atening to
ze children
is utterly
does not
sister has
ie rontine,
ment. So
attractive
about it
Iinsulting
be is, of
is nothing
lodgings,
1 probably
tly cut up
s acconnt,
##the Con¬
(king, the
act as has
naturally
fairness,
two acts,
may be
ffect, two
ient most
: she may
mission,
ence has
uly leave
uind me
by that
Phyllis.
re Comes
with all
hundred
ecides to
to take
lat there
of Mrs.
e advent
s of his
1e scene
onfused,
scenes
he cer¬
Vare all
t is fine
mnot see
under¬
e would
ction is
lightly
f unad¬
a piece
Mona
for her
J. H.
k, Mr.
erform¬
Helen
of the
uching
nan she
ing to
of the
ars Mr.
lass of
a House
by Mr.
on the
neard at
seasol
ich the
#eagain
Society
iis, and
d upon
aritone
Fre Frau
und Mr.
s basis
sprach
0 make
learing
per im¬
essen¬
There
for the
und of
chestra,
5 parts
Inent—
1e prin¬
teven¬
hestra;
#tunate
exeen¬
but not specially so indicated bythecharacterisation—to
which Herr Arthur Schnitzler introduces us, scarcely
one of the men or women has the least notior of
morality as the word is generally understood, that the
whole business strikes one as unreal, artificial, non¬
human, and therefore unattractive. All along it is no
more than playing with passion. Count Arpad, a well¬
preserved man in the mid-fifties, has had an actress
“ under his protection' since the death of his wife
twenty years earlier. When the play opens the
liaison is just ending, Lolo having decided to marry a
wealthy carriage proprietor. The Connt tekes the
matter philosophically, remembering that he has a
charming daughter, unmarried, and about the same
age as Lolo—a woman of thirty-six or so, in fact.
What he does not know is that seventeen or
eighteen years before this daughter, who is the Com¬
tesse Mizzi, was in love with his intimate friend
Egon, Prince Ravenstein; still less does the Count
suspect that Philip, the bri, ht lad whom the Prince
introduces as his adopted sor, is in reality his daugh¬
ter’s child, and thus his own grandson. This rather
horrible muddle, which in any primitivo or savage
community would be tragic, is here so lighily treated
—for Vienna is lighter far than Paris—as to become
almost comic. Even the meeting between mother and
son, which ought to be full of poignancy, has no real
significance, just because there is no blood, no heart
in it all. And the introduction of the two womein
seemed full of possibilities; yet they came to nothing.
* Oh, remarks the daughter,“ I’ve had my fling!
—as in truth she had, the Prince being by ne means
her only partner——whereupon the mistress about to
enter the bonds of holy matrimony responds joyfully:
* Thank goodness for that!? There is now a bond
between them. We leave these queer people—that is
to say, the Count and his daughter and the Prince
and his son—about to set out for Ostend, and there
are nct wanting signs that Comtesse Mizzi may soon
make up her mind to become Princess, as she might
have been years before. What the Count will say
when he learns the truth oue would like to know,
but the author has stopped short of telling us thaf!
The chief parts were played easily, and with as much
conviction as could be expected in the circumstances,
by Miss Katherine Pole (Mizzi), Miss Margaret Bussé
(Lolo), Mr. Robert Horton (the Count), Mr. Athol
Stewart (Prince Egon), and Mr. Godffrey Dennis,
really boyish and natural as Philip.
The Green Cockatoo, though marked by many
touches of the true Schnitzler cynicism, is altogether
out of the" Anatol'’ line. Here we have an am¬
bitious and on the whole not unsuccessful attempt
to give a hit of tho life of Paris at the
start of the Revolution, somewhat d /a Carlyle, or,
perhaps, more nearly d la Dickens. The date
is July 14, 1789—the day on which the Bastille
was stormed—and the scene is“ The Green Cockatoo,
an underground tavern kept by one Prosper, formerly
a theatre manager, who, remembering his old calling,
has turned his cellar into a place of entertainment as
well as of refreshment. The entertainment is of the
Grand Guignol?’ variety, horrors being the chief
attraction. Thus one of the“ company '’—say, the
tragic, intense Henri—will arrive during ehe evening,
and, when silence is secured relate with tremendons
energy and every appearance of reality how he has
strangled an aristocrat, his wife’s lover. It matters
nothing that the story be false: what the fashionable
folk frequenting the haunt require is a tbrill. So
when the elegant ladies and gentlei#en—the Vicomte
de This, the Marquis and Marquue de That, the
Chevalier de So-and-So—hear Henri narrate his killing
of the Duc de Cadignan they applaud the actor’s skill,
never thinking there can be any truth in what he has
said. Nor is there at the moment; but ihen the Duc
appears a little later the justly jealous husband,
Henri, rushes at him and stabs him to the heart. As
in Pagliacci,' the play has turned inte grim reality.
