Helgi.—And what mean these words?

Sigurd.—My Lord Jesus Christ, receive thou my soul!

Jorun (throwing her arms about BRAND).—Never let such dreams trouble you, my dear husband. (The others are startled by her words.)

Brand.—Thorolf prophesied to me that I would not have a priest near me when I was put to death.

Jorun.—That prophecy shall not come true, in case you really should suffer a sudden death now. Come into the church, deacon, and shrive me and my husband.

Sigurd.—Come along with us into the church, Helgi Skaftason! For it is the last refuge of every man.

Helgi.—I want to have my food, and no consecrated host! And when I am done eating it is better I should see how the watches are kept. Never forget those masses, deacon!

(All depart. After a little while KALF and THORGEIR poke their heads in and enter, when they see that the room is empty.)

Kalf.—Nobody here; come now, we are going to play.

Thorgeir.—Yes, play great, big men!

Kalf.—Father is going to fight against Kolbein the Young now, and Broddi with him. Will you be Broddi?

Thorgeir.—No, I want to be papa!

Kalf.—Then you want to be what I wanted to be; so I shall be Kolbein the Young. So, now let's begin.

Thorgeir.—Yes, and I am papa.

Kalf.—Now first we have got to fight one another.

Thorgeir.—No. Because I am papa!

Kalf (commands).—Draw up your forces in battle array, Brand Kolbeinsson! Come now, Geiri, and play with me; we must fight now!

Thorgeir.—You are out of your mind! Why do you want to rush at me? I who am father? (Kneels down in the background, folding his hands over his breast, looking down and moving his lips.)

Kalf.—Why, don't you remember that I am Kolbein the Young? Now the battle begins! (Commanding.) Order your troops, Brand Kolbeinsson! Defend yourself! Are you running and hiding yourself now, Brand Kolbeinsson?

Thorgeir.—No, I am in church and saying my prayers.

Kalf.—I shall teach you saying prayers when you are to fight with me! (Angrily.) Now I am dragging you out of church, Brand Kolbeinsson. (Grasps him and drags him out to the middle of the floor. THORGEIR remains on his knees.) There, now you have got out of church!

Thorgeir.—No, papa is still in the church!

Kalf.—Now you are out of it! Cut off his head, Helgi Skaftason! (Grasps THORGEIR by his shoulder and lifts up his other hand.)

Thorgeir (still kneeling).—Are you out of your mind? Do you want to kill me, who am papa—and I—while I am in church,—and—and—and I—while I am saying my prayers?

Kalf (lifting up his hand).—Cut off his head, Helgi Skaftason!

Thorgeir (as before, weeping).—Mamma! Mamma! Mamma!

Kalf (stamping, with commanding voice).—Cut off his head, Helgi Skaftason! (Enter JORUN. THORGEIR is weeping.)

Jorun.—What are you doing there, boys? Why are you crying, Thorgeir?

Kalf.—We are playing here.

Thorgeir (tearfully).—He wants to cut my head off,—I who am papa, and in church, and praying.

Kalf.—Yes, and I was Kolbein the Young, and wanted to have Helgi Skaftason behead him—just in play.

Jorun.—Don't cry any more, my boy. (Caresses THORGEIR.) And you, Kalf, do you want to have your father beheaded in your game? No more such games! (Slaps KALF.)

Kalf.—You slap me? I who am Kolbein the Young? So you think he will allow himself to be slapped with impunity by a woman?

Jorun.—How does this lion's whelp come among us? I had rather not live than bring up rovers. Never more play war, Kalf! Protect those that are weak! (Embraces THORGEIR, leads the boys to the door, and calls out:) Put Kalf into the dark room for a while!

Broddi (shouts from without).—I must get to speak with you, Brand Kolbeinsson! Quick, quick!

Jorun.—Broddi here! There comes war incarnate mailed from head to foot. May God have pity on all wives!

(Enter BRAND without arms and BRODDI all armed.)

Broddi.—You have collected a good and well-armed body of men?

Brand.—I have had great difficulty in gathering troops. I have only my tenants and my servants, altogether eighty men.

Broddi.—And whilst I make the fort at Holar unconquerable, whilst I break up the frozen ground, whilst I pour water over all the ramparts of our stronghold so that they become like slippery ice—meanwhile you have done nothing. You sing hymns in the churches, beat your breast, and chant 'Miserere.' Your conduct is not becoming a chieftain.

Jorun.—You speak harshly to my husband because he wants peace before all things.

Broddi.—Peace! Whoever heard of peace after violent dissensions, except the battles be won or—lost?

Brand.—You know, Broddi, that I egged on neither you nor others to take Thorolf Bjarnason's life. And yet have I done all in my power to collect many men. I sent Deacon Sigurd and Helgi Skaftason——

Broddi.—The priest and the executioner?—and, of course, only these two?

Brand.—Yes, I had but few men at home, at that time.

Broddi.—You do not know how to get a body of men together! You send the priest with the crucifix in his hand. All know that he wishes peace, and no one rises for him. You send the hangman with the axe on his shoulder to remind people of his business, but you forget that with such a fellow no one will speak. In such wise you will not get a pack of dogs to follow you. But if you want to raise a great host you will have to go out yourself with sixty men and kill two or three of the first that refuse to follow you. Thus did Kolbein the Young collect his troops at first, and because Kalf Guttormsson would not bear arms against Sighvat, his good friend, both he and his son were slain.

Jorun.—How often the murder of my father and brother is mentioned, and no one cares though I hear it.

Brand.—I have been heavily oppressed with care. I have been summoned before the tribunal of God because of having violated a pledged truce; and my kinswoman Helga will be intent on making me follow that summons. And now the priest in my house has dreamed thrice in the same night that I stood by his bedside and prayed God to receive my soul.

