16.3. Die lezten
S/MR. SHAW'S NEW FARCE.
Clever Production at the
At last Mr. Bernard Sha bas come within
hailing distance of quite an #nlinary as well as
clever little play in“ How he Liento her Hus¬
band,“ produced yesterday afternoon at the Court
Her name was Aurora. His was Heury, and
he had written poems to her. Her husband had
a sister, and the sister had found the poems.
Quite half an hour had passed, so the husband
was Certain to have heard all about the poems.
Accordingly Aurora is very urgent with Henr#
that he should lie to ber husband. He must say
that he wrote the poems to another Aurora of
the same name. This, she contends, is the only
course open to“a man of honour and a gentle¬
On this Henry finds that he can consoientiously
say cheis not the Aurora he thougiit she was. In
any case, he is quite prepared to lie to her hus¬
It is a
band—to wallow in lics if she lik#.
So when the husband arrives, flourishing tbe
poems excitedly in bis hand, Henry explains that;
although those poems appear to referto an Aurora
of flesh a.d blood, they are really addressed t
the impe sonal pageant of dawn. Nay, more!
He contends that, so far from his wanting to ad
dress poems to the particular lady in question,
her society is wholly indifferent to him, not to tay
Whercat the husband suddenly wares wroth.
Von insult my wife, will yon, you young
Ipuppy!' he cries, and without more ado they put
ter, the 1
up their fists, and there is breaking of furniture
not to say heads.
The two gather themselves up from the floor,
not Sir A
and discover that the husband had really arrived
revel of p
in a winrlwind of enthusiasm abont the poems,
and was intending to suggest that they should be
printed at his own expense, with a suitable dedi¬
cation to Aurora, the wise of Edward Bumpas,
Esq.“ So Henry only achieved a broken pate by
lying to her husband.
From this it may be gathered that“ How he
Lied to her Husband'' is in its essentials nothing
more than just a breezy little farce, based on a
simple and quite legitimately absurd exaggeration.
It was received yesterday with natural roars ol
laughter, being acted in the appropriate spirit by
Mr. Granville Barker, who, of course, was Henry,
and Miss Gertrude Kingston and Mr. A. G. Poul¬
MEANT AS BURLESOUE?
On the other hand, Mr. Bernard Shaw pro¬
claims it, by every possible allusion, to be a bur¬
lesque of Candida. Doubtless he may have
meant it so—though one is treading on ticklish
ground when one hazards a guess rt Mr. Shaw’'s
meaning. In effect it appears to have no more
to do with“ Candida'' than that it happens to
be a light-hearted treatment of a cifferent instance
of the everlasting husband-wife-and-lover theine,
whose combinations and permutations are well¬
nigh inexhaustible: One may admit, too, that if
it is to be judged merelv as a burlesque of“ Can¬
dida, a better one could have been written.
As to s
In any case, it does not really matter what it
is, save that it is undoubteslly entertaining. It is
interesting, however, to note that it presents us
with an ordinary South Kensington room, in¬
habited without protest by ordinary South Ken¬
sington people. Mr. Granville Barker, indeed,
goes so far as to appear in a faultless chirt-frout,
stiffened with the actual“ white mud'' abhorred
of Mr. Shaw—and no questions asked!
The jokes, too, are in some cases strangely
ordinary.“ Don't swear at mo like that. Any¬
Vone would think you were my husband.“ Surely
one remembers seeing a like quip upon the front
do for S!
page of somo ostensibly
Nature, said Whistler,ping up. Can
it be that Mr. Shaw is creeping down?
The rollicking little play was preceded by a
somewhat dismal translation from the German,
called“ In the Hospital.“ In this a dying man
sends for a false friend to tell him to his face he
is a villain. The friend arrives, the other dies
with ihe words unsaid.
It gives Mr. J. D. Beveridge an opportunity for
some fine gasping. It is realistic, but hardly true,
and in any case is hardly the sort of thing that
we care abont in England.
