Our Stage and Its Critics Part 18

CHAPTER XII

MISCELLANEOUS

Signor Borsa on the English Theatres

Those mere casual playgoers who may think that the articles on drama in _The Westminster Gazette_ have been needlessly pessimistic ought to read "The English Stage of To-Day," by Mario Borsa, translated by Mr Selwyn Brinton, and published by Mr John Lane; a lively, interesting book, in which are expressed vigourously the ideas of a very acute, intelligent writer upon our modern theatre. "Hence it is no wonder that all that is artificial, absurd, commonplace, spectacular, and puerile is rampant upon the English stage; that theatrical wares are standardized, like all other articles of trade...." "Still, in spite of all this booming and histriomania, one of the greatest intellectual privations from which the foreigner suffers in London is, I repeat, the lack of good comedy and good prose drama." Such sentences are specimens of his views about the current drama of London, and he endorses the sad phrase of Auguste Filon, "_Le drame Anglais, a peine ne, se meurt_."

In some respects the book is surprising. The author exhibits an intimacy of knowledge that appears almost impossible in one who, for a long time after his arrival in London, was "ignorant of the very language of the country." He has learnt our tongue well enough to give us some literary criticisms of value, notably upon the Irish theatre and the poetry of Mr W.B. Yeats, and he has made himself acquainted in a remarkable way with the plays of the last fifteen years or so, with the theatrical clubs and the various movements of revolt against our puppet theatre. There are slips, no doubt, such as the suggestion that the Independent Theatre introduced Ibsen to London, it being the fact that several of his plays had been presented before this Society was born.

Signor Borsa has something to say on most of the topics of the times.

For instance, he deals with the Censor! "And here we touch the root of the evil--the Censor! It is the Censor who is the real enemy--the ruthless, insatiable Cerberus." He writes upon the question of speeches in the theatres. "In Italy a new play is sometimes so heartily hissed after one or two acts that the manager is forced to cut short the performance and proceed forthwith to the farce. This never happens in England, partly because every 'first night' is attended by a _claque_, judiciously posted and naturally well disposed. Not that these 'first-nighters' are paid to applaud, as in Paris or Vienna. Neither are they labelled as _claqueurs_. They are simply enthusiasts, and their name is Legion.... It is they who salute the actor-manager after the curtain has fallen with persistent demands of 'Speech! Speech!' And it is to the request of these good and faithful friends that he accedes at last, in a voice broken by emotion, due to their spontaneous and generous reception."

Of late some people have been suggesting gleefully that the vogue of "G.B.S." is on the wane. His popularity has been the cause of great annoyance to the ma.s.s of the public and those critics who stand up for a theatre of "old scenic tricks which were long familiar to me--sensational intrigues, impossible situations, men and women who could have been neither English nor French nor Italian." They will be glad to learn that Signor Borsa says: "Shaw's dramatic work is pure journalism, destined to enjoy a certain vogue, and then to be swallowed up in the deep pit of oblivion. Nor should I be surprised if this vogue of his were already on the decline.... Shaw, with all his wit and all his go, already shows signs of becoming terribly monotonous." According to him, in "Shaw there were the makings of a writer of talent."

Let us add that no evidence exists to show the decline of the author's popularity; it may also be said that much of "G.B.S." is quite incomprehensible to a foreigner. What Signor Borsa calls the "restaurateurs-proprietors," and also the actor-managers--with a few exceptions--may hold aloof, but Mr Shaw has brought to the theatres a new public, and taken a good many of the old as well. Apparently Signor Borsa's hostility to "G.B.S." is founded on the fact that the dramatist is a revolutionary and refuses to accept the theatrical formulae which satisfy the Italian. One must, however, point out that whilst Signor Borsa's general conclusions concerning the most remarkable person of the English theatre are unsound, his remarks in detail are acute and luminous, and some of them well deserve the consideration of the victim.