Broddi.—Dreams signify nothing. The summons you talk about I think nothing but old women's notions. The tribunal of arms is the one I believe in; they are to decide between us and Kolbein the Young.

Brand.—Is it your opinion that we can overcome my kinsman Kolbein with less force than he has himself?

Broddi.—The fortifications at Holar are impregnable now. Together with your men we have more than three hundred men, and I have moved victuals into the fort from the bishop's residence which ought to last us for three weeks.

Brand.—You have robbed the bishop's see!

Broddi.—No, I have come by the victuals in an honest manner. You know that warriors may take as their own all food they find. I should like to see my brother-in-law Kolbein attack us by scaling these ramparts of ice, and see his men tumble down from above, and the ice coloring red under them.

Jorun.—My husband shudders at that sport; he is sick in his soul.

Broddi (seizing BRAND).—There is no time now to have a sick soul. We shall have to fight. As soon as my brother-in-law Kolbein has made an onset at our fort and lost many men he will himself see fit to obtain conditions of peace from us.

Brand.—That will he never!

Broddi.—Maybe, maybe.

Brand.—It will cost many lives to attack and defend Holar this time. Ought we to sacrifice them all merely to lengthen our own lives by a few years?

Broddi.—Lives? Worth, each, one or two hundred ounces of silver! Brand, you do not know the joy there is in fighting! Every man in the fort has sworn to fall at his post. And I shall spare no effort, so that he who will set down an account of it will be able to say with truth that our last defence was the most glorious ever told of in sagas, and that the fame thereof shall last while there live men in this land.

Brand.—I shall come to Holar, unless I find better counsel which you approve of.

(ALF OF GROF, DEACON SIGURD, and HELGI SKAFTASON lead in the CLERK HELGI between them. He has a bandage over his eyes.)

The Clerk Helgi.—Pax vobiscum! May Brand Kolbeinsson hear my voice?

Brand.—He is here.

Helgi.—What other persons are here?

Brand.—Broddi Thorleifsson and Jorun, my wife!

Helgi.—It is without the knowledge of Kolbein the Young and to bear word from Bishop Botolf that I am here. Will all of you keep silent about my coming here?

All.—Yes.

Helgi.—Then take the bandage from my eyes!

Broddi.—No. What happenings are there at Flugumyr?

Helgi.—I am no spy. My errand is to hand you the bishop's letter, Brand Kolbeinsson. (Holds out the parchment, which BRAND seizes.)

Brand.—Have you other messages besides?

Helgi.—No! (Stretches forth both his hands.) Give me your hands, my sons. (BRAND and BRODDI clasp them.) The very next time Asbjorn Illugason meets you, Broddi, he means to exchange blows with you.

Broddi.—Glad I am that Kolbein, my brother-in-law, at least does not bid some contemptible wretch to dispatch me. (HELGI SKAFTASON leads out the CLERK HELGI.) The bishop's letter! The bishop's letter!

Sigurd (reads).—Botolf of Holar, a poor servant of the Holy Church and prisoner at Flugumyr, sends to Brand Kolbeinsson and his friends God's greetings and his. Pax vobiscum! You and your companions are not to put overmuch trust in the fortifications of Holar, because from the church, the dwelling house, and outhouses in the inclosure there lead secret passages into them which are known to Kolbein the Young, but not to me.

Broddi.—And that he could not have told us before, the hell-hound!

Sigurd (reads).—Through the eggings on of Helga his wife, Kolbein is now become so frantic and furious that some of my clerks think he cannot suffer the sound of a bell. He has threatened to break down the fort of Holar, to spare no one, and has promised his Lady Helga the life of a man, whomever she will choose.

Broddi (laughs).—I wonder whether she will have my life?

Brand.—No. It will be my life she desires.

Jorun.—She shall never have it.

Alf.—My head she wants, the vixen!

Helgi.—I need not guess whose life it will be.

Sigurd (continues).—But I fear that the mercy of God will most readily fall to your share if all the men who were present at the slaying of Thorolf submit themselves unconditionally to Kolbein before the 'Peace of God' is at an end; then I would hope that you will be fortunate enough to pacify Kolbein's mind, so that full reconciliation may be obtained, of which Kolbein also stands in great need because of Thord Kakali and the King. Valete!

Brand.—The counsel of the bishop will be the best for all of us. The slayers of Thorolf Bjarnason ought not to jeopardize other men's life to save their own. Lady Helga has told my wife that she meditated my death, because of the slaying of Thorolf; and though I have but little incited you to the deed, so that it may be said to have been done against my will even, yet will I for the welfare of the district rather give myself up to Kolbein and suffer death, than that many men should lose their lives because of us; and rather than that my kinsman Kolbein should be routed by Thord Kakali through the insurrection which I and Broddi have raised against him. (Silence.)

Sigurd.—Spoken like a man, Brand Kolbeinsson! (Exit JORUN.)

Broddi.—We have sworn to each other not to separate before that this our cause was entirely brought to an end; now I see your highmindedness, Brand Kolbeinsson, as I have seen it before. The bishop has torn from under me my trust in the fort. Hence I shall take that council to fare to Flugumyr with you, whilst I maintain that it is entirely doubtful as yet who is to die, Kolbein the Young, Brand, or I; but that I think sure, also, that short time will pass between the death of any one of us three.

Alf.—Let all of us go to Flugumyr and surrender to Kolbein. Will you not go with us, Helgi Skaftason?

Helgi.—No one can escape his fate. I shall do what Brand does. But it is certain death for me!

Broddi.—Let us go then! (Enter JORUN with KALF and THORGEIR.)

Jorun.—Say farewell to your father, my boys! He intends to start on the longest journey in this world.

Kalf (going up to his father).—Do you mean to go to war now, father?

Brand (lifts him up and kisses him).—Your mother said I intended to start on the longest journey in this world.

