northampton shall appropriate and pay to said board or committee or to the person who shall be acting as treasurer for it such sum as may be needed to balance the accounts for such year.

'When the gift was made there was much discussion among the citizens as to the advisability of accepting it as well as to the propriety of the city's ownership of a theater. This latter doubt was set at rest when people realized that the city had already a hall for kindred purposes in the city hall. As to the first question, it soon came to be recognized that such a theater could not but be of advantage to the city, though many felt it would involve too heavy a drain on the city's financial resources, a fear which has never yet been realized. Discussion was again started when a bill was before the state legislature, providing for the incorporation of the trustees, but the necessity for such a step was so evident that opposition died away. For many years the academy has been taken as a matter of course and ranks as an important and desirable municipal institution. No one now ever thinks of the objections formerly urged against it.

'Financially, the academy has about held its own. Practically, it has done much better, for the City Council has insisted that all licenses--fees for shows, amounting on the average to some $400 per annum--be paid directly into the city treasury. Still the academy is not run as a money-making institution, for the trustees strive to provide a liberal variety of entertainment and to have everything the best of its kind. Occasionally they have brought to town some high-class attraction that was not likely even to pay expenses--a venture in which few theaters can afford to engage. At one time large profits were made from so-called "10, 20, 30-cent stock companies" that spent a week in town and gave two performances daily, but the class of patronage attracted by such shows is now supporting the new vaudeville theater and the moving picture houses. So the academy is becoming more and more a purely first-class theater.

'One great difficulty with which the trustees have had to contend is how to steer a course between the Syndicate and the Shuberts. The Syndicate refuses to book in a house open to other agencies, and the Shuberts can offer few but musical shows. In fact, neither side seems prepared to supply enough attractions. So altogether this matter seems at present almost hopeless of solution as long as the prevailing dearth of plays and actors and surfeit of theaters make it well-nigh impossible for one-night stands to fare well. In practice both sides to the controversy have been tried and found wanting.'

This Northampton fact of the possession of a town theater tells us at once that the measure of financial support of a civic theater involved in the ownership of a theater building is the least vital and efficient step toward the end in view. It is an effort that looks out for the mere shell. It puts the town in the position of a benevolent landlord toward a real estate investment that happens to fall in the artistic class. And such a class of investment requires further equipment to cope with the equipment of less benevolent foreign landlords holding similar property. Unless civic responsibility develops beyond this comparatively helpless position, no such improvement of the situation as may lead to dramatic growth may result from this foundation. At the same time, even this meager measure of civic control of the dramatic situation has bettered Northampton's chances in the matter of drama. It has shielded the town from utter helplessness against dramatic deterioration through receiving whatever outside commercial managements may choose to offer. It has enabled the town to choose for itself to some degree and most notably to gain access to a higher class of independent dramatic entertainment than would otherwise be open to it.

But even in the act of thus looking out for the mere shell of a civic theater, the difficulties incident to a partial reform of the dramatic situation appear. They are the difficulties incident both to the current dramatic commercial monopoly, and to _not_ doing more than own a building. The next step toward surmounting these difficulties would be to give the shell a substantial kernel. It is natural enough that in an age as much disposed as ours is to give the dominant place to financial support that the most obvious and superficially practical thing to do was done first. It is natural enough, too, in the working-out process, that its superficialness becomes evident.

Pittsfield comes next both in date and significance of its step toward financial support for the community of a theater.

To Mr. Edward Boltwood, a member of the executive committee responsible for this step on behalf of the town, I am indebted for the following account for which I asked of its initiation:

'A corporation of thirty citizens bought the local theater ("The Colonial") last January (1912). We are professional and business men, maintaining no academic theories, believing in a practical way that a protected and well-conducted theater is as sound a municipal asset as a good public library is. We have not printed any report.

'After cleansing, re-decorating, and re-equipping the house, we shall install a resident stock company, to open May 20, under the direction of Mr. William Parker, who is at present producing manager at the Castle Square, with Mr. Craig. We have no very definite plan, except to make our theater a place of entertainment for intelligent people.'

Among the comments of the press involved in stating this item of news at the time, the way the 'Nation' put it, and the way the 'Outlook' put it, are fairly representative of public opinion of the need and value of this civic step.

Said the 'Nation':

'Some of the leading citizens of Pittsfield, Mass., being dissatisfied with the commercial management of the principal theater in the town, have bought the house with the avowed purpose of conducting it upon lines more worthy of intelligent support.'

