lees tarred with the same brush; they are entirel;
unmoml and frankly boastful of uhe fact. One might
spnk of chem as degenerstes, were it not that they
take such a healthy pride in their own misloings.
You have, for instance, Prince Ravenstein, who has
sedurd the danghter of his friend, Count Pazmandy,
the Countess Mizzi. The recult of their intrgue is a
son, Philip whom his mother has not even cared to
recognise, and who, although littie more thana youth,
has developed tastes very much on a par with those
indulged in by his father. Count Pazmandy is him¬
sell a viveur of the first onder. For many years he
has lived on a basis of intimacy with a notorious
dancer called Lolo, who in the end calmly throws
him over in order to marry a weli-to-do livery-stable
proprietor.
The play is little more than a series of conversa¬
tions, carried on with a most perfect and unblushing
candour by these and other characters, and would
be intolerable were it handled in a less witty fashion.
When the sorlous things of life are presented in so
frivolous a spirit they sccm, however, to lose eome¬
thing of their importance, and Schnitzler plays the
Jester so airily that he well-nigh tempts us to forget
the gravity of the enormities he unmasks. It is,
of course, essentialt# the well-being of such a piece
that theoriginal atmosphereand surroundings should
be preserved. Norcanitbeexpectedthat Englishartists
should quite succced in giving the requisite form
and substanco to ideas so entirely beyond their ken.
Mr. Athol Stewart, nevertheless, is to be congratu¬
lated on his clever rendering of the part of Prince
davenstein; while Mr. Robert Horton as Connt
Pazmandy, Miss Katherine Pole as Mizzi, and Miss
Margaret Busse as Lolo gave a very f
r acconnt of
themselves. Although merely a thumbnail sketch,
Mr. Rupert Lumley’s performance
asner, the
livery-stable keeper, was thoroughly in
re.
THE GREEN COCKAT0O.
The Green Cockatoo“ is a
rent fibre. It is hardly an exa
des
it ae a masterpiece of its kind. The elements of
humour, observation, dramatic effect, and sensation¬
alism are blended in it with the happiest resalt
At one moment yon are thrilled to the marrow; an
instant later responsive laughter greets the grotesque¬
ness of the situation. It is the period of the Terro
in Paris. To the Green Cockatoo, an undergrot
tavern kept by Prosper, formerly a theatrich
manager, aristocrats are flocking to enjoy a new
experience. Prosper has engaged a company of
needy actors and actresses. Their business is t
relate to his wealthy but dissolute clientele incident
which may or may not have occurred. Th
Ffor example, is suddenly invaded by a weird figur
who tells with intense realism how he is flying ir#
justice because he has taken his rival’s life; a mar
scizes his wile by the throat and endeavours to
strangle her because she has beon unfaithful. The
situation ends in a laugh or a taunt by the host thaf
it is not a bit like the real thing.
That comes later in an episode which stirs the
audience both on the stage and in front of the cur¬
tain to a manifestation of unusual excitement.
Henri, a young actor, has just married Loocadie, an
actress, whose reputation is admittedly not of the
best. To that, however, he is fairly indifferent.
The two take their departure from the Cabaret. A
quarter of an hour later Henri reappears. He is
evidently a prey to profound emotion. With a
wenlth of gesture and in broken accents he relates
how he had surprised his wise with the Duc de
Cadignan in a situation which left no doubt as to
stheir guilt. Just then a turbulent crowd surges
in with the news that the Bastille has been taken,
that the pcople are triumphant. Momentarily we¬
Tare led to imagine that the whole affair has neen
cleverly stage-managed by Prosper. But the fruch
is quickly out. Henri, meanwhile, has succesded
by his acting in deceiving even his friends, rhe
crowd round congratulating him on having cis¬
covored Leocadie’s perüidy, which has been knowa
to them for long. The statement falls like a thundlor¬
bolt upon him. Just then the Duc enters. The
infuriated Henri springs upon him and plunges a
dagger into his heart. The comedy is finished, and
the curtain falls.
In all this there is just a suspicion of theatricality.