Kalf.—Then you intend to start out to Rome. That I do not mean to do, once I am a chieftain. (BRAND sets him down on the floor again.)

Brand.—It may be that I come to Rome; but that Rome lies high aloft. (KALF goes up to BRODDI.) Now you come to me, Thorgeir! (THORGEIR goes up to him. He takes him on his lap.) Don't weep, my little boy, if I be late returning to-morrow.

Thorgeir.—Don't go away from me, father! Let the others go to war, but you remain at home yourself!

Brand.—No, I cannot stay here; if I remain here there will be fighting here and killing of men; but if I go I shall return with peace.

Thorgeir.—Oh yes! Peace is good, let me have it when you return, so I can put it into my toy box. I will not break it at all.

Broddi.—The boy is right. All the peace that now exists in Iceland may be put into a linen chest.

Brand (kisses the boy and sets him down).—Yes, keep it well, my boy. If you obtain it you will never have to start out on the journey that I now must take.

Kalf.—You are not going to Rome, Broddi?

Broddi.—No. Not just now!

Kalf.—You are going to war, Broddi! I wish I were grown up, too!

Broddi.—I should like, if I might, strike one great blow, before going to Rome with your father.

Kalf.—And let that blow become far famed, Broddi!

(JORUN leads the boys out. They go to the door. Some depart.)

Jorun.—Have you nothing to say to me, my husband, before going?

Brand.—Do not weep when I am gone. (They embrace each other closely.) Make our sons love peace! And always think that I have said that to you which you most wish I had said to you.

(All except DEACON SIGURD and JORUN leave.)

Jorun.—Now I declare myself in league with the holy queen Maria, as did Guttorm, my brother, before he was slain! (Approaches SIGURD.) I shall travel with you to Flugumyr to try whether I may save the life of my husband.

Broddi.—What may a woman effect in such a great feud? It will be a most perilous journey. Who knows what may happen there!

Jorun.—The life of my husband is more precious to me than my own. But I need a man's clothes, deacon, and then let us ride after the others. Lend me the garments of your son who died when half grown. Permit me to wear them on the journey, so that no one may recognize me at Flugumyr.

Sigurd (drying a tear).—You are welcome to the boy's clothes.

Jorun.—And that you will have to promise me, deacon, to let no one know who I am, whatever happen.

Sigurd (hands her a key, wiping off a tear).—I promise it. The boy's clothes lie in my chest under my vestments. Take them and may they help you, Lady Jorun, you blessed woman!

Jorun.—There is still more to do, deacon. While I get myself ready, you are to tell the stewardess that she is to give the servant girls and men servants the food they choose to have, and as much and as good food as if it were prepared for a banquet.

Sigurd.—It does not seem to me, though, as if any festival were at hand this evening.

Jorun.—Do as I bid you! Probable it is that this will be the last time that I have prepared food for my servants. (She takes the crucifix from her neck, hangs it upon a chair and kneels down before the cross. DEACON SIGURD looks at her awhile, then leaves the room in all stillness.)

(Curtain)



ACT V

(The 'Great Hall' at Flugumyr, with raised seats along both walls and a dais at the gable end. The entrance door is at the right, in the side wall towards the background. The upper part of the walls is draped with hangings, the lower part with shields hung up. Along the side walls are benches; two high seats in the foreground on either side; in front of the higher one a little table. In the middle of the dais is the seat of LADY HELGA, with benches behind it. The evening candles are lit on all sides.) (HELGA and SALVOR.)

Helga.—You do well to take a part of the domestic work off my shoulders.

Salvor.—You have been very kind to me, Lady Helga.

Helga.—To-morrow early I need breakfast for five hundred men.

Salvor.—All hands are at work, lady!

Helga.—To-morrow the chieftains are to do battle; have you bandages enough, ready? A good physician is worth half an army.

Salvor.—There will not be any want of bandages. (She embraces HELGA, half weeping.) Let the chieftains make peace, lady!

Helga.—That would amount to humbling my husband! (Seats herself on her chair on the dais.) Bishop Botolf has promised to sit with us in the hall here to-night; have two tapers, large and thick, placed on the table in front of the high seat.

(EINAR THE RICH enters hurriedly and runs up on the dais. He lays his head on the knees of LADY HELGA. SALVOR shrieks in fright.)

Einar.—I am bringing you my head, lady!

Helga.—Why shriek so, Salvor?—Who are you?

Einar.—I am Einar of Vik.

Helga.—Good is your gift, and I shall gladly accept it! Salvor! Ask Asbjorn Illugason to come here. I desire that he shall behead Einar the Rich. (Exit SALVOR.)

Einar (quickly takes THOROLF'S ring from his arm).—Spare my life; for God's sake, mercy, mercy, mercy!

Helga.—You shall obtain the same mercy as did Thorolf Bjarnason!

Einar.—Do you know this ring, lady?

Helga (attentively looking at the ring).—That ring I know; did you steal it from the body of Thorolf?

Einar.—Steal? As rich a man as I am? No, Thorolf bade me give you this ring, lady, with this message——

Helga (approaching him, eagerly).—What message? What message? Was that just before he was slain?

Einar.—Yes, just before that!

Helga.—And the message? Are you tongue-tied?

Einar.—That I should be spared, life and limb, although I had been among his assailants.

Helga.—Did Thorolf mention any others to be spared beside you?

Einar.—No, none!

Helga.—The ring is the right sign. If Thorolf has forgiven you, why should I not do likewise? (Leads him out.) Wait here in that corner; I shall spare you.

Asbjorn (comes in hurriedly).—Are you in danger, lady?

Helga.—No. A man's life was given me which I did not wish to take, though.

Asbjorn.—I feared it might be some attack by Broddi and his men.