Under the caption 'A Community Theater' the fact was recorded in the 'Outlook' in a news editorial (Feb. 10, 1912), from which the following sentences are an extract:

'Pittsfield is ... a community which represents the best of old and new New England. A very interesting experiment is being tried there by the Pittsfield Theater Company--a company of gentlemen--who believe that in a town like Pittsfield the theater justifies a consideration not dissimilar to that with which we regard our public library or our art museum! These gentlemen are leading the way in a movement which ought to be widespread. They have faced, not a theory, but a condition, and they will discover that, so far as immediate popular use is concerned, the theater is of more importance in a community than either the art museum or the public library. If they give the people what will interest the people, ... if they arrange for popular prices, secure good actors, and treat the theater as a community institution in the same sense as an art museum and a library are community institutions, the "Outlook" has small doubt of their success.'

However the Pittsfield experiment turns out, considered, as it should be, as a sign of the times, it tells us emphatically--first, that the present system of meekly taking whatever plays are sent on from New York by a monopolistic commercial management, for its own good, is by intelligent citizens seen to be anti-civic. Again, it tells us that the shortest cut to give the community open access to all the dramas it wants itself or may assimilate for its needed pleasure and development is naturally seen to be the public library method as first established by Boston and since approved and adopted by all public-spirited communities.

This method was devised to give the community free access to all the books it wants for pleasure, profit, and advancement. A similar device to give the community cheap access to all the plays it wants for the same purposes may readily follow by a correspondingly practicable path of administration by a special commission. The same path thus proved good by test of time and utility for the library has since been followed with adaptation to its different purposes by the park commission.

The commission administering the public library and employing experts to operate it in all its departments and fields of activity has for many years accomplished and continued its civic work not merely adequately and thoroughly, but with superiority and distinction. This originally self-appointed group of citizens was fired with the desire not to do an exclusive or sectional work but to put upon its feet for the whole municipality a civic institution. It proceeded toward this goal by so shaping the undertaking that the city should ultimately accept and assume charge of it as its own.

All the facts of experience we have go to prove that this public library method of providing the shortest cut efficiently to give the public proper free access to the world of books, is the method providing the shortest cut efficiently to give the public proper cheap access to the world of drama. By this method financial support for a theater may be attained that shall be pledged to the civic good and adapted to local dramatic requirements and development. This method of administration by a special commission is not alone a proven feasible and simple civic method, but also the only effective way yet broached to secure the dramatic life and growth of a community.

Political corruption is no more to be accepted as a good argument to put us off from the most feasible approach to the end needed than for the public library itself. There may or might be some political corruption in the administration of a public library. Are we, therefore, to give up the library in our cities? There may be political corruption in the administration of our public schools. Was it, therefore, a mistake to establish them? Are we, therefore, to give up the public school? Clearly, no! We are to strengthen and safe-guard them to the utmost.

One thing besides has been sufficiently exemplified by recent facts. It is that the easy substitute for a civic theater commonly called in the newspapers 'A Rich Man's Theater' will not represent nor attract the community.

Under phenomenally affluent conditions for commanding good results, that substitute has proved its futility with brilliant conspicuousness. Any one may now see that it was fore-doomed to fail. Why? Because it was out of touch with the people, fated to be sectional and temporary, in its attempts and achievements.

Such failure shows what historic life confirms, that more efficient than money support is the support of a unified civic life and of such genius and talent as require to be fed by that life, and do not flourish on cash alone any more than they do on no cash at all. In order to secure good conditions for artistic fertility in place of artistic futility, all these encouraging factors, in their just degree, require to be taken into the account.

An academic theater would, I believe, prove equally futile. All such substitutes for a civic theater are doomed to barrenness because of their segregation from the life of the community. Historic facts bear witness alike to the bloodlessness of the exclusive and the sensualizing of the commercial elements, when either gain the upper hand in control of the dramatic output. Under the auspices of neither will the great leavening middle mass of our people be put in touch with the stage to the mutual advantage of the community and the drama.

* * * * *

THE PLAY READER BY HELEN A. CLARKE

I

We are told by many critics that Euripides is not so great as Æschylus or Sophocles, yet he seems to be on the whole the most beloved of the Greek dramatists. As Porson said of him, 'We approve Sophocles more than Euripides, but we love Euripides more than Sophocles.'

