Chapter II: Part 2

The alleged faults of the old school, which the new was to correct, were (1) an over-elaboration of detail in the setting; (2) a realism which challenged reality. ("Challenge," I understand, is the catch-word they use.) Both these qualities were supposed to distract attention from the drama itself. The answer, almost too obvious to be worth stating, is that the grotesque and the eccentric are vastly more distracting than the elaborate; and that, if you only sound the loud symbol loud enough the audience has no ear left at all for the actual words. As for the "challenging" of reality the new school would argue that, as the stage is a thing of convention to start with--artificial light, no natural atmosphere or perspective, no fourth wall, and so on--all the rest should be convention too. The answer, again almost too obvious, is that, since the audience has to bear the strain of unavoidable convention, you should not wantonly add to their worry. And, anyhow, the human figures on your stage (I leave out fairies and superhumans for the moment) are bound to challenge reality by the fact that they are alive. If Mr. BARKER wants to be consistent (and he would probably repudiate so Philistine a suggestion) his figures should be marionettes worked by strings; and for words--if you _must_ have words--he might himself read the text from a corner of the top landing of his proscenium.

And the strange thing is that no one in the world has a nicer sense of the beauty of SHAKSPEARE'S verse than Mr. BARKER. Indeed he protests in his preface: "They (the fairies) must be not too startling.... _They mustn't warp your imagination--stepping too boldly between SHAKSPEARE'S spirit and yours._" (The italics are my own comment.) He is of course free, within limits, to choose his own convention about fairies, because we have never seen them, though some of us say we have. Mr. CHESTERTON naturally says they can be of any size; Mr. BARKER says they can be of any age from little _Peaseblossom_ and his young friends to hoary antiques with moustaches like ram's horns and beards trickling down to their knees. And as many as like it, and are not afraid of being poisoned, may have gilt faces that make them look like Hindoo idols with the miraculous gift of perspiration. But he should please remember that the play is not his own. It is, in point of fact, SHAKSPEARE'S, and I am certain he was not properly consulted about the Orientalisation of the fairies out of his Warwickshire woodlands. You will be told that he _has_ been properly consulted; that he himself makes _Titania_ say that _Oberon_ has "come from the furthest steppe of India," and that she too had breathed "the spiced Indian air." But on the same authority Mr. BARKER might just as well have fixed on Asia Minor or Greece as their provenance. She charges _Oberon_ with knowing _Hippolyta_ too well, and he accuses her of making _Theseus_ break faith with a number of ladies. Clearly they were a travelling company and would never have confined themselves to the costumes of any particular clime.

Anyhow, when at His Majesty's you saw _Oberon_ in sylvan dress moving lightly through a wood that looked like a wood (and so left your mind free to listen to him), you could believe in all the lovely things he had to say; but when you saw Mr. BARKER'S _Oberon_ standing stark, like a painted graven image, with yellow cheeks and red eyebrows, up against a symbolic painted cloth, and telling you that he knows a bank where the wild thyme blows, you know quite well that he knows nothing of the kind; and you don't believe a word of it.

But, to leave SHAKSPEARE decently out of the question, I liked the gold dresses of the fairies enormously, so long as _Puck_--a sort of adult Struwel-Puck that got badly on my nerves--was not there, destroying every colour scheme with his shrieking scarlet suit, which went with nothing except a few vermilion eyebrows. I liked too the grace of their simple chain-dances on the green mound (English dances, you will note, and English tunes--not Indian). But in the last scene, where they interlace among the staring columns, their movements lacked space. Indeed that was the trouble all through; that, and the pitiless light that poured point-blank upon the stage from the 12.6 muzzles protruding from the bulwarks of the dress-circle. There was no distance, no suggestion of the spirit-world, no sense of mystery (except in regard to Mr. BARKER'S intentions).

The best scene was the haunt of _Titania_, with its background of Liberty curtains very cleverly disposed. As drapery they were excellent, but as symbols of a forest I found them a little arbitrary. I do not mind a forest being indicated, if you are short of foliage, by a couple of trees (in tubs, if you like) or even a single tree; but somehow--and the fault is probably mine--the spectacle of hanging drapery does not immediately suggest to me the idea of birds' nests. I am afraid I should be just as stupid if Mr. BARKER gave me the same convention the other way round, and showed an interior with foliage to indicate window-curtains.