Helga.—Broddi will soon become peacefully inclined. (Enter KOLBEIN THE YOUNG, BISHOP BOTOLF in his pontifical robes, HAF, and SALVOR, bearing two big, stout tapers which are lit. The hall becomes half filled with armed men.)

Botolf.—Pax tecum, filia!

Helga (bows before the bishop and leads him to the higher seat of honor).—Be seated on this higher seat of honor this evening, my lord. To-morrow an army of my husband's will accompany you to Holar and re-establish you in your see, as soon as we shall have driven from thence Broddi's and Brand's troop of rebels.

Botolf.—A captive bishop is content to be seated on the lower high seat, my daughter!

Helga.—As you wish, my lord. (Leads him to the lower seat of honor, where he is seated. SALVOR moves the table to the lower high seat and puts the tapers upon it. Most of the men are sitting; drink-horns and ale are brought in.)

Kolbein (is given a drinking-horn, BOTOLF another, from whom they are passed on from man to man. KOLBEIN seats himself on the higher seat of honor).—There is courage in our men; they all are minded to do battle in order to be rid of that horde of rebels.

Botolf.—You take much power upon yourself, Kolbein, to begin war and kill so many men without law and its decrees.

Kolbein.—Why do you speak thus, my lord? You freed the slayers of Thorolf from the interdict; and yet they slew him without the law and its decrees.

Botolf.—It is a labor of love for the Holy Church to pardon the guilty. We do it for God's sake.

Kolbein.—And it is the task of chieftains to administer the laws themselves, and to begin hostilities in order to make others submit to their will.

(The horns pass around until HAF has finished reciting his lay.)

Botolf.—An ill task and a disastrous one. To me it seems that parliament ought to administer the laws and pronounce judgment according to them.

Kolbein.—We chieftains have all power over law and decrees in parliament. It would only delay sentence to seek a decision there.

Botolf.—It has come to my ears that Brand Kolbeinsson owns by rights the greater part of the dominions you now govern, and that, for this reason you are not rightfully chieftain here.

Kolbein.—I, as well as Brand, am of the race of Asbjorn, and Sighvat Sturluson put me in possession of the land when I was but fifteen years old.

Botolf.—And therefore had you Sighvat and his sons killed in the battle of Orlygsstad.

Kolbein.—Sighvat wanted to lure my constituents from me by his wiles. The yeomen chose me their chieftain twenty years ago, and ever since I have performed, now this, now that deed, so that the yeomen would not choose another chieftain in my stead. Therefore is it right that I should be chieftain here. But to my ears it has come that you, my lord, have not lawfully come to be bishop at Holar!

Helga (drinks from the horn and smiles).—To your health, sir bishop!

Botolf (responds after a while to her toast).—You astonish me! The archbishop appointed me!

Kolbein.—No one becomes lawfully bishop of Holar until we of the North Quarter have chosen him. And you we have not chosen, my lord! You are bishop here as long as I will, and no longer. Another matter it is that I shall do all to be at peace with the Holy Church, because the days of my life are probably counted.

Botolf.—I have now learned how strong your desire for peace is, Kolbein.

Helga.—Remember, my lord, that Kolbein thought it a matter of necessity that you should be his guest for a few days. I have treated you as well, sir, as my work would permit me and you would accept.

Botolf.—And yet they say that you more than any other were cause of the state of war that now exists, and that your flattering of me is but dissimulation.

Helga.—They are my enemies who tell you that, sir bishop! (HELGA leaves her seat. ASBJORN, who has been speaking with a man, approaches her. They converse together in subdued voice in the foreground.)

Asbjorn.—Shall I tell Kolbein that Brand Kolbeinsson is riding to Flugumyr with eleven followers?

Helga.—No! Remember Helgi Skaftason, should he come with Brand.

Asbjorn.—Come he will if he is fated to death.

Helga.—Is Broddi along?

Asbjorn.—He is likely to be at Holar in the fort.

Helga (goes to her seat. Raises her voice). There is no cheer here to-night. Haf! Have you no song to recite or some tale to tell?

Haf (advancing to middle of floor).—I have put together a little song about the present feud.

Helga.—Let men hear it, Haf!

Haf.—Hither I see the ravens winging, They steer their flight to Holar's steeple On their errand bent death bringing; Hard the bishop's bells are ringing: Longest peals great Likabong:[A] 'The Peace of God shall save the people.'

[Footnote A: 'Lyke-knell,' name of the great bell of the Holar Cathedral.]

Heroes head their warlike forces, Mailed fists 'gainst shields are clashing, Over Herad's water-courses Thunder thousand hoofs of horses, Over fords and bridges dashing. Long afar moans Likabong.

Death foretells the cock's dawn-greeting: Many a fey man's fair limbs mangles Soon the sword and spear in meeting. Hot the Northland blood is beating! Low and dull weeps Likabong. The shiv'ring Southron sea-cod angles.

Helga.—Excellent! That's aimed at Hjalti, the son of the bishop,—the cod-biter!

Haf.—Peace,—how many a foe will crave her! In Woden's spoor the sward is bloody— Many a head the swords dissever; Be our host victorious ever! Silent lastly Likabong— Women weep for men once ruddy.

Botolf.—Little your skald's song contributes to the honor of the Church as it seems to me, Lady Helga.

Helga (lifts the drinking-horn to her lips; the bishop responds in silence).—To your health, sir bishop! When at Oddi I listened to the opinions of Snorri Sturluson and of Saemund, my father, about poetics, but I doubt whether they would have thought that Haf had said ought derogatory to the Holy Church, in particularly mentioning in the burthen what Likabong does.

Botolf.—I shall not discuss the more hidden meanings; but in the last stanza Likabong certainly is silent with shame.

Helga.—Far from it, sir bishop! Likabong is Moses, who is praying with outstretched arms whilst Josua is giving battle. When the battle is won his hands drop with weariness.