There are two reasons why he has been loved. First, among his countrymen and the rest of the world, because, as a master of pathos, he has no equal among the dramatists of his nation, and, as some declare, no superior in the literature of the world. Second, by the moderns, especially the English, because they see in him the promise of the future. He is now regarded as anticipating in many ways the Elizabethan drama. Churton Collins has well said, 'But in nothing does he come so nearly home to the modern world as in his studies and presentation of women. In Shakespeare and in Shakespeare alone have we a gallery of female portraits comparable in range and elaboration to what he has left us. He has painted them under almost all conditions which can elicit and develop the expression of natural character: under the infatuation of illicit and consuming passion at war with the better self, as in Phædra; under the provocation of such wrongs and outrages as transform Medea into a tigress and Hecuba into a fiend; under all the appeals to their proper heroism, the spirit of self-sacrifice and self-abnegating devotion, as in Macaria, Polyxena, Iphigenia, and Alcestis.'

He was, however, not popular in Athens. Why? Because he was ahead of the phase of civilization and culture represented at that time in a city which was on the verge of its ruin. He denounced cruelty and oppression, he disliked war, he dwelt upon the virtues of slaves and menials, he was sympathetic with the innocence and helplessness of young children, and with all that the gentler affections can inspire or achieve.

In reading the 'Alcestis' several important points should be borne in mind in regard to the play:

1. Its production. It is the earliest of the extant plays of Euripides and was brought out B.C. 439 in the Archonship of Glaucinus. It was, according to the custom of the Greeks, entered for competition in the public prizes and performed in the great theater of Dionysius, supported by the state. The competitor was obliged to send in three tragedies called a trilogy, together with what was called a satyric play. This last might be related to the tragedies or be quite independent, as they usually were in Sophocles and Euripides. The satyric play was named from the satyrs or attendants upon Bacchus, and was a farce or burlesque intended to relieve the feelings of the spectators after the tragedies. The 'Alcestis' was entered by Euripides as a satyric play, but it only in parts approaches the characteristics of such a play. In other parts it has the dignity and beauty of a tragedy. In fact it is more nearly like a comedy in the modern sense of the word.

2. The structure of the play. This is like that of a typical Greek tragedy with one exception. It opens, as is customary with Euripides, with a monologue, which explains the plot and the position of affairs, spoken by one of the characters, Apollo. Otherwise, it is like a regular tragedy, presenting two sorts of action, that of a chorus consisting of men or women whose functions were to comment on the action, draw morals from it, express sympathy with the actors, and that of the regular dialogue.

3. Its content. This is a Greek mythological story, in which gods and mortals are the actors. The plot brings out two social ideals which were peculiar to Greek civilization. The ideal that it was the duty, approved of by the gods, that old people should die for their children, and that wives should die for their husbands, and that such sacrifice should be accepted as a matter of course; and the ideal of hospitality, which was incumbent, no matter what pain it might cause to exercise it.

With regard to the first ideal, many critics of this drama take the view that to the Greeks there would be nothing contemptible or unnatural in the conduct of Admetus. To quote Mr. Collins again on this point, 'Alcestis would be considered fortunate for having had an opportunity of displaying so conspicuously the fidelity to a wife's first and capital duty. Had Admetus prevented such a sacrifice he would have robbed Alcestis of an honor which every nobly ambitious woman in Hellas would have coveted. This is so much taken for granted by the poet that all that he lays stress on in the drama is the virtue rewarded by the return of Alcestis to life, the virtue characteristic of Admetus, the virtue of hospitality, to this duty in all the agony of his sorrow Admetus had been nobly true, and as a reward for what he had thus earned, the wife who had been equally true to woman's obligations was restored all-glorified to home and children and mutual love.'

The unbiased reader, however, cannot help suspecting that Euripides saw ahead of the ideals of his time and intended deliberately to show up the cowardice and selfishness of Admetus, by what the critics call the 'painful scene' between Pheres and Admetus.

In the second place, if he did not share to some extent the feelings of the chorus that the virtue of hospitality might be carried too far, how could he have made it say:

'Many a guest from many a land ere now I've known arriving at Admetus' halls, And set before them viands; but ne'er yet Any more reckless have I entertained Than this, who first, although he saw my lord, Bowed down with sorrow, dared to pass our gates, And next immoderately took his fill Of what was offered--though he knew our grief-- And what we did not offer bade us fetch.'

The unbiased reader will find a few critics on his side, and he will find also the poet Browning, who, in his Balaustion's 'Adventure,' has put into the mouth of his beautiful young Greek woman an interpretation which will chime in fully with his own untutored perceptions.