Then the mob surges in triumphant. The Bastille is
taken and already in flames. The aristocrats make
their way out as best they can, while someone remarks
there is no need to detain them now, as their turn will
come shortly, and they can be found when wanted. It
is a strong and decidedly picturesque piece, wich
something like the right atmosphere, the best
moments being those when Henri—finely played by
Mr. Leon Quartermaine—is to the fore. Mr. Luke
Forster, as the bitterly humorous innkeeper, Mr.
Norman Page, as a quaint ruffian who has murderen
his aunt, Mr. Claude Rains, as Grasset, one of the
mob’s many mouthpieces, Miss Caroline Bayley, as
Henri’s wife, Mr. Ralph Hutton, Mr. P. Perceval
Clark, Mr. H. B. Waring, and Mr. G. Dickson¬
Kenwin, as noble patrons, Mr. Terence O’Brien, as
Rollin the poet, and—partienlarly—Miss Violet Fare¬
brother, as the Marquise de Lansac, are all well in tho
picture. This piece was produced by Mr. Norman
Page, and the other by Mr. Clifford Brooke.
THE COLISEUM.
271
2
0
ARCH 11,/1918
saster,
rence
Sarng „ THE THEAIKL.
nd and
onstag
TWO PLAYS BY ARTHUR
uld gel
se Mat
SCHNITZLER.
There
uffered
s of the
natters
Toits already long list of foreign dramatists
ieverer whose plays have been produced under its
ie Turk
auspices, the Stage Society, yesterday after¬
round
noon, at the Aldwych, added the name
of Arthur Schnitzler. The Viennese play¬
e Turk wright was represented by two one¬
clean, act plays, differing in milieu and in
digni- mood, the first written somewhat in the
is an flippant and ironically humorous vein of the
ia, and Anatole'' dialogues, the second full of swift
is than drama and fantastic realism. Each effort re¬
ropenn veals the naturalness of conversation and
timople cconomv of dramatic means, Which make
ssessed Schnitzler so notable a dramatist, and each :
Roman in its different aspect presents a curious and
e Turk arresting picture of life. The frankly
nce de- immoral atmosphere of“ Comtesse Mizzi' is 1
greater less likely to make as ready an ippeal to an
be that English audience as" The Green Lockatoo?
ved by which followed it in yesterday’s programme. 1
tal the Comtesse Mizzi, her father, and the Prince
ture?';
Ravenstein are too definitely Viennese to besc
on the
wholly understood by an English audience—
cur social code is so essentially different.
ssion of
There is not a moral person among those
and his
who, in the comedy, reveal by conversation##
Ig.
their mode of life and the number of their
8
amours. The piece really constitutes a series
appear-
of surprises, but, as played yesterday, the
stands,
untid
greatest surprise of all was the character of!
boration
Mizzi, the daughter of Count Pazmandy.
#e neces¬
Miss Katharine Pole’s treatment of the part!
ffective.
hardiv prepared the audience for revelations!“
irs more
S
that, followed in quick succession, or for theig
es, ban¬
dhisclosure that the fair and serene ladv was
people
not only the mother of the Prince’s illegiti¬
Ito share
mate son, but had had Cher fling, as
she tells her father’s mistress, ühe married un¬
4.
prepossessing Professor, wihro had instructed
zey the
115
her im painting, being one of her lovers.
member¬
8
Mizzi is undoubtedly a surprising creation,
frst and
but we think Miss Pole's sense of character
manovo
was not strong enough to present its com¬ 8#
de could
defeats.
plexities as clearly as the author evidently ##
jed in an
intended. In any case it was difficult to 4#
up the
associate anything but motherhood and
domesticitg with ao feminine and sensible as#
woman as the Mizzi of Miss Pole’s interpre¬ A###
bossessed
tation. Mr. Athol Stewart, as the Prince,
Le was a
Mr. Godffrey Denis as the son, Mr. Robert
#e worked
Horton as the Count, and Miss Margaret
nding for
01
Bussé as the actress-mistress were ali excel¬
scame an
lent.