The play itself, with its rather foolish figures from the Court and the easy buffoonery of its peasants, does not offer great chances of acting; and Miss LAURA COWIE was the only one in the cast who added to her reputation. Her _Hermia_ was a delightful performance full of charm and piquancy and real intelligence. Miss LILLAH MCCARTHY sacrificed something of her personality to the exigences of a flaxen chevelure. Mr. HOLLOWAY'S _Theseus_ was wanting in kingliness, and his hunting scene was perhaps the worst thing in the play. He was not greatly helped by his _Hippolyta_, for Miss EVELYN HOPE never began to look like a leader of Amazons. Miss CHRISTINE SILVER'S _Titania_ had a certain domestic sweetness, but even a queen of fairies might be a little more queenly. Mr. DENNIS NEILSON-TERRY as _Oberon_ was a curiously effeminate figure for those who recalled the manly bearing of his mother in the same part. Of the two bemused Athenian lovers, Mr. SWINLEY, as _Lysander_, bore himself as bravely as could be expected.

Mr. NIGEL PLAYFAIR had, of course, no difficulty with the part of _Bottom_, and Mr. ARTHUR WHITBY'S _Quince_ and Mr. QUARTERMAINE'S _Flute_ were both excellent. It is to the credit of the whole troupe of rustic players that nobody tried to force the fun.

Apart from a slight tendency to hurry, a trick that, except in swift dialogue or passionate speech, gives the effect of something learnt by heart and not spontaneous, the delivery of the lines--and some of SHAKSPEARE'S most exquisite are here--was done soundly.

Finally, no one who wants to keep level with the table-talk of the day should miss this interesting and intriguing production, especially if he hasn't been to _Parsifal_.

O. S.

* * * * *

HOW TO GET YOUR PHOTOGRAPH INTO THE ILLUSTRATED DAILY PAPERS.

* * * * *

OVER MONT BLANC BY AEROPLANE.

_"'Thou, too, hoar Mount! with they sky-pointing peaks,
Oft from whose feet the avalanche, unheard,
Shoots downward.'"_--_Daily Chronicle._

Conquered, alas! and by one of they dratted flying machines.

* * * * *

"Eastbourne.--Furnished double-fronted villa, from April, for
six or twelve months; facing south; near the downs, fifteen
months from pier, five from 'buses."--_The Lady._

Too near for us.

* * * * *

TO SEPTIMIUS ON TROUT.

(_A February Ode._)

To-day the young year in her sleep was stirring
In woods and hearts of men;
To-night 'tis sharper and the cold's recurring--
Septimius, what then?

Draw in and talk of politics and speeches
To the old tiresome tune?
Not we who saw pale sunshine on the beeches
Only this afternoon;

Who saw the snowdrops frail in woodland hollows,
Who heard the building rooks
Herald a time of flowers and skimming swallows,
Green fields and brawling brooks!

Nay, pledge anew, Septimius, such gages
Of May-time's radiant rout
Till, as becometh fishermen and sages,
Our talk shall trend to trout--

To little trout, to little streams that scurry
Where the hill curlews cry,
O'er which the neophyte may splash and flurry,
Yet heap his basket high;

To careful trout, for pundits skilled and wary,
That use upon the chalk,
Plump and recondite, dubious and chary--
On such shall turn our talk.

Then since we're of the Faithful, vowed to follow
Old Thames's placid flow,
We'll breathe of his leviathans that wallow,
In bated tones and low;

And I mayhap shall say a word in token
Of one prodigious friend
Who lurks--excuse a statement more outspoken--
'Twixt Marlow and Bourne End;

While you, Septimius, set memory roaming
To That which smashed amain
Your trace of proof, and hint how some soft gloaming
He yet shall come again.

So shall we sit this firelit hour, contriving
Blue halcyon days that hold
The lisp of streams in crisping reed-beds striving,
And meadows spun with gold.

* * * * *

"Insurance business is ransacted."

_Quarterly Post Office Guide, p. 154._

The influence of Mr. LLOYD GEORGE again.

* * * * *

INTELLECTUAL DAMAGE TO ANIMALS.

We gather from _The Daily Sketch_ that a reverend gentleman at Herne Bay has just founded the S. P. M. C. A., or "Society for the Prevention of Mental Cruelty to Animals," and holds, as part of his propaganda, that the Zoo should be disbanded and abolished, and, in fact, that no wild animals or birds should be kept anywhere in captivity at all.

The S. P. M. C. A. fills a long-felt want. Everyone with any sense of politeness or tact must recognise that it is grossly improper to wound the feelings of the lower orders of creation by the opprobrious use of such epithets as ass, donkey, cat, mule, pig, goose, monkey, and so on. Picture the mental torture and degradation undergone by the self-respecting rodent who overhears the contemptuous exclamation, "Rats!" Realise, if you can, the stigma attached to the hard-working order of garden annelids when, possibly in their very presence, one human being addresses another as a "worm"!