The curiosity of the book is the treatment of the acting. According to Signor Borsa, "the acting has little to boast of. A century, or even half-a-century, ago the case was different. But the glories of Kean, Macready, Kemble, and Siddons now belong to history and but yesterday Sir Henry Irving stood alone--the unique representative in England of the great tragic art.... In conveying irony, the English actor is in his element; in comic parts, he is simply grotesque. The buffoon may occasionally be found upon the English stage--the brilliant comedian never. In tragic parts he easily a.s.sumes an exaggerated gravity and solemnity; in sentimental _roles_ he is frankly ridiculous."

_Frankly_ is a mistranslation, or else the adjective is ridiculous, if not "frankly" ridiculous. Signor Borsa falls into a very common error.

He thinks that because English actors do not gesticulate a great deal they act badly. This might be true if they represented on the stage a gesticulative race. The author points out carefully that we are not a gesticulative race, and fails to see that it would be bad acting for the player to represent an Englishman as being naturally gesticulative. The English Jew is more gesticulative than the ordinary Englishman; the Anglo-Jewish players--and there are many--curb themselves when they are playing British characters, and of course they act artistically in so doing.

The function of the actor is to impress the audience before him, nine-tenths of which consist of people who would regard him as ridiculous and unnatural if, when acting an ordinary English part, he were to gesticulate very much. We have seen Italian players of ability representing English characters, and, putting aside Duse, the obvious and correct criticism was that they were very funny and quite incorrect in their exuberance of gesture.

Irving is the only actor whom he discusses; Ellen Terry the one English actress. This, of course, is absurd. It indicates, however, very usefully the att.i.tude of the foreign critic towards our stage. Also, perhaps, it is a little chastening to our players. The foreigner is able to understand and appreciate to some extent the best of our plays; the acting says nothing to him, or at least nothing flattering. Our comedians are "buffoons," our lovers are "frankly ridiculous," and the Italian actors are superior in "temperament"--whatever that may mean.

Ours, it appears, are better than the Italians in some humble ways: "They dress their parts better and wear their clothes better," and they even know their parts--a vulgar quality which apparently is rare on the Italian stage--also they are more cultured, and "possess to a greater degree the dramatic literary sense."

One may accept, sadly, Signor Borsa's view, which is shared by most Continental and many British critics, that the ordinary English drama is utterly unworthy of the English people; but we certainly have abundance of competent players, and a fair number of dramatists anxious and able to give the public far better drama than they get, as soon as managers are willing to produce it; the great trouble is that the managers are afraid of the public, and although they might wisely be more venturesome, they have, in the present ma.s.s of playgoers, a terrible public to cater for. The facts and figures offered by Signor Borsa show too eloquently that the managers attempt to deal with the difficulty by a very short-sighted policy. Still, the position is less desperate than the Italian critic supposes, and much of what has happened since Auguste Filon wrote the line already quoted shows that he was too hasty in his judgment.

"G.B.S." and the Amateurs

There is a story--its untruth is indisputable--to the effect that on a death of a man of unconventional character his mournful family, after much trouble, hit upon the happy thought of satisfying their desire to leave an amiable and incontestable record concerning him by having inscribed upon his tombstone the following epitaph:--"He never acted in private theatricals."

A touch of acrimony seems discernible in certain utterances of Mr George Bernard Shaw about amateur theatricals which makes one doubt whether such a statement in his case would contain even the trifling percentage of truth that is customary in epitaphs. Indeed, he causes an impression that he has really done something worse than play in amateur theatricals, and even, although an amateur, has appeared in a professional performance. There has been a rather needless fury in his remarks; it is a case doubtless of more sound than sentiment. This, however, is pretty George's way; where some would use a whip he "fillips" people with "a three-man beetle."

They say that all the amateur Thespians' clubs in the kingdom have pa.s.sed fierce resolutions about him, and a monster pet.i.tion is being prepared praying for his outlawry or excommunication. The cause was a letter concerning the question whether dramatists ought to reduce their fees for performance by amateur clubs of copyright works, and the trump card of the opponents was the fact that many of the entertainments are given for the benefit of charities. Mr Zangwill it was who observed that "charity uncovers a mult.i.tude of s.h.i.+ns"; perhaps one may add, clumsily, that charity suffereth long and applauds.