# day he
##
Jend was
The Green Cockatoo,'’ a“ grotesque in
imself of
8
one act,“ reveals Schnitzler in a very dif¬
„bade the
t
ferent mood. Here the amours are of Paris
oddressed
in the täme of the Revolution, cut short by
ling, onlv
T
the sharp blow off the assassin’s knife, in a
#ing unti!
te
scene of intense excitement and passion.
Camels,
t
When
* The Green Cockatoo'' is an underground
th
Tood, and
tavern wierein the aristocrats and citizens of.
Du drink.
find their pleasure in watching the im¬ ae
Ju on and
promptu efforts of a band of actors, who, for
I denied
u4
the purposes of entertainment, simulate the
fast wage.
TI
doings of eriminals. Among these is Henri,
s heavily
ev
married to Léocadie, a minor actress, idi
ieness, 80
but beloved of Paris. For his last ap¬
frgive me,
th
pearance at the tavern—he is to take lns
ine vou?
IlI
wife to the country on tiie morrow—he enacts
der? After
ind spoke
a scene in which he murders his wife’s lover, th##
gver over¬
choosing for his wictim a well-known Duke,
Du under¬
co
who, unknown to him, in really the lover of
er remem¬
Léocadie. Even the innkeeper is carried tie
give vou;
en
away by the intensity of Henri'’s acting, and
#rst. Allah
forgetting that the whole scene is play¬ sa
pr
acting, reveals the tnuth of the woman's
ap
Stand the
infidelitg to ühe acter, wiho turns from
ce:
staat anPemannner 10 kbenger ami winnge
ze children
is utterly
does not
sister has
ie rontine,
ment. So
attractive
about it
Iinsulting
be is, of
is nothing
lodgings,
1 probably
tly cut up
s acconnt,
##the Con¬
(king, the
act as has
naturally
fairness,
two acts,
may be
ffect, two
ient most
: she may
mission,
ence has
uly leave
uind me
by that
Phyllis.
re Comes
with all
hundred
ecides to
to take
lat there
of Mrs.
e advent
s of his
1e scene
onfused,
scenes
he cer¬
Vare all
t is fine
mnot see
under¬
e would
ction is
lightly
f unad¬
a piece
Mona
for her
J. H.
k, Mr.
erform¬
Helen
of the
uching
nan she
ing to
of the
ars Mr.
lass of
a House
by Mr.
on the
neard at
seasol
ich the
#eagain
Society
iis, and
d upon
aritone
Fre Frau
und Mr.
s basis
sprach
0 make
learing
per im¬
essen¬
There
for the
und of
chestra,
5 parts
Inent—
1e prin¬
teven¬
hestra;
#tunate
exeen¬
but not specially so indicated bythecharacterisation—to
which Herr Arthur Schnitzler introduces us, scarcely
one of the men or women has the least notior of
morality as the word is generally understood, that the
whole business strikes one as unreal, artificial, non¬
human, and therefore unattractive. All along it is no
more than playing with passion. Count Arpad, a well¬
preserved man in the mid-fifties, has had an actress
“ under his protection' since the death of his wife
twenty years earlier. When the play opens the
liaison is just ending, Lolo having decided to marry a
wealthy carriage proprietor. The Connt tekes the
matter philosophically, remembering that he has a
charming daughter, unmarried, and about the same
age as Lolo—a woman of thirty-six or so, in fact.