Then, again, take the deplorable breaches of etiquette on the part of visitors at the Zoo. We ourselves have heard the most uncomplimentary allusions made to the appearance of the baboons and the hippopotamus, in the hearing of those unfortunate creatures, and quite regardless of their _amour propre_. The callous Cockney takes care to insult his helpless victims only when they are behind bars and cannot retaliate effectively. One shudders to think of the mental humiliation that is daily experienced by the warthog and the mandrill. And even the nobler animals--the lions and bears--are not allowed to escape without prejudicial comment, especially at feeding-time. Not the slightest deference is paid to the private opinions and sentiments of these carnivores by the vulgar crowd of sight-seers. The parrots alone can ease their harassed souls and have the last word with the passer-by.

Meanwhile, we have to apologise to our cat for having recently upbraided him rather too freely for his nocturnal habits and general lack of discipline, not having considered the shock of such language to his sensitive mind.

ZIG-ZAG.

* * * * *

"Young lady requires secretarial work of any kind, good writer
and correspondent, accustomed to literary work, or would write
up Parish fashions."--_Daily Mail._

Smocks are no longer being worn. Sun-bonnets may be expected in a few months.

* * * * *

_Waiter._ "Faith, Mum, the wather's all right; 'tis the bottle that's dirty."]

* * * * *

OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.

(_By Mr. Punch's Staff of Learned Clerks._)

"Anyhow, I can remember this Court and can tell a tale it plays a part in, only not very quick." Thus Mr. WILLIAM DE MORGAN, introductory, on the fourth page of his latest novel, When _Ghost meets Ghost_ (HEINEMANN). Before it ends there have been as near nine hundred pages of it as makes no difference; and the things that the author remembers in the course of the tale, and the not-very-quickness with which he tells it, must be seen to be believed. The main outline of this more than leisurely plot is concerned with the coming together of two aged twin sisters, each of whom has been living for years in ignorance of the other's existence, so that they meet at last almost as ghosts. Hence the title. But you will not need to be told that there is ever so much more in the nine hundred pages than this. There are the children _Dave and Dolly_, for example; likewise _Uncle Mo'_, and any quantity of humble London types; not to mention the group that includes _Lady Gwen_, and _Adrian Torrens_, and a score of others, all drawn with that verbal Pre-Raphaelitism in which the author takes such obvious delight. For myself I must honestly confess that I have found it a little overwhelming; but that, after all, is a question of individual taste. I suppose there is one comparison that is inevitable. I had meant to say never a word about CHARLES DICKENS in this notice, but, like the head of another CHARLES, it would come; and when the chief house in the story began to rumble and finally collapsed in a cloud of dust--well, could anyone help being reminded of how the same incident was handled by the master of such terrors? In brief, this latest De Morgan left me with a profound and increased respect for the author; some little envy for the reader whose time and taste enable him to enjoy it as it should be enjoyed; and, for proof-readers and reviewers, a very pure sympathy.

* * * * *

The _Duchess of Wrexe_ (SECKER) is, I think, the longest as it is certainly the most substantial novel that Mr. HUGH WALPOLE has yet given us. It is the work of one who has already made himself a force in modern fiction, and after this book will have more than ever to be reckoned with. Whether the reckoning will be to all tastes is another matter; I incline to think not. Four hundred closely printed pages, in which hardly anything happens to the bodies of the characters, but a great deal to their spirits--this perhaps is toughish meat for the ordinary devourer of fiction. But for the others this study of the passing of an epoch, the time of the Old Society, as symbolised by the figure of the _Duchess_, will be a delight. You might suppose from this (if you were unfamiliar with your author) that we had here a social comedy. Nothing in fact could be further from Mr. WALPOLE'S design. For him, as for his characters, there is almost too haunting a sense of the tragedy of trivial things. No one in the book is happy. The _Duchess_ herself, stern, aloof, terrible, broken but never bent by the oncoming of the New Order; the various members of the family whom she terrified; _Rachel_, the granddaughter, between whom and the old woman there exists the bond of one of those hatreds in which Mr. WALPOLE so exults; the secretary, _Lizzie Rand_--all of them are tremendously and miserably alive. I think the matter is that they have too much sensibility, of the modern kind. They see too many meanings. A primrose by a river's brim, or more probably in a flower-seller's basket, is not for them a simple primrose, but a portent of soul-shaking significance. To make up for this the author has gifted them with his own exquisite sense of colour and words, and especially a feeling for the beauty of London that at times almost reconciles them to life. But I could wish them merrier.