Certainly, amateur performances rarely contain anything intentionally so humorous as the idea of suggesting to "G.B.S." that he should reduce his fees by way of an indirect contribution to the fund for the restoration of some village church or the like. Apparently the common answer to the author of _Mrs Warren's Profession_ is a sort of paraphrase of the line "n.o.body axt you, sir, she said."

It would be interesting to know how many performances, if any, have been given by the great unpaid of pieces by the now successful theatrical iconoclast. Who knows whether his wrath has not a touch of the _spretae injuria formae_? Perhaps he is longing to have _Caesar and Cleopatra_ represented by some amiable a.s.sociation that has. .h.i.therto confined itself to the comedies of Bulwer Lytton and farces by Maddison Morton.

It may be the dream of his life to see what people untrammelled by considerations of filthy lucre, except so far as the benefit of the charity is concerned, can make of _The Philanderers_.

Judging by the public press and the circulars, Mr Shaw is not inaccurate in his view that the army of amateurs does comparatively little service for drama. Its taste seems to be for showy, artificial plays, and its tendency to seek out works that do not act themselves because of their truth of characterisation but afford unlimited scope for originality on the part of performers--generally half-baked performers.

This does not apply to all amateur societies; at least we know that there are a number of a.s.sociations not for the purposes of gain, such as the Elizabethan Stage Society, now, alas! dead, which showed a very stern enthusiasm for the higher forms of art. They appear to be the exception. There was a time when it was difficult to find a man in the street who had not acted in _Ici on Parle Francais_ or played in _Money_ or appeared in _Our Boys_, and nowadays it seems that though there has been some progress, the austere drama is still unpopular, and that when funds are sufficient artificial costume plays are in vogue.

Mr Shaw apparently believes that vanity is the fundamental motive of amateur performances. It may be that this is not wholly true, and that the real impulse is the elementary instinct for dressing-up. Savages, we know, have a craving for strange costumes which enable them to disguise and even disfigure their persons. Children delight in dressing up.

Possibly one of the great joys of the amateur lies in the fact that he has an opportunity of wearing clothes pertinent to somebody else, and, if he be a male, is curious to see how he looks and is looked upon with the whiskers of the mid-Victorian beau or the imperial of the Third Empire, and so on.

The amiable philosopher would find a pleasanter explanation, would suggest that the desire to "dress up" is based upon a modest doubt concerning the charms of one's own individuality--how agreeable to believe this! At the bottom of the matter lies this ugly contention on the part of the cynic--he alleges that the amateur wants to act not for the benefit of the charity, the name of which is invoked hypocritically, but for the gratification of his vanity, and the authors are unable to see why the clubs should gratify the conceit of their members at the expense of those who write the plays.

After all, the matter is one of domestic economy, and the wisest thing seems to be to leave people to make their own bargains; and if the result is that the best plays are the dearest and the least performed, the result may be somewhat advantageous. It is always uncertain whether the individual spectator who has witnessed an amateur performance of a piece will be anxious to see how it really acts or determine never to suffer from it again. Perhaps it is rather cheap to scoff at the amateur performances, some of which, no doubt, are excellent.

Moreover, it cannot be doubted that in a good many cases the amateur stage provides recruits for _the_ profession, and some of our most popular players--like Mr Shrubb and other famous runners--have begun their careers by merely striving for "the fun of the thing." Probably many who now stroll the Strand or haunt "Poverty Corner" fruitlessly, were induced to embark upon their vain career by the polite plaudits of amiable friends whose judgments were worthless even when honest. Perhaps some of them, or of their friends, begin to believe that Mr Zangwill was not quite untruthful in his phrase that "players are only men and women--spoilt," which, of course, he did not intend to be of universal application.

Still, it can hardly be denied that "G.B.S." was needlessly severe. The amateur actors do very little harm and cause a great deal of innocent amus.e.m.e.nt which outweighs the harm. It may be that, except in dealing with serious plays, there is an unfair proportion of amus.e.m.e.nt on the farther side of the footlights, but it must be recollected that the performers have many trials and annoyances, and often make severe sacrifices--of friends.h.i.+ps.