What he does not know is that seventeen or
eighteen years before this daughter, who is the Com¬
tesse Mizzi, was in love with his intimate friend
Egon, Prince Ravenstein; still less does the Count
suspect that Philip, the bri, ht lad whom the Prince
introduces as his adopted sor, is in reality his daugh¬
ter’s child, and thus his own grandson. This rather
horrible muddle, which in any primitivo or savage
community would be tragic, is here so lighily treated
—for Vienna is lighter far than Paris—as to become
almost comic. Even the meeting between mother and
son, which ought to be full of poignancy, has no real
significance, just because there is no blood, no heart
in it all. And the introduction of the two womein
seemed full of possibilities; yet they came to nothing.
* Oh, remarks the daughter,“ I’ve had my fling!
—as in truth she had, the Prince being by ne means
her only partner——whereupon the mistress about to
enter the bonds of holy matrimony responds joyfully:
* Thank goodness for that!? There is now a bond
between them. We leave these queer people—that is
to say, the Count and his daughter and the Prince
and his son—about to set out for Ostend, and there
are nct wanting signs that Comtesse Mizzi may soon
make up her mind to become Princess, as she might
have been years before. What the Count will say
when he learns the truth oue would like to know,
but the author has stopped short of telling us thaf!
The chief parts were played easily, and with as much
conviction as could be expected in the circumstances,
by Miss Katherine Pole (Mizzi), Miss Margaret Bussé
(Lolo), Mr. Robert Horton (the Count), Mr. Athol
Stewart (Prince Egon), and Mr. Godffrey Dennis,
really boyish and natural as Philip.
The Green Cockatoo, though marked by many
touches of the true Schnitzler cynicism, is altogether
out of the" Anatol'’ line. Here we have an am¬
bitious and on the whole not unsuccessful attempt
to give a hit of tho life of Paris at the
start of the Revolution, somewhat d /a Carlyle, or,
perhaps, more nearly d la Dickens. The date
is July 14, 1789—the day on which the Bastille
was stormed—and the scene is“ The Green Cockatoo,
an underground tavern kept by one Prosper, formerly
a theatre manager, who, remembering his old calling,
has turned his cellar into a place of entertainment as
well as of refreshment. The entertainment is of the
Grand Guignol?’ variety, horrors being the chief
attraction. Thus one of the“ company '’—say, the
tragic, intense Henri—will arrive during ehe evening,
and, when silence is secured relate with tremendons
energy and every appearance of reality how he has
strangled an aristocrat, his wife’s lover. It matters
nothing that the story be false: what the fashionable
folk frequenting the haunt require is a tbrill. So
when the elegant ladies and gentlei#en—the Vicomte
de This, the Marquis and Marquue de That, the
Chevalier de So-and-So—hear Henri narrate his killing
of the Duc de Cadignan they applaud the actor’s skill,
never thinking there can be any truth in what he has
said. Nor is there at the moment; but ihen the Duc
appears a little later the justly jealous husband,
Henri, rushes at him and stabs him to the heart. As
in Pagliacci,' the play has turned inte grim reality.
Then the mob surges in triumphant. The Bastille is
taken and already in flames. The aristocrats make
their way out as best they can, while someone remarks
there is no need to detain them now, as their turn will
come shortly, and they can be found when wanted. It
is a strong and decidedly picturesque piece, wich
something like the right atmosphere, the best
moments being those when Henri—finely played by
Mr. Leon Quartermaine—is to the fore. Mr. Luke
Forster, as the bitterly humorous innkeeper, Mr.
Norman Page, as a quaint ruffian who has murderen
his aunt, Mr. Claude Rains, as Grasset, one of the
mob’s many mouthpieces, Miss Caroline Bayley, as
Henri’s wife, Mr. Ralph Hutton, Mr. P. Perceval
Clark, Mr. H. B. Waring, and Mr. G. Dickson¬
Kenwin, as noble patrons, Mr. Terence O’Brien, as
Rollin the poet, and—partienlarly—Miss Violet Fare¬
brother, as the Marquise de Lansac, are all well in tho
picture. This piece was produced by Mr. Norman
Page, and the other by Mr. Clifford Brooke.
THE COLISEUM.
271
2
0
ARCH 11,/1918
saster,
rence
Sarng „ THE THEAIKL.
nd and
onstag
TWO PLAYS BY ARTHUR
uld gel
se Mat
SCHNITZLER.
