merger of self in character; for in appearance she was too tall and too robust for the physical weakling. M. Coquelin scored a triumph in his thoroughly artistic and convincing embodiment of Flambeau, the loyal, valiant, and chivalric veteran of Napoleonic wars. M. Coquelin was, in fact, greater as Flambeau than as Cyrano. Yet that, too, was a fine performance. The part is one that might easily lend itself to caricature; indeed, it had tempted other excellent actors to at least the border-line of caricature. But in all his moods as swashbuckler, braggart, lover, friend, wit, and hero, M. Coquelin's Cyrano never forgot his personal dignity. He was poet first and humorist afterward. His very humor, indeed, was pregnant with poetry. Nevertheless, I prefer Mansfield in this rôle. He looks it more to the life, besides more fully mastering its pathetic opportunities. Mme. Bernhardt had little to do in "Cyrano." M. Coquelin had even less in the production of "Hamlet." He was originally cast for Polonius, but gave up the part because he said he could not understand it, and took instead that of the First Grave-digger. In this he presented a little sketch full of the charm and detail of Meissonier. But it was likewise as French as Meissonier. He was a French peasant to the life, not an English yokel. Curiosity had been piqued by the expected Hamlet of Sarah Bernhardt. It was curiosity rather than the artistic sense which was satisfied by it. Mme. Bernhardt's make-up was good, her bearing gallant, her elocution admirable. But the masculinity she had assumed with the pantaloons somehow disappeared in doublet and hose. Her Hamlet was essentially feminine, not so much in externals as in spirit. Vindictiveness, a shrill vixenish spite, was its dominant note. This appeared especially in the play scene, where her movements were cat-like in their malignity, and in the subsequent scene where Hamlet catches his uncle at prayers, starts to slay him, and then seizes the first pretence for hesitation-the fear that he may send him to heaven. Doubtless, Shakspere here meant only to emphasize the irresolution of Hamlet's character. Mme. Bernhardt uses the incident to emphasize the vindictiveness which she attributes to him. Mme. Bernhardt's Hamlet misses the Gothic gloom and the poetic glamor which hangs around the Danish Prince. He is a garrulous Latin, not a reticent Teuton. He plucks out the heart of his own mystery, and exhibits it to the audience. Absolutely sane, he puts on an antic disposition to work out his own ends. In this respect, Mr. Sothern, whose Hamlet was an earlier event of the American season, agrees with Mme. Bernhardt. But his disagreement on other points is so wide that he originally left out the prayer scene because he thought wrongly enough that it placed Hamlet in a cruel and repellent light. This very fact is a clew to his chief error, a failure to understand the peculiar irresolution of Hamlet's character, an irresolution due not to weakness, but to a many-sided vision. Nevertheless, Mr. Sothern's Hamlet was a notable event. It was careful, conscientious, and scholarly. Indeed, the Hamlet production marked a decided advance in Mr. Sothern's art. Like his "Sunken Bell," it indicated a tendency to turn from the fol-de-rol of modern romances to the serious masterpieces of the stage. Such an inclination on the part of a young and accomplished actor, who inherits a noted name, should be encouraged in every legitimate way. - Mr. John Hare brought over to this country a play which had made an enormous hit in London, Pinero's "The Gay Lord Quex." It has one act — the third, of course, which is startling in the rapidity and dexterity with which surprise follows surprise, until the wholly unexpected climax takes your breath away. For the sake of this act the play was written. It is only a duel of wits between a man and a woman. But it is admirably written and excellently acted. Mr. Hare as Lord Quex, the polished, aristocratic roué, who holds his emotions in constant check, and Miss Irene Vanbrugh, as the well-meaning vulgarian whose affected calmness is gradually overmastered by hysteria, presented an effective contrast. There were several minor events which merit at least passing mention. Among these were the charming performance of Miss Annie Russell in "A Royal Family "; Miss Ethel Barrymore's delightful appearance in Clyde Fitch's "Captain Jinks of the Horse Marines"; Miss Amelia Bingham's production of Mr. Fitch's "The Climbers "; the one matinée performance by Mrs. Le Moyne, Miss Eleanor Robson, and Mr. Otis Skinner, of Browning's "In a Balcony "; the representation of Mr. Augustus Thomas's comedy of Western life, "Arizona"; and Miss Margaret Anglin's evolution from a delightful comédienne to an emotional actress of much power. This last was accomplished in "Mrs. Dane's Defence," at the Empire Theatre. Another capital actress, Miss Hilda Spong, who so admirably headed Mr. Daniel Frohman's excellent company at Daly's Theatre in "Lady Huntworth's Experiment," will, next season, become a star. She is a gifted and sparkling comédienne. Surely, it is worthy of note that the most successful American playwright of the present day, Mr. Clyde Fitch, had no less than five plays running in New York at one time this season. They were, besides the two previously named, "Barbara Frietchie"; "Lovers' Lane," a picturesque rural comedy; and "Beau Brummel." This does not look as if American authors were discriminated against. Managers are simply looking for good plays - American or foreign. It is an American author, however, who this season seems to have borne off the palm of royalties. Mr. Ripley D. Hitchcock, the discerning gentleman who, as literary adviser to the Appletons, was happily responsible for the publication of "David Harum," joined with his brother in making a fairly effective drama out of the novel itself and some vague reminiscences of "The Old Homestead" and other bucolic favorites of the stage. The dramatists were fortunate in disposing of their work to Mr. William H. Crane. Of all present-day actors, Mr. Crane seems to be the one best fitted to portray the peculiar type of rural Americanism. He embodies to the eye the gnarled, crabbed, and uncouth surface, while suggesting to the inner sense the underlying humor and humanity. He harmonized these contrasts into a sketch rough-hewn on the same outlines as those