Botolf (to KOLBEIN THE YOUNG).—Likabong did not weep when you fled from Broddi and the Holy Church at Holar, which was preparing to resist worldly insolence.

Kolbein.—No, excepting it shed tears at having to part with its bishop in such headlong haste!

Helga.—I had heard before that the 'Peace of God' which the bishop let be pealed over the land had saved us from complete rout at the beginning of the feud. But now I hear for the first time that my husband fled before Broddi and the Holy Church of Holar.

Kolbein.—Never did I flee, but at that occasion I was forced to avoid trouble. (Advances on the floor and mounts with one foot on the dais on which HELGA is seated.) Here I place my foot on the beam and make a vow that I shall never flee before Broddi Thorleifsson. (Returns to his seat.)

Asbjorn.—And here I place my foot on the beam and make a vow that if battle there will be I shall exchange blows with Broddi Thorleifsson until one of us fall dead.

Helga.—Well spoken, Asbjorn!

Haf (comes from the door).—Brand Kolbeinsson is approaching with an armed band.

Kolbein.—Is my kinsman beside himself?

Helga.—To arms! To arms!

Kolbein (laughs).—Why, it seems as if the people of Oddi want to enter the fray!

Helga.—You have forgotten, my husband, that my father threw down the glove single-handed to all the burghers of Bergentown, because of the drowning of my brother Paul.

(The men are standing with drawn swords along both sides of the hall, leaving a lane in the middle. BRAND, BRODDI, ALF, and the other slayers of THOROLF pass up it. LADY JORUN in a man's apparel and DEACON SIGURD follow them. Last of all HELGI SKAFTASON.)

Helga.—There we see each other again, Helgi Skaftason! (Points down with the thumb of her right hand. HELGI is killed and dragged out without the other slayers of THOROLF becoming aware of it. EINAR THE RICH enters again with the men of KOLBEIN, who dragged out HELGI. He joins the band of BRAND. The axe of HELGI remains lying on the spot where he fell.)

Brand.—Hail, Kolbein kinsman!

Broddi.—Hail, brother-in-law! What truce shall we have?

Helga.—The same as had Thorolf Bjarnason!

Broddi.—I care not to quarrel with women about my life!

Helga.—It is too late for the fox to fight for life, once he has gone into the trap.

Kolbein.—Why, Brand Kolbeinsson, did you attack and slay Thorolf, our friend?

Broddi.—I did more to incite men to that than did Brand Kolbeinsson, and we offer to atone for his slaying with much money, if you are willing.

Helga.—More will be needful than only money.

Brand.—I thought there was great necessity to do away with Thorolf.

Helga.—'Perjured men, murder-wolves.'[A] Jorun, your wife, egged you on to take revenge for her father and her brother.

[Footnote A: Quotation from the Eddic poem Voluspo.]

Brand.—It is entirely untrue that my wife Jorun egged me on to revenge either her father or brother, even if men have told you so, Kolbein. About absent people most things can be told. But for this reason was Thorolf deprived of life, because you had set him as chieftain over the Eyafirth, to succeed you.

Kolbein.—Never did I do that!

Brand.—Helga, your wife, affirmed that you had done so.

Helga.—Certainly you did, my husband. But, well it may be that at the time you were not in full possession of your senses.

Einar.—I heard it, my lord, how you set Thorolf chieftain over Eyafirth. And so no one dare blame Lady Helga for having misheard or mis-stated the matter.

Sigurd.—You here, Einar the Rich!

Brand.—Notwithstanding Thorolf's low descent you gave him preference over chieftains, you gave him authority over men, and you let him journey with you to Rome. No peacemaker was your Thorolf among men; but a bad companion he was, and me he nicknamed.

Kolbein.—All that has Thorolf atoned for with his life. Why, Broddi, did you attack my friend Thorolf?

Broddi.—I am your brother-in-law, Kolbein, and I owed it to you to avenge insults heaped upon you. Long had he been faithless to you and cunningly served both you and been a treacherous follower to you both here and abroad.

Helga.—Easy it is to perceive that Thorolf no longer dwells among the living since he is thus slandered. For this reason you killed him, because you thought Kolbein to be dead and that Eyafirth had gotten too brave a leader in him.

Brand.—It casts no good light upon you, my lady, to praise Thorolf Bjarnason thus highly!

Kolbein.—And what moved you, Alf, to attack Thorolf, my friend?

Alf.—My hatred of the dog!

Helga.—Little hope I see of a reconciliation. One of Thorolf's slayers dried his blood on the fringes of my veil. And you, Alf of Grof, you reviled me like the worst witch; you wanted to have a sack pulled over my head.

Kolbein (furious).—Boor!—have a sack pulled over her! A sack,—you devilish fiend! What did you cattle mean? I shall have your skin flayed off you and pull it over your ears after you are dead! I shall never make peace with Alf of Grof!

Helga.—A loutish rustic should never take part in the dealings of men of great account!

Alf.—I offer all my property as ransom!

Broddi.—Silence, you coward—all your property!

Alf.—Have I no right to live, if I can?

Helga.—I cannot see what use there is in your living, Alf!

Kolbein.—Alf of Grof and I shall never be reconciled.

Brand.—I journeyed hither with Thorolf's slayers in order to reach an agreement with you. If it be not your will to accept reconciliation with us, I demand that you hand over to me possession of all those districts that are mine by rights, so that I in that manner may obtain sufficient resources to be able to sustain the fine which you will impose on us for the slaying.

Helga.—Now it is clear that your men have no scruples to kill each the other, but will by no means be ready to atone for it. With demands such as these, Brand Kolbeinsson foregoes all chance of reaching an agreement. You promised me a man's life in this feud, Kolbein. Take Brand's life, then, and that will take away the inclination for further rebellion against you. (Silence.)

Botolf.—And you intend to take Brand's life, when the Peace of God is at an end?