The afternoon began with Mr. W. B. Yeats's
dolightfully humorous Irisli scene, A Pot of
Broth,? in which that sterling actor, Mr. Robert
Pateman, played the facetious tramp, and played
ARCH 1, 1905.
# THE POT OF BROTH.“
By W. B. Trars.
John Coneely Mr. Gronos F. Tulzv.
Sibby Coneely Miss AMY LAMBORN.
A Tramp Mr. RoBERr ParEMAN.
4IN THE HOSPITAL.“
By ARrHUR ScHNITzLER, translated by Chais¬
Karl Rademacher Mr. J. D. BEvERVnGE.
Florian Schubart Mr. GEORGE TROLLOPE
Alexander Weihgart. Mr. RuncE HARDING.
Dr. Lantner. Mr. HoWARD STURGE.
Dr. Tann Mr. EDMEND GWENN.
Juliana Paschanda. Miss ISABEL GREY.
Scene: An Extra Ward in the Vienna General Hospital.
HOW HE LIED 0 HER HUSBAND.
By Branann SHAw.
Her Lover Mr. GRANVILLR BARKER.
Her Husband Mr. A. G. PovLroy.
Herself Miss Gaarkune KiNdsToN.
Scene: Her Flat in Cromwell-road.
Of the three one-act plays produced vesterday
afternoon at the abovetheatre“ Inthe Hospital,
translated by Christopher Horne from the German
of Arthur Schnitzler, proved farthe most interest¬
ing. Nor was it anything but a relief to find it
travel beyond the obvious scope suggested by its
title, that of some wearisome study of disease and
death in the old but, let us hope, by now dis¬
credited manner of the thédtre libre. There was
death in it, to be sure, but only in its most humane
aspect, coming to Rademacher, the broken-down
journalist, as relief and rest after a lifeof much
toil and disappointment. And, best of all, there
was evidence in it ofthat higher intelligence,
that of the heart, in which as a rule this descrip¬
tion of play is so wofully deficient. The old
theatrical sentimentality, with its passion for a
happy ending at whatever cost, was suflicientiy
tiresome; yet it was scarcely more repugnant to
common sense than the raideur which for some
time past has marked the development of modern
dramatie themes. To that“ In the Hospital
forms a welcome exception, and, admirably acted
#as it was by all concerned, thoroughly deserved
the hearty reception it enjoyed.
The chief honours of therepresentation rest with
Mr. J. D. Beveridge, whose performance of the
dying Rademacher was worthy of the highest
praise. The man has been a failure, mainly, one
feels, through his own fault, and nowon his death¬
bed has only theonedesireleft, the desirewhich all
his journalistie life hehas been probably indulging,
that of gratifying, and for the last time, his spite
and revenge. Tothat end he begs the doctor to
bring him his old friend Weihgart, an eminent
and successful poet. Years ago they quarrelled
and parted, and now Rademacher's one wish is to
humiliate him by telling him to his face that he
has been his wife’s lover, thatheandshehave often
discussed him disparagingly together, and thaf
Weihgart’s wife is as fully convinced of his
complete nullity as his old friend Rademacher.
The scene is acted before us in a sort of dress
rehearsal of it with Schubart, a young actor dying
also in the hospital of consumption; yet when
Weihgart comes something touches Rademacher,
and he feels he can no longer do it. What that
something is is conveyed to us with extreme
delicacy and subtlety by Mr. Beveridge. It is
not exactly pity for Weihgart andtheconfessionhe
makes of the insecurityof his position owing to the
persistency with which the new generation are
knockingathis door. Itis, one feels, acombination of
elements, and chief among them the recollection
of the day when they were friends, and the desire
of dying with some purer feeling in his heart than
that of gratilied revenge. So Weihgart goes, with
his belief in his wife intact, and Rademacher dies,
a better man than probably he ever lived, Acted
as it was, by Mr. George Trollope as Schubart and
by Mr. Rudge Harding as Weihgart, “ In the
Hospital'' created a considerable impression and
is very well worth seeing.
In“ How He Lied to Her Husband?' Mr.
BCrRiiReSinArOra. 4 T