16.3. Dieenasken box 22/2
r e. Hensrabis ing.
In quite another geure is In the Hos¬
pital,“ from the German of Arthur
Schnitzler, aterrible but memorable piece
of dramatic art. Gruesome it may be,
and its minute realism of detail mav les¬
sen its artistic value, but the stabbing
truth of its characterisation, the poignant
misery of its theme, the clear-eyed vision
of human emotion it displays overridelits
minor defeets, and render it unforget¬
Treland for the Irish and Irish players for Mr. Yeats’s plays, was the im¬
able. One of" God’s failures“ is dying
pression left at the fall of the curtain on“ The Pot of Broth,?’ which many
in a Vienna hospital. His last thought:
people liked when it was played some time ago in London. Itis disappointing
ure of rezenge—a mean and horrible re¬
venge—on the man who has passed him
as rendered by Mr. Robert Pateman, Miss Lamborn, and Mr. Tully at thei
in the race and treated him with con¬
Court. Somehow one felt that the players thought it was nonsense. Irish#
temptuous good-humor ever since. How
people are more childlike, better at make-believe, possibly lighter of touch,
he will humble Weihgast, thé shallow,
smug Weihgast!
which would make all the difference to a play of this sort: a little, one-part,
And so he rehearses
the imaginary scene with his ward-com¬
rogue’s comedy. It seemed to us a pity that a poet should follow thei
panion, a facile, flabby histrion, full of
fashion for realism so far as to have the cries of a hen being killed outside
that ’spes consumptiva“ which marks
the cottage just before it appeared on the stage being plucked. It is not##
his disease. The dying man hurls his
thunderbolt. For two years, Frau Weih¬
necessary to the playlet, and is disagreable; but perhaps this is another in¬
gast was his mistress! Then comes poet
justice to Ireland. Very different is real realism such as one gets in #n
Weihgast, and in face of death, Rada¬
the Hospital.“ This is a play which we would call powerful, if that word
macher holds his peace. The poet de¬
parts, oleaginous as ever. Why did von
had not been too often used of late. It shows the sure technique of the
not tell him?“ asks the actor. Wiat
man who is master of his materials, has known what effect he meant to#
#ve von and I to do with those wha
produce, and has observed and worked, however unconsciously, until hei
#ill be alive to-morrow?“ cries Rada¬
produced it.“ Inthe Hospital' is like life itself; it sets one pondering and
macher, slipping to death, while thA N
player shrinks against the wall in silent
speculating. Leaves one wondering and interested, if sad and puzzled, for
horror and fear. Gruesome, terrible;
a solution to it all.
but so vivid, and so true.
The part of the poor, unsuccessful journalist, who resents so bitterly#
the fact that he has had to use his brain to further schemes whichche
In the Hospital“ is admirably acted
hated for scoundrels whom he despised, was magnificently played by Mr.
by Mr. Beveridge, M. Trollope, and Mr.
J. D. Beveridge, and it is not a part which is easy to handle. Many are
Rudge Harding, as the journalist, the
the emnotions the actor is called upon to show, most of them intense, and
actor, and the poet respectivelv. Mr.
Beveridge’s work is quite a tour de force
all subject to the great fact that he is a dying man lying back almost
—grim yet never repellent, and br mang
helpless in a big chair. Comparatively few are the words he has to speak,
silent touches exhorting sympathy fora¬
he never utters one to explain that he is the father of the son and daughter
erooked soul. In Mr. Shaw’s play Mr.
his successful friend speaks of; yet author and actor between them¬¬
Granville Barker and Mr. Poulton reflect
the author by a third person's apparently irrelevant talk, the actor by
the author’s spirit of reckless responsi¬
his actions —let the audience k.sw this just as they would have known #t
bility with a subdued gaiety that is very
if they had been present at the actual death in an actual höspital. This is
effective. Mise Gertrude Kingston as
Aurora misses it. She is either too silly
art, great on both author’s and actors' parts. Mr. George Trollope, assthe
or too clever. And Aurora was neither
consumptive player, studying still even amongst the surroundings of a
very silly nor very clever. She was iust
hospital ward, and in spite of the fact that he has been given up byethe
Sthe smartest woman in the smartest set
doctors himself, piaged very tolerabir He would have been miuch better
in South Kensington.“ Mr. Teats's“ Pot
if he had not felt he had to get all it was worth out of an effective part.
of Broth“ is the first item in this eplen¬
He was just a trifle of the theatre, theatrical. Mr. Rudge Harding, as
did“ triple bill.“
the successful fool friend, gave a capable character performance, which
didn't harm the play in any way, but fell short of perfection in that it was
a performance, not the presentment of the man. He never gave us one
word or one idea that he didn't speak. The nurse’s part, thougs small,
was quite excellently played by Miss Isabel Grev. Indeed, it was largely
owing to her acting that the atmosphere of the hospital came out so
clearlv. Both plav and players are well worth seeing.
" Hew He Lied to Her Husband?' showed chiefly how much Mr.
Berone Ci.-