But the story swings along at such a pace andthe
characterisation is so varied and excellent that
nothing else is heeded. Mr. Loon Quartermaine did
splendid work as Henri, while Mr. Luke Forster as
Prosper, Mr. Norman Page as a youthful ruflian,
Miss Caroline Bayley as Leocadie, and their nume¬
rous companions carried the piece to immediate
success. A word also should be sparedto Mr. Norman
Page for his extremely effective production of thef
play.
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3/420
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7

STAGE SOCIETY.
TWO VIVID PLATS FROM
VIENNA.
ALDWYCH MATINEE.
It is remarkable that of all the many theatres
which minister to London’s amusement not
more than one or two are at the present moment
showing anything half so good as the two one¬
act plays presented by the Stage Society at a
fleeting matinée yesterday afternoon at the
Aldwych Theatre. They were both by Arthur
Schnitzler, the first one of the typical Viennese
comedies and the other a strange bizarre in¬
cident in Paris on the day that the Bastille was
taken by the mob.
* Comtesse Mizzi,“ the comedy, would no
doubt be considered by the censor as a good
deal too risqué for the English stage, but at the
Aldwych, once Mrs. Grundy had been banished
from the mind, it was a little story full of charm.
We are introduced to a conversation between
Count Arpad Pazmandy and Prince Ravenstein.
The count, in spite of his youthful appearance,
is nearing the sixties; the prince is seven years
his junior. The count is feeling melancholy,
for Lolo Langhuber, the actress, with whom he
hjas had tender relations for years past, has
decided to settle down and marry, and the count,
awidower for many vears, tells his old friend how
much he will feel che parting. The prince, also
a widower, has in hhis turn a confidence to make,
much more startling.-He has a son of seventeen
whom nobody has ever heard of, and has de¬
eided that, the young man shall bear his name.
He will be along shortly. The count, in his
mood of melancholy, inquires tenderly after the
mother, and hears that she died years ago.
THE COUNTS DAUGHTER.
Then the Comtesse Mizzi, the Count’s gentle
daughter, comes on the scene. Unmarried and
well on in the thirties, she has been a cause of
some concern to the Count, who cannot under¬
stand why she has refused so many suiters. He¬
puts it down to the fact that she is so much
wrapped up in her art of painting. But the
Count once out of the way, the Prince gives a
startling piece of news to the Comtesse and to
the audience. That day she will see“ her?
son. The gentle Comtesse declares with passion
that she does not want to. If in the days when
the Prince's wife was alive he had been
courageous enough, as she would have been,
to let the world know what had happened, they
could have gone awav and faced the world all
three together. But her baby was taken away
from her when he was only a few days old. She
had to suffer that shock, and now all love for her
son and his father is dead. The Prince asks her
to marry him, as he has done before, but she will
not hear of it. And here we learn that the
Comtesse Mizzi, who to her father has always
appeared a type of resigned and happy spinster¬
hood, has not let the years pass over her head
without“ compensations.“
The Prince knows it,
too, but he is wishful to marry her all the
same.
The youth Philip comes, gay and sparkling,
and we see that the inflexibility of the Comtesse
is rapidly disappearing. It all ends with a pro¬
posal for evervbody to go to Ostend, where we
are sure that the Comtesse will decide to become
a mother tothe voung man. The play was helped
enormously by the sympathetie character of the
actors. Mr. Robert Horton and Mr. Athol Stewart,
as the Count and the Prince respectively, made
two most convincing and kindly aristoorats. Miss
Katherine Pole was a charming Mizzi, and Miss
Margaret Bussé, as the actress Lolo from whom
the Count parts with melancholy, gave an admir¬
able study in her frank conversation with Mizzi.
THE GREEN COCKATOO.“
Whatever objections Mrs. Grundy might find
ir this piece are not present in the second play,
The Green Cockatoo, a grotesque, as it 18
called. It is a most powerful piece of work, and
shows a disreputable tavern frequented by the
French aristocracy ef 1789. Here the exquisites
come to mix with a rabble of actors who play at
being villains. To their faces the exquisites and
their ladies are called scum and pigs, and the
aristocrats enjoy the joke immensely.
Then
Henri, the“ star artist? of the ragamuffins,
comes in and relates how, from jealousy, he has
killed the young Duke de Cadignan. The joke
is enjoyed treniendousig. Then the Duke appears
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