* * * * *

THE CALDRON

'_Bubble, bubble, toil and trouble_'

OPERA VERSUS DRAMA

Why opera, which is a less old and less vital form of entertainment than drama (in America), should spring into such prominence is difficult to understand. San Francisco has raised one hundred thousand dollars towards a seven-hundred-thousand-dollar opera house, which will be owned and managed by the municipality. The Metropolitan and the Chicago and the Philadelphia and the New Orleans Opera maintain themselves as centers of real artistic work, though they are not municipal enterprises. Opera in Boston is assured for another three years, and this has been accomplished through the efforts of citizens.

But America has no endowed nor municipal theater.

I would in no way decry opera, but it is very clear that some of the energy which is now being used for opera might far better be put into the wider field of drama. Because of its very nature, opera is bound to appeal to and to reach fewer people than drama. As a force and a power for education and general uplift, it can never compare with drama. There is a considerable number of people who attend the opera because they love it, but a much larger number attend because it is fashionable. All the drama leagues and numberless organizations which are trying to cultivate taste for good plays and to better the drama are on the wrong track. It is not a cultivated, appreciative public that is needed. Let those interested in drama learn a lesson from opera. Let them employ their energies to make drama fashionable. When it becomes incumbent upon society leaders to occupy stalls in the theater for a season, we shall have an endowed theater and not until then.

THE DEUTSCHES KÜNSTLERTHEATER

Readers of THE NEW DRAMA may be interested to hear that the enterprise of the actors of the Brahm Company, which in the winter seemed uncertain, is now secure. The Deutsches Künstlertheater was incorporated on April 20, with a capital of 790,000 marks. Willy Grumwald is really to be manager, Ernst Friedmann, business manager, and among the associates are Tilla Durieux, Carl Forest, Gerhart Hauptmann, Hilde Herterich, Else Lehmann, Emil Lessing (Brahm's stage manager), Theodor Loos, Hans Marr, Emanuel Reicher, Rudolf Rittner (who declares, however, that he is to return to the theater only as associate, artistic adviser, and stage manager, and that he still has no intention of ever acting again; since his blending of blazing passion with austere self-discipline is all too rare, let us hope he will change his mind), Oscar Sauer, Mathilde Sussin (whose sublime Deaconess in 'When We Dead Awake' so fully meets Ibsen's requirement of the actor of this character: complete self-effacement until the close, and then tragic acting of the highest order; Alfred Kerr, whose words--don't you think?--no other living critic can equal, has called her 'eine der Schattengestalten dieses grössten Theaters der Unscheinbarkeit, der Seele'), and Paul Wegener. The Deutsches Künstlertheater is still undecided whether to build a theater or to lease one; it will enter into active being in July, 1914, when Otto Brahm will pass, alas, from the active service of the theater, which he has served as has no other man.

JAMES PLATT WHITE.

THE 'SLAM'

A characteristic feature of modern newspaper criticism is the 'slam.' The fundamental principles upon which 'slams' are based are as follows: The writer of a 'slam' ought to be quite young, not long out of college. That is the only sort of person who knows enough to construct a really effective 'slam.' After one has been out of college for a few years the dividing lines between what is good art and what is bad art become more vague. The would-be critic starts out in life with a sort of Procrustean ideal of measurement, to which everything has to be cut down. He is blissfully sure of his standards, and does not need to bother his mind over any possibilities in the way of new artistic developments. Only after he begins to delve into the history of criticism upon his own account does he wake up to the fact that 'the genius is the thing,' and that the slings and arrows of outrageous critics have been powerless to crush him out.

What is true of the great genius is also true of the genuinely talented person. 'Slams' do not crush him out, they only call attention to him, which is fortunate because the majority of people engaged in creative work to-day possess talent rather than genius.

But a still more important fundamental principle to be observed by the writer of 'slams' is that he must resolutely shut his eyes to any qualities which appeal, even to him, as good qualities, while dwelling with ferocious zest upon every point that he can possibly magnify into a flaw. Or he may even fly at one bound to a pinnacle of wisdom by basing his criticism entirely upon the first chapter or the last chapter of a book, or the first act or the last act of a play. Or he may win his spurs for smartness by deliberate misstatements, born, perhaps, of carelessness, perhaps of the genuine desire to be downright disagreeable and funny. The one thing which he must carefully avoid is the slightest touch of genuine appreciation. This is not difficult, for appreciation means the power to enter into the point of view of the writer or the artist, and this the slinger of 'slams' is incapable of doing, even if he had the desire of so doing.

Blessed be the writer of 'slams.' He is as debonair and inconsequential as a young Hermes to whom only the serious lessons of life can teach sympathy and true insight, if he will let them.

Transcriber's note: Nyársnóttin--the y has an acute accent.