Kolbein.—For the welfare of our Quarter I know no better counsel than that which Lady Helga has given.

Helga.—Less cause even there was against Kalf Guttormsson, and yet has he been mouldering in his grave these ten years. Asbjorn and Haf, seize hold of my kinsman Brand!

Sigurd.—I have heard that you would spare Brand Kolbeinsson's life if another man were willing to die for him.

Helga.—I did make that condition. (Laughs.) Will you fulfill it, deacon?

Sigurd.—No. Because I know you will show no mercy.

Jorun (leaps up on the dais and lays her head on HELGA'S knee).—Take my life instead of Brand Kolbeinsson's life.

Helga.—You are out of your senses, lad!

Jorun (arises, looking at LADY HELGA).—You cut close to me ten years ago; take now my life also!

Helga (shades her eyes).—You, were beheaded ten years ago! Has the lad Guttorm Kalfsson risen from his grave?

Kolbein.—Do we see apparitions in the light?

Broddi (to BRAND).—How did your wife Jorun come among our company? (BRAND leaps up on the dais and carries JORUN down on his arm. About all the hall men are heard to say in a low voice, 'LADY JORUN.' While she is being carried down to the floor she extends her arms toward HELGA.)

Jorun.—Take my life as you have taken my father's and my brother's; then you need fear no longer that I am egging on my kinsmen to avenge me on you. (BRAND sets her down on the floor. They embrace each other fervently.)

Helga.—Of little worth I hold your life, Jorun; but in order to keep my promise I shall take it instead of your husband's life. (Calls out.) Take my prisoner away from Brand Kolbeinsson!

Broddi.—Let us protect her with our bodies!

Brand.—Look you, Helga my kinswoman, you will not reach your prisoner so very easily for the first. (DEACON SIGURD picks up HELGI SKAFTASON'S axe, for he is weaponless. They take JORUN in their midst.)

Helga.—To arms! Wrest my prisoner from among them!

Broddi.—Hold my place for a moment, my men, if it should be vacant a short while.—Is it really so, Kolbein the Young, that your wife has made you so senselessly mad that you are about to attack us in order to butcher a woman?

Kolbein.—Lady Helga's matter this is, not mine. If we cannot reach terms of peace, it is because of Helgi Skaftason and Alf of Grof!

Broddi.—And you let her attack us in order to butcher a woman?

Kolbein.—I let it come as it may.

Broddi.—Then more will have to come as it may. Be on your guard, Kolbein!

(KOLBEIN has been sitting in his high seat without drawing his sword, but has had it lying on his knees and now and then unsheathed it halfways. BRODDI rushes at him to deliver a blow; KOLBEIN dodges the blow and grasps BRODDI'S wrist with both hands, so that his sword drops on the floor. Then he forces BRODDI to sit beside him on the high seat.)

Kolbein.—Be calm now, Broddi! The slaying of Thorolf was an ill deed and a needless one.

Broddi.—Let go of me, you hell-hound!

Kolbein (laughs).—How furious you are now, brother-in-law!

Helga.—What fell there to the floor?

Kolbein.—The action for avenging Thorolf Bjarnason, which slipped from your hands, lady!

Helga.—That would not have made so great a sound.

Brand.—Lady Helga! you who once were my mother's sister! I shall surrender my arms and myself to you if all others will then be granted to make atonement for the slaying of Thorolf.

Helga.—Keep your arms yourself, for no one does less harm with them than you. My promise to your wife I shall keep; I wonder only that she goes not herself voluntarily from among your midst, in order to save us difficulties.

Jorun.—I cannot, for they hold me.

Helga (calls out).—Fetch my captive Jorun from among them! (HAF ASBJORN and the men of KOLBEIN surround BRAND and his followers.)

Asbjorn.—We shall set upon you now!

Botolf.—Bide a little. (Takes the candles from the table.) Now I shall lay in the Norse language the interdict on Kolbein and Helga.

Helga.—Say what you please, bishop. But you will have to revoke your interdict before you go from hence.

Botolf.—That shall I never. No priest shall ever say service for you, and, you shall have no lasting dwelling place but hell. (Holds the candles with the flame downward.)

Helga.—Haf, you stand near enough to the bishop! Gag him with the end of your spear.

Kolbein (jumps up without letting go of BRODDI).—Hear me, sir bishop! Desist from laying the interdict on me, because not far is the time when I shall need the mercy of God and his Holy Church. Lady Helga has been insulted in such fashion as no high-born lady would endure. But I, for my part, shall be ready to make atonement for the insult offered by her to you and the Holy Church now for the first time.

Botolf.—Easy it is to reach an agreement with me, Kolbein, if this larger matter which you have been warring about so long could be settled to-night to the satisfaction of all.

Kolbein.—Then hear my decision: For the murder of Thorolf Bjarnason. I decree a fine of eighteen marks silver, and also that those men who may have fallen as part of the vengeance for Thorolf shall not be atoned for.

Brand.—Agreed, kinsman Kolbein; the sum you demand for the slaying of Thorolf shall be paid.

Helga.—How may this be, my husband? You have promised me a man's life before this feud would be ended.

Kolbein.—Have I not demanded an exceedingly high compensation for Thorolfs death?

Helga.—But Thorolf was slain in a pledged truce.

Broddi.—That truce was made under compulsion.

Kolbein.—The man's life you stipulated for yourself you have chosen and taken yourself, or else, where is Helgi Skaftason?

(HELGA is silent.)

Brand.—Helgi Skaftason! Where is he?

Botolf.—His axe is there! (DEACON SIGURD looks around.) Are you still carrying weapons, Deacon Sigurd? Clercs are not permitted to bear arms.

Sigurd.—Great need I thought there was to do so now. The danger in which was my lady Jorun and you also, sir bishop, and the axe lay before my feet.