* * * * *

Mr. HAROLD SPENDER'S new novel, _One Man Returns_ (MILLS AND BOON), opens with a very powerful and dramatic situation. Nothing in its way could be better than the description of the lonely _Trevena_ family, of their vigil during the terrible storm, of the shipwreck and the sudden arrival of the two strangers, father and son, who are its only survivors. The father dies immediately without revealing his identity, and the son, slowly nursed back to health by the devoted care of _Enid Trevena_, resumes his life without any consciousness of the past, having forgotten even his own name. As a matter of fact he is _Cyril Oswald_, the lawful inheritor of Oswald Hall and great estates, which, of course, pass into the possession of the nearest villain. This is _Major Harley_, a gentleman of a lurid past and an infamous present, mitigated only by the fact that he has a beautiful and amiable daughter, _Dorothy_, who, having been educated at Roedean School, conceives herself to be qualified to run after beagles. In the natural course of things she sprains her ankle and is beloved by _Rupert Sandford_, the chief beagler of the novel. She then quarrels with her disgraceful parent, is adopted by _Mrs. Sandford_ (mother to _Rupert_), and becomes the affianced bride of _Rupert_, though for a time she had been inclined to look with favour on _Cyril_. This young gentleman eventually recovers his estates by course of law and returns to Cornwall and _Enid_ just in time to cut out that young lady from under the guns of _Merrifield_, a South African millionaire who had complicated the situation by providing _Cyril_ with money for his law-suit. What happened to _Major Harley_ is not stated, but I presume he must have drunk off the phial of poison which such desperate adventurers always carry concealed about their persons.

* * * * *

"The matrimonial career of suburban lovers," says Miss JESSIE POPE in a prologue to _The Tracy Tubbses_ (MILLS AND BOON), "is seldom variegated by so many curious happenings as fell to the lot of Mr. and Mrs. _Tracy Tubbs_;" and to this statement I can give my unqualified assent. No sooner were the _T. T.'s_ married than they were beset by such wonderful and various misfortunes that I should like to try and "place" them. The Lion, I think, won in a canter, _Aunt Julia_ was a bad second, and The Chafing-dish was third, while among the "also ran" were several Policemen, The Balloon, _Cross-eyed Cranstone_ and The Motor-Bicycle. But whether the _T. T.'s_ were nearly devoured by wild beasts or merely annoyed by aunts and chafing-dishes, they continued to embrace each other with magnificent heartiness whenever they had a moment to spare. In short, Miss POPE'S high spirits never flag; and, even if you fail to be amused by all the incidents in the _T. T.'s_ career, you will be glad to make the acquaintance--under a new aspect, for Miss POPE'S talent as a maker of light verse is established--of a writer so unaffectedly cheerful and exhilarating.

* * * * *

"I cannot marry you or any man; _I am not free_," said _Polly Adair_ to _Hemingway_, and the italics were her own. For my part, having been rather pointedly informed earlier in the story that the lady was understood in Zanzibar to be a widow, I began at this stage to suspect that there was something lacking in the lateness of _Mr. Adair_. This was a great pity, because _Polly_ and _Hemingway_ were obviously meant for each other, as she and he and I and Mr. RICHARD HARDING DAVIS were unanimously agreed. But there the fatal obstacle was, whatever it might be. "I am not free," she repeated, and again the italics were her very own. After much to-do, it came out that what she meant was that she had a brother who oughtn't to be free; ought, if justice were done, to be picking oakum or whatever else they pick in their leisure hours way back in U.S.A. And this was the whole and the sole fatal obstacle! _Hemingway_ took it as it came; Mr. DAVIS seemed quite pleased about it; but I felt that I had been wantonly deceived. Baffle me by all means, said I, but do not lie to me. Maybe I was not in a good temper at the time, for the three preceding stories were not calculated to stir the gentlest reader's sympathies. Possibly I am not in a good temper now, for the three later stories (though "_The God of Coincidence_" only just missed fire) were not distracting enough to deaden my sense of injury. A pity, for _The Lost Road_ (DUCKWORTH) has such a good cover and the name of such a good author on the back of it.

* * * * *

* * * * *

EDITORIAL CANDOUR.

Notice in _Nash's Magazine_ at the beginning of a new serial:--

"The theme of this story is a strange one handled with the
consummate skill one expects from so clever a writer as
Gouverneur Morris.... This story will stimulate your interest.
It is quite different from anything Mr. Morris has previously
written."

* * * * *

"Cambridge.

The appointment of Mr. W. W. Buckland, of Caius, to be Regius
Professor of Civil War is in accordance with general
expectation, though there were those who thought that the
Government might go outside the circle of University
teachers."--_The Record._

Mr. DEVLIN was surely indicated.

* * * * *

"CANARY WANTED.--Young, intelligent bird wanted for training.
For right bird, right price paid. Apply, with bird, Tuesday
morning next, at 11 o'clock. M. D., Stage Door, Palladium,
London, W.C."

_The Referee._

Dangerous, asking for the bird like that.

* * * * *