If the authors of established reputation seem too greedy the clubs have an easy remedy. At the present moment the cry of the unacted is unusually bitter and loud. Why, then, should not these a.s.sociations, able as some are to give performances that are at least adequate if not exactly brilliant, save as regards a few individual players, a.s.sist the drama by giving a chance to the unacted of seeing their works on the stage? In many cases plays now rejected by managers because they have an instinctive feeling that there is some flaw which defies precise indication might, after such a production, be corrected and rendered acceptable and valuable.

Cant about Shakespeare

In a criticism upon the new Lyceum revival of _Hamlet_ there was a sentence which impressed me greatly. It appeared in a morning paper of prodigious circulation, and was in these words: "Mr Matheson Lang's Hamlet ... is what may be called a popular one, and likely to be extremely popular. And this is well, for 'tis better to see Shakespeare in any form than not to see him at all, so that these performances deserve every support, being in some ways not unlike the productions ...

which serve to keep alive the cla.s.sics and old traditions of art." This criticism, or rather statement, is popular--"extremely popular." People seem to think that there is virtue in producing Shakespeare and in acting Shakespeare and in reading Shakespeare. It would be pleasant to feel confident that there is virtue in writing about him--I have written so much--but probably n.o.body takes this extreme view. Now, some have a different opinion.

A strenuous dramatist, namesake of a contemporary of the national dramatist, ventures to call the "Swan of Avon" a "blackleg" instead of a black swan, and ascribes his popularity with managers to the fact that his name no longer spells bankruptcy, and that no royalties have to be paid on performances of his plays, in consequence of which they are often, or sometimes, produced where, otherwise, modern works would be presented.

It is not necessary to go so far as this to reach a sane view on the subject--a view which probably lies between the extremes. Certainly we may well wonder whether and why it is a good thing to produce Shakespeare plays unless the production is of fine quality. Everybody is acquainted with Lamb's essay, with what one may call "Elia's" paradox, on Shakespeare, the vigorous truth of which is partly counterbalanced by the fact that few play readers have anything like his powers of imagination, and that he probably underrated the knowledge of Shakespeare possessed by playgoers, or at least by West End first-nighters.

Indeed, one may go further and say that during any run of a Shakespearean play it will be visited by some thousands of people well acquainted with it and some hundreds who immediately detect any alteration of the text. The enjoyment of these expert or semi-expert playgoers of a performance of a Shakespeare play, when compared with their pleasure in reading it, is probably much higher than Lamb imagined. It is, however, hardly for them that these dramas are revived, and clearly for quite a different audience that the Lyceum production is given.

Is it a really good thing that _Hamlet_ should be offered to those who have little or no acquaintance with the tragedy? A study of the audience on the first night of _Hamlet_ at the Lyceum gave the idea that the majority were far from appreciating the work, and did not, at any rate, get a greater or different pleasure from it than they would have had if instead of the Shakespearean dialogue they had been offered the blank verse of any ordinary respectable writer.

Why should it be otherwise? Why should the hundreds of people in the sixpenny gallery understand the conduct of Hamlet, which has puzzled the most learned and acute critics of all countries for centuries? A person hearing the play on the stage, and otherwise unacquainted with it, must be bewildered. How is he to understand why Hamlet is so rude to Ophelia, yet later on declares that he loved her prodigiously? What is he to think of a Hamlet who takes so much trouble to find out whether his uncle is guilty, and then tamely submits to be sent out of the country by him, leaving his father unavenged? What opinion is he to form of the perfectly idiotic, complex conspiracy between the King and Laertes to get rid of Hamlet? Why should _Hamlet_ appeal to him, except as a melodrama with a flabby hero, a feeble heroine, a very small amount of comic relief, and far too much dialogue, much of which is almost unintelligible? What can he make of the great soliloquies, of the purple patches, written in involved sentences, embellished by curious archaic terms of speech, elaborate figures, and puzzling inversions, which at the best can only give him a vague idea of what is supposed to be said?

If you were to send a highly educated man, ignorant of the play--perhaps an apparent contradiction--he would at first be bored or irritated. No doubt his ear might catch and his mind retain some profound phrases, and he would promptly recognize the grandeur of the verse in many pa.s.sages, so that his curiosity would be awakened, and cause him either to read the play or see it time after time. What about the man in the street, the railway guard, the 'bus conductor, the "shover," the humbler clerks, and their womenfolk, who are patrons of the gallery; will they get beyond one visit? Can they recognize profound thoughts at first hearing, or at all? Are they able to distinguish beautiful blank verse from bombast? Are the soliloquies of Hamlet likely to lure them to the severe intellectual task of reading the play scrupulously?

Of course these questions do not concern members of the "Gallery First-Nighters'" Club. They may or may not patronize the sixpenny gallery or s.h.i.+lling pit of the Lyceum. No doubt the members of the club are fully competent to appreciate the play, but they certainly formed the minority last Sat.u.r.day week, and will be rare during the later performances. It was not they who laughed in the wrong places, or laughed with the wrong laughter, or coughed, during the uneventful scenes.

It will be said that thousands have gone and will go to this revival and enjoy it, and, therefore, these views must be wrong. These remarks are not in disparagement at all of this particular revival. It is, however, certain that the pleasure of the majority of those who visit this revival would be none the less if the work had been written by a second-rate playwright; indeed, Mr Cecil Raleigh who, compared with Shakespeare, may, perhaps, be called second-rate, could write them a new _Hamlet_ on the old plot which would give them far greater pleasure than they get at present.

Critics ought to speak with perfect sincerity about the drama; great harm is done by people who, with excellent motives, write insincerely.

The average schoolboy is prevented from enjoying the cla.s.sics by being bored with them when he is too young to understand them. The average man never reads the Bible for pleasure, because he has been brought up to regard it as a kind of religious medicine; and it is unlikely that the great half-educated will be brought to a taste for Shakespeare by a stage performance of his works. This is no plea against the performance of his plays, but against writing carelessly and conventionally about them. n.o.body will deny Lamb's love of the dramatist. He would say that if Shakespeare is to be played to the ma.s.ses there should be some preliminary training of them. At least they might be broken in gently.

To present _Hamlet_ as successor to the pantomime and not long after some of the simple melodramas acted at this theatre seems rather irrational.

A better service is done to the public and to drama by presenting modern English plays, written sincerely and on a reasonably high standard of truth, than by reviving works that can only appeal to most of the half-educated despite, and not because of, their finer qualities.

Shakespeare, indeed, might ask the gallery in the phrase of Bened.i.c.k, "For which of my bad parts didst thou first fall in love with me?" The important matter is to get rid of humbug, to try to see things truly.

Drama is worthy of serious consideration as a great branch of art and a great force, but will never fulfil its mission if it is to lie in a mortmain to dead dramatists, and if it is to be regarded as more meritorious to try to make money by producing the non-copyright dramas of the past than by presenting the works of living men who need a royalty.

This is not a plea against revivals of the English cla.s.sics, the production of which under certain circ.u.mstances may be praiseworthy and valuable, but against such propositions as "'tis better to see Shakespeare in any form than not at all," which cause people to form false judgments and push them to enterprises of little value.

Yvette Guilbert on Dramatists

Lately Yvette Guilbert has been making some strange remarks concerning drama and dramatists. Her words demand attention since they come from the lips of a woman of genius. In our time the domain between the theatre and the concert-room has produced no artist of her rank. One recollects her different styles. First, in the amazing delivery of almost frankly indecent songs--a delivery so extraordinarily fine as to convert them for the moment into works of art--the image of beautiful iridescent sc.u.m on foul water suggests itself. Secondly, in the presentation by short song and very sober gesture and facial expression of grim tragedies, a presentation more vivid and poignant than the ordinary theatre can give, despite its numerous aids to art. Then came the charming utterance of quaint old songs--who can forget Beranger's "La Grandmere" as it came from her?