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.