There
uffered
s of the
natters
Toits already long list of foreign dramatists
ieverer whose plays have been produced under its
ie Turk
auspices, the Stage Society, yesterday after¬
round
noon, at the Aldwych, added the name
of Arthur Schnitzler. The Viennese play¬
e Turk wright was represented by two one¬
clean, act plays, differing in milieu and in
digni- mood, the first written somewhat in the
is an flippant and ironically humorous vein of the
ia, and Anatole'' dialogues, the second full of swift
is than drama and fantastic realism. Each effort re¬
ropenn veals the naturalness of conversation and
timople cconomv of dramatic means, Which make
ssessed Schnitzler so notable a dramatist, and each :
Roman in its different aspect presents a curious and
e Turk arresting picture of life. The frankly
nce de- immoral atmosphere of“ Comtesse Mizzi' is 1
greater less likely to make as ready an ippeal to an
be that English audience as" The Green Lockatoo?
ved by which followed it in yesterday’s programme. 1
tal the Comtesse Mizzi, her father, and the Prince
ture?';
Ravenstein are too definitely Viennese to besc
on the
wholly understood by an English audience—
cur social code is so essentially different.
ssion of
There is not a moral person among those
and his
who, in the comedy, reveal by conversation##
Ig.
their mode of life and the number of their
8
amours. The piece really constitutes a series
appear-
of surprises, but, as played yesterday, the
stands,
untid
greatest surprise of all was the character of!
boration
Mizzi, the daughter of Count Pazmandy.
#e neces¬
Miss Katharine Pole’s treatment of the part!
ffective.
hardiv prepared the audience for revelations!“
irs more
S
that, followed in quick succession, or for theig
es, ban¬
dhisclosure that the fair and serene ladv was
people
not only the mother of the Prince’s illegiti¬
Ito share
mate son, but had had Cher fling, as
she tells her father’s mistress, ühe married un¬
4.
prepossessing Professor, wihro had instructed
zey the
115
her im painting, being one of her lovers.
member¬
8
Mizzi is undoubtedly a surprising creation,
frst and
but we think Miss Pole's sense of character
manovo
was not strong enough to present its com¬ 8#
de could
defeats.
plexities as clearly as the author evidently ##
jed in an
intended. In any case it was difficult to 4#
up the
associate anything but motherhood and
domesticitg with ao feminine and sensible as#
woman as the Mizzi of Miss Pole’s interpre¬ A###
bossessed
tation. Mr. Athol Stewart, as the Prince,
Le was a
Mr. Godffrey Denis as the son, Mr. Robert
#e worked
Horton as the Count, and Miss Margaret
nding for
01
Bussé as the actress-mistress were ali excel¬
scame an
lent.
# day he
##
Jend was
The Green Cockatoo,'’ a“ grotesque in
imself of
8
one act,“ reveals Schnitzler in a very dif¬
„bade the
t
ferent mood. Here the amours are of Paris
oddressed
in the täme of the Revolution, cut short by
ling, onlv
T
the sharp blow off the assassin’s knife, in a
#ing unti!
te
scene of intense excitement and passion.
Camels,
t
When
* The Green Cockatoo'' is an underground
th
Tood, and
tavern wierein the aristocrats and citizens of.
Du drink.
find their pleasure in watching the im¬ ae
Ju on and
promptu efforts of a band of actors, who, for
I denied
u4
the purposes of entertainment, simulate the
fast wage.
TI
doings of eriminals. Among these is Henri,
s heavily
ev
married to Léocadie, a minor actress, idi
ieness, 80
but beloved of Paris. For his last ap¬
frgive me,
th
pearance at the tavern—he is to take lns
ine vou?
IlI
wife to the country on tiie morrow—he enacts
der? After
ind spoke
a scene in which he murders his wife’s lover, th##
gver over¬
choosing for his wictim a well-known Duke,
Du under¬
co
who, unknown to him, in really the lover of
er remem¬
Léocadie. Even the innkeeper is carried tie
give vou;
en
away by the intensity of Henri'’s acting, and
#rst. Allah
forgetting that the whole scene is play¬ sa
pr
acting, reveals the tnuth of the woman's
ap
Stand the
infidelitg to ühe acter, wiho turns from
ce:
staat anPemannner 10 kbenger ami winnge