Botolf.—Nevermore carry arms, deacon!

Brand.—Is Helgi Skaftason still alive? If so, is it not possible that his deed be atoned for?

Helga.—I shall no longer conceal from you, Brand Kolbeinsson, that Helgi Skaftason will no more dry his axe on the fringe of my veil! In order now that this our reconciliation be kept well I desire to have your son Kalf, to foster him up with me.

Jorun.—That shall never be, that you train my boy to be a disturber of the peace.

Botolf.—That shall never be; the boy is a hopeful man for a chieftain and ought to be trained up to love peace and abide by the law.

Kolbein.—What punishment would you inflict on her, if she got the boy?

Botolf.—The excommunication of the Holy Church; the Church wants peace! (Short silence.)

Helga (furiously).—You stand there still, Alf of Grof; do you still wish to have a sack pulled over my head?

Kolbein.—It will never do that a lout insult a high-born woman with impunity. Therefore, I decree that Alf of Grof shall leave the country, never more to return whilst she is in living life.

Alf.—Why not rather have me put to death?

Helga.—You fear death too much, you coward!

Broddi.—And under what conditions shall I make peace with you?

Kolbein.—You shall have your sword back, and sit in the high seat for the remainder of the evening, but as soon as the sea is open again (slaps BRODDI on his shoulder) we shall, both of us, go to meet Thord Kakali and his Westfirthings.

Brand.—Much has your fame grown through these happenings, kinswoman Helga! Exceeding precious must be all your finery, if every spot on the fringes of your veil shall cost a man's life.

Helga.—You will remember, kinsman, that I am a descendant in the fourth generation from King Magnus Bareleg. Lady Jorun, come hither and share the dais with us women. (Woman's garments are put on JORUN when she joins the women. BRAND and BOTOLF share the lower seat of honor. The men sheathe their swords, hang up their shields, and seat themselves. KOLBEIN THE YOUNG takes up a drinking-horn; horns are passed among the men.)

Kolbein.—To-day we have brought to a happy end a feud, the like of which has not been within this district.

Brand.—And the quarrel has ended with full reconciliation.

Alf.—Indeed, we have been fully reconciled, Helgi Skaftason and I; he going to hell and I into exile.

Helga.—Worse condition you might have got, Alf of Grof.

Kolbein.—And to-morrow we shall accompany Bishop Botolf to Holar together, with five hundred men, and shall reinstate him with the greatest honors. Then we shall furlough the greater part of our men. (The men raise shouts of joy.) And after that we hope that we may dwell in peace for some time.

Salvor.—Meanwhile we women shall heal the wounds of the men.

Botolf.—And then there will be peace on earth.

Sigurd.—And good will among men!

(Curtain)



INDRIDI EINARSSON: ICELANDIC DRAMATIST AND HIS SAGA DRAMA

BY LEE M. HOLLANDER

Indridi Einarsson's 'Sword and Crozier' is the first Icelandic play to be done into English. Very probably, the well-informed reader will wonder, not so much that a translation 'should be so late in forthcoming,' but that, of all things, there should exist a dramatic literature worthy the name in that Ultima Thule. He is, indeed, not in any way to be blamed for not suspecting the possibility of a highly developed drama under conditions such as obtain in Iceland, even though he may well be aware that lyric poetry has been cultivated there with ardor and success.

When authors of small nations, such as Denmark and Holland, have been known to complain about the limited circle they can hope to reach, how true, how pathetically true, is this of Iceland, with its scant eighty thousand inhabitants of poor fishermen and farmers thinly spread over the lordly spaces of their far-away, rugged and barren island! What audience can an author expect there? Nor is it to be thought that his very difficult mother-tongue will permit a comprehension of his work among the reading public of the other Scandinavian lands.

It stands to reason—whatever enthusiasts on the subject have said to the contrary—that, by its very nature, the drama can attain independent and legitimate growth only in centers of human habitation, where the stage—very necessarily—epitomizes the tendencies of the times, and, if occupied by a real literature in every sense, is the self-expression of a great community. As late as 1886 a sober-minded author on Scandinavian literature was able to say, with some justice, 'Iceland lacks all conditions for a dramatic literature.' And the situation has not changed essentially since. Whatever has been done in that line in recent times is to all intents and purposes due to stimulation from abroad and, in so far, artificial. So far, none of the more ambitious native efforts have been on the program of the stage of Reykjavik to be performed by the very estimable amateur players of that town.

The above is by no means said in a spirit of reproach. On the contrary, all honor to the patriotic men who, by writing dramas in their mother-tongue, are willing to forego the emoluments and recognition to be gained from audiences in more favored lands: for the sake of enriching their native literature; for the sake of showing both the world and their own people that neither in this art are they inferior to other nations; for the sake of demonstrating to their satisfaction that a contribution of Iceland to world-literature is no more an impossibility now than in the older times, when it enriched us with lore and history, and gave the world what Greece and Rome did not, the realistic novel.

Three authors divide the honors in this field: Matthias Jochumsson, a gifted lyric poet, now in his old age; the promising young playwright, Johann Sigurjonsson; and Indridi Einarsson, now in his prime, whose most original contribution to Icelandic literature is herewith presented. The poet having excellent command of English, I am fortunate to be able (with his permission) to quote ipsissima verba on his life and development.

'I was born in the North of Iceland, on April 30, 1851, and was a farmer's boy of good old family. My chief work at home was haymaking in summer, and in winter being a shepherd. Every spring I was up all the long bright nights, watching the flock that they should not damage the cultivated soil by eating the young grass. I think that solitude (from the eighth to fourteenth year of my life) has fostered my fancy and imagination and dipped me deep in the romanticism of that time (1858-64). In 1865 I went to Reykjavik, and was initiated at the Lyceum (Latin school) in the spring of 1866. I went through the Lyceum in ordinary course. When I began to read Virgilius I felt as if I got wings on my immortal soul, and I think I shall never lose them wholly again. I began to read the poets, starting with the comedies of Old Holberg the Dane, and passing to Schiller and Goethe and Heine. I read all plays of Shakespeare (in Danish translation, then). I studied "Oidipous Tyrannos," Sophocles' awful tragedy, in the original, and read Plautus and Terentius as other boys, Icelandic and Danish fiction.

'During my first year at college I saw Matthias Jochumsson's "Utilegumenn" (The Outlaws) performed at Reykjavik: they had then very fine Icelandic scenery, and went home in ecstasy over the performance, feeling that I had seen the brightest and strongest play in the world. Of my reading I thought "Macbeth," "Gretchen im Carcer" ("Faust" I), and "Oidipous Tyrannos" finest and fullest. While at Reykjavik I wrote "Nyarsnottin" (New Year's Night) and got it acted at the college, with the greatest possible success. That drama formed a turning point in my life—as the author of it I went to Copenhagen to pursue my studies as graduate student. I left college made to half of what I am.

'While studying Political Science at Copenhagen I wrote the drama, "Hellismenn" (The Cave-dwellers). I had come south with two other dramas in my mind. But the atmosphere in Copenhagen was strongly realistic at that time; my Romanticism was not able to withstand it. Without my knowledge I turned to Realism, and when I began to think about my intended dramas I could not write on them because all my thoughts had taken another direction. After completing my examinations I returned, Copenhagen having made the other half of what I am. In 1880 I was appointed auditor of the Official Accounts of Iceland, and got married. During the ten ensuing years I was buried under an avalanche of accounts and official documents and could hardly hold my head up above the waters. The wings of my soul drooped with exhaustion. My dramatic muse awakened several times, but I could not receive her visits. At last, in 1890, I began to write "Skipit sekkur" [The Ship is Sinking,—a naturalistic drama], parts of which I rewrote seven times; so badly had I treated my muse that she began to work so slowly....'

To this I shall only add that the poet has modestly omitted to state that in his capacity of Chief of the Department of Statistics he is the compiler of an excellent year-book on the trade relations and industries of his native isle; that he is the author of several dramas not mentioned by him; and that 'Sword and Crozier,' his latest drama (1899), has already been translated into German and Danish.

I subjoin a synopsis of this play, in order to facilitate an appreciation of it at the first reading.

Act I.—The chieftain of the North Quarter of Iceland, Kolbein the Young, lies sick unto death from the after-effects of an old wound and sends for his kinsmen and other nobles of the Quarter. While delivering his message to them, Thorolf, his favorite (secretly the lover of the chieftain's wife, Helga), and long a thorn in the flesh of these proud men as an upstart, infuriates them anew by his insolent bearing. Obedient to the call of their chief, they assemble about him to determine on measures for the defence of the land, and to learn of the disposition of his dominions. The weak Brand is given his lawful share, which agrees well enough with Lady Helga's self-seeking plans of uniting all the land under her and Thorolf's rule. The more forceful Broddi is entitled to the other half; but when Kolbein, very conveniently for her, becomes delirious she substitutes Thorolf's name instead, shrewdly taking the precaution of compelling Brand by force of arms to swear him an everlasting truce—ostensibly to atone for having offered an insult to Brand.

Act II.—Broddi now assumes the leadership of the outraged nobles, Brand being bound, as he thinks, by his oath, and incapable of strongly opposing their intention to kill Thorolf. By chance, and in fulfillment of a prophecy, Thorolf seeks refuge from a snowstorm in a wintry cave and there is forewarned of his impending death by Woden himself. He is surprised by the allies and slain. But no sooner is their purpose accomplished than Helga, his protectress, appears on the scene and smilingly assures them of retribution awaiting them. Her information that Kolbein is on the road to recovery strikes the nobles with dismay. Broddi immediately decides on assuming the aggressive; but on Brand's suggestion they choose first to cleanse themselves before the world by receiving absolution for their deed from Bishop Botolf at Holar.

Act III.—Here Kolbein puts them to flight. He, in his turn, must flee before Broddi's superior forces, but not without audaciously carrying along the bishop, who in his fear and rage has the Treuga Dei rung over the land. This frustrates the immediate pursuit by Broddi.

Act IV.—While the truce is still in force, Lady Helga visits Brand's wife, Jorun. Childless herself, she desires to foster up one of Jorun's sons in her own cruel way, promising, in return, to procure an honorable peace for Brand; or else, to destroy him. The loving mother staunchly refuses. But soon the weakness of Brand's situation becomes evident. Unable to act with the requisite force and severity, he has lost the confidence of his dependents who fear to rise against the superior genius of Kolbein. The last hope departs when Broddi learns through a (forged) letter that his fortifications are accessible to Kolbein by subterranean passages. Utterly dismayed, the allies decide to throw themselves upon the mercy of Kolbein the Young. Brand's wife follows them, disguised in male attire. She knows that Helga thirsts for his life, but also that she has sworn to spare him if any one were found willing to give his life instead.

Act V.—Brand and his little troop file into the warrior-filled hall of 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. Vigfusson, 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 mediaeval 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. Bouve, 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.

SUMURUN

Sumurun, 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. 'Sumurun' 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. Sumurun, 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 'Sumurun' 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.

'Sumurun,' 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 Holoerder, 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 'Sumurun' 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.

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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 facade. 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.

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THE PLAY READER BY HELEN A. CLARKE

I

We are told by many critics that Euripides is not so great as AEschylus 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 Phaedra; 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 KUENSTLERTHEATER

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 Kuenstlertheater 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 groessten Theaters der Unscheinbarkeit, der Seele'), and Paul Wegener. The Deutsches Kuenstlertheater 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.

THE END