whereon David Harum's creator had worked. Nevertheless, he missed, as, indeed, his authors constrained him to miss, some of the charm of the whimsical detail. In other words, the Harum of Hitchcock and Crane, though amusing and interesting, was not quite the Harum conceived by the novelist and reconceived by the reader. That is a fault to be found in most of the recent dramatizations from novels. Hence, the dramatized novel, for which there was such a rush among managers, and which was to be the play of the future, has fallen rather flat. The trouble lies not with the novel or with the general idea of dramatizing fiction; it lies with the rush. Eagerness to put fiction on the stage before public interest in the book begins to wane is doubtless responsible for much trash which only the popularity of an actor or actress has managed to keep on the boards for the season. Scissors and paste will never take the place of brains — not even of another person's. Yet one of the best plays of the season is dramatized from a novel. But in this case it was not a current success in fiction which had to be rushed on to the stage, for fear that another book would come up and supplant it in popular interest. It was a novel that had been popular for years; and the play made from it appears to have been as carefully composed as if it were a piece of original dramatic work. I refer to Mr. Paul Potter's stage version of Ouida's "Under Two Flags," which was produced at the Garden Theatre, with Miss Blanche Bates as Cigarette, a rôle she acted with the emotional contrasts inspired by fierce, untutored love, emphasized by flashes of unreasoning jealousy. stepped out of the novel on to the stage. In fact, Cigarette That play was not hastily thrown together, hodgepodge, with little of the original, save its title, and practically nothing of its atmosphere. The leading character was made as vivid, as contradictory, and as adorable as in the book. When I add that the production was put on by that master of stagecraft, Mr. David Belasco, it will be understood that this was not the work of a dramatist who had been stumbling over all the others in his haste to get ahead of them in placing a popular book before the footlights. Mr. Edward E. Rose's method of turning books of the moment into plays - also of the moment — is, perhaps, typical of this American industry. Mr. Rose has dramatized so many books that he can turn a fat novel into a play in two or three weeks. He never reads a book more than once. But after that one reading what a sight that book is! Making the play as he reads, he marks up the pages, cuts out paragraphs, and rips out whole chapters. When he gets through, there is not much left of the novel, but the play is there. For how long it is there is another question. A play so made can hardly be more than ephemeral. Often, too, it must work injustice to the author of the book. He, however, deserves no sympathy. He knows that his book is to be shovelled on to the stage in order that the play may be borne along on the same tide of popularity. He has sold his birthright for a possible mess of theatrical pottage. He is particeps criminis - more reprehensible, in fact, than Mr. Rose's pencil, scissors, and paste-pot. In fine, dramas made from books are of little value when hurriedly prepared to meet a popular craze. Mrs. Fiske has a valuable play in "Becky Sharp," and Mr. William Gillette in "Sherlock Holmes "; but these were carefully studied out and written. The dramatization of "In the Palace of the King," for Miss Viola Allen, and so finely acted by her, was also done without undue haste. In fact, Mr. F. Marion Crawford, the author of the novel, shaped his plot in consultation with Miss Allen, before he began writing his book. By this reversal of the usual order of things, a first-rate play was secured and no harm done to the novel. On the other hand, such plays as "Richard Carvel," "Janice Meredith," and "When Knighthood Was in Flower" would not be tolerated as plays but for the books and for the fine acting of Mr. John Drew, Miss Mary Mannering, and Miss Julia Marlowe. How not to dramatize a novel was one of the pregnant lessons of the season. A NEW CLASS OF LABOR IN THE SOUTH. PROHIBITORY statutes directed against the labor of children in cotton factories are simultaneously pending in the legislatures of Georgia, South Carolina, and Alabama, while bills of kindred purport are being pressed forward by members of the North Carolina and Mississippi Assemblies. In more than one of these States there will be no such legislation for several years; but it is fairly assured that before the twentieth century shall have completed its first decade no child under twelve years of age will be working anywhere in Southern cotton mills, nor, indeed, any boy under fourteen nor girl under sixteen, except with limitations as to hours and seasons. Compulsory education is also pressing close after such laws, which, even if they should many times fail to pass, will nevertheless before long find a path to the statute book. Not the most ardent Southerner denies that our section has lagged far behind the East in many movements of profound import to race progress; but in regard to these child-labor laws, no one need be surprised that we are to-day going over ground covered by the lawgivers of New England half a century ago, and that public sentiment among us is only just now allying itself with practical considerations to promote the necessary legislation along this line. The fair-minded will reflect that the need for this legislation came to us late. Nineteen years ago there were only 667,000 spindles at work in all the cotton States; to-day the manufacturing records concede us 7,000,000 spindles in actual operation and another 1,500,000 planned for. The looms have more than kept pace with the spindles. All this means that the textile operatives of the South have grown, since the early '80's, from the most inconsiderable class in their section to a great and rapidly increasing army. Whence comes this great aggregate of workers that has grown in a score of years from a scant 20,000, all told, to a quarter of a million beings, representing four times that number depending upon the fruits of their labors a host that swells in size daily as this wide-reaching industry opens up more and more in various directions where natural